#and seniors deserve so much better than what we give them

[olderandweirder]

Oh man wait until you hear about what happens in the forgotten old people warehouses nursing homes. Outright criminal activity. Neglect and fraud. Abuse and indifference. I saw a lot of horror during my clinical career, but some of the worst cases of human suffering, misery, neglect, and abuse came from nursing homes. Bedsores you could lose your wristwatch in. Skin tears the size of envelopes. Broken bones from falls. Diaper rash.

Sometimes, we’d get a Code Blue from the nursing homes. More than once the victim patient was already stiff and cold when EMS arrived to bring them to the ER, meaning they’d been dead for quite some time before anyone noticed.

A lot of these elders had nobody to care for them and ended up in shabby facilities through some machinations of fate; others were deliberately stashed there by families who didn’t want to deal with an old person. These families often show up at the hospital in a whirlwind of aggression and hate driven by guilt; they are often shocked at the decline in the elder’s health because they’ve been absent from their lives for years. We hide the aging and the dying because aging and death don’t fit the American narrative of being A Productive Person and we can’t have that! Acknowledging that people are people even when they’re not producing anything would undermine the capitalist hellsystem we’re all stuck in.

Apart from the human suffering of the elderly, the facilities themselves are understaffed to a criminal degree. I mean that literally. A nursing home in my town was recently fined and subsequently shut down by the state when it became clear that almost half of the staff on their payroll were not real people. The administrators literally just put fake names on their rosters and hoped nobody would notice and they got away with it for years.

The nurses and aides who work in these homes are, by and large, trying their level best with an impossible task. There are certainly some who are abusive or cruel on purpose; most of them, I suspect, are simply overwhelmed by impossible situations. When you have one (1) nurse and one (1) aide for 40 or 50 people, things are going to be missed. It is an impossible task.

And it is structured that way on purpose! This is done deliberately by administrators to maximize profit margins. Elder care in the United States is fundamentally an extractive industry: suck as much money out of grandpa as you can and when the well is dry abandon him at the hospital, where they have to take care of him. I worked at a long-term acute care hospital for a time and saw this in action literally every day. Oh, Smith is out of insurance days? Find an excuse to call an ambulance and send him to the ER and find someone new who has insurance days to fill the room. And once we bleed them dry, we’ll start it all over again.

OP is right that elder abuse is a massive and almost completely un-discussed issue in this country. It is shameful how we treat the elderly. It is shameful that we let this happen. We need to do better for our elderly.

there’s something so sad about how we treat old people nowadays. historically, humans have accomplished so many great things because we valued our elders, took care of them, and gave them meaningful retirement. meanwhile we have seniors aged 60+ working in retail just to survive. can you imagine working your entire life, just to work until you die? in fucking retail? 

old people are not useless, they’re not a drain on the economy, and theyre not all bigoted windbags. theyre people! people! who have lived their entire fucking lives under capitalism. they deserve to retire peacefully and pursue their interests during the final years of their lives. they deserve to be taken care of. they deserve to go with dignity. 

there’s a hundred things wrong with how society views old people, but i never see anyone talking about it.

[steddieas-shegoes]

falling is easy, catching is hard

rated m | also on ao3 cw: recreational drug use, implied sexual content tags: friends with benefits, secret relationship, shotgunning, mutual pining, getting together, love confessions

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @sidekick-hero!!! Sandy, you deserve the world, but this 3000 word thing will have to do for now 💖

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

December 19, 1985

Steve Harrington needed sleep.

Eddie Munson had the only thing that would put him to sleep.

But Eddie Munson also held a grudge, a reasonable one, but an annoying one.

“You want me to sell you the last of my good shit? For half price?” Eddie snorted. “You’re out of your damn mind, Harrington.”

“Munson, please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Steve begged.

“Why would I do you any favors? You never did me any.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, waiting somewhat impatiently for a response from Steve.

Steve didn’t have one.

Eddie was right; He didn’t really deserve a favor from someone who had let his friends make his first senior year absolutely miserable.

But Robin’s voice looped in his head: “Be vulnerable sometimes, Steve. People may surprise you.”

“Listen man, I just really need to sleep, alright? I’ve tried everything else.” Steve sighed. “This is pretty much my last hope.”

Which was a truth and a lie. He’d already tried smoking some weed, knew that it worked.

Eddie’s forehead creased in the middle.

That’s kinda cute, Steve thought to himself before shaking his head. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted by big, brown eyes and shiny lips.

“You been to a doctor?” Eddie asked.

“The sleeping pills make them worse.”

“Make what worse?” Eddie pushed.

“The nightmares.”

Eddie nodded once, understanding flitting across his face as he relaxed his arms by his sides.

“How long you been havin’ them?” Eddie asked as he walked around to the bench at the picnic table, opening his lunchbox.

“I guess…technically years. They’ve been worse since July though.” Steve knew he had to be careful about what he said, couldn’t give away more than what the public knew about what happened at the mall, but Eddie seemed trustworthy enough to handle this part. “Doctors said it’s normal for trauma or whatever.”

Eddie nodded, whispered something under his breath, and shuffled through his box.

“Forgot you worked at the mall over the summer. Kinda crazy what happened,” he said as he pulled a small discolored plastic bag from the box. “I’ll make you a one-time only deal, Stevie.”

Steve ignored the butterflies in his stomach at the nickname, kicked at the dirt under his feet, and gestured for Eddie to continue.

“I’m not giving my product away for half price. I’m a businessman and that’s not a smart financial decision for my business.” Eddie held up a hand when Steve looked like he was going to argue. “But! I will share a joint with you right here, right now, for free.”

“Um. What?”

“I was gonna smoke this one tonight as a celebration for passing all my first semester finals by the skin of my teeth. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.” Eddie’s smirk made the butterflies even worse.

Steve was going to regret this.

God, he was so stupid.

“Yeah, okay.”

Smoking with Eddie the first time was nice, but the second, and third, and fourth times were even better.

— — — — — — —

January 16, 1986

“You’re late, Stevie. I was starting to worry you’d gotten frostbite.” Eddie’s smile warmed Steve from the inside out, the shiver wracking his body more to do with the growing fondness he had for the curly-haired man in front of him.

Eddie was bundled up like they were in Antarctica, and to be fair, it was below freezing outside right now.

Steve offered to meet somewhere else, but Eddie insisted they come to his usual spot.

And then Steve saw it: Eddie had built them a fire. It was small, he probably didn’t want to draw any attention from the road, but it was throwing heat that Steve craved.

“Come warm up before we get into it,” Eddie waved him over, his gloved hands looking out of place.

Steve was used to seeing shiny rings on his fingers, blisters on his fingertips from playing too much guitar.

Steve stood next to him in front of the fire, holding his own gloved hands out to try to warm his body as much as possible.

“Any reason I couldn’t just come to your house or something?” Steve asked, not quite getting rid of the attitude in his tone.

“My Uncle has tonight off. He’s a pretty chill guy, but I think actively watching me sell drugs to someone would maybe cause a heart attack.” Eddie sighed. “I told him I had a date tonight so I couldn’t really have you show up after that.”

“A date?” Steve grinned, nudging Eddie’s arm. “I didn’t even bring flowers.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but looked away to cover a blush. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to put out until there’s a dozen roses in my hand.”

He meant it as a joke surely, but something in Steve’s chest clenched at the thought of spoiling Eddie like that. Maybe not roses, that didn’t quite seem his style.

“I’ll try to remember them next time,” Steve managed to say, nearly choking on his own words.

What was he even doing? Flirting? Eddie didn’t even consider him a real friend, why would he want him to bring him flowers?

“Got a new strain tonight. It’s supposed to be a little stronger, but fades faster, so you should be good to drive back home in a couple hours.” Eddie pulled the baggie out of his pocket, lunchbox long gone after meeting twice a week for the last month.

Steve wasn’t really a customer anymore, no matter how they tried to keep up appearances that he was.

He still tipped Eddie, or tried to, but usually Eddie ignored it and just said it was a favor to help him sleep.

“How strong?” Steve finally asked as Eddie pulled the lighter from his pocket.

“Might make you a little floatier than usual. Not hallucinogenic, though.” Eddie knew he couldn’t handle that kind of trip. That’s why he stayed away from his other offerings. “I tested it out myself earlier this week.”

Steve wasn’t reading into that.

“Okay.” He fought off a shiver, this time from actually being cold. “Guess it’s worth a try.”

“I’ll drive you home if it’s too much.” Eddie’s offer was kind, going above and beyond what a dealer would do for a customer, but Steve wasn’t reading into it. “Or you can nap it off in the van for an hour or so before heading home. Whatever.”

Eddie lit the joint, breathing in long and slow, holding the smoke until Steve was sure he would pass out before slowly letting it out.

He handed the roll to Steve, who didn’t think about what Eddie meant by stronger, and took his normal pull, choking halfway through.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he took the joint from him, his hand grabbing onto Steve’s arm as he coughed.

“Jesus Christ, man, you good?” Eddie asked him.

“Yeah,” he coughed. “Sorry. It is a lot stronger.”

Eddie searched his face, relaxing as Steve’s breathing went back to normal. “Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe take it slower?” Eddie teased. “Or- no never mind.”

“Or what?” Steve asked, already feeling the heaviness that came with smoking.

“Ever shotgunned before?”

Steve’s heart stopped. He’d venture to say he was even stone cold sober again after that question.

“Um. No.” He hadn’t. He’d wanted to with Nancy, figured it would be the only way she would be interested in trying weed, but it never worked out. “Would it be easier?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “Usually. We can give it a try if you want.”

Steve nodded before he really processed what he was being offered.

Eddie’s mouth would be very, very close to his. Possibly even on his.

And he’d be sharing breath with him, probably more than one if it worked.

Eddie pulled the picnic table closer to the fire and sat on the bench. He patted the seat next to him.

“Might as well get comfy, then,” Eddie said.

Steve sat next to him, close enough to feel the warmth coming from his side, close enough to hear Eddie’s hitched breath when they made contact.

Close enough to want to be closer.

“Alright, so I’ll start with a small one, and you just have to breathe in when I breathe out.”

“Is it-” Steve played with a loose thread on his gloves. “Your lips are gonna touch mine?”

Eddie suddenly looked nervous, like he regretted offering this at all, and Steve couldn’t allow that.

“I don’t mind! I mean, I want you to!” Steve panicked. “Like, it’s fine! I know we have to for the whole thing to work.”

“Yeah. Um, it’s not like, weird or anything. It’s just me helping you get high.”

It wasn’t weird, but it definitely was hot.

Eddie took a drag, leaned into Steve’s space, and cupped his jaw, tilting his head back for easier access.

Steve couldn’t breathe.

But he had to, that was the whole fucking point of doing this.

His lips parted and Eddie’s warmth coated him, covered him better than the fire.

He breathed in as Eddie breathed out, his hand seeking contact with anything solid to keep him on this earth.

He found it in Eddie’s hip, his fingers gripping tight as Eddie lingered beyond the point of the smoke clearing from his mouth to Steve’s.

Their lips brushed lightly, an agonizingly soft touch that Steve tried his best not to chase as it drifted away.

He bit back a whine at the loss, opening his eyes to see Eddie still surprisingly close, pupils huge.

It’s just the weed, Steve thought to himself.

It definitely wasn’t their almost-kiss.

Steve breathed out, swallowing once the smoke was gone from his mouth.

“Good?” Eddie asked.

Steve should answer him, should nod and thank him for doing this, maybe ask him for another hit so he could try to blame his fidgeting on being high.

But Steve wanted to kiss him.

Not shotgun, not barely brush lips, not act like this wasn’t something more than what it started as.

Robin told him he deserved nice things, and he deserved to be happy, and he did.

So Steve let himself try to have a nice thing.

“Again?” Steve asked, leaning in before Eddie had a chance to take a drag.

“Woah, big boy.” Eddie’s hands grabbed his shoulders, not pushing him away, but holding him back from making contact that he so desperately wanted. “Think that first hit might have gotten to you already. Let’s take a minute.”

“No, I-”

“Steve. You’re high.”

His tone was final, and something about the way his eyes darted away made Steve think that maybe this wasn’t the first time someone tried to make a move on him because he was giving them something.

He didn’t know Steve was into men, either.

Steve could just tell him, though. Let him know it’s not just the drugs, that he’d already had feelings for him before.

But the high was kicking in and Steve’s tongue felt like an iron weight.

“How about I get you some water?” Eddie asked, pulling away and walking swiftly to his van.

Steve didn’t protest. He did need some water.

Eddie sat on the other side of the table when he came back, handed over a bottle of water with a small smile, and watched as Steve gulped most of it down.

“This is good shit,” Steve admitted, slurring his words a little from the effort of moving his mouth. “Better than usual.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice treat once in a while.”

They sat in silence for another 30 minutes or so, though the time didn’t even feel like it was passing to Steve until Eddie stood up and guided him to the passenger seat of his van.

“Wha-?”

“I’m gonna drop you off at home. You got someone who can help you get your car tomorrow?” Eddie buckled his seatbelt, Steve tried not to be too endeared. “Maybe Buckley? Or Wheeler?”

Steve’s brows furrowed.

Nancy had barely talked to him in months, not since she gave him one awkward hug after Starcourt. Robin couldn’t drive, or at least said she couldn’t. That’s why he drove her to school and all of her work shifts.

“Maybe you could?” Steve suggested.

Eddie sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

— — — — — — —

February 14, 1986

Steve got him flowers.

He hadn’t seen him since the night he drove Steve home.

By the time Steve woke up the next morning, his car was parked in the driveway with a note on his keys that said ‘Promise there’s not a dent on her.’

And then Eddie had ignored his calls. He’d conveniently never been at his spot anytime Steve had ever met up with him before.

He couldn’t even pass a message through Dustin because Dustin was too curious for his own good and would probably figure out that Steve wanted to kiss him.

Which is all Steve thought about for the last month while he figured out what to do next.

Robin was no help at all, said he should just corner him after Hellfire one night and make a move if he wanted him so bad.

As if that could ever be an option.

This was his last chance, though.

He’d confirmed with one of his bandmates – Garrett, maybe? – that he didn’t have plans tonight and refused to sell on Valentine’s Day.

Steve stood in front of Eddie’s trailer, a bouquet of white and pink daisies in his hand, feeling particularly stupid.

The van was here, so Eddie was here, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk up the steps and knock on the door. This was maybe the most idiotic thing he’d ever done and he probably should leave before he was seen by someone.

“Steve?” Eddie opened the front door, confusion clear even from a distance. “The hell are you doing here?”

“I said I’d bring you flowers.”

He felt so dumb, standing here holding a bouquet of flowers for a guy who didn’t even want to sell drugs to him anymore. He considered dropping the flowers and making a run for it, but Eddie leaned against the door frame and scrunched his nose up.

Like he was trying not to smile.

Like maybe Steve did something right.

“Better bring them in so they can get water, then,” Eddie said with a hesitant smile.

Steve would take any type of smile, as long as it meant he wasn’t being sent away with his tail between his legs.

He rushed inside, didn’t think about the smell of Irish Spring coming off of Eddie, or the way his arm brushed against his side as he passed him.

Steve stood in Eddie’s trailer, taking in what Eddie called home, holding the flowers in front of him with hope.

Eddie closed the front door and walked over to him, holding his hand out.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers just for me to sell you drugs again, ya know.” Eddie smiled sadly. “I would have let you buy if you really needed it.”

“You won’t return my calls so how would you know if I needed it?” Steve countered.

“Ouch.” Eddie sucked a breath in through his teeth. “You’re right. I, uh, was giving you some space.”

“What made you think I wanted any?” Steve took the flowers back from Eddie’s hand, setting them on the coffee table behind him. “If I wanted space, I wouldn’t have bothered calling at all.”

“That’s what Wayne said, but-”

“Well, maybe you should’ve listened to Wayne.” Steve sighed. “I’m sorry I fucked things up by wanting to kiss you. I’m sorry if the flowers are too much. I’m sorry if I’m too much.”

Steve couldn’t look at Eddie after his confession, or his attempt at one. It may have been more of an apology, but he figured his intentions were clear enough.

“Steve. Stevie. Look at me.” Eddie cupped his cheeks, that familiar warmth covering Steve in safety. “You’re not too much. Don’t ever, ever let anyone tell you that you’re too much. You were so high, I didn’t wanna take advantage. I thought if I just left you to think about it long enough, you’d realize what happened was just from the weed.”

Steve shook his head, reaching his hands up to circle Eddie’s wrists. “It wasn’t just the weed. You’d know that if you let me talk to you before now.”

Eddie rubbed his thumb along his cheekbone, eyes dancing across the freckles that covered Steve’s surprisingly sun-kissed skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain.”

“You’re forgiven if you listen now,” Steve took a breath, letting his hands run down Eddie’s arms and settle on his hips. “I like you. A lot. Definitely more than a customer should, more than a friend should, maybe more than a regular boyfriend should. It’s okay if that’s too much, but it’s what I have to give.”

“You’re really something, Stevie.” Eddie leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “I think I’ll take what you’re giving if that’s alright with you.”

“Please,” Steve breathed out as Eddie’s lips crushed against his fully.

Steve always felt so much, always gave so much, hardly ever had anyone who would take what he had to give.

But Eddie was taking it, forcing it from Steve to his own body, his own heart, like it was the only thing he wanted or needed.

“If you wanna buy tonight, you’re gonna be real disappointed,” Eddie gasped out against his lips when they came up for air minutes, maybe hours, later. “I don’t sell on major holidays.”

“Is Valentine’s Day a major holiday?” Steve asked, brows furrowing.

“It is when I get to have you in my bed.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“That sound okay to you, big boy?” Eddie was smooth. Who could have possibly guessed?

Steve barely got out a ‘yes’ before Eddie was pulling him down the short hallway to his bedroom and rattling off things he wanted to do to him.

Steve Harrington probably wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

But Eddie Munson would make it worth his while.

[scoops-aboy86]

By The Heart (Secret Admirer pt 2)

Steddie Week 2024, July 2: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis

wc: 2136 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

After the world fell apart a second time in November of ‘84, Steve had finished out the rest of his senior year in a daze. Partly because Billy Hargrove had broken a fucking plate over his head, giving him a small scar by his hairline that the doctor said would fade and recurring headaches that the doctor said might stick around anywhere from a few months to forever. 

It’s been more than a few months and the headaches are only slightly less frequent and a tiny bit less severe. 

He graduated, barely. His dad keeps dropping pointed comments about how his parents let him stay in their house rent-free after high school, how he’d saved up while attending a nearby college by not having to worry about the cost of a dorm or basic meals, and that it is his gratitude towards them that has moved him to offer the same to Steve. Usually said comments come after Steve tries to sidestep some sort of menial task, and it always feels like a threat.Steve just grits his teeth and takes it—refills his dad’s drink when the bottle is already literally right by the man’s hand, washes the family car after dinner when both his parents know that Steve has a shift at Scoops first thing in the morning, whatever. He can’t afford to get kicked out right now. 

His job at Scoops Ahoy is shit, all bright fluorescent lights and kids screaming and everything getting sticky for a measly minimum wage, but that probably reflects the quality of the job application he’d submitted. 

He has no friends, no prospects, no one in his corner except a bunch of incoming freshmen and the only one who really seems to want him around is off at some sort of smart people camp that he’d never even heard of… Go figure. 

But he has Secret Admirer. 

Okay, what Steve has is a pen pal who has a PO box and prefers to remain anonymous, possibly because Steve is an embarrassing person to have a crush on these days. And it’s really stupid that he thinks of them as first name Secret, last name Admirer, but it’s not like he hasn’t tried to come up with better names! Unfortunately, there are so many things Secret Admirer has called him (sweetheart, darling, dearest, honey, baby) that he can’t really think of anything original with those constantly rotating in his head… He can’t use them, though. It’d be weird. 

The first letter had been shoved into his locker in the last few weeks of school, looking like someone either wrote it with their non-dominant hand or had also suffered a blow to the head recently, and he hadn’t known what to make of it at first. In fact, he’d considered the possibility that Tommy or Billy were playing some sort of prank on him… but he didn’t think either of them could write “To Steve, the heart of my heart” without bursting into homophobic flames, and if it was Carol she would’ve done her girliest handwriting with hearts dotting the eyes. And his Secret Admirer had mentioned things no one else in his life seemed to care about. 

Like, 

I hope you’re feeling better. Sometimes I notice you squinting or grimacing in the classes we have in common… Are you still getting headaches? Do you get enough rest? You probably already know this, but mental and physical rest are super important for getting your handsome self all recovered, big boy. 

And,

I had a concussion once, not a bad one but it really left an impression. Felt like I was trying to think through a head full of soup for weeks. It sucks that teachers didn’t seem to cut you much slack because, just saying, I noticed they used to do that a lot more when you were still on the basketball and swim teams. Jock privilege placed above consideration of an actual, serious injury? I’m sorry, but that’s the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril, sweetheart, and you deserve better. 

So, yeah. Clearly his Secret Admirer is a nerd who doesn’t necessarily have the best opinion of jocks… but still took the time to notice all those things and write kindly about them. It felt nice, knowing that at least one person out there noticed, maybe even cared. 

And when that letter turned out not to be a one-off, a few more letters in his locker and then one in his mailbox, postmarked and everything, after graduation? Steve was hooked, enough to start writing self-consciously back. 

Which has brought him to the point of wanting so badly to meet this person that he’s stooped to begging, and it’s not even getting him anywhere. 

It’s occurred to him that it could be a guy, of course it has. Steve might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knows it happens. He’d had a friend in middle school, Todd Fischer, nice guy, totally normal kid—got caught kissing some boy in the next grade up behind the gym and turned out to be the worst sprinter of the two. The Fischers had moved out of Hawkins a few weeks later and Steve hadn’t heard anything from or about Todd since. They’d been halfway through reading Romeo & Juliet in English at the time, and Steve remembers thinking when they got to the end of the play that at least things hadn’t gone that badly for Todd and whoever the other kid was. He’s old enough now to know that it could have; between Todd being such a nice kid, Barb dying in his own backyard, and the threat of government agents coming out of the woodwork if he ever breathes a word about certain secrets, the thought leaves a bad taste in Steve’s mouth. 

Anyway, if it is a guy, that would explain why Secret Admirer keeps dancing around his pleas to meet. And the initially disguised handwriting—which had been dropped by the second mailed letter, along with a brief, sheepish apology. 

But it could also be a girl who’s really shy or something. Steve doesn’t want to assume and then look like a total idiot further down the road. Whoever it is, all Steve knows is that he doesn’t want to lose them. He has to play this smart, play it cool… because he knows himself, and already knows that they have him by the heart based on words alone. 

The latest letter is in his hands, crinkled a little at the edges, and Steve can’t help himself from rereading the fifth paragraph yet again. 

… those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off…

He’s not scared off. Doesn’t need to know exactly who put pen to paper to imagine hands and lips running up his legs, either, an invisible touch that sends shivers along his spine. 

Okay, maybe it’s been a while. Between striking out from behind the Scoops counter and not really trying all that hard anyway, the only action Steve’s seen is from his own hand… and this letter. He has thoughts, alright, but has a much better idea of how to translate them into action than words. And this is his problem with the whole pen pal only thing, his natural charm (if he has any left) is absolutely useless in this medium. 

The other problem is that he really, really wants to jerk off about this, except he’s got almost no details to fuel the fantasy. He knows that Secret Admirer had a concussion once, but not what color or length or texture or style their hair is; knows they’re on the fringes of popularity and not really into sports, but nothing about their height or build or how they might move against him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if they’re a girl or a guy, isn’t sure if he should try to imagine boobies and painted nails or stubbled cheeks and big hands. 

Secret Admirer has mentioned being a smoker though, of both tobacco and grass, and Steve is not exactly proud of how strongly this makes him want a cigarette just because it’s all he has to go on. He has work in under an hour and Robin hates the smell of cigarettes, will be extra vicious for their entire shift if he comes in reeking of smoke. 

He’ll have to figure out something else…

Dear Secret Admirer, Thanks for writing again, I was really glad to get your letter. I don’t sleep with them under my pillow because sometimes my pillow ends up on the floor and I don’t want to drool all over them. I keep them in a box in the back of my closet, because sometimes my parents have the cleaning lady do my bedroom without telling me and I don’t want her going through my stuff or putting it in weird places that I can never find again.  Sorry for laughing at you You must not have seen me last week when I threw a banana peel at my coworker for It’s not being humble if I don’t deserve Yeah, fuck high school.  Sorry for not rewriting this, I’m running out of paper and my dad’ll kill me if I break into his office to get more I definitely thought about what you said in your last letter. I thought about it a lot. It’s hard to figure out how to explain what though, because I wanted to picture you like you were probably picturing me when you were writing it. You obviously know what I look like, but I don’t know who you are so I had to get creative. (Which isn’t my strong suit. So if this is stupid maybe we could just never mention it again?) Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are? I’m not sure if that makes sense. But anyway, since I don’t know what you look like I pictured you dressed like a ninja.  Hear me out, okay? You’re such a mystery. Ninjas are mysterious, and dressed all black to blend in with the shadows. You can’t see their hair or face and they wear gloves because you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. I guess what I’m saying is I imagined you sneaking into my room at night when the lights are off. Totally silent but with this powerful presence, you know? I think if I were in the same room as you it’d feel like that moment right before the whistle goes off at a swim meet, because that’s just like, holy shit it’s about to happen and your muscles are all tense but ready but you’re waiting, coiled like a snake. So I’m coiled like a snake and you’re still a ninja and I’m not very good at this. I’ve done it over the phone a few times but that’s different. I don’t know where I’m going with this just sitting writing this alone in my room with Genesis playing in the background so I’m going to stop. Just trust me, it was hot. If you ever want to exchange numbers I’d be happy to tell you all about it sometime.  It feels weird to end like that, so I’ll also tell you that I tried reading that Hobbit book you suggested and you were right, it’s a lot easier than the Rings book that the kids I babysit tried to bully me into reading. Bibo is freaking out about all these dwarves in his house and I can relate, it sounds like when those kids all show up and try to rope me into driving them around town. At least they haven’t tried to make me steal anything or try to take on a damn dragon yet. Hopefully this book won’t give them any ideas.  — Steve PS If that was so dumb you changed your mind about still writing to me, please let me down easy. Seriously it would be no hard feelings. At least I still have a great ass and great hair, so I’ve got that going for me.

Tag list (open): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @thetinymm

@practicallybegging @fuzzyduxk @greatwerewolfbeliever

[captainsophiestark]

Don't Mess With Demeter

Luke Castellan x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Day One Prompt: "That was good work."

Summary: Travis and Connor Stoll like to cause problems. Fortunately, having Luke Castellan for a boyfriend can help take the sting out of dealing with those problems.

Word Count: 1,802

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: Happy spooky season everyone!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU TWO!"

My eyes snapped open at the screeching sound coming from just outside my cabin. I rolled out of bed quickly, hustling to the front door in my pajamas, to find Katie Gardner absolutley fuming in the front doorway. Her fists were clenched as she started at someone beyond the cabin door, the early morning light giving her silhouette a rosy glow.

I hadn't had a chance to look at the clock, but clearly it was much too early on a Saturday for me to be dealing with this. Unfortunately for me, as the head counselor for the Demeter cabin, I didn't actually have a choice.

I followed Katie as she stormed outside, in hot pursuit of whoever had gotten on her bad side. As she stepped further into the light, I realized she was absolutley dripping wet, and the most likely series of events clicked into my head at the exact same time I heard the Stolls cackle.

Damned Hermes kids. I knew better than to expect them to ever stop pranking us completely, especially since Travis seemed to use it as a way to flirt with Katie, but did they have to do it so early in the morning?

By the time I cleared the Demeter cabin's front steps, Katie had already chased the Stolls halfway across the lawn full of cabins, shouting and hurling seed packets at them as she went. With a little Demeter magic, she made the packets explode as soon as they got close enough to the Stolls. For the sake of every single camper still asleep, I needed to put a stop to this sooner than later.

I snatched up my own handful of seeds that had been sitting outside the cabin, then took off after Katie, Connor, and Travis. The Stolls kept cutting back and forth across the grass, Katie always a few steps behind them, which made it much easier for me to catch up to the trio by skipping the zig zags. Connor made it almost to the treeline of the forest before apparently remembering he might not want to take a fight with a Demeter kid into the woods, so he came to a screeching halt. Travis, who'd had his head turned to grin at Katie, ran right into his back. The two went toppling to the ground, and when I finally reached them, Katie had her arm pulled back to annihilate the brothers with whatever she managed to grow out of all the seeds she'd grabbed.

"Nope!" I cried, using one hand to stop Katie from following through on her throw while I scattered my own seeds with the other. A little concentration and a wave of my hand later, some flowers had sprouted and wrapped lightly around the Stolls' legs, keeping them in place at least for the moment. I turned my attention fully to Katie again.

She scolwed me, her half-dry hair and near-growling tone giving her quite a wild look.

"What are you doing? I had them!"

"Katie, as much as I get where you're coming from, I can't let you make the Stolls into living tress."

"Why not? They deserve it! It'd finally stop them from showing up at our cabin at five in the morning on a Saturday just to mess with us!" I grimaced. I knew it was early, but 5am... oof. "See! You know I'm right."

I sighed. "While my regular camper heart might agree with you, since my alarm was you screaming thanks to their prank... my senior counselor brain is reminding me we don't get to kill the other campers, even when they might deserve it. Sorry, Katie."

"So what, they just get away with it? Like nothing ever happened?"

"No, definitley not." I turned to the Stolls again, hands on my hips. They'd both managed to get about halfway out of my flower trap, but they froze on the spot when they noticed my attention on them. "What do you think, boys? You drove a daughter of Demeter to a murderous rage. I think that's gonna take quite a bit to make up for it."

They both sighed, relaxing back against the ground as they shared a look. They communicated silently for a few moments, Travis opening his mouth to say something before Connor held up a hand. Finally, Connor turned back to me.

"We'll take her stable cleaning chores for the week," he said. Katie and I scoffed in sync.

"Nice try, Connor. How about this? Both of you take all of Katie's chore spots for the next week, and I'll schedule you a few extra rotations in the stables, since you seemed so willing to take over there. And if you wake me up this early in the morning by going after one of my siblings again, I might just roll over and go back to sleep while Katie takes care of the problem for me."

Travis huffed, flopping onto his back on the ground, and Connor narrowed his eyes at me.

"That seems a little harsh."

"Oh, by all means. Let me wake you up at five tomorrow with screaming and a run and see how you feel about it."

"Fine. Message recieved," he huffed, rolling his eyes. I waved my hand to free them both from the flower trap and they stood. They made it all the way to the door of the Hermes cabin, Travis shooting a wink at Katie as he went, before Connor paused and turned back to me. "We'll make sure to schedule our pranks in the late morning from now on."

The grin those two gave me before ducking through the door was mischief incranate, but I just sighed. Now that the crisis had been dealt with, all I wanted was to go back to sleep.

"I'm going to kill them," Katie huffed from beside me. I turned to her with a lopsided smile.

"Even Travis?"

"Of course Travis! Why would you even ask me that?" I raised an eyebrow at her, and despite her scowl, she blushed furiously. "Oh, shut up! A traitor in my own house..."

She shook her head, grumbling as she headed back to our cabin without looking back at me. I just grinned as I watched her go. As much as she liked to complain about the Stolls, I'd seen her shoulder to shoulder having the time of her life with them too many times to believe she really hated them. Travis especially.

The sound of a door opening and closing drew my attention away from Katie and back to the Hermes cabin. I got ready to hurl another handful of seeds if the Stolls had decided to pick possibly the worst time ever to show their faces again, but instead, I got a much nicer surprise. Luke, my boyfriend and the head counselor of the Hermes cabin, wandered out in a camp t-shirt and his pajama pants, his hair a delightfully ruffled mess.

"Hey," he called as he walked towards me. "Any idea why the Stolls just came running into my cabin muttering and plotting?"

"Is that not just the base state of Hermes kids?"

"Very funny," he huffed, and I grinned.

"They dumped a bucket of water on Katie's head this morning. I woke up to her screaming bloody vengance, and just managed to catch them before she got her revenge. In the interest of keeping the peace, I gave them all her chore spots in exchange for Katie not attacking them. Then I made sure they knew I wasn't going to get up to save them next time if something happened before nine am."

Luke laughed, pulling me in close for a hug as he finally reached me. I let him, leaning into his chest and sighing in the now-peaceful morning.

"You know they're just going to wait until about five minutes after nine now, right?"

"Yeah."

"As long as you're prepared. Still. That was good work." He pulled back with a smile, then leaned in as if to kiss me. I leaned back, putting a hand on his chest to stop him, and he frowned.

"Kisses are for boyfriends who don't abandon me to deal with his problem-children on my own. At five in the morning."

Luke huffed a laugh before pulling me back into his chest. I let him, although I put up a little resistance just to make my point.

"Hm. I don't suppose there's anything I can do to make it up to you? Get back in your good graces?"

"I don't know, Castellan. Connor and Travis made me run at five in the morning."

"Oh, it's Castellan now, is it?"

"Mhm."

"Alright. What if... I put together an extra-special date for us tonight? Something romantic, relaxing, and maybe even a little magical. Would that get me back in your good graces?"

I hummed pretending to think about it. Luke kissed the top of my head, then pulled back again enough to look me in the eye. He raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

"I guess that might work. Depending on just how relaxing and romantic said date is."

"Oh, I can promise you right now, it'll be the most romantic and the most relaxing. And even better, I'll make sure nobody can interrupt us with camp problems, pranks, or anything else for the rest of the night."

"You really think you can make that happen?" I asked, letting the skepticism creep into my voice. By virtue of being two of the oldest campers who'd also been here close to the longest, we got roped into everything. Luke just grinned back at me, a little bit of his family resemblance to the Stolls creeping through via the glint in his eyes.

"I really think I can."

I grinned, dropping the huffy act and leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

"Well, good. Because after this morning, I need a night like that with my favorite person."

"So I take it I'm at least mostly off the hook?"

"Mostly. All the way if and when we get our peaceful night tonight."

"Can't wait."

We shared a smile, then Luke leaned in to kiss me, and this time I let him. Despite the early hour, the moment alone with the camp so quiet as the sun rose over Long Island Sound was actually pretty nice. After a moment, though, I pulled back, and Luke and I shared a sigh.

"You wanna head to breakfast while we can still get away with sitting at the same table? Before the rest of the campers show up?"

"Always," he said, smiling again and taking my hand in his. The two of us headed off to the dining pavilion together, taking the rare opportunity to enjoy a peaceful morning together. Would I have preferred to still be asleep right now? Sure. But if I couldn't get that, then a nice, quiet morning with Luke wasn't a bad second option.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

Riordanverse: @valkyriepirate

[connabeth]

rick really woke up and said "what if i give the people what they want for once" and gave us grumpy black cat introvert percy and sunshine golden retriever extrovert annabeth we never knew we needed

also no one's talking about how percy made friends with annabeth's college's security guard (Florence or smthn?) so he's the only one allowed to walk in her campus anytime?

also I found a typo in the third chapter where dave was accidentally called paul which I found really funny

1) i’m glad this series is doing justice to annabeth’s personality because she spent so much of pjo & hoo caught in an inner turmoil of hurt and uncertainty and self-loathing and insecurity and fear given the circumstances of luke’s betrayal and percy’s imminent death. in spite of it all, she was still a bastion of hope and light throughout those books, but she deserves to be silly and unburdened by the weight of the world now that she has percy back and there’s no big prophecy (unresolved trauma aside). i think, in her mind, even though new, crazy things keep being thrown at them and she most certainly deals with a latent fear of losing percy at any moment, she’s resolute and confident that they can overcome anything that gets in their way of their dream of going to college and finding peace together because she feels that invigorated and wants it that bad. even if greco-egyptian gods or a triple goddess or a mortal apollo pop up throughout their senior year. i feel like she’s giving herself the freedom to just let go, breathe, be sure everything will be okay in the end, and just be excited about things without drowning in worry for once, which i love. she deserves to feel that childlike enthusiasm she was deprived of for so long. her confidence that they’ll be okay extends to percy being able to complete all his classwork and applications, which in turn reinforces his determination.

2) as for percy, he’s definitely the more outwardly insecure out of the two, mainly because of how his academic prowess pales in comparison to hers and the fact that he feels he doesn’t deserve her and she’s way better than him. percy thinking her SODNYC friends perceive him in the same critical light obviously isn’t helping. it’s evident in the way he’s amazed when he looks at her, disbelieving for a second that she’s his girlfriend, and how he observes her interaction with others more similar to her, feeling like an outsider who can’t understand that part of her brain the way her friends can. it’s even more abundantly clear when he believes “She would always succeed whether I was around or not,” which in theory is a sweet sentiment to have about your very capable girlfriend, but academic and social success aside, she needs him as much as he needs her and she’d see no point in being in california without him. but his insecurities and easy jealousy prevent him from fully understanding this even if he innately knows it’s a universal truth that they’re meant to be together. however, all this being said, percy’s characterization in wottg so far is a little…weird. in order for you to literally pee your pants, something must scare you or catch you off guard really, really bad. so while it makes sense for him to fear a powerful goddess, wetting his boxers seems like an extreme reaction. i know rick was probably just trying to insert immature humor, but the implications are not what he was going for considering this is the boy who didn’t have that reaction staring down titans and giants and nyx and tartarus himself. so forgive me if i think it’s a little insane that percy having such a visceral reaction to a goddess 13 year old hazel fared well against is out of character, even after taking into consideration his fear of not receiving and completing the remaining quests on time. it makes sense for him to be nervous and on edge, given the quiet of the past month, but that amount of fear towards a deity who’s not the most scary thing he’s faced down is an interesting choice since rick isn’t known for realistic depictions of PTSD and that likely isn’t the intention here. it’s also curious how it’s implied even a goddess as primordial as aphrodite caves in to hecate…

3) florence is the goat and i love percy making random friends to help his cause. he doesn’t go out of his way to befriend others in the mortal world unless they approach him first or there’s an opportunity there. and the fact that annabeth can a casually ask her friend to cover for her being gone from her dorm for several days makes me think this is far from the first time she’s snuck out for prolonged periods of time👀

4) this is an INSANE typo to have in a book because clearly not a single person proofread it and it doesn’t surprise me that it got past rick, but becky and several rounds of editors and everyone else in his circle who’s read the book not picking up on it prior to publication is wild. rick is too eager to have his self-insert be everywhere and it shows💀

[lieutenant-teach]

Meeting Cyare’s father (or Anakin Skywalker doesn’t like his new son-in-law very much)

(Anakin doesn’t go Dark, everyone lives, everyone’s happy. No Sequels, rehashed Heir to the Empire instead of the OT. DinLuke, minor Anidala, CodyWan, HanLeia)

Din was really relieved about his helmet on, but then he remembered that the Jedi can feel other people’s emotions. No luck, then.

His cyare’s father’s eyes were trying to burn a hole in his head.

– Let me get it straight, Luke. A Mandalorian bounty hunter. – The voice could cut the stone better than a lightsaber.

– Mum likes him, – Luke was smiling, but Din saw him tensing for a fight. A cybernetic hand squeezed his.

– I didn’t raise my only children to give them away to some criminals, - Skywalker-senior stood up from the couch and started walking back and forth. – First I have to agree to allow my princess marry some smuggler…

– Han did help us to stop Thrawn.

– … and then my son wants to partner a bounty hunter, - Luke’s father wasn’t listening to him, anger coming off him like waves – Din was certain he wasn’t Force-sensitive, but one may not be to feel the Dark Side emanating from Anakin Skywalker at that moment.

Din remembered Luke’s words before ‘meeting with father’s half of the family’: ‘My Dad will become angry, I’m sure – he didn’t react to Han well, too – but don’t worry, he’ll cool down’. The warning rang in his ears when he saw Skywalker-senior for the first time: tall, with a rich mane of greying curls, but still very handsome former Jedi assessed him and made up him mind immediately. ‘Not worthy’. Now they were sitting on the softest couch Din’s ass had ever been on, in the richest living room Din’s eyes ever seen, and ‘officially’ letting Din into a very branchy Skywalker family tree. Or, trying.

– Dad, I’m almost thirty, I can decide for myself. And Din’s a hero of his own – he kept Grogu save and sound, stopped Moff Gideon, and also saved the town of Mos Pelgo from the krayt dragon…

– But a bounty hunter! – Skywalker-senior cried exasperatedly. – And, to add to it, a Mandalorian! It is all your fault, Obi-Wan! – he suddenly turned to Luke’s uncle, quietly watching all this until this moment.

– Wait, why? – the man was older than Luke’s father, gray hair and beard and mischievous twinkle in the eyes. So far he hadn’t said anything, but Luke had said his uncle would be supportive. Now it was time to find out. – My fault Luke fell in love?

– With a Mando! – Skywalker raised his voice. – Who in this family has a thing for Mandos?

– Do not speak about Satine like this, – Obi-Wan’s voice became steely, – and anyway, Cody is not a Mandalorian.

– He is a clone of a Mandalorian!

Din started to lose the thread of the conversation. He even wished he had a Jedi ability to speak telepathically and could ask Luke what the kark was going on. He shifted his head, trying not to be very obvious in his confusion, Luke caught his gaze and shrugged.

– Do you really think I taught Luke… - Luke’s uncle sighed. – We have been here before, Anakin. Luke is an adult, he can think for himself. If he brought young Din Djarin here, then he is certain in him and his own feelings. Did your fits of reality rejection change Leia’s mind?

Luke’s father breathed in and out heavily, clearly holding himself from harsher words, but reluctantly accepting the truth.

– Maybe, you should just talk to Din? – Luke’s uncle didn’t look happy, but so wasn’t Din hearing this suggestion.

‘Let me talk, – Din remembered Luke’s words. – When Dad started being… um… not very nice to Han – critical of sorts – Han started talking back. It escalated, some chairs were flying around, Dad and Leia exchanging angry remarks – Dad said she deserved better, Leia insisted she loved Han – and Han himself wasn’t making everything easier. It took two professional negotiators – Mum and Uncle Obi-Wan – to calm them down. Still, Leia and Han are happily married and have a son. So it’s just an unpleasant procedure you have to endure’.

– Maybe, he would take the helmet off for starters? – Poison in Skywalker’s voice could kill a bantha. No, a herd of banthas.

– I cannot, - Din was glad his voice didn’t tremble. He wasn’t afraid of the man, but watching a family drama, and, worse, being the reason of it didn’t feel well. He didn’t want to cause a rift in Luke’s relationship with his father. – My Creed prohibits me to.

– Veery convenient, - Skywalker smiled a tight and unpleasant smile, ignoring pleading and exasperated eyes of his son. – We’re a family now, you don’t show your face even to your family? Luke, have you seen his face?

– Dad, now it’s rude. Of course, I did. – It was obvious Luke was holding well, but his patience wasn’t infinite, too. – It’s only for immediate members.

Technically, after realizing the existence of different Mandalorian Ways, Din wasn’t sure he couldn’t do that. After all, taking off helmets didn’t make Bo-Katan Kryze or Sabine Wren less Mandalorians. But even if he would – not for this man.

The door slid open, a man quietly entered the room and stood behind Luke’s uncle’s armchair, resting his elbows on the chair back. Could he be Boba Fett’s relative? Because he was a carbon copy of Din’s friend, albeit much older. An intricate scar was winding its way from his temple down around his left eye.

– I am being quite nice! – Skywalker protested, dragging all attention to himself. – I can’t believe Padmé actually said ‘I like this guy, let’s take him in’.

– You know, I agree with you, - the probably-Boba’s-relative suddenly said. Luke’s uncle turned to him with puzzled expression. Luke looked disappointed. – The kids take after their mother in their bad choice of life partners.

Skywalker seemed about to blow up. He grabbed something from his belt that appeared to be a black respiratory mask and pressed it to his nose and mouth. The mechanical labored breathing sounds filled the room, Skywalker was drilling the man with burning eyes.

– Now, Cody, that was harsh, - frankly, to Din’s mind, Luke’s uncle didn’t look apologetic a lot. Luke sighed, his shoulders relaxed.

– I thought you were serious! – he even laughed a little, then gather himself again. – Dad, you do realize your approval or disapproval won’t change anything?

– Unfortunately, - Skywalker’s voice also sounded mechanical. – I believe no one in the galaxy or farther is worthy of my children. – He signed. – I guess I have to work with what we have here. – He shot a look at Cody, who smiled in return, and this smile was ‘I know you know I’m right, and I unashamedly love it’.

– Very well, - Obi-Wan clapped his hands. – Now as everything is settled, - Din clearly heard ‘Anakin is settled’, - we can share some stories and know each other better, right, Din?

Luke looked at Din with shining eyes. Din signed quietly. This look was worth all these awkward minutes.

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 13

Hi, everybody. I hope you all had a pleasent Easter! Now, we continue our story. Threshing is just starting. It's a really short chapter, I'm sorry, guys. :( But I plan to post the next one on Saturday.

There is nothing quite as humbling, or as awe-inspiring, as witnessing Threshing…for those who live through it anyway.

—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

October first is always Threshing.

Monday, Wednesday, or Sunday, it doesn’t matter where it falls on any given year. On the first of October, the first-year cadets of the Riders Quadrant enter the bowl-shaped forested valley to the southwest of the citadel and pray they come out alive.

I will not die today.

I didn’t bother eating this morning, and I pity Ethan, who’s currently heaving up the contents of his stomach against a tree to my right.

A sword is strapped to my back, the hilt jostling against my spine as I bounce, stretching my arms across my chest one at a time.

“Remember to listen here,” Professor Kaori says from in front of the 147 of us here, tapping his chest. “If a dragon has already selected you, they’ll be calling.” He thumps his chest again. “So pay attention to not just your surroundings but your feelings, and go with them.” He grimaces. “And if your feelings are telling you to go in the other direction…listen to that, too.”

“Which one are you going for?” Liam asks quietly.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. At this point, Mira knew she wanted to seek out Teine.

“You memorized the cards, right?” He asks, lifting his brows. “So you know what’s out there?”

“Yes. I just don’t feel connected to any of them.” I shrug. “And what about you? Do you have this ‘feeling’?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He says. “I thought I felt something.”

“Which one was it?” I smile at him. He totally deserves to be chosen.

“One of the reds.” He grins. “I felt strange when you dated with the greens.”

“Hey! It wasn’t a date. I really thought that I’m done for good.” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have called it a date. I don’t want to upset a certain wingleader.” He winks.

“Liam!” I hiss and elbow him in the ribs.

And he just laughs. God, he’s annoying. A little. But I like him.

We’ve only seen professors this morning, but I know the second- and third-year riders are scattered throughout this valley in order to observe.

„If you go in groups, you’re more likely to be incinerated than bonded,” Professor Kaori argues with someone near the center of the valley. “The scribes have run the statistics. You’re better off on your own.”

“And what if we aren’t chosen by dinner?” a man with a short beard to my left asks.

Looking past him, I catch Jack Barlowe running a finger across his neck at Violet. So original. Then Oren, Rio and Tynan flank his sides.

So much for squad loyalty. It’s everyone for themselves today.

I better watch them. They’re a nasty group.

“If you’re not chosen by nightfall, there’s a problem,” Professor Kaori responds, his thick mustache turned down at the ends. “You’ll be brought out by a professor or senior leadership, so don’t give up and think we’ve forgotten about you.” He checks his pocket watch. “Remember to spread out and use every foot of this valley to your advantage. It’s nine, which means they should be flying in any minute now. The only other words I have for you are ‘good luck.’” He nods, sweeping his gaze over the crowd of us with such intensity that I know he’ll be able to re-create this moment in a projection.

Then he leaves, marching up the hill to our right and disappearing into the trees.

My mind whirls. It’s time. I’ll either leave this forest as a rider…or likely never leave.

“Be careful.” Liam pulls me into a hug and he tightens his arms around me.

“You too.” I squeeze him back and am immediately swept into another pair of arms.

“Don’t die!” Ethan orders.

That’s our only goal as what’s left of our squad separates, each heading in our own direction like we’ve been flung apart by centrifugal motion, at the mercy of a spinning wheel.

***

Guessing by the position of the sun, it’s been at least a couple of hours since the dragons flew overhead, landing in the valley in a succession that sounded like thunder and making the earth shake.

I’ve come across two greens, a brown, four oranges, and—

My heart stumbles and my feet freeze to the forest floor as a red steps into my field of vision, its head just under the canopy of enormous trees.

This is not my dragon. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.

I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound as its head sweeps right, then left, and my gaze plummets to the ground as I bow my head.

For the last hour or so, I’ve seen dragons launch into the air with a cadet—now a rider—on their back, but I’ve also seen more than a couple of plumes of smoke, and I have no desire to be one of those.

The dragon huffs a breath, then continues along its path, its daggertail flicking upward and catching one of the lower-hanging branches. The limb falls to the ground with a monstrous crash, and only after the footsteps recede do I finally raise my head.

I’ve now come across every color of dragon, and none of them has spoken to me or given me the sense of connection we’re reportedly supposed to feel.

My stomach sinks. What if I’m one of the cadets who’s destined to never become a rider? One who’s thrown back time and again to restart first year until eventually something puts me on the death roll? Has this all been for nothing?

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be useless. I don’t want to be seperated from my friends.

I feel happy with them. For the first time in my life I feel important. And I don’t want to lose them. Liam. Violet. Ethan. Not even Xaden, despite our strange relationship.

The thought is too heavy to carry.

Maybe if I could just see the valley, then I’d get a feeling like Professor Kaori was talking about.

I spot the nearest climbable tree and get to work, scaling branch after branch. Pretty sure the higher branches aren’t going to support my weight, so I stop about three-quarters to the top and survey the immediate area.

There are a few greens in plain sight to my left, standing out against the fall foliage. Oddly enough, this is the one time of year when oranges, browns, and reds have the highest chance of blending in. I watch the trees for movement and spot a couple more directly south, but there’s no pull, no aching need to head in that direction, which probably means those aren’t mine, either.

Relief hits me embarrassingly hard when I count at least half a dozen first-years wandering aimlessly. I shouldn’t be so happy that they haven’t found their dragons, either, but at least I’m not the only one, which gives me hope.

There’s a clearing to the north, and my eyes narrow as a flash, like a mirror, catches the sun.

Or like a golden dragon.

Guess the little feathertail is still out here appeasing its curiosity.

There’s another movement. There’s a woman with wihitis hair. Violet.

Then I spot three man entering the clearing.

Shit. They must be Jack and his group.

I climb down and keep my footsteps silent and race across the forest floor as fast as I can.

I am thankful I grew up playing hide-and-seek with Violet in the woods. This is one area of expertise I can confidently claim.

The clearing is closer than I realized, so I kick up my speed, my gaze darting between the leaf-covered path I’ve chosen and where I think they are.

The meadow is big enough for ten dragons, ringed by several large trees, but the golden one stands alone in the center, in front of the dragon is Violet.

I was right. The group I saw was Jack’s. They surrounded Violet.

Four man against Violet, and a dragon. Probably a baby if based on it’s size.

I feel my anger rising. I will kill them.

I unsheathe my sword but before I can say anything or take a step, I hear a low threatening voice.

„I would strongly recommend you rethink your actions,” a voice—his voice—demands from across the field.

My scalp prickles as each of our heads swivel in his direction.

Xaden is leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, and behind him, watching with narrowed golden eyes, her fangs exposed, is Sgaeyl, his terrifyingly beautiful navy-blue daggertail.

[notpaloe]

nine years;

i’m sorry that I couldn’t save you;

I spent nearly 2 decades of my life going to church every Sunday with people that go against everything that I look for, just like you did. I was caught off from social media for two years straight just like you were for five months. I barely have acceptance from my family of my gender identity. Just like you did. struggling with my gender, dysphoria, and keeping my GPA at 3.0, just like you did;

so how the fuck am I still alive and you’re not;

my guiltiness stretches farther than ever;

I figured out when I was trans at 14 I was able to move all of my verbally and physically abusive father after two years when I graduated horribly. During my senior year, I went through two suicide attempts. I overdosed on 14 doses of Adderall, and had my stomach pumped to save my life; I am now with my mom still not perfect, but I’m still keeping going for you. You inspired so many people Leelah. Ever since you have a street of the highway you died in named after you. you have four cities in your home state agreed to ban conversion therapy. I was barely 9 when you’re died, I didn’t even know what suicide or LGBTQ in general was back then. Now at 18 I’m an openly, trans woman, and suicide survivor that still deals with these thoughts. I fight every day for you. I’m now in my freshman year of college. I’m in therapy support group called. transbody positive:) I really wish my 18 year old self could save you. I really wish my 18-year-old self new you. I would do anything to bring you back if I could. And this is coming from a stranger that you never met. But I’m continuing to live my life forever in your honor. you deserved better. You will get better. justice. There is never enough justice. we will fight for the day where you can finally get your wish so you can rest in peace. Until then, we fight;

And you’re right, there is no win but I’d rather choose to live my life as a lonelier woman trying to take on a journey to find my happiness;

and since I’ve been with my mom I found a love interest a month later that gives me so much gender euphoria it makes me feel more of a woman that anyone will ever treat me as such. No matter how much I don’t pass or How low my voice is that I hate, I always have them to reaffirm me. I hope you found the man that you love wherever you are. I hope you’re looking down on me smiling, and even if you’re not, I’m looking up at you always;

thank you for existing,

until next time, the transgender queen of hell<3

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The press vs democracy

July 3, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

The media has latched onto the Joe Biden debate performance and has anointed itself as the kingmaker of Democratic politics. They have concluded that Joe Biden is out of touch and unable to focus. They are telling the American people what to believe because—of course—we should believe the press, right? When has the press ever been wrong before? They want Joe Biden out of the race—damn the damage to democracy!

For example, please read the following description of the president and then wait for the reveal at the end:

“For a smart man, President Biden professes to know very little about a great number of things,” said Dana Milbank in The Washington Post. Biden’s problem is not that he’s disengaged; it’s that a lot of his aides are doing lousy jobs, and he won’t fire them. “Those aides seem to tell Biden very little,” said Hendrik Hertzberg in The New Yorker. Peter Baker in The New York Times said, “But if Biden keeps saying, “I didn’t know,” people will begin to wonder “Just how much in charge he really is.”

Sound familiar? It should. It is from an article about President Obama in 2015. See The Week (1/8/15), “Obama: Is the president out of touch? (I replaced “Biden” with “Obama” in the above quotes from the article.)

Here’s my point: The thrashing that the media is giving President Biden was also administered to President Obama. On Tuesday, stories with nearly identical language were circulated among the Trump-curious outlets and then dutifully repeated by major media outlets based on reports from anonymous “senior aides.”

The media is whipping itself into a self-sustaining nuclear reaction of disinformation—because they can smell the increase in profits just over the horizon if they can force Joe Biden out of the race.

As Jason Karsh wrote on Twitter,

The political press seems dug in. The trade-off they seem to want is, ‘Give us a brokered convention—or at least another nominee so we can cover the chaos or we’re going to ignore the Republican effort to end democracy all the way through November. Your choice.’

Karsh’s words hit the mark. Today, the NYTimes wrote about Biden’s challenges and then buried this gem 20 paragraphs into the story:

Mr. Trump, 78, has also shown signs of slipping over the years since he was first elected to the White House. He often confuses names and details and makes statements that are incoherent. He maintains a lighter public schedule than Mr. Biden, does not exercise and repeatedly appeared to fall asleep in the middle of his recent hush money trial. His campaign has released only a three-paragraph health summary. Voters have expressed concern about his age as well, but not to the same degree as Mr. Biden’s.

This is “But her emails” all over again. The Times’ obsessive and unfair coverage of a non-story about emails handed the 2016 election to Trump. The Times now seems hellbent on repeating the same mistake. The Times has not only put its thumb on the scale to disadvantage Trump's opponent (again), but has also removed the scale and said, “Trust us. We know better than you.” The day we surrender our political judgment to the New York Times is the day we lose our democracy.

There is some pushback (noted below), but the fecklessness of Democratic leaders is beginning to hurt Joe Biden. Jamie Raskin was the first to suggest that Joe Biden will “at least” be the keynote speaker (not the nominee) at the Democratic National convention; Nancy Pelosi has had to walk back two sets of clumsy remarks about Joe Biden; Jim Clyburn said he will meet with Joe Biden this weekend to give him “an assessment” of where things stand. And Democratic Rep. Jared Golden of Maine published an op-ed that said Biden will lose, Trump will win, and “I am okay with that.”

Joe Biden deserves better treatment from party leaders, lifelong friends, and congressional colleagues, regardless of their views on his ability to continue. If they have something to say to Joe Biden, they can say it in private. Making qualified, hesitant, or cryptic remarks in public is shabby treatment for the best president of the last 75 years.

But not everyone is giving up. Stuart Stevens wrote a stirring defense of Joe Biden in The Atlantic, The Absurdity of the Dump-Biden Uprising (accessible to all, and I ask you to read the whole article in fairness to Mr. Stevens and The Atlantic after my lengthy quotation below):

Stevens writes,

The Democratic Party held 57 primaries and caucuses; voters in all 50 states, the District of Columbia, and five U.S. territories had their say, as did Democrats abroad. Joe Biden won 87 percent of the total vote. He lost one contest, in American Samoa, to the little-known Jason Palmer. Suddenly, there are cries in the Democratic Party that, as goes a single territorial caucus [American Somoa], so should the nation. I worked in five presidential campaigns for Republicans and helped elect Republican senators and governors in more than half of the country. For decades, I made ads attacking the Democratic Party. But in all those years, I never saw anything as ridiculous as the push  . . . to replace Joe Biden as the Democratic nominee. For many in the party, the event raised genuine concerns about the incumbent’s fitness for a new term. But a president’s record makes a better basis for judgment than a 90-minute broadcast does. Biden has a capable vice president, should he truly become unable to serve. The standard for passing over Democratic voters’ preferred nominee should be extraordinarily high—and has not been met. The fundamental danger of Donald Trump is that he’s an autocrat who refuses to accept the will of the voters. So, [is] the proper response is to throw out millions of votes, dump the overwhelming choice, and replace him with someone selected by a handful of insiders? What will the message be: “Our usurper is better than your usurper”? What is it about the Democratic Party that engenders this kind of self-doubt and fear? At a moment when Democrats’ instinct should mirror what Biden declared in a rally the day after the debate—“When you are knocked down, you get back up”—some in the party are seized by the urge to run, not fight. Think about how this would look: Hey, I guess Donald Trump is right; our guy isn’t fit to be president. We’ll give it another shot. Trust us, we’ll get it right eventually. Madness. Trump is the candidate of chaos, uncertainty, and erratic behavior. Democrats can win a race against him by offering Americans the opposite: steady, calm, and confident leadership. Joe Biden has provided that. His record is arguably the most impressive of any first-term president since World War II. My advice to Democrats: Run on that record; don’t run from one bad debate. Show a little swagger, not timidity. Forget all this Dump Biden nonsense and seize the day. Now is the worst time to flinch. Your country needs strength. You can crush Donald Trump, but only if you fight.

Worth repeating: We can crush Donald Trump, but only if we fight!

In response to the uproar over the debate, Pro Publica published an unedited, twenty-minute interview with Joe Biden from a single camera angle (to prevent claims of misleading editing). The interview took place in September 2023—ten months ago. If you doubt Joe Biden’s competency and want to replace him (even if you don’t), watch the ENTIRE twenty minutes. Joe Biden is smart, coherent, knowledgeable, and truthful. Unedited: ProPublica Interviews President Biden, September 2023. In the interview, President Biden discusses fine points of the Constitution—a document Donald Trump has never read and attempted to overturn on January 6.

To similar effect is Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo, who makes the compelling point that the election is now about Donald Trump and the extraordinary powers granted to the president in Trump v. US:

The election is about Donald Trump and the Supreme Court, the two forces working to overthrow the American republic. That’s the subject. It’s not Joe Biden. So, both substantively and politically it makes all the sense in the world. The Court has done us all the favor of not always being as aware as it might be of the political and electoral dimensions of the justices’ bad acts. Yesterday’s ruling is a helpful if disastrous reminder of what the election is really about.

I also urge you to watch this four-minute video by the Lincoln Project: Democrats: Stop Panicking.

But . . . there are millions of Democrats who believe President Biden should step down. I feel like I have corresponded with most of them over the last four days. After many unsuccessful, pointed, and heated discussions, I am now focused on process and unity. At the end of the day, Democrats must be unified. Tearing the party apart over this discussion is exactly what Donald Trump wants. We can’t give him that gift.

So, here are my observations:

If you want Joe Biden to resign, you should do everything in your power to promote a realistic path to victory. “Joe should resign” is not a path to victory, nor is “An open convention.” Get behind a competitor, play by the rules, and work your ***** for your chosen replacement to emerge as viable candidate to beat Trump. The convention will be too late. That’s a heavy lift, but if you want change, it’s up to you to bring it about.

Don’t demean and belittle Joe Biden in an attempt to convince him, or others, that he should resign. Some readers have made vile, disrespectful, mocking statements about Joe Biden in attempt to dissuade me from my support for Biden. He doesn’t deserve that. And, at least as importantly, if you adopt the tactic of attacking Joe Biden, you offend the millions of Democrats who love and respect Joe Biden, and who have worked their tails off to help elect him. At the end of the day, you need them, and they need you to defeat Trump. Don’t create divisions or grudges in your effort to persuade the party that a different path is the only way to victory.

Don’t attack those of us who believe Joe Biden is the best candidate and only viable option. We disagree with your view. Don’t accuse us of “gaslighting” you or being “rigid” or “unthinking” in our support. We hold our opinions in good faith. At the end of the day, you need us, and we need you to defeat Trump. Don’t create divisions or grudges in your effort to persuade the party that a different path is the only way to victory.

My final plea is this: Don’t let the media tell you what to believe. The media has lined up in lockstep to hound Joe Biden out of his candidacy. Over the last seven years, we have seen with our own eyes that the media is biased, cowardly, greedy, short-sighted, and inaccurate in its coverage of Trump and his opponents. They have not magically put all those faults behind them and suddenly become paragons of truth and justice.

No, they are up to their old, hackneyed attacks—just like the similar attack on Obama in 2015. With very few exceptions, they are in it for the money, clicks, and fame. Do not allow yourself to fall victim to the media’s campaign against Joe Biden and democracy. That is what Trump wants; that is what Fox wants; that is what Rupert Murdoch wants; that is what the WSJ wants; that is what NewsMax wants; that is what Leonard Leo wants;—and sadly, sadly, sadly that is what the New York Times wants.

Make up your own mind, based on everything you know about Joe Biden and apply your common sense about what it takes to run and win the most expensive campaign in history. Polls are not elections; political insiders are not voters; television pundits are entertainers; and the media prioritizes profits over truth and democracy.

Voters will have the final say, so stop obsessing over what the media is saying and work to convince the 80 million “Did Not Vote” voters of 2020 that they must show up in 2024. That is the most productive use of your time.

Heather Cox Richardson on Trump v. US

Many news organizations are attempting to minimize or soft-pedal the implications of the holding in US v. Trump. Heather Cox Richardson gave a tour-de-force smackdown to the GOP spin that “There’s nothing to see here, move along.” See Historian discusses Supreme Court's immunity decision and shift in presidential powers (youtube.com).

HCR’s discussion is six minutes long but worth every minute. I assume 100% of my readers also subscribe to Heather Cox Richardson, but if you don’t, you are missing out on an essential voice defending democracy. Check out HCR’s Substack here: Letters from an American.

MSNBC’s Chris Hayes gets it right

The Supreme Court considered two cases this term that dealt with constitutional provisions that affect the president. The first considered the Disqualification Clause in Section 3 of the 14th Amendment, which prohibited Trump from appearing on the Colorado primary ballot. The second dealt with Trump's defense of presidential immunity.

MSNBC’s Chris Hayes commented on the disparate treatment of those two constitutional questions as follows:

Grimly hilarious to compare the textual foundation for disqualifying Trump for insurrection (right there in the 14th Amendment) and the foundation for absolute criminal immunity for official acts (nowhere to be found in the Constitution despite explicit grants of other forms of immunity).

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[stxuxrniolochris]

fake dating p5- Chris Sturniolo

p1 p2 p3 p4

slow burn ( i think ), your both seniors(18), also i live in Ireland so idk how American like years in school works so just go with it, use of y/n, half based on to all the boys I’ve loved before but not really, highschool!chris

Summary ~~you both need to get peoples attention but you might just end up catching eachothers~~

~~

y/n pov

‘How do you tell your best friend you can’t keep fake dating him because you’re scared you’ve developed actual feelings for him and don’t want to just fake it anymore. You can’t. So you fake break up with them.’

Ever since this conversation with Chris he’s been begging me to keep going. I just couldn’t understand why he wanted to so bad. He got Amelias attention back so what’s the point? Every time I ask why he just shrugs it off and says “I need more time” - like what.

I walk into English and sit myself down beside Chris. He gives me a soft smile and kisses me on the cheek, my face heats up. I need to stop this before it gets too deep. I can’t ruin are friendship over having feelings for him when I know he doesn’t like me back.

I look up at ameila who’s sitting near the top of the class. My eyes trail to her ponytail. My face drops. The scrunchie I wear is everyday in her hair. The one I told him to keep safe. He gave to her. I feel his eyes on mine so I look back, he has a look of guilt in his face.

A few silent minutes pass by. “I’m sorry.” Chris whispers. “Huh” - he exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry I let her take your scrunchie.” Oh yea. That.

“You didn’t let her take it Chris, you gave it to her. And It’s fine I don’t care, it’s just a hair tie.” I sigh. We only share small talk the rest of the class.

-

It’s lunch and Chris finally decided we could go back to our friend’s table. I liked sitting alone with him but I also missed lunch with all my friends. We laughed the whole time. I’d forgotten about the whole ‘inlove with my best friend’ thing. Honestly I I barely talked to Chris the rest of the day.

-

Chris pov

I just got home and I can’t stop thinking about the look on y/ns face when she saw the scrunchie. I feel terrible, i totally forgot she had taken it at the party. She said it’s fine but I know she loves the little things so I knew this was big to her. I get off my bed and walk to matts room, knowing he would have a better idea of what to do than me.

“Come in.” Matt shouts after me knocking on his door for like 5 minutes straight. “What’s up?” He looks up from his game he was playing at his desk. I invite myself to sit on his bed and plop myself down. “I don’t really know.” I admit. “Well then I can’t really help you.” He shrugs. I sigh, “Well it’s y/n. I mean it’s not her it’s me. It’s all just confusing me lately, like I was so sure it’s Amelia who I wanted but the more time I spend with y/n the more I think it might be her. But I can’t say that because I can’t lose are friendship. And she keeps trying to stop the fake dating thing but I can’t go back to being just friends with her. I’ll go insane. And now I’m pretty sure she’s mad at me because i accidentally let Ams take her favourite scrunchie and she barely talked to me after it . And don’t get me wrong I care about Amelia so much still but y/n makes me happy I feel excited to see her, you know?” I rant, telling Matt but also half telling myself.

He just looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Say something please.” I say nervous of how he’s reacting. “Well…” he starts. “I kind of knew you atleast liked y/n like that a little bit, but I think you need to just be honest. You can’t string her along because you’re scared of just being friends with her. And you too are close, even if she doesn’t feel the same you’ll find a way out of it. But she deserves to know, and get her scrunchie back.” He says. I nod slowly. Maybe I should tell her. “But what if she gets weirded out and thinks I’m a creep.” I ask genuinely, but Matt laughs at it. “Chris cmon you’re not a random guy, you’re bestfriends.”

I walk out the house 10 minutes after this. He’s right I need to tell y/n. I’m going in the direction of y/ns house, but I need to do things right. So I take a slight detour before going to her house.

I’m stood in front of Amelia’s house. I take a deep breath before raising my hand to knock on the door. After a few moments she opens the door. “Chris?” She asked confused. I’m silent for a moment not knowing how to go about this. “What your here to beg for me back?” She smirks. My jaw clenches at her cockiness. “No actually… I wanted to come here to say that it’s completely done. I know we’ve been broken up for a while but we can’t keep texting or calling or talking in school. I’m really done with this now.” I explain. She lifts an eyebrow. “Come on Chris it’s fine.” She smiles putting a hand on my shoulder. But I step back letting it fall. “No it’s not. I really like y/n and I’m not going to ruin that. Now give me her hair tie back.” I say with a blank face. She scoffs “If you say so.” And takes the scrunchie out of she hair and handing it to me. “Bye Ameila.” I say and walking away.

People always say that getting over your first love is the hardest. So I thought Amelia would be hard to let go, but I’m realising that y/n was my first love in a way. I loved her first. I was never in a relationship with her, but I loved her first.

Now I’m stood outside my best friends house on Friday night, not knowing what’s about to go down. I take a deep breath, maybe 2 or 3 before knocking on the door. Nervous.

After a short moment she opens it. “Chris?” This is it. I’m telling my best friend I’m in love with them. I’m telling y/n I’m in love with her.

a/n: bit of a cliff hanger sorry

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

If we're gonna do this we gonna do it right!.... Song fic (or headcanon; whatever fits your mood) of Silver & Deuce trying to set Lilia & Mama Spade up for a date; cameo of "Kiss the Girl" moment from the OG Little Mermaid >:3c

[Referencing this unofficial blog event!]

*makes a banner that looks like a little kid bashing two of their dolls’ heads together* I decided to use Lilia’s Clubwear look for the banner since that’s the closest thing to “casual clothes” he has. I also threw in some… guest stars, shall we say, to spice up the situation! Kronk voice) Oh yeah, it’s all coming together 😎

I wrote headcanons again since I'm already working on quite a few longer pieces in the background. I went wild with this one, so I hope you enjoy!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Deuce regularly spoke with his mom over the phone about the recent happenings in their lives. What he didn't expect was for her to announce that she was visiting the town on Sage's Island tomorrow. "I've been improving my computer skills, Deuce!" Dylla told him proudly. "I've been doing that instant messaging thing that's all the rage with you kiddos. I even made myself an online friend! I'm going to meet him in town. I'll come see you afterwards, okay?"

Well, that just sent Deuce into an existential crisis. Sure, his mom was a tough, independent woman that could fend for herself, but he had a tendency to fret for her wellbeing, especially knowing what he put her through in his delinquent phase. What if the "online friend" was a total creep or even someone dangerous? She deserved nothing less than the best company (and anyone that so much as looked at her the wrong way would soon find Deuce coming at them full throttle to slug them in the face).

He can't focus during lectures or on his homework at all. Deuce just keeps fidgeting and pacing back and forth, his thoughts wracked with worry. At some point, he can't contain himself and blurts everything out to Ace (first mistake).

Ace decides to pounce on this opportunity to tease his roomie. "Dude, she's definitely meeting a secret boyfriend for a date. You'd better start preparing lines to kiss ass to your soon-to-be-stepdad."

"MY MOM WOULDN'T DO THAT!! N-Not without telling me about it at least..." Deuce insists--but as irritating as Ace is, his immature jokes only feed the paranoia. Was it possibly true? Was his mom seeing an unknown man, considering bringing him into their family?! Those thoughts swirl in his head and cloud his better judgment when he turns in for the night.

The very next day, Deuce makes a beeline to the town to put his nerves to rest. I'm just going to watch them to make sure nothing weird's going on and that mom stays safe!! He's in such a hurry that he barely registers Ace shouting after him, "It was just a prank, bro! I didn't think you'd actually take it this seriously!", nor the startled Silver (+ a bird friend resting on his shoulder) and angry Sebek that he crashes into.

Right as Sebek starts on a fresh tirade (“Watch where you’re going, human!! Have you no regards for your seniors?!”), Deuce shoves right by him with an, “Aaah, I don’t have time for this! Mom’s in a pinch!!”

"What NERVE, running off while you're being berated for your negligence?! GET BACK HERE, I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU YET!!" (And so Sebek gives chase after him)

"Sebek, wait..." (But he's already long gone, and too frenzied in his pursuit, that he doesn't pay his fellow knight any mind.) "... I wonder what all that was about," Silver sighs. I should follow them to make sure things don't get out of hand.

He's a few steps down the road when he hears someone fast approaching from behind. Who should appear but an out-of-breath Ace. "Hey, Silver-senpai! Did you see Deuce going this way?! Sheesh, can that guy run! Took off so fast, I couldn't keep up..."

"I did. He ran into town, and Sebek after him."

"Great! That's all I needed to know, thanks!" And then Ace, too, is gone. (Silver, pure soul that he is, incorrectly assumes the best of him. If Deuce and Sebek both leave campus without getting the right permissions for it, they could both get in trouble. Ace is so considerate to go and help his friend. He's really living up to the Heartslabyul spirit and creed.)

The four boys eventually find each other again in town (Silver trailing after Ace, Ace tracking down Sebek by his loud voice, and Sebek locating Deuce, who is shadily staring daggers at a pair window shopping).

Sebek’s back to shouting at Deuce, Ace is telling Sebek to can it, and Deuce is ignoring them both. "Who's that guy mom's with?! I can't see too well from this far away, but I can't get any closer in case I'm spotted..." Deuce grumbles to himself.

“Hold up, lemme see!!” Ace nosily butts in, squinting at the duo in the distance. “Huh, it kinda looks like Lilia-senpai from this angle, but I must be wrong... right?”

Silver looks where Deuce and Ace are, and his heart nearly stops. "F-Father?!" The word is out of his mouth before he can reel it back in—Sebek’s face is affixed in horror at the slip, and the Heartslabyul boys absolutely lose it.

“Whaaaat?! I-If your dad is my mom’s date… then… th-then… Silver-senpai and I will become stepbrothers?!”

“Forget that!! What I wanna know is, why does Silver-senpai’s dad look like a carbon copy of Lilia-senpai in a different hairstyle and punkier clothes?!”

“WHAT NONSENSE ARE YOU BLATHERING ON ABOUT NOW?! Hold your tongue, cur! You know not of what you speak!! C-Clearly Silver’s father does NOT resemble our esteemed Lilia-sama in any way, shape, or form!!” Sebek bellowed angrily. “TELL THEM, SILVER!!”

“Er… yes, that’s right. I’m afraid I don’t see the resemblance at all. They are nothing alike."

(The Diasomnia duo had been totally blindsided by this turn of events; when Lilia had told them earlier that he was going to meet up with an online friend, they hadn't expected it, in actuality, to have been a date. Silver had thought Lilia was going to meet his long-time gaming buddy, Gloomy Samurai, in person, not a classmate's MOTHER.)

“Are you both sleeping with your eyes open or something?! That SO totally looks like Lilia-senpai,” Ace protests—but Deuce (bless him) is somehow 100% convinced. In fact, this realization just fuels him even more!!

"We should leave. It would be rude of us to intrude on their private time together," Silver tries to suggest--but no, Deuce won't back down at this point.

"Silver-senpai! ... No, future stepbrother Silver-senpai!!" Deuce says very, VERY seriously, "Don't stop me now! I have to do this....!! I have to make sure your dad's the right man for my mom."

Sebek begins to raise his voice again, but (shockingly) Silver puts an arm in front of him, silencing the first year. Silver's expression turns very fierce, matching the hardness in Deuce's eyes. "I can assure you, my father is a good man. He would never bring harm to, nor disrespect, anyone. I apologize, but I won't allow you to remain suspicious of my father. If he wishes to court another, then that should be his prerogative, and I fully support him."

But like a boulder, Deuce's determination is difficult to shift. "Even if it's you asking me to step down, I won't!! This is important to me. My mom is important to me!!"

Those words seem to strike a chord with Silver, whose features soften. "... I understand. If that's the case, then prove your resolve to me, man to man--and I will demonstrate mine." ("Ohoh!! Silver has thrown down the gauntlet!! What do you say, human?! Do you accept his challenge?!" Sebek cries in the background. Ace eyes the situation warily--how quickly his teasing had spiraled into something serious.)

"I gotchu." Deuce slams a fist into an open palm, grin wicked--his delinquent side coming out. "We'll throw down, get our parents to show off their best attributes to each other."

"It's settled then."

"We'll make their date go smoothly!! That way, we'll see just how much of their good points' come out and if they're suited for each other or not."

"Agreed. It is simple."

"It's so obvious!"

"How did you guys even come to THAT conclusion?! You totally skipped some steps there,” Ace groaned (amidst Sebek's way-too-interested chanting). "You guys rubbed your collective two brain cells and that's the best thing you could come up with?!"

The boys shadow Lilia and Dylla for a few hours, but nothing that interesting happens. It’s mostly them talking and sightseeing (plus the occasional bad pun, which sets Deuce's mom into hysterics), not really doing anything inherently romantic. Ace starts to sweat, realizing the hole he’s dug himself into. If they figure out this was all based on a bad joke, then he’d have an upset Deuce and maybe even Silver and Sebek wailing on him. If he doesn’t turn the tables soon, he might be in a world of hurt.

“Wow, would you look at that! They must be really shy!” Ace hurriedly comments.

“That’s strange. Father isn’t normally like this. He’s very free-spirited. I wonder if something is wrong…”

“Maybe Deuce’s mom is such a bombshell that he’s all tongue-tied!!” Ace elbows Deuce in the ribs, only to earn a slight glare back. “We should try to do something to move things along.”

“… I got nothin’,” Deuce confessed.

“Seriously? Alright, I guess it’s up to me then.”

“JUST A MINUTE,” Sebek thunders. “Who died and made YOU the love expert?! How do we even know we can trust your advice?!”

“Uh, news flash numbskull: I’ve actually had a girlfriend before so I’d know the kind of junk chicks are into! Besides, what would you know? All you ever kiss is Malleus-senpai’s—”

“Do NOT use the Young Master’s name in vain!! It is this exact kind of brash behavior that explains why you’re without a partner now!!” Sebek smirked as he folded his arms. “I, on the other hand, am well-versed in matters of love thanks to Lilia-sama’s mentoring and the romance materials I’ve absorbed in my spare time.”

“Like hell you are! Hearing about it and reading it is totally different from experiencing it in real life!!”

While Ace an Sebek squabble, poor Deuce is trying so hard to brainstorm and Silver’s starting to doze of again. That’s when his head bolts upright from a peck on the cheek. His bird friend peers right into Silver’s eyes as if to say, “Watch this!”

The bird flies off and snatches the cap from Dylla's head. There’s a big commotion as both she and Lilia try to retrieve the hat, but the bird easily avoids them and retreats with them closely following. Silver automatically recognizes where the bird is leading them and urges his classmates to come along.

As he suspects, the love guru bird guides them all to a lagoon far off from the town and teeming with wildlife. It drops Dylla's hat into a small abandoned rowboat by the shore, which Lilia scoops up and replaces on her head. He’s not bothered by the chase—his eyes sparkle with wanderlust, and he mouths something to her, waving at the boat. It’s an invitation to ride out with him, which she agrees to.

Lilia bows like a faithful attendant and gestures for her to step on. She does—wobbles at the instability of the water that the boat is upon, and Lilia swoops in, steadying her and leading her by the hand on.

He goes afterwards, nestling between the oars and startling to propel them to the center of the lake. They grow smaller and smaller, until… “Crap, they’re going to go way too far into the water for us to keep up with them,” Deuce curses. “How are we supposed to give them support like this?”

That's when Sebek gets surprisingly smug and declares that at times like these, one should create the right mood with music! "In the old days, the nobility of Briar Valley would sing sweet serenades to win hearts!! This lake is the perfect location for it, as the still waters will carry voices well." ("Oh yeah? And how are we gonna get them to serenade each other in this day and age, dumbass?" Ace asks cheekily.)

"Simple!" Sebek straightens the lapels on his jacket. "I SHALL BE THE ONE TO PROVIDE THE ROMANTIC AMBIENCE!!" This sends Ace into a laughing fit that hits so hard he doubles over, clutching onto his stomach as Sebek clears his throat, preparing for his performance. Silver quietly slips his hands over his bird friend's ears.

Out on the lake, Lilia's pointing to various constellations in the sky and telling the tales associated with each. Dylla's eyes sparkle as he regales her with the heroic exploits of the demigod Hercules, the firefly that fell in love with a star called Evangeline, the star that brought a puppet to life, the great kings of the past, the second star to the right--named for the boy who never wanted to grow up...

Deuce isn't ready for it when Sebek belts out the first note. It's ear-splittingly loud and scratchy, like a poor animal on its deathbed croaking its last word. The boys collapse to the ground, shielding their poor ears and shouting for Sebek to stop.

Dylla grimaces at the sound. "Did you hear something?" she asks Lilia. He simply claims, "No, nothing."

"You're screwing this up!" Ace hisses at Sebek. "There's gotta be some other way for us to make music."

"Wait, I've got it!!" Deuce says--and with the wave of his magical pen... "Come forth, cauldron!" It lands in front of him with a colossal THUNK, and while the rest of the boys stare, Deuce looks pleased with himself. "It can work as drums!"

"I won't be bested by the likes of a human!! If you're going to play the drums, then... then... THEN I WILL PLAY THE VIOLIN!" Sebek summons the instrument with his own magic, only to be stopped by Ace.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I heard from Epel that you suck at the violin! Can't you pick something else?!"

"THE YOUNG MASTER IS SKILLED AT PLAYING THE STRINGS, SO THAT IS WHAT I, TOO, SHALL PLAY!! I REFUSE TO COMPROMISE ON THIS MATTER!!"

"Tch. You never listen to anyone, do you..." Ace heaves a sigh. "Well, whatever. I'm not about to waste more energy arguing. Just playing the instruments from here won't do much, so I'll use my wind magic to amplify the sound."

“We have percussion, strings, and winds then. All that’s left for a romantic song is… words.” Silver looks at each of his classmates in turn. “I will accept this task, since I’ve yet to be assigned a role. There is one love song I know of from father, so I hope it will suffice.”

The bird on his shoulder tweets, letting the boys know he, too, will lend his help. With the flap of his wings, he takes flight once more, spreading word of their cause to the animals in the surrounding area. They rally like a performance troop, fanning out through the lake and readying for a musical number.

As their discordant song swells up, propelled by Ace's winds, the lake comes to life with sweet birdsong and humming fish. Silver gathers his breath and releases it, singing the words to a song once performed by the friends of a mermaid princess. "There you see her, sitting there across the way..."

"I'm sure I hear something this time," Dylla says, craning her head to look around the lake. "Someone's playing music and... singing?"

"Really? I don't hear it," Lilia says, giving the oars another row. As they pull up from the water, Dylla startles at the frogs that stand upon the oars in a neat line. They look like they've assembled for choir, ribbiting in harmony until Lilia dips the oars back into the lake water.

"Something strange is definitely going on here! How can you not hear it now?" (He shrugs.)

The boat drifts along to an area blanketed by willow trees. Two storks swoop down, parting the leaves for them to enter. When the leaves fall down, they're curtained away from the rest of the world, secluded with one another. There's only each other, and the soft glow of fireflies warming them.

Lilia stops rowing the boat. He checks to make sure the coast is clear, then leans closer to Dylla, a knowing grin at his lips. "Sorry! I didn't want to ruin the boys' fun so I went along with it and pretended to be none the wiser. We should be safe now though--they can't see us thanks to this shroud." He gestures to the willows draped around them.

"My hearing is quite sharp." Lilia cups an ear, as if to demonstrate. "It sounds like Silver, Deuce, and... Ace and Sebek, two of their classmates! Sebek in particular is difficult to not notice--his voice is very loud."

"What are they doing all the way out here?"

Lilia laughs softly. "It seems there's been a bit of a misunderstanding on their part. Someone has convinced them that this--" He waves at the space between them. "--what we have here, is something more."

Dylla face settles into a solemn expression. “Oh no, I’m sorry that Deuce is causing you trouble. He’s probably got it in his head that I'd be happier if I found a new husband and jumped at the first other single parent he knew... Deuce gets overexcited sometimes and doesn’t know when to stop once he’s started. My boy can be as stubborn as a mule, but he shouldn't be putting pressure on you to feel a certain way."

"Don't worry! Silver's doing the very same." Lilia lets his head rest on a shoulder as he looks out at the lake. “I haven’t given much thought to finding a significant other myself. Happiness isn’t inherently tied to marriage after all. It’s something we all seek out and discover for ourselves.”

Dylla finds herself smiling a little at Lilia's words. In all the time she has spoken with him, he's mostly been silly--but he also knows when to pull back and to speak seriously. There's a sense of comfort and security to Lilia.

"It's funny, isn't it? Our children are nearly adults now, yet they're still as innocent as they ever were. They wish for our happiness so much that they've taken it upon themselves to make it a reality. There is a simplicity and a selflessness to that. They mean well, they're just going about it in their own way. We can give them stern talking-tos when we return, no need to get to it now."

"... You're exactly the kind of role model Deuce needs in his life."

"Be careful what you wish for, dear," Lilia says with a wink. "I just might sweep you off your feet. I can't help it if you fall for me, you know? I'm too cute to resist."

"Hahaha, now you're just getting smart with me!" Dylla playfully shoves him in the chest--a little too hard, not recognizing her own strength. Lilia wobbles, the boat wobbling with him. He grips it to steady them both, but they're already teetering, and... SPLOOSH!!

The boat tips over, dumping both Lilia and Dylla in the icy waters. Luckily for them, the lake isn't that deep so while they're sopping wet and shivering, they're still safe.

“Are you okay?” Dylla calls out to Lilia. He responds with a laugh, splashing her with water. It’s a direct hit on her face!! Wiping off the water dripping from her features, she growls, “Alright, I get your game! You wanna play? Then let’s play.”

Back across the lake, the boys’ song had finished. Deuce shades his eyes and gazes at the willow trees. “… How do you think they’re doing in there?” Deuce nervously wonders.

“OBVIOUSLY LIL… Er, I mean, SILVER’S FATHER THAT IS DEFINITELY NOT LILIA-SAMA MUST BE THE CAUSE FOR HER SWOONING!!”

“Man, just say that you think the date’s going well. That’s way too many words for what you actually want to say.”

Silver strains his ears and listens. The soft sounds of nature are punctuated with laughter and squealing beyond the weeping willows. His father, and Mrs. Spade, and the joy they experienced in each other’s company. “I think… we don’t need to worry.”

And so the hectic day ended happily ever after.

[honeyjars-sims]

2.7 Opening Up

Lexie: It’s too bad we got assigned to set design for the first production, but at least we’ll be able to hang out together. 

Johnny: Yeah, it looks like most of the acting roles went to the juniors and seniors. Maybe next year we’ll have better luck.

Lexie: Well, the semester’s just getting started. Who knows what will happen. We could impress them with our sick acting skills and get the leads next time. 

Johnny: [laughing] I support your delusional optimism! Oh, I almost forgot…my mom wanted me to tell you hi and that she enjoyed meeting you.

Lexie: Hmm, that’s nice of her. I guess let her know I said hi as well.

Johnny: [teasingly] You’re not going to say it was nice to meet her too?

Lexie: No comment.

Johnny: I don’t blame you! Honestly, it went better than I was expecting.

Lexie: Really? That's kind of sad.

Johnny: Yeah, unfortunately, that was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my mom. 

Lexie: Well, it really bothered me how she was speaking about you. I kept trying to change the subject, but she’d always end up making some snarky little comment. 

Johnny: I’m used to it, I guess. The thing is, if I’d called her out she’d say I was overreacting. In the past, I would’ve believed her, but now…not so much.

Lexie: Good, because she’s wrong about you. I can’t imagine how it affected you to hear that as a child, or even now.

Johnny: [sighs] I wish I could say that was the worst thing I had to deal with as a kid, but it wasn’t by a long shot. If you don’t mind, I think I’m ready to talk to you about it.

Lexie: Of course. You can tell me anything. Let's go somewhere more private.

TW: The dialogue below includes discussion of child abuse and drug abuse (not graphic but please use your own discretion if this topic is triggering to you).

Johnny: It wasn’t just my mom who treated me badly. It was also her husband, Jimmy. I refuse to call him my stepdad because he wasn’t any kind of parent to me. He was way worse, though. With my mom it’s this kind of passive aggressive backhanded shit, but Jimmy? He was full-on aggressive. Not just with his words, either. 

Lexie: Oh my God, he hurt you? Johnny, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was that bad.

Johnny: Yeah, it was pretty awful. I started having nightmares and I was anxious all the time. I tried to talk to my mom about it, but I was too scared to tell her what was really going on so she thought I was just being dramatic. 

Lexie: Geez, I can’t imagine my parents just brushing me off like that. You must have been terrified.

Johnny: I was. It only got worse when my mom started doing drugs. By that time I was old enough to start fighting back and all the blame fell on me. Jimmy almost convinced mom to send me to military school but then my dads got custody of me and Chantal.

Lexie: Thank God for your dads! 

Johnny: For real, I’m so grateful for them. It’s weird, though…whenever a kid gets away from their abusive family, everyone expects them to be happy about it. No one ever talks about all the mixed emotions. I knew I was better off with my dads, but I still thought about the good times I had with my mom. It was hard to leave her.

Lexie: I think I understand more why you’re still trying to work things out with her. It sounds like the whole situation was really traumatic for you.

Johnny: Yeah, even when I wasn’t talking to her I always had this feeling of “what if?” Like maybe there is a way to fix everything and make it go away.

Lexie: Some things can’t be fixed, no matter how hard you try. I don’t know if your relationship with your mom is one of them, but I hope you’ll recognize when it’s time to let go if it comes to that.

Johnny: I think I will. I’m going to give it more time, but I’m starting to feel like…like I deserve better. I didn’t feel that way before.

Lexie: You deserve so much better, Johnny. You’re so much more than what your mom sees you as. And Jimmy. He better hope I never see him ‘cause I’ll kick him right in the balls!

Johnny: [laughing] Lexie! I’ve never heard you so angry before. I can’t see you doing something like that, you’re too sweet.

Lexie: I’d do it to him! And I’d enjoy watching him suffer. Oh, sorry, I probably shouldn’t be so violent about it. It just really got me worked up. 

Johnny: It’s ok. You’re cute when you’re protective.

Lexie: Well, consider me your bodyguard, then.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[salarta]

Where would you prefer Polaris to be right now and what role would she have (if it's a team)?

First and foremost, my answer to this at any given time depends heavily on who's running things, who's creating things, and their attitudes both toward Lorna specifically and on various things in general. Context is very important.

As I'm responding to this, Tom Brevoort is senior editor of the X-Men comics. He has a history from a decade ago of thinking Lorna doesn't deserve to be Magneto's daughter, coming up with excuses for why she can't be, and misusing his power as editor on the Avengers comics to cut Lorna out of Magnus family work and pretend she has no connection to any of them.

So far, his treatment of Lorna on the X-Men comics has continued to be shit. Basically focusing on nostalgia for sexism from decades ago. And I place the blame squarely on Brevoort for this, especially as senior editor. That's the context that we need to deal with right now.

If Brevoort was willing to not suck, then I would prefer Lorna having a mini or ongoing solo book. There's a hell of a lot of poor treatment across decades to rectify, and tons about her that should be better known and respected. She's long overdue for a solo book, and I would very honestly say the only reason she hasn't received one yet compared to so many other characters comes down to toxic nostalgia and sexism.

Unlike people like Tom Brevoort and Jordan White, I don't have stupidly restrictive ideas of what characters can and can't be deeply ingrained into my psyche from when I was a five year old. I learned Lorna existed as an adult, so I can see the wealth of untapped potential she has that they just flat out refuse to recognize. And I can say with absolute certainty that a solo book of Lorna, pursued with good intention and touching on all the key things (especially Genosha), would sell better than most solos Marvel has put out.

That's the ideal scenario. On to what I would want in the current scenario.

In a scenario where Brevoort still wants to suck, but he's reluctantly willing to give in on some things, the words "dark horse" come to mind. Brevoort's concept for the X-Men books right now is what I call "an old beginning" where he basically wants them to be Saturday morning superhero cartoons. Lorna was never served well in that framework. So if he wants all X-Men books to match that, then Lorna is better off not being on a single book, but appearing in multiple books and cutting against the grain of what's being done on current books.

This is a woman who survived the Genoshan genocide and became much darker and more vicious, due to her deep love of the mutants who were there and pain for their loss. She would not be keen to repeat what she would consider a huge mistake of the past. She'd see current affairs as part of a vicious cycle she needs to break. For that, she would not fit in any single book. She would fit in multiple as, once again, a "dark horse."

Finally, we have what I think is the most likely situation we're in.

Right this second, with what we've already seen of how Brevoort thinks Lorna should be treated, I think Lorna might actually be better off outside of the X-Men books until Brevoort's gone.

As part of the broader Marvel universe, Lorna does not need to be under Brevoort's influence on the X-Men books to have what's important to her as a mutant covered. She can talk about Genosha, about what she's endured as a mutant, all of that while appearing elsewhere.

She's currently on the Scarlet Witch mini, and even with a small amount of panel time there, Orlando's doing good with her. It actually feels like her as she's fighting against Griever alongside Pietro. So aside from what I said before, it would also afford her more opportunity to do things with Wanda and Pietro, and hopefully at some point have her be involved in undoing the retcon on the twins' parentage.

Next year is the 20th anniversary of House of M. That's proven popular broadly. This would be a good time for her to just spend more time with her family. Build up better dynamics with them.

That's all I've got for now.

[astrobolical]

When the truth spills forth-

Content Warnings: Pining, Alhaitham’s version of fluff, Kaveh’s obliviousness, mentions of their history

I wasn't sure if I was gonna post character x character, but here we go. Why not?

I adore these two, especially Kaveh, and think they deserve the world. We all know they’re married even if they don’t know it (Alhaitham does, Kaveh might not).

Living with one’s heart on their sleeve, laying their emotions bare for the world to see, it was something incomprehensible to Alhaitham. What benefits could it bring? What could it do but bring you troubles and eventual pain? Yet Kaveh was exactly that, brilliant, bright yet incredibly transparent. Almost unbearably.

His eyes told the world his truth, no matter what he tried to hide. It was tiresome to witness, Alhaitham could only imagine it was exhausting to exist in such a state. Kaveh persevered, however, regardless of how haphazard that perseverance was. Every step he took forward held the danger of tumbling back down the rocks he’d dragged himself from. He’d come so far, yet it was clear how much he was truly trying to balance, and the impact it had on the architect.

Alhaitham knew that their situation was only contributing to Kaveh’s unfortunate circumstances, for reasons far beyond the scribe’s control. No matter what he said or did, Kaveh would see the world in a vastly different way than himself. Alhaitham, contrary to his roommate’s belief, was happy with their arrangement. It had become his norm, an expectation to come home to Kaveh fussing over some new decoration, hearing his chastising and endless complaints. As blunt as Alhaitham was in return, it was never out of malice. 

He’d always cared about Kaveh, in his own way. Even in the past when they’d gone their separate ways— what he’d said had been the truth, spoken only to try to make Kaveh see reason, see how the way he was going would end in his detriment. Softened blows or flimsy words were not Alhaitham’s forte, he had always been brutally honest with Kaveh regardless of the consequences— perhaps more honest than he is with anybody else. 

While he could walk away from the majority of people within Sumeru without a second thought, Kaveh was someone who held a value he couldn’t measure. To Alhaitham Kaveh was something to ground him, keep him thinking, and surprise him at every turn. Kaveh was everything Alhaitham was not, just as he was everything Kaveh was not. A balance that was uniquely them. Something that couldn’t be replaced, something that Alhaitham had no desire to lose, even if Kaveh was blind to it.

Just like when he’d spoken his truth all those years ago, Alhaitham had been there again for Kaveh when he was needed. Despite the distance between them, the unyielding silence that had persisted. Alhaitham’s home had become Kaveh’s, despite his senior’s protests. Though it had begun as a way to keep his senior’s head above the proverbial water, Alhaitham had quickly come to adjust to their situation. Faster than anyone in Sumeru would likely believe given his reputation. 

The noises he would normally drown out were welcomed when they were Kaveh. His space being invaded was only okay when it was Kaveh. 

It was simply because it was Kaveh.

But he knew that if he voiced this to the architect he’d freeze. His mind would go into overdrive, working to its breaking point and creating problems that didn’t exist. He’d find a way to blame himself for a misfortune he didn’t cause. He’d burn away internally until he couldn’t withstand it anymore, succumbing to his own negativity and self doubt, and he, inevitably, would flee the situation in a vain attempt to make the situation ‘better’. 

So the scribe remained quiet about the way he felt, keeping his actions subtle, behind the scenes. He continued to chastise and speak bluntly with Kaveh as he always did-- just a tiny bit more forethought to his words so that he didn’t give Kaveh too much to think on.

In some ways, Kaveh was like a skittish desert fox. Eager, curious-- oddly adorable-- yet incredibly easy to frighten, startle or deter. 

If it was anyone else, Alhaitham would have declared them not worth his time and efforts, left them behind to continue their lives without him… but this wasn’t anyone else. 

So he lived, ignoring his growing affections, keeping the same distance that Kaveh seemed to need. When he’d find himself covering a sleeping Kaveh, passed out on his desk, with a blanket he resisted the urge to press a kiss to the top of his head, to indulge in the impulses he held deep down. Because if Kaveh knew, he feared that Kaveh would choose to leave. 

So when he returned home and was greeted with the sight of boxes in the entryway Alhaitham’s first reaction was fear. His normally rational mind, ever-calm and logical gave way to the feelings deep in his chest-- surely Kaveh hadn’t found a place so suddenly? Why? Alhaitham grit his teeth, his jaw clenched as he made his way by the boxes, he could hear Kaveh deeper within the house and he made his way there without a moment’s hesitation.

Kaveh’s room was in disarray, furniture moved about and out of place, the architect standing in the middle going through drawers that hadn’t been opened in months. “Kaveh?” He questioned, leaning in the doorway. His expression gave away nothing of his internal turmoil, stoic and calm as always.

“Oh.” Kaveh looked up, almost sheepishly as he looked around at the mess. “I didn’t think you’d be home so soon. Don’t worry, this will be packed up soon and you’ll have your precious space back.” He spoke more calmly than Alhaitham anticipated, expecting a level of defensiveness over his actions-- Kaveh would never truly apologize to the scribe, nor would he bring himself to thank him for anything he does. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

“Why?” 

The question left his lips with the same brashness as the day he’d destroyed their friendship, but Kaveh just looked at him, a confused expression settled on his face before he rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Come on, it's not like I need to explain myself here.” 

His back turned he began to go through the drawer he’d been looking into again, ignoring Alhaitham’s stiffened form in the doorway. Alhaitham’s mind worked quickly, almost in a panic as he debated what to say. I think you do. You’re just going to leave like this? Can you even afford the place you’ve found long-term?

But he bit them all back, instead stepping forward and making his way through the room. He felt too warm, his heart racing against his chest. “Are you just going to stand there all evening?” Kaveh quipped, never turning to look at Alhaitham again-- perhaps if he had Alhaitham could have better controlled what he did next. Stopped his hands from reaching out, stopped his arms from encircling around Kaveh’s shoulders that rapidly stiffened. Stopped himself from pressing his forehead to the man’s hair. “What are you doing?!” Kaveh’s own hands found his forearms, confusedly pressing against the offending appendages that gently held him.

“Stay.” He breathed, feeling overwhelmed by his own movements, like the room was too warm, their bodies too close but yet not close enough. The truth he’d hidden for so long edging dangerously close to the ledge, teetering towards the dangerous abyss of making it known, letting it out into the world and risking it all coming crashing down. “Stay.” He repeated, for once unsure what else he could possibly say.

“Wha- What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?!” Kaveh was stiff in his arms, but his protests were light, clearly more perplexed than anything, not that Alhaitham could blame him. He, too, wasn’t sure what he was doing. “What do you mean ‘stay’?!” He grumbled. 

“Don’t leave.”

“I got that! Don’t leave where, Alhaitham?” Kaveh’s voice was becoming higher in pitch, cracking in the middle of his sentence.

“Here. Don’t move.” Alhaitham didn’t dare to let go-- he’d trapped his skittish fox within his arms, and if he let go now he was sure he would flee to hide within the sands. “Don’t leave.” 

There was a tense moment of silence between the two men before the architect finally wriggled free of the younger’s grasp, turning to face him before he realized how little space was truly between them. Instead he was face to face with a solemn looking Alhaitham, his back trapped against the dresser he’d been emptying. 

His eyes were wide, his face as red as the fabric he wore and Alhaitham knew he didn’t want to go back to coming home to an empty house. He couldn’t return to a time before their tentative reconciliation. 

Kaveh’s mouth opened, but no sound escaped, instead he closed it once again, eyes averting to look anywhere but his roommate. The silence was palpable, tension growing between them in a way they’d never experienced before. “Where did that even come from?” He finally muttered, bringing his arm up and shielding his blushing face with his hand, as if the red didn’t peek through, moving back towards his ears. 

“I want you to stay here.” Alhaitham reiterated, despite the unknown situation, how little he’d thought this one through. How unlike him this was. “I know you feel like you’re a burden to me, but I want you here, Kaveh.” 

“W-what the hell? Come on, Alhaitham quit joking around--” 

“I’m not joking.” He closed the distance between them more, barely a breath apart, almost close enough for Kaveh to feel his racing heart. He reached towards the hand that covered his roommate’s face, pulling it away and looking him square in his ruby eyes. “Kaveh, you don’t need to leave. Please.” 

“Alha--” 

“Kaveh.” He interrupted, leaning down just enough so their noses touched. “I…” 

All the days of silence, protecting Kaveh’s peace of mind in his own way. Withholding the truth that would send the architect running. Everything he’d held in came rushing forward as he was faced with the reality of Kaveh leaving. It was a reality he knew could happen, he’d expected it to come up now and then, but somehow with it being so real in front of him it was frightening. Every carefully hidden gesture, every snide remark covering a look of endearment, everything was coming undone in just a few moments. 

Alhaitham knew there was no returning from this, no turning back from what he’d begun. He could only hope and pray that Kaveh could handle his truth. That his skittish fox would find a way to not blame himself for this somehow. To not hate himself. To accept the truth for what it was.

“I love you.” 

Kaveh’s mouth was agape, eyes wider than before, breath coming out in ragged puffs as he undoubtedly fought down whatever panic was rising in his own chest. Sputters of attempted responses left his lips but formed no words. The distance between them was filled with nothing but silence and an inexplicable static-- like a spark waiting to ignite something further. 

“You-” He whispered, voice failing once again. “You… you can’t be serious... Don’t make a joke of something like this, I thought you… that you’d be better than that!” 

He moved to leave, to flee just as Alhaitham knew he would, but the scribe gripped his shoulders. “I’m not joking, Kaveh. I’m being serious.” 

Watery red eyes met turquoise, as if searching for any hint of a lie from the man who was holding him. Yet from the expressions on his face Alhaitham knew that the reality of his words was beginning to settle in. “What the hell…” Kaveh murmured, looking away when he was seemingly satisfied. “That’s not fair at all…” 

“Not fair?” Althaitham questioned, voice low, trying to keep himself calm, to retain a sense of logical reasoning, to keep himself steady in the revelation of what he’d just done. 

“You always just say whatever you want, it’s not fair.” Kaveh huffed, pushing against his shoulders in a vain attempt to gain some space. 

“Is there something you want to say to me…? Just say it.” Alhaitham dared not to let himself hope, he’d long since accepted that his feelings were one sided, that there was little to no chance to repair what he’d broken in the past, let alone further it. “Just say what you want to say.” 

“It’s not fair!” Kaveh whimpered, biting his lip. “Even things like this you say so casually.” Kaveh stopped his pushing, instead Alhaitham was shocked as the blonde moved forward, resting his forehead on Alhaitham’s shoulder in defeat. “Even something I should have said first.”

Alhaitham hugged Kaveh close, long hair tickling his nose as he nuzzled his face as close as he could manage. Quickly discarding his headset when they hindered how close he could get. It felt like a dream, like he’d wake at any moment and find himself back to square one waiting for this day to come again where he’d face losing Kaveh. The only person he could bring himself to have this close, to invade his space, to hold. 

They remained like that for a long, restless minute. Only the sounds of Kaveh’s hands gripping onto Alhaitham’s clothes, of his little whimpers as he let himself be overwhelmed with the situation. The thundering pulse of Alhaitham’s racing heart in his own ears. 

“So… you’ll stay?” He questioned, barely willing to break the quiet atmosphere between them, the calm in the midst of whatever storm they’d begun. 

At this Kaveh did push him back, abruptly and far more roughly than his initial attempts. Alhaitham could see the tear stains on his cheeks, how red his eyes had become and the watery shimmer of tears still threatening to fall. “I wasn’t leaving! You moron!” He hiccuped, gesturing wildly to the messy room. “I was going to put things in storage!” 

Alhaitham blinked, slowly, as the words settled in his mind. “What about the boxes in the entryway?” 

Kaveh glared at him as he wiped away his lingering tears, and Alhaitham felt relieved--it was still the Kaveh he knew, things hadn’t entirely blown up like he’d worried about. “They’re for you. God knows you could do some spring cleaning.”

Alhaitham nearly laughed, a breathy huff escaping him at the sheer audacity of the situation. “Ridiculous.” He muttered, ignoring the indignant retort Kaveh threw back his way in favour of bringing him back into his arms. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“And yet you… love me.” Kaveh whispered, his nose just barely missing Alhaitham’s at their new proximity. 

Alhaitham didn’t bother to answer vocally, simply staring with the same, bored gaze he always gave the architect. It earned him a smack to the shoulder and a huffy, embarrassed man in his arms. “...I… love you, too.” 

Alhaitham was the one to breach the shallow distance between them, pressing a chaste kiss to Kaveh’s lips, enjoying the noise of surprise that graced his ears as he pulled away. Adoring the way that Kaveh chased the sensation. Alhaitham denied him the press of his lips, a smirk on his face. “Well, shall we do some ‘spring cleaning’ then?” 

“You’re an ass.” Kaveh groaned, but didn’t protest-- if Alhiatham really was willing to help him with the daunting task of cleaning their home, he surely wasn’t going to argue the point. 

They laxed back into a comfortable rhythm, if a little tense with that spark that remained between them. Perhaps remaining a little too close to one another, their skin brushing more than they ever would have allowed before.

Some things had surely begun to change, but Alhaitham felt relieved to know that his truth was shared with Kaveh, and that the two of them would work through whatever turmoil faced them in the future. Together. 

[sunskate]

Skate Ontario August Sectionals RD:

at the boards- Sheri Moir and Cara Moir for IAMO, Benjamin Brisebois for IAM, Mitch Islam, Carol Lane, Paul Macintosh and more

Juniors- Layla and Alex need to manifest drawing later numbers in the skate order lol at Next Gen they skated 3rd, here they skated 1st - it didn't matter that much here (it did a little - judge 7 Rhonda Vanderveen gave them 4.75 in skating skills - huh?), but in bigger competitions, skating this early can change your ranking bc judges are more conservative at the start

they look good, the reversed pattern is still a challenge like it was last season. they have beautiful skating quality but are losing points there. they're both so strong, and it shows in the elements - somehow when she's in the air - not talking the big lift, but other moments in the choreo - maybe it’s timing? but they maybe display less ease in that than other aspects. they're leading, but they probably deserve to be further ahead

Liv Corneil/Alex Emery from IAMO have progressed a lot in their skating and unison - they look like an IAMO team - their contact with the ice has more depth to it. they had T calls at the starts of both parts of the pattern, but they were one of the few teams who were truly on the beat for much of the paso. they're in 5th

the two IAMO teams were the only ones today with level 4 twizzles

i like the two Mariposa teams - Summer Homick/Nicholas Buelow are brand new and have gelled quickly. he's talented, partners well, and she's taking to dance quickly considering she was a pairs skater til earlier this year. this outing of the RD was more solid than at Next Gen. Martins/Kowalczyk had more difficulty today but rallied. looking forward to seeing their tango FD tomorrow. Mitch Islam looked like he was stalking the boards and dancing with them

Caroline Kravets/Aiden Dotzert are another new team - they made a big improvement over July sectionals, like they'd worked out the flow of the program more. they're in 3rd. Paul Macintosh is one of their coaches

Seniors- omg this was enjoyable lol Lily and Nathan!! i keep looking for the archived video because i want to see this again - this was hot. they look confident and like they attacked this. they're skating and performing bigger. what is it when these teams are carving big ice with deep edges - once they get their levels too, watch out

it's really interesting seeing them side by side with Bashynska/Beaumont - because they did get level 3s in the MiSt and PSt

but i noticed that B/B have these hitches in their program where Nadiia has to pretty much stop her flow - she's a dancer with a lot of training but loses her carriage at times. he does not lose his. i think it's a partnering issue, where she's having to compromise to follow him at her own expense, and he could be taking better care of her. that's my take on it today. because after noticing that about B/B, it looked pretty clear how Lily and Nathan skate more as one, and there are no hitches. they're more balanced and in tune with each other. so they need their levels! lol i know it's easier said than done. B/B and H/L are in 1st and 2nd

i adore Leia and Pietro's RD - it's so charming and full of details that are perfect with the music and the lyrics. i want the whole crowd to yell Tequila at the right moment for them, can we give them that? they nicked the boards and had a fall, but they're in 3rd

Alisa Korneva/Kieran MacDonald are newly senior and did great here. nice program, really good music cut - another Kitchener/Waterloo team with Paul Macintosh. i think Kieran's mom is one of their coaches. nice skating. though there was an off balance moment where it looked like her hand was going to go in front of his skates. idk maybe she wasn't that close, but oof

Alyssa Robinson/Jacob Portz - they had twizzle issues today, but they have one of the best of the many Saturday Night Fever RDs - they're capturing the 70s flavor well among all these disco programs. and i want to see their lift again

both Ritter/Brykalov and Roberts/Alis had new costumes since Lake Placid, Shilling and Baeten- i want to tell him not to stop performing before the very end. i'm so curious who did the choreo for all these programs - they all have good stuff and seem well considered for each team

[writer-darling]

Are You Ever Dreaming of Me?

Chapter 1: Bad Blood

I NEVER USE Y/N OR ANYTHING LIKE IT THANK YOU SO MUCH :)

Rating: T - TEENS ((for now, but there WILL BE explicit stuff later sooo (18+ MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x F!Reader

Warnings: Good old enemies-to-lovers trope. age gap (10 years). Nothing super descriptive for Reader but they are described as having hair. Tension, ofc, especially sexual tension out the wahzoo. Adult language. Mentions of food and eating but nothing descriptive. Alotta feelings and things of that nature. Banter. Fighting. Insults, Flirting. It’s E-to-L, you know where this is going. Smoking (herbal cigarettes). A teensy bit of man-handling. Feral Ezra (he’s about at 68.9% in this chapter). If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 4k

Summary!: As I said in the warnings: It’s Enemies to Lovers, y’all. Reader’s joined Ezra’s crew on some forsaken planet as a prospector rookie fresh out of the academy, while he’s a seasoned veteran. She hates him, he hates her. And chaos ensues.

A/N: REWRITTEN & REFORMATTED ON: 12/24/23

******

“Remember when you tried to write me off? (Haha)

Remember when you thought I'd take a loss?”

“If we hold that equivalent exchange persists in this space then we must give something of ourselves in order to build something new, in order to purge the bowels of this fecund wood for treasures made our own. Some of us have the proclivity for greatness while most do not. And those ambitious masses are the sacrifice this forest demands so that the true diviners can stand atop the mountain of corpses and claim their riches.”

You roll your eyes at the prospector’s monologuing, even as the other prospectors on your crew talk with him animatedly in agreement with his words. This is the second time today Ezra’s simple talking has pissed you off. The first was in the dining tent during breakfast when he went on a whole spiel about how “mercoy berries are better than mugwort root for sedation because they are 20 times more potent when digested with a shot of cider due to a chemical compound mixture present in both!” for a whole 15 minutes. 

You two didn’t get along when he talked - which was basically every minute of the day - and even in his very rare moments of silence he managed to tick you off one way or another. Still, there was something truly remarkable about the way he spoke. An itch that constantly made you want to shove a fistful of dirt down his throat.

“What is it, rookie? Are you afraid of the work it will take? The risk that it will fail?” He asks, his voice dripping with disdain as he calls you a rookie. He knew your name, just as you knew his, but neither of you referred to each other directly other than ‘vet’ and ‘rookie’, both of those terms full of contempt.

You're no stranger to hard work - you grew up in a prospecting town, for Kevvasake - but it's just something about the way he speaks to you that gets under your skin. Like he thinks he can talk you around to doing what he wants. Like you're just some cog in his machine.

 Not to mention the fact that he’s just an overall cocky bastard. You scoff at him and meet his eyes with a narrowed gaze of your own. But you don’t let this back-and-forth make you stop as you carefully extract another gem from its sack, then carefully place it in the case along with your other earnings of the morning.

“How about you quit yammering and get back to work, vet?” You say with a hard stare as you continue working, prompting the other men around to refocus on the task at hand. Ezra glares back at you, his lips pressed together into an angry line.

“You will speak to your elders with the respect they deserve.” He speaks in a low tone of warning, his hand balling into a fist at his side.

“Hmm, you’re only - what - about 30 years my senior based on looks, and we’re the same rank so no, I don’t think I will.” He’s clearly not 30 years older than you, probably more like 10, but you can tell it irritates him when you directly call him ‘old.’

“Respect does not come with rank, and do not act otherwise,” He spits back. “I have learned more about this world than you will ever even see, rook. You are just an entitled child and your attitude will be the downfall of this operation. That I promise you.” He retorts back and you notice the other men taking interest in your exchange. You look at them, then at him, stopping your work fully now and crossing your arms over your chest, spurred on by both his response and the attention of the other workers around you.

“Oh, I’m the ‘entitled one’?” You scoff again. “Not you who goes around speaking like he knows more than any of us, who acts like he’s better just because he has experience?” You ask, unafraid of calling him out. It was true after all; he constantly paraded around like he was superior to all of you, even those who were just as skilled as him.

Ezra stares you down for a long moment, the two of you locked in a battle of wills. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he calculates his next move. He's never been the type to back down from a fight and you know it's only a matter of time before he says something that escalates things further. But then there’s a shift in his eyes as he takes a breath.

“Are you finished?” He asks in a deadly calm voice. You can see the anger in his eyes, and it makes you smirk as you drop your arms from their defensive stance.

“No, but I’ll save my comments for the sake of work.” You respond with a small smile that clearly doesn’t reach your eyes as you glare at him right after.

“Wise,” he replies, his voice dripping with contempt. He takes a deep breath and turns away from you before beginning to speak to one of your crewmates.

He avoids looking at you directly for the remainder of the shift, but you can feel his gaze on you as he watches you from the corner of his eye. You know there will be consequences for this later. You’re not afraid of him though. You two tend to get into these petty arguments all the time, so much so that it’s part of your routine now. Just like prospecting, it’s something you’re used to, something you know the ins and outs of. If he was really interested in killing you for these petty squabbles, he would’ve done it a long time ago. No real rivals would stand for even an ounce of disrespect out here, especially in front of the other crew members. It was a sign of weakness, seen as pathetic. Which tells you that he must either be really forgiving or really into this. You’re not quite sure what to make of either one of those conclusions.

What happens next seems to follow your typical pattern. It’s all a cycle now: you and Ezra fight, both of you get increasingly bitter, and eventually, you call a temporary truce to get the work done. Your pride can't handle backing down from a fight, and his can't take the shame of losing. It's a routine you both have fallen into from the very beginning.  

At the end of the day, you head to your tent only to drop off your earnings and get out of your suit. After a good shower, you feel refreshed and cool. This leaves you in just your black longjohns before you head straight to the giant dining tent, your mind hyper-fixated on your hunger as you watch the suns begin to set.

The tents are the only shelter you’ve got. There are 40 square-foot ones for each prospector, though those who are friends or companions share if they don't mind the lack of space or privacy. Those 15 structures are packed relatively close together in a semi-circle amongst the trees. Then, there’s the dining tent on the other side of camp, a 200 square feet structure where everyone can dine comfortably enough, again if a bit cramped. At the heart of the camp is the watchtower you all built to keep guard night after night, one or two prospectors taking shifts. Other than that, it’s all trees and bushes and foliage. No buildings or manmade structures for yards, though you know there’s a system of caves a good 3 miles to the east.

Thankfully, though, none of it is a huge issue. This planet is relatively habitable, at least compared to other planets you’ve visited and studied. You all can actually roam around without the suits and helmets for a good while, though you still wear them out on the digs as protection against the elements and as armor against potential danger. 

Your eyes scan the dining tent as you enter. You see a total of 23 prospectors sitting together in small clusters throughout the space, exchanging stories and laughs. Some of them acknowledge your entrance with a smile or a nod your way, but most keep their attention on their conversations and their food. You’re civil with the men, and you know they mostly respect you now that you've proven yourself capable as a prospector, but you’ve made sure not to ‘make friends’, something relatively easy for you to do out here. You’re far older than most rookies, as most are between the ages of 20 to 25 fresh out of the Academy, so you know that gives some of them pause. But, they don’t need to know exactly what you know, given your advantages of growing up knowing the tricks of the trade.

You get into the serving line and grab your grub, piling plenty onto your tray before leaving the tent and sitting a few feet away, not wanting to go back to your own tent just yet. You’re about to eat when you spot Ezra stopping with his own tray a few yards farther away, also dressed down, though he’s in sweats and a t-shirt. His eyes meet yours and he smirks even as his eyes show clear resentment, nodding at you. You scowl and simply nod once, trying to direct your attention back to your meal. You both begin to eat precisely at the same time and even that small and organic coincidence irritates you.

All too soon, your eyes meet once more and there's just that same, hateful stare between you two. All still a part of your routine with him. You try to focus on your food, but the longer he stares, the more you feel your temper rising again. 

It’s been that way since you first joined their crew as a new rookie only four and a half months ago, so his request for you to respect him wasn’t completely unwarranted, even if it did bother you. He’s a skilled veteran, even when compared to you. If the crew’s talk is anything to go by, he had been advanced in his learning at the Academy, having graduated at just 18. And that just irritates you further. Because out here, that matters more than anything, and he’s treated with a certain superiority because of his skill level and experience by the other crew members. Aside from you, of course.

“What?” You snap at him as you eat, feeling hot under his stare, but you attribute that to your irritation.

“Oh, nothing. Just admirin’ the view, rookie,” he says plainly, his lips pursed into an insincere half-smile. He's trying to goad you into action again and he's doing a good job of hiding it. As the only woman on the crew, you're used to men making lewd comments. They're never as subtle as Ezra is though, and you can tell he's getting a kick out of ticking you off. You roll your eyes.

“How about you take a picture then, it’ll last longer?” You say, even as your cheeks go very slightly flustered at his words. Ezra breaks out into laughter, a deep and belly-shaking sound that you've never heard from him before. He wipes his eyes and takes a sip of his canteen, his laughter finally dying down. 

"That actually got a laugh out of me, not gonna lie," He confesses. "I'll have to remember that one." His demeanor is almost different. He's more relaxed, his shoulders unhunched. He doesn’t say anything else and you eventually go back to your food, even as he continues to watch you, eating his own food across from you, silently. You’ve noticed that in him. When you two are around the men, he takes on a more hostile, macho bravado but in these rare moments when you two are alone, he lets that fall away. It’s almost as frustrating as the man himself.

You’re determined not to snap at him again. So you ignore him instead, watching the suns leave their final rays behind as they disappear into the horizon line to the west. But now you’re finishing up and you glance at him. The two of you exchange another long look, but this time it's not as hostile. It’s actually kind of… peaceful. Then you remember your place quickly and glare at him, scoffing under your breath.

"Ya know, you're not as bad as I give ya credit for, rook," Ezra says after a few more moments of silence. He pushes his plate to the side and pulls an herbal cigarette from the breast pocket of his shirt. You watch him with a puzzled look. Where in Kevva’s name did he get contraband from? You know your boss considers him a second-in-command, but would he really let him get away with contraband out here? You want to ask him but he speaks again, "Don't tell the crew, but I think there's still a chance for us to be friends." His face is a stark contrast compared to the scowls and glares he's often shot you in the past. He gives you a wry half-smile as he lights his cigarette with the lighter on his multitool.

You bark out a laugh. “Like I’d ever be friends with you.” You respond with another glare

"See? This is why we don't get along. You're stubborn to a fault and you'll be the death of us all," Ezra gestures to you with the cigarette held between his index and middle fingers, shaking his head. He takes a drag from it and blows a thick cloud of smoke out towards the horizon. You don’t respond. After all, he’s partially right. You are stubborn, but you’re not ashamed of that fact. It’s how you got here, and you’re proud of it. His features become unreadable as he continues, 

"And yet... I still see somethin’ in you, despite your numerous flaws...” He adds, his expression suddenly pensive. He shrugs lightly with a small smile. “Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment." There’s a sudden shift when he says that last bit that makes you pause. His tone was almost… flirtatious? But it was incredibly subtle. You almost missed it. Still, it’s not enough to deter you. 

“Well, at least I’m not a prideful pompous ass who can’t get a grip on reality and blames others instead of his own ego on his lack of ‘friends’.” You retort and stand up to leave, leaving your food tray. Ezra looks taken aback by your statement at first, but he quickly recovers and stands to his feet as well, leaving his too. He takes another long drag from his cigarette before tossing it out onto the forest floor, crushing it under his boot. He starts to follow after you, saying something that you don't quite catch before he trails off into the distance. You're almost to your tent when you think you hear him mutter it again under his breath,

"Starflower..." You freeze. Your body pricks up at the name. You’ve heard it before but only once. It was a pet name you’ve heard used affectionately on the planet Ezra’s from. You turn slowly, your eyes narrowed again at him.

“What did you call me?” You ask. Ezra stops in his tracks and turns to face you. His hands are up, but only a little, as if to show you he’s not here to fight. His features are still relaxed, though there's a hint of something deeper, more serious behind his eyes.

"You heard me," he says calmly, taking a step towards you. "But if you need me to repeat it, I can." You narrow your eyes at him again and your own fingers brush your holster.

“Call me that again…” You start and take a step towards him, just one, in warning. “And you’ll lose your head, vet.” You say, your voice cold. A part of you isn’t entirely sure why you’re acting this way. You’ve been called way worse out here on expeditions. Other terms of endearment like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘princess’ from these other jagoffs don’t really bother you. But something about the way he says that… something about the way it rolls off of his tongue. It’s making your blood boil.

"Starflower..." Ezra repeats, taking another step towards you. He raises an eyebrow and gives you a cocky smile, daring you to do your worst. He reaches out and grabs your wrist, his grip impossibly firm but not enough to hurt you. He brings his face close to yours, close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek. He speaks again. "Try me, rookie. I dare you." His voice is low and quiet.

You make a sound of surprise at his actions. Your eyes widen slightly as he leans in towards you and you don’t know how to feel at his sudden proximity. 

“Get your filthy hands off of me.” You warn.

“Make me." Ezra's voice is low. He brings his face even closer to yours, your lips only inches apart. His grasp on your wrist tightens only slightly as if he’s making it clear his intention is not to actually harm you. You can feel his hot breath on your cheek, his gaze unwavering. There’s a sudden shift in the air. And there’s something in his eyes that you notice, something you don’t think you’ve seen before. It’s an intensity in his gaze that you’re now positive you’ve never seen before. And for the first time since you’ve met him, you feel a slight flutter in your stomach as your eyes search his.

The silence between you two stretches on as neither one of you dares to move or speak or even breathe it seems. The longer he holds you like this, the longer you become aware of various things about him you had never bothered to notice before. Like the amber flecks in his deep brown eyes, the way his bottom lip is so much fuller than his top lip. The faded moon-shaped scar that curves down his cheek towards his jawline, just under his right eye. The way his facial hair has a heart-shaped patch on that same side of his jaw, right next to his chin. Things you’ve only noticed now that he’s here up close. You can also smell the herbal cigarette on his breath. A heady mix of juniper, lavender, and peppermint. You’re surprised that it’s not a totally unappealing smell. It’s actually… kind of nice.

You’re only partially aware of his eyes scanning your face as if doing the same to you. He now notices the exact color of your own eyes. The exact outline of your mouth, the furrow between your brows. His gaze seems to soften as he looks at you. 

And just as he seems to let his guard down, you move. 

You react fast, pushing him off of you, the suddenness and forcefulness with which you move causing him to release you, and he further moves back a couple of feet. You grab your thrower and aim it, panting. You’re not sure if it’s from the panic of earlier or his actions. Ezra steps back and holds his hands up in surrender, though his eyes remain locked onto yours. He seems strangely unconcerned about the fact that you're pointing a weapon at him. A slight grin plays at the corner of his lips and you swear he's enjoying this. You've seen him calm in tense situations before, but never quite like this. It almost seems like he's savoring the moment. He takes another slow step back, his hands still raised. He doesn't say anything, but his smile grows broader as he meets your gaze.

“This is your last warning, vet. Back. Off.” You say, your face red. Kevvasake, why can’t you stop thinking about what just happened? This is the clearest warning yet. You don’t actually want to hurt him, but you won’t hesitate if you have to.

Ezra remains silent, his eyes boring into yours as you keep your weapon trained on him. He takes a final step backward, his face still calm and relaxed. He shows you the back of his hands as if to say, "See? No weapons." But you know it's all an act, he's got multiple throwing knives concealed about his person, just like any good prospector should. He's enjoying the tension, he's living for it. The look in his eye is one of pure thrill. You would never say it out loud, but you feel the same. The tension, the thrill, the spontaneity of it all. It’s addicting. And you hate it. You scoff and holster your thrower. You know he’d never hurt you. You roll your eyes at him again. 

“Right.” Ezra nods in approval, the corner of his mouth curling just enough to show a hint of a playful smirk. A brief thought crosses your mind, a thought you know you shouldn't allow to take root, but that somehow manages to anyway. Why do you not hate him? He's arrogant, he's egotistical, he goes out of his way to be insufferably rude. And yet, you can't help but be drawn in by his charm and confidence. Why do you let him get to you? What is it about him that makes you want to come back? You feel a shiver go down your spine at that but don’t let it get to you.

“Are you done?” You ask, stealing his own line from earlier to once again call up that temporary truce between you two. Your voice is less hostile than it was moments ago, but still not anywhere near friendly.

“For now,” he says with a smirk. The way his voice holds the same playful tone as before makes your blood heat and your face go flush. He takes a step closer again, closing the distance between the two of you. His face is inches from yours, his eyes trained on yours as he reaches up one hand, hesitating. Your eyes zero in on his hand in mid-air, a mixture of conflicting emotions running through you. You can’t help but feel your heart flutter at the almost touch. His hand falls away and you suddenly become aware that your breath is now shallow. Did he want to touch you? An even more important question follows: did you want him to touch you? You shake it off, doing your best to ignore your racing heart. You step away from him, feeling suddenly breathless.

“Well, fine, good night, Ezra.” You say pointedly and quickly scan the area, wondering if anyone out here saw. However, you two are still thankfully alone. You turn to head into your tent. Ezra gives you one last smile before his features return to their customary scowl as he heads toward his tent. Once you make it inside, you wait a few moments with bated breath, as if he will come back. But the only remainder of him is the scent of juniper, lavender, and mint in the night air.

You toss and turn on your cot for several hours as you ponder what happened tonight. You've had your fair share of run-ins with the prospector, but none of them have ever ended with such an intensity of emotion. Something's different this time, you just don't know what it is quite yet.

Sudden realization strikes you like a bolt of lightning from the clear night sky.

You don't hate Ezra.

You like him.

Kevvasake.

******

Wake up, I had another idea when I was very sleep deprived! So, this is probably gonna be a series (don’t ask me how long, you all know I never plan ahead) BUT, I’ve got about 3 chapters written out already and I’ll probably update within the next week/week and a half. Let me know what you all think of this, I realize now this is my first time doing E-to-L and so I might totally suck at this haha. Anyway, that’s it, thanks a million, hope you all enjoyed, and see you in the next one!

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Read Chapter 2: Clean!