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soulwillower · 4 years

Text

boyfriend stuff • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: PLEASE FAKE DATING TO LOVERS WITH RICHIE PLEASE A WHOLE FIC PLEASE MORE

warnings: swearing, fluff, mentions of sex, a bit of drinking, family members, richie has a little sis!! and i believe that is it but as always its unedited

[losers + reader are in college]

sorry i haven’t been posting much but i have this fic for u guys, hope u like it!

6k words yowza

♡

"you said what?!" you hiss, your stomach swirling, jaw dropped as the wind whips your hair around. richie's grinning, but it's not his usual up-to-something grin. much more of an i'm-sorry-i-ran-my-mouth-again kind of smile, but it's still richie's, so it's impossible to stay annoyed.

"well shit, doll. you know how i am! and it was my grandma, i couldn't let her down. she is crazy." he says with a shrug, his hand pushing back his wild curls as you glare up at him in his stupid striped shirt and awful, annoying, angelic face.

you scoff, crossing your arms as your eyes flick to behind richie, taking in the law library and some kids playing hackey-sack on the quad. birds chirp in the distance. "c'mon, toots. you can play my girlfriend for a few days, right?" he asks gently, making you look back to him, gazing into his hopeful expression.

you're silent as a warm breeze flutters around you and you weigh your options - honestly, what could go wrong by going to your friend's grandma's house and pretending to be his girlfriend for a bit?

"how far is the drive?" you ask sharply.

"yes, baby! i knew i could count on you." he yelps, scooping you in his arms and making you yelp, rolling your eyes. "i didn't actually commit to fake-dating you yet, richie. unless you pay me."

"100 bucks, kid." he says, holding your shoulders. you gape at him, "what? do you seriously need to convince your grandma and the rest of your family that you're dating someone that much?" you ask, eyes wide and a smile curling onto your lips.

this boy was ridiculous.

he launches into a story about how his grandma is super weird - nice, but oddly suspicious; like (as he puts it) red-scare mccarthy type suspicious, which doesn't do much to help his case with you.

he then lists on his fingers the reasons he needed a girlfriend and continued to insist, "y/n/n, look at me. nobody's going to believe that i'm single. i'm way too gorgeous." you roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

"-plus, you're the only friend i have that is hot enough and tolerant enough to pass as my girl for a whole weekend. i would ask stan the man, but i already mentioned that it was specifically a lady-lover of mine, and i can't put stan through a weekend of bra stuffing on top of faking' it with me."

you scoff at his absurdity, following him as he walks towards his dorm and weighing your options. "we have to stay with your batshit grandma, tozier? and you're really gonna do all that boyfriend stuff?"

he just laughs, tilting his head up so the sun glints on his forehead and you have to tear your eyes away before you get too attached to the sight of him.

"oh, of course i am toots. i can't wait to treat you like you deserve, babe. plus, it's a small house. we'll be sharing a room, though." he mutters, slinging a heavy arm around you and giving you icy butterflies that thrash in your ribcage. you groan, "come on, richie. i'm only doing this out of the goodness of my heart." you mutter, shaking your head as he sweeps the door to his building open and wiggles his brows. "and i have to share a bed with you?"

"you can curse my momma for bein' so liberal." he says with a shake of his head, "you'll love her, though. she's excited to meet my girlfriend."

you fake a gag.

somehow, a week later, you're pulling yourself out of richie's beat up cherokee and sighing at the heat outside, watching as richie unfolds his body to his full height and sweeps an arm towards the quaint house across the street. you walk to his side of the car and shake your head, trying not to think of the pressure of acting like a good girlfriend for the next two and a half days.

the drive back to richie's hometown was just as you'd expected a road trip with richie would be - cherry cola, loud music, a/c on blast as the summer warmth whips around his car on the outside, and a briefly awkward lay out of rules for the two of you to follow.

"well what about, like, rules?" you ask, feet balanced on the dashboard. he looks over to you, smirking as he hums along to the radio as it plays quietly. "well, like, what about them?" he asks, smacking his mouth and fake twirling his hair like a valley girl. you hide a giggle behind a glare.

"i'm serious, rich." but your smile gives way to your playful manner as you toss a chip at him. it hits his shoulder and he smirks - you're distracted, then, by how the faint morning glow hits his eyelashes, how his side-profile is sharp and angular but somehow also soft and subdued.

his hair is scruffy and placed perfectly as if he'd just rolled out of bed - though you know it took him a few minutes to make it look that way. he's wearing his stupid black corduroy pants and a long sleeve shirt that looks so soft you might melt and his lips are quirked into a wry smile.

richie's eyes are bright and teasing as ever, even on this early morning, and his teeth toy with his pink lips as he grins. you smile to yourself as you stare, because richie tozier is an artwork.

"y/n/n?" he asks softly, shooting you a soft look that really makes your fingertips tingle as you reach for your coffee. had he been speaking to you? you clear your throat, "richie, eyes on the road."

he chuckles but obeys, turning to look forwards, and you feel your heartbeat relax slightly. "okay. what about touching?" you reiterate as he keeps glancing at you, making you flush and your stomach thrash in tickle.

"you know i'm all for it." he wiggles his eyebrows and you scoff, shaking your head and pressing your lips together to keep down a smile. he's too much."-for real, though. what are you comfortable with? i can do any of that boyfriend stuff." he says, mimicking your words from the week before when you'd agreed to come, and you turn red again for nearly no reason.

you shrug. "well, touching is fine...but don't you think.... er- i mean, maybe kissing is just... a little weird? i don’t know." you ask, your stomach fluttering. you're not totally sure why, or you just don't want to address it, but you think that kissing richie might make things... different for you.

you ignore the feeling as richie nods. "yeah, i mean it’s not like my parents are gonna try and make us lock lips in front of them anyways." he mutters, making you roll your eyes, smiling out the window as the countryside flashes by in splashes of green and yellow.

"right, kid. you ready?" richie's voice calls you to look at him with a smile. "guess so." you shrug, your breath mixing with the warm afternoon air. the front door of the house creaks open from across the yard and richie turns to you, smiling devilishly and holding your bag in his hand.

"quick, they're coming. kiss me." he says with a lopsided grin. your stomach dips and you huff, "ew, no!"

he looks at you with a grin as you continue, "-you just had funyuns! that's so gross." you say, shoving his face as he tries to lean closer to you, making kissy faces. you can't help yourself from giggling as he smiles, "do it! c'mon, toots. plant one on me." "no, rich!" you squeal with another laugh, shoving him as he beams down at you. slowly, he pulls you into his chest and you lay your head, wrapping your arms around him. the proximity of your bodies takes your breath away as you breathe in the faint scent of mint, strawberry and cigarettes. it makes you relax almost completely and you're unsure when these feelings with richie started, but you're suddenly hyperaware of them and you think you might be in some real trouble.

"let's do this, y/n/n."

you'd expected meeting richie's family to be the most stressful part of your day, but it went so smoothly you were almost concerned.

his mom was taller than you but still shorter than him, and when he lifted her up in greeting it made your heart swell. next was his grandma, who was quite short and had curly gray hair. she hugged you and kissed your cheek and you immediately felt welcome as you met them.

then not shortly after, a fiery bullet with a black dress and light - up sneakers came barreling full speed at richie, making you blink as he yelled, "munch!" and lifted the girl up.

you met his little sister, who he insisted you call "munch," through a shy wave and a grin as she had her arms looped and face buried in his neck.

and then you smiled and pretended not to feel anything as you watched him tickle her and kiss her forehead.

throughout the day, it is physically painful for you to watch richie with his family. really, it is.

you know richie tozier. the boy who falls asleep at the library and drools on his textbook, the boy who ties people's shoelaces together at parties when he's just entered that drunken stage of "pranky richie." he's the dumbass who fell out the window of bill's dorm and into the bushes, the kid who was a huge nerd yet incessantly boasted about his 'very high' body count (which, by the way, you did not believe). he was the loud person at every party, the kind who drew people in out of admiration, fascination or loathing, he was the boy who got the highest gpa and also the highest amount of parking violations and speeding tickets.

but here, at home...

god, richie was incredible. he had a whole other side to him that fit in perfectly, like a missing piece to a puzzle that you didn't even know was incomplete. he spent as much time with his sister, munch, as he could - singing to her, brushing and braiding her hair, teasing her relentlessly, and making snacks for the three of you.

he even wore a tiara and a tutu when munch insisted you have a tea party - and he steeped real tea (which tasted like shit because he did not know how to steep tea), even getting out his grandma's fancy cups.

the way he treated munch was honestly the nail in the coffin for you, because the one thing you expected richie to be bad at was interacting with young kids. like, he swears like a sailor, is always bouncing around, rarely goes a day without a cigarette, and just all around seems like he'd prefer the company of an average-aged joe. but he is full of surprises, as you've learned.

it took almost six hours of driving to get to his grandma's house, none of which richie allowed you to drive, despite your insistence. so after a quick catnap, you'd spent the entire day exploring the house, playing games, and getting to know munch and the rest of his family. and so now, before bed, richie was upstairs showering while you were sitting downstairs at the kitchen table with his grandma and his sister.

you were left to your own wits with his family, which wasn't too bad, but you're nervous you're going to slip up.

"you are just such a lovely young woman, aren't you?" his grandma asks, sipping on her bailey's. you laugh, shrugging your shoulders. "you're too kind, really. you guys are just easy to be around." you say with a smile.

"now i just wonder, what made you settle with richie?" she asks, lifting a brow. you choke on the last gulp of your own bailey's, the warmth going straight to your stomach and the alcohol right to the head. you decide to go the joke route.

"i have no idea, i mean. have you seen those awful shirts?" you say with a snort. his grandma laughs sweetly, sipping again and seemingly forgetting the problem so you pull at your collar, willing for richie to come rescue you.

speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"-hey, you can't judge my life choices, y/n/n, because you are one of them." he says with a grin, drawing you into the crook of his shoulder. "the best one, might i add."

you flush but just roll your eyes, knowing that it's just for show, but secretly yearning for that to be true.

he groans."can you at least pretend you think i'm charming?" richie whines, "that costs extra." you say, then suddenly your eyes snap to richie's as you realize what you've said.

"costs?" his grandma asks, looking confused. you clear your throat, "o-oh, i..."

"she owes me gas money." "he owes me money for food."

you stare at each other - fuck. that's kind of awkward. richie's grandma hums in suspicion and your mouth feels dry.

richie suddenly guffaws loudly, shaking your shoulders as he nods. "well aren't we the cutest, y/n/n? okay, let's get you off to bed now." he rushes, shitty excuse doing nothing to fix the situation as he tugs your arm so you rise from the stool, then places your empty mug in the sink. he kisses his grandma on the cheek and hurries you upstairs, towards the guest bedroom where you're both staying.

the next day was when you really realized that richie tozier never stopped fidgeting. he was an anxious person inherently, so you understood this mixed with his adhd led him to tapping fingers, humming and bouncing his legs.

earlier, he'd had his arm secured around your waist (a foreign yet welcoming sensation) as you'd eaten dinner with his family. he was shaking his leg so aggressively that the table was vibrating and you loved it - you loved the uncomfortable but understanding looks on everyone's faces. you loved that they loved richie just as you did, you loved that they accepted him and teased him and hugged him and joked with him and listened to him like you did.

"what're you thinking' about?" he'd asked into your ear, loud enough that the others had definitely heard. his grin was nearly audible and you smile, looking into his warm eyes, "just you." you'd said simply, with a shrug. and as the words left your mouth, you realized you weren't even putting on a show, or ‘faking it' for his family.

you just really, really liked richie.

shit.

so now, it was well after richie's sister had gone to sleep and the rest of the family was up drinking, listening to music and telling stories. you really were enjoying all the embarrassing stories that fell from maggie's lips, her brain and body being well into a bottle of chardonnay and being more and more humiliating as the clock ticked on.

"-and he was- what was he, dear, seven?" she asks, hand falling onto wentworth's thigh. richie groans, "mom, stop. this isn't even funny."

you nudge him, "speak for yourself."

richie scowls then, leaning back against the awful floral pattern of the couch and pulling you into his side. you smile as you nuzzle into his chest, listening to his wild heartbeat as maggie laughs, "oh, rich. we're just teasing you because we love you."

you nod and giggle as he sticks his tongue out at her. his grandma speaks up, "how did you two kids meet?"

she sounds almost angry, and you're not sure why, so you laugh a little into your sleeve as richie leans up a bit as if preparing for a bullshit speech.

"well y/n was friends with bill first, you know. bill, mike, and her had a class together, and i always heard about y/n this, oh y/n that." richie starts. you smile as you watch him talk, recognizing that it really is the way you met. you'd figured he would just make something up.

"-but anyways, this one time, she came into the dorm because she thought bill would be there. it was just me, though. i was working on some homework or something, and she-she just looked amazing. seriously, i sounded like bill when i introduced myself because i stuttered so much." maggie shakes her head at that, but richie plows through, "and god, ma, she's so smart, she was so sweet i swear i almost got cavities just from talkin' to her for ten minutes. i have never been more star struck in my life, dad. i swear." he says, shaking his head. "later, after y/n left, bill told me he did it intentionally. the little wingman he is, tried to get us to hang out because he knew i'd fall head over heels in love. who couldn't?" he ends, smiling gently at you and brushing his hand on your cheek.

oh.

you feel yourself flush and then you smile at the carpet, your hand rising to grab richie's and lace them together. you didn't know how damn thick tozier could lay it on - boy did he know how to woo a girl. even if it's all fake.

"meant to be, huh?" wentworth says, and you look from him to richie's grandma, then to richie. "guess so." you say quietly, leaning up to quickly peck richie's cheek and then telling yourself it's just for show in front of his family. it isn't.

it was only 15 minutes later that richie decided it was time to retire to the bed, insisting you come with him - but you know it’s because he’s getting very embarrassed. it was cute to see him flustered for a change.

"goodnight!" you call, waving to maggie and went as they raise their glasses at the two of you, maggie with a knowing glint in her eye.

you both walk in content silence until you get into your bedroom.

the music still plays downstairs, a melody of piano and guitar and maybe a quartet wafting up through the vents and creating an eerily romantic ambiance. slowly and wordlessly, richie puts his hands on your waist and hums nonsense as he sways the two of you.

without thinking, you melt into his touch and smile.

you wind your arms around his neck as you move with him, his meaningless humming setting your heart into overdrive - or, perhaps, it's because of the proximity to the boy in front of you.

"rich, nobody's here to see us." it's whispered, because you really don't want to pull away or to have him realize that this isn't what friends do, because you like it. a lot.

"i know." he says it so softly, you barely hear it. but it's there, the words are out in the open, and you like the way they fall over the air in the room like they're meant to be there. the soft light of the single lamp, the ugly floral wallpaper, the smell of richie.

"isn't it nice, though?" he adds, almost like an afterthought. you grin down at the carpet below you, your eyes taking in his striped socks, his feet absolutely dwarfing yours as you move back and forth gently.

"yeah, it really is." you whisper back, lifting your head up to watch his owl-eyes as they stare back at you, his chewed lips parted as small puffs of breath fall out, his nose splattered with freckles that you can make out from the proximity. he smells like chocolate and that damn mint smell again

"richie..." you start, your eyes trained on his lips as you slowly feel yourself leaning closer to him. he looks frozen, his eyes now changing from wide to almost hooded as he stares down at you.

you wonder if he's afraid to move, because he's stopped swaying you and now his thumbs are rubbing circles into your side, slipping under your top and yeah, that's definitely new but it's amazing and you wonder if it's such a bad thing for you to want all this stuff with richie.

and to want more.

"yeah babe?" he asks and your brain marvels at how natural and unceremoniously the pet word falls from his lips, as if that really was your name.

but then - be it fear, shame, or anxiety - you mumble out the words, shaking your head. "did bill really try to set us up? l-like, was that all true?" you say with an awkward smile. you just clear your throat, eyes not focusing on richie as if you're looking for something, anything to occupy your mind because you can physically feel the tension and it's suffocating you.

"yeah." he says simply after a couple moments, arms still wrapped around you. you're now too nervous to look at him because he'll see how pleased you are, how happy it makes you that people want you and richie to be together. "all of it was real." he says and his voice sounds so honest, so genuine and so raw that you smile bashfully, looking at him shyly.

"oh, cool." you mutter quietly, fingers playing with the fabric on his chest. he chuckles and his chest shakes with the noise as he pulls you even closer to him. his fingers rise softly to cup your chin and he tilts your head so you're looking in to each other's eyes.

richie is staring at you with a sincerity that you swear you've never seen before; his gaze on yours makes you hear a soft guitar melody, makes you feel weightless and completely full at the same time, makes you taste adventure and strawberries.

his lips are parting and if he were to speak to you right now, you're completely confident that you would not comprehend a single one of his words because you're too caught up in him. he's making you see pale pinks and blues and lilac and you swear you want to stay the subject of his gaze forever and ever, just you and him and the world outside this room.

"cool, hm? cool is all i get, baby?" he asks softly, and the only reason you hear it at all is because you feel his breath on your lips and even though you said 'no kissing,' that was a lie - you think you might want to feel his lips on yours forever. your eyes fall shut as you grip his shirt collar, smelling his stupid strawberry 3-in-1 wash as you lean in closer.

and his lips brush yours so faintly that you swear it's like a kiss from a fairy; there and gone so quickly you aren't sure if it ever happened in the first place-

"-jesus, munch!" richie suddenly yelps, scaring you and himself as he jumps slightly, leaning away from you.

you look down, eyes opening to see richie's sleepy sister staring up at you two with wide eyes, her hand clutching richie's leg. "why are you up, kid?" he asks softly, kneeling to her height, hands leaving you. your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you try to catch your breathing, your fingers brushing your lips as you watch richie. did that just happen?

munch whispers into richie's ear, looking to the floor afterwards and you smile, loving how different the siblings are in personality and how sweetly richie treats her.

richie looks to you with a bashful grin of his own, his cheeks glowing pink and making your heart flutter because at least he felt slightly the same way you felt right now.

"munch wants you to read her a story." he says, shrugging lightly, "you don't have to if you don't want to." he adds, his hand rubbing her head as she hugs his leg. you smile, "n-no, i'd love to."

richie rubs munch's cheek, "lead the way, kiddo." richie loops his arm around your waist softly as you follow her to her room, and you are pretty damn sure it's not just for show.

it took about ten minutes for her to fall back asleep, nestled in a mound of stuffed animals, blankets, and an old shirt of richie's that he'd left behind when he went to school.

your own eyes droop as you lean your head onto richie's shoulder from where the two of you rest against the wall, stretched on the edge of her bed, and the last thing you remember is smiling at munch's sleeping figure before it's all blank.

you wake up again with a start as you hear a thudding noise - your eyes are bleary and dry, your back and neck kinked in the worst way and you groan a bit as you stir and lift your head. you look around and richie is standing in front of you, arm outstretched. wordlessly, you grab his hand and pull yourself to your wobbly legs as you look at his sister's sleeping body.

you're so exhausted and thrown off that you just follow richie wordlessly into your room and pull off your jeans, putting on shorts before flopping onto the bed next to richie in the dark.

"g'night." he mumbles sleepily as he wraps a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you closer so he can reach over you to put his glasses on the nightstand. he falls back onto the pillow with a tired huff and you're already half asleep but you can't help your heart from picking up speed as a pair of lips press softly to your hairline.

you fall asleep this time feeling warm and comfortable, the feeling of his lips burning on your forehead sweetly.

when you wake the next day richie’s already gone, the space next to you cold and empty.

after getting ready, you pad down to the main floor to find everyone outside, munch and richie splashing around in the pool in the backyard. you're excited to see they've set up a lunch outside in the shade under the tree and you decide to go put on your swimsuit just as richie walks in.

"mornin' sugar." he grins, walking over to the kitchen sink. you snort, looking at the clock on the oven: 11:18.

"hey, sorry i slept so late." you mumble, your stomach filling with butterflies as he smiles genuinely at you. your eyes trail over his bare chest, dripping with water droplets as he breathes slowly. your mind flashes back to last night, and you shake your head, jabbing your thumb behind you. "um, i should go put on my suit." you feel awkward.

he hums, pushing off the counter, "i'll walk with you."

you frown as he does, nervous about being alone with him again. you're being a fucking dumbass, sure, but he makes you nervous in the most delicious way and you can't help but picture his lips fully on yours. it's a terrifying thought, honestly.

"my grandma is being weird today, i think she's onto it because she said we were just really good frien-" richie mutters as you walk the hall and you cut him off, frustrated with his paranoia for no reason.

"rich, why does it even matter if she suspects us? it's not like she knows for sure." you try to reason, your hands falling on to his arms to halt his stride.

he’d just mentioned his grandma’s offhand comment about how close of friends you seem to be. maybe it was nothing, or maybe she didn't believe you. why did it even matter?

he shakes his head, eyes wide. "because that's fucking embarrassing for me! i have feelings, you know." he defends.

you roll your eyes - you knew damn well richie had feelings. this was getting to be so stupid, this whole thing was pointless - because you know that you've just fallen in love with richie for real and made things ten times harder for the two of you.

"of course you do, rich, but we-"

the noise of footfall in the hallway to your left sends you both into a panic for no entirely good reason, so you tug him closer towards you with wide eyes. his hands catch himself on the wall on either side of you, his breath fanning on your face.

why are you so panicky and jumpy? "did they hear us?" richie whispers frantically, head turning to look and see who was coming towards you.

so instead of responding, for some reason your brain insists you act like a fool and draw his lips to yours. your hands cup his jaw as you press your lips to his, the feeling sending your stomach through loops and your brain fuzzy.

holy shit, this was exactly what you told yourself not to do. shit.

just as you pull back slightly, intending only for the kiss to be a chaste peck, richie's hands are on your body and he's pressing you against the wall, deepening the kiss as he tilts your head to deepen it.

you're caught off guard, eyes wide as you throw your hands around his neck, kissing him fervently. your eyes close and his tongue prods your lip, taking your fucking breath away.

he tastes like sugary lemonade and you think you're melting, spiraling and falling deeper as you open your mouth. you almost moan out at the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, sliding your tongue against him just as a throat clears.

you both pull back, alarmed even though you knew this was going to happen - but you're more alarmed at what the fuck richie just did than at his grandma staring at you.

yeah, his grandma catching you kissing was sort of a huge victory in the 'selling the fake relationship' department, but it’s also a huge bummer for your 'pride and self-confidence' department.

“shouldn't you two be outside?” she says, a small smile on her lips. you let out a quick breath, unable to fucking speak after what just happened. you faintly think you can hear richie saying something to her and then she’s shaking her head with a smile and walking towards the backyard. you blink, your fingers still hovering over your tingling lips. then, you snap out of it and turn to richie. as you shove him up the stairs, you yelp, "if you ever kiss me like that again-"

"oh, shut up, you liked it!" he fights back as he turns toward the room you're sharing and lifts a brow, "you opened your mouth for tongue-" he starts but you screech, rushing through the doorframe and shutting the door a little to loudly, "i did not!" you hiss, shoving his shoulders and hiding your smile.

he stares at you, a grin on his face and eyes teasing. "-then why'd you lick mine when i stuck it in your mouth?" he’s shrugging. you want to punch him in embarrassment because holy shit, is this not a big deal to him?

your eyes widen and you scrunch your face, "god, you're disgusting, just-" you sigh, shaking your head.

your heart is thumping wildly in your chest and you have to physically hold your hands down by your sides so you don't reach up and tug at the stray curl on richie's forehead.

"doll, all i'm sayin' is that was a good practice kiss." he shrugs again.

right. it was for practice.

he speaks up again and you swear he’s giving you a headache. "hey, i mean...since we're here, should we practice sleeping together too?" you turn bright at his words. "richard!" he giggles as you slap his shoulders and he mutters, "-yeah, no, i was kidding, sugar. damn, baby." he mutters, shaking his head with a grin so bright you can't help but share it. “i mean, technically we already did, last night and the night before. but that’s not the kind of sleepin’ i was talking about-“

you cut him off with a stern look and an elbow to the gut and he has the audacity to fucking giggle.

your stomach tosses and flips itself sick inside of you at the sound and you sigh, giving him a look as he grins. you hope he doesn't notice the absolute heart-eyes you have for him at every given moment.

"cross my heart, sugar. totally kidding." he says, eyes closing as his fingers lazily trace an 'x' over his chest. "i'll wait out here for ya, toots." he says as he walks out of the room, leaving you to change into your suit quickly.

when you open the door back up for him, he whistles. "damn, y/n/n, you look fuckin' sexy."

you stare at him with a blank expression. "richie i'm wearing the same clothes as earlier." you deadpan, gesturing to yourself, having put your clothes back on top of your suit. he grins cheekily as he walks down the stairs, flashing you a wink, "i know that."

he rocks back on his heels.

"so what can i do to show my love for you since i can't kiss you?" he asks, smirking. you roll your eyes, "shut up, richie. we're by ourselves right now, you don't have to do anything." you insist, pulling your hair back from your face. he sighs, groaning as if in pain. "but what if i just want to?"

you freeze, looking to him with wide eyes as your stomach drops. "do you really just want to?" you ask, mostly joking as your heart beat picks up. he takes a few steps towards you, shirt now on as his curls drip slightly. you watch a drop roll down his jaw and you swallow.

"yeah, i really do." he says simply, shrugging. "i’ve realized that i really do want to do all the boyfriend stuff for you."

you let out a shaky laugh, a smile falling onto your face as you raise your eyebrows. "for show?" you ask, and he shakes his head with a small laugh. "no." he says and you stare at him, unmoving.

"so you’re gonna make me say it, huh?" he says with a smile that gives you full-blown butterflies as he pulls you to him. you smile back at him, heart melting into mush at the thought of richie being your real boyfriend.

"i think you should, just to be safe." you say with a grin. he smiles brightly, hand coming up to your cheek. his thumb rubs over your face.

"i love you, y/n." he says softly, looking into your eyes. "i want to be your boyfriend, and i want you to be my girl and i want to do stupid shit with you and have tea parties with munch, and for you to listen to my parent's embarrass me, and to spend all my time with you. i want all the boyfriend stuff, y/n."

you shake your head, "we already do that, rich. i've been yours this whole time." his cheeks turn pink and you love the way he looks so you add, "i love you too, richie. i really do. please be my boyfriend."

he kisses you, then.

it's soft, his lips like rose petals and his kiss like honey and it's quite different from your other kiss - both incredible, but this one with much more intention and love. it melts you completely as richie pulls you closer to him, his lips parting from yours slowly, a smile falling onto his face.

"what do you say then, want to go for a swim?" he asks softly, sending you a smile that is blushy and beautiful. you smile, pecking his lips. "sure, rich."

"c'mon, girlfriend." he says happily, tugging you down the stairs and making you grin stupidly, knowing this time for sure that it's not just for show.

//tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @toziershmozier @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @diorbubs @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @baby-yoda-a \\

#richie tozier x reader #richie x reader #richie tozier smut #losers x reader #losers club x reader #bill denbrough x reader #stanley uris x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #my writing

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tcm · 3 years

Text

A Conversation with Patty McCormack on Growing Up on Screen By Kim Luperi

Not many child stars go on to enjoy long, successful careers in show business – and fewer still have earned a prestigious Academy Award nomination before they turned 18. Patty McCormack has achieved both. The actress, who made her first film appearance in 1951 and went on to star in THE BAD SEED (’56, for which she received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress as the murderous Rhoda at age 11); THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN (’60) and THE YOUNG RUNAWAYS (’68), continues to work in Hollywood and shows no indication of slowing down.

I had the pleasure of speaking with McCormack recently about some of these titles and more, including the delightful film KATHY O’ ('58) in which she plays a famous child star – an apt springboard for a discussion about growing up on screen and transitioning into more mature roles over her incredibly long, accomplished career.

(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)

I was watching KATHY O’ last night, and I really enjoyed it. In that movie they talk about your blonde pigtail braids as a trademark, and I realized it kind of was; you had that hairstyle in THE BAD SEED and ALL MINE TO GIVE (’57), too. Do you know how that style came about, or was it something you did that caught on?

Patty McCormack: It seems to be! I believe I even had them early on in Mama, which was an old live TV show that was a weekly event. I don't know how that [trademark] happened. I think it just happened because of THE BAD SEED – I think it was the hairdo that I went in with or they just decided on. When you see the original artwork on William March’s book, there’s a very long face drawing of Rhoda, his Rhoda, and there were braids in it. I don't know if they were looped or what, but that could have been it – or I honestly don't remember if it was chosen by my mom because it was easy, but it stuck!

I loved KATHY O’ because I got to live the dream. I loved the notion of them cutting my hair off – except it was a wig that they cut. After a while it felt like I didn't want to look like an older person with braids – you have to get rid of them eventually. As soon as I could, I wanted hair that was like, in that era, a page boy or something like that, where it landed on your shoulder. But I carried that long hair for a long time. And then you know how you revert back to certain hairdos years later?

They come back in style.

PM: Yes, they come back, but now I have shortish hair, and I'm growing it one length. So I got over the braids – just in the nick of time!

Circling back to Rhoda, you originated the role on Broadway before the film version, so you obviously had a lot of practice and familiarity with the part before you took it to the screen. Since she's such a chilling character, how did you get into that mindset at age nine, especially when you had to play the part multiple times a week?

PM: I always go back to the source, and the source was the director, Reginald Denham. He was so good with directing me. He made it fun, because I learned when I'd get an audience reaction on a face I’d make or something, I'd look forward to doing that again – you know, that kind of joy.

He made it so clear and simple, and his point of view was that Rhoda was always right. I know I've said this before, but it's the truth. No matter what anybody says, Rhoda is correct, and anything she wants, she feels entitled to – not using that word ‘entitled’ – but I really wasn't thinking of myself as a bad person, or especially not a murderer. I just thought it was their fault, which is classic, I guess. I had to kill him [the little boy] because he was so mean. So I think that was how I learned to be that character. I was aware of the murders – people were dead because of me, that I knew – but somehow it wasn't disturbing to my mind. If you take a look at it knowing that, you see it. I'm not coming from some sort of evil place, I don't think.

You were nominated for an Oscar for THE BAD SEED, which is amazing; it's a true testament to your talents, of course, but it’s also such a big accolade to have at such a young age. Do you remember there being any pressure on you for your next role?

PM: Well, the role was so odd for a kid to be so noticed, in that era anyway. I can't think of any jobs I didn't get after that that somebody else got, you know? What happened, though, was that each year I grew, and so I just experienced the typical kid actor dilemma which is going from category to category and establishing yourself in that category and learning how to be in that category. I did do something on Playhouse 90 – I did a few PLAYHOUSE 90s back then – and I did a lot of television –

You played Helen Keller [in the original 1957 Playhouse 90 teleplay “The Miracle Worker”].

PM: That's what I was going to say! That was after THE BAD SEED. But mostly, as far as movies went, there was KATHY O’ and a few here and there and at different levels of development. I was always aware that it had been a while since I worked, that I felt, but I didn't think business, like “What will I follow up that with?” I didn't have that kind of mentality, and I really don't think my mother did either, so it just sort of went the way it went.

As you mentioned too, you were still growing up. So, you’re a child, then a teenager, then young adult. You probably wouldn’t be thinking about the business part of it.

PM: No, it's so strange. It's not an easy transition, and as you know famous people go through really hard things. You don't get to sit and relax in a certain mode for too long because before you know it you're in the next one. And then you go through your ‘ugly period’ in front of everybody, which is horrible.

The movie that you mentioned TCM is going to air, THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN, when I see the headshots from that I just think, “Aw, I looked uncomfortable!” I could see it even in my body. I felt like I was at the awkward time – you know, part of me was getting bigger, developing – and that hairdo they gave me didn't help; it was still the braids but wrapped up.

I want to ask you about that transition. Did you find anything difficult or surprising about navigating Hollywood and growing up on screen?

PM: The most difficult part, honestly, as a person growing up – I think at the time I always say Sandra Dee was the person we all looked to. She was just so beautiful, and no one else looked like that – maybe Carol Lynley a little bit – but the bar was set very high. With that, you’re insecure anyways because you’re at that age, and more than anything you don't want to be different. I think that's true for a lot of kids. So the maturing, that part of development, was difficult when I look back. You don't have the confidence that you had as a little kid when you don't think about anything. You become all self-conscious about how you look, if you're thin enough, if you’re pretty enough, if your hair looks nice. It's a little bit of an adjustment to get through all that and go back to what you like to do, which is to pretend, and take the focus off what you look like or who you look like or any of that stuff. I don't know if other kid actors had the same experience, but usually people grow out of a look that made them known – most of us anyway, not all of us.

I know when you left Hollywood you went back to Brooklyn and finished high school there. What was that experience like for you?

PM: Well, I took my real name back, and I was going to the high school that my mother and older sister went to, so I was really excited. This is going to sound so weird, but it was almost like playing a part – I was playing the part of a high school student. My real name is Russo, so I was Patty Russo. The experience was really kind of shocking, because I think they expected me to be very conceited, and so I had to hide in the cafeteria in the early days, because it was Brooklyn and they were pretty tough – they were on me! But I made a best friend who helped me navigate through it, and it turned into a nice experience finally. I was glad to have had that.

Then I came back out here [Los Angeles], and I stayed with a friend of my mother's family for a while. I wound up leaving Utrecht [her Brooklyn high school] – it’s a long story – but I did a soap opera in between while I was going to Utrecht, and that was kind of tricky because they weren't flexible like California was. In California they were used to kid actors, and in New York at that time, they really weren't. Then when I came out here, I went back to finish high school at Hollywood Professional and got my diploma that way. But I'm so glad I got to go back to Brooklyn. I'm pleased about that.

It sounds like you had a pretty grounded childhood, especially in attending a regular high school. Do you think that helped how you adjusted when you returned to the film industry?

PM: It was a little bit too grounded, I think! I came from a really good family. I never thought that I was a big deal, and they [her mom and dad] made sure of that. So, coming back to the industry after, I really didn't know the ropes. People handled all that before – the only thing I knew was what I did, and so some things maybe didn't get handled so well, but I learned on my feet when I came back out here. Then I married my childhood boyfriend and we had our children, and I kept working.

Yes, you’ve worked steadily since then.

PM: I did work a lot! It’s true. Nothing on the level of nominations, but I was a journeyman, I like to say.

You've spent six decades in the industry, which is really astounding, especially since you started as a child. I read an interview from 1974 that featured a humorous quote from you that I’d like to share. You said that you lamented that you never got the guy in movies and just once you wanted to “kiss the guys instead of kill them.”

PM: That is funny!

But throughout your career, you played Helen Keller, you played a career woman in THE BEST OF EVERYTHING (’70), you played Pat Nixon more recently in FROST/NIXON (’08), so you've had a lot of experience with different characters. Was there any genre or any type of character that you wish you could explore further?

PM: Well, I'll tell you the truth, it's actually seven decades from when I started, although if you want to make me younger, I don't mind! At this point in time, I'm so grateful when I work, because there could be nothing now, you know? I do enjoy what comes along. The only thing I never got to do, which I would have loved, was to have been in a habit – I would have loved to have played a nun in a habit.

That’s interesting.

PM: Isn’t it? It’s the Catholic school thing.

We’ll have to find you a role like that!

PM: I know, wouldn't that be fun? And it would be a nice way, in your later years, to go from a killer to a nun, you know? I think it would be a good idea.

Going in the right direction!

PM: Yes! But anyways, little things change here and there, and I sometimes do voiceovers, and I did something recently that I had never done, which was so much fun. Did you notice on Netflix a show called ARSENE LUPIN [working title for LUPIN]?

I haven’t heard of it, but I know there’s an old movie with the same name.

PM: Yes, this is a remake. It's in French, and I dubbed a French woman into English, and it was so much fun to do, to have someone else's face up there. I know some people watch foreign movies and they say, “Oh it's so unfair to dub the other actors,” and I probably wouldn't love it if somebody dubbed me either, but I had such a ball doing it. So, if you catch that show, you'll see somewhere in there I'm speaking English for a French woman.

I wanted to talk about two of your more recent roles. I know you starred in MOMMY in the 1990s, kind of a grown-up Rhoda, and you played a psychiatrist in the Lifetime remake of THE BAD SEED in 2018. This story has been filmed a few times; what do you think resonates with people, and how did it feel going back to that character and story but from different perspectives?

PM: Right. Well, to be honest, the Rob Lowe production [for Lifetime] was really a totally different story. There was no mom – he was the mom character – so the writing was really different.

There were two MOMMY movies: MOMMY (’95) and MOMMY’S DAY (’97). Those were written by a writer who lives in Muscatine, Iowa: Max Allan Collins. This is a long time ago now, but it was fun to grow her up, you know, physically. I talked to you about how that is the strange thing about transitioning, and it was so enjoyable to do that. It really was a journey for me internally.

There was also something about shaking hands with that, because in my day, it was never a good thing to have something so long ago be talked about all the time. I got that impression by other people's opinions, not my own, and as time went on, the world changed and people started knowing actors’ work from 20 years ago. So, the appreciation for that old work came back, and I learned to feel good about it through other people's feelings about it. I do have such a different perspective on it now, and it's a character that was so special. That really changed my ability as to how I could hold it [the role].

It’s nice to be able to do that.

PM: Yes, it is.

I have one more question for you. I know we’re in a pandemic and many productions are halted, but do you have any upcoming appearances that I can share with fans to look out for?

PM: Aw, I wish! It's funny, I did some Hallmark Christmas movies. Well, I did one, and then last year I was supposed to do another one, and they cut our parts because of COVID. So, I'm rooting for [the next one], and I have a good feeling, you know, when we have our vaccinations. Also, a downside was that they shoot in Canada, and they have to bring you up there, and at that time you had to stay in 14 days.

A lot of rules!

PM: Yes, a lot of rules. So hopefully there will be a new one. I can't honestly say, but there's no reason there shouldn't be!

My dad loves the Hallmark Christmas movies, and I watch a lot of them because of him, so I'll be rooting for you and looking out for you!

PM: I know, there's so many. People have blankets and all these things! There are real hard-core fans – it's amazing.

#patty mccormack #child actors #TCM #Turner Classic Movies #The bad seed #kim luperi #growing up on screen #acting #actor

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kkgbutsane · 3 years

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The First Day of School

It was a dewy morning. Not too hot, not too cold, far too humid. It was the usual for Hyakkou High School, where students came to learn and excel in their studies while maintaining good social relationships. The school was usually filled with many different students. Any stereotype you could think of, Hyakkou had it.

The students usually had fun. The Principal was quite lax when it came to certain things. All he asked of the students was to respect each other and respect the building. And to keep their grades up of course. They would be failing as a school if the students weren’t receiving the proper education!

And this is where their story begins.

“Ack. Hey! Mary!” Ryota called out from behind the blonde, who was currently looking down on her phone. The boy ran up to his best friend, hooking his arm around the back of her neck to bring her into a headlock. “Hey! Don’t mess up my hair you dork!” Mary growled, trying to wrestle her way out of Ryota’s lock.

The two continued their conundrum until they reached the gates of the school, where Mary finally got a good grip and threw her friend over her shoulder, thus leading to him falling on his backpack. “Ow…,” he muttered, smiling like an idiot.

Mary Saotome and Ryota Suzui had been friends since childhood. They were even neighbors, and she often came over to his house to play on his Wii with him. Their friendship had blossomed into a relationship.

Until they realized they were better off as best friends. In fact, after they had broken up and continued to be platonic, it seemed as though their friendship grew stronger.

“Hi guys!” The two heard a familiar voice, registering it as their other best friend, Yumeko Jabami. Yumeko had met them all in middle school, when she had moved here with her sister. The ravenette was one to take risks, and found pleasure in dangerous things. Of course, only in moderation. In reality, the only things she had taken much risk for was a move in a fighting game. Or a board game.

Her bubbly exterior was often in place of her mellow interior. She tended to keep to herself truly, unless with her friends.

“Yumeko!” Ryota yelled happily, jogging over and scooping the girl in a tight hug. Much to his delight, Yumeko returned the hug tenfold.

“ShiT, I can’t breaTHE-,” he barely managed, his face turning purple. He should have known, the girl was a strong hugger. “Oi, calm down you two, before I separate you guys for 10 minutes straight, and I know that will be a pain since you usually do homework together in the mornings,” Mary stated, crossing her arms. Yumeko finally relented, giving Ryota’s respiratory system some reprieve. Yumeko looked quite meek, but she could give hugs like no other.

“Mary!” Yumeko giggled, giving the blonde another one of her bone crushing hugs. “Sup, dumbass,” Mary replied, smiling softly at her friend’s gestures of affection. “Are you all ready for your first days of school!?”

It was the start of junior year for the three, and boy were their classes packed. Ryota was taking a few classes on science and health, as well as a gym class to exercise and get fit. He wanted to be a firefighter, and such education was necessary to ensure he was a good candidate for the job.

“I have… Anatomy first period. Woohoo,” Mary sighed. She was actually quite excited, but decided not to show it in order to keep her cool exterior. The path she had chosen was Emergency Medical Services, and taking anatomy was the first step in her opinion.

“Oh? That’s so wonderful! I have Calculus for my first period. I wonder if Sayaka is going to be in that class!” Yumeko said eagerly. Sayaka was one of the other kids attending this school. The girl mainly kept to herself, but she had recently started acquainting herself with the ravenette.

“Gah! Sorry I’m late guys! I kinda missed my bus…” A ginger voice panted, revealed to be none other than Itsuki Sumeragi. The strawberry blonde had met the three last year when she was a sophomore. After transferring from a private school to Hyakkou, the tight-knit group had taken her in, welcoming her as one of their own. “Hey! I heard there’s gonna be a pair of new students! I hear they’re seniors,” Itsuki gossiped, taking out her Nintendo Switch and turning it on.

“Ooh, Smash? Let’s do this!” Ryota declared, taking his controller and setting it to his button map.

“So what about these new students? Do they seem weird or anything?” Mary inquired, picking her character, King K. Rool, and setting her button map. “Oh come on, why do you ALWAYS play heavies!?” Ryota complained, picking Marth as his character. “Because heavies are fucking goated, why else?” the blonde snarked back, a sly smirk on her face.

“I don’t know. But I heard they’re twins!” Itsuki giggled, sitting down to watch them play.

“Heya guys,” a shrill voice came out of nowhere. “You playin’ Smash? I’ll join!” it giggled. Runa had seemingly appeared out of nowhere in her oversized jacket. “Oh no…,” The entire group groaned.

“Runa, you’re cool and all, but whenever we play with you, you find a way to resize our assholes every match in different ways. I really don’t want to get 0-to-deathed consecutively while you stay on three stocks. Seriously, how the fuck do you even do it!?” Mary spoke, seemingly for the entire group. “I dunno, just practice TBH,” was all Runa said, picking up a controller. “And fuck you, I’m playing anyway.”

The sound of groans could be heard around the courtyard after that statement.

Sayaka Igarashi, resident Valedictorian-to-be, had come over to the table with Midari Ikishima, who was dragging along a seemingly sleepy senior. “C’mon Yuriko. I know you have senioritis but our friends are here!” Midari grumbled, literally dragging Yuriko. Yuriko Nishinotounin had gotten a severe case of Senioritis, especially since most of her classes were a breeze this year.

“Would you both calm down please!? They’re playing a game, and I’m trying to read!” Sayaka chided, mentally swearing at the rebel. “Chill out, Sayaka, Yuriko is already falling asleep on me and it’s not even 7:30!” Midari grumbled.

“I can’t wait for senior year to be over,” Yuriko yawned, sitting on the table everyone was at basically falling asleep.

“What the fu- NO!” Mary yelled, distracted by Yuriko long enough for Runa to get a move on her, resulting in her virtual demise. “Fuuuuck!” she sighed, hitting her head against the wooden table. “FUCK!” she repeated, after feeling the pain that came along with it. Ryota had already fallen out of the competition.

Please nerf Lucas.

Yumeko hummed happily to herself, reading some random tabloid article on her phone. As the bell rang, they all dispersed into their classes.

“See you guys later!” Ryota called, jogging over to the weight room for his first period.

The three girls had made their way over to the Portables, then separating into their classrooms.

Sayaka practically dragged her two friends to their classes and then her own, all while keeping to the schedule. Anatomy was her first period, and she sat next to Mary.

It wouldn’t be too bad of a year. Mary was a good student and wasn’t too hard to talk to. She just mostly liked to keep to herself.

“Good morning class! Welcome to Anatomy! You guys are obviously gonna be learning about the body, it’s functions, what is where and what goes where and woop dee dah, all the good stuff! Hopefully I can make learning about how food passes through the body actually entertaining for y’all, but first we have two new students with us today! They’ve recently transferred over, so let’s give ‘em a warm welcome to Hyakkou!” The teacher, Mrs. Murray, announced. She looked a bit older, with a tall figure and ginger hair in her face. Her glasses looked odd, but it added to her look.

People like Mrs. Murray because she was actually a good teacher. She cared about her students and actually helped them if they needed it.

“Ladies, if you would please introduce yourselves!”

The entire class looked at the two, and for a moment they thought they saw double.

“Hello. My name is Kirari Momobami. I’m a senior here, and it’s a pleasure to meet you all. I hope we can get along,” The girl, now known as Kirari, had stated.

It seemed her sister’s turn was up next.

“Er.. I’m Ririka Momobami. We’re twins. I hope we can… have a good time!” Ririka muttered, almost too quietly for the class to hear.

Mrs. Murray smiled and beckoned them to take their seats.

Their seats were in front of both Sayaka and Mary, who seemed to be in a state of both ‘gay’ and ‘panic’.

The two twins looked vastly different, with Kirari’s hair done in twin loop braids and dressed in a rather classy manner, while Ririka’s hair was free to fall.

Wait.

Did Ririka have a sweatshirt that had the Poggers Man on it?

Mary internally laughed at that. It was adorable.

When class had dispersed to work in groups, Mary and Sayaka had picked each other on instinct, then looking for two more partners to start their work on.

“Sayaka!” Mary whisper-yelled, a small blush on her face. She then gestured to her phone to text the girl.

Mary S: HOLY SHIT IM GAY

Sayaka I: I am too. Which one are you gay for?

Mary S: Ririka.

Sayaka I: Oh. I like her too.

Mary glared at Sayaka for a moment.

Mary S: The one with the adorable hair and clothing?

The blonde mentally facepalmed, of course Sayaka would think that. No matter the twin.

Sayaka I: Yes. I love how her hair is done. Plus her shirt looks nice.

Mary S: Oh. So the one with the weird braids?

Sayaka I: Don’t call them weird.

Mary S: ok but dont worry cause im crushing on the other twin. I swear her sweatshirt is adorable.

Sayaka I: .

Sayaka I: poggers

Mary S: LMAO HOLD UP IM SCREENSHOTTING THIS ONE

Sayaka I: Be my guest.

The two had reluctantly come up to the twins.

“Hello! I am Sayaka Igarashi, and this is Mary Saotome. It seems you both don’t have another pair, so if you’d like, we can work with you,” Sayaka stated, trying to sound as polite as possible. Nothing could hide the blush on her face though.

“Sure, I would love to work with you both,” Kirari replied, a small smirk forming on her face.

Ririka just nodded with a small smile.

It was going to be a long year.

#au tag #kakegurui #kirari momobami #meariri #kirasaya #sayaka igarashi #mary saotome #yumeko jamabi #ryota suzui #runa yomozuki #itsuki sumeragi #ririka momobami

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comeonpeters · 3 years

Text

and so it begins

also on ao3

@troped-fanfic-challenge round 2 contribution

Theme: Fluff

Trope 1: Exes

Trope 2: Time Loop AU

Trope 3: Camp Counselors

Trope 4: Prank Wars

It’s the first day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie gets a little lost in the woods. It’s cool! Alex was also with him, so he has the kids, because Alex Mercer does not get lost, so Reggie is in the clear on that part. There’s a reason why he paired up with Alex for a lot of the wandering through the forest bits of the counseling misadventures, and it’s not just because Alex is his best friend in the whole world (no offense, Luke, but Alex really had laid a claim on him their first summer by dealing with his eccentricities by treating him just the same as everyone else), but also because of Alex’s excellent sense of direction, which had not rubbed off on Reggie at all, unfortunately. And it’s not to say that Luke isn’t also his best friend in the world! Or that Julie isn’t too! It’s just that Alex is his favorite, and Reggie really wishes he had stuck closer, because boy he doesn’t know where he is.

He’s walking past a rock that’s shaped exactly like an egg when he notices it. Not the egg shaped rock, though he notices that too, obviously, because it’s shaped like an egg, but the cabin. There’s a cabin. On the Camp Carolling property.

That can’t be allowed. But it can’t be new, either, because how would they have moved an entire cabin onto the Camp Carolling property without someone noticing? Someone would totally have noticed someone lugging all of those stones and logs into place, even if the forest is made of stones and logs, they still had to be moved from their original places to this one place, and really, they shouldn’t have some random stranger around all these kids. And, Reggie is an employee. It’s, like, his job to keep these kids safe. Right? That’s how it works, right? It’s only his second week being a counselor, and he’s not really sure how good he is at it. He’s only eighteen! Maybe he shouldn’t be the one investigating some creepy, middle-of-the-woods cabin at all. Maybe he should go get Alex-

It’s the thought of bringing Alex back here, the thought of Alex or Luke or Julie having to investigate something scary that has him investigating it himself. He can tell them about it when he gets back. Everything will be fine. There’s probably nobody out here anyway, right? Maybe it’s just an old cabin, like from before the camp plot was even bought, and Reggie is worrying over nothing. He’s acting like Alex! He’s being silly.

A bush of flowers, the bulbs burgundy and nearly the size of Reggie’s hand, grows near the door of the cabin. They’re healthy enough that somebody is obviously taking care of them, hedged back from the door in a way that is most likely intentional, but Reggie still tells himself that he’s not going to get an answer as he knocks, ever so gently, on the door. He tells himself that he is only doing so out of caution. He’s doing it out of a professional obligation. This is his second job (the ice cream shop that he works at during the school year is his only legal job, seeing as Sunset Curve gigs and Julie and the Phantoms shows aren’t really consistently enough to count as a regular job, he thinks), and he is a good employee, losing Lex and the kids beside. He knocks on the door a second time, and it rocks gently open, though no one has opened it for him.

Christ on a bike, that’s creepy.

“Come on in then, dear, the tea’s almost done,” a voice calls from inside, a woman’s voice that sounds ancient. A shiver runs down Reggie’s spine, but he steps in anyway. It’s polite, right? He’s been invited. It’s not like he’s a vampire or anything, he doesn’t have to be invited to go into places, but it’s rude not to go into places when you’re invited, but anyway- The little cabin has unfinished stone and wooden walls on the inside as well, squat and homey, and Reggie feels a wash of warmth run over him that he hasn’t felt since-

He hasn’t felt this much at home since Bobby kicked them out of the studio. Playing at Julie’s studio (their studio now, her and Ray, her dad, they’ve reassured Reggie that it’s as much his home as theirs if he wants it to be, but it still doesn’t feel that way) still doesn’t feel… it doesn’t feel like this. This reminds him of his grandmother’s house back in Tennessee, the way it felt when she would set her guitar in his lap and put her fingers over his and teach him how to play. He should probably say something.

“Um. Hi. I’m Reggie. I’m one of the counselors at Camp Carolling? Do they- do they know you’re out here? I didn’t think anyone was supposed to live out here,” he says awkwardly, tripping over himself as he stands awkwardly in the entryway. There’s a counter and cabinets between the entryway and the kitchen, so he can’t see the ancient-sounding woman who called him in, but he doesn’t want to come further into the cabin, even as homelike as it feels. He picks at the flannel wrapped around his waist nervously, wanting to bite at his nails, but Julie just painted them, and she’s asked him to stop biting them when she’s just painted them, and-

“Oh, they know me, dearie. Come have a seat, won’t you? As I said, the tea’s nearly done, and I’d love to have someone to drink it with. You look like you could use a good cup,” the lady says as she steps past the counter, and Reggie nods, blinking. She’s very small, is his first thought, looking at her. He’s not a tall guy, he knows that (even if he does love making fun of Luke for being half an inch or so shorter than him, and even worse with Reggie’s boots), but he has to look very far down to make eye contact with the cabin lady. She can’t be more than five foot even. Maybe four foot ten? She has about five inches of braided hair piled on top of her head, which adds to her height, but beneath that, she’s very, very small. It’s distracting. He doesn’t realize that he’s just lingering beside the table until she taps on it, gesturing toward the chair across from her and the tea set between the two seats.

“Have a seat, then,” she repeats, “and have a drink with me. Everything will be fine, Reginald. You’re welcome here.” He doesn’t normally like it when anyone besides Alex (or, before, Bobby) calls him Reginald, but in this case, he finds himself relaxing into the seat offered, grabbing the kettle to pour tea when she gestures for it. Everything is… fine. Everything is calm. The tension rolls out of his shoulders for the first time in months.

It’s weird. It’s really weird. It’s nice.

“Thank you for the tea. This is nice,” he says once he’s had a sip of the flowery drink, smiling easily. He’s never been a tea guy, but he’s never had this kind of tea before; he should ask what kind it is. She smiles back, and it’s a warm feeling to be smiled at by someone so much older than him, like being smiled at by Ray, or Emily in the rare times she actually remembers she likes Reggie (when she remembers that he’s a good kid and not just a bad influence, because he swears he’s a good kid), or when his grandmother would smile at him. The lady puts down her tea cup with such an air that Reggie puts down his own, feeling as if there’s something that is about to be discussed.

“Reggie, dear, there’s something we need to talk about,” she says, and he knows he should be confused (they don’t know each other, why do they have something to talk about?), but instead, the calm remains. The feeling of the cabin, the hominess and the settled feeling, it remains.

“Okay,” is all he says, a little dazed, and she is still smiling, so he can assume she isn’t angry with him. It’s a bit of a sad smile, now that he thinks about it, but still not angry. As long as it isn’t angry, right?

“You’re deeply unhappy, my boy. I could feel it as soon as you knocked on the door. You are a sweet, good boy, and you do not deserve all of the unhappiness that has made a home of your heart. I would like to give you a time to free yourself of your unhappiness. Would you accept?” she asks, offering something which confuses Reggie massively, but he can’t muster up his ability to panic. He knows he has the ability to panic. Where is it? Did he leave it with Alex? Where is Alex? Where is Luke? Where is Julie? Doesn’t he have somewhere to be? How can he accept?

“What do you mean? Accept? What about you? Do you need anything?” he asks, because he doesn’t want her to do anything, to put herself out, when he could do something for her. You don’t know her, something in himself reminds him (it sounds awfully like Bobby, but he doesn’t think in Bobby’s voice anymore, he told himself he wouldn’t-), but he pushes it down. She smiles and pats his face.

“It is your instinct to give that makes you so able to receive without judgement. Do you accept?” she asks again. Everything feels really weird. He doesn’t think. He can’t.

“Yes.”

He’s stumbling out of the cabin not a second later, fuzzy and dazed, like a force not his own is pushing him out. He notices a sign below the bushes of flowers, Take one!, it says, and so he picks a flower. He’ll take it to Julie. She likes flowers. She’s always liked flowers, and he likes making her smile, so at least then this whole thing will have added up to something, because he has no idea what just happened. At least the camp knows about the cabin, according to the lady in the cabin. Is she the best source? Jesus, now that he thinks about it, she might not be the best source.

He’ll ask Alex and Jules and Flynn. They’re better at logic than he is. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He stumbles back to the egg shaped rock and picks a direction and hopes for the best. He’s only walking for a few minutes when he hears it: Alex’s voice above the hum of the kids is the best thing he’s heard all day. It can’t be right- he knows he wandered way further away from Alex when he was on his grand adventure to find the cabin, but he doesn’t care at this point. He just wants to find his way back to a familiar face, get back in the swing of things and forget this ever happened. He knows when Lex catches sight of him, because the mix of annoyed and fond might as well be patented.

“You could have told me you had to take a leak, Peters. Did you get lost or something? Distracted by the flowers? You’ve been gone like fifteen minutes,” Alex says, and it only takes that much to make Reggie feel like his entire world has tilted sideways. Fifteen minutes? He’d been gone hours.

“I thought- fifteen minutes?” he asks, his voice so strained it nearly breaks. Alex snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Thought you were quick, huh? Come on, we gotta get the kids back before Julie has them for arpeggios and scales,” the blond says, clapping him on the back and keeping his arm around Reggie’s shoulders as they herd the kids back toward the central grounds. He makes the executive decision to put everything that’s happened for the past several hours (fifteen minutes??) out of his mind, focusing instead on Alex and then Julie (she does like the flower, though she gives him a weird look, and cradles it to her chest) and then Luke and their new friend Nick when he meets up with them for guitar lessons with the kids, and he just puts it out of his mind. It’s not that important. Everything is fine, right? Everything is calm. They’re at Camp Carolling! They’re counselors at Camp Carolling, just like they always said they would be. It doesn’t matter that they’re a member short and they’re all feeling the absence, because he still has his boys and his Julie and his Flynn and his family, and they’re not leaving, even if one member did.

Everything is fine.

It’s the second day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie feels like the bottom is dropping out of his stomach. They’re integrating with the other side of camp today, rhythm and dance (where Alex would have gone if Reggie and Luke hadn’t convinced him to skate on his mad singing skills alone), and that means… Bobby’s a rhythm guitarist. And a dancer. If they’re integrating with rhythm and dance, they’ll see Bobby, if he bothered to come. Which is a tossup, really. Ever since he quit Sunset Curve, it’s not like Reggie knows him at all, so what does he know about what Bobby Wilson is going to do with his summer, with his life, what does he know about Bobby Wilson at all?

“Reckon we’ll see him today, boys?” Luke asks, arms over Reggie and Alex’s shoulders as he pulls them both in beside him. Julie looks at them apprehensively, chewing on the side of her lip and looking like she might indulge in her own nervous habit of chewing on her knuckles. She’s not supposed to, because it’s the thing that she’s not supposed to do as long as Reggie doesn’t chew on his nails, but he won’t begrudge her either way.

“Why does it matter if you see him, guys? We have a new band, and besides, it’s not like you guys have even talked about him since he left! Just… ignore him if you see him, okay? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. He left you guys. If you don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to,” she says, talking in bursts like she does when she’s upset, and Reggie doesn’t want Julie to be upset about this. He knows that she worries about the fact that they were in a band before her, that she worries about them missing Sunset Curve, but she’s family. Ray and Julie and Carlos are family. He loves them. He stands up and puts his arms around her, pulling her so close he nearly pulls her off the ground, pulls her so close she squeaks.

“Love you, Julie,” he says simply, and then he lets her go. A simple reassurance for a simple reassurance. You don’t have to talk to him for you don’t have to replace him. As much as he’s loved Bobby Wilson since he was thirteen years old, he loves Julie Molina too. She’s like a sister.

“Love you too, Reg. I just… don’t want you to feel obligated to him, okay? You’re not,” she reiterates. He kisses the top of her head.

“I know,” he lies, because he is. In a way, he thinks he always will be. They separate anyway, all of them going their own ways for their camp jobs, because they can’t always stay together. He has to work with other people sometimes, despite the fact that his comfort zone will always be with the people he arrived at camp with. Ray dropped them all off together, called him mijo and kissed his forehead and everything. Sap. He piddles around and does his job and high-fives Nick when he sees him and stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees Bobby Wilson in the flesh, because what else is he supposed to do? What else can he do? Bobby has a guitar slung across him and no smile in sight, even though he used to smile every time he saw Reggie, and Reggie has no idea what to do with that. He has no idea how to fix what Bobby Wilson broke in him.

"Hey Reg," the other boy says, slightly hesitant, and Reggie's lips remain pursed for a moment before he gives a nod of acknowledgement. No obligation. No fighting. Just acknowledgement. Nothing personal.

"Bobby," he replies, and Bobby blinks. He knows why; he can't remember the last time he actually called the traitor by his name either. It's always been Bee or Bobbers or Bobbin or some other nickname dripping in affection. Not anymore. He watches as Bobby's expression shutters back to a close. He tries not to let it break his heart.

"Right. I'll- um. I'll be anywhere else, I think," Bobby says, a stutter taking him over in a way that it hasn't since some of their first gigs (turns out, huddle style interviews with a dozen small-time fans are as good as speech therapy, better if the years of it not working were anything to go by), and something in Reggie wants to reach out, wants to comfort him, but he lets the anger, the bitterness, burn over it. He lets Bobby walk away from him all over again. No obligation. Nothing personal. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He watches Bobby’s back, looks at his suspenders because there’s no uniforms for counselors here, and he almost wishes there was because looking at them makes him think about popping them against Bobby’s skin like he used to, grinning and laughing, and he almost wants to cry.

No obligations. Nothing personal.

The day is mostly inconsequential after that. Alex met a dancer named Willie who really swept him off his feet- literally, to hear the tale, and Reggie does hear it. He meets Willie too, though briefly, at dinner, and hears about Willie’s friends. He’s friends with Nick, which is cool. He’s also friends with Bobby and Carrie, which is less cool. The rest of Carrie’s band also apparently followed the Wilsons to camp, which is just great. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t bother telling the boys and Julie about seeing Bobby again, because it doesn’t really matter. It’s inconsequential. It was barely a moment.

The next morning, it’s announced that they’re integrating with the other side of camp. Rhythm and dance. Again. He turns to Luke, a question on his lips, when Luke throws an arm around his shoulders, and Alex’s too.

“Reckon we’ll see him today, boys?” Luke asks, pulling them in just as he had the day before, and- it wasn’t the day before, was it? It was one of those freaky dreams that Reggie’s read about. He and Bobby used to read about conspiracy theories before- well, before. He’s read a lot about déjà vu and prophetic dreams, he’s just never personally experienced either so heavily before, and he’s sure that it will go away soon, it’s just-

“Why does it matter if you see him, guys? We have a new band, and besides, it’s not like you guys have even talked about him since he left! Just… ignore him if you see him, okay? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. He left you guys. If you don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to,” Julie bursts out, and Reggie wasn’t paying enough attention to her mannerisms this time, but he gets up and hugs her anyways, squeezes her just as tight because he loves her and he knows her and he needs her just as much as she needs them. She’s the rock to his hard place, you know? That doesn’t really make sense, but it’s his vibe. He hugs her real tight, tight enough to pull her off her feet, just a little.

“Love you, Jules,” he says, because he means it. He kisses the top of her head, because he means that too. She sinks into him, just a little, before he releases her.

“Love you too, Reg. You don’t owe him anything,” she says, and it’s worded a little different than the dream, but it means the same thing. He kisses the top of her head again, just for good measure. She rolls her eyes and shoves him off, laughing. He likes making her laugh. It’s always nice. He doesn’t bother lying this time.

When they all separate, he’s a little less assured that everything was a dream, because things are still the same. Nick still high-fives him, and everyone still asks him to do the same things, and everything is still the exact same. He doesn't know what to do, so he does exactly the same things that he did yesterday morning (last night in his dream?), down to letting himself trip over the front porch step on the cafeteria walkup. Alex had done a presentation on the butterfly effect once for an English class (their teacher had let them choose a movie or book to analyze against a scientific theory related to it, it was a really interesting project actually-)

Reggie is almost ready to dismiss his strange sense of déjà vu when Bobby walks up to him again, an even more direct line than he had taken in Reggie's strangely prophetic dream.

"I think I had a dream about seeing you again last night," is the first thing that Bobby says to him, and it's freaky enough to make Reggie feel really weird. He's never been excessively great at covering up his expressions around the boys either (and Bobby is still one of the boys, damn it, Reggie can't stop the years of safety and security that Bobby held in his own two hands), and he knows that he's showing his slight panic.

"Was the rest of the morning exactly the same too?" he asks before he can stop himself, before he can remind himself that he and Bobby don't go together anymore, that Bobby left. Bobby grabs onto his wrist desperately, though never hard enough to hurt. Reggie wants to scrape out how much Bobby remembers about him, wants to take it all back, because no one else has known him as well as his boys (besides the Molinas, because they know him inside and out and he would put that on a billboard). He has to tune back into Bobby’s angry desperation, how it covers his fear.

"It fucking was, Reg, what the hell is going on?" Bobby says, eyes blazing, all that fear fear fear so plain where Reggie knows only he can see. He shakes Bobby off of his arm easily. He desperately tries to ignore how hurt flashes over Bobby’s expression before he covers that one too.

“I don’t know, dude. I don’t think anyone else knows, though. Luke and Alex didn’t seem to think anything was weird this morning, and Julie didn’t act any different either, and she’s the smartest of us,” he replies, shrugging a shoulder. He doesn’t want to tell Bobby about the creepy cabin and the definitely-not-a-witch. He doesn’t want Bobby to say the same thing everyone has always said. He doesn’t want Bobby Wilson to finally tell him that he’s being stupid. Bobby recoils slightly.

“You guys brought- Julie came?” Bobby asks, and Reggie doesn’t have to ask how he knows who Julie is. Julie and the Phantoms, their band, has been all over social media lately. Flynn is a pretty baller social media manager, and it hasn’t been a secret that three quarters of the former Sunset Curve, a punk band, had suddenly turned poppy when they got a new lead singer. It’s been something of a sensation. And, it’s not like Julie wasn’t their friend before Julie and the Phantoms happened. It’s just that Bobby was never really close with her in the first place, and the four of them found each other in a lot of wreckage. A lot of fucking wreckage. Reggie shrugs again.

“We told her about the promise we made as Sunset Curve, to come back to camp and be counselors ourselves, and she asked if she could come too, even if she wasn’t part of the original promise. We made a decision as the three of us. Wasn’t too sure we were going to see you here, to be honest,” he says, more honest than he means to be. He can’t look at Bobby, suddenly, and he picks at his fingers, plays with his rings, peels at the bandaid Luke had just put on him last night. Too vulnerable. Too much. Shatterglass and eggshells. He still doesn’t bite his nails. He promised Julie. He’ll keep his promises to Julie.

“It was a promise,” Bobby says. Reggie snorts, again before he can stop himself.

“So was everything else, Bobbin. Didn’t seem to matter then.” He pushes off the wall he’s leaning against, intending upon going back to the cabin and sleeping for the next hundred permutations of this day should there be more (he watched the Tuesday episode of Supernatural during Alex’s phase, unfortunately), but Bobby catches him by the hand.

“I’m sorry, Reg,” he says, far too close to Reggie’s ear, nearly pressing it into Reggie’s skin. Reggie nearly breaks being so close to him. He pulls away anyway.

“Shoulda said that a while ago, Bee. Shoulda never left,” he says, and it’s like the world resumes around them (it never stopped, everything was still happening, it’s just like the world stops when he’s caught within Bobby’s atmosphere), because he loses Bobby easily within the raucous of the camp.

He listens when Alex tells him about Willie. He encourages him to talk to him again. He meets Willie and doesn’t make a big deal about Willie being friends with the Wilsons. He still doesn’t mention seeing Bobby. Then, after dinner, because he can, he climbs into bed with Luke, even if he’s about fifty percent sure he’ll wake up in his own bed on the same morning once again. Luke welcomes him with open arms and even more open cuddles, curls around him like the little octopus he is, sweaty and gross and exactly what Reggie needs. He tucks himself beneath Luke’s chin and falls asleep to the sound of Luke’s weird sleep humming, familiar and warm.

He wakes up in his own bunk, just as expected. Alex has his hands on the edge of his bed, just as he has for the past two mornings (the same exact morning), and he knocks their heads together gently to wake Reggie up. Of all of the ways he could repeatedly experience being woken up, it’s one of Reggie’s favorites; it’s not one that Alex or Luke regularly indulges in, being as other people don’t think it’s normal or socially acceptable or whatever, but by the time Alex wakes him up, most everyone else has emptied out of the room; he’s actually running late, and typically, Reggie would be freaking out. Because it’s his third time living through the morning, he’s half tempted to just drag Alex back into bed with him.

Instead, he does what he’s supposed to do.

“Good mornin, Lexi,” he says as he has both of the other mornings, and Lex hits him with a pillow, just as expected. It’s only across his stomach, so it’s more fond than anything. That’s what Reggie tells himself, anyway. Alex pulls him out of bed then, shoving clothes at him until Reggie dresses himself and follows Alex out of the cabin in a semi-orderly manner, tying his flannel around his waist as he makes it out of the door. Julie falls into step with them as they make it up the cafeteria steps, linking her arm with Reggie’s as she has the last two renditions of this morning, but it still makes Reggie smile. Luke has already gone up ahead to meet up with Flynn, masterminding the summer rotation of Julie and the Phantoms advertising before breakfast and the announcement that they’ll be mingling with the other side of camp today.

He already knows the morning is going to be the same. He knows it in his bones. He didn’t wake up in Luke’s bed this morning.

“Reckon we’ll see him today, boys?” Luke asks after the announcement comes, and it confirms Reggie’s suspicions for sure. He goes through the motions of the conversation completely, not leaving anything on the floor because he’s not going to half ass a conversation with his friends just because he’s had it before. He loves them, and he’s not going to let Julie be insecure about her place with them just because of some repetitive day- what if this is the last time or something? He couldn’t do that to her. He high-fives Nick when he sees him and does his job and goes through the day. He sees Bobby and opens his mouth to speak, but Bobby beats him to it.

“My dad asked me to leave Sunset Curve. Told me to, really.”

That’s the first different thing he’s heard all day. And it’s enough to stop him midstep and nearly make him fall into the hi-hats they’ve got lined up against the wall of the rhythm cafe, except that Bobby catches him, because Bobby is the one who said it, because of course Bobby was. Bobby is the only one who could have said that, because Bobby’s dad is Trevor Wilson, extremely famous solo artist and general rock star, and no one else has ever left Sunset Curve successfully (Alex had tried, once, when he thought he was dragging everyone down, but they had talked him off that particularly wall), and-

“What?” Reggie asks, and the crack in his voice should be embarrassing, but he can’t dredge up the feeling. All he has is the sinking feeling of despair, because if Trevor asked Bobby to leave, then they’ve been letting him have this distance, this horrible fucking space because they thought he wanted it and- they’re supposed to be a family.

“He said that he would sponsor Sunset Curve if I left and did a successful solo album first. If he could see our potential for himself. I’m almost done with it, so I should be able to make it on my own. Even if I don’t have Sunset Curve anymore,” Bobby says, the last bit tacked on like an afterthought, like a bitter aftershock. Reggie puts his hand on Bobby’s arm. It’s the first time he’s reached out to him in a long, long time. Bobby seems to realize this too, and when he looks at Reggie, the vulnerability in his eyes makes Reggie ache.

“You left us, not the other way around, Bobs.” Fuck, that’s cagey. More defensive that he means. Bobby gives him a bitter smirk, opening his mouth, but Reggie squeezes where he holds Bobby’s arm still. “You didn’t explain. You didn’t say anything. You just left. You never talked to us,” he says, his voice calmer as he goes further. Bobby’s expression crumples, screwing up around his mouth.

“You didn’t stop me, Reg! When I said I was leaving, you didn’t try to stop me. Not like we stopped Alex. Not like you would have stopped Luke. Not like we would have stopped you. A rhythm guitarist is replaceable, you know, you guys were never as attached, so don’t act like you weren’t happy I was gone,” Bobby pushes out the words like they’re insistent against his throat, and Reggie pushes himself against Bobby’s chest when they’re done, forces himself under Bobby’s chin and makes Bobby hug him. He pulls Bobby against him and hugs him none too gently, hugs him like he wanted to when Bobby left, because he was fucking devastated when Bobby left, it destroyed him when Bobby left, but he didn’t want to make Bobby stay somewhere he didn’t want to be. He pushes himself up against Bobby because that’s how they’ve always talked best, not looking each other in the eye but still close enough to feel each other’s heartbeats, and he both loves and hates how easily Bobby relaxes against him as soon as he’s close. When he speaks, he does so quietly, more gently than he’s been with Bobby in a year’s time. Only had to do today a third time to start talking like he should have been for a year.

“I wanted you to stay. We wanted you to stay. But fuck, it hurt when shut us out, when you kicked us out. We thought we were family, Bee. Sunset Curve was our family, you were our family. We were supposed to have each other’s backs and you told us that you wanted out of our family.”

“I didn’t want to kick you guys out. It just… it happened so fast, and you just packed up and left. I wanted you to keep using the garage, even if it was without me. But, Sunset Curve was family, and I was leaving Sunset Curve,” Bobby says, like that explains anything. Reggie wants to both pull Bobby so close that the other boy lives inside of Reggie’s own ribcage, and pull far enough away that he can punch Bobby in the face.

“You’re an idiot, Bobby Wilson,” he says, stroking Bobby’s hair. As soon as he says it, Bobby tenses up.

“What?” the other boy says, voice hardening again. Reggie scritches his nails along Bobby’s scalp.

“You’re an idiot if you think we didn’t love you. We still do, even if we’ve been mad, and hurt, and whatever else for the past year without you, which has sucked, by the way. You’re our best friend, and the fact that you just left us, barely any explanation, and didn’t speak to any of us at all? Definitely aggravated some abandonment issues, yeah, but we still fucking love you. Honestly! You’re an idiot. Can’t believe you,” Reggie says, pulling Bobby even closer when it seems like Bobby might pull away or might not know what to do, because he can’t let Bobby pull away again. Not physically or emotionally or socially or ever, ever again. Bobby’s arms finally wrap fully around Reggie, delicate and unsure, and Reggie hums, satisfied. He’s missed this. Missed Bobby.

“I knew Luke wouldn’t let me leave if it was for this. But I couldn’t waste the opportunity. My dad has a lot of connections that we might not have been able to make on our own,” Bobby says, but even the argument sounds like it has the air punched out of it. Reggie hums again, noncommittal.

“He probably wouldn’t have let you leave without a fight, no, because anything your dad can do for us, we can do on our own talent, Bobbins. I know that you’re scared of never being able to make it, and I know that you think your dad can help us, but we’ve always agreed that we didn’t want to make it like that. Why did you think doing it like this would make things different?” he asks, making sure to keep his voice soft and the accusation out of his tone. He doesn’t want Bobby to puff up, because if Bobbers gets defensive, this conversation isn’t getting anywhere. He might as well have a conversation with a brick wall. He’s not the most intelligent former member of Sunset Curve (that honor goes to Alex, probably), but it’s better that he’s here than, say, Luke. Luke would definitely have started a fight by now.

“I just… I wanted to help. And then you guys didn’t talk to me, and you made a new band so quickly and everything changed so fast, and the new album was all I had, Reggie, and Carrie told me that I should just work on that and say fuck it, so I just said fuck it, and maybe I shouldn’t take emotional advice from a Scorpio, but I didn’t have you guys at the time, so I just- I wasn’t- it was,” Bobby stops and starts and then stops all together, and that’s all it takes for Reggie to realize that Bobby is probably about to start crying. Reggie tucks Bobby’s face against his neck and presses his own face against Bobby’s hair, pressing a kiss into it naturally, just like he does with Julie, because the Molinas are even more affectionate than, say, Sunset Curve, and Julie and the Phantoms has become a codependent place to live too. He wants to make Bobby safe there too. There’s something he has to say first, though.

“We didn’t reach out because we thought you didn’t want us to, Bee. When you walked away, I promise we wanted to follow you. At the very least, Alex and Luke did. It… hurt me. A lot. When you left. Sunset Curve was the only family I had before the Molinas. Alex had his sisters, and even when they fight, Luke’s parents still love him, and you have Carrie, and Trevor, in his weird way, when he wants to care. But I don’t- they don’t love me, Bobs. Not even Michael, not really. And when… when you left, they took care of me instead of thinking about you, and I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” It had taken Ray months to get him into a therapist who got him to admit that his family sucked. It’s weird to just say it now. It’s only been a month and a half since he said it in therapy. Bobby squeezes him a little too tight, but Reggie doesn’t tell him to let go. It’s kinda nice, actually.

“I shouldn’t have left. I’m really, really sorry, Reg. I love you, and it wasn’t ever about- I’m sorry,” Bobby struggles through apologizing, and it’s obvious he’s crying now. It makes something crack in Reggie’s chest, like a ridge is forming beneath the plates of his crust, tectonics shifting as it quakes. He kisses the side of Bobby’s head, wants to kiss his face, and that’s not a new thought. He pushes it down just like he used to, lays it to rest within him and does not give it a grave marker, slides it down beneath the rest. They’ve probably been too close for too long. They’ve probably done that a lot over the years. They probably won’t stop, if they’re going to be mending their friendship.

That’s okay, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you too, Bobbins. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says, and it almost feels like it actually will. He loves Bobby Wilson, and for the first time in a year, thinking so doesn’t burn in his chest. Bobby pulls away from him and gives him a smile, and there it is. That same old problem.

His love for Bobby is like a car in that starting it seems impossible if you don’t know how; it’s sat dormant for months without an experienced driver. Luke and Alex have walked around it for the past year, tapped on the glass of its windows, have had no idea how to even open the doors without a key in hand. It’s just a hunk of metal really, but if you have the key (Bobby’s smile in the ignition, just ready to sink his teeth in), it’s the easiest thing in the world, just a turning of metal within another piece of metal, just a spark, and everything comes alive, all of the noise and heat, and there he is, there’s all the love in him, everything alive in Reggie, and it’s there and ready to go and rolling down the hill, 40 miles an hour, 50, 60, as fast as anyone will let him before they hit the breaks. All of the fear of being hurt takes the backseat as Bobby slides into the driver’s seat, Reggie taking passenger because he’s never been in control of this. It’s okay, though. Bobby’s never been a reckless driver. He’ll be careful enough. Reggie has always been so ready to hand himself away to this boy.

Same problem, same solution. Reggie shoves his love into himself and gives Bobby a smile of his own, offering him his hand as they exit. Bobby’s smile slides into a grin, but he shakes his head.

“Unfortunately, we’ve both got work to do, Reg. I’ll see you later? Tomorrow maybe?” he asks, and they both know that tomorrow might not come. Reggie nods anyway, entrapped by that fucking grin, the sharp canine that overlaps over one of his other teeth, every little thing that Reggie has ever observed about Bobby coming back into sharp focus. And, god, he loves him. Jesus.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bee. Love you,” he says, and he walks away from Bobby feeling ten pounds lighter. It almost scares him when Bobby catches him by the hand halfway out of the door of the rhythm cafe, spinning him around and pulling him a little closer than they’ve ever gotten so quickly, and Reggie knows he’s blushing before he even sets himself to rights.

“Sorry, just. Love you too,” Bobby says it like he’s following an impulse and then he kisses Reggie on the cheek (he’s never kissed Reggie on the face before, always kept it to his hair or his shoulder or his hands or-) and disappears out the door. Reggie blinks, standing stock still for a moment as the feeling rolls over him before he follows Bobby out of the door, the other boy already lost in the din of the camp. He goes about the rest of his day with a little more pep in his step, catching things before they fall and all of the things he maybe shouldn’t do for the butterfly effect of it all, but he just can’t help it. Everything looks a little brighter on the other side of the tunnel. He sees Bobby across the campground a couple of times, but never really close enough to engage, just enough to fluster himself. He needs to talk to the boys and Julie and Flynn.

The soonest time he gets to see all of them is dinner that night, when Alex tells them all about Willie. Reggie doesn’t interrupt, and he gives the same advice he’s given the last two times (“You should totally talk to him again! In fact, where is he? Hey! Are you Willie? You should come eat with us!”), but afterwards, he tells everyone that he talked to Bobby. And the table goes strangely, eerily silent.

“What do you mean you talked to Bobby, Reg? I thought we were gonna be cool about it,” Luke says, looking at Reggie mostly but looking at Julie a little bit, probably because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. Reggie doesn’t want to hurt her feelings either (and he won’t, not even for Bobby, but Bobby is important too), but he’s not going to keep this a secret from her either.

“I am being cool about this! Bobbert apparently got convinced by his dad to make a solo album so that his dad would sponsor Sunset Curve, and Bobby didn’t think that he could tell us because you wouldn’t let him leave, but he didn’t want to squander the opportunity or whatever, but then he was really Bobby about it and got in his feelings, but we were also in our feelings, so overall Sunset Curve era communication skills were really, really shit and honestly we all owe our lives to Flynn and Julie, but furthermore, it’s my vote that we engage Robert T Wilson in a prank war, as he has wronged the former members of Sunset Curve, but he is still a former member of Sunset Curve himself, and dude, he cried on me earlier,” he ends out strong, because he knows nothing is more convincing that Bobby fucking Wilson expressing an emotion. He doesn’t realize he’s speaking more to the table than he is to his friends until he’s done speaking, but when he looks up, Luke and Alex are both just looking at him, Luke’s eyes wide and six shades of puppy dog, his smile just starting to curve upward, and Alex giving that shy smile like he’s just seeing Reggie.

“Are you sure, man?” Alex asks, and Reggie knows why. He knows that half the reason that Alex and Luke held such a huge grudge against Bobby was for hurting him, and he knows that despite all of their implications and joking, everyone knows that he is the delicate one, not Alex. He bites his lip and looks at Julie, who gives him a smile, one that doesn’t even look hurt. Flynn is smiling too, so Julie must really not be hurting; Flynn is never good at covering up when Julie isn’t alright. She gets too mad.

“I’m sure. So, what do you think we should do?” he asks, and that sets them off. Flynn has a lot of opinions for someone who has never participated in a Sunset Curve prank war, but she argues that it’s not a Sunset Curve prank war, being as all four members of Julie and the Phantoms (and their social media manager) plan to participate, and Reggie can’t help his smile when they say that. He likes the idea of having Flynn and Julie in on this too, can’t stand the idea of having a separation between the lot of them again, and it makes him smile even wider when Willie throws in an opinion too; Bobby has apparently talked about them some, and this might help. This might help. Thank God.

“We are not going to just pie the guy, that’s so lame,” Flynn says, and that breaks Reggie out of his head. He puts his hand on their shoulder. He knows they’re right, that it’s the kind of shitty prank a bunch of thirteen year olds would produce, but well-

“We should definitely pie him. That was how we used to start our prank wars because when we were kids- or, well, it was just a few years ago, when we had first met, we were thirteen, and Bobby smacked me in the face with a banana cream pie in the doorway right over there,” he points to the cafeteria doorway where Bobby had ambushed him, the fond memory washing over him. It had been a dare from one of the other boys at camp, and Bobby had regretted it immediately when he thought Reggie was going to cry (he wasn’t that sensitive, he just had whipped cream in his eye!), but when Bobby decided to hang out with him instead of going back to hang with the other boys, Reggie wasn’t even mad about the pie. He just started pranking Bobby back, and brought Luke and Alex into it too, and that’s how they got started. Hearing this, Flynn nods.

“Okay. Do you still know where the camp keeps their pies?” they ask, and Reggie breaks into a grin, nodding back.

It would probably look suspicious if they all got up from the table, so Flynn makes Luke, Alex and Willie stay. Reggie winks at Alex when Willie isn’t looking, making the other boy blush a pretty pink to match his signature hoodie. It’s always charming to leave your best friend with your other best friend, who happens to be his ex-boyfriend, and his pretty obvious new crush. Reggie leaves with Flynn and Julie, glad that he’s not make small talk with that crazy crew (not that he’s ever made small talk with Luke and Alex; they would probably just end up one upping each other with who could tell Willie the most embarrassing story about Bobby the fastest, seeing as he’s had a year’s time to tell Willie stories about them, should he so please). He links his arm with Julie as he usually does, who links her other arm with Flynn, even if they make a conspicuous picture together. Flynn has told him that one of the best ways to be inconspicuous is to be conspicuous in other ways all together.

He’s not sure if they’re right, but he’ll take it.

“Okay, so they’re back there in the fridge, sweets are on the right hand side, pies are usually in the bottom. I can absolutely guarantee about thirty seconds,” he says, and then he lets go of Julie, pushing Julie and Flynn into the kitchen as he catches sight of-

“Hey Marge!” he says brightly, injecting excitement into his voice and making sure not to look in the direction of the door he just pushed his friends into. If he gives them up, they’re all fucked. Luckily, Marge just looks as excited to see him as she always does, just as excited to see him as she’s looked since he was tiny and thirteen and adults liked him so, so much more than kids ever had.

“Reggie, my love, where have you been? You haven’t come to see me at all this week. I almost didn’t think you were coming back,” she says, and then they’re off. He talks about the band for as much time as he can; Marge doesn’t really understand the social media kickoff they’ve been able to get, but she likes how excited he gets, so that’s nice. He asks her about her kids, her grandkids, even the nieces that used to come around to camp just to visit every couple of weeks that he can just barely remember the names of- he’s good like that. He’s not sure how long they’ve been talking when Julie comes up and grabs his shoulder, sliding him a smile before turning her charm on Marge.

“Hi! I’m Reggie’s friend, Julie. Is there any chance I could steal him from you?” she asks, all smiles and barely there pretty girl laughter, and Marge just smiles back at her, giving her a nod.

“Reggie has been telling me all about your band, so I could hardly keep him from one of you three. It’s wonderful to meet one of you. Come back and see me, my boy,” she says, and she kisses Reggie on the cheek, and then she goes back to the kitchen. It makes Reggie feel warm, and he wishes he hadn’t come to see her just to steal a pie; it makes him feel dirty. That only lasts for a minute as Julie pulls on his arm, giggles bursting out of her chest as Flynn rejoins them, slipping out with a pie in hand, cling wrap still holding it together. A smile takes over his face as well as he puts his arm around Flynn’s shoulders, snagging the pie with his other hand. This is his prank. He’s gonna do it.

That’s what he thinks, at least, until Alex steals the pie from his hands, putting on the table in front of himself.

“I wanna do it. And I want you to be standing behind me, and I want Luke to be there too, for maximum drama potential. Listen, we’ve been plotting it out, work with me here,” Alex says, both hands on the table in front of the pie. Reggie considers it briefly, but decides, well, all three of them should be involved, and then both Flynn and Julie could be there for it too. And Willie could do the lead in. At the suggestion, Willie grins.

“I’m in,” they say, bumping his wrist with Reggie’s own. Then, they just set the plan in motion. The lot of them actually have to eat their dinner at this point, seeing as they’ve been talking and plotting and planning when they were supposed to be eating, so they rush through their meal and get up in shifts; he and Luke and Julie get up and go sit on the cafeteria porch first, sitting on the railing to shoot the shit and talk, killing time while the rest of the plan goes accordingly. Willie moves to sit with Bobby about halfway through the meal, unlacing his fingers from Alex’s hesitantly, though the rest of them pretend not to notice. Flynn and Alex move to linger by the door, surreptitiously disguising the pie in Alex’s jacket as they stand to talk behind the shadow of the alcove.

It’s all coming to a head when they can all hear Bobby’s voice.

“Wills, I don’t see the point in getting back into conspiracy theories, dude. They just don’t interest me that much any-” Bobby is cut off as he steps out of the doorway of the cafeteria, pie hitting him directly in the face as he sputters. He’s looking around wildly and his eyes catch on Alex first, then Flynn, then Luke, before finally landing on Reggie, who gives a loose fingered wave and a smile. He watches the way that it settles over Bobby exactly what this means (because after the first pie, they’ve never used pies on anyone but friends, they’ve always been a good natured prank, a sweet prank), and he watches as the anger and fear twists to wonder and Bobby looks more open than Reggie has ever seen Bobby Wilson ever look in public, and he looks so open Reggie could cry. The wonder gives Bobby his smile back and, covered in whipped cream and newfound joy, he waves back.

By some unfair deity and miracle, he’s never looked more beautiful.

“I’ll get you back for this, you know,” Bobby says, his head tilted up like he’s speaking to Alex, but he still hasn’t taken his eyes off of Reggie. Alex snorts.

“Sure, Bobbers. Just like we’ll get you back for leavin’ us for a year just because your dad told you to. Shut up,” Alex says, and the tension that’s settled over the group leaves as soon as Alex wraps his arms around Bobby, uncaring of the pie that gets on his jacket, dissipating even more as Luke joins in, dragging Julie, who is laughing, in with him, and Reggie comes too, because this is all he’s not let himself want for the past year, and he snags Flynn and Willie just because he can, making their group hug a seven person event that includes five of his closest friends, himself, and one person he’s just met. Which is awesome. He can’t imagine what it’s like to be Willie right now, hearing about them vaguely for a year and then being dragged into this, but you win some, you lose some, right?

“I am gonna get you back, you know? I wanna make that clear. And Willie, even if you think Alex is cute, you’re on my team,” Bobby says after a minute of allowing affection on his person, and Reggie can’t help his helpless laughter as the group breaks apart as Alex and Willie separate, unable to look at each other directly.

“Can’t let us have one moment, can you, Wilson?” he asks as he comes face to face with Bobby again, his eyes sliding over Bobby’s face with a near obsession. He holds himself back from reaching for Bobby, though his fingers twitch to touch him again. Bobby grins at him, biting his lip in a way that makes Reggie stare without really realizing it. There’s still whipped cream on Bobby’s forehead. He should not be charmed by this.

“We’ve already had our moment today, wouldn’t you say, Peters?” the other boy says, which sounds much more suggestive than crying in front of each other, but alright. He and Bobby had always had a somewhat flirtatious friendship, but this is… something else. Even when he wanted to… even when he and Bobby were… Jesus.

“There’s an energy here. I’d say there’s an energy here, right?” Flynn stage-whispers to Alex (who still won’t look at Willie through anything but the corner of his eye) and Julie (who is enjoying all of the energies here and is leaning against Luke, who doesn’t seem to mind at all, blushing himself), who nod conspiratorially. Reggie hates that he can feel himself flush immediately. Bobby just slings an arm over Reggie’s shoulders, kissing Reggie’s temple and making Reggie wonder quietly at how comfortable they’ve already become again.

“You hear that, babe? We’ve got energy,” Bobby says, almost directly in Reggie’s ear. Reggie hides his face against Bobby’s collar, but that only serves to put him closer to Bobby’s person, which only flusters him more, which is sincerely a vicious cycle, he must say. Carrie and her friends choose that moment to exit the cafeteria, which they’re still kinda semi-blocking the door of, which means that she sees, well, everything that’s going on right now. Reggie goes to pull away from Bobby, seeing as this is Bobby’s little sister (only a year and a month of difference, and adoptive, but, well), but Bobby holds onto his waist. Carrie looks Bobby up and down and then gives Reggie an even quicker once over, barely lingering over him before going back to her brother.

“So you’re back in with these losers? No more crying into pints of dairy free ice cream?” she says, her tone cutting and a little cold, but Reggie knows Carrie better than that. He’s known her since she was twelve, he’s seen her cry over a Little’s Pet Shop purse being out of stock, and he helped Bobby figure out pre-ordering when they were fourteen so that they could make sure that it never happened again. Bobby just gives her a smile.

“We talked it out, Care. However, you are on my team for the prank war, so I will be needing your mind,” he adds, giving her a smile that Reggie finds charming but he imagines Carrie probably finds annoying (he’d probably find something like it annoying on Michael, as is the condition of older brothers, so), and Carrie sticks her tongue out.

“Fine. But if I’m participating, I plan to win. Detach yourself from loverboy and let’s go,” she says, pursing her lips. If Reggie could stop blushing, that would be beautiful. Luke, however, has other ideas, and catches Bobby by the shoulder before he can make it down the steps. He drags him over to the side of the cafeteria like that’ll dull the sound any, and like it’s not then easy for all of them to hear every single word that comes out of Luke’s mouth.

“If you ever hurt Reg again, I’ll break both your ankles and your guitar, dude. I love you and you’re one of my best friends, we are family, but you weren’t here for the past year. You didn’t see what happened to him. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but dude, take care of yourself and take care of him,” he says, and then there’s a moment of silence, and then Bobby is shoved back into view. He looks a little shaken up, and he takes Reggie’s hand as soon as he sees him, looking at Carrie for a moment, and she nods. Reggie looks at Flynn and Julie, suddenly unsure of himself, and they both nudge him along as well, and so he lets Bobby take him down the path to the rhythm cafe, which seems to be becoming a thing for them. It’s private, which is something.

“This evening has gone very differently from the previous two,” he says in an effort to break the tension, maybe to distract Bobby from what Luke said, maybe because he doesn’t want to talk about it. Bobby squeezes his hand.

“Reg, buddy. Babe. Come on. What did he mean?” Bobby asks, and Reggie wants to linger on word choice here, he really does, but Bobby’s looking at him like he doesn’t really have a chance to linger here. Reggie takes a deep breath.

“Shit, I- things hit me hard, when you left. I closed off. Luke and Alex didn’t know what to do. Things were getting even harder at home, and Julie was letting me stay over more, and so we were hanging out more, and that’s when the music started happening, but it was hard, you know? I needed you, I guess. You needed us too, I know that now. But I didn’t then. I just knew that I needed you and you weren’t there and I didn’t think you wanted to be there either, and… I missed you a lot,” he explains, poorly, and he can’t look at Bobby when he talks, but he doesn’t feel confident enough to pull Bobby close now. He’s wiped the whipped cream off off his forehead by now, onto his hands and then his jeans, and Reggie wonders what it would be like if he could look at Bobby and not wonder what it would be like to kiss him. It’s harder to press down the thought now.

“I’m sorry I left, Reg. I love you so, so much,” Bobby says, his nose resting gently against Reggie’s own, and Reggie doesn’t know when Bobby moved so close. He doesn’t know when his other hand grabbed onto Bobby’s shirt, he doesn’t know when Bobby’s breath ghosting over his face started feeling right, and he certainly doesn’t know when Bobby’s I love you started feeling like something different than what it felt like before. But he doesn’t know. He can’t know for sure.

“I love you too, Bobbins. I love you too,” he replies, because of course he does, and Bobby rubs their noses together, smiling gently like Reggie isn’t getting something, and then he dips in to kiss him, slowly and gently, gently, gently, gently. Bobby’s hand is holding Reggie’s face like he’s something made of spun glass and sure things, like Reggie is made of everything important in the world, and Reggie’s hand stays fisted in Bobby’s shirt, his other hand with fingers clinging to Bobby’s own. They kiss slowly, like they have all the time in the world, like they didn’t waste a year not talking to each other, like they don’t have two diverging paths in front of them, like they don’t have a prank war to plan and two separate sides to be on, and like they’re not eighteen years old and they couldn’t be going much faster and making much rasher decisions.

He feels like Bobby’s taking them cruising down a backroad, holding his hand over the gearshift while they watch the trees go by. He could stay in the car forever with this boy. When Bobby pulls away, he doesn’t go far, not this time, just sets his forehead against Reggie’s and breathes.

They just breathe together, and the closeness feels like coming home.

“I’m still gonna prank you, you know,” Bobby says, because he can’t deal with one single emotional moment. Reggie gives him a brief little peck of a kiss just because he can, and he’s delighted to see how it makes Bobby blink, even given how they’ve just kissed, and he’s only doing it again.

“Wait, you’re cute. I always knew you were, but you’re, like, actually cute all the time, aren’t you? That’s sweet,” Reggie observed, surprised by self-proclaimed-at-fifteen ‘badass’ Bobby Wilson being cute when Reggie so much as kisses him, and he’s even more delighted when Bobby goes from pink to a red that rivals even Reggie’s own flushing tones. It takes Bobby a second to even be able to speak.

“Reg, I swear. Take that back. I am not- you’re cute. Not me. Don’t- I- Shut up,” Bobby trips over himself, trips over his own words, flustered, and it warms Reggie’s chest so thoroughly he feels fit to burst with it. He leans in and kisses Bobby again, never so glad as now that they’re so close in height, because it’s so, so easy to just kiss this boy who’s very, very kissable in the first place. Bobby kisses him back and pulls back just to kiss him again, and again, and then on his cheek, and then his nose, and his other cheek, and his forehead, and Reggie is laughing even though he doesn’t mean to, and this might be the best day of his life. He’s so happy he feels like he could float away, adrift with the wind, but he has Bobby still holding onto his fingers and wrapped around him, and he’s so, so happy.

“I love you,” he says again, and he’s never meant anything with more of himself. Eventually, he and Bobby have to separate and go to their own cabins, which actually means that they're going to plan their own wars, but dear God, for this moment, he’s standing too close to a boy who loves him back to think about how the night will end and the day might begin again. When they do leave each other, Bobby presses him gently against a wall and kisses him goodnight, and Reggie cups his face when he does it, just to remind him that Reggie is holding the world when he does it too. Instead of asking questions, Luke and Alex go directly into planning mode, charting the course for a few pranks and ribbing him just a little for how mussed his hair is, cracking a joke or two about sharing a bed now that he’s taken or whatever. It’s so normal that Reggie feels like he could crack right open, and when he goes to sleep in his own bed, he falls asleep easier than he has all year.

He wakes up to a new morning the next day, a bed full of silly string, and a note from Bobby.

I told you I would. Come find me?

And so it begins.

(When he remembers, he does, eventually, try to find the cabin again. He gets so far as the egg shaped rock before getting so disoriented he nearly passes out, and he decides that it simply is not worth it. He already has his miracle.)

#boggie #bobby wilson #reggie peters #julie and the phantoms #jatp #alex mercer #julie molina #luke patterson #flynn #willie #willex #juke #carrie wilson #mine #troped #i forgot to post this on tumblr

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hournites · 4 years

Text

The Beth Text

Hournite fic (Stargirl)

Summary: When Beth has an emergency, Hourman climbs through her bedroom window.

Read on ao3

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Beth: Rick, I need you.

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Rick tumbled through her bedroom window, nearly breaking the frame. The glass shook like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to shatter or not, and the flap of her curtains blew up dramatically from the gust of wind. Hourman’s golden cape fell askew in his haste. His eyes darted up, alert in his mask as he oriented himself, sunken elbows-deep in her fuzzy floor carpet.

“Beth!?”

Beth had never heard Rick so panic-struck before. She cringed, feeling bad as she dragged the bag out of her closet through all of her clothes. “In here!”

Quick on his feet, he scanned the room for Cindy or Sportsmaster or another ISA member as if they’d jump out from under her bed.

Beth pulled out four green plastic packs of X-Pression Bahama Curls from out of the bag and waved them at him.

Rick stared at her, lost.

It took a good moment as Beth brought in her full-sized mirror to prop up against her vanity for him to be comfortable with the idea that he could let his guard down enough to not assume this wasn’t some sort of sneak ISA attack. Beth was fine.

He let out a breath he might've been holding too long then narrowed his eyes at her accusingly. “You said there was an emergency.”

“I didn’t say it was an emergency,” Beth replied, tongue in cheek.

Although it totally was one. After Yolanda got caught upside down in that barbed wire that afternoon, Beth had to rush home to finish her math assignment—Without Chuck’s help, she needed to get quadratics right properly for a Chuck-free test— and that ate up so much time she yelped when she realized how close it was to midnight. So she texted Rick. It seemed like the next best option. The first one wasn't worth mentioning.

“I said I needed you.”

“For what?”

Beth smiled brightly at him. “My hair!” She gestured at her braid extensions and crochet latch hook needle in an array on her bed. “They take forever to do on my own, and my hand starts cramping before I’m even halfway done.”

“You want me to use my hour on your hair?”

“Please?” The day was almost over so it wasn't like it would be a risk, and by some stroke of luck, he didn't use it today.

Rick muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch as he peeled his mask off his face. Beth did a little celebratory dance from her bed. If he really wanted to leave he would’ve already been back out the window.

“Are your parents home?” He looked down at his very obvious JSA—ness. The tight suit, the big emblem belt, the boots. As far as discretion went—it didn’t. Just because Courtney’s parents are cool with hosting teen superheroes at weird hours didn’t mean it was the same for the rest of theirs.

She smiled and patted a seat for him on her crisp blue duvet. “Not until five in the morning. Night shifts.”

Chuck was on her nightstand where she left him, forgotten in favour of Youtube procuring a how-to video so she could share it with him in a regular way.

“Rick,” she pleaded in a soft voice when he didn’t move. She discovered recently if she widened her eyes at him, a look would pass his face that yielded him to her knees. And in that precious pocket of time, Beth could lull even his angriest thoughts of war to a whisper. It always baffled Courtney, who tried to replicate her model of calming Rick down after Beth's with little sway. Yolanda called it Witchcraft™️. Beth wasn't afraid to use it, but she worried sometimes in the heat of a battle if it was taking advantage of him.

He sighed again and rolled his eyes in a way Beth knew was harmless.

He kicked off his boots and yanked off his gloves.“How long did you say this takes?”

Beth made a face at the memory of the length of her last hair appointment. “Three hours?”

“Oh my god.” He approached her, successfully coaxed in.

“Well!” she added quickly. “I don’t have super strong fingers! That’s why I texted you! It’ll probably be a lot faster with your help.”

Kneeling on her bed, he sat cluelessly, hands hovering over her thick, kinky hair. It wasn’t witchcraft. Rick trusted her. She never took that lightly.

Maybe his fingers wouldn’t tire looping the braids in or holding the needle at weird angles for too long, but he was afraid of tugging too hard. He’d totalled a car before, Hourman wasn’t exactly delicate.

As if she read his mind, she guided his hand to the part she’d just made with her wide comb.

“I have a strong scalp,” she reassured him. “Just don’t yank and it should be fine.”

“...Okay,” he whispered still unsure, but after an informative tutorial and demonstration by Beth that he studied carefully, they went to work.

“Why do you want these in?” He was six loops in and a lot more comfortable. He tackled her right side as she took on the left, keeping that part down the middle. He was better at this than she thought he would be, nimble fingers pulling through every time with the crochet tool. “Do you not like how it looks?” He tugged on the piece he was working on.

“My hair?”

“Yeah.”

“I do,” she said. “But it’s been a really long time since I’ve done anything more than a perm for our family pictures. Elementary school.”

“I remember.”

“My family portraits?” She frowned curiously. “I don’t think I’ve ever pointed those out.” Although surely he’d heard her talk about them on FaceTime calls to her parents every October in the cafeteria. And they hung on the wall of her staircase. He’d been here a couple of times since the JSA rebranded. It might’ve been an obvious object for Rick to notice, just something Beth had been blind to.

“No, your braids,” he clarified. “Two thick ones down the back from second to fifth grade. They were cute.”

Rick continued with his twist, concentrating intently. She watched him, stopping her own braid as he finished his down her back. Was she touched or stung or perplexed? She wanted Chuck to help her navigate her feelings. Beth couldn’t decide.

“What?” he said.

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

“We’ve been in every class together since we were seven.”

“You never talked to me.”

Nobody ever talked to me, she wanted to say.

Rick lowered his hand, meeting her gaze through their reflection in her mirror. It was quite the image. A black teen girl in a washed-out grey tank and shorts sitting in front of her towering white, lean and reluctant hairdressing superhero. Beth’s lightbulb burnt out the other day and her dad never got around to fixing it, the dimly lit bedroom and late-hour made it all the more striking. And now they were venturing onto deep JSA taboo talks. Yolanda’s scandal. Court’s father. Rick’s bruises. Mr. Dugan's Starman. Henry’s mother. Beth’s bitterly pathetic history of social aptitude. She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“I know.” The hourglass sand trickled steadily into its base. “Beth, I’m sorry.”

She touched his spandex-clad knee. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she wore a tight smile, despite her sudden pressing urge to cry.

“Rick. I’m not mad at you.” She uttered a soft laugh at the gentle way he stroked her hair in response, relief even. “It was never you. You still sat beside me all those years before Yolanda.”

“I never realized you were mad at all.”

“Well, that’s just stupid.”

“It’s not,” he replied, taking over her side of the part. He didn’t even need to refer to the youtube video or her completed braids anymore. She tried to help him but he knocked her hand away. She rested them over her knees after a moment of letting them hang in the air.

“You’ve always been so...Beth.”

“So Beth?” she repeated incredulously, smirking a little.

He got hot under his collar, shifting in his position with a flush. “Shut up,” he said so uselessly she actually laughed out loud. “You know what I mean.” He was running out of time, but her hair was almost all done anyway. “Helpful and cheery and full of smiles without spite, even when people rejected you. Even if they don't deserve you.”

“Not everyone hurts the same way, Rick.”

“Yeah.”

She knew he knew that now, experienced it firsthand growing close to her, Courtney, Henry and Yolanda.

“My mom told me when I was little, that the last thing the person that hates you wants to see is your smile.”

Rick reeled back.

She frowned at herself. “I faked it a lot at first. But the more I smiled, the happier I felt with myself. The more I found joy in the small things in my life...Even if I was lonely.”

Two arms wrapped around her middle from behind her, surprising Beth out of her internal monologue. Rick dropped his head against her shoulder.

Beth had touched Rick a hundred of fleeting times. She fell into his arms or yanked him back from a rash fistfight, high-fived or brushed his fingers when passing school notes. She'd wrapped bandages around his purpling knuckles. Even reached for his hand a couple of scary times.

This was not that.

This felt warm and spell-binding, even with the huge hourglass pressed against her back. Slowly, she reached up to run her hand through his brown mussed white boy hair, feeling the silk of his cape and hood. Rick shuddered at her touch and said something else, muffled into her skin. It was like he ached for this, needed it deep in his bones or soul. Beth didn’t know what to do. Or if there was anything to do. She had never been this close to a boy before. She had never been this close, physically, with anybody. Maybe the girls had it wrong. She couldn't move. She could barely breathe. But the lightheaded dizzy feeling with Rick's breathing near enough to hear was not something she ever wanted to let go of.

Maybe Beth was the bewitched one.

His time ran out. He held her just the same. It was nice to know it was possible, she thought wistfully. That Rick Tyler could be as intimate and secure without some external source of strength.

“Thank you for spending your hour with me.”

She turned around, and her hair moved freely with her head, shoulder-length and new. It weighed heavily. A tension headache crept into her temples from her edges, though she wouldn’t tell him because they weren’t of any fault of Rick. Twists and braids always had a certain ache to them on the first day. It was late too, Beth just needed a good sleep. It didn’t seem hard, now. Something about this hug made her peacefully sleepy.

“Your welcome,” he said, his eyes softening upon hers once again.

She didn’t even have to pull her sorcery moves. She could already hear Yolanda’s voice in her head. Double Witchcraft!™️

Lucky Beth.

“Let me know what kind of an emergency I’m getting myself into next time. I’ll be there.”

"Even if it's just my hair?" she joked.

"Yes," he said. It sounded like a lingering promise. She hoped he knew it went both ways.

"Okay." Beth closed her eyes and hummed. "I'll text when I need you."

#hournite #hournite fic #stargirl #my fic #Beth Chapel #Rick Tyler #fluff

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atamascolily · 4 years

Text

Unicorn Chronicles, Book 3: “Dark Whispers,” by Bruce Coville

Whenever people grumble about how long it's been since their favorite fanfic updated, I can't help but smile a little in sympathy. As someone who's read a lot of CLAMP manga, I've grown used to the stutter-stop of hiatuses and discontinued stories that will never be finished. To quote the Princess Bride, "Get used to disappointment". It's just an occupational hazard.

I know people who only read completed stories, but I would have missed out on a lot of great material and works that really matter to me if I followed their example. It also meant that I got really good at imagining what happens next.

So it was a delight to discover that Bruce Coville had actually finished the Unicorn Chronicles when I was busy with other stuff (i.e., life) and there were two more volumes. Coville specifically thanks readers for nagging him about finishing, which is simultaneously #hilarious and #relatable.

Song of the Wanderer came out in 1999, right on the cusp of the Harry Potter boom that shook up the juvenile fantasy genre. (Both series are published by Scholastic.) Dark Whispers came out in 2008, and you can see how much the genre has shifted in the cover art alone:

This is gorgeous art by Petar Mesedlzija, but it only tangentially fits the descriptions in the books: Cara doesn't really wear anything like this outfit, and the story emphasizes she keeps braiding her hair to keep it from tangling. She has a sword, but she doesn’t really ever use it?

Furthermore, the layout, design, and chapter headings of Dark Whispers are clearly meant to capitalize on Harry Potter: Grimmwold has a looping signature reminiscent of Dumbeldore's in the opening prologue, for instance. It's a very different feel from the way the first two volumes were presented, and tbh, I miss the old way that has gone the way of the dinosaurs now.

Inevitably, with such a long gap between volumes, Dark Whispers ended up with a very different style and tone than its predecessors. The most obvious difference is that it's REALLY LONG--464 pages in hardcover. Some of this increase in length is attributable to Harry Potter proving that giant fantasy tomes can sell like hotcakes, and some of it is the fact that the storyline is now really big, with a lot of different players moving in different directions.

Inevitably, this means that instead of following Cara's POV for the entire book, as we did in the first two volumes, we are constantly shifting narrators. It's completely understandable, but as a reader, I find it really annoying--like I am suddenly reading an entirely different series with overlapping plot and characters. It's not that this new series is bad, per se, it's just... not what I imagined when I was making up the ending in my head in the early 2000s. I do not know if this disjunct would be so obvious or unsettling to someone who was reading all four volumes together for the first time.

Anyway, so since it's been literally a decade, Coville makes the sensible decision to open with a recap from Grimmwold, in his role as the keeper of the Unicorn Chronicles: unicorns and human hunters are at war; the latter are lead by an immortal woman named Beloved with a personal grudge against the unicorns, and she just got an amulet so she can invade Luster.

In Cara's plotline, she is still coming to terms with the fact that her grandmother, Ivy Morris, was a unicorn in disguise, and is now Queen Amalia Flickerfoot. Her grandfather Jaques is super depressed (because literary references, yo) and also because this is super-weird for him, too. As they prepare for Beloved's assault on Luster, Grimmwold reveals that pages from the Unicorn Chronicles are missing, and that others reveal an unsettling prophecy about unicorns confronting their own darkness and a mysterious figure called the Whisperer.

Another human, Alma Leonetti, comes forth and suggests that the centaurs might know more details. The Queen sends Cara and her friends to investigate, while Jaques and Thomas the Tinker go on separate missions. Thomas does give her a watch that marks the days and also explodes, so you know right away she's gonna need both on her trip. M'Gama the geomancer is trying to determine where and when the Hunters will invade: the date is the forthcoming Blood Moon, but she's still working out the details on the place.

Grimmwold tells the group a story about Alma Leonetti, and how she tracked down the wizard Bellenmore, who opened the gate to Luster for the unicorns. Bellenmore has a snarky talking lizard and great tastes in decorating:

On the mantel above the fireplace stood a row of earthenware mugs with hideous faces. One of them winked at me; another leered and rolled its eyes; a third stuck out its tongue and made a rude noise. Then they began to sing a bawdy song until Bellenmore waved a hand to silence them.

Alma bluffs her way to Luster and eventually persuades the unicorns to keep one of their kind on Earth so humans don't forget true beauty and goodness and the spark is kept alive. The hunters keep trying to kill the Guardian, but they always replace the fallen with a new one and the cycle repeats.

We also learn that Ivy summoned Moonheart to heal Cara as a child, which is what alerted Beloved to her presence, forcing her to kidnap Cara and flee because Beloved wanted the child, too. Ian Hunter was a first grade teacher who had no idea about any of this until Cara disappeared and he was radicalized by Beloved and went through an intensive training camp she's built up for her army.

Meanwhile, Ian is in India, tracking down the Rainbow Prison where Beloved has imprisoned his wife. He makes a deal with a mysterious entity, the Blind Man, trading occasional use of his sight for the knowledge he needs. Beloved's men attack Ian, but he is saved by a street urchin named Rajiv who is eager for adventure, and the mysterious Fallon, who is trying to find a doorway to Luster. The three of them team up and head for the Himalayas to find the doorway to the Rainbow Prison while Beloved's forces pursue them. We learn that Fallon is super-hot and also seeking his best bro Elihu, in a relationship that I'm pretty sure was sexual although it's never stated directly.

There's also a plotline involving the delvers - the evil dwarves we mostly forgot about in Book 2. The King keeps talking to the Whisperer, and sending his subjects to do Evil Things as the alliance with Beloved continues. (The delvers do not love humans, but they hate unicorns and so the "enemy of my enemy is my friend" at least temporarily).

The plotlines converge when the delvers attack M'Gama the earthmancer's house and steal a macguffin and kill Flensa, M'Gama's servant. Cara's party splits up, with Finder and Belle hunting the macguffin while Cara and Lightfoot continue on. Finder is killed (sob) and Belle regrets being a jerk to him. Cara's group is attacked by delvers and she is captured and taken underground. (The delvers either don't know Beloved has an amulet already/don't care/want one for their own purposes.) Cara tosses the amulet into an abyss when it fails to transport her to earth, and she is imprisoned in the dungeons with a delver dissident who has had his name ritually stripped from him for defiance.

Cara renames the delver "Rocky" and the Squijum shows up with the amulet and steals the key. They meet up with Grimmwold, and escape. They also encounter the gryphon Medafil, who is lost below ground, only to wake a monster known as the schwartz, a Terminator-like blind dragon that never gives up pursuit. Cara defeats it using the expanding light sphere from Medafil's nest, and they emerge in the centaur's valley, where Belle is waiting for them with the news of Finder's death.

The centaurs are standoffish, but eventually Cara persuades their leader Chiron to spill the beans: after the war with Beloved began, the unicorns decided to expunge all the darkness from their souls with the aid of a magician named Elihu (hi!), which gained sentience and has been egging Beloved on ever since. It's also corrupted the delvers,which is why they hate unicorns so much. In exchange for the info, Cara agrees to mercy-kill Chiron, which none of the centaurs can do for personal reasons. Cara reports this story to the unicorns, who are all :shrug emoji: about it.

Meanwhile Ian and company are stuck in the Rainbow Prison, the Dimblethum is being tormented by the Whisperer, and ends up taking the macguffin the delvers stole and placing it at the Axis Mundi, the world-tree of Luster, so that Beloved and her forces can enter there. Lightfoot tries to stop the Dimblethum but isn't in time. And the book ends on the seriously metal note of Beloved opening the portal beneath the blood moon and invading Luster with her army. *cue 'Bad Moon Rising'*

[Which, I may note, is pretty much where the LAST BOOK also ended.]

SO. That was a lot.

Once again, the core group of characters from Book One gets broken up. Thomas the Tinker gets sidetracked pretty quickly and isn't seen again; the Dimblethum gets a few brief sequences, but doesn't do much until the end. Lightfoot and Cara are separated fairly early on and don't have much time together, though their musings about their sudden familial connections at the beginning are nice, even though Cara also keeps shipping Belle with Lightfoot. Lightfoot himself doesn't get to do much, Finder dies, and Belle is likewise sidelined by the narrative for a decent chunk of the story. Coville also keeps emphasizing that Lightfoot is a Prince, which just grates on me, too.

I would also like to see more of Cara? She has plenty of scenes, but after two books of focusing solely on her, it's so strange to suddenly be jerked in different directions and it makes me grumpy.

It's great to see Medafil again, but I found the whole delvers/underground plot to drag on too long for my tastes. I'm glad Coville brings back that one delver from the first book who let Cara go because he thinks (rightly) his king is batshit crazy.

I like Alma Leonetti's story, but it feels unrelated to the plot, so I'm not entirely sure why it's there. I think it was originally a stand-alone short story, and I think it's better suited as one, because I can't figure out what its narrative purpose is. Or is it just that Grimmwold is contractually obligated to tell at least one story per book?? Or maybe this is something that will pay off in Book 4.

Ian Hunter's story basically bores me, and I found that whole subplot extremely tedious. He's been more or less retconned to be sympathetic and a victim, and I just don't know how I feel about that.

I HAVE SUCH MIXED FEELINGS ABOUT THE BIG REVEAL. On the one hand, it's a great twist to see the psychological shadow as the literal villain; on the other hand, it takes away some of the delvers' and Beloved's agency as villains in their own right because they're now Pawns of a Bigger Bad. It also just seems like such a weird thing for the unicorns to do--and maybe that's a way of making them more alien, but I don't know.

Coville explicitly uses the word 'hubris,' so it also feels weirdly victim-blaming to me because the unicorns are doing it to themselves (and this isn't just a war, but genocide we're talking about here!). For better or worse, this twist muddies the black and white/good vs. evil paradigm into shades of gray: the unicorns are beautiful and good but also arrogant assholes; Beloved is homicidal but also in terrible pain; the delvers are misunderstood and need to be embraced rather than ignored.

Alma Leonetti consistently delivers the best lines - I guess she's taken over the role Ivy Morris used to play, since Ivy is now a unicorn:

"Perhaps the unicorns need to try to recover some of what they have lost?... You face a dedicated enemy who has shown no mercy, one who will stop at nothing to destroy you. And what have you done? Gathered together, which is good. Prepared to defend yourselves, which is good, too. But is it enough? How fiercely are you willing to fight to save your lives? How strong can unicorns be? ... Maybe you need to take in some of that darkness you once released."

I remember feeling oddly disappointed on my first reading, which unfortunately persists on re-read. This story has now moved in a very different direction from the one I expected, and while that's not necessarily bad, it is unsettling and strange. As I mentioned earlier, some of that might just be that the final result doesn't match the story I made up in my head; or it could just be the inevitable result of such a long gap between books and the changes in the fantasy market post-Harry Potter. I don't know.

(I wish I had written down my thoughts about an ending--aka fanfic--because while I could write one now, it’d be reacting to canon, rather than creating it.)

Either way, major kudos to Coville for writing this book, because I had assumed the series was dead and would never be completed, and he fucking did it. That’s such an inspiration, honestly.

#book reviews #unicorn chronicles #dark whispers #childhood influences

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lettersfromn0where · 4 years

Text

Zutara Week 2020, Day 1: “Reunions”

IT’S ZUTARA WEEK BABEY *smoke nostrils emojis*! Here’s my contribution for Day 1 :) @zutaraweek

Title: the most beautiful thing (that I have never seen)

Summary: This should be no sweat. After all, Katara's had the entire duration of Zuko's trip to the Earth Kingdom to work herself up to task of giving him news that'll rock his world. That doesn't make said news any easier to get out, though.

A/N: I couldn't be more excited about my first Zutara week! I kinda went back to my roots for this with all of my favorite tropes: clueless Zuko! Affectionate Zuko! Protective/Worried Zuko! Kidfic! Fire Lady Katara! Domestic fluff! Screw Canon They've Been Happily Married For Decades! ...okay, Sarah, that's enough exclamation points *takes the box of exclamation points out of my hands*. Anyway. To kick off Zutara week, this one is just pure fun and fluff, and I hope it brings you joy - because that's the entire reason this exists.

Zuko has a feeling something is up when he steps onto the dock and he’s nearly knocked into the harbor by a blur of…something…flinging itself full-force at him. For a moment he remembers to be worried that this is some sort of improbable and incredibly strange assassination attempt but when the blur settles and he realizes that he’s feeling arms around his waist, holding on for dear life, he lets down his guard.

“I missed you,” the blur that Zuko now recognizes as his wife mumbles into his shoulder. He’s a little shell-shocked – he wasn’t expecting her to meet him – but he smiles softly, moving his arms from their startled paralysis at his sides to encircle her waist. Katara nuzzles against his neck. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you-“

“I was only gone for a week,” he chuckles, privately wondering what’s going on here but too happy to see her to question it. “But I missed you, too. I’m glad to see you feeling better.”

(Even though it had been a short trip, one she’d been meant to accompany him on but had chosen not to when she’d come down with something the week before, he truly had. He could’ve used her assistance, and her conversation, and the pillow he had to cuddle with as he fell asleep in her absence – because, though he’d never admit it, he’d grown so used to falling asleep with her in his arms that he could no longer drift off easily without something there – was a rather poor substitute.)

“I’m still not feeling fantastic, but I’m doing better.” She leans back a little to look him in the eyes, and her smile is radiant and he almost falls into the harbor for the second time in five minutes. “How was Omashu?”

He groans, and that’s all the detail she needs. Linking her arm through his, the Fire Lady laughs and drags her husband (followed by a retinue of guards whose prying eyes she doesn’t seem to notice) to her waiting palanquin.

To Zuko’s surprise, Katara isn’t very chatty on the ride back to the palace. She’s clearly happy – to see him, probably, but he can’t shake the feeling that the smile on her face isn’t just for him – but a little nervous, too, wringing her hands in her lap. He takes one of them in his, both to still her and to feel her skin against his (something he never gets sick of after several years of touch starvation), and massages circles on the back of her hand. “Are you all right?” he asks, flipping her hand to trace the lines of her palm.

Her breath hitches and for a moment, when he glances up in surprise at the sound, she looks suspiciously close to teary-eyed. “Of course I am,” she says shakily, holding out her arms to him in a gesture for please hug me, NOW, or I believe I might cry. And as a wide-eyed and incredibly confused Zuko takes folds her into his arms, he finds himself at a total loss.

“Are you…” he’s almost afraid to ask. Something’s definitely going on here. What am I not understanding? “Is this about whatever you came down with last week?”

“I’m okay,” she says with a watery smile, sniffling. “It’s nothing bad. Don’t worry, I didn’t get sicker.”

He’s too relieved to notice that she doesn’t outright deny it. “Good.” He lets her snuggle up against him and his heart would be melting right now if Katara wasn’t crying for some unspecified reason of which he remains completely unaware.

(It still is, a little bit, but…this can’t be good.)

-----

Zuko is starting to be very worried about this.

Usually, he’s the earlier riser. He’s up at sunrise nearly every day, so he’s a little taken-aback when he opens his eyes to find Katara’s side of the bed empty, gone with no evidence that she was ever there but a person-shaped impression in the satin of their sheets. “Katara?” he calls groggily, rubbing at his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

She pads back down the corridor from their washroom when she hears Zuko’s voice. “Here,” she calls back softly; though there’s no one but him to wake up in this wing of the palace, it feels wrong to raise her voice in the quiet hours of the early dawn. She tries to smile reassuringly as she slides back under the covers and snuggles up to her husband, sleepily clinging to his neck, but he can’t help but notice that her expression is a little pinched. The relief on her face when she finally lays down is obvious, even though she’s nearly asleep.

“Are you still not feeling well?” Zuko asks, pushing a tendril of hair that escaped her braid overnight behind her ear. “Do we need to call-“

“No,” she mumbles sleepily. “’m fine.”

She drifts off after that, and even a few hours later when they have to wake up, she won’t get out of bed. It’s not like her to sleep in – she’s normally so industrious – but her eyes are heavy, and she looks miserable at the idea of starting her day. Zuko can’t bring himself to protest that she has meetings to attend (she does) or that there are documents to review (there are), but it worries him all day. She’s clearly not over her illness and the fact that it isn’t gone makes his stomach twist.

When he returns to their rooms that evening after an exhausting workday to find her passed out in the same clothes she wore to bed last night, he wonders if she’s moved an inch all day.

Zuko shakes his head. There’s definitely something she’s not telling me, he thinks as she sheds his robes and gets ready to join her in sleep (if he even can). It’s a thought that only feels like a dagger to the heart when she unconsciously presses herself closer to him, so trusting she’s drawn to him even as she sleeps.

He can’t let anything happen to her.

--------

It has been four days of this now, and Zuko is definitely worried - infinitely moreso because Katara won’t let him call in a doctor. One minute she’s burrowed in his arms like her life depends on it and the next she’s yelling at him, and he’s really on the verge of a nervous breakdown now-

“For the last time, I’m fine!” Katara snaps, turning her back to him. She’s been acting out-of-character lately, but this sheer, unadulterated rage is new. “You do not need to call the doctor, I’m not dying, and you’re not helping by worrying about me all the time!”

“How could you possibly expect me not to worry?” he yelps. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been” – he starts to tick off her symptoms on his fingers – “crying, sleeping badly, getting mad at nothing, sometimes not waking up at all, running off without telling me why, looking sick, eating almost nothing and then going and eating weird things at weird times – Katara, you’re not fine. And I can’t just sit here and watch you get sicker anymore.”

She hangs her head. “There’s a reason I’ve been running off,” she says quietly, seated at the end of their bed and looking…defeated. It’s not a look she wears often and Zuko’s already-frazzled brain has yet another item to add to its list of Things to Worry About now. “I’m…getting nauseous a lot.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Zuko’s face blanches. “You’re sick and you didn’t tell me?”

“This is exactly why!” she protests, throwing up her hands. “It was only ever going to freak you out, and I was waiting for the right time, and honestly, I kind of hoped you’d put two and two together but clearly you’re too dense to-“

“You’re really sick, aren’t you?” Zuko feels like the room is spinning. “Something’s-”

Katara crosses her arms, her defeated expression turning to one of…amusement? Zuko is rather confused – in an instant. “No, Zuko, I’m not sick,” she says, and he’s pretty sure she’s laughing at his expense. “I mean, yes, I am. I mean, feeling sick. But I’m not gonna die.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what’s actually wrong with you?” Between the information he’s just received and her latest sudden mood swing, Zuko is at wit’s end.

“You really haven’t figured it out yet?” she smirks, and, crawling to the other side of the bed where he stands, she sits up on her knees to stand at his eye level and loops her arms around his neck. “I’m not dying, Zuko. I’m pregnant.”

“You’re-“

Oh.

Zuko blinks a few times to make sure he’s not dreaming (or…hallucinating – it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s ever experienced), and when he opens his eyes again, Katara’s still there, her blue eyes huge and level with his, waiting expectantly for a response.

(Expectantly. Zuko almost laughs at the fact that he’s so addled he’s making accidental puns now.)

“That makes so much more sense,” he says, breathing a long sigh of relief. Now he really is laughing, partly out of the delight that’s managed to seep through the cracks of ‘I need to process this’ and partly out of sheer relief, because she’s okay, and this is good. “So you’re okay?”

Katara rolls her eyes and pushes her nose against his. “Yes, idiot husband, I’m fine.” She leans in to steal a fleeting kiss. “But check back with me in seven months and I probably won’t have the same answer.”

Then it hits him like a ton of bricks, and his eyes are moist and he’s laughing and crying all at once and all he can think to do is reach down to lift her legs, scooping her off the bed and into his arms and pulling her closer than close. He doesn’t spin her (because he will not be a walking cliché…or, realistically, because his arms are trembling and he’s terrified he’ll drop her even though he does this often), but she gives a delighted little yelp of surprise as he cradles her to his chest, pressing kisses to every exposed surface of her face.

“Someone’s happy,” she teases, and he just kisses her.

“I am,” he says after they finally break apart. “Katara, I…” the lump in his throat won’t let words pass by. “I can’t…I’m sorry, this…I love you.”

He sets her back on the bed and she flops against the comforter, pulling him down with her. They’re laying parallel on the comforter on their backs but Zuko flips on his side to get a better look at her. (An awed smile overtakes his face, and he concludes that whoever it was that decided pregnant women glow was really onto something.) Katara notices, and reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“Aww,” she mutters, moving closer. “You’re cute when you’re speechless.”

They’re silent for a moment, lying there to let themselves take it all in, and then Katara takes his hands and sets them against her still-flat stomach. Zuko feels like he should say something, at first, but the thousand emotions running through his mind won’t let him. And that might be for the better, he realizes.

Words aren’t enough for this moment.

#zutara week #zutara week 2020 #day 1: reunions #myfic #fanfic #writing #mywriting #zutara #zuko #katara #atla #otp: i should be the one thanking you

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muthaz-rapapa · 4 years

Text

Categorizing Precure by Hair Style (Cure ver.)

Again, Precure hair in general is too weird to try to categorize them normally but at least this was easier than the hair types one.

Same rules from the civilian version applies here so go read that first so I don’t have to repeat myself.

Oh, and along with some double features, this includes some Form Changes as well. Not all, but some.

More comments and explanations under the cut.

Note: This will be continually updated as new additions come along.

Down

? - Mermaid, Scarlet, Ange

Ponytail

partial:

Tails

* (looped) - Miracle (Topaz)

partial:

* (looped) - Dream, Magical (Topaz)

** (see comments below) - Flora, Grace

Braids

partial:

Buns

partial:

**Regarding the inclusion of some Form Changes. If the Cure’s hair style isn’t that different from how it looks in their main form, then to avoid redundancy, they won’t be included (ex. Egret’s hair does not change at all when she switches to Windy form).

However, if a Form Change is styled more dramatically than how it is in their main Cure form, then they count. For example, Cure Lovely changing to Cherry Flamenco doesn’t because they both sport just a regular ponytail. Cure Fortune, on the other hand, wears a ponytail in all her forms but each ponytail is distinct from each other (regular for normal Cure form, cone-shaped for Pine Arabian and a ponytail going through an intricate bun for Anmitsu Komachi).

Down - Less Cures wear their hair down compared to their civilian selves. Not surprised.

Mermaid’s hair is made of water so um, I don’t even know if you can style it in any other way than just a blob of water? lol

Scarlet and Ange gave me trouble (especially Scarlet!) because the top of their hair is quite higher than where the top of their skull should be. I know a headband (tiara in Scarlet’s case) can really push someone’s hair back but I’m not sure it can elevate it to that height. So I’m thinking Scarlet might have hers tied up beneath her tiara. Ange’s, however, is too voluminous to even fit in a hairband so I don’t know what’s really going on there.

Then again, that’s hardly the strangest case. I mean, Mint’s is practically a nest with the rest splitting into two long individual strands behind her. (@ _@ ;;)

Ponytails & Tails - Wow. I was sure that that ponytails and twintails were going to even out but apparently not. If you take out the Form Changes, there’s even less twintailed Cures than ponytailed Cures.

EDIT 5/7/20 - I was told Grace (and Flora) apparently has partial tails. Didn’t believe it at first but then this was sent to me:

And now I can’t be anything but convinced. Yea, it really was one of those “Eh?! No way!” moments and goes to show how tricky character design can be.

Thanks @vodka-blueberry for the photo! I’m still waiting on Flora, btw.

EDIT 5/8/20 - Had some further discussion w/ @vodka-blueberry that if Flora’s hair was all loose under that bun, a separate section of hair shouldn’t be visible like it is here:

Basically, if you follow the same idea as Grace’s concept, which is so blatantly borrowed from Flora’s design anyway, then it becomes easier to spot.

Braids - I almost forgot about the braids in Melody and Rhythm’s hair since you can barely see them if you’re not looking from the top or the side. If I’m missing anyone else, please let me know.

Anyways, yep, I definitely need more Cures with braids~

Buns - Buns are so cute, tbh. I’m glad we’re seeing more of them in recent seasons. :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Update log:

5/6/20 - Post published.

5/7/20 - Added Grace to Tails (partial) w/explanation.

5/8/20 - Added Flora to Tails (partial) w/ explanation.

#precure #categorizing precure

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lemontrash · 4 years

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Epithets; the Pros and Pitfalls

Ok gang, so recently the topic of epithets in fanfic has come up and this is a topic I have been thinking about a LOT for A LONG TIME so I figured maybe now is the time to share my thoughts on phrases like ‘the braided baka’ and ‘the ebony-eyed Chinese pilot’ and what some of the pitfalls are in using epithets to enrich your writing.

NOTE: I am not slamming the use of epithets! I am not coming into your fic from 25 years ago saying ‘shame!’. I am only maintaining that these are tricky to get right, and to raise awareness of how epithets can be a really useful, powerful tool of description but also a double-edged blade.

What is an Epithet Anyway?

An epithet is a word or phrase applied to a person or thing to describe an actual or attributed quality, in addition to or instead of their name, and which are used to identify.

On one side of tradition, they are poetic. Homer, writer of the Odyssey, was a big fan of these. ‘The wine dark sea’, ‘rosy fingered Dawn’, and ‘Nausicaa of the long white arms’ are some of his most famous, never mind ‘Apollo, destroyer of mice!’. In his works they were generally descriptive, or talked directly to the schemata (the perceptions and understanding) of his audience.

Everyone knows Achaeans are super hairy, right? You know that.

On another side of tradition, they are identifiers. If you have a populace named virtually nothing but John, Richard and Henry and you’re not used to using family names, then calling this John ‘Long John’ and that John ‘Little John’ helps direct attention to the right person. Or to acknowledge their good or bad deeds/attributes (Peter the Brave vs Stinky Pete, for example) or their lineage (Aragorn son of Arathorn/ John of Gaunt). They can be used for comedic purposes as a device to make purposefully similar characters more amusing (Wee Jock, Big Jock and Smaller-than-Big-Jock-but-Bigger-than-Wee-Jock Jock all agreed to steal the sheep. The Pirate with the Peg Leg and the Pirate with the Clothes Peg boarded the ship.)

But notice that many of these epithets still use people’s names or are direct substitutions for when a name isn’t known. And they are largely subjective - epithets carry not only description but opinion - the opinion of society at large or the opinion of the individual speaker - and pinpoint value - what it IS about this person we should pay attention to.

And that means epithets can be used to praise, (Richard the Lionheart), to criticise (Bad King John), and to stereotype (those hairy Achaeans).

Oh and these are just epithets used for people. Epithets come in other forms, for example:

“The earth is crying-sweet, And scattering-bright the air, Eddying, dizzying, closing round, With soft and drunken laughter…”

The highlighted parts of Beauty and Beauty by Rupert Brooke are also epithets. But i’m going to focus on those used to describe people in this discussion.

In short, epithets always carry meaning in two ways - they focus on what the user feels is perceptively important about the subject of the epithet, and as a result, when we look through the lens of an epithet, our view of a character narrows.

Why are they Great?

Because they’re poetic by nature; they add interest and often eloquence. And because they tell us so much about the point of view of the user. They can add new facets to characters and give writers a secondary means of identifying characters to reduce name fatigue, or differentiate between otherwise similar characters. They can be comedic or evocative. They can show the changeability of characters as they develop or when circumstances change. Clever Odysseus, Lord of Men can become Pitiable Odysseus, hated by the sea.

But because they are poetic, because they carry opinion and because they are inherently narrow in their focus, there’s a whole bunch of pitfalls to be aware of when using epithets. Getting this wrong, well, maybe you just make your story harder to follow. Get it very wrong, and at worst you could genuinely offend someone.

What’s the Problem with Poetry?

The first basic issue you may encounter is that your epithets are too vague or are being overused.

‘My better half’ is an epithet. But if he (she? they?) has not been introduced in any capacity and you also alternate referring to him (her? them?) as ‘the hardened police officer’ and ‘the sloe-eyed beauty’ I might be forgiven for losing track of how many people are in the scene, how they’re related and how I should be thinking of them. Especially early in a story where i’m still getting up to speed with the setting. Here your epithets are muddying the story and it’s a situation where you should be using names. Even for fanfic where we’re assuming that the characters are familiar to everyone, you should be clearly introducing your version of the characters, because generally readers like to know they’re on the same page from the start rather than get thrown for a loop later on. And also you can’t be sure what your reader is thinking, so tell them.

Don’t forget that a NAME captures the whole of a person. Epithets only capture a slice.

You may also make your epithets too purple. ‘The azure-orbed golden-haired CEO’ is a mouthful, and may be adding detail that is irrelevant to the scene; imaging encountering that in a scene where Quatre is busy slashing through Leos in a desert battle. Who is stopping to think about that? Why does it deserve a spotlight right here, right now?

The other type of overuse is to pick one epithet that is your favourite and use it for every other mention of that character. Because epithets carry more meaning than names this is a little like shouting that character’s name through a bullhorn. It’s great the first couple of times - Wow! Exciting! Memorable! - but it fatigues faster than using their name would have. The epithet can then become annoying (’I know he’s got long hair, stop saying it!’) or at very very worst it can become othering. You will alienate your reader from the character, and at the absolute worst, this may mean your reader either comes out with expressions of an attitude to that character that you had no intention of courting or encouraging, or they think YOU have those attitudes and go away from your story thinking ‘wow, that was a well-written story but OOF. that guy’s got some uncomfortable feelings about stuff’.

Whose Line is it Anyway?

Epithets can be factual. They can be based on things you know, I know, and (most importantly) everyone in the story knows. For example, ‘The Wing Gundam Pilot’ is a factual epithet for Heero and is based on knowledge accessible and agreed by 99% of people.

It would still not work if the narrative POV is a character who doesn’t know Heero or doesn’t recognise him as a Gundam Pilot at all. E.G. He’s in disguise and questioning Abdul, who has never met him before.

And this is because epithets are still directional. They convey an understanding or a focus from the user to the reader, regardless of if the user is a character within the story, or the voice of the author themselves. And that’s where it can get weird.

Let’s say I’m writing a story from Rashid’s POV. As a person, he is unlikely to be fussed about the colour of Heero’s eyes, or the fact that Trowa is tall because Rashid is too pragmatic to give a hoot if your eyes are blue or not, and literally everyone is a shrimp compared to Rashid. So in that story, epithets like ‘The azure-eyed pilot’ or ‘the tall pilot’ would be strange if not meaningless coming from that character, and in fact would break the 4th wall by forcing the author’s voice into the foreground.

Effective epithets are either universal and readily accepted (and therefore often neutral/factual, even if they are poetic - rosey-fingered Dawn) or they are naturally biased towards the perspective of the user. Which means characterisation of an epithet used by a person in a story to describe another person in the story goes both ways: When a story in Heero’s POV describes Duo as a ‘violet-eyed beauty’ I may think ‘Duo, purple eyes, pretty boy, yes. check!’ but I will probably also think, ‘wow, Heero’s a massive closet romantic and he has some serious pants-feels for Duo’.

Or if that doesn’t match my view of Heero as a character, I may well think that this author has missed the point of Heero Yuy: Perfect Soldier and it’s THEM who has the serious pants-feels for Duo. If it’s the middle of a gritty battle scene, I may also think ‘Wow, is this really the time, author? Put it back in your pants’.

Or maybe in the above example, it’s a 1x2 but this is jumping the gun. Heero isn’t aware of his own feelings yet so this kind of epithet is premature in Chapter 1. Bring it in down the line when Heero’s acknowledging to himself that Duo makes him go all weird and sweaty.

So use epithets knowing that they will describe the target but also the user, and if those things don’t accord, can jar your reader quickly out of the headspace you were trying to achieve or shout your own voice over that of your characters.

Distilling or Reducing?

If I take a mint plant and distill it, I will end up with a bottle of menthol oil which I could shove under your nose and declare ‘this is perfume!’ and you, eyes streaming, would have to stand there and generally agree.

But if i take a mint plant, rip off a leaf and push it in your face and declare ‘this is perfume!’ you’re less likely to agree with me. Because in this case, I am not distilling, i am reducing.

Epithets can work the same way. At their best, they take everything you want to convey about a character and their situation/personality and condense it into one potent phrase that socks your reader in the face.

But all too often, they are used reductively and then you actually lose a great deal of what’s important about a character for the sake of showmanship and/or lazy writer’s short-hand.

Let’s go back to the Odyssey. Odysseus has just washed up after being shipwrecked; he’s naked, salt encrusted, beardy and beasty and savage. Whilst stumbling around on the shore he is met by a princess, Nausicaa. Nausicaa of the long, white arms. That’s her epithet. From a modern feminist perspective, it seems a little reductive, but in the context of the story, it’s a distillation. She plays an opposite to Odysseus in this scene as he struggles to come back to civilisation after his hardships. She is washing rich clothes; he’s dressed in rags. She’s feminine and cultured and graceful; he’s acting like a wild lion. She represents civilisation and ideals with her fragility and her skin that’s been protected from the sun. He’s burnt and has forgotten how to act like a man.

So whilst the epithet is focussed it tells me a lot of what i need to know and expect of Nausicaa in terms of her role in the story, and the fact that she will compel Odysseus to come back to himself as King of Ithaca.

However, epithets are commonly based on appearance, status or origin, and can very easily fall into stereotype and tropes. Remember Homer’s hairy Achaeans? Was that a flattering description? Would Achaeans bang their chest and cheer proudly to be described as hairy, or would they be put out? If Achaeans are hairy, then what are Trojans?

Let’s bring this to a modern context. If I use ‘the American pilot’ as short hand to convey that Duo is brash and loud and reckless...can I guarantee that my reader will agree with that assumption? Personally I know a lot of Americans, many of whom are not brash or loud or reckless. And if Americans in my fic are de facto brash and loud and reckless... what are Chinese people like? Humourless and ill-tempered? Or is that just Wufei? As a British person, I can find it more than tiresome to see myself represented as old-fashioned and endlessly polite; particularly when it gets obvious that the writer hasn’t the first clue about the UK or British culture. I can only imagine what it’s like for minority groups.

If you start short-handing in this way, it’s the top of a potentially slippery slope into unintentional racial or cultural profiling. This is where epithets can start to raise eyebrows or make readers reach for the back-button. You need to ask yourself - is this lazy description or is this meaningful? Is this from a ‘generic’ POV (IE, mine as the author) or is it quantified by the POV of a character in the story who may carry those biases? Should those biases be acknowledged or explored by the story? Should those biases be carried in character speech only, then, or is it ok to put them into the prose?

Is there a way I can characterise that without short-handing with a basic epithet? If I’m already saying that Duo flipped the table and threw his hands up in impatience, does tagging on this epithet strengthen the meaning of those actions, or are his actions defining the epithet?

Did you know that the alternative meaning of ‘epithet’ is ‘a disparaging or abusive word or phrase’? This is loaded description.

And finally, sometimes the epithet is just plain boring. If the epithet is a universal fact, then it is also a static snapshot of the character we’ve seen before; and it’s often not even individual. Heero has blue eyes... but so does Quatre, and so do Relena, Zechs, Mariemaia, Treize, Sally Po, Sylvia Noventa and that guy over there. It tells me nothing about Heero as a person and even if we argue ‘but it’s a specific shade of blue!’ Well...sure. It’s still not that unique and you shouldn’t have to dig that deep into the epithet to make the trait stand out. It’s the literary version of a newspaper headline yelling ‘WOMAN WEARS CLOTHES’.

For example, compare:

‘The blue-eyed Vice Foreign Minister entered the meeting room’

Cool beans. So what? Relena’s arrived but my attention is already distracted away from her looking for something more plot-related. Especially if this is chapter 3 and her appearance has already been described to me 6 or 7 times.

‘The false queen, Relena Peacecraft entered the meeting room’.

J u i c y! Sounds like tea is going to be spilled. Who’s still holding this grudge against her? Is she the villain here? I’m gonna keep reading.

TL;DR

In summary, epithets carry a lot of personal perspective and can be powerful devices in writing. Used well, they will lift up your writing and make it memorable, vivid and engaging. Used thoughtlessly, you can stumble into a number of pitfalls, some which will make your writing harder to read or unintentionally comedic, and others that could make you look like an asshole.

#fanfic writing #writing advice #epithets #YMMV

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aures-rose · 4 years

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The following is written in Welsh, in a lovely, looping handwriting.

Dear Diary,

This week has been… very weird and I feel… very weird about it all. I guess that's the theme of this week. Weirdness. Very weirdness. I'm going to try to include everything in it but I also kind of don't want to talk about it all, even with you. I hope that's okay, it's not like I don't trust you, Diary. After all, you're just a book that lives under my mattress, you're not going to tell anyone, even if they find you unless they read Welsh. It's just… well, we'll see when we get to it, right?

It all started Thursday when Tom called me a baby. I don't know why it bothered me so much. I guess it's because, well I mean it's Tom! He's not even that much older than me, he's only two years ahead and that's not even a whole lot. But he called me a baby, as if I haven't faced the Organ that ate Everlina or the Orb just like he did. And so I said some not nice things to him and he ended up saying that I wasn't cool and calling me a cow. That hurt even more than being called a baby. I don't know what happened after that because the whole time this cat had been trying to get our attention and so I decided to follow it with Jamie instead of arguing with Tom.

The cat ended up leading Jamie and I to the greenhouses where a bunch of pixies had gotten in and were making all kinds of trouble! I decided I really like Jamie, they're a lot of fun and don't back down from adventure or run after professors. They're a real Gryffindor and I hope I am half that cool. We ended up fighting the pixies and afterwards, we talked while rounding up their frozen bodies to give to a professor. Jamie said that Tom probably didn't mean to hurt my feelings and was just teasing me like a sibling does but I don't want Tom to be like my sibling. I also don't want him to hate me though because then who would call me Fairy-Face?

Anyways, later in the common room I found one of my dormmates. Andie Taylor. How do I even describe Andie, Diary? She's the coolest and scariest person I've ever met. It's like she doesn't care what anyone else thinks which is super cool. We ate every flavour beans and talked about her mum's book and about my crowns and the Fae. Andie says she likes me, but she likes me better when I'm not trying to make her like me. I think she was just hiding that it worked on her though. I don't know though, talking to her made me wonder if I can still be cool if I like faery tales.

Friday, I heard Nora gave Tom horns when we fought because he called me uncool and a cow and I kind of felt bad about it. Someone said he looked like he was crying and that made me feel even worse so… I wrote Tom and told him a little bit about The Horned Boy in one of my Faery Tales. About how he was very cool and he became a king. I didn't tell Tom The Horned Boy was kind of a jerk but I offered to tell him the story. I'll just tell him a version where The Horned Boy was nicer. I wanted to apologise to him proper but… I couldn't bring myself to say sorry to him then.

Andie and I went to Muggle Studies and we were kind of mean. I mean, well… I guess I was the mean one and Andie… I just wanted her to think I was cool and so I told her the Beauxbatons students weren't smart and that they needed their hands held to get to class. Well… them and the Ravenclaws sat in front of us. I kind of felt so bad about it that I went to bed early because I felt unwell. Anyways, we ended up talking about how muggles killed each other and Andie talked about how when you're sad, sometimes muggles will use a pick made out of ice to pick out your brain. She said they still do that. She's kind of scary, really.

After class, I told her and Jamie about the dark side of Faery Tales after class, about the Queen of Mirth and how the Fae will use their magic to make you believe the garbage you're eating is a royal feast, the rags you wear are silks. Andie said that I'm scary and… I kind of liked it? Scary is better than a baby. Scary is… cool. Which means I can be cool and still like scary stories… I just have to make sure everyone else sees how cool they are.

Saturday, Professor Macauley called for people who were interested in drama to meet in the dueling room and we all found out he wanted to put on a play. We talked about what kind of play to put on and what play so we're doing the Tale of Three Brothers but with our own twist on it. Professor Macauley was asking me about music but Nora says I should audition and… I want to. My music shouldn't be something I use to please others, even Professor Mac. Nora also said she'd braid my hair so we planned for Hogsmeade weekend and now I have braids.

Then we had the Owl Post. Nora seemed really frustrated. I guess I would be too if I were only a fourth year trying to run a school paper too. Nora's cool like that though, she's super tough and able to handle all that. I just wish she was nicer to Tom, I don't think she knows how much it bothers him. Tom and I also talked Magnus into fighting Big Rod - that's Artie, if you didn't know. It took me telling Magnus about how Artie's mean to me sometimes to get him to agree. I didn't mention that when Artie was mean to me last time I threw my wooden sword at him, he was too excited about wanting to… I don't remember the word he used but he kept talking like a Faery Tale knight. He reminded me of one in one of my books. I didn't tell him the Knight died halfway through the book.

Anyways, Tom and I are going to do an article on leaks in the castle because Witch Weekly keeps finding out gossip before even we do. I also talked to Tom about… what I did. Trying to make him feel bad because he made me feel bad. He doesn't hate me though. He said hating me was the last thing he did, which I think means that he just really doesn't hate me? We talked about how I'm sad a lot and how he's sad sometimes and… other stuff. He did say that making people feel bad on purpose is wrong and… he's right. I can't help it though, sometimes I just… well anyhow, Tom said he'd always be my friend. And then I left because… well talking about serious feelings with him is kind of embarrassing. He always makes me feel nervous. I told him I needed to find Eve and left after that which wasn't a lie because Every and I agreed to look at the portraits in the Long Gallery. We did that for a while until Eve decided to go to dinner and Andie found me to tell me some gossip.

See, Andie thinks Jamie really likes me. Like likes me. She said she could tell by how Jamie was staring at me and got all blushy when she asked them about me. I like Jamie but I think they're just enchanted because I'm part veela. I tried telling Andie that but I think Andie just thought that I was really just that pretty because I had to explain what being part veela even meant to her. Luckily, unlike Rubicon or Octavia, she thought it was really cool. I told her I've been trying to see how much I can get away with, with it so we're going to test it…

*The ink here is a different shade of blue, fresher as if it were written at a different time than the rest.*

I should not fall asleep reading my scariest Faery Tales! I had a nightmare about shadow people- I guess they were a sort of Fae- and I can't stop thinking about it. I was so scared! Anyways Diary, that's everything. I need to go now, since I'm up, I should get ready for classes, but I'll update you next time something interesting comes up.

*More is added here in black ink.*

Diary! So much more has happened! It all started at lunch time Monday. Andie and I were in the Great Hall when these books came out of nowhere! They started attacking Hufflepuffs first before coming at us. I tried to stop them when one started attacking me. Andie got mad because she said I was going to destroy them so Jamie saved me and I ended up running after Andie, except I forgot my backpack under the table. I had caught up to Andie when Jamie came up to bring my backpack to me. Of course, Andie started teasing me saying I should get ready for them to ask me to marry them. Instead… after we talked for a while… Jamie actually asked me to the Hearty Party! I didn’t think I’d be going really, I’ve had such a hard time being friends with anyone other than Professor Macauley but now Jamie and I have been spending almost every day together. Although, it is kind of hard. Jamie and Andie don’t… Well Andie keeps upsetting Jamie. This time it was by insulting Magnus, even if what she said was true, she was very mean about it and called him a name. I thought Jamie was going to hex Andie! Anyways, Andie ended up leaving so Jamie and I talked a little bit and I told them Andie kind of just likes getting a reaction out of people. I don’t know if it’s really true but it does seem that way.

Jamie and I ended up going back to the commons and Andie was there pretty much sitting by herself. It’s always weird to see someone by themselves in the commons because there’s always so many people in there and it’s always so busy and alive. But Andie was there playing cards. It was really awkward so I said we should play truth, dare, or hex. Andie ended up having to go into the Boys’ Dorm to get something from one of their bunks and while she was in there, Jamie told me about how they’re genderfluid and what that means. We talked about how they have a bunk in both the boys and the girls’ dorms and how the magic all depends on whether or not they’re feeling more like a boy or a girl and sometimes they end up locked out of their dorm.

Andie came back with a poem from an older boy and after reading it out loud, it was Jamie’s turn. Jamie took a dare and Andie dared them to write a fake love letter from Elliott (you remember him right? Our Triwizard Champion) to Cardan- the Beauxbatons Champion. Jamie’s a very Gryffindor person though and they got upset because they thought that was a very… not nice prank. I tried to tell Jamie they didn’t have to /send/ the letter but Andie insisted and… she ended up leaving after calling Jamie a wet, soggy, jumper. Jamie was going to storm off but I asked to talk because… Well, I like hanging out with Andie but I don’t want Jamie to think… Well, to not like me. So I told Jamie that and… well some other stuff. Jamie confessed some stuff to me too, but I’m not going to write them down because… well, I know no one will probably find this who speaks Welsh but I don’t want to risk it, it’s not my secret to tell! I like being the keeper of secrets. Anyways, I told Jamie that I think they’re good and kind and they said they think I am too but I think they’re worried that hanging out with Andie will change that.

I guess the last thing to write about is… Divination class. I don’t want to go into detail but… Thistlewitch, Diary. Thistlewitch! It was really scary too, they all screamed and it seemed like they were really in pain. Jamie and I talked about it some after class though we mostly kind of got to know each other. Anyways, it’s dinner time so I’m going to run down there, I’ll write soon, Diary!

#Harry Potter #harry potter roleplay #harry potter rp #roleplay #second life roleplay #second life #veela #Gryffindor

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tabikato · 4 years

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If you had asked Hue what his thoughts were on Lothering he would give the response that it was very...brown. The further they moved towards the village, the more open the fields were but what surprised him more was that there was a serious lack of green. Sure there was the occasional bushes and some grass, maybe a tree or two, but everything was so...open. Open and not much excitement save for the occasional darkspawn to kill and raider to chase off. Speaking of which...

“I do not see why you did not just do away with them”, Morrigan frowns, crossing her arms as Hue descended the stairs, the raiders from early chased off easily enough. Though it was rather amusing to see a bunch of grown men run in fear from an elf of such short stature, there was no way Hue could know they wouldn’t come back with reinforcements. Especially with the peculiar information the raiders spouted out, something about these two killing the King. As if Alistair had any sense to accomplish that kind of feat, Hue on the other hand, probably not either but he was much more unpredictable to say the least.

“You suppose I should have killed them?”,he questioned, crinkling his nose at the thought, “Driving them off solved the same problem, what’s the point of killing just because you can?” Well, point taken, though she didn’t have to agree with it. Better to be cautious than to be merciful but then again, she wasn’t one of the mighty Gray Wardens here. Speaking of useless Gray Wardens…

“Well, there it is. Lothering. Pretty as a painting.” Alistair extended his arms out, presenting the hodge-podge village with more flair than needed. Hue leaned on the stone banister, looking over the village in a mixture of awe and disappointment. After Ostagar, the village seems a little lackluster in comparison. Houses made of wood and thatching, patchwork fixes to keep the weather at bay. Dirt roads flattened by the consistent to and fro of workers to their daily tasks. The large stone structure was pretty interesting, so large you could fit a few families in it with a high wall and open arch. So many sounds and smells wafted with the breeze, all so unfamiliar that he fought the urge to jump down and begin exploring. And the people, he’d never seen so many gathered about in different clothes and conversations other than Ostagar! Clothes in various shades of brown, gray, and white greeted his eyes from a distance. It wasn’t “pretty” in his mind but it definitely was fascinating.

“Ah. So you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?” Oh no. He had forgotten for a moment that these two, for whatever reason, really, really did not get along. Maybe Alistair would ignore her, act the bigger man and they could continue to the tavern...

“Is my being upset so hard to understand?!”, Or fight back, “Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?!”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Right. Creepy. Forget I asked.” Ruffles whined and he pet the Mabari behind the ears before turning his attention to the two squabbling hens.

“Are you sure you two aren’t related?” They both gagged, turning away from each other to yell at Hue but he had other plans, “What did you want to talk about, Alistair?”

“His navel, I suspect. He certainly has been contemplating it for long enough.”

“It is a nice navel.”

“Are you honest--what?”, anger rose and fell within seconds, scowling eyes turned from Morrigan to narrow ones at Hue, “No. No, nevermind, I don’t even want to know where that trail of thought is going.” Hue just shrugged, the beginnings of a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Down to your navel it seems.” Okay, Alistair decided to ignore wherever that was going.

“So, I get it. This is the part where we’re shocked to discover how you’ve never had a friend your entire life”, his mocking tone earned a scoff from Morrigan, gaining some satisfaction out of her offended look.

“I can be friendly when I desire to! Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so.”

“Wait...you think friends make you stupid?” Morrigan blinked at the chuckling elf, eyes narrowing.

“I’m beginning to suspect, yes.”

“Anyway...I thought we should talk about where we intend to go, first.” Alistair interrupted, saving them all from yet another looping conversation they were prone to have. The only saving grace of those was that it made the trip seem shorter.

“Got any ideas?”

“This should be good” Ignoring Morrigan’s sneer, Alistair turned to his fellow Gray Warden.

“I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties...have you looked at them?” Hue’s large blinking eyes told him all he needed to know and he sighed, knowing the question about to spill forth, “The treaties, Hue, the ones we got from Flemeth. With these we will be able to ask for assistance, maybe even raise an army.”

“Oh! Those things!”

“There are three main groups we have treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. I also think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first.”

“My clan’s already moved north…”, Hue cocked his head, eyes turned to the sky, “but there’s another that’s usually in Brecilian forest. Wait...why are you leaving this up to me?” With a furrow brow, he turned his gaze back to the human. Shouldn’t he be the one making the decisions here?

“Well, I don’t know where we should go! I’ll do whatever you decide!” Alistair’s voice cracked a bit, shoulders tight as he deflected back onto the other. “Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don’t know for sure he’s where we should go. I’m not going to fight about it!” That was...weird. Aside from the moping, which would be normal for such heavy losses, Alistair had been more on edge. He'd assumed the added tension and constant bickering with Morrigan was it but now he had his doubts. Was Alistair...lost?

“O...kay. Well, I am a hunter so...I guess that’s fine?” What more could he say? Aside from some hunts, Hue’s never led anything his whole life and now Alistair was just expecting him to do just that. “Still, I’d like to know what you guys think too. The group should be in agreement. What about you Morrigan?”

“Go after your enemy directly. Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety.” Okay, she has a point, it’s a great point but also just a very bad idea in general. One, they have no idea where Loghain was, second…

“Yeees, he certainly wouldn’t see that coming! And it’s not like he has the advantage of an army and experience and-”

“I was asked for my opinion and gave it! If your wish is to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us!”

“Guys!” His voice cut through, stopping them both, “Morrigan’s right, we can’t fight about this.”

“But we-”

“And you’re right too, going after Loghain now is too risky. There’s no way he hasn’t buried himself in his den, we’d walk right into a trap. For now, let’s get some food and figure things out as we look around.” A heavy sigh left his lips, both humans looked at least a bit guilty. They were all tired and probably just hungry, some food and rest would clear their heads and then they could make all those important decisions.

“There is a tavern not far from the entrance, come.”

All he had wanted was some damn food, maybe a drink, and be off his feet for a moment. Just to relax next to a fire and pretend for just one moment the world wasn't ending. What he hadn’t wanted was to be pulled into a fight right as they walked in the door. The tavern had been full of patrons, chattering and gossiping in a way that filled the whole room with noise. On the upper part he could hear a lute being strummed to some unfamiliar tune. And the smells! He had been eager to try food cooked in a tavern, it always made him curious when the other elves told him about it after their ventures into the villages. His eyes on the prize he hadn't expected to be stopped by some guards, guards that definitely looked like they wanted trouble.

“By order of Loghain, we are to kill the traitorous Gray Wardens.” Again? So this was Loghain’s doing, huh? Not enough to be a coward and let people die in Ostagar but now he was trying to hunt them down? To do what, eradicate the Gray Wardens? Did he hate them that much? A woman with red hair and a soft voice interrupted, dressed in a robe that he had seen people around the Chantry nearby wear. A “sister” Alistair had called them. Sister to whom he had no idea.

“Please, there is no need for violence here.” Had to give her credit, it was worth a shot but the guards were having none of it. Then they drew their weapons and it was chaos. Drawing his bow, he had to be much more precise in such an enclosed space. One miss and he might hit an innocent, the idea that these so-called “guards” didn’t even care about the people screaming in fear around them just made him angrier. Between the five of them, sister included, they had managed to take care of this mess...non-fatally of course. Wow, he’s on a roll today.

“Tell Loghain we know what he did and we’re coming for him” Teeth bared, his red eyes lit up from the fireplace glow, feral as one of the beasts he hunted. With a tight nod they scrambled, pride turned to fear, tripping over themselves right out the tavern. Well, that takes care of that.

“I apologise for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help.” Anger melted from his face as he turned to the woman...sister. She was pretty and her hair gave off a warm glow in the firelight, as if the flames themselves coloured the strands. The style cupped her face, a braid on the side, with a few strands falling gently on a pale face. Her eyes, blue and clear, were steadfast, holding his gaze before he realised he had yet answered her.

“I appreciate that.” The accent was different though, was she not from Ferelden? It didn’t sound like Marcher.

“I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy.” A tilt of her head, smile tight, “Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering. Or I was.”

“I”m Hue.”

“They said you were a Gray Warden. I’m surprised you’re an elf, but elves must want the Blight defeated as much as humans, no?” Her voice held genuine such curiosity, he didn’t have the heart to interrupt her, “I know after what happened, you’ll need all the help you can get. That’s why I’m coming along.” He blinked. Once, twice, letting the words sink in and when they finally hit him, he let out a confused sound.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“The Maker told me to.” Again...what? The Maker told her to follow him? His confusion must have been plain on his face because her confidence suddenly deteriorated, “I-I know that sounds...absolutely insane. But it’s true! I had a dream, a vision!”

“More crazy? I thought we were full up” Alistair whispered, scoffing at the idea. Considering he was the more religious of the three of them, if even he didn’t believe her…

“Look at the people here. They are lost in despair, and this darkness, this chaos will spread! The Maker doesn’t want this.”, her voice shook, so desperate in her plea that he actually started to feel for her, “What you do...what you are meant to do, is the Maker’s work. Let me help!” Aside from the fact that he was very much not Andrastian, he found he couldn't argue with her. She so passionately wanted to help, to stop this Blight and save people and whether it was the will of the Creators or Maker or what have you, he wasn’t going to turn that away.

“Well then, welcome to the party Leliana!” Arms spread wide, he welcomed her with a smile, warm gesture causing a smile on her face. The other two humans seemed to look a bit incredulous that they suddenly had a new...traveling partner.

“Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought.” All that followed Morrigan's statement was more laughter as Hue walked over to order food. Finally!

After the meal he set about exploring Lothering, drawing exasperation from Morrigan and curiosity from Leliana when he flitted about like a hummingbird. Both women were assured that yes, this is normal, he does it all the time, please don't question it from a defeated Alistair. There was so much to see, so many sounds and smells and people to talk to. What he hadn’t expected was how many people needed help and despite Morrigan’s complaining he solved a few problems around the village, earning thanks and even some rewards. It was nice to be able to do things and it not turn into a giant mess for once.

Giving the elder some of the extra potions he had stored away, he caught a glint of metal. Curiosity moved his body faster than anyone could utter a word, forced to follow after the elf as he made his way to a large cage just outside the village arch. He heard before he saw; a deep voice reciting something in an unfamiliar language. Inside was a man, a giant of a man! Grayish skin stretched over large muscles and tight features, a strong jaw, sharp brow, and large nose made up his face. Large white braids were fastened tight to his skull, drawing to the back. One of this man's arms was at least equal to both the elf's legs! Red eyes widened in pure awe as Hue took in the giant who stood so still, he almost seemed like a statue. That is until eyes opened up and stared him down.

“You aren’t one of my captors.” Short, deep, to the point. Hue wasn’t sure why but that voice had him standing up straighter. “I have nothing to say that would amuse you, elf. Leave me in peace.”

“What are you?” Words, innocent as they were, left his mouth without filter.

“I am Qunari, is that not obvious?” Head shook no but it was only answered with a deep sigh.

“You’re a prisoner? Who put you in there?”

“I’m in a cage, am I not? I’ve been placed here by the Chantry.”

“The revered mother said he slaughtered an entire family...even the children”, Leliana’s voice reminded him that his friends had followed him, all standing behind the elf. Wide eyes froze, turning back to the strange man with that new knowledge.

“It is as she says.” Admittance; plain and simple. Something about that seemed...off to Hue though, what kind of murderer just admits their guilt and with such a tone? “I am Sten of the Beresaad--the vanguard--of the qunari peoples.”

“Ah, I’m Hue. Gray Warden. Nice to meet you.”

“You mock me.”, eyes narrowed but then replaced with confusion, “Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands.”

“Well, I mean...you introduced yourself so politely…”, finger scratched his cheek, was he not supposed to do that? The way this Qunari?...was staring at him was a little nerve-wracking, it was like the taller man was reading him like a book.

“It matters little, I will die soon enough.” Suddenly it dawned on him that Sten was actually locked in that cage, probably meant to starve to death or worse.

“This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy’s sake alone.”

“Mercy?”, Alistair snorted in surprise, “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage.”

“Yes, that’s what I would have expected.” Morrigan’s words made Hue pause, ignoring their bantering as brow creased in thought. A use for him? It seemed leaving anyone to the fate of darkspawn was much too cruel, that he knew. If Sten had done what he said then yes, he did indeed deserve punishment but Hue just couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to this. It felt...odd and whenever he felt something was odd, he knew it wasn’t what it actually was. Was it?

“Are you guilty?” Sten was silent for a moment, furrowed brow regarding the elf.

“Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?” A pause and then his expression was stone once more, “However I feel, whatever I’ve done, my life is forfeit now. My regret will not bring back the dead.” And there it was, his decision made, he was going to get Sten to join them and that was that.

As much as he wanted to run and explore the Chantry and all it's nooks and crannies he was on a mission. Soldiers were standing around in various spots, Templars, as Alistair pointed out to him,. So that symbol was did mark them as Templars, that information would be useful for later. Who knows who might become their enemy and if the shem want to run around with large symbols emblazoned on their shields and armor to alert everyone who they were well...that seemed a them problem. Before any of that he marched his group right into the study in the back, determination set on his face.

Despite knowing the crime Leliana had actually helped him convince the Revered Mother to let them release Sten, as long as it was in Hue’s custody. She had caught on to his plan pretty quickly, offering assurances where he could not. Impressed, he smiled at her as they headed back into the main part of the Chantry.

“You’re really smart Leliana!”

“Oh? Thank you...I’m not sure what I did though.”

“You helped me get Sten out”, his smile was bright, genuine and she couldn’t help her own growing, “like redemption right? If he did do it, then stopping a Blight is better than him rotting away right?” Yes, she had guessed that was what he was thinking but it felt good hearing the words spill from his mouth. The Maker had truly chosen a merciful one. She watched as Hue approached the head templar, hands moving in animated fashion to his speech and the templar nodded. Seems he was quite pleased to hear that Hue had taken care of some bandits outside of the village. Her eyes followed the rest of her new companions; Alistair was busy talking to a knight nearby and Morrigan was near the door, eyeing every templar as if they’d attack on spot.

“Let’s go get Sten!” Hue’s cheerful voice popped up, his business done as he looked towards his friend, “Hey Alistair, let’s go!”

“Go ahead, I’ll join you.” With a nod, Hue walked right out the chantry with the two women, heading back to the cage.

“You wish something more of me?”

“Yea, I’m getting you out.” Sten’s eyes widened as the small elf started to unlock the cage, key in hand.

“I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it.”

“She only agreed as long as you came with me.” The door swung open, Hue looked him right in the eye and Sten could only meet them in kind.

“Fine then, I will follow you against the Blight. In doing so I shall find my atonement.” Stepping out, he stretched out the limbs that had been cramped in that damn cage for too long. A warm smile greeted him, almost child-like in its happiness.

“Thanks Sten! Glad to have you with us!” These thanks and platitudes were undeserving to him, even if he was fighting a Blight he was still doing it for selfish reasons.

“May we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere.” With a laugh, Hue led his new friends back to go pick up Alistair as well as some equipment for Sten and be on their way. To where? Creators knew but with two new friends, he felt like it was going to be interesting. They decided to take the back way from Lothering, marching up the stairs when they heard a commotion. On the bridge were two dwarven merchants, cart trashed and boxes strewn about, screaming at their attackers. Only the attackers weren't raiders, the unholy growl of darkspawn was turned upon them as soon as they came into view. Foul creatures wasted no time at all running at them, swords meeting swords as they engaged. Luckily with Leliana and Sten now in their ranks it took no time at all for these damnable things to be slain, pulling an arrow embedded into one's chest. Maybe they could do this after all...

"Mighty timely arrival there, my friend. I'm much obliged." The thankful voice had him turn, looking upon the dwarves who no seemed afraid. He smiled back at the one with the beard, nodding his head.

"You're welcome, uh..."

"The name's Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur", that last word seemed important but Bodahn continued on, patting the other dwarf on the shoulder, "This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy."

"Hello."

"Road's been mighty dangerous these days. Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going the same way." Hue shrugged a shoulder.

"You can but I don't know if you want to travel with Gray Wardens."

"Gray Wardens, hm? My, that does rather explain a lot", Bodhan stroked his beard, not even thinking on the prospect, "No offense, but I suspect there's more excitement on your path than my boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune, though."

"Goodbye."

"Same to you." With that, Hue waved at them before joining up with his friends. Those two seem nice enough, hopefully they don't find anymore trouble. He could hear Bodhan's voice distantly as their feet carried them further on.

"Now, then. Let's get this mess cleaned up, shall we?"

#dragon age origins #dragon age #zevran x mahariel #zevran x m!warden #dragon age fanfic #Hue #Tabi writings #Alistair Theirin #morrigan

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dracoqueen22 · 4 years

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Making Friends I - Conversation Starter

Title: Conversation Starter Universe: Tethers Characters: Tempest Teapot, Dakota Sorrel, Rathi of the Cinders, Easton Rating: K+/G Desc: Tempest is surrounded by pretty people, but Easton is the newest face, and so it must be up to her to make the first overture.

Easton loitered in the periphery of their camp like a stray animal who couldn't decide if he wanted to be kept or not. He sat on a stump, legs curled lotus beneath him, long white braid tucked over a shoulder, studiously ignoring their entire party. Tempest couldn't stop staring. He was so pretty. Pretty like women were pretty. She didn't know men could be so pretty. She imagined him painted up like a princess, his hair dripping in jewels, his body draped in fine materials, perhaps a dress to swish around his ankles. Oh, they’d suit him well. He was pretty enough for it. She gnawed on a strip of dried venison and contemplated their guide. He was tall, too. A little on the thin side. Gods, he had the longest legs, too. They went on for days. He wielded a longbow, which meant he had strong arms and hands. Good for lifting things. "You're drooling," Dakota said. "I'm not!" Tempest said. Except maybe she was. So she wiped at the corner of her mouth.

"He's so pretty," she mumbled around the meat. She shifted her weight, calves aching a bit from the casual crouch she'd dropped into.

"Aye, and likely to bite your head off if you try, so don't bother," Dakota grumbled as he bent over the new pair of socks he was knitting for her. It was a strange thing. Her socks kept getting holes in them, right at the tip where her big toe was. She went through socks like most people went through... well, something they tend to go through quickly anyway. "Maybe he's nicer on a one-by-one basis," Tempest contemplated aloud. She sucked her fingers clean. "He just needs to get to know us." "I don't think that's going to help," Dakota warned, but there wasn't much strength behind it. Just a kind of tired resignation. Good. He was learning. Tempest stood up, hissed when her calves protested, and bent over to rub at them. "I'm going to go talk to him," she declared after the initial spasms ended. Dakota sighed. Tempest adjusted her clothing, dragged a hand through her hair, and then realized she'd kind of dragged a bunch of jerky-spit through her curls, too. Oops. "Wish me luck," she said and picked her way through the camp, skirting around the low fire and tossing a wink at Rathi as she passed. "You beat me to it," Rathi said with a slanted look at Easton, a bit of hunger in her eyes. Tempest couldn't blame her. He was so damn pretty. Then again, their whole party was gorgeous. Tempest wondered how she got so lucky to be able to travel with a whole group of pretty, pretty people. She could ogle all day and never get bored, except Dakota. He was pretty in his own way, but Tempest didn’t ogle him. That would be weird, and a little gross. He was like her little brother. She had to keep an eye on him for his safety, not for ogling him. "You can have the leftovers," Tempest promised. Rathi chuckled, and Tempest let her be, approaching Easton without bothering to hide the fact she was doing so. She didn't want to sneak up on him. He seemed like the type to shoot first and ask questions later. Closer now, she could see he was reading. He balanced easily on the log, and a book was open in his lap. He leaned to the side, one elbow on his knee, chin balanced on his knuckles, and though he looked completely absorbed in the book, Tempest figured he had to be paying attention to his surroundings. He had to know she was coming. Still, she tromped extra loud on a few crunchy leaves just to make sure. Easton’s short-sword was within reach, and though she couldn’t see the longbow, she figured it was close at hand and ready to draw in a flash. “Isn’t it too dim for you to see that?” Tempest asked as she moved to crouch in front of Easton, so that he couldn’t hide from her by looking down. He turned a page without meeting her gaze. “I have dark-vision,” he said. He had a deep voice, deeper than she would have expected for someone so lithe. Tempest propped her elbow on a knee and her chin on her palm. “Oh. Well, that’s handy. I wish I had dark-vision.” He said nothing. He focused on his book as if he thought she’d give up and go away, probably in an annoyed huff. Well, Dakota would. Probably Tyrael, too. Not Tempest though. Her curiosity outweighed all of it. He had such pretty eyes, too. They were honey-brown, but toward the pupil, they were an amber-red in little uneven spikes. She thought he was maybe a half-elf or something, because he had those slightly pointed ears, and most elves were of the lithe sort. “Whatcha reading?” Tempest asked. She didn’t understand the fascination with reading herself. Books were boring. Sitting in one place to read a book was even more boring. There were much better ways to spend her time. Easton tilted the book so she could see the spine and the cover and the title. Not that it helped. Tempest could read, but not whatever this language was. The writing was broad and looping and the letters made no sense to her. “Okay, so I can mostly read Common, and I can kinda speak Elvish when someone is talking to me nice and slow, but there’s no way I know what this is,” Tempest said. She could also speak Halfling, but doubted that was relevant. He lowered the book so it was easier for him to see. “Then you don’t need to know what it is.” “Wow.” Tempest’s eyebrows crawled toward her hairline. “You’re nice to look at, but you’re kind of a jerk, aren’t you?” Easton blinked and finally looked at her. He lifted one sculpted eyebrow -- did he sculpt those himself? “Should I be something else?” “Huh?” “We’re strangers,” Easton pointed out. He sounded impatient and put out, like her very presence grated on him. He hadn’t told her to leave yet though so she figured she was winning as long as he didn’t say it outright. Tempest pushed air through her lips. “So?” She stared at him, like Blizzara used to stare at people who were being rude and ought to know better. “Doesn’t mean you have to be rude about it.” Easton, without taking his eyes away from her, marked his place in the book and closed it, resting one hand on the cover. “What do you want?” Ohhh. Progress! Tempest grinned and rocked a bit where she crouched. “You said it. We’re strangers. How about let’s fix that?” “And if I’m not interested?” He had a weird way of talking, too, lingering on certain words like someone told him he was supposed to emphasize them, but he kept forgetting which ones it was. Maybe Common wasn’t his native tongue. Tempest tilted her head, aiming her left ear toward him so she could hear better. “That would be a shame. I’m a pretty interesting person.” His lips twitched, like he was fighting off the urge to smile. “An odd one at least.” “You probably think you’re insultin’ me, but you’re not,” Tempest squinted at him. She swallowed a laugh because she thought that might make him clam back up, and she was already making progress. Besides, looking at him was hardly a trial. He was just so goddamn pretty. “I rest my case,” he said, but there was a shadow of a smile in his lips, on the edges. She wondered what he’d look like with a real smile, with his eyes bright from humor or happiness. Tempest grinned and pointed at his mouth. “I saw that.” He, however, pretended she hadn’t said anything. He gave her a keen look, like he was measuring her, probably in the same way she’d measured him. “... Tempest, right?” “You remembered!” Tempest stood up, wincing as her calves protested, and shifted from foot to foot. “I’m proud of you. See, we’re not as much strangers as you thought.” He rolled his eyes, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased away. He looked at her directly which was nice because Tempest did not want to have to crouch again. Her calves did not like it. “Now you’re being a smart-ass.” “What gave me away?” Easton snorted and sat back a little on the log, looking more engaged this time. “Fine,” he said, with a vague gesture. “What do you want to know?” Oh, boy. So, so much. But she had to be careful or she’d scare Easton away. “Hmm.” Tempest tapped her chin before planting her hands on her hips. “What were you reading?” “It’s a bestiary.” Tempest blinked. “A what?” One of Easton’s lips curled with amusement. “Bestiary,” he said, repeating the word slowly. “They’re encyclopedias of various creatures.” “Does it have pictures?” “A few.” Tempest frowned and rocked back and forth on her heels. “I prefer pictures,” she said, and decided to tiptoe into more personal questions, maybe get him to open up. You had to be careful with these stubborn, asshole types. They clammed up faster than a… well, clam. “Where are you from?” Easton’s lips thinned. His face immediately closed down, and Tempest cursed herself for asking the wrong question. “Nowhere in particular,” he said, and his voice grew thicker, as did his accent, like words were the hardest thing to manage. “It doesn’t matter.” “Sad past, huh?” Tempest asked, careful to keep her tone light and airy, like she wasn’t really invested in the answer, even though she most definitely was. Easton squinted. “What makes you say that?” Tempest tilted her head from side to side, staring up into the canopy of the trees. “Dakota gives me the same answer when I ask him about his hometown. I put two and two together.” “Perceptive of you,” Easton said. “I’m a perceptive person!” “Except for the part where I wanted to be left alone.” Easton picked up his book and brought it into his lap once more, opening it to the marked place. Damn. She was losing him. “No one really wants to be alone,” Tempest said, because she knew this to be true. People might say they wanted solitude, but the truth was, they just didn’t want to be hurt anymore, and couldn’t trust the world wouldn’t hurt them. “I do,” Easton said. Tempest scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Then you’re lying.” “Am I.” It wasn’t a question, not the way Easton said it. His head tipped down, back to his book, and Tempest was left looking at the crown of his head, the intricate knot of his long, white braid. She wondered how soft his hair was, or if he liked it being pulled. “We’re done here.” Tempest opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it back shut. Easton and Dakota were a lot alike, but she got the feeling, she couldn’t push Easton quite like she pushed Dakota. With Dakota, there was a little kernel of affection she could prod at. Tempest knew the name of that kernel only because Dakota had muttered it in his sleep once. Mathias. His little brother. Who Dakota loved above all else. Tempest knew her existence tapped into the part of Dakota desperate to care for another person, and Tempest was willing to slide into that slot, if it brought Dakota out of his shell. Easton, however. Easton would need a different approach. So Tempest smiled brightly, though Easton wasn’t looking at her. “Alright, well, enjoy your book.” She left with a parting wave, but Easton didn’t acknowledge her departure. He kept his attention focused on his book as though it held all the mysteries of the universe. Well, it was a start at least. Tempest hummed to herself as she traced her route back to Dakota’s side, passing Rathi along on the way and offering her a wink. Rathi gave her a thumbs up, but went back to whatever quiet conversation she was having with Celeste. Tyrael was already asleep, wrapped up in his blanket and curled in the roots of a tree. Dakota didn’t look up when she approached, but he spoke when she flopped onto the forest floor beside him. “How’d it go?” Tempest grinned and folded her arms behind her head, looking up at the stars through the canopy of trees. “I’m going to adopt him.” “I don’t think that’s how it works,” Dakota said, and there was a hint of chastisement in his tone, probably a tone he’d used with his younger brother too many times for him to count. “Why not?” She slanted him a look, idly noticing that he needed a haircut sooner rather than later. “I adopted you.” Dakota’s brow furrowed, but then he peered at the yarn wrapped around his fingers, and Tempest assumed he was frowning at a knot. “I am reasonably certain it was the other way around.” “That’s what you think,” Tempest said. She watched Dakota for a moment. It never ceased to fascinate her, how deftly his fingers moved, almost too quick to track. How he could take a bundle of colorful yarn and within an hour, a sock had taken shape. She’d always heard orcs were clumsy, brutish creatures, but there’s nothing clumsy about Dakota. Tempest figured a lot of stories she’d heard about a lot of things were just that – stories. They didn’t often match the reality of a thing. “He’s lonely,” Tempest added after a minute. Dakota snorted. “I doubt that very much.” “He is. He just doesn’t want to admit it, so he’s a jerk to people.” “What makes you say that?” Dakota asked as he squinted at his work, in much the same way Easton had squinted at the pages of his book. Tempest crossed one leg over the opposite knee and set her foot to bouncing. “You two are a lot alike.” Unsurprisingly, Dakota said nothing. His face darkened into a glower, and he sighed, doing something with the yarn in his hands. He shook out the sock, in all its garish colors because he knew Tempest liked having ridiculous socks. “Let me see your foot,” he finally said. Tempest stuck her foot in his lap, her worn socks covered with dirt and leaves, her big toe sticking out of the hole. She wiggled her toes. Dakota rolled his eyes, but he held up the sock to the bottom of her foot to check the fit as if this wasn’t the fourth pair he’d knitted for her. He checked the fit every time, and Tempest wondered, had he done this for Mathias, too? Had he knit socks for his younger brother, and had to check the fit as Mathias had grown? “It’ll work,” he said. “Take your dirty foot back.” Tempest grinned and obeyed. “We’re gonna keep him,” she said, slanting a look at Easton, who she could barely see around the crackle of the fire, still bent over his book and studiously ignoring everyone else in the party. “I guess we’ll have to see which of us is right,” Dakota said, and went back to work on her socks. Pah. Tempest already knew what the end result was going to be. Easton was one of them. He just didn’t know it yet. ***

a/n: Feedback is absolutely welcome! Feel free to reblog, chat in the tags, send me some comments... etc. I’d love to know what people think of my characters, the universe, etc. This is gonna be a pretty hefty series, I promise! I’ve got loads and loads more content to come.

#original fiction #original fantasy fiction #series: tethers #draco writes original fiction #dakota sorrel #tempest teapot #easton | riordan shaye #rathi of the cinders #the adventuring party which is yet to be named

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