#but at least I still have some time before my (self-imposed) deadline

[viperwhispered]

Though, in other wip news, the first draft of Indulgence (aka the smutty treat I'm hoping to have out for my birthday next week) is done 🎉

Apparently the draft already is about 4 500 words. Now, a lot of it is actual prose, but there are still things that definitely will get fleshed out, so... Guess we'll be getting to enjoy Jamil quite thoroughly once this is done.

[icypantherwrites]

It is finished.

Words I wasn't sure I was ever going to be able to write, but at 11:51 pm last night they became reality.

Bottled Ocean is finished.

I am really, really proud of myself for being able to come back to this story. I started writing it in all the way back in May 2020 so it has been almost four years from start to finish and it's been a really long, bumpy road. So much has happened over those four years and the story went from a vibrant, engaged audience when it first published to, if I'm lucky, one or two engaged readers and maybe five reading it total. It's been really hard to put forth the energy into writing such a monster of a story (it is officially over 250,000 words long) knowing that there's no one there really to read it and even now I'll be lucky to have one or two engaged readers for it.

But it is done. My legacy after writing over 400 fanfictions in the last 7 years is not an incomplete story. It's something I can look back on and be proud of that I wrote that and as anyone knows, 250,000 words is not a small undertaking.

I had promised myself that if I went back to writing this I would finish the story before it began publishing again on Patreon (which resumes today) and then life hit. I had Covid the last two weeks and felt really terrible and dizzy and unable to focus. I thought writing fight scenes was hard, bah, writing fight scenes while you're distracted by the word 'sword' because it says 's-word' and going off on a tangent of swear words you think pirates would say while still trying to write a fight scene is hard. I kept going.

I reached yesterday morning and realized that I still had at least four chapters to write and I wasn't sure how I was going to do it and even if my deadline was self-imposed I was going to fail it.

I didn't.

Outside of taking breaks to walk the dog (it reached 42 here in Chicagoland and for this time of the year that's practically tropical) and guzzling down over half of a 2-liter of Dr. Pepper and trying to drink water in there too, I did it. I sat down, wrote my ass off, and a little over 16,000 words of the most pinnacle parts of the story as it all comes together and concludes I did it. I am exhausted and I honestly didn't even recall most of the final chapter so I went back and read it this morning and not to toot my horn but damn I'm a good writer, and I am just so relieved and happy it is done.

I am done too. My writing journey comes to an end with this story (I'll still for sure be posting on Patreon for the rest of 2024 though with my insane backlog and of course Bottled Ocean and some works on AO3 too) and I'm hanging up my keyboard. It has been a long seven years full of the good and the bad, the bright spots and the dark, but I can look back at this chapter of my life and see that I wrote over 3.2 million words worth of stories to share and I feel...

I feel content. And relieved and honestly my wrists are aching from pressing against my laptop all night, but I am happy. Thank you to all who came on this writing journey with me, who have been with me since As Color Fades Away posted in 2017 or stumbled across my works this year. It has been a life-changing seven years of writing.

I'll still be around here posting updates and hopefully, maybe, trying to get a few of y'all to bite at Bottled Ocean and join me in reading my final fanfiction, but this author is finally, finally finished and it is the start of a new adventure.

Thanks everyone ♥

[hollowmend]

Hollowmend Project Masterlist

Hey all! I’ve been getting a lot of questions lately (especially about Red-Handed Robin Redux), so I thought I’d make a masterlist/FAQ of sorts.

Here’s an overview of all the projects I have going on/planned for the future! All of these projects are commercial.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fetch Quest Series

Fetch Quest Remastered  - (Comedy, Fantasy, Otome)

[Coming Soon]

Would-be adventurer Flora accepts a job to retrieve a stolen item for a shady bartender. In order to retrieve the item, she'll have to infiltrate a group of notorious bandits by posing as a new recruit. Fortunately, she has the help of two other adventurers. UNfortunately, her companions seem completely useless without her!

According to the strangely vocal narrator, this would have gone more smoothly if everyone had remembered to make their characters beforehand...

A remastered version of my 2019 NaNoRenO game, Fetch Quest!

FAQ

What’s different from the free version?

-With all new scenes and a brand new “true” ending, the script has gone from 13k words up to 20k words

5 brand new CGs

A new original soundtrack

Shiny new UI

There’s an extras menu now, including a CG gallery, music room, and endings list

Can you date Dan?

Nope! Not this time. 

However, the “true” ending miiiight just be about him…

~~~~~~~~~~

Fetch Re;Quest - (Comedy, Slice-of-Life, Stat Raiser, Otome)

[Current Project]

After a remodel of their workplace leaves Flora, Dan, Connor, and Todd with a week’s worth of free-time, the group decides to play some games together…

The perfect opportunity to grind some stats!

Can Flora increase her Acumen, Charm, Gud, or Moxie enough to gain the courage to ask out her crush by the end of a self-imposed one week deadline? Or will she chicken out and be forced to pine after fictional 2D men instead?

Fetch Re;Quest takes place directly after the events of the Fetch Quest remaster’s new “true” ending. Here’s some of what you can expect from the game-

A (very) light stat raiser!

One love interest (It’s Dan.)

No DnD this time, but each stat is tied to a particular video/board game the group plays together. Shenanigans ensue.

Go on a cute date at the end

get all the endings for a special beach day episode

~~~~~~~~~~

The Maiden and the Magpie Series

Red-Handed Robin Redux (Dark Fantasy, Otome)

When career thief Robin comes across a boarding pass for the Whirlwind Express, she thinks she's found a literal ticket to freedom. With a case full of stolen jewelry and her loyal bodyguard at her side, she's ready to flee the country in style...

That is, until she runs into her childhood friend turned detective.

Can Robin keep her cool as she navigates a series of magic and mind games? Or will her cover be blown along with her escape plan?

That’s right! Red-Handed Robin is also getting the remaster treatment!

FAQ

What’s different from the free version?

There will be new content and a new canon “Golden End”

New CGs throughout the game

An original soundtrack

A new UI

Extras! In addition to the usual CG gallery/music room/endings list, there will also likely be fandisk-esque extra scenes showing more of the gang’s life before they boarded the whirlwind.

After outlining the entirety of the 3 game series, some details might differ in the Redux version than the free version. The Redux version will be considered the canon going forward!

Will there be a Fletcher route?

Nope! For many reasons, not the least of which is that he is gay.

With the new Golden Ending being canon, will Jay and Wren still get their own endings?

Yep! Those endings are staying in, they just won’t be the canon version of events when you see the trio again in the 3rd game of the series.

Will Robin/Jay/Wren end up in a poly relationship?

I’d like to keep some secrets to myself until they’re revealed in game… but if you follow me anywhere and have been paying attention, I think the answer to this is pretty clear.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Scarecrow Knight (Dark Fantasy, Mystery)

A few hundred years before the events of Red-Handed Robin, a strange traveler, his adopted daughter, and a tag-along who considers himself the traveler’s apprentice unravel mysteries surrounding the ancient curse of witchcraft.

The Scarecrow Knight takes place over ten years, with each of the three acts focusing on a different mystery along the way.

Though events in both games are related, The Scarecrow Knight and Red-Handed Robin can be read in any order.

FAQ

Are Robin/Jay/Wren going to be in The Scarecrow Knight? 

Nope! The Scarecrow Knight features Mac, Corbin, and Lark as its protagonists. You won’t see the RHR gang again until the 3rd game in the series.

Is The Scarecrow Knight an otome/dating sim/will it have romance?

Nope. While this game is still focused on relationships, the cast’s bonds are familial in nature.

Will The Scarecrow Knight have a ‘game’ in each act, like Red-Handed Robin?

Yep! In order to solve the mystery presented in each act, you’ll have to navigate that act’s ‘game’. 

What are Corbin’s pronouns?

Corbin uses she/her pronouns for the first two acts of The Scarecrow Knight. In act 3, however, he switches to he/him pronouns as part of a disguise... One that he suspiciously doesn’t want to come out of.

~~~~~~~~~~

3rd Unnamed RHR Game (Dark Fantasy, Amare)

Directly after the events of RHR, Robin, Jay, and Wren find themselves in a foreign country, no safer than they were aboard the whirlwind.

Meanwhile, Corbin finds himself in a very strange predicament… Waking up in the apartment of Oliver Tangram and Merle Barrows, two young men entangled in Gales’ occult scene.

This game will wrap up the stories started in both RHR and SK.

FAQ

Is 3rd Unnamed Game an otome/dating sim/will it have romance?

The answer is yes! Kind of! Both sides feature romance, and those relationship dynamics are integral to the plot.

On Robin/Jay/Wren’s side, the game will explore the trio’s dynamic more in depth. Corbin also has his own love interest (Oliver) on his side.

Who’s the protagonist?

The story is told from multiple perspectives, with Robin and Corbin being the most important characters.

Will 3rd Unnamed Game have a ‘game’ in each act like Red-Handed Robin?

Hopefully! That’s the plan anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~

Other Upcoming Projects

Believe it or not, I’ve got even more stuff planned! 

If you’ve been following me for otome, I’m sorry to say that The Maiden and the Magpie series will probably be my last one for the foreseeable future. As a queer man, writing queer stories is what gets me motivated.

That being said, my next upcoming project is a BL!

Counter-Side (BL, Drama, Sci-fi, Kinetic)

[Current Project]

A mining facility on the dusty, barren planet of Ikarus is the last place most people would expect to find their true love… But that won’t stop peppy mecha pilot Rosco from trying!

In fact, he’s positive he’s figured it out this time. Sure, his new partner seems bored and dismissive, but this has been Rosco’s longest relationship yet! That has to mean something, right?

Meanwhile, HR manager Rae has just transferred to the facility and is determined to keep any new acquaintances at an arm’s length. Convinced that he is cold, boring, and judgemental, Rae is certain that there is only one person who can accept him for who he really is… and he already screwed that up.

Just as both men feel like they’re at their lowest points, their evenings are brightened by a newfound friendship forged at a cozy bar…

Counter-Side is the result of a writing experiment gone wild– I wrote one character’s viewpoint, and my friend/co-writer @brii-nanas wrote the other! The result is a story seen from both Rosco and Rae’s perspective.

Choose to play through the entirety of one character’s side before starting the other, or pick from either character’s perspective chapter by chapter. Both options offer an interesting way of experiencing the story.

The script is almost completely done (over 100k words!), and we will be working on putting out a demo containing the first 1/3rd of the game soon.

If Rosco looks familiar, it’s probably because I did his sprite for @brii-nanas​ amare jam game, Under the Skies of Ikarus! This game is set in the same world/facility. 

Unlike Under the Skies of Ikarus, which is very wholesome, Counter-Side’s tone is... different, to say the least xD. Rae and Rosco’s relationship is extremely sweet, but they both go through some rough stuff before they get to that point. Which leads me to the...

Content Warning

This game is for readers who are 18+! It contains some heavy subject matter such as:

Abusive relationships (both physical and mental)

Dubious consent

Gaslighting

Anxiety

Sex (Nothing written/shown is super explicit)

Alcohol use

[darlingpoppet]

any updates on wtdf? i hope u have a wonderful day 💕

Hi anon! Thanks so much for checking in! And thanks for doing it on tumblr, this is a good opportunity to push me out of lurk mode and refill my queue while offering some much needed updates!

Anyways, the short answer is: WTDF chapter 8 is coming along, albeit more slowly than I intended, and it might still be another month or two before it’s finally done.

The longer explanation is this: Chapter 8 is another doozy like chapter 4 was… if you read the notes for chapter 4, or read my other WTDF-related posts here on tumblr, then perhaps you’re familiar with the fact that completing that chapter was also a protracted process that juggled a different fic project with a fixed deadline, a bout of writer’s block, and inspiration wandering to some different one-shots before ultimately getting me back on-track. I’m a bit sorry to say that I seem to be unintentionally experiencing an exact repeat of last year 🥲💦

In April, when I was still on-track to finish the chapter within my self-imposed deadline, a friend asked me to pinch-hit for their zine, and I was happy to put all my own projects on the back burner for a couple of weeks while I helped out a friend in-need. Once that project was finished at the end of April I immediately got back to work on WTDF, but less than two weeks in (right around the time Hades II Early Access dropped, so I was already a little bit distracted lol) I got saddled with a leadership position preparing for an event at my kid’s kindergarten, which took up 100% of my free time as well as the complete use of my hands (because A LOT of crafting was also involved lol.) So for the rest of May, zero writing got done (though I listened to a lot of podcasts and youtube video essays during that time, I’m thinking of making a rec list sometime of the stuff I enjoyed just for fun!)

And now here we are toward the end of June and the chapter still isn’t done. Even now I keep huffing the copium by telling myself I can finish it by the end of the month, but I’m gonna be honest: all of the interruptions & delays have left me struggling to get back in the right headspace for this story & at this point I admit that I seem to have fallen into another writer’s block 🥲 The last couple of weeks have been me making incremental progress while also trying to refill my cups.

I really hoped I could finish it this month because I’m already planning on doing camp nanowrimo in July to FINALLY finish the draft for the dreamers AU that has also been in the works for over a year now. And tbh that’s the story that I’m now daydreaming about as I start to get myself back into the writing zone. So I think I just gotta Trust The Process on this one and strike the iron where it’s hot for now, because at least I can point to my experience last year and give credit to my fics Closest & Flourishing for giving me the needed momentum to finally get WTDF Ch 4 over the finish line (followed by a streak of productivity that lasted me pretty much up until this point!)

So while I’m sorry that this means WTDF Ch 8 is gonna continue to be delayed a bit longer, I also think it’ll be worth it in the end when I have both these projects finished and I’m feeling good about the direction the inspiration is taking them. FWIW a lot of the ideas & themes I’m thinking about for the dreamers AU—such as prolonged periods of transition, coming of age, and the liminal qualities of queerness & gender identity—they are helping ideas coalesce in my approach to WTDF Ch 8, which, as I may have mentioned before, is a treatment of the Skyros arc. It’s actually fitting that I’m working on these projects both at the same time because I think they’re actively making one another better, which means I’m getting even more excited to complete & share them! The dreamers AU seems likely to be split into two parts at this point, so it makes sense to me to sandwich the WTDF update in between those. I can never really make concrete promises about my publishing schedule anymore, but for now at least, that’s the plan.

Anyways sorry for the longwinded & possibly boring explanation/list of excuses. But I appreciate your ask, it means a lot to know that people care 🥹🙏 Thank you everyone for their patience so far!!! I know I’m slow haha but everyone has been nothing but kind & understanding about it <3

You have a wonderful day as well ❤️

[ilikereadingactually]

Archangels of Funk

Archangels of Funk by Andrea Hairston

this is a tricky book to review! i liked it, let's start there. it took me a while to get into a groove with it, but we got there together, this book and i, and then at the end i got weepy which is always a plus. but i somehow read the entire thing not knowing that it's a sequel, or at the very least a followup, to two of Hairston's other books—which did clear up for me why i felt a bit lost most of the time while reading it, but which i'm actually glad i didn't know, because i probably wouldn't have requested the galley otherwise.

happily, i did request the galley, and read it in a few big chunks separated by several weeks, because other tasks got in the way of my fun reading time for a while; the second half of the book really went better for me than the first. i came into it feeling like i was rushed and running behind on deadlines both self-imposed and imposed by the publication date (spoiler: this book has been out for a few weeks already, whoops). that's not my favorite way to jump into any book, but really was hindering me reading this one, which has such a strong rhythm and music that it was like walking out of sync with the beat. i'm a person who walks in rhythm when there's a rhythm, bops when there's music (and often when the music is just in my head), and who reads best and most immersively when i can just let the prose carry me along. after totally blowing past the pub date and being busy-then-sick, i came back to it with a much more relaxed and open mind, and i had a great time. tl;dr, this is very much a book to read when nothing's pressing on you and you just want to float on feeling.

Hairston presents an imaginable future not too far from our present, after Water Wars have widened class (and, because they are inevitably linked, racial) divides into high tech walled communities and the folks who build their communities outside the reach of marketing and surveillance. we experience this world through shifting povs, including Cinnamon Jones, a pushing-sixty coder, farmer, performer, hoodoo practitioner, and community leader; her two dogs, each of whom is a bit more than a regular dog in their own unique ways; Indigo, a young goth who gives us a sense of this world outside of Cinnamon's farm and her immediate circle; and the Circus Bots, three performing robots possessed of powerful AI and modeled after Cinnamon's grandparents and great aunt, elders who continue to pleasantly haunt the narrative. and tying all this together is the mysterious Taiwo, who is perhaps a human war vet or a magician or a loa spirit or an alien, a top-hatted presence bringing unreality and real safety to the ensemble cast simultaneously.

it feels rare to me to read a story where AIs are pushing love and learning and creating community; where ghosts (in this case, haints) are a reassuring and life-affirming presence. those elements together, and mixed with straight up magic, feel very right and even more rare to me, and really encapsulate the ways in which this story is about both past and future, about celebration and revelation, about stage magic and real magic and technology and love, and what those things create together.

the deets

how i read it: as i mentioned, this was an e-galley from NetGalley that i'm very grateful to have had access to, even though i did not actually manage to read it before it was published. but i liked it enough that this is one i will probably buy for myself and definitely give as a gift to a friend also!

try this if you: dig really musical prose, enjoy a book where you have to just go with the flow, love a sweet slow pace, or were ever or still are a weird performing arts person. also i bet the audiobook of this is a banger.

some bits i really liked: relatable Cinnamon moments

The straw bale sugar shack made Cinnamon want a stack of blueberry pancakes with lots of syrup and butter. Jugs of maple lined the walls. Her mouth watered at maple candy, cookies, biscuits and cream pies. There was also maple relish, and maple suckers formed into weasel sculptures with mint-green eyes. Goodies for Festival.

___

"Reverse the curse, ImagiNation! Who cares? Why do I put myself through theatre misery?"

___

Cinnamon was a righteous rebel, a champion of the people. Secretly, she also felt superior to comfy, gullible users who'd been hacked and deep faked from day one, who thought they controlled their feeds, their fates, who believed they made up their own minds. Nobody made up their own mind. Mind was always a community affair.

___

"Getting old, you haunt your own self," she explained.

___

Dark days We know that Truth under the gun I ain't waiting For justice to be done I'ma be my own light And shine I'ma win my own fight Surprise I'ma be my own sun And rise I say Dark days We got that I'ma be my own sun And rise

pub date: May 7, 2024, it's out, go get it!!

[orionsballad]

Reflections after 70,000 words

A few chapters ago Orion's Ballad crossed 70,000 words. These are some of my thoughts:

Self imposed deadlines are strange. This is the first time in my life I've actually seriously committed to meeting self imposed deadlines even when I don't want to. On a few occasions I've woken up and written a chapter hours before it's due to publish. These are pretty consistently my least favorite chapters, and more than a few scenes that I'd been looking forward to writing felt underdone and rushed because of the crunch. Ultimately, I'm still glad I didn't delay any of those chapters, but it is motivation to write more and get ahead of my schedule again.

I'm absolutely delighted by commenters. Seriously, I love it. You're telling me people actually read my writing AND liked it enough to comment? Even speculate about future events?? WRITE 5 STAR REVIEWS? Amazing, 10/10 experience. Shout out to F24Valentine Bobgongo especially, love you guys <3

70,000 words is also kind of completely wild. I think my record for a project before Orion's Ballad was something like 30k? That's the number I've said for a long time, but last time I tried to find that project all I found was 10k, so maybe that's my actual previous record. Either way, it feels amazing to finally commit to one project and see such a staggering number. It also sucks. I want to write so many things, two other projects specifically are calling to me like sirens. I have an idea for a short hiatus point somewhere in the far future, and maybe I'll take that time to get started proper on one of those other projects, but for now I'm forcing myself to only indulge them as occasional treats for myself while I keep the bulk of my focus on Orion's Ballad.

In the background, life toils on. I'm broke, living with my parents, and occasionally suffocating in existential dread. I have some good friends and a wonderful partner that are keeping me going though, and every now and then the future actually looks kind of bright. It seems like 2024 is shaping up to be a year of slow, agonizing growth, but that's better than not growing at all, right?

Thanks for reading, if you found this in the tags than you should definitely check out Orion's Ballad on Royal Road. I post three chapters a week and I'm told it's a pretty good read.

[snepfeathers]

ranting under the cut for a bit under the cut bc I got tired of using tags lol

I'd offer valentine's themed slots or push febroary stuff more but tbh I've got a lot on my plate to get done in the next week or so and I don't want to bite off more than I can chew

to be fair most of it should be pretty smooth sailing and I should be able to get it done well before my self-imposed deadlines but still

I think I'm driving myself a little crazy with not having personal pieces between stuff. but genuinely how am I supposed to let myself take a break when comms are basically my only source of income this month?

it's not my fault they aren't handing out shifts right now btw. it's the slow season and there's just legitimately nothing to be scheduled for right now. like there are a couple of people in for training shifts but that's It. and I've already been trained. ugh.

I really do like what I do at that job but the scheduling and pay are. ripping my hair out frustrating. sometimes. a lot of the time.

at the same time though the loose schedule means I DO get to work on commission stuff and have some freedom I wouldn't otherwise have. augh. I'm looking for a new job anyway tbh but we all know how shit the market is right now. and I'd rather only leave if it'll be a Real Improvement. I don't want to hop from something that's fun with a sometimes-rough schedule into something that sucks and also kinda sucks with the schedule. y'know.

or maybe I'll just break down and sell pictures of my real tits in addition to drawing people furry tits. idk man. I just want to afford some fun stuff like finally visiting a furcon for the first time ever. is it really so so much to ask?

at least I have a roof over my head and food in the fridge. I'm thankful for that even if it's still stressful as hell making sure it stays that way. and I'm super super thankful to the people who have been supporting me and my partner by buying commissions and stuff, like seriously thank you so much you're the reason we're afloat some months

I'm just rambling at this point and don't really expect people to read this far but man. I'm just so tired. I'm so goddamn tired and stressed and I feel guilty as hell because hoooly shit people have it so much worse out in the world too and I'm complaining over stuff that's pretty dumb in the grand scheme of things but MAN. I just want to wake up feeling truly secure and not basking in the background radiating stress of not knowing if I'll be able to pay rent. and then feeling bad if I ever let myself get a stupid little treat because come on you fool, you could have saved that $15 or whatever for something better theoretically you should be building up your savings etc etc etc

I don't know. I don't know. my neck hurts my eyes hurt my head hurts my heart hurts. I'm probably just hungry and hormonal or something but I feel like I'm falling apart as the rest of the world is going to shit too, and it's inescapable, and the world has always been shit anyway and I should be helping more somehow but it's all just crashing in one overwhelming wave right now.

so I guess I'll keep working on commissions. and I'll try to meet those self-imposed deadlines. and I'll keep looking for another job. and maybe at some point in between everything else I'll draw something for myself.

what the hellllll man they said stuff would start picking up again around mid february but the schedule that just dropped only has me working one shift before the 25th

ugh. I guess that means I'll have more time available for commission stuff I guess

[martsonmars]

Hello hello!!! This week was exciting but exhausting (I moved into a new flat for uni!!! Finally living without my family, though I'll have flatmates from Friday 😭), so I'm happy it's over.

I have SO many fic deadlines coming up (a couple of secret projects with self imposed deadlines, COTTA in less than two weeks, prompt fest) and I have to get back to my COBB because I miss it, but I'm feeling weirdly confident that the change of environment will give me my creativity back. Maybe I'm wrong, but tonight/this morning I wrote an entire fic, so that's promising: went to sleep at 10pm, woke up at 2am and I wasn't tired anymore, so I started writing and I didn't stop until the fic was complete, which is something I wouldn't have been able to do at home, but now that I'm alone I can write all night and sleep during the day!!! Exciting!!! (At least until classes start 🥲)

So here is a longish snippet (carefully chosen by @johnwgrey because I didn't want to reread the whole thing) from said fic, which just needs some light editing and will hopefully be posted by the end of the day!

Baz presses his face deeper into the pillow, trying to drown out the low humming of the hoover that woke him up. He doesn’t understand why anyone would choose Sunday morning to do chores, when Sunday mornings clearly have the sole purpose of pretending the world doesn’t exist and sleeping in with your new boyfriend, but Baz will be the bigger person and won’t comment on it.

Let people decide how to spend their limited time on this cruel Earth — Baz knows he has his priorities set right.

Step one: snuggle closer to the warm body dozing off next to him.

Simon.

Even with his brain still clouded by sleep — Baz knows it can’t be later than 9, his body feels it and is screaming at him that it’s not natural to be anywhere but in dreamsworld this early in the morning, especially when the clock was slowly approaching a worrying 4 when he closed his eyes last night — Baz can relive every second of the previous day, sharp and crystal clear.

The lazy morning as Baz stared up at Simon with a stupid, blissed-out expression that would’ve made him gag just a couple of months before. (But dating Simon is also this — breaking out of his shell because he no longer feels like he should hide the softness of his heart. He knows Simon will cherish it with the same care he reserves for fragile shortcrust pastry.)

Tomorrow is the anniversary of my first Snowbaz fic, and I have an amazing surprise to share! I can't wait.

Tags and hellos under the cut! + bonus sentence from a secret WIP I'm excited about and terribly scared of 🤣

Bonus sentence:

@wellbelesbian @urban-sith @tea-brigade @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @facewithoutheart @palimpsessed @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @johnwgrey @fatalfangirl @prettylightsbigcity @whatevertheweather @jbrrring @confused-bi-queer @moodandmist @bookish-bogwitch @letraspal @dragoneggo @captain-aralias @takitalks @theotherhufflepuff @otherworldsivelivedin @excalisbury @shemakesmeforget @starwarned @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @gekkoinapeartree @bazzybelle @bloodiedpixie @stardustasincocaine @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @angelsfalling16 @basiltonbutliketheherb @messofthejess @ivelovedhimthroughworse @nightimedreamersworld @artsyunderstudy @foolofabookwyrm-activated @ionlydrinkhotwater @yellobb @orange-peony @ic3-que3n @whogaveyoupermission

[Redacted] stares down at the long blade pointing to his neck. He follows it to meet a pale muscled arm half covered in black cloth, and an equally pale face that screams annoyance more than murder, as if threatening [Redacted]'s life was just a mere inconvenience in the man's path.

We'll see if I ever write this.

[doeeyeseddie]

wip wednesday

i was tagged by the wonderful @theladyyavilee @eddiediazes and @hetrez (thank you all so much!!), so have some words from the different first meeting fic i've been frantically writing trying to finish in time for my self-imposed deadline so i can post it on my 2 year anniversary of writing 911 fic:

The day after he graduates (at the top of his class, officially) and the day before he starts his first shift at the 118, Eddie takes Christopher to Buck’s cupcake class. The entire time they’re there, he tries not to think about how he doesn’t know when they’re going to see Buck next. He hasn’t wanted to book any more classes until he’s settled in with the work schedule at least a little bit, and it feels odd not to have a set date to look forward to. 

He wants to tell Buck and maybe ask him for his number, but to do that, he’d have to admit that he’s been specifically picking the classes Buck teaches, and he’s still not sure that won't just freak him out.

But once again, he didn’t take his son into account, who refuses to keep any of Eddie’s secrets.

“Buck,” he says while the two of them are scrubbing one of the cooking stations and Eddie is, as always, stacking the chairs. “Dad said maybe we can’t come here for a while.”

Eddie looks over at them in time to meet Buck’s startled gaze. “You can’t?”

“I start my new job tomorrow,” Eddie explains, putting the last chair away and coming to stand next to Buck. “I’m going to work shifts, and I just don’t really know yet how that’ll affect our schedule, so I haven’t booked any more classes yet.”

“Oh.” Buck pauses. “What new job?”

“I’m a firefighter,” Eddie says, and saying it out loud kind of fills him with pride. “A probationary one, but still.”

Buck laughs, rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand. “No way.”

i tag @capseycartwright @littlespoonevan @like-the-rest-of-la @thatbuddie @hoediaz and @gayravi if you want to share!

[andiinaraethtash]

ask game; 5, 13, 26, 32, 47, 51, 68 and 79! (random)

5. How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

Okay, so I have eight-ish. Which may not seem like much but they are all multichapter fics, and most of them are Star Wars (which was my main fandom before mcyt stuff came and ruined me) but I have two Empires fanfics in the works: Can't Escape the Fallout (which is still in progress, so it counts) and one I'm tentatively calling: I'd Make a Deal with God (And Get Him to Swap Our Places). None of them are based on any pairings romantically, though.

13. Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

I can't write without music in the background. Recently, I've been listening to "Chill Instrumental Pop Music" so it's something familiar but I don't get distracted by lyrics.

26. What’s your least favorite part of the writing process?

I told @pacificseaotter (sorry about the tag) this, but I'll say it again: the self-discipline involved. My gosh, it is so hard to meet self-imposed deadlines and hold to schedules. It royally sucks.

32. Do you take fic requests? Why or why not?

Not... really? I'll occasionally ask my readers what they think could or should happen to get inspiration, but I don't write something specifically because someone asked me to. (Most of the time, anyway. If one of my mutuals asked me to write something in a universe I'm familiar with with characters I know and love, and pairings I support, then I might. Maybe.)

But I don't because of why I write. I write because I want to tell these stories. If someone asked me to write a random story, I'd have next to no motivation to finish it, because it isn't a story I've dreamed about reading and telling. Sure, if they ask me for a fic that captures my imagination and let me go wild with the prompt I might, but most of the time they're looking for one specific fic that isn't going to turn out the way they want it if they let me take the prompt and run.

47. Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?

Nope! My main tropes to this point in my writing... is it a career if I'm not making money? Anyway, at this point in my life, I've written mostly two tropes: fake character death and time-travel fix-its. Neither of which I'm sick of, because both can cause great stories to unfold and major angst to ensue.

51. Does what you like to write differ from what you like to read?

A bit, mostly in that I like to read the occasional domestic fluff, but I can't write that without feeling incredibly bored. but otherwise, nope!

68. Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?

Oh, there are tons. Dominoes by @meridiansdominoes (or meridianpony over on ao3) influenced my biggest work to date, my Young Enough to Try series, but currently my writing style takes a lot after @goldkirk and their series Latchkey. Those are the main two, but I absorb a bit from every fic I read.

79. Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

Again, pacificseaotter actually asked me this before, but I'm happy to repeat myself: find the character's voice before you try writing them. Figure out what they sound like, their typical vocabulary, their accent, their inflections, and you'll have a much easier time with both their internal monologue and their actual dialogue! (Most other advice I've disregarded at some point or another, so that's the only one I feel comfortable sharing because it's the only one I really follow.)

Thank you so much for the ask! Which reminds me, I need to find which of the asks I want to send you, so look forward to that in the future!

[fandombitxh-derogatory]

Teach Me, Teach

summary

Analogical Week Part 5 posted (ao3 or read here)

Logan likes to be helpful. That’s just part of who he is. It’s why he hasn’t quite given up on being the voice of reason, even if he feels (DON’T FEEL) as though the others are constantly ignoring him. He just needs to work on his patience more. He can’t let him win.

That’s not the point.

The point is that Logan likes to be helpful in any way he can be, so when Virgil embarrasses himself slightly with his skateboarding commercial, in which it was made obvious that Virgil couldn’t skate, Logan started to think. Skateboarding was something that Thomas had been interested in when he was younger, and, though he never pursued that interest, Logan still had the knowledge and ability to skateboard. (He gains the ability to do things once he knows the ins and outs of how it is done, just a benefit of being Logic, he supposes.)

Logan felt a bit more connected with Virgil than he did the others, despite them seemingly being opposite with Logan’s fiery collectedness and Virgil’s calm panic. However, the two rarely got the opportunity to hang out together under non-work related circumstances, so this gave Logan the chance to get closer to Virgil that he had always been waiting for.

The opportunity to finally ask Virgil if he would even be open to learning how to skateboard arose late one evening when Thomas was, once again, working on a project after procrastinating for some time. He was only revising the rough draft of a script, so Roman had headed to bed since there was no need for any more creative input at the moment. Not that Roman’s creative inputs had been comprehensible the past two hours when trying to get Thomas through the writing of the rough draft. It was likely that they would have to go over it again once they were properly rested, which was why Logan was slightly against this work session.

However, as much as Logan disliked the late night revision process, it did present him with the opportunity to talk to Virgil. The other was just there because of Thomas’s panic over the (self-imposed) deadline, but Logan appreciated his presence nonetheless.

“Alright, Lo, I’m bored, and you could probably do these corrections in your sleep, so talk to me, please.” Virgil finally complained after nearly an hour of sitting in silence, watching Thomas and Logan work on the script.

Logan adjusted his glasses as he responded, “Ah, yes, there was something that I wanted to ask you.”

Virgil lifted an eyebrow, shifting in his seat in order to sit upright instead of half-laying down, “Ask away, Teach.”

“Remember the commercials we all made when we were sponsored by Crofter’s?”

“Yeah, what about them?”

“Would you be interested in me teaching you how to skateboard?”

That was clearly not where Virgil had expected the conversation to go, since his eyes widened as he asked, “You know how to skateboard?”

“I know everything,” Logan answered in the smuggest tone he could muster, causing Virgil to bark out a laugh as Logan grinned back at him. “In all honesty though, Thomas was interested in it a while back, so I know how to do the basics if you want to learn.”

“Sure, sounds interesting. When would we do it, though?” Virgil leaned back again, clearly more at ease now that he knew what the question had been about.

“Up to you, I suppose. Like you said, most of my job I can do without actively being present and guiding Thomas step-by-step.”

“Alright, cool, so whenever Thomas is the least stressed.”

“I guess that would probably be after the script is completed.”

“You guess correctly, Teach, so I guess it’ll be soon.”

“Alright then.”

~~~~~

It was two days after that conversation that Virgil approached Logan with a skateboard he had summoned up. Logan simply nodded at him before doing some last minute things, to make sure Thomas would stay on task with his cleaning, and getting up to join Virgil.

The two of them walked out into an area of the mindspace that was just open concrete, perfectly smooth and even. A good place to learn skateboarding, even if it wouldn’t exist outside of someone’s mind. Virgil set down the skateboard, which clattered quite loudly, and Logan simply watched as Virgil put his foot on it to keep it from rolling away.

Virgil then looked at Logan expectantly, which caused Logan to say, “Oh right, well, first up is how you should position your feet. Your front foot should be placed right before the upward curve of the board and should be facing forwards, while your back foot is sideways a bit behind it in order to keep your weight balanced on the board.”

“Alright, cool. Uh, can I hold onto you until I get balanced right?” Virgil asked, slouching over and not meeting Logan’s eyes as he did so.

“Of course, whatever helps.”

Logan was quick to get closer to Virgil, the board being in between them. Virgil smiled slightly, holding out his hands for Logan to take, which he did with only a second of hesitance. Neither of them were very physically affectionate, so this was the first time they’ve really purposefully touched each other. That shouldn’t be as momentous as Logan’s heart is making it.

Once they were holding each other’s hands, Virgil positioned his right foot to be facing forward on the board. He looked up at Logan, nodded, and then quickly put his left foot on the board. Virgil wobbled, causing him to squeeze Logan’s hands in panic and put more of his weight onto Logan’s arms. Logan did his best to keep his arms steady and hold Virgil still. Soon enough, Virgil stopped moving and seemed quite secure and balanced on the skateboard.

“Okay, are you ready for me to let go?” Logan asked, knowing that they probably wouldn’t make any progress with Virgil clinging onto his hands like he was in that moment.

Virgil nodded hesitantly, “Yeah, but stay close, okay?”

“Okay, I’m going to let go now.” Logan pulled his hands away from Virgil’s, “I’ll catch you if you fall, don’t worry.”

“Right, okay.” Virgil held his arms out beside him, as if to hold him steady despite the fact that he looked quite sturdy already.

Logan was quite pleased with how well Virgil seemed to be doing so far, granted it wasn’t a very large step. Balancing on the board was the first thing all skateboarders had to learn, and it didn’t take Virgil very long to get it. It may be different if Logan isn’t there to support him as he adjusts his balance at the start, but he was doing well at the moment.

“Alright, whenever you’re ready, you use your back foot to push off of the ground to move the board forward. Don’t forget to face forward, too.” Logan told the other, taking a step back and getting ready to catch Virgil if he fell.

Virgil let out an audible breath after adjusting his posture, and then moved his foot in order to lightly push off the ground. He apparently didn’t lift his foot back up to the board quick enough. With his weight still leaning back and his foot moving forward, he fell back, but Logan was quick to reach his arms out to catch him.

Once they both took a breath to calm themselves, Virgil looked at their position and started to turn red. Logan didn’t quite understand the flustered response, so he checked to see how they landed. Logan was holding Virgil like a bride.

Oh. Oh, no.

Logan quickly pushed Virgil up to his feet, allowing the other to steady before stepping back. He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat before saying, “Well, uh, that was the correct motion, but I believe you have to move more quickly for it to work the way it is supposed to.”

Virgil nodded and said, “Makes sense. Thanks for catching me… I, uh, didn’t realize how strong you were.”

“Ah, it’s not a problem, Virgil, and thank you, I suppose.”

They both remained quiet, trying their best to get over the flustering situation. Logan couldn’t help but wonder if Virgil was also thinking about what could have happened if they had remained in that position. Logan was slightly regretting moving so quickly, as he could easily imagine the two of them sharing a quick kiss if they ever found themselves in that pose again.

Virgil recovered first, going to rush over where the skateboard had rolled off to in order to try again at the push off. Logan quickly got over himself as Virgil approached him once more with skateboard in hand.

They spent almost two hours like that, with Virgil working on balancing on the skateboard properly while moving and Logan having to catch him every so often. Each time Logan caught Virgil, they would both fluster and panic slightly due to the proximity, but they got over it more quickly each time it happened.

When they were nearing the end of Virgil’s patience with the skateboard, he fell off one last time, landing them in the same position that they had been the first time he fell, with Logan holding Virgil as if he were a bride. Instead of Logan pushing Virgil to his feet, he allowed Virgil a moment of rest, noticing that the other had become fatigued throughout this experience.

Once Virgil caught his breath, he looked up at Logan, giving him a genuine smile, and said, “Hey.”

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle before responding, “Hello.”

“Thanks for this.”

“Of course… I’ve quite enjoyed our time together.”

“Me too, Lo. We need to hang out more often.” Virgil said, finally moving to stand, but not making his way out of Logan’s hold.

Logan gently squeezed the other’s waist for no real reason other than because he could, “I agree.”

Virgil smiled, but Logan noticed how his eyes were stealing glances of Logan’s lips every few moments, as if he couldn’t help himself. Subconsciously, Logan licked over his lips quickly, noting how Virgil’s pupils dilated and his breath caught. Logan didn’t even try to stop himself as he leant towards Virgil slowly, loosening his hold in case he was reading the signs wrong.

Logan was slightly surprised when Virgil met him halfway, their lips touching in a brief kiss (more of a peck than anything) before they pulled away. Logan was quick to lean back in again, as was Virgil. They kissed over and over and over again, only pausing when they needed to breathe, yet the kisses stayed innocent.

After a while, they pulled away for the last time, both of them satisfied for the time being. Logan knocked his forehead gently against Virgil's, both of them smiling like idiots. They both knew that they would have to talk through this in order to ease Virgil's worries and help with Logan's control issues, but that was for later. Right then, all they could think was, Finally.

[phykios]

honesty and promise me part 9, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

He doesn’t text her later. He doesn’t text her for two weeks. On day fifteen of no contact from Percy, Annabeth begins to accept that whatever they had might be over now. 

That’s alright, she reminds herself. She had been working up to breaking it off with him for a while, and he just went ahead and did it for her. Saves her the trouble, really. 

October rolls on, wet and cold, inching ever closer to Halloween, and Annabeth finds herself seeking refuge at Piper’s, lending her body and her skills to help her friend finish her collection before her self-imposed deadline. At least the work provides a nice distraction from her silent phone--when Percy stopped texting her, Thalia did, too. Well. That’s that, she supposes.

Still, the fact that they were never officially dating doesn’t stop Annabeth from scrolling through his Instagram at 2 AM like some pathetic ex-girlfriend, screenshotting all her favorite photos so she can look at them later without the threat of accidentally liking them. He’s been posting a lot of stills from that fucking music video again, the divinely crafted muscles of his body on full display in cool, blue light, brown cheekbone and jawline sharper than ever. Beyonce herself even liked a few of them. 

God damn she’s a fucking idiot. 

It must be the self-pity that’s making her crazy, because when Luke calls her up to be his date/eye candy to some fancy semi-costumed party that weekend at an art gallery on the Lower East Side, she agrees without even thinking about it.

The gallery isn’t that far (certainly much, much closer than the Lincoln Center) but Annabeth has not worn heels in probably up to a calendar year, and she just cannot make herself walk that far. She will not. Her tiny-ass cross-body bag isn’t big enough to hold a separate pair of walking shoes. So she ponies up the exorbitant cab fare to the Lower East Side, asking the driver to drop her at the Seward Park Library so she can elegantly sashay down the sidewalk with the rest of the rich and glamorous. 

No one spares her a second glance, which is both relieving and strangely disheartening. She’s become too used to turning heads, she thinks.

Well. One head in particular.

“Hey, Annabeth!” Luke appears from thin air, dressed immaculately as always. His sandy hair has come a long way since business school, now tamed and laid perfectly, but with the faintest touch of dishevelment, like he couldn’t completely fix it after someone’s hands had been all over it. He looks even more handsome than he had on her birthday. He kisses her on the cheek, right on the sensitive skin of an old, failed piercing, and she shivers. “You look incredible.” 

Before she left Piper’s apartment that day, Annabeth had raided her small stash of designer clothes and had rediscovered her old faithful that Piper had tried to bury, the midi-length Valentino dress she had worn to the unveiling of her and Leo’s collaboration. It’s a light, powder blue, which can’t be helped, but the lace collar and three-quarter sleeves cover most of her tattoos. She had dug out her tiara, too, making herself a low-key Halloween costume out of the spring season dress. Though the dress doesn’t fit like it did a year ago, Which is depressing as all hell. “Thanks. You, too.”

He beams at her, holding out his arm. “Shall we?”

“Who did you say was the artist, again?” she asks, taking it.

“I didn’t. Something with an ‘L,’ I think. Levelle? Levique? I don’t remember.”

The white gallery walls have been draped in shades of inky blue and midnight purple, all the better to see the crystal sculptures on display: beautiful renderings of swords and skulls, deadly weapons and human bones. There’s something mind-numbingly obvious about holding a spooky, macabre-themed gallery show on Halloween night, entitled “Death and Riches,” but she has to admit, the artwork is stunning. The crystals take what little light is cast from the weak ceiling lamps and multiply it, casting the dark velvets in rainbow reflections. Annabeth feels like she’s walking through the night sky, like she could reach out and rearrange the stars in the constellations. “Look at this,” she murmurs to Luke, stopping them in front of a sculpture of an ancient cavalry sword. “This is incredible.”

He grunts. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

Annabeth fixes him with a look. “‘Cool’? Seriously?”

“What? It’s just a rock.”

She shakes her head. “You are wasted on an art gallery.”

“I am,” he agrees, swiftly. “I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my bosses.”

“What do you mean?”

Luke steers her away from the sculpture, moving them onward. “One of our assistant executives, he’s about to close a huge deal with some big wig from Europe who runs this massive import/export, but before everything is made official, he wanted to meet all of us.”

“Why here, though?”

“He’s in town for this gallery opening; the artist is his niece, or something.”

Ugh. This is why she swore off business bros: always an ulterior motive with these people. “Hey, I’m going to go look for something to drink, do you want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he waves her off.

Annabeth, teetering on her towering heels, has to make her way against the current of the crowd towards the refreshments table along the edge of the wall. She feels ten pounds lighter without all the metal in her face, her center of gravity completely out of whack--not to mention she’s having trouble seeing with all this hair in her face. To better disguise her undercut, she had brushed all her hair over her head in one big, voluminous side ponytail on the wrong side of her face. It’s disorienting, to say the least.

Her stomach roils at the display of food, even as her mouth waters a little bit at the bruschetta with olive tapenade. Rather than risk it, she decides to just go with a glass of sparkling cider. She’s been feeling sick and anxious all day long, dreading every moment of this gala; the last thing she wants to do is exacerbate it with champagne. 

Before she makes her way back to Luke’s side, however, she wants to take another look at the actual art. Or at least find out who the actual artist is. Whoever they are, they are phenomenally talented. 

“Excuse me,” Annabeth says to the staff member manning the food table. “Do you have any more information about the artist? I’d love to see more of their work.”

“Sure!” she chirps, turning round to grab something off a stack of pamphlets beside her. “You can read more about Ms. Levesque here.”

“Thank you,” says Annabeth, taking the glossy brochure. Levesque. Levesque Levesque Levesque. She knows that name, she’s sure of it. Penny in the air… 

Slowly, like she’s walking a labyrinth, she makes her way around the gallery. The booklet has descriptions of each piece of art on display, contexts and histories and prices that make her sweat a little. But by the time she returns to the cavalry sword, her head is swimming--probably from the lack of food--her eyes straining in the dim light. She has completely lost track of Luke. She has completely lost track of the time. Annabeth puts her hand to her head, pressing her fingers against the bone of her forehead.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She jolts at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. The owner of the hand pulls away immediately, holding it up in a placating motion. 

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Annabeth blinks at the person in front of her. He’s blond, tall, with glasses and a scar on his upper lip, and she cannot shake the bone-deep feeling that she’s seen him before. 

“You look a little pale. Do you need to sit down?” he asks, electric blue eyes shining with concern. 

She shakes her head. “No, no, I’m okay, just a little… the light, you know. Makes it hard to read.”

“I know how you feel,” he says, nodding sagely. “The lighting setup here is absolute murder on my glasses.” Then he sticks out his hand, proud and jutting. “I’m Jason.”

Furiously, she blinks away unbidden tears, turning her sudden sob into a light laugh at the thought of the last time she had met someone named Jason. Or, someone she thought had been named Jason. “Annabeth.” His grip is firm and congenial, like a senator. “Are you with Mercury Exchange, too?”

“Oh, no,” he says, “I’m just here to support the artist. She’s my cousin.”

“Well, congratulations to your cousin on a beautiful gallery opening,” says Annabeth, inclining her head with a smile that he returns. “These sculptures are incredible.”

Jason follows her gaze, and when she looks at him again, he’s smiling. The scar gives his smile an adorable edge. “Hazel is very talented.”

Penny drops. “Hazel Levesque?” Annabeth asks. “Your cousin is Hazel Levesque?” 

“Yeah!” Jason beams. “You ever listen to a band called Pluto’s Daughter?”

“You’re Jason Grace?”

That takes him aback, blinking in shock. “Yes… how did you--oh, you know Thalia?” he asks.

No. No no no, this cannot be happening. “Um, not-not really, I just--”

“I just saw her, like, ten minutes ago--”

No no no, she cannot be here, she can’t see Annabeth, not like this-- “Actually,” Annabeth cuts in, “I should really get back to my date, I’m sure he’s worried sick, it was nice meeting you!” And she bolts from the conversation in the general direction of the exit, leaving a very confused member of the cousin consortium in her wake. 

Stupid, so stupid, how did she not look this up beforehand, how did she not put it together sooner? She can’t let anyone see her like this, dolled up and--and downright clean. The crowd has turned into an impenetrable wall, the gaps between patrons too small for her to slip between. The dark walls close in around her, suffocating her, and her panic rises, stomach churning, bile crawling up her throat.

From the crush of people, a hand shoots out to grasp hers, and she jumps a foot in the air. “There you are!” says Luke. “Come on, I want you to meet the big wig.”

“Oh, Luke, I don’t know,” she stammers, “I’m-I’m not feeling very well, I think I had a bad burrito earlier, and--”

“It’ll just take a minute,” he wheedles, “We just gotta show up, make some small talk for a few minutes, then I’ll get you home. Sounds good?” But she can’t resist as he pulls her deeper into the gallery.

Like fucking Moses and the fucking Red Sea, the crowd parts before them, laying out a clear path to the three very well dressed men in the center of the room. Even from behind, she can tell that they’re all related: three copies of the same broad build, the same thick, black hair, peppered with grey, the same radiating aura of power and influence, engaged in deep, important conversation. 

“Mr. Olympianides?” Luke politely interjects. 

As one, the three of them turn to face him, identical gazes sizing them up, pinning them in place. “Yes?” intones the oldest-looking one, his earth-brown eyes cold and dispassionate. 

“I think he means me, brother,” says the middle-looking one, jovial. “You’re with Mercury too, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, sir,” says Luke, holding out a hand. “Luke Castellan, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Ah, of course!” he says, taking Luke’s hand. “I’ve heard great things about you from Prometheus. I understand I have you to thank for the success of the Saturn deal?”

Luke, wholly in his element, smiles his perfectly practiced sycophantic smile--just the right cocktail of humble and arrogant, gracious and gregarious. You can tell he double majored in theater. “It was no trouble at all, really.” 

Then he turns his gaze to Annabeth, and she just about faints. 

Those eyes. She knows those eyes. Perfectly blue-green, like the waters of the Mediterranean in the sunshine, beneath thick, black eyebrows, with an aquiline nose and a full, salt and pepper beard--she is, without a doubt, looking into the unimaginably handsome face of Percy’s father. 

“May I have the name of your lovely lady?” He takes her hand, bringing it up to his for a kiss. 

Annabeth’s eyes practically bug out of her head. This is what Percy will turn into in twenty years? Good lord.

“This is my…” Luke trails off, sparing her a glance. “This is Annabeth Chase. She’s an architect here in New York. Annabeth, these are the gentlemen I was telling you about: Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus Olympianides.”

Oddly enough, part of her relaxes, even at Luke’s little fib. If Percy’s father is here, then that means that Percy might not be. She would still have to duck Thalia, but if Luke lets her leave within the next few minutes, that shouldn’t be too hard.

“Chase--like the Boston Chases?” the oldest brother asks. She’s seen those dark eyes, as well, lined with black, and sometimes with glitter. 

Annabeth smiles, just a little vacant. She hasn’t had a conversation like this in two years, but back in Boston she’d had them nearly weekly. “That’s the one,” she agrees, letting a giggle out at the end. With business bros her age, they preferred a little bit of a too cool attitude, they’d loved her with all the metal in her face. But the older ones like a giggle. From the corner of her vision, she sees Luke give her just a little bit of a side eye. 

“You’re Randolph’s daughter?” Asks the other brother. His eyes are electric blue. Even if Annabeth hadn’t just met Jason, she’d have known this was Thalia’s father from twenty paces. 

“I’m his niece,” Annabeth says. “Frederick is my father.”

“The middle one?” Percy’s father says, with a little bit of a grin. 

“Yes.” So far, so good--and no one has asked about her mother. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to see that she is not her stepmother’s daughter.

There’s maybe the slightest hint of snideness when Zeus says, “Another Harvard graduate, I assume.”

So there are a lot of Chases at Harvard. On a whim, one night while she should have been writing her Modernism final instead, Annabeth had spent several hours making an academic genealogical chart, inordinately pleased when she found out that her old, decrepit freshman history professor had also taught her father, way back in the day. 

“Guilty,” she titters, “but I did attend Miss Minerva’s here in the city.”

“So your Randolph’s niece,” Thalia’s dad asks again, “And Frey Vanir is married to your aunt.”

“Yes.” She bites down on the “sir.” She’s got to have some standards. 

“Good families,” Nico and Hazel’s father says, nodding at her, “Chases and Vanir.” 

Annabeth has some very, very hazy memories of meeting her own fabulously wealthy extended family, just after her little cousin Magnus had been born. She doesn’t recall much, but she can remember the high, vaulted ceilings of her aunt’s apartment on Commonwealth Avenue, the view of the Public Gardens just down the block, and the very big, very sharp-looking sword hanging above the mantel. The Chases are a well-off family, it’s true, but the Vanir, old money from leftover Nordic peerage are very much on the Olympianides' level, even if Annabeth is the one wearing a tiara that allegedly once belonged to the crown jewels of Sweden. 

Athena Pallas is on that same level, too, but Annabeth would rather run into Thalia then talk about her mother. Especially with these people.

Then Poseidon’s gaze fixes on something behind her, and he breaks into a broad, heartbreakingly familiar grin. “Ah, Percy, there you are!” he calls. 

The smile drops from her face, and her blood freezes. Caught in the gravity well of a black hole, she turns. 

A huge mistake. 

Her only thought is How dare he be so handsome.

He’s in a suit she’s never seen before, crisply pressed, but comfortable, simple black but with pearl cuff links, to match his father’s. The sharp lines of the suit hide his beautiful form beneath them in a way that makes Annabeth understand the appeal of lingerie like she never has before. He looms, back discipline-straight, his face scrubbed clean and eyebrows perfectly shaped, and to cap it all off, a pair of simple, classy diamond studs in his ears. Percy Jackson remains, as always, unfairly gorgeous, the perfect specimen of male beauty, and Annabeth is powerless under his gaze.

And he’s just heard every word of their conversation.

“Percy,” his father says, “have you met Annabeth Chase?”

Percy stares at her, mouth open a little. She watches those eyes take her in from top to bottom, hairstyle to clean face to conservative dress to high heels. Never, ever one to hide his emotions, she can see his inner monologue playing out on his face: shock and awe, bewilderment and confusion, jerkily transitioning to… to a politely blank face. Like the surface of the ocean, the wave of his feelings disappear beneath his skin, leaving no trace that they were ever there. “No,” he says, in a tone that broaches no argument. “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever met Annabeth Chase before.”

He takes her in again. Percy was never above leering, but he was always pretty situational about it. He would wait until sex was explicitly on the table, wait until she wanted to see him go just a little bit crazy for her. He doesn’t leer now, cataloguing the dress, the shoes, the tiara.

“Cinderella?” he asks, before the conversation can become awkward and their audience can notice something else.

“Yes,” she says, unable to force the smile she’d used on his father just minutes before. “What girl doesn’t want to be a princess for Halloween?”

“Cinderella was always your favorite, wasn’t she?” Percy’s father asks him. Then he laughs. “Once we went to Disney in Paris, I think, and Percy, all of ten years old, cried because he didn’t think he was going to be able to meet her.” 

Percy’s face stays blank. “I was six, Dad.” 

Annabeth winces, internally. That was the year, he’d told her, that he’d spent in shoes that didn’t fit because his new ones had been destroyed by bullies taunting him over ballet, and he didn’t want to tell his mother because trying to buy him a second pair of shoes would have been a struggle. She wonders if maybe he was crying because he’d spent the day walking around Disneyland in shoes two sizes too small, and no one had noticed.

His father laughs again. “Still,” he says, “Cinderella is your favorite.” 

“I don’t have much use for princesses anymore,” Percy says. “Fairy tales and true love are kid stuff.”

His uncles laugh along with his father, and Luke just frowns at Percy, like he’s not sure what to make of him. But his family seems convinced it's the wisdom of youth.

“Oh,” says Poseidon, “You never know when you can find someone special.” He does leer at Annabeth, just a bit. There isn’t a lot to leer at in this dress, but it's unmistakable. He’s very handsome, but the leer is perhaps the first time she’s thought he didn’t favor his son. 

“Were you the one who dated the princess of what it was called?” Thalia’s father asks. “Or was Triton? Or was it both of you?” 

“No,” Hazel and Nico’s father says, “no, they both dated Atlas’s girl. Right?”

“Yes, Uncle Hades,” Percy says. 

“Zoe?” 

Calypso, Annabeth thinks, just before Percy says it out loud and they all nod. 

“Is she here?” Thalia’s father asks, glancing around. “Or do you have a different date tonight?”

Annabeth hasn’t even considered Percy having a date. But the idea of it causes a wave of nausea to come over her, of a beautiful woman on Percy’s arm, one of his fellow dancers, or perhaps some heiress, who he could take to fancy parties and show off to his father and uncles.

That could have so easily been you, says a voice in the back of her head. 

I’m no one’s arm candy, she wants to yell at herself. 

But she can’t, because she’s literally resting on Luke’s arm, while three powerful businessmen ogle her. 

She breathes through her nose, and tries to keep from throwing up. Or crying. 

“Percy knows its best to come to events like this stag,” Percy’s father winks at him, and then unmistakably at her, “you never know what sorts of lovely creatures you might run into.” 

Percy frowns, clearly uncomfortable. “I think Miss Chase definitely came with her boyfriend.” He nods to Luke, and gives him a smile Annabeth has never seen. So forced and fake and clearly unhappy. 

She wishes she could stop everything and scream at Percy that Luke’s not her boyfriend. That he could never be. That she does not want Luke, not the way she wants Percy. 

But time goes on, and so does Percy. “I don’t like coming to these sorts of things alone, if I can help it.” 

And the world nearly collapses out from under her feet. 

“The buddy system is important.” He turns his head, clearly searching the milling crowd for someone. Annabeth doesn’t follow his gaze. She doesn’t want to see the woman he willingly shows off to his father. She glances at Luke instead. His face is still placid, but she’s known him a long time, in all sorts of states. He’s clearly uncomfortable. 

“Thalia,” Percy’s voice says, not a shout, but a request. Annabeth doesn’t look over at him, or the direction he shouted, but Luke does. He breaks away from her gaze and actually unlinks their arms. His mask slips a little bit more. 

At the last possible second Annabeth looks over too. 

Thalia Grace looks exactly like the Thalia Annabeth has always known. Her hair is slicked down in some old fashioned pin curls, and she’s wearing a cocktail dress and red soled heels that are too big for her, but you can see the tattoos up and down her arms and legs, underneath her ripped fishnets. Her facial piercings are all still in, and her eyebrows and ears are full of safety pins and the necklace around her neck is made of them too. She’s wearing the same beat up leather gloves as always. 

For just a second, Annabeth hates her. Because Thalia is clearly so Thalia, so comfortable in being Thalia, and she can walk around this fucking gala, with buisness bros and old money, and look totally comfortable and confident. 

And Annabeth keeps adjusting her sleeves and hair, worried that somethings going to move wrong, and it's going to become obvious that she’s… something? 

Then their eyes meet, and it's almost as bad as when Percy showed up. Thalia looks lost, and then she glances to Annabeth’s side, at Luke and her face settles into a frown not unlike Percy’s. 

She stops beside Percy who smiles at her, “Thalia and I always use the buddy system.” He says. Then, as he holds out his hand to her, his smile becomes the closest she could ever refer to as cruel. “Thalia, have you met Annabeth Chase? Of the Boston Chases? Her uncle is Frey Vanir.” 

Standing tall, bright eyes ringed in black, Thalia takes in all of Annabeth. She’s done this before, when Annabeth was drunk and crying on a dirty bar floor, with a couple hours old tattoo on her arm and a couple of days old ring in her eyebrow. Annabeth had seen her mother on Wednesday for lunch and had destroyed her life by dinner. She doesn’t really remember what they’d talked about, in the wee hours as Friday became Saturday: not being good enough for your family, how New York took your dreams, chewed them up, and spit them out, how your father would never understand you and your mother would never love you. That sort of thing.

She’d been a gross, pathetic mess. But Thalia had seen something in her that night. Had lifted her off the floor and out the door and eventually onto the mattress in the place she’d been renting weekly at the time. She’d taken Annabeth into her world.

Now, it doesn’t look like she sees anything good in Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases, in designer heels, with a designer bag, wrapped in a designer dress and dripping in jewels. Annabeth knows she looks like a dozen other girls at this event, girls that Luke’s (and maybe Thalia’s and, God, maybe even Percy’s) eyes have wandered over with interest. 

“Miss Chase, despite being from Boston,” Percy says to Thalia, “was mentioning some of the schools she went to in New York. I thought maybe you might have known each other through one.” 

Percy’s face has gone perfectly blank, but Thalia’s… Thalia’s is angry. 

“No,” she says, “we did not go to school together. But Luke and I did.”

It’s Annabeth’s turn to gape, eyes wide as she turns to him, shocked. 

Luke tries to smile. “Yes, we did, but--” 

Thalia doesn’t let him finish. “Are you still sending weekly audition tapes to Lorne Michaels?” she asks, a snarl that only an idiot would mistake for a grin on her face. 

Annabeth would laugh, if she felt like laughing at anything right now.

Luke tries to speak again, but Thalia talks right over him. “No, of course not. You’re doing some business thing.” She eyes his suit and then her three older relatives. “Why else would we be here? I know you never really had the brains for the arts. You were always more interested in the carnal passions of acting.” 

Annabeth actually does laugh, just a bit, both because that’s clearly something Luke had once said (and Annabeth remembered him coming straight out of NYU, a Yankee transplant to Boston, she could totally believe it) and because Thalia got Luke’s cadence and tone down perfectly. 

But it does nothing to relieve the tension. If anything, it's gone up. 

Percy’s father forces his own laugh. “It is so much fun when you run into old friends like this.” He offers, clearly sensing the storm brewing. Percy has at least tried to force it down. “And it's good to see you, as well, Thalia. It's been a long time.” 

“It has, Uncle Poseidon,” She agrees. 

“Mr. Castellan has left the world of acting for our bland business and finance meetings, but are you still acting?”

Thalia goes very still. 

Annabeth, in the two years she’s known Thalia Grace, has never even once heard her so much as allude to acting in anything. She set up equipment and tended bars for cash. The only acting she ever did was pretending not to be hungover. 

It’s a slight movement, but she sees Thalia reach out and grip Percy’s arm. He meets it, holding on. Steadying. 

He understands what’s going on here.

“She’s not,” Thalia’s father says. He’s been polite so far this evening, but now he sounds annoyed. “All that talent and all that promise, and she’s thrown it all away.” He looks at Thalia, electric eyes to electric eyes, and shakes his head. “You could have been just like your mother.” 

Percy, Luke, and Hades all let out a sharp breath. 

Thalia’s smile, sharp, turns acidic. “I can't be,” she says. “I don't drive. So I couldn't drive myself into a tree.”

Her father narrows his gaze, mouth tight. Annabeth has actually seen that look on Thalia’s face before. Poseidon looks suddenly very sorry he ever opened his mouth. 

Thalia turns to Percy. “Do you think Hazel would mind if I committed a murder and ruined her big night?” 

It's a very Thalia thing to say, but Annabeth has never really considered the theatricality of her before. This is an artist working her craft, taking words and turning them into daggers.

“Hazel loves performance art,” Percy says. “And it is on theme.” 

Thalia nods and then looks at her father. She smiles. “That sounds like a lot of work, so, instead, why don’t I do just what you want. I’ll be my mother. I’ll go get fabulously drunk and embarrass you horribly. Unfortunately, this is a 21+ event, so I won’t be able to endanger any children in the process. But you never know.”   

She spins on her heels, and walks away. 

“I'm going to make sure she doesn’t enganger any children just to prove a point,” Percy says. “I'll see you later.” He nods to his family, and then offers Annabeth a very formal handshake. “So nice to meet you.” 

She’s missed his hands on her. She doesn’t want to let go. 

But she lets him, and he moves over to give Luke one, too. He leans in, just a little bit, and lowers his voice so only Luke and Annabeth can hear. “You shouldn’t make a scene in a public place. But you deserve to know, she’s been cheating on you since May.”

Annabeth can’t breathe for a moment. The perfect man, handsome and charming and crueler than she ever believed possible.   

Her stomach rolls again. 

Behind her, she hears Poseidon say, “Do you often tell women whose mothers’ acting career dried up and then descended into substance abuse that you hope they have the same career as said mothers? Because wow."

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispers. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m very sorry.” 

He turns to speak with the three brothers, to formally and probably seamlessly untangle themselves from all of this, and she tries to turn too, but the effort to spin gets too much. 

She’s still nauseous, feeling light-headed. The stiletto heels only add to the problem. She shakes and stumbles, right into Luke, who catches her on one arm, Poseidon on the other. Annabeth has to work very hard not to yank herself away from him. 

“Are you alright?” Poseidon’s accent isn’t the same as Percy’s at all, his hands too smooth. There are differences between the two that she can focus on. 

“I haven’t been feeling well tonight,” she admits, if it will get her out of here faster. 

“Do you need to sit down?” Asks Poseidon. “I’m sure there is a medical professional around here.” 

“No, no, thank you,” she says. “I should probably head out, If that’s okay,” she tells Luke, apologetically.

He nods, finally complying with her need for escape. “Of course.” 

When Poseidon lets go of her arm, she basically falls into Luke. It's embarrassing. Her eighteen year old self is probably cheering. Unfortunately for her, that crush was killed two great heartbreaks ago. Now, it’s just quiet and awkward as they walk away. “Sorry,” she says. 

“Sorry? I should be thanking you. That was a really good excuse.” Then he looks at her--really looks. “It wasn’t an excuse, was it?”

She shakes her head, miserable. 

“Is it because of that guy? Percy? Do you know him?”

She nods.

“Why does he think you’ve been cheating on me since May?”

“Because he thinks you and I are a couple, and I’ve been sleeping with him since May.” 

Luke lets out a low whistle. “You and those business bros.” He shakes his head. Sometimes he doesn’t quite have the self-awareness that he should, she thinks. “I blame myself. If I didn’t invite you to that MBA party, maybe you wouldn’t have lost your virginity to that asshole in my cohort.” 

“Percy’s not a business bro,” she says, defending him, though for the life of her she doesn’t know why. “He’s a ballet dancer with NYCB. It… ended about 3 weeks ago. I’d tell you about it, but I do actually feel pretty horrible.”

Luke frowns at her. “You want me to get you a cab?”

Annabeth shakes her head. “I know you have more business bro things to do. I can get myself home.”

He waits several seconds, before giving her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, wishing her goodnight, leaving her in the middle of the mingling crowd and the crystal displays. 

Annabeth shuffles towards the exit, passing the food table. Even the smell makes her feel like she’s going to throw up. Walking faster doesn’t exactly help. 

Eventually, she manages to get out of the main gallery, where the lobby and coat check had been set up, very much regretting letting Luke go. Right now, walking outside and finding a cab might as well be like attempting a quick little jaunt up Mt. Everest. Head aching, stomach rolling, she slumps against the wall outside the coat check, laying her warm cheek against the cool wall. 

That’s when she hears the muffled shouting. 

Two voices she knows intimately. 

“How can you say that?” Thalia whisper-screams. “In what possible universe are they the same?”

“How are they not?” Percy quietly shouts back. “They’re exactly the same.”

“I can’t even believe you’re defending her. She lied to us--she hurt you, just like--”

“Don’t you dare try and tell me you’re doing this for me. This is about you and your problems. Like always.”

“I don’t have to listen to this shit.” Then comes the telltale clacks of Thalia stomping about in her high heels. She flings open the door of the coat closet, and comes face to face with Annabeth--who probably looks about like death warmed over. Thalia takes one look at Annabeth, sneers, then stalks away, anger sparking off of her like static shock. 

Hot on her heels comes Percy, equally furious. "Then find someone else’s couch to crash on tonight!" He shouts at her retreating form.

Then he sees Annabeth.

She hopes she never has to see him that angry ever again. 

It takes a couple of pounding heartbeats, but he visibly dials it back down, rage giving way to something a little less intense, the bitterness bleeding out of him until he’s only just annoyed. “Oh,” he says. “It’s you.”

There’s a million and one things she wants to tell him; her mind is a hurricane, every thought and feeling moving at a hundred and fifty miles per hour, sentences forming on her tongue in one second and ripped away the next. She wants to tell him that she never meant to hurt him, but all that comes out is, “Luke isn’t my boyfriend.”

“What, he dump you already?”

“We’ve never dated,” she says. “He’s just a friend. I haven’t cheated on anyone.”

“Oh, so you’ll get all dolled up for some guy that isn’t your boyfriend, but you couldn’t be bothered to find a pair of jeans without holes in them to come see my show?”

Her stomach lurches, in both anger and regret. She did do those things. “You told me that you didn’t care what I wore.”

“And I didn’t, because I thought you didn’t either.”

“I don’t!”

“Oh yeah? Is that why you parted your hair on the wrong side? Because you didn’t care if someone would see your undercut?”

She can’t say anything to that, because of course, he had hit the nail on the head. 

“I mean, Thalia may be messed up, but at least she has the guts not to hide it, but you--” he sputters, gesturing angrily to her head, “you put on a tiara and pretend you haven’t been gutter trash for the last two years.”

Indignation rises in her. Gutter trash? “You’re one to talk--you can’t go anywhere nicer than Antonio’s for dinner but you own a custom fucking Italian suit and diamond earrings?”

He scowls. “Oh, I'm sorry, just so we're clear, Kym got me this suit so I would stop, and I quote, 'embarrassing her with my poverty.' I borrowed the earrings from Nico. But you're right. The same Christmas I had my power and heat turned off in Paris, my dad got me these pearl cufflinks.” He raises his hands, brandishing them. “Just what I always wanted!”

“Don’t give me that--the man takes you, his bastard,” she spits, “on the family vacation to the Greek islands every goddamn summer! You think he wouldn’t drop a couple million for you if you asked? Meanwhile, I had to grovel at my mother’s feet for years for even the barest hint of support--”

“That is not even remotely the same thing, and you know it!”

“It isn’t?” She laughs, cruelly. “Because from where I’m standing, we were both left at the mercy of our shitty parents, but you’re too much of a coward to tell your father to fuck off when you really want to.”

That just about sets him off. His eyes darken like sea storms, raging and thunderous. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on me. You’re the one that lied to me for months, to Thalia for years--Jesus, Annabeth, was any of it real? Was everything you said to me over the last five months just some game to you?”

“How dare you,” she hisses. “How dare you even ask me that when you know full well you’re the only person I’ve shown my designs to in years.”

“Oh, really,” he says, and she goes cold. “What about the one that won the Eta Industries award? Did you not show that to anyone? Or did you get that one because they knew you were Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases.” 

Clenching her fists, she growls, standing up against the wall. “Leo and I put our hearts and souls into that project, and we won, fair and fucking square. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, seeing as you probably only got into NYCB because someone cashed a seven figure check.” 

She doesn’t know if she’s ever said anything she believes less. 

Percy laughs, an ugly, bitter thing. “If it had been that easy, I would have asked him to do that five years ago.”

Then he frowns. “Are you… feeling okay?”

She is not, as a matter of fact, but it’s no longer his fucking business, now is it. Annabeth opens her mouth to tell him so, then abruptly closes it as a little bit of vomit erupts from her esophagus. She covers her mouth, pressing against her teeth, trying to will it back inside. 

Warm hands encircle her shoulders, holding her up as her legs threaten to buckle beneath her. “Come on,” he says, gruffly. 

Together, they stagger into the single-stall bathroom, when Annabeth rips himself from his grasp, dropping to her knees before the toilet, and hurls. Faintly, she hears the lock of the door click behind her, then jumps at the feel of his hand on her back. “Leave me alone,” she spits, hocking bile into the toilet.

He doesn’t answer, only gently repositions her braid behind her shoulder so she doesn’t get any vomit on it. 

She will not admit that his hand on her body is the best she’s felt all day. She will not. 

“Ugh,” she moans, in between bouts of bile. “Fuck me.”

“Jesus, what did you eat?”

Annabeth has barely eaten all day, so it’s mostly sparkling cider and a bit of the olive tapenade from earlier. 

Finally, after several excruciating minutes, it subsides. She feels twenty pounds lighter, like she’s vomited up all of her organs. Now if only she could have barfed up her heart as well. She’s sure Percy can feel how hard it’s beating, just from being around him again. 

When the hell did she let herself get this worked up over a fucking guy, anyway? She hasn’t felt like this since she was nineteen, moping over a missed connection. But she’s not nineteen anymore, she’s a grown woman who doesn’t need anyone taking care of her. She can handle it herself.

“Feeling better?” he asks. 

She coughs, attempting to clear her throat, throwing him a glare over her shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone like this.” 

“I said,” she growls, fingers tightening around the bowl of the toilet. “Leave me al--” Her genius retort is, sadly, cut off by another bout of vomiting, so forceful that her tiara comes flying clean off. It would have landed straight into the bowl, were it not for Percy and his lightning reflexes, snatching it out of the air before the crown jewels of Sweden landed in a puddle of barf. 

When she comes back to herself, she realizes that she’s crying. 

The second wave passes, and she can breathe again. Her awareness returns to her in pieces, starting with the pinch in her knees from kneeling on the cold, hard floor for too long, then the cool porcelain of the toilet, oddly soothing against her flushed skin. Her mouth tastes like you’d expect, and she spits, trying to clear it in vain. 

“That’s it,” Percy murmurs behind her, rubbing gentle circles on her back. “Just let it out.”

Her chest heaves on a sob, quickly disguising it as a cough. Why won’t this man just leave?

When another five or so minutes pass without any more upchuck, she pulls away from him, practically crawling back until she hits the bathroom wall, the floor pressing up against her bones, and she kicks off her heels. Everything is too cold and too hot, Annabeth practically shaking out of her skin, taking in huge, gulping gasps of air. Faintly, she hears the door open and close, softly and carefully. 

Good. He’s gone. 

Her whole body shudders. Stubborn tears force their way out of her, crawling down her cheeks, mixing with the taste of vomit and lipstick. 

But she can’t wallow in it for too long, because a minute later, Percy comes back, crouching down next to her, offering her a plastic cup of water. “Here.”

She takes a swig, swishing it around her mouth. Staggering to her bare feet, she shambles over to the sink, spitting it out. 

There’s no way Annabeth can avoid looking at herself too closely in the mirror, but she tries, her eyes skating over her smeared mascara and running foundation, taking in her (thankfully) vomit free braid and her bare head. “Where,” she coughs. “Where is my tiara?”

“I got it.” In the mirror’s reflection, Percy holds it up. “Wouldn’t want the crown jewels of England to wind up in the toilet.”

“Sweden,” she says, on reflex.

“What?”

Why can’t she just shut her stupid mouth, for God’s sake-- “They were part of the Swedish crown jewels.”

He stares at her in the reflection, his eyes unfathomable. “I just don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” She asks, a question to which she really doesn’t want to know the answer.

“How I keep letting this happen.” Percy closes his eyes, shaking his head, raising his chin to the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Like this, all the angles and contours of his stupidly beautiful face are thrown in sharp, brutal relief. He looks thin, somehow, the quiet sadness of his expression carved into the lines of his frown, of his squeezed shut eyes and the grim line of his lips. “I thought I was done with letting rich girls fuck me to make a point.”

Funny, how a simple sentence can feel like a knife in the stomach.

Percy, always so tall, slumps his shoulders, running a hand over his face. In seconds, the sadness is gone, replaced with a blank void of expression. “Will you let me call you a cab to take you home?” He asks, because of course, he’d never leave her alone like this. He’s too fucking good.

Annabeth nods into the mirror. 

He sidles up to her, slinging her arm around his shoulder. In his other hand, he carries her shoes and her tiara, dangling limply from his fingers. For a wild second she wants to turn and kiss him. She’s wanted to do that for weeks. She wants to wipe the tears and vomit off her face, stick back on her tiara, and go back to the party on his arm. They could make a beautiful picture, she thinks, Poseidon Olympianides’ son and Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases. But when she tries to move, maybe to make a big mistake, she sways, unsteady. His grip on her waist tightens, holding her close, but his face is turned stubbornly out. He won’t even look at her.

The cool night air and the smell of city dirt is a welcome balm on her flushed face. In no time at all, Percy has hailed a cab, letting her hang off of him as she falls heavily onto the seat. With the utmost care and precision, he gently places her shoes and her crown on her lap, as controlled and careful as when he puts down a fellow dancer. There is no mistake here, she knows. Their little dance together is over. It feels like the end of one of those romantic movies from the 50s her dad used to love to cry over.

“Take her home, please,” he informs the cab driver, giving him her address, then without even sparing her a glance, he closes the door on her.

But greedy for one last look, Annabeth presses her face to the window as the driver pulls away from the curb. The night is dark and the streetlamps are unhelpful, but she can still see him as he cups his hands to his face, glowing like he holds a little star between his fingers, can see him tilt his head up and exhale, sending cigarette smoke up into the heavens.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: I can’t believe I’m staying true to my word and posting it before the year is over. My self imposed deadline was met, yey me!!

A little heads up for those who read my stuff: January will be a tricky month for me — I still have one exam left — so I don’t know if I’ll be able to post. Then there’s the acosf release, and I plan to avoid being in social media (aka tumblr, twitter) until I’ve read it at least two times lol. I’ll try to write in any spare time that I have, but I’m sorry in advance.

Now, let’s end 2020 with style!! I hope you enjoy the new chapter and wish y’all a good 2021 💜

In which she makes a friend, Part Five

Nesta woke up to soft knocking on her door.

She groaned in her pillow, wanting nothing more than to go back sleep. She was not used to waking up so early — the sun had barely risen on the sky — and she’d had a poor night of sleep, her latest nightmare still too vivid in her mind.

Nesta had a lot of those. Nightmares. Before, it was of Mandray. Of being beneath him again. Of not being able to scape. After being kidnapped by Hybern, they were about Elain. Of failing time and time again to avoid her sister being thrown into that blasted Cauldron.

Once the war had come and gone, it got worse. She’d dream of Elain in that camp, chained near the Cauldron. Would dream of Feyre failing to rescue their sister. Would dream of both of them dying while Nesta was unable to protect them. Another failure that’d hunt her through all of her miserable immortal life.

And she’d dream of him. Of his wings being broken and his screams piercing her ears, her soul. Of Hybern killing him in front of her eyes while she was held down by the evil king’s power. And once she got free, once she blasted that bastard to nothingness, she’d find herself in world without him. A world where she lived with a big nothing inside her.

Last night, however, had been different. She had been dreaming of failing Elain and Feyre again when suddenly she heard a voice. His voice, talking in that melodic and enthralling language, his voice a soft caress that eased her troubles. But as soon as she felt herself calming down, Nesta felt him go away. And so she desperately asked for him to stay with her. At least in her dreams she’d be less proud and afraid to say what she wished to. What she wished she had said to him two months ago.

Don’t go. Stay.

And in her dream he stayed. It had been so realistic that Nesta swore she could still feel his warm calloused hand against her skin, smell his scent, his voice a lover’s caress in her ears and—

She got up from the bed quickly, shaking her head. No good would come from going down that path. She willed her heart to behave and stay quiet in the cage she had locked it into. Wall after wall being risen, being toughened. Sometimes, feeling nothing was better then feeling too much or even anything at all.

Nesta heard knocking again, and quickly discarded her nightgown for the Illyrian leathers. She had struck a promise to train with Kaelin before the girl’s morning training and Nesta hated to be late.

“I’m awake, you don’t have to tear down the door Kaelin” Nesta said, opening her door and almost hitting her face in a leather clad chest.

Cassian was the one knocking on her door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Good morning to you too sweetheart” he gave her a teasing grin “Last that I checked, I live here”

“One would wonder if that is true, given your long absence” she replied, knowing she had hit her mark when she saw a muscle twitching on his jaw “Where’s Kaelin?”

“Training has been rescheduled. The younglings start earlier now so those preparing for the Blood Rite can have more time on the training areas” Cassian managed to say.

“I see” Nesta was thinking about going back to sleep when the male in front of her interrupted her thoughts.

“Would you care to have breakfast with me?”

She opened her mouth to dismiss him when she caught the look on his eyes. Not angry anymore at her earlier jab, but anxious. She had never seen Cassian so unsure before, so difficult to read. It was as if his feelings were all over the place.

“It wouldn’t hurt to eat with him” she thought, recalling her dream.

“You are cooking” Nesta declared, moving past him to the kitchen.

“As you wish, your Highness” he did a mocking bow and followed her.

Nesta eyed the tall male in front of her. He cooked with expertise and seemed completely comfortable in the ambient, humming while he mixed some eggs in the frying pan.

He was so... domestic. Nesta almost smiled imagining him with a silly apron, an image so at odds with his usual scary General appearance.

“I talked with Kaelin yesterday” Cassian said after some time.

“And?” Nesta asked, raising an eyebrow

“He’s been training with you. And I was wondering....” he placed the food in front of her, clearing his throat “I was wondering if I could train you. Both of you. Kaelin is not so advanced with his training and there’s also the matter of—”

“The matter of what” she snapped

“Your powers” he fidgeted with a knife, twirling it on his hand, not scared to cut off a finger by accident “I don’t know where you were with Amren in regards to them, but it’s also important to have them in sync with any self defence moves you can learn”

“My powers are none of your concern”

It was a lie. Her classes with Amren had just grazed the surface of what she knew she could do. But she was scared of them. Of what she could do. Her powers were a wild beast that was she forced to live with, a constant reminder of the life she lost.

She hated it.

However, Cassian was right. If she truly wanted to be capable of defending herself — of defending Kaelin were her secret to be discovered — she’d have to accept his help.

“We can train after breakfast” she nonchalantly said, stabbing a piece of the scrambled eggs on her plate “I’m already changed either way”

“Brilliant” Cassian smiled, his whole face seeming to lighten up like the sky after a storm “Prepare yourself to be challenged sweetheart. I’m not one to go easy on my students”

~•~

Cassian did not lie. He didn’t go easy on her. Her whole body ached and she almost regretted her choice to not stay in the cabin, rereading one of her books.

But she had places to go.

“You’re late”

“I’m not late Esmée” Nesta stated, grabbing an apron by the tent’ side and moving to one of the tables “I’m exactly on time”

“You’re thirty seconds late. That’s enough to lose the boiling point for a healing potion and make it a poison instead” Esmée, the chief healer of Windhaven huffed “If I say you’re late then you’re late.”

Nesta only dipped her head and started to work. Esmée might come out as a grump and mean female, but she was only serious about her work, a work which left her with no time for idle talk or sugarcoated pleasantries.

Nesta liked her just fine.

Kaelin had been the one to present her to the healers. Once her period was over and it was safe for her to leave the cabin without someone noticing the change in her scent, Kaelin had taken Nesta in a tour through Windhaven. Nesta did not know anything else except the area around Cassian’s cabin, which included a solitary trail to the forest and the outskirts of the village.

Kaelin appeared to know everyone they passed by. The younglings — who were yet too young to train — happily waved at her when they passed, as did some females who were working. On the other hand, it was different with the males. They eyed Kaelin with distaste and something akin to betrayal in their eyes. Nesta had yet to ask Kaelin why. Was it because she was walking with Nesta, an outsider who not only was High Fae but also the sister in law of their High Lord? She had tucked the information inside herself, analysing everything and everyone they met.

And it was when they were nearing the end of the tour that they had come upon the healers tent. Nesta recalled helping them in the war, bringing buckets of water, doing bandages for the wounded and holding the most serious ones down while they were patched up. She had felt like she had a purpose back then. Like she was not a burden.

She tried not think how it also helped her take her mind off the fearless Illyrian who leaded the troops, leaving only dead bodies with whoever met his blade.

Esmée had remembered her, as did some of the other females that worked alongside her. They had not eyed Nesta with pity or distaste, something she was used to in Velaris. No, they simply gave her a nod of recognition and went back to work, mixing herbs, cutting straps of bandages and tending to patients.

“Are you going to help or will you stay all day there?” Esmée had snapped “If you want to, grab an apron and come here. We need more jambu to be ground so that fella over there can stop whining”

Kaelin had come still beside Nesta, fearing she had been insulted by the healers harsh words. But she simply grabbed an apron and rolled her dress’ sleeves.

“Which one is jambu?”

And from that day onwards Nesta began to help the healers in any way she could, going after her training with Kaelin in the morning and coming back in the late afternoon. Kaelin always walked her back, stopping at the tent after her training.

“It’s not safe for females to wander alone” the young girl had informed Nesta “Specially when it starts to get dark”

Nesta knew better than to dismiss Kaelin’s words. She knew what males were capable of doing to those they thought inferior to them.

“Charming as ever, don’t you agree?” Jacira said, appearing beside Nesta.

“Lovely” she mumbled back, the corners of her lips almost raising in a smile.

Jacira was one of the least shy healers around Nesta. She had beautiful dark green eyes, which contrasted with her dark raven hair and dark brown skin. She also had a very sharp and curious mind, and was teaching Nesta all she knew about what being a healer was like.

Nesta liked to think she had found another friend in Jacira.

“I see the General has come back”

“Really? I didn’t notice” Nesta replied, busying herself with her task.

“He had been gone longer than usual this time for the inspection” Jacira whispered “Word says it’s because some serious trouble has risen in other camps, specially Ironcrest”

Jacira was also a shameless gossiper. In the two weeks Nesta had started to work with her, she knew practically everything about anyone that lived in Windhaven. She said to herself that no harm would come to listen to Jacira’s blabbering. She was simply gathering information as to not stay in the dark.

It was not gossip. It was only intelligence material about the Illyrians in Windhaven.

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” Cassian had not spoken a word about it with her.

“I don’t know. I only know that the camp lords are whispering between them, and seem to be anxious about the Blood Rite.” she got closer to Nesta “In my opinion, they want it to arrive fast so any feuds can be resolved there”

For the Blood Rite was not only the chance for the Illyrians to prove their worth as a warrior, but a bloodbath. An event that allowed matters to be resolved without the laws of the war camps binding them.

“More work and less talk ladies” Esmée hissed at them “Those tonics won’t be done by themselves”

“Yes, m’am” Jacira replied, batting her eyelashes innocently, making Nesta snort. That girl had no fear of danger.

They kept to their work, Jacira talking when she thought Esmée was not looking, Nesta saying something now and then. The time she spent among the healers was precious to her. It brought a sense of normality back to her life. Even the wild beast inside her gave her a time out, seeming to purr whenever she dedicated herself to chopping herbs and making tonics or healing potions, the scent of all the ingredients calming her.

But the thought that something was amiss among the Illyrians bothered her. It was something that stayed on her mind all day.

Nesta was quieter than usual at dinner — she caught Cassian glancing worriedly at her when he thought she was not looking — the gears inside her head turning and going through every possible outcome.

She went to sleep still thinking about it, and came to a conclusion.

Something bad was coming.

And she would get Cassian to tell her whatever it was.

•

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[levihantrash]

new chapter update!

Summary:

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

Levi Ackerman, a gruff cleaner with an appetite for toilet humour meets the unabashedly friendly creative writing professor, Hange Zoë, who somehow ropes Levi into working on a comic with them. While the comic’s title remains undecided, Hange knows that it’s going to be set in a world where giant, human-like creatures devour other humans. Erwin Smith, the comic’s self-appointed editor, unironically thinks it’s going to be a hit. All Levi knows is that he wants to indulge in drawing this comic while hanging out with a certain writer who just won’t stop talking to him.

Where Hange, Levi, and Erwin are the creators of Attack on Titan.

Chapter 1: Free Bread

Chapter 2: New Friends

Like routine, Levi found himself waiting for a certain professor to show up. When Erwin called out to him, he couldn’t help but search behind the tall, imposing figure.

“I haven’t seen Hange this morning either,” Erwin said. Levi found himself irritated by Erwin’s discernment and by his own discrete uneasiness.

“Good morning, Erwin,” Levi greeted, nonetheless.

Hange was late, which Levi figured wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

The morning passed without a single sign of Hange.

“Sorry, are you Mr. Levi?” A nervous-looking person approached him, holding on to a well-wrapped steamed bun. A twinge of hope stirred in Levi.

“Levi will do,” he said.

“Dr. Hange said I should pass you this,” the bread-holder blurted out.

Levi’s gaze softened. “Where’s Hange?”

“Oh! She’s rushing a deadline and insisted that I pass you this bread.”

The inexplicable rush of relief made Levi dizzy as he grasped the bread limply. “Huh. Sorry that you have to be an errand boy today.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry! I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Moblit, their teaching assistant! Dr. Hange helps me out with my master’s thesis because they’re my advisor. This is just my way of saying thanks. Dr. Hange also treats me to meals, gives me detailed comments for my work… though they might go overboard when it comes to giving speeches about the importance of world-building and honing your craft, it’s inspiring how dedicated they are in what they do.”

Moblit took a deep breath, making up for lost air in between the lengthy, whole-hearted sentences.

“Is that so…” Levi said, suddenly contemplative. “Do you want some tea?”

“Are you getting it from the staff pantry?”

“No, that stuff’s stale as shit. I have better tea, wait here.”

Levi recalled Erwin asking him in front of everyone in the staffroom if he wanted the staffroom snacks. Hange followed up, speaking at a volume that was clear enough for most of the staff to overhear, orchestrating a deliberate conversation with Erwin.

“Since there are no hard rules as to who the snacks and drinks are catered for, and technically, Levi is a staff member, he should have access to the snacks!”

None of the professors objected. It was probably because open prejudice would be socially unacceptable, Levi thought.

Begrudgingly, he accepted Erwin’s offer, and in full view of everyone, took a candy bar.

Hange gasped. “Just one?” Levi glared at them.

“Aren’t the snacks for your little sister?” Hange asked. He nodded, sensing the collective spike in sympathy for him in the staffroom.

After the whole stage, the trio huddled conspicuously in a corner outside the staffroom.

Hange whispered to Levi, “You could have played along better!”

“Erwin’s tired of your skit,” Levi said, overwhelmed and annoyed at the turn of events.

“No he’s not!” Hange said sternly, before gulping down half a bottle of water.

Erwin, standing in between them, told Hange to keep it down.

“Thanks, you two.” Levi found himself staring at the floor, embarrassed that his two friends had to construe him as a pitiful character for him to get a few snacks, even though he had been informed of the plan prior.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” Hange said, their lips compressed into a hard, grim line. “It’s ridiculous that you can’t even get snacks and refreshments as part of the staff.”

“I’m used to it.”

“If anyone’s giving you a hard time, you have us,” Hange said, still put off.

They squared their shoulders impressively. “Right Erwin?”

“You can rely on us, Levi,” Erwin surmised, equally sombre.

Growing more ruffled by their declarations, Levi hissed, “I don’t need two bodyguards.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” Hange joked. “Some people have told me about the deathly aura you emit that I must have missed…”

Fixing their attention at a vague distance, Hange’s playful jibes dwindled into an idle pondering, “I wonder if you found some joy in our companionship at least.”

They’re talking about joy and friendship again… Levi thought.

He found himself back in the present, handing a cup of black tea to Moblit, guiding him towards a bench.

Moblit squeaked out, “Thank you!”

“How did you find me?” Levi asked, betraying none of his real curiosity.

“Hange gave me a description…” Moblit began, not making eye contact with Levi.

“Did they? What’s the description?” Knowing Hange’s brand of humour, Levi braced himself.

Moblit shuffled in his seat, terribly reluctant. “They said to look out for a cold, black-haired man with an undercut, wearing an apron, gloves and brandishing a mop while scolding people to not step on wet floors.” Levi made a mental note to strangle Hange.

Moblit quickly supplemented, “You’re not actually cold though!”

“How would you know that?”

“Um… you’re offering me tea?”

Levi clicked his tongue. “That’s a low bar for human decency. You should have higher standards.”

“You’re right, Mr. Levi… I mean Levi.”

Levi noted Moblit’s jittery manner when he briefly checked his phone for a message and let out a small groan.

“Hey, you look worried sick. You didn’t receive a death threat, did you?”

Moblit laughed weakly, running his hand through his hair. “Uh, you see, I’m one of the editors for the bi-annual literary magazine and we’ve been looking for illustrators…”

“I take it that you haven’t been successful?”

“Yes… I just received someone’s rejection. It’s okay, we’ll find one,” Moblit said, although his panicked lip-biting ran contradictory to his optimistic statement. Levi’s hands twitched again. He folded them promptly into his apron pockets.

Upon finishing the tea, Moblit stood up and gave a tiny, polite bow. “It was nice meeting you Levi. Thanks for listening and for the tea!”

“Good luck,” Levi said, in time before Moblit rushed off.

Bagging up the rubbish, Levi heaved the load on his shoulder easily, only to be startled by the appearance of Hange.

“Fuck! Can you stop jumping out of nowhere?” Though momentarily disconcerted, the tension built up from the day unwound instantaneously, leaving his body loose and feeble.

“Levi! Did you shit yourself?” Hange sang. They accidentally bumped into the gigantic rubbish bag, falling butt-first onto the ground, phone in hand.

“Be careful,” Levi said, in the same monotonous voice he used regardless of the situation. Unless the situation involved Hange leaping out of nowhere. He looped his free arm under their armpit to pull them back up. Hange, flushed from running, placed their phone in his hands with ill-contained excitement.

“Look at what I found!”

“Oi, what’s this—” Levi scanned the phone, his mouth running dry.

“I’m going to recruit this artist. For my comic.”

It was a sketch of a cat being patted by a person with messy, tied-up hair, their hands stroking its head.

“Don’t you think the person looks familiar? Isn’t the cat cute… remember how I told you I have one at home?” Hange released their brown hair from a voluminous ponytail, biting the rubber band in their mouth.

He swallowed. “I drew that.”

Hange’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding!”

“Do I look like I make such shit jokes?”

“Personally, I find your shitty jokes very funny. This is exciting news! Why didn’t you tell me you’re an artist when I was trying to find one for my comic?”

Levi found her question preposterous. “You could easily find a better one. I’m inexperienced.”

“I’m also an inexperienced writer. I barely wrote one book and a few articles!”

“You’re a professor. You have the title for a reason. I just draw for fun.”

Hange spared him a baffled look. “Please. You have no idea how many great writers never become professors. And how some professors never write great books. I thought you of all people would know that a title doesn’t mean anything.”

“I thought you of all people would know that titles hold their value here, even if we think they’re stupid and don’t mean shit.”

“I know that, Levi. I’m saying, drawing for fun doesn’t make you inexperienced or unworthy of being the artist for my comic. Besides, I chose you before I even knew it was you!” Hange said triumphantly.

Locking the phone screen, Levi reiterated, “I draw for fun.”

“Then this will be our fun project!”

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

“You won’t be broke.” Erwin slipped into their conversation as though he had always been there. It was uncanny.

“What do you mean?” Levi stared questioningly at Erwin.

“You’ll be paid for your work, Levi. Hange as well,” Erwin said simply.

“You’re paying us?” Hange and Levi asked, in unison. One, in disbelief, and the other, in delight.

“A publisher will be paying you. I’ve secured funding.”

Levi gritted his teeth. “A publisher wants to sponsor a comic that hasn’t even been written?”

“I told you, Levi,” Hange interrupted. “I’ve already submitted a draft!”

“Yes,” Erwin said.

Levi had so many questions. “How?”

“Because it’s a good story.”

“Did you bribe them? Threaten them?”

“It is a risk,” Erwin admitted.

“It’s a fucking gamble,” Levi emphasised. “Don’t know why you’re so invested in this comic.”

Hange had other worries. “Levi, did you think I wasn’t going to pay you?”

Levi hesitated. “I don’t know. Isn’t this just a fun side-project?”

Hange’s face came closer to his. With the enhanced proximity, Levi stopped breathing altogether. Their face was deadly solemn.

“Listen, Levi, creating art is hard work. Your hard work. Any artist deserves to be paid. It’s not because our relationship is transactional. It’s because it’s only right.”

Erwin added, “We’re not going to accept your art for free.”

Pushing Hange back firmly with his hands on their shoulders, Levi argued, “Plenty of people have access to my art online for free.”

“That’s your choice. We insist.” Hange grinned. “And we think we deserve to be paid too. Even I’m surprised that my project has early compensation.”

Part of Levi’s resolve ebbed away. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me!”

“First, you have to tell me what your story is.” Levi gathered up the last of his self-respect. “And if we’re going to be working together, I’ll need your number.”

Erwin raised an innocent eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you need mine too?”

“Stop teasing him, Erwin,” Hange said, grabbing the rubbish bag from Levi, struggling to balance its weight over their shoulders.

Just as Levi felt a shred of gratitude, Hange remarked, “What if he doesn’t agree to do the comic together?”

Patience running thin, Levi stomped on both their feet in a fit of unrestraint that diverged from his unaffected demeanour.

Eyes twinkling, Hange couldn’t help but feel immense glee at the prospect of working with Levi. What was probably Levi’s withheld strength made them certain that he only wanted to dirty their shoes, not bruise their toes. Like Hange would care about the cleanliness of their battered sneakers.

In front of an ordinary apartment door, Hange dug into the depths of their bag to fish out a ring of keys. The size of the ring was unprecedentedly big; the choice of keychain most definitely random, a freebie handed out to new staff that blatantly displayed the university’s name.

Without that much bribery of tea, bread, and friendship, Levi found himself standing beside Hange as they busied themselves in finding the key to their apartment. Erwin had bailed due to having another Important Meeting with Important People, even during a weekend, but encouraged Hange and Levi to take time to discuss the comic.

Hange hadn’t expected Levi to agree so readily to kickstarting the project, and with the generous reception Levi gave (a curt nod and a follow-up question), they thought it’d be best if they invited him over to their apartment. Just so he wouldn’t mistake Hange as a mere business partner. Now that would be upsetting.

Hange pushed the ludicrous speculation out of their head. Levi was first and foremost, a good friend. His bored appearance revealed glimpses of surprise, satisfaction, moodiness, and suspicion. Hange held on to these pieces with the determination to collect them all. Surely, Levi must have figured them out by now. This endless, unabashed interest Hange had taken in him.

“Why are we meeting at your place? Do you need to take a huge shit? Does the toilet at home have a better flush?”

Although Levi had no qualms about visiting Hange’s apartment, he found it unnerving to have a work discussion in someone’s living quarters. It felt too intimate, too casual. He wasn’t sure if he could handle being sucked in further into Hange’s life. They asked so many questions, yet barely answered any about themselves.

Whether intentionally or not, Hange was someone shrouded in mystery to Levi. He couldn’t ask questions either—he wouldn’t—because he was unaccustomed to expressing himself in front of people. More than that, he could envision Hange’s sharp wit poking a clean hole through his muted facade. “You’re interested in my life, Levi?” Damn that four-eyes for being so perceptive. Or was he so easy to read?

“It’s more fun,” Hange said, eventually stuffing the correct key into the keyhole, a smooth click welcoming them. “Plus, I want to introduce you to my friends! Part of the reason why I took up the position at this university.”

“Friends?” Levi asked, slipping out of his shoes to step into the apartment.

“Hange!” A voice rang, and Hange was wrapped in a hug.

“Onyankopon! I saw you yesterday—”

“Three days ago, to be exact, since you always sleep over on the lovely desk at the university.” A smooth voice entered, coming from a woman standing comfortably against the wall.

As the tallest body let go of Hange, it allowed Levi to take in the congenial features of a man whose shoulders rivalled Erwin’s towering, well-built stature. While Erwin’s smile was measuredly cordial, Onyankopon’s was candidly sincere. Watching Hange and Onyankopon, Levi felt as though he were intruding into a family reunion that had invited the entire neighbourhood. Here, he was the guest who came for the free flow of food and drinks.

“I’ve missed you too Pieck!” The woman named Pieck ruffled Hange’s hair, offering them an embrace.

Hange pulled Levi by the elbow, pointing to the new people. “Meet my roommates and college friends, Onyankopon and Pieck!”

“Hi,” Levi said, uncertain as to what else he could affix his terse greeting with. Hange resolved that predicament for him, going into further details about their friends.

“Onyankopon is a researcher and engineer! I can’t tell you the technical specifics of what he does, though, I always get them wrong. Oh, and he’s religious, but he won’t try to convert you.” Onyankopon nodded, affirming Hange’s unflattering introduction.

“Pieck… Pieck is a gardener, florist, and avid gamer! That’s why she’s always bent over, whether it’s tending to her plants or her high score in front of the monitor.”

“It’s not why I need the crutches though,” Pieck said. Hange squeezed her shoulders in response.

“Seems like my friends are all nerdy. Maybe that’s why I like them?” A sheepish smile graced Hange’s lips.

Onyankopon gestured towards Hange, imitating their dramatic flourish. “And this is Hange Zoe, the nerdiest of them all. Obsessed with words. Recently obsessed with science fiction. They’re always reading or writing, and once they start on something, their butt doesn’t leave the chair.”

Levi’s eyes flitted around the apartment—it was relatively tidy, with a couple of framed photos and artworks. A blanket on the couch made it homely enough. His inspection didn’t miss Hange’s notice.

“Like what you see?”

“It’s neat,” he replied.

“That’s a compliment!” Hange took care to disclose this to their two friends.

“All your previous partners don’t take off their shoes, Hange. I hope he isn’t one of those.” Pieck said, using their crutch to relocate Hange’s haphazard shoes to a corner, flipping them the right side up. Levi liked her already.

“That’s gross,” Levi said apathetically, wiping away the horrifying image of dirt-smeared carpets and tiles creeping into his consciousness.

“He’s very clean, don’t worry,” Hange said easily. “Some might even say it’s his obsession.”

“I’m the cleaner at the university.” Onyankopon and Pieck turned towards Hange with patented disapproval.

“Levi, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I think we’ll make good friends,” Pieck said, bemused.

Hange beamed at Levi. “You’ll love Pieck! She’s really quiet most of the time, just like you. Not to mention she pretends that she hates me. Just like you.”

“Good to know,” Levi said, enjoying the banter a bit too much.

“Hange says she’s going to get you to draw me, as a titan,” Pieck said, evidently sceptical.

“What’s a titan?”

“The giant, naked people I told you about, Levi! They’re called titans!”

“Why are they called titans?”

Hange landed on the sofa with a plop, patting the seat beside them for Levi to sit. “In Greek mythology, titans are immortal giant gods who were banished to the underground.”

Levi, who had little knowledge of Greek mythology, made a mental note to search for references online.

“Therefore, the titans are kind of like vengeful giant gods from the underground who have come to earth to wreak havoc on what the gods have built, which is human civilisation, basically.”

“Basically, I am wonderful enough to be titan-material,” Pieck drawled, propping their crutch at the side of the couch, sliding onto the cushions.

“A special titan that walks on all fours! Um, that’s the plan for now,” Hange said brightly.

Onyankopon, who had been content with listening, clapped his hands together in sudden realisation. “Hange, now that you’re finally home, you can take a shower.”

“I should, right?” Hange scratched their head, feeling the slickness of unwashed neglect.

Levi crinkled his nose as Hange reluctantly made their way to the bathroom. “That’s disgusting.”

“And here you are, still.” Pieck’s amiable statement prickled at his skin like a light warning before impending exposure.

“Hange must really want to make a good impression if they’re showering now,” Onyankopon said, chuckling to himself.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” Onyankopon pushed a newly made cup of tea towards Levi, with the steady confidence that could only come from having known prior that it was the beverage that Levi would desire. “Make yourself at home.”

Levi said his thanks, to the hospitality of two people he scarcely knew, and to Hange, who likely told them about the tea.

Cold water blasted them in the face, as Hange became cognizant of the necessity of showering more regularly. It wasn’t like they thrived in the dirt. Hypothetically, showering wasn’t that troublesome. The shower kept forgetting itself until it was three days later and Hange stank with regret and mild self-loathing. Still, the shower felt good, giving them new clarity about the fact that they had invited Levi into their inner social circle. How would he fare? Would he be uncomfortable? Hange massaged shampoo into their hair, recalling their conversation with Pieck and Onyankopon.

After much elaboration on adapting to a new university, their visits to an amazing bakery, and the fostering of daily encounters with new friends, Pieck had caught on that every other sentence from Hange contained a sliver of Levi-sized anecdotes. The new university was so much bigger than the one Pieck, Onyankopon, and Hange had attended together; it stretched endlessly, and Hange estimated that Levi would have walked 393700.7874 steps to clean just the faculty building. The bakery near the university was fragrant, its selection marvellous, and choosing a new bread for Levi every day was a tremendously delightful task. Moreover, Hange had met so many unique characters since getting to know the people in their faculty, people like Levi whose abhorrence for social etiquette was admirable, and with whom she was eager to share their mornings and lunches. Together with Erwin, of course.

Pieck let out a tinkle of a laugh at Hange’s obliviousness. “Why are you friends with Levi?”

Thinking hard, Hange answered, “I don’t know if he thinks of us as friends.”

“Well, friendship status aside, how’s he like?”

“He’s kind. He doesn’t sound like it, but he’s kind.”

“That’s nice. How’s he kind?”

Confusion coloured Hange’s usual confidence. “Hmm. It’s gut-feeling, I guess.”

“That’s unlike you, to rely solely on instincts,” Onyankopon said, stroking his chin. Hange was a person with an abundance of rationale, a reason for everything, with justification for any ideas. Their reasoning this time fell flat.

Pieck prodded on. “You said that he doesn’t sound kind. Then what does he sound like?”

“Grumpy, sarcastic, serious. He looks like he’s annoyed with everyone. Most people find him scary, I suppose? It’s like he wants people to think he’s an asshole.”

Pieck perked up. “Oh, so you’ve become enamoured with broody, misunderstood people who’re rough around the edges?”

“Pieck, come on, I’m not writing my own romantic trope! I don’t know… he’s a good person. I can tell. He doesn’t say much though.”

“You’re a mind-reader now?”

Hange ignored her. “His art… it’s so evocative. Melancholic. Hopeful. Angry.”

“What was the artwork you last saw of his?”

“A cat,” Hange said immediately.

Onyankopon brought Hange back to reality. “What about him? What do you like about him? Not his art.”

Hange pursed their lips. “Do good people need to prove themselves to show that they’re good?”

“There could be reasons as to why you’re so adamant about his golden character,” Onyankopon said.

“He’s reliable. And his shit jokes aren’t so bad once you get used to it.” Hange surprised themselves with that comment—Levi’s relentless toilet humour was infecting their brain. The corrosive force of the word “shitty” had already moulded itself permanently into their vocabulary.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Hange bent their arms behind their head. “It’s hard to find people to truly get along with.”

Onyankopon and Pieck shared a knowing look.

With their eyes trained to the white ceiling plaster, Hange mumbled on, “it would be nice if he’d talk more openly about what he’s feeling. It’s all guesswork and I’m afraid I’m constantly reading him wrong.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice…” Onyankopon said gently.

“But I do talk about my feelings!”

“Monologuing in your room and reposting vague lines of poetry and sending us memes to cope with your avoidance is not the same as talking about your feelings,” Pieck said, spending the subsequently long moment of silence to snip off a yellowed leaf from the potted Monstera deliciosa next to the kitchen counter.

“Wow.” Hange, for once, had nothing to muster.

Onyankopon’s approach was less incisive than Pieck’s. “You know, I don’t think you need a reason to be friends with someone. If he’s making you happy, I think it’s a good sign.”

“Thanks, Onyankopon,” Hange said gratefully.

“But Pieck’s right about you being deliberately evasive with your own emotions. Introspection shouldn’t be so strenuous, right? Don’t you write about your characters’ internal turmoil often?”

“It’s different when you’re reflecting for yourself,” Hange contended.

“We’ll see how Levi’s like anyway, when we meet him,” Pieck said, grabbing the scissors, going towards another deadened leaf.

“Don’t bully him!”

Another snip. Another leaf fell. “Isn’t he supposed to be scary?”

Hange smiled wryly. “But you two are scarier.”

[amphtaminedreams]

Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart. 

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out. 

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway. 

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Part 1

Tarlos | period drama/grudging acquaintances to lovers | Part 1/3 

Read on ao3

Thank you to @oquinn53 and @resiotcage for cheerleading and reading ahead of time. You both give me the motivation to keep going. 

Title by @oquinn53 :)

By law, TK Strand cannot inherit his father’s railroad empire until he marries. He has absolutely no intention of finding a husband on their trip down to Texas, but he finds himself blindsided by Mr. Carlos Reyes, only son of Doña Marialena Reyes. The problem is that Mr. Reyes resents the Strands coming to buy up parcels of his family’s cattle estate to build a rail line on. TK is perfectly happy to leave him to stew in his anger, as he has no use to see the man after the end of the week. However, TK will find that the heart wants what it wants, and there’s rarely anything one can do about it. 

Set in 1885

Below is an excerpt, full part 1 from the beginning is under the cut!

TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

Part 1

“Ms. Mercer’s proposal looks promising,” Owen says, mostly to himself but loud enough to include TK in the conversation, should he wish to participate. “And Mr. and Mr. Felton-Lowman have quite a sprawl, though it does look to contain more elevation than I was hoping. I thought all of Texas was supposed to be flat?” Owen muses as he tosses the papers back onto his makeshift desk.

TK is only half listening, choosing instead to stare morosely out the window at the passing countryside of the American South, eyes at intervals tracking livestock in the fields and lingering drips from this morning’s light storm rolling down the glass window of the lavish Pullman they’ve commandeered as their vessel for this journey. His father, bless his soul, had tried to get TK to care more about the business as of late, and truth be told, TK was very interested in the workings of his father’s company and he did take great pride in being able to inherit it someday and make his father proud. It was just that recently, he’d had his heart thoroughly crushed by an absolute rake of a man and he’d rather wallow in self pity than think about geological surveys and boundaries for livestock movements.

TK heard his father sigh, a sure sign that a lecture was coming soon. TK took a breath and held it.

“I wish you’d forget about that awful boy, Tyler. You wouldn’t have wanted a life with him anyway. His family was barely polite at best, and scandalous at their worst. Honestly, you got out on the good side of things.” TK wanted to say that he didn’t care about things like status and scandal, he cared about love and commitment.

Turns out all Alexander had been able to commit to was his harem of stable boys and footmen that TK had known nothing about until it was too late.

TK blew out his breath. He knew his father meant well. Owen Strand was not overbearing as some other fathers were, especially with an only child upon whom everything rested. He wished his son to be happy and settled, is all. TK knew this, and still he couldn’t help his sullen reply.

“Yes, father, I shall just forget. Forget every sweet nothing and every second and third dance. Forget every promise and every earnest declaration. Forget that it was all a lie. Yes, my mind shall be rid of Alexander’s presence by sundown. Then we shall celebrate. How simple.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted to be angry for a while. He’d only found Alexander with Mrs. Howell’s second footman three days earlier. It still stung.

As the train rattled on, closer to a place that TK was of a mind to understand was so far from proper civilization as to be considered exotic, he felt his father’s disappointment cling to him. That hurt worse than what he’d seen Alexander and the footman doing--which was something for which he was sure a name had not been invented yet.

“I’m sorry, father. It’s just that you’ve set this deadline for me with no explanation as to why, and I don’t want to let you down but I’m afraid I’ll never find the right man for me. I had thought it would be Mr. Thompson, but I was mistaken. Sorely mistaken.”

At this, TK looked up to catch his father’s soft look of commiseration. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, but you are getting on in age. Most boys are married off by three and twenty, and you’ve gone nearly four years past that. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You need to secure a match that makes you happy, but you’ll need to do it sooner rather than later.”

“Why, father? Why must I rush such a momentous decision? You are in perfect health! I have another five or ten at least!” At this, he caught a very minute shift in his father’s countenance, something like pain, but it was gone in an instant. His father was the most stoic man TK had ever had occasion to meet; if he was in pain at all, no one would ever know. It must have been a trick of the flickering pre-dusk light coming through the windows of the train car. Owen took on a playful tone.

“Five or ten? What respectable young lad would want to marry a man of thirty-five? You’d practically be spinster by then,” he joked fondly.

“You’re a good deal past thirty-five and I’ve still seen twenty year old Miss Brinkman making eyes at you across the dancefloor of an evening. If I’ve inherited your genes I’ve nothing to fear,” TK shot back with a barely there smirk.

“Thank heaven for us all, but you’ve got your mother’s beauty. I couldn’t have asked for better,” Owen said quietly. TK’s mother had been gone these past ten years. A bout with pneumonia that the doctors could not cure had taken her from them. “But you do have my charm, I’ll allow you that. You should put it to use down south. Perhaps a cattle baron might catch your eye?”

“Oh by God, no. I couldn’t imagine whiling away my days on a smelly farm trying to read reports by moonlight and taking my sullen and fatigued husband to bed only for him to fall asleep minutes after his head hits the pillow. No romance in hard labor, that’s for sure.” TK shuddered a bit to think of life on an actual farm, constantly smelling of hay and manure like some streetsweeper back in Manhattan.

“I do believe successful cattle barons can afford more than a few tawdry tallows, Tyler,” Owen quipped with a smirk before turning his attention back to the maps and surveys scattered in front of him. The conversation that, just moments ago, had been fraught with uncertainty and earnestness seemed to flutter into the wind. TK and his father were like that most times: they’d lay things out on the table between them, and if it clearly couldn’t be resolved in a single good-natured quarrel, they both gave themselves time to regroup to resume the discussion at a later date.

For this particular subject, TK was coming to think of that ‘later date’ as a cuff slowly tightening around his wrist, the chain binding him to his destiny getting shorter and shorter.

He looked down at his hands, privileged hands that hadn’t had to do much manual labor in his life, save for the few times his father took him to the yards to show him how things were run. Owen, on the other hand, was an entirely self-made man, who saved and invested his earnings working for Vanderbilt and made enough to purchase his first railcar at just twenty. He contracted it with the Erie and charged passengers thirty-five cents for passage between New York and Boston. From there it only grew, to what was now a very respectable business, looking to lay lines of their own. Perhaps not the largest--that was still Vanderbilt’s claim--but certainly a player on the board.

And it would all be TK’s if he could just hurry up and fall in love already.

_______

The carriage from the station drove them twenty miles through gorgeous hill country. The cattle and horses grazed on rolling plains that swelled gently as they approached the horizon. It was warm, but not unbearable, which TK attributed to the absence of industry steaming and smoking and saturating the very air in one’s lungs as it did in Manhattan. Furthermore, despite the over-abundance of livestock surrounding them, the smell was far more pleasant than he was used to. TK could not help but conclude upon this observation that maybe it was not the horses that stunk, but the people. After all, fresh air was a luxury very few could afford, and they usually had to go thousands of miles to get it, such as he and his father were doing now.

Still, he held to his earlier affirmation that he could not see himself making a life in a place such as this. Despite the fact that he’d concluded they apparently smelled horrid, TK loved being around people. He supposed that was to be attributed to being an only child, and having no siblings underfoot to raise ruckus and otherwise pierce the silence that hung heavy over their home of late. Even though he’d not experienced that kind of life, he’d always hoped to make a large family of his own, his husband and he adopting ten or more children to raise and fawn over. TK had never considered for a moment that he wouldn’t be a father, regardless of his proclivity for finding only men attractive in any way. Some of that persuasion chose to remain as partners only, bequeathing their fortunes, such as they were, to their universities or other charitable pursuits. But TK had always wanted a house full of mouths to feed and hearts to warm.

He dreamed about the day when he could look over at his husband, gray-haired and body-bent, and smile at what they’d created.

Except it did not seem as though he would be acquiring a husband any time soon, and that thought vexed him more than he let on to his father. Yes, he agreed that he was getting on in years as far as marriageable age for young bachelors was concerned, but his one universal truth was that he would not settle for someone who was not the love of his life. That conviction, though others called it foolish, was the great constant that ran through every interaction TK had with any handsome man he happened upon.

He was determined to uphold that promise to himself, no matter how many years passed. If the right one came along, he’d know it. No matter for the moment, anyway, as he was doubly sure he’d not meet the love of his life in the middle of cattle country.

As the carriage rounded another gentle swell, a rather large bright structure came into view. TK put his hand up to shield his eyes for a moment, as it seemed the very sun shone out of the building. As they drew closer to the drive—lined with giant oak trees on each side like twenty such sentries—it became apparent that the house was not radiating light, but reflecting it. Every upright surface was covered with glittering textured limestone, something TK had seen here and there on their travels through the southern states. Also something they had encountered before was a grievously oversized stoop—which these people called porches—that spanned the entire width of the house, and it was evident that it wrapped around to the sides as well. It was dotted here and there with rocking chairs and benches, each with a wool blanket or cushion thrown haphazardly onto the seat to aid the sitter’s comfort on the otherwise hard wood surface.

They reached the house after a long drive up, and the carriage deposited them at the bottom of the steps up to the grand estate. TK had seen mansions in Manhattan and beyond, but this house was like a full government building. It was massive. He wondered how many people lived here.

As their driver helped them from the carriage and began to let down their luggage, a shriek of delight could be heard just inside the door. TK jumped for a moment, not expecting such a sound in such a peaceful place, before he was bombarded with the view of three bright young ladies in finely detailed seersucker and bustled skirts.  

“Oh, you’ve arrived at last!” the one who looked to be the eldest exclaimed. She was tall, at least half a foot taller than the other two, with ink black hair tied up in neat chignon. Her sleeves accented delicate wrists and her waist was nipped down modestly. She smiled like TK and his father arriving was akin to a grand parade, when really they resembled world-weary travelers who could barely un-stoop their backs from so long inside the carriage. The other two young ladies—girls really—giggled behind their hands. They bore a strong resemblance to the elder; certainly they were all sisters.

Ever the gentleman, TK removed his hat to gesture to the ladies, who gave curtsies in answer. Owen did the same, and received curtsies that went just a bit deeper. “Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen called with a smile. “I was told I could meet directly with Doña Marialena upon our arrival.” He quirked his eyebrow up in question, even though it was perfectly plain that none of these girls was old enough to be the proprietor of this estate, unless they had been sorely deceived. TK thought he might admire someone capable of extending that sort of ruse for as long as they’d been corresponding with the Doña. But alas, a moment later, a much older woman who resembled quite strikingly all three ladies gathered on the porch emerged from the wide open front door.

The Doña was an intimidating woman on her own, but the height afforded her by their current positions made it seem even more so. TK tucked his hat into his elbow and bowed low, following his father’s action. The older woman bent her knees a bit, and TK noticed she did not descend the steps to meet them, but instead kept her position above, behind her daughters.

“Welcome to La Hacienda Reyes, gentlemen,” she intoned in a very slightly accented, gravelly voice. It should have sounded harsh, but it just sounded well-used, as though she’d employed it many times to shout at her daughters for their impropriety at scurrying out to meet guests on the lawn without their bonnets, as she looked apt to do right this very second. TK did not mind their state of dress so much, as rules were getting a little more lax for the younger set these days, especially in the city. Though, now that he thought about it, these country folk might be a mite more traditional, but he let the thought fade into obscurity as the Doña smiled softly down at him a moment later, as if sharing a secret.

He and Owen approached the steps as the Doña descended to meet them. Owen made their introductions as TK took her hand in his, giving a small bow as was customary. He let his father lead the conversation as he made his way over to the daughters assembled on the lawn. He kissed each of their hands in turn, learning that their names were Christina, Elena, and Raquel, from eldest to youngest. He was also informed that Christina was not the eldest in the household; her sister Rosa was ten years her senior and married, and she and her wife were summering on the East Coast.

As Christina regaled TK with how wonderful and filled with revelry their visit was to be, a lone figure appeared at the edge of his vision, galloping up quite swiftly on horseback. The animal was beautiful, sleek and black and moving with its rider as though they were one. As they drew closer, Christina also lit on to the approaching figure.

“Oh, there’s my brother. Mamà will have his head for not meeting you directly, as the man of the house should. Even though he won’t inherit, she still insists he accompany her when seeing to the business of the estate, especially when Rosa is away.”

“I’m sure he had urgent business to attend,” TK offered, however he did not know what kind of business a man in fine brocade—as he could now see the golden threads shining in the Texas sun—would have out in the fields. “We did arrive earlier than expected, I believe. Our apologies.”

“Oh, no. He wished to stay away. I’m of right mind to assume he thought we’d already be inside by now and that’s why he’s made his appearance, and he’ll be sorely thwarted to see us still about.” She fought to hide a smirk, and TK was intrigued. However, he didn’t have time to contemplate on the apparent lack of manners of the man of the house before the man in question was upon them.

He was invariably handsome, that much was clear on his approach. He had tanned skin that shone in the rays of the afternoon sun, and curls atop his beautiful head that caught that same light and transformed into blacks and browns and golds as he moved. He was fit and tall, as TK could tell even from his seat on the horse, and he commanded an air about him that sang with regality. As he disembarked from the saddle, TK was struck dumb at the fluidity of his movements. It was as if he was still galloping along with the horse, moving slowly and rapidly at the same time, body deliberately placing itself where it needed to be rather than flinging his limbs about as some proud men were wont to do when they felt the urge to assert their authority.

As he turned to face the gathered group and at last revealed his face from a close angle, TK was struck dumb. This man was gorgeous. Exquisite. A dream made flesh. TK could all of a sudden imagine what this man looked like when he smiled, when he was upset, when he was elated, when he cried. He could picture a thousand candlelit dinners at the Fifth Avenue Hotel across from this man, surreptitiously dragging their toes against one another under the table, faces and hearts alight with the impropriety of doing such a thing in public, but being too enamored of each other to care.

He could picture all of this so clearly and crisply that he could almost smell the gardenia adorning the little vase upon the table. That was, until the man opened his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” he spit, as though the word were a curse upon their persons. He turned to the Doña and intoned in a volume that was surely meant to be overheard but made as if to seem secretive, “Mother, I thought you said only one was coming. We must entertain two greedy industrialist blackguards for the whole of the week when we’ve not even fully migrated the herd?”

At this, Doña Marialena did not even flinch. She simply leaned in closer to her son and spit out a quick succession of words no doubt meant to silence his gaucherie, but which only served to wind his already pinched countenance into a tighter knot. When their short exchange had ceased, he looked mildly chastised but still as though he would rather be anywhere than here, meeting TK and his father on the front lawn. However, after receiving that nearly silent dressing down from his mother in front of their guests, he screwed his face into a more acceptable visage, and approached Owen, who was holding out his hand.

Doña Marialena made their introductions, “Carlos, this is Owen Strand and his son, TK. Mr. Strand, this is my son Carlos. Please excuse his horrendous manners.”

Carlos took Owen’s hand. “Welcome to our Hacienda, sirs. You are from New York, is that correct?”

“We are. Nearly a fortnight’s journey to get here, but it was beautiful country to pass through,” Owen answered in a friendly tone, unfettered by the exchange of impropriety that had just taken place and determined to move into more friendly territory.

“Ah, well. Let us hope your trip was not in vain,” Carlos answered with a barely there sneer. He turned to TK and offered his hand as Owen and the women turned to shuffle inside the house.

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Reyes. I hope we can find some mutual agreement that is beneficial to all in this endeavor,” TK said solemnly while shaking the man’s hand. He’d abruptly become determined to dispense with all amorous thoughts of this abhorrent man. He and his father were here to do business, attend a party or two, and leave with contract in hand, and nothing more.

“There is nothing beneficial to my family about breaking off pieces of our home to sell to ardent capitalists,” Carlos hissed in a volume meant only for TK. “My grandfather’s blood is boiling in his grave as we speak.”

“Well then I suppose it is advantageous for us that you are not the one making decisions about the estate. Your mother seems quite keen to receive the compensation of ‘ardent capitalists’, as you say. Perhaps there are some issues with the household which require assistance which you, as third born, were not made privy to, sir.” TK could not help himself, and shot back the jab without thinking it through. It was ill-bred talk of money in the open, and much more so to bring it up in a first meeting, but Mr. Reyes was the one who’d alluded to finances first, so TK felt little remorse upon seeing the other man’s face flash with indignation.

Mr. Reyes looked as though he wished to lob one last verbal volley at TK, but seemed to think better of it which was a surprise given his utter lack of tact until that moment. He turned away from TK with a last look of barely tempered rage in his brown eyes and made his way up the steps and into the house.

TK followed, determined not to ponder on why that look had given him gooseflesh in a way that did not suggest fear for one’s life, but rather intrigue at what other thinly veiled emotions his own words could make those eyes flash with.

_______

Dinner was a modestly lavish affair. The table was adorned with yellow roses, to symbolize friendship and cooperation, which TK thought was a nice touch from the staff yet ultimately ineffective.

Well, possibly not entirely ineffective, as his father was currently wooing and entertaining the four women at the table with his usual easy charm, and they all seemed to be devouring his anecdotes and quips with good spirts.

It was Mr. Reyes that seemed out of sorts with the rest of the party. Even TK himself was beginning to forget their fraught exchange on the lawn and give in to the revelry of the evening. Truth be told he was glad to be at table with someone other than his father, who tended to give him pitiful looks and well-meaning advice about his recently broken heart. TK also had to admit that along with the laughing women, even Carlos himself was a nice change. His presence gave TK something to focus on other than thinking of his failed chance at happiness.

As it was, TK had already forgotten that he’d vowed he would not focus on Mr. Reyes at all.

“Your father tells me you are six-and-twenty and still a bachelor? How ever have you managed that?” The Doña asked across the table. Given his current preoccupation, TK didn’t even take the slightest bit of offense from the statement. It was helped along by the kind look in her eyes.

He gave a bashful chuckle. “Hard work and perseverance, ma’am,” he joked, and the table laughed along with him, save for one. “I’ve simply not encountered the right match, I’m afraid.”

“If he was married to the work, I’d be less anxious, but alas…” Owen trailed off with a good natured smile. Even with all his father’s nagging, TK knew in his heart that his father wanted his son to be happy and unhurried in choosing a husband.

“I’m holding out for my perfect compliment. Is that so naive?”

“Maybe not for a man in such good standing as you. I’m sure you have suitors left and right vying for your attention, Mr. Strand,” Elena said from across the table.

“I’m afraid at the moment I am quite unadorned with neither suitors nor passing interest,” he answered her.

“I, too, am similarly afflicted,” Elena mourned with a sigh. TK thought she couldn’t have been more than seven-and-ten, quite young to be so concerned. Then again he thought perhaps the country was different than the city. The Doña was mature to be sure, but she looked much younger than he’d thought a woman with a child of more than thirty years—as had been hinted about the absent Rosa—would look. She must have been wed around Elena’s age after all.

“Oh hush, sister. Your situation is not nearly as dire as mine,” Christina said. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead in an affected swoon. “Whenever shall I leave the nest?”

“When someone who possesses such a lack of wits that it precludes them from knowing better comes to sweep you off your feet,” said Raquel. Her sister gave her a scathing look before smirking and presumably kicking her lightly under the table. The younger sister just giggled and went back to her meal.

As TK watched the family interact, lightly teasing each other good-naturedly but never outright insulting each other, he could sense the love and connection among them. Oh, how he longed for a large family such as this someday. Surrounded by his children and their love for each other that ran so deep as to assure each and every one of them that no matter what was said in jest, they were always seeded first in the minds of the rest.

Even with all the lighthearted conversation going on at table, the sole Reyes son was still silent. TK thought it odd that such a stoic, contemptible man could be born into a family of such vibrant women; he was surrounded by their vivacity every day and still he was unmoved to even smile into his potatoes at their revelry. The rest of them also seemed to sense that Mr. Reyes did not wish to partake in the lively conversation, as none of them moved to include him. The Doña glanced to her son every now and then, and TK couldn’t have said her expression looked reproachful (as he would have agreeably afforded her) but it did not look content either.

Perhaps this was not usual behavior for Mr. Reyes. If that was so, then it really was the Strands’ arrival that had put him out of sorts and TK had no recourse to remedy that at present. He and his father were here for business that must be conducted, and Mr. Reyes would just have to live with that.

The Doña had apparently noticed TK going quiet among the ruckus and subsequently had noticed his earlier gaze flickering around the family accompanied by a soft smile. It seemed as though she’d misinterpreted his attentions, however.

“Perhaps the perfect compliment is sooner encountered than you think.” She gave a very slight incline of her head, seemingly meant to indicate Christina, who was sitting to her right and had proceeded to blush so profusely TK was momentarily concerned for her health. He endeavored to be diplomatic but firm against the Doña’s clear initiative, which was impossible for anyone at the table to miss.

“Ah, your family is lovely, Doña, but I fear your son and I would need to converse at length before we could find views on which we do not differ at the moment.” It was part lighthearted joke, part barely concealed jab at Carlos, and part signal of his preferences, so as not to invite any more ideas about betrothing him to one of the daughters.

Alas, he did not miss the Doña’s sharp eye turn to her son before landing back on himself in quick succession. Given their greeting, the Doña should not rightly expect there to be any amorous feeling available between them. Her face relaxed after a moment, and she returned her gaze to the rest of the table. TK did not feel cowed, per se, but the weight of her scrutiny could still be felt upon his cheeks. He was immediately given to wonder what could be contained behind those steady brown eyes, so like her son’s.

As the conversation resumed—Christina was finally ribbing her brother for his lack of mirth this evening—yet again TK found himself studying Carlos Reyes, handsome specimen that he was. But the cut of a man’s jaw and the shine of his eyes did not a welcome companion make, in TK’s view. Sure, he’d lost himself for a moment in the man’s fluidity of movement, the low timbre of his voice, the fire in his expression. But the measure of a man is in his actions, not his appearance. A man can appear any way he wants to; it is his behavior that epitomizes his character. Carlos Reyes had shown himself to be headstrong, closed-off, and prejudiced. TK had no use for such a personality. Carlos could while and wallow away his days alone for all TK cared. He would leave here with no attachments and that would not be a hardship.

Just at that moment, the man in question met his eyes. They stared for a moment, caught in some trap of unconscious strain, seemingly bound to the attempt to find the measure of each other in a single look. When TK looked away first, he felt as if he’d lost some contest.

When he chanced a glance toward the man again, he found his gaze hadn’t wavered but was now more open than it had been since they’d met, which admittedly was not to say much.

Later that night, when Christina had shown them to their guest rooms, Owen made an observation as they dressed for bed.

“The girls are quite well-bred,” he stated, apropos of nothing. The caliber of the family had no bearing on the land, therefore it was of little interest to them in coming into this negotiation. At least, that is what TK believed. His father, it was apparent, thought differently. “And Doña Marialena is a fine head of the household. She has taught her children well.”

At this, TK scoffed.

“And her son is quite adept, don’t you agree?” Owen continued as he hung his dinner jacket away. “A good man who knows the value of family and home.”

TK could not let this statement slide. “A good man? He’s an absolute cad!”

“Oh? He was perfectly cordial during dinner. There was that snafu when we arrived, but that was cleared up quickly. I say, he’s a fine man.” TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

_______

The morning after their first night in La Hacienda Reyes, TK woke with renewed energy to be devoted to forgetting Carlos Reyes even existed.

This endeavor proved extremely difficult when upon descending the stairs to the foyer, the man in question was seemingly awaiting him, pacing across the marble floor with agitated clicks of his boots. The sight brought TK up short, and he consequently forgot that his father was just behind him, causing Owen to collide into his back and sending TK tripping down the last two steps—

Straight into Mr. Reyes’ arms. They were pressed together so tightly for a moment that TK swore he could feel the other man’s exhales as they left his nostrils, softly caressing TK’s cheek as they went. One of his hands was gripped tightly on TK’s shoulder while the other had instantly wound its way around his waist to steady him.

It took TK an inordinate amount of time to catch his breath, all the while feeling that very firm body against his. As his senses returned, he felt himself blaze with the most furious blush at the proximity, and hurried to right himself. He nearly butted his head into the other man’s nose in the process, but proceeded to stand upright without further incident. He set about straightening his waistcoat before looking up and catching Mr. Reyes’ eye almost by mistake.

The other man seemed just as red in the face as he. They held each other’s gaze for a split second longer before TK was violently reminded that the incident had not happened in private, but that the whole of the ghastly encounter was overseen by his own father.

Owen asked, much too late in TK’s opinion, “Are you alright son? I apologize for being so clumsy there,” he added in address to Mr. Reyes.

The man of the house was the first of the pair at the bottom of the stairs to regain use of his tongue. “It’s quite alright, sir. No harm done.”

“That’s true, as you were here to prevent it. Lucky, that.”

TK thought to himself that he would like to disappear from this mortal plane rather than be party to his father’s smug innuendos, especially after their conversation last night and TK’s renewed vows of thoroughly avoiding the man of this house.

Mr Reyes, however, seemed unattuned to Mr. Strand’s jabs, and simply addressed them both again cordially.

“Good morning to you both, I hope you slept well.” They replied that they had, as was proper, despite TK’s own thoughts. He wasn’t about to share that . “I’ve actually come to offer you a tour of the grounds at my mother’s behest, and also in apology for my unmitigated rudeness upon your arrival.”

TK was inclined to believe the apology was also at the Doña’s behest, if not absolutely forced. She seemed a formidable enough woman to demand decorum from her adult son.

“I understand your company is pursuing the land in the northwest quadrant of the estate. It would be my pleasure to take you there so that you can survey at your leisure.”

“So early?” Owen asked. They had not yet broke fast.

“Yes sir, in order to avoid the humidity of midday, I thought we’d ride out closer to dawn. Our cook has packed some provisions in lieu of the breakfast meal.” At this, he gestured to a medium sized basket atop a side table by the door, apparently from which the scent of bacon—as TK had just caught on the air—was emanating.

To be quite honest with himself—which he would admit much, much later was not very honest at all—TK was not at all looking forward to spending the morning with Mr. Reyes and his ridiculously dashing seat on a horse. His father being there would temper his mood, but he’d rather spend the day walking about on his own, soaking in the fresh air and solitude of the country. Or even alongside his father and the Doña, negotiating the sale of her land, as Owen had expressed his desire that TK begin immersing himself in the business and he saw no better time than now, in avoidance of any extra time spent in Mr. Reyes’ presence.

The man made him hot around the collar and jittery, and the real problem was that TK was even more angry that neither of those emotions were particularly loathsome at the moment and he could not explain to himself why.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Reyes. Unfortunately, I really must sit down with your mother and ask her about some specifics regarding the provenances, so I must decline your kind offer.” At this, he turned to TK, who was already giving him wide eyes of panic before he even opened his mouth. “TK, would you be so kind as to accompany Mr. Reyes around the property? You know the general gist of what we are looking for, and you can report back to me with what you find. I’d really appreciate your help on this, TK.”

The man was practically grinning like a fool. TK thought he might keel over right there on the marble tiles of the Reyes’ foyer.

Mr. Reyes’ face was unreadable at the moment, but TK could imagine the line of his thoughts. The two of them no more wanted to spend time with each other alone than either would want a hole in the head.

Mr. Reyes, however, was the first to recover from the abrupt change in plan, with a direct capitulation that TK could have punched him for, had he been a less tactful man. “That…would be agreeable,” he said haltingly. He turned to look at TK, who schooled his countenance into something less vile than he felt this turn of events warranted. “Would that please you, Mr. Strand?”

Would it please him? Absolutely not.

“Of course, Mr. Reyes,” he said tightly, resigned to his fate. “I look forward to seeing your lovely estate and hearing its history.”

Mr. Reyes looked almost surprised at his cordiality, and TK congratulated himself on his capability of social falsehood.

_______

Their journey was to take them from the back of the house out and around the northwest corner of the ranchland where they would stop to breakfast at a small manmade lake and then south to the orchards, through which they would find themselves back at the west side of the house. All told, Carlos informed him, the trip would take them for six miles. TK resigned himself to a morning of misery, and judging by his would-be companion’s face, he was not alone in that regard.

Their basket of provisions securely fastened to Mr. Reyes’ saddle, and both saddles securely fastened to their mares, the pair set off in silence other than Owen’s shout of farewell from the porch.

They strolled along at a leisurely pace—too slow for TK’s regard—for quite a while before either spoke. Mr. Reyes looked over to TK with a judgemental eye before saying, “Watch for snakes in the grass. Flor will not spook at them, but she will spook if you do.”

“I’m not afraid of snakes,” TK snapped, although he couldn’t rightly say he’d ever seen one up close. “Furthermore, I am high on this horse, why would I worry about something as low as a snake?”

“Rattlers can jump. They’ll have your boot off and will have half devoured your leg before you can think to turn the horse.”

TK whirled to look at him, consequently causing Flor to twist toward Mr. Reyes and Jimena, putting them much closer than TK would like after their bout that morning. He knew his face was a mask of barely concealed horror, the image Mr. Reyes’ words had conjured up no less than tremendously frightening to a city gentleman.

Mr. Reyes’ face, however, was all mirth; his cheeks were reddening in the effort of holding back his obvious laughter, which he gave up the moment TK noticed his ruse.

“That was a bold-faced lie and you are a scoundrel for it,” TK muttered, feeling teased.

“I’ll take that judgement just to see the terror on your face again,” Mr. Reyes laughed. TK was determined not to acknowledge that the man had a nice laugh, a full bodied, soft-edged one that sent warmth down to the tips of TK’s toes. TK was also determined to keep the scowl upon his face for the whole of this journey, never mind the wrinkles he was likely to develop. Curse this loathsome cowboy and his ill intentions and his shining curls and his full lips. They lapsed into silence again for another half mile.

In his endeavor to ignore his companion, TK failed to notice how he was being closely regarded by said companion. He should have been able to feel the gaze upon the side of his face like sunlight as heavy and warm as it was, but alas he remained ignorant of it in favor of the beautiful countryside.

TK began to notice little strains of wildflowers growing on the gentle swells of hills here and there, their elevations no more than four or five feet. It was like looking at someone’s floral bedding that had been disturbed in sleep and not righted in the morning; soft, loved, and lived in, a safe place to come back to at the end of the day, a warm comfort to calm the tumultuous stresses one was apt to battle in the waking hours.

“The red and orange ones that reach toward the sky are called Indian Paintbrush,” Mr. Reyes intoned softly causing TK to turn his gaze away from the flowers in a startle. It had been so quiet he’d almost forgotten his company. “There,” Mr. Reyes pointed, urging TK to return his focus to the flowers. “That line there is all paintbrush. And the purple spiked ones are Horsemint.”

“Why are they so named? Do they taste of mint?” TK wondered aloud.

“I’m…not sure. I’ve never had occasion or urge to eat one. Perhaps the name means only horses would taste the mint, but Flor and Jimena do not seem so inclined either.” His chuckle was tacked on at the end, but it didn’t feel accusatory this time. It sounded as if TK had honestly stumped him with his question and he was considering the answer in earnest, but had ultimately come up short of a correct guess.

TK focused again on the sweeping little hills as they continued to trot along. “And the pink ones? What are they called?”

“Ah, I believe those are Evening Primrose. Those are the most prominent of the wildflowers here, as I’m sure you can tell. Quite boring to look at compared to the others, but a constant nonetheless.” His tone gave TK the impression that he, too, found the fields of flowers calming. It would make sense, seeing as this was his homeland. Or…was it?

“Have you always lived here? Or did your family come into the property recently?”

“My great-grandfather purchased the land at a pretty steep discount in twenty-six, just a couple of years after the Colonization Law took effect. He came far enough north that he wouldn’t be too crowded in with the rest of his countrymen, and settled the bit to the south of us, where the house is located. He did build it, but it was not as large as it is now. It’s been expanded with both generations since, I believe.”

“Your great-grandfather came from Mexico to settle?”

“Technically, this was Mexico still when he came, since the war for Independence was not won until thirty-six. But yes, he came from Guadalajara. He thought less over cultivated land would suit better for cattle ranching, and it turns out he was right. We now have three hundred head.” His voice was proud as he recounted the story, and TK was drawn in by the clear reverence he had for his family history. He wanted to hear more, so he asked after how the estate came to be so large.

“My grandfather negotiated the rest of the land from the tribes settled here at the time, which admittedly were so few in number that the endeavor was swift. He offered them fifty head and a handsome cash sum as well, and the deal was struck in accord. The tribe moved north to the central territories and are still there today I believe. We’ve had a few high ranking members as visitors in my youth, and they were always amiable and welcome.”

Mr. Reyes’ soft smile had drawn TK’s attention again and this time he let himself look. The man practically glowed as he talked of his heritage, his family, and it was rather intoxicating. TK wanted to ask after more, but it seemed they’d reach the aforementioned lake that they were to stop and break their fast beside. He allowed Flor to carry them to a stop at a suitable spot and dismounted, again allowing himself to watch as Mr. Reyes did the same. He was taken in by the same fluidity and grace as he had been the day previous, before their awful actual meeting.

TK was finding it hard to remember Mr. Reyes being crass yesterday, no matter how hard he tried.

In tandem, they  spread out an extra saddle blanket in the grass, still slightly damp from the morning dew. Their provisions were divvied up and tea was poured into metal cups, and TK was just about to take his first sip when Mr. Reyes spoke, and his tone bade TK listen carefully.

“Mr. Strand—“

Without rightfully thinking about it, TK interrupted him with, “Please, you should call me TK. Well, my name is Tyler, but only my father calls me that. Friends call me TK.”

Mr. Reyes looked taken aback for a moment, possibly at the implication of friends , but TK kept his face impassive. He’d not have them making a mountain out of a grain of sand such as a name. They were to be business acquaintances anyway, and they should address each other as such. All of Owen’s partners called him by his first name, so TK took a page from his book by extending the offer. It would help keep his mind firmly on their business relationship.

It absolutely was not so he could hear his name, both sharp consonants of it, softened in Mr. Reyes’ steady timbre.

“TK,” he corrected, and the named man swallowed a sigh at being proven right about the sound of it coming off those lips. “I would like to—that is, I am committed to—well, what I would like to say is—“ he halted, frowning down at an apple clutched in his own hand. He set the apple aside, and turned to TK directly.

“TK, I mean to sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was rude and judgmental without cause, and I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me that transgression, as I do hope we are able to work together seamlessly in this partnership.”

It seemed sincere, TK thought. The man’s eyes were fervent and his face was open in a way it hadn’t been since the Strands had arrived. For a moment, TK was lost in those eyes that reflected the climbing sunrise off the water of the small lake like Mr. Reyes was radiating the warmth of goodwill through his very irises. His eyes were soft, inviting, shining with their earnestness. It was a long moment before he spoke, which Mr. Reyes seemed to take as reservation but was in fact TK pure preoccupation with studying the man’s face at the most inappropriate of times.

“I do hope I haven’t ruined things between my family and yours,” Mr. Reyes went on. “It’s just that I—well I’m quite attached to my home here and my pride is tied up in what my forefathers accomplished.”

“To see it broken up and sold off is to admit defeat that this generation could not hold the line,” TK finished for him, and his eyes grew wide.

“Yes, precisely.”

“I have misgivings about that kind of thing also. My father built such a tremendous enterprise—nothing like the Vanderbilts of course, but sprawling in reach nonetheless. I…find myself at times overwhelmed with the prospect of taking it on alone.” It must have been the country air, the absence of all human life for a few miles, and the still burgeoning sunrise combined that made his tongue so loose with such intimate thoughts. Surely he was losing control of his faculties if he was given to sharing his heart in this way, TK mused.

Even so, Mr. Reyes’ face had not closed off yet; it remained open and inviting to those thoughts and perhaps welling up with some of his own to share, now that the barrier had lost a few bricks and they could see each other over their respective sides of the wall they’d built over the previous day and evening.

“But, you won’t do it alone, will you? You cannot inherit until you marry, by law,” Mr. Reyes reminded him. Those deep brown eyes were on him again, somehow more liquid than before. TK must be imagining things now. He blinked the line of thought away.

“Yes, that’s true. But who’s to say I’ll marry a man who wants to be involved in the railroad business? My true love may be a man of the arts, constantly shut away in his studio creating pieces to adorn our home and teaching our children to appreciate the craft of them. Or he may be a man strongly devoted to politics and spend months away from home campaigning for the betterment of the American people. Or he may prefer the country life to the city, and I must remain in the city for the business for the bulk of the year. So you see, I may yet end up running the business alone, even if my life will not be spent in solitude. If I marry for love, I’ll be glad of that connection regardless if I get help with the business. Help is not what I’ll be marrying; it will be companionship outside of worldly endeavors that will make it worthwhile.” The picture he’d painted for himself inside his head was content, and he noticed he’d closed his eyes for a moment while he’d intimated the details to Mr. Reyes.

When he opened his eyes and refocused on his company, he saw Mr. Reyes duck his head slightly, a faint blush high on his tanned cheekbones. TK wondered if the other man was embarrassed of the intimate turn their conversation had taken, and hurried to move them to more casual topics.

“I do apologize, Mr. Reyes, I did not mean to be overly familiar with you. God above, it must be the early hour that has me as yet unable to master all my faculties.”

“No, please, do not apologize. I simply—that is—I do…admire your candor and conviction. Marrying for love is not rare, but it is not the standard. To be so assured of your path in life is enviable. I admit I haven’t given much thought to it myself.”

“You don’t think of who you’ll marry?” TK asked. He’d thought of nothing else since he was a boy.

At this, Mr. Reyes’ eyes turned down for a moment, a cloud of something passing over his features before the sun shone through his expression again. “Not in the sense you’ve described, no. I supposed I always knew I would marry, because I knew I would not inherit the estate—though I do envy Rosa a bit—but I’ve never imagined what kind of man I would spend my life with. I always assumed I’d know who he was when he came along.”

Their eyes met and for a moment not even the crickets or birds or any other constantly buzzing creature could be heard. TK was the first to break it, albeit in a slightly hushed tone.

“And he hasn’t come along yet?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Mr. Reyes answered. He looked disinclined to elaborate. They gazed at each other a moment longer before Mr. Reyes broke the contact and gestured to their spread. “We should partake of Mrs. Smith’s generous meal. It seems she packed for much more than three this morning,” he laughed, and it only sounded a little forced. “I assure you, the fresh bacon cooked in rosemary will change your perspective on life the moment it hits your tongue.”

TK took the change in subject gracefully, also keen to step back from the precipice they’d found themselves on much too early in their acquaintance, truth be told. They’d forgotten themselves but no harm had been done, and they could go on as intended—as short-term business collaborators only.

_______

They rode the rest of the way around the western perimeter as the sun reached higher in the sky, Mr. Reyes pointing out landmarks here and there. Ostensibly this outing was for TK to survey the land for it’s viability for their project, and he was doing so, but he was also enamored with Mr. Reyes’ ability to guide them along with enthusiasm and grace. It was very clear the man loved his home and was deeply proud of it, and TK was entranced when he talked.

By the time they reached the apple orchard, TK had stopped deluding himself that he wasn’t fond of Mr. Reyes. He’d had his misgivings from the beginning, and for good reason, but there was a good man underneath the initial prickliness. Mr. Reyes could be likened to a cat protecting its young. Docile for the most part until his family was threatened, and TK could see where he’d felt that way initially. Mr. Reyes had come around quickly though and TK was not sure how much of that was due to his mother’s insistence and how much was just their conversation on this journey around the property in the early morning light.

“It smells so heavenly here,” TK mused aloud as the horses picked their way between the lines of trees. To be able to be abreast of each other to properly hold a conversation, the horses were so close that occasionally TK’s knee or thigh brushed against Mr. Reyes’. It startled him each time, even though he’d come to expect it. He supposed it startled his body but not his mind, which was a disconcerting feeling indeed, but not altogether unpleasant.

“They are called Gala apples. They thrive quite well here in the moderate rain. Would you like to try one?” Mr. Reyes asked. TK nodded with a small smile, and watched as Mr. Reyes dismounted Jimena and left her untethered. He turned back to TK and held out his hand. “Come along, it tastes better if you fetch it from the tree yourself,” he teased.

TK stared at the outstretched hand before taking it and dismounting gracefully, coming familiarly close to Mr. Reyes for the second time that day. This time, only their hands were touching as opposed to their whole bodies—as they had been on the stairs that morning—but it felt almost more intimate. TK noticed that they’d paused to regard one another again as they had multiple times on this journey. However, as they had done each time, they broke their gazes and their contact and went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. The only problem was that each time it happened—and this incident more than all he rest—set his heart aflutter in such a way as to distract from all else in the moment. It took him increasingly longer to come back to himself each time.

He watched as Mr. Reyes took a wooden-runged ladder from a pile on the ground and set it against the trunk of the nearest tree. Deftly, he climbed a few feet, reached up, and plucked a ripe bit of fruit from one of the lower branches before coming down off the ladder assuredly, his steps practiced as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Perhaps he had.

TK held his hand out for the fruit, but Mr. Reyes pulled it back and away. “Ah, ah. This one is mine. I told you, it tastes better if you fetch it yourself. I set your example, now it’s your turn,” he said, spitefully taking bite out of his prize, then using it to gesture to the ladder.

Unfettered by Mr. Reyes’ teasing, TK was determined to show that he could keep up with his companion’s prowess. He approached the ladder, assessing it for any weak points before tentatively stepping onto the first rung. It bowed gently under his weight, and he paused a moment to gather himself.

He felt a hand upon his hip and froze for a moment, feeling distinctly untethered. Looking down, TK saw Mr. Reyes’ earnest eyes on him, one hand steadying TK on the ladder and the other still casually consuming his fruit. He gave TK a reassuring smile and nodded in the direction of the tree, encouraging.

The climb to the correct height took TK a bit longer than it had the cowboy who was used to such endeavors, but he managed. He plucked a juicy-looking specimen from a close branch before carefully climbing down, deliberately placing each footfall for optimum support from the wooden rungs below him. It was slow and arduous, but he accomplished it.

Once landed on the ground, he held up his spoil triumphantly. Mr. Reyes smiled.

“And now, Mr. City Gentleman, you have farmed apples!” He declared.

TK bit his lip for a half-second before being unable to hold back his mirthful laughter. His eyes crinkled and his cheeks ached with it, and it felt so good that he didn’t notice his companion was gazing at him once more, admiration and awe in his expression. When his laughter came down to a more manageable level a few seconds later, they were caught in each other once again, as they had been many times that day. TK’s smile was still spread across his face and he looked up through his lashes at Mr. Reyes to see a serenity over his countenance that had yet to be shown since they’d known each other.

It was beautiful.

Just as quickly as the moment had began, it passed, with Mr. Reyes fingering his collar away from his neck in what seemed like a nervous gesture. “The heat is beginning to get oppressive,” he offered in explanation, though said heat was not yet unbearable in the slightest. “We should retreat to the safety of the house.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I wonder if our parents have concluded their negotiations for the day. I’d like to convene with my father to let him know what I’ve seen.”

“Of course, well. Shall we?” Mr. Reyes gestured down the path between the trees, Jimena’s reins held loosely in his hand as he led her on foot. TK grabbed Flor’s lead and followed in quiet contemplation. He realized his manners had slipped.

“Thank you, Mr. Reyes, for this tour. It was enlightening, as well as a pleasant diversion.”

“You are most welcome. And please, call me Carlos. After all, we are to be friends, as you put it.” His smile was radiant.

“Carlos,” TK tried out the name on his tongue with a nod. It tasted like the smoothest brandy, and TK felt like he was already drunk off of one sip.

“I wanted to reiterate my apology, to make sure it is clear. I judged you and your father before I allowed you to state your intentions. Your plans for the land, so far as you’ve told me, will not impact our operation negatively and I get the distinct feeling it is your mission to keep things that way as you work your way across the country. So I thank you for your discretion, and I once again humbly ask you to forgive my behavior yesterday.”

“It is already forgiven!” TK tells him, wanting to put any and all ill will behind them after such a glorious morning. “Do not worry over it any longer. Let us be friends from this day forth.”

Carlos smiled so wide it momentarily arrested TK’s heart.

They reached the house in due course to find Elena on the porch frantically waving a piece of paper in her delicate hands. They tethered the horses to the post off the side of the house and approached. The girl looked as if she could barely form words through her excitement.

“Carlos!” She cried as they ascended the steps and removed their hats. “Guess who’s coming to the ball tomorrow night!”

“I’m sure you will tell me without me having to guess,” her brother teased good-naturedly, sharing a conspiratorial smile with TK as they passed into the foyer.

“Mr. de Castillo,” Elena said, giving the name a weight that surely meant something, but which TK could not discern. He’d never heard the name before, but then again he did not know the upper class set of this region well enough to know their names and statuses that might warrant such excitement.

When TK turned to face Carlos, he wondered what Elena could find so appealing that her brother seemed to find mildly horrifying, judging by his expression. His eyes cut to TK and they almost looked…guilty.

Elena went on, oblivious to her brother’s distress. “His letter is posted from Santa Fe nearly two weeks ago, and he says he should arrive just in time to dress and attend. Isn’t that marvelous news, Carlos? He hasn’t come east since the fall. Oh how we’ve all missed him.” She put emphasis on certain parts of her sentence that didn’t entirely make sense to TK, but he could feel a growing lump in the pit of his stomach as he watched Carlos’ face drain of color slightly.

“He sounds like a character who’s good to know, if his presence at a dance excites you this much,” he offered to Elena to try and ease the focus off of Carlos, for he seemed unable to speak at that moment.

“Oh, it’s not me he excites,” Elena said, cutting her eyes to TK’s right, smirking but saying nothing more. TK did not turn to look at Carlos again, because that lump in his stomach was getting heavier the more Elena talked and he was not rightfully sure he could put a name to it just yet. Looking at Carlos’ guilty face was surely to spell it out quicker than he’d like. He halted his train of thought and plowed on.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this esteemed Mr. de Castillo. You said he’s not come east—do you mean to say he is from the west coast?”

“Yes, San Fransisco! His father rushed there in forty-nine and made quite the coup. They’re able to give the Rockefellers a run for their money, I’d wager,” she said. “And he’s so handsome as well.”

That bit tacked on at the end was again delivered with a weighted look at Carlos which TK again ignored.

He was saved from replying to Elena’s last comment by his father and the Doña appearing in the foyer.

“What’s got everyone in a fuss?” Owen asked.

“Mr. Fernando de Castillo is coming to the ball tomorrow night!” Elena exclaimed, elated to share her momentous news with anyone who would listen.

“De Castillo…” Owen pondered, “Is that Isador de Castillo’s boy? Of San Fransisco?”

“Yes, the very same. Mr. de Castillo the younger visits us quite often, as he’s got business back east with his company and likes to stop for a week or so on his way through. We’ve all grown quite fond of him, especially Car—“

“That’s quite enough, Elena. The Mr.’s Strand are not interested in country gossip. Run along and find Constance to start your lessons. Your sisters are already studying while you’ve been flitting about.” The Doña’s voice was firm and clearly dismissive. She glanced at her son and TK in turn, before turning her attention back to Owen. “Mr. Strand, might we all go into the drawing room for tea? Our sons can regale us of their journey around the property.”

Owen’s smile was wide and eager as he looked to the two young men. “Of course, I cannot wait to hear your thoughts on the land, TK. The Doña and I will also impart to you what we’ve agreed upon thus far, though there are still the finer details to work out.”

Carlos immediately followed Owen into the room off the left side of the foyer, barely sparing TK a glance in contrast to all their lingering looks throughout the morning. That, combined with Elena’s cryptic words regarding their future guest, unsettled TK more than he would have liked. Still, he was determined to soldier on in his mission to become good friends and business partners with Carlos and the rest of the Reyes’, and he’d not let a silly thing like a matter of the heart—which may not even exist—get in his way.