#but that's. all technical. of course... emotionally too though i feel like it balanced the bittersweetness very well

[datastate]

Which one of the currently released yttd mini-episodes is your favorite? Why? (via)

hm-hm... if i'm honest? i would have to say sara's because:

1) it presents the sonobenos' friendship openly. i've always been curious to see how sara balanced her friendships with both of them - on my first playthrough, i was actually under the impression ryoko went to a different high school simply due to the fact that she hadn't yet/sparsely met with joe until their date.

and 2) it fulfills a theoretical that sara's shown to be tortured by, and likely will be until the end -- if there was any possible way to save joe, and if escaping with him would be worth the pain wrought upon others. it's fascinating to see her reaction/reasoning for distancing herself from joe as juxtaposed to kai's. i remember getting to the line of sara referencing darkness within herself almost verbatim for kai's lines in ytts. it's a mindset that's consistently reinforced with mr. chidouin and with personal events that inevitably prop up this intense guilt. seeing sara escape after establishing how quickly she can spiral under this weight is just... so interesting to me, and does really well in establishing how this affects her normal life even before something so devastating.

...well, all that, as well as having a fun minigame :'P

but! i feel as if it may be too predictable to say as much, so i will say that the yabusame's minisode was an immediate favorite upon initial release, and certainly raised much higher above the other three personally.

(i enjoy seeing more of anzu, though it was disappointing to see some notes on her character dismissed; and as for kurumada, but i do find some difficulty with the consistent assertions of aggression (although i realize nankidai does provide reasoning for it + appreciate his mirror to keiji's story); and as for kai's with asunaro's... i enjoyed confirmation kai does confide some tales of asunaro to mr. chidouin, that level of trust, but i feel as though a lot of asunaro's secrecy was lost in this minisode and it'd be better fit for after the base game is finished. i realize i'm someone who tends to feast on subtext, though i do feel that presenting what happened with the satous on a silver platter has somewhat spoiled how people view them + messed with ranger's significance... but i digress. i did still enjoy these ones, after all)

in any case!! similar to the sonobeno's friendship, i've always been curious to see more of how the yabusames used to behave around each other until the murder. it's easy enough to speculate, of course, with fake reko's values, but i remember replaying that one cutscene at the very beginning of 2-2 because it just. completely dug at my heart knowing what became of them.

what i didn't expect, however, was getting to see alice's own feelings toward music - i know in hindsight it should've been expected, due to the nature of their work, but i was pleasantly surprised to see how it actually touched on his feelings of inadequacy by comparison & yet... reko's always been kind in her own way and insisted on teaching him, or inviting him to listen, and valued his input even if it was inaccurate in a technical sense. she was sharing a passion with him, and that's why she was so heartbroken when he willingly cut himself away from it, from her, despite her best efforts to uplift/encourage him to try again.

it's just...!! ahh it confirmed a lot of what i already expected while building upon it and just. enhancing what alice has already divulged of who he assumes reko to be. there's always been a bit of underlying remorse after the bongo scene, but properly getting to see how deep this guilt runs is <3 + the symbolic sense of the drums split in two, but rather than again accepting he's incapable of repairing it, he still tries because this is his - their - last effort ... i don't know. they get to me. i really love thinking about the yabusames.

[gyuswhore]

Soundproof

Lee Chan x reader | part of the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab hosted by @camandemstudios

word count: 9.2k

contains: band member!chan, high school!au, angst, fluff, neighbours to lovers, mentions of stress and overwhelming emotions, chan is emotionally constipated, mention of parents

synopsis: Noise has followed Lee Chan his entire life, at least that what it feels like to you since the day his family moved in next door. It goes from his yells and screams to his midday guitar riffs and drum solos, all somehow ending up in your parents garage for his audacious band practices. Noise has followed Lee Chan his entire life, but at some point, you fell in line too.

[a/n]: this one was. a ride. to say the least. this felt like I was going back to my roots, I was getting so much htwhfd vibes from this and it made me all emo. its not as plot heavy or extensive as I usually go but it was about time I wrote something for chan before they took my dinonara status away so plsplsplsplspls remember to reblog or send me an ask with your thots 🥹

ty to @highvern the yin to my yang or whatever they say about married couples for beta-ing this for me, to jewel @100vern and mr. jewel for helping me out with all the technical instrument bits, ily hehehe. and of course, the BIGGEST thank you to everyone that participated in this collab, we had 26 fics this time around (what! the! fuck!) and it was honestly so fun to interact with new and old writers and to watch them create fics <333 ily guys tysm and PLEASE check out the collab masterlist above for all the amazing fics!!!

masterlist

The day you met Lee Chan was a memory as vivid as yesterday. Mostly because it was the first time you heard a scream so blood curdling. It was enough to push you out of your seat where you were pouring over an impossible Kumon problem, hurtling towards a window looking over your front yard, interest piqued beyond the math problems on your desk. Tripping over your stuffed otter in haste, you threw the toy onto the bed with perfect aim before returning to your mission. 

Nose pressed against the cool glass, you find a giant moving truck right in front of your house. Well, half in front of yours, the tailend towards the house next door. The truck's compartment is wide open, and a million wrapped and boxed things lay on the pavement, leaving a trail that leads all the way into the open front door. Wrapped chairs and tables, what look like vases and bowls littered next to crudely labelled cardboard boxes. The chaos wasn’t quenching your interest though; the men that haul things from the truck to the ground are not the ones screaming, and neither is the woman that pops her head out to drag a box through the threshold and into the house. 

Your hands are on the glass too, trying to push yourself farther than your tippy toes to catch a better look at the newcomers. You nearly give up, about to drop back on your heels and go back to hunch over algebra, before you hear a loud yell. “Dad! DAD! Look!”

He’s sprinting so fast you hardly catch him, through the door, jumping down the steps of the porch, zigzagging through boxes and furniture and uncut grass as he hurtles towards the truck. The bright blue hoodie he’s donned makes it easier to keep up, but also the fact that he’s holding a giant object in his arms as he books it across the lawn. 

“Chan, be careful, you’ve barely had it for ten minutes!” someone yells, their voice muffled through the glass. He doesn’t seem to listen, crashing into his dad who receives his bone crushing hug with surprise. 

It’s a guitar. He’s holding a guitar. His father speaks, directed at the woman in the doorway, “I told you to wait for me!”

“He found it himself!” she defends, but her tone is light with amusement. It’s half drowned by the unending chorus of thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou from the boy who continues to balance his brand new guitar and the tight embrace that’s locked his dad’s arms at his own sides. 

A few hours later, there’s company at your door, the distinct sound of your mother greeting her guests pouring through to your bedroom. You instinctively press pause on your speakers, the static noise of One Direction halting abruptly as you eavesdrop. As though on cue, your mother called for you. 

At the door is a woman with a kind smile on her face, handing your mother a tray full of something covered in foil, all while she’s being ushered onto the couch. Behind her trail two boys, a taller and a shorter. 

“This is my daughter,” she introduces you to the crowd beckoning you forward. Shuffling your feet, you oblige. “This is Mrs. Lee and her sons.”

“This is Geon,” Mrs. Lee gestures towards the shorter one that’s more content behind his mothers legs. “And this is Chan. You might be the same age!”

“They’ve just moved in next door,” your mother informs, lifting her head to address Mrs. Lee. “You’re enrolling him in the local middle school right? Maybe you can show him around!”

It’d be hard to do that when the boy in question was more interested in the carpet below his socks. But you nod and give a tight smile regardless. With the adults seated, your mother has somehow pushed you into dragging a seemingly unwilling Chan to show him your room. Both of you oblige, mostly because you see his mother give him the look when he wouldn’t move from his spot. 

It’s torturously silent as you climb the steps, trying to think if you’ve left out something embarrassing in the open. Your stomach jolts, the giant pile of clothes fashioning itself in your eyelids, your training bra at the top of the clean pile. Suddenly, you’re bolting up the steps faster than Chan, making a beeline to shove the damn thing under the mound of clothes before he could walk in and see. Throwing the door open, you take a moment to address Chan walking up the last step, “Um, just in here.”

There it is, pink with Minnie Mouse plastered all over it. By the time it’s hidden, Chan is walking through the threshold and into your room. His eyes wander, taking in the blare of your space. He looks odd standing with his clothes that are all black down to his socks and his mop of hair, a void against the bright pinks and blues of your bedroom. The desk is against the window that overlooks the backyard, your curtains patterned a purple chevron. It’s clean for now, but your shelves are lined with textbooks and novels, a smaller corner for your CDs. The bed is still warm and ruffled from when you were lounging in it, your nightstand decorated with a star lamp and your pink CD player. 

“You can sit down,” you invite, giving the pile of clothes one last kick in its place next to your blue wardrobe. You migrate to the chair behind your desk, letting him take the edge of the bed. He still hasn’t said a word, and you wonder if this is the same person that was running and screaming outside just hours ago. Chan continues to observe the contaminants of your room, landing on your nightstand where your CD player is, the case for your One Direction CD right next to it. Reaching for it, he says his first words to you.

“Is this yours?” A dense question in hindsight, but you appreciated him filling the silence. You nod immediately, “I have more! I have them all, actually.” 

He puts the case back on your nightstand. The silence plunges itself into the space once more, and the pressure on your chest is near unbearable. “You can…you can borrow them if you like.” 

Chan looks startled, eyebrows raised as he registers the offer. “Oh, uh, I don’t…I don’t listen to One Direction. Or boy groups or girl groups or…pop.”

“Oh,” you falter, heat rising in your cheeks. Nothing was said outright, but you couldn’t shake the distinct feeling of being judged. 

“Do you play?” he asks. Cocking your head in confusion, you ask, “The CD player?”

“No, uh,” he points to under your desk, where there’s a pink plastic ukulele covered in multicolour glitter from a chaotic DIY, “that.”

“I try to.” Your cheeks burn. “Youtube videos are helpful sometimes. Do you?” 

It was a pointed question, brought forth from the fresh memory of his loud gift receiving earlier. “I play the ukulele but it’s not a lot of fun. I just got a new guitar for my birthday last week. I only got it today because we were moving and I wasn’t supposed to find it but I did. It’s a Fender Jazzmaster in Olympic White. My mom wanted me to get Surfer Green but it felt like a gir— anyway.”

“Why…don’t you like Surfer Green?” you ask, because it felt like the obvious follow up. 

He stares at you, mouth open slightly. “What I really wanted was the Fender Mustang but my mom said that was too expensive. Dad would’ve gotten it but they bought my brother a console so I had to comiprise…copm…comripise—”

“C-Compromise?” you suggest meekly. 

“Yeah.”

You frown a little, “Aren’t you happy with the one you got?”

“I like the Jazzmaster too, but holding those Mustangs just–just feels different in the stores,” he continues. “Kurt Cobain had a Mustang.”

“Who’s—”

“You don’t know Nirvana?” 

“Um—” you stutter, like you’d been asked a question you didn’t have an answer for in front of the entire class. 

“Right,” he deflates, eyes flitting to the empty One Direction case on the nightstand. 

You swallow, wiggling your toes to hold down the fort that was your pride. “Are—um…Are there no other famous people with…what you got?”

He ponders for a moment, face uncurling. “Bob Dylan had one…”

You breathe a sigh of relief, having at least heard the name before. “That means it’s still really good!”

“Yeah,” he nods, like he was having a genuine epiphany. “Yeah it is pretty good.”

“Good.”

“I still want the Mustang though,” he continues, and then adding with a mumble you hardly catch, “Why does Geon have to get a present on my birthday.”

Later on in the week, when you’re out at the mall with your friends, too sweet frappes and milkshakes in hand, your gaggle enters the music store. The others crowd around the laid out drumset, some walk to the functioning keyboards, you find yourself trailing to the salon style depiction of electric guitars mounted on the walls. Cold fingers wrapped around your mocha frappe, you read the signs on the different guitars, trying to find two specific ones to pause on. 

There it is. The placard calls it a Fender Player II Mustang in bold black font. It’s jet black, reflective in the glossy finish, complete with all the white accents and the wood piece at the top. Your hand, sweaty with condensation, reaches out to touch the smooth surface of the guitar, half mesmerised by the finish. You’re interrupted with a jarring, “Can I help you out?”

Retracting quickly, you turn to the salesperson stood before you, small smile on her face. “Uh—do you guys have this in surfer green?”

She furrows her brows, “Not the Mustangs. We have Jazzmasters in surfer green but they’re out of stock. Would you like to place an order?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you’re quick with your, “No, thank you.” It’d be strange for a middle schooler to book something that expensive all by herself, let alone with a flock of friends. The lady smiles at you regardless, and you smile back, going to give the black beauty one last look before walking back over to your friends, where they attempt to play the intro to Shake It Off with very little success. 

You steal one last glance as you leave the store.

Remembering freshman year of high school is quite easy when you take into account all the time you spent locked in a bathroom stall crying. It began to make a little more sense after your first bleed, having something to attribute your feelings to when things in your 16 year old brain got rough, but you wouldn’t leave a particularly high rating on your high school years. 

It wasn’t all bad, though, especially when you were sitting in your homeroom class with neatly folded hands and a slightly jittery leg, watching all the people file into the room. You didn’t know if he’d be here, it wasn’t like you talked to him in middle school much, nor did you hear anything from your mother. You’d rather have died than ask, choosing to wait until you bumped into him — if you bumped into him. The manifestation made itself known as Lee Chan walked into the door of your homeroom class nearly fifteen minutes past reporting time. The teacher simply smiled with raised brows as he greeted him, not missing the leisurely way his backpack was strung on one shoulder paired with his blaring METALLICA t-shirt. His eyes sweep right past you as he makes his way to the very back of the class to find a seat in the last row. 

It’s difficult to not crane your neck to see him, hiding under the guise of a neck stretch as you turn your head. He’s slumped in his chair, face unreadable as he stares at the front of the class. He isn’t doing much, which is like always, but it’s enough for you to want to take another peek. You don’t, because your homeroom teacher has clapped his hands to get the attention of the now full room, ready to start the first day of high school. 

Did you like Chan? Or did you just like the way that he was? At 14, he seemed infinitely cooler than you, just like he did in middle school when he made his first impression in the resounding girlish brightness of your room, in front of your boyband CDs and glitter crafted ukulele that were all seemingly too juvenile for his tastes. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you knew you wanted to be his friend, a feat that seemed significantly harder than it should be. 

Chan would never tag along with his mom or brother when they’d come to visit, and he’d always be cooped up in his room when it’d be you sitting with his brother in the living room of his home while your mothers conversed endlessly. It was the only reason you were that enthusiastic anyway, the possibility of seeing him and sparking a conversation that didn’t die down in half a minute. You’d been to Chan’s room only once, and hardly even at all. It was the summer before high school and your families were barbecuing in the backyard of Chan’s home, and you’d been tasked to run up and pull him out to come eat. He was the only one left in the house, who seemed to not respond when you knocked cautiously on the wood of his door. 

His door was a collage of him; posters of unresolved rock bands, loud DO NOT ENTER warnings and endless loud tearings of the sort. You spotted a pink unicorn sticker among the mess, and you were almost sure it was the workings of Geon, one that Chan was yet to spot. There was a muffled hum filtering through the door, and it sounded like the low strumming of a guitar. Chan was playing something, and you remember so clearly the way you stood there for seemingly ages trying to figure out what the tune was. It was worlds quieter than his usual loud guitar riffs that seemed to occur at the very reasonable times of 10 O’clock at night. It seems you were taking too long, because next you know, his mother was bounding up the steps to find you vacant outside his door. 

“Is he not answering?” she asks. “God, those stupid headphones, never should’ve bought them—CHAN!” She raps on the door with significant force. “LEE CHAN, get out of your cave, everyone’s waiting for you at the table!” 

The door swings open to reveal a severely disgruntled Chan, his headphones nowhere to be found. “What?”

“Poor girl’s been knocking for twenty minutes, have some decency and get downstairs,” she snaps. You were frozen in your spot, mouth gaping as you tried to say something. You’d only knocked once, and not very firmly either. Technically, this was your fault. His mother looked down at his shirt that depicted a very graphic skull paired with pyjama bottoms. “And change for goodness’ sake!”

With that, her expression changed so quickly it gave you whiplash. She gave you a smile and pulled you along with her back downstairs, pushing you to sit down at the dinner table as Chan emerged into the lawn a while later. He’d pulled a jumper over his shirt despite the pleasant weather, his sweatpants changed out. You noted how he shoved Geon out of his seat at the very end of the table, making him move to the only other seat available — next to you. Nobody noted the exchange, nobody batted an eye. They were always going at each other, this had only felt like another brotherly spat.

Even now, as you note the free seat next to you in your homeroom class, you know it was only because he didn’t see you when he walked in, and that he’d rather die than sit anywhere closer than the farthest bench, but you couldn’t help feeling what you felt. An ugly kind of stir, a pang of hurt. There was nothing close about you and Chan but your proximity, but when the universe’s recipe to bring everyone else in the world closer fails, it’s impossible to feel like there’s resistance somewhere, somehow. 

Getting in the car of Chan’s mother’s car, he takes the front seat and immediately pops in headphones on, while you talk about your day to his mom. Geon, having been picked up from his middle school first, is fast asleep in the seat next to you, leaving you as the only person she could talk to. You didn’t mind, Mrs. Lee was always nice, maybe even exceptionally nice to you. She did mention wanting a daughter at some point, but you appreciate that she’s putting you out of your self imposed silence. 

Freshman year was a lot; emotions, friends, grades, and the very existence of the fact that you were growing up through the thick of it all. But there was one thing that it wasn't, and that was Chan.

Senior year of high school, things become exponentially harder for you. 

It’s the first day back to school, this time without the nerves of freshman year. Three years into the game, you’d built a high school specific armour that served you well for most of your career. You were jogging out the door and into the morning chill, immediately looking for the white of Mrs. Lee’s SUV, only to find a silver sedan parked in front of your driveway. Halting in your steps, you looked over to find the car you’d been looking for still parked and stationary in the neighboring driveway, looking back to the unfamiliar car in front of you. 

The windows rolled down just as you were about to cross the lawn and knock on the neighbor’s doors, maybe Mrs. Lee was running late? But all you saw was Geon in the shotgun seat waving you over, and you catch the explicit sight of Chan at the driver’s seat. 

Oh.

As you slipped into the backseat, you remember the distinct feeling of unease. “I…I still thought your mom was dropping us off.” 

“Chan bought the car yesterday! But he had to promise mom to let you carpool with us—”

“Geon,” Chan grit quietly as he turned the corner out of the neighborhood. In true seventeen year old fashion, you felt your legs turn to jello. You’d hardly seen him over the summer, overheard talks from the adults that he was giving guitar lessons to younger kids; perhaps that was how he bought the car? But the gap in contact meant you had no idea just how deep his voice had gotten over the past months. You remember the uncomfortable lurch in your stomach, the way Geon ignored his brother and only continued to speak to you, but you were hardly listening over the roaring in your ears. “...a new CD booklet but it’s all his shitty rock music—”

“Language,” Chan hissed. Geon frowned, “I’m going into high school next year. I think I’m allowed to say shit.” He only turned back to you in a grin, “He just can’t accept that his music is shitty.”

“Get out of my car,” Chan said as he pulled up in front of Geon’s middle school.

Immediately, panic flooded in your system. Do you stay in the backseat? Do you move up front? Why didn’t you think of this before? Getting out of the car and moving up front felt like an exceedingly embarrassing task. Opening the door, closing it, the awkward run up to the front seat, not to mention the silence, were you supposed to talk to him—

“You can just jump over the console up front,” Chan turned to say to you, and you jump a little at the way he directly addresses you. 

“Uh, are you sure?” you asked, eyeing the way he moves his elbow out of the way so you’d have space to hop over. 

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he assured, only half paying attention. Leaving your backpack in the back, you found yourself moving towards the centre console, swinging a leg over to bring the sole of your shoe directly on the front seat to push yourself over. You succeeded, dropping down with a thud. Chan had already begun driving as you grappled to find the seatbelt. 

The only thing you remember from that first drive with Chan alone was the way your brain felt like a broken record. 

“Geon.”

“Language.”

“Get out of my car.”

“You can just jump over the console up front.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” 

It was too much for all of seven minutes from Geon’s middle school to your high school, evident in the way you blurted out a quick “thanks, see you at 3” over your shoulder as you’d booked it into the building and out Chan’s vicinity. If he’d found it weird, he didn’t say a thing. 

This went on for the first few months of senior year, even having been promoted to shotgun at some point to make the ordeal easier, much to the annoyance of Geon who sat moping for most mornings and afternoons. Despite the fact, Chan never really spoke to you throughout the time, his only words coming in the form of snapping at Geon when he mildly annoyed him. But you had acquired his phone number, which ensued a chatbox of endless short sentence exchanges. 

[Chan 7:15 AM]: Come outside [You 7:15 AM]: Ok  [Chan 3:02 PM]: Come outside [You 3:03 PM]: Ok 

The turn didn't happen until tonight. It’s the first week of winter break, a bleak Friday night as you’re getting ready to reorganise your shelf of magazines. The room is filled with Taylor Swift filtering through your pink speakers, still in the same place on the nightstand as it was in middle school. The pile of magazine issues is taking over your floor, more than half of them covered in settled dust over the years, some just about ready to disintegrate at a touch. You’re more than focused on your task of separating the viable contenders to the ones that have had their run, when the distinct sound of the doorbell cuts through your music. A glance at the clock tells you it’s nearly 8 PM, too late for guests. Well, invited ones anyway.  

Soon, there’s a warble of high pitched conversation, one that urges you to shut your music off to ensue your usual eavesdropping. There isn’t much you can make out with your ear pressed to the door, and you have half a mind to move out and loiter in the hallway. You still can’t tell who it is, but when you hear the sound of the front door closing, you know it’s safe to wander out. 

“Who was that?” you ask your mother casually under the pretense of wanting an apple.

“Oh, it was Chan!” she responds. Your hand that’s rummaging through the fridge freezes. “Did you know he’s in a band? He wants to use the garage for band practice, asked so nicely I couldn’t say no.”

Emerging from the fridge with a deformed stick of cheese, you ask as evenly as possible, “Why—What’s wrong with his garage?”

“They’ve got an extra car now so one always needs to be inside to make space in the driveway. Something about his dad’s exercise machines too but I wasn’t listening, I didn’t have a problem with him using the space anyway.”

“But,” you start, but falter. “But the noise…”

“He said weekends in the late afternoons only, seems reasonable enough,” she says. This time, when she turns to you she has a strange look on her face, and you immediately know you’ve pried too much. 

“Well, I’m done for the day, keep your music down, will you? I’m taking an early night.” 

The irony isn’t beyond you, but when there’s someone at the door at 3 PM on Saturday, you know exactly who it is. 

You’ve been loitering downstairs all afternoon, bringing your homework to the open kitchen table under the guise of “wanting a change of scenery”. There’s no one around when you slowly slip off your stool, dropping your pen like you were immensely inconvenienced by the distraction, slugging towards the door to wrench it open. 

Chan is in a zip up today and dark washed jeans, but it’s blacker than a void all the same. His guitar case sits next to him as his hands remain pocketed. He registers you for a moment, “Hey. Is your mom around?”

“Uh—” you stutter. Looking back to see her rushing towards the door to greet Chan. 

“Oh, you’re here!” Immediately, she smacks at your arm to move you from the door, “Let him in, will you? It’s freezing outside.”

You grumble something under your breath that she doesn’t catch, letting Chan into your home as your mother starts listing things off. 

“Okay! I made sure the garage was clean, the floors are mopped and I’ve put up a heater in there in case it gets too cold. Just plug it into the socket near the garage door and it should work. Don’t worry about staying late, it’s not like you have to drive home!” Your mother laughs at her own joke with vigour, prompting Chan to break a smile of his own which you’re sure is out of nothing but politeness. But you can’t help the hitch in your threat as you see him smile, the breathy laugh he lets out to seal the deal. 

“I’ll be out with snacks once all your friends get here, feel free to get comfortable, you can leave all your fancy equipment in the garage too, no one really goes in there.”

“You didn’t have to do all that, really—” 

“Nonsense!” your mother exclaims, cutting Chan off. She finds you trailing behind her and pulls you in. “You’ve been handling drop off duties since middle school, I’m glad you’re giving me a chance to do something for you.”

You want to mumble something about Mrs. Lee being the one doing most of the picking up and dropping off in the past years, but choose not to as she shoos Chan into the garage to let him set up. You’re left alone in the opening of the living room as your mother ushers into the kitchen to start on the aforementioned snacks. Following her, you take a begrudged seat back at the island, picking up your deserted pen and scratching a nonexistent itch in your scalp as you stare blankly at the papers in front of you. There’s a giant bag of dino nuggets slammed on the island as your mother rushes about behind you, and you stare at them a little confused. 

“Um,” you attempt to start, turning to address her. “I don’t know if Chan or his bandmates are gonna appreciate dino nuggets as snacks.”

She frowns. “But I always made you dino nuggets when your friends came over. Orange or apple juice, string cheese, and cookies!”

Your eyes close as you remember the spread that was always expected, that your friends always liked. “That was a while ago, mom.”

“You haven’t had friends over in so long, I wouldn’t know what kids like at that age.”

Shoulders slouched, you mumble under your breath, “That’s ‘cause you won’t let me change my room.”

She catches it, still adamant that your bursts of bright pink, purple and blues were perfectly appropriate for you. “But you still like the same things!”

“Yeah but…I don’t have to be so loud about it,” you grumble slightly, trying your hardest to complain without complaining. 

“Well, tell me what they’d want then.”

You hadn’t planned to be too involved with the process, but the situation called for it if you were to save face somehow. You're in the middle of fighting with the oven when you hear the distinct tremor of testing cymbals and the deep, low sound of guitar notes. By the time you’re done helping out your mother, band practice is in full session, the muffled noise of cohesive music pouring through the walls as you let your mother plate up the food. You manage to replace the tray with the dotted spaceships to one that’s less assuming. 

“Alright, you can go ahead and get this to them, my load of laundry’s been sitting in the dryer for half an hour!”

Snapping your head up, you bug your eyes out at your mother. “W–What?”

“Go on, they’re probably waiting!” she yells over her shoulder as she rushes to her ever important stash of laundry. 

Later in life, you’ll think back to this very moment, and the very embarrassing way you snapped down to look at your outfit first and foremost. The heat rose to your cheeks even in the moment, having the sudden urge to change into your jeans. It was like the first day in Chan’s car all over again, the prospect of carrying the tray over to a garage full of boys who knew they were infinitely cooler than you was downright mortifying.  

You were old enough to realise the oddity of your behaviour, the way you seem to flare up like an ignition the moment Chan was anywhere near the vicinity of your thoughts. But when you’re sitting in the middle of a group of giggling, exhilarated friends, talking about all the ways their crushes make them swoon, it all seems so out of place. The lift of their smile, the cascade of their hair, the way they enunciate their words. There was always something to talk about when it came to the person with the glowing halo around their beings.

Did you like Chan? 

Liking Chan meant having something to talk about. He pays you no mind, takes no interest in anything that doesn’t directly concern him, hell, you can’t remember the last time you heard your name from his mouth. But when you think of his dark hair, dark clothes and equally dark demeanor, nothing comes to mind to back up why you seem to see the monochromed boy scintillating like he glows from within. It was just him. It was just Chan. 

Even now, as you timidly duck through the half shuttered garage opening, you feel yourself putting every ounce of strength you had to not drop the tray altogether. 

It’s mostly silent now, the slight sounds of tuning instruments the only thing occupying the surroundings. The garage is near unrecognisable, not that you’re in there alot anyway. It’s darker, only a single yellow lamp ignited in the corner, the half covered opening of the garage letting in the fading orange of sunlight. An entire drumset’s been shoved in the area, the seat occupied by one of Chan’s friends you recognise immediately, Hansol. A giant black box with knobs and wires you think is an amplifier, and two people with guitars, a ruby red and a shiny, lacquered black, fiddled around by Seugkwan and Yeonjun. You don’t see Chan immediately, but recognise the white guitar propped up against the mic stand. 

“Grub!” one of them yells, and that seems to push Chan out of his hunch in front of the sockets. 

“Um, my mom said to give this to you,” you say, placing the tray on the spare table in the corner. “I’ll just…have a good session.”

“Fanks!” Seungkwan muffles through a mouth full of hotdog, waving as you timidly leave. 

You remember hearing a chorus of thank yous as you’d left the garage, but as you sit back down at the kitchen island to ‘resume’ your homework, all you can think about is Chan’s own voice was mixed in with the crowd. 

You can’t tell, but when your mother walks in to dump a clean pile of laundry to fold on the couch, she asks you why you’re smiling.

Every Friday, Saturday and Sunday, you accustomed your afternoons to homework on the kitchen island sponsored by the background music pouring from the garage. You couldn’t recognise any of the songs they played to save your life, but when it was Chan’s turn at the mic, you found you didn’t really care what was being strummed out. 

It took you a couple weeks, but you soon found yourself positively launching at the snack tray anytime your mother made a move to go deliver them, having honed the skill of reminding her of another more pressing task she always seemed to have. It didn’t take long for the boys to start calling you all sorts of heavenly names, a perk of being the bearer of the food. 

Chan stuck to his small “thanks”, but it seemed to do mounds better for your mood than the other “angel”, “goddess”, or “your highness”s being thrown at you. 

Until, of course, it all came crashing down.

The band had continued to use the garage even as the semester had started, pouring all the way into the end of the spring semester. Finals were upon you like an agitated hive of wasps, graduation edging nearer and nearer as you hunched over homework and notes and assignments for real this time. Sleep was a commodity, as seen by the fifteen minute naps you pushed in every morning in the passenger seat as Chan drove you to school. Not very surprisingly, Chan seemed unphased. Band practices occurred like normal, but with much sorrow, you had to give up your snack runs to your mother when you realised you couldn’t afford the distraction. 

Noise cancelling headphones and the wood of your bedroom door, you try your darndest not to miss the few minutes of cheese and crackers you’d share with the band, the feeling of being included by people you didn’t think would bat an eye. It felt silly, when you realised they were also just high schoolers with different interests, the isolation having been a wall constructed in your consciousness alone. 

The only thing you can manage is a hi when you pass in the hallways, or a quick goodbye when you get into Chan’s car where they crowd. It isn’t until you’re walking home late from study group when it’s past dark that you have a chance, the sound of music still rumbling from the shuttered garage door. There’s a temporary slouch in your shoulders, and a mind that’s too tired, too sleepy, and frankly, too sick of your own bedroom. So you find yourself walking into the garage from the door on the inside of the house, soliciting a very exciting response.

“Oh? Has the snack goddess returned?” Yeonjun asks, in jest because you can see the empty tray of snacks already devoured and digested. 

“Hey,” you smile tightly. You don’t know if it’s because you’re near exhausted, but the prospect of looking at Chan feels like it would push you over the edge you’ve been teetering on for weeks. 

Suddenly, this seems like it was a bad idea. 

“What, missed us too much?” Hansol muses, and you immediately want to cry.

You can’t understand what’s going on, but suddenly, the buzz of being around Chan is doing worse than just flooding you with a manageable buzz.

The weather’s getting warmer, and he’s wearing a t-shirt that reveals a universally acceptable amount of skin, but it feels like a visual hook when your eyes glaze over his form.

And then there it is.

The upturn of the corners of his mouth, the cascade of his dark hair, the way he enunciated, “Geon’s been worried about you.”

Have you? Have you, Chan?

Not a thought about the fact that these were the most amount of words he’d said to you in years, not a thought about how he’s looking directly at you, or that he addressed you in a way that wasn’t passive or monosyllabic. 

It’s the strange sting of tears that takes you aback, the itch in your nose, the lump in your throat. “I’m fine.” You sound…watery. “Just wanted to check in. Have fun.”

Through the now shut door of the garage, you hear a voice through the wood. “Geon’s been worried about her? Fuck you, Chan, seriously.”

When you make it up to your bedroom, it’s just another punch to the gut. The purple of your curtains, the baby blue of your bedsheets, the glitter of that stupid ukulele you just can’t seem to throw away. 

The pink of your CD player.

It’s all too much. Too much in the tears that roll down your face, too much in the sound of your sniffles, too much in the ache in your temples.

Too much, but after the years where it all felt so unsure, you find through the blur of your tears the clear sign pointed directly at Chan. And the one that doesn’t point back at you.

Your feelings weren’t even remotely new, but the epiphany you’d just received certainly was. 

You’re perfectly aware of how thick the air was when you slipped into the passenger seat Monday morning, refusing to look at Chan and simply muttering a small “hey”. As always. You slip into your nap that was mostly just you pretending to screw your eyes tight shut, head leaned against the window. 

The car slows to stop, but you don’t hear the sound of the door opening from the backseat to signal Geon leaving. 

It’s silent for a few moments before Geon pipes up. “Did you make her mad?”

“What?” 

“You did something.”

“Are you getting out or not?”

There’s a small mumble of “Idiot” as opens the door to leave, slamming the door shut with a force that shakes the entire car. It forces you to open your eyes, but you hardly flutter them as you stretch your arms out like you just woke up. You watch as you pull into the final turn that leads to your school, only to find Chan turn…the other way?

He pulls over to the side as soon as he makes the turn, exiting the car before you can react or ask what he was doing. You only stare as he enters a tiny neon lighted coffee shop tucked into a corner on the elevated pavement. It irritates you for some reason, so you simply tuck your head back into your own shoulder and close your eyes. The car door opens, and you feel him pull out to take the other turn. 

You don’t open your eyes till he parks and you hear the pull of the handbrake. Not even looking over, you reach for your bag to leave the car, only to be stopped by Chan. 

There’s two plastic cups in the cup holders and a paper bag with a bright logo. Chan picks one of the cups up and makes to exit the car. “The coffee’s only half a shot so it’s not too stimulating. Sandwich should warm up by lunch.”

He’s already slammed the door of the driver’s side shut, leaving you in your seat utterly perplexed. You stare at the light brown liquid in the to go cup, the slight stains of oil on the paper bag, mind blank. 

Then the door opens again, Chan poking his head in again, “I have to lock the car.”

“Oh!” You scramble to grab everything, looking up sheepishly. “Thanks for this.”

“S’fine.” 

And then he’s gone again, leaving you a mess you’re increasingly failing to conceal.

It seems the universe is dead set on ensuring your final weeks in high school are anything but laced with peace. 

The exhaustion, lack of sleep and the constant strain of using your brain so much is making you irrational. Suddenly, everything Chan does feels like a signal. 

It was coffee and a sandwich, then it was letting you know he was okay with waiting for you an extra hour when you had meeting after school, calling you in the mornings instead of his usual brief text asking you to come outside. But then there were the sights you’d witness in school. He’d smile, talk, and laugh so loud you could hear him from across the hall, to boys and girls and teachers alike, like he was only odd around you. It’s giving you whiplash. It makes you wanna spin him around and ask him what on Earth you did wrong. Why he’s held such distaste for you since the day you two met all those years ago as kids. 

When you break down into tears in the middle of your Algebra final, your teacher only assumes it’s the stress of senior year getting to you, and it probably is. But you know there’s more to what’s happening to your emotions. 

The good thing is that was your last final, walking out of the doors of your high school, knowing you’d never have to think of the last few months of torture ever again. The doors aren’t nearly as flooded as you imagined the final day of high school would have them be, having been one of the last people to take the exam. A bleak end to a bleak year. 

That is, until you find the familiar silver sedan parked in the very front of the nearly empty parking lot. 

Chan did not have an Algebra exam today, he’d been done with school for a whole week, and you’d been taking the painstaking walk back home for your remaining days, as you had expected to do for your very last. 

He’s leaning against the driver’s side door outside in the near empty parking lot anyway, wearing a black hoodie despite the warm afternoon, his jeans a dark blue. 

Your knees weaken. Why was he here?

Taking slow steps down to the parking lot, Chan finally notices you approaching, straightening up as you grow closer. 

“Are you done?” he asks first, which is jarring enough that he piped up before you. 

“Did you have a final today?” you ask sharply

“Uh, no.” 

“Did you have work in the admin office?” you push. 

“No—”

“Then why are you here?” 

That seems to stump him, his eyes flitting to everywhere but you. “I just—I thought you might need a ride.”

It’s silent as you stare at him, disbelief engulfing you. Nothing was making sense, he doesn’t make sense. 

“Chan, I just—” you stop, feeling the tears pool into your eyes. “I just don’t get you.”

Chan notices the wobble in your voice, the glisten in your eyes as he finally, finally, brings his gaze up to yours to take in your face. His face is unreadable, as it always has been, and it only overwhelms you more. It seems you feel too much and he doesn’t at all. 

“I…Seungkwan said you weren’t doing too well during your exam—” Of course, Seungkwan was in the same room as you wrote your final, the blabbermouth never knowing when to stop. 

“And you came running? Why Chan?”

“I don’t know, I just thought—” You cut him off again, because it’s the same Chan over and over and over again. No intonation to his voice, not an emotion on his face. 

There was nothing left to keep you tethered anymore, and you hardly understood what you were saying as you had a meltdown right there in your school parking lot, tears rushing down your face like some dramatic soap opera. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. And I don’t know if it’s in my head or if it’s true or if you think it’s funny, but I think I liked it better when you just acted like I didn’t exist. I fucking like you, Chan and I don’t know…fuck, I don’t know anything. I could handle it when you didn’t care, I could handle it when you seemed to want to be friends with the entire world but me, when you looked at me like I wasn’t worth a conversation. But please just, stop doing whatever it is you’re doing right now. I’m tired of being confused.”

The world disappears as you sniffle loudly, wiping your tears and the trickle from your nose with your sleeve, having no care of what you look or sound like anymore. Everything was overflowing, and you needed it out into the air before it poisoned you from the inside out. 

And despite it all, minutes tick by where there’s nothing but the sound of your own tears, not a single word from the boy who merely stands before you like a human punching bag, never punching back.

“Chan!” you voice. “You’re supposed to say something now.”

Looking up to his beautiful face, you only feel yourself bursting into a fresh set of tears. 

“You…” he starts slowly. “You like me?”

“That’s what I said, yes,” you grit. You have half a mind to swing your near empty bag at him, just to have something to do, to get a reaction out of him that wasn’t perpetually lukewarm. 

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

In that moment, you feel your first headway of clarity. Letting his response sink in. Okay. Let’s go home. That’s all he had to say.

You did go home, but it wasn’t in his car.

The days leading up to your graduation ceremony were headlined with staying away from your house as much as possible. The weekdays were for hogging your friends’ TVs and eating from their fridge as you left for home well past dark, the weekends were when you just wouldn’t return home at all, sleeping over  under the pretense of blowing off steam. Which was true, almost.

You hadn’t seen Chan since that day, the aftermath of the explosion taking over your mind as you did everything to distract yourself from the fact that things would never be the same. Despite it all, you couldn’t help but feel significantly lighter, like a world’s worth of burden had been lifted off your chest. There was nothing to hide anymore.

But you were aware you’d have to face the music today as you adjusted the strap of your nice shoes under your dress and gown, the hat placed on your done hair already slipping. You make a mental note to pin it better. 

It’s easy to let the thought slip away as you make your way to the stage to accept your diploma, the distinct cheers and flashes of a camera from your family in the crowd as you give out a genuine smile. For better or for worse, Chan accepts his while you’re in the process of getting back to your seat, so you don’t see him. 

The grass area is flooded with students and families taking pictures and shedding tears and overflowing with congratulations. Your own parents usher you into a million different poses for the camera; flowers, without flowers, diploma, without diploma, each parent and then both. 

The last one had you forcing a smile, because that’s when the Lee family joins you to take larger group pictures. Chan holds up the camera as you smile at the lens, attempting to forget what lay behind it. 

Then comes the bit you’d been dreading. It’s you, Chan and Geon pushed into frame, to which you manage to push Geon between you two as a saving grace. 

“Now one with just the grads!” Chan’s dad yells out as he ushers you two to get closer. 

You hesitate too outwardly, because Chan is immediately filling the gap and stepping in next to you, flowers in both your hands to occupy them. You were thankful for it, because you’d really be selling the fact that things weren’t okay if they saw how awkward your hands would’ve been. 

It’s easier to avoid him for the rest of the day, even during dinner where you chose to sit on the opposite end of the table from him. You can hardly see him as you eat, joining in on the conversation like normal. 

By the time you’re home and in bed, under your baby blue sheets dark under the lack of light, you half congratulate yourself for avoiding him as good as you did today. Nearly drifting off in contentment before you feel the distinct buzz of your phone. 

Pulling out your phone from under you, you tap the screen to check the notification. 

Your heart is in your throat.

[Chan 12:42 AM]: Can you meet me at the park

All you can do is stare at the digitized letters, blinking furiously like they’d disappear if you shook off the delusion. But all it does is pop up another.

[Chan 12:45 AM]: Please

Please. 

Why were you so simple? 

Getting out of bed, it’s all you can think about. Pulling a zip up over your shirt and shorts, you put on your slippers and leave the house as quietly as possible. 

The walk was hardly five minutes, but it was impossible to not think about what on earth Chan wanted to talk to you about. Scrolling up the chatbox, it was riddled with nothing but the same monotonous texts, this new one glaring like a sore thumb in the midst of your empty, nonexistent relationship. 

The only thing you can hear is the crunch of your own footsteps on the gravel and the thump of your own heartbeat as the park comes into view. All you can see is Chan’s face sitting on the bench waiting for you, his clothes so dark they disappear. There’s a single street light illuminating the area, like a spotlight to the irony of the moment. 

Chan gets up as he sees you. “I didn’t think you’d come. You didn’t answer my text.”

You’re keeping a good ways away from him, needing the space if you were to think clearly. “Why did you ask for me to come here?”

He swallows visibly, the gulp obvious in the way his throat bobs. He presses his lips together, whisker dimples too noticeable to you for comfort. “I just…”

And then you watch him put his hand into his pockets, fiddling around for something. He emerges with a folded piece of paper, wrinkled like it’d been scrunched up and smoothed back out again. You almost think he’s gonna hand it to you, till he unfolds it himself. 

“I’m not…please don’t laugh. I don’t know how to put this into words so I wrote it down. I’m gonna read it off of here, I know how lame this is but I know talking to you is more important. Just, please don’t laugh.”

Chan looks at you, directly at you, like he was waiting for confirmation. Your eyes trail over to the sheet in his hands, his grip on the paper. He almost looks like he’s shaking a little. You try to absorb what’s going on. The tailspin in your mind is the usual with the way it becomes when Chan is around. But through the buzz, you realize this is the first time he’s reaching out.

So you nod. He takes a breath, and begins to speak. 

“I wanted to say sorry for being an ass. I didn’t mean to hurt you by being distant or not talking to you, but I can’t lie and say I wasn’t behaving that way on purpose. When I met you in middle school, I was probably the biggest asshole I ever knew. I never realised it but after that conversation in the parking lot, I thought about how horrible I must’ve made you feel about the things you liked the first day we met. I don’t know why I would avoid you or make things awkward like I did, but it felt like I couldn’t face you without struggling to do it. I didn’t realise how much I liked you till we started practicing in your garage, when you’d show up and talk to the band. It looked like it was fun talking to you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And then you disappeared, and I felt disappointed when it wasn’t you who walked in with the trays of snacks anymore. 

All of my friends noticed how I’d never talk to you, and they knew how I felt before I could come to terms with it. They pushed me to start…doing things to show you how I felt. But I don’t think I executed that very well. I didn’t realise how that was making you feel either. And it’s my fault because I just…I just don’t know how to talk to you. I hate that I can’t look you in the eye or the fact that I have to fucking…fucking write this down just so I can talk to you about it. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and that…I do really like you. This doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, but I’m trying to be better. I don’t know how to end this, but I hope I’m making sense.”

Chan lets his hands drop, his head following as he takes a long breath in and out. 

“Chan?” you start, voice shaky. He looks up to you, and you see the red that rims his eyes, the bite he has on his lower lip. “Can I hug you?” He answers you by moving forward himself, touching you for the first time as he places his hands on your upper arms tugging you towards him. You’re immediately hugging him, your arms coming around his torso in a tight hug. 

“Don’t think about it, Chan,” you whisper. “Stop thinking.”

Maybe he heeds, because you feel his arms coming around you properly, squeezing you tight. Your face is buried into his neck, breathing him in. You let out a small sob, letting your fingers dig into his back, molding into him. There’s less hesitation in his movements now, and it’s like you can feel the tension leaving him as he melts into your hold. 

Right there, in the middle of the park, it all feels so impossible. From the fact that Lee Chan just said he liked you, that he’s hugging you, or the feeling of his lips on your forehead as you slowly pull away. 

“That was brave of you,” you say, a hint of a smile on your face. 

He smiles too, and your heart swells. “Don’t praise me for talking.”

“I forgive you. Thank you for apologising,” you sigh. Staring up at his face, you do the same thing you’d done for so long at a distance. The lines of his eyes, the low slope of his nose, the deep corners of his mouth. Leaning up, you kiss him on the cheek. “We can figure out the rest together.”

Right at that moment, in the summer before college, freshly graduated and celebrating a close, there was more than one open waiting on the other side. There was an entire summer left to build on what you and Chan didn’t in the past years, and as you’d go to college to try and figure it out all over again, there’s comfort in the fact that you won’t be doing it alone this time. 

[thatgirl4815]

First Kisses

Since I keep talking about kisses, I might as well point out how the show has given us three distinctly different first kisses for each of the couples. Each kiss seems to epitomize their greater plot line and emphasize how each of these couples represent something tonally and thematically different and yet, very similar at the same time.

We’ve gotten a range of kisses from Kinn and Porsche, but the fact that this first one is so delicate and tender and emotional is a huge indicator of the course of their relationship. I mean think about it: Kinn and Porsche have just had one of the most open talks Kinn has probably ever had in his life. Kinn let his facade temporarily fall away to confess all of his inner turmoil over his job--all to someone he hardly even knows. I remember a lot of the fandom discussing whether or not this kiss happened too fast, but in hindsight, I think it’s even more clear that this kiss says more about Kinn than about the two of them as a couple. Kinn latches on and he latches on tight; he falls and he falls fast. Why wouldn’t he kiss Porsche when emotional connection and stability is the one thing he craves so desperately? It terrifies him, but he would also be lost without it. 

Music: Daniel Kaede’s Japanese Dawn is a beautiful, appropriately-delicate mood-setter for their openness. And I don’t need to get into Jeff’s OST because the words themselves just confirm how much Kinn needs Porsche in this moment. (Side note, but does anyone else feel emotionally attacked by the opening notes of Why Don’t You Stay? Because I do.)

Theme: I’ve already laid it out pretty distinctly, but if I was to narrow down the theme in this scene and in KP’s entire relationship, it’s that everybody needs somebody they can trust. It’s fundamental, but it’s even more necessary for people like Kinn, who have been trained that complete trust leads to a lack of caution, which leads to betrayal, which leads to everything falling apart. But being together, even for just a moment, in a world that always seems to be trying to take you down...that’s the most powerful thing. 

I will just confess this right off the bat: I’m not a big fan of KimChay’s relationship, mostly because it doesn’t carry as much depth and weight as the other two. But that got me thinking...that’s probably the point. It’s meant to balance out the intensity of KP and VP with its innocence. But that also got me thinking about the fact that Chay is the only one bringing real innocence to this relationship. Even though Kim is not directly involved in the mafia life, his entire plot line ultimately revolves around it. Chay brings a light to that darkness the same way Porsche brings a lightness to Kinn. And I think that this kiss and everything before it honestly surprises Kim. He wanted to use Chay even if that meant manipulating his emotions, but he never thought he would actually develop some feelings in return. 

Music: Barcode’s OST captures the innocence of his affection for Kim, and it also plays into themes I’ve seen in a lot of other BLs about young love, growing together, etc. Again, the innocence is clear.

Theme: In some ways, the theme of Kim and Chay’s relationship isn’t all that different from Kinn and Porsche’s. Kim puts on a cold, reserved exterior, probably as a result of his own deep-seated issues. It’s interesting and definitely intentional for Kim/Kinn and Porsche/Chay to mirror each other so much. Kim and Chay is the much subtler, teenage version of what Kinn and Porsche have, and I see their first kiss as reflecting themes of young love. Trust plays a role in their relationship, but again, not to the same extent as KP.

I’m honestly conflicted on whether or not to call this VP’s “first kiss,” because though it technically is, I’d argue that it’s different than the others for a few reasons. The other two kisses were consensual and desired by the recipient. Porsche is drunk, yes, but he’s with-it enough to know who he’s speaking to, return the kiss, and remember it later. Chay basically instigates the romance in the first place by talking with Kim. Also, the atmosphere of both KP and KC’s kisses is romantic. We could’ve guessed we were going to get a kiss between them based on the general setting and set-up. But with VP, Vegas is planting this kiss on Pete, and Pete doesn’t return it. He simply lays there, caught off guard, unable to resist or respond. This, of course, says more about Vegas than about the two of them together (like how KP’s first kiss says more about Kinn).

Again, it might be controversial, but I’d argue that this--

--is the real first kiss between Vegas and Pete because they both respond to it. If we decide to count this as VP’s real first kiss, then I’ll say that it’s the first one we see that’s almost strictly passionate. It’s rushed, it’s desperate, it’s frantic, it’s all-consuming. It’s clearly more lustful than either of the other kisses.

Music: Max’s Anson’s Stable Delusion kicks into gear soon after this kiss, and while I am not a fan of the choice to use it here, I do think it at least coincides with the fact that this is far from the tenderness we see with KP and KC...at first, anyway. Later into the scene, the kisses become much more delicate, but here it’s charged with desire pretty exclusively.

Theme: All in all, I think the fact that it starts passionate and physical and gets tender later on thematically suggests that Pete and Vegas’s relationship is very passionate and toxic and potentially threatening, while the undercurrent is tender and sweet and loving. It’s the difference between the undercurrent and overcurrent. 

--

Anyway, I probably talked myself in circles a few times here, but overall, I think we’re meant to see how these relationships overlap in terms of emotion, but how they differ in terms of tone. 

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think. 

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

 Azriel

 Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

 Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

 Elain

 “He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

 Azriel

 Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

 Elain

 Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

 As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.  

 The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn’t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

 ********************

 Azriel

 Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed…tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.”

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, “if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, “there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

 Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

 It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 10

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Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Marinette’s collection of vigilantes in her house was still growing, somehow. You’d think it would stop with just the ones that consistently lived in Gotham, but no.

Nightwing started dropping by whenever he was in town to try and teach her escrima. She wasn’t good with them because she wasn’t used to fighting people up close, but she didn’t really think that that was the reason why they were doing it.

Still, it was fun…

(Except for that one time they’d been heading back to her house and she dropped her phone down the drain and had to beg the rat-person -- she was pretty sure Nightwing had called them Ratcatcher? -- for help. It was very traumatizing. He’d given her a new phone but she was never going to recover emotionally from that day.)

And then, a few days before Thanksgiving, Flamebird had made an appearance.

The reason why was less fun, though.

She’d opened her blinds and stared at him for a few moments. He was leaning against her fire escape, hand pressed to his stomach.

“Hey, Robin, does Flamebird usually do the Napoleon pose?”

“The…? Oh, no, he does not.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I thought so.” She swung her window open. “Hi. Nice to meet you. What happened?”

“Got stabbed.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Okay, yeah, obviously, want to elaborate?”

“Got stabbed in the stomach,” he said, after a second’s thought.

So, no, then. She shrugged to herself and let him come inside.

“Right, Robin, go get the medkit out from under my sink,” she said, pulling a hairband from her wrist and tying her hair back.

Flamebird frowned. “Can’t you just undo everything with your magic?”

“Not magic,” supplied Tikki, popping her head out of Marinette’s pocket.

“FUCK,” yelped Flamebird.

Damian made the quiet clicking sound he made whenever he was about to say something rude but Marinette cut him off with a glare and pointed him towards the bathroom. Damian grumbled a little under his breath but obeyed for fear of being thrown out.

She turned back to Flamebird. “Also, that’s not how my ‘magic’ works. If I’m not involved in a fight…” She made a ‘poof’ motion with her hands. “No miracle cure.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Man, if I’d known that I would’ve just dealt with this myself.”

“Well, it is too late for that,” said Damian, who had come back out with a medkit. “Now, sit down, we will tend to your wound.”

And they did.

(Or, rather, Marinette did. It didn’t matter if she knew, logically, that he already knew how wounds looked and how to treat them, she just didn’t feel comfortable making him help. She sent him off to play with the cat and worked on dressing it. She’d made a mistake here by doing the normal routine while stitching someone up: asking about things they liked to distract them. He said he was an ‘avid reader’, she’d laughed and said that she probably wouldn’t know any of the books he mentioned because she hardly ever read in English, and now she was apparently in a book club. That was on her, she supposed, but it was still a little irritating.)

And that was all the vigilantes. They all came over from time to time. Sometimes they’d see each other and give each other awkward smiles or actively ignore each other, but it became a constant part of her life.

But it all came to a head one seemingly regular day.

She had been walking up the stairs to her apartment with Tim, ten bags of groceries loaded onto her arms and five on his (he was to open the door), and had nearly bumped into him when he stopped suddenly.

“Cass?” He asked, confused.

She raised her eyebrows just slightly. She’d thought everyone knew about each other but, now that she thought about it, because of the scheduling Tim wouldn’t really be around when everyone else came by.

He took Cass’s arrival in stride, though, fishing his key out of his pocket and pushing the door open.

He did not take in stride the fact that Duke, Damian, and Nightwing were all inside her house already. Duke was sitting on her counter, wrapped in a blanket as he scrolled through his phone. Damian was playing with Vanelope. Nightwing was doing stretches on her floor.

“Hey, look, more people that don’t live here,” Marinette said with only a hint of bitterness.

Nightwing glanced up. “You’re out of chips.”

“Already --?!” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Fine. Fine. I got more, anyways.”

Tim snapped out of it. He closed and locked the door quickly before sending Marinette a pout. “Alright, I can get you cheating on me with Cass, but come on,” he half joked.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “If one of the people I’m apparently cheating with is a five-year-old --.”

“TWELVE.”

“-- then I think you have more things to worry about than my serial adultery, darling.”

“... guess that’s true.”

“Also, I only buy groceries with you, so you’re clearly my favorite concubine.”

Duke grinned. “Actually --.”

“Except for that one time I asked Signal to go find ricotta because I’d forgotten it,” she conceded. “I guess he's my second favorite.”

Cass pouted and raised her hand.

“She makes a good case for herself. You’ve both been demoted,” she joked.

Tim was still pouting. Probably has something to do with going from favorite to second favorite. Who knows.

She rolled her eyes. She had bigger problems. Like her food. There were frozens and she was not going to lose her food to something as stupid and useless as the air. She waved him along as much as she could with the bags digging into her arms and started putting things away.

She tipped her head back after a second to squint at everyone. They were awkwardly staring at each other, for some reason… oh, right, they technically didn’t know each other.

“Uh, introductions, I guess. Signal, Robin, and Nightwing, meet my friends. Tim, Cass, meet my annoyances.”

Tim perked up a little at being called a friend rather than an annoyance. Problem solved. Kind of.

He set down his bags and leaned close to her ear. “So, they don’t know you know?”

“Duke does,” she mumbled back. “I’m not going to tell them about it, though, I want to see how long it takes them to notice.”

He snickered. “I can get behind that.”

“Good. You didn’t have a choice in the matter,” she joked, leaning forward to press a kiss to his nose.

She could hear Cass groan a little at the obvious affection and both Duke and Damian cringed. She fought the urge to laugh. It was just a little kiss on the nose, they didn’t have to act like it was scandalous or gross.

But, apparently, it was gross enough for Damian to grab her arm to try and pull her attention away from Tim (and physically pull her away from him, she noted, as she was forced to take a half-step back from him).

“Did you get more of my gummy bears?”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you ask for them? Did you tell me you were out?”

He looked a little put out and she felt bad enough to give up the act quickly:

“Yes, kid, I got you your weird vegan gummy bears.”

He beamed and started sifting through her bags.

She smiled fondly and ruffled his hair, ignoring the knife that was sent her way for the action with practiced ease, then started putting things away.

Everyone except Damian made their way over to help. There were no ulterior motives, they insisted, even as she watched Nightwing slip a bag of chips into Damian’s hoodie for safekeeping and Duke pocket an apple.

At least Cass and Tim were reasonably well-behaved, she thought right before she watched him split an orange with her.

~

Tim squinted at the three people below him.

Jon had come to visit because a) the no metas in Gotham rule had more or less stopped being enforced due to constant complaints from the Justice League, b) Damian needed friends his age, and c) it was Christmas and Jon was so sure that this year was going to be the year that Damian finally understood the holiday.

And, because Jon had come to visit, so had Conner. The worst part of being an older brother that Tim understood all too well.

But, now, he looked down at the three people gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

They were apparently competing to see who could be the stupidest. Steph was standing on a banister, Marinette was trying to sit on a vertical bo staff, and Conner was doing a handstand on both of their heads. It was a little shaky, what with Steph’s barely restrained laughter and the fact that bos are not meant to be balanced on and Conner trying to do tricks, but they were clearly having fun.

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the entrance to the cave. Did he have a type?

Their comms crackled to life and all three went stock-still, grins wiped from their faces briefly as they listened to see what had happened.

“I am requesting the night off to have an outing with Superboy.”

Bruce gave the grunt that meant ‘fine’.

The three relaxed now that they knew that everything was okay, quickly going back to their game. Marinette had added a surfboard. Steph was struggling with an exercise ball. Conner was slowly taking off fingers.

Tim sighed to himself. Yep. Dumbasses who can only be serious for truly important things -- and, even then, only for a few seconds at a time. That was his type. Someone, please, save him.

~

It had been a while since Marinette had gone out on her own (with the intention of staying alone, leaving for patrols didn’t count). Really, she normally wouldn’t, but she needed to pick up a piece of fabric she’d forgotten to get the day before and it wasn’t even a meter’s worth. She didn’t need help for that.

Besides, going by herself was much quicker. She was able to go by rooftop as Ladybug.

Of course, going as Ladybug had a risk to it that she didn’t realize until it was too late: responsibilities.

She groaned to herself as she made to jump to the next roof and her eyes landed on a person getting mugged in the alleyway below her.

She looked down at the bag with her fabric inside it and wondered if it was even worth leaving it there while she got rid of the attacker. Most of the time the people mugging people in Gotham were using fake guns. Even if they weren’t, muggings were common enough that most people had little on them and were only slightly annoyed when people tried to rob them. The person below was no exception, it seemed. They scoffed when the gunman poked their back.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” they said irritably.

Wait, shit, she knew that voice.

She squinted down into the darkness and, yep, she would recognize that almost unhealthily pale skin anywhere.

She dropped down into the alley between them and, to her slight surprise, it turned out the gun actually did have bullets in it. A shot rang out. She fell back a step, cradling her shoulder.

The gunman’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to shoot her. It had probably just been a split second reaction.

Unfortunately for him, getting shot really fucking hurts and she was going to take it out on him. Especially since he’d been trying to mug one of her friends. She glanced back at Tim, who was shaking and a little pale, and grit her teeth. Yeah, this guy was fucked.

Eventually, though, the pain in her shoulder, worsened by all the movement, got too unbearable and she rolled off of the mugger. She tied the man’s hands and feet behind his back with her yoyo and, after calling Miraculous Ladybug, called it a day. She’d get her yoyo back later.

For now, she pressed a hand to her ear. “Hey, Signal, I’ve got one for you.”

“You’re joining me for daytime patrols now?” He asked, his voice somehow brighter than the powers he had.

“Nah, just happened to come across…” She considered embarrassing Tim but decided against it when she saw her friend’s face. “... someone getting mugged while out today.”

He huffed a little but she ignored it in favor of relaying the address.

The perpetrator to be taken care of, she turned to the victim. She didn’t know whether the rules applied to people you knew, but she figured she might as well go through with the normal procedure. Tim liked procedure, it might help him.

So, step one: connect with the victim. She unzipped her hoodie and smiled brightly, making sure her eyes crinkled behind her mask.

Step two: check to make sure they aren’t going into shock.

Normally, she was able to skip this step. The miracle cure got rid of it if they had gone into it before the attack… but his eyes were somehow both fixed intensely on her like he was scared she’d disappear if he chanced a look away and extremely vacant.

She took slow, careful steps towards him, hand out to check his pulse.

Once she was close enough, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a hug. Marinette didn’t quite know what to do. The part of her brain still doing the normal procedure told her to hug back because this was a scared victim that wanted comfort, but the other part was tempted to push him off to check for a concussion… even though, logically, he shouldn’t have one because she had cast Miraculous Ladybug so her arm wouldn’t have a bullet in it anymore --.

Oh. She was stupid.

He’d watched his friend get shot and now he was freaking out. Like people are supposed to do.

She hugged him back, bringing a hand up to run through his hair.

“Would you like me to take you home?” She asked.

“My… my friend lives near here,” said Tim quietly, mindful of the fact that the mugger was still within earshot.

She nodded. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

He bit his lip so hard that she worried he’d break the skin and nodded.

She took him home and, with only a brief stop to keep Vanelope from escaping, set him down on the couch. She kept a hand touching him at all times as she gathered the blankets and pillows strewn about by all the visits the bats made. For once, she was glad she never really had time to clean, she didn’t want to let go of him when he was clearly so concerned about her.

Less than five minutes later she’d wrapped them both up as tightly as she could with as many blankets as she could reach. He rested his head against her shoulder, arms loosely draped around her under the blankets. Vanelope settled on their laps and started to purr; she made a mental note to give her a bunch of treats later.

But, for now…

She cupped his cheeks in her hands and waited patiently as he struggled to pull himself together enough to actually be present.

“Darling, I said I wouldn’t go anywhere. I’m not breaking that promise. Okay?”

He nodded slightly, finally releasing his lip to speak: “Okay.”

She pressed a kiss to his nose. A half smile made its way across his face.

“Now, how do you feel about Big Fish?”

He squeezed her a little tighter. “The circus scene is cute.”

She nodded her agreement. “I like the daffodil scene better, personally, but it is pretty cute.”

She turned the movie on.

~

Tim was sure he was overreacting. Of course he was. She hadn’t died, she wasn’t even hurt any more. It clearly didn’t bother her, he had ‘accidentally’ chosen that shoulder to rest his head on and she hadn’t so much as winced when he had. No, the only worry she had was about him.

So, he should be fine.

But he wasn’t.

She’d been shot and, for a second, he’d feared it would be another Darla situation. And he couldn’t deal with another Darla situation. He couldn’t. He had to believe that he was better than that high school Tim that had let all his friends die. Because if he wasn’t better than that meant he couldn’t have friends and he couldn’t deal with that either.

He didn’t want to be alone again.

No, he wouldn’t let that happen. He could think of a plan, surely. He was a planner, he found problems and he dealt with them. That had been his coping mechanism pretty much since birth and (if you ignore all the workaholic tendencies, independence issues, and General Trauma) it was working out pretty well for him. Can’t be sad if there’s work to do, after all.

Yeah. Work. He was good at work.

He bit his lip.

Alright, so the problem stemmed from his fear of being alone… which wasn’t going to be fixed anytime soon. Good coping mechanisms? In this family? Please. Next.

Alright, so the problem stemmed from his fear of her getting hurt.

Simple solution! Don’t let her get hurt!

… not as simple a solution as it sounded on paper.

She wasn’t going to stop vigilantism anytime soon. He wouldn’t make her, and she wasn’t going to do it on her own accord. Even if she decided to at some point Tim didn’t have much hope for it. Every person in the family had tried that already, it never worked. They’d say that it would be fine, that they were going to stop for their mental health or even just permanently end it… but family was family and how could someone sit back and watch family get hurt when they could do something about it?

So, that wasn’t going to happen. What other answers were there?

Well, he supposed that she had left on her own and that was the main problem. If she hadn’t left on her own then he wouldn’t have followed after her in secret and he wouldn’t have gotten attacked in the first place.

But he couldn’t be around much more without it being weird unless he…

He couldn’t…

Could he?

He figured it was worth a shot. And he should ask now. If she said no he wouldn’t have to worry about her thinking him weird, she’d just assume it was a request made while in the middle of shock and forget about it.

He hesitantly let go of his lip.

“Hey, Bean?”

She stopped pretending to watch Big Fish for the sake of giving him privacy. “Yeah?”

“Remember when… I…” He bit his lip, trying to think of a better way to phrase it, but he couldn’t. There really was no casual way to ask. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Can I, maybe, move in with you?”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, before quickly shaking her head.

He must have looked pretty put out, because she rushed to explain herself:

"You’re under emotional duress, darling, it wouldn’t be right to say yes.”

He nodded his understanding and it was silent for a bit before he eventually said: “But, if I asked tomorrow… would you say yes?”

She looked at him for a while, her face unreadable, before she gave him a hesitant smile.

“Well, I already said that you basically lived here. I suppose there wouldn’t be anything wrong with making it official.”

[kris-p-banana-bread]

Here DOAFP fandom, have some organic, locally-sourced, home-grown pain. This is basically just me, a scarred older sibling, projecting on Bobby, another scarred older sibling. I really reached into my post-loss psyche for this, so I hope you enjoy the headcanons and meta (AKA I hope you shed at least one tear).

It won’t let me link it here so the post that inspired this is under the read more at the bottom ✨

- When I first watched doafp, I couldn't understand Elena's aversion to Sam becoming a prominent figure in her mom's and her life. Now I understand it almost too perfectly. There was never supposed to be someone after Robert. He and Gabi were deeply in love and happy. Robert was it; he was the first and true love of Gabi's life. Sam showing up probably felt like a huge and utterly disrespectful slap in the face of Robert's memory, because he wasn't even supposed to be there. I don't know if that's as eloquent as I wish it was, or if it makes sense, and it probably sounds really mean to Sam, but it's not even really about him. It was always supposed to be Robert; Sam hasn’t earned the right to be apart of or associated with her family

- After Robert dies, Gabi and Bobby make it a habit to find and keep photos and recordings/videos of Robert, even if the latter only has him saying one sentence. They won't make Elena join them for the search, but after they find some of those old audios of Robert, they'll sometimes play them back for little Elena

- Bobby put up the keep out sign (I credit this to a few other blogs for discussing this tho) because that's where he would cry sometimes. He actually used to be pretty close with Elena, but after he put up that sign and started distancing himself from them a bit so they wouldn't see the times he cracked, he got a little more short and jaded with her. It's that, plus just growing into a teenager and stuff. And I'm not saying that he and Elena have a bad relationship, but he's become more snappy and has more walls up than he used to

- Sometimes Elena feels bad because she doesn't always remember her dad's voice. She was pretty young when he died, so even though she recalls it a bit, and the recordings help, it's been a while since she's talked to him in person, so of course she doesn't quite remember what it's like to actually talk to Robert and she's forgotten some of his mannerisms. She likes to think she's all done (she marked the stages down in her grief journal after all) but grief isn't linear or all that rational, so it hits her hard sometimes

- I keep reading as an action close to my heart because that's a strong bond me and my mom shared. She would rec books to me, and we would joke and talk about them, or she would hint to some future event and then refuse to tell me until I caught up to that part. So Elena and Bobby do something similar in their grief. Elena has writing and words, because that's something Robert loved if I remember correctly (but if I’m not and that’s not canon, then I now declare it so) and Bobby has tennis. But besides tennis (I sent a couple anons to @freshlybakedfandoms about it but I'm not sure where she went) Bobby also was taught to play guitar by Robert (I liken it to Devi Vishwakumar and her harp) so when he misses his dad or is just sad, he'll take out his dad's old acoustic and strum

- (This next one is something I also think a lot about so this is pretty much 98% projection) Bobby thinks sometimes about the fact that he was never able to come out to his dad. He hadn't really started growing into that part of himself yet, and he never got to show it to his father. He wonders what he would have thought of him. Would he be angry? Would he dismiss him and say it was just a phase? Bobby didn't think so, but a little part of him insisted that you could never be too sure. After he comes out, Gabi and Cami assure him that Robert would've been so proud of him and would've loved him regardless (Since we know virtually nothing about him, I maintain that Robert was one of those dads who teases their kid relentlessly about their crushes and I think he would've done that with Bobby and eventually Elena)

- When Elena's quince rolls around (if she chooses to have one of course), Sam dances with her during the father-daughter dance. A part of her still hurts, still aches and wishes that Robert were dancing with her too; still knows on some fundamental level that he and Gabi had planned for this day, but he had simply never made it. But she's known Sam long enough that she feels comfortable here. Nobody can replace Robert, but Sam is her family, and it feels right like this.

- I might do some more research and deliberate, but for the moment I'm saying that Robert had cancer, I’m thinking along the lines of colon. My mom was terminal, but idk if I should make Robert terminal? Maybe towards the end. Or maybe he was diagnosed as incurable early on but Gabi kept it from the kids because, tbh, being told your parent is balancing on that kind of edge is traumatic for them. So anyways, I’m going on that assumption for this last point, and I’ll see if I can recover some of my old knowledge and talk about technical stuff later if anybody would like to hear it

- Elena and Bobby were both pretty young. Bobby understood about PET scans and tests somewhat, and knew generally what different answers from doctors meant. Elena mainly just understood what was happening by reading her parents' and brother's expressions when getting lab results in from the doctor. They both remember on some level what it was like when Gabi would leave the kids with Cami and take Robert out to the car (later she would have to help him) and they would all feel like they were holding their breath until they got back and confirmed that everything was ok (and later, the little shocks of fear when the answers were no longer as positive and there was more apprehension and risks. After all, cancer doesn’t deal in absolutes)

- Bobby can still remember Robert when he had to stop walking around a lot. He still remembers the phone call that Cami got from his mom, saying that something had gone wrong, and if this last treatment didn’t work, he wouldn’t have much time before he passed. Still remembers Cami rushing into a room when she got that call, and trying to hide what was happening until Gabi could get home and explain it; but Bobby was a sharp kid believe it or not. He heard about the treatment, heard Cami crying. He still had hope... but when Robert came home in a gurney, when he could barely stay awake sometimes, when his voice was quiet and his skin was a little jaundiced, Bobby felt incredibly empty. But Robert always had a smile for his wife and his beautiful kids, even if it was small and very tired, his eyes still crinkled the same. He always had a smile; right up until they had to say goodnight and get some sleep one night. And then... he passed.

- After he passed, the Cañero-Reeds needed help, and a lot of Gabi’s coworkers would bring food or materials if they were running low. Cami and Danielle would babysit and would distract the kids when Gabi needed a good cry.

- Like you’d imagine, and because of what is sort of implied in canon and in my own head, the kids dealt with it in different ways. Bobby put up that sign, and withdrew. He wasn’t awful, but his patience with certain people got a bit shorter and he was a bit quieter. And he was a really good helper when he had the energy and he cared deeply, but he would sometimes get physically and emotionally exhausted after helping Gabi/Elena/Cami/anybody else with something and would go into his room or mentally tap out to recharge. He took comfort in things that seemed natural and that he sometimes took for granted before, like video games and skateboarding (hehe bobby skateboards. Anybody second me on this?) and clothes etc... and other stuff. A lot of materialistic things or experiences that he would skip out on before. But they bring normalcy back to his life now so he loves them for that.

- Bobby doesn’t wanna think about big themes or anything anymore, which I can’t remember but I think it was Vi (freshlybakedfandoms, again, idk where she is and I hope she’s ok) who said he was a math and science person and I think that as much as that could transfer over to those subjects as well, it’s much harder to avoid existential and emotional themes in English and History class and Bobby doesn’t like it as much as Elena does for that reason. He had to live with the back and forth of his dad’s treatments and tests, so math and science is comforting because it’s more concrete (There could be a million arguments for why he would distrust math and science because of his dad’s passing though, I realize) Ultimately, though, it reminds him of Robert too much.

- On the other hand, after a period of shock and confusion, Elena threw herself into new things. First it was a grief journal, to make sure she was going through the motions. Then she read a lot, and when she felt too alone or like she wasn’t doing enough, like she was stagnant, she’d just find something to focus and persevere on again. That feels like her personality type to me; something is wrong so let’s fix it right away. But that could also transfer sort of negatively into “Something feels off or I’m very sad, let’s get this thing done and be productive so we can put off having to confront that but at least we get work out of it” but I could be entirely wrong (this is based off some of my family members and how they dealt with the loss.) And Elena throws herself into history and english because her dad loved it, and she wants to remember more of him. Because she believes words have power and history is a lesson and that’s incredibly interesting for her

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face I Want to Sit On

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Facesitting

<- Chapter 9 (continuation of A New Arrangement)

Summary: Post Red-Dragon Chilton refuses to take his mask off again after the first time you were together. Getting him over his insecurity about his face might require a little kink. NSFW.

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

For @thatesqcrush​’s kink bingo! @caked-crusader​ USED YOUR TITLE XD

2,139 words

A month into your arrangement with Dr. Frederick Chilton, and he was still devastatingly insecure about his appearance. He paid you, officially, as a financial consultant for his estate. Unofficially, he was paying you for sex. Technically—as that would be illegal—he was paying for your company, and you just happened to usually (though not always) have sex. Occasionally, he really would have a financial question for you, or he wouldn’t be up for it and you would just cuddle together and watch movies.

But he wouldn’t remove the mask for you again.

You had already seen his face once, scarred, singed bare of hair and eyebrows, lips absent around his white teeth. You didn’t mind it nearly as much as he did—it was different, and what happened to him was tragic, but he was handsome. He seemed happy with the unconditional acceptance you offered, and the kisses you pressed to his not-lips, and you thought he would start letting his guard down.

Yet when he greeted you at the door on your next visit, though he leaned seductively against the door frame, his cocky smirk was hidden behind a stone-faced mask. The more you flirted and prodded for him to take it off, the more prickly and defensive he became.

“I just want to know all of you,” you pouted.

He snapped, “I am not paying you to know me.”

And with that died not only your hope of greater intimacy, but also your plans to tell him to forget about the money. You were going to admit that you only took it in the first place because of how excitingly taboo it was, and that you would rather be his girlfriend, but a ball of ice sank in your stomach as you read between the lines of his cold words. If it wasn’t on his terms, he didn’t want you.

The fact that you had seen his face had been acceptable only briefly, during a moment of intense passion that overrode the alarm bells of anxiety, and now that the moment had passed, knowing you had seen it only made things worse.

He took to fucking you from behind, bending you over a table or pushing your face into the mattress, rather than let you look at him, even with the mask on. He pinned your hands if you tried to touch his head, his neck—anywhere close enough to mask to threaten its security. It was disheartening to think he was withdrawing from you emotionally, but you enjoyed hearing his noises as his cock sank into your tight entrance. “Oh god—oh god,” he moaned for you. He was very vocal in his pleasure, surprised every time to know that you would have him. No matter how much you voiced your own pleasure, every time you showed up to one of your “appointments” and let him claim you, he still half expected you to run away in disgust. Every time his cock slid between your ass cheeks and found your cunt dripping with arousal for him, he was like a grateful puppy. His vulnerable whimpering behind you turned you on, and his fingers interlaced with yours, squeezing for dear life as he came. It was still intimate. Despite his trying to pull away, he was still intimate in his own, guarded way.

One day you discovered something about Frederick Chilton quite by accident, and that knowledge began to change everything. He gained strength every day, but he was still easily exhausted, so you often catered to him when he was needy. He was getting a little too comfortable treating you as a pet at his beck and call, and so on this particular day when he whined for you to make him a cup of Earl Grey, you whipped about and demanded, “Get it yourself!” He looked shocked by your defiance, unaccustomed to not getting his way, but did as he was told. “Bring me one, too!” you added. He complained the whole time, but did.

When you begged him to do something—pouting, saying please—he might tease you, deny you, or snap with annoyance if he didn’t like the question.

If you told him to do something, he obeyed.

And it seemed, as much as he enjoyed being served, he also gained great satisfaction from being of service. In bed, doubly so. While you first took him to be very dominant—considering his natural role as the wealthy doctor skulking in his mansion who “bought” you, and the way he could get very particular about telling you how to dress, and undress, and what positions he wanted you in—you slowly recognized how much he enjoyed being subservient.

The first time you challenged him when he wanted you to face away from him again, telling him, “No. I’m on top today,” a fire came into his eyes. You grew more assertive in telling him where you wanted him to touch you, and how hard, how fast, and he was eager to please you. He always wanted to please you, and was thrilled when you let him know exactly how—even if it meant looking into your eyes as you fucked. A whole different connection began to grow as you had conversations about it, about who was in charge when, what sorts of things you could ask each other to do, and how to refuse. It wasn’t as though you were doing anything particularly extreme, but it was becoming more of a game, and as such, needed rules. The more he trusted you, the more you took control, and the more you took control, the more he finally relaxed.

When he surrendered to your will, he didn’t have to doubt or question himself, or how desirable he was. Every day, you made him feel that much more confident.

“I’m going to ride your face,” you growled, pushing his shoulders down onto the pillows so his head was up at a slight angle. You crawled on top of him, straddling his chest with your naked thighs. “Mask, or your mouth?” you asked, the timber of your voice demanding an answer, giving him a few seconds to choose.

Behind the mask his eyes were pale, pupils narrowed to pinpricks at the thought of being exposed, and from his throat issued a small tense noise but no words. He was obviously still too nervous to think about removing it, even for your pussy.

“I’m gonna use that mask to make myself come.” You narrowed your eyes and smirked at him, running the tip of your finger down the smooth porcelain contours, your tongue flicking over your lower lip as you crested its pointed nose. He let out a soft moan, chest rising and falling. “When I’m done you can fuck me, but only if you’re a good boy.”

“Yes, mistress.”

You could feel his breathing quicken as you straddled his face, warm puffs of it whistling out the sides of the mask tickling your thighs. His excitement alone was already getting you aroused. You slowly lowered yourself and gasped as your sensitive flesh met cool porcelain. There was no give to its surface, but the smoothly sculpted swell of its lips was tantalizing against your clit. You grasped the headboard for balance, and began to rock, gently at first, spreading your wetness over the hard lips to lubricate them, then grinding your hips against them and feeling shockwaves of pleasure course through your spine as they massaged your clit.

Frederick’s hands gripped onto the back of your thighs, supporting your movements, and spreading your ass cheeks. He groaned. The mask must have been uncomfortably pushing into his face with your weight on it, but his eyes were darkened with lust. He breathed in deeply, smelling you and the slippery essence you were sullying his mask with, and he let out a long, intoxicated moan. He circled his chin, moving the mask against you as his long fingers dug into your thighs, trying to add to your pleasure—which could have been better, honestly. Warm, wet flesh always beat cold, hard porcelain.

“You wanna taste me, Frederick?” you asked, voice thick. He moaned, whimpering with frustration. “I know you want a taste,” you said, rolling your hips against his false mouth. You met his eyes very carefully and held the gaze. “Take off the mask.”

It was a command, but he knew he could refuse it if he wanted to. If it was too far. But signaling you to slow down would be letting you win, and he never admitted defeat. He would never break, never fail to serve you. He admired you, and you deserved anything you wanted from him. His hands left your ass, and you backed off of him as he reached under his chin, and tipped the mask up.

Without any lingering hesitation other than a brief, sweet smile at him, your pussy crashed back down against his face and rode him, hot and dripping, his tongue lapping up your juices. Everything was worth the drawn-out, pornographic, moaning, slurping, voracious noises he made as he ate you out. You nearly came unseated with how intense the waves of pleasure were washing over you, your whole body immediately going warm and tingly and slack, so dizzy you almost forgot where you were. Fortunately his arms wrapped around your hips to draw you in closer, and held you firm against him.

“F-fuck,” you muttered, regaining some of your senses. “Fuck me with your tongue, Frederick.” Your head rolled back as he pointed his dexterous tongue and slipped into your cunt, muffling his groans as he savored your sweet taste. You bucked your hips into his mouth as he plunged his tongue in and out, writhing inside you.

His cock was rock hard, jutting straight upward out of his unzipped pants, weeping with precum. He reached down to jerk himself off, but you caught his hand and pinned his arm under your leg. “Tut-tut. Me first. Your hands are only to touch me, understand?”

“Yes, mistress,” he rasped.

“Good boy.” You stroked his head, caressing the burned stub of an ear as you lowered yourself back onto his tongue and the lewd wet noises continued. He slid a hand down your ass and between your legs to penetrate you, fucking you with two long, thick fingers, while the other hand angled itself to aid his tongue in working your clit. His lack of lips meant his mouth was lacking a few of the usual functions, like sucking, but the way he used his fingers so expertly to add pressure, gently pinch, and work in tandem with his tongue to increase your sensitivity, you would never have missed it.

A warm floating feeling overtook you without warning, and you felt yourself losing control. “Oh god, I’m gonna come, Frederick,” you whimpered. “I’m gonna come in that mouth. Oh god, Frederick—oh god—”

His fingers dug into your hips leaving deep impressions in your skin, holding you firm onto his face as he licked you through your orgasm, you writhing and crying out his praise. Wave after wave shook you, until your cries became ragged and desperate—he was holding you in place and overstimulating you. You might have let him, giving in and letting the warm pleasure build up inside you again, even fiercer this time, every muscle burning and overworked, but you hadn’t asked him to do that. You poked him a little roughly in the middle of the forehead, and told him, “That’s enough.” He whined and loosened his tight grip so you could get up. “Such an eager little slut, Frederick. You’d eat me out all day if I’d let you, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes.” He swallowed, eyes gleaming wickedly at the idea. A mingling of your wetness and his saliva dripped down his chin.

You laughed, low and teasing. “I thought you would be excited… it’s time for your reward now.” Leaning back, you reached for his hard and waiting cock. It throbbed in your hand, and he sucked a shallow breath.

“May I fuck you now, mistress?”

His voice was soft and eager, but you didn’t miss the edge of something more demanding creeping into it. “Ask nicely,” you said.

“Please let me fuck you.”

You grabbed a towel from the side of the bed and wiped off his chin. He didn’t flinch as you touched his face, well beyond that now. A smile slowly spread over your lips. “Since you were such a good boy, getting me off so well...” you pretended to think it over, “Fuck me, as hard as you want.”

[babysizedfics]

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 5: A Little Reconciliation

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary: Roman mollycoddles his brother, Patton makes a suggestion, Logan is perceptive, and Virgil is brave.

Chapter word count: 8,500

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Content warning: This chapter addresses (and resolves) some negative self-talk with regards to age regression, as well as alluding to cyberbullying. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to either of these topics.

Also, there is some swearing at the start - what else would you expect from adult Roman and Virgil?

oOo

Roman marched up the stairs armed with cookies, milk, and fierce determination.

The events of the previous day had left him wallowing in regret all night, and he was tired of it. No matter how much his caregivers had both made a significant dent in the cloud of guilt that fogged his mind, he could not stop replaying his own laughter in his head. He had been awful to Virgil the day before, and Roman had known he could not truly feel at ease until he had apologised to him properly and earned his little brother’s forgiveness.

He had been prepared to partake in all manner of valiant acts to prove his loyalty; he was willing to slay the Dragon Witch in Virgil’s name, to erect a statue in his likeness and honour, even to let Virgil get the first pick on movie nights for a whole month.

He had said as much to Virgil in the kitchen that morning. In response, Virgil had nodded, said “It’s cool,” and then left the room.

It’s cool?! Roman was quite frankly appalled by the lack of dramatic flair. Where were the tears? The arguments? The emotionally-overwhelmed collapse into Roman’s waiting arms? It had not gone as he had rehearsed in the mirror at all.

When Roman complained about this to Logan, the logical side had; 1) asked why Roman wanted Virgil to cry, yell, and/or faint, 2) reminded him that Virgil had forgiven him and had clearly done so in whatever way he deemed fit, and 3) told Roman to stop being so dramatic.

Needless to say, Roman was no longer on speaking terms with Logan.

Never one to give up in the face of a challenge, Roman had found Virgil in the living room and apologised again (an abridged version of his speech this time around). He received a small smile and thumbs up in return before Virgil went back to scrolling on his phone silently.

Once again, Roman was surprised. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be forgiven, but it had been far too easy. It was not satisfying. And so he continued to apologise throughout the morning whenever he saw Virgil - which incidentally happened a lot since Roman sought him out constantly.

It was around the fourth apology that Virgil had stopped smiling and nodding and instead simply rolled his eyes or walked past Roman without a word. Roman was wont to call it rude, but he couldn’t really comment on it given his behaviour a day before. The logical conclusion was that Roman’s courageous offers were simply not pleasing to Virgil.

Upon review, Roman begrudgingly accepted that Virgil wouldn’t necessarily care much about an imaginary monster being defeated for the hundredth time, or for a statue of himself given how self-conscious he was. As for the movie nights, Roman didn’t necessarily mind that he would still have the first pick on the films, so that really wasn’t worth complaining about. He realised he had to make his repentance more personal.

And what was more personal to Virgil than his littlespace? The boy adored it when Logan and Patton took care of him so (against all instincts) Roman resolved to prove himself through caregiving. As uncomfortable as it had made him when he had attempted caregiving all those weeks ago, it seemed the most effective course of action. And wouldn’t the fact that Virgil knew he didn’t enjoy it just prove Roman’s point even more? That he was willing to go above and beyond to show Virgil how much he cared about him, despite his own discomfort!

He had waited for Logan to disappear from the kitchen to load some cookies onto a tray, along with one of Virgil’s sippy cups full to the brim with almond milk. Now, standing outside Virgil’s room, Roman smothered the inkling of dread in his stomach and rapped on the door heartily.

‘Oh, Virgil,’ he sang, ‘Will you grant me entry to your kingdom?’

There was quiet for a moment and then, muffled through the wood: ‘Only if you promise not to apologise again.’

‘Damn…’ Roman whispered to himself, taking a moment to reconsider his plan. Well, he could still practice it without technically apologising. Years of improv work hadn’t exactly taught him nothing of adapting to unexpected situations. ‘All right, I promise,’ he yelled back confidently.

‘Fine,’ Virgil groaned and Roman lowered the door handle with his hip, being careful not to jostle the tray in his hands too much.

‘Greetings, Grumpy Space Princess!’ Roman called as he waltzed into the room with a wide grin.

Virgil was lying upside down on his bed with his head hanging off of the end, his Nintendo Switch held up in front of him. ‘What’s up, Princess Bubble-head?’

Roman smiled, appreciative that Virgil was a truly worthy opponent when it came to the Great Nickname Games. Though he did not let himself dwell on that for long and internally shook himself into his role, taking heavy inspiration from Patton.

‘Nothing much, kiddo,’ he said gleefully. ‘Just thought you might want a little snack!’

‘Kiddo?’ Virgil repeated, slowly lowering the game console from his eyes. Though they were upside down, Roman clearly noted the suspicion on Virgil’s features.

Roman continued smiling regardless, walking over to the bed. ‘How’s milk and cookies sound, Vee?’

‘But we haven’t had lunch yet.’

‘Yeah, don’t tell Logan,’ Roman whispered with a conspiratorial wink

‘Is this a trick?’ Virgil immediately asked. He squinted at Roman in suspicion. ‘What did you put in the cookies?’

‘Absolutely nothing and I resent the question,’ Roman couldn’t help but gasp in offence. As if he would stoop so low as to… what, poison Virgil? He had half a mind to turn back and eat the cookies himself. If only he weren’t utterly desperate for Virgil’s forgiveness.

‘Right, no, yeah,’ Virgil hurriedly backtracked, seeming humbled. ‘Sorry.’ Then the younger side sat up and spun his butt on the bed so that he faced Roman with his legs crossed. ‘Do you wanna…’ He indicated the other side of the bed in invitation.

Roman beamed. Clearly, this was the go-ahead for his plan.

‘Thanks, Stormcloud!’ He settled onto the bed beside Virgil, placing the tray in front of them both.

‘Thanks yourself for the cookies,’ Virgil smiled meekly. His gaze trailed over to the sippy cup on the tray and his eyebrows furrowed a little.

‘Anything wrong, sw-sport?’ Roman asked, cursing himself for chickening out at the last second. He had meant to call Virgil “sweetheart” as Patton so often did. Though while he was no stranger to using the nickname during courtships, it felt strange to call Virgil by it. Still, he had a role to fill and forgiveness to earn, so he couldn’t afford another slip-up like that again.

‘Nah, it’s cool,’ Virgil muttered and reached for the sippy cup. His movements seemed halted and his eyes briefly darted between the cup and Roman for a second before he sheepishly sipped at it.

Those words again: It’s cool. They infuriated Roman! But he took a steadying breath and pushed his irritation down. He had a baby to coax out, and anger would surely be counterproductive.

He reached forward for one of the cookies and snapped it in half, then held one piece up in front of Virgil with a smile.

Virgil frowned and lowered his sippy cup from his lips. ‘You wanna share one?’

‘No, silly!’ Roman giggled, putting all of the energy he usually observed in Papa Patton into his tone. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Ready for what?’

‘Here comes the cookie train!’ Roman sang, slowly pushing the cookie forward towards Virgil’s mouth. ‘Chugga chugga choo choo!’

Virgil’s eyes widened and his free hand flew up to grab Roman’s wrist before he had a chance to press the cookie to his lips. ‘I can feed myself!’

‘Oh…’ So apparently that technique wasn’t the way to go about it. ‘Apologies,’ Roman said. He pulled the cookie piece back and shoved it between his lips.

Virgil sighed quietly and reached for the other half of the cookie. He threw it into his mouth and munched on it as he pulled his Switch into his lap, resuming the game.

Meanwhile, Roman chewed thoughtfully. Perhaps Virgil wasn’t up for a baby headspace but would rather be a young child who was still able to feed himself. Though it was uncommon for him to be in a comparatively older regressed headspace, it wasn’t unheard of. And if Virgil was not comfortable with Roman feeding him, it didn’t automatically have to be the end of his plan. But what could Roman do to make it easier? What exactly was it that Patton did differently to be able to make Virgil regress in an instant?

Roman thought back to all the times he had witnessed it happening, quickly noticing a pattern. Patton always complimented Virgil (usually by calling him “cute” or “pretty” or “my little sweet and sour dumpling”) and touched him in some way (either with a nose boop or gentle tickles or head strokes). Roman would be a fool not to apply this knowledge, and a prince was no fool.

He decided to go about a subtle route, not wanting to startle Virgil again as that would probably hinder his regression.

‘Oh, that looks like a cute game,’ Roman said casually, pointing at the console balanced on Virgil’s knee.

‘You don’t know this one?’ Virgil asked, sounding surprised. He played with one hand as his other gripped the sippy cup.

Roman leaned closer, observing the colourful, animalistic characters who walked aimlessly around what appeared to be an island resort.

‘Ohh, is this the one with the capitalist raccoon who forces you to labour all day then takes all of your money?’

Virgil snorted. ‘He’s a tanuki, not a racoon. But yeah, essentially,’ he shrugged and tipped the sippy cup up to his lips.

Roman scooted closer on the mattress, trying to initiate casual contact. His thigh brushed Virgil’s and the other didn’t seem to mind it. With an internal hurrah, Roman initiated part two of his plan B.

‘Aw, is that you?’ he asked in a slight baby-talk voice, pointing at the chibi character on the screen. They had lilac hair and were sporting a rather intricate gothic dress. (For such a basic character design Roman was massively impressed by the attention to detail on the costume. He resolved to investigate it later as he had a job to do at the present moment.)

‘Mhm,’ Virgil hummed through a mouthful of milk then swallowed, ‘that’s me.’ He twiddled the joystick so that the character did a little spin.

‘Adorable!’ Roman gushed, and it was only half put-on (the game really did look sweet). Then he turned to Virgil, glad that their faces were mere inches apart. It would surely create intimacy and trust between them and hence spur on Virgil’s headspace. ‘But y’know what’s even more adorable?’

‘What?’ Virgil questioned, turning to look at Roman then freezing. A faint look of worry graced his features, though Roman assumed he was simply nervous about regressing around Roman alone. ‘What are you -’

‘This little Virgil right here!’ Roman smiled and wiggled his fingers over Virgil’s side.

Virgil broke into muffled titters. ‘S-stop,’ he stuttered, unable to get through the word without laughing. ‘R-Ro-ho-man!’

‘Aw, listen to your little giggles,’ Roman cooed, pushing an adoring tone past the strange heaviness in his chest. He just didn’t feel right doing this. But it had to be right, Virgil was laughing and smiling and had always enjoyed it whenever Patton did the exact same.

So Roman continued. He forced his own small laugh and doubled down on the tickling, jiggling his hand quicker over Virgil’s ribs. The boy squeaked and dropped his sippy cup to the mattress. (The cup was non-spill, gladly.)

‘No-ho m-more,’ Virgil pleaded through his giggles and pushed on Roman’s wrist firmly.

‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’ On a whim, Roman went to poke Virgil’s nose with his free hand. Twice the contact probably meant twice the likelihood of regressing, going by his logic.

At the very same moment that his finger pushed forward, though, he must have unwittingly hit a sensitive spot on Virgil’s ribs because the younger side’s face unexpectedly lurched forward with a gasp. Roman’s finger ended up poking Virgil’s eye.

‘Ow!’ Virgil whined, shoving Roman’s hands away harshly. ‘What the heck, Ro?!’ He raised a hand to cover his assaulted eye while the other stared at Roman in shock.

Roman was stunned for a moment, feeling suddenly small. He had messed up again. He had hurt Virgil. Again! He just wanted their caregivers to make it better like they always did, but this was Roman’s mistake. He couldn’t always rely upon Patton and Logan when he accidentally hurt his brother. He had to learn to do it alone.

‘Shit, I -’ Roman clicked his mouth shut and shook his head. (Back into character, goddamnit!) ‘Oh, poor baby,’ he pouted in sympathy.

Virgil only looked more indignant, his hand lowering from his eye which was, thankfully, uninjured. ‘What?’

‘Don’t worry little, uh, guy.’ Roman winced at his phrasing. ‘Uncle Roman will kiss it better!’

Roman started leaning forward, his hands held out in a placating manner - though they trembled slightly.

‘Stop!’ Virgil yelled, placing his hands firmly on Roman’s shoulders and keeping him at arm’s length.

A glimmer of relief flickered in Roman’s chest.

‘What are you doing?’ Virgil asked clearly, his expression a mix of confusion, irritation, and concern.

‘I - I’m trying to kiss your boo-boo better, kiddo.’ Roman attempted to smile, though even he had to admit his acting was no longer up to scratch. He was feeling jittery. This wasn’t right!

Virgil’s eyebrows raised and he offered no further response. How on Earth did he master those nuanced expressions so well? Roman almost wanted to ask for tips.

‘Fine,’ Roman sighed, throwing his arms up into the air as he dropped the act. ‘I kinda thought maybe I could babysit you for a while.’ Despite his words, he knew the pout on his face must not have commanded much respect.

‘I…’ Virgil paused, blinking slowly. ‘Princey, you hate caregiving,’ he burst out, incredulous. ‘I thought we established that weeks ago. And anyway you’re shit at it.’

‘Charming,’ Roman grunted, crossing his arms and diverting his gaze to the mattress. He didn’t need to be good at caregiving, he didn’t even necessarily want to be good at caregiving, but he would be damned if he actually admitted to being bad at something.

‘Why are you babying me all of a sudden?’ Virgil’s voice was softer now.

‘I just wanted to make up for yesterday!’ Roman cracked, though he was conscious to not outright yell, knowing Virgil’s sensitivity to loud noises would not do him any favours. ‘I want to prove to you that I’m sorry about what I did, but you barely acknowledged my other apologies,’ he explained, annoyance seeping into his tone. Virgil’s eyes dropped to his lap. ‘And you obviously didn’t care for my other ideas for acts of chivalry, so -’ he flailed his arms around in frustration ‘- I’m making do!’

The silence in the room somehow rang louder than Roman’s outburst, and he felt a knot of embarrassment start to clench his stomach.

Before it had time to grow any bigger, Virgil spoke up: ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What?’ Roman frowned and looked back up to him. Virgil looked horribly guilty. ‘No, I think you’re confused. I’m here so that I can apologise.’

‘Yeah, I got that.’ Virgil’s lips pulled into a small smile, then it dropped again. ‘Listen… I’m sorry for being kind of flippant earlier.’ He looked down, shrugging his shoulders up to his neck and holding them there. ‘I do forgive you, I just -’ he paused and Roman noted his cheeks had turned rosy. ‘I just didn’t want us to make such a big deal out of what happened, y’know?’

‘Oh…’ Roman breathed. This type of forgiveness was unexpected (not unlike anything else that had happened that day, so really shouldn’t he have expected it to be unexpected?) but nonetheless acceptable. If Virgil truly did forgive him then that should have been enough for Roman.

‘I mean thank you for apologising. Like, twenty times,’ Virgil said hastily, clearly noticing Roman’s surprise. ‘I do appreciate it - even if I never want to experience “Uncle Roman” ever again in my life.’ He looked back up at Roman shyly, ‘But can we please just pretend it didn’t happen?’

‘Uh, yeah. Sure. It - it’s cool,’ Roman replied with a weak nod, distracted by the persistent emptiness in his chest. 

Virgil bumped their knees together amiably then went back to his game.

After a minute or so of the controller clicking and the cutesy music blaring from the small speaker, Roman realised he was still unsettled by the situation. He communicated this to Virgil in the most effective way he knew how: by groaning loudly and forlornly.

‘What is it?’ Virgil asked in his most dramatic, long-suffering whine. It was a little teasing quirk they had picked up together that was entirely well-intended. The familiarity of it made Roman feel somewhat better about admitting the issue.

‘It’s just this niggling feeling, you know?’ he asked, fully aware that Virgil did not know. ‘I have to do something. I have the rich blue blood of a prince, for heaven’s sake.’ His eyes wandered around the room as if looking for a solution to his lament. ‘If I cannot defeat a villain in your honour or commit some other brave, valiant act of -’

He paused abruptly as his eyes settled on something. A stuffed raccoon lay abandoned on the floor by Virgil’s bed, torn in two. Roman was sure he remembered Virgil naming it Meeko, after his beloved character from Pocahontas.

‘Dear Zeus, I believe I have it!’ Roman cried triumphantly.

Virgil startled at the sudden noise and Roman turned to him with an apologetic smile. The emo only looked vaguely miffed.

‘Glad you’ve reached a solution, but do you think you could have a dramatic epiphany elsewhere?’ Virgil mumbled, eyes flitting back to his screen. ‘I have debts to pay here.’

Normally it would have annoyed him to be pushed aside for no more than a video game, but luckily for Virgil, Roman had a new job to do. He just needed to sneak Meeko out unnoticed.

‘I thought you said you paid off your debts last week,’ Roman said easily, subtly dropping his leg over the edge of the bed.

‘Yeah, but now I have more,’ Virgil shrugged, unaware of Roman’s movements. ‘It’s kind of a constant in this game.’

Roman hooked his socked toes around one half of the plush on the floor and silently dragged it closer. ‘Doesn’t living in constant debt stress you out though?’ He hooked his toes around the other piece of the toy, looking carefully out of the corner of his eye.

‘It’s actually super chill. You, like, go fishing and catch bugs and stuff.’ Virgil carried on talking, though Roman’s attention was quite preoccupied. ‘And you meet these animals and invite them to your island. You’d like them, they’re really sassy.’

‘Uhuh, uhuh,’ Roman hummed noncommittally, slowly inching his hand down to grab the stuffie pieces and trying to act as if he was just itching his leg.

‘You plant flowers and craft furniture and stuff. Then there’s this cool museum.’

Roman hurriedly stuffed the plushie pieces inside his jacket, masking the movement with a cough. He hazarded a glance to Virgil, glad to see that he was completely enraptured by the game, seemingly unaware of anything that was not pixelated.

‘You can design your own clothes too, look.’ Virgil pushed the screen in front of Roman and showed that his character was now wearing an in-game replication of his signature purple and black patched hoodie.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh my goodness, that’s brilliant,’ he whispered, partly impressed by the game, though mostly impressed by the incredible idea that just popped into his head.

‘You should totally get the game. We could play together,’ Virgil said, smiling when he brought the console back to his lap.

‘I would like that,’ Roman said sincerely. ‘Though for now, I must be off.’

He rose from the bed, being careful to keep his left arm clutched tightly to his side to avoid dropping the toy and ruining his plan. He was ready to go and settle down to hours of work, but the child in him begged him to do one last thing before he left.

‘Still brothers?’ he asked hesitantly.

Virgil immediately looked up from the screen, his expression soft around the edges. ‘Yeah,’ he said quietly with a smile. ‘Still brothers.’

‘Yes!’ Roman cheered, punching the air with his right hand. It was followed by a huff of amusement from Virgil. ‘Love you, Virge,’ Roman said offhandedly as he turned away, ready to leave at that.

‘Uh, yeah,’ Virgil mumbled.

Roman paused on his way out. He knew Virgil fairly well, having spent so much time around him during the previous few months, and so he liked to think he had a fairly decent amalgamation of the varying tones of Virgil’s mumbles and what they meant. The wheezy ones showed distress, the stunted ones showed annoyance, the lowest ones showed reluctant happiness. This particular brand of mumble, quiet and high-pitched, projected Virgil’s embarrassment. And honestly what kind of big brother would Roman be if he missed such a harmless opportunity for teasing?

He spun back around with a smirk which only grew wider when Virgil saw it and groaned.

‘Say it,’ Roman insisted, holding back a laugh.

‘Go ‘way,’ Virgil whined, pulling his console up to cover his face, though Roman could still spy the blush peeking from behind it.

‘Aww, come on.’ Roman stepped closer to the bed, giggling when Virgil brought the Switch so close to his face that it touched his nose. ‘You said it yesterday,’ Roman sing-songed, kneeling down right in front of Virgil on the bed.

‘Then you shouldn’t need to hear it again,’ Virgil grumbled.

‘Oh, but I’ve forgotten what the pure adoration in your voice sounded like,’ Roman teased, reaching forward to lower the gadget from Virgil’s face. He bit his tongue in amusement when Virgil glared at him past bright pink cheeks. ‘How did you say it? “Wuvoo, Wo-Wo���?’

‘You’re no longer welcome in my kingdom.’

Roman shrugged, still being careful to keep his left arm secure over the stuffed racoon in his jacket. He swivelled his legs to plop down onto the bed.

‘Not leaving until you say it,’ he proclaimed proudly.

Virgil growled (adorably) and dropped the console to the bed, crossing his arms. An unintelligible mumble left his lips.

‘Hm, what was that?’ Roman asked with a giddy smile. He held his ear forward with his free hand. ‘I couldn’t quite hear -’

‘I love you, you weirdo!’ Virgil said loudly, seemingly agitated, though Roman knew there was no real heat behind it (he was well-versed in recognising Virgil’s playful irritation versus his real, leave-me-alone-right-now-or-suffer irritation). ‘Now get out of my room.’

Roman stood and bowed regally, ‘As you wish, Princess Bitter-cup.’

Something small and soft was hurled at his head.

‘Wow,’ Roman chuckled, picking up the tiny giraffe stuffie from the floor with his free hand and chucking it back onto Virgil’s toy pile. ‘Even when you’re a bitch you’re adorable.’

The pout on Virgil’s face was not a dangerous one so Roman winked. He sauntered off towards the door, finally satisfied that the guilty fog in his head had blown away. ‘See you later, lil bro.’

‘Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, big bro,’ Virgil responded sarcastically behind him.

Roman gasped, turning back around in the open doorway. ‘Umm, rude much - Ahh!’ He had to hurriedly jump back into the hallway to avoid being hit in the face by the door, which had suddenly slammed shut.

Waiting a moment for his heart to stop beating so hard from the spike of adrenaline, Roman heard muffled laughter coming from the bedroom. He scoffed and shook his head.

One of their house rules was to not use their metaphysical powers in the mindscape unless entirely unavoidable. Logan reserved his powers for actual emergencies, such as when the kitchen had set on fire. Patton only stretched the rules a little by using his powers to clean parts of the house that were difficult to reach or otherwise highly inconvenient. Roman used his powers only for absolute dire needs, such as summoning medical aid after an arduous adventure in the imagination (though on one occasion he had summoned puppies for desperately-needed snuggles). And Virgil, coming from years of living with the Other sides who used no such rule in their establishment, respected the rule for the most part, though renounced it on occasion in favour of performing relatively harmless pranks.

Roman could have tattled on him to Logan, though they had only just reconciled, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been the wisest decision. Plus, the next few hours of his time were decidedly booked.

He made his way down the hallway, already drawing up designs in his head. Being so inspired by his ingenious ideas, he almost bumped right into Logan at the top of the stairs.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Roman muttered, wondering how many more times he would utter that word that day. 

When Roman looked up, he was unsurprised to see that Patton stood right beside Logan. The two had been almost inseparable for the past two weeks when they weren’t caring for Roman and Virgil, and Roman was absolutely enamoured by their adorable attempts at keeping their budding relationship on the subtle side. They were obviously failing miserably.

What he was surprised to see, however, was a very large cardboard box huddled in both of Logan’s arms. ‘What’s in the box, specs?’

Logan and Patton looked at each other with unreadable expressions, then turned back to Roman and spoke simultaneously:

‘Stationery.’

‘What box?’

The two looked back at each other with wide eyes. Roman frowned, mind reeling with what two people in a new relationship could possibly buy together, have delivered in discreet packaging, and not want to tell - actually yeah, he didn’t want to think about that. 

‘Well, that was disturbing.’ Roman cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact as he hurried past them. ‘Forget I asked,’ he called back.

He had no time to worry about their stumbled defences. His sewing machine awaited!

oOo

Later that afternoon, Logan readjusted his position on the couch and crossed his legs with a sigh. He was feeling unusually restless. 

Patton and he had efficiently hidden their package some hours previously, thankful that Virgil did not witness their secrecy. It was all for his benefit, though the anxious side could be suspicious at the best of times. They could not afford for his defences to be raised any higher than they were already bound to be for the conversation they had planned.

As Logan waited, he breathed evenly, hoping to dispel his nerves before the other two joined him. Patton had left the room a minute previously to fetch Virgil for the chat.

There was no use in feeling nervous about it, Logan knew. It was only a conversation and truly there was nothing threatening about that. Still, the idea that Virgil could be upset by it disturbed Logan somewhat. He could not predict how the regressor would react to what they had to say. Though, as he so often said to Virgil, unpredictability should not be cause for worry. He took a steadying breath and uncrossed his legs.

Within a few moments, the door to the living room eased open and Patton stepped into the room with a quick nervous smile at Logan. After he had entered, Virgil shuffled in behind him, scratching at his hoodie sleeves and chewing his lip. Logan crossed his legs again.

‘Virgil, have a seat,’ Logan said gently, indicating the spot beside him on the couch. Patton had settled in the armchair.

Virgil’s eyes darted between both of them and the seat in quick succession.

‘You are not in trouble,’ Logan said, hoping that his smile was reassuring.

With a shaky sigh, Virgil perched on the end of the couch. He had sat as far from Logan as he possibly could.

‘Patton said you, uh, you wanted to talk about something?’ Virgil muttered.

‘Yes,’ Logan said. He internally made a note to talk to Patton about open-ended requests and how they could exacerbate Virgil’s anxiety, though pushed the matter aside for now. He carefully angled his body toward Virgil, trying to use more engaging body language as he could sense Virgil might try to close himself off. ‘We need to talk about your recent bathroom issues.’

As predicted, Virgil wrapped his arms tightly around himself and sunk further into the couch. Though he didn’t try to leave (for which Logan was grateful). ‘Oh.’

‘You are aware that Patton spoke to me about you two’s discussion, are you not?’

The question was met with a slight nod from Virgil. Logan did not miss the tremble in his fingers which clawed at his hoodie sleeves.

‘Virgil, I’d like to remind you that neither Patton nor I are in any way angry or disappointed with you,’ Logan said, knowing that Virgil’s anxiety must have been wreaking havoc in his mind.

‘Absolutely not,’ Patton agreed fervently. ‘We love you so much, Stormcloud. This doesn’t change that.’

‘Okay.’ Virgil did not meet either of their gazes. ‘Can I leave now?’

Logan sighed, knowing the conversation was bound to be difficult given Virgil’s attitude. ‘That wasn’t what we wanted to talk about.’

Virgil slumped in defeat.

‘I told Logan about everything you said to me yesterday,’ Patton started gently, ‘and we think we might have a solution to -’

‘You can fix it?’ Virgil asked, finally raising his gaze from his lap to look at Logan pleadingly.

Guilt flooded the logical side. It was not often Virgil felt hopeful about anything. In fact, Logan and the others had been trying to convince him to accept more optimism into his thought process, though unfortunately in this situation it had to be shot down.

‘Not exactly.’ At the look of hurt in Virgil’s eyes, Logan had to contain a wince. ‘You cannot always fix something,’ he explained. ‘Sometimes, the situation is unavoidable and the only option is to adapt.’

 ‘Adapt?’ Virgil echoed uncertainly.

Logan’s eyes inched over to Patton. They had agreed it might be more agreeable for Virgil to hear the suggestion from his lips.

‘Sweetheart,’ Patton said gently, ‘how would you feel if whenever you regressed you wore a diaper?’

‘No!’ Virgil immediately yelled, his voice cracking.

Logan shared a quick, bewildered look with Patton.

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ Virgil rambled frantically, his hands fisting in the cushion beneath him. Logan was shocked by the abject horror on the younger side’s face. ‘No, I can’t! I can’t, no, no -’

‘Honey, honey, stop. It’s all right,’ Patton hurried to soothe him, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘It’s completely okay if you don’t want to wear one.’

Patton was correct. It would have been completely acceptable had Virgil not wanted to try diapers. But - Logan noted with curiosity - Virgil had not said he didn’t want to. He had said he can’t. The small slip-up suggested that (even if only on a subconscious level) Virgil perceived the concept as unattainable, as opposed to undesirable. Logan felt an obligation to investigate further.

‘Why?’ he asked simply.

‘Logan,’ Patton whispered sharply, sending him a reprimanding look.

‘I won’t have any more accidents, I promise!’

Both caregivers looked back at Virgil in surprise.

‘Virgil,’ Logan said carefully, wary of the panic in Virgil’s eyes, ‘we understand that you do not do it on purpose, hence the term “accident”. We all know now that when you are regressed you cannot control it. Now I am sorry, but you simply cannot keep that promise.’

Virgil squirmed in place, his whole posture tense and alert. ‘Th-then I won’t regress anymore.’

Patton gasped, and Logan could hardly blame him. Though Logan had been prepared for Virgil to turn down the idea, the intensity of his reaction was entirely unforeseen.

‘Why would you say that, Virgil?’ Patton whispered, sounding heartbroken.

Virgil was trembling. He clearly had no answer. Though Logan was not convinced he would be able to reply even if he did have one.

‘Your regression is not voluntary.’ Logan spoke in a calm, low voice. ‘You have no say in whether it happens or not. You yourself told us this.’ He frowned in confusion. Virgil’s reaction was so fraught that it seemed to be inflicting his capacity for rational thinking.

To his vague relief, Virgil did appear to have gotten through the worst of his panic, though he still glanced between Patton and Logan nervously. ‘I can hide in my room,’ he suggested shakily. ‘I won’t bother you anymore, I’m sorry for burdening you, I -’

‘Stop,’ Logan said firmly. He could not bear to listen to the anxiety-driven drivel any longer. ‘I want you to take a deep breath.’

Virgil did just that, and the result was instantaneous. As he exhaled, his shoulders dropped from his neck and his hands eased their grip on the couch.

‘Good, keep going,’ Logan murmured, sharing a concerned look with Patton as Virgil took another shaky breath. When Logan had deemed it safe to do so, he continued.

‘We do not want you to hide in your room,’ he said clearly, being cautious to keep his tone gentle. ‘You do not need to hide your regression from us. You are not a burden.’

Virgil bit his lip but did not protest.

‘You could never be a burden,’ Patton said softly. By the jitteriness of his fingertips, Logan could tell that Patton was eager to reach out and hold Virgil, though he held back. ‘Please don’t hide this part of yourself again, sweetheart. You don’t need to.’

Even as his silence persisted, Virgil gave a stiff nod.

Now that Virgil had calmed down, for the most part, Logan launched into his investigation.

‘Could you perhaps explain why you are so adamantly against the idea of using diapers?’ It was met with bewildered looks of varying intensity from both of the others, so Logan elaborated, ‘In no circumstance would we ever force you into doing something against your will. That is not my intention for this conversation. I would merely like to examine your thought process surrounding the concept.’

Virgil looked imploringly to Patton, though was only met with an apologetic smile and nod.

‘Virgil,’ Logan called softly and was hurt to see the look of betrayal that turned onto him. ‘Please.’

He insisted on holding Virgil’s gaze until the younger side looked away with a sigh.

‘I just…’ Virgil pulled his knees up to his chest in a defensive pose. ‘It’s just weird,’ he mumbled.

Good, they could at least get somewhere with that.

‘Sweetie, it’s not -’

Logan held his hand up, silencing Patton. Though the reassurance was well-intended, Logan believed that simply disparaging Virgil’s views would be ineffective. They had to address the root cause of the issue.

‘And why is it weird?’ Logan prompted.

Virgil’s brow furrowed and he looked up at Logan with wide eyes, apparently (unreasonably) taken aback by the simple question.

‘I-I dunno,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Adults shouldn’t need -’

‘Some adults require incontinence products.’ Logan nipped that train of thought in the bud right away. ‘It is beyond their control, and yet you would call it weird?’

‘N-no!’ Virgil hurriedly defended. ‘No, of course not. That’s not - I meant I shouldn’t need… those.’

Logan muffled the growing satisfaction in his chest as they inched closer to the crux of the problem. ‘And why is it weird for you specifically and not those other adults?’

Virgil’s arms squeezed around his legs, pulling them tighter against his chest. ‘Because it’s, um, not a medical issue?’ he asked quietly, seeming more uncertain of his own argument with each passing second.

‘That is unimportant,’ Logan said. ‘Regardless of the cause, you are still unable to control your bladder on occasion.’

The tension in Virgil’s posture was painfully visible, as was the growing flush to his cheeks.

‘So, I will ask you again.’ Logan scooted himself slightly closer to Virgil on the couch, hoping that the closeness would bring Virgil some kind of comfort. He did not move away. ‘Why would it be weird for you to wear diapers if it is not weird for anyone else to do the same?’

Virgil blinked quickly and opened his mouth. Then he shut it, blinked, looked to his knees, opened his mouth, and shut it again. After a repeat of this cycle, he groaned quietly and buried his face against his knees.

‘You cannot think of an answer because it is an incorrect statement,’ Logan said. Looking at Virgil’s hunched form, he realised that being proven right was not nearly as satisfactory when it caused such distress to someone he loved. ‘I can assure you that your worries surrounding this matter are unfounded.’

‘He’s right, Virgil,’ Patton added. ‘You don’t need to be embarrassed about this, it’s all right.’

Virgil shook his head, though his face was still concealed by his knees. ‘Is not.’

‘It is,’ Logan insisted. ‘Your mental state regresses to that of a toddler’s, so why should we expect every aspect of your physical state to be any different? A toddler cannot be expected to have such a high command over their body.’

‘But I should,’ Virgil argued weakly into his jeans.

‘Not when you’re regressed, sweetheart,’ Patton said. ‘You’re just a baby, you can’t -’

‘I’m not a baby, I’m a pervert!’ Virgil shouted, his head snapping up from his knees fiercely.

Logan’s breath rushed from his lungs, his stomach lurching at such intense self-deprecation coming from the person he had come to see as his child.

‘Stormcloud…’ Patton whispered, sounding close to tears.

Virgil beat him to it. His “sweater paws” (that had been a highly useful vocab card) scrubbed harshly at the tears that fell to his cheeks. The image made Logan’s heart sink.

‘I’m a freak,’ Virgil mumbled into his sleeve. ‘I’m just gross and messed up and attention-seeking and…’ His voice had become squeaky and broken before he trailed off.

‘Baby, no, no, no,’ Patton cooed sadly and rushed to his side at break-neck speed. Squeezing in to sit between the regressor and the armrest, Patton wrapped his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and pulled him to lean against his side. ‘Virgil, honey, none of that is true. None of it.’

Virgil sniffled as Patton kissed his head.

Following Patton’s lead, Logan closed the distance between them on the couch. He placed one hand on Virgil’s knee and squeezed while his other settled on Patton’s forearm gently.

‘Please understand that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your regression or with how your body reacts to it,’ Logan pleaded, feeling strangely helpless. He had been so certain that Virgil knew his regression was valid. What had changed to make him spout this nonsense? ‘As you have informed us and as I have ascertained from my own research, age regression is by its very nature entirely non-sexual.’

Virgil nodded against Patton’s shoulder.

‘It is and always has been a natural state for you,’ Logan went on, sure that Virgil was aware of this already.

As suspected, Virgil nodded again.

Logan frowned. Where could this all have been coming from? ‘And you are aware that it is highly beneficial to your emotional wellbeing.’

‘Yeah,’ Virgil said, his voice wet and choked.

‘And you enjoy it!’ Patton said, injecting joy into his words. Logan saw how his arms tightened around Virgil’s form. ‘That’s as good a reason as any.’

Once more, Virgil nodded.

Logan considered why Virgil might have had such a sudden change of heart towards his view of age regression. It was, of course, possible that he had simply kept these views hidden up until that moment, though they had addressed his insecurities surrounding the matter on multiple occasions over the past three months. With a heavy heart, Logan realised that if these opinions had not originated from Virgil himself, they had to have originated elsewhere and been figuratively drilled into him.

‘Who called you those words, Virgil?’ Logan asked delicately. 

Virgil angled his head further into Patton’s shoulder in avoidance.

It was an unusual experience, watching the realisation dawn on Patton’s face. His eyes lost their joyful sparkle and his concerned expression melted into one of pure indignation and - most uncharacteristically - rage. The moral side pushed gently at Virgil’s shoulders, getting him to sit upright to reveal his face.

‘Who was it?’ Patton asked, his voice shaking with what Logan suspected was carefully concealed anger.

Virgil hunched in his seat and met Logan’s eyes for a split second before hurriedly looking down at his knees. ‘No one.’

‘Falsehood,’ Logan said sternly. He did not want to make Virgil anxious at all by prying, but he could not afford for this topic of conversation to be shrugged off so easily. ‘Who was it?’

With a deep, shaky sigh, Virgil rested his chin on his knees and muttered, ‘I mean no one I know.’

Patton sent a confused look to Logan over the head of purple hair.

‘Could you please elaborate?’ Logan asked.

A moment of silence passed, and just as Logan was preparing to ask again, Virgil inhaled sharply, paused, and then spoke.

‘A couple weeks ago I made a Tumblr post about my regression.’ Virgil’s voice was quiet enough that Logan had to strain to hear it. ‘About how I wasn’t ashamed of it anymore and - and about you guys,’ Virgil said. He tugged at a strand of his hair harshly.

Logan reached out and smoothed his fingers over Virgil’s hand, convincing him to release the hair. Their hands both dropped to the couch cushion, remaining joined at Logan’s insistence. He understood where the conversation was heading. ‘I am aware that there is an anonymous question function on Tumblr.’

Virgil’s fingers twitched against Logan’s palm. ‘S-someone kept sending asks saying it was just a… a fetish and telling me I was sick and weird and -’ he cut off with an audible gulp, ‘and a bunch of other stuff.’

‘They’re wrong,’ Patton stated without room for argument. Logan saw the muscle in his jaw jumping. ‘They - I can’t believe someone would -’ His voice was incredibly strained and it strangled his words so much that Patton seemed to almost gag over them. He blew out a harsh breath, the sound something akin to a hiss. ‘This is ridiculous.’

Patton was shaking with the effort to contain his reaction and looked about ready to burst. Glancing down, Logan realised with a hint of concern that Virgil was looking at Patton in surprise and, unfortunately, appeared to be nervous.

‘Patton,’ Logan said, ‘I want you to take a moment to -’

‘No, Logan!’ Patton whispered harshly, red in the face. He snatched his arm off from Virgil then clenched his fists in his lap. ‘They’re bullies. Horrible, mean, cruel bullies. I just don’t understand why!’ he broke into a shout. Virgil flinched and leaned into Logan’s side. ‘Why the hell would someone want to - I mean, how could - To our baby!’

Logan was in full agreement to everything that Patton was saying (even if most of it had to be read between the lines since he seemed so enraged that he could hardly get a full sentence out). But - Logan noted, seeing that Virgil was staring at his lap in shame - this was neither the time nor the place to display aggression. 

‘Patton,’ Logan said more firmly, ‘I understand you are angry, but please be wary of the sensitivity of this situation. I am sure Virgil would appreciate calm right now.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Virgil sounded feeble at best.

‘Angry?’ Patton repeated incredulously, actually looking at Logan in shock. ‘I - I’m not angry, I’m just…’ He went silent, the fire dissipating from his eyes and being replaced by uncertainty. Then he whispered, all heat faded from his tone, ‘I’m not angry.’

Logan nodded slowly. It was evident Patton was having trouble identifying his negative emotions, though Logan did not feel it right to divert the purpose of the conversation. He would have to delay the talk with Patton until after they had resolved Virgil’s issue, especially since he suspected Virgil would not open up so readily a second time.

‘Now, Virgil,’ Logan said. He looked at Patton pointedly, conveying that they had to get back to the task at hand. Patton nodded, the tension finally dispelling from his form. ‘These strangers online do not see how this coping mechanism helps you.’ Logan squeezed the younger side’s fingers slightly, earning his attention through a hesitant glance. ‘Their opinions are uninformed and therefore worthless.’

‘I’m sorry, sweetie,’ Patton breathed. He was curled into himself slightly, clearly embarrassed by his loss of control. ‘I didn’t mean to - these people are clearly very damaged,’ he said the word as if it were a substitute for harsher language, ‘and, for whatever reason, they only wanted to hurt you.’ He cautiously wrapped his arm back around Virgil’s shoulders. ‘Those kinds of people don’t have any authority over you or your regression.’

‘I guess not,’ Virgil said. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, melting into Patton’s touch.

Logan sighed in faint relief, glad that Virgil no longer seemed intimidated by Patton’s outburst. ‘It is a futile task in pandering to these idiots’ prejudices. Your regression makes you happy and so it is indisputably perfect.’

The words earned him a soft smile from Virgil and Logan felt his own expression soften at the sight.

‘Thank you,’ Virgil said with finality.

‘Though,’ Logan started, something still eating away at him, ‘it remains unclear how these bullies made you feel bad about needing diapers specifically.’

Virgil bit his lip, then looked back at the floor. ‘I - I wanted to try them a while ago,’ he whispered.

From the look on Patton’s face, it seemed Logan was not alone in his surprise.

‘It was just so scary whenever I had an accident!’ Virgil quickly defended. ‘I - I didn’t know what else to do. I was stupid and -’

‘Try again,’ Patton interrupted with a squeeze on Virgil’s shoulder.

‘I was dumb and -’

‘Again.’

‘I… was uninformed and didn’t know how to buy them. So I made a post asking for advice.’ Virgil rushed through the words as if wanting them to be over as soon as possible. ‘Then there was a bunch of asks saying it was disgusting and pathetic and hilarious and -’

‘Imbeciles,’ Logan growled loudly, though took a steadying breath and left it at that. He would absolutely be having a chat with Patton later so they could release their frustrations in private, away from Virgil.

‘None of that is true,’ Patton said softly. ‘Do you remember what Logan said about toddlers not being expected to have such a high level of bodily control?’

Virgil nodded.

‘You aren’t aware of yourself when you’re regressed, so you have to trust us when we tell you that when you’re in that headspace you really are a toddler.’ Patton said it slowly and deliberately, not giving Virgil a chance to dispute the words.

Virgil looked up at Logan, seeking confirmation.

‘It was astonishing to experience at first,’ Logan said, ‘but I cannot deny it. It truly is remarkable. And wonderful,’ he added truthfully.

Patton nodded enthusiastically and guided Virgil’s head to look back at him with gentle fingers. ‘As surprising as it was, we can tell it’s very real and natural.’ Patton kissed Virgil’s head. ‘There is absolutely nothing about your regression or your body that’s wrong in any way. Do you understand that now?’

Virgil stalled for a few seconds, though when he finally spoke, Logan could hear it was sincere. ‘Yeah. I think so.’

‘And I’m so proud of you for trying to help yourself, honey.’ Patton pulled Virgil into a tighter hug. ‘I’m sorry we weren’t there to look after you back then.’

‘But you are now… right?’ Virgil pulled away from Patton and peered shyly between both of them.

‘Of course we are,’ Patton replied instantly.

Logan felt a swell of pride and love overtake him. ‘We always will be.’

Virgil hid a smile behind his sweater paw.

‘Kiddo… can you maybe turn off the anonymous option on your blog?’ Patton asked hesitantly, reaching out to card his fingers through the length of Virgil’s hair. ‘I don’t wanna control what you do but it really worries me that these strangers could make you feel so bad about yourself.’

‘Already did,’ Virgil mumbled.

Logan saw that the tip of Virgil’s thumb had found its way to his lips. He was not surprised that Virgil appeared to be slipping into his regression; it had been a distressing conversation for him.

‘Clever boy,’ Patton praised, lightly pinching Virgil’s cheek. He must have noticed the slip too.

A shy smile wormed its way onto Virgil’s features.

Patton gasped dramatically. ‘Oh my, there’s suddenly an adorable baby in the room! Where did he come from?’

The thumb that had rested on Virgil’s lips now pressed between them. Logan recognised the light blush on Virgil’s cheeks as indicative of his impending infantile headspace.

‘Before you regress completely,’ Logan said quickly, wanting to be concise lest he miss the remaining moments of Virgil’s adult mindset. ‘Will you please reconsider our suggestion? We have already purchased some diapers for you as a precautionary measure and I think it will be a good idea for you to wear one today.’

‘I think so too, sweetheart,’ Patton added softly. ‘Just to see how it feels.’ 

Virgil hummed, though it might have been a muffled whimper.

‘There is no pressure to agree at all. Similarly, if you do attempt it but dislike it then there is no need to continue.’ Logan hoped to reassure any of Virgil’s doubts that might have been inhibiting what was clearly curiosity, perhaps even desire. ‘Though I believe it will at the very least be worth a try.’

Virgil genuinely seemed to consider it.

‘Remember, we’re only doing this to help you feel safe, Stormcloud,’ Patton whispered, running his knuckle against Virgil’s cheek.

Logan gently took hold of Virgil’s hand and eased it away from his mouth so that his thumb left his lips. Virgil pouted at him, though Logan ignored it in favour of asking, ‘What would you like to do, Virgil?’

To Logan’s astonishment, he nodded.

‘Try,’ Virgil said, his voice babyish and muted.

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Next chapter

NOTE: Massive thanks to my friend Duckie for reading over the first draft of this chapter, giving me notes and cheering me on, it wouldn’t be the same without her! You can find her adorable age dreaming tumblr here: @duckies-little-pond​ 🐣💛

[comradesummers]

Faith vs Kendra Anya or Oz Buffy + Tara

Hi, thanks for asking. Sorry for taking so long to answer, insert obligatory excuse about college kicking my ass.

Faith vs. Kendra

So this one’s really hard, and my answer got way too long and pretentious, but I hope you’ll bear with me. 

In order to understand Kendra’s fighting style, I think it’s important to talk a little about the fight she has with Buffy in What’s My Line (Part 2). That episode illustrates the differences in Buffy and Kendra’s fighting style when Buffy does “the chick fight thing” and Kendra doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Basically, this move is sort of a physical demonstration of their differences. Kendra is the traditionalist, therefore she is highly skilled in technique but less good at improvising and thinking outside the box. Buffy, meanwhile, is less traditional and less technically skilled, but she’s better at improvising and using her emotions to her benefit. These ideas are shown in the initial fight between Buffy and Kendra, and then verbalized by Buffy later in the episode. 

Faith is on the other end of the spectrum. She has little to no formal training (she’s called after Kendra’s death in Becoming; in the few months between that episode and her arrival in Faith, Hope & Trick, her watcher is murdered; neither Giles nor Wesley put much effort into her training in season 3; and then she goes to prison for like 3 seasons). However, she’s clearly a skilled fighter, as evidenced by the fact that she can hold her own against a slayer as experienced as Buffy. Though it is never stated outright, it is reasonable to assume that her strengths lie in her ability to improvise and her emotionally driven fighting style. Basically, she’s a person who will use every tool in her arsenal to win, even if that means, for instance, throwing herself off a building so that her opponent doesn’t get what she wants.

By presenting Faith and Kendra as two extremes of this ideological debate, and then also showing that neither one of them is as successful at slayerdom as Buffy is, the show implies that Buffy’s balanced approach to fighting (and to like life in general) is the best. However, the nature of tradition is complicated by the later seasons. For one thing, the Watcher’s Council—the representatives of the traditional approach that Kendra follows—get blown the fuck up before they can do anything useful. This strongly suggests that the Council, and by externsion their tradition, is irrelevant. This idea is further underlined by Buffy’s ultimate decision to reject the Council’s tradition wholesale, and to create a new, Slayer-based tradition. It’s also reflected in her fighting style in the later seasons. Starting in season 5, Buffy begins to explore her slayerness in the context of the slayer line, and her training with Giles builds on that. It could be suggested that the tradition she is drawing upon in these seasons is that of the Slayers that came before her, not the watchers who tried to control them. This also serves as an in-universe explanation for why the fighting style from season 5 onwards looks so different (and so much worse) than what came before it. (Yes, I know there were new stunt doubles, but it works with my convoluted argument, so I’m going to pretend there’s some deeper meaning behind it.)

Anyway, my point in all of this is that while earlier seasons present the thesis that one should find a middle ground between tradition and innovation, later seasons suggest that embracing oppressive traditions is harmful. So while we should still draw upon tradition, we should always be critical of the kinds of traditions we draw upon. And Kendra, having been raised by watchers, relies solely on harmful and oppressive traditions, and is therefore at a serious disadvantage. Faith, meanwhile, isn’t hampered by the Council’s bullshit. While she doesn’t draw power from slayer-line mysticism like Buffy does, she still has the advantage of freedom from the Council and would therefore win in a fight.

However, this is a solely thematic view of things, and maybe proves less who would win in a fight and more who would win in like a philosophical debate. Also, Kendra was killed off before she could be developed further (insert my usual Kendra deserved better comment here). Of the three, she was the most victimized by the Council (because of course those colonizers would fuck over the black girl most of all). If she had been developed, and been allowed to process the fact that a bunch white people stole her from her parents and brainwashed her for the purposes of their personal gain, and that this didn’t happen to any of her white counterparts, I think she could have had a much greater understanding of the insidious nature of the Council than either Buffy of Faith. I also think that her interest in the slayer tradition would have surpassed Buffy’s. She is, after all, the traditionalist of the three, so I think she would be the most interested in finding a way to connect to the traditions of the past while separating that past from the oppression of the Council.

In other words, a Kendra that had been allowed to live past season 2 is quite possibly the most powerful slayer. But if we’re accepting the canonical versions of these characters (and not the headcanon that I just pulled out of my ass) I guess Faith would be the winner.

Anya or Oz

Oz is a great character and I totally get why people like him but Anya is more in line with my personal preferences when it comes to characters who are intially introduced as love interests, which are as follows:

Hot lady (I’m shallow, sue me)

Very funny (Oz is funny but Anya is the funniest character on the show and no one can convince me otherwise)

Is more than just a love interest

Now I feel like people might object to no. 3 in Anya’s case, because there’s no denying that Anya is criminally underdeveloped and is often relegated to the unfortunate position of Xander’s girlfriend. However, Anya has a Selfless and she has that scene in The Body, and she has clearly defined relationships with the other Scoobies (best demonstrated in episodes like Triangle). Oz doesn’t really have any of that. Like, he and Willow break up for like half a second in season 3, and in that time he’s just not on screen. That’s how irrelevant he is to anyone and anything outside of Willow. Also, the werewolf suit looks dumb, which I have to assume is why the writers did almost nothing with him being a werewolf until they had to write him out.

The point is, while both of these characters deserved more development, Anya still got more of it so I like her better. Also she’s a pretty girl, so I was probably going to choose her regardless (I may be shallow, but at least I’m honest about it).

Buffy + Tara

I am the no. 1 Buffy/Tara shipper because I like it when nice people are nice to each other. And yes, I recognize that these are two flawed, complicated characters, but I think that together, they have the potential to be one of the healthiest couples in the Buffyverse. This is mainly because their interactions with each other are always supportive and free of judgement. Buffy defends Tara against her dad and welcomes her into her family even after Tara puts everyone at risk. Meanwhile, Tara is pretty much the only character (except for Dawn, maybe) to immediately react with empathy and understanding to the revelation that Buffy is sleeping with Spike. I’m not saying that either one of these characters is always understanding and non-judgemental (okay, maybe Tara is, but Buffy definitely isn’t), but they’ve proven that with each other, they’re very good at communicating and empathizing, and just being what the other person needs, and I think that’s very sexy of them.

Also, they’d be really hot together, so I’m here for it.

[spideyy-girl]

You Don’t Understand ~ Five Hargreeves

Requested by @multi-fandoms-stuff : Heyyy could I request a five imagine where he is like super overprotective of his s/o??

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Warnings: sorta mentions suicide but not directly, unrequited love, ANGST MAJOR BIG TIME

Word Count: 3775 (10.1 pages)

A/N: So this literally was requested to me in like May, I know I’m the worst. Also, I sort of wrote this a bit differently to the request, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out and I hope you like it too! 

Told in Five’s POV.

~~~

Y/N was number eight of the infamous 8 Hargreeves siblings born on that fateful day. Her birth mother was young, just graduated high school, and wasn't ready for a child. She was too scared to tell her parents of the events that had taken place the day the mystery child was born and decided to do what she thought was best at the time: leave her on the side of the street alone to probably freeze or starve to death. But thankfully, Reginald Hargreeves, a well-known scientist and self-made billionaire picked you up before you got your undesired fate and you became part of the world-renowned group of kid supers: The Umbrella Academy.

Of course, she should be thankful for where she was today. That she's lucky enough to still be living and breathing the not-so-fresh air of downtown Toronto, but you couldn't blame her for not doing so, not when she's always in a position like this.

Y/N sat hunched over the bench of the training room and had a strong feeling that if she moved at all your lunch would escape your stomach. She always hated training, preferring to sit in the rather large living room and reading a nice, long book. But with someone like our father always breathing down her neck, that's not gonna happen for some time. 

Out of all of our brothers and sisters, Y/N was considered to be the strongest Hargreeve child, being able to summon fire at the simple thought of it. She was able to control and properly use her powers at a young age, which was critical considering there isn't a lot of mistakes she could've made before someone goes six feet under.

Although being the most powerful was considered a gift, she always thought of it as a curse. All the pressure to be the greatest was always put on her.

"You ready for the next round, princess?" I asked from behind her, having not even broken a sweat in the past hour and a half.

"Oh fuck off, prick," she said back, not being able to stop the smile breaking through her frown as she shook her head at me, leaning her head against the cool wall, her beautiful y/h/c hair sliding along the brick with her.

Who am I you might ask? Well Five Hargreeves of course, the fifth Hargreeves sibling, if you haven't guessed already. See, technically, I wasn't in any way Y/N's "brother", but in all ways, she was my best friend. We were almost exact opposites, but also the same person at the same time. I would go as far as to say we're soulmates, only brought to this absolute hellhole we call home just for our fate of meeting each other. 

Now that I think of it, all of these factors might be contributing to some growing feelings for the girl, add for the bonus that she's truly the most beautiful girl I think I've ever laid eyes on, but like hell I was going to tell anybody, let alone her.

"Hey, seriously Y/N/N, you alright there?" I said as I make my way over to where she was and kneeled beside her on the bench. Ever since we were young, I always felt like I had to protect her. I know she doesn't need it, she's the strongest person I know,- physically and emotionally- but I just wanted her to be safe. 

"Hello? C'mon, Y/N you're seriously starting to scare me now," I say as I take a seat beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. She tilted her head slightly to look over at me, squinting against the harsh light of the room and trying to offer a smile, but it turned out more like a grimace. I gave her a pitiful smile and put my arm under her arms and lifted her up, leaning her body against mine. 

I could tell she felt disgusting, her stomach doing somersaults inside of her and she tapped my shoulder, silently asking me to let her down. I did so carefully, placing her gently on the ground where she practically collapsed to the floor, groaning. I kneeled beside her again, my heartbeat rising in worry as I brushed the wet hair stuck to her forehead away from her pretty face. I wore a worried expression on my face, looking over her very pale looking one, analyzing every detail I could soak in. I have never seen her this sick before, and I can't help but let my mind wander to what the worst scenario could be.

"Five?" she whispered, feeling her throat constrict around her words. She looked up at me as I bit my lip in worry, looking over her face, connecting her constellation of freckles. I sigh when I hear her voice, smiling down at the girl.

"Yeah? What's up, Y/N/N," I say softly, using the nickname for her from our childhood. I see the mention of it makes her smile. Something in me hoped this would be the moment where she would finally admit her mutual feelings for me, finally tell me that she loved me just as much as I did her. Something cliche and romantic like in that stupid movie The Titanic she made me watch with her just the other week.

Suddenly I feel my body tumble to the ground, and just as I was about to jump up again, my wrists were pinned to the ground. I look up right above me and grin, seeing Y/N hovering over me, her hands burning my wrists slightly while holding them to the ground.

"Damn, Five," she jokes as she lets go of my hands, still sitting on top of me, not that I mind to be completely honest. "You're a great fighter, but so easy to distract." She blows off her hands, which began to tint red. I rubbed my wrists where she had been holding me down and smirked at her. 

"Can't blame me, darling," I say as I sit up, her still not moving from her straddling position on top of me. "With a face like yours, anyone could get distracted." She rolls her eyes, not thinking twice about my comment. She's used to hearing them from me, sometimes I wish she knew I truly meant them. 

"Oh really?" She smiles back at me, putting her hands around my neck and looks at me right in the eye. It's moments like this where I question our friendship, maybe it could mean more to her. I look up at her in adoration, not that she catches it, of course. She never seems to realize. She looks at me a different way now, with an emotion I can't currently place, and tilts her head. "Can I ask you a question, Five?" She says quietly, almost a whisper.

"Of course, anything." My head is racing as I answer her. Could this be it? I mean the situation seems fitting, considering your position, literally. She hesitates before she answers, picking out her words carefully.

"Can I have a glass of water? I'm absolutely parched," she gasped out, teasing smile ghosting her features. I looked at her with bewildered eyes, trying to find my words. Water? Seriously?

"Water? Seriously?" I blurt out without thinking. My eyes go wide as I shut my mouth just as fast as I opened it. Now it was her turn to look at me crazy. She let out a dry laugh (literally because her throat was becoming the Sahara desert). 

"Well, yeah. That workout beat the shit outta me and now I'm thirsty," she groaned as she lifted herself up to support her body on her elbows, me quickly placing a hand on her back to help. I shake my head at myself for actually thinking that was going to happen. As much as I hated to admit it, Y/N would never feel that way for me, I know she could only love me as a brother. After shaking myself out of my thoughts I nodded, a small 'yeah sure' leaving my lips as I quickly got up and proceeded over to the kitchen for that glass of water.

As I grabbed the glass from the top shelf and turned on the tap, I realized for the first time that I was in deep shit, and it was too late to try and dig myself out of it.

And that was the first time I realized I was in love with Y/N Hargreeves.

~~~

It had been a couple of months since the training room incident, and somehow I've managed to keep my mouth shut on the discovery. As much as I tried to avoid contact with Y/N at first, I knew it was wrong, selfish. Well, I didn't realize at first until Klaus came running into my bedroom, screaming at me because I made Y/N cry. Just the thought of tears in her y/e/c eyes made me go even crazier, and to know I had been the cause of them was the end of that. 

So things went back to the way they were before, mostly. As normal as you could get after realizing you're in love with someone and have to keep that in the back of your mind and pretend to be just a friend if you know what I mean. If you do know what I mean I feel terribly sorry for you, because it hasn't even been more than a few weeks and I feel like I'm dying. 

I push the staircase door open to enter the dingy lobby of the low-grade apartment building Y/N and I are staked out on. I walk across the ugly patterned carpet, avoiding eye contact with the staff at the front desk and walk over to the vending machine.

As I look through the choices, I realize I have never heard of any of these brands and should probably not eat whatever is in the rusting machine, but nonetheless grab a couple of bags of chips in Y/N's favourite flavour, even though they're not really my cup of tea. Then I begin my trek back up the fifteen-story building, since using the elevator isn't quite an option, due to it being "worked on", mentally preparing myself to greet Y/N again.

I finally get to the roof of the building, panting slightly as I push open the heavy metal door. "Hey Y/N I-" I begin to talk until I see what's in front of me. My eyes blow wide as I drop the bags of chips and run over to Y/N, who was standing at the edge of the building, arms spread out and eyes closed, her hair blowing wildly in the wind. She was obviously startled by my little outburst and starts to lose balance but I grab her waist and tackle her to the loose rock ground of the roof.

"What the fuck, Five?!" She screams, hands up and eyes squeezed shut, her cheeks going red. I sigh in relief and roll off of her and onto my back beside her, my hand over my chest. She opens her eyes and looks over at me, an angry expression taking over her face and specks of red appearing in her eyes. She was pissed. "Well? I asked you a fucking question!"

"You're asking me?" I said back, equally as angry. "Y/N what the hell were you doing up there? What if something happened?" I said as I push myself up to a sitting position, her doing the same as her hands get hot. 

"Nothing was going to happen to me, Five! Not until you scared the shit out of me and I almost fell off the building!" She replies, her breathing getting heavy.  I roll my eyes and laugh sarcastically.

"You think I'm the one who scared the shit out of you? Y/N what was I supposed to think when I see you standing on the edge of a 15 story high building like that?" I say, my hands flying around in absurd gestures as I try to show her my point, but she obviously wasn't getting it.

"It wasn't like that and you know it!" Y/N screamed back. At this point, her eyes had a bright red glow, something that happened when her powers were being triggered. I knew if I even tried to touch her hands I'd get a third-degree burn. "Jesus, Five, I don't need you breathing down my neck like that all the time, I already got dad for that!"

"Well, I'm sorry that I was worried about you!" My voice reached its peak intensity. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay! Because I lo-" I stop myself, breathing deeply as I look up at her. I catch my breath before I continue. "Because I care about you, Y/N. Is that such a fucking crime." I say, much quieter this time. She looks on at me, mouth opened slightly but still disappointed. She averts her gaze and shakes her head, looking at her worn-down shoes.

"The two of you just messed up this mission with your childish bickering!" our father's voice rings through the silent breeze. Y/N sighs, shuffling over to where the tiny radio laid in a pile of pebbles. "you two will be greatly punished! This couldn've been one of the biggest-" his voice stops abruptly as she ticked the switch on the side to off, and put it in her pocket as she made her way towards the stair door, but stops as she walks in front of me, not facing me.

"I appreciate the effort Five, but I don't need a saviour," she said in a voice so low even the wind overpowered it. "And now you've cost us the mission. Good fucking job, superman." And I watched as she rushes away from me, the door slamming behind her as I try to find something, anything in me to move, to follow her and apologize, admit that she was right. 

And that was the second time I realized I loved her, as she walked away, sniffling and trying to keep her tears at bay. I knew at that moment I would do anything if it meant I'd never make her feel like that again.

~~~

The failed New York case had been just a week ago, and Y/N took every chance she could to escape me. I don't blame her, what I did was wrong, and she was right. It was oddly quiet without her. I would spend most of my time just sitting in my bedroom, reading a book, waiting for her to burst in and throw it across the room as she pulls me out to explore with her. Every time I would groan and protest when she did that, hoping I could finally have some reading time alone in the peace and quiet, but as I found myself in that position I prayed to be in so many times, I wished for her to come back. Be careful what you wish for, I guess.

It was dinner time and everyone ate silently, the only sound in the room being the clinking of utensils on plates and Herr Carlson talking about mountain climbing techniques. Y/N sat across from me, her eyes trained down onto her steak dinner mom prepared. She pushed her beans around the plate. She hates beans, they make her feel sick. I stare at her, not being able to take my eyes away from her, praying she would look up. I know she could tell I was looking at her.

I watched as everyone did their own thing at the table. Ben was reading, Diego was carving something into his chair, Klaus was rolling another blunt, Allison and Luther were making disgusting goo-goo eyes at each other, and Vanya was the only one who was really eating. I look down the table at my father, his perfectly groomed mustache twitching as he chewed on his steak.

Before I could control myself I stabbed my knife into the table, causing a loud bang to ring through the dining room. "I have a question," my question comes out coldly. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, but I kept mine on my father, who was still looking down at his plate.

"Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rule, Number 5. No talking at the dinner table. You are interrupting Herr Carlson!" My father finally looks up at me. I glare at him as I harshly push my food away from me.

"I want to time travel," I speak out.

"Five," I hear Y/N whisper out, warning me. I can't help but glance over at her; she looks worried.

"But I'm ready!" I argue. She sighs, shaking her head and bringing her attention back to her meal. I turn my gaze back to Reginald. "I've been practising my spatial jumps, just like you've told me." As I finish my sentence I stand up and a blue light takes over me, teleporting me to beside him. "See?"

"A spatial jump is trivial when compared to the unknowns of time travel." He countered back. I rolled my eyes, I'm so tired of this shit every time. "One is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing waters and reappearing as an acorn." I look at him like he's a crazy old man, which per se he is.

"Well, I don't get it," I say in a quieter voice, but my attitude the same. he glances up at me and reaches for his glass, taking a sip of the undoubtedly expensive red wine.  

"Hence the reason why you're not ready." He says as if it's the end of the discussion. I avert my gaze, my eyes distinctively looking right towards Y/N, who was already looking at me. She shook her head lightly, mouthing 'please'. She was silently telling me to give it up, it's not worth it. If it were any other day I might have listened to her. I know I should have.

"I'm not afraid," I say still looking at her. I can't read her expression, but I could tell she was getting anxious by the way her eyebrows were scrunching together and how she brought her bottom lip between her teeth, biting hard.

"Fear isn't the issue. The effects it might have on your body, even your mind, are far too unpredictable." Reginald says, making me tear my eyes away from hers as he slams his own cutlery on the table. "Now I forbid you to talk of this subject any further." I sigh, looking around the room once more. Y/N's eyes were still looking right through me. I ignore her as I run out of the room, hearing my father calling for me from the table.

I push the doors of the academy open and walk down the street. It was a nice fall evening, just a little chilly. I think of a time period in the future, how about mid-July a year from now? Just as I was about to push forward I heard something.

"Five!" I could recognize the voice in my sleep. I turn around and see Y/N running after me. I stop so she could catch up, she was already panting by the time she came up in front of me. Her breaths were heavy as she analyzed me. "Please don't do this. Just come home."

Hearing her speak like this after her being so rude to me made anger bubble in my chest. "Oh, so now you want to talk to me? After ignoring the whole week?" I spurt out without thinking. I watch as her expression changed from worried to frustrated. 

"Listen, Five, I was angry and I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, okay? But I think I at least deserve an apology too." She says back. I let out a cold laugh, shaking my head as I look back at her.

"So now I'm apologizing for saving your life? Oh, I'm sorry, how rude of me. I should've let you fall off the fucking building." I say. I don't know why I say it, and I know I shouldn't, it wasn't true. I was just so piped up.

"You don't mean that, Five," she says quietly, trying to hold back the tears surfacing in her bright Y/E/C eyes. I lick my lips as I looked down, choosing not to respond. She continues. "I know you didn't mean any harm; I overreacted. I understand."

"No, you don't," I say quietly. I felt speechless, but at the same time, I was saying everything at once. I look back up at her and she looked confused. "You don't understand what it's like for me. You don't understand what it would be like for me if something ever happened to you, knowing it was my fault. You don't understand how protective I get when we're fighting criminals and they hurt you in any way. You don't understand when we're training and you better me, how that makes me feel. You don't understand what it's like when you don't come into my room and throw my book and drag me out to go exploring around the house, even though we've seen every part of it.  You don't understand what it's like when you fall asleep on my shoulder after begging me to watch whatever stupid rom-com with you. You don't understand what it's like watching you go out with all those douchebag boys, knowing I could do better, be better. You don't understand what it's like to be slowing falling more and more in love with you every day, just for you to think of me as not only your 'best friend' but worse, your brother! You'll never understand."

Her mouth was open as if she was trying to reply but couldn't find the right words. I waited for her to say something, anything really, but I got nothing. As she slowly took her eyes away from mine and looked at the ground I scoffed, shaking my head. "Yeah, that's what I thought," I mumble before I turn around and push myself to a different year.

And that was the last time I eve saw Y/N L/N. Well until now, 45 years later.

[Look out for part two my loves ;)]

~~~

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[spiderparkerpeterman]

headache

i typed this out after downing a coffee, forgetting i'm very sensitive to caffeine, forgot to save but then my laptop restarted for an update? so now i'm here four hours later bc i gave up on life, not so hopped up on caffeine but with a major headache and also it's 1am. enjoy!

content: stark!reader, fluff n cuddles, peter being a good boyfriend (tm)

warnings: lapslock, i've had to write this twice so i'm angry, post-endgame and yes this follows canon i'm sorry, feels, all the feels, angst and consequences of death, Tension

word count: probably less than my original draft (1528 words)

--

the jet ride back to the newly rebuilt avengers compound was quiet. the mission the reformed avengers had just been on was successful, an infiltration of a loose hydra camp, but there was a big hole in the team that had become apparent as soon as the mission had begun that left everyone in a tense silence.

missions were going to be very, very difficult now.  teamwork-wise and mentally. emotionally. it had been, what, a year or so since your dad had... well, anyway. it seemed like such a long time ago- it was a long time ago- but you had been itching to go back out and do avenger-y things for months. leave it up to the starks to distract themselves from grief and pain by working their asses off. you had been tinkering, toying with your dad's old ideas, doing some minor patrolling stuff for a year, and god was it not enough to keep you distracted.

but then you had actually taken on the mission and then everyone noticed that there were a few missing links that almost cost the team the victory. your dad had been a rock, a point of leadership, an active brain on the team. capsicle had been someone steady, brave, always willing to take on the hard jobs. and nat- nat- she'd take out a room full of men three times her size with ease and still have breath to keep going until every last man was down. sparklefingers was off in space with a rodent, a robot, and a lovesick asshole; that marvel lady had disappeared as soon as she could; the wizard was back at his boys' club; robin hood had officially retired, even leaving his bow behind for the rustic life; and orange slices had said something about "making up for lost time" with his daughter, leaving only you, captain birdman, edgy amnesiac, smart hulk and a handful of ironsuits you'd created over your little break, to regroup and do the mission.

and peter, of course. you could never forget about peter. especially not when he was sitting next to you, your hand in his, jaw clenched, staring at his lap.

the poor kid. you knew your dad was also kind of his dad, the only father figure he'd had since ben. the kid kept losing father figures- probably some kind of curse, you had reasoned with yourself, because this was getting out of hand. you had been by his side when he decided to return to spider-man-ing, a month or two after your dad had... yup. done that thing. he had been by your side when you went into your dad's lab in his lakehouse for the first time since the incident, some four months later. you had his back after the whole mysterio-then-court scenario. he had your back when you had your first major panic attack because you realised that you just couldn't cope. you had each other's backs, you had for three, well, technically eight years now. since just after peter had been taken on by your dad to beat some sense into the others in germany.

coming back from the blip was weird. the entire situation was weird. you had been blipped, dusted, gone, worried and confused about your father being on a giant donut in space with peter, and then you had come back five years later lying on your dusty, unused-for-five-years bed, then the compound was blown to smithereens, you were saved by your suit that you still had on after helping keep the wizard safe, discovered your dad had moved out to the country and had also had another kid- who you loved to bits, of course you did- and also your dad had invented time travel.

and then he was gone, forever.

so yeah. massive hole in the team, everyone was quiet, peter looked like he was going to throw up, you were trying not to cry.

you realised peter was looking at you, and you had been staring at him for a little too long. he squeezed your hand, his eyebrows raised slightly. he looked like a kicked puppy, and oh god, your heart hurt.

"sorry," you mumbled, looking away. sam raised his head but averted his eyes when you accidentally made eye contact. you felt a headache coming on- all this stress about the mission and hole-in-the-team stuff was not good for your physical, emotional or mental health. you rested your head on peter's shoulder, feeling his head rest on yours in return. you closed your eyes, tuning out the sound of the quinjet, just focusing on your breath and peter's soft circles that he was rubbing into your hand.

at some point, you drifted off because you awoke to peter gently nudging your shoulder, the quinjet landing. you blinked blearily at him.

"you okay?" he asked, cupping your cheek. you closed your eyes again and leant into his hand.

"headache," you mumbled, turning your face into his hand and kissing it a light kiss. "i'll be okay."

as soon as you stood up to get out of the quinjet though, a wave of nausea washed over you, forcing you to sit back down.

"or not."

peter rushed to pull you up gently, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he held both of your bags in his other hand. he helped you out of the quinjet, into the compound and up to your room.

exhausted and sore, your head pounding like nothing else, you collapsed on your bed, absentmindedly taking off your wrist cuffs with your nanosuit in them, kicking off your shoes. peter puttered around, putting his bag down then your bag down then taking off his webshooters, shoes and jacket, pacing the room looking at you worriedly.

"do you need anything? like- like aspirin or water or juice or music? i head whale noises can help with a headache and-"

"peter," you mumbled.

"- but i haven't had a headache since i got my powers so i kind of don't know what to do and-"

"peter," you said, a little louder.

"-  i think i should get you some aspirin, yeah, and i'll close the curtains, and-"

"peter!" you called, regretting it as your head pounded particularly hard. peter stopped pacing, and looked at you. "stop pacing, you're giving me motion sickness. and please- just keep it down, i just need quiet okay? you can go get what you want, some aspirin would be nice, and a gatorade too. but please calm down. it's just a headache, i'm tense and stressed. it'll go away soon."

peter nodded and rushed out of the room. you lay on your back with a small groan, staring up at the plain white ceiling of your room. before the compound had been destroyed, you'd put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of your bedroom with your dad, and you could look up and stare at the fake constellation stories you had made, giggling with your dad. now the ceiling was empty, strange, unfamiliar. everything was- you had lost almost everything that night. your eyes burned with tears, which you wiped away, keeping your hand over your eyes, fighting the need to throw up.

a few minutes later, you heard your door swing open as peter reentered. you took your hand away from your face and looked at him, balancing two boxes of aspirin and four bottles of gatorade in different colours. he smiled at you gently as he put the stuff on your bedside table.

"let's get you sitting up, yeah?" he whispered, the look in his eyes oh so tender. he sat behind you, resting your back and head on his side so you didn't have to move too much and took out two small aspirin tablets. "i didn't know which colour gatorade you wanted so i got you all of them."

"i'll have the red one, thanks," you replied, taking the tablets and then the gatorade that peter opened, swallowing the pills with a large mouthful of the drink.

you sighed and moved so that you were lying in his lap and looked up at him. you giggled.

"what?" he asked, and you raised a hand to poke at his jaw.

"how do you not even have a double chin from this angle?" you pouted, "it's not fair."

"spiders," he replied, "they tend to do that to you."

you giggled again and sighed again, closing your eyes.

"i should go," peter whispered, raising your head so he could slip away from under you. "you want quiet, yeah?"

"i never said i didn't want you in here," you muttered. "i'm in pain, comfort me."

peter grinned and obliged, maneuvering you so you were lying under your blankets then slipping in next to you. he lay your head on his chest and wrapped an arm behind your neck so you were secure. you rolled onto your side, an ear to his heart. his heartbeat was so steady, as usual.

"i love you, and want you to know that you did great today," peter mumbled, stroking your hair.

"love you too. you also did really well. thanks for having my back."

"any time."

[act-addict-actors-matchups]

@ne-nene-ne said,

[1/2] Hi~ May I pls have a matchup? I'm a ♏, ISFP, 5'0 fem w/ medium length dark hair & eyes. I like wearing sweaters/sweatpants a lot! I love to draw & sing especially! I'd sing softly to my s/o if we're close & alone together. I often take endless pics of the sunset bc it's so pretty! Tbh I'm a loner. I'm shy, quiet, awkward and I like my alone time. I'm friendly and good-willing towards others nonetheless! I've been told I have a positive aura. I'm more chill, silly & playful w/ family!

[2/2] I can joke around w/ them! I have a short temper but I forgive just as quickly. I can be hard on myself bc I feel it's necessary to improve. I'm an appreciative person so I'll say "thank you" like 1000 times lol! I highly value family & honesty! My ideal s/o is someone family-oriented, devoted, and genuine. Bonus points if they're funny too! I'd like someone who I can slowdance to soft, jazz music w/. My love language is Acts of Service! Tysm! Take your time, stay healthy & stay safe! ❤

✧ Thank you so much for requesting a matchup love. Tumblr is not letting me tag you so hopefully you’ll see this. 😔 I wish you well during this challenging time. Hope you keep safe as well! 😷

I’d match you with: . . .

➜ HOW YOU TWO FIRST MET ; Juza Hyodo is that typical cold guy in school that everyone is lowkey scared of. That’s how he seems from outside anyway. You were asked by your biology teacher to borrow the books for the class’s current lesson from the library on the spot so you took a beeline for the shelves as fast as you could. But for god’s sake all the books were placed at the topmost part of the science shelves. You stood there for a good minute while glaring at the books overhead. You knew you were damned for good since there were no chairs nearby that were available and the librarian was nowhere to be seen. You stomped you feet in annoyance until you felt a looming presence behind you. A tall one. When you turned around, you saw Juza grabbing the books at ease and handing it to you. You thanked him quietly which surprised him because you actually didn’t quiver with fear or panic in his presence??? and you genuinely thanked him?? It was not usual for him to hear someone express their gratitude towards him. Even the cashiers from sweet shops he’d like to visit secretly we’re scared of him for heaven’s sake. After murmuring a little “‘S nothing.” he walked away. And that was the end of it. Or so you thought. The second time you met the purple haired boy was in a cafe. You were patiently waiting in the line for this so called Peanut Butter Pound Cake S'mores. According to your friends, it was one of the best desserts the cafe ever had. To test that theory, you decided to check the dessert yourself. Everything was perfectly normal until a young teenage boy of average height with fluffy pink hair and light blue eyes bumped into you, spilling a little of his drink on you. Yes, I’m talking about Muku. Baby boy was so scared and flustered, he apologized to you multiple times like crazy. Luckily it wasn’t anything hot so you didn’t burn yourself. Giving the boy a soft smile, you said it was fine and he shouldn’t worry about it. But he is a kind-hearted and modest boy with the motto "doing one good deed each day" so of course he offered you to give some of the Chocolate-Caramel Sandwich Cookies he had ordered before to apologize properly. Normally you would’ve reject the offer but with the way he was looking at you, you couldn’t find the heart to do so. While waiting for your order together, you learned what the boy’s name was and that he came here with his cousin. When you heard that the first image that popped into your mind was a soft looking person just like him you. After you got your order, the two of you made your way towards their table. And with that, your previous thought was thrown out of the window just like that. There he was, one and only Juza Hyodo, the person who helped you in the library, was sitting in a chair, quietly munching on one of the many sweets in front of him. When Muku announced that he was back, his eyes shot up to him and then shifted towards you. Yeah, it was awkward. Nevertheless, you tried to offer the tall boy a smile, which he just nodded his head, cheeks tilted pink to get his sweet tooth exposed to someone from school. After you sat down, Muku began to explain how he accidentally bumped into you and spilled some of his drink on you. Juza got the picture and said nothing. Though, gradually he started to become more comfortable. Before you knew it, you befriend the young teenage boy with fluffy hair. You told Muku how you two first met, which he only exclaimed how cool his cousin was and how the scene was just like from a shoujo manga. So yeah, your friendship with Juza started that day and slowly but steadily developed into something more. You would see him at school and chat with him, give him snacks to eat together on the rooftop etc.

➜ PERSONALITY COMPATIBILITY ; Let me just start of by saying that you two are really similar in terms of personality. A loner who is shy, quiet, awkward, likes alone time yet still friendly and good-willing towards others? Yeah, you get to point. When you're dating someone who has almost identical personality traits as you, reading them becomes easier. Juza is honest and critical of himself but is more than willing to work hard on it to improve himself and so are you. You two motive each other become better versions of yourselves, constantly pushing forward hand in hand ad I think that’s a beautiful thing in a relationship. You two have the same values. He deeply values his comrades and family so he would love it whenever he saw you getting along with Muku or Kumon. He’s very protective of those he holds dear, so watching you interact with them and care for them as if they were your own family would make him fall for you even more. The same goes for him as well. He’ d try his utmost best to get along with your family. Physical affection is OUT the window in the first start of your guys' relationship though. And when you guys DO start attempting physical contact, he'd be so stiff. Baby boy really hasn’t had a lot of experience in regards to how to treat others with affection outside of his family. 🥺 but deep down, Juza has a soft side. He’s a bit shy with showing his affections, but he tries his utmost best to convey his love to you― one of them being if you ever needed him support with ANYTHING honestly, he’ll always make it known to you that you have his full support and that he’s always right beside you through everything.

➜ SHARED ACTIVITIES ; With an delinquent-like appearance that often gives people a "scary" impression of him, I feel like Juza would rather spend time inside rather than outside. For those with a serious sweet tooth, baking, especially with a lover has a double benefit: It engages the two of you in an activity you probably don't do often, and you get to enjoy something delicious afterward. You two make an especially decadent dessert when you're feeling ambitious, or simply break out a boxed mix if you're short on time — or baking skills. At first times, there is a lot of trial and error and you guys end up getting covered in flour and such, a cheeky smile present on your face. These are usually the times where you get to hear Juza’s rare laughs as he joined in your joy. Feeling too lazy to bake something? Have a candy tasting. Satisfying your sweet tooth is a foolproof way to survive. Stock up on different colors of Starbursts, Gummi Bears or Worms, Sour Straws, Hi-Chews, and whatever else you are craving— and then eat your way through the rainbow together. Bonus points if you’re lounging off your sugar coma with a movie on the couch afterwards, he doesn’t particularly mind what kind so it’s totally up to you which genre you want to watch. This one is technically not a date but sometimes you, Juza, Muku and Kumon play board games. Depending on how competitive you are, this idea can be a little dangerous. (looking at you monopoly.) But it’s always a blast to spend time with people you love and cherish.

➜ ZODIAC COMPATIBILITY ; Juza’s birthday is on September 27, which makes him a Libra. When Libra and Scorpio come together in a love match, they tend to make a very emotionally connected and mutually satisfying union. Though Scorpio is a brooder who can get lost in the confusing welter of their own emotions, Libra’s proclivity for balance and harmony helps keep Scorpio even. Scorpio can return the favor to Libra with their characteristic powers of focus, a trait that Libra usually lacks. These two are very compatible due to their similar needs in a love relationship: Libra is the Sign of Partnership, and Libra is happiest when in a well-balanced and intimate relationship, while Scorpio thrives on emotional and sexual intimacy with their mate. These two Signs can make a very loyal, close and satisfying partnership. What’s the best aspect of the Libra-Scorpio relationship? The power they find in unity. They can accomplish a lot, whether they come together for a cause in the business or romantic sphere. They are both winners and they won’t give up, making theirs a relationship that takes care of business.

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Someone Special - Harry Styles Christmas Series (Part 6)

Part 5

Week of Jingle Bell Ball 

Harry was on his way to the airport to pick you up. You were flying in to London to perform at the Jingle Bell Ball on Friday. Luckily, you decided to arrive a few days prior which meant you and Harry could spend some time together. Over the last few weeks since the talk at his house in Malibu, the two of you had really become quit friendly. 

It was weird to think you two had only known each other for only a few weeks. After chatting over the last few weeks, Harry was more than ready to have you in London to help with your Christmas Bucket List. He got little hints of what you wanted to do and looked for different things to do in London. Harry also offered for you to stay over at his place in the guest room instead of a hotel. 

At first, you were a little taken aback by it, but he said he always had his friends stay over, so then you thought why not. And that brought him to sitting outside of the airport waiting for you to arrive. Harry found himself feeling nervous at your arrival. He had no clue why. His stomach felt iffy and his palms were leaving streaks of sweat on the steering wheel. 

He mumbled the lyrics to the Christmas song playing on the radio as he looked at his phone. Your plane should be landed right now, so it would be at least a good ten to twenty, maybe half hour before you’d get through customs and getting your bags. To sort of get his emotions in check, he put his head back and decided to take a little cat nap. 

About forty five minutes later, Harry jumped up when he heard someone knocking on his window. He looked over seeing you standing there with your bags. 

“Shit,” he said quickly getting out. “Let me get those.” 

“You alright?” You laughed. 

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’m great, just resting my eyes.” 

“I see that,” you said. “Just like I see the drool on your chin.” 

He blushed bringing his hand to his chin and wiping it away. He took your bags putting them in the back of the car, while you got in on the passenger side. 

“How was your flight?” Harry asked getting back in and pulling his seatbelt on. 

“Long,” you groaned. “I’m ready to shower and like walk a marathon because I’ve been sitting too fucking long.” 

He laughed, “Well, you can do just that. I’ve got some takeaway being delivered to the house and then we can do whatever you want after. I’ve got a few ideas, but I didn’t know how you would feel after being on the plane.” 

“Ask me after I’ve had a shower and food in my belly,” you laughed. 

He nodded and started driving. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay with you?” you asked. 

“Yes, of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t have offered it wasn’t.” 

“I know, I know, but I just don’t want to feel like I’m invaded your space,” you said. 

“Well, you’re not,” he said. “I promise.” 

“Good to know,” you said. “Although, if I end up doing just that, let me know.” 

“You’re only here for a few days, I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” he laughed.

“I guess, we’ll just see about that,” you giggled. 

**

After you made it to his house, he brought your things inside and into the guest room. He showed you around and then left to give your privacy to get showered and changed. You were nervous on the way here, wondering what it would be like seeing him again and staying with him, but now that you were there, it was like your nerves had gone away. 

You would admit that it did feel a little weird staying there. Even though you both discussed what happened in New York or technically what didn’t happen, you still had only known him for a short while and you were already staying at his house. When you got out of the shower, you dried off and grabbed some clothes to change into. 

You decided on some jeans and a big comfy sweater in case you two decided to go out after, since it was still quite early in the afternoon. Yes, it was almost nighttime, but still early enough to call it a night. You dried your hair a little bit before heading down to meet Harry in the kitchen. 

“This smells amazing,” you said sitting down across from him at the table. 

“It’s from my favorite pub right down the street,” he said. 

“Now, did you discover it after you moved in, or did you move in specifically for the pub?” you joked. 

“Oh, the latter without a doubt,” he joked. 

“You know, joke or not, I can actually see that,” you giggled. 

He laughed taking a bite of his food before looking back over at you, “So, how are ya feeling? Shall we call it a night in or are you ready to be adventurous?” 

“I’m ready to see what you’ve got planned,” you smirked. 

“Alright then,” he nodded. “I’ve got the perfect thing to do on our first night, then. After dinner, we can head out, just make sure you dress warm.” 

“I take it we’ll be outside?” You asked. 

“Mostly, yes,” he nodded. “Is that alright?” 

“It’s perfect,” you smiled. 

About an hour later, you and Harry arrived at Hyde Park for the Winter Wonderland. As soon as you saw it, you let out a gasp with a smile. 

“Holy shit,” you said. “This is-Wow.” 

“I figured you might like it,” he said turning the car off before you both got out. 

“I think I might love it,” you smiled. “Thank you... for you know wanting to do this.” 

“Hey, as your friend it’s my job to make sure you fulfill your wish of making this a great Christmas, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do,” he smiled. 

**

As you walked through the Winter Wonderland, you were overwhelmed with everything it had. 

“So, what do you want to do first?” Harry asked. 

“No fucking clue,” you laughed. “There’s too much to choose from.” 

“Yeah, there’s a lot,” he said. “But we can always come back if we run out of time,” he joked. 

“Um, let’s try ice skating first,” you smiled. “Because that was actually on my list.” 

“Try? Have you ever ice skated before?” He asked. 

“Um... not really,” you laughed. “I mean, maybe once when I was younger, but I don’t really remember it and I’m pretty sure I had one of those bar things to hold on to.” 

“Weeellll, lucky for you I’m practically a professional,” he smirked. 

“I saw the Night Changes video and I beg to differ,” you joked. 

“I’m never going to fucking live that down,” he laughed. “And it was part of the video! I’m not that terrible.” 

“I guess we’ll just have to see about that,” you said. 

You both got a pair of skates to change into before heading out on the ice. Harry held your hand and your arm as he guided you out. 

“Okay, so just move your feet one at a time, but in like a rhythm,” he said. 

“Very technical terminology there, Styles,” you laughed trying to do as he said. 

“Hey, I know what I’m talking about,” he smirked. 

You rolled your eyes as you moved your feet slowly. Harry was guiding you and him over the ice. For the most part you were gettin the hang of it, but just when you started to get a bit more confident about it, is when you lost your balance and fell right on your ass, bringing Harry down with you. 

You laughed both because you couldn’t believe it happened, you were slightly embarrassed and the fact that cheesy Christmas music was blaring in the background made it feel like a scene from a movie. You looked up and Harry’s face was inches for yours. You both were staring at each other as you laughed. 

“You alright?” He laughed. 

“Physically I’m fine, emotionally I’m bruised... and actually my ass is probably bruised as well,” you laughed. 

“Are you really using my own quote against me?” He laughed. 

“Yah, I am,” you giggled. 

He rolled his eyes with a laugh before getting up to his feet and helping you up to your feet. 

“Shall we go again?” He asked. 

You were currently brushing ice from your butt as you looked over at him, “Yeah, I think it’s better if we call it a night on this whole ice skating thing,” you laughed. 

“Good call,” he laughed. 

You both skated slowly over to the door to get off the ice. 

“I don’t think I’m ever going to put these on again,” you laughed. 

“So, Ice Skating won’t be on your Christmas List anymore?” He smirked. 

“Never again,” you giggled. 

When you both were changed back into your own shoes and the ice skates returned, you two decided on getting some hot chocolate to warm up before walking through the lights and ice sculptures sections. 

“Extra cinnamon for the lovely lady,” Harry smiled handing you yours. “And a tiny pinch for me.” 

You smirked, “I’m still waiting on my thank you for introducing you to the best drink combination ever.” 

“Yeah, you’re not getting it,” he laughed. “I’m still not completely sold on it.” 

“Keep lying to yourself,” you said. 

“You fucking wish!” He said. 

You giggled taking a sip of your drink as the two of you walked through. You smiled at all the lights and sculptures, making sure to snap photos of everything and also of you and Harry together. You were having the best time and you hadn’t really noticed that the two of you were gradually walking closer together until you felt your hands touching. You both blushed a little, not really looking at the other as you took a small step away. 

You two were just friends, nothing more, you both had agreed on that. Yet, couldn’t help, but wonder what it would be like if you were a little bit more than friends. You quickly shook that thought from your mind though because it shouldn’t be there to begin with him. Harry made it very clear he didn’t have any feelings for you, and there was no way you had feelings for him. 

It was getting close to closing at the Winter Wonderland, so you two were about to head back to the car. You had played some games and each one two hug stuffed animals for the other. One of them was actually taller than you, so that was a bit of a struggle. Harry laughed taking it from you and carried himself. 

When you got to the car, you put them in the back and got inside. 

“Did you have fun?” Harry asked as he drove back to his house. 

“So much,” you smiled. “I’d loved every second of it, except maybe falling on my ass.” 

He laughed, “Yeah, that was a little painful.” 

The drive back to Harry’s house didn’t seem to take very long. You both got out, carrying the massive stuffed animals back into the house. Harry laid them on the couch in the living room before going into the kitchen. 

“Want some tea?” He asked. 

“Sure,” you nodded taking off your layers of clothing. “God, I can finally feel my toes now.” 

“Yeah, my body is thawing out now,” he joked. 

You put your coat and scarf onto the coat rack before joining him in the kitchen. 

“I really did have a great time tonight,” you said. “I can’t thank you enough.” 

“Well, you already have,” he said walking over to you after putting the kettle on. “I know it’s still pretty early in the Christmas season, but how would you rate it compared to last year?” 

“Oh, it’s already ten times better,” you laughed. “So, I guess it’s safe to say it can only go up from here.” 

“I’m happy to hear that,” he said. “You deserve to have good memories and to be happy. I mean, you are happy right?” 

“I’m very happy,” you smiled. “What about you?” 

“I am,” he nodded leaning up against the counter next to you. 

You looked over at him, smiling, as he stared at you. There it was again, the same feeling you had felt on the dance floor back in New York. An energetic pull  between the two of you closing the distance. Your gaze dropped to his lips as his dropped to yours and back to your eyes. Neither of you spoke a word, you just let your instincts take over, your lips were almost touching with the sound of the kettle filled the room. 

“Blood hell,” Harry mumbled pulling away from you to turn it off. 

He sighed, not looking at you, “I’m sorry-” he whispered. 

“Don’t.” you whispered. “Don’t be.” 

You walked over to him taking his hand in yours, so that he would turn to face you. You closed the remaining distance between you two once more. He brought his hands up to your cheeks as he looked into your eyes, almost as if he was silently asking for permission. As soon as you gave a slight nod, there was no hesitation for him pressing his lips against yours. 

**

WELP! There it is! They’ve kissed. What’s gonna happen now! 

[prettywordsyouleft]

You Didn’t Let Me! - Part 2 (Jinyoung)

Summary: It took you three guys to realise you had been running from love all along. When you finally meet up again at a university reunion, you weren’t prepared to answer the question of who you wanted most.

Pairing: Yoo Kihyun x Park Jinyoung x Lee Seunggi x reader

Genre: romance / angst / self-growth au

Warnings: three hot guys and y/n’s an idiot lol none

A/N: This was initially meant to be a oneshot for the Trick, No It’s My Treat dares. However, the storyline suited being broken up and so I have made it into a mini-series. I hope you enjoy!  

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

“You, joining a gym?!” Raisa scoffed and you pouted in her direction. She gestured to the empty chocolate wrapper on your desk. “You couldn’t choose the healthy life even if you wanted to.”

“So I have a sweet tooth,” you agreed bitterly, picking up the wrapper and placing it in the trash bin beside the desk. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to tone up. Look at my arms! All these years of studying have done me no good! I need to get active again. We graduate in the spring, and I plan on looking the best I can for it.”

“But you in a gym?” she continued, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine it at all. You hate sweating.”

“I hate looking at myself in the mirror and seeing myself grow bigger too. I’ve cut back on my food intake, now it’s time to match that with some good old exercise.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Raisa muttered and you grinned, reaching out for her lower arm and gave it a shake. She eyed you dubiously, your thoughts soon connecting. “Oh no, Y/N, I’m not joining you.”

“How will you ever get the proof if you don’t come along?!”

And despite her lengthy list of excuses, Raisa was there at your side on your first day at the university gym. You had been through orientation already and knew how to use the machinery well enough that you didn’t have a personal trainer at your side for the first few sessions. You liked getting in there and doing your routine they had drafted up for you, the satisfaction of your after-workout buzz overpowering your major dislike for the sticky sweat you washed away in the shower each time.

Soon, you were dedicated to working out most days, much more committed than Raisa was. You grew confident to go to the gym alone, no longer worried about your appearance among the others who used the facilities at the same time as you. No one was judging you and you were too focused on your own results to care.

That was until you met your new trainer.

“So, I hear you want to tone up your arms? I’m Jinyoung, I’ve been assigned to help you with that,” he announced as he stopped at your side near the weights. Glancing up, you forgot to swallow, pretty sure you were about to start drooling instead.

If arms were the topic of the day, then Jinyoung’s were by far the best set you had ever laid eyes upon. You could sense he was proud of them, folding them across his chest as he smiled down at you. There was a hint of smugness curling up the corners of his lips, satisfied by your instant awe over them.

And then he became awkward, clearing his throat and it startled you enough to let go of the dumbbell you held in your hand, emitting a yelp of pain a moment after you recognised it hit your foot.

Yeah, those arms? They were right around you after he assessed the damage to your foot, scooping you up off the ground where you had somewhat crumpled upon from the pain. Jinyoung then carried you to the medical room so he could examine you further.

It wasn’t the most ideal start.

And yet you were determined to continue. This surprised Jinyoung and you could see he was impressed by your resolve. “Are you fully healed?”

“Of course, I’m not that fragile,” you remarked, even if you weren’t ready for any more mishaps the gym could potentially result in if you didn’t pay enough attention. You decided you were prepared to commit though and nothing would deter you.

Jinyoung wasn’t ready to let the first incident go, however.

It seemed he had made it his sole mission in life to remind you about the accident every time he was training you. “Tighter grip, Y/N. Your foot only bruised last time; these weights are heavier and will break it if you don’t pay attention.”

“I am gripping them,” you huffed in annoyance, heaving them up and down with your set, relieved when Jinyoung finally called to put them down. You placed them back on the stand before wiping the sweat off your face with your towel.

Your trainer grinned, reaching out affectionately to fix the loose hairs around your face. “We don’t need you looking dishevelled after a session with me, now do we?” he murmured, cupping your cheek in his hand for the briefest moment, eyes alive with amusement.

You couldn’t help the deep pink flush of colour that rushed to the surface, nor did you pay attention as you stepped forward, catching the toe of your shoe on the base of the bench you had just collected your towel from. Jinyoung caught you before you fell, eyes wide with the current predicament.

You wanted the ground to swallow you up whole.

“I think you have a thing for my arms, Y/N. You keep ending up in them too often,” he attempted to tease; though his tone held no jest and his skin had grown warm. Righting yourself, you nodded rapidly then shook your head to refute his statement, barely saying your farewell as you dashed off to the ladies locker room. You then slumped against the wall, heaving in a deep breath.

Had Jinyoung just flirted with you? Was he affected as much as you were about his presence? You had to admit your clumsy nature only increased whenever he was around. He was gorgeous, with his dark eyes and raven hair that fell into them as he worked out. His body was toned but not excessively and whenever he chuckled your legs turned to jelly.

It wasn’t safe anymore to be in this environment. Having a crush on him wasn’t the end of the world, but in a setting with heavy equipment, you were bound to end up in hospital if this continued.

“Here, let me spot you,” Jinyoung offered the next time you were in the gym, moving in behind you. Glancing over your shoulder as you swung the dumbbell back and forth, bracing yourself against the bench, you arched an eyebrow at the man. He chuckled. “Last time you were here you almost ended up in the medic room. I’m not prepared to have you hurt again.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Your swing is though, it’s meant to be straight like this,” he stated, reaching to take the slack out of your arm. Instinctively, his other hand went to your waist, pressing on it gently. You knew logically he was asking for you to find your centre and balance through the core. It wasn’t anything more than a technical approach, to ensure you were doing the movement correctly.

And yet it felt entirely intimate, his torso pressed into your back whilst his hands guided your movement. You felt his breath on your neck and it wasn’t long until a fantasy cropped up in your mind, throwing you off entirely.

His breath was now tickling against your ear. “Y/N, are you focusing because I don’t think you are.”

“I am,” you breathed, shaking away the sinful images and returning to mindfully exercising. But it was too late, your movement now stunted by Jinyoung’s hand reaching out to remove the weight from your hand. In doing so you lost your balance, tumbling backwards into him and sending you both sprawling onto the floor. You heard the weight drop on the ground and gasped when you saw how close it was to hitting him in the head.

“So, I think we need to come up with a new safety plan whilst working with weights now, huh?” he breathed, wide-eyed from assessing the proximity of the dumbbell.

You were too mortified about almost killing your trainer that you skipped your next session. Raisa came home from her study session to find you in the apartment spooning mouthfuls of ice-cream in as you watched the television. She frowned, wrestling the tub out of your grip. “Shouldn’t you be with Jinyoung right now?”

“Even you think we should be together,” you grumbled, reaching out to snatch your treat back. “I’m not in the mood.”

“That much I can tell,” she commented, gesturing to your state. Sitting down beside you, Raisa leaned in closer. “Are you feeling something towards him? I mean I don’t blame you, he’s gorgeous. I think I’d have more success in going to the gym if he had been assigned as my trainer.”

You sighed, letting the spoon fall into the tub. “He’s just my trainer, right?”

“Well, what do you mean?”

You explained the moments you had with him thus far to your best friend, trying to remain as factual and not emotionally attached as you had been with Kihyun. You knew it would be easy to construe feelings since you had done it in the past with your friend in the second year of university. You didn’t want to think Jinyoung’s proficient care meant anything more than him doing his job, if that was all there was to it.

Yet the little smiles, the commentary, the way he held you last time, well, your mind was definitely confused.

“I think there might be something there,” Raisa said afterwards, expression still thoughtful. “I mean, he’s very accommodating to your needs.”

“He’s paid to look out for his clients. It’s not his fault I’m clumsy.” You reached for the spoon again, Raisa taking the ice-cream away a second time and spooned some into her mouth instead. You didn’t even have the energy to whine at her.

“You’re friends with Kihyun so I can see where that got a little messy. But Jinyoung doesn’t have to do anything apart from be professional, Y/N. I think this time, your feelings are valid. Even if I still think Kihyun held feelings for you but you were too dumb to see them.”

“Let’s not,” you lamented, shooting her a look. However, you began to consider her advice over Jinyoung, your hope soon growing.

With Raisa’s pep-talk, you returned to the gym the following week. Smiling at the clerk on the front desk, you pushed through the gym doors and began heading towards the locker room to put your things away when you noticed Jinyoung with another woman over by the weights. You paused, watching on with interest. She was giggling and curling her hands around his as he showed her the appropriate way to hold the equipment. You could see from here that she was far too delighted to have such a handsome trainer. Had you looked like this when you first started working out with Jinyoung? You weren’t as bold as she was being about her attraction, at least.

Yet Jinyoung was smiling, laughing even at something she said a moment later. Jealousy reared in your stomach and you managed to tear your gaze away, stomping into the locker room. Once you were ready to head back out – and much more composed – you went over to the weights area, standing off to the side and waited.

It was your session time, after all.

Jinyoung glanced up at you, eyes flashing with multiple emotions and he stepped back from the client, brushing his hands on his pants. “Oh Y/N, I need to talk with you.”

“I can wait for you to wrap up here. I’ll just go work on the cardio equipment until you’re ready.”

Jinyoung shook his head, looking apologetic. “I won’t be taking your sessions anymore.”

You merely blinked, not quite understanding the change. “Is it because of the accident last time?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that Jackson will be taking over for me. He’s exceptional, so you’ll find his training a great benefit to you.”

“Do I not get a choice in who I train with?” you blurted out, uncaring how the girl waiting on Jinyoung looked at you. “I choose to be trained by you.”

“I can’t anymore, it’s a little complicated to discuss here but if you come into my office after your training with Jackson, I’ll explain more about why then. Okay Lisa, where were we?”

You stood there dumbfounded for a moment before you jarringly stepped back, turning around to go over to the treadmills across the room. You refused to look up into the mirrored wall that would reflect Jinyoung’s area. Instead, you ran, pushing harder than you usually did.

You felt stupid. Once again, you had gotten the wrong impression, assuming there was more to Jinyoung than just the training. You had made him uncomfortable and so he had chosen to move on. There was nothing more to it.

Even though it was no fault of his own, you told Jackson you weren’t ready to start training with him. And when you were done with your session, you didn’t stop as you walked to the exit, ignoring Jinyoung’s request for you to stop by afterwards. You didn’t need to hear what he had to say, your heart was already broken.

You soon decided to change to a different gym, wanting a new environment to refocus on your original goals. You had joined the gym to tone up and not to fall for your trainer in the process after all.

“You gave up, just like that?” Raisa asked and you shot her a look. “What if there was a reason for Jinyoung pulling away from you? I’m sorry, Y/N, I can’t keep training you because I like you. Let’s see each other outside of the gym. You didn’t even let him explain. See, this is your problem Y/N! You keep running away before getting all the facts.”

You laughed, shaking your head at your best friend. “Rai, this isn’t a fairytale. Things don’t work like that for me anyway. I think it’s best to just move onto the next chapter in my life. With graduation around the corner, I just want to focus on getting a job that I enjoy.”

_________________

Part 3

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[wehavethoughts]

The Untamed Review!

The Untamed (陈情令)

Written by: Yang Xia, Deng Yaoyu, Ma Jing and Guo Guangyun

Directed by: Zheng Weiwen and Chen Jialin

Based on Mo Dao Zu Shi (魔道祖师) by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Tencent Penguin Pictures and New Style Media, 2019

Chinese fantasy (Xianxia) TV series

Rating: 3.5/5 Waves

Summary: Wei Wuxian is a prodigy cultivator known for his charm and recklessness. Lan Wanji is as powerful as he is strict. Wei Wuxian has never seen a rule he wouldn’t break and Lan Wanji had never broken a rule in his life. Their unlikely friendship is tested by war, loss, and nefarious schemes. Wei Wuxian awakes in a future he never expected to see and is tasked with unraveling a mystery that could upend the entire cultivation world.

This post does NOT contain spoilers for The Untamed.

Content Warnings for The Untamed: Violence, Torture, Death, Sexual Assault/Rape, Self-harm, Suicide, Incest

The Untamed is a fantasy TV series based on the novel Mo Dao Zu Shi by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. I’ve never read the book (though I intend to after seeing this show) so I can’t speak to how faithfully the original story was retold. Fortunately for fantasy fans like myself, the context of the original is unnecessary to fall in love with this show. The Untamed came highly recommended from friends and it is the first Chinese fantasy series I have ever seen. The show is in Mandarin, but for those of us who don’t speak that, Netflix has English, Vietnamese, and Spanish subtitle options. They were easy to follow and my friend who watched with me (and speaks Mandarin) assured me that the subtitles were acceptably accurate.

I loved so much about this show from the casting and costumes to complex characters and the devastating emotional impact. Every few episodes I had to stop and admire the cast and the character design in this show. The Untamed has a cast of more than 30 recurring memorable characters and every single actor slipped into their role perfectly. Between the talent of the actors and the attention to detail in their costumes, each character came across exactly as the narrative intended. There were clues and foreshadowing that an attentive viewer could follow by simply being able to identify a character from the hem of their robes or the pattern of their headpiece. The effort and skill that went into these characters make the show both beautiful to look at and exciting to follow.

Aside from the physical appearance of the characters, they were also spectacularly written. Nearly every single character has complex and realistic motivations that make even the side characters feel like real people. You can see why each choice was made, even though some will clearly have dire consequences. Even the villains of this story have so much depth that I’d catch myself saying, “Oh I see why you did that! It’s horrifyingly evil and irredeemable, but I get it.” And because of how well written these characters are, the emotional impact when we lose one to battle or betrayal is devastating.

I promised this review was spoiler-free so I will not say who doesn’t make it, but as a consumer of mostly American fantasy, this show surprised me. I’ve been told that in this genre (Xianxia), do not assume that characters are safe and plot armor isn’t always a thing. So fair warning for anyone who is interested in this show: a lot of characters die. The deaths make sense and while some are clearly for shock value, all have the appropriate emotional and political consequences in the story. But since all of the characters are both visually and narratively compelling, it’s going to hurt.

Another aspect of this show I enjoyed was the underlying LGBT+ themes. The novel that the show is based off of has explicitly queer characters and though that is not the case in The Untamed, the spirit of the source material is still very present in the show. As a member of the LGBT+ community, the subtext was abundantly clear to me. By excluding the physical intimacy of characters who were queer in the novel, they relied on the emotional intimacy to carry the story. This felt much more impactful than other media I’ve seen that relied solely on obvious romantic cues like kissing and saying “I love you” without creating depth in the relationships. In fact, from my perspective, nearly every character in the show was queer-coded in one way or another which was a very refreshing experience. On the other hand, I don’t want to gloss over the fact that the show did try to straight-wash these characters. The Untamed aired in China in 2019. Diversity and representation are so important and it is frustrating to see something mainstream come so close to being good representation while refusing to commit to it. Overall, they could have done better, but it was still pretty gay for not being gay.

Some reasons this show received only 3.5 waves in spite of me loving it include the narrative timeline and pacing, the special effects and editing, and the general lack of women characters. The Untamed made an interesting framing choice in that episodes 3-33 consist of one continuous flashback. Personally, I found it confusing and unnecessary. If 30 of 50 episodes are going to be flashbacks, why not simply tell the story in order? While this framing choice does give the audience some fun clues and increase the intrigue, by episode 34 I forgot everything that happened in the first two episodes. It also left me wondering why they would introduce the main plot and then immediately change course. While the story arcs in the flashback do cause the conflicts happening in the present, both time periods have their own distinct plot. In the flashback there is a war and its fallout that are explored. In the present timeline, the story is essentially a murder mystery. It felt like I was watching two separate shows.

A related problem I had with the show was the pacing. I loved seeing all of these characters on screen for fifty 40 minute episodes, but the source material is a single novel. This story could have been told in 30-40 episodes easily. This left some episodes lacking depth and feeling pointless, while also inexplicably leaving some subplots completely unexplored (the Yin Iron shard with the florist in episode 8 for example). This coupled with distracting editing choices-- like ending an episode mid-sentence or abruptly cutting between two unrelated scenes-- made bingeing this show difficult. Fortunately, by the time I started noticing this stuff I was already in too deep with the characters to stop. The special effects for some of the monsters also left something to be desired. While not a deal breaker for me, the poor special effects were made especially obvious by the exceptional costumes and set pieces.  

Another thing that decreased my rating of this show was the lack of women characters. In a cast this large, I was very disappointed in the number of women. While there doesn’t seem to be any explicit sexism in the show, the lack of women characters does seem to imply that women are not welcome in certain circles. In this fantasy setting there was so much room to have a balance of different genders, but the vast majority of the main characters (and most of the side characters) were all men. To be fair though, the women that were present got the same level of dedication into making their characters compelling and complex. For the purposes of representing women The Untamed is better than some media I’ve reviewed (looking at you A New Hope), but still left me wanting more.

Overall, I had a fantastic time watching this show. Is it a masterpiece in technical filmmaking? No. Did it have some of the best characters I’ve seen in a long time? Definitely. I highly recommend this show to anyone who loves deep characters, pretty costumes, or being absolutely wrecked emotionally.

~TideMod

[rosesisupposes]

Epilogue: Lay Us Down

Part 12 of Another Goddamn Hero Story

read on ao3

Chapter Pairings: Romantic LAMP; Familial LAMPT; Background Remceit; Background OC F/F pairing;

Chapter Warnings: feelings of betrayal & guilt; mention of human experimentation aftermath; unwise cooking practices; michael jackson lyrics; unrelenting Momming; Ewwww My Moms Are Flirting; jk we love it; this one’s mostly fluff, y’all; love you

Taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious@bewarethegrammarpolice   @jemthebookworm@arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse@thelowlysatsuma @monsterinatophat @turtally-pawsome @um-yes-hi-hello @idkaurl @potestessemagishomosexualitatis@hawthornshadow

a/n:  I'm absolutely gonna cry saying goodbye to this story. Thank you to everyone who's read and followed over the past year and a bit! My life has changed in so many dramatic ways over that time but thanks to y'all, I never lost the motivation to finish this.

~~~~~~~~~

“Stop!”

“Get him!”

“Don’t let’im get away!”

A blow hit Virgil in the back and he let himself be knocked to the ground. He twisted his head to look up at his attacker with a grin.

“Oh no, you got me!”

Quil smiled in triumph as the other children caught up with them both. “That’s right! We did it! We caught you!” Their curls fanned out around their head as they bounced up and down on his chest. If he wasn’t so durable, it might have been painful, but then, that was why he was the kids’ favorite playmate.

“What will you do now that you’ve caught me?” he asked, trying to look less amused and more intimidated by the group of children circled around him.

They all looked confused for a moment, then one little boy shouted, “Piggybacks!”

“Piggybacks!” the others agreed.

“I have to be able to stand up to give piggybacks,” Virgil pointed out from where he was still lying prone, Quil and others sitting on top of him.

One of them giggled. “We trapped you! Can’t get away!”

“Is that a challenge?” he asked with his best Roman-Is-Offended gasp. He lifted himself into the air, bringing children as he went, until he was floating in midair with three kids balanced on his back.

The rest of the group cheered, clapping and egging him on.

“Guess you three are first up for piggybacks! Are you ready? Hold on tight!” He never flew fast while carrying them, but any distance into the air was still a thrill for them. He did a low loop, then gracefully returned to earth.

A line had formed as he flew, and as he let his first passengers off, he knelt to let two more wrap their arms around his neck. He held them in place with his arms and they were off once more.

On the porch, watching, sat Patton with Tatiana and Celeste Skylar. Some of the quieter children sat with them, apart from the raucous cheering and laughter of the group. Patton’s winds were carrying paper airplanes swiftly through the air, the crafts perfectly aerodynamic thanks to Logan’s earlier tutelage.

Patton himself was leaning on Tati’s shoulder, watching the kids and Virgil as he swooped carefully through the air.

He looked around, and suddenly stiffened, sitting up. “Where’s Thomas?!” he asked, a panicked edge to his voice.

“He’s with Roman, honey, remember?” Tatiana said warmly, squeezing Patton’s shoulder lightly. “He’s safe.”

The tension leaked out slowly as Patton sank back into leaning against the woman. “Oh, yeah. I… forgot.”

“It’s okay, sweet pea. You’re worried for him. It’s always too easy to think of what could be goin’ wrong if you’re not there yourself. I’ve been there. It’s okay. It’ll get easier.”

Patton nodded. “I don’t want to coddle him but- but I know he still has nightmares, and flashbacks, and…”

“And Roman’s been getting the same trainin’ as you have from Dr. Picani. He can help too. It’s not just on you, honeycakes,” Tatiana reminded him gently. “You aren’t all that Thomas has now - he has a whole home of people who love him and want to help him recover.”

“Don’t you mean a whole Haven?” Patton asked with a small grin.

“Same thing, aren’t they?” Celeste asked from Tatiana’s other side.

Haven Foster Home had been open for business for almost three months, and was growing steadily. They had sixteen children between the ages of three and twelve living with them currently, and plenty of space to expand. Which was good, because Virgil and his boyfriends had all moved in as they helped with construction and day-to-day operations. And Thomas, of course, had come too. Between the five of them, they were assisting the Skylar women get the home fully operational. And they were a so-far-endless source of entertainment.

Patton hugged Tatiana impulsively. “Thank you, Mrs. Skylar.”

“Pattycakes, what have I told you about callin’ me that?” Tatiana asked with a smile. “Even if you weren’t my son’s partner, you’re family here.”

Patton nodded shyly. “I know, but-”

“We mean it, Pat,” Celeste said seriously. “You have a home here, no matter what happens. Wherever Haven is, you belong. You and Thomas both.”

Patton brushed away a tear. “Thank you, Mrs- Celeste. It feels wrong to call you Mum and Mama like Virgil does, even if-” he shrugged.

“You know what the kiddos call us?” Celeste asked. “Mumma C and Mama T.”

“Those’re so cute,” Patton admitted with a small giggle.

“Just like you, bean,” Tati said, booping Patton’s nose. “And it took Roman all of two seconds to start using them.”

He grinned. “Well if the light of my life uses them, I guess I can too.”

“Did someone say Light of their Life?” Roman asked, coming out onto the porch with Thomas behind him.

“Roro! Tommy!” Patton said happily, standing to hug them both.

“Pat, we’ve only been inside for an hour and a half,” Thomas said, but he was grinning as he hugged his brother tight.

“Which is half an hour longer than I promised Captain Muscles I’d make him be on kiddo-duty,” Roman admitted. “Time for me to take over!”

He strode out into the field, a giant red slide coming to being as he gestured. The children who’d been entertaining themselves by ripping out grass leapt to their feet and ran over.

Virgil threw Roman a two-fingered salute as his boyfriend blew him a kiss. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck. It didn’t tire him physically to give the kids rides, but their energy was emotionally draining in its own way.

“Am I too late for one more flight?” a voice asked from behind him.

About to apologetically decline, Virgil turned to face the speaker. A young woman smiled up at him, the volume of her springy red hair making up only about half of the difference in their heights.

“SANDRY! You’re home from school?” Virgil asked with delight, sweeping up his little sister in an enthusiastic hug.

“Couldn’t miss seeing my favorite brother!”

“I notice you didn’t say sibling," Virgil responded, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“That’s right,” Sandry said with a smile. “I’m not starting that argument again. Alex will never let me hear the end of it.”

“That’s because they know they’d lose,” Virgil said with an overly-elegant sniff. “Can they help you set up roof-to-ceiling bookcases? I don’t think so.”

“Always playing the super card, god,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “So rude.”

Virgil ruffled her curly fro. “Hey, I know my strengths. It’s every sib for themself in this family. Especially when the mums keep finding more for me to compete with.”

“And you will be introducing me properly to the boyfs later,” Sandry said. It wasn’t a question. “Lo’s already told me all his embarrassing stories of you but I want to hear them all.”

“I’m getting flashbacks to, hmm, let me see, every single year growing up with you competitive little gremlins,” Virgil groaned. “I can’t get a break.”

“Your fault, you’re the greedy one who brought home three men and a new brother. I feel threatened. Truly. I do.” She tweaked his nose with an impish grin. “Now where’s my piggyback ride?”

Virgil stuck his tongue out at her. “You’re only three months from graduating college, aren’t you a bit old?”

“Virgeeyyyyyyy,” she whined, poking him in the cheek with obnoxious delight, punctuating each poke with a nickname. “Virgey. Virgey. Virge. Vee. Vee-man. Virgil. Virgey. Virge.”

“Fineeee,” he groaned, turning so she could wrap her arms about his neck. His huge smile betrayed his feigned irritation, though, and the minute she was secure, they were off, flying much faster than he every took the little ones.

“WHOOO!” she cheered in his ear as he flew them into a loop-de-loop, arcing over the house and field. “Hey, hey Virge! Do a barrel roll!” she said in her best Starfox impression. Virgil grinned and spun them into a tight spin, holding her legs secure as she whooped in exhilaration.

He finally landed and let her slide off, breathless. “Mum, why didn’t you warn me there was an invasion of little sisters?”

Celeste looked up from a game of tic-tac-toe in the dirt with a six-year-old. “She swore me to secrecy, V. I couldn’t betray her.”

“Also I promised to help arrange furniture,” Sandry added, fluffing her hair back to a normal shape after the wind’s free blowout.

“For someone who plans on law school, you’re too good at coercion,” Virgil grumbled, messing up her hair again just for the fun of it.

“Technically, this was bribery,” she responded with a wink. “See you at dinner!”

Tatiana passed her coming out the door, kissing her daughter’s cheek as she passed. “Oh, I just love it when my babies are home together. Virgey, don’t forget, Jacques and Liv are coming over for Sunday dinner this weekend, too, so make sure your boys don’t have any plans!’

“Yes, Mama,” Virgil said. He checked his phone, and walked over to where Roman was still supervising the kids on their glowing playset.

“Hey, you,” he said, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist from behind.

“Hello there, Purple Gay-ze,” Roman replied, squeezing the muscled arms wrapped around him.

“Do you know where Lo is?”

Roman pouted. “What, I’m not enough?”

Virgil smiled and kissed his cheek. “Why do I have three boyfriends if I don’t get to want them all at once? No, I just wanted to check in on him. I haven’t seen him all morning, and he’s doing the not-responding-to-texts thing again.”

Roman nodded at house behind them. “Last I saw, he’s up there.”

“Again? Why’s the only one who can’t fly the one spending all his time on the roof?”

Roman shrugged, mouth twisting into a worried line. “I’m still learning his signals but… I think he wanted to be alone.”

Virgil hugged Roman around the shoulders briefly, then stepped up into the air. “First rule of Logan: what he wants and what’s going to make him happier are not always the same thing. I’ll go check on him.” He waved to the kids and flew up to the roof.

At first, it seemed empty. The chairs were unoccupied, and the trampoline was still. The cupola, an idea Virgil stole from City Hall, was empty too, its door to the inside shut for once. About to search somewhere else, Virgil suddenly noticed a flash of blue behind the chimney.

Logan was sitting on the ground, feet planted, arms hugging his legs. He stared off into empty air, fiddling with his black-and-white goggles.

Virgil approached slowly and sank down gently next to him with a murmured, “Hey.”

Logan jumped slightly, almost falling on his side before he realized who it was. “Oh. Hi.”

Virgil tentatively touched Logan’s shoulder, only for him to lean in to the touch immediately. Virgil wrapped his arms around the smaller man, letting him get so close he was practically in his lap.

“I won’t ask if you’re okay, because I know this has been all sorts of terrible for you, but - do you want to want to talk about it, or do you just want comfort?”

Logan shrugged and nestled his face further into the space where Virgil’s neck met his shoulder. Virgil squeezed his arms around him firmly carded his fingers through his hair in a soothing, repetitive way.

A mumbled rumbled into his shoulder. “What was that, love?”

Logan lifted his face, a little pink from the pet name. “I just. With Tommy and Pat, even Ro, even you - you all have had so many more struggles and heartache. I feel selfish for feeling this bad about it when I wasn’t even hurt.”

“First off, emotional hurt counts just as much as anything else, so jot that down,” Virgil said with a slight smile. Then his expression shifted back to serious. “But Lo, really- you’re allowed to be hurt and feel bad, even if others are too. I’m not going to run out of sympathy or patience. Neither are they.”

“I know that, intellectually. And yet, I feel guilty.”

“That’s okay. It really is. And I think it’ll help if you can talk it out.”

Logan sighed, withdrawing from Virgil’s hold, but still leaning against him.

“I still feel responsible. Even if I wasn’t the one who actually did this to Thomas, my work, my research was involved. I helped my par- I helped the project progress and escalate, even if I didn’t know what it was progressing to. And if Thomas resented me for my part in it, I wouldn’t blame him.”

“But he doesn’t,” Virgil said softly.

“I wish he did. No one blames me. Not Joan, not Talyn, not any of you.”

“Because we love you and know it wasn’t your fault.”

“But that’s just it!” Logan said, sitting up fully. He threw his goggles in frustration, and they cracked on the brick wall as they collided. His grey eyes blazed, all the brighter with no lenses currently blocking them. “You all know me and assume the best. If the public knew my full involvement, they’d hate me, and they’d be right to. Instead, I get off scot-free, known only as the star witness of the trial, while all the hate gets directed at my parents.” His voice broke on the last word as his head fell forwards into his hands. Virgil rubbed his back soothingly, seeing Logan’s shoulders shake with silent, suppressed sobs.

“You miss them,” Virgil murmured.

“I know they did terrible, unethical things, they hurt our brother and countless others, and they perverted my research and life’s work and yet I still miss them so much. Bea and Jem are barely speaking to me, and I know they both say they don’t blame me, but I can tell that they do. I haven’t been able to visit them at our cousin’s house yet because I can feel the betrayal. I broke my family, Vee.”

“Your parents broke it,” Virgil said fiercely. “They made a choice, and now they’re facing the consequences. That’s not on you.”

“But the fact remains that the Lancaster family is broken, and the rest of the family would rather blame me than them, because that way they don’t have to admit that our parents did something like this all on their own. And I… I get it,” he said, deflated.

Virgil stayed silent, but kept rubbing small circles on Logan’s lower back, waiting for him to continue when he was ready.

“Parents are… they’re larger than life. Especially mine,” Logan said, with a wet chuckle. “Two brilliant doctors, one a literal superhero. And she wasn’t just any superhero, she was the face of them all, the one in all the PR spots. We grew up with a mom who was on our TV and in our PSAs at school. She was the most anticipated guest lecturer at HEARTS. I grew up in awe of her, surrounded by a city who was in awe of her too.” Logan paused, looking out into the distance again. “I always knew deep down that she was human, of course, but until now, I never saw any flaws myself. And I feel like I should have. Dad, too, except - people always used to tell me how much I look like him. How much I take after him. And now they’ll see my face and see our generation’s fucking Armageddon.”

“Lo, I know this is hard, but exaggeration won’t help. They’re not Armageddon villain-level. They didn’t flatten the city or threaten the entire world.”

“They may as well have,” Logan replied, voice tight with anger. “They could have, if we hadn’t stopped them. If Thomas hadn’t escaped when he did, they would have kept going.”

“Don’t torture yourself with what-ifs and could-haves, starlight.”

“...are you quoting Mum?”

“Mama, actually.”

Logan cracked a smile at that, but it flitted away again like the sun on a cloudy day. “I feel like the world’s gone wonky,” he admitted. “If I was so wrong about them, what else have I misjudged?”

Virgil looked meaningfully behind them, where they could dimly hear the happy shouts of the kids as Roman and Patton led them in a sing-a-long.

Logan sighed. “I mean, yeah, that’s it, isn’t it. The one thing I thought I knew for sure, as certain as my power or gravity, was that the world had heroes, and everyone who could be one and chose not to be was a villain. And my parents were heroes. Now all that’s gone, and I don’t know where that leaves me.”

Virgil nodded sympathetically. “You’re lost, Lo. But it’s okay.”

“How can you know that? What if I can’t find myself again?” His voice was small and hesitant, and Virgil immediately pulled him into his arms.

“Because I was lost once too. And you were the one who found me. And thanks to you, and our boys, and this whole big new family - life sucks less now. You’ll figure it out, Lo. You’re the smartest person I know, the most brilliant star in my sky. And I’ll support you in any way I can.”

Logan looked up into Virgil’s face. That wonderful man started back, his face so frank and open that Logan couldn’t help but believe him entirely. He blinked back tears, smiling shakily. “I love you, Virgil.”

“I love you too, Logan. More than words or sound.” They held each other tightly for a moment, then Virgil let go, standing. “Now c’mon. You have other boyfriends to love and be loved by. And the moms want taste-testers.”

“I’m not particularly hungry-” Logan started, but Virgil interrupted.

“They’re trying a new recipe for jelly thumbprints. And one of the new flavors is blackberry-pomegranate Crofter’s.”

Logan immediately was on his feet. “Well, can’t keep the moms waiting, better go!” He sped away, running down the outside of the building rather than wasting time by taking the stairs. Virgil laughed as he flew behind him.

As he flew to the yard and landed, Patton smiled up at him from where he was lying with his head in Roman’s lap.

“Hey there, big guy. Was that blur our boyfriend on his way to get spoiled?”

“You know it. Pretty sure his first time breaking the sound barrier was because of a Crofter’s sale. This was so worth it, even if I did have to promise Mama I’d do more construction as a trade for the extra baking.”

Roman smiled, his fingers tangled in Patton’s curls. “You big fellas and your big hearts. Lookin’ all tough, but you’re the softest possible touch.”

“What can I say, my boyfriends are my one weak spot. Or, you know, my three weak spots,” Virgil said with a smile, sitting so that Patton could sprawl his legs over him. He kissed Roman’s temple and rubbed Patton’s calf with a warm hand.

“Hm, and are we your only weak spots?” Patton asked, eyes dancing with mischief as he sat up between the two men. “What about here?” He poked Virgil in the side, wriggling his fingers as he did so.

A laugh bubbled out of Virgil’s mouth before he clapped his hand over it with a mock-glare. “Oh no you don’t.”

“I’m sure a big, strong man like you can’t be disarmed with some petty little tickles,” Roman purred, reaching an arm around to his other side.

“Fuck you!” Virgil gasped, giggling, but he was surrounded, his boyfriends on either side tickling him mercilessly. They trusted him not to lash out, not to hurt them even accidentally, and that warmed Virgil just as much as their affection. When it became too much, he laughed aloud and lifted them onto his shoulders, one on each.

Patton whooped at the sudden elevation, twining his fingers around Virgil’s where he gripped his thigh. Roman just posed, reclining elegantly and winking at the muscled man he had the good fortune to be dating.

“Oh darling, you’re so smooth, always ready to sweep us off our feet,” Roman drawled.

“Nice one, Roro,” Patton giggled.

Virgil grinned up at his boys. “What can I say? This is the closet I can get to putting you both on the pedestals you deserve.”

“VIRGIL!” a voice suddenly shouted from inside. It was immediately followed by a blur that crashed through the door and resolved back into Logan. His face was flushed, his hair askew, and there was a smear of jam on his mouth still.

Roman and Patton both immediately lifted themselves up and off of Virgil’s shoulders as the big hero ran to Logan’s side.

“Lo, what is it? Are you okay? Are the kids okay?”

“Yes, they’re great, everything’s great, I have just made the best discovery!” Logan said, words spilling out in a rush. “Tommy! Are you coming?”

Sure enough, Thomas was emerging from the door in Logan’s wake, walking at a normal human pace. He carried a jelly jar with a spoon stuck in, though he’d been slightly more successful in cleaning his mouth than Logan had.

“Are you alright, Thomathy?” Patton asked, brow knitting slightly.

His brother smiled up at him, glowing in a tentative way. “I’m great, Pat. Logan - you should explain, I don’t know that I fully understand it-”

Logan nodded eagerly. “My dears, it’s wonderful- we discovered another power of Thomas’. Something new. We were both so excited to try the Mums’ cookies, and I was moving fast to help, and without extra effort, I started getting faster and faster. I was barely even aware at the time! And I could still control it, it was just easier. I- knowing what we know now, about Thomas’ origins, I think I know what his true power is. The same way he can spread emotions that paralyze, he can spread emotions that amplify. He’s not just a human dampening-field- he’s an enhancer!”

Roman frowned. “Sorry, my dearest nerd, I don’t think I follow?” He summoned a handkerchief and handed it to Virgil, who wiped Logan’s face free of jelly as he continued to explain animatedly, barely aware of Virgil’s movements.

“Our emotions are tied to our powers, right? The first time we used them, it had to be through a certain feeling, and then over time we could trigger them through experience. And we know Thomas could shut them down the same way, by triggering the antithetical feelings, or even a complete absence. But, he can send out positivity, too! And excitement, and elation, all the normal discovery-emotions. He’s like a rainbow cloud full of mood-enhancers! A human embodiment of an SSRI!”

Thomas smiled at them all, and the extra years of stress seemed to fall away, leaving him looking like an actual teen again. “I think I can be a teammate now, not just another person on the attack. I can help. In training, in learning- Ro, I think I can even help you on grey days.”

Roman stared in shock. “Really?”

“I hope so, at least. I want to make up for what I’ve done. I think this could be how I do that.”

Virgil clasped Thomas’ shoulder. “Remember, though, you don’t have to, Tommy. You don’t owe the rest of us anything, not if you don’t want to give it. You don’t have to become a professional hero.”

Thomas nodded. “I know. But… I do want to. Maybe not constantly, not all the time, but I want to help.”

Patton seized his brother in a hug. “And you will, Thomathy. And we’ll be there to help you, no matter what.”

“Promise?” Thomas’ voice was small as he looked over Patton’s shoulder at the other three.

Roman was the first to wrap his arms around both the Sanders, but Logan soon did the same, and Virgil rounded out the group hug, resting his face in Patton’s curls.

“We promise, Tommy,” Roman murmured. “Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Logan echoed.

“Whatever it takes,” Virgil promised.

If a tear or five happened to roll down their cheeks, well. Nothing to be ashamed of. They were all family, after all.

~~~~~~

>>D.R.E.A.M. Index

     >>User Mode: Administrator

>>Update Impact: Global

     >>Update Field1: Classification

           >>Update Type: Criteria

     >>Update Field2: Affiliation

          >>Update Type: Delete

     >>Update Field3: Threat Status

           >>Update Type: Created

>>Description: Overhaul of the classification system with respect to ‘affiliations’. New guidelines for entry:

     A - formerly ‘Hero’ - now defined as a registered H.A.T.C.H. participant, willing to use their powers to respond to threats and attacks

     M - formerly ‘Neutral’ - now defined as “Not a foreseeable threat”

     Z - formerly ‘Villain’ - now defined as “Foreseeable threat”

>>Justification/Note: If we’ve learned anything from the past year, it’s that forcing us all to pick sides does more harm than good. Fighting isn’t what makes a hero. - Joan and Talyn

~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337501 [UPDATED]

Classification: M.1.ii [Primary Tier, No Threat, Acquired Powers]

Name: The Understudy

Status: INACTIVE

/////////Reason: Enrolled

Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Thomas Sanders

Threat Status: No Foreseeable Threat

/////////H.A.T.C.H. Status: Blackout

Partners/Sidekicks: DI#A-4894 - Team Left Brain; DI#A-4895 - Team Right Brain;

Primary Foes: N/A

Powers: Pathokinesis - Broad Spectrum; Illusions - Broad Spectrum;

/////////Specialty: Assistance and Enhancement;

Costume: Black t-shirt with rainbow flowers, jeans

Age: 19

Height: 5’10”

Pronouns: He/Him

H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Enrolled

Note: Brother of DI#337437 - Gale Force; Powers created through Project Charcoal, see IR19-Z-0001;  

~~~~~~

It was a normal afternoon at Haven, which is not at all to say quiet. Virgil and Thomas were on chaperone duty, with Sandry lending a hand, and they’d brought the children to the upstairs play rooms so the other adults could get a break.

Logan and Patton had volunteered to cook that night’s family dinner. It was their first time doing so together, as Virgil and Roman had carefully made sure an actually-experienced cook had been involved each time previously. But the two shared a stubborn streak, and had insisted that they’d be fine.

Celeste wasn’t supervising, per se. That would be implying she didn’t trust them. She just happened to be sitting at the bar between the living room and kitchen. In theory, she was reading a young adult novel that one of the kiddos had brought home from the library for their monthly mixed-ages book club. In reality, her eyes spent about twice as much time watching the boys in the kitchen as on the page.

Patton had never learned to cook growing up, and Roman had been the cook of their little home. Logan had been spoiled by home-cooked meals his entire childhood and now had his own method of ‘carry out’ which was actually ‘run over to the next state because they have much better pho than the place across the street.’ They’d mutually decided on Breakfast For Dinner. That was the last thing they’d both been sure about.

“Should eggs be this runny? Do I need use the whipper more?”

“I think it’s a whisker.”  

“Well that can’t be right. I don’t care how I look, I’m a Patton, not a Cat ton!” he said with a giggle, pulling the cat-ear hood of his sweatshirt over his curls.

Logan groaned fondly and turned to kiss Pat on the cheek, which turned into several more. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that he was frying bacon at the same time. He whirled back as the smell of burnt fat started to rise from the pan.

Logan blushed. “Whoops. Um, crunchy bacon is a thing people like, right?”

“That’s how I like it,” Celeste commented from the bar with a smile. “I used to like it chewy, but Tati showed me the light. Or, dark, in this case. Insert ‘once you go black’ joke here,” she added with a wink, gesturing vaguely.

Logan chuckled and grabbed tongs, salvaging what bacon he could. “Well, this is edible at least. Let’s get started on the pancake batter, yeah?”

“Batter’s up!” Patton chortled, and went to get a mixing bowl.

Celeste sighed fondly and stood to answer a knock at the door. As she did so, she blew a kiss to Tatiana where she was sitting with Roman in the living room.

“So, I was thinking this weekend’s big Outdoor Activity could be Treasure Island!” Roman said excitedly.

“Oh, that’s a new one! What’s that?” Tati asked. She had planner open on her lap that was stuffed full with tabs and notes.

“So it’s like capture the flag, but with four teams, and you need a treasure from each team to win,” Roman explained. “So I can make, like, crowns for one team, and coins for another, and gems for a third-”

“Or, we can just buy some more play equipment that we know we’ll re-use,” Tatiana interrupted, smiling. “I don’t want you to push yourself too much, honey.”

Roman blushed. “Oh, yeah. We can buy things.”

“Don’t forget, that means things for you, too, okay? If there’s anything you need, we’ve got you covered.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“Roman,” Tatiana said with a warning tone, but she was smiling. “What have I said about you being an imposition?”

“That I’m not one,” Roman recited.

“And you never could be, sweet pea.” She patted his cheek fondly. “Now, tell me more about Treasure Island. There’s no permanent outs, right? We know the little ones don’t do well with those.”

Celeste came back and smiled at the two of them as she slipped back into the kitchen. Pancake batter had gotten on the bowl, spoon, the counter, Patton’s brand new cat hoodie, and Logan’s glasses, but not yet on the walls or the floor, so Celeste reasoned it was going about as well as could be expected.

“The recipe book says it should be smooth,” Logan said, looking with despair at the lumps in the mixture. “I am fairly certain there is no world in which this is smooth.”

“Ooh, let me try,” Patton said. He took the bowl with a grin. “Maybe we just need to encourage it!”

“I fail to see how that will-”

“C’mon, pancakes! C’mon Pannie!” He suddenly grinned. “Pannie, are you okay? Are you okay, Pannie?” the man started to sing. “You’ve been hit by-” he tapped on the side of the bowl, “You’ve been struck by-”

“Please no-” Logan tried to interrupt.

“A smooth criminal!” Patton finished with a flourish, pointing at himself with the spoon. Unfortunately, it still had batter on it, flicking even more on them both.

Celeste took that as her cute to intervene. “Okay, Patty-pan-cakes, maybe less MJ and more Ramsay, okay?”

Patton looked over, still grinning. “Okay, Mumma C.”

“Maybe you should go clean up and let Lo try in the meantime?”

Patton nodded and handed Logan the bowl back, kissing a bit of flour off his cheek as he did so.

Logan took the bowl, but paused. “Ah, Mum, would you mind giving me a hand? I believe I may be a bit lost here.”

She smiled. “Of course.” She helped him add more milk until the batter was smooth but not runny, and got a clean pan up to the right heat.

“So you’ll want to add a bit more oil in between so they don’t stick, does that make sense?”

“Oh, it’s like resetting to stasis for a new experiment run!”

“If that’s what makes sense to you, sure!”

A sound echoed down the hall. “I’ll be right back. I believe in you, Lo!”

Logan got to work, brow furrowed in concentration, barely aware of the batter and flour smutches on his face and glasses. He could hear Tatiana and Roman laughing in the living room, and the muffled shouts and bumps from upstairs.

He’d promised the kids pancakes. And pancakes they would have, dammit.

Celeste wandered back down the hallway to the living room, fiddling with her pride flag bracelet. “Tati, honey, I think I’m hallucinating,” she complained. “I could have sworn I heard a knock, but no one was there. Were we expecting any more arrivals today?”

Tatiana stood, looping an arm casually around her wife’s waist as she checked the detailed calendar on the living room wall. “Hm. No planned dropoffs, but it has been picking up as word spreads. But I thought I heard something too. Maybe it’s Virgey? He’s upstairs with Sandry and Tommy and the kiddos.”

Celeste leaned her chin on Tatiana’s shoulder. “That’s probably it. Hey, have I told you recently that you’re gorgeous? And also incredibly organized, and so amazing at keeping track of details? And that this place would never have become so wonderful without you?”

Tatiana blushed so hard, her brown cheeks practically glowed. “Ceecee! Stopp!”

“How can I stop when you’re just so cute?” She took advantage of her wife’s attempt to hide her face by kissing her fingers and cheeks while Roman laughed in the background.

Another knock sounded under the chatter. Patton, coming back from the bathroom, turned into the hallway to answer it.

This time, there was definitely someone there.

“Pat?” came the shocked gasp from the doorway.

Patton stared, jaw hanging open. “Damon?”

There were far fewer scales than when he’d last seen him, a sign he hadn’t had to use his power recently. And right behind him, staring back over their dark glasses, was an equally-shocked Remy.

Patton started in silence for half a moment, then stepped back, pulling the door with him. “Come on in, you two. Uh, assuming you wanted to, that is.”

The couple nodded and stepped in cautiously. Damon looked around warily, holding his partner’s hand tight. Remy might have been surveying the cozy entrance hallway with similar trepidation, but the lack of irises always made it difficult to tell.

“I… didn’t expect to see you ever again,” Patton admitted. “I thought you’d left town and the state. Or I assumed? I’m a bit fuzzy on when or how exactly you left. I just remember seeing you.”

“Ah, that’ll be my fault, sorry babes,” Rem said, giving a slight bow without letting go of their boyfriend’s hand. They held themself in the bow so they could look up over their glasses to wink at Patton.

Damon reached out hesitantly to touch Patton’s shoulder, and relaxed a bit. “I gotta say, I didn’t expect to see you here either. Or anywhere. I thought…” he took a breath. “Last we heard, you were volunteering to fight the thing that… Valerie.”

Patton’s face fell. “Oh. I- fuck, it’s been a really long couple of months, Dam’. There’s so much to tell you.” He bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth, not sure how to begin.

At that moment, Tatiana came around the corner.

“Oh, Patty! I thought I heard voices. Do we have new guests?” She looked over the pair. “Or are they friends of yours?”

Patton took a breath. “They’re friends. I- actually, how did you two come to be here?”

Damon flushed under his golden skin. “I heard there was a new foster home and I had to see it, at least. And then I kept losing my nerve when we knocked and had Remy blank the woman who answered.”

Tatiana laughed. “Oh, so you’re to blame for my wife’s confusion! And hear I was ready to start making senior citizen jokes. Welcome, then! Any friends of Patton’s are practically family. I’m Tatiana Skylar, my wife Celeste and I run things here at Haven. And you two are supers as well, or just Blank Space over there?”

Remy grinned “Oh hun, can I steal that one? Yeah, we’re both supes. Dam’ here has like, restraint, though.”

Damon smiled up at them, then turned to Tatiana. “Trust them to not actually introduce us. This tall string of sass is Mx. Remy Dormions, also known as an absolute headache and, sadly, the love of my life.” Remy chuckled and just preened as their boyfriend continued, “And I’m Damon McLeggan. Pat and I, uh, grew up together for a bit.”

Tati smiled even wider, her white teeth flashing against her plum lipstick. “So you are family! Wonderful!”

Damon had all of one second of warning before he found himself wrapped a welcoming hug. Tatiana turned to Remy to give them the same treatment, and saw them grimacing awkwardly. “Sorry, I know I’m too long to hug normall- oof!”

They found their middle wrapped by warm brown arms, Tati’s head angled so that their neck didn’t need to stretch awkwardly around hers.

“Honey, don’t even worry, I’ve got all the practice in the world of Tall Hugs,” she said with a smiled as she withdrew. “You should meet my son!”

Patton raised an eyebrow at Remy. “Actually, they have. Last I saw, they were flirting with him dramatically.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Damon and Remy said in unison.

“They were flirting dramatically while being arrested,” Patton clarified.

Remy’s glasses slid down their nose. “Oh worm? Wait, who’s mom is she, Specs or Flex?”

“Both,” Tatiana said proudly. “Come in, you two, come sit. Dinner’s going to be awhile still, but the smoke has gone down, at least. Hope you like extra-crispy bacon!”

Damon hesitated, but Patton grabbed his arm and tugged him down the hallway to the living room.

“Patty-my-dear, who’ve you brought us?” Celeste asked.

“Mumma Cee, this is Damon and Remy. Dam’ was at the old home with me, and Remy’s his partner. And they apologize for making you forget they were there, right?”

Remy grinned. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Mostly. But I can’t promise I won’t do it again.” Damon elbowed them. “Ow! My own boyfriend, my darling, attacking me in front of new people, how dare.”

Celeste looked utterly charmed. “Please, come sit, here, take the long-legs chair.” She and Remy launched into gossip about powers and their partners with equal enthusiasm.

Damon tugged Pat’s sleeve. “Pat, you’re sure it’s okay we’re here?”

“Of course, everyone’s welcome.”

“Yeah, but. I mean. Villains? Technical fugitives? Multiple times over? We just thought we’d lurk and make sure it didn’t seem sketchy, I didn’t think we’d be invited in. I don’t want the heroes to shut this place down from association.”

Patton brushed a comma of black hair that had fallen in Damon’s face. “Oh, no need to worry about any of that-”

Just then, Logan emerged out of the kitchen, wearing a batter-splattered apron but looking pleased with himself. “Dinner’s ready!”

Remy and Damon whipped around and made eye contact with Logan the same moment he noticed them.

Remy tensed up immediately and grabbed Damon’s hand, but before they could use their powers, Logan was beside them in a blur.

“Rem, no, it’s- you don’t need to, I’m not gonna, it’s fine,” he babbled. “Don’t blank me, okay?”

Remy grimaced. “Lolo, hun, I love a good reunion as much as the next bitch, but this is clearly your house. It’s one thing to tease you when it’s your job to chase me, I’m not gonna invade your space.”

“Remy, Damon, please, no, it’s not like that anymore,” Logan said. He stepped back at a normal speed. “Pat? Can you help me?”

The couple looked confused, staring between Patton and Logan. Celeste and Tatiana stayed quiet, watching the interaction but letting the supers handle it themselves.

Patton grinned tentatively. “So, let’s see, what’s the fastest way to explain. Um. Number 1, you’re not fugitives anymore, because of the Fresh Start Initiative by the mayor’s office. Number 2, you’re not villains, because no one is, not even me ‘n’ Ro. Oh, and number 3, we’re dating,” he finished, waving at Logan.

Remy frowned. “You left the sparkling red beauty for Specs?”

Damon rolled his eyes. “That’s what you got out of that?”

“That’s the part I understood immediately, sue me.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Patton meant, he’s dating Roman and I at the same time. Also Virgil. All four of us.”

“Virgil?” Damon asked, tilting his head in confusion.

Tatiana chuckled behind him. “I’ve been forbidden from using it when he can hear me, but his other nickname is ‘Flex,” she provided. She smiled up at Remy. “I told you I’m used to giving tall hugs!”

Remy settled back into their chair. “Holy shit. Y’all’re dating Flex? I thought he was still pining over Short-Stack over here.”

Logan colored. “How many people knew this besides me?” he muttered to himself.

Patton heard him and grabbed his hand over the back of the couch. “All of us, love. You’re kind of oblivious sometimes.”

Damon was leaning on both his hands, brow creased. “What’s wrong, sugar?” Remy asked.

“I- so much has changed. I’m not sure I get it yet. I didn’t think we’d ever be staying in Harmony City again, not long term.”

“Technically, we’re outside city limits,” Celeste offered. “We’re over the Easthamshire County line. But within the municipal government jurisdiction for taxes and tax break purposes, that was important.”

“You’re jargonin’ again, honey,” Tatiana said, brushing her fingers through Celeste’s bright hair.

Celeste smiled up at her. “What I mean to say is, Damon, Remy, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. We’ve got a whole house full of folks figuring everything out - you’ll be in good company.”

Patton nodded. “And there’s someone else you need to meet, too. Virgil, when he comes down, but, Damon, you should- actually, let me get him now. Uh, Mama T, can we use the sitting room?”

“Of course, sweet pea.”

~~~~~~

Two days later, Damon sat watching the open field behind the house as Remy joined the kiddos in playing Treasure Island. (They were forbidden from using powers because “it’s cheating,” Quil had insisted, and everyone agreed. It turns out that Remy was a terrible thief without their powers, but they were having a grand time all the same).

Thomas sat beside him, and Patton sat on Thomas’ far side. They watched in companionable silence for while, until Damon broke it.

“Thomas, you know I don’t blame you, right? For any of this.”

The boy swallowed hard. “I know you said so.”

“And I meant it. I get it, you know? People always say that, say they understand, but I really do.”

“What do you mean?”

Damon smiled lopsidedly at him. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be an experiment?” He waved his left hand in a faux-salute, the hand that never fully healed from his shape-shifts, the one covered continuously in scales that ached and itched and got covered up when he was around strangers. “The anger, at the one who did this, and at this whole fucking society that could have stopped it and didn’t? The regret when you lash out mixed with a weird satisfaction that at least you finally did something on your own terms for once?”

Thomas softened. “You do know.”

Damon nodded. “So I mean it. I don’t blame you. And I - Lo mentioned what you hope to do. To be a teacher and coach and protect these guys.” He nodded out at the children, from the ones running and falling and shrieking in delight to the ones sitting separately, reading or watching or just dangling from tree branches. “I’m… god, I’ve had years to recover, and you’re been out for what, four months, and already ready to make amends and pay it back?”

Thomas shrugged.

Damon sat quiet for a moment. “Could I help too? I don’t know what I’d do, but… I feel like I have something to make up for, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I- I was pissed at the world and the city for letting us get pulled into that. But I didn’t try to fix it, I just mentally flipped off the institutions and took all the resources they offered me. And I didn’t- I let her drop out. I kept tabs on her, but she reminded me too much of that place and that time. I didn’t let her talk about it around me, I just refused to listen. I could have made an effort, been a safe person to relate to, but I didn’t. And I know these kids won’t be the same, but maybe it would be a way to make up for it.”

“It’s a start,” Patton commented softly. “This place won’t make everything better but… it’ll mean a world of difference to these kids. We can’t protect them from every possible struggle, but-”

“But we can keep them safe from the ones we faced,” Thomas finished. He grabbed Patton’s hand and squeezed. “I’ll do it, Pat, just you watch,” he said fiercely. “I’ll keep them safe. I promise.”

“I promise too,” Damon said. “For Valerie.”

Patton nodded. “For the Parsons.”

“For us,” Thomas said softly.

They squeezed hands, watching the children of Haven play. The clouds above were turning cotton candy pink as the day wound to a close. Light glazed the home behind them and the graceful branches in front of them, painting everything golden.

The sun was setting on Harmony City.

~~~~~~THE END~~~~~~