#but they do support you in whatever would make you happy I can guarantee that))

[thevalicemultiverse]

I have zero interest in food. If it were feasible, my diet would consist entirely of flavorless beige smoothies containing all the nutrients required by the human animal.

Valicer In The Dark

Smiler: [smiling, but in a way that suggests they're having rather a bit of trouble wrapping their head around such a sentiment] Well, if that's what would make you happy, I hope you achieve that goal one day!

[jupitermoontarot24]

👀 You vs Ex? 🍒

Hi everyone happy holidays!!

❄️ Im hosting tarotmas over on my patreon where im uploading everyday till christmas check it out! we are on day 2 ❄️

1-4

Pile 1

Hello hi pile one. welcome to your reading. okay I heard that you are a walking sex symbol. you are sex, even if you don't view yourself like this maybe you wouldn't use these words to describe yourself but maybe you should. it seems like that's what this person and everyone else are thinking. yeah I think it's the way your lips look, the shape, the words that you use to speak. even the things you say on social media, it's very sexy and alluring. it's like this is a guaranteed good time is what I heard lol. yes sex world it's like you're going to leave satisfied in some type of way how could you not? Okay I don't even think this reading was supposed to be this sexual but when I asked my guides for pictures they gave me all sex pictures so I guess that's what we're doing. Okay I don't think people know what position you play in the bedroom and that makes you even sexier. Like whats up?, are you a bottom, are you a dominatrix, are you a submissive or do you channel all of them? I feel like people believe that you channel all of those things so it's like whatever you need pile one has it. yeah that's why it's sex world, because you have everything, people see you as a triple quadruple  threat  walking. Okay not to be slut shaming but their ex was a hoe. and I mean that in the traditional sense of like they fished for people and because of that they had a lot of bodies or just they've been through a lot of people. it seems like you are more an upper echelon person. like you don't have to fish you just sit and wait,  you are the trophy so it's like they're going to come to you regardless that you would never have to fish for that. you actually give your time and attention to one specific person that you like the most so it's a lot more meaningful than somebody who purposely tries to bring people in and go fishing for them. so it's like their ex probably brought in a lot of people that weren't good people or it was shallow connections because they went fishing for it and when you go fishing for something you really only can go based off of looks. you pick who you want whereas their EX was a lion so they kind of just ate whatever was near them and they chased it at that. yeah because the exe is coming up as the king of winds so they definitely were promiscuous. you could be aiming for a person people don't even know of. like does this person even exist people just don't know with you. so your relationships could be very private because people could think one thing and it's not that people don't know where you're aiming they might think that you're aiming in a Direction but they don't know what direction or what you're aiming at. well this person had to pointers so it's like they were aiming everywhere at the same time all the time. yeah it's nothing about being caught there's nothing special about being caught by their EX. checkout the rest on patreon where

IM DOING TAROTMAS 🎄 ON MY PATREON WHERE I UPLOAD EVERYDAY TILL CHRISTMAS

COME TRY ME OUT FOR 25 DAYS---> PRESS HERE ❄️

Pile 2 🍒

Okay so you and their ex could look really different. I don't know maybe this person doesn't have a type or you are just so beautiful that they want you regardless. but in this situation you are the main star and the ex is a feature like they're a background character. They're just there for moral support is what I heard LOL. Okay yeah the X is not even important it's just that they're there because in TV shows there's usually a X or there's background characters that's all they are. I'm not sure if that's how your person feels or if it's just true. Yeah so it's like the x is there but at the end of the day your person is focused on you. yes like you know that character that random policeman that might stop the main character in a high speed chase. The policeman might think they're important ? They are hot shot but nobody cares fr that's not a part of the plot at all. your person's the main character in their story but you're really the main character because you're the person that they're trying to get with that the audience has fell in love with. The hot girl. the character that already has an audience so it's like the main character is playing the co-star in your TV show because they're trying to get with you and they're trying to get you to pay attention to them. Like scott pilgram. Yes this person is trying to roll a dice they're trying to put their money in to see if they will get with you. You are so sexy you look like a little kitty cat, a doll like you are so sexy. but yeah you're the main character.  the ex is a background character. It doesn't matter how hard, how good looking the ex is nothing they could do that would bring them any more attention than to you.  your person what you do any day they can't stop looking at you they feel like you're their soulmate they love you everybody else is dead to them for the most part. if you ask your person they would say they don't have any exes they don't even matter if they do this person only think about you they future but you didn't care about no ex. check out the rest on patreon where

IM DOING TAROTMAS 🎄 ON MY PATREON WHERE I UPLOAD EVERYDAY TILL CHRISTMAS

COME TRY ME OUT FOR 25 DAYS---> PRESS HERE ❄️

Pile 3 🐝

Okay hiya.

 so you're a lot more thoughtful than their ex. you can move slower you could just be more mindful in the things that you do, you say and how you paint a picture. Yeah even in the picture that you chose is an outline of a body on a skyline. so it's like you could leave clues you could be more mysterious with your seduction. it's like you have to find me so its a riddle, it's a maze, it's sexy it's slow and  sensual. Oh I can tell your person is cute by the way they think about you. but it seems like you just appreciate Beauty in itself so  it's not just them specifically that you like but it's all that are that type. your person is a man they just like beautiful woman/ men the person is a woman you like beautiful men/women. so your person likes feeling a part of that because they're like pile threes enjoys Beauty so I must be beautiful and they have good taste so I must be very beautiful. they must think highly of me if they chosen for me to be their Muse or something that they think about/ the consider beautiful. This person felt like their ex was the black cat in the relationship. Yeah  your person could have been the golden retriever in this relationship and didn't want to be like maybe they're usually black cat. and that's not to say that you aren't the black cat because I feel like you are but maybe they just wanted it to be balanced. so if this is a woman they rather it be two black cats. but if your person was with a man maybe they felt like the roles were reversed. so even if this was a man that could have felt like their ex was too masculine and it made them feel like the black cat. take it how it resonates. checkout out the rest on patreon where

IM DOING TAROTMAS 🎄 ON MY PATREON WHERE I UPLOAD EVERYDAY TILL CHRISTMAS

COME TRY ME OUT FOR 25 DAYS---> PRESS HERE ❄️

Pile 4 💌

Okay so this ex could portray themselves as something that they're not. almost like a wolf in sheep's clothing is what I'm hearing. You hold your person hostage. it's like your person cannot Escape you they cannot get away from you. when they drink they think of you when they dream they think of you it's almost like that's a situation. this person could visit you on purpose so maybe they think about you on purpose, they get drunk just to think about you. they want to have fantasies about you. Okay so this person wants to give you all their money,  they like to work hard to provide for you. they want to have a family with you, they want to start a new chapter a new life with you. They are the type that they would give you their whole paycheck and let you spend it on what you want to, I mean other than house stuff of course. like they will give you the rest they would pay the bills and give you what's left. they're so thankful of you and you could keep a really nice house,  your house is clean, you have good Decor taste so it's like they wouldn't need anything so they would just give you money. they're really healthy with you as well as like you add life points to them. like they are very healthy. maybe you make this person want to be their best self even health-wise. sounds like whatever this person was doing before they left that in the past like even if they used to drink heavy stuff maybe now they just drink wine yeah they care about the health a lot more with you. this could be your twin flame. yes like you guys are the exact same person in different bodies that's how this person feels. it's like all their exes even their friends don't matter when it comes to you. like they rather build a whole lifestyle around you then to talk to anybody else. Okay so they're X was a hot girl and not a good way. this is somebody who would keep a rotation of people and act  single even if they weren't. so like your person might have been their favorite person or they actually were in a committed relationship but either way this  X always had another option laying around. they could have had a lot of options laying around because they pretended to be single even though they could have been actually planning to have a future with your person. checkout the rest on patreon where

IM DOING TAROTMAS 🎄 ON MY PATREON WHERE I UPLOAD EVERYDAY TILL CHRISTMAS

COME TRY ME OUT FOR 25 DAYS---> PRESS HERE ❄️

[invisiblestringmm]

chapter four

i’ll tell you the truth but never goodbye

a/n: i hope this chapter makes you cry 😂

tw: there’s a bit of angst, and definitely lots of fluff. y/n struggling with being a single mum. mason being a gorgeous mf. lily being the cutest human, lots of lily appreciation too.

3.100k words

It didn’t come as a surprise to see Jaz keeping her promise to support you as best as she could - you got daily FaceTime calls, texts, and Instagram DMs. You got post-ballet dinners and ice cream, the four of you becoming closer each day - Lily and Summer were inseparable now, and you had Jaz not getting tired of telling you she felt like you’d become the sister she never had.

Not being able to control where your thoughts went, your mind made you question a few times how it would’ve been having this extra support when you were pregnant, and you asked yourself if you’d ever stop being hunted by the countless what-ifs of yours and Lily’s life. You had to stop and take a deep breath and just force yourself to focus on all the wonderful things that were happening now, and how much you wanted them to still be this way when it was time to tell Mason, and everyone else.

Despite having Jaz reassure you that things would end up well, Mason was pretty much unknown territory to you, emotionally speaking - yes, you gave birth to his “mini-me”, but that was no guarantee that you were able to predict him. Not knowing what to expect should’ve made you stay as far away as possible from him, but after you had a text message from Jaz sharing the big news that Mason would be at the ballet recital, while you watched your daughter roll her eyes in the delight as she devoured the pancakes and strawberries on her plate, you decided to reply to that message he had sent you weeks ago.

What you didn’t expect was for him to reply within less than a minute.

“Mummy, are you okay?” Lily had her eyebrows frowned at you, she curiously scanned your probably pale face as your heart pounded against your chest. A simple nod was enough for her to focus back on the pancakes, but also give you occasional and quick glares as your shaky hands tightly held the phone.

You barely had any appetite left as you felt your stomach dropping when Mason texted that - so, he wanted to see you. It wasn’t time yet, at least, it didn’t feel like it. But should the ballet recital be the best place to meet him? Would you be able to act surprised and sustain casualty at that meeting that’d be sort of arranged by his sister?

So many questions and insecurity surrounded you whenever Mason was on your mind, and having to look into Lily’s hazel eyes, her smile, and everything else on her that was his copy only made it worse for you - it was nearly suffocating, and you just needed a mother and daughter moment to focus on anyone but Lilian.

“Peanut,” you poked her tummy, making her giggle. “Why don’t we have a girl's afternoon today, huh? Museum, whatever you want for lunch and we can wrap it with skincare and Moana!”

Lily stood on the chair - your instinct making you hold her arm - and made her little celebration dance, still chewing the pancake, her dark brown soft curls bouncing. That vision completely took your breath away, you often couldn’t believe such a precious girl was your daughter.

Not that all of your days weren’t already hers, but dedicating a whole day off to Lily was your favourite thing to do. When she was just a baby, you often imagined how these days would be, with your little best friend and soulmate, on coffee dates and nights where you’d light up a scented candle and read her a book. The way your voice soothed her was Lily’s favourite thing, combined with your smell. It made her feel safe like nothing could ever harm her. In her dreams, her daddy joined the two of you - she couldn’t see his face but could feel the warmth of his hand holding hers and his laugh was the best sound in the world. Lily wondered if she’d ever meet him, the only thing she knew and was happy about was the fact that she looked like him, as you’ve told her countless times.

Careful not to lose Lily from your sight as she walked three steps in front of you, her eyes not sure what she wanted to focus her attention on at the museum, your mind went back to Mason’s last words to you that morning. So, he wanted to apologise for the way he treated you. Part of you felt good about it, that he had finally recognised what a complete twat he had been, but the other part of you just thought how that made no difference now - it was in the past. Not buried, since your past with him had taken the most angelic human form, but it wouldn’t change things. It was all about the future now.

For lunch, Lily insisted on spaghetti, her all-time favourite food. You had to persuade her a bit to eat a bit of protein too because pasta would make her feel hungry again by the afternoon, and you knew how much she hated being hungry right before taking a nap - your persuasion included the word dessert, so not much time was wasted trying to convince her to accept some chicken with her pasta.

Your phone buzzed with a real-time picture of Jaz and Summer by the time you had just bought a gorgeous bouquet of yellow roses, Lily’s favourite. She insisted that a good girls’ night would only be complete if you had fresh roses, that she wanted to carry herself. You quickly snapped a picture of her and sent it to Jaz, asking why they’d have to grow up so fast and that her niece was insufferable.

“Can you please behave like a child and not like an adult, Lilian Maisie?” like a little kid, you pouted, suddenly emotional to see so much wit and wisdom in your tiny human.

Lily giggled, “Mummy!” she held your hand, placing a soft kiss against it and walking according to your pace. “Can we go home now?” You nodded, quickly fetching an Uber to drive you home.

By the time you got there, she was already heavily sleeping in your arms as you clumsily also carried your purse and the flowers, and tried to open the door without troubling her sleep - if it was up to you, you’d find a way for mums to have an extra pair of arms, they’d definitely be useful in times like these.

You knew Lily wouldn’t sleep that much, so the sofa was where you put her before putting the roses in the water and getting rid of your coat. It was almost dark outside, so you also started to prepare the apartment for movie night. Your little girl woke up with a loud yawn that was followed by a wide smile when she noticed the blankets and pillows on the floor, some candies in a bowl, and fruits too, which were her favourite snacks.

“Matching pyjamas?” you winked at her and giggled as Lily nodded repeatedly, stretching her arms at you so you’d carry her to the bedroom.

A few minutes later you were cuddling under the blankets and watching Moana for the millionth time. You fell asleep shortly before the film ended and were quickly followed by Lily as she hummed an “I love you, mummy” and kissed the tip of your nose.

Despite not being the most comfortable place for your back to spend the night, there was no other place you’d rather be right now, holding your daughter's warm and small body - the smell of her strawberry shampoo and the pace of her calm breathing taking you to a place where no nightmares, no worries, would catch you in your sleep. You woke up in the middle of the night when she moved a bit and, after watching her sleep for a few minutes, finally turned off the TV and quickly texted Mason before going back to sleep.

When you woke up, there was a message from Jaz saying that they’d all go out for dinner after the ballet recital, and as hard as it was, you had to politely decline for you’d have a little celebration with your own family in a pre-Christmas party since a few members wouldn’t be joining at Foxwoods this year. And that you wouldn’t be able to be around Mason before telling him all the truth, which led to you telling her that he had reached you and you agreed to talk. She went from upset to hopeful in the blink of an eye.

As you prepared for the recital, you had to deal with an impatient and bossy Lily - combined with stress from work, that you had to forcefully turn into home office for the Holidays, the exhaustion that took over your body grew by the minute. It resulted in calling your mum for help, who showed up with your dad on her side by your door.

“You know she’d ask for me anyway, kid!” Your always cheerful father rubbed his hands together as he went straight for his granddaughter, who waited for him with her arms up, waiting to be spun around like a doll. You loved how your dad, a serious and famous lawyer, turned so soft whenever Lily was around - and now, how he’d cope with having to eventually “share” her with her other grandfather.

“Where do you need me to begin, amor?” Your mother’s heavy Colombian accent woke you up, and a sigh of relief parted your lips as you pulled her into a hug. “What is wrong, bebe? Tell your mamá,” Her hands softly stroked your back as you just closed your eyes and enjoyed being the daughter instead of being the mum.

“It’s nothing, I’m just exhausted. I thought that being one of the bosses would give me more free time but it’s just more work, and Lily is insufferable with this recital thing,” you sniffed. “I’m so glad it’s finally tomorrow.”

But you also weren’t, because it meant you’d see Mason after five years.

-

If anyone told you that your daughter’s ballet recital would be the place you’d almost certainly meet her father again, especially without him being the father of another kid there, you’d just roll your eyes and leave - as you stood in front of your closet, not sure about what to wear, your mind played tricks on you creating different scenarios on how that meeting would go. There was so much expectation from you, so much anxiety to see how Mason would react. He thought you’d meet for coffee sometime soon, not at a ballet recital where you were the mother of one of the kids.

Much to your relief, Willow arrived at your place right on time to save you from a breakdown over “what to wear to meet the father of my daughter after five years without looking like an exhausted mother, but also drop-dead gorgeous, and respectful”.

“Lord, that’s specific!” Willow screeched, not really helping you, in the end. “Why do you want to impress him anyway?”

“Willie, I know you’re smarter than this,” you replied as she just shrugged, still waiting for an answer. You got a positive reaction when you picked a knit burgundy dress, so you tried it on and what you saw in the mirror made you satisfied. “The next time I see him it’ll be to tell him the truth, so he needs a good first second impression.”

“His first impression of you was good enough,” she teased, watching your cheeks blush as she helped to remove the dress tag. “But you’re wearing a brand new dress for him tonight, so I’m sure the second impression will be just as good.”

“Stop it, silly. You know it’s not like this, and he doesn’t know it’s a new dress.”

Willow kept teasing you with her glares and smirks as the five of you drove to the small theatre rented for the night by the ballet studio, it was already a bit crowded when you got there and you rushed to take Lily to the backstage, where all her ballet friends greeted her in excitement. It truly was the cutest thing in the world, those little humans in their tutus, giggling and chatting like they were grown-ups.

With a quick and wet kiss on your daughter’s cheek - that made her adorably embarrassed - and a hug on Summer, you told the girls how wonderful they were and left to find your family. You quickly spotted Willow and Jaz laughing about something that made you curious, and although you were happy to see Jasmine, you also hoped it’d take a little longer to meet her and, potentially, the rest of her family. And Mason, to be more specific.

“He’s not here yet,” like she could read your mind, Jaz’s words caused you to sigh in relief. “You look gorgeous, by the way!”

Smiling at her, you softly stroked her bump. “You too, pretty mumma.”

As the lights dimmed down, announcing that the recital would begin soon, you and Willow parted ways from Jaz to meet your family. Your dad held your hand and gently squeezed it, his eyes already sparkling with tears - the truth was you couldn’t have done it without your parents, but your dad was something else. It was expected that being showered with affection would be something you’d get from your mum, who was a Latina, but you got it all from your dad because, according to him, you were the result of how much he adored your mum and Lily was an extension of that. His legacy, as he’d say. He never questioned your choices, the way you raised your daughter, nor why you never talked about who Lily’s father was. The respect your parents had for you was overwhelming, and that’s why you’d tell the whole truth tonight as soon as Lily was peacefully asleep.

When the five-year-olds act began, you were the one ready to let some tears roll down your cheeks. There she was, your Lilian Maisie, as beautiful as ever on her first ballet performance - something you never truly expected, since she had always been the adventurous type of kid. But you watched her balance it so perfectly that you often questioned if she was just five years old, and also how she’d be as a grown woman. As she danced, you had a clear vision of Lily in her early twenties. She was tall, her hair was a bit darker now but the soft curls were still there and so was the natural flush on her cheeks. She was beautiful and finally looked a bit more like you, but Mason’s smile was still there. She was kind, full of hope, funny, gracious and so smart. She was loved by everyone around her and made their lives better by simply existing.

When her act ended, you proudly stood up and clapped your hands as if your life relied on it. Her eyes scanned the audience, looking for you, and when she finally found you her face lit up and that smile you loved so much was there, making your heart melt. “I love you,” you mumbled, and she just winked at you.

Gosh, there was no way Mason wouldn’t love this girl to the point his heart would nearly explode. You wanted him to have it too.

Excusing yourself as the older girls got on stage, you went to the bathroom to fix your makeup. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you searched for your phone and, with a courage you hadn’t felt in the longest time, you typed a quick message to Mason asking if he’d be willing to meet the next day, in the afternoon.

What you didn’t expect was to find him right outside, holding his phone with a wide smile on his lips.

Mason Mount looked as gorgeous as he’d ever been - you could smell his cologne even if you were at least ten steps away from him. Wearing black jeans, and a Dior sweater that made him look breathtakingly gorgeous, Mason ended the distance between you as you felt your heart beating faster each second. He was still holding his phone when he stopped in front of you.

“I literally just texted you back saying yes,” he ran his fingers through his hair and that was as sexy as you remembered. Mason had a beard now, and although he was still young, the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes were more evident now. “You’re the last person I thought I’d meet here.”

You nodded, forcing your brain to put some words together. “You too.” Lie. But you had to make it look like it was just a coincidence.

“You look incredible, Y/n,” Mason said under his breath, his eyes shamelessly scanning your outfit. That same pair of eyes was your favourite thing to look at every morning. Now you knew what Willow meant when she said that Lily and Mason were identical - how could he not notice when they met? “There’s so much I wanna say to you,” he continued.

“Save it for tomorrow.” You interrupted, not wanting to sound rude, and Mason nodded in agreement.

“Can I pick you up around 3?”

“I think we should meet there.” You said, thinking of how suffocating and awkward it’d be being inside a car with him after all these years. “There’s a nice place I usually go with my dau-,” you coughed, watching his brows frown. “With my best friend. I’ll text you the address and we’ll meet there.”

Then, all of a sudden, Mason pulled you into a hug. His warmth against your body melted your heart, and you could feel how his breath deepened as his arms tightened around your figure. “I’ll meet you there, so I can decently apologise for being a complete idiot to someone incredible like you.”

His words were all you needed to know for sure that this wouldn’t be easy.

Was he being genuine, or was he just trying to get into your pants like he did back then? Either way, things were immensely different now, for this wasn’t just about you and Mason anymore.

This was about her - Lily. It was about her future, her happiness, how his presence in her life would have a tremendous impact on how she’d develop and what kind of adult she’d be. Nothing would ever be the same, and there was nowhere to run.

This was going to be tough.

————

BONUS - SOCIAL MEDIA

next chapter

[mikedfaist]

so invested in famous!reader and her lore… does she have close friends in the industry besides Mike? What does the media/general public think of her? Does she have a crazy fan base?

I love her and want to give her a hug. 🥹 thank you!!! 🫶🏻

Just call me the Drake Passage because you’re crossing dangerous waters, my friend.

She does have many close friends in the industry. To name one, Kathryn Gallagher, who was on Broadway for Jagged Little Pill. Lauren Patten was also in that production, and she worked with Mike in Days of Rage, so everything is connected in some way it seems. Victoria Pedretti, Lili Reinhart, and Florence Pugh are just another few. She also has ongoing beef with Kendall Jenner that seems to resurface once a year.

In her younger years, the media pinned her as a big party girl, and it was common for her to make headlines when she was seen having dinner with a guy or leaving a bar with friends. As she’s gotten older, and she’s retreated from the media, it seems they’ve changed their attitude toward her, but they’ve always been supportive of her, but not always the most respectful…but that’s Hollywood, baby.

As for fans, she’s blessed to have fans that aren’t too much. They don’t crowd her and overwhelm her – though, I will say they were guilty of that in the past, but people grow. Fans who spot her in Ohio are very reluctant to approach her, but if they do, it’s a very polite and quiet exchange, and she’ll sign whatever they want signed, maybe even take a photo, and then she’s on her way.

Here’s a story: She, Mike, and their friends are all at a bar one night, and a couple fans are sitting at the bar top when they notice her sitting in a booth. She’s sitting in the inner part of the booth, and Mike has his arm strung over her shoulders, so she’s hidden well, but she’s nevertheless seen. They don’t want to bother her; she looks so happy and carefree; they figure they’ll just watch her from afar for a while and then talk about their encounter on Twitter.

Mike ends up going up to the bar to get more drinks, and this is when the girls see their shot. They had quickly written little notes for her, how much she means to them, and the songs and albums she’s done that have resonated with them deeply over the years. They hesitantly ask Mike if he can give them to her, because they don’t want to bother her, but he’s insistent they come to the table to meet her. If she wasn’t in the mood to meet fans, he would know.

The girls are shaking as they follow Mike back to their table, and they swear they black out during the encounter. She signs the inside of an Agatha Christie book one of the girls had in their purse, and the back of a Dollar General receipt. They also take pictures, thanks to Mike’s immaculate photography skills, and the only request was to post anything after midnight to guarantee she’s left the establishment.

Just met [reader] and Mike at a bar in Columbus… I haven’t stopped shaking. She signed my Dollar General receipt and became visibly upset when she noticed I paid $3 for my sunglasses. “What’s the fucking point being called Dollar General if you’re going to extort your customers?” She smelled so good, and complimented my Pedro Pascal shirt. Mike looked so good and he was so nice. It makes perfect sense why she likes him. Literally saw him kiss with my own two eyes so anyone who says it’s a stunt can suck my fat dick. Homeboy isn’t down bad with bedroom eyes for you to be saying they aren’t in love. Eat it.

Our famous would later like this post.

[velvetvexations]

And I can absolutely guarantee you no one would give a single flying fuck if a trans woman replaced a trans guy in a meme comic with herself. Because it's no big deal, and it's simply about finding something to be mad at the evil "TMEs" about or whatever. Truly, we must fight transphobia at the front lines! (Other trans people parodying meme comics)

Absolutely not lmao. But then it's fine, because, like, trans men are privlaged, so stealing their memes is like pirating a Disney movie, whereas stealing a transfem meme is practically snatching the food right out of a Victorian orphan's hands.

Are you not excited for the future where art styles are trademarked?

I'm still not entirely sure if I identify as a kinna non-binary or if I just feel myself to be a very butch transfem who likes using certain terms for myself to emphasize the unique nature of my femininity.

But I don't know what else to call it except for exorsexism when I get the five millionth side-eye for "AMAB trans woman," especially since I know people would go off the edge accusing me of being a TERF twenty times more if I said "male" like I actually want to.* Like, dadgum, can people not handle a girl choosing to identify in some way with a term traditionally associated with her body-type because she likes it without assuming she's another Blaire White?

Like this is that soul-gender shit I get riled up about, the word "male" isn't real! The ♂ is not a magic rune that wards against femininity! I can choose to identify with that and still be a woman, and when I enter a women's space while identifying openly as a male woman, that's going to piss TERFs off more than any of them ever could.

*I also identify myself as an AMAB trans woman to support AFAB trans women and other transfem folk, but I think using 'male' would do that just as well too

I DIDN'T KNOW IT HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH TRANS PEOPLE EITHER

Eyyup. The safest queers always pretend the world outside the community is completely hypothetical so they can get down to the crucial business of praising them for breathing.

The comparisons to acephobia at least gives me hope things will get better, but I hope it's fucking soon.

It's the closest people who're privileged enough to care about meme theft get to dealing with things like that, of course it's basically the same to them, if they stepped outside their gated community for a second they'd have a religious experience like the Great Renunciation of Siddhartha Gautama.

Some day we'll find out what number comes after one.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Why can't haired people make their own memes? Why must they consistently debald the memes of bald people?

It's different when it's transfems because, uh, well, radfems say so.

They really can't help themselves.

Apparently it's hypocritical of me to call that racist, though, because I once told a tankie to bark like a dog without even looking at their* profile. Like, I'm sorry I very generically insulted someone who turned out to be Black, I guess.

Also, I apparently harass Palestinian blogs, which is truly wild and I can only guess must come from me occasionally bringing up hypocrisy when I yell at tankies for being enthusiastically pro-genocide when they feel like it.

*I do not recall the pronouns this loser used

The issue you're noticing is that transfems don't get socially murdered nearly often enough for transradfems to sustain themselves, and they can't influence any real issues, so they have to make up problems to fuel the martrydom that places them above all other trans people.

Oh, that sounds spectacular! Kinna gross, but like, in a spectacular way!

They don't think it's possible for AFAB trans people to detransition, to them it's all just cis women pretending to be trans to rip them off and hurt them.

It's real fucking bad.

I'm very sorry anon, and I completely agree.

You'd be surprised by me not liking most modern art.

I'm really happy you have that, and that we can relate to each other. <3

Are Black people saying the "why this _ mad" meme is exclusive to Black people? Is that discourse that's happening?

[its-time-to-write]

Hi y’all! This is my last unprompted angsty fic for a little! Gonna go back to our usually scheduled hijinks that are sitting in my request pile, I wanted to do this one first. I write all these as a way to deal with things that happen in my own life, whether it’s stressing about school and work, stupid romance, great romance, family, health, whatever, and I wanted to say (yet again) thank you for all the support. Sometimes I still can’t believe that you all like what I write but hey, there ya go

It’s funny, because my most popular fics are the ones that have been written directly out of my actual life. The ones that start out hard-to-deal-with, or with real, palpable heartbreak. The endings are often different because real life isn’t guaranteed a happy ending, but I’m allowed to take the past and see what it would be like if things went differently.

My characterization of Jamie is based on the only person I’ve ever really loved, which is why I can write his voice so clearly. I first watched Ted Lasso and was surprised at how similar they were, stupid hair and all. A lot of these fics are my way of archiving our story and immortalizing parts of it, as well as reminding myself that the love was there. It didn’t last and it wasn’t supposed to, but it was there.

Now, what’s real and what’s fiction? I’ll leave that up to you to decide, but I will say that it’s more than you might think and less than you might hope for.

So if you read this current fic and think, “huh, that was a really specific premise,” well I got news for you! It is. I’m in the first part of my journey on this, the early stages, and this story is not the way I want things to go for me. But I’m hoping that by creating a good ending out of a rough beginning, I can better face whatever lies ahead for me whether I approach it on my own two feet or with the assistance of some really sick wheels.

Anyway, enjoy this or skip it, it won’t hurt my feelings!

how to love being alive

Jamie’s at training when he gets the call. He barely registers the words on the other side when he’s cursing something awful, enough to make Roy Kent blush, and saying something about an emergency before speeding out the door. He pauses for a moment to look up an address in his phone, then he’s tearing out of the parking lot in a manner that puts Colin to shame. 

To summarize, he’s not acting like himself. 

He pulls up to a chiropractor of all places and the girl at the front desk must be able to tell who he’s here for because she just points to a door down the hall. Jamie’s pretty sure he’s never moved this quick in his life and wonders if this could translate to the pitch. Sure he’s fast, but he could always be faster. 

He bursts through the door to see you borderline catatonic, staring at the floor while a doctor pats your arm. She looks at Jamie and says, “Let’s chat for a minute outside,” before he has a chance to say a single thing. Jamie can’t tear his eyes away from you as the doctor leads him out and shuts the door. 

“Thought emergency contacts were for like, hospitals and shit,” he says. 

The chiropractor shakes her head. Jamie notes that her name tag says “Dr. Hadley,” and has a vague memory of you mentioning her a few months ago. 

God, it feels like a lifetime ago. 

“We’re not confident she’s in a fit state to get herself home,” Dr. Hadley says. “Her headspace is a little messed up, which is to be expected. Usually people come to these types of appointments with some moral support.”

Jamie asks, “What kinds of appointments?” and Dr. Hadley tilts her head at him. 

“You are Mr. Tartt, aren’t you?” she asks and Jamie just scoffs because he can’t decide between responding obviously, or telling her no, he’s not Mr. Tartt, that’s his father. He’s just Jamie. 

Dr. Hadley knows who he is because she doesn’t live in a hole in the ground, so she doesn’t ask for identification. She takes his scoff as permission to keep talking, so she says, “She’s here for her MRI results. We’ve been in the process of treating a protrusion on her spine.”

Jamie is positive everyone in this office must think he’s on drugs because Dr. Hadley is talking like he’s supposed to know this, but for the life of him he knows you’d never said a thing. 

“Your girlfriend has been in a severe amount of pain over the last few months, and we’ve finally been able to see the extent of the problem. Apparently she thought it would just go away, but it never did. So now she’s here with us.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jamie says automatically. Because it’s true, innit? You’re not. You’ve been broken up for a month because he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take the irritation at attending his matches and the tossing and turning in bed at night and the fact that you were wound so tight that you’d snap at the most minor offenses. 

You hadn’t been surprised when Jamie said he couldn’t do it anymore, it’s over, and at the time he had wished that you’d shown just a tiny sliver of emotion. After all, a year and two months is a long time to be with someone for you to coldly slide him his key and then turn away as though he were a stranger. 

He could have sworn there was a glimmer of tears in your eyes, but they’d looked that way for a bit now so maybe it was just allergies. There’s no reason for you to have been in the verge of tears for the entire month before the breakup, right?

Right. 

But he can’t think about that now because Dr. Hadley is frowning at him in a way that so comically reminds him of Roy’s sister that he has to bite back a laugh. 

Everything’s all twisted. 

“I certainly hope your split was amicable,” Dr. Hadley says. “You’re the only one listed as her emergency contact. She needs someone to get her home safely.”

“Right,” says Jamie. “Yes. Fuck. Right. Um, what exactly is wrong with her?” 

Dr. Hadley shakes her head. “That’s her personal information to share with you at her prerogative. And we should probably go see her, I’m sure she doesn’t want to be alone for long.”

Jamie snorts at that. This doctor doesn’t know you at all. If you’ve received any type of bad news the last thing you want is people hanging around. 

Jamie used to pride himself on being the only one you’d let into the bad-new bubble. 

You don’t count with those other people, you’d said once while wrapped around Jamie so tight he thought he’d have to call Ted to bring a crowbar. You said, I don’t have to pretend around you. I don’t ever get tired of you.

Jamie bitterly thinks that that statement turned out to be a lie, but he shakes it off because you’ve only been separated a month, and apparently he’s still your emergency contact for a doctor he didn’t know you had been seeing and fuck if you didn’t look like the most pitiful thing he’d ever seen. He’ll pretend it’s ok for as long as it takes to get you home and comfortable, and then he’s calling this office to get his number switched off. 

So he follows Dr. Hadley back into the room as she softly says your name in order to break whatever trance has you studying the carpet like your final exam is in ten minutes. 

You can barely look at her as she whispers something about going home and being gentle, to which you nod and finally look at Jamie. 

He wonders if you recognize him, because the stare you have is so vacant that you might as well be looking at a stranger. 

“Is she on drugs?” he asks because it looks like you’re on drugs. 

Dr. Hadley shakes her head and holds out her arm to help you up. “No, she’s just in a lot of pain. And emotional distress. It’s a killer combo, and she’ll need extra gentle handling for a while. No sitting for too long, no bending, no lifting. There’s a back support at the front desk for you to take.”

Jamie thinks he hears something pointed in the way Dr. Hadley says, extra gentle. What, like he doesn’t know how bad an injury can take you out? He’s in the Premier League for fuck’s sake. He knows how to deal with a strained muscle. 

Dr. Hadley transfers your arm over to Jamie’s so smoothly that he barely understands what’s happening as she ushers you both out the door, thrusting a small foam roll into Jamie’s free hand. 

“For lumbar support,” she says. “Won’t help much, but it’s better than nothing.”

Jamie’s pretty sure he’s said thanks as you climb in the car and then he’s in the drivers seat and it’s dead quiet. 

“Right,” he says to the silence. “What the fuck.”

You’re picking at your nails something fierce. Jamie has to fight the urge to take your hand in his. A month of separation is not long enough for this shit. 

“Can you just drive?” you ask in a broken voice. “I don’t want to be sitting for longer than I have to.”

There’s a new pitch in your voice, one Jamie’s never heard before, so he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t turn on the radio or a playlist or a podcast or anything, just drives in silence. He knows if it’s quiet long enough, you’ll talk. 

He’s the opposite. He doesn’t need time to crack wide open, just a kind touch or a soft glance and he’s an open book. He was always shocked how early into your relationship you’d figured that out. A soft, “What’s on your mind, Jaim?” and he was unloading about whatever stress or fear he had. 

He’s two minutes away from your flat when you break the silence. “I have gradual onset paralysis,” you say in a voice devoid of emotion. “‘Gradual onset’ means it happens over time. Paralysis means, well…paralysis.”

Jamie can hear what you’re saying and he understands it, but what catches him is the way you’re like nothing more than a hollow body. Not cracking a joke, not picking a fight. Just- empty. 

Jamie says a long and drawn out “Fuuuckk,” because what else can you say? It’s not really his business to comfort you or to pry, except he’s the one the doctor called, so he allows himself one question. 

“How did it happen?”

Last he knew, you were healthy as a horse. 

“Two disks in my spine popped,” you reply, still in that same awful emotionless voice. “They’re not really sure how, could’ve been any number of things. Anyway, it got into my nerves. And my spinal cord. And it’s messing things up and it’s only going to get worse. The scans were to see if they could operate, because sometimes you can remove the shards. Or whatever it is. But I guess they can’t, because if they tried I’d definitely be paralyzed. So all I can do now is be in pain and wait for my legs to shut down.”

Jamie doesn’t know how to respond to any of that but he’s saved from thinking of an adequate response because he’s at your flat. 

It was smart of you not to sell it when you’d moved in with Jamie. He wonders if you knew the breakup was inevitable. 

He hops out and opens the door like a gentleman, offering his hand like he’s some Mr. Darcy-type shit, except you had both agreed that Roy was Mr. Darcy and he was Bingley. So it doesn’t fit at all except as soon as you’re done clutching his hand so you can get out without unnecessary pain, his hand flexes itself like he’s in that damn movie. 

It wasn’t even a conscious choice, just a thing his hand decided to do, and he definitely thinks he’s going to have to talk to Ted about this. Or maybe Sam. Sam knows shit and is good at empathy. Maybe he’ll know what to say when your ex-girlfriend tells you she’s not going to walk ever again. 

Jamie follows you to the door as you fiddle with the lock and push it open with a sigh. For a moment he doesn’t know if he should go inside, but it smells like honey and cinnamon because it’s the beginning of fall and he thinks that he should at least make sure you’ll be alright. 

He notices you’re moving weird. All stiff, like. You’re trying to get an icepack out of the freezer but you can’t maneuver in a way that’s comfortable so Jamie grabs it and hands it to you. 

You mumble, “Thanks,” and Jamie catches a glimpse of the perpetual glimmer in your eye. 

“D’you need me to call someone?” he asks. “I can get Keeley down here. Or fucking… Ted. Or Colin.” He doesn’t say Sam, because he needs Sam. He can’t talk to Sam if he’s here with you. 

You shake your head. Jamie wonders if it hurts to talk, but he remembers how much you hate the sound of your voice when you’re crying. 

You take a slow, shallow breath to collect yourself. “I’m ok,” you finally say. “Not much anyone can do, and you’ve got training. I- I didn’t know they’d call you. I still have to switch your number with someone else. I’m probably going to ask Keeley since my family’s still far away.”

“Right,” Jamie says. Not much else to say. Except- 

“You were seeing that bone doctor when we were together, and you didn’t fucking say anything?”

It’s accusatory and he knows it, but he can’t for the life of him say it kinder. Ted’s always on about communication and shit, and that is not communication. 

You shuffle over to the couch and use it to help you lay face down in the floor. The icepack is precariously balanced on the small of your back. 

“Didn’t know how to tell you,” comes your muffled voice. “Least, I figured out how to tell you too late. What was I gonna say, ‘Sorry I’ve been a complete bitch to you for four weeks, I’ve got shit floating around in my spine that makes me hurt so bad I want to die?’ Sounds fucking stupid.”

Jamie wants to say, Swear jar because it’s a long-standing joke, but he catches the words right before they reach the tip of his tongue. 

“You could’ve said something,” he replies instead. “Chronic pain’s shit. It’s really shit and it makes you act like shit to the people you care about. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason.” As the words are coming out of his mouth, Jamie is reminded of a time when the roles were reversed, and you were giving him the “excuse versus reason,” speech. 

You’d said, You’re dad’s an abusive prick, Jamie. Makes sense that you’d have a lot of negative emotions. 

Fuck, if only you’d said something sooner. Maybe this would be something that you’d be cracking jokes about, or Jamie would be holding your hand, or he’d be laying right next to you as he runs his fingers through your hair. 

But your muscles spasm so that thought gets banished as you bite on your forearm in an effort not to yell. 

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says. “I don’t think you’re sorted on your own. I’m calling Ted.”

He walks to the other room so he can pretend he can’t hear your protests. 

—

Ted leaves training to Roy, Beard, and Nate. What’s the point in having four coaches if one of ‘em can’t leave for family emergencies?

Sure, you’re not actually family, but that’s Ted for you. He doesn’t do casual friendships. 

Jamie is out the door like a shot as soon as Ted knocks with a “Sorry, coach,” that Ted barely has a chance to wave off. 

Ted doesn’t say much once he’s inside, just rambles on about training and Kansas and Henry. He’s clattering around in your kitchen and you can’t find it in yourself to care what he’s doing so you just keep laying on the floor, willing your back to stop hurting. 

Finally, he comes over and sets down a smoothie in a short glass with a straw. 

“It’s so you can drink it without moving,” he explains. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” you say more to the couch legs than to Ted.

He sighs from where he’s crouched down next to you. “You don’t really have a choice, darlin’. You have to do this. The question is, are you gonna go through it alone?”

You shrug as best as you’re able. 

“Wrong answer,” says Ted, standing up. “You’ve got a whole crew of people here who are gonna root for you and support you with whatever you need. All you got to do is ask, sweetheart.”

Ah, fuck, you’re crying again and Ted can definitely tell because your shoulders are shaking. He’s pretty sure you’d want to save face so he stands up and says, “Beard’s coming over after training. Says he wants to figure out how to modify your house for a wheelchair or something. Thought I’d make us all dinner so we’re not so hangry when he mentions taking an ax to anything.”

The mental image of Coach Beard chopping down your stairs is enough to make you smile a little through your tears.

—

Waiting is really shitty. Like, really shitty. Every day is the same thing: tingly legs, shooting pains, phantom cramps. The worst was when Dani and Richard were over and you stood up to get something from the fridge, and your legs decided at that moment to lose feeling. You panicked with your arms held out for balance as you swayed back and forth for a moment, willing your feet to fucking move. They did, but not before Dani and Richard were on you in a flash, ready to catch you if you fell.

“Well that was weird,” you joke in an effort to cut the tension. They laugh, but you still catch their worried glance.

“You do not have to put on a brave face for us,” Dani says. “If you want to joke, we will joke. But if you want to cry, we will cry too.”

“You can cry,” Richard says, “I will just pour more wine.”

You laugh. There’s been a steady stream of Greyhounds at your flat for the last week and a half. Everyone and their mother (quite literally) has come by to see you. Your own parents were coming in a week to stay indefinitely while you sorted things out.

You wonder if it’s easier to lose control of your legs slowly or all at once? On the one hand, you at least have notice. But on the other hand, the long, drawn-out waiting feels like slow torture. Every day you wake up from restless sleep and experimentally wiggle your toes. Every day, you check off one more box on your mental calendar as you count down to a date that doesn’t even properly exist.

The only person who hasn’t visited is Jamie. You don’t blame him, though. Keeley’s come round almost every single day and has been successfully switched to your emergency contact. She’s the one you’re calling as soon as you discover you can’t move.

You’re pretty sure it’s getting closer. Your legs fall asleep more frequently and things are all numb. It’s like you know you’re in pain, but it’s not quite registering with your nerves.

It fucking sucks.

—

You don’t believe in intuition like spirits and all that, but you believe in it in that your brain can pick up things that you couldn’t if you were actually trying.

That’s why you’re pretty sure this is it.

Walking is pretty much a no-go right now, so you stiff-leg yourself to the couch and sprawl out as comfortably as you can.

You call Keeley, and she’s over in no time.

“Hi babes,” she says as soon as she’s through the door, “Can I call Rebecca for girls’s night?”

“Sure,” you say, “Might as well live it up.”

Keeley replies, “Great! She’ll be here in ten minutes,” and you laugh, really actually laugh, because of course Keeley’s already called her.

Rebecca swoops in all smiles and no sympathy which is great because if one more person pushes their lower lip out at you, you’re going to scream. She’s brought drinks and Keeley’s pulling out snacks and you’re going to talk and giggle until you fall asleep, ready for what the morning has.

“Is Shandy making a move on that one player?” Rebecca asks Keeley from the couch. 

“Nah,” Keeley calls back, “He said he wasn’t interested right now. Still hung up, I think.”

“What player?”  you ask. You know what Shandy’s like, and you feel for the poor guy.

Rebecca and Keeley are silent before Keeley says, “You wouldn’t know him.”

“Bullshit,” you reply. “I know everyone on that team and I know you haven’t signed anyone new recently. Is it Colin?” 

Rebecca shakes her head and gives Keeley a look. Keeley shrugs. “You’re the one who brought it up, babes.”

Rebecca turns to you. “It’s Jamie,” she says. “She’s been trying to bag him ever since Zava showed up.”

You shake your head. “She’s not right for him. He deserves someone better than that.”

Keeley’s back from the kitchen and scrutinizing your expression. “And what exactly do you mean by better?” she asks.

You laugh. “Oh no, not me. I wasn’t talking about me. No, I’m not- he needs someone different. Like, I don’t know, Roy’s sister, maybe? She’s great and a doctor to boot. Very caring too.”

“You’re caring,” Keeley says slowly, “And anyway, Molly doesn’t like him like that. They’re just friends.”

“Hang on, are you putting yourself in the same bracket as Shandy?” Rebecca interjects.

You shrug. “I was a complete bitch the last month we were together. There’s no excuse for it. I’m just surprised he lasted as long as he did.”

“You were in fucking pain!” Keeley exclaims. “You said you weren’t sleeping and everything fucking hurt and you couldn’t even think straight.”

You grab a handful of candy from a bowl. “Keels, I appreciate the sentiment, but I majorly fucked it. Like, there’s no going back. So he can date whoever he wants as long as it’s not fucking Shandy. Can we please, please move on?”

Rebecca’s eyes are narrowed but they both acquiesce. “Keeley, what about your love life? I’m sure it’s boring as usual.”

Keeley shrieks and smacks her with a pillow. “Fuck off,” she replies. “I’ll have you know it’s going very well…”

—

You were right. You wake up still on the couch tangled in Keeley’s arms, and the standard toe-wiggle just… doesn’t happen. It’s quiet, the early morning type, the kind where the sunlight isn’t so harsh and birds are chirping softly and all of Richmond hasn’t quite got up to begin their day. 

As you look at your unmoving toes, the first thing you feel is a rush of relief. The waiting’s over, you think. 

You look over to the wheelchair that’s been leaning patiently against the wall all this time. Here’s the first day of forever. You’re in no rush for it to start, so you let Keeley’s little snores and Rebecca’s heavy breathing lull you back to sleep. 

—

It’s definitely a learning curve. And it’s frustrating. And if one more person catches you crying out of sheer rage, you’re going to start throwing things. But like Ted said, you don’t really have a choice. 

Your mom said, “The only way out is through,” then grinned at the murderous glare you shot her way. She opened her phone and pulled up a picture of you, age three. “Same lovely expression as always,” she remarks cheerfully. That cracks your frown. You always were a funny kid. 

It takes a while to figure out how to get places. Keeley (the absolute angel) volunteered, but she’s busy with the PR firm and quite frankly, a little too delicate to help you into a car. You made the mistake of saying this exactly one time and because subject to a rant about how she’s “not weak, just PETITE FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!”

Roy had punctuated her argument with a couple “That’s fucking right, babe"s all while rolling his eyes behind her back. It made you giggle. 

The general consensus was that at any given reasonable hour (or unreasonable if you’re Richard or Bumbercatch) a Greyhound or coach would be able to get you where you’re needed. And today, that place is Nelson Road. 

“How often does Jamie come visit?” Jan Maas asks, straightforward as ever. 

“Um, never,” you reply. “We broke up, remember?”

“Right,” agrees Jan Maas. “We all know that, I just assumed you had gotten back together.”

You laugh. How absurd. “And why on earth would you assume that?”

“Because he talks about you all the time,” comes his prompt reply. 

Huh. That’s interesting. You haven’t received so much as a single emoji from Jamie, but hadn’t thought a thing of it. But this, this is strange. This does not fit into your idea of how broken up people act. 

“Weird,” you say. “Wonder what the fuck that’s about.”

Jan Maas shrugs and moves to lift you from the car. 

—

It’s weird to be at Nelson Road, number one because it’s been FOREVER, number two because you’re eye-level with all sorts of things you’d never noticed before (ahem, part of the wall Roy kicked that no one cared to patch up), and number three because the last time you were here, it was as Jamie Tartt’s girlfriend. 

Jan holds open the door as you roll in, ready to face whatever lies in wait. 

It turns out whatever is a very excited Ted and Beard as well as a neutral Roy who present you a coaching jacket and a whistle. 

“You’re coaching with us today because that little rat bastard Nate went to the dark side,” Beard says. 

You remark, “Tell us how you really feel,” earning a snort from Roy and a chuckle from Trent Crimm. 

“Oh yeah,” Ted says, “this is Trent. He’s writing a book.”

“Cool,” you say, “but you do know I know jack shit about coaching?”

Beard shrugs. “Neither do we. Worked out pretty well so far.” That earns another snort from Roy. 

“Right,” you say. “Well, I guess I’m up for anything.”

“You mean ‘down,’” says Ted. “Oh I’m sorry, is it too soon?”

“Never,” you reply. “It’s never too soon to make trauma-related puns and this world, it’s either laugh or cry. So fuck it, I’m going to laugh.”

“Fuck yes,” grunts Roy before turning on his heel to yell at the team to GET THE FUCK ON THE PITCH YOU LITTLE PRICKS!

—

You don’t do much except sit there and watch as the coaches yell and point and run drills. It’s a chore to remind yourself not to check out Jamie’s butt as he runs by so you start thinking not yours, not yours, like a mental mantra. 

He’s not looking at you so you won’t look at him and you’re sure it won’t be a problem because there are so many people to look at and talk to, except lunch rolls around (haha) and you sit at the head of a table and Jamie’s on the bench right next to you. So. There goes the no eye-contact plan. 

You take exactly two bites of your sandwich before thinking fuck this and pushing yourself back so you can roll away. You can just take the elevator to see Becca. 

You’ve made it a good way down the hall when you hear Jamie calling your name while saying, “Wait,” so you move a little faster. 

But it’s still new and you’re painfully reminded that arms are not legs so he catches you with ease. 

 “The fuck are you running away for?” he asks, and you want to point out that technically, you weren’t running. Metaphorically though, he’d be right. 

“I’m not running,” you reply. “I was just going to see Rebecca.”

“Bullshit,” he says. “I know you, and that was running. Is it because of me?”

“No,” you say, and you realize how much you’ve been looking up today. Your fucking neck needs a break so you rub it and look straight ahead, past Jamie at a life-size decal of O’Brien on the opposite wall. 

“Why would I be running away from you? You’re not- I’m the shitty ex in this situation. I’m the one who fucked things up, Jamie, so… you don’t have to like, pretend that it’s your problem. I actually think it would be better if you were just mad and avoided me instead of whatever the hell is currently happening.”

Jamie rubs his jaw. He should be exasperated, he should, but instead the gears in his mind are turning. A few words stick out to him and then it’s like the final puzzle piece has clicked into place. 

“Hang on,” he says slowly. “Hold the fuck up. Did you mess things up on purpose?”

The moment the words are out of his mouth he wants to take them back and apologize, because there’s no way they’re actually true, except you have a look on your face that can only be described as guilty. 

“Fuuckkk,” Jamie breathes out and you hurriedly interject, “It wasn’t intentional! At least, not at first. It started because I was irritable because I hurt a lot, and then I convinced myself that I was faking it so I got mad at myself for being a little liar. And then I couldn’t sleep because I hurt so bad and everything was making me uncomfortable so I started snapping at you. I noticed it pretty quick so I figured I’d get the pain checked out and sorted because I didn’t think pulled muscles were supposed to last this long. And it turned out that it wasn’t a pulled muscle but some of my disks were all weird, and then one day in between physical therapy and the chiropractor, I fell on my back and jostled everything wrong and it fucking popped.”

Jamie thinks he knows exactly when that was. He remembers you saying something about falling while walking to your car after work and him asking if you needed ice. It was at the tail end of things, and he’d taken your stiffness figuratively as opposed to literally. Like, you were acting all cold because you hated him, not because you couldn’t move. 

“So,” you continue, “I just leaned into it. I mean, Dr. Hadley was only one of my doctors, but she’s the one who told me I- you know, could end up like this. She said if things popped and it got into my spinal cord or fluid or whatever and they couldn’t get it out, it was only a matter of time before it messed everything up. They only way to stop it at that point would be to not move so either way, I end up stuck.” 

You half-sob, half-laugh. “I didn’t know how to tell you and I could tell you were already annoyed with me so I just decided to let it happen. You’re better off without me, anyway. I hate asking for help and I hate when people give me empathetic looks or what-fucking-ever, and I was going to have to ask you for a lot of help. You don’t even fucking have time for that, Jamie.”

Jamie is at a loss for words, and you’ve run out of things to say. 

You stare at each other in the hallway by the elevator, breathing heavily. You’ve both triggered each other’s fight-or-flight response, and it seems you’re both down for a fight.

“Right,” Jamie says finally, “ok, yeah, ok. You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to have to deal with this?”

You nod. 

“Right,” he says again. “That’s fucked up.”

You don’t respond and he looks at you closely. “You know that’s fucked up, yeah?”

You shrug. 

“Jesus, babe.” Jamie runs his hands through his hair. He’s going to have to fix his headbands. “Alright,” he says yet again, “look. Dr. Sharon and me- we talk. And, you’re supposed to be able to talk to people about shit like this. Like, me playing football isn’t supposed to mean I don’t have time for the people I love. And if you’re feeling that way or if you’re hurting, you have to tell me so I don’t think you’re being all pissed off because you hate me. That’s the whole point of love, babe. You take care of each other’s shit.”

“Jamie, I can’t get places easily anymore. I can’t drive and I can’t go up steps. I will never be able to storm the pitch to kiss you or walk with you in Brazil. I get mad really easily because everything’s so fucking frustrating and I just want to punch something.” You shake your head. “You don’t deserve any of that. You need someone who can be there for you and isn’t a total pill to be around.”

“Are you fucking trying to push me away?” he asks.

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Obviously!”

“Well fucking don’t. You almost had me the first time, but good luck getting rid of me now.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“For fuck’s sake, just kiss,” groans Will, walking by with an armful of laundry. 

“Fuck off, William!” you both say in unison and then Jamie’s on one knee, eye-level with you and brushing a thumb across your chin. 

“Fucking hell, love,” he breathes. “You have to remember that you can talk to me, yeah? Just promise you’ll remember.”

You nod, unable to speak. 

“Good,” he says. “We’re giving this another go. And if you can’t kiss me on the pitch, might as well do it here, yeah?”

[cvlutos]

“I like to Write”

| Repost: 02.18.23 | 1.1 K | Rated PG |

Malleus D., Rook H., Idia S., Azul A. X GN!Writer!Reader

| Characters18+ | Headcannons | Super Sweet | Suggestive w/ Idia | Fluff | Platonic/Romantic Relationships | Proceed with Caution, Beloved. |

T.Manor.Requests: For the Lovely @sidra-29 Thank you for the request!!

I was WAITING FOR THIS-

Ahem… Can I request Malleus, Rook, Idia and Azul with a Gn!Reader who writes stuff. Like books and all on the internet and sometimes they even write some special things for our boys

Take your time and stay healthy dear !

♡ Malleus Draconia ♡

Malleus Draconia is a lot of things, and one of them is being super supportive.

♡♡ Whether you’re his partner or simply his friend, he is guaranteed to be your biggest fan. Even if all you write is dribbles or short little things, nonetheless he’s reading. If you write fanfic, he will take it very seriously and be highly entertained by it. If it makes you happy, it makes him happier. If you want tips or constructive criticism, he’ll give it. If you just want his genuine reaction, he’ll do that as well.

♡♡ He keeps all of your work. Even if you hate it, he keeps it and stores it away, so that later you’ll see your progress, he’s super encouraging and won’t ever call your work badly, but he might allude to something not being your best piece, but he doesn’t fault for it. Anything your write for him, he wont stop talking about it. Like will casually bring it up, and if you dont write something for anyone else, he is so smug.

♡♡ He also likes to stand over you when you write. Sometimes he’s doing his own thing while you type. But when you write with pen and paper, he likes to stand over you. Silently watching your hand move back and forth. He likes your handwriting and likes seeing how you write. How your ‘a’s curl and how you dot your ‘i’s. For some odd reason, he enjoys it, and no matter how messy it is, he can read it well. [100% guarantee Lilia’s handwriting half the time is horrendous and unreadable.]

“Whatever you write, it is an absolute pleasure for me to read. Always.”

══════ ♡ ══════

♡ Rook Hunt ♡

Rook is somewhat of a writer himself, though he only sticks to poetry. Though finds beauty in longer length stories.

♡♡ If you write, he’s considering this a time for you and him to get snacks and read each other’s pieces. Aloud or silently, though over time, it changes into Rook wanting to act out scenes with you. Scenes with the slightest hint of romance. Whether you’re romantic or platonic, he’s going to want to act out scenes. He does love a good tragedy. But Rook is also super supportive and loves sharing your story ideas. If your write fanfic, Rook likes it too. A little too much to the point he’s subconsciously shipping people. He finds it so much fun, he won’t play matchmaker, but he loves watching it unfold naturally.

♡♡ Just like Malleus, he’s keeping all your writings. Each and every single one, half of which you aren’t sure how he found or got, but he has them. Heavily protected. But let you write him something specifically for him. He’s reading it every day, before bed, when he wakes up. He won’t tell anyone about it, but Vil knows, cause he accidentally mentioned it.

♡♡ Rook, also like Malleus, likes your handwriting. But oddly enough, has it memorized and if he wanted to, he could easily replicate it. Wouldn’t, but if he wanted to impersonate you, he could. Casually mentions it all the time. If you have a blog or any socials, he’s always in your comments sections acting up. Writing full poems and paragraphs.

“Oh ! Ça doit être la meilleure histoire écrite à ce jour~ Je dois en lire plus !”

══════ ♡ ══════

♡ Idia Shroud ♡

You and Him fanfic when?

♡♡ He’d never ask. He would rather let his HP drop to zero and face the final boss with low-grade weapons. In fact, Idia would never talk about you writing, and would simply leave you be. Not out of not caring but more out of fear that if he tries to talk about it, he’ll seem like some normie who knows not a damn thing.

♡♡ Idia had read fanfiction, that’s it. Has tabs saved, so if you do “official writing”, he’s going to be unsure of what to do. If you write fanfic though and post online, he’s sending in anonymous requests, anonymous commissions of his favorite characters. If you write for a fandom he doesn’t know, he’ll binge it.

♡♡ If you write anything for him, he’s done for. K.Oed. Zero Health, and he lost all his EXP. He’s at the beginner level and has to mass farm everything back before he can even read it. He’ll thank you, but won’t touch it for days before he forces himself too while screeching. If it’s cute and sweet, he’s a mess, snot bubbles and tears. If it is remotely sexual—well—he might need a new copy. Though unlike the first two, he doesn’t really care for you handwriting, it’s yours, but he likes to see you type, especially if you type hella fast.

“—YOU WHAT—I mean… Thank you for the… For the… Mm—Thank you for the story….”

══════ ♡ ══════

♡ Azul Ashengrotto ♡

*Cue him thinking of ways to make money with your writing*

♡♡ He views it as an admirable talent. Azul only writes essays, reports, documents. And a lot of contracts, so idle writing really isn’t his thing. He’s tried, but most of it comes out messy, so he sticks to reading. So if you write, he’s requesting something to pass the time. He also enjoys it when someone, especially your friends, asks what he’s reading. He will brag and be like “[Name]’s work. Oh, you haven’t read any.. Well then…” He’s an instigator.

♡♡ He will definitely mention your writing to his mother, especially if it was a gift from you for him about him. He’s rambling to his mom about how talented you are. He refuses to tell the twins about it, but they undeniably know and tease him about it. Any chance they get, they’ll use it as ammunition. But it won’t be just Azul, but you, too. I mean, you wrote it for their dormleader. You must love him~

♡♡ Other than that, Azul won’t interfere. If you want to share and write in his presence, you can. If you want to tell him your ideas and plans, hell gladly listen. Hell gives critics on overused ideas, views him as your personal editor. He will host events in the Mostro Longue for you, to give you more exposure. [A third of the event was the twins giving out threats if they didn’t support you.]

“I mean, you are, uh, dear to me. So your success is mine of course I would and will provide all I can.”

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[caffedrine]

Chevalier Michel - The Beauty Fulfils the Beast's Dream - Event Summary

I used to not care for Chevalier, but then suddenly he was up there in my faves, not sure how that happened, but here we are.

If you trust me to know what I'm doing, then we have both made a huge mistake. I cannot guarantee accuracy for this summary, or even grammatical correctness.

Please support Cybird and pick up this event when it makes it to the English Server

Even now, his Majesty the King, Chevalier, hates interacting with people. Even before he was chosen, he famously only socialized when absolutely necessary. This makes it strange to see servants with Chevalier’s personal White Tiger crest, proclaiming them as his exclusive servants.

This is why Emma decides to question the one person whom she knows as his exclusive servant. Lucien, his long hair tied back, is walking behind her. He is Chevalier’s top spy, though now he is currently employed as her exclusive bodyguard. The white tiger pin catches the light on Lucien’s chest, proof of him being subordinate only to Chevalier.

All the princes have similar servants sporting their own personalized pins, though Chevalier notably has the second-fewest number of exclusive servants, with only Luke having fewer. At least, that’s what Clavis told Emma when he had been drinking.

Emma asks how long Lucien has served Chevalier, and he muses it’s been over a decade at this point. Emma asks if that means that Lucien has been serving Chevalier since he was a child, and Lucien readily agrees. Emma asks why Lucien decided to agree to be Chevalier’s personal servant.

She had thought that this would be a light chat, but Lucien comes to a stop, his face serious. Lucien tells her that he is a former assassin and met Chevalier when he was hired to kill the then-prince.

Sensing a story behind this, Emma asks how they went from assassin and target to servant and master. Lucien tells her that Chevalier just pays that well.

Also . . .

Lucien heard Chevalier’s dream. Emma thinks about this, recalling Chevalier telling her his ultimate goal is to unify the continent into a single country, and wonders if that was the dream Lucien followed.

Before she can ask Lucien about this dream, a plump man rushes up to her, interrupting them. Emma recognizes him as an earl from the southern region of Rhodolite. Lucien takes a polite step back from Emma, and she plasters a social smile on her face.

The earl hands Emma documents and asks her to deliver them to King Chevalier. Instead of immediately obeying him, Emma decides to read through the contents first.

This is one of her unofficial duties in the palace. Chevalier is still a frightening figure to most of the aristocracy, so they all find it easier to go through Emma and have her act as an intermediary. Before she became his fiancé, this was one of Clavis’ duties. She is happy with the responsibility and the trust Chevalier has placed in her – he has given her permission to deny any documents that are inadequate or decide if they are necessary for him to review.

Emma finds errors in the document and helpfully points them out to the earl, handing them back to him. The earl is not pleased by this and tells Emma that he isn’t requesting her to review them, he’s simply requesting that she present them to the king. If King Chevalier finds it inadequate, he will accept it and fix the documents then.

The Earl’s response isn’t all that unusual. He’s fine using her to deliver documents and messages to Chevalier, but his pride is hurt at the thought of a commoner correcting him. It’s somewhat of a daily occurrence for nobles to dismiss her ability to read and review documents and insist that she simply hand whatever they give her directly to Chevalier.

Emma reminds the earl that reviewing documents before Chevalier is one of her duties, appointed to her by Chevalier himself. And that duty includes not handing error-ridden documents to him. The earl doesn’t believe that Chevalier would really trust some commoner to review important documents, and would really like Emma to leave the decisions to Chevalier.

Directly behind Emma, a new voice asks what the earl means by ‘leaving the decision to him’? The Earl visibly withers and his complexion goes pale. Before Emma can turn around to check for herself, arms are wrapped around her waist and she in enveloped in the scent of roses.

Chevalier tells the earl that he has his undivided attention, so go ahead and say what he wants to say. The earl demurs that it’s really nothing that important, but that doesn’t help his situation. Chevalier asks why the earl thinks ‘nothing important’ is worth bothering his woman.

The cold air turns deadly with Chevalier’s obvious anger.

Any composure the earl had before is gone as he trembles before them.

Emma brightly greets Chevalier, happy to meet him. She hopes she can turn this tense atmosphere into something less terrifying. Chevalier’s ice blue eyes turn from the Earl to her. Undaunted, she asks if his meeting has finished. Chevalier complains that 80% of the meeting was a waste due to the old guard who are still stuck in the past. That faction is something he is going to have to handle soon. Chevalier’s gaze pointedly returns to the earl.

The earl, pale and trembling, takes advantage of the gap Emma gave him and bows, leaving. Audible only to her, Chevalier clicks his tongue in annoyance. When she turns to face Chevalier directly, he kisses her with an all too innocent expression on his face. He does complain that there are more and more people who don’t know their place.

Emma surmises that Chevalier already knows everything she has been putting up with. She hasn’t said anything to him, but she can guess that Lucien must have reported these encounters to him. Emma tells Chevalier that it can’t be helped, she is in a strange position of being both below and above them in social status.

Chevalier is not pleased with Emma’s acceptance of the situation, as it lowers herself. Emma has to admit that Chevalier has a good point, letting it go won’t make people like the earl disappear. She promises Chevalier that she will do her best to handle the situations better.

Chevalier thinks that he can give her some help as well. The corner of his mouth lifts into a dangerous smile and he tells Lucien to gather the members of the foreign policy faction in his office.

Later

In the rose garden, Emma, Nokto and Clavis are stunned to immobility. Luke pokes at them, asking how long they’re planning on just standing there? Emma tells him to give them a moment, they’re treading strange waters.

Clavis wonders if this is all some sort of dream. Luke tells him that this is really real. Nokto reminds Luke that Chevalier absolutely hates socializing with people, and so everything they thought they thought they knew has just been flipped on its head.

Chevalier is hosting a garden party.

The castle’s rose garden is famous for having the most beautiful roses blooming in all of Rhodolite, which makes it the perfect place for the most influential aristocrats in the country to gather. And it was going very well.

Clavis had arranged the refreshments, and for some reason, everyone seemed to be enjoying them. The orchestra had been arranged by Nokto and was playing very pleasant music.

Aristocratic garden parties had often been hosted by the Kings of Rhodolite, but this one was significant for being the first one Chevalier has ever hosted, even after being crowned king.

Next to Emma, Nokto is still shaking his head, wondering if this is all real. He admits that he feels like he has been in some sort of dream since the day Chevalier announced that he was going to host a garden party. Clavis nods, he completely understands what Nokto means. Clavis calls out to Luke, telling him to hit Nokto as hard as he can.

Luke is just happy to help out his big brothers.

As Nokto begs Luke not to hit him for real, Emma considers the circumstances. Why did Chevalier spontaneously decide to throw a party? The fact that it is being held in the gardens she loves makes her heart throb uncomfortably.

Besides all of that, where exactly is their host? Chevalier had sent her a message that he was running a little late, but he’s gone from being fashionably late to just being late. As she looks around the venue for Chevalier, Clavis laughs, asking if she’s already lonely without Chevalier. Emma admits that she is, and Clavis asks if she’s been paying attention to Chevalier at all. He’s not going to materialize in the middle of the party, he’s going to make his entrance in his favorite way.

Chevalier is going to sneak up behind Emma and hug her from behind.

Emma whirls to look behind her, but there is no Chevalier. Clavis begins laughing at her, and frustrated, Emma turns back to Clavis.

Chevalier is standing directly behind Clavis.

Before she can react, Chevalier reaches out and flicks Clavis on the forehead, hard enough that she can hear it, and she winces in sympathy. Clavis moans that Chevalier definitely broke something.

Chevalier tells Clavis that if he has enough time to have silly conversations, he has enough time to socialize. Emma looks at Clavis in concern, he’s clutching his head, obviously hurt. Chevalier tells her not to worry, Clavis has a very thick head.

Speaking of important things to do, Nokto wonders what Chevalier is up to that made him so late to his own party. Luke complains that everyone except himself is slacking off. Chevalier tells him that the main dish of the party is ready.

Miraculously recovering, Clavis relaxes with a grim determination. He admits that he thought it was strange for Chevalier to throw a party, but now he understands Chevalier’s purpose. This isn’t a party, it’s a public execution.

Looking around, Emma can see that only Clavis is able to understand Chevalier’s true meaning. She, and the other two princes look disturbed.

Chevalier explains that sometimes it’s easier if he deals with people himself, that way they can learn their real place in the world. He wraps an arm around Emma’s waist and whispers directly in her ear, asking if she wondered about what he was up to today. Her heart pounding, Emma nods and allows Chevalier to guide her forward, his arm still around her waist.

Everyone they pass bows their head to the host, the King of Rhodolite. Chevalier ignores them and instead goes to the refreshment table. Emma asks if it’s okay if he doesn’t talk to anyone, but Chevalier points out that he is talking to someone, right this instant.

There is an assortment of pastries made by the city’s best baker. Chevalier picks one up and with surprisingly clumsy fingers, presses it against Emma’s mouth. Emma accepts it, chewing and swallowing, marveling over how wonderful it tastes.

Chevalier picks up another pastry and begins stuffing it into Emma’s mouth again. He snorts at her expression, continuing to hand-feed her. Since they explicitly say that he’s very clumsy at this, I assume half of the food is on Emma’s face.

Alter!Keith would be proud. Gilbert would be jealous.

The party continues with Chevalier ignoring everyone who isn’t Emma. In between pastries, Emma is able to exchange a few scant words with the occasional noble, but that is all. She doesn’t really understand what is going on.

Eventually, Chevalier stops and asks if Emma enjoyed herself. She assures him that she did, and Chevalier tells her in that case, it’s now time for him to serve everyone the main dish. Emma wonders if he was trying to make her happy before he moved on to the next stage of his plan.

Flipping his cloak, Chevalier and Emma begin walking through the noble guests. Emma realizes that they’re heading toward the plump Earl from the other day. The Earl realizes this too and looks faint. He stutters a greeting and thanks Chevalier for granting him an audience. Chevalier interrupts him, he wants to continue their conversation from the other day. He was going to thank the Earl for taking care of his woman, but he scurried away like a pest before Chevalier could begin. The Earl gapes at him in confusion, and Chevalier elaborates, as a reward for insulting Emma he will personally solve the earldom’s problems.

Appearing out of nowhere, Lucien is suddenly next to Chevalier, holding something that looked like a document. Chevalier tells the Earl that there appears to be a discrepancy in his taxes and expenses, suggesting the Earl is embezzling the citizen’s tax money. The earl gibbers, trying to explain that the discrepancy is not that significant. Chevalier asks if this is him admitting that he is cheating and insulting the royal family?

When the earl can’t give him a satisfactory answer, Chevalier tells the earl that he is not a patient person. His solution is to remove the earl’s title, as he can’t imagine the earldom is governed well by someone so incompetent that they don’t know simple etiquette for speaking to the future queen.

Begging for forgiveness, the earl tries to clutch at Chevalier’s cape, but he is halted by the head of the foreign faction’s security, Cyran’s, sword to his throat. Cyran reminds the earl that he is speaking to the King.

Idly looking around, Chevalier notes that, like the earl, there are a lot of people present who don’t recall the etiquette due to the future queen. Most of the noble attendees avert their gaze from Chevalier’s.

One guest calls out to Chevalier, asking if this absolutely horrible assertion is true. How deplorable that the current generation is failing their rulers. He is one of the most influential nobles in Rhodolite, as well as one of the richest, who carries with him a terrifying presence. He is Chevalier’s maternal grandfather, the Marquis Michel.

Marquis Michel announces that he will not tolerate disrespect towards the future queen either and eyes his fellow guests. Chevalier thanks him, entrusting this task to his grandfather. He asks him to wash out all the mistakes of the past so they can all move forward.

Emma now understands what Clavis meant by this being a public execution.

After the garden party, Emma returns to her room, followed by Lucien. Chevalier remained behind to speak to his grandfather, so Emma takes the opportunity to talk to Lucien. She asks if he knew this would happen, and Lucien admits that he did.

Emma knows that Chevalier has been protecting her in the past, but after today, his protection has just become stronger. She doubts anyone would look down on her for being a commoner anymore. Chevalier cares about her dignity and does not tolerate acts that undermine her. His modus operendi is to eliminate all threats to her, including her status and sense of self-worth.

Emma is still amazed at how far Chevalier went for her, but Lucien disagrees. He knew this would happen someday, after all, Emma is the embodiment of Chevalier’s dream. It’s natural for him to cherish her as much as possible. This makes Emma come to an abrupt halt, with Lucien almost running into her.

Emma realizes that she and Lucien never finished their conversation from earlier. She asks Lucien to tell her about his and Chevalier’s past.

Sweet End

Lucien was often sent out to kill Chevalier and failed each time. Eventually, Lucien’s former employer had enough of his inability to kill Chevalier and sent a squad of assassins after him. At the time, it was very difficult to fight back, since Lucien had just been badly injured in a clash with Chevalier. All he could do back then was pray that he didn’t die, and he had come within a hair of dying anyways. His last memory was burying one of his colleagues before passing out and waking up in the castle infirmary.

Chevalier had rescued him. In fact, Lucien believes that Chevalier had known ahead of time that Lucien’s former employer was going to dispose of him.

*Flashback Time*

Lucien asks Chevalier why he saved him. Chevalier explains that he just happened to come across Lucien laying down on the ground. He asks if Lucien’s employer lost faith in him. When Lucien doesn’t respond, Chevalier tells Lucien that his former employer has left this world.

Lucien is the first person who has survived trying to kill Chevalier. Chevalier didn’t hold back, but Lucien was able to escape each time. And Chevalier doesn’t think that Lucien is afraid of him.

Now that his owner is dead, Lucien is essentially a free agent. But Chevalier senses that the life of a stray cat doesn’t suit Lucien. He offers to take care of Lucien.

*End Flashback*

From that day on, Lucien was given a collar by Chevalier, but even then, things weren’t smooth between them. Lucien has his own pride, and he had just been betrayed by his former employer. He couldn’t believe in Chevalier, so continued to work covertly against Chevalier. From his point of view, he wanted to find an owner worthy of him.

However, he couldn’t have moved against Chevalier at a worse time. Back then, when he had moved against Chevalier, Chevalier’s mother the Queen was at her worst.  

*Flashback Time*

Lucien recalls a scene where the Queen is screaming at Chevalier, demanding that he get away from her. Chevalier doesn’t move or respond to her.

The Queen blames everything that has gone wrong in her life on him. Even though a maid is restraining her from outright attacking Chevalier, she continues to shout at him. She tells him to stay out of her sight, calling him a monster.

The Queen gets ahold of a vase and throws it at Chevalier, striking him. The maid sees blood from his wound and offers to retrieve the court doctor. Chevalier tells her not to worry, it’s just a cut. He asks his mother if she’s satisfied with this.

*End Flashback*

No one has told Emma anything resembling this story before. Even though she is only hearing it secondhand, it hurts her.

Lucien explains that it was a common occurrence between the two of them. Whenever the queen would see Chevalier, she would become hysterically distraught, with only Leticia, Clavis’ mother, holding her back.

Chevalier was very talented, even as a boy. Still, he could do nothing in front of his own mother.

Emma wonders if this is where Chevalier learned to separate his heart from his emotions. Which would mean that until he learned how to do that, his heart . . .

Lucien adds that something always puzzled him about those encounters. Even as a child, Chevalier could predict other’s actions, it would have been easy for him to avoid his mother. However, during that time, Chevalier would cross paths with the Queen quite regularly. And when they did encounter each other, no matter how much the Queen would scream and throw things at him, Chevalier never ended the encounter.

Lucien tells Emma that there is only one thing he wants from the person whom he serves. He doesn’t want to be betrayed. When he realized what was going on between Chevalier and his mother, Lucien stopped operating against Chevalier.

Emma realizes that what she loves about Chevalier is the same reason Lucien truly decided to serve him.

Unable to stand still, Emma returns to the rose garden. All the guests are gone, including the Marquis Michel, and Chevalier is by himself near the gazebo. She rushes over to him, and Chevalier asks if something is wrong. Instead of answering, Emma plunges herself into the scent of roses, wrapping her arms around a very surprised Chevalier.

She tells Chevalier that she just suddenly wanted to see him very badly. Awkwardly, Chevalier reminds her that she saw him plenty, just an hour or two earlier. He picks her up and settles her down on a nearby bench, kneeling in front of her. He asks Emma what Lucien told her.

Well, there’s no hiding anything from Chevalier. Ruefully, Emma tells him that Lucien told her the reason why he serves Chevalier.

Chevalier wrinkles his forehead and admits that he doesn’t know the reason. Emma asks if that is true, and Chevalier explains that when he rescued Lucien, he thought the other was on a covert mission, but one day out of the blue Lucien suddenly bowed his head and began obeying Chevalier. Chevalier personally didn’t care about his reasons, but it looks like it caught Emma’s interest.

Emma explains that Lucien noticed things that Chevalier tried to keep hidden. Briefly, she summarizes her and Lucien’s discussion.

Chevalier could have avoided his mother, or even left when he happened to run into her. However, even if she was screaming at him or throwing things at him, he wanted to see her. Because, like everyone else, Chevalier wanted to be loved by his mother. And, he refused to give up hope that one day he would see a glimmer of maternal love.

Chevalier scoffs at this, telling Emma that it was just a coincidence that he would encounter his mother. However, the string of coincidental meetings drove the Queen into a corner, and eventually just looking at him would make her have a mental breakdown. After that, he started shutting himself in his room, and the next time he saw her, it was at her funeral.

Emma recalls that Chevalier has an eidetic memory, which means that he can recall everything his mother did to him as if it happened yesterday. Of course, he can separate his emotions from his memory, so there is a good chance that they really don’t bother him. Still, they remain in his heart.

Chevalier notes that Emma has started crying and chides her for it. He kisses her cheeks as if trying to wipe up the trail of tears. Emma asks him to forgive her this weakness, as today is also when she discovered his childhood dream. She catches Chevalier’s face in her hands and kisses him, thinking about a boy who dreamed of love.

Chevalier tells her that he doubts anyone could call what he thought back then a ‘dream’, but if it makes her and Lucien happy he’ll let it stand. Chevalier’s dream is the same today as it was back then.

He wants to be loved.

Premium End

When Chevalier was young and studying in the library, he would often hear two people talking.

*Flashback time*

A young Clavis is showing off his new pit trap to his mother. She praises him, asking why he suddenly decided to make a pit trap, Clavis gleefully explains that it’s to trap Chevalier. Immediately, Leticia retracts her praise and begs him to fill the hole back in. She bribes him with sweets if he complies.

Clavis perks up at this, and Leticia promises that she’ll make him his absolute favorite sweets. Happily, Clavis begins to fill the pit trap back in as Leticia praises him for being a good and obedient son.

Chevalier remembers Leticia as the most motherly of the King’s consorts. Even though she was wounded in ways that the children didn’t understand, she never stopped smiling and loving Claivs.

Chevalier’s mother was almost the complete opposite of Leticia. Ever since the day Chevalier killed an assassin in front of her, the Queen had become mentally ill, and would throw things and shout at Chevalier. Eventually, due to her insanity, she died.

Unlike his brothers, Chevalier has never experienced the feeling of being loved. He never cared about it, which is why the Queen labeled him a ‘monster’.

But for some reason, his memory keeps on returning to Clavis and Leticia.

*End Flashback*

In the present, Marquis Michel approaches Chevalier, separating him from Emma. He is the former Queen’s father, and many nobles listen to him. Besides that, he is very politically influential and skilled with diplomacy.

Now that the matter with the party is done, the Marquis has real news for him, regarding Tanzanite, Acroite, and Ruby. Chevalier thanks him, thinking about the countermeasures he will need to put into place. Unfortunately, most of his available countermeasures depend on what Rhodolite’s neighboring countries will do, particularly one ruled by a dark-haired man with an eyepatch.

Marquis Michel changes the subject, asking about Chevalier’s sudden desire to hold a garden party. Chevalier complains that he wouldn’t have to if the nobles would just fall in line. Marquis Michel disagrees, even if no one said anything, he thinks Chevalier would still have needed to do something similar.

Out of everyone, Chevalier should know best what it is like to be a Queen who holds no favor with the King. He asks Chevalier if he was aware how the court treated his mother.

Chevalier admits that it wasn’t something he was interested in, so he never cared to look into it. The position of Queen is supposedly at the top of the court hierarchy, with only the King a rank higher. However, unlike Emma, the Queen was never shown favor by the king and did not have his protection. While Chevalier never saw it, doubtlessly the Queen would have been torn apart by the den of hyenas that was the court.

Marquis Michel muses that if the former King had shown favor to the Queen, things might have been different. Chevalier disagrees, even if the King loved the Queen, Chevalier would still have been born and destroyed the Queen’s sanity.

Marquis Michel disagrees; Chevalier was never the problem. It was all because the King refused to love the Queen, and because of that, she didn’t know how to love her son. If the King loved her, the Queen would have loved Chevalier.

If Chevalier was the same person who he was in the past, he would have dismissed the Marquis’ words as nonsense. However, now that he knows what it feels to be loved by Emma . . . he doubts he would have been able to love anyone without Emma’s love. Maybe it was the same for his mother.

Marquis Michel doesn’t mind cleaning up the dirt within the court, but he needs Chevalier’s help. He needs to host garden parties on a semi-regular basis and shower Emma with affection just like he did today. The Marquis doesn’t want anyone to go through what his daughter endured.

When the Marquis leaves, Chevalier takes a moment to reflect on his mother. Back then he had been childish and stupid and hadn’t done anything to change his mother’s situation because he didn’t care to notice what she was going through. He could have figured out something that would improve both their lives, but he refused to notice the important bits.

Just as he laughs at himself, he hears Emma approach him. Before he can finish asking her why she has returned, she practically jumps into his chest, explaining that she just suddenly missed him. Although an unexpected encounter, he figures out that Lucien must have told her something that made her want to see him.

Emma recalls her chat with Lucien, ending with Chevalier purposefully meeting his mother when he was younger. Chevalier is amazed at how much the subject of his mother is coming up these days.

Chevalier tells Emma that it was purely a coincidence that he would encounter his mother. Yes, he could have predicted when and where she would be, but that was too much effort for him. Though, now that he thinks about it, maybe deciding it was too much effort to avoid her was the same as wanting to see her.

He really was stupid as a child.

Chevalier tells Emma about how he eventually started avoiding his mother altogether, with the last time seeing her being at her funeral. Mentally, he thinks about what his grandfather said, and wonders if he could have changed things if he had just paid a little more attention.

Ugh, just thinking about it gives him goosebumps.

He realizes that Emma has started crying, and asks if hearing this story made her that sad. It’s been a while since he has seen her cry. Emma admits that she learned about his childhood dream, and Chevalier realizes that they have come to the same conclusion he has about why he would constantly cross paths with his mother.

Now, being older and wiser, he curses his actions as the childhood nonsense that they are.

He tells Emma that it doesn’t really count as a dream, but if it makes her and Lucien happy, Chevalier will go along with it. His so-called ‘dream’ is the same now as it was then.

To think how insane he is to want to be loved.

As much as he wants to deny it, the lasting memory of Clavis and Leticia is proof that Chevalier was once stupid and idealistic.

That memory doesn’t matter anymore. He has Emma, that’s enough for him.

No, if anything, it’s more than enough for him.

He licks the tears off of Emma’s face, and when he leans back, her face is reader than ever.

Oh no, this is bad. He can’t stand the idea of anyone seeing her flushed cheeks and the embarrassment in her gaze. With the garden party over, other people will enter the garden.

Chevalier stands with Emma in his arms and advances deeper into the garden. Emma is confused, and Chevalier explains that he has a good place to cry. Emma tells him that she isn’t crying anymore, and Chevalier assures her that he will make her cry.

The feelings she has towards child!Chevalier are pointless, that person is long gone. Instead, he wants her to focus on the present Chevalier, who is with her right now. Back then he was a beast who was loved by no one and could not love anyone in return.

He has no intention of ever letting go of Emma.

Epilogue

Several generations ago, in the depths of the castle rose garden, the King of Rhodolite created a secret garden for his rendezvous with the Queen. Due to its deteriorating state, it was restricted by a lock and key that are easy enough to get through if you know the trick.

The secret garden is unkempt and full of Ivy. The absolute minimum upkeep has been performed, so while overgrown, the area is not impossible for them to sit in. It’s far more cramped than the area they had been in previously for the garden party.

Chevalier wonders if Emma likes this area and thinks that it has been a long time since he last visited it. He sets her down on a free bench, sitting next to her.

Emma is entranced by the area, with the roses growing wild. They sit together silently, watching the roses. Eventually, Emma asks what Chevalier meant by promising to make her cry earlier. Chevalier asks if she wants him to make her cry.

If Chevalier continues to act indifferent, Emma probably will start crying again. The anticipation of her tears soaks into his body, circulating through his system like poison. He notes that Emma looks like she’s on the verge of tears, though she quickly disagrees. He notices that her gaze is off him, face turned to hide any evidence of tears from him.

Emma asks how Chevalier knows about this place, and he explains that it’s perfect for reading without being disturbed. Privately, he remembers coming here often when he was younger, using it to escape his childhood for a few precious moments.

He would come here after seeing his mother. He knew back then that he was a beast, and if he was to be imprisoned away, he would have liked this place to be his jail. From a different perspective, the walls and hedges were like prison walls, a perfect place to lock away a beast like him.

He decides that he will never share that thought with Emma.

Out loud, he tells her that he eventually stopped coming to this secret garden because it was too far away from court, and it became too troublesome for him to visit.

With a surprising insight, Emma guesses the original purpose of the garden, for clandestine meetings. Chevalier is impressed.

Emma wonders if Chevalier will be remembered in history as one of the kings who used this secret meeting place to woo his woman. Chevalier teases Emma back, saying that if he gets into a history book for that, her name will be right next to his. Privately he wonders if his love for Emma will be recorded in history books.

Chevalier realizes that Emma is staring at him and asks what she wants. Emma tells him that she just really loves it when he smiles.

Together with Emma, the place Chevalier originally thought of as a sweet prison is changing. Wrapped in the scent of roses so thick he could choke on them; he kisses Emma deeply. Lifting up the hem of her dress, Chevalier muses that rather than a prison, this place is becoming a secret meeting area just for them.

As Chevalier moves his hands, Emma begins crying from the sensation, tears flowing down her cheeks. Chevalier teases her on how easily she cries, and Emma blames him for this. He asks if she wants to stop, but Emma, with her face redder than any rose, shakes her head and grabs his cloak. When Emma comes undone in his hand, Chevalier kisses her deeply.

He brought Emma here so that she could calm down, but now he has made her worse. Emma tells him that it’s the same for her, she doesn’t want anyone else to see his expression right now either.

Chevalier is surprised and wonders what he looks like.

Maybe their love really will go down in history books.

[docholligay]

Choose Your own Adventure April 2024

Thank you to everyone who has continued to support this silly project! Your comments mean so much to me and keep me going as i power through some real struggles with writing, thank you!

Fareeha Amari often asked for counsel, she would tell you. There were people with much greater knowledge and skill, and it would be arrogant of her to assume that only she understood every situation as it arose. Fareeha believed that iron sharpened iron, and if one wanted to be sharp, one had to accept that a bit of you was going to get shaved off, now and again. She was perfectly content to accept a bit of humbling, in order to be made keener. 

What had not occurred to her, in taking Doc’s counsel, was that it required her to take Haruka’s, whatever that had been. Even less had it occurred to her that Haruka would not have taken into account the rain and damp, and that they were on a road where someone was sure to come by, whereas Lena was wandering somewhere on the moors like a misplaced Romantic. The van had assured shelter. If Lena had managed to get to the house, there was no guarantee it was occupied. Morning would come soon enough. 

All of these things Fareeha’s mind had assured her Haruka would notice also. 

“I think we should go to the house,” Haruka stated with the broad confidence of the ignorant, “It’ll be smarter to be where there’s maybe, a phone, and something to eat.” 

“I do have MREs in the van, of course.” 

Fareeha stopped herself, took a breath. She, Fareeha, had decided upon this question. In doing that, it was only Fareeha who had decided the answer was acceptable, no matter which it was. Fareeha had decided to allow Haruka to help, and Fareeha had handed her the choices. There was no one to blame but herself, for the error. 

“Yes,” she continued, “I do see the...thought, behind going to the house.” 

Haruka’s thought was the same as Lena’s, that she was tired of sitting still, and wanted to be making some sort of progress. That while sitting was wise, it was not entertaining. The difference being that, whatever Lena’s flaws were, and Fareeha was happy to enumerate them, she was a skilled field officer in excellent physical condition, with above average reflexes and occasionally aggravatingly good instincts. If she found herself in a dangerous situation, the past had shown she could generally find her way back out of it. 

Fareeha did not have the same confidence about a line of inexperienced laymen following her like a herd of baby ducks through the wet and dark. 

But there was no going back on the decision she had made, not without making things much worse and all but guaranteeing that the Kaiohs would in no way fund their work. This was not, as Fareeha saw it, an acceptable cost. The security of the world mattered more than her annoyance and personal pride. 

So she nodded to Haruka and Mina. “We should pack as lightly as we can, but we should pack. The owners could take us to a hotel or inn.” 

Mina looked around into the damp and dark. “Yeah, this place is just teeming with Holiday Inns.” 

Fareeha focused in on her, as an eagle might a rabbit, but Mina only returned her look with a smile. She shook her head, nodded, and turned back to the van, opening the door and sticking her head inside toward Doc and Angela, who were sitting beside each other, chatting awkwardly. 

“Haruka has said we should go to the house. After Lena.” 

Angela gave a small nod and a smile, picking up her puffy coat with one hand. Fareeha put a large black military backpack over one shoulder, and a slightly tattered backpack with a garish flag in the round over the other. She looked to Doc. 

“It would be better to stay here.” 

“Well,” Doc hurriedly shoved things into her own backpack, “I mean…ya didn’t ask me. Is all.” 

Fareeha huffed, and then looked to Angela, her voice softening at the edges. “Do you have everything you need?” 

“Yes,” she put on her coat, and touched Fareeha’s shoulder, “Let me be having that. I can carry it myself.” Fareeha opened her mouth to protest. “Carry for the guests.” 

Doc twisted herself out of the van, keeping a narrow but necessary margin from Fareeha, and shuffled herself over toward where Mina and Haruka were standing. Mina continued to simply look in her direction, occasionally looking out toward the house, as she shuffled the extra bags onto her back. Haruka, it seemed, had a sudden recognition of the masculinity points at play, and hurried over to Fareeha, taking the bags off her and dropping her own duffel bag into the mud in the process. She frowned, but made no eye contact with Fareeha, only flung her and Mina’s bags over her shoulder and walked away. 

Fareeha would say that she often asked for counsel, when it was warranted. As she marched toward the group, ready to lead them to their next location, a hopeful encampment where the evening would somehow turn around, she had a distasteful memory of counsel she had not asked for. 

“It’s just not as I’m sure touring a few posh prats around is an excellent use of resources.” 

“I was unaware you were so concerned over bookkeeping.” 

“Right,” she put the pint glass down with a firm thump, “I should know better than to tell you anything when you’ve decided on it. Lovely! Let’s ‘ave the whole Kaioh family along! I’ll make egg and cress sandwiches and we’ll,” she wriggled her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air, “luncheon in the park, like little bohemians. Oh we WILL be charming, eh?” 

“You are wrong.” Fareeha felt her jaw set. “And I will remember it, when we get the money.” 

“Brilliant! See that you do. See that you remember me when it’s going pear-shaped, as well.” 

Fareeha stopped, closed her eyes, turned around, and opened the van, picking up a blue RAF backpack with a rainbow keychain hanging off one of the zipper pulls.  

___

Stepping through the window, Lena’s foot squeaked against the dark wood of the floor, the shout of a parvenue barrelling into the darkness. It should have echoed, given the wood and plaster, but itsead that squeak from the audacious canvas shoe was swallowed whole, gulped, and never heard from again. 

Lena drew her other foot through the window, and dripped onto that centuries old floor, paused by the confrontation of that deep grey. It might have been easier if it were the absolute dark of a cave, a place people were never meant to live, but this was a house. Wasn’t it? People had lived here for ages, and parties and weddings and dinners must have been had here. Crowds must have gathered under the portico she had climbed. 

That slight light, the one that might have been the moon reflected off the gilt mirrors hung on the wall, was like the mist in a graveyard. 

She shook her head. It wasn’t even that dark. The room was even a nice shade of mint green, with pink soft furnishings accenting the rich tans and golds of the furniture. Yes, now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see that this had been a woman’s room, and since when had she felt uncomfortable in a woman’s room? 

Assured of her own silliness, Lena stepped from the wood to the carpet, half-wishing she had removed her shoes. Maybe less than half, since she hadn’t done it. The plush of it sank beneath her, and her eyes drifted up to the figure of a woman with a pair of little dogs, woven into the faded tapestry behind the bed. 

“Sorry about all this,” She tipped her sopping hat with a grin, “‘ate to be a bother.” 

A ripple went through the room, and Lena held her breath. When she was a child, Lena spent endless nights over with her cousins, the lot of them all piled in the same room across a few beds. Some nights, when she had come back from a trip to the bathroom, she had known at least one of them was feigning sleep, lying with their eyes closed but waiting for Lena to walk by so they could grab her ankle, or pinch her, shouting, and then erupt into a pile of giggles. She knew the feeling, before the jump. She knew it like she knew the scar on Oliver’s ankle, or the way Parvati shook her head when she was annoyed. She would bet her life on it. 

Something in this room was pretending to be asleep. 

___

It was a longer walk to the house, barely visible in the storm, than Fareeha had thought it would be. The road, or what could be called a road, was muddy and 

Doc was the most questionable factor. It wasn’t that Fareeha suspected she had sabotaged the van, exactly--for a start, she had not had the opportunity--but there was something about the way she watched the group. On the one hand, she was a researcher, and, apparently specialized in knowing something about Haruka. Probably a tabloid journalist, or something. Hadn’t she told Angela she was writing a book on the Kaioh family? On the other, they had only her word this was true. She knew something about Haruka, of course, but if she were an enemy agent she would have the same sort of information. 

It was not the way she watched Haruka and Minako that gave her pause. It was the way she watched her, and Angela, and Lena. It was the sense of familiarity she seemed to have with them contrasted with the intense discomfort she seemed to be feeling. Of course, if she were an enemy agent, she could be hoped to be better at it, but Fareeha knew less of Talon training pipeline than she would like. 

There was the difficulty that Haruka had asked her along, and so, if Doc was involved with Talon, Haruka was likely compromised as well. Fareeha would take that into consideration at a later time. Now, there was the primary concern. 

As Doc walked a few paces behind her, quiet, looking at the stars and listening oh so carefully to the conversations 

“Why are you acting so nervous?” 

Doc practically jumped back, shaking her head and rubbing a thumb across the strap of her backpack. “What’d’ya mean, nervous? I just don’t know you people from Adam.” 

“Except Haruka, of course.” Fareeha stopped. “As you are an expert in her history.” 

“I guess, in an ancillary sort of way.” Doc shrugged, squaring her shoulders and continuing to walk, not meeting Fareeha’s eye.  “But you get me. It’s like hanging out with a research project. You I don’t know at all. You’re what, some kinda soldier with a god complex? Why wouldn’t I be jumpy?” 

“A God complex?” Fareeha strode alongside her. 

“Yeah I shouldna said that last part out loud.” Doc continued her march, but turned to Fareeha now and then, like a terrier ready to nip. “Judge, jury, executioner, right? Doesnt’ take long to see that. I mean, when someone puts it all out there. Your mom was like that too, yeah? Must run in the family something fierce.” 

Fareeha ground her molars together. “I am nothing like my mother.” 

“If you say so!” Doc gave a wave of her hand and hurried on down the path toward the house. 

Mina looked back to her. “Heh. That was pretty good, actually.” 

Doc scowled into the night, trudging past, biting out the words of many a lesbian before her. 

“Shut up, Minako.” 

___

“‘Ello?” 

Lena called down a long hallway where deep curtains shaded the windows. There was no one here, she knew it. Not a single light had been on in the house, and it was the chilly damp of a house shut up for the winter, and yet the feeling of someone in the place, not watching her, necessarily but listening to her, waiting for her footbal, breathing quietly in the darkness, pushed her onward. 

She went to grab one of the curtains, pull it back to see into the night, but drew her hand back. It felt intimate somehow, like grabbing a skirt and flipping it up, exposing the indecency to the world. Lena couldn’t shame it that way. She was a gentlewoman, in manner if not in birth, wasn’t she? She couldn’t mistreat the place, when it had let her in. 

“But I need to see.” 

Why had she said that out loud? Lena talked to herself all the time, of course. She was just a chatty sort, even when no one else was there. How many times had Emily come upstairs with a smile, saying she didn’t want to interrupt the animated conversation? That was all. 

She took a step forward, and her hand rested on a candleholder with a thick taper. Well. Wouldn’t do her much good, but the thought was nice. She nearly said thank you. 

The drawer. What about the drawer? She wasn’t sure, it had simply entered her head that there was a drawer in the marble-topped desk, and sure enough, there was, and sure enough, there were matches there. Of course there had been. It had been waiting for her. 

“Stop that.” This time, she meant to speak. There was no one here to assume she’d gone looney, so why not? 

The candle was old, and the high flame glowered with the brightness of the tallow types, throwing light into the red velvet curtains, plush red rugs on the floor, edged with small benches, their carved claws digging into the dark floor, backs covered in the same deep, hot red. 

Beautiful. Respectable. Storied and old. Worth looking at. Worth looking after. This was what England was made of, is these resolute buildings of stone, and these resolute families, and these resolute histories, and to be next to that was to be a part of England itself.

Lena jumped back, the flame jumping alongside her. 

“Naw mate, not me.” She flung the curtain open, letting the moon cast her false silver against the false gold. “Place is empty. Nothing ‘ere. Lena, there’s nothing ‘ere. You’re tired, is all. Tired and told yourself too many stories. Fareeha’s going to think you’ve lost it once and for all. Just some ‘ouse for a bunch of poncey--” 

She looked back into the dark behind her. 

“Bunch of poncey little parasites. Outlasted you, didn’t we? Can’t keep me out now, Lady and Lord of whatever!” 

She laughed as she went down the hallway, but could not convince herself it was a joke. ___

Everything would be different once they reached the house. This much was certain. Fareeha would retake control of the situation, and they would quickly find a way to contact someone, and everyone would get a room in some motel. That would give everyone a chance to regroup. That would give everyone a chance to relax. They would see how ridiculous they had all been when their stomachs were full and they were rested. 

Even Fareeha was looking forward to the prospect of resting next to Angela in the quiet. Some tours of duty seemed longer than others. 

As the house came into view, Fareeha could not help but notice that there were no lights inside, nor any other sign of Lena having arrived. Fareeha put up with a fair amount of silliness from Lena, because her talents were invaluable, she would readily admit, and she considered her a good friend, she would admit less readily. But this was irresponsible. Short of lying injured in a ditch, Lena had no excuse for this. 

She marched to the front of the house, along the wide approach, taking the long way along the drive rather than crossing the lawn. Fareeha did not notice the carvings on the door, the depth and detail in them or their flaws of age, and the moon did not blind her as it glinted off the silver knocker, and the house did not whisper to her through those shabby shrubs as she strode toward the door. Fareeha did not hear the opening lines of negotiation as she readied to strike. 

Before Fareeha’s unstoppable fist could meet the immovable wood, the door opened wide with a deep, dark, creak.

Who should we follow next?

[jerzwriter]

Mono~poly Chapter 2: Love on Tap

A Tobias x Casey AU - Information and Notes

AU Premise: What happens when something that was supposed to be just fun turns into something real? When true love enters the equation between two people who view the very concept of love in different ways, can it work? In this alternate universe, we'll follow Casey and Tobias (and some others along the way) on their journey, where a happy ending is what both desire, but (as in life) nothing is guaranteed.

Fandom: Open Heart, Choices ** Pairing (This Chapter): Tobias Carrick x Casey MacTavish F!MC Other Characters: Jackie Varma, Ethan Ramsey, Sienna Trinh, OC: Addie Larkin Rating: Teen Words: 5,100

Chapter Summary: Tobias & Casey are reveling in their newfound love as those around them have different reactions to the news. Conversations with Ethan have him coming up with realizations of his own, and Casey sees that she and Tobias still have a lot to learn about each other.

A/N: Wow, I posted that without a chapter summary! lol See, don't do things when tired! No notes this time around, hope to have part 3 up next week! Thank you to all who have read this so far, it's so appreciated! :)

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES INFORMATION MY MAIN MASTERLIST

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

Standing at the brunch buffet, Jackie scooped a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto her plate as Casey stepped back. Her friend was known for her straightforwardness, which is why she valued her opinions, but her reaction was still surprising.

“This will never work,” Jackie continued. “You’re a smart woman; how do you possibly think it could?”

Casey snatched the last piece of French toast just as Jackie reached for it. She didn’t want French toast, but with her growing annoyance, the petty win offered a sense of satisfaction.

“Thank you, Jackie,” she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think what you meant to say was, Gee, friend! I’m so happy for you, friend! I can see you’re overjoyed, and that’s wonderful, my friend.”

Jackie sank into her chair and grabbed her fork, stealing the sole piece of French toast from Casey’s plate.

“Stop with the friend shit,” she snapped. “We’re friends because we call each other out on our shit. We’re real... no blowing sunshine up each other’s asses when we’re doing something stupid. That’s the foundation we are built on, and I see no reason to change that now.”

“A little support would be nice...”

“Then I suggest you call Sienna, but make sure to leave out some key details about last night when you do.”

“But I’m not being stupid! Come on! You like Tobias! You play the ‘he’s so irritating’ game, but I’ve seen you together. You welcomed him into our circle. He loves me and treats me like a princess, so why are you so negative about us?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a swirl of her fork. “Maybe it’s the conversation you had about offering him a pass to fuck someone else twelve seconds after you exchanged I love yous?”

“Jackie!” Casey snapped, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “That’s not what happened!”

“It’s not? Because that’s what it sounded like to me.”

“Then I suggest getting your hearing checked because that’s not what I said! I said we’re taking things one day at a time. Neither of us wants to see anyone else right now, but if that changes, we won’t break up or cheat on each other like most people do. We’ll discuss it like adults and see if we can make it work. That’s so horribly immature of me, I can see why you would disapprove!”

Jackie opened her mouth to speak but thought better. With a sigh and a dismissive wave of her hand, she merely replied, “Whatever,” turning Casey’s irritation into ire.

“Really? You know damn well there are many ways to have a relationship! What’s with you! You’re always so open-minded about everything, but when it comes to me, this is how you react!”

“I live in Somerville, Casey! I’m pretty much polyamory adjacent, and you know I have no problem with non-monogamy. The problem is you’re monogamous, and no matter how much you try to tell me that you’d be OK with Tobias telling you he needs next Tuesday free to go fuck that hot nurse he used to hang out with at Kenmore, I know you’re full of shit. So, as your friend, it’s my duty to pull off those rose-colored glasses and make you see the real picture.”

Casey speared a hash brown so forcefully that her fork nearly cracked the plate. “He’s not going to fuck anyone next Tuesday. Did you miss where I said it’s just us?”

“For now,” Jackie emphasized. “It’s just you two, for now. It won’t be easier when you’re together longer, you love him more, you’re planning a future, and then when he tells you he needs... more?”

“Look, I didn’t make any promises outside of I'm willing to try. Obviously, there would be conversations and boundaries. But sex... it’s just sex! If I’m in a loving, happy relationship, why would I throw it away because my partner has a very normal desire to have sex with someone else on occasion?”

Jackie sighed with exasperation. “If you’re cool with it, that’s your choice. But... what if it’s not on occasion? What if he needs two or three nights a week with the side piece. And what if it’s not just sex? What if he falls in love with someone else? Are you willing to share that as well?”

“First, I don’t think the word side piece is used in consensual non-monogamy. Second, he’s 38 years old, and he’s loved one person in his lifetime. ME! So I'm no too concerned about that."

Jackie reached over the table and squeezed her friend's hand, the judgmental look in her eyes softening into one of sympathy. “Casey, we don’t exactly decide who we fall in love with. And when people start bumping uglies... feelings happen. A year ago, you two were just fun, and... now look.”

“Which is why we're taking it day by day.”

“All right,” Jackie resigned. “If this is what you want, I’m happy for you. I just hope you don’t get hurt.”  

“Thank you,” Casey demurred. “... I hope so, too.”

~~~~~

Tobias had an early shift the morning after their big declaration. While he was known for being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as others glowered at him over their first cup of coffee, today, he was especially effervescent,  and that had people talking.

“I’d say he got laid last night,” a passing resident observed. “But I think that’s pretty much every night for him.” “Rumor has it he and MacTavish are official now!” their friend added. “Official? Carrick?” A nearby nurse scoffed. “Look out the window. If there aren't any floods, locusts, and famine, you got your story wrong.”

But the rumor spread like wildfire, and even those who avoided idle gossip found themselves desperate to know the truth. That included Dr. Harper Emery, who went straight to the source for answers. Swinging the door to the diagnostic team’s office open, she found Tobias seated at the conference table, Ethan reviewing files across from him.

“There you are!” Harper exclaimed.

“Dr. Emery,” Tobias chirped. “How can I be of assistance today?”

Ethan raised his eyes with suspicion, for he had also noticed Tobias’s excessive energy this morning but hadn’t questioned it until now. He wasn’t sure if he had come to expect this from his colleague or that he didn’t much care for the reason, and he was leaning toward the latter. Still, when Harper began questioning, Ethan’s attention was piqued.

“You know I’m not one to engage in hospital gossip, but sometimes, it’s so outlandish the scientist in me needs to determine its validity.”

“Oh, really?” Tobias smirked, pushing away from the table like a peacock about to spread its tail. “And how can I assist you with your dilemma?”

“Don’t be coy with me, Carrick. Is it true? Are you off the market?”

“Off the market?” He chuckled. “As of last night, Casey and I are official if that’s what you’re asking.”

Harper shook her head with amazement as Ethan choked on his coffee. Tobias turned to him with concern. “You all right there, buddy?”

“I’m fine,” Ethan insisted. “Something just... went down the wrong way.”

“You could say that again,” Harper grinned.

“So,” Ethan recovered. “You... and Casey... are official?”

“Yep,” Tobias beamed. “We’ve been unofficially official, but last night, we finally said it out loud.”

“And they said it couldn’t happen,” Harper teased. “But I must say, you do look happy! So I’m happy for you.”

“Oh, I'm unabashedly happy,” he insisted. “We both are.”

“Do you mind if I confirm that we part with Casey?” Harper taunted.

“Feel free! I have no doubt she’ll agree.”

Ethan’s lack of response was noticeable, and the stupified doctor felt the weight of his colleagues’ stares as he struggled to speak. “That’s... great news. I suppose... congratulations.”

Ethan quickly pivoted the conversation to the potential achalasia patient admitted late last night. When the discussion ended, Harper excused herself, but not before congratulating Tobias one more time. With her exit, an awkward silence overtook the room, and while Ethan was content to let it linger, Tobias didn't let it go.

“So, are we going to address the elephant in the room,” he asked. “Or are we going to feed it peanuts to keep it quiet?”

“What?” Ethan asked. “You and Casey? I don’t see why we need to discuss your personal life in a work setting.”

“Well, maybe because we all share the same work setting....”

“You make a point. Will you be notifying HR? You know, to ensure everything is on the up and up.”

“Already scheduled,”  Tobias confirmed. “Case and I already made an appointment to speak with the Director tomorrow.”

“Then,” Ethan slid his glasses back on. “It’s taken care of.”

Tobias anxiously rubbed his chin, his leg jiggling as he decided if he should continue.

“Are you alright with this?” he blurted before having the chance to think it entirely through.

Ethan removed his glasses and placed them back on the table; his mood difficult to read. Anger, annoyance, indifference—any would have been fitting. He reclined in his chair, giving careful thought to his words before continuing.

“Tobias... you and Casey are grown adults... and what you do outside of work is none of my concern.”

“I know that which is why I wasn’t asking for your permission. I’m merely asking if you’re OK with this.”

Ethan shrugged with a weary sigh. “Why ask useless questions, Tobias? Would it make a difference if I wasn’t? Would that change anything? If not, this conversation is pointless.”

“Stop the crap, Ethan. It has a purpose. We all work together. I consider you a friend even if you're not fully on board with that idea. But Casey is absolutely your friend – a good friend – and your opinion will matter to her, so it matters to me.”

Ethan smirked. “Don’t worry, Tobias, I’m not going to tell your girlfriend to break up with you.”

He hid it seamlessly, but the word “girlfriend” stuck in Ethan’s throat, and the discomfort lingered throughout the day, no matter how much he tried to wash it away.

Tobias was not one to be easily annoyed, but he was bordering on exasperation. He eyed the door to ensure it was closed before continuing.

“Ethan... I’m going to put my cards on the table. Even if Casey hadn’t shared some of your history with me, it’s the worst-kept secret at Edenbrook. Add in our own history, and....”

“Ancient history,” Ethan interrupted.

“Yes. Yes, it is. But turn on the news, buddy. Ancient history has a way of fucking up current times real good... and that’s something I don’t want to occur here.”

“Don’t worry,” Ethan assured. “Your relationship with Casey will not be impacted by any history with me unless one of you allows it to.”

“All right,” Tobias mumbled, returning to his work. But after a few moments passed, Ethan was compelled to say something more.

“I know you may not believe me, but... I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

“You are? You don’t have to say it if you don’t...”

“I think you know me well enough to know I won't say anything I don’t mean to placate you. It’s a bit awkward, I’ll give you that. But you appear to make one another happy, and when it comes down to it, I’d like to see you both happy.”

Tobias smiled, and the tension that engulfed them moments before all but melted away.

“Thanks, buddy. That... it means a lot to me.”

“I just have one request.”

“Name it.”

“Be good to her. Don’t... don’t hurt her, OK?”

“Hurting Casey is the last thing I want to do,” Tobias assured. “I mean it. I love her. I’ve never loved anyone like this, and I won't do anything stupid to mess it up.”

Ethan did his best to conceal how those words left him stricken, unintentionally pouring salt into wounds most would have believed were long healed.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Ethan smiled so convincingly he could have been nominated for an Oscar. “Now, let’s get back to work before the rest of the team arrives.”

~~~~~

Casey was blow-drying her hair in her tiny bathroom, though attempting to dry her hair would be a more accurate description. Her roommates—and Bryce—continually barging in was one thing. She was a veteran of that and knew how to usher them away until she completed her task. But today was different.

Today, she longed for a secretary to assist with the non-stop barrage of messages she was receiving. She knew the news would travel fast; it was Edenbrook, after all. But she never expected such an enthusiastic reaction. “OMG IS IT TRUE?” texts arrived by the dozen. Those messages were fun, but she would have put them on hold to continue getting ready. But there was no way she was ignoring the messages coming from her new boyfriend. Boyfriend!

With that, Casey returned to being protector of the mirror; Sienna was her first victim.

“Hey! I was here first!”

The diminutive doctor turned with a sly grin. “Sorry. I love you, but you snooze... you lose.”

“Sienna....” Casey wined. “You’re supposed to be the nice one!”

“I am! Relax, I’m just making a braid. I’ll be out of your hair, no pun intended.”

“All right,” Casey smiled.

“You aren't usually this concerned about your appearance when we're just going to Donahue’s,” Sienna teased. “What makes tonight so special?”

“Si...”

“Oh, I know!” she playfully chided. “It’s your big debut as Dr. Mrs. Carrick.”

Sienna underestimated how quickly her friend could maneuver. Within seconds, Casey grabbed the hot pink spray bottle off the counter and took aim.

“HEY!” Sienna protested.

“Sorry, this is how people train their pets. I’m going to try using it on my roommates.”  

 “You know I’m just teasing you,” Sienna giggled.

“I know. I just don’t want you guys scaring him away. I'm his first serious girlfriend, so let’s leave the word ‘wife’ out of conversations. I want to keep him around a little longer.”

“Around him? Of course!” Sienna insisted. “Around you? No freaking way.”

She gestured toward the mirror with a flourish. “Your mirror awaits! I’ll block the others from entering so you can get ready for your debut.”

She embraced Casey warmly before stepping away. “You look so happy!”  

“I am so happy.”

“And it’s well deserved! Tonight's going to be a great night.”

~~~~~

Casey was a ball of nervous energy as they turned onto Donahue’s street. Her skin-tight black satin pants, glittery gold cami, and matching sandals made quite a statement, and the hair she worked so hard to perfect was now a cascade of luscious, blonde waves. Her friends teased, saying she already landed the guy; she could relax now. But they didn't understand; she simply wanted her exterior to reflect how amazing she felt inside, and she nailed it.

Tobias, dressed a bit more casually than his freshly minted significant other was already waiting. He didn’t require much to command attention. His well-worn pale blue jeans and a black t-shirt that perfectly showcased the work he had been doing at the gym worked just fine.

He attracted a crowd wherever he went, and that’s just how he liked it. Sure, he reveled in the attention, but there was much more. Tobias had a unique talent for making each person feel like they were the only one in the room, and he loved making others feel seen. Tonight’s audience was predominantly strangers who had fallen under his spell, but one familiar face sitting perpendicular to him wasn’t nearly as impressed with him.

Addie had been his friend since he arrived in Boston nearly a decade before. One particularly gloomy night, he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting alone in his apartment for a minute longer, so he headed to a neighborhood watering hole not much different than the one they found themselves in tonight. He was seated alone at the bar when the curly-haired blonde rushed in from the rain, promptly slipping on the floor beside him. He helped her up and offered his medical services; she thanked him, then promptly called him a pervert. His raucous laughter made it clear no offense was taken, and, to Addie, that made him worthy of sharing a beer.

Their friendship blossomed effortlessly, and before long, she showed him enough of Boston for him to feel like a native. She introduced him to people she knew, and sometimes they forgot they hadn't been friends forever.

She hailed from a traditional Boston Irish family with whom she was estranged, but she retained some of their best traits. Addie Larkin knew from a young age that she wasn’t made to fit any mold, and she remained true to that, regardless of the price she had to pay. While she didn’t share Tobias’s boisterous personality, she still commanded the attention of a room as well as he did, and when the two were together, a good time was guaranteed.

They talked frequently and cherished each other but never managed to see each other as often as they wished. In fact, she wouldn’t have been at Donahue’s tonight if she hadn’t heard the news. Tobias Carrick had a girlfriend? She wouldn't believe it until she saw it with her own eyes. Ordering another round of drinks, she rolled her eyes at Tobias, who was entertaining the crowd with a story about the two of them breaking into the Franklin Park Zoo after hours.

“You did not!” A fetching young redhead squeaked, attempting to step closer to the handsome doctor.

“Most certainly did, young lady. But I wouldn’t have been able to do it without the mastermind here.”

“Please,” Addie scoffed. “Tobias has a tendency to make me into much more of a legend than I actually am.”

“That is entirely untrue!”

“It is true. Did he tell you why we snuck in? I was obsessed with the ring-tailed lemur, and after way too much bourbon, I convinced myself that the poor little fella was simply crushed because I hadn’t seen him in two weeks! That needed to be rectified immediately. That’s not legendary children,” she informed. “That’s insanity!”

Tobias draped an arm loosely around her shoulder. “As if insanity and being a legend are mutually exclusive! I’m of the belief that you can't be a legend unless you're a little off."

Ethan sauntered in at that very moment, hopping on the barstool next to Tobias.

“If that’s the case, you have exactly what it takes to be a legend, Carrick.”

“You see!” Tobias raised his beer. “I rest my case.”

Addie was already eyeing Ethan, subtly assessing him. Another trait she shared with Tobias... she could size someone up without them being remotely aware… unless she wanted them to be.

“Well, who is this handsome guy?” Addie asked with a smile.

“Handsome? Behind that scowl, maybe,” Tobias tittered. “This is my friend...”

“His boss,” Ethan injected.

“...Ethan. Ethan, this is my friend....”

“...and legend,” she added.

“...Addie.”

The tiny blonde extended a hand, eyes twinkling. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ethan.”

“Likewise,” he simpered, nodding toward her drink. “Could you use a refill?”

“Thank you, but I’m cut off for the night. I'll be driving soon. I’m only staying to meet Tobias’s girlfriend,” she said to the dismay of several people surrounding them. “I refuse to believe it’s true unless I see it with my own eyes.”

“Trust,” Ethan chuckled, motioning toward the bartender for a drink. “We all felt that way. But I can confirm, it’s for real.”

Addie went to respond, but her phone rang in her purse. “Oh, I have to take this,” she said, sliding down from her stool. “I’ll be right back!”

Ethan’s eyes trailed her as she walked away, only to find Tobias staring directly at him when he looked up. Clearing his throat nervously, he decided he had nothing to lose by asking.

“She seems lovely,” Ethan began. “Is she taken?”

“She is,” Tobias shrugged. “But that never seems to stop her, now that I think of it.”  

“Oh, in that case, I’ll pass. The last thing I need is drama.”

“On the contrary,” Tobias smirked. “I think you need more drama, my friend.”

“Sorry about that,” Addie announced upon her return. “I own a store in Cambridge, and my manager’s sort of new. She had a few questions that couldn’t wait.”

“Oh, what kind of a store?” Ethan inquired.

“Bohemian clothing, metaphysical stuff, incense... no offense, I don’t think you’d find it appealing.”

Ethan glared at Tobias, who choked on his beer.

“Hey, T. Will Casey be arriving soon? Alysha's not ready to close the store on her own yet, so I need to head out soon.”

“Affirmative! She’s on her way. She just got delayed by a five roommate pile up in her bathroom. Luckily, she was still able to get dressed, and no injuries were reported.”

“Five roommates!” Addie approved. “My kind of girl! I’m so glad you didn’t end up with one of those gorgeous, snobby assholes you used to date.”

Now, it was Ethan choking on his Scotch. “You know, I like her.”

“Casey is gorgeous,” Tobias corrected. “But I don’t think snobby or asshole remotely describe her.”

He heard the bells on the front door ring, indicating someone had entered, and turned just in time to see Casey appear.

“There’s my girl!” He hollered, turning to Addie with a brilliant smile. “Told you she’s gorgeous!”

“Hey!” Casey beamed as he pulled her close for a tender kiss. When they broke apart, Tobias had a smile that went all the way up to his eyes.

“Can you do me a favor?” He asked.

“Anything.”

He stepped back, obviously assessing the subject, and let out a low growl.

“Can you walk out and come back in? Because I need to watch that again.”

“Tobias,” she giggled. “How about you watch me walk back from the jukebox. Would that do? Besides,” she said, inconspicuously tapping the front of his jeans. “I have a feeling if you watch me too much, you’ll want to usher me right out of here.”

“Out of here or to the coat closet,” he leered while Ethan muttered something unintelligible.

“There’s plenty of time for that later,” Casey insisted. “Tonight, I'm showing off my new boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend,” Tobias grinned, wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her onto the bar in front of him.

“Tobias, what are you doing?” She squeaked.

“Hey... everyone! Everyone, look over here. I have an announcement to make.”

Ethan dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ!"

“Do you see this beautiful woman?”

“Yeah,” the crowd roared as Casey turned ten shades of crimson.

“This beautiful angel is my girlfriend, and I want all of you SOBs to know it!”

While most of the patrons cheered, there were some shocked faces and a few disapproving scowls within the crowd. But if anyone noticed them, it wasn't Tobias or Casey, who only had eyes for each other's eyes.

Jackie had elbowed her way through the mele and stood next to Tobias. “Aww, kiss her already!”

“Wow, have we turned you into a romantic?” Tobias asked.

“Oh, fuck no! Just do it and get her ass off the bar so I can order a drink!”

Tobias reached up and placed his hand behind Casey's neck, pulling her down for a long, passionate kiss as wolf whistles and cheers filled the room. Even Jackie managed to smile... just a little.

When Casey was back on solid ground, Addie turned to her with a welcoming grin. “All right, I have to ask because I know this man too well. This is for real, right? He didn’t pay you to pull a prank or something.”

 “No,” Casey assured. “This is the real deal.”

“Well, I’m astonished... and so happy... to hear that. I’m Addie,” she said, extending her hand. “Tobias and I go way back, and I had to come see this for myself!”

Casey enthusiastically shook her hand, mentally sifting through past conversations to see if Tobias had ever mentioned Addie, but nothing registered.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you,” Casey beamed. But Addie raised a brow.

“He’s never mentioned me, has he?” She turned to Tobias and struck his shoulder. “You prick! You have been dating her for a year, and you never told her about me!”

“Well,” he smiled slyly. “We were often preoccupied with other things.”

“For a full year?” Addie bleated before holding up her hand. “Wait, no. Nevermind. It’s you... I’m sure that’s 100% true.”

Casey looped her arm around Tobias’s waist, and he pulled her close.

“In fairness, until last night, we never defined what we were. I’m sure we still have a lot to learn about each other now.”

“Oh, honey!” Addie said, taking Casey’s hand. “I hope I didn’t offend you. This is just how I bust this asshole’s chops.”

A wide grin spread on Casey’s face. “Oh, we’re going to get along just fine.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Addie winked.

“Oh, great. They're already ganging up on me.”

Ethan raised his glass with a smirk. “This is why I avoid relationships.”

“Oh yeah,” Tobias teased. “That’s why!”

“I wish I didn’t have to cut out so early,” Addie sighed. “But I have to go to Cambridge to help my new manager close my shop. But I’m going to see a friend perform at The Burren in Somerville later; why don’t you guys come?”

“We’d love to,” Tobias grinned, turning to Casey. “But we’re a little tied up tonight.”

“Literally or figuratively,” Addie chortled.

“Whatever she’s willing to do,” Tobias shrugged.

 “Ahh, I’m never going to see this man again, am I, Casey?”

“Oh, no!” Casey insisted. “We'll be spending plenty of time together, of course, but our friends matter, too! He’ll still be seeing you. I'll make sure of it.”

“Well, that’s good to know!” Addie stepped off her bar stool, offering Tobias and Casey a quick hug.

“It was lovely meeting you,” she said to Casey, then looked over her shoulder at Ethan. "You too, by the way."

“Likewise," he nodded. Then Addie was out the door.

“I like her,” Casey confirmed.

"Oh, Addie is the best!"

“We’ll have to hang out sometime. Is she seeing anyone?”

“She has a boyfriend, but I’ve only met him once or twice in passing.”

“Well, we’ll have to change that! Maybe we can double date?”

“I don’t know about this,” Tobias said playfully, looking at his watch. “I have a girlfriend for 20 hours, and she’s already controlling my schedule.”

“Oh, fuck you, T!” She laughed as he snarled.

“Gladly!”

“Oh, Christ!” Ethan interrupted. “Are we going to be subjected to this all night?”

Tobias pat his friend on the back. “Nope. With any luck, you’re going to be subjected to this for the rest of your life.”

“I need to find another bar,” Ethan sighed.

“No, you don't,” Casey insisted, grabbing his hand. “Screw that, come and dance with me.”

“Casey, you know I don’t...”

“Dance with me!”

Ethan turned to Tobias, hoping he would save him. But Tobias just smiled as he hopped back on his stool.

“If the lady says dance... dance.”

Casey was having the time of her life on the dancefloor, while poor Ethan looked like a fish out of water. When the lively tune abruptly led into a slow ballad, Ethan thought he found his salvation. He already had one foot off the floor when he said, “I suppose we should sit.”

But Casey wasn’t done. “Ethan, you’re allowed to dance with me. Tobias isn’t going to bite you.”

“Is this where you tell me that’s because he’s saving it to bite you later?”

“No,” she grinned, placing her arm on his shoulder and keeping a friendly distance between them. “But dance with me. It’s the perfect place to have a private conversation in a crowded bar.”  

She could feel the itchy wool of his sweater scratch against her skin as his chest rose and fell, and she had to smile. Tobias and Ethan were only three months apart in age. Tobias always called himself an old man, but Ethan fit the moniker so much more.

“I didn’t realize we had to talk,” he whispered.

“Well, we do. I wanted to let you know that nothing will change between us. I'm dating Tobias, but our friendship remains the same. You still mean just as much to me.”

“Casey, I...”

“Let me finish!” She scolded as his face softened, that smile only she brought out of him spreading on his lips.

“Go on.”

“You always say I'm your favorite mentee, and you continue to be a mentor to me, but that role is secondary. The most important thing is that you're my friend. I know we didn’t end up where we thought we might a few years ago… or maybe we did. Either way, you’re very important to me. Promise me our relationship won’t change.”

Ethan smiled down at her, silently kicking himself for having been such a fool.

"Nothing will change," he muttered. "I promise."

“Good,” she replied, leaning her head on his chest. “Now, I need to hook you up with someone so we can double date.”

“What's your obsession with double dating?" He laughed. "But there is no need. I am fine as I am."

“No, you’re not,” she dismissed. “There’s no chance you and Harper....”

“Casey...”

“All right, what about Addie? She’s hot, and she was totally checking you out.”

“Did you forget Tobias said she has a boyfriend? Though, he also said that wouldn’t be much of a hindrance.”

“Oh?” Casey said. “Would that work for you?"

“Shut up and dance," he smirked.

Casey stepped back and grinned. "How can we keep dancing? The song is over."

“Then... can have one more?”

“Of course," she smiled.

When the song ended, they returned to the bar, where Tobias welcomed her back. The night was full of drinking, laughter, and friends, and the new couple was unable to keep their hands off each other, becoming more affectionate with each drink imbibed.

“Would you two get a fucking room?” Jackie grimaced.

“I’ve got several rooms at my place,” Tobias purred into Casey’s ear. “What do you say? Ready to get out of here?”

Casey didn’t think twice. “Bye, guys!” she yelled as she clutched Tobias’s hand and raced toward the door. “See you soon!”

Once they were gone, Jackie clinked her beer against Ethan’s. The two took a drink and let out simultaneous sighs.

“This is going to be difficult. Isn’t it?” Jackie asked.

"Varma, you have no idea."

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately

[sirianasims]

I listened to Myra’s slow breathing. Her mom had taken us out to dinner at a fancy vegan restaurant to celebrate Myra’s birthday and then we’d watched a movie. It was tradition. It had been a nice day until we were in bed and Myra started another tirade against the popular kids in school.

I didn’t know what to say. She still didn’t know about the party last weekend, and I didn’t want to argue with her but I couldn’t quite bring myself to agree with her anymore. She ended up giving me the silent treatment until she fell asleep.

I quietly got up and went to the bathroom. It was dark, but Myra and I had been best friends since kindergarten when her parents moved to Copperdale so her dad could work with my dad. I knew their house like it was my own.

I washed my hands and looked at myself in the mirror. Was it really so bad to want more friends? To be a part of a group? Maybe I really was just a superficial person who wanted everyone to like me. I definitely wanted Oscar to like me. We hadn’t kissed since the party but we were messaging on Social Bunny every day, and yesterday we’d locked eyes across the hallway and I had to look away before Myra noticed.

The lights were still on downstairs. Myra’s mom never went to bed before her dad came home from the hospital. My own mom did the same.

I quietly walked down the stairs and Daria looked up from her laptop.

“Can’t sleep? Is Myra snoring again?”

“No, I’m just thinking a lot.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I told her about the Spooky Day party. Somehow it had always been much easier to talk to Myra’s parents than to my own.

I did leave out the part about Oscar though.

“So since then I’ve been posting a few pictures of other costumes I’ve made. And now some people are asking for tips and I thought it would be fun to maybe make a channel and stream the process or something. Or make tutorials and post them online.”

“That sounds like a great idea! I’ve always been impressed with the stuff you come up with.”

“But what if Myra sees it as me just trying to be popular?”

“And what exactly is wrong with being popular? She should be supporting you in whatever makes you happy. Myra has a lot of strong opinions, Griffin stubbornly insists she gets it from me. But don’t let her hold you back.”

“Myra says having people like you online is dumb because they’re not real friends anyway.”

“Sometimes I think my darling daughter forgets what I do.”

Daria gestured towards her computer.

“My podcast has a couple hundred thousand listeners. Are they all my friends? No. But some of them have actually become friends, because sharing what you love with a community that likes the same thing is a great way to meet people. You can even teach others and inspire them to share their own passions. I think you would do great, and I know you’re talented. But don’t take it from me, take if from those girls at school, because I’m probably too old and hopelessly uncool to listen to.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Daria was the coolest person I knew, second only to my grandpa Conrad. They didn’t care what people thought about them, but unlike Myra, they also didn’t spend hours talking about how little they supposedly cared.

Daria was telling me all about her podcasting gear when Myra’s father, Griffin, came home.

“Evening, my love. Oh, hey Julia, you’re up late.”

“Hey Griffin. You’re right, I should probably go to bed.”

“Alright, let us know if Myra’s snoring gets too bad, we still have spare earplugs.”

He winked at me.

“And remember, we love to see what you do, Julia. So you’re guaranteed at least two followers who are also real friends.”

She stood, but then leaned down and kissed my forehead, just like she used to do when Myra and I were little.

“Goodnight, kiddo. Don’t let anyone tell you how to live your life, OK? Not even my dear daughter. Always be yourself. And if you want more tips on getting a proper recording setup, just ask me.”

beginning / previous / next

[styrofauxm]

This isn't my first post on this, and it probably won't be my last. But whatever. I have things I want to say.

Before we start, I want to be clear that this isn't meant to make anyone feel bad for shipping aspec characters. It's to provide another perspective for people (especially non-aspec people) to consider when engaging with aspec characters. I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with shipping any characters, but I also think there's sometimes more to it than "it's fiction and I want to."

It's Just Fiction

And actually, that's the first thing I want to address. The idea that because it's just fiction, it is harmless. That simply isn't true. We know that implicit biases can be formed and supported by fiction. We also know that fiction can reveal a writer's implicit and explicit biases. Fanfiction isn't any exception.

If an allo person writes an aspec character in a romantic relationship, without properly understanding and/or conveying that character's identity, that inaccurate portrayal of our real-life experiences is what many readers will come away believing to some extent. If the writer shows any disdain towards aspec people, even entirely unintentionally, there will be readers who walk away with bias towards aspec people. That's simply the reality of the situation.

If you don't understand aspec experiences, you bear responsibility for people who read your work coming away with the wrong idea.

Mainstream writers are rightfully criticized for bias. You may only write fanfiction, but you are not free from criticism when that fanfiction has the potential to build up harmful mindsets.

"Aro people can still date" and "ace people can still have sex" are both true. So is "aromanticism/asexuality is a spectrum." But do you understand how being aromantic and/or asexual affects how we do those things? Do you understand the identity on the ace/aro spectrum that you claim to be writing the character as? Or are you just saying those things, then portraying the aspec experience inaccurately?

I guarantee there are plenty of aspec people who would be so happy if you asked them for their insight about their experiences. Who would be delighted to double-check your fan art or beta read your fanfic. Ask us. Please. (And if you are aspec, and trying to portray an aspec character with an experience/identity you don't have, also ask!)

Of course, that only goes for fanworks that, even poorly, incorporate an aspec character's identity. What about fanworks that completely, and deliberately erase it?

To that, I ask the most obvious question: "How would you feel if someone wrote this about a gay character or a lesbian character?" Because some people's answer is "that's fine," but many people's answer is "that's homophobia." It's a double standard. It's homophobia when it's gay and lesbian identities. But it's not aphobia when it's aspec identities.

Now, I don't fully agree with either of those. I don't think that the people doing that are certainly homophobes or aphobes. But I do think that it can be an indicator of homophobia or aphobia. Obviously, not everyone who ignores the identity of a fictional character is a bigot. But it's inaccurate to claim none of them are.

Representation

Running along those same lines, let's get into representation. Here's the wikipedia list of canon aromantic characters. There are 18 characters on it. That's right, in all media mainstream enough to have a wikipedia page (which is quite a lot of media), there are an entire 18 canon aromantic characters. The list of asexual characters is a bit longer, with 72 characters. But again, there is a crap ton of media big enough to be on wikipedia. 72 characters is a fraction of a fraction of a fraction.

What I'm getting at is that there is next to no aspec representation. And yet the first reaction to the confirmation of a character being aspec is one of hostility. It's justifications for shipping. It's saying that word-of-god isn't enough, or isn't clear enough, or is a lie. It's saying that only explicit confirmations count (even if it makes no sense within the setting).

Instead of what every other queer confirmation gets. Near-universal celebration of representation.

That aspec people aren't even afforded an minute to celebrate representation is awful. That the rest of the queer community would rather discourse than celebrate with us is awful.

And it begs the question: why do you find your ship more important than representation? And why is that only the case with aspec representation?

Aspec Experiences

Part of growing up aspec for many people is not even knowing that our experience is real. It's believing that there is something wrong with us and if we just do the right things then we can be normal.

The message that everyone wants to have sex and fall in love is pushed by everyone in our lives, and is supported by almost every piece of media we see.

Outside of the aspec community, our experiences are depicted as wrong.

In media, our experiences don't get shown. Or if they are shown, they are something that gets fixed by the end.

That is why we cling so hard to the slivers of representation we get. It shows our experiences as normal, as valid, as okay.

So when we see ships of those few characters, we see the invalidation of and derision towards our experiences. So yeah, a lot of us get uncomfortable.

And we shouldn't have to push that down or not talk about it simply because it might ruin some people's fun.

Aphobia in Fandom

It's not just discourse. It's dogpiling aspec people who talk about our representation. It's harassing and sending death threats to aspec people who share their opinions on shipping aspec characters. It's all of that, and more, without anyone else from the queer community stepping in and defending us.

The same happens when we rightfully point out and criticize amatonormativity and aphobia in media and fandom spaces.

The same happens when we just post a headcanon.

Aspec people can only participate in fandom on the terms of alloromantic and allosexual people. The moment we start bringing our experiences into how we interact with media is the moment we get pushed out.

Beyond the more overt stuff, there's also a ton of subtle stuff. Ranging from "friends don't do stuff like that" all the way to insisting that a character is evil because they don't feel love (whether or not that's canon).

And if a character is confirmed to be aspec? Everything gets turned onto the max setting. Ironically, canon representation has the effect of making us less safe in fandom spaces.

Conclusion

I will not ask you to put down the ship. If you want to ship aspec characters, so be it. But do so with awareness of it's actual impact.

Understand that the fanart/fanfic you make for a character can have a real impact on aspec people. Understand that you may be counteracting the positive effects that representation has on aspec people. Understand that you are making fandom spaces more uncomfortable, and even hostile for aspec people.

Final note: I will not engage with anyone who acts like a jerk. I will just block, and if necessary, report them. I will also assume that anyone posting vitriolic responses didn't read the whole post, or they would have seen this part.

[smanfa]

today marks one year since i left full-time art behind to work as a computer person and i think i can say for sure now that it was the right decision for me

it pains me to admit it because i fought against the idea for so long and was so dead-set on being a career artist but, i'm a lot happier now, not because i'm drawing less (trust me, i'd love to draw and work on stuff i'm passionate about all day), but purely because my work is so much less stressful. i had people telling me that because i'd got 25k or 30k followers on twitter that i'd "made it", that i'd hit the holy grail and could now easily make a living from my artwork, but that was so, so far from the truth lol

i was barely scraping by off commissions with a tiny stipend from patreon, and i would have new artists coming to me asking for advice on how to "make it", how to turn their art into their career, and like, how do you turn around to these bright-eyed artists who are making great work, who see you as their goal and say "i put years of hard work into building this following, got a few huge lucky breaks and i'm earning less than £400 a month from doing it full-time", that fucking sucks man

i don't write this to say "don't follow your dreams!" or "don't bother", i love making and posting art and i've met some of the most wonderful people doing it, but i think my thoughts mirror a lot of youtubers you see who give advice to new youtubers and say "for the love of god do not make this your career" - the unfortunate truth is the whole "social media artist as a living" thing, except for a very select lucky few, is a very rocky business model at best, and if i haven't already mentioned, can be extremely bad for one's mental health for a whole bunch of reasons

it's a career path i see glorified a fair bit and a lot of people aspire to it, but having tried to walk that path and been ostensibly "successful", god damn is it tough, if not impossible

i guess my other point, if there is any, is that artists on the whole have it really fucking tough, and if you have an artist you love and it is within your means to support them, please do so. i guarantee they're struggling out there - most artists with similar or even bigger followings that i've spoken to have had experiences that pretty much mirror my own, so i don't think i'm an isolated case

thanks for reading if you did, and i do want to say, i really, really appreciate you all <3 i don't get to draw much these days, but i do get to draw whatever i want, and to post it here and still get such wonderful positive reactions makes me very happy :)

[doiesfav]

=͟͟͞♡Boost your Energy - NCT DREAM ||

''INTO THE NEOVERSE''

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MENU

Plot: After buying a video game in a not-so-safe vending machine while walking down the streets, you find yourself inside the video game itself and you need to search the way back to the real life.

A/n: This series is only one story but you can choose the member you will end up with (I don't guarantee that all the members are getting a happy ending)

banners and dividers are self-made

''Alright I'm leaving I can't do this anymore'' Your boyfriend said, well now ex-boyfriend. ''Do whatever the fuck you want but don't dare to come back you fucking asshole'' You screamed before the door closed, and there was silence. Something you two never had, a moment of silence except this time it was only you.

You guys were always fighting and it took you very long to realize it was toxic. Your mind was at peace but your heart was a mix of happiness, sadness, and angryness. All the memories you two cherished are now gone, now you two will never see each other again, never cook together, never sing together, and never play video games together. It was all gone.

You wondered if he was feeling like this too, but you were too busy already thinking trying to relax yourself. ''I should probably go out for a walk'' You thought. Since you guys started fighting more frequently, you always went out for a walk and there's no exception right now.

You were walking down the streets at night, today the stars were visible which was weird since you lived in a big city. Some cats were passing by but all you could feel is loneliness around you, this unexplainable feeling that someone who is depressed wants to be free of. ''But some people have it worse, I don't deserve to feel like this because of a breakup'', and the inferiority complex hits. You should feel happy but you didn't.

You just needed a hug, ''how long has it been since someone gave me a sincere hug?'' You wondered, then you couldn't take it anymore and broke to cry sliding down a wall to sit on the ground, ''Buy me something and I'll give you a better life'' A robotic voice made you startled, it was scary because no one else was near you and didn't know where the AI voice came from.

But then you find a weird colorful vending machine just next to you. It didn't sell snacks, instead, it sold weird energy drinks with a videogame, next to it there was a poster saying ''Drink only ONE energy drink before playing the videogame!!'' You've never heard of a game called NEOVERSE before considering you loved playing videogames.

''Weird'' Everything was weird today, since when vending machines are that colorful and sold videogames. ''Is someone here?'' You asked but no one answered, it felt very scary but giving you a better life? You just wanted some comfort and would do anything for it at that moment. The vending machine was shining a lot and it kinda made a signal to hurry up and without noticing my hands went to my pocket to search for coins.

You were desperate for comfort and weren't in your right mind, breaking the rule of making harsh decisions when feeling desperate. You tried to buy the video game because of how cheap it was but it didn't let you, ''Please buy one energy drink before buying the videogame'' That robotic voice spoke again, ''Hello?'' No one answered as you expected. Hoping that you still had some coins, you did and wondered which one you could buy, every drink was different and said different things.

''Please choose your beverage''

-> Press Start - Mark (TBA)

-> Arcade Racer - Renjun (TBA)

-> Loco - Jeno (TBA)

-> Level Up! - Haechan (TBA)

-> The Pink One - Jaemin (TBA)

-> 2127 - Chenle (TBA)

-> Mess, chaos, and disorder - Jisung (TBA)

Thanks for all the support guys. (This series will take a lot of time so please be patient and understanding♡♡) side note: i didnt even start with any members😭

[sleepingdeath-light]

s/o with anxiety hcs ; julie

requested by ; anonymous (11/05/23)

fandom(s) ; welcome home

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; julie joyful

outline ; “Can I please request fluffy hcs with Julie Joyful and a s/o with anxiety?”

warning(s) ; references to anxiety and panic attacks, but mostly fluff!

whilst she’s incredibly high energy and optimistic, julie is also probably one of the most empathetic and wholly loving people in the neighbourhood

that’s to say that once you tell her about your anxiety that you’ll be met with nothing short of understanding, a few curious questions and a smile that’s nothing short of contagious

she sits quietly and holds your hand when you tell her, afraid of the judgement that was all too common at the time, but she just smiles and nods and rubs comforting circles on the backs of your hand

then, once she’s sure you’ve finished saying your piece, she thanks you genuinely for trusting her enough to open up to her and then she asks if there’s anything she can do to help

if there’s a phrase or action or activity that triggers your anxiety to get worse that she can avoid

or if there’s anything she can put a word in for howdy to order that you know helps you — be that medication, comfort foods, certain scents or activity books

or, hell, if there’s anything she can do personally to distract you or ground you — exercises she can memorise and learn, activities you can do as a couple, etc.

she grabs a notebook and quickly scribbles down whatever you tell her before ripping out that page and tacking it to one of her many display boards of important things

(she’ll redo it later with plenty of colours and pretty designs around the borders, but that could wait)

then the rest of the day goes on as normal — with her treating you exactly as she did before just whilst keeping a closer eye out for anything she knows could trigger your anxiety

if thunder or other loud sounds trigger panic responses, then you can guarantee that she’ll start making excuses to get you inside of her house to make a pillow and blanket fort the moment she sees the slightest hint of a storm

or if you get too anxious to communicate your needs with howdy, then she’s happy to step in and lend a hand — either by voicing your statement for you in the moment (or giving a helpful nudge) or running through your order in advance so you have less to worry about in the moment

julie also isn’t afraid to get defensive if a visitor (because heaven knows none of your neighbours would do such a thing) decided to mock or minimise your anxiety and your coping mechanisms — she may be friendly and chipper but she’s still a (rainbow) monster by name and she has the verbal bite to prove it

that being said, if your anxiety gets to the point where you’re unable to leave the house, then she’d do everything she could to help you get around it — to help you slowly work through your specific fears and anxieties until you’re okay enough to step outside of your comfort zone

she’s loving and encouraging but she doesn’t want you to end up isolating yourself or getting hurt because of your condition and she’s happy to give you all of the time you need in order to accomplish this

she’s just most supportive girlfriend you could ever ask for, really

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Reconsecrated - a Malevolent fic

Normally, he’d be in here, John muttered to himself. But he’s not. Which means…  He gasped again.

“John,” Arthur said evenly. “Explain this right now, or I swear, you have not seen how not-calm I can be.”

He’s leaving it to me. John’s voice was thick. He left this honor to me.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

-----------------

Everybody in the damn palace knew something Arthur didn’t. They had to, because the behavior toward him had changed so much that it almost made him doubt his own memories. “Another one?”

Yes. They’re coming!

Of course they were. They probably flew, or had eighty-eight legs, or something. “There he is!” the thing behind him said.

“Fuck,” muttered Arthur.

“Hey! Composer!”

Somehow, Arthur kept from groaning and turned, wearing what he hoped was a welcoming smile.

You look like you’re going to puke.

“Shut up,” Arthur muttered. “Yes?”

“Such an honor, Mister Composer, sir,” said whatever it was, and grabbed his hand with a wet warm something that was not a humanoid appendage.

Arthur managed to keep his feet as the thing shook his entire arm with enthusiasm. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he managed.

Back off, John rumbled.

It did. “I can’t wait!” And away it slithered.

Arthur shook his hand out, flexing his fingers. “For what?” he said. “Can’t wait for what?”

Fuck. I don’t know. We need to find out.

“How?” said Arthur. “We haven’t even seen the King in two days. The carnival’s taking up all his time. If there’s some composition he wanted, he didn’t exactly let me know!”

John growled. At least it’s been a success.

It had. Hastur had endeavored to make this carnival feel open and fun and stress-free for all who attended, while simultaneously locking it down to the point that not even an earring would pass those walls without his notice.

Initially, merchants complained. They soon saw the wisdom, however: with the guarantee of the King in Yellow that goods and entertainment were safe (relatively, given how madness-inducing the ones in the dangerous half of Carcosa could be), they were making bank.

Are we still going to Odd’s concert?

“Of course.” Arthur shook out his arm again.

Even with all this bullshit?

“I’m going to support him,” said Arthur with the grim determination of an embattled general.

Fine. Turn more to your left, or we’ll hit the wall.

Arthur resumed.

#

They weren’t completely late. Violin rang over the square, playful and luring and promising more. Arthur skirted the crowd, head down, trying to squeeze close enough for John to see.

“And then she said, not without my donkey!” Odd projected seamlessly, magic carrying his voice directly overhead.

The laughter was quite wild.

“Hurry!” Arthur hissed.

Press against the wall again, John said, and someone recognized his voice.

“The Composer!” someone declared, and Arthur suddenly found himself grabbed and all but lifted, caught in motion like a leaf in a river.

Fuck! John cried, and Arthur was deposited on a stage with a thunk.

Odd laughed lightly (voice still projected) and took Arthur’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “Now, now, you could've just asked for a solo!” He must have been working the crowd for a while already, because they were primed to laugh, happy to follow his lead.

“Uh,” said Arthur, realizing his voice was also projecting, and reddened. “Um.”

This wasn’t our idea! John hissed.

“That’s what Hastur said,” Odd winked to more audience entertainment.

“I’m sorry about this,” Arthur tried to whisper. “We’ll go.”

For just one moment, Odd’s voice was genuinely soft. “You absolutely can. Otherwise, you can help me out just by being a temporary prop. I won’t make you do anything.”

Arthur straightened. “We can help? We’re in.”

Wait just a minute!

“Pinch of playing along?”

Arthur smiled. “Absolutely.”

Arthur! We don’t know what to do!

“Trust him, John,” Arthur murmured with a grin.

Odd’s voice carried again. “Why, we’re changing direction, folks! It’s time for a sing-off!”

What? John roared, word lost under the roar of the crowd.

Odd threw his arm around Arthur’s shoulders, pulling him close. “The celebrated chosen Composer, captivating container of the King’s cantankerous kid, Arthur Lester the AMAZING… What do you have to say for yourself?” And Odd held his tail under Arthur’s face like a mic.

Arthur was grinning; he could feel his cheeks burning, which engendered applause, which made him blush harder. “I, uh—”

“A likely story,” said Odd, tilting his tail-tip back to his own mouth, then dipping and spinning Arthur to his other side.

The crowd cheered. Arthur laughed.

Aaah! John called.

Odd elbowed John by elbowing Arthur’s left arm. “Easy, kid, you’ll spook your stallion.” He’d done it in an odd sort of accent, nasally, saying shpook your shtallion.

Arthur laughed again.

John sputtered.

Odd held his tail to Arthur’s face again. “I already know what I’m going to sing, see. My question is what you’re going to lead with.”

Arthur again went red, to the great entertainment of the audience. “I… well, I wasn’t…”

Odd tilted his tail back to himself. “That old chestnut? Pffft! Hey, we got any grandmas in the crowd?”

They did, judging by the cheers (and they quite liked Odd, judging by the wolf-whistles).

Back tilted the tail-mic. “And what else?”

“Else?” squawked Arthur.

“Else! Dance! Fire!” Odd spun, announcing as he dipped his own tail. “Romance! Passion!” He winked at the crowd. “Forbidden delights!” He began to sashay, hips swaying.

Without warning Odd's tail lashed out and gave Arthur a deceptively gentle smack on the ass.

Arthur jumped.

Odd gasped dramatically, hand to his mouth. “Arthur, I am so sorry! I don’t know what came over me—you know that my tail sometimes has a mind of its own!” He seized the appendage once more. “We talked about this,” he said, the picture of betrayal. “You told me you would be good!”

The offending appendage flicked.

“Now,” Odd said, “as I was saying—”

The moment he turned back to the crowd, his tail went for Arthur’s crotch.

Odd grabbed it, wrestling with it, not-so-quietly telling it to behave.

More than the grandmas howled this time.

Arthur laughed hard enough to tear up, and wiped his eyes.

Odd danced around him, light as a Dancer, and leaned in, tail to Arthur’s face again; he’d produced a lute out of nowhere, and began a low, fast rhythm, building in volume and transitioning to higher keys with every question. “So hey, before we get to it, let’s get serious. Arthur Lester, voice of the Shining Court, shadow to Hastur’s grand light, walking-ambulating-circumgyrating favorite of the Court of the Golden Throne…” He took a deep, noisy breath. “Do you have  a favorite color?”

The tail flicked right to Arthur. He blinked.“Well, ye—“

The tail flicked left to Odd. “Yes, this is really important,” he interrupted.

The tail flicked right. Arthur laughed lightly. “I… you see—“

The tail flicked left. “Seashell? Pfft, nonsense! I mean, you’re a key player-mover-shaker in a court with kind of a theme.”

The tail flicked right. Arthur’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling, and he didn’t mind at all. “I guess it’s be—”

Odd gasped, his strum reaching a fevered pitch. “Bistro brown!? Oh, the betrayal!”

Odd really had worked this crowd up, and they guffawed, bellowing color suggestions, hooting lewd appreciation.

So, almost no one heard Arthur’s answer. “Yellow. It’s yellow.” He took his left hand in his right.

Oh, Arthur…

“Yellow! A little sycophantic, a little grease for the wheels. Hey, next time you’re gonna pour it on that thick, least you could do is warn a guy,” Odd complained far too loudly, and clapped his hands.

Oh! said John. The stage lit up. Yellow silk bearing his sign unfurled from all over, lit with flickering orange light that brings out the golden threads. Torches sit now all along the sides of the stage, somehow brilliant in spite of the noonday suns. I think Hastur helped set this up.

“Gee, you think?” Arthur mumbled.

And Odd transformed his lute into a violin, and he sang, a cheerful, quick ditty he could skip to. “When I was a wee lad, not half good nor half bad, nobody knew that I could sing! Could dance and could prance, and could flirt, take my chance, but never a note I would wing! ‘Til one day, a sweary, magnificent fairy decided to give me my due… she rode me so hard that my words went to shards and there was only one thing I could do: I held out my tongue…” Demonstrated. “And filled up my lungs…” A ridiculously loud gasp. “And let out a mighty… boo-hoo!”

Pause for laughter and applause. Arthur stood back, arms crossed, laughing too.

Odd bowed, the epitome of grace, then pranced again, playing his violin. “Lucky for me, she could speak tee-hee-hee, and recognized skill when she heard it. In trade for our fun, she put me on the run with a letter for help from the guild seat. So goes my tale, with a lesson to sail, should you find yourself under a fairy: don’t be afraid! They’re sweeties, no shade; and always remember…” He drew the note out, running his fingers up the strings to a high, perfect pitch. “To whimper. To whimper! They really do like you to whimper!” And he cavorted across the stage, bowing, flipping his tail, repeating his final verse, which could barely be heard under all the cheers.

Arthur joined the applause. “You win!” he called between cupped hands. “All hats off for Odd!”

Somehow, the roar grew louder, and numerous items of clothing rose into the air—quite a few not worn on the head.

Amazing, whispered John.

Odd trotted over and gave Arthur a quick side-hug—a clear move of friendship, no bad feelings between—and then returned to the front of the stage to play his violin in a haunting, slow tune.

“Where’s the edge?” Arthur whispered.

Two more steps. There.

Arthur climbed off the stage and stood aside, audience yet again.

Hastur never had a chance, said John.

“What?”

The miracle is Odd is still prancing around, free.

Arthur stilled. He frowned, still turned so John could watch, and considered this statement.

Odd led them through popular ballads, getting them to join in; he brought the mood down with sad songs like The Daughter Of Carith; he got them howling again with the utterly bawdy Jester’s Bester Day.

And through it all, John laughed, and cheered, and sniffled when needed, and bellowed praise.

Finally, there was a intermission. Arthur wandered away, tired as he often was these days, and thoughtful. He licked his lips. “So Hastur wouldn’t have a chance, eh?”

What? said John, as if coming out of a trance.

“What you said. Hastur.”

Oh. Yes. This is right up his alley. He’d have taken this guy in a heartbeat, broken him, kept him for ages.

Arthur could believe that. “He didn’t, though.”

No. He didn’t. It’s a good thing, Arthur.

“I know that.” It was a touch sharper than intended. Arthur softened his tone. “Is… it hard for you to see Odd?”

To… what?

“Do… you want to, uh…” Arthur cleared his throat. “Um. Do. Something. With Odd?”

John’s silence could mean anything.

Fine. Arthur had been a father. He’d had hard conversations. He could do this. “Sexually?”

That was one hell of a sputter. What? Are you insane? No!

“Because I know you share Hastur’s taste, and—”

No!

“—if you did want him, it would be normal and nothing to feel shame about, and—“

You are the only person I want, and just my luck, you’re an imbecile!

Arthur sputtered this time. “You said—“

I’m not… John sighed. Look. You know how I feel about you.

Arthur seemed to go stiff. “You’re changing the subject.”

I’m not changing the fucking subject, John growled. The way I feel about you hasn’t changed. It didn’t change when I lost my memories, and it certainly hasn’t changed now that I’ve regained all of them. I can appreciate him, watching him entertain the crowd, even though it means…

“Yes?” Arthur challenged.

It makes some memories complicated, all right? Damn it, Arthur. But no, I don’t want him. Their left hand clenched. I want you.

Arthur’s face was hot. He still didn’t believe that. “If that was true, then Hastur would share that taste. He’d have come on to me.”

John snorted. I promise you there’s absolutely at least one timeline where he has.

Arthur stumbled.

John pushed on. I’m going to wear you down.

“Lovely,” Arthur muttered. “Positively charming.”

I mean convincing you that I mean it, ass, John huffed at him. Is it so difficult to believe that I do?

It was Arthur’s turn to huff. “I’m trying to say you don’t have to keep pretending for the sake of this stupid—” And suddenly, he was grabbed.

What the fuck? John snarled.

Dancers, out of nowhere, whisked them off their feet.

Arthur struggled uselessly. “Hey!”

Forgiveness, your grace, came from a thousand directions at once. You are late.

John did not have spines, but if he had, they’d all be raised. What?

“For what?” Arthur cried.

And it just figured they wouldn’t answer.

Need fucking Sunny to translate, muttered John, who’d observed that they seemed to like Sunny a lot, and had not analyzed why.

#

Arthur was not taken to his room, but to a huge, tiled, steamy place he’d never been before. The echoes tipped him off.

John gasped.

“What?” said Arthur. “Where are we?”

A very sacred room, said John in a low voice. This is a place of anointing. Consecration.

Arthur felt a spike of panic. “Of what? This is what? Am I going to be sacrificed, or something?” His struggle seemed to be some sort of signal. The Dancers pulled his clothing off so quickly they must have sliced it.  “The fuck!” he yelled, and was dropped into hot water.

Arthur, calm down! John said, voice clear as anything even as Arthur’s ears filled. This is a big deal! Calm down! Nobody’s hurting you.

Arthur sputtered, found his feet, and stood, dripping scented water. “What the hell is going on?”

Normally, he’d be in here, John muttered to himself. But he’s not. Which means…  He gasped again.

“John,” Arthur said evenly. “Explain this right now, or I swear, you have not seen how not-calm I can be.”

He’s leaving it to me. John’s voice was thick. He left this honor to me.

It was John’s tone that caught him. Arthur went silent.

I’m going to bathe you, Arthur.

Why did it sound… different? “Like you do every day?”

No. Not like I do every day. Not here. Take two steps forward; a Dancer waits with a tray that carries folded cloths. Stand still now, and let me take them in order.

Arthur stepped forward as bid. “In order?”

This is sacred, Arthur. It’s symbolic, not just literal. So much  softer: And he gave this to me.

“This… what does this mean, John?” said Arthur, matching the soft tone.

It’s what you were robbed of before.

“Before? John?” Arthur swallowed.

John had begun to use the cloth, but not like ordinary bathing. Gently, he traced Arthu’s face, his closed, gently fluttering eyelids, his ears, his lips. Gently, John traced his jaw, and slowed over the pulse in his throat. This first is symbolic because it represents the removal of your past.

“Excuse me?” said Arthur.

Not literally, you twit. John’s hand was gentle in spite of his tone. It means you’re turning a corner. Starting a whole new life as…

“As?” Arthur squirmed a little.

John didn’t stop; this was a thorough, slow clean. As my own.

The way John said that…

Arthur shuddered, inhaling unevenly. He had no words; everything clogged up in his throat. John had said similar things before, hadn’t he? A million times, with memory or not, he had.

Hadn’t he?

Not like that. Arthur knew in his bones it had never been like that.

The cloth disappeared, replaced by, apparently the second one; it was slightly rougher, and its scent was strong—a little pine, a little mint, a little something else Arthur couldn’t identify. This one represents beauty that my mark, my association, my connection, covers you in.

“John, that’s… that’s silly,” Arthur said softly, but he couldn’t mean it. This felt sacred. Felt… strange, like some kind of massive light was shining on him and through him, and in that naked place, he was not alone: John was there, too.

It means I will care for you. It means I will provide for you, including—

That swipe was rough, across Arthur’s right nipple. He jumped..

—discipline.

“Oh, fuck that,” said Arthur.

John chuckled.

Arthur flicked his left arm. “Dumbass.”

Because you’re my own, John pressed ahead, clearly amused with himself. The second cloth disappeared, and the third one was… soft.

Arthur had never felt anything so soft in his life. It barely had a scent; this was about sensation, and just the brush of it on his face felt like floating in a dream, felt like every nerve he had was brand-new, felt like that naked, light-revealed place inside him was being so gently caressed.

This one… this is the promise that though I am powerful, and though I could crush you… I never will. John’s voice was tight.

So was Arthur’s. “This was supposed to happen last time?”

It’s supposed to happen. Yes. I would’ve… I couldn’t handle him… doing this to you.

“Well. He didn’t.” Arthur swallowed, but the lump stayed in his throat. “Looks like it’s all you.”

It’s me, said John with no venom at all.

Arthur closed his eyes as the third cloth whispered over his skin, so soft it almost tickled, so soothing that his thoughts fell into silence. He forgot about potential staring Dancers; he forgot about the reason for this whole thing. He breathed. The water nearly reached his chin, and he floated, physically and metaphysically, in John’s care.

Buzzing. Pleasing. Warm. Limp except for certain hidden straining—

Fuck! said John a thousand years later.

Arthur startled conscious as he’d been dunked into cold water. “Wha?” he said, bleary.

Don’t you get any fucking ideas, said John.

“Have you enjoyed yourselves?” said Hastur.

Arthur scowled. “I thought this was John’s time!”

“It is, and it was. It is time, now, for the next step.”

Arthur, he… he’s hovering there, flanked by Dancers. I don’t know what he’s doing. You can’t be marked again.

Arthur paled. “You’re not trying, are you?”

“No.” This was as gentle as Hastur’s voice ever got (which wasn’t very), as if this place truly was sacred. “It is time for you to receive the honor that should have been yours.”

Arthur’s face went long. “The fuck are you talking about?”

You mean…

“I do.”

“What?” snapped Arthur. “You know, I was enjoying this until you walked in.”

Hastur rumbled. “It is time.”

“If someone doesn’t tell me what the fucking hell is going on, I am jumping out the window,” Arthur declared.

Hastur lifted him out of the water.

Arthur yipped—then found himself dry and wearing something just as soft as that third cloth had been. He felt it: a shirt, closed by crossing at the waist and held by some kind of belt; and a long, open skirt of some kind. He gasped. “This is that outfit.”

“As it should have been.” Hastur put him down. “Are you ready?”

“No! I don’t know what… no!”

Please.

Arthur froze. “You… you want to do whatever nonsense this is?”

It’s the honor you’re fucking due.

“I’m… I’m not…”

Please.

Arthur’s face twisted. “I can’t say no now!”

They were both silent.

Arthur sighed. “What do you need me to do?”

“Stand in silence. Receive new words. Accept the praise of my people.”

Arthur opened his mouth to reiterate this was entirely unnecessary, and then remembered—

Remembered the way John said my own, the way that touch had felt, the way he’d responded—

Because he had, under the water. He’d been completely relaxed, except for one specific part that stood very much at attention.

The problem had gone away at once with Hastur’s entrance. Arthur didn’t think either of them saw. There’d be no end of the nonsense, if they had. No: there was no reason to feed this manipulation John had constructed to feel in control.

Still. It had not been a normal experience. Maybe it was important to do this. “If I miss a cue because you two didn’t warn me, I swear…”

“Thank you,” said Hastur, who sounded relieved.

Yes, Arthur!

“I guess let’s go,” Arthur said, abruptly feeling shy for reasons he did not understand.

#

Arthur could hear the crowd. It was a pre-concert susurrus, the quiet hum of conversation from many, many people trying not to stand out.

It also echoed in a way he knew: this was a big room, not the small classroom John had described for him before.

We are in the Cathedral, John whispered.

Arthur gripped his left hand. “The what?”

It’s a cavern of black, shiny stone. The light comes from stalactites and stalagmites painted and glowing, sending flickers dancing across the ebony polish. It is very large, and beautiful. The central altar sits in a pool of swirling gold, like starlight captured and made liquid. Arthur, it’s packed. Every seat is taken. Everyone is looking at us.

Arthur shivered.

I’ve got you.

Arthur nodded.

Hastur finally put them down. Arthur felt the stone under his feet, polished smooth and surprisingly warm.

“Welcome, oh you whose opinions I value,” said the King in Yellow, Lord of Carcosa, and his voice silenced all others.

Here we go, John murmured.

“I’m sure this seems puzzling,” said Hastur, pacing behind Arthur, looming. “After all, this is a place of marking, is it not? Of grandeur, and excellence, and celebration… and yet the mortal who stands before me today has already been marked.”

And Arthur wondered for the first time if marking would have felt… different… if Hastur hadn’t hated him going in. His gut said that was truth.

“It’s come to my attention that there is confusion as to where this one stands,” said Hastur, and rested one enormous hand on Arthur’s side, covering his right arm.

Arthur let him.

“Understandable. At the time of his marking, we were not… at peace, he and I,” said Hastur smoothly, a world of communication in his words.

John snorted.

The audience shifted, a few small murmurs rising and falling like waves.

“This human being—flawed, frail, yet favored—is my court composer. His name, which I choose to use, is Arthur Lester.”

Dead silence. Maybe they all thought Hastur was going to claim Arthur was Faroe’s mother, or something. Arthur had no idea.

“He belongs to me,” said Hastur, shifting around to his other side. “I have chosen him; he has earned that place above and beyond all requirements, including when I thought… less of him than I now do.”

Arthur swore everything in the room was holding its breath.

His left hand gave his right a squeeze. That helped.

“He is more than my musician. While he blesses my court with music famed throughout the Dreamlands, making my jubilees beautiful, making my Rites ecstatic, that is not why we are here.”

He’s going to do it, John whispered so quietly.

Do what?

“I considered many ways to address the… confusion of our early relationship,” said Hastur, which was as close to publicly admitting a fuck-up as Arthur could imagine him saying. “Speeches. Grand gifts. Parading him, perhaps, on the back of a winged camel, so all could watch his reddening face.” He chuckled. So did his guests.

Arthur’s face sure did redden.

Fucker, John muttered, but not angrily (the traitor).

“But none of that was what was needed here. In the beginning, I only spoke to you of flaws; I kept you from seeing those things which made him worth keeping… and that, I will no longer do.”

Arthur  jumped as Hastur turned him so they faced one another. He was shuddering.

“Instead,” said Hastur,” I will make it clear, here and now, how he is appreciated. You shall take this with you today; keep it in your hearts, write it in your stories, play at children’s versions in your own time. But for now… you will listen.”

No one made a sound.

Then Hastur did. He began to sing.

John could sing, yes, absolutely, but he didn’t do it often; this was… this was a voice honed over thousands of years, maybe singing literally among the stars, maybe singing to create or destroy or remake at will. This was a voice that buzzed through Arthur’s bones, and made his eyes water, and felt so good that he couldn’t even fall over in the wake of this sound (though falling over felt like not a bad idea—this was tugging on his soul, somehow).

Arthur closed his eyes and rode it as if caught in undertow.

He had no clue what words Hastur sang. They echoed in the Cathedral, bouncing, feeding on themselves to create a chorus; it strummed through him like he’d been made into a guitar string, burned in him like he was a wick set alight.

And after a moment, he realized John was singing, too. Slightly less… big. Less practiced. Less sure. But he was, in perfect harmony, and for some weird reason, when John sang, Arthur could feel the meaning of those words.

Sort of.

Worthy

Chosen

Sorry

Was that one real, or imagined? Probably the latter. There was absolutely no way Hastur would sing an apology in front of so many people.

Would he?

John’s hand clasped his, fingers threaded, and Arthur squeezed as if that were the lifeline keeping him from being swept out to sea.

Elevated

Honored

Mine

Okay, that one was loud and clear, and at this point, Arthur was seeing colors behind his eyes—gold, of course—flashing, mesmeric. It wasn’t marking again, no, but both of them were doing something to their marks, like they had fists in his heart, and it did not hurt, and it was almost too much, and it balanced in perfect torturous tremendous joy.

Arthur cried out. He… sang out?

Sang something, with them, though what he sang was lost to him even as it left his mouth. It felt like release, like the abrupt liquid melt of tension while making love, like the gasping delight of surfacing from deep water into cold and bracing air.

His knees gave out at some point; he didn’t quite remember when, but maybe it didn’t matter, because Hastur caught him.

It was quiet? How long had it been quiet? The last harmonious echoes faded away, and Arthur drifted, blissful, relaxed.

Not… quite as relaxed as in that pool earlier, fortunately. This robe would definitely not hide it if he—

“Do we all understand?” said Hastur, low and smoky.

Someone started clapping.

It caught on, spreading, rising like crackling flame, and Arthur let it wash over him like summer breeze in a field, limp and safe and not hurting.

“Dismissed,” said Hastur, simply. “Follow my Dancers.”

There… feast, John managed.

Feast?

Oh. Some. Party, or something. Maybe. “Oh,” said Arthur, and could not bring himself to care.

“The post-marking ceremony rarely includes the celebrant,” said Hastur softly, stroking Arthur’s hair. “Do you wish to skip it?”

“Sure?” said Arthur, not really clear on what they were talking about.

“Faroe will be there.”

Button pressed. “What? I’ll go. What? Where?” Arthur struggled to sit up.

Fucker.

“Yes, yes.”

You knew that would—

“I want to cement what happened here,” said Hastur. “Seeing him there, part of my family, will help.”

Fine, John complained.

“Besides,” said Hastur mildly, flying just quickly enough that Arthur’s loose clothes ruffled. “It’s not like you had any plans for after.”

John fell stubbornly silent.

Plans for after? What after? What could even come after something like that?

Well. Arthur had a few ideas, but there was no one to do that with here. Not really. Not someone who genuinely wanted to. If John—

(That memory, again, of tentacles creeping up his legs in the Wood)

If John actually wanted—

(The thought, traitorous, of John with a body like Hastur’s)

John didn’t want him. John wanted to feel some semblance of control in this body. It made sense; Arthur forgave him. But Arthur had no desire to feed that. To feed that Hasturian instinct to use.

Besides, his desires were like morning glories: they’d bloom briefly, then fade right away again before morning tea. They didn’t matter. “We can… what do I have to do?” said Arthur, struggling again.

Hastur helped him sit up, but didn’t put him down. “Enjoy your food and your daughter and relax.”

“Oh.” He could do that.

John was still quiet.

“Are you all right?” Arthur murmured.

Better than you have any idea, said John, but he was… distracted.

“Was this not what you wanted?” said Arthur quietly.

A pause. Arthur, said John, evenly. You have absolutely no clue, do you?

That did not clarify. “No?”

John sighed. It was better than I hoped. Everything I ever wanted.

“Without the stabbing and vomiting?” said Arthur, wry.

With you. John sighed again. Just… distracted by his stupid comment. Ignore it. I’m on cloud nine.

So was Arthur.

He felt sunlight on his face as they exited, and the breeze with Carcosa’s famous Tremolo trees in full bloom, and—

“Arthur! Dad!”

—Faroe, who made the whole day worth it, no matter what kind of day it was. “Here!” Arthur cried as Hastur put him down.

She hit him full-on, just big enough to damn near knock him off his feet. “That was amazing! That was beautiful!”

Arthur reddened. “You… saw?”

“I’ve never heard you sing like that.” She hugged him so tightly, pressing into his chest.

He stroked her hair. How had she gotten so big? It felt like it happened overnight. “He said there’s a feast.”

“There is! Come on, come on. You shall be seated beside me,” she added, imperious, and then giggled, distinctly not.

Arthur followed, dragged to what was undoubtedly a horrifyingly revealed place at the head of a table, but because he couldn’t see it, he could focus on Faroe, and on Odd (who’d apparently seen it too, and was very quiet for the first few minutes), and on Parker (though Sunny was quiet, but he had been for a while), and on Hastur, who seemed to be more than a little buzzed, and on John, who was—in spite of seeming lucidity—absolutely smashed.

Before long, Arthur got them singing bawdy sings he’d learned in the England of his youth, and forgot all about the crowd, and the spotlight, and relaxed into his strange, found family’s joy so thoroughly he forgot he was even scarred.

------------

Notes:

Odd’s song inspired by the immaculate Danny Kaye