#else made when they’re doing a video presumably talking about how a close friend turned out to be an abuser to an audience that might not

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

also like y’know people have no clue what they’re talking about when they’re like “tommy needs to take responsibility for the rape jokes he made” uh. you mean the rape jokes freddie and jack made on his video, he literally did not make the rape jokes. freddie is himself a victim, and both of them very obviously didn’t do it on purpose at first. literally why the fuck should he apologise for something he literally didn’t do when we are talking about his friend being revealed to be a rapist and abuser- a friend who tommy's roommate and another victim of wilbur rue has indicated mistreated tommy as well. like that is almost certainly what he is going to talk about, either that or his own sexual harassment which he is Presently Doing A Live Show About. like Tommy was sent graphic rape threats after being doxxed do you think that doesn’t count or something he has every right to talk about that if he wants to.

[baekhansol]

beauty (k.ys)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : college au (kinda?), slice of life?, comfort

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 : mature

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : boudoir photographer! yeosang x plus size/curvy f!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3260 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : body insecurities, plus size/curvy reader, nudity in a non-sexual way

𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 : yeosang helps show you your own beauty

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : despite the images, y/n’s skin color is not mentioned. I used these images mostly for the poses as a visual for you all! this was beta read by the lovely @sugasbabiie and part of @yutasgalaxy's Flashing Lights collab.

When your best friend suggested you do a boudoir photoshoot with your acquaintance Yeosang as the photographer, your initial answer was no. After a week of you feeling really down about your body image, she brought it up again, and eventually gave in. Yeosang told you he likes to meet his clients and get to know them before photographing them, so you met him for coffee.

You knew it wasn’t a date, but you couldn’t help feeling giddy about it. You had a crush on him for a while, but never had an excuse to get close to him. He’s so handsome, and you were about to let him see you in lingerie? The thought made you nervous. But before you could back out, Yeosang sits across from you with a warm smile, a coffee in hand.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently, noticing how you were staring into your cup of coffee. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, you know. It’s about making you comfortable,” Yeosang softly reassures you. “I know this was your friend’s idea,” he adds gently.

“I’m just… nervous, is all. I know you’re good at what you do… I’ve talked to some of your clients before… but I just… they’re always skinnier than me and prettier,” you admit, tightening your grip on your mug.

Yeosang lets out a soft laugh and pulls a folder out of his bag. “I’ve worked with men and women of all body shapes, Y/N,” he begins, opening the folder and sliding it across the table to you. “I brought my portfolio for you to look at, and everyone in there gave me consent to share these photos, of course.”

You begin looking through the photos, thankful you were in a reclusive corner of the cafe as you do so. They weren’t erotic, but sensual. You knew the images captured the beauty of each individual. They were breathtaking, and you wanted to be one of them.

“Yeosang, you’re really good at this,” you admit, continuing to flip through the photographs.

“Thank you, I try to be,” he says, smiling.

You set the date for your photoshoot, and the day came within a blink of an eye. You had met with Yeosang a few other times after the initial meeting, as he wanted you to be more comfortable with being around him. He gave you plenty of time to go over the client agreement, and you respected how thorough the document was.

Yeosang had instructed you very clearly on what to take out to wear and how to do your makeup. So, you set out your favorite pieces of lingerie, a matching set and a bodysuit, the oversized button-down he chose, and a simple mini dress. You put on foundation and did your eyebrows, but nothing else, as Yeosang requested.

When you hear a knock on the door, you pull your bathrobe around you tighter and peer through the peephole before letting Yeosang in. It was unfair how good he looked, and you tried to force the thought into the back of your mind. He had a few boxes of what you presume to be his equipment with him, and you hope he didn’t have to struggle too much to get to your apartment. You quickly open the door, letting him inside and getting out of his way.

“Hey! Are you excited?” He asks, smiling brightly as he brings his things inside.

“I’m still nervous,” you admit, shaking your head.

“Well, don’t be. I’m here, and it’ll be fun! I promise,” he says, taking in your appearance. “I’m glad you did as I asked; that will make things easier! Now, where is your bathroom?”

You quickly show him around, and he makes himself at home. He plugs in a curling iron and goes through your makeup, glancing at the lingerie you chose and the colors he should use.

“Sit on the countertop and close your eyes,” he requests.

“Okay?” you reply, sounding more hesitant than you meant.

“I’m going to do your makeup. Do you trust me?” he asks, looking into your eyes. You merely nod, trusting him and his craft.

Yeosang’s touch on your face is gentle and calming. You feel him sweeping on eyeshadow, and he soon turns on soothing lofi music as he works. You know he is blending the eyeshadow as he takes his time, and you do your best to keep your eyes close.

“Open your eyes and look up for me,” he softly requests.

You open them, meeting his intense gaze. His lips purse in concentration, and you quickly look up at the ceiling. He sweeps eyeshadow under your eyes, blending it gently.

“Do you normally heat your eyelash curler?” Yeosang asks, causing you to look back down at him.

“It depends on the day,” you admit, watching him plug in your hair dryer and heat the curler. “And how much time I have to get ready,” you add with a slight giggle.

He tests the warmth on his hand, and you close your eyes before he could ask. Yeosang curls your eyelashes, gently setting the tool down on the sink before he applies your eyeliner. You feel the pads of his fingers brushing your eyelids before he has you open his eyes for him to put on your mascara.

He smiles at you, the masterpiece he was accentuating. “Have you ever seen a video where they clean an old piece of artwork?” Yeosang softly asks, beginning to contour your face.

“Yes, I have,” you say, doing your best to stay still.

“Well, that’s what I’m doing with you,” Yeosang explains, putting blush on your cheeks and dusting your nose with it. “You already are a beautiful piece of art, and sometimes you need a new view to see its beauty,” He tells you, picking out what happened to be your favorite shade of lipstick.

You feel yourself blushing, and you glance away, unable to meet his eyes. “You think so?” you ask him quietly, your heart thumping.

“I know so,” he answers, carefully applying your lipstick. You smack your lips together, and he smiles brightly.

“I just have to curl your hair, so you can get off now and take a peek,” he says, stepping out of your way as you jump off the countertop.

You turn to see yourself in the mirror, and are awestruck. You were expecting something less modest, but Yeosang almost perfectly captured how you normally did your makeup. He did it simply but beautifully, and you couldn’t help but gape at yourself.

As you stare, you feel him taking your brush and brushing out your hair.

“Yeosang,” you murmur, meeting his eyes.

“Hmm?” he hums, raising an eyebrow as he begins to curl your hair/

“Can you do my makeup more often?” you giggle playfully.

He laughs, and you love the sound.

“Maybe,” he says mischievously, careful not to burn your hair.

You allow him to do your hair, watching him work his magic.

“There,” he cheers, adjusting your hair before giving it a light coat of hairspray. “Done,” he proudly concludes.

“Yeosang, are you sure you’re not a makeup artist instead of a photographer?” you tease.

“I’m pretty positive, Y/N,” he laughs, turning off and unplugging the curling iron.

“So I was thinking of a few different poses, and I brought some ideas with me,” He tells you, pulling out the photos. “I figured we could do a few nude ones with you under your comforter or sheets, so I won't see anything first?” he suggests, showing you the guides.

“So I basically just hold the comforter up like this?” you inquire, getting on your bed and pulling at your comforter, facing the wall as if you didn’t have your robe on.

“Yes, and then you’ll sit up more to curve your back, like,” he pauses, finding the photograph he wants before showing it to you, “this.”

You feel insecure despite his calm demeanor, and you shake your head. “I don’t want to do any nude,” you say, your voice soft.

“That’s okay then. Instead, why don’t you change into your lingerie and put the button down over it?” He suggests instead, going to grab his equipment.

You nod, your hands shaking slightly as you pick up the lingerie and button down from its place on the bed. You head into the bathroom, shutting the door as you slip into it. Your insecurities try to get you to stop and cancel the photoshoot, but you knew at the same time you would be disappointed with yourself. Instead, you button the shirt completely before coming back out of the bathroom.

Yeosang glances over at you and smiles as he finishes adjusting the lights. He turns them off and guides you towards your window, which he had thrown sheer white shades over.

“I want you to stand in front of the window like you are stretching with your arms up. Lean forward and slightly to the side,” Yeosang instructs you.

You nod and stand in front of it, letting yourself actually stretch out your spine. You lean to one side, letting your body curve more.

“Perfect, you’re a natural,” Yeosang says, and you feel your cheeks heating up again as you hear the fluttering of the camera.

“Now I’m going to have you pose on your desk chair, if that’s okay to bring it over here?” he asks.

When you agree, he easily picks it up and sets it in front of the window, his biceps flexing.

“Just sit on it as you normally would, okay?” He says, and you sit up straight. “Is it okay if I unbutton and adjust the shirt a little?” Yeosang inquires.

“Sure,” you reply, glancing up at him shyly.

He unbuttons the shirt down to below your bra, exposing the floral lace. You feel your cheeks heat up, but he adjusts the shirt to pull down onto your arms, exposing your shoulders and offering a delightful view of your cleavage and bra straps. You look down at yourself, and feel sexy from the simplicity of the new neckline.

He steps away and snaps a few photos, and you start to feel more confident in yourself.

“Now, turn sideways when you sit on the chair. I’m going to have you pose, but will you be comfortable with taking off your shirt?” Yeosang asks, stepping back towards you.

You figure that it would be a sideways view, so you nod and unbutton it, tossing it across the room to be out of the way.

“Carefully lay on your back. Can you balance on it okay?”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” you laugh, carefully adjusting yourself.

“Slowly lift your legs up as you lean backwards, so your head will be lowered.”

You slowly do as he says, feeling your abdominal muscles tightening to keep you balanced on the chair.

“Curve your legs with one straighter than the other,” he directs you, gently tugging your hair out from under you. “Now hold your hair slightly to show more of your torso.”

“Like this?”

“Yes. Don’t move.”

The command in his voice stirred something inside you, but you do your best to ignore it. You were Yeosang’s client, and in the agreement, there were no sexual relations with him. You hear the snapping of the camera again, and see Yeosang moving to different positions to get multiple angles.

“I have a few more poses I would like you to try, okay, Y/N?” he says, and you merely nod. “You can stand up, since this one is also in the chair,” he tells you.

You carefully roll out of the chair as he explains, “I want you to climb onto the chair and be sexy about it, okay? Leaving a leg straight out with one in as you face me?”

You nod as he turns the chair sideways before carefully doing as he asks. You reposition your legs and body, and he opts to take pictures of each change.

“Are they coming out okay?” you timidly ask as he puts his camera down.

“I think so. Do you want to see?” he asks, showing you his camera and flicking through a few of what he has taken.

You look sexy, and it surprises you. “Whoa,” you murmur in shock. .

“Of course it is,” he giggles, smiling brightly. “Now, how about you change into that bodysuit?” he suggests, pointing to it.

“Sure!” you say, picking it up and going into the bathroom.

You do your best to change quickly, and you hear him moving around in your bedroom, presumably setting things up.

When you take off your underwear, you're embarrassed to find a small wet spot. You hadn’t thought your crush on Yeosang would do this to you now of all times. You groan slightly and make sure to throw them in the hamper as you slide into your bodysuit.

You come out shyly, and see a soft sheet on the floor with the lights around it.

“I think you’ve seen this pose a few times before. It’s where you lay on your back with your legs up on the wall?” Yeosang says, tilting his head.

“Yes, I have! I really like that one,” you admit, carefully sitting on the floor and resting your legs up against the wall.

Yeosang nods and continues, “Do you want to wear heels? I know some people do, but it isn’t always comfortable for everyone.”

You look up at him through your lashes and shake your head.

“That’s fine then,” he says with a smile, bending down and adjusting your hair around you.

He moves one of the lights ever so slightly before snapping more photographs. “You’re doing really well,” he praises you.

You sit back up as he goes to get something out of his bag and ask, “Yeosang, do you ever get aroused while taking these photos?”

You can’t see him freeze, but he does. “Do I what now?” he questions, pulling out some fabric and looking at you.

“Do you ever get aroused when taking photos…?” you repeat.

Yeosang sits on your bed, holding the fabric in his lap. “Normally, I don’t,” he admits. “Every now and then, yes.”

You nod, playing with the sheet underneath you.

Yeosang quickly changes the topic back to what you were doing, and you don’t notice him snap a few more pictures. “I know how you said you didn’t really like showing your arms, so I brought you this sweater,” he tells you, showing you the soft ivory sweater. “It was oversized on me, so it should be about the same for you,” Yeosang adds, gently setting it on the bed as he helps you stand back up.

You sit on the bed and carefully put it on with his help, avoiding smudging your makeup. It was cozy and soft, not too itchy. You pull your hair out of the neck of the sweater, and you hear Yeosang snap a few photos.

“The final prop I have are these,” he says, reaching into his bag and pulling out fairy lights.

“Oh?” you ask, tilting your head as he plugs them in.

“I’ve never done it before, and I’ve always wanted to play with the lighting on them,” Yeosang admits. “And if they don’t turn out well, well, at least we can say we tried,” he says with a laugh.

“What am I supposed to do with them?” you ask, smiling brightly. You were excited that he wanted to try something new with you.

“Just kind of… wrap them around you and play with them,” he suggests, picking his camera back up.

You nod and do as he says, laying down in one of the positions you had seen in his portfolio. You lay on your back with your legs bent, and you look up at Yeosang as your head bends off the end of the bed.

“Ohh, very nice,” he says, clicking away. “Now, try on your stomach with your legs up and ankles crossed,” Yeosang suggests.

As you move into position, Yeosang gently moves the lights around you so you wouldn’t be too restricted.

“Rest your head on your arms, but keep one out and face me,” he instructs, and you do just that. Yeosang gently fixes your hair, his fingers combing through it.

“Perfect, just like that,” he says, snapping more photos of you.

He set his camera back down, a bright smile on his face. “Okay, I think I’m done!” he says. “I should be able to get them back to you in two to three weeks.”

You nod and begin untangling yourself from the lights, and Yeosang quickly helps.

“You did really well, you know,” he assures you, smiling.

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you say, hesitating before hugging him.

Yeosang took longer packing up, but you didn’t mind. You begin to take off his sweater, but he stops you. “Y/N, please, keep it,” he begins.

“Yeosang, I can’t-”

“Please. It suits you,” he insists, his pleading look making you give in.

You purse your lips and instead slide on a pair of shorts before cleaning up your bathroom.

After he left, you laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. You really did just do a boudoir photoshoot with a male photographer.

Two weeks went by, then three. After the fourth week, you were beginning to worry that the photos didn’t turn out well.

When the fifth week came and went, Yeosang finally messaged you.

Yeosang: Do you think you can come over sometime this week?

You: yeah, when works for you? I’m free most of tomorrow

Yeosang: Can you come tomorrow around 8?

You: sounds good

Yeosang: see you then!

After running into traffic, you managed to navigate Yeosang’s apartment complex and find his apartment number. You adjust yourself before knocking on the door.

“It’s Y/N,” you call.

Yeosang answers it with a worried look. “Hey, are you okay? You were late,” he mentions, knowing it wasn’t like you to be this late.

“Yeah, sorry… I ran into traffic,” you explain, not meeting his eyes as he lets you in.

Yeosang nods, leading you into his studio. He ushers you to your computer, but you’re awed by the photographs adorning the walls. You recognize some as the samples, but some almost looked like yours.

“I’ve been doing my best, but I can’t seem to get them to my liking. Some of it is a matter of filters, and I can’t choose which looks best. You really are a natural,” he tells you, pulling up your file.

You were shocked by the results. You could barely believe that they were supposed to be images of you.

“Yeosang, I-” you gasp, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Yours are by far the best I’ve done so far,” he murmurs, clicking through the countless photos, some of which you didn’t know he captured.

“Yeosang, I have to ask…” you shyly murmur, your cheeks heating up. “Why did it take so long?”

This time his cheeks and ears slowly turned red. “You looked better than I thought in my sweater,” he murmurs. Noticing your furrowed brows, he continues softly, “I really liked you, even before doing these for you. It was a nice excuse to get to know you better. I know it's bad to ask former clients on dates, but…”

The question lingers for a moment, and his expression slowly turns into one of disappointment from rejection.

“Yeosang, I’d love to,” you breathlessly admit.

[respectable-username]

Because I'm obsessed with Hivemind Etho, here's another little story with them for the @hermitcraftheadcanons Hermitopia AU. As before, this is just a quick piece that's only been lightly edited because of the time constraints of this community AU.

This is also some setup for a potential future confrontation for somebody else to write.

---

The two Ethos stood at the door to the apartment, waiting for the hour to strike.

It was all they could do to not to brush the hastily cut and dyed hair away from one of their selves' forehead, or fight against the overly tight suit and tie, or scratch at the cheap surgical mask that sat in place of their regular cloth face covering, or the makeup that tried to conceal their prominent eye scar. The other self pulled their jacket closer, trying to extract enough comfort from it for the both of them.

The clock struck 7am. Etho knocked.

A few minutes later, the door was pulled open by a bleary-eyed Mumbo in a dressing gown.

"Hello– oh no what are you doing here please don't hurt me please don't hurt me."

The undisguised Etho pushed through the doorway as Mumbo backed away from the Unrestrained villain, now fully awake.

"Your ID card," said the Etho, entering the room.

"What?" said Mumbo.

"Your ConCorp ID pass," clarified the Etho, holding out their hand. "Give it to us. Now."

"Um, I don't think I'm supposed to do that," said Mumbo, desperately searching for something to grab.

The Etho's eyes bore into Mumbo, cold, unflinching, unwavering. One looked right at him while the other seemed to look right through him.

"Um, right, ok," said Mumbo. "Uh, can you pass me my bag? It's in there."

The disguised Etho entered the apartment and grabbed the briefcase sitting by the door, opening it and grabbing the pass inside, clipping it onto their own trousers. They closed the bag and held it beside them.

"Um, ok," said Mumbo. "I– is that all you wanted?"

"Your phone too," said the undisguised Etho.

"Please no!" Mumbo pleaded. "I can't lose that. What if there's an emergency and I need to call for help but I don't have my phone so the apartment burns down or if somebody gets hurt and I can't call an ambulance or–"

The Etho took a step forward. "Your phone," they repeated.

"Ok ok please don't hurt me," said Mumbo, retrieving his phone from his pocket and holding up both hands.

The Etho grabbed the phone and tossed it over their shoulder at their other self, who caught it flawlessly.

The Etho looked between the cowering Mumbo before them and their other, disguised self. About the same height. Hair roughly similar enough to pass. The ConCorp-issued suit didn't fit quite the same, and the face mask was an obvious difference, but it was close enough if nobody gave them a second glance.

And, having been observing Mumbo for the last few weeks, there didn't seem to be anybody who would give Mumbo a second glance.

The disguised Etho turned silently and left. The other Etho shut the front door and turned the lock, trapping them and Mumbo inside.

***

The disguised Etho walked up to the ConCorp entrance at 8:53am. This seemed to be the average time of Mumbo's arrivals. They walked towards the turnstiles and swiped Mumbo's pass.

"Everything alright?" asked a receptionist behind the main desk, presumably concerned by the face mask.

The Etho coughed. "I'll be fine," they croaked.

"Sweetie, if you're feeling unwell, you should be at home, resting," she said.

"Got stuff to do," croaked Etho, walking forward into the elevator before any further questions could be asked.

"Where's your office?" the Etho at Mumbo's apartment asked, sitting in a corner of Mumbo's couch from which they could see the whole room.

"Um, at ConCorp HQ," said Mumbo, fiddling with a teabag.

Etho sighed. "Precise directions from the elevator please," they said.

"Oh, uh, straight ahead down the corridor, last door on the left," Mumbo said.

The "Mumbo" Etho followed the described path and scanned their pass to enter the room.

The kettle clicked. Mumbo poured the boiling water out into the mug. The Etho in the apartment tensed, ready to spring away at any sign the hot contents would be flung towards them.

"And what's your password?" asked Etho.

"For what?" said Mumbo.

"Your ConCorp laptop," said Etho, the faintest wisps of exasperation creeping into their otherwise carefully controlled voice.

"I am so getting fired for this," sighed Mumbo.

"Better your job than your life," Etho replied flippantly.

"Of course," said Mumbo hurriedly. "It's – oh gosh I can't believe I'm saying this aloud – it's BMX4lyfe95!"

The Etho at the office typed it in. Finally, the internal network was open to them.

They started working to set up a reverse proxy to tunnel out from behind the firewall. Another of their selves at home was already positioned to connect to the network tunnel as soon as it was opened.

Mumbo poured milk into his mug, throwing away the teabag and walking over to the lounge. The Etho already on a couch got ready to jump, but Mumbo just sat down across from them and took a sip.

Mumbo stared down into his mug. "You're a hacker, right?" he asked, his eyes not looking up.

"One of my talents," said Etho cautiously.

"Since they're gonna fire me anyway, can I ask a small favour?" said Mumbo, still acting like his tea was the most fascinating thing in the room.

"Depends," said Etho.

Mumbo drummed his fingers against the mug. "I have this friend, Iskall," Mumbo said. "He's one of the office workers at ConCorp. I made his cybernetics after he got injured. But they keep breaking in weird ways and I don't know why. His explanations don't make sense! The metal I use doesn't melt like that from accidentally touching a stove. They shouldn't buckle like that from tripping into a wall. They shouldn't shatter from falling down a flight of stairs. I'm... I'm just worried for him. Is he in danger? What isn't he telling me?"

The Etho on the couch was quiet for a few seconds. "You only have partial access to the VEX files," they said. "There's a lot I can't find here."

"It's so creepy how you do that," said Mumbo.

Etho ignored him.

The Etho at home let out a quiet cheer as they managed to connect through the tunnel into the ConCorp network. They started browsing, collecting, and saving as much information as possible.

The Etho in the office switched their focus to finding some sort of privilege escalation vulnerability that would let them access the more secure files.

"Erm, I probably should have asked before," said Mumbo. "Would you like some tea? Some breakfast?"

"I'm fine," said the Etho in the apartment.

"So, uh, do you have any hobbies?" asked Mumbo.

"Please don't small talk," said Etho. "I'm busy."

"Oh, ok," said Mumbo. "Can I go grab a book or something then? Since, y'know, I don't have my phone or laptop or anything."

Etho nodded. "But if you call for help," they said, "I will know about it and I will make you regret it."

"Of course," said Mumbo.

The Etho in the office kept prodding at the ConCorp intranet. What they needed were the credentials of a superior, maybe even the Director himself. Hmm, it seemed from this directory structure that the Director was Mumbo's direct supervisor. It would only take a few hours to set up some sort of spear phishing attempt that would let them pivot directly onto the Director's computer. As long as they didn't get caught first, of course.

Etho opened Mumbo's calendar and declined all meetings that day that wouldn't look suspicious to avoid. There weren't many meetings to sort through.

"How often do you get visitors to your office?" Etho asked Mumbo.

"Iskall usually comes for lunch when he's not swamped by a project," said Mumbo. "Otherwise, nobody else just pops 'round usually."

"How about your boss?" asked Etho.

"He's busy," Mumbo said. "I have to go to him if we ever talk."

The Etho in the apartment nodded, settling back to focus on what their other selves were doing.

***

Hi Cub, Etho typed. Can you review this interface I made? It should let us remotely view what's happening with our heroes through their cybernetics. With some extra work, we could get actual video from their perspective to send to the media!

Etho sent the message, then sent the file with their exploit. The exploit was covered by a very quickly and poorly thrown together interface which returned the live location of a GPS receiver they had found in the lab.

They left it a few minutes, stretching back in Mumbo's desk chair as they waited for a reply.

Finally, one came through.

Hey Mumbo. Great prototype! We'll probably need to pass off development to the actual software engineering team, but this is a great initiative. I'm proud to have a thinker like you on our team!

Etho allowed themselves a smile as they checked to see if their exploit had worked. There it was, a tunnel open on the expected port right into the Director's machine. Jackpot.

The Etho at home pivoted through the new tunnel and started scraping as much information as they could.

"Your friend is a mercenary," the Etho in Mumbo's apartment said, making Mumbo jump at the sudden sound.

"Wait what?" said Mumbo.

"Iskall is a mercenary and assassin for ConCorp, working for them in exchange for ConCorp saving his life," clarified Etho.

"Iskall, a mercenary?" Mumbo said. "No no no no no. That can't be!"

"That's what his file says," Etho said with a shrug. "Either way, I've got what I need. I've called you in sick for the next week, and I'm keeping your pass to enforce that. Your phone will be returned, but I've programmed it to inform me if you let any part of today slip. I hope you understand."

"Uh, thank you, I guess," said Mumbo.

"I'll be here with your belongings in half an hour," Etho continued, standing up.

"What do– oh, right," said Mumbo.

"And don't do anything stupid," said Etho, opening the door to leave. "As thanks for your assistance, the nHo will try to keep you safe from any upcoming confrontation. But if you break this trust, that guarantee will not hold."

"I understand," said Mumbo, gulping at the idea of having to further betray his company, his friends.

The Etho left his apartment.

[sour--disposition]

End Of The Road

-

harry lewis x fem!reader

-

please check my masterlist to see if my requests are currently open 

You’d met Harry whilst on a trip to Guernsey with friends from university and you’d never really gone home. You were visiting the hometown of one of your flatmates, after they’d boasted about the beautiful sea views that everyone had to see at least once.

And then you met Harry.

To you, Harry was the goofy kid you’d met in one of the hidden beach coves you’d been taken to. He was where you went on your holidays from university, wherever he was. You felt like you’d found a future in Harry, with Harry, on that beach that day.

Harry would fly you out to wherever he was as soon as you had time off from your studies, he’d pay first class train fares for you to come to London and get you the best tickets for a ferry over to Guernsey. Harry’s friends and family had made you feel welcome and loved and wanted, almost as much as Harry did.

Until you tried to surprise him.

Harry knew you were due to finish university soon, but you’d never given him an exact date of when to expect you. You’d given him excuses about moving out and seeing friends now that you had the time, all the while planning on coming down to London to surprise him as soon as you could.

You’d arranged it with Cal, who knew when you were coming. Even some of his friends knew when you were coming down, but you only told them if they promised to keep it a secret from Harry. And, so far, they’d held up their end of the bargain.

You were trudging through the middle of Kings Cross station, battling your way to the car park pick-up where you were expecting to meet your Uber driver. It felt like the day was trying to annoy you. Your train had been delayed before you’d even gotten to the platform, and then you had to wait in the rain since the waiting rooms at the station were closed, someone had taken your seat on the train so you had to argue with them over that, and now your suitcase seemed to slip into every single minute crack in the floor.

Once you slid your way into the back of the Uber, you let out a deep breath. The next person you saw would be Harry. You would see Harry and Harry would see you and all of the palaver you had been through would be worth it because, as much as the two of you tried, it had been weeks since you’d seen each other. FaceTime calls seemed to be getting less and less, too, but you chose to chalk that up to an over-critical, overactive mind.

You zoned out as you were whisked through the dark streets of London. A long final semester followed by a long day of travelling mixed with a dash of (possibly imagined) relationship doubt had started to take its toll on you. You wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower and to curl up into bed in Harry’s arms and sleep for a week or two.

Even though Cal had already told you he’d be out for the night, you sent him a text when you arrived at the apartment building, just so someone would know you’d made it into London safely.

You couldn’t help but tap your foot and fiddle with anything that was in reaching distance once you’d made it into the lift. The pent up anxiety and exhaustion mixing together was a strange feeling in of itself. You counted the floors and the lift rose, not taking your eye off of the moving counter until it drew to a slow stop, the doors sliding open in front of your face.

You walked down the hall to Harry’s flat, letting yourself in with the key he’d had cut for you as an anniversary present. You left your stuff quietly by the door, sneaking through the flat in the direction of Harry’s room.

You could hear noises coming from in his room, but you presumed he was editing a video or filming something for either his second channel or one of the Sidemen channels. You opened the door slowly, hoping not to make too much noise as you snuck into his room.

You turned around, expecting to see Harry lounging on his bed or hunched over his computer. You didn’t expect to see him with his tongue down another girl’s throat.

“What the fuck?”, the girl screeched when she moved her head and saw you standing there, eyes wide and already flooding with tears. “Who the fuck are you?”, she asked you accusingly.

Harry pulled his face out of the girl’s neck, expecting to see Cal or an intruder. “Y/N...”, he trailed off quietly. “It’s not what it looks like”, he started, “I didn’t realise - you said - you never told me-”, Harry stumbled, trying to stand up.

“It’s not what it looks like!? It looks like you’re about to fuck some other girl, Harry”, you all but shouted at him, shocking both him and the girl still awkwardly in his bed. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you, because I haven’t seen you in weeks”, you told him. By this point, the tears that were building up had begun to spill over, slowly rolling down your cheeks.

“I-”, Harry started, mouth hanging open as he tried to find the words to say. “I think you should go”, he said quietly, turning to face the girl who was trying to awkwardly straighten out her clothes without making too much of a commotion.

She nodded, standing up and gathering her things before slipping out of the room. She mumbled a soft ‘sorry’ to you as she walked past, causing you to scoff and glare at Harry.

“Are you going to try and explain, or are you going to stand there looking like a fish out of water?”, you asked him accusingly. Harry’s face darkened.

“Explain? What do you want me to tell you? You’ve barely spoken to me the past few months, and when I’ve seen you you’ve been ‘too tired’ to do anything. You don’t want to spend time with me anymore, Y/N!”, Harry shouted at you.

“Harry, you’ve known since we met that I’m at university. I was juggling a long distance relationship, a part-time job that was asking too much of me, job hunting for once I graduate and writing my final year dissertation. What did you want me to do? I can’t be in two places at once, Harry!”, you shouted, moving your arms around in anger.

“You made me feel like shit, Y/N. Like you don’t fucking love me!”, Harry hurled at you accusingly, like this was somehow your fault. “I always made time for you, whether I was at home or here or somewhere else”.

“Are you forgetting how many days I sat here in the flat on my own or with just Cal because you were at shoots? I never said a fucking word about it, because I knew I’d signed up to that when I fell in love with you. You think walking into the room and seeing you all over some other girl made me feel loved? Made me feel appreciated?”, you yelled, ignoring how cool your tears felt on your burning skin.

“This isn’t my fault. Y/N!”, Harry yelled, storming over to you. You flinched slightly, making Harry stop short. “What? You - You think I’d hurt you?”, he asked quietly, recoiling into himself.

“Well, you clearly have no fucking problem hurting me!”, you snapped, wrapping your arms tightly around your body.

“I’d never hurt you, Y/N”, Harry murmured into the silence of the room.

“Really? Then why the fuck did I walk in here to see you with your tongue down someone else’s neck, Harry. That’s pretty fucking hurtful, if you ask me. And then you have the fucking gall to tell me it’s not your fault? Nobody made you bring her here, nobody made you cheat on me!”, you spat.

“It’s not been going on that long. Now that you’ve finished uni you can come down here and we can work on us again, right?”, Harry asked, awkwardly reaching out to you.

You took a step back, making sure he couldn’t reach you. Anger swirled inside of you, demanding to bubble up and lash out at Harry, and at this point to were too tired to even attempt to rein it in. “Oh yeah, sure”, you snarled. “I’ll just uproot my life and move down to London to be with a man who’d rather cheat on me than ask if everything’s okay between us”. You looked at Harry, waiting for him to say something, but he kept his mouth shut, looking around awkwardly. “Is you telling me it’s not being going on for long supposed to make me feel better? Woohoo, you’ve only been cheating on me for a month or two, not our entire relationship. No, Harry. We’re over. Done. You can’t come back from this”, you told him bluntly.

You turned around to leave his bedroom, storming down into the living room, coming face to face with Cal. “What’s going on? The neighbours called to ask if everything was okay because they heard yelling, you weren’t answering your phone so I came over”, Cal said softly, taking in the tears running down your face and neck.

Harry scoffed behind you. “And I’m the cheat, yeah?”, he snarked. Cal’s eyes widened before his face filled with fury. You put your hand on his chest.

“Can you call Freya and Josh to come pick me up? From the kitchen? Please?”, you asked, instructed him, pointing him over to the kitchen. He nodded, glowering eyes not leaving Harry until they had to.

“I wouldn’t dare cheat on you”, you snapped at Harry. “Every time you left me here to go film, I had no one to talk to but Cal. If me having the audacity to not sit in silence on my own for hours on end when I come and see my boyfriend makes me the unfaithful one here, then sue me. But last time I checked, the only person I’ve gotten into bed with in the last 18 months is you. You can’t tell me the same thing”, your voice raised as you spoke, your words all but nailing Harry to the wall.

Cal came over slowly, “They’re on their way over now”, he told you.

You marched back up to Harry’s room, collecting up everything that belonged to you in your arms. “What are you doing?”, Harry asked you from the door, voice sounding more fit for an innocent 5 year old.

“Getting my stuff”, you replied bluntly.

“Why?”.

“What about this situation makes you think I ever want to see you again, Harry? I could never trust you, ever again. You’ve ruined us. What about ‘we’re over’ doesn't make sense to you?”, you asked him incredulously, slipping past him to walk back downstairs and put your stuff into a bag.

“But - We can fix it, right?”, he asked, voice small.

“You blamed me, Harry! You said it wasn’t your fault! You think I don’t already feel bad enough? I know things have been rough and I know I’ve been distant and God, I feel like shit about it. I’m exhausted, Harry. I’m trying my best and clearly that’s not good enough for you, but don’t you dare go blaming me for that girl being in your bed. That one is all on you”, you told him sternly.

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Harry was going to try and say. Cal walked over, letting Josh and Freya into the apartment. “Y/N?”, Freya asked softly from the entryway. You turned away from Harry, walking over to Freya and into her arms.

For the first time that night, you let yourself cry. Heaving sobs were released into Freya’s chest and she held on to you, held you together. Over yours and Freya’s shoulders, Josh glared at Harry. A glare filled with anger and disappointment that made Harry shrink into himself even more.

“Come on, you need something to eat and drink and some sleep, you look shattered”, Josh told you. As Freya ushered you out of the door and to the lift, Cal handed Josh your bag and coat and pointed out your suitcase to him.

“Tell her I’ll speak to her in a bit, yeah?”, he asked Josh, who only nodded and showed himself out of the apartment, following you and Freya to the lift.

Cal took one look at Harry, his dishevelled appearance and the lost look in his eye, scoffed, and picked up his phone. “What do I do?”, Harry asked as Cal started to walk away.

“I’m not gonna start giving you advice, Bog. You’re one of my best mates but, man, you fucked up. Y/N is good, she was good for you. She would have moved heaven and earth for you if you needed her to, would have done anything you asked without a second thought. The one time in the 18 months you’ve been together she needed to be selfish, you were too pathetic to take it on the chin and you went and pulled someone else into your bed”, he told Harry.

“You like her, don’t you?”, Harry accused, no heat behind his words but the attempt was there.

“Of course I do, I have since the day I met her. But she was your girlfriend, I was just the accommodating best friend and flat mate who kept her company and bought her pizza when you abandoned her for days at a time for shoots”.

“I’ve really fucked up”, Harry whispered. Cal made a snarky noise in agreement, before turning his back and walking off to his room before he did or said something to Harry that he would regret in the long run.

At Freya and Josh’s, you’d showered and changed into sweats and a hoodie and were wrapped up in a blanket between the two of them on the couch as you all but cried into a bowl of Chinese food.

“I don’t want to lose of all you guys”, you whimpered quietly.

“You won’t, you silly goose”, Freya tutted. “You really think me, Gee and Talia would let you get away that easily. Or Josh and the other guys? No way. Sure, things are gonna change a bit, but just because...”, she trailed off, not wanting to even say Harry’s name. “Just because circumstances change, doesn’t mean we don’t love you, Y/N”, she told you, reaching over to squeeze your hand.

You had a long road ahead, there was no doubt about that. But with the friends you’d made over the last 18 months, you knew that you would never be taking that road alone. Freya was right, you couldn’t leave her, Gee and Talia now, you’d become too close. The boys were like family as well, albeit it a very dysfunctional family.

But, like all families, you’d find a way to make it work.

[bevioletskies]

(i’m caught between) goodbye and i love you

summary: Sometimes, Klavier thinks a little too much about how he never knew the last time he saw Apollo was going to be the last time he saw Apollo. So, when Apollo finally returns home from Khura’in, Klavier finds himself stuck, unsure of when to finally tell Apollo how he feels - especially when it seems like Apollo isn’t quite ready to confess, either.

word count: 16.9k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day seven of seven (prompt: "catharsis"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

Mild spoiler warning for Spirit of Justice; warning for brief mentions of alcohol and one scene where a character has a panic attack. Fic title is from the song (I'm Caught Between) Goodbye And I Love You by the Carpenters.

“What do you think, Gavin, which do you - hey, Gavin? Are you listening?”

Klavier startled at the sound of Apollo’s voice, too lost in his own thoughts to realize someone had been talking to him. He looked over at Apollo, who was standing underneath one of the courthouse’s most prolific picture windows, practically glowing in the early afternoon sun. Klavier’s breath hitched at the sight. “Ah - my apologies, Herr Forehead, I didn’t catch that. What were you saying?”

“Ema said we should all do something that doesn’t involve murder for once.” Apollo looked up from his phone, wincing. “Er, that is, something that doesn’t involve solving a murder for once. She suggested drinks, though Kay apparently prefers laser tag. As if I don't get enough bumps and bruises from helping Trucy out on weekends.”

“Ah, the life of a magician’s brother,” Klavier teased, smiling easily. “But, wait - do you mean to say Fräulein Detective actually wants to hang out with me? Or are you inviting me? Either way, I find it hard to believe.”

“No one’s more surprised than me,” Apollo drawled. “But seriously, Ema says Kay is making her ask you through me, ‘cos that totally makes sense. Anyway, drinks or laser tag? Or, y’know, both? They’re thinking this weekend since they’re going to some forensics convention next weekend. Did not know those existed. Do you think they give out swag bags full of fingerprint powder?”

“I would advise against it if they did,” Klavier said, chuckling. He then slipped his hands into his pockets, shooting Apollo an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, Forehead, you’ll have to have a good time without me. I have a dentist appointment, some meetings...you know how it is. Maybe next time, ja?”

“Sure, I’ll let you know whenever that is,” Apollo replied with a nonchalant shrug; he sent a quick text, presumably to Ema, then pocketed his phone. “Anyway, I should go find Mr. Wright and head back to the agency. So, uh...see you when I see you, I guess.”

“Auf Wiedersehen, baby,” Klavier said, winking. Apollo rolled his eyes, turning on his heel and striding away, waving Klavier off over his shoulder. “Don’t have too good a time without me, though, ja?” Apollo’s wave instantly turned into a middle finger.

Barely two weeks later, Klavier found himself replaying the rather mundane conversation in his head over and over again as he walked into his superior’s office, his hands shoved into his pockets to hide how hard they were shaking. “Willkommen zurück, Herr Edgeworth. How was your flight? Smooth, I hope.”

“Smoother than what conspired in Khura’in, to be sure,” Edgeworth replied, neatly setting his teacup down in its saucer. “Don’t worry, Prosecutor Gavin, I’m still getting everything in order. I doubt you’ll have much work to do today, bar any last-minute cases coming in.”

“Danke, sir, good to know.” Klavier glanced briefly in the direction of Edgeworth’s custom chessboard, his red knights and blue pawns, just so he wouldn’t have to look at its owner’s steely gaze. “So, er - ”

“Out with it, Prosecutor Gavin,” Edgeworth said, sighing wearily. “I can tell you have something on your mind. I’m afraid I can’t give you the exact details of what happened, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Ah - ja, I know, I - I was just wondering if…” Klavier hesitated. “...if everyone is...okay. Safe and sound, so to speak.”

Edgeworth’s face softened. “Yes, everyone’s perfectly fine. Wright, Ms. Fey, Ms. Cykes, and Trucy are all fine.”

Klavier blinked. “Wait, but - what about Herr Fore - Herr Justice? What...did he…”

“I should have known that was who you were really curious about,” Edgeworth said knowingly, looking at Klavier over the tops of his glasses. His expression, gentle, almost sympathetic, made Klavier’s stomach churn. “Mr. Justice decided to stay behind in Khura’in indefinitely. He’s looking to help rebuild their legal system from the ground up.”

Klavier felt as if his heart had dropped right through to the floor. “He’s...he’s not coming back?” He could barely hear the sound of his own voice over the rush of his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Eventually, perhaps, but not anytime soon,” Edgeworth replied. “My apologies, Prosecutor Gavin. I know you two were…”

“Close?” Klavier let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Nein, not at all. We were barely even friends.”

Edgeworth straightened up in his seat, and then, to Klavier’s astonishment, removed his glasses. It was unnerving to see such warmth in his superior’s eyes, especially when he knew Edgeworth didn’t think much of him in the first place. Not after what had happened all those years ago, even though it hadn’t really been him. “Let me amend my previous statement, then. I know you two had a...connection of sorts.”

“Ja, through...through someone I’d rather not talk about.” Klavier cleared his throat. “Danke for letting me know, Herr Edgeworth. It’s...good to see Herr Justice making something of himself.”

“He's definitely an admirable young man,” Edgeworth replied, nodding slowly. “I can see why Wright took a liking to him. I can see why you took a liking to him.”

“Ah, well,” Klavier said, coughing again. “Anyway, I should leave you to it, sir. Have a good rest of your day, ja? I’ll be in my office if anything comes up.”

“Of course.” Edgeworth neatly slid his glasses back on, then turned his attention to his work laptop. “Take care, Prosecutor Gavin.” Nodding at the dismissal, Klavier bowed his head and left Edgeworth’s office, his footsteps noticeably heavier than they’d been when he first entered it. He took a few heaving breaths, then shut himself in his own office and let out a small, silent sob.

_____

“I see you’re moping again, Gavin-dono. Must be a day that ends in ‘y’.”

“Bitte, Herr Blackquill, I’m perfectly fine,” Klavier said, clutching his mug of tea a little tighter than necessary. “My trial yesterday? Perfekt. The weather during my morning run earlier today? Perfekt. The leftovers I brought for lunch today? Perfekt, so long as Herr Payne doesn’t break the microwave again before I get there...I don’t know how he manages to do that on a weekly basis. Anyway, as you can see, I’ve never been better.”

“What a sad testament to your mental state if that were true.” Simon dropped into the seat opposite him, his hands resting on top of the breakroom table, his intense gaze focused on Klavier’s face. Klavier didn’t find him as intimidating as everyone else did, especially not after he’d witnessed Simon sing a drunken duet with Kay, entirely unprompted, at an office holiday party. No amount of threats or glares could get Klavier to delete the video evidence off his backup hard drive. “Luckily for you, it’s entirely false. You’ve been acting strangely for weeks now, and I know the reason why.”

“Do you really?” Klavier sipped his tea. “I thought you didn’t, quote-unquote, ‘care to stick your nose in my absurd affairs’. After all, I’m the silly one of the prosecutor’s office, am I not?” Simon cocked his head slightly, perplexed. “Ah, that Prosecutor Gavin, what an odd one he is. All style and no substance, always speaking in that accent that no one believes is real, always spouting nonsense and song lyrics and little else.”

“Self-hatred doesn’t suit you, so I suggest you cease this pitiful act at once,” Simon said, frowning. “You’re a confident man, Gavin-dono. I’d even say your confidence is fully justified, foppish nature aside. And yet, here you are, torn up over Justice-dono’s absence like a heartbroken teenager.”

“I am not torn up,” Klavier sniffed, setting his mug down with a sharp clunk. “I’m happy to hear that Herr Forehead has found his true calling. A far cry from the loud, nervous rookie he was when we first met. Now, he’s just loud.”

“...hmph. Yes, that piercing voice of his certainly rivals Taka’s,” Simon replied, taking a moment to scratch the underside of his bird’s chin. Klavier didn’t like the way Taka was eyeing his hair; he suspected Taka was fighting against his instincts to make a nest.

“Maybe still a little nervous.” Klavier paused. “I imagine seeing him stand in a Khura’inese court must be quite...something.”

“I didn’t sit here with the intention of listening to you dance around your romantic feelings towards Justice-dono, you know,” Simon informed him. “It’s exhausting and pointless, and a waste of my time.”

Klavier averted his eyes from Simon’s face, finding himself oddly fascinated with a water stain on the opposite wall, right beside the notice board. “Why did you sit here, then?”

“Because...I know a lonely person when I see one.” Simon let the silence linger for a moment; Klavier wasn’t sure which of them favored dramatic pauses more. “Even Athena told me you seemed...not yourself. Though you’ve been performing your prosecutorial duties just fine, she said you were distant...distracted. Is it the lack of companionship, perhaps?”

“You and Herr Edgeworth seem to be under the impression that Forehead and I were friends,” Klavier said evenly, his tone growing increasingly irritated. “The truth is, Herr Blackquill - since you seem unusually interested for someone who barely says two words to me most mornings - that Apollo was my friend, but I wasn’t his. Is that what you wanted to hear? Has your analysis of my psyche scratched your itch?”

Like Edgeworth, Simon’s face almost seemed to soften. “I had no desire to rile you up, but...I see that I’ve done it, anyway. I see that I’ve overstepped. Forgive me, Gavin-dono.” Klavier looked up at him, stunned. Simon merely stood, smoothing out the front of his coat. Even Taka’s expression seemed apologetic. “Find someone to talk to, if you haven’t already; it will do you a world of good. I heard many a story from my fellow prisoners by simply offering to lend an ear. I think you’d find the process of opening up to be quite...illuminating. Freeing, even.”

“I’m sure I would.” Klavier took another sip and said nothing else.

_____

“Mr. Gavin! I thought I saw you in the audience, but I couldn’t believe it!”

Laughing, Klavier held out the bouquet of red roses in his arms for her to take. “Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, fräulein, what a perfect way to celebrate your eighteenth. You were as magical as ever, though who would ever expect any less?”

Beaming, Trucy accepted his flowers, then practically launched herself right at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He barely managed to catch her in time. “Thank you so much! Ah, these are so beautiful - and they smell great, too!” She stepped back, taking a generous whiff before exhaling happily. “Hey, do you wanna drop by my dressing room for a sec? I have to go sign autographs and stuff, but I’m sure Athena would love to say hi!”

“Sure,” Klavier agreed. “Lead the way.” He followed Trucy down the backstage corridor, coming to a stop in front of a door with a gold nameplate in the shape of a silk top hat. Klavier involuntarily shuddered; the Gramarye seal had always been a sore spot for him, no matter how many good memories outweighed the bad. Trucy opened the door, revealing that it wasn’t just Athena who was waiting inside, but a whole group of people - Athena, the two Fey women whose names Klavier vaguely remembered from Trucy’s stories, Detective Gumshoe, and an odd, almost sad-looking girl wearing a traditional costume. However, Klavier’s eyes went straight to the two people conversing by Trucy’s dressing table - Phoenix Wright and Vera Misham.

Phoenix turned at the sound of the door opening. His eyes widened slightly when he saw who it was. “This is becoming a real party now, hey, Truce?” he teased, lightly ruffling his daughter���s hair. Trucy stuck her tongue out at him, then went to carefully place Klavier’s flowers among the dozens of others by her costume rack. Phoenix’s expression tightened somewhat. “Prosecutor Gavin, it’s - it’s good to see you. Trucy swore she spotted you in the audience, but I guess my eyes were never as sharp as hers.”

“I know her party is tomorrow, but I wouldn’t dare pass up the chance to watch her birthday extravaganza,” Klavier said smoothly. He felt as if Vera’s eyes were burning holes in the side of his face.

“So you’re Prosecutor Gavin, huh?” The older Fey woman - Maya, if Klavier remembered correctly - sidled right up to him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Trucy and Athena have told me all about you. I hear you’re different from the other prosecutors me and Nick had to deal with back in the day!”

The door opened behind Klavier. “Are you talking about us, Maya Fey?” He turned on his heel to see Edgeworth and Franziska von Karma standing in the doorway, both impeccably dressed as always, carrying identical bouquets of white lilies and blue delphinium in their arms.

“Auntie Franzy!” Trucy shrieked, barreling across the room to toss herself into Franziska’s arms, much like she had done to Klavier just moments ago. “Daddy said you weren’t gonna fly in until tomorrow!”

“And miss your performance? I would be a foolishly foolish fool if I did,” Franziska huffed, kissing Trucy on the cheek. “You will receive the rest of our presents tomorrow. I hear your fool of a father refuses to let you wear makeup despite the fact that you’d like to, and I am here to rectify that parenting mistake. You’re eighteen now, after all; you should be able to do as you please.”

“Within reason,” Edgeworth added, shooting Franziska a withering look. “Don’t encourage her too much, Franziska. I think we're all too familiar with Trucy’s...imagination.”

“Miles Edgeworth, how dare you question my - ”

Klavier quickly retreated into a corner of the dressing room as everyone’s voices grew louder and louder; clearly, his presence had been completely forgotten. He spotted the younger Fey woman, Pearl, conversing with the sad-looking girl - Jinxie, he heard her name was - while Maya and Detective Gumshoe chatted happily with Edgeworth and Franziska. Trucy had left to sign autographs for her fans, leaving Phoenix to turn back to Vera, who was still eyeing Klavier warily.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Klavier startled suddenly at the sound of Athena’s voice. He turned to see her perched on the vanity, legs swinging over the edge, smiling at him encouragingly. “You seem a little lost, Prosecutor Gavin. Everything okay?”

Sighing, Klavier leaned against the wall, glancing down at the toes of his Doc Martens. “Don’t tell me Herr Blackquill asked you to keep an eye on me.”

“Hardly!” Athena exclaimed; she almost seemed offended by his insinuation. “You just seem a little...quiet, that’s all.”

“Well…” Klavier looked back up, shooting her a stilted smile. “Everyone here is either someone I don’t know, someone I work with, or someone whose life I ruined. Forgive me for feeling a little...cornered.”

“C’mon, you didn’t ruin their lives,” Athena said, hopping down so she could lightly punch him in the arm. “I heard the whole story from Apollo ages ago, and he says it wasn’t you. He says you were just a…a schachfigur in someone else’s game.”

“A pawn, in other words.” Klavier chuckled despite himself. “Ja, if you want to be generous about it...or if you want to say that I’m easily swayed. Did Herr Forehead really say that?”

“He sure did! He talks about you all the time,” Athena added with an enthusiastic nod. “I mean, you annoy him - a lot - but he’s always mentioning how decent and honest you are. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think, well...nah, probably not.”

“Probably not,” Klavier echoed, trying his best to ignore his racing heart. The last thing he wanted to do was have hope. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be sticking around much longer. Don’t want to get in the way.”

“Huh? You’re not getting in the way of anything!” Athena protested. “Are you sure you won’t stay?”

Klavier shook his head, pushing himself off the wall and straightening up, smoothing out the creases in his hoodie. “Nein, I should make an early night of it. I have to meet my personal trainer bright and early, after all. But I’ll see you at Trucy’s party tomorrow, ja?”

Athena hesitated. “Ja, of course,” she chirped, plastering on an uncertain smile. “And hey, if you ever need a running partner, you have my number!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Klavier promised, surprising himself by how true that was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone running with someone who wasn’t his personal trainer. “Gute Nacht, fräulein.”

“G’night,” Athena said, squeezing his shoulder before letting him go. Nodding, Klavier deftly weaved his way through the crowded dressing room and slipped out the door. A few heads turned his way, but no one seemed interested in saying their goodbyes, nor was he all that interested in offering his own, either. The moment he stepped into the corridor, he heard a startled gasp, a choked breath, that almost made him jump.

“Ach - my apologies, I didn’t mean to - Trucy?”

Leaning against the wall opposite her dressing room door was Trucy, her eyes wide and suspiciously wet. “Oh - Mr. Gavin, d-don’t tell me you’re leaving already!”

“I have a session with my - are you alright, fräulein?” Klavier asked, closing the door behind him, then approaching her slowly, carefully. “You look…”

“ - like I’ve been crying?” Trucy let out a wet laugh, pulling a tissue out of nowhere and hastily wiping her eyes. “Don’t you cry after a big performance, Mr. Gavin? You know, that rush of adrenaline, that boost of energy, that feeling of relief - it’s all a part of being a performer! Especially on a stage as big as this!”

“Natürlich, I’ve absolutely wept tears of joy after a gut show. But this?” Klavier gestured in her direction. “This...it’s something else, isn’t it?”

“I - it’s just…” Trucy sniffled. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Klavier said softly. “Though maybe Herr Wright should hear this another time, too.”

“I don’t wanna bother Daddy,” Trucy said, shaking her head. “Besides, I...I don’t wanna make him feel bad!”

“Bad?” Klavier repeated, confused. “What do you mean?”

Trucy took a moment to blow her nose. Then, she managed a small smile in Klavier’s direction. “It’s stupid, but...when I was in there earlier, and I-I saw all of my friends and family together, I started thinking about...you know. The rest of my family. All of the Gramaryes, all gone.” She sniffled noisily again. “Mommy and Daddy and Grandpa, they - th-they never got to see me grow up. And Uncle Valant, he’s still in prison, a-and - so now it’s just me. Just me. I have to carry on the family legacy, but no one’s here to teach me how!”

Klavier’s eyes widened in shock. “Trucy…”

“But if I tell Daddy - Phoenix, I mean - that I’ve been thinking about Mommy and Daddy, he’s gonna...I just can’t,” Trucy continued, shaking her head vehemently. “If he finds out, he’s gonna feel like...like he failed me. And he didn’t, not one bit, but - when I first started living with him, he said he felt like that all the time. Like he was doing it all wrong.” She swallowed, but her throat seemed to be stuck. “And...I’ve, um, I’ve been thinking about Apollo, too.”

“You were?” Klavier asked, his mouth twisting. “Why?”

“I know I’ve only known him for a few years, but...it feels like I’ve known him forever. Like we were always meant to be best friends, you know?” Trucy was now fiddling with the ends of her cape, avoiding Klavier’s eyes. “It’s my birthday, a-and he’s not here. He called yesterday to say he wouldn’t be able to talk today, so we had a little celebration together, just the two of us. It was nice, but it just...it wasn’t the same.”

“He’ll come back eventually, ja?” Klavier said gently. “You said that was part of his plan.”

“‘Eventually’ is looking further and further away,” Trucy said with a wry smile. “But I-I know I gotta be okay with it. He’s doing really important stuff in Khura’in, after all!” She then nudged him. “You should call him sometime - he’s talked about some really cool cases that I bet you’d be interested in.”

“I doubt he’d want to hear from me, of all people, especially if he’s as busy as he sounds,” Klavier chuckled.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Mr. Gavin,” Trucy teased, elbowing him again. “He only just told me yesterday that he misses you…‘in a weird way’. That’s practically a glowing review, coming from Polly!”

Klavier felt his heartbeat race once more. “Ah, well, then maybe I should consider it. How could I not, when I might get to hear such generous praise myself?” Trucy burst into laughter, her face finally relaxing for the first time since Klavier had approached her.

They lingered in companionable silence for a moment, hearing nothing but their own steadying breaths and the muffled sounds of what seemed like absolute chaos coming from inside Trucy’s dressing room. Klavier wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why it sounded like Franziska was lecturing at least three different people at the same time. “Thanks for hearing me out, Mr. Gavin.”

“Bitte schön, though I’m not sure if I was any help at all,” Klavier admitted.

“Of course you were!” Trucy exclaimed, straightening up. “I feel better now, honest. Just talking about all that stuff really helped, even if I’m still not exactly sure what to do.”

“Hopefully you will soon, ja?” Klavier moved away from the wall, flashing her a genuine smile. “But if you ask me, you’re already doing a wunderschön job of upholding the Gramarye name, and I’m sure if you talk to Herr Wright about how you’re feeling, he’d say the same thing. Don’t be so hard on yourself, fräulein.”

Trucy hesitated. Then, she stepped forward to hug Klavier, holding him a little tighter than last time. He automatically held her closer, too. “See you tomorrow?” she mumbled against his shoulder.

“Of course,” Klavier promised. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

_____

“How is he doing, that defense attorney of yours?”

Klavier looked up from the box he was packing. He found it almost too easy to get distracted in here, to feel a wave of nostalgia crash over him as he packed away the books and toys that once filled his childhood playroom. There were already paint swatches on the wall, a collection of wood stain samples sitting by his feet, but he wasn’t quite ready to see it transformed into something else, for the room to belong to someone other than him. “He’s not mine, Mama, he’s just a friend. And he’s fine, if a little stressed. Er, make that a lot stressed.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Even just hearing it secondhand, I can tell that boy needs a break.”

“I’ve told him as much,” Klavier said dryly. “We talk most days, you know. He’s just stubborn, won’t listen to anyone - least of all me.”

“If you talk most days, then he must listen to you to some degree, yes?” she pointed out, momentarily crossing the room so she could crack open a window. “How long has he been away now?”

“Almost seven months, I think,” Klavier replied, turning back to what he was doing. “Though we’ve been talking for...around three at this point. If it wasn’t for Trucy, I...I don’t think I would have ever tried. Even now, I feel like I take up too much of his time when he could be going to bed early or doing something more productive.”

“Ah, Klavier.” He looked back up to see his mother had returned to his side; her hand went to the top of his head, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Why is it so hard for you to understand when people care about you, hm? Aside from the screaming fans, I mean.”

“Mama,” Klavier complained, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Achtung, it’s nothing like that. All I’m saying is, we were never close to begin with. I’m sure he’d rather talk to Trucy or get his advice from Herr Wright.”

Frowning, she withdrew her hand from Klavier’s hair. “I don’t know what I would say to that man if I were to ever meet him. Where would I even begin?”

“I...ah…” Klavier busied himself with the collection of picture books he’d been rifling through earlier, smiling faintly at the sight of his name scrawled on the inside covers in barely legible chicken scratch. “...I have that same thought, and I see him all the time. I suppose an apology is in order, but...I don’t know if he would even want to hear it.”

“To think Kris ruined far more lives than just the ones he’d taken,” she whispered, slowly sinking down to sit beside him. “To think he’d taken any lives at all, I - ”

“Mama, bitte - ”

“What did we do, Klavier?” she said forlornly, her voice thick with emotion. “Where did we go wrong? What could we have - ”

“Mama, Mama, breathe,” Klavier murmured, rubbing her back soothingly. “It wasn’t your fault, ja? Not yours, not Papa’s. Just his, and...a little bit of mine.”

“Hardly,” she insisted. She then cupped his face in her hands, looking up at him with watery eyes and a bittersweet smile. “Don’t let anyone blame you for what he did, darling, especially not yourself. Promise?”

“Ich verspreche,” Klavier said obediently, tilting his chin down so she could kiss his forehead. She then released him with a satisfied nod, turning back the box she’d been working on earlier; in doing so, she missed the way Klavier’s face fell. He cleared his throat. “So...a crafting room, ja? What kind of projects did you have in mind?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, humming. “I want to try a few things - cross-stitching, beadwork, paper crafting...we’ll have to see what sticks. If any of them stick.”

“You’re not retired yet, Mama,” Klavier reminded her. “I’m exhausted just listening to you and Papa talk about what you’ve been up to - I don’t know how you do it.”

“You’re exhausted? I’m exhausted just listening to what you’ve been up to,” she teased. “You’re not the only prosecutor in the district, baby, so why do you work like you are? Go out, live a little. Or stay in, I suppose, whatever you prefer.”

“I like being busy,” Klavier said defensively. “And I enjoy my work, you know that.”

“I just wish you enjoyed more than just working, that’s all,” she said, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “You know what they say - don’t turn your hobbies into a career. But you went ahead and did that anyway, and now you don’t have any hobbies left!”

“I have plenty of hobbies, danke very much,” Klavier chuckled. “Cooking, working out...and I’m not exactly in the music business anymore, so I’d say that’s back to being a hobby, ja?”

“How about friends?” she suggested. “All I hear about is the people who work for you or the people who work with you.”

“That’s just how it goes,” Klavier said with a rueful grimace. “Making friends as an adult...it’s hard. But I mean it, mir geht's gut. You have nothing to worry about, not with me.”

“I know.” She squeezed his shoulder. “But I’m going to worry, anyway.” She then stood, smoothing out the front of her shirt. “We should probably get going with lunch before your papa gets home, yes? We’ll continue with this later.”

“Ja, Mama, natürlich,” Klavier replied, also getting to his feet. He cast one last lingering glance in the direction of the picture books - for it wasn’t just his messy, childish handwriting inside, but Kristoph’s neat cursive as well - before following her out into the hallway.

_____

Time, Klavier mused to himself every so often, never really made sense to him. He liked being on time, of course, he liked the precision of it, especially when it came to music. He was proud of his natural affinity for rhythm, for keeping time. It was why he excelled at piano and guitar lessons at an early age, why the numerous vocal coaches he’d had in his life found him particularly easy to work with. But it always caught him off-guard whenever things seemed to speed up or slow down or even come to a complete standstill whenever they pleased. Twenty-four years of his life, changed, when he learned about his brother’s true nature. Seven years of his band, gone, when his best friend turned out to be a criminal as well. And now, an entire year that felt like five, all because Apollo wasn’t here.

“You should just ask him out already,” Ema had said to him one evening, over drinks. “I know his name is misleading, but he’s just a person, not a god. What’re you so scared of?”

“I’m not fond of wasps or small spaces,” Klavier had drawled, smirking at Ema’s infuriated scowl as he took a sip of his beer. Still, he knew she had a point. As blunt as Apollo could be, Klavier doubted he would be cruel about turning someone down. It also didn’t help that these days, he was starting to get his hopes up, now that he and Apollo talked on a daily basis. He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, aside from Trucy’s encouragement and his own impulses, but he couldn’t be more thrilled that it had.

“Two more months until I’m out of here...I think,” Apollo amended, yawning, his face filling up Klavier’s entire laptop screen. He looked good, Klavier though, even better than usual - during his time in Khura’in, Apollo had gotten more sun; his skin was a few shades darker, his freckles especially more prominent across the bridge of his nose. His hair was longer, too, mostly in the back, and his wardrobe had slowly evolved into an aesthetically pleasing mix of American street style and Khura’inese casualwear. Apollo had also mentioned a few times that he had built up some muscle, especially in his calves and shoulders, now that he had to walk everywhere and carry his fully-loaded bag wherever he went. Klavier tried not to think about how much he was looking forward to seeing it for himself in person.

“You’re sure now?” Klavier asked. “You’ve said that before.”

“Pretty sure,” Apollo said, chuckling. “Nahyuta even bought me a plane ticket, like he can’t wait for me to leave.”

“I’m sure he’ll miss you all the same,” Klavier replied. “And he’s used to flying back and forth, so I doubt you’ll be apart for long.”

“I think I’m gonna miss him, too,” Apollo admitted, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie. It always gave Klavier a little thrill whenever he saw Apollo wearing it - after all, it was once his, having sent it to Apollo via a care package that Trucy had put together a while ago. Though their upper bodies were comparable in width, Apollo was significantly shorter, which meant the hoodie seemed to completely swallow him up. “It’s weird, looking back on it. How different we were when we were kids - like, both as people and as brothers - and yet...some things never changed. I don’t even know how to explain it, I just...I just know.”

“Something only the two of you can understand, I’m sure,” Klavier said diplomatically. He’d heard many stories about Apollo and Nahyuta’s childhood by now, sometimes accompanied by the occasional mention of Dhurke. Even now, he found it hard to picture; he wasn’t too familiar with Nahyuta, but the thought of him and Apollo chasing each other across mountainous hills or searching for frogs along the riverbanks seemed unlikely, yet it happened all the same. “You have a good relationship with him by now, I take it?”

“Definitely,” Apollo nodded. He then leaned in close to the camera, his voice dropping to an exaggerated whisper. “I’ve even grown on Rayfa, and though she'll never admit it, I think she kinda misses Mr. Wright.”

Klavier laughed. “Charmed her, have you? I’m not surprised. You can be...persuasive when you want to be.”

“You make me sound like a conman,” Apollo snorted, leaning back in his seat. “Give me a little credit, will you?”

“Ja, ja, fair enough,” Klavier said, holding his hands up in surrender. “After all, you did have a client ask you out once. Clearly, you have some natural appeal.”

“It’s happened twice, actually,” Apollo said, shuddering. “I don’t know what I did to make either of ‘em think I was remotely interested, but I shut them down fast.”

“You saved their lives,” Klavier pointed out. “It might be their...misguided way of showing their gratitude. Besides, you’re not half-bad. Some might even say you’re...attractive.”

“And the compliments just keep on rolling in.” Apollo got up from his seat, momentarily blocking the camera as he unplugged his laptop from its charger and carried it over to his bed. He sat cross-legged by his pillows, yawning and stretching luxuriously. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, Gavin.”

“If you’re fishing for praise, Forehead, you only have to ask,” Klavier teased. “Let’s see, should we talk about the impressive way that your voice cracks every so often when you shout, which is all the time? What about the fact that you only seem to own one tie in the most outlandish shade of blue I’ve ever seen? Or how, every single time, without fail, you always push on the courthouse entrance doors despite the fact that they’re clearly marked ‘pull’ - ”

“You are such a dick,” Apollo sighed, shaking his head.

“ - you managed to get food poisoning at two different events for the prosecutor’s office,” Klavier continued; if he wasn’t enjoying himself earlier, he certainly was now. “Ah, remember that time you ripped your pants at a crime scene? Good thing it was a thrift store, ja? But if you ask me, corduroy bell bottoms don’t quite suit you. You don’t have the height for flared hems.”

“...I think you’ve gone just a little off-track here,” Apollo drawled. “Take it back now, Gavin, you were s’posed to be saying nice stuff, remember? Like, tell me I’m good at my job or something.”

“You make the perfekt lawyer,” Klavier said in the most serious tone he could muster, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. “After all, you just love to pick a fight.”

“Don’t think I won’t hang up on you,” Apollo said, yawning again as he half-flopped over onto his side, pillowing his hands beneath his cheek. For what felt like the thousandth time, Klavier found himself wishing he was in Khura’in, too.

“You say that every time, and you’ve never followed through,” Klavier reminded him. “Fine, you want a real compliment, Forehead?”

“That’s what I was asking for,” Apollo mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled.

“I think…” Klavier hesitated. “I think you might be one of my favorite people in the whole world.”

Apollo’s eyes flew open. “Huh? You...y-you really think so?”

“Would I be talking to you all the time if you weren’t?” Klavier chuckled. “How much free time do you think I have on my hands, hm?”

“Yeah, but - b-but still,” Apollo protested weakly. Klavier delighted in the way Apollo’s cheeks reddened, the way his nose scrunched up, the way his brows furrowed in an attempt to look irritated instead of embarrassed. “We only really became friends, like, uh...eight-ish months ago, so…”

“So nichts,” Klavier said derisively. “I say what I mean and I mean what I say, ja?”

Apollo shot him a drowsy smile. “Thanks, Gavin. It’s...actually kinda flattering.” He yawned yet again, curling up on top of his pillows. “Hey, I just remembered - you had your evaluation with Mr. Edgeworth just now, right? How’d that go, did you get three gold stars and an extra cookie to go with your juicebox like you wanted?”

“Call the prosecutor’s office a preschool just one time, all because Herr Debeste decided to bring Ritz crackers to the office potluck, and now you can’t let it go...and move on,” Klavier added, smirking; Apollo lifted a hand to flip him off. “It’s the usual with Herr Edgeworth, really - ‘excellent work, Prosecutor Gavin, nothing new to report’. Whenever I ask him if there’s anything more I can do, any way in which I can improve...I get nothing. It’s like he wants me out of his office as soon as possible.”

“I doubt it,” Apollo said quietly. “I know you keep saying over and over again that he blames you for what happened to Mr. Wright - but he doesn’t. Even if he did at one point, no one does anymore, alright? We know what happened, we know who it was, a-and it wasn’t you.” He propped himself up on his elbow, looking Klavier right in the eye. “Mr. Edgeworth doesn’t have suggestions for you ‘cos...you’re good at what you do. Somehow, you, Mister Euro-Rocker, are the most normal person at the prosecutor’s office. All anyone can accuse you of is, like, self-promotion, grandstanding, and wall slamming. Why do you do that, anyway?”

“I had a kickboxing phase,” Klavier said, laughing wetly. “That was surprisingly touching, Forehead, danke. Don’t we all aspire to be ‘the most normal person’ in any situation, achtung.”

“So you’re saying in some alternate universe, you would leg slam the prosecutor’s bench instead?” Apollo said dryly. “What would that even look like?”

“Gott if I know,” Klavier replied, continuing to laugh. “Anyway, should I let you go now? You look like you’re going to fall asleep at any second.”

“I’m fine.” Apollo slumped back down against his pillows, then let out an exaggerated exhale. “Though I wouldn’t, uh. I wouldn’t complain if you sang me to sleep, either.”

Klavier straightened up in his seat, surprised. “Again? I didn’t think you actually meant it last time, until it worked.”

“Your voice is, y’know...decent,” Apollo said, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. “I have to listen to it for, like, two hours a day, after all. Going on and on about ‘ah, Herr Forehead, my bike didn’t start again’, or ‘I got a free drink at the courthouse café because the cute barista recognized me, can you believe it’ - oh, and we can’t forget the classic ‘you wouldn’t believe how terrible my hair looks today, I don’t know if I should turn my camera on’ - ”

“I take offense to that last one,” Klavier protested. “You’ve done the exact same thing to me! Remember when there was a thunderstorm - ”

“A Khura’inese thunderstorm, one of the worst the country’s ever seen, versus you having a, quote-unquote, ‘bad hair day’ ‘cos you woke up on the wrong side of the silk pillowcase. Very comparable,” Apollo drawled. “Go on, then, Gavin, give me a lullaby.”

Klavier steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Then, in the throatiest, most operatic voice he could muster, he began to sing. “Guten abend, gut nacht, mit rosen bedacht - ”

“Screw off, you - ” Apollo was doubled over, clutching at his stomach; the sound of his laugh, as cliché as it was, was music to Klavier’s ears. “Shit, I-I can’t even be mad at that one, that was on me. Okay, let’s not do a lullaby, just give me, like...something slow.”

Klavier hummed thoughtfully as he watched Apollo settle back down, drawing his duvet up over his shoulders. “Moon river, wider than a mile, I'm crossing you in style someday...dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way…” It didn’t take long for Apollo to fall asleep, his breath slowly evening out as he did. He looked peaceful in a way that he never did when he was awake. Smiling to himself, Klavier went to end the call. “Gute Nacht, liebe.”

_____

“For the love of everything, can you please stop bouncing your leg like that?”

“Ah - ” Klavier clamped his hand down onto his thigh, offering her a nervous smile. “My apologies, fräulein, I didn’t realize it was so cold in here. Does Herr Wright have a habit of leaving the air conditioning on? I didn’t think this office even had air conditioning, to be honest.”

Ema side-eyed him derisively; the effect was slightly ruined by the huge bouquet of roses she had sitting in her lap. They were practically tickling her chin. “...cold, right. That’s what’s going on, not the fact that we’re here to surprise Apollo on his way back from the airport.”

Klavier was very tempted to glare back. He liked to think he was an amiable person, but Ema challenged that notion every time they spoke. “Why did you decide to return early, anyway? Was Herr Sahdmadhi getting on your nerves?”

“Oh, please,” Ema snorted. “Sorry, Gavin, you’re still the problem child of the prosecutor’s office to me. No, I left early ‘cos...well, because I could. Besides, I missed this one over here.” She lightly elbowed the person on her other side, who giggled sweetly in response.

“Long-distance suuucks,” Kay agreed, dropping her head onto Ema’s shoulder and shooting her an affectionate grin. “Now that Em’s back for good, we can finally look into getting a place together!”

“Have you started yet?” Klavier asked, curious. “Because my area has a few - ”

“Um, I-I think a taxi just pulled up outside!” Klavier turned to squint through the darkness in the direction of the front window, where Juniper, Vera, and the Fey women were hidden, lifting their heads every so often to peek through the blinds. Thankfully, Vera seemed less nervous around him these days; he hated the thought of making her uncomfortable, especially when there was nothing he could do about it but wait. He’d tried approaching her on the rare occasions they were in the same room together, but more often than not, they both ended up tongue-tied. “I see Thena, and Apollo, and Trucy...oh, there’s Mr. Wright! I think Trucy made him tip the driver extra, heh.”

Klavier’s heart seemed to be in his throat as he, Ema, and Kay crouched down behind Apollo’s desk, while the others went to duck behind Phoenix’s and Athena’s desks as well. It had been so long, so long that he’d nearly forgotten some of the little things that just didn’t quite translate via phone call or video chat - how tall Apollo really was, how loud he could truly be; the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed, or how he absent-mindedly played with his bracelet more often than Klavier suspected he realized himself. He had to stop himself from letting out a hysterical laugh when he remembered how, the last time he saw Apollo in person, he’d flipped Klavier off. How appropriate, Klavier thought somewhat dazedly, shaking his head. And now -

“...huh, so I really did leave my jacket here. Guess it doesn’t matter since I never wore it, anyway. I’m more of a suit vest kinda guy, you know? So, what are we - ” The light flickered on. All at once, the agency seemed to explode with noise as everyone jumped out from behind the desks.

“SURPRISE!” Several party poppers, courtesy of Maya and Kay, went off simultaneously, which only added to the chaos.

“ - argh - what the - ?!”

“Wh-whoa, Polly, watch your head! You almost knocked over Mr. Charley!”

“Forget Charley, I-I almost twisted my ankle just now, shit - ” Apollo managed to find his footing again, half-leaning against the back of the couch to keep himself propped up while he caught his breath, his hand clasped over his presumably racing heart. Klavier could only stare at him, dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open. Ema was side-eyeing him again, but by now, he really didn’t care.

Of course, Klavier had known for a few weeks now that today was the day, but to see Apollo standing - well, somewhat collapsing - in front of him was something else entirely. Clearly, Apollo’s laptop webcam and spotty internet connection hadn’t done him justice, not the healthy glow of his skin, nor the shine of his hair. He was wearing a Khura’inese tunic and joggers with both the sleeves and pant hems rolled up, revealing just how muscular he’d become. However, what intrigued Klavier most of all was the familiar-looking hoodie in Apollo’s arms.

“Hey, stranger,” Ema said, lightly punching Apollo in the shoulder, then unceremoniously shoving the bouquet of roses into his arms despite the fact he was still holding the handle of his rolling luggage bag. He nearly dropped it on his own foot in an attempt to grab the flowers in time. “It’s weird, right? I’m still getting used to, like, mega-grocery stores and smog all over again.”

“Considering I’ve only been inside an airport, a taxi, and the agency so far, I can’t say I’ve had time to adjust, no,” Apollo said dryly. He then frowned. “Er, Ms. Fey, a-are you filming all this?”

Maya grinned almost manically over the top of her phone. “Yup! Blame Trucy and Athena - they wanted to get your reaction on camera, and ooh, you did not disappoint.”

Apollo deflated even further. “...glad I could entertain you all.” He then straightened up, approaching Juniper and Vera first to chat with them amicably while the others fell back to talk amongst themselves. Trucy sidled up next to Klavier with the brightest grin she’d had in months.

“I still can’t believe he’s finally here,” Trucy admitted. “It was starting to feel like he was never coming back, you know?”

“He looks...surprisingly refreshed for someone who’s been sitting on a plane for Gott knows how long,” Klavier chuckled, smoothing out the creases in the front of his shirt. He then shot Trucy a soft smile. “You must be thrilled.”

“Ecstatic!” Trucy chirped, nodding enthusiastically. “There are some tricks Athena just refuses to help with, but I bet Apollo wouldn’t mind if I volunteered him for the job!”

“That’s not the only reason you missed him and you know it,” Klavier said gently.

Trucy’s cheeks reddened; she shot him a sheepish smile. “...I-I may have cried at the airport. It was a total mess, ‘cos me and Athena were crying, and then Apollo started crying, and there was tears and snot everywhere, a-and Daddy got it all on tape, too. He said it was like we were trying to set the record for world’s longest hug!”

“That’s very sweet, fräulein,” Klavier murmured. “I’m sure it was quite the scene.”

“What was quite the scene?” They startled at the sound of a new voice, turning to see Apollo standing before them. The first thing Klavier couldn’t help but think, stupidly enough, was that Apollo looked taller somehow - he seemed to be holding his head higher, his chest prouder, though it also helped that he was wearing a heavy pair of brown leather boots with a thick sole. Klavier’s heart thumped pathetically in his chest at the sight of Apollo’s warm, curious eyes, now fixed on his face in confusion.

“Your reunion, or so I hear,” Klavier said smoothly, taking a few steps closer. His eyes flickered down to Apollo’s arms, half-folded in front of his torso; he was still holding onto the hoodie. “And I see I’ve done a good job of keeping you warm while you were away, Herr Forehead.” He sensed Trucy, Ema, and Kay exchanging bewildered glances behind him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I got some pretty nice handmade blankets in Khura’in,” Apollo chuckled, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his unstyled hair. Klavier was more used to seeing it without gel than with it at this point, given how most of their video calls had taken place during Apollo’s evenings. “But, uh...thanks. You sure you don’t want it back?”

“Ah, nein, it’s all yours now,” Klavier replied. “But if you’re in need of more clothes that aren’t from the children’s section, I’d be more than happy to provide.”

Apollo snorted, shaking his head. “You’re such a dick.” Then, to just about everyone’s surprise, he took the last few steps to close the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Klavier, burying his face against Klavier’s shoulder with a contented sigh. “...it’s good to see you, Gavin.”

Klavier stood still for a moment, stunned, before returning the hug, holding him tighter than either of them expected, resting his chin on top of Apollo’s head. He smelled faintly of fruit and dirt and sweat, though Klavier didn’t mind one bit. “Ich habe dich vermisst,” he mumbled into Apollo’s hair, letting out a relieved exhale. “I’m glad you’re back.”

A little over an hour later, their rather large group of people - made even larger with the addition of Edgeworth and Simon, who had been held up in a work incident that, from the sound of it, was entirely Payne’s fault - found themselves at an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant, arguing over whether to order more salmon or more unagi while they drank beer, or in Trucy and Pearl’s case, soda. Their table was crowded, to be sure, and it was definitely the loudest in the entire restaurant, but with Edgeworth footing the bill, insisting no expense be spared, their servers didn’t seem to mind too much.

“God, you’re obvious.” Klavier turned to see Ema pointing her chopsticks at him rather threateningly. “Y’know, if you wanted to sit with Apollo, you should’ve just said so instead of sitting here and staring at him like a pining Austen heroine.”

“You really should be careful with those,” Klavier commented, gently pushing her hand away. “And it’s fine, he obviously wants to sit with Trucy and Athena. We have time to chat later, ja?”

Sighing, Ema turned back to her plate, stuffing a piece of tamago into her mouth in the most irritated manner Klavier had ever seen someone eat. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering,” she said, taking a generous gulp of her beer. “Look, Gavin, I - you know I was there, on the other end of things. I saw how...how happy he looked after your phone calls, whenever you sent him a text...all I’m saying is, sitting around and doing nothing like you did before? You really think that’s gonna work?”

“The last thing he needs is for me to bother him while he’s still settling in,” Klavier said diplomatically. “Like I said, we’ll have time to talk...later. Let him breathe, bitte. He literally just got here.”

Ema’s mouth twisted. “I really don’t get you sometimes.” She seemed to be talking more to herself than to Klavier now. “Like, I’m trying to imagine some world in which I don’t tell Kay how I feel about her, and...I can’t do it. It’s physically, emotionally, scientifically impossible. My entire life would be different, you know?”

“With you and Kay, you knew the feeling was mutual from the start, ja?” Klavier glanced across the table, where Apollo was cracking up over some joke Athena had just told. “As for me...I still can’t be sure. Even with what you just said, it’s no guarantee. And I think, for the time being, we’re...we’re glücklich this way. We’re friends. Close friends, even.”

“He talked to you more than everyone else combined,” Ema reminded him. “I only managed to talk to Kay maybe twice a week if we were lucky.” Kay leaned around Ema to nod affirmatively in Klavier’s direction, a stray udon noodle hanging from her mouth. “But whatever, I’m really only telling you for Apollo’s sake. If this was just about you, I guarantee I wouldn’t care.”

“Sure, fräulein, whatever you say,” Klavier chuckled. “So, you were saying something earlier about apartments - ”

“Hey, Gavin.” Once again, Klavier nearly gave himself whiplash at the sound of Apollo’s voice; he wasn’t sure when Apollo had gotten out of his seat and come to their side of the table, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. “Sorry to interrupt, it’s just - can I talk to you for a sec? Outside, maybe?”

“Er - ja, sure.” Klavier shot Ema an apologetic smile, though she’d already gone back to stealing pieces of ginger off of Kay’s plate. He then followed Apollo through the restaurant and out the front door, the two of them coming to a stop on the sidewalk. “What’s this all about, then?”

“Nothing, I just - I needed some air,” Apollo admitted, taking a generous deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I-I’m glad to see everyone again, but it’s a little...crowded back there. And loud.”

“Very true,” Klavier agreed, leaning against the exterior wall. “So...I’m surprised you’re still standing. Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Ridiculously so,” Apollo chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll crash in like, a few hours. Mr. Wright’s couch could be a literal rock, and I’ll still be out cold for the next...I dunno, week? Month?”

“You mentioned something about getting an apartment in your old building, ja?” Klavier mused. “When’s that happening?”

“I move in next week...if I’m awake by then, that is,” Apollo added dryly. He then smirked. “You offering to help, Gavin?”

Klavier leaned in close, his own teasing smile playing on his lips. “If you want me, just let me know, Herr Forehead.” He couldn’t help but feel a little thrill go through him when Apollo’s pupils darkened considerably in response.

“I’ll, uh...I’ll keep that in mind,” Apollo replied, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. Klavier found himself momentarily distracted by the motion. “Hey, uh - what were you and Ema talking about before I cut in?”

Klavier paused for a little longer than he would've liked. “I...was asking her about her plans to find a new place with Kay. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s only happening now. They’ve been together for years, after all.”

“True, but...if it works for them, I guess,” Apollo shrugged. “Did you guys ever get around to playing laser tag?”

Klavier blinked. “Entschuldigung?”

“Before we left, remember?” Apollo said, biting back a laugh. “Ema told me to ask you if you wanted to do drinks or laser tag, so did you and Kay...y’know, hang out without us? Or have you been waiting for us to get back?”

“Ah, that,” Klavier said, laughing as well. “Nein, we never did get around to it, though we’ve had the occasional drink together. Remember that story I told you a few months ago, the one where she - ”

“ - where she got kicked out of the bar ‘cos she accidentally gave them a fake ID she’d been holding onto as evidence, yeah,” Apollo snorted, shaking his head. “Sounds like something that could literally happen to any of us.” He straightened up, taking a couple of steps back so he could clear his throat. “Anyway, we should hang out after I recover from my inevitable jetlag. Like, the four of us, I mean.”

“Er - right, ja, the four of us,” Klavier nodded, faltering slightly. Apollo looked at him questioningly but didn’t say anything, instead turning his gaze towards the street for a moment, watching the cars and the occasional motorcycle go by. Klavier supposed he was still getting used to all the noise again, or rather, the different kinds of noise. He’d heard the evening sounds of Khura’in through the phone many times, especially when Apollo went for a late-night walk and “brought” Klavier with him for company. It had been relatively peaceful, serene, in a way that California was decidedly not. “Apollo, I...do you want to…maybe we could...”

“Yeah?” Apollo looked up at him, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Klavier coughed. “...never mind. Maybe another time, when you’re not so tired, ja?”

“Oh.” Apollo frowned slightly. “Uh, sure.” He then brightened, gently nudging Klavier’s arm. “Hey, but maybe we can make a thing out of my move-in day, make it a casual housewarming hangout or whatever. You interested?”

“Always,” Klavier said softly, nudging him back. Grinning, Apollo wordlessly beckoned for Klavier to follow him back inside, back to their table. He didn’t need to glance in Ema’s direction to know she looked as disappointed in him as he felt.

_____

“Ach, Klavier. You’re pouting more than your cousin Ingrid, and she’s barely seven years old.”

Klavier looked up from his glass to shoot his father an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, Papa. It’s just - the timing is unfortunate, you know? Er, not that I don’t want to be here. Anja and her new bride look wunderschön, and it’s been so long since we’ve had a wedding in the family - ”

“Now you sound like your Uncle Oskar,” his father chuckled, clapping Klavier good-naturedly on the shoulder. The two of them were standing in what looked and felt like a fairytale, in a sea of blossoming flowers and sparkling lights on a beautiful, crisp Saturday morning. In the distance, Klavier could see his cousin - or was she a second cousin, or a cousin once removed, he could never remember - and her wife posing for their wedding photographer by the park gazebo, while everyone else not-so-patiently waited to be called over for group photographs. All of the younger ones were especially moody, especially the aforementioned Ingrid, who had fallen and scraped her knee mere minutes before the ceremony. The poor girl had refused to let anyone put a bandaid on her, electing to sulk in silent solitude on a park bench instead. “I know you wanted to be with your friends today, but...there will be other days, yes?”

“Ja, ja, ich weiß,” Klavier replied. “Today is Apollo’s little housewarming get-together, it would've been nice to be there. But still, I wouldn’t miss Anja’s wedding for the world.” He then swallowed, glancing down at his feet. “That is, that’s how I felt before we got here. But achtung, now I feel like a caged animal. After all this time, do they really think - ”

“Not one person here thinks you’re going the same way,” his father interjected sharply, his eyes fierce behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “You’re not him. You’re not. But their stares...unfortunately, I don’t think it can be helped.”

“The questions were so simple before,” Klavier muttered. “Remember when I came back for a couple of weeks, between legs of the Gavinners’ European tour, for cousin Leo’s wedding? All anyone wanted to know was - ‘ah, Klavier, how is your band doing? Are you still a prosecutor? When are you getting married?’. And now it’s - it’s ‘what’s going to happen to him now?’ and ‘what exactly is this dark age of the law everyone’s been talking about?’ and ‘did you know the whole time?’. It’s endless, ach.”

“Klavier - ”

“I didn’t ask for my life to revolve around his, okay?” Klavier managed to stop himself before he could shout; instead, his voice came out as a harsh whisper. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice, carrying on with their conversations while they waited for the newlyweds to call on them. “So if people are going to continue to talk, to stare, then I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to see it. If I can’t have a normal conversation with my family members that aren’t you or Mama, then…” He shook his head; his hand was trembling, his champagne sloshing over the edge of his flute.

Sighing, his father squeezed Klavier’s shoulder a little firmer now. “...I can tell them you have a migraine if you’d like. Or how about a stomach bug? Though maybe a work emergency would sound a little more...dignified.”

Klavier let out a watery chuckle, clasping his hand over his father’s. “Danke, Papa, I appreciate it, but it’s fine. This is Anja’s day, not a day for me to whine and fuss. I can grin and bear it for her, ich verspreche. And I apologize for my...outburst.” His father shot him a sympathetic smile, then turned back to watch the happy couple while they waited for Klavier’s mother to return from the bathroom.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Klavier collapsed face-first onto his bed, only to sit up in a panic for a moment, thinking he’d just smeared a full face of makeup onto his freshly-washed silk pillowcases, before remembering he’d managed to trudge his way through his skincare routine just moments ago. With a weary groan, he grabbed his phone and sent a quick text message; mere seconds later, his phone began to ring.

“Forehead? I didn’t actually expect you to be up.”

“Mik’s being a literal scaredy-cat about living in a new place, so I’m probably not gonna be able to sleep anytime soon,” Apollo said with a weary sigh. “So, how was the rest of the wedding? All the photos you sent looked incredible!”

“What can I say? Gavins have good taste,” Klavier replied, chuckling. He rolled onto his back, staring up at his ceiling. “It was...perfekt, the epitome of classic fairytale romance, really. The kind of wedding you see in children’s books, you know?”

“Sure.” Apollo’s voice was warm in Klavier’s ear. “Hey - you, uh, you okay? You sound...off.”

“Ja, ja, I’m just tired,” Klavier said, frowning slightly at his outstretched hand. Despite getting them done yesterday, his nails were already starting to chip. “How long did everyone end up staying for?”

“They left a little before midnight,” Apollo replied, yawning. “Trucy has a matinee show tomorrow - or today, I guess - or else she probably would’ve insisted on sleeping over. Would’ve been kinda nice, actually, i-it’s always a little weird being alone in a new place for the first time. Though I guess this makes up for it.”

“What makes up for it?” Klavier asked, confused.

Apollo snorted. “This phone call, you dork. It’s like last year all over again, except we’re finally in the same time zone now.”

“Ah - right,” Klavier said, letting out an awkward laugh. “Ja, this is nice, though...I assume we’re not making this a habit again, are we?”

“Nah, definitely not. But, y’know, every now and then for old time’s sake? I wouldn’t, uh, I wouldn’t mind it.” Klavier shivered. Apollo’s voice had dropped to a low murmur; it almost sounded as if he were in the room with him. Klavier remembered Apollo making a snarky comment or two whenever he caught a glimpse of Klavier’s apartment during their video calls, leaving him to wonder whether Apollo would ever want to see it for himself. “So, you wanna do something next week? I’m still on co-counsel duty until I’m ready to take my own cases again, so my schedule’s not too hectic.”

“What did you have in mind?” Klavier hummed.

“I’m up for whatever - er, within reason,” Apollo added. “It could, well. It could even be just you and me, if you want.”

Klavier’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. “...I think I’d like that, ja. Drinks, maybe? Friday?”

“Yeah, uh - ” Apollo cleared his throat. “ - yeah, sounds good. Text me the time and place whenever, okay? Though I guess we’re probably gonna see each other before then, so.”

“Definitely,” Klavier said quietly, sucking in a breath to stop himself from making a potentially embarrassing noise - a squeak of joy, maybe, or a nervous laugh; either one would be terrible. “Should I let you go, then? We didn’t usually talk this late, even when you were on the other side of the world.”

“Very true,” Apollo said, punctuating Klavier’s point by yawning again. “I think Mik’s finally settled down, anyway.” Then, he seemed to hesitate. “...you sure you’re good, Gavin?”

“Mir geht's gut,” Klavier promised. This time, it felt more like the truth. Though his quiet anger from earlier hadn’t quite dissipated, he was calmer now, more at ease. “Family events just take a lot out of me, that’s all. Inevitable, given how big my extended family is.”

Apollo fell silent for a moment. “Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I, uh...I wouldn’t know.”

“I think it depends on the family,” Klavier admitted. This time, both of them went quiet, contemplating Klavier’s sentiment. “...anyway, let’s not carry on and ruin our sleep schedules, ja? Gute Nacht, Forehead.”

“G’night, Gavin,” Apollo said softly. “Talk to you tomorrow.” Despite the usual raspy quality of Apollo’s voice, not to mention how sharp it could get, Klavier found it immensely comforting at times, its warmth like a thick blanket - or, more accurately, an oversized hoodie. Mere minutes after they hung up, Klavier drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.

_____

Friday, it seemed, was not meant to be. Much to Klavier’s quiet disappointment - though obviously, he understood, given the circumstances - Apollo had to cancel their plans after getting some truly life-changing news.

“I-I don’t even know where to begin,” Apollo had stammered on the phone, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears. “I - she’s my - a-and her eyes - sh-she came to see us, me a-and - ”

“Slow down, Apollo, slow down,” Klavier had said gently. “What’s going on? What happened?”

Apollo had taken a big, shuddering inhale. Then, he spoke again. “...Trucy is my little sister...a-and Lamiroir is...she’s...she’s...she’s Thalassa Gramarye. Our mother.”

The news traveled quickly throughout their social circle; naturally, it was Trucy who told everyone else, while Apollo still seemed to be reeling in shock. No one seemed to know what to say, not with everything they knew about the twists and turns and tragedies of their respective family histories. A week passed, then another, and another, as the two Gramarye siblings took some time off to reunite with their mother. Klavier dropped by the Wright Anything Agency every so often, hoping to see how they were doing, only to find just Phoenix and Athena there.

“Apollo almost punched me...again,” Phoenix had said quietly. If it wasn't for the seriousness of his expression, Klavier would've asked about the first time. “It’s because I knew. I knew a long time ago. And Trucy, she can’t seem to decide whether she’s upset with me or not. Can’t say I blame her, though Thalassa and I had our reasons.”

“I’m sure you did, Herr Wright,” Klavier had replied sincerely, though he didn’t push further. After all, it wasn’t his family drama this time, and as far as he was concerned, knowing what their reasons were wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Phoenix had then paused. “She told me she talked to you, by the way. Trucy, that is.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Even when she didn’t know, it was like...like she already knew. But I shouldn’t be surprised, not with her. Never with her.” Clearing his throat, he shot Klavier a gentle, genuine smile. “Thanks for being there for her, Prosecutor Gavin. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Klavier had promised. “Herr Wright, before I go, I really should say something - ”

“If you’re about to do what I think you’re about to do...there’s no need,” Phoenix had interrupted, though not unkindly. “I’ve said it a few times, but I’ll say it again. Let’s put the past behind us, alright?”

Klavier had been taken aback. “...if you’re sure, then...ja, I hear you.”

Almost four weeks after Thalassa returned to her children’s lives, Klavier finally saw Apollo again, during a brief one-day trial. Once Apollo got his client acquitted, the two of them took a moment to sit on the courthouse steps together in stilted silence. “How is she?” Klavier asked. “How are you?”

“She’s…” Apollo sucked his breath in between his teeth. “...she’s still figuring things out. Remembering stuff. Trying to, uh...trying to learn how to be a mom to two adult children who...who grew up without her. And I dunno if it’s harder for me, o-or for Trucy, because I accepted my whole life that...that my mom just wasn’t around. But Trucy lost her. She knew her, loved her, lost her...and now she’s back. Not that it’s a competition, it’s just…” He managed to give Klavier a small smile. “We’ll be fine. It’s just weird and confusing a-and...but we’re fine. Sorry I’ve been so - ”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Klavier said, gently nudging him. “So, are you going to see her again today?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna drop by for dinner tonight,” Apollo replied. “We’ll hang out again soon, I swear.”

“Don’t worry about me, Forehead. Take care of yourself first, ja?” Klavier chuckled, patting Apollo’s knee. “Anyway, I should get going before the paparazzi catch wind of me. Auf Wiedersehen, baby. Have a good time tonight.” As he was leaving, he took a moment to watch Apollo walk over to the courthouse bike rack to join Trucy, who was patiently waiting for him. The moment she spotted him, she flung her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug, as if they’d been apart for years and not mere minutes.

The days continued to go by without them seeing much of each other, though they did continue to text on a regular basis, even having the occasional late-night phone call or two. Klavier also managed to chat with Trucy when he dropped by the agency one afternoon in the hopes that she would be there.

“I’m okay,” Trucy had told him. “We’re still getting used to it, but it’s definitely one of the best surprises I’ve ever had! I’ve been saying this whole time that Polly’s like a little big brother to me, and now…”

“And now it’s true,” Klavier had remarked, laughing. “I’m happy for all of you, fräulein, truly. And thinking back...what a strange family reunion. All because I invited her to perform with the Gavinners. Er, not to make this about me, of course.”

“Of course,” Trucy had echoed, giggling as well. “You would never do that.”

Klavier had rolled his eyes good-naturedly, which only served to make her laugh even harder. His expression then sobered. “Have you told either of them about...what you told me and Herr Wright?”

“Huh?...o-oh. That.” Trucy had fiddled with the ends of her cape, eyes fixated on the toes of her boots. “No, n-not yet. It’s too early. We only just discovered the truth, why would I ruin that with my silly problems?”

“They’re not silly at all,” Klavier had reassured her. “They’re...I know a little something about family legacy. Carrying a name that belongs to someone else. Talk to them about it when the time is right, ja?”

“I know, I know,” Trucy had mumbled, her voice small. She then perked up, plastering on a false smile that Klavier was all too familiar with. “You should join us someday, Prosecutor Gavin! I’m sure she’d like to see you again, and Polly’s been dying to spend more time with you.”

Klavier felt warm. “Really? Did he say that?”

“Well, not in so many words,” Trucy had said sheepishly. “But we’ve been so busy with Mom lately that neither of us has really had time to hang out with people other than Daddy and Athena, y’know? So...maybe we could do another group dinner or something.”

And so, a little over a month and a half after their canceled plans, Trucy managed to get a smaller group of people together - her, Apollo, Athena, Klavier, Simon, Pearl, Juniper, Ema, and Kay, to be exact - for a rather chaotic visit to their nearest night market. Considering how narrow the pathways were, how packed the food stalls could be, it was hard for them to move as a collective through the crowds.

“We might have an easier time if we split up,” Apollo suggested. “And, uh, as a bonus, people would stop glaring at us for holding up literally every line.” And so, everyone divided themselves into pairs - or a trio, in Athena, Simon, and Juniper’s case - and went on their way.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with Trucy?” Klavier asked once he and Apollo were in line for freshly-made takoyaki.

“Listen, and I say this with love, but I’ve been looking forward to hanging out with someone who isn’t Trucy for once,” Apollo said, chuckling. “Besides, we never got around to getting drinks. So let me pay for, like, a milk tea or something.”

“That’s hardly necessary, but danke,” Klavier said, smiling easily. “So, has it finally sunk in yet? Your newfound big brother status, that is.”

“Thankfully, not that kind of big brother,” Apollo said dryly. “Honestly, it hasn’t been that different. Me and Trucy have always looked out for each other, and...I dunno. We got attached pretty quickly, almost like we, uh...like we knew somehow. Like everything about our relationship made even more sense than before.” He then let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Never mind, that probably sounds really stupid - ”

“Nein, not at all,” Klavier murmured sympathetically.

“I don’t believe in fate or whatever, but...I couldn’t ask for a better sister,” Apollo admitted, his expression softening. “Though to be fair, I can ask said sister to stop dragging me on stage with her. I almost lost my eyebrows more than once, and once is already one time too many!”

“You did say better, not perfect,” Klavier teased, laughing. “So, what do you want to do tonight? Are we just stuffing our faces, or did you want to walk around? That bouncy castle looks sehr interessant.”

“Yeah, sure, if we wanna get kicked out,” Apollo snorted. “And I’m not sure yet, I was just gonna go with whatever everyone else wanted. When I used to come here all the time with...with…” His face fell. “Um. You know. He was so eager to try everything, I-I just let him drag me around. Literally.” Klavier looked away for a moment, unsure of what to say. Apollo then tugged on his sleeve so he would turn back, a small smile on his face. “Hey, c’mon. I’m the one who made it weird, don’t you make it weird, too.”

Klavier chuckled, placing his hand over Apollo’s and squeezing. “Why don’t you lead for a change? I mean it, Forehead, what do you want to do tonight?”

“Honestly? I just wanna eat and drink and laugh at the terrible knock-off merchandise with, uh. With you.” Apollo awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. Before Klavier could respond, they’d reached the front of the line; Apollo turned to the merchant with a polite smile. “Hi, can we get one order of takoyaki, please? And can we get the sauces on the side?”

“Sure, that’ll be seven dollars,” the merchant replied. “Is this just for you, or are you sharing with your boyfriend?”

Apollo blinked. “Er, s-sorry?”

“I need to know how many toothpicks to give you,” the merchant said, shooting Apollo a strange look.

“I, uh…” Apollo cleared his throat. Klavier looked at him curiously, unsure if Apollo’s reaction was promising or worrying. “Yeah, we’re sharing.”

Once they received their order, they went to stand a little ways away from the crowd to eat and people-watch in companionable silence. Klavier stole the occasional glance in Apollo’s direction every so often, admiring how good he looked in a bucket hat, denim cutoffs, and of course, the hoodie he’d given him. Other than his signature red suit vest, it seemed to be the item of clothing he wore the most these days. Klavier wondered if it still smelled of his cologne, the cologne that Apollo claimed to hate.

“Gavin?” Apollo raised an eyebrow at him. “Can I, um...can I help you?”

“Ah - entschuldigung, I didn’t mean to stare,” Klavier said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “It just surprises me whenever you wear that, you know? Surely, you have other hoodies.”

“I’ve just gotten used to it, I guess,” Apollo shrugged. “And it’s weird, ‘cos it’s yours, but now I mostly associate it with Khura’in. Like, whenever I went for walks before or after work, this was usually the first thing I grabbed, even when it was too warm for me to wear. Something to hold onto, I s’pose.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey - new idea!”

Klavier chuckled at his sudden enthusiasm. “Oh? What’s that?”

“Over there,” Apollo said, gesturing towards the river running alongside the night market. Other market patrons were there as well, eating, talking, and admiring the city skyline. “It’s definitely no Khura’inese scenery, but we could also grab some food and go for a walk, get away from the main crowd and all that.”

“I’d like that,” Klavier replied, popping the last piece of takoyaki into his mouth. “What should we get next, then?”

After much deliberation, the two of them settled on milk tea and crepes, then began walking alongside the river, chatting amicably about nothing in particular while occasionally spotting their friends in the distance. They saw Trucy and Pearl sharing a giant bowl of shaved ice, Ema and Kay marveling at all of the bags for sale - Ema had once mentioned she needed a new one to fit her entire forensics kit - while Athena and Simon were, for some reason, arm-wrestling. Juniper was supervising them with a hint of apprehension in her eyes; Athena appeared to be winning.

As they passed by people going in the opposite direction, Klavier lowered the brim of his cap over his eyes. He felt somewhat nervous, even paranoid, every single time someone looked at him for a little too long. “Not too interested in signing autographs or taking selfies, huh?” Apollo teased when it happened for the fifth time in under twenty minutes. “Nah, I get it. I’m sure it gets pretty exhausting after a while.”

“It’s...it’s not fans I’m worried about,” Klavier confessed, ducking his head once more. “It’s...the opposite, really.”

“Huh?” Apollo’s eyes then widened. “Oh, you mean...o-oh. Has that been happening a lot lately, or…?”

“Just...more than it should,” Klavier said quietly, so quietly that Apollo almost couldn’t hear him over the noise of the night market. “Anyway, I’d rather not get into it. Tell me more about your mother, you said the other day that her memories were coming back to her, ja?”

Apollo eyed him worriedly, but decided not to comment. “Yeah, yeah, uh - mostly stuff about Trucy, and Trucy’s dad, and her time with the troupe. Not so much the before, the me and...and my dad part. It was...I tried asking her, y’know, basic stuff about him. Like what his voice sounded like, what kind of person he was...but it’s all bits and pieces for her. Little tiny things, not significant details. She remembered that he didn’t like spinach and he had a pair of lucky socks, but she wasn’t sure if my voice sounded anything like his, or how they picked my name, or what their first date was. Stuff like that.” He visibly swallowed.

“I’m sure that must have been frustrating for both of you,” Klavier said, humming in sympathy.

“I don’t know what to feel sometimes.” An odd look crossed Apollo’s face then, like he wasn’t sure where his words had come from, but he seemed determined to keep going. “Obviously, I-I’m happy to have her in my life, and to see her doing so well after what she went through, but...it’s not like I had this...this attachment to my dad that she did. And sure, I wanna know more about him, but sometimes, i-it feels like I’m doing it more for her than for me. But that makes me sound like a shitty person, like I-I don’t care about him. Like he doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Klavier went silent for a moment, thinking. It was hard to concentrate when he could hear Apollo’s breath growing increasingly erratic; he so desperately wanted to wrap him up in a hug, though he wasn’t sure if Apollo would want him to. “If you ask me, you sound like a good person who cares about his mother,” he finally said after some time. “And even if your biological father isn’t as important to you as he was to her, he still means something to you. You know that.”

“Do I?” Apollo chuckled wetly, wiping his damp eyes with the sleeve hem of his hoodie. “And Trucy - god, Trucy, sh-she’s…”

“What about her?” Klavier asked, frowning.

“It’s not like either of us likes to think about it, but…” Apollo chewed his bottom lip. “If something happened to Mom, then...well. It’s not like it’s new to us...losing people. When do I get to the point where I can accept it? Where I know...I-I can’t do anything to stop it?” He let out another horrible laugh. “Shit, that sounded so heartless. Th-that’s not what I meant, I - ”

“I know what you meant,” Klavier promised somewhat sadly. “Have you talked to her about it? Or...either of them, really.”

“No, but it...it’s why Trucy wants us to hang out practically every day.” Apollo stopped for a moment, turning to watch Trucy, who was currently shoveling huge spoonfuls of shaved ice and red bean into her mouth, with a fond smile. “She won’t say it, but I-I know her. I can tell what she’s thinking. Even before we found out we were siblings, she seemed...kinda worried that I was gonna leave again. Or that I wasn’t gonna come back in the first place, even when I said I would.”

“Maybe it’s time you have that conversation,” Klavier suggested. “It won’t be a pleasant conversation, but it seems...necessary, ja?”

Apollo exhaled shakily. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s just...there’s always something. A trial o-or a show or whatever. But, uh, honestly? I just don’t like thinking about it. Like, ever.”

“I don’t blame you,” Klavier admitted, rubbing Apollo’s arm reassuringly. “I wouldn’t want to open myself up to that kind of personal scrutiny, either.” He paused. “I...gave Trucy some similar advice a while back, you know. Advice that I should’ve taken myself, should still be taking myself, but...it’s like they say. Easier said than done.”

“Easier said than done,” Apollo echoed in agreement, sighing.

Another minute or two passed in silence, accompanied by the noisy chatter and whistling winds around them. Apollo seemed to be thinking intensely about something, but with everything they’d talked about, not just now, but over the past year, Klavier couldn’t even begin to guess what it was. Then, he lifted his head to look Klavier right in the eye. “Why did you call me in Khura’in, that first time?”

Klavier’s heart skipped a beat. “...why does it matter?”

“Because...because you’re one of my favorite people, too.” Apollo’s cheeks reddened, though he was clearly trying his best to ignore it. “And I - I wanna know if something happened that day. If...something happened to you.”

“Nothing happened to me,” Klavier said smoothly, trying not to let his dizzying joy at Apollo’s words show. “Trucy suggested I call you sometime, that’s all. Simple as that.”

Apollo’s right hand instantly went to his left wrist. “But that’s not all there is to it, is it?”

“Is this a cross-examination now?” Klavier asked, letting out an uneasy laugh. He turned on his heel and continued to walk. “You’re going to find my tell, are you? My nervous habit? It’s a nice night, Forehead, let’s not spoil it.”

“I just wanna understand you, Klavier.” Klavier stopped dead in his tracks; he could feel Apollo’s eyes on his back. “Look, if it’s such a big secret, or if you just don’t wanna tell me, I-I’ll shut up about it already. But I just - I worry about you sometimes. You’re always so...so calm. And helpful, a-and sweet, and...I get what it’s like to put on a brave face. To pretend that everything’s the way it should be. That’s all I’m saying. So if it really was nothing, then I’ll drop it, okay? I’ll let it go, and move - ”

“I was sitting in my childhood bedroom.” Now he felt lightheaded for a different reason; Klavier dropped his gaze, his body swaying despite the fact he was standing perfectly still. Apollo quickly stepped around him so they were face-to-face, tucking his empty cup under his arm so he could hold Klavier’s shoulders, his still-wet eyes shining with concern. “I was sitting on my bed, staring at the wall, and suddenly, I-I wanted to talk to the one person in the entire world who - who doesn’t want something from me. Who doesn’t want to ask for my autograph, or my connections, or my help, or...or about Kristoph. Who just wants to talk to me for - for - for me.” Before he could stop himself, his eyes were suddenly filling with tears. Klavier clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out.

Apollo let out a stifled noise. “Ah - Klavier!”

“Mama, a-and Papa, I - they say they can’t - that it - b-but they still mourn him l-like he’s already - already gone,” Klavier managed to say between short, gasping breaths, his heartbeat pounding alarmingly fast in his ears. He desperately clutched at his chest, but he was unable to find his grip. The ground, his surroundings, they all seemed to be spinning around him. “And I-I want to say - ‘I’m still here, y-you have me’ - and they know, but th-they - ”

“Breathe, Klavier, breathe,” Apollo urged. “Look at me, watch me, okay? In...out...in...”

Klavier dropped his cup entirely, desperately clinging onto Apollo’s shoulders, anticipating that his knees were about to give out beneath him. He swallowed a few generous lungfuls of air, trying not to cough or exhale directly in Apollo’s face, all while his eyes were fixated on Apollo’s - large, round, expressive to a fault. The color of melted chocolate, usually, though in the moonlight, more akin to the color of ink. “I’m okay,” Klavier whispered, though tears were still rolling down his cheeks. “Sorry, I - ”

“Don’t apologize,” Apollo said firmly. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to - we don’t - we don’t have to talk about this.”

“Nein, I - I want to tell you.” Klavier cleared his throat, wiping his face on his sleeve; he knew he looked like a mess, he knew that they were in public, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Bitte, will you let me?”

“Yeah, o-of course.” Now it was Apollo's turn to rub his arm comfortingly. “But, uh, I think we should sit. There’s a bench over there, are you good to move?”

Once they managed to sit down, both of them visibly shaking, Apollo placed a trembling hand on Klavier’s knee, nodding for him to try again. “I was trying to say that - that I’ve always been our parents’ favorite. I was more outgoing, more curious, and I think they especially liked that about me.” Klavier’s breath was still shallow; he paused to take another deep, measured breath. “So when I say that...that I feel responsible somehow...that I played a part in his madness, his cruelty...I-I’m not just talking about Zak Gramarye’s trial.”

“You don’t mean…” Apollo sucked in a breath of his own. “You think he resented you, don’t you?”

“I think it’s more like...he never liked getting ignored, passed over, for someone else. For me, for Herr Wright…” Klavier swallowed thickly. “And then I go home to my parents, a-and they promise me it’s not my fault, that I was merely a pawn, but - but I can tell that, deep down, they miss him. They mourn him, like he’s no longer here. They're packing his things, cleaning out his room...trying to pretend he never existed, because it’s easier than living with the truth. But they slip sometimes. All the time, really. Because, at the end of the day...he still means something to them. To me.”

“Klavier,” Apollo said softly, squeezing Klavier’s knee. He seemed unsure of what to say.

“I can try all I want, but there’s no pretending for me,” Klavier continued bitterly, his voice growing stronger, louder. “Do reporters want to ask about my success as a prosecutor or my music career? Nein, they want to ask how it felt to prosecute my own brother and my own bandmate. Do my coworkers want to know how my weekend was or if I’m free to hang out? Nein, they only ask how I’m feeling when I seem less than perfect because it makes them uncomfortable. When I go to family gatherings, do they tease me about my love life or ask me how work is going? Nein, they want to know if he and I really are cut from the same cloth. No one - no one ever really wants to ask me about me. Just me.”

“Klavier - ”

“And I know they try,” Klavier sighed. “And I don’t mean to be...I’m trying not to ask for much. But how do I really know, that when Herr Edgeworth tells me I’m doing a good job, that I really am doing a good job? If Herr Blackquill tells me I seem to be happier these days, does he mean it, o-or is he telling me what he knows I want to hear?” He paused. “How do I...do I trust any of my family members - nein, how do I trust my own judgment...when the one person I grew up with...when he...when the people I-I thought I knew turned out to be...” He shook his head, unable to finish his sentence.

“For what it’s worth...you know I'm in your corner, yeah?” Apollo offered. “You know I won't...that I don't bullshit you. But still, I...I’m so sorry, that’s...that’s terrible. So when you texted me after your cousin’s wedding...”

Klavier nodded resignedly. “Ja, exactly. I don’t...it feels like…” He felt tears forming in his eyes again; he quickly wiped them away before they could fall. “...never mind, it’s stupid. It’s childish, i-it’s selfish, I - ”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Apollo gave him a watery, encouraging smile. “What is it?”

Klavier went silent for what felt like hours, his mind racing to find the precise words he wanted to say. “...it feels like I will always care more about someone else than they will ever care about me.”

Another lengthy pause soon followed, one that made Klavier unbearably nervous. For once, Apollo’s usually expressive face was completely inscrutable. Then, Apollo practically threw himself at Klavier, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in close. “Klavier,” he repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time, his voice warm and urgent in Klavier’s ear. “People care about you, okay? You gotta know that. I-I promise, there are people out there who - who care about you more than you think. Like...like me.”

Klavier let out a sobbing, incredulous laugh. “Achtung, Apollo...you do know that I’m in love with you, right?”

Apollo went still. He stared at him, wide-eyed. “You...you are?”

“You mean you really didn’t know?” Klavier could only laugh again, more hopelessly this time; his mouth seemed to be moving faster than his brain. While it usually never happened to him, it seemed like Apollo brought out his honesty more easily than most. He wasn’t sure if that impressed him or terrified him. “With everything that’s been happening between us, you didn’t think - ”

“I-I knew we were getting closer, th-that we were gonna go for drinks, but...I-I thought this was, like. A recent thing for you,” Apollo stammered, still staring at him disbelievingly.

“A recent thing? You mean like your feelings...for me?” Klavier was almost afraid to ask.

“What? No, I - ” Apollo suddenly seemed to realize he still had his arms loosely draped around Klavier’s midsection. He yanked them back like he’d been burned, his cheeks flushed pink. “I mean, yes, yes, d-definitely recent - ”

“Apollo, bitte.” Klavier took Apollo’s hands in his, gently running his thumbs across Apollo’s knuckles. “I know you don’t owe me your honesty, but I’d like to think that after everything I just said, you could afford me just a little bit of it.”

Apollo fell silent, considering. Klavier held his breath in anticipation, heart thumping wildly against his ribcage. Then, Apollo withdrew one hand from Klavier’s grasp, instead lifting it to cup Klavier’s jaw. His eyes were wet once more, his smile impossibly soft. “I hate that you feel like you have to ask for someone else to be honest to you...least of all me,” Apollo murmured. “I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine - ”

“But it isn’t!” Apollo interrupted fiercely. “You shouldn’t have to ask for basic decency, especially from someone who’s supposed to care about you. Because - ‘cos god, Klavier, you - you’re - I love you, okay?” Klavier’s mouth fell open, stunned, but no words came out. “I love you and your...your…” Apollo inhaled yet again, taking a moment to think carefully. “You always surprise me, y’know. With how...willing you are to be proven wrong. How open you are to changing your mind. And even though you’re one of the most self-important people I’ve ever met...you still manage to be pretty selfless when it comes down to it. So selfless, that...that...that it worries me sometimes.”

“Worries...you?” Klavier asked, his voice small.

Apollo shot him a shaky smile. “Whether you’re looking out for yourself.”

“I think the last thing anyone could accuse me of is not making something about me,” Klavier said, chuckling wetly. “Take now, for example. We were having such a nice night, until - ”

“ - until you finally got the chance to say what you’ve been wanting to say,” Apollo finished for him. “Just like...like I did. Just now.”

Klavier’s eyes flitted across Apollo’s face, his gaze traveling from his tearful eyes to his parted lips, trying to find a sign, a warning that there was something there other than complete sincerity. When he found nothing, he cracked a grin of his own. “You really love me?”

In lieu of answering, Apollo moved closer, his forehead resting against Klavier’s, their noses barely brushing. Klavier’s breath hitched. Then, Apollo closed the gap between them, kissing him so tenderly, so carefully, that he felt a pleasant shiver go up his spine. Finally. Klavier melted right into him, every muscle in his body seemingly relaxing all at once; he released Apollo’s hand so he could wrap his arms around him, pulling him into his embrace. Apollo was so warm, Klavier thought, his skin surprisingly soft, his lips unsurprisingly rough, not that it lessened Klavier’s joy. Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment, not all the people walking by that could easily see them, not the fact that their friends could probably recognize them if they tried. When they reluctantly broke apart, they realized that they both had tears running down their faces.

“..shit.” Apollo let out a wet laugh, sniffling sharply. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie to pull out a packet of tissues, handing one to Klavier before attempting to take care of himself. “That was, uh - ”

“Perfect,” Klavier declared, his grin so wide, it threatened to split his face open.

“I was gonna say ‘gross’, but okay. Whatever you’re into, I guess,” Apollo teased, turning away momentarily to blow his nose. A comfortable silence fell over them as they took a moment to clean themselves up, to wipe their running noses and watery eyes. “Um, but - Klavier, are you okay? Because, well. That seemed like a lot.”

“Ja, I…” Klavier laughed disbelievingly. “...I feel incredible, actually. Like I’ve managed to...to let go of some of the things I’ve been carrying for a little too long. Even if I didn't do anything but drop them.” He then looked at Apollo. “What about you, liebe? We were talking about you, and then it became about me, and - ”

“That’s how conversations work, Klav,” Apollo reminded him. “And all that...I dunno, guilt, loneliness, whatever you wanna call it? That’s been going on for way too long. But for me, it’s...I-I’m still figuring some stuff out. Something I can deal with once I know, y’know?”

“If you’re sure. But...I’m here if you need me, ja? Always.” Klavier brushed a few loose strands of hair out of Apollo’s eyes, then leaned in to kiss him again. This particular kiss was thankfully less damp. “So, ah...what should we do now?”

“Well...I think all that crying made me dehydrated,” Apollo said half-jokingly. He stood, extending a hand in Klavier’s direction. “Will you finally let me pay for one of your drinks? Please?”

“I guess I can indulge you,” Klavier teased, taking Apollo’s hands and getting to his feet as well. Apollo rolled his eyes but pulled Klavier along nonetheless. Their fingers remained entangled, both of them holding on tight, even when they stepped back into the night market crowd.

_____

A few hours later, they found themselves in the elevator of Klavier’s apartment building, on the way up to his penthouse, grinning giddily at each other like lovesick teenagers. Naturally, the others had been suspicious when Apollo told them they were leaving together. Trucy, Athena, and Kay seemed ready to burst with questions, while Ema and Simon had merely watched them go with raised eyebrows. Still, no one said anything but their goodbyes, something both of them were grateful for.

“You look like you’re thinking really hard over there,” Apollo said, smirking. “You’re not changing your mind, are you?”

“Never,” Klavier replied instantly. Even though he knew Apollo was joking, he wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t. “Not when it comes to you.”

Apollo’s smile softened. “Good. That’s, uh...that’s good. Same here.”

After they’d washed up and settled in, the two of them collapsed onto Klavier’s bed, right on top of his duvet, comfortably exhausted from everything that had been said and done. Apollo was half-curled into Klavier’s side, yawning every so often while he sent off a few text messages, presumably to Trucy and their mother. Klavier had one hand in Apollo’s hair and the other loosely resting on Apollo’s hip, humming and tapping out a rhythm while he waited for Apollo to finish.

“Sorry,” Apollo said, briefly rolling over so he could set his phone down on the bedside table.

“Nein, nein, it’s okay,” Klavier replied. “I don’t know about you, but I’m wide awake. How am I supposed to fall asleep after a night like that, achtung.”

“Yeah, we definitely had, uh...we definitely had a moment back there.” Apollo sounded both embarrassed and pleased. “God, I hope no one saw us. I have zero interest in becoming a trending hashtag before our first date.”

“You don’t consider this our first date?” Klavier asked curiously.

“I prefer my first dates to be drama-free, thanks,” Apollo drawled. Still, his expression was relaxed, somewhat drowsy. “Though I think, in a way...we kinda needed that. Wish it hadn’t happened in public, but hey, we can’t exactly pick our battles.” At Klavier’s responding chuckle, he frowned slightly. “Klav? What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just - mein Gott, I love you.” Klavier rested his forehead against Apollo’s, his smile warm and open. Apollo returned it with one of his own, his hands resting against Klavier’s chest, Klavier’s heartbeat steady beneath his fingertips. “I know we still have a lot to deal with, but...right now? I couldn’t care less. I’m just...I’m so happy.”

Grinning, Apollo shuffled closer, kissing him chastely. They exchanged slow, meandering kisses for a few minutes, fingers lightly pressed into each other’s sides, legs loosely tangled together. “...dork.”

“Your response is supposed to be ‘I love you, too’, liebe,” Klavier hinted, eliciting a delighted laugh from Apollo’s mouth. “But seriously, I mean it. I really do feel...free.”

“Good,” Apollo said affectionately, cupping Klavier’s face with both hands. “Look, I - I know all that stuff you’re feeling isn’t gonna magically go away, just like that, but...if you still need to hear it…” He then turned his head, his lips brushing against Klavier’s ear. “...it wasn’t your fault. It was his, all his. And people legitimately care about you for reasons that have nothing to do with him or your fame or their own motives. So try not to let anyone make you think otherwise, okay?” Klavier shivered. “And I love you, too. Dork.”

“Ach,” Klavier said, sniffling. “You’re going to make me cry again, baby. How dare you call me a dork.” Apollo burst into laughter once more, burying his face in the crook of Klavier’s neck with a satisfied hum. They went quiet for a little while longer, simply holding each other and enjoying the stillness of the night. “I do have...one last little worry, though.”

“Yeah?” Apollo ran his thumb across Klavier’s cheek. “What is it?”

“I...part of me is worried, that…” Klavier paused, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. “After everything we’ve been through...do you really think this is going to work? Or do you think that we just hope that it will?”

“No use in pretending like we know for sure,” Apollo said honestly. “There’s a million things that could go wrong, y’know? We could get into a really bad argument, we could have problems separating work from our personal lives - hell, we might be better off as friends…”

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” Klavier teased.

“Oh, hush.” Apollo kissed Klavier to silence him. The two of them became momentarily distracted, wrapped up in each other’s embrace once more. Klavier wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to let Apollo go in the morning, not when they’d both waited this long. “All I’m saying is, as long as we try, then…” Apollo’s kiss-bitten lips then stretched into a fond grin. “...I think we’re gonna do just fine.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my seventh and final entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the third of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. However, this fic is best read after day five's, meet me halfway (across the sky), so I would recommend reading that one to fully understand the first half of this fic!

Y'all, I can't believe it's finally over! I feel like I've been working on these fics for ages (and I've fallen behind on others; we'll see if I end up getting two fics out in July like I originally planned), especially this one and day five's. Thank you to the lovelies who organized Klapollo Week, this was super fun to do! I got a little overambitious for sure, but I liked how they turned out. In doing this, I definitely learned that short(er) fics aren't really my thing; I had a good time writing them, but I'm not a concise writer, so I struggled with getting a good balance of plot and details for the fics that were under six thousand words. In fact, I low-key wanna write fuller versions of all of them 😅

If you missed any of the other days, I would love it if you checked them out! My personal favorites are the odd-numbered days, also known as the ones with angst. I'm thinking that sometime next year, I'll write a super long version of meet me halfway (across the sky) where Klavier eventually gets to be with Apollo in Khura'in. Knowing me, that thing will be a monster of fifty-thousand-word proportions. In the meantime, if you're interested in finding out what I'll be posting next, you can filter my fanfiction masterpost by "coming soon"!

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

a poem for small things

by Admin 1 & 2

The time has come, the first proper post for this segment we’ve settled on calling a poem for small things, a nod toward BWL and its Korean title. Like we said in our call for submission post, this is supposed to be something like a place full of positivity for vminnies (and perhaps the occasional namjinist) where you (and us) can share whatever we’d like in connection to vmin, both as vmin and as Jimin and Tae the individuals, and have something to raise our mood and also strengthen our vminnie confidence. We’ve gotten several wonderful submissions and quickly realized that for this first post the theme is mostly how I became a vminnie, even if three submissions talk more about vmin moments they enjoy instead.

I think it’s a really interesting theme, especially since everyone’s story is different, and everyone seems to find something else about vmin that captured their attention and hearts so sharing these memories and experiences is a great way to start off this segment. We’ve said it many times before, though I don’t think you can say it enough times, but this bond that Jimin and Tae share is truly special and so one of a kind, it’s wonderful to see how we all relate to and resonate with it in our own way and find something in it that makes us fall in love with their loves, regardless if we see it as platonic or romantic love. Love is love after all. 95z is love.

For the order of these submissions, we’ll simply go in the order in which we’ve received them. Most of them came from anons, which is more than okay. We’ve also opened the possibility of submitting posts for those who would like to submit wordier posts/asks, should we do another edition of this. It all depends on how much you’ll enjoy it and if you’ll come through with more submissions that could be gathered for future posts.

Anyway, enough talking from our side, let’s dive into these submissions below the cut, shall we? Like we said in the original post (and demonstrated in the preview post), we’ll add some of our commentary and observations along the way, too.

From anon: This is going to be long winded story but Vmin is like a Serendipity to me. I've heard of BTS mainly from my hubby when he complains that times sq is packed because of BTS (when they’re in town and doing their rounds of morning shows). I knew they were very popular but it was a great surprise that i discovered them after watching ILand during lockdown. Their songs were great and i started playing their classics like Fire, DNA Fake Love etc. Then they did an appearance in the show...

I love how you heard about BTS because of your husband and Time Square being packed, this is honestly the most original and unique version of how I’ve come across BTS I’ve read over the years. Amazing!

I was drawn to Taehyung's beauty during their appearance in Iland. And my first Vmin ? moment was when Tae commented about being handsome and attractive are 2 things and being attractive weighs more - along those lines... then JM made a comment that its unfair that he's both and Tae was like Im talking about you... I went like ok he thinks JM is attractive- theyre good friends.... then Jimin did the FakeLove choreo and the camera focused on Tae and he had this wide smile...The Iland Tae/Jimin clips made me do a double take but I dismissed it since it was just only a few seconds worth of screen time but still...

I-Land vmin was really something else in both episodes. 

Fun fact: I-Land was the first Korean survival show I’ve ever watched, mostly because it had something to do with BH and since it was streamed online with subs in real time. Unfortunately, my faves—Daniel and Taki—didn’t make it into ENHYPEN, though I’m happy that Taki will be in a future Japanese BH group.

But, going back to vmin, that moment with Jimin dancing FAKE LOVE and Tae looking at him with that boxy smile as though Jimin hung the stars in the sky? I melted, even if it was just one of those brief moments, yet still it’s so cute! And it was all over sns being shared by vminnies and non-vminnies alike. What a great time that was.

Then VMAs Dynamite perf happened- both Vmin looking good. I saw a lot of their promos especially the Jimmy Fallon interviews... and I noticed in hindsight how JF was so careful when referring to Jimin ... Since Tae was my first bias, I searched YT for Tae related content eventually saw in my YT feed Vmin moments. Theres a lot of Vmin content in YT or maybe the T*ek*ok ones didnt really register as extraordinary to me. But defo the Vmin moments were extraordinary to me,,,the BV4 sleeping together, kitchen role play & BV3 JM excited to see Tae and them holding hands and then Tae crying and then Tae's busking with Jimin cheering him on were all amazing to see. Up to this day this specific YT vid stood out to me first 

I actually went to check what video this is, and also looked at the comments where my favorite was this one: The staff member went straight to Jimin to tell him V was crying. That's all you need to know. They’re not wrong with that one, are they? That is pretty telling. BV3 vmin were a work of wonder, truly. Jimin watching Tae sing that Sam Smith song during the dinner in the sky looking all soft and endlessly fond?

Jimin encouraging Tae to busk and gently petting his hair was just such a pure moment and showed how much Jimin appreciates Tae and the talent he has, how in moments when Tae might brush aside wanting to do something, is a little hesitant and unsure, Jimin will stand up for him and give him strength/encouragement, which reminds me of Tae’s vlive in April 2020 and the fact that Jimin had told him that he wants to be his source of strength. Beautiful. And it shows that it wasn’t just pretty yet empty words, but something he truly meant. They both do.

Then i came across vid trans of Friends & cried first time hearing it especially when it got to the part "One day when the cheer dies down, stay hey.." It felt raw and honest to me. Then there's MOT:E concert and that part in Dynamite where they bumped their heads seemed bizaare to me - i was like were they fighting? because JM looked really fierce(or maybe emotional) then i saw the close up. i couldnt remember the exact moment I became a Vminie but it made quarantine easier...

This, I’ve noticed, seems to be a recurring theme among quarantine ARMY and vminnies, the fact that becoming ARMY and vminnies made it easier, and it fits with what we’ve been saying about BTS for years: they will find you when you’ll need them most. And in these trying and uncertain times, it’s certainly proven true once again.

Thank you of much for your submission and sharing your story with us, and I’m glad they could make quarantine a little easier for you.

From anon: I've been following BTS on and off since BST, but only really consider myself a true fan late 2019. I can't recall having a bias at first, but I was captivated by Jimin's everything when I binge-watched all their content. I must admit, my first OTP is T*e/k*ok, where I fell down the route of considering Jimin 'an interfering 3rd party' in their relationship, and it shamed me. Since then I've been cycling through Jimin ships, namely yo*n/m*n, j*n/m*n, m*ni/m*ni, and I even thought that j*/k*ok was real at some point. Strangely, Vmin never struck me as something extraordinary. I don't want to blame anyone, but Vmin caught my eye after I watched official BTS content without filter (presumed bias/judgement) all in their glory. I realized that while other ships may go up-and-down as in one day there's a frenzy and another day quiet af, Vmin has been and is still going constant. That's what makes me love Vmin, and for the first time in my fandom life, I have no qualms about whether they are real or not. Their bond, whatever it is, is already precious and something to be cherished forever. Thank you for providing us vminies a special corner to speak up about our experience 💜

You’re very welcome! I hope you’ll like how this turned out as well. Thank you for sharing your story with us and personally I find it fascinating how, despite Jimin being the one who captivated you most at first, you still fell into the “he’s an interference for my ship” trap that’s quite popular with that particular ship. I’m glad though that that never ruined your love for Jimin. It’s also really interesting for me how you went through different Jimin ships yet it took you the longest time to notice vmin. I feel like, because vmin and vminnies are more “low key” than the other bigger and louder ships, as well as Tae and Jimin simply being quieter in their interactions (not always but you get the point) as compared to, for example, Jimin’s interactions with Hobi, Jungkook, or even Namjoon, it takes people a while to really notice them.

This is my favorite part of what you wrote, and I think it’s a great way to describe vmin in general and what makes them different from other ships in the grand scheme of things: I realized that while other ships may go up-and-down as in one day there's a frenzy and another day quiet af, Vmin has been and is still going constant.

From vminot7: So i fell into BTS hole after watching blood sweat and tears mv casually on youtube. Jimin immediately stole my attention with his unique voice, graceful moves and handsome features even though i didn’t know their names at that time. I watched more MVs and jimin continued to hold my attention but i was also extremely drawn to taehyung's voice and facial expressions. So i started looking for more content such as RUN BTS and other compilations and realized my love for all 7 of them. I also noticed how jimin always had a soft spot for taehyung and was curious about their dynamics. I started looking at more of vmin content and i was really surprised to see how in the early days they were nowhere near as soft with each other as they are now. I think they have a unique bond and i have never come across anything quite similar. Now vmin are both my biases and my bias wrecker is hoseok.

I admire jimin for being a hardworking, passionate perfectionist but also a caring soul who is always ready to offer love and comfort to people in need. I love taehyung for how he looks at the world in his unique ways and how he has a childlike awe for things and how he is so passionate over the things he loves. The thing i love about vmin together is how they are so different yet work so hard on their relationship when it would be easier to just not try that hard.

Ah, another mention of the queen that is Blood, Sweat and Tears. The MV truly is such a masterpiece so I’m not surprised that it caught your attention, and especially Jimin since he was…something else in that MV, or like Tae said, his eyes were temptation (this boy, I swear). Since you mentioned how in the first years they were nowhere near as soft with each other as they are now, I think watching their dynamic and relationship change and evolve over time showcases the one thing I think a lot of people (as well as movies and TV shows) forget or gloss over, despite it being so incredibly important: in order to make a relationship of any kind work, especially in order for it to grow as deep and strong as the one between all members and especially vmin, you need to put in the emotional work to make that happen. You have to make an effort, have to learn to understand the other person and teach them to understand you as well, learn to appreciate and love their little quirks and how to accept others. And it’s so clear that that’s what vmin did, continue to do, and it more than paid off in the long run. I’m glad you highlighted that in general but also as something you love about them.

While the overall bond between the members is a class of its own, I think especially what vmin have achieved is a whole masterclass in relationships and fostering strong ones, in and of itself. There is a lot I think we can learn from them and I’m so happy that people recognize how special they are.

Thank you so much for your submission!

From anon: There’s this small moments in Dear Class of 2020 that i just adore! I’ve watched it at least 20 times this past month

It starts with “Spring Day”- tae and jimin laugh and look at each other and it’s just so sweet!

Also, maybe it’s my delusional mind but after tae’s and jin’s small and adorable moment- it seemed that jimin did the same with junkook right after maybe out of i duuno if jealousy but like “pay attention to me too” kinda way- dont know really and maybe it’s me being extra🤷🏻‍♀️

I agree partially, in that Jimin watched Tae’s and Seokjin’s adorable moment, obviously must’ve thought of it as cute just like we did, and thought he could do the same with JK. I don’t think it had anything to do with jealousy, especially if we work off of the idea that vmin are a thing, but also because it’s a performance and these things primarily serve the purpose of being cute and entertaining use, in other words, it’s fanservice (which isn’t the evil word some portray it as). Also, within that same performance, Tae and Jimin actually sang some of the lyrics toward each other, therefore they, too, had a cute moment they shared with big smiles and everything, just like you mentioned.

But we’ve gotten to see much more of Tae’s friendship with Seokjin in 2020, and especially the second half, so it was really sweet to see them interact during that song. Their friendship and dynamic is really a beautiful one, just like JKs bond with Seokjin, which I feel we’ve also gotten to see more of in recent months. Part of me (and that part can very well be wrong) feels that perhaps once the members caught on to Seokjin feeling the way he said he did/does, they decided to give him an extra dose of love and affection, off camera but also on where we can see it. That isn’t to say that they didn’t show him any of that before, but maybe they increased the intensity a little, a reminder that Seokjin truly is loved, that he deserves all of this, that it’s just his imposter syndrome (or at least what sounds like it) lying to him.

I’m still so touched and moved by the fact that he trusted us enough to share his feelings with us, to gift us Abyss and how it came to be, and that Bang PD was on his side and coaxed him into pouring his feelings into music, even if it would be “bad”, that the fear of it potentially being “bad” shouldn’t hold him back (and Namjoon helping in even if just a tiny bit with the lyrics). It was one of those times where I feel like we were all reminded that regardless of our opinions of BH and their doings, the members are surrounded by kind people who have their best interest in mind. After all what’s good for Bangtan is also good for the company, a win-win for everyone.

…wow, okay, I kind of went off on a tangent, I’m sorry…

Either way , then we have “Mikrokosmos” where we have a sweet moment at their part and towards the end where they switch mic and hear each other

I love this performance overall and especially “spring day”- jin’s and j-hope’s lovely voices and of course tae’s!! This song fits them so well and all the members of course

Well this is my rent , i love your blog and always wait for another post! Also i love the new idea and look forward to it!

Thank you so much for your submission and for bringing up their Dear Class 2020 performance. It was a truly magical one, and after reading this the first time, I did go and watch it again. To this day I’d still very much like to know how and when and why the mic switch between vmin happened, and I kind of hope that we might get a Bangtan B*mb or EPISODE about this eventually and it might shine some light on that question. Overall it was one of my favorite performances on 2020.

From Sky: While I enjoy cute, physical moments with VMIN, I really do value how emotionally attached they are to each other. For example (I don’t know if it fits as vmin moment but), I love how Jimin asked V to take the Promise cover photo, and how he ended up putting V’s name for credits on the cover. (Special Thanks to V, Best Photographer) This really shows a lot. Coz he can easily choose any Bighit photographer to take it. He could have chosen JK because we know how he takes good pics and vids too (and also apparently alot of people say that vmin had a falling out and that Jimin and JK were much more closer, lol). Or he could’ve asked Suga too bec he’s into cameras too. But he didn’t. He chose V, and chose to shout it out to the world how thankful he is for V’s help. RM co-wrote Promise, and maybe had offered more help in this project, but he didn’t put it in the cover. I’m not saying Jimin is ungrateful for not crediting RM in the cover. The difference is that he and RM had a vlive regarding the making of this song, a lot of people already know RM’s participation, he was officially credited as co-writer and Jimin really showed how thankful he is to RM. But no one knows of V’s participation (except for a snippet in that Run ep), so Jimin felt the need to tell it to everyone. I’m sure it’s not only the photos, I think he wanted to acknowledge how V helped him through the process, whether directly or indirectly. Also, remember this is Jimin’s first non-album solo single. By putting V’s name in it, he is sharing this very special song with his soulmate. How endearing it is! V also included Jimin in his first full English song. He used the two bears given by Jimin as Winter Bear’s cover photo and he included the photo Jimin took (sleeping V in the plane) in the MV. Like, seriously, they are trying to consciously imprint each other in their life’s milestones, openly or subtly. I’m crying. 😭

This was lovely, and yes, Jimin could’ve asked whoever to take those pictures, could’ve chosen any other ones, and yet he wanted Tae to be the one to take them, wanted those specific ones as covers. It’s very sweet and creates this subtle connection between Jimin, the song, and Tae. Sure, it isn’t the first time a picture Tae took is the cover for a SoundCloud song (the picture of JK on the 2U cover was also taken by Tae if I remember correctly), but it’s the fact that Promise is Jimin’s first non-BTS song, his first solo release, that makes it that much more special. Even more so when you think about how meaningful that song is to Jimin, and by having Tae as cover picture photographer, he’s in a way forever attached memory wise to that song as well, right?

The same also goes with Winter Bear and the two ceramic bears. Remember how excited Tae looked when I kinda spoiled that gift being a thing happening in an upcoming RUN episode during Jimin’s vlive during the summer 2019? Adorable. It’s also curious how though the title is singular—winter bear not winter bears—there’s two ceramic bears. One for Tae, one for Jimin? Maybe, or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Either way, it’s really cute, and it was a very thoughtful gift, even more when we think about just how much Jimin loves that song.

From anon: Love this idea it's super cute!! 1st thing that came to my mind is a rather simple moment, jimin bopping taehyung's nose and making a lil game out of it

Taehyung asking for more and that dazed smile 🥺 he had the same expression in that concert when jimin placed his face just above him, tae's smile afterward... it was so pure u could almost read "love" in his eyes lol

What a lovely note to end this post at, thank you for that. I don’t know what got into them during that photoshoot for Season’s Greetings 2020 but this was so disarmingly adorable. I remember when that moment appeared all over every sns and everyone just melted, myself included. Their smiles, the cute clothes, Tae’s head on Jimin’s chest, the softness and innocence of it, just all of it. It truly was so pure and like this sweet visualization of ‘love’.

And with that, we’ve reached the end. Did you like this? I had a great time reading your submissions and adding my little comments to them. If you’d like for us to continue this, same rules as last time, send in a submission marked with “VMC” and once we’ll have enough of them gathered, we’ll do this again, if you’re interested in more, that is. Send in whatever positive vmin you have, a thought, a moment, a memory, whatever you’d like.

Thank you once again to everyone who participated! :)

[taylizmasterpost]

Jake Gyllenhaal and Jealous Liz (October 2010 - February 2011)

Now, there’s a lot to say about Jake and Taylor. The time they got together was a time when he was promoting his movie, Love and Other Drugs, and she was about to drop Speak Now. So at first glance, it look a lot like a traditional PR stunt. However, they do not have a first public meeting -- something that Taylor has with a lot of her other PR relationships (think Calvin at the Fund Fair or Harry at the KCAs), and seemed generally more camera shy. 

Jake’s costar in Love and Other Drugs, Anne Hathaway, was also single at the time, and arguably a PR relationship between the two of them would’ve drummed up significantly more buzz for the film, so stunting with Taylor seems an odd choice.

Jake also reportedly annoyed Taylor with how much he wanted to hide from the press, which is interesting. I’m not totally certain if they were real or not, but I’ll put all of their stuff in here, because it’s interesting to note Liz’s reaction to all of it, despite her relationship:

23 October 2010 - Emma Stone hosts SNL. Both Taylor and Jake G show up to support her, supposedly they’ve already started dating at this point and this was their first public appearance together.

"They walked around together backstage, but they were careful not to be seen too close. It was hard to tell if they were together, but everyone was shocked that she brought him," a source told People magazine.

Notice the lack of public meeting. Strange that they just showed up together dating. 

24 October 2010 - Liz tweets about listening to Never Grow Up

October 2010 - Taylor writes All Too Well, the first of the three “Nashville songs” -- All Too Well, State of Grace, Stay Stay Stay-- that were written for the Red album before she moved to LA, based on the fact that she said she started writing for Red slightly before Speak Now was released.

We also know All Too Well has to have been written in 2010 because what the copyright record for it says:

Now, it seems to me that this is too soon to be about Jake. It’s obviously a breakup song, and Taylor and Jake have only just started dating (unless they had a secret dating history we don’t know about). It would be weird for her to be writing all this about him while they’re still dating.

All Too Well could be about any of the three women I’ve spoken previously about in this masterpost. However, I’m going to try to make the case that this song is for Liz:

All Too Well is Liz’s favorite song from Red. She has said so on multiple occasions. Years later, when she came to watch Taylor’s Reputation tour in Glendale, Taylor even played it for her as the surprise song. Sure, it could just be that Liz is just a fan, but the song fits where we are in the timeline. Liz has moved on with someone else. Taylor is trying to get over it, but she can’t help but think back to the past she remembers “all too well.”

If the song is about a woman, lines like “back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known” reads to me as Taylor making a (possibly unfounded) dig at closeting. All Too Well also carries the bad driving metaphor with “almost ran the red,” which runs throughout a lot of the other Liz songs on Red, and which Liz will later reference herself in her own music. The lines in the bridge about “asking for too much” and “running scared,” remind me of Taylor insisting she was single during Valentine’s Day, despite spending it with Liz, only to turn around and miss her once Liz got a boyfriend. Lines about loss of innocence are also interesting, when we think about that L Chat post about Liz from earlier...

Of course, obviously, you can think this song is about whoever you want. If you wanna claim it for JH or Joe Jonas or Taylor Lautner or maybe even some girl Taylor went to high school with, be my guest. I personally don’t buy it being about Emily in a post-Dear John world, and the timeline doesn’t read as Jake to me, so I’m giving it to Liz!

25 October 2010 - Speak Now is released. In the album’s prologue, she specifies that the song “Long Live” is for her band, which is interesting to me, considering that the bridge of the song sounds like it might be about a relationship, and the secret message of the song is “For you,” which sounds oddly specific:

Will you take a moment? Promise me this That you’ll stand by me forever But, if God forbid, fate should step in And force us into a goodbye If you have children someday When they point to the pictures, Please tell ‘em my name

The secret message for Mine is “Toby,” which is the name of the actor who played her love interest during the song, making it make no sense for the song to be about him (and, in my eyes, making it more likely she was trying to cover up who the song was really for). We’ve already discussed Story of Us having “CMT Awards” and Back to December having “Tay,” so I won’t beat you over the head with those.

Unlike the original handwritten lyrics to Sparks Fly, which featured the lyric “Get me with those brown eyes, baby,” the version that Taylor put on the Speak Now album had the lyric “hit me with those green eyes, baby,” with the eye color presumably being changed because Liz has green eyes:

The secret message for Sparks Fly is “Portland, Oregon,” which is where Taylor and The Agency covered Tom Petty’s song American Girl in May 2009 during the height of early TayLiz. 

26 October 2010 - Taylor and Jake are spotted together in Brooklyn getting lunch with Emma Stone:

Liz does a sound check for Taylor for the Today Show. A video later gets posted on YouTube and someone leaves this comment noting Taylor and Liz’s chemistry:

31 October 2010 - Taylor and Jake are spotted in Big Sur together and stay at California’s Post Inn Ranch. 

Liz spends Halloween with her boyfriend:

1 November 2010 - Taylor’s appearance on Ellen airs. Ellen asks her about Jake. Taylor says “I’m always optimistic about love. Yes, always, sometimes.”

2 November 2010 - Taylor and Jake are spotted in Santa Barbara together. They get ice cream, interact with fans, and Taylor reportedly laughs at everything Jake says.

16 November 2010 -  Jake attends the Love and Other Drugs premiere alone. This is interesting to me, considering if this was a PR relationship you would’ve thought he’d bring Taylor as his date. Still, Paula made some weird decisions in her time as Taylor’s publicist (like putting her with a carousel of 18 year olds), so this could just be Paula thinking that Taylor showing up at the premiere with him would be too obviously read as a stunt. Doesn’t rule it either way. Still, I think Anne would’ve been a better choice for PR for this.

Mid November - Perez Hilton alleges that Jake has picked up Taylor on his private jet to fly her to London because she was “feeling lonely.” Jake was in London promoting Love and Other Drugs so this seems very stunty to me personally.

22 November 2010 - Taylor attends the American Music Awards and wins Favorite Female Country Artist.

Liz tweets congratulations at her and seems generally excited.

24 November 2010 - Love and Other Drugs is officially released in theaters.

25 November 2010 - Taylor and Jake spend Thanksgiving in Brooklyn with Jake’s family.

26 November 2010 - Liz seems to have spent Thanksgiving with Jason:

27 November 2010 - Taylor and Jake are spotted in a coffee house in Nashville:

And, maybe in response, Liz makes this weird and vaguely jealous Tweet:

Now, I don’t know what this means. Maybe the “you” refers to Liz and she’s having what Carly Rae Jepsen would call “boy problems” -- feeling torn and overburdened between a best friend and boyfriend:

Or, perhaps, the “you” in this Tweet refers to Taylor, and Liz is trying to say that Jake is “using her up,” maybe meaning taking up her time. Or maybe Liz wasn’t referring to any of this. We can’t really know. Still, it’s interesting.

29 November 2010 - TayLiz hang out and Liz tweets about it. Perhaps to make up for the lack of time spent together since they both got boyfriends.

30 November 2010 - Taylor and Jake have coffee in Nashville:

1 December 2010 - Taylor writes a MySpace post about the CMTs.

Liz tweets about watching Glee, meaning she’s the one who got Taylor hooked on the show and therefore interested in Dianna. Hilarious.

2 December 2010 - Taylor calls Love and Other Drugs a “good movie” when asked about it, and won’t say anything more. She also adamantly refuses to talk about her personal life (This gives me 2018/19 Joe vibes, whatever that means).

3 December 2010 - Liz tweets that her favorite song on Speak Now is Last Kiss. She also tweets at Jason about his cooking:

5 December 2010 - Jake is asked about Taylor and says this:

“One of the greatest parts about being in a relationship is the intimacy you share, but it can be difficult if you’re being watched the whole time.”

This reminds me so much of what Taylor’s currently saying about Joe. Interesting, looking back on it.

7 December 2010 - Jake and Taylor do the “maple latte” pap walk stunt in Brooklyn with Maggie and her daughter. This is the only series of photos of them that I think was a set-up, but that means it’s pretty gross this is the one they chose to bring a child into:

I think the reason this was so obviously a pap walk was to get the “maple latte” in the shot. I’ve already speculated that Taylor had written All Too Well prior to her relationship with Jake, and this stunty pap walk would make sense if she needed to use him to cover for it.

8 December 2010 - Liz makes another weird vague possibly jealous tweet:

Now, in the context of Mine possibly being about Liz and Taylor saying that song is about her “tendency to run from love,” it’s possible Liz is shading Taylor’s pap walk with Jake the previous day. This tweet feels very “back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known.”

However, maybe she’s just really happy with Jason. I don’t know. I don’t know these people.

9 December 2010 - Taylor and Jake drive around LA, Jake yells at the paps.

Compare these to those photos with Taylor Lautner earlier in the timeline. These are not nearly as staged. Take away from that whatever you will.

13 December 2010 - Taylor turns 21. Liz and Caitlin bring her a pizza. Liz tweets at Taylor that she’s changed her life. This is supposedly the birthday that Jake didn’t show up to that The Moment I Knew is about. Liz and Caitlin bringing her pizza if she’s sad about it would make sense...

31 December 2010 - Taylor and Liz spotted together in Nashville. They get Pei Wei and JustJared calls Liz a “gal pal.” Taylor seems upset, possibly about her whole Jake birthday thing. Or possibly something else.

Liz tweets about going for a run and listening to Speak Now:

5 January 2011 - Taylor and Jake break up.

19 January 2011 - Taylor and Jake are spotted together by fans in Nashville, first at a coffee shop and then at dinner. Jake did not have any other business in Nashville, so it can be assumed he came there to talk to Taylor:

CONCLUSION: Were Taylor and Jake real? I don’t know. They really only ever did that one pap walk and didn’t seem to publicly promote each other’s work, as far as I could find, despite both releasing projects while together. The one pap walk they did seems to maybe have been to cover for All Too Well, which had possibly already been written (likely about Liz) before Jake and Taylor started dating.

Were those tweets from Liz jealousy? Or am I reading too much into it?

Either way, Taylor’s had her fun, and now it’s time to maybe start thinking about getting back together with Liz. There’s just one problem: her boyfriend.

The Speak Now Tour Begins (February 2011 - May 2011)

[jazy3]

Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 17X3

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

I liked this episode, but nothing beats that Premiere. I mean Wow! This episode for me felt very much like a continuation of the two part Premiere. It was confirmed that Meredith has COVID-19 (!) and we got to see how she’s doing and where her treatment is at. My best friend who I watch with pointed out that some of the treatments they mention are things that health care workers were trying in the early days of the pandemic that we now know aren’t very effective. It’s interesting to see the doctors work through this process as it would have happened for health care workers at the time.

We get to see Derek Shepherd again which is always a treat! His words confirm that the beach Meredith is on is some kind of limbo and that her reaching Derek will mean she had died and is transitioning into the afterlife. Derek tells her she can’t reach him because she’s worried about the kids and how reuniting with him means leaving their children behind. My guess is that she’s going to code in an upcoming episode and will reunite and talk to Derek once that happens and then they’ll resuscitate her and she’ll come back to the land of the living.

I loved how Derek kept saying the sand wasn’t real and then Meredith ran to him and tripped and fell and she called him on it and he laughed. Classic Derek. He loves her, but he was also kind of an asshole at times and that was so him. I loved the scene with Bailey and Meredith and that we got an Alex reference. God I miss him. I got the Meredith and Richard scene I’ve been hoping for! That I felt like was missing last season and in the premiere. It was so sweet.

I think Meredith made the right choice with her Medical Power of Attorney (POA). Richard loves her enough to do everything to save her, but is clear headed and wise enough to respect her wishes if she becomes too far gone. I loved his joke about it being pay back for what he did years earlier. I loved the conversation she had with Hayes too! When Maggie asks if he wants her to say Hi he says no and jokes that he wouldn't her to think she’s special and we later see that Hayes does that so that he can visit Meredith in person and talk to her through video outside her window.

I had a moment where I thought that Meredith might make Hayes her POA, but then he made the comment about how you don’t want it to be a family member or someone who loves you so much that they’ll do anything to keep you alive. It should be someone who can be objective and respect your wishes. Hayes cares deeply for Meredith and if it were him he’d do everything to keep her alive no matter what and I love that implication from their conversation. I love how he told her all the reasons people fear and respect her and how the disease had nothing on her. So great! I love their interactions so much.

I liked that she asked him about Abigail because we’ve seen him ask her about Derek and her past relationships and it’s been implied they’ve talked about his, but this is the first instance we see on screen. Through this interaction we learn more about his wife too. He called her Abby and when she was sick with cancer her sister was her POA and made them do everything they could to save her even though Hayes and his boys objected. Which is interesting considering on her death bed Abigail described her sister as crazy, but not a bad person and made Hayes promise to let the boys see her. I’m guessing she didn’t want to put Hayes through having to make those decisions for her.

We also get to see Hayes and Maggie interact for the first time! We see that like Amelia, Maggie is a fan. She knows about his feelings for Meredith and their relationship and is supportive. Which is more than anyone else except Derek ever got from anyone in Meredith’s life so major points there. The interactions between Maggie and Winston we’re very sweet and I love how they comforted each other and the shot where they made it look like they were on opposite sides of the wall was very cool.

Some great acting on the part of Kelly McCreary in that closet scene! I felt her heartbreak. I’m disappointed we didn’t get more Meredith and Hayes scenes and that we haven’t gotten any explicit romantic content from them so far this season. I love a slow burn as much as the next person, but after watching Meredith jump feet first into relationships with men who turned out to be her boss, married, engaged to someone who wasn’t actually dead, her student, or that she wasn’t ready for only to have those relationships completely blow up in her face I want to see her in a healthy committed relationship with an actual grown up.

Hayes is that person and while I loved their slow burn last season I really wish they would pick up the pace here. I love seeing their relationship develop, but at this point they’ve established that they are good friends who have a lot in common and are able to talk openly about their kids, dead spouses, past partners, and problems. Hayes has made it clear he’s interested in her romantically and Meredith appears to reciprocate his feelings, but it feels like those feelings are just under the surface of their interactions and I’m starting to get a bit frustrated.

There are multiple romantic plot points I could have done without over the years with regards to Meredith’s storyline. This is one that I really want to see and I wish they would hurry up. I did like the mention of how Meredith will have to quarantine at a hotel for at least two weeks after she’s discharged. I’d love for Hayes to be the person she quarantines with and see them spend some time alone together and I think there’s great potential there.  

I loved that we got to see a scene with Meredith and Ellis! She’s so cute! Bailey and Ellis are starting to talk more as characters and we’re getting more insight into who these kids are which is great! Up until recently we only really got a feel for who Zola was. I love also that they’re finding ways to do it that keep the child actors who play them safe while incorporating moments with them.

I love seeing Richard step into the Chiefs role. He’ll be great in it and can really help Grey Sloan and the other Catherine Fox hospitals through this. I liked his speech to Tom although he didn’t seem to take it to heart. It was also cool to see him give a speech to the new interns that they introduced. It’s not his usual speech because these are not usual times and I like that they reflected that. Also, Sandy from ER is one of the new interns and I love that. My best friend and I have spotted a lot of cameos in this season of Grey’s so far from other long running shows which is really cool.

Tom was floundering again this episode and I feel like they might be moving towards wrapping up his storyline because if him and Teddy aren’t getting back together, which appears to be the case, and with Amelia on maternity leave there’s no real story for him. Since it’s now been revealed that he has COVID-19 they could choose to kill him off or have him recover and return to where he was working prior to moving to Seattle. It was heartbreaking to watch Amelia and Maggie worry over Meredith. Especially Amelia knowing that losing her sister who was also Derek’s beloved wife could compromise her sobriety that she has worked so hard to achieve and maintain.  

I liked the scenes with Amelia and Link, but it’s starting to feel a little gratuitous with the sex angle I think because none of the other characters are able to do that right now. We got some nice Jo and Link interactions. It was nice to see Link back in the OR. It was also nice to see Jackson remember he has a kid and talk about Harriet! We get some updates about his co-parenting situation with April and Matthew and that he doesn’t get to see Harriet as much as he’d like because he’s picking up more COVID shifts than April is. He likes Matthew, but he’s irked when Harriet says that he cuts her sandwiches better and I mean fair.

We see that DeLuca is wearing a yellow scrub cover whereas the Attending Physicians are wearing dark blue and the new interns are wearing light blue. This appears to confirm that he’s doing his Fellowship as otherwise their scrub covers would be the same colour. He spends the episode following Teddy around which seems to imply that he might be doing a Fellowship under her. Which would explain why Meredith didn’t know about it as she and Teddy aren’t super close and Meredith is presumably on Owen’s side in the fallout of Teddy’s affair being made public. Still, we’ve never seen DeLuca take any interest in Cardio or have any scenes with Teddy prior to this so it’s unclear.

I feel like the actor who plays DeLuca must have some kind of personal connection to someone who works behind the scenes on the show because at this point his character doesn’t really serve any real purpose in terms of the plot. His character doesn’t move any of the other characters storylines forward and you could remove him from Seasons 15, 16, and 17 and it wouldn’t affect the story at all. Prior to that his character served a purpose in Maggie, Alex, Jo, and Amelia’s storylines, but that ended in Season 15.

Since then we’ve seen him creepily pursue Meredith, date her largely off screen, and then get sick with Bipolar Disorder. That’s it and none of those plots affected the larger story of the show in any major way because they made it clear through dialogue that DeLuca isn’t part of the gang and the other characters don’t like him and simply tolerate his presence. Now they’re having him follow Teddy around and help treat Meredith off screen. It’s like they’re grasping at straws. His character serves no purpose at this point so I’m confused as to why they haven’t written him off. Maybe they will in the second half of the season? 

In the Promo for next week they tease that there’s something else on that beach that’s a familiar face. Someone Meredith has lost that’s passed on and that they’re hanging out at the outpost we see on the beach. My money is on George O’Malley.

Until next time!

[angrylizardjacket]

mouth full of white lies {Machine Gun Kelly} 1

1. you look like my next mistake

Summary: You’re Douglas Booth’s adopted little sister, a YouTuber moonlighting as an assistant on The Dirt. The fact that your brother’s the lead is a happy accident. Another happy accident? Getting drunk with MGK and becoming fast friends with him. Until, of course, everyone assumes you’re together. What better way to make everyone shut up then by agreeing. Sort of. Okay so you’re not really dating but you’ve got to convince your respective fans that you are. And the rest of the cast and crew. It’s okay, flirting is totally harmless. The feelings? Everything else that comes after? Less harmless.

A/N: we meant to be a much different, much shorter fic for @kellysimagines, but i hope you like it!! fake dating AU. reader is adopted, not blood related!! warnings for drunken-ness.

the brainstrust: @sataninsatin @silvertonguedserpent @juliarose21 @kellysimagines @estxxbritt @machine-gun-casie @siriuslymooned @harringtonstudios @misscharlottelee @narcvissa @hiworlditishumbleme @angelwarner28 @nevilles-insinuations @rumoured-whispers @mgkobsessed @edwardtriggerhandzz @suckerforbarnes @wastelcve @bakerkells @local-troubled-writer @freddiessmallnipples

----

The fact that you and your brother ended up working on the same project was purely coincidence, and that actually wasn’t a lie. Douglas had landed the role of a lifetime, Nikki Sixx in The Dirt, and was immediately up to his eyes in nondisclosure agreements. You, on the other hand, had been scrolling through Facebook when a friend of yours, Josy, who happened to be an assistant director who had been talking about a ‘huge project for Netflix she wasn’t allowed to discuss’ asked if you wanted to come onboard as her assistant, since you’d proven to be good under pressure and fast on your feet when she had still been filming student projects only a few years ago.

“Hello! Hello and welcome back, ducklings! Today is a ‘Get Ready With Me’ for my flight to New Orleans! Can you believe it? I’m working on a big project and I have to travel - they’re paying for my travel! I’m so excited! This is going to be such a fun project, even though I can’t tell you too much about it just yet. So to start with, I’m going to run you through my every-day shower routing.”

You hadn’t been at the table read, but you had been at rehearsals, had turned up on the first day looking all done up, excited and professional, only to be met with your brother in eyeliner. 

“Duck!” Of course he was elated to see you, grin splitting his face from ear to ear. He calls you by your childhood nickname, he always has, and already you can feel every pair of eyes on you, but you don’t care. The nickname had followed you through life, of course less than a day in the project and it was already spreading. 

Everything making sense after you mention Josy had gotten you the job. She was a mutual friend, had always been fond of the two of you.

“This,” you enthuse, clutching your clipboard to your chest, “this is what you’re doing? You’re doing the Motley Crue biopic?” You’re looking at him with stars in your eyes, your talented big brother, who seemed to bring you along for the ride in one way or another. 

And finally he can tell you about it, because damn it had felt like forever since the two of you had spoken simply because he’d been hiding the biggest news in his life from you. 

“Oi, Booths!” You hear Josy’s distinct voice the moment she steps in the rehearsal room, though she’s clearly smiling, “good to see you both, but Doug, I need you up and in the space; I’m running warm ups before we get started. Duck, could you go on a coffee run for me?” She asks it sweetly; she’d picked up the nickname for you years ago from Douglas, and of course it had stuck, not that you minded. With that you’re both off. 

You’d been so distracted by getting to talk to your brother, who had been early just as you had been - there’s something to be said for nature versus nurture, despite not sharing genetics, you certainly shared a sense of punctuality - that you hadn’t even seemed to notice the rest of the cast getting in. But they’re not your job; you just have to keep Josy happy, get her food and drinks when she requested it, and type out emails she dictates. Easy. 

Of course this isn’t how things stay; you’re in close proximity to the cast for at least five hours a day, in a corner somewhere working on your own emails or scrolling through Twitter when you weren’t needed, but always around. For the first few days, no-one pays you much attention. 

“Hello! Hello and welcome back, ducklings! It’s my first week with The Project, and I’ve finally got a day off; it’s Sunday so I’m dragging my brother to a whole bunch of places you lovely people have recommended for me! Wish us luck!”

You’ve been in front of a camera for about as long as Douglas has, though never quite in the same way. You’d tried your hand at all sorts of jobs, both in the entertainment industry, and not, and while you enjoyed the entertainment industry well enough, you found that you had a passion for making your own videos. Your YouTube channel, which was almost at a million followers, had been going strong for almost four years, as you made videos about the lesser known roles in the industry. Sometimes your brother was in your videos, but often he wasn’t, and you felt lucky that you never really needed to use him for clout. He was just Doug, and your followers knew that if he was in a video, it’s because he wanted to be, but he wasn’t the reason the video was being made.

Douglas was nothing if not supportive, and when Sunday rolls around and when production gave you and the main cast the day off, while the second unit team worked with some of the secondary characters, you were both more than happy to take advantage of the freedom.

“Dude I have such a long list of places we could go, I don’t even know where to begin - haven’t you been here before?” You pressed the phone to your ear, frowning at the two outfits you had laid out on the bed before you.

“Yeah, for like,” Douglas hums at the other end of the line, “like press things, and like a week and a half for some Jupiter Ascending stuff-”

“Did that even make it -?”

“No, it got cut -” somewhere behind him, the milk frother of a coffee machine squeals, and someone’s indistinct name is called.

“Get me a drink,” you tell him, instinctively.

“Get one yourself!” He half laughs, and you hear him cover the receiver and muffle his thanks as he presumably picks up his drink.

“Who are you talking to?” When he uncovers the phone, you can hear another familiar voice; it’s Colson, you’re pretty sure. You know him from rehearsals, and a bit from his music, but not much beyond that.

“My sister,” Douglas offers, flatly, to which you make a noise of indignance. 

“Ask him if he’s ever been to New Orleans -” you instruct, putting the phone on speaker and opting to change into your more practical jeans and sweater option.

“She wants to know if you’ve ever been to New Orleans -” He relays easily, and you hear a snort of laughter.

“Of course I have.” You hear Colson say.

“Of course he has -” Douglas tells you, as if worried that you hadn’t heard.

“Ask him -” You begin, but you’re cut off.

“We’re across the road,” Douglas tells you, and you know without having to see him that he’s rolling his eyes at you. Audi ambassador, philanthropist, movie star, and occasional model Douglas Booth had the composure of a saint for everyone but you, though neither of you would have it any other way, “just come over here yourself.”

“Get me a drink?” You asked hopefully, and you heard him sigh, knowing you’d already won.

Your favourite drink is waiting for you when you arrive, as are both Douglas, and Colson, sitting hunched over in a booth with dark glasses. You can’t help but chuckle.

“Booths in a booth.” You mutter, and at least that gets their attention. Sliding in next to Douglas, you make eye contact with Colson as he lowers his glasses and frowns at you, just a little, as you sip your drink.

He looks between the two of you for a moment; you don’t share a whole heap of similarities with him, but after a beat, he nods, and gives you a curious look.

“Alright, good to meet you,” he paused, narrowed his eyes for a moment, “you’re part of the crew, aren’t you?” Is what he focuses on.

“Assistant to the AD,” you nod, before adding, “Duck, you might know me as Duck,” and that he seems to recognise at least. Colson hums thoughtfully, nodding and sliding his glasses back up his nose as he leans back against the seat. Drinking your drink with a surprising focus, you hand over your list of recommended places to Douglas, who nods approvingly, but quickly turns it over to Colson. He makes short work of it, crosses quite a few spots off, adds a few of his own, and takes pause to look up from it.

“Why are we going all over town? Why not just like... chill and maybe go over lines and shit? Isn’t that what we’re meant to do?”

“Didn’t take you for the cautious type,” you tell him with a teasing edge to your voice. Colson fixes you with a half-smile, handing the phone back pointedly.

“I’m not, I just don’t want you to narc on me if we start at bourbon street and spend our precious Sunday getting drunk in The Big Easy,” he matches your tone, sitting back with a posture so relaxed it’s almost scripted, and you’re pretty sure you like his nerve. 

“I’m...” you hesitate a little, “a YouTuber,” and though Colson winces a little, it still stings. With so much stigma surrounding your profession, even in 2018, it’s hard to explain to people what you do for a living and not receive criticism.

“So you’re gonna catch all the stupid shit we do on camera?” He asks, and oh, so that’s what he’s worried about. You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

“If you don’t wanna be in it, then you don’t have to be; anyways, I’ll edit out all the bits that break our NDAs,” shrugging, you shoot for casual, and Colson looks like he’s actually weighing up his options. 

“You still haven’t told him you’re not a narc,” Douglas stage whispers to you, which makes your expression sour and Colson laugh.

“You’re a narc,” you hiss back, reflexively. 

“We’re method acting,” Douglas offers, aiming for that same casual confidence that Colson was exuding, but not quite getting there.

“Fuck yeah, dude, that’s the spirit,” Colson’s expression breaks out into a grin, and he offers Douglas a fist bump, which your brother gladly returns. Then Colson’s looking back at you, bright and excited rather than judgmental; “you in?”

“We’ve gained a newcomer! A tour guide, if you will, Mister-” and you turn where you’re filming yourself and the two men beside you, the camera shaking in your grip as you head down the street, and your voice lowers, “what do you want me to introduce you as-” but he buts you off, moves around Douglas, who’s laughing quietly to himself, and grabs the camera.

“It’s MGK, motherfuckers! We ‘bout to hit Bourbon Street - we’ll bookend this shit; open with it and close with it, we’ll be back here tonight!” He sticks his tongue out, and throws out the devil sign with his hands, before turning the camera to catch Douglas laughing, and you looking both excited and concerned.

“We will?” 

When you ask about Daniel and Iwan, the other two members of the film’s Motley Crue, all you get is vague answers; in time, they’ll all come to be good friends, but it’s their first Sunday off, and no-one begrudges them for them choosing to take time for themselves. Douglas and Colson, however, had decided early on to try and make their friendship both on and off screen as authentic as possible. 

“Fuck, man, Tommy��s like, opening line in the book is that he and Nikki were like an old married couple, for like twenty years, dude, that kind of connection is insane!” Colson is nothing if not good casting, waxing poetic at a diner he’d spotted around midday, your little group already tipsy and hungry since your less than substantial cafe breakfast.

“I give this bacon and egg roll,” Douglas is in his own little world, only aware that you had your camera pointing at him as he devoured his lunch with a surprisingly messy gusto, “four-and-a-half out of five cups.” He announced with a mouth full of food, using the rating system you’d devised earlier in the day. After a moment, he swallowed, before turning to Colson, expression serious, “I’ve known you for about a week, and as much as I like you, I don’t think I want to marry you.” 

“No, that’s the thing, man, twenty years is a long-ass time to know someone; I just, man, by the end of this, we are gonna be tight, okay? That’s all I want. Bros, you know?” And he wrapped his arms around Douglas, pulling him in for a hug, and your brother nodded seriously, wrapping his arm around Colson in return.

“Bros.” He confirmed, giving the camera a very pointed look. You make sure the camera catches when you flip him off. All it does is set off all three of you laughing.

It’s an incredibly fun day, the three of you traipsing around, visiting sound studios and memorials and sites that paid homage to the great city you found yourselves in. You know you shouldn’t be surprised, but Colson’s rather reverential when it comes to the history of music, and when you look back at your list, you see the sites he’s added all have to do with it. Honestly, you’re a little endeared. It’s also a fun night, the parts of it you can remember, stumbling, leaning on one another. There’s bound to be something about it in the gossip rags in the following days, not that the three of you were badly behaved, just that they had both stopped caring about avoiding paparazzi, and, alright, being a little bit raucous. 

In bed by two, you know you’re gonna have a killer hang over for your nine-am start, but it was a fun night, and you’re looking forward to reviewing your footage.

“I give this bourbon from - hey, where’s this bourbon from?” You turn to look over your shoulder, and the cup in your hand slops over with drink, splashing out onto the street, not that you notice. Douglas is talking to someone running a stall, but Colson joins you, wrapping an arm around you.

“We give this bourbon a cup out of cup,” he announces, and you nod seriously.

“Cup out of cup.” You agree, and lift up the cup, before an idea lights up your face. “Drink it with me, like same cup, try and drink it with me.” It’s a terrible idea, your cheeks pressed together, tongues out as if it would help you drink better -

“You guys look like incredibly stupid,” Douglas calls out from out of frame, finally noticing the two of you. You go to respond, but that’s when Colson tips up the cup and it manages to hit neither of your mouths, instead it splashes against where your cheeks were pressed together, and all down your clothes. “Told you.” Douglas adds. 

Colson licks the bourbon from your cheek with a grin, but moves on quickly. You look around shiftily once the boys had left, still holding the camera with one hand, and you pull the hem of your shirt to your mouth, sucking liquor from it as you follow behind them wearing a pleased little smile.

Honestly, things get more lively in more ways than one, after that. Now that Colson knows you, it seems the rest of the cast do too. Slowly but surely you’re developing a friendship with both Iwan and Daniel, though Colson’s been surprisingly quick to treat you like an old friend.

“Trial by fireball whiskey,” is what he tells you after rehearsals one Saturday night. You’re doing a dinner run, picking up pizzas before the four of them go out, with you as their chaperone, as directed by Josy. 

“Speaking of,” though you can’t help but grin a little at the fact that you’d earned his favour so easily, “I’ve almost finished the video.” 

“Oh God,” he groans, laughs, and covers his face with his hands, “do I even wanna see it?”

“It’s not that damning, I promise, I need to stay monetized, you know?” You laugh, but it’s a sad truth you’ve had to deal with a lot since choosing to become a YouTuber. 

“I’m not exactly PG-13,” Colson’s smirking when you look at him, and his gaze meets yours and what does that tone mean and why are you reading into this all of a sudden.

“So I suppose you were on your best behavior that night?” You ask, voice innocent, though you can feel yourself getting flustered. His smirk grows wider.

“Only for Douglas’ sake.” 

And then your name’s called for the pizzas and the mood vanishes and Colson just asks if you can send him a link when you put up the video; you tell him you can send him it before it’s published, just to make sure he’s happy with it, and he gives you this genuine smile that you feel warm your heart, just a little.

But it’s when you publish the video that all hell breaks loose. 

Having a famous brother is one thing. Having a famous brother is allowed. Knowing someone famous is clout chasing, is gold digging, is not allowed according to the internet. Making someone famous laugh is downright illegal, surely he can do better than you. Because with the views come assumptions, and your burgeoning crush aside, they’re baseless. You’ve known him for three weeks. Twenty one and a half days in total. Flirting aside, the internet doesn’t know shit. 

It still hurts. 

The video kind of blows up, because everyone loves relatively harmless drunk celebrity shenanigans, and Colson’s kind of been blowing up recently between his music, and his upcoming film Bird Box. So now there’s invasive questions and death threats filling up your DMs on every platform, and along with a new influx of followers comes a new wave of toxicity. You know how to deal with people accusing you of using your brother for clout, but this is a whole other level. 

“So you’re with Colson,” Douglas looks smug when you answer your door on the day after the video drops. Though quick to defend yourself, there’s already tears in your eyes having had little sleep from the stress of everything that had happened, his smug aura drops and he wraps you up in a hug. “Hey, I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” his voice is soothing and level as he walks you back into your room, closing your door.

“You’re an ass,” you tell him, sulkily, but you hug him back.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you in earnest.

“I’m gonna get fired-”

“You’re not gonna get fired, Duck, you didn’t break your NDA, you didn’t break YouTube’s terms of service, you bleeped out all the swearing, you had an alcohol disclaimer at the start; this is the fans and the media blowing things way out of proportion.” He assures as you sniffle, still hugging him tightly. 

“They’re gonna fire me,” you murmur, voice a soft, sad whine.

“They’re not.” 

This is the point at which your phone starts to go off; someone’s calling you, and the caller ID says it’s Colson. He must have just woken up.

“He okay-ed the video, didn’t he?” Douglas asks, and you nod. “Then he won’t be mad; he’s dealt with this shit more than us, you know?” He gently pushes you towards the phone where it’s sitting on your bed, and steps back. “I’m gonna give you and your boyfriend some space,” and it’s teasing again, his grin sharp as he ducks out of the way of the pillow you throw.

“Asshole!” You yell after him. Once’s he’s out of the room, however, you take a moment to compose yourself before picking up the phone. 

“Hey, I’m so sorry -” you start, but Colson seems surprised to hear your apology.

“Nah, Ducky, don’t worry about it, I called to apologise to you; if I’m ever seen with a chick everyone thinks I’m dating her, I should have realised, I should have -”

“No, I mean, I can’t post a video with a guy who’s not my brother without five different tea channels claiming I’m in love,” you laugh, trying to hide your distress. An awkward silence follows, in which you sniffle, and reopen your laptop.

“I am really sorry,” Colson says, and there’s regret in his voice that you hadn’t expected. “If I could get them to all shut the fuck up, I would; you shouldn’t be all torn up over my shit.”

Something about what he says plays in your mind over the next few days, watching, subdued in rehearsals. The rest of the cast ask if your alright, sympathizes with you, all of them having had run-ins with the media in one way or another. Josy, in her own way, sympathizes too, in that she doesn’t treat you any differently, she doesn’t pity you. She, like you, like all of you, knows it will blow over. Probably.

“Hello,” your tone is so damn subdued, “hello and welcome back. I’m here today to address some rumours you may have heard. To all my new ducklings, hello. And to all my old, hello again.”

“They’re not gonna believe you if you deny it,” is how you greet Colson, barging into his room after rehearsals on a Wednesday. It had been a good day, things had calmed down somewhat online, but still gossip rags were still going hard, seeing as the paparazzi had managed to spot the two of you together during a break in rehearsals. 

“Yeah, no, they generally don’t,” he says flatly, frowning a little as he closes the door, running with whatever train of thought you were on.

“Then don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Deny it.”

Silence.

“Are you asking me out?” He actually wears a little smile at that, but you fix him with a serious look, not even a hint of a joke in your tone or expression. 

“Yes, because we’re twelve,” you rolled your eyes, tone so flat it’s almost comical, before you snap “- fucking no I’m not asking you out -” the thought had crossed your mind several times before shit had hit the fan, but there was no way in hell he’d genuinely want you now; you both came with a mob of crazed fans, and a sweet, if fake relationship with an amicable end would be far easier to manage than crazed rumors, “I’m fake asking you out. If you’d have me, I want to date you to get our fans to calm down.”

“How?!” He splutters, both confused and overwhelmingly amused. “That’d never work.”

“If we tell them we’re together, and we’re both working on projects, the industry won’t see either of as distracted by outside sources; we talk up how we’re supporting one another through this process, and that if our fans ever wanted what’s best for us, they’d support us too.”

“You’d...” he swallows hard, though he’s certainly contemplating the thought, “you’d still get death threats, you know that-”

“I get death threats when I don’t post feet pics;” you snorted dismissively, and his eyebrows rose, “I can handle them, but if you said this made you happy, well I think a majority of your fans would calm down. Stan-culture is weird and frightening, but a lot of them, most of them,” you corrected yourself, “want what’s best for you.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” And he’s smiling now, watching you with something that almost resembles admiration in his eyes.

“Tell me you haven’t had a hundred tweets yelling about how you’ve corrupted me,” you cock your hip, and he casts a glance to his phone, before admitting he has, “well if I go back to posting non-drunk content with you in it, they’ll die down, I guarantee it.”

“What about your brother?”

“He’ll support me no matter what, it’ll be more believable if he, you know, believes it.” You hold out your hand, waiting. There’s an almost intimidating spark in your eyes, a focus that Colson hasn’t seen before. “Are you in?”

“Yeah, fuck it, why not,” and he shakes your hand, firm, grinning brightly.

“I’m here to address some rumours regarding my...” you took a deep breath, “boyfriend.”

[famouslastwordsinmexico]

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     You think to yourself, I shouldn’t have looked that up online.

     You’re now staring at a bunch of banner ads that frame your email inbox. Each one is attempting to entice you to purchase succulents from flower shops near and far, small and conglomerated. The bright, animated images boast to you about how their store’s succulents will set you on the path to self-care while reconnecting you with nature. You know these ads are suggested to you and tailored specifically for you based on your search history, but, really, you just wanted to know how to spell “succulent”.

     To be fair, you probably shouldn’t be looking up non-work related curiosities while actually at work, but it’s been a slow morning. And yet, right as you excuse yourself for the trivial indiscretion, you’re called into your manager’s office. You lock your computer and worriedly head over to where they wait for you. Upon entering the room you see that there is someone else here for this impromptu meeting. Or, rather, someone has video-called in, their face on your manager’s monitor, which has been turned to meet yours.

    “A representative from HR will be joining us remotely,” your manager informs you. They then sit on the front edge of their desk, not behind it, in a manner you suspect all managers unironically believe comes off as cool and relaxed.

    “Huh. Is something wrong?” You cautiously take your seat, looking between them and the digital HR rep.

    “Oh, no, not at all. It’s just a small request.” They fold their hands in front of them. “That presentation you’re working on for Friday; I wanted to ask if you would give it over to Robert.”

    “Robert? Why? I thought it was supposed to be my project.” You worked hard on that presentation, and even harder on that project. It was something that was going to get you noticed by the higher-ups, a first step towards bigger things.

    “It is. Or, it was. It…” They stop themselves, physically appear to reset, and adopt a concerned face. “We’re simply worried it might be putting too much stress on you.” They lean in. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright with you?”

    “Uh… I’m doing fine?” You’re progressively less certain about what’s happening.

    “You sure? You can be honest with us.” They lean back. “We’ve heard you’ve been depressed.”

    The shock of this gives you mental whiplash.

    “‘Depressed’?” you echo. “Why would you think that?”

    “Well,” they begin, affecting the concerned yet distant tone in which only senior managers are capable of speaking, “it’s come to our attention that you’ve been sharing some pretty troubling sentiments.”

    “I only really talk about work-related stuff with people, honestly.”

    “No, I’m referring to the stuff you share online.”

    Dumbfounded, you blink.

    “You see,” your manager explains, “we recently employed a service that keeps us up to date with our employees.” They seem mildly pleased with themself over their technological ability. They speak to you but look at the HR rep on screen. “Of course, it’s only because we care for the well-being of everyone here in the office. And their software told us that you’ve been feeling quite down lately. They even highlighted some examples; is it not true that you recently posted about how nothing really matters?”

    You don’t recall using those words for anything. As you confusedly shrug, they pull out their phone and hand you it, showing the post in question.

    “Wait, what?” you ask. “Those are song lyrics. To a very popular song! I shared them for a ‘Throwback Thursday’.”

    “Hmm, no,” they say, taking their phone back. “I’m still seeing a cry for help. Like, what about this one: ‘All I want is to sleep and pizza and do nothing and sleep’? That sounds pretty depressed.”

    “That was one of those online things where people let auto-complete write a post for them.”

    “Sure, then how do you explain this post, where you describe how you wish the food truck across the street would ‘run you over’ if you ‘tipped extra’ for your burrito before you got back in from lunch?”

    “That’s a really old post I made when I was at my old job. The one I left for this job! I made that joke to vent. Other people liked it.” Specifically two people: a friend, and the food truck’s company (which you presume auto-likes any mention of their brand).

    Your manager sighs as they shake their head.

    “Come on, now, you don’t have to hide. You can be honest.” They lean in again. “This is sophisticated software; it wouldn’t lie. Its algorithm combed through your life and crunched the numbers. You are depressed. And, if you’re feeling depressed, we want to make sure the company isn’t placing any undue stress on you. Wouldn’t want you turning around and saying we’re unfair, or that we torment you with public speaking, huh?” No one laughs at their non-joke. The HR rep briefly writes something on their notepad. “Right. Well, when we ask you to hand the presentation off to Robert, it’s not just because we want it to turn out well, it’s because we want you to be well, too.”

    “You’re punishing me because of memes?” you ask, unsure of how much incredulity you can show without further risking your job.

    “Oh, no, of course not,” they reply, “we would never!” At this point your manager doesn’t even try to hide that they’re assuring the HR rep more than they’re talking to you. “This company does not punish depression. In fact,” they add, turning back to you, “why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We’ll mark it down as a sick day, a day for ‘personal care’, even.” They nod to themself, satisfied. “I’ll mark it down in your time sheet right now.”

    They pull out their phone and begin typing, finished with this meeting. You want to tell them not to do that, since you only have a limited number of sick days, but feel there’d be no use arguing. You stand up, at a loss for words. As you slowly turn to leave you find the HR rep is pointing towards the printer in the room. It prints off something you deduce they sent remotely. It appears to be a pamphlet. The person in the monitor motions for you to pick it up, their face set in the textbook definition of a polite smile. The pamphlet is titled Dealing with Depression.

    Your smartwatch pings as you grab the pamphlet and the screen displays an ad for succulents. You turn the watch off.

    You don’t feel like going home right away. You instead head to a nearby cafe and order the kind of sugary latte you know isn’t worth the high price and higher calorie count, but you could use the comfort. There are no real baristas here, only machines that charge you extra to print a picture of yourself onto the latte foam. You pay the extra amount. You then sign on to the free wifi, checking off the terms and conditions you didn’t read, and take a picture of your cup to share online. Not five minutes of browsing later you get a call from your mom. You plug in your headset and answer.

    “Are you alright?” she asks.

    “Yeah, how do you mean?” You wonder why everyone’s asking you that today.

    “Because you’re not at work!” You realize now that the picture you just posted is location-tagged. “And I know what kind of drinks you like when you’re feeling sad; I’m your mother, after all.” You should’ve never accepted her friend request.

    “No, it’s not that, it’s just… I’m alright. Working from home today, but I figured I’d grab a coffee. That’s all, I promise.”

    You don’t think she believes you but her silence tells you she won’t push if you don’t want to tell her the truth. You instead get a notification on your phone that your mom has sent you a “poke”, a feature that only moms still remember exists. She breaks the silence first.

    “Well, okay then,” she offers, “if you say so. Anyways, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.” Her tone gets conspiratorial for her next question. “Are you and Jamie dating?”

    “What?!” You nearly choke on your latte. “No! Why do you think that?”

    “Your aunts told me,” she answers plainly. “And, apparently, some of their friends told them first. They’re still not used to, you know, those kinds of relationships.” As progressive as your mom can be, her age and upbringing still show from time to time.

    “I don’t even know my aunts’ friends, why would they think I’m dating Jamie?”

    “They saw your picture online.”

    You rub your eye, annoyed.

    “What picture, mom?”

    “Well,” she starts, and if phones still had cords you could imagine your mom twirling hers now, wrapping her finger as she shares the gossip, “you see, one of your aunts’ friends was online and saw you as a suggested friend.” You never understood what algorithms determined those suggestions. “She was curious, so she went in and browsed your page. There it was, a photo of the two of you, looking pretty close and cozy.”

    You check your account on your phone. There’s no way someone randomly looking you up online could’ve seen that photo. Although, how many times did the site tell you they were updating their privacy policy and you opted to skip the details of what that meant?

    “Mom, didn’t you see that picture yourself before? That was just Jamie and me playing around. You know we’re just friends.”

    “Yes, I thought it was nothing. But, those friends of your aunts talk a lot, and they do seem very convinced. I looked at the picture again and it got me thinking.” Her tone gets conspiratorial again. “Are you dating Jamie? I’d have nothing against it. Your father, though…” You block the headset mic to hide your exasperated sigh, and then interrupt before she can finish the thought.

    “We’re not close, mom, not like that. My aunts and their friends are making up stories.” You wonder how scrutinized any future pictures you post will be. Maybe you should restrict how much of your profile your mom can access. You’ll have to figure out the new privacy settings first.

    “Yes, fine, you’re right. I’m simply saying they sounded convinced, is all.” You can almost picture her busying herself with some chores at home to prove that she’s over it. And yet she adds, “I will say, though, that if you were with Jamie, I’d be very supportive. Jamie’s lovely, and would be lucky to have you.”

    You hide another exasperated sigh and change the topic. When she’s had her fill of catching up, your mom says goodbye and you hang up.

    You sit in the cafe, your mouth contorted in contemplation save for when you sip from your cup. You thought you were good at keeping your personal and online lives separate, but thanks to dubious algorithms and out-of-touch inquirers, your agency at work has been diminished and your sexuality is being questioned by people who’d be less than understanding. Even if you restrict who gets access to your information, what little slips through the cracks is still interpreted without context. Is that what the internet is now? For people to be data-mined so other people can make assumptions? Who wanted it that way?

    Your phone sets off with another notification, informing you that a local indoor plant store has followed you online. They specialize in succulents.

    You almost laugh out loud at the insanity of it. Of course; this hunt for data is mostly the hunt for ad revenue. While it’s a marvel how fervently someone on the other side of the screen wants to believe they understand you, advertisers are the ones who set the system up. And even they can’t seem to get it right!

    The fever of frustration breaks, giving way to a fever of defiance. Why leave room to be misinterpreted? You decide to live your online life unabashedly and unafraid to share all. Will someone be tracking your moves? You don’t care, but if they are you hope they can keep up.

    You grab your phone and browse with fury and determination. You share news articles and let your political leanings lay bare as you never had before. You hit “publish” on every dumb joke and inane thought you had previously hid shamefully as drafts. You post all of the pictures in your phone, and when you’re done with those you take a couple more. You follow musicians, actors, and influencers alike, so that no one would have to guess what your tastes are. You join in as many forum conversations as you can, and only stop when a person you’re arguing with, who has an anime-girl profile picture, threatens to dox you. You log off.

    When you finally get home you’re bleary eyed from unblinking browsing and shaky from the excess of caffeine. You want nothing more than to decompress. As you turn on your TV to search for something to stream and zone out to, you call out to your virtual assistant device and say, “Play something soothing.”

    Though your command was vague, as the speakers turn on they start playing exactly what you only now realize you had in mind. You love this band, even if you hadn’t thought of them in a while. Your phone goes off with a notification that this band has a concert coming up soon. As if on instinct triggered by serendipity, you click the notification to buy tickets.

    While browsing various streaming services on your TV you come across several documentaries that you’ve heard confirm a lot of opinions you’ve had on the state of things. While you’d love to be proven correct, you’re more in the mood for something light. You wonder if they have this one funny movie that’s a reboot of a movie that’s based on a book. Before you can remember the title you see it listed. You hit play.

    Ultimately, modern movie watching entails being on your phone, so you scroll through whatever new content was uploaded on your commute home. While you idly browse, you find another tailored ad, this time for a t-shirt boldly claiming that people born the same month as you are kind yet shouldn’t be messed with, each line in a different garish font.

    “Ha,” you laugh to yourself, “what a stupid ad.” Even after all the data you gave them, advertisers are no better than your manager or your aunts, thinking they know you and what’s best for you.

    Suddenly the page you’re on refreshes. What loads first is the ad, this time for a different shirt that’s admittedly more your style. The tagline reads, “Your life, your look.” Unsettled by the coincidence and feeling like you’ve found yourself in a conversation with your phone you didn’t know you were having, you try to click on a different link. More content loads just at that moment, though, shifting the layout of the page and leading you to click on the ad instead. Surprised, you fumble with your phone to close what’s popped up, but as your panicked fingers slip your phone decides you mean to go through with the order. You adjust your hold on your phone but somehow manage to set off a biometric scan that confirms the purchase.

    As if queued by your consumerist momentum, an ad interrupts the movie you’re watching (since when did this streaming service have ads?). The volume seems to increase on its own as the TV blares at you.

    “You don’t necessarily feel you age, so why look your age? Our skin cream can miraculously take 5 years off your face, letting your inner youth shine through.” The ad shows a model before and after using the cream. It makes a specific point of telling you the model’s age, which is your age.

    You search frantically for the remote to turn the volume down. No matter what angle you point the remote at it, the TV refuses to recognize your button pushing. You get up and simply turn off the TV manually. This gives your virtual assistant device space to chime in with a separate ad.

    “Tired of the long commute to your workplace? Find more free time while moving into one of the fastest growing neighbourhoods that’s perfect for you.” The voice emanating from your speakers describes listings in a building that you recognize is half a block away from your office. You run to unplug the device.

    One by one more “smart” appliances in your home, devices that you now question their need for internet connectivity, begin to play or display ads that were made to appeal to you exactly.

    “Our energy efficient windows fit your green lifestyle!” your thermostat boasts, citing a climate change article you just read.

    “Let us deliver the groceries you need for the recipes you love!” your fridge demands, listing off your actual favourite recipes.

    “Bzzt!” vibrates your electric toothbrush, calling you to look at its charger’s digital screen and see an ad for a dental clinic, featuring a close up of a mouth you’re weirdly certain is actually yours.

    As your apartment comes alive with the sounds of aggressive advertising, you’re terrified. You step out onto the balcony. You think to yourself, and only to yourself, that you need to get away.

    A delivery drone floats up from under your balcony and stops right at your eye level. It’s been outfitted with a display monitor. It plays a video.

    “Looking for a vacation?” it asks. “Why not fly out to Pasadena, California? You can visit the Cactus & Succulent Society of America’s annual show and sale!”

[a-mole-of-iron]

Short story: “In Broad Daylight“

Living in a solarpunk utopia has got to be not only healthy and prosperous, but also safe, to really count - right? And for the most part, it is. But even in a world where everyone is well-off, communities all around the world live in peace and harmony, and everyone is on first-name basis with nature, there still might be a few rare wrongdoers who stay up nights trying to figure out how to take that away from the world. And to find those, you need the kind of person like Sverrir Haraldsen; a detective of the people.

Genre: solarpunk thriller Content warning: mild violence, and also moderate action

PREFACE

There exists, and has for a long time existed, a common and persistent misconception about utopian fiction. Whenever one brings it up, one can always count on an obstructive response like "but where do we find conflict and plot if everything is already perfect?" This idea, I should clearly state, is false. The term "utopia" itself has a double-meaning, possible to read as "ou-topia" ("no-place") or "eu-topia" ("good-place"), and it's the latter that so many people underestimate the massive literary potential of. When people bring up the idea that "utopian fiction has no room for conflict", they're presuming that a utopian society would not just be a perfect society, but a perfect society filled entirely with perfect people. For some reason, it's difficult for many to imagine that even in a society that's good to live in, people would still be able to have arguments about the different good things that they want, or that they would need to maintain society against the natural wear-and-tear that adds up over time. People don't think too often of all the literary conflict inherent in building a resilient society that won't wear down easily due to factors in the environment, or building social structures where people can "agree to disagree" and still have all the good things their society can give them, or defending those social structures against an occassional bad person or group thereof who are willing to harm others and damage society for their own gain and are deliberately ignoring whatever kindness might still be in their hearts. Those are all fine sources of literary conflict - and this story sets out to show how a particular one can work. It is a utopian, solarpunk thriller: a practical example of the way you can have high-stakes action, danger, and excitement in a society that has achieved peaceful harmony, renounced war, and sees violence as a measure of absolute last resort.

THE STORY

Anxiously pacing back and forth along the embankment, Sverrir tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle. He stopped, his tail swishing from side to side. Try as he might, he couldn't contain his seething dislike of the entire case. He needed a drink of good tea, he needed a day off for gardening, he needed a friendly, fun game of parkour tag with his community at home, he needed a ticket to an in-person concert by the original lineup of Solar Flares. What he had was a coat, a phone, and a badge.

Sverrir was distracted from his annoyed thoughts by a voice coming through his earpiece. "So what do you think, Detective?" the machine intelligence on the other end asked, their synthetic voice resonating through the comms channel.

"Well, Amos... you told me yourself who this is." Sverrir said. "Robert H. Price... knowledge dealer, with a shady reputation and criminal connections, as far as we could find out... and he was shot to death. It's like a small forest of warning flags." He looked around to notice more clues. "Huh."

"What?" Amos asked him.

"I... think the shooters were firing from a boat. There are bullet holes over there, in the advertisement column." he gestured over towards one standing inland. The column's OLED display had several punctures in it, the screen image distorting subtly around them. Sverrir walked up to the display and eyed the bullet holes. "I don't like this, Amos." he said.

As Sverrir looked around, eyeing the local buildings and all the different plant species growing around the area, a crime scene examiner walked up to him with more information. "I think you'll want to see this, Detective." she said, holding up a damaged combat rifle bullet.

"Okay... illegal military weapons... this day just keeps getting better and better." Sverrir groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "On the plus side, now I'm dead-certain that these are our criminals... and more, that they are running out of options. If they went so far as to murder one of their partners in crime, well..." he said with an unpleasant grimace, his speech trailing off.

The detective went over to the community watch car; a light, compact electric vehicle painted white and green that was small enough to park anywhere without blocking people's paths. The interior and trunk were full of forensics equipment, with the one community watch driver having brought in the entire forensics team to the crime scene. Sverrir picked up a solar-powered bullhorn - rather pointless, but indisputably cool - that was resting on the car's back seat, and addressed the half-perplexed, half-scared onlookers. "Attention, citizens!" he said. "If you're from this district, please search through your recordings for potential evidence! Anything, literally anything, might help!"

***

In a few minutes, a small crowd has assembled around Sverrir, sharing information about what they saw and heard and downloading records from their phones and other computing gadgets onto his personal device. The evidence confirmed Sverrir's theory: sonic triangulation from the community's recordings of loud ambient noises, ones designed to measure noise pollution, allowed him to know that shots were fired from about six metres off-shore - and to his horror, the weapons used were fully automatic rifles. Intercepting the contraband weapons shipment they were used to guard, and likely belonged to, was now the absolute topmost priority he had; those kinds of weapons were insanely dangerous and banned worldwide. From the soundscape, he also knew that the shooters made off in an electric-powered speedboat of unknown make and model. However, he had no concrete leads: the sousveillance turned up no video footage, and the witnesses had little information beyond being woken up around 4 AM by what sounded like firecrackers to them. However, when he was already wrapping up, a dopey-looking guy wearing sturdy clothes typical for plumbers and machinists walked up to him.

"Hey, detective!" he said. "I... think I've got something for you!"

"Good." Sverrir said. "Your name for the record, please?"

"Matt. Matt Frohman." the guy responded.

"What do you know?" Sverrir asked.

"Um, I don't actually, but I know someone else - she works a night shift in a diner downstream!" Frohman replied. "She's actually really cute, but the thing is, she may have seen or heard your guys making off from the crime scene!"

"Alright, that's encouraging... what's her name, and where can I find her?" Sverrir asked.

"Oh - Diner Olimpique, a couple of blocks away!" Frohman said. "Her name is Amanda De Vries."

"Thank you, citizen!" Sverrir said. "Who knows, maybe your friend really did see something..."

***

As he stepped off the bus near Diner Olimpique, Sverrir adjusted his coat and looked around. The diner was placed at the base of an old high-rise building, refurbished for supporting garden walls and extra balconies, with one side turned towards the nearby canal. Nearby, people were playing in a community garden, and a flock of city birds passed overhead to nest on the wall of another building further away. With graceful step, the snow leopard walked forwards and into the diner. The interior made good use of green walls, and wooden chairs and tables throughout the hall looked quite stylish, as well.

The old concrete walls were decked with wood plating, or covered in growing lichen, as well, to create a more cozy look to the place. He looked around, seeing a few people who were eating lunch, and then turned to the waiter.

"Excuse me, but where can I find Amanda De Vries?" he asked them.

"Well, she's sleeping after the night shift right now... what exactly do you need from her?" they responded.

Sverrir reached into his pocket and flashed his badge in an inconspicuous manner. "Sverrir Haraldsen, Earth Global Detectives. Amanda may be a witness on an important case." he said quietly.

"Oh..." the waiter said. "She's... not in danger, is she?"

"No, not at all." Sverrir reassured them. "I just need to talk to her."

"I guess you're in luck." the waiter replied. "She lives a couple of buildings away, on the other side of the canal." They pointed to a low-rise apartment block and a bridge leading to it. "Sansevieira Drive 26/3, right over there. Just talk to the concierge."

"Thank you." Sverrir nodded, turning around and walking out of the diner.

***

Walking on over the bridge, Sverrir shook his head fur and straightened the collar of his jacket. Walking into the building 26/3, he looked over the decorations and smiled. The plants were growing all along the walls, reaching towards the upper floors, while the lobby itself had a floor of irregular stones matched close together. He approached the concierge - an older woman wearing a dress gorgeously complex even by latest standards - with a businesslike smile, and said, showing his badge: "Hello. I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, from Earth Global Detectives. I would like to talk with Amanda De Vries."

"Oh dear." the concierge said. "What could possibly be--"

"If I do my job right, you'll see really soon." Sverrir bragged. "Amanda could be a valuable witness, so can I come talk to her?"

"Oh, I suppose so." the concierge told him. "She's living in the left-half apartment on the fourth floor. Most her roommates are off in the city at this hour, too..."

"This is good." Sverrir frowned. "I'm not looking to attract too much attention. Good day to you." he said, leaving for the stairs.

As he made his way up the first two flights of stairs, Sverrir was pleasantly surprised: even in his eco-friendly city, a stairwell with so many plants was a rarity. The climbing vines were stretching up from the ground floor and across the panes of glass that let the light in for the entire stairwell. The walls were festooned with frames that held up a great variety of potted plants, from all around the world. There was even a fun-sized artificial waterfall cascade in one of the corners, much to Sverrir's delight. As he walked upwards, he looked out the stairwell windows as well; they opened to a magnificent garden, its orange trees overhanging a communal area with benches and a small, modest-looking fountain. By the time Sverrir was up to the fourth floor, the tree branches have completely eclipsed the view, and he could even see above them a little, with the city skyline poking out above the trees. Admiring the view for a few quick seconds, he turned to the short corridor that went inwards into the building, and went down it, pressing a doorbell button for the left-hand door. A friendly chime rang out, and after a brief wait, a middle-aged man with red hair, wearing practical but eye-catching kaleidoscopic pants and jacket, opened the door. After a few moments of measuring Sverrir with his eyes, he asked: "Hello... what can I do for you?"

"Hello, ah..." Sverrir started.

"Jan." the man told him in response.

"Jan. Good to meet you." Sverrir said. "Can I talk to Amanda De Vries?"

"Not really, no." Jan said. "She's sleeping after her night shift at the diner right now."

"I'm aware, actually." Sverrir told him. "But it's important. Sverrir Haraldsen, Earth Global Detectives." he said quietly, showing his badge with a gentle motion. "Could we wake her up gently to answer a few questions? I'm searching for dangerous criminals, and she may well be a witness."

"Oh..." Jan replied.

"Don't worry, the entire detective service in the region is on-point." Sverrir said. "We just need a little more information."

"Alright then, I suppose..." Jan said. "Please, come on in."

***

Sverrir walked through the front door, looking over the apartment. The center room was a really neat social pad, with beanbags, chairs, and a massive poofy sofa centered around a coffee table. The windows on one side opened towards the city, providing a great sightline over the treetops, and the partial walls separating the other rooms were all festooned with either bookcases or whole-wall planter arrangements. Sverrir looked over as Jan pulled away a sliding door and went into another room. A good few minutes later, he walked back out, followed by Amanda: she was wearing really impressive floral pattern pajamas with massive bell-shape sleeves.

"Hello there." Sverrir said, waving his hand to greet her.

"Hey." Amanda replied. "Whatever you woke me up for, pal, I hope it's important."

"Important enough, I'd hope." Sverrir said, showing his badge. "Sverrir Haraldsen. I'm from the Earth Global Detectives. I'd like to ask a few questions about the last night at Diner Olimpique. Or to be more precise, the canal outside."

"Funny you should say that..." Amanda told him.

"Why?" Sverrir asked as she took a seat on the sofa.

"There was at least one thing blatantly out of the ordinary tonight... I suspect it's what you are following." Amanda said.

"That's definitely my concern." Sverrir replied, walking over to a nearby bean bag. "May I...?" he asked, pointing at it.

"Sure, go ahead." Amanda responded.

"Alright." Sverrir said, before sitting down and placing his phone on the table, opening a connection to Amos. "Now, would you please state for the record what you have seen?" he asked.

"Okay, sure." Amanda told him. "I noticed one very unusual boat around the break of dawn, so a bit after 4 AM... speeding down the river in violation of all community water traffic rules I could think of. I was thinking it over untill I went to bed."

"How did that boat look like?" Sverrir inquired.

"Bright azure-blue, very narrow and long." Amanda said. "The nose cowling had two parallel humps running front to back, the front of the cabin had a tall wrap-around windshield from what I remember... the back had a very distinctive spoiler sticking up, and I didn't hear any engine noise, so it must've been electric... plus, the boat had a name printed on the side in big bold letters. Could be the builder name. It was... "Smithson", I'm pretty sure... is that a boat manufacturer?"

"It is." Sverrir said. "Thank you; all of this is extremely helpful."

"No problem." Amanda told him, giving him a weary thumbs-up. "I'm pretty sure the idiots breaking the water traffic laws with it were all wearing opti-camo cloaks. They couldn't be any more memorable if they tried."

"Okay, these are definitely the people we're looking for." Amos chimed in. "Thank you for your assistance!"

"Great. Now, I suppose I can go back to bed?" Amanda asked.

***

Sverrir nodded to Amanda with a quiet "uh-huh" and stood up from the couch, picking up his phone in the process. "Well, you heard that, Amos. Smithson Model W-51.6 electric speedboat, azure-blue. Find it!" he told his companion.

Turning to Amanda, he said: "Good day to you. I'm sorry I had to wake you up, but this is of utmost importance. You'll see the results in the news soon enough." He nodded, and walked out at a brisk pace. He made his way downstairs, nodding to the concierge, and walked out of the building. As he stopped and stood at a small plaza with people going to and fro, he heard Amos come back through via his earpiece - with new information.

"Okay, Sveri, listen up." Amos told him. "Have I got something for you..."

"I'm all ears." Sverrir replied.

"I did some looking through local information, especially libraries of things." Amos said. "It'd take too long to round up all the sousveillance, but I found something else. The speedboat matching the description was borrowed in the wharf district a couple of days ago. The person who got it used a stolen borrower's card, but guess what - the idiot used the exact same card to order a dry-erase marker board. And we have an address!"

"Guess we found the weakest link, ain't that right?" Sverrir replied with a smirk. He paused for a second, and asked: "Where to, Amos?"

"Green Lizard Craftshop Annex. That's a few districts over, I'll send you a route." Amos told him.

"Do you think you can convince the local community to give us a search warrant vis-a-vis the stolen identity?" Sverrir asked in a hushed tone.

"I'll give it a shot." Amos replied. "Otherwise you'll have to talk with the craftshop custodians."

"Okay." Sverrir said, pulling out his phone to look at the map and directions. The path that Amos laid out called for him to take a tram, then transfer to a bus route near one of the vertical farm clusters and proceed to the craftshop area where the Green Lizard annex was located. This was entirely fine by Sverrir; he could blend into the crowd and approach unnoticed by the criminals. He walked on by past a couple of local shops, going through an arch between buildings that was overgrown with plants and festooned with low-intensity sun spectrum lights, and emerging into a busy street. He quickly moved into the crowd, at one with his surroundings, and smiled confidently as he walked down the street to the tram stop. It only took two minutes for a tram to arrive; an impressive bubble canopy vehicle with fused quartz windows across all of it supported by brass metalwork. The doors of the tram opened, and Sverrir stepped on board, taking a seat. Now, he thought, he had some time to focus - and work out the plan in his mind for how to go on.

***

When the tram started moving again, Sverrir quietly nodded towards his phone, and texted Amos with a request for the schematics of the craftshop annex and a bulletproof vest delivery to the site. He looked over the plans, and figured out a quiet way inside through a side entrance. With the tram passing busy streets and river canals, the detective thought on the situation. Even one combat rifle in the wrong hands could be destructive; but now, he was chasing after dozens, if not hundreds, of such rifles. If those slipped away and were used to arm the criminal underworld, the public danger would be immeasurable. There was a damn good reason why military weaponry and equipment was banned from use decades ago. Nowadays, it was the provenance of very, very dangerous people - the few that managed to run their criminal dealings in spite of peace and prosperity surrounding them. Thinking on that, Sverrir looked out the tram windows, with the sunspots passing across the interior as the sun was obscured by trees, wall gardens, semi-transparent awnings, and more besides. And if there was one thing he was sure about, it's that he wasn't going to allow those dangerous people to have their victory.

Going over the plan in his head, Sverrir stepped off the tram near the vertical farms, looking upwards briefly to witness the buildings' green-and-glass surfaces and a large banner overhead advertising all the different types of produce it was possible to get in this place in particular. Soon, the bus that the detective needed arrived to the stop, and he stepped aboard, taking a relatively short trip down to the craftshop area he needed. It took him just six minutes to arrive there; as he got off the bus, Sverrir looked the place over. It was a busy market street, with all the people taking up workshop space in the nearby complexes hawking their wares to an interested crowd, all kinds of people mingling with eachother and picking up artisan crafts.  The snow leopard smiled and quietly walked down the street. He reached the green lizard street sign on a large, complex building partially refurbished from the prior eras, and sat down on a nearby bench. He texted Amos, asking "Did you get a warrant?"

"No, you'll have to work otherwise." Amos immediately responded.

"Noted." Sverrir replied. "I hope you did get the bulletproof vest, though."

"Positive." Amos replied. "I've asked the community watch to get you one from class A emergency storage."

Sverrir turned his head, and noticed a plainclothes community sentry with a large suitcase standing near the side entrance to the Craftshop Annex. He walked up to her, saying quietly: "Hey. Sverrir Haraldsen. I believe that this bulletproof vest is for me."

"That it is." the sentry responded. "Nehal Al-Farsi, pleased to meet you."

The two walked into the Craftshop Annex through a side entrance: above-board, but out of sight of the building's windows. Sverrir looked around the side atrium, quietly stepping forwards when he saw the plaque reading "Administration and Occupancy". He slinked over to the door, and gently knocked on it.

"Hello, who is this?" a voice asked from the other side. "Please come in!"

"Hello there." Sverrir said as he and the sentry walked in, closing the door behind them. The person in the administration office was an anthropomorph like him, a badger wearing an impressively-designed vest with a few big pockets and a pair of bright-orange pants. When Sverrir walked in, she was watering the plants near a small circular window. He nodded to her, and said quietly: "Excuse me, but I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, from the Earth Global Detectives." he said, walking up at a gentle pace and showing his badge. "Can you assist us?"

"What with?" the woman said, squinting at him and Nehal. "Global Detectives are a pretty important office, aren't they?"

"I'm following up on a stolen borrower's card." Sverrir told her. "Possibly tied to contraband, murder, and who knows what else; this is an outrageous situation. My partner in service couldn't get me a warrant from the word go, but I hope I can take a look at a suspected workshop with your help, miss..."

"Narangerel." the administrator replied, her expression becoming more troubled by the minute.

"Narangerel, alright." Sverrir said. He showed the administrator his phone, with the evidence about the stolen card - traced information about the borrowings, and a later official complaint to the community watch about the card being stolen. "Will you help me out with the investigation?" he asked.

"Yes... if someone's been stealing borrower's cards, I don't exactly want them to hide away in our building." Narangerel said. "And that's even if the rest won't turn out to be true." She frowned, then muttered: "...though it does all look awfully truthful..."

Nehal made a sarcastic expression, handing Sverrir the suitcase. "Trust me, any detective who lies about evidence doesn't keep their job for long." she smirked. "One time, someone got thrown out of an EGD branch because they accidentally misplaced a spathiphyllum plant that belonged to a witness."

"Huh." Narangerel told her. "Really?"

"Somehow... yes." Nehal shrugged.

Sverrir opened the suitcase, revealing two bulletproof vests. After a moment of silence that lasted while he and Nehal got these vests on, the detective asked: "So, could I take a look at the 25th workshop, with the permission of the building's staff?"

"Hold on a moment." Narangerel replied.

***

Sverrir looked around to find a chair and proceeded to sit down for a moment as Narangerel sent the few other people responsible for the building a message, requesting their presence. In short order, they all showed up: the guy from the reception desk, the janitors and custodians, the tech support chief. Sverrir explained the situation to them, and once he got the permission, he called them to come with him; extra witnesses would help him make his case if he was right. Once they approached the door, Sverrir whispered to them: "It's better for you to keep back for now. I don't know who or what might be on the other side of this door."

"I was doin' some cleanin' there, and I don't think there were booby traps or anythin'... just so you know." one of the janitors said.

"Nevertheless." Sverrir replied. "Narangerel, could I have the key?"

Narangerel nodded, and handed Sverrir the keys. The detective opened the door, him and the sentry quietly walking in. The lights were out, with sunlight from the street streaming in through the windows covered by Venetian blinds. Sverrir turned around, telling Narangerel and others: "You can walk in. I think you should look this over with us."

"Okay." Narangerel said, her and others from the building's staff carefully walking in. As he saw them approach, Sverrir looked around - the workshop didn't seem to be too suspicious from the get-go, with plenty of plants, some computer terminals, algae-sheet paper stacks... and the suspiciously empty whiteboard next to one of the walls.

Looking at the whiteboard, Nehal asked: "So... where is anything? It's just a normal workshop..."

"Hold on, I think I know what this is..." Sverrir said. He took out his UV bulb flashlight - standard equipment for detectives and forensic scientists - and pointed it at the board, lighting it up. Suddenly, an entire map and schedule appeared, written in invisible ink: the criminals made notes about the buyers for weaponry, technical specifications, and the time for when all the weapons would be shipped out from the Wharf Embankment docks... which was in exactly 36 minutes from now. "Gods dammit..." Sverrir muttered. "This is bad! Really bad!"

"You don't say..." Nehal told him in response.

"Quick, call the rest of the local watch!" Sverrir all but yelled, with fire in his eyes. "Lock this place down, get all the evidence you can, and ask the staff to be witnesses! And I'm going to try and stop these gunrunners before it's too late!"

"Okay, will do!" Nehal replied.

Sverrir nodded and pressed his earpiece button. "Amos! Code Wildfire!" he yelled. "Get the officers to Wharf Embankment, Dock 24! We have 36 minutes before the weapon shipment is gone!"

"Got it!" Amos replied.

"Okay, Sverrir, I'll handle things here!" Nehal said "You just--" She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, her and Sverrir turning immediately to look behind them and seeing one of the gunrunner conspirators looking at them from the workshop's other entrance, keys in hand. Sverrir and the gunrunner looked at eachother for a brief moment - and then he immediately tried to flee with a few loud curses. Sverrir followed, chasing after him with a yell of "Stop! You are under arrest!"

The conspirator just kept on running, reaching into his pocket for what looked like a flashbang grenade. Before he could throw it, Sverrir lunged at him, and the two crashed into another workshop through a garden wall in the corridor, getting slathered in leaves and ivy.

"You!" his opponent yelled at him, trying to grab Sverrir as the two leapt up from the floor.

"Surrender!" Sverrir demanded in reply, trying to get a few more hits in, his opponent dodging all but one. "You've got nowhere to escape!"

The gunrunner just grappled with Sverrir in response, throwing him towards a bookcase - the detective trying to make a roll to cushion the impact as he fell back. He quickly leapt back up and threw himself at the gunrunner again to delay him, yelling "Nehal! Help me out, please!"

"I'm going!" Nehal yelled from down the corridor, Sverrir throwing his opponent to the ground in the meantime. The gunrunner grabbed a bamboo ivy support frame from a nearby workshop table, swinging it aggressively towards Sverrir - but at that moment, Nehal caught up with the two, and now the detective and the sentry tried to flank their opponent to stop him.

"Two against one? How is that fair?" their opponent smirked.

"Fairer than smuggling combat rifles!" Sverrir retorted angrily. "Surrender now!"

"Oh, keep dreaming!" the gunrunner yelled at him, going after Sverrir. The detective dodged most of his swings, parrying the few that did connect, and then delivered a few strikes of his own, trying to get his opponent off-balance. The gunrunner just laughed, asking "So that's the best you can do? Ha!"

Sverrir just grinned in response. "It's not me you should worry about!" he replied - at the exact same moment as Nehal hit the gunrunner with a massive book she grabbed from the bookcase, getting him off-balance and making him drop the ivy frame, and then did a decisive judo throw to get them on the ground for good. The two looked at eachother as they realized their opponent was stunned for a brief moment, then Nehal handcuffed the gunrunner to a nearby wrought-iron table - a good idea to ensure he couldn't just run off. The two went through his pockets, fishing out several flash grenades, and put those way out of reach. Sverrir then breathed out - and quickly told Nehal: "Keep an eye on him, and call in more sentries! You know how to take it from here!"

"Damn right we do!" Nehal replied. "Now go! You've got to get those weapons before they disappear for good!"

"I'll do all I can!" Sverrir replied. "Hope we'll talk later at the debrief!" He nodded, and ran back out. As he passed Narangerel and others in the corridor, he told them without as much as slowing down: "Be careful, keep an eye on the exits! The watch will be here soon!" He didn't even look back to see their reaction; right now, all that was on his mind was the emergency objective.

***

Sverrir double-timed it down the stairs, rushing out onto the pedestrian walkway; the sudden onrush of wind whipped his fur about as he pressed the button on his earpiece, still running.

"Amos!" he yelled. "Borrow me a car! A fast one!"

"Understood - I'm on it." the machine intelligence on the other side replied.

Dashing past the onlookers, Sverrir kept on running. He had to make it to the nearest motorway if he wanted any serious chance to catch up, and they weren't plentiful these days. Highlighting his way on the map, he ran past green embankments, cafes, and crafts stores. In other days, he liked going through the market streets at a respectably slow pace, appreciating the foods and wares from around the world, but now he ignored everything as he made his way to the motorway sector. One moment, he glanced upwards to the vertical gardens and the blue sky, and thought of the stakes at play. The largest contraband weapon shipment in two decades was slipping out of his grasp, but if he ever learned anything from Earth history classes, it's that you never surrender when the stakes are high. Leaping over a high-up guardrail, landing with a roll to cushion the impact, he saw that fortune was on his side: there was the motorway he needed, a large stretch of its parking spaces perfectly clear. Good thing not that many people used motorcars anymore, Sverrir thought.

He raised the phone again, asking "I'm here! Do you have the car, Amos?"

"Affirmative, I have it!" Amos replied.

"So where is it?" he asked.

"Turn to your left, Sveri." the machine mind replied, with what Sverrir imagined would look like a massive self-satisfied grin. He turned as instructed, and saw the approaching car: a solar-powered performance sedan, with some aftermarket improvements that caught his eye and a custom paintjob to boot. The car skidded to a stop next to him, and he leapt over the hood, flinging open the door on the driver's side and quickly getting into the driver's seat. He turned to the person in a passenger seat - a middle-aged man wearing an engineer's apron who seemed slightly perplexed by the urgency.

"Hey, uh..."

"Esteban." the human said.

"Esteban. You currently in charge of this car?" Sverrir asked.

"No, I... erm, I borrowed it from a friend after he did a few new mods... what's, uh--" Esteban continued.

"Okay, where were you going?" Sverrir interrupted him.

"I was going to the Manufactory Glades, but--" Esteban started, only to be interrupted by Sverrir again.

"Good. I'll have to drop you off before everything lights on fire; it won't be too far." Sverrir continued. "Amos, specifications?"

"Full specificaitons will be available in a moment." Amos responded. "For now, you can just floor it."

"Excuse me, but what is happening?!" Esteban reached out to Sverrir. "Is this some kind of emergency?"

"Actually, it is." Sverrir said, flashing his badge. "Earth Global Detectives. I'll tell you everything, personally, as soon as there's time. Now just hang on, this is going to be a fast ride!" he said, flooring the accelerator.

As the car accelerated, Sverrir's phone lit up again, and the distant MI read the specifications of the car. "Kometa-Tri, modified and improved. 110 kilowatts power total, maximum speed 215 kilometres per hour. Drag coefficient 0,17. Maximum battery charge 300 kilowatt-hours, current battery charge 257 kilowatt-hours."

"Good!" Sverrir yelled. "Now give me the optimal path to the Wharf Embankment! Our time is running out!"

***

As Sverrir's car rocketed down the motorway, dodging and weaving to pass the few other cars on there and the occasional bus or truck, the detective tried to figure out a plan of action. He put his phone on the dashboard, and Amos connected to the car's systems, projecting a 3D volumetric map of Dock 24 for him to glance at and tactical information about the docks and the waterfront. Sverrir noticed that the place was fairly secluded, a small landing surrounded by warehouses with plenty of tree cover... and he saw an opening. "Amos, I've got a plan!" he said.

"What have you come up with, detective?" Amos asked.

"I'll explain the details later; now, we need stunner arc-pistols and thermal imagers for the watch, rapid-acting smoke canisters, three or four pollen dusters, and the mobile scrap metal crane from Dock 29 to scoop up the guns!" Sverrir said. "Can you get all of that?"

"I can." Amos replied. "I like your plan, detective."

While Amos was coordinating the preparations, Sverrir focused on the driving, trying to get to the docks as fast as he could. He still needed a couple of minutes to coordinate the plan with the community watch on the spot, but thankfully, the Kometa-Tri he was driving could manage immense speeds, and the motorway was not only grade-separated from the all-encompassing network of pedestrian streets and bike lanes, but also mostly devoid of vehicles. He sped through the Manufactory Glades, an industry and workshop district that was drowning in greenery of century-old trees, but near its edge, where the Wharf Embankment began, he turned to Esteban.

"Esteban, it's better that you get out here." Sverrir said as he slammed on the brakes, the car quickly halting to a complete stop.

"Alright, but I'm still not sure if..." Esteban started, but Sverrir cut him off with "Don't worry, I'll do my best to handle it. And I'm not going to wreck the car. Now go!"

Esteban got out, closing the passenger door, and Sverrir pushed on the accelerator again; in just a minute and a half, he was at the heart of Wharf Embankment. He skidded to a stop over the unoccupied parking spaces - with no time to park carefully, he just left the car as it was, slamming the door shut and running off. He quickly reached the docks, noticing a group of seven bulletproof-vest-wearing sentries with several compact equipment boxes near them, the boxes festooned with warning symbols and class-A weapon safety measures. He ran up to the sentries, who were camped off to the side from the main street, and said: "I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, the guy who called this in! Is the crane in position?"

"Yes, it is!" one of the officers said, pointing to the crane parked inconspicuously between Dock 24 and Dock 25: a clunky, utilitarian eight-wheeled vehicle with powerful fuel cells placed on the cargo bed next to/under the crane assembly. "I hope the arc pistols really are called for, Detective?..." another officer asked.

Sverrir nodded grimly. "Yes - these are the most dangerous criminals I've followed in several years. And they have firearms. I'm going to personally write a full report on the request for stun weapons, but first, we've got to halt the weapons shipment."

With that, Sverrir continued, explaining his plan to the watch officers. It was risky, but if it worked, they would instantly disarm the gunrunner conspirators and their buyers. He grabbed an arc pistol and its holster that were brought for him. With everything ready, the group readied themselves and their equipment: it was now or never.

***

When Sverrir and the community watch were ready to move, the snow leopard told one of the city's machine intelligences whom the group had on the line: "Alright, we spotted their lookouts; deploy the pollen dusters!"

"Done and done!" the machine steward responded.

Sverrir looked up into the sky - and among several unmanned drones hovering in the vicinity, a group of three dashed in with extreme speed, the machine mind in charge expertly piloting them at low altitude. In just a few seconds, they were over the goons guarding the front entrance, dropping their entire stock of pollen in a dense cloud, the lookouts immediately beginning to sneeze and rub their eyes. That's when the team moved in, approaching the front entrance, with two of the officers decking the lookouts to knock them out and quickly pulling the guns from their holsters, then handcuffing them and retreating a few metres back to stand watch, and the others moving into the warehouses. The group quietly fanned out, arc pistols at the ready, and took the high ground, Sverrir and others looking out into the inner yard. In the yard, Sverrir saw no less than nine people, some wielding the combat rifles he was looking to seize, and three in particular making a deal over the several boxes of rifles, three dozen at the very least. He was quietly horrified by how much weaponry was there, ready to slip into the hands of any among the most violent and unscrupulous people around the globe - but he didn't let himself lose composure. He pressed a button on his earpiece, and asked: "Okay, everyone in position?"

The group all replied in the affirmative, and Sverrir nodded quietly - but then, he noticed one of the gunmen run in and pull one of the two dealmakers aside to tell him something, gesticulating wildly. Carefully approaching a warehouse window, Sverrir overheard the conversation... which was about the front gate guards. Reacting quickly,  Sverrir said: "Okay, change of plans! Sentry group, smoke the yard immediately! Amos, get me the crane operator!"

"Got it, Sveri." Amos said. There was a short burst of static, and Sverrir heard the voice of the crane operator hidden behind one of the warehouses - that same moment, the sentries quickly rolled the smoke grenades into the yard, beginning to fill it with dense white smoke.

"Good day, officer, what can I do you for?" she asked.

"No time for details! Extend the crane to the Dock 24 as fast as you can, and slam the magnet to maximum power!" Sverrir told her. "That'll pull the guns right out of their hands!"

"Guns? Oh man oh man..." the operator said as the crane's beam extended over the yard - and at the same moment, much to Sverrir's fear and discontentment, the shooting started. The gunrunners started shooting blindly to try and get back at the sentries who surrounded them, yelling things like "It's an ambush!" and "Everyone retreat!" - but thankfully, the walls were made of old-school clay bricks, more than enough to deflect the bullets even as other shots broke windows and pierced through sheet metal. With his fight-or-flight response kicking in right away as the shooting started, Sverrir yelled into his earpiece: "Everyone, take cover! Amos, give us overhead recon!"

"Affirmative!" Amos told him.

At that same moment, hiding from enemy fire at some distance from the windows, Sverrir looked a bit up - and saw how the crane magnet has lifted and attracted all of the boxes with combat rifles, stuck to it like so much iron scrap. The gunrunners yelled in panic and confusion, noticing the magnet overhead, and ran in different directions to escape before their own weapons were snatched away. But suddenly, the crane operator came back on the radio, asking: "Hey, what's going on?! Is that gunfire?!"

"Yes!" Sverrir replied. "Take cover! Your crane just pulled away most of their firepower!"

"Okay, okay!" the crane operator responded, Sverrir hearing her leap off the crane and run for cover. Changing the radio frequency, he got back to Amos, just in time to hear her make an announcement.

"Attention all sentries!" Amos told the group via radio. "We have three gunrunners in a boat speeding off, four hiding out in the container yard, and three others trying to flee along the dockside embankment!"

"Got it!" Sverrir said back. He looked at the other sentries with him, and tried to come up with a plan. "Okay, we are almost even with them!" he said. "Four people should go after the criminals in the container yard; climb up, smoke the place, and use the height advantage to corner them! Front gate detail, catch up with me and one other sentry! We'll go after the three who are running via embankment!"

"And what about the ones in the speedboat?" one of the sentries asked.

"That won't be a problem!" Sverrir said "Just mobilize the vehicle-pursuit drones, now that they're fleeing from us in broad daylight!"

"I'll get right on that." Amos said via the communications as they got in touch with the drone operators.

***

With four of the sentries splitting off to the container yard, Sverrir and the other sentry ran out of the building, rallying with the other two who were guarding the front gate. They risked by leaving the front gate guards unattended, yes - but it was a necessary risk. More of the community watch were already on the way; this was big, bigger than anything that the city has seen in years. The other watch group came in over Sverrir's radio channel as stray shots rang out among the containers, yelling: "We're in the container yard! Edwards, throw smoke! Fujishima, flank right!" "Got it! Zelenko, I'll cover you!"

Sverrir changed the frequency, contacting Amos again to get fresh recon.

"Amos, where are they on the embankment?" he asked.

"They're approaching a canal drawbridge behind the bend on your right." Amos responded.

"Good! Get the port authority on the horn and raise the bridge! We'll corner them there!"

"Affirmative, on it!" Amos replied.

"Follow me!" Sverrir called to other sentries. "Take cover with every move, these guys will do anything to save themselves!" The snow leopard's eyes narrowed, and he ran off, the sentries barely able to follow him without falling behind. He ran from cover to cover, hearing the drawbridge up ahead creak as he approached the sightline open to the criminals. He finally ran up to a big tree that was growing near the bend - and as soon as he peeked out, he was met with a hail of gunfire directed his way. Sverrir immediately hid back behind the tree, the other sentries forming up with him. "Okay, we need a plan! We've got them cornered now, we just have to take them down without undue harm!" he said.

At that moment, the other group came in via the radio channel again. "We got 'em! I repeat, we got 'em!" one of the sentries reported. "Our group of hostiles is under arrest! Fujishima got injured, but it's nothing serious, the bullet just grazed them!"

"Good! Get them medical attention, stat!" Sverrir said in response, before turning to other sentries. "I'm actually a bit stumped right now - there's no way we can safely fire back..." he admitted.

"I have an idea!" one of the sentries raised her hand. "Why won't we ask for another pollen duster run?" she asked with a smirk.

"That's pretty good! Everyone, arc pistols at the ready!" Sverrir said. "We've got them pretty close, but we need that opening! Amos, get us on the line with our friend, if you will?"

"Right away." Amos responded, patching in the city steward machine mind who helped them earlier.

"Hello again!" Sverrir said. "My friend Amos just gave you the coordinates; can you do another pollen drop for us?"

"Of course! Drop in 45 seconds." the steward replied. Their pollen-duster drones were normally intended for rapid ecological bootstraps - a wildgrass meadow around a finished-up construction site here, a flowerbed of epic proportions there - but now, they flew in like a strike group, dodging all gunfire that was directed at them and dumping a second batch of pollen over the gunrunners. In a few seconds, the sneezing started - and that's when Sverrir and sentries with him popped out from behind the tree, landing several precise arc pistol shots on them. The electric stun made the gunrunners drop their weapons, with Sverrir and the watch closing in... and in a minute, everything was over. The two groups on land have been safely apprehended, and soon afterwards, more of the community watch were there to take them away. Sverrir raised his finger to the earpiece, and asked: "Amos?"

"What is it?" Amos responded.

"Did we get the ones who fled by boat?" Sverrir asked.

"Yes, we have." Amos told him. "They are currently floating on the open water one kilometre away from shore, and the coast guard is coming in to apprehend them."

"Whew. Thank gods." Sverrir said. When one of the criminals walked past Sverrir as the community watch led him away, the snow leopard smirked and winked, with the gunrunner making a grimace of anger and annoyance in response. Sverrir knew one thing for sure; with all criminals apprehended, and all contraband combat rifles accounted for, his mission for the day was accomplished, and he prevented who knows how many calamities from ever taking place. In his line of work, he really couldn't ask for more.

***

For the rest of the workday, Sverrir went down to the local community watch office and did all the busywork that was called for after any case of such magnitude. He compiled evidence, filed reports about his actions, talked with witnesses and local watch officers, and tried to figure where else the Earth Global Detectives may be led by the connections from people they apprehended. But, eventually the workday was over with - and in late afternoon, he took his recess to what constituted his favourite hangout no matter where in the world he was: the Arbor Diner, a chain of restaurant co-ops serving his most preferred selection of food combos from across the world. After locating the nearest one and making his way there, he walked in, finding a nice table near the panoramic windows and looking over the place, with its prolific abundance of plants and wooden drink casks in the back, he figured he could simply let himself relax for a while.

"Hi there, and welcome!" the waiter said. "What will you have today, Detective?"

Sverrir - a person of note among the employees of that particular restaurant chain - gave it a thought, and figured he owed himself a really good snack after all that has transpired today. He turned around to the waiter, nodding to him politely.

"I'll have a double solarized Cheesemonger's Special, extra garden space on top, a dash of Appenines, overdo the mustard, and no rowing boats." Sverrir said.

The waiter just nodded and yelled to the kitchen: "You got that?"

"Yeah!" the fry cook replied, with Sverrir just smiling to the waiter and kicking back in his chair to wait for his order.

[lovelyirony]

dsjhfjkdj winteriron with that fight prompt would be god tier please give us that gift

Here’s something that most know about Tony Stark: he doesn’t keep his mouth shut, and he likes to know everything. It took many deals to make sure he didn’t tell the US people exactly what was in Area 51. 

(He made the sure the deal expires two years from now, there’s no way in fuck he’s not telling people about the whole North Dakota thing.) 

Tony has grown up with power. He knows how to manipulate it, how others manipulate it, and he’s not afraid of it. That’s a dangerous thing, to not be afraid of power. But when you run an influential company that can make or break people at an alarming rate, but not that alarming because he doesn’t use it for evil, then it’s...well. 

You’re not scared of threats. And if the people threatening you are smart, they’ll realize why. 

This is why when Alexander Pierce walks into his office and charmingly tells him all about his plan to threaten Tony Stark with death and blackmail of the sexual kind involving two men, Tony snorts. 

“Pierce, fire whoever the fuck got you that little blackmail. Half of America has seen my asshole before, it’s not anything new. It’ll just be more material that people see, and to be quite frank, I don’t think my sleeping with men will hurt literally anything besides some conservatives with children or community or whatever, but I couldn’t give less of a shit. Tell me, does my ass look good in that video? I wasn’t sure that time around...” 

Pierce turns red with rage. Tony’s used to it. 

“As for death,” he steamrolls on. “Go for it. I assume since I stopped creating weapons you have Hammer weapons now or some incredibly old Stark weaponry, which is hard to find given the fact that there’s an order to destroy all of it or donate it to a museum. And if it’s neither and you’re planning on a knife or anything, go right ahead. Try and kill me. I guarantee you won’t.” 

“You have no idea who you’re going up against,” Pierce warns, voice turning low and gravelly. 

Tony laughs. “I’m going up against an old leader of a mob named Hydra who had to hide because of my Aunt Peggy being the most terrifying leader around. You couldn’t make a move. And now you’re recruiting people, but you think you’re being so slick about it. I can and will make sure that you are burned along with the rest of your little game. That sound nice?” 

“And how will you do that?” Pierce asks. “You think you can find all of us?” 

“Yes,” Tony says easily. (He doesn’t know this, but like. It’s Hydra. How hard can it be?) “Because if you’re so reliant on your own power status, then how easily will it be for your organization to crumble?” 

Pierce is sent away, and Tony tweets out that he got threatened. Casual Wednesday stuff. Then he says he’s flying away for safety. 

This is a flat-out lie. Pepper knows it. Rhodey knows it. Maybe someone reading the tweet in the middle of Wisconsin knows it, hell if Tony can guess. 

But the point is, no one else will think it’s a lie, especially when he sends a plane over somewhere tropical. 

He’s staying put in New York. The best lie is one that is grand, multiple small holes in this lie, and one that doesn’t involve not going out in public. Everyone else will be looking for Pierce. Not Tony Stark. 

Tony is looking for someone else--or rather, a group. 

They call themselves the Avengers. A group of people that rival Pierce in power, although their group is smaller and more concentrated at getting people out of positions of power. 

It’s understandable. 

Tony walks right into their office building. 

There’s a guy who he thinks is Clint? He spills his ramen. 

“Oh fuck, my ramen,” he whines. “What the fuck are you doing here, Stark?” 

“I have a favor to ask,” Tony says with a shrug. “Who do I talk to about favors? And your security? It lacks, to be completely honest. I expected more from you all.” 

“Security is me,” comes a voice from behind. Tony side-steps a charge from a woman who was lunging for him. 

“Ms. Romanov, I expected more from someone who worked for my company for six months.” 

“You remember?” Natasha asks, surprised. 

“Natasha I do love my scotch, but not enough to black out anymore,” Tony says. “Honestly, who do you take me for? A floozy?” 

She smiles. 

“Good to have you here, Stark. Wish the circumstances could be better. Let me take you to Barnes.” 

Well. Tony Stark was not expecting Barnes to look like that. He wasn’t expecting any of them, to be completely honest. 

“Is the expectation to be attractive and a model?” Tony asks. “Is this your interview process for new candidates? Wow. Okay.” 

James Barnes stares at him. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Alexander Pierce,” Tony says. “He tried to threaten me in my own offices, and I’d like to destroy him. A bit of an impulsive project, but I bet he’s going to infest more things if we’re not careful. I want your help.” 

“Consider it done,” Barnes says. No thought needed. Natasha looks at him. “What did you have in mind?” 

“I am technologically gifted,” Tony says. “I already have gotten into some files that definitely are not for the public and I’ve found a lot of people that are Hydra. We need to round them up, encircle Pierce, and get him to break. Preferably on national television, but that’s just my own flair for the dramatic coming up.” 

James nods. He reaches out his hand. The metal one. 

It’s meant to intimidate people, tell them that that’s their fate if they fuck up the deal. 

Tony stares at it almost with reverence, a bit of confusion, and then understanding. 

“Your fingers need to be re-calibrated soon. And I’m going to replace something in your arm.” 

“What?” 

Tony laughs. 

“Barnes, you’re wearing an arm I created. I know it as well as you do, maybe better. I want you to come down to my shop some time this week and have it worked on, if you’re comfortable with that.” 

And so the deal starts. 

“Do we think this is a good idea?” Steve asks cautiously. “Is this seriously just something he decides on a whim?” 

“Steve, I’m going to pretend like you questioning the most famous billionaire of all time but not for shitty reasons is asking us for help,” Bruce says. “I am planning on taking full advantage of this and breaking into his labs for science reasons since I’m not trusted with a Bunsen burner here.” 

“You used it to make soup and it ended horribly,” Clint reminds him. “And I know, because I supported you.” 

“You’re the only one on this team who does,” Bruce says. 

- 

Bucky does bring Bruce along. He’s figuring that part of the deal can be that Bruce can actually use a real lab. 

Tony’s focus zeroes in on Bruce, actually. 

“So, this is where Dr. Banner’s been hiding,” Tony says. “I’ve been looking around for you for quite some time, Bruce.” 

Bruce blushes. 

“Well, thank you Dr. Stark.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. 

“Bruce here is a legend in the scientific community for two reasons,” Tony says. “He was the first to call Richard Reed a little bitch, and his scientific papers are the stuff of legend. I presume you want a lab?” 

“If it’s not too much.” 

“Nope, not at all. After everything is done, you’ll have a lab here.” Bruce gapes, and Bucky clears his throat.

Tony’s gaze returns to Bucky. 

“So, what can I help you out with?” 

“Strategy. And I’m wondering what kind of help you have.” 

Tony nods, flipping a picture of a man on his desk. 

“Thor. And his brother, but his brother is kind of...temperamental. I think he’ll most likely help because I told him that he could use crazy straws and shaving cream for unknown purposes.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. 

“Trust me, it’ll be worth it. But Thor is good at being discreet, also using an incredible amount of force.” 

“His name is Thor,” Bucky states. “For real?” 

“As far as I’ve found,” Tony mentions. “I’ve connected him to Rogers and Romanov, they’re already planning together tonight.” 

“Then why have us here?” Bucky asks. 

“Because I’m getting Bruce’s lab set up with input, and I’m fixing your arm,” Tony says. “So both of you, follow me to my home.” 

Bruce is giddy. Beyond giddy. It’s the first time Bucky’s seen a smile on his face for longer than a minute. 

(Okay well, a second time. The first time was when Steve tripped over three socks.) 

Tony leads Bucky to his “garage” which is full of cars worth more than Bucky’s entire life, and they sit at two chairs as Tony gets out his tools. 

“When’s the last time you had a maintenance check?” 

“Uh...when I got the arm?” Bucky asks. “Wasn’t exactly aware of maintenance checks.” 

“I bet you had Ted as your person,” Tony grumbles. “Hated that dude. Well you can always come and get it tuned up, no charge. They didn’t tell you that. I’ll have to remind them.” 

Bucky’s surprised at Tony’s easy confidence, the way his shop is laid out. 

He smiles at the robots that curiously come up to investigate. 

“Dad has a couple of new friends,” Tony explains. “U and Dum-E, please don’t poke Bucky in the side, he might--” 

Bucky laughs, flinching away as the screwdriver drops from Tony’s hand. 

“Do that,” Tony says, bending down to pick up the screwdriver. He gets a random bolt, one of the larger ones. 

“Go see if you can pick this up with your claws,” Tony says, throwing it in the opposite direction. The bots squeal after it. Tony sends a look to Bucky. 

“Kids. They’re a mess.” 

“You named them...that?” Bucky says. 

“Yup,” Tony says. “The one that’s anxiously looking behind the couch is U, like the letter. He really liked pointing when he was first born and the first word he learned was ‘you.’ He’s a cutie. The charmer there who’s spinning and trying to show off his new tape that Pepper decorated him with is Dum-E. He’s a drama queen. I have no idea where he gets it from, honestly.” 

Bucky laughs. 

- 

From then, Bucky and Tony work in close quarters together. It’s nice, honestly. They’ve been cracking down on Hydra, driving them into a smaller and smaller circle. 

“You think after all this is over, you want to get dinner some time?” Tony asks. 

Bucky smiles. “I’d love that. Where do you want to go?” 

“Your choice,” Tony says. “As a thank you for helping.” 

“Anything for you, doll.” 

And then Tony gets kidnapped. By all accounts he’s not sure why he wasn’t expecting it. Maybe because it was a Sunday night, and you shouldn’t kidnap people on Sunday nights. It’s rude is what it is. 

They also punch his mouth, which ugh. That just ruined his good days of not having any chapped lips. He was working hard on that particular aspect. 

- 

Bucky goes into overdrive. He didn’t think this would happen because Tony is a very central figure to the city, a figure to the US. To be this ballsy? It’s a death sentence. 

He knows death sentences quite well. Been on a few himself. 

Hydra should be quaking, because he’s getting his knives strapped. 

Hydra is not quaking. Or in fear. It’s because they have quite the large ego, which no organization should have. But powerful men who have another powerful man in their grasp tend to think the world is bowing to them, when in fact the world does not give a shit but their enemies do. 

This is why Bucky breaks into the building in two minutes (personal best), throat-punches six people, and finds Tony singing “Turn Back Time” as loudly as possible. 

“Oh! You’re here!” Tony says. “I was beginning to think I’d have to drive the guards to insanity.” 

“Who did this to you,” Bucky asks, tilting Tony’s chin up in his grasp. He can see dried blood on the corners. He hates that Tony had to go through with that. 

“Bucky, it was Hydra, who else?” Tony says. “Pierce if we’re being specific. But you might want to stop doing that or I’m gonna get hot and bothered under the collar, which isn’t my style. You wanna break out of here or stay with me? I’m not fond of the last option.” 

“Then why give it as an option?” 

“I don’t know!” Tony yelps, grabbing one of Bucky’s knives and throwing it at a man’s leg. “But let’s get out of here. Or at least, to their file room. They keep files. What losers.” 

Bucky laughs. 

“Got it doll. Let’s go.” 

For the record, it’s a huge success. Pierce gets taken away in handcuffs for roughly about life in prison, unless their prison system decides he’s been good after about ten years, and then he might get released. Who knows. Point is, Bucky and Tony will both be alive in ten years, prepared to make sure he goes to jail again or they’ve reformed the jail system by then. It’s all up in the air, really. 

But they’re doing it together. Which is all the more important. 

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

10. Simon’s Deal

3878 Words. Trigger Warnings for self harm and inappropriate sexual joke content. I think that’s all in this one, actually.

I feel like I need to clarify something - I am continuing this story until I finish it. But, the chapters will no longer be standalone pieces. The rest of it will be directly a sequential story that would need the previous chapters in order to make the story coherent. Thanks for understanding. Happy reading, and please, if you like what you read, let me know. If you don’t, keep it moving, Shawty. Because, I’m an artist and I’m sensitive about my shit.

Previous

Simon got up fairly early every day. He fed Samantha and let her out. She came and went as she pleased, and in the times that she returned, she would come to his window and yell. He… was probably going to have to bring her with him when he left home for good. He hated to do it. He never wanted a cat, but they had bonded over having the worst mom in common and it wasn’t her fault that the person who purchased her did so on a whim. 

He had a very strict exercise regimen, breakfast schedule, and things that he did every morning before starting on his day. Whenever he left home, he usually packed what he needed, and tended to use his mother’s old car. Was he legally supposed to be driving? No. Was he teaching himself how to anyway, because he knew he would need that skill and nobody else was gonna teach him? Absolutely. 

His summer had a lot of things packed into it, but he had everything plotted out in such a way that if he followed his schedule, he would still have plenty of time to rest well and even to keep up with Grace. 

She was having a blast. "I asked Ghairrisahn if I could smell her hair to tell my friend how it smells and she gave me a piece of it! I collected YOU a gift, this time!"

"You… have… some of her hair for me???" He asked excitedly.

"She pulled it out of her hairbrush! She says that it isn't even the first time. Her hair and her feet are apparently people's favorite parts." Grace held up a little baggy with curly hair in it. "I'll keep it safe for you. In the meantime, she smells like… geranium, bergamot, frankincense and myrrh."

"I… what?"

"Geranium, bergamot, frankincense and myrrh. Those are her go to essential oils, so everything she wears is one or a combination of those and no other scents, ever, so that she doesn't smell TOO strong. But, it's nice. I actually smell her hair for myself, now. Since she’s got all these oils on her body, I just say that I’m doing it for wellness."

"So jealous," he said, with a smile. “I saw that you gave her a lipstick print. She’s Apex now!”

“She said that she’s been a fan of my videos!” She sighed, "I wish you were here."

"Me too. I miss you."

"Are you holding up okay?"

Actually, my mom had the most violent outburst whenever I tried to get her into my grandmother's car and Samantha has been gone for far longer than usual. I don't know if she's coming back, I don’t even know if she’s alive…

"I'm fine," he said and saw an incoming call… from Mr. Monroe? "I...I've gotta go."

"I'm calling you tomorrow!"

"Yes, Ma'am." she hung up and he smiled, "Mr. Monroe! I didn't plan on hearing from you..."

.

Simon was at his journalism workshop whenever Shana sat next to him. He raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. "Problem?" She asked, turning to look right at him.

"Girl, leave me alone."

"Why are you so rude? Have I ever actually done you something, or do you just hate everybody that doesn't worship your girlfriend?"

"What difference does it make?" He and Grace never corrected people on the girlfriend bit. It was easier that way. They'd have to explain why they're so close and always together and never dating anyone else… like they couldn't JUST be friends? 

"You stole from me. I'd like to know why." 

"I've never stolen anything in my life. Your dad, on the other hand…" 

She gasped and he could tell from the look on her face that was a low blow. She looked like she was going to cry. "Wow. You're just as ugly as she is. I actually thought you were the nice one."

"You are the only person who's said that. Therefore, I'm going to presume that you're lying," he said, with a slight blush. People didn't often say that he was nice at all, and especially not when choices were between him and Grace - the professional people pleaser and part time peacekeeper. The number of times that she had to keep him from cracking something over somebody’s head alone was enough to warrant at least a collective “unfriendly.”

"Doesn't matter now. You're a complete asshole." He laughed at the bold declaration. It had been a while since someone dared to insult him, much less straight up call him out of his name. He didn't know if he had ever really noticed Shana before this moment. But… she and Grace had similar features. He'd heard her referred to as "Chemical Grace" before, because she straightened her hair and wore a lot of makeup and stuff (and was the only other Black girl besides a a handful of biracial ones). 

But, honestly… if Grace contoured her face, had straight hair, maybe less full lips and high cheekbones, the two of them looked a lot the same… to the point that Simon's imagination insisted that they were related.

Oooh… what if Mr. Monroe had a torrid affair once upon a time and had this daughter some months before Grace? That would explain their enmity too! 

"What are you looking at?" She asked, annoyed.

"You and Grace look like you could be sisters."

She glared at him, "I don't know if you think that we all look alike or if you just miss that dragon for whatever reason, (because you're a weirdo for genuinely liking her in the first place), but if you ever say anything that insulting to me again, all bets are off. I'm going to fuck you up, Simon."

"It was a compliment. Grace is the prettiest girl in school and you're like… a close second, on the grounds that you look like less organic her.."

"Please shut up. Why are you talking to me? Are you even allowed to do that?" She rolled her eyes, but he noticed that her skin tone changed just a little bit. He knew that look too. She was blushing. He caught Grace doing so a time or two. It didn’t look the same as whenever he did, for sure, but he definitely noticed. He smirked and texted Grace. She would be in rehearsals, but she’d see it afterwards. 

“Chemical Grace thinks I’m cute. (Smirk emoji)” 

A few short minutes later she replied, “Nothing else to do. Gotta set yourself on fire, bruh.”

He laughed and Shana looked over, but he just gave her a hard stare until she looked away, annoyed that she had even turned towards him. 

They were going to have to work together in journalism club, but he had always been surrounded by people he didn’t too much care for. At the time, he couldn’t imagine the amount of time that they might have to work together, with her being the managing editor and him being the copy editor (and photo/graphics editor, until someone else stepped up for that). 

"I still can't figure out if she's lucky or cursed to have you, but I'm sure hoping for the latter," Shana said as they walked out of the workshop, practically shoulder to shoulder. He just smirked. Her insults were… kinda fun for him. 

.

He had a couple of weeks between his engagements. Grace wanted him to fly out to meet her and fly back in a couple of weeks. She just needed him to agree and she would make sure that the tickets were purchased. He never minded accepting things from her before, but since she’d left him, things felt off for him. 

He wasn’t sure if it was because he was still a little bit hurt that she decided to go on the tour. It was a chance of a lifetime. He wouldn’t have wanted her to turn it down… but he did want that. He wanted her to be nearby and available, so that when he wasn't busy, he could have her to himself to recover from everything. 

That was no reason that he couldn’t go meet Ghairrisahn and see her shows for free for two weeks, though. So, he went!

Grace danced backup for some numbers and under the spotlight a couple of times too. Ghairrisahn praised her on the mic, hyped her up during her performances, thanked her by name at the end of each show, with the band and other important creators, and seemed to genuinely appreciate her. 

For Simon, it was like watching a shooting star go in reverse. Like… when he met her, she was beautiful, but just sitting in a crater, and he dug her out and she shot up and was flying into the night's sky. Beautiful to behold, but also… he doesn't know why he's not with her - Why they weren't one anymore. He doesn't know why she's so out of his reach now.

They clung to that old dynamic, for a few years that it wasn't working, and now, they were shooting in different directions. Where could he possibly want to go if Grace wasn't going with him? Why was it so easy for her now to go where she was going, without him? She used to… she used to wait for him. She used to shine a little less, if only to give him a moment to catch up. She used to care…

That's unfair. She still cares. She's just having fun and she deserves some fun… even if she never would have made it this far without your support. You built her a fan base from a bunch of snobby kids who wanted high school cool points into a public figure with a massive Internet presence. You took the photos that landed her a lucrative business deal at age 14. You turned her parents' heads in her direction every chance you got, just so she could be noticed by them and get a sparkle in her eyes. She owes you everything… and she won't even look at you as anything other than her favorite accessory. Something she never wants to leave home without, but if she does, she could just smile and keep dancing…

He didn't realize that he was shaking until one of Grace's team members asked him if he was okay. He nodded and then went to find some place to be alone. He took off his hoodie and pulled a dull pen from his pocket. His thoughts were racing and his emotions were such an overwhelming cluster of negativity rushing about that he almost felt immobilized by the onslaught. He sat down, lifted his arm and began to sketch. The pen scratched him, lifting the line on his skin, with minimal blood, but a few specks. He drew tally marks. There were a few older faded ones that he had counted. 

Whenever he felt hurt or weak or scared… things he couldn't say he felt. Whenever those feelings became too much. Grace had told him, "You just have gotta try to count up the good things about stuff."

"And how am I supposed to do that whenever my mind can't focus on anything but the bad stuff I'm going through?"

She made an "I don't know" sound, with the shrug of her shoulders, closed her compact mirror, looked at him with the warmest smile and said, "But, you're the smartest guy I know. You'll figure out a way to get on the path to thinking positive when your brain is mean to you." She smiled and a bird landed on her shoulder. She was petrified. "Oh my God… get… get this thing off of me Simon!" He swatted it and when it began to fly, she screamed, dropped her bag and ran. He laughed at the image as he picked up her stuff, but for that brief moment that she smiled, with an agent of nature perched on her shoulder, he got his moment of clarity. He found his way. It was her. It had been her.

Whenever he felt this way, he would center himself with a little bit of pain and just make a little mark of the good things about her that he could think of.

He hadn't done this (over her) in a while. Usually, she was the alternative medicine for hurt that his mom caused. Grace didn't hurt him very often, and the times that she did, he always made a tally to represent that she would never try to hurt him on purpose. 

That's where he began his new tally of marks. 1 She's not hurting me on purpose.  2 She doesn't know that I'm hurt and I'm not going to tell her because she needs this. 3 I'm proud of her. 4 At least I get to come along. 5 She tried to bring me with her and I had to decline. 6 She never would have left me behind on purpose. 7 It was my choice and she respected that. 8 She still loves me because she wanted me here as soon as I had time. 9 We're still the Apex…

"Simon, are you in here? They told me that you rushed off and you didn't look too good?" 10 She came to check on me as soon as she heard I wasn't okay… 

"Yeah. I just got overheated…" he said, pulling his hoodie back over himself.

"That's why I don't understand why you always wear a hoodie! It's summer and you sweat a lot! You're gonna make the bus musty."

"I'm gonna get washed up!" He opened the door and there she was, sweaty and musty herself, with full concern on her glowing features. She glanced at the pen and he put it away. "Fell outta my pocket," he said and covered the back of his neck with his hand, laughing nervously.

She doubted him for a moment. He saw the flicker of it in her eyes, but she smiled anyway, wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him along with her, "Come on, Your Ripeness." Simon wrapped an arm around her as well. He didn't feel any more distress. He wasn't overwhelmed or sad or angry. He had gotten “back on his positive path after his brain was mean to him.” He kissed her on the temple and she smiled and blushed. "What was that for?"

"For always being my best friend."

She tugged him down to kiss his temple too… since that's what they were doing tonight, she guessed. She winked at him and mused, "Back at cha, Gray Eyes." He melted against her and rested his head on the top of hers. Grace was… confused, but she just stood there, with his arms tightly wrapped around her. She didn't understand his sudden need to be affectionate, but she didn't want to interrupt it either.

.

His last night on the tour, after everyone was asleep, they snuck away, just to explore and spend time alone.

"So, guess what your dad and me discussed…"

"Ugh. You've been talking to my dad, still?"

"Um.. of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I'm not even there. What could you two possibly have to even talk about?"

"We have a lot to talk about! I'm very mature for my age and I have a good head on my shoulders."

"You head-butted someone yesterday," she reminded him.

"And I barely flinched. My head is that good...Wait…" she was already laughing at the slip of the tongue. He groaned. She was never gonna let him live that one down. "Let me finish!" He whined, laughing at himself.

"You gotta stop chillin' with my dad, Dude. He's not just an adult, but he's one of the ones that we know can't be trusted."

Mr. Monroe had been very helpful to Simon during the time while Grace was away and his parents were out of reach. Bit like a mentor, but not as warm. They did discuss Grace at times, but mostly the man had been getting him in contact with the right people to help him sort out getting emancipated and for assistance with the home front while there weren't other adults there. They didn't have heart to hearts and stuff, but he was definitely an ally, in Simon's eyes. "He's… not so bad, I think. He just doesn't understand you. But, he loves you. I mean..  I think he does. The way you made them sound is worse than they are. At least they aren't like my parents…"

She frowned. "I don't like it. It's weird that you're taking up for him, too. What have you got a crush on my dad or something?"

"… Did you seriously ask me that?"

"You're going on about how great and misunderstood he is, and I've never seen you date anybody. Maybe that's what you like. Old rich dudes that can be your sugar daddy." She stuck her tongue out and twerked a little.

He laughed, "I am by no means above doing what I gotta do with your dad, if it gets me ahead, but I think your mom would kill me." 

Grace laughed, "I would help her!" 

"Help her? How dead do you think I would need to be? Shouldn't one of you kill him too? He's the adult in this scenario! Besides, your mom wouldn't need any help. That woman could probably kill a gorilla with her bare hands."

"Well, she's always said that she can do anything she sets her mind to with the right pair of shoes." They both laughed about the image of Mrs. Monroe killing a gorilla with a pair of pumps on. Grace thought, she's WEARING the shoes, not using them and Simon thought that she definitely had in her to stab a beast to death with a high heel. 

"Talk about red bottoms," Simon said, trying to stop laughing at all of their add-ons.

"What's wrong with us? We're making jokes about my dad molesting you for money and my mom killing gorillas while staying fashionable."

"I think it poses the question, what's wrong with them?"

"Hmph. According to you, nothing."

"Not nothing, Grayyeeece… they just aren't as bad as a lot of other parents. Some of them never should have had kids." 

The tone was uncomfortable for her. Like, him talking about his parents never having kids made her feel like he was indirectly saying that he didn't like being alive and that couldn't be discussed. She wouldn't be able to handle a conversation like that. 

She smiled and said, "Anyways, what did you and your sugar daddy discuss?" 

Now, Simon's face lit up again and he smiled, "Okay, so get this… We were discussing my busy schedule and everything I have ahead of me next year and he started to candidly speak about your social media and the tour…" she groaned. She knew that her father didn't consider what she did real art. "And somehow, he got it into his mind that you'll need a man to take care of you, a hard-working one with more realistic goals…" she fumed. 

Need? A man? To take care?? Of me???

"Long story short, your dad offered to pay my college tuition, to any school that I want to go to in exchange for wooing you and being your stable man." 

She stared at him, expecting some type of twist. The gotcha or whatever. He laughed, but seemed serious. "My dad wants to pay you to try to be my boyfriend?"

"Technically, his word was to 'tame' you."

"TAME???"

"He thinks that you've blindly rushed into wild dreams and that you need a smart, strong boy to help you stabilize."

"Ugh!!! You know, he ruined my mom's career with that same line of thinking! And she had to live vicariously through me. I can't BELIEVE that he'd pay YOU for that job!" She was furious.

Simon looked offended, "Why'd you say it like that?"

"You're my friend. He expects you to just screw me over and play with my mind for some money."

"It's not THAT simple. For… an education that I work really hard to get, but still may have to settle on a scholarship that might not cover everything. An education that, if I had it, I could finally make something of myself in this world. It wasn't like he offered me a cartoon bag of cash. He offered me a future that I deeply want and need. Nothing cheap or meaningless.."

She intertwined their fingers, "Okay. Then… you'll get that."

"What do you mean?"

"He wants to give you college in exchange for making me your girlfriend, then he's about to pay for your college." 

"Are you suggesting that we officially openly pretend to be a couple instead of leaving it to mystery?"

"I'm suggesting that my father deserves for you to take every dime he's willing to pay you to manipulate me."

"I don't think that you realize that what he wants me to do is change you, and even if we could get one over on him, the act would have to last through my college career…"

"We've unofficially been a couple in people's eyes for almost that long already."

"No we haven't!"

"I am making you a counter offer. It's the very same deal as my dad's, but in this one, we stay the same, but he pays you anyway! So… be my partner, already." She held out her hand to him and he tentatively accepted it and shook it. She smiled. "We'll have to pace it, if he's expecting you to woo me. Gonna have to be a soft entrance and he'll have to notice a gradual shift."

He nodded in agreement. He knew that they were speaking about a fake relationship, but he still felt butterflies fluttering in his gut thinking about it. Being Grace's boyfriend… even if pretend… for years… There was no way that they could pull that off… but, what if it led to something? What if he could woo her, for real? Have her for real?

"Let's go be seen," she said. 

"What do you mean?"

"I'm an internet personality. If people spot us out and about this time of night, they'll talk about it. If we seem like we're trying to be secretive, they'll post about it." She took his hand and pulled him along. 

"We'll have to set some ground rules for this couple project…" he said.

She laughed, "You can set whatever rules you want. I'm doing everything that I've normally done, but I'll be letting my parents think you're my boyfriend so that you can go to school or whatever."

"It's risky. What about affection? What about if one of us finds somebody else that we like?" 

"You like somebody?"

"No. I'm just thinking about the complications to this ruse."

"You're a war buff… Just think about it like a secret identity that you have to commit to for an espionage assignment. The fate of your future depends on it, so in a way, it's a mission of life and death." His eyes twinkled at her and she smirked. He loved when she began to try to speak his language.

"I understand now," he said. 

Next

[welcometophu]

Not Your Guardian Angel: Chapter 5

Marked Book 3: Not Your Guardian Angel

Chapter 5

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Cheyenne sits cross-legged on Pels’s bed, facing her. There are three towels spread out to keep the bed clean, and they already look blood-spattered by drops of spaghetti sauce from when Cheyenne gestured with her fork while eating.

They’d delivered a big bowl of pasta to Mom, then retreated to Pels’s room with their own second attempt at dinner, the door shut behind them. They’ll know when Peter comes home, and honestly, Pels hopes to be asleep before his SUV pulls back into the driveway.

For a little while, it’s been easy. Pels can eat quietly and forget about everything else, while Cheyenne fills the empty spaces with chatter about school, Adric, and gymnastics. It’s great, until dinner is done, and they put the bowls aside on Pels’s bureau, and Cheyenne pulls the spattered towels off the bed, bundling them up.

“Can I stay in your bed tonight, or do I need to sleep on the floor?” Cheyenne asks quietly.

Pels remembers the first time Cheyenne crawled into bed with her. Pels was seven, and Cheyenne was two. Cheyenne had just figured out how to climb out of her crib, over the rail, and had toddled down the hall to climb in with Pels during a thunderstorm. When that meant that Cheyenne got upgraded to a “big girl bed” by taking Pels’s bed, Mom had given Pels a big double bed to sprawl in. Pels is small enough that she hasn’t cared when Cheyenne has continued to climb in, whenever she’s scared, ever since.

Pels snorts softly. “When have I ever made you sleep on the floor?”

Cheyenne grins and throws her pillow on the bed, then stretches out, her legs longer than Pels’s, feet reaching further down the bed as they lie next to each other. “Okay. So. What next?” she whispers.

“You know what you need to do,” Dad says. He’s standing by the bureau, looking down at the bowls and idly poking at one of the forks.

“Dad, it’s creepy when you hang out at night,” Pels says plainly.

“And you’re ignoring my point.”

“I don’t mind if he’s here.” Cheyenne waves at the air. “I mean, he’s always here, right? Like. He’s been here since I was a baby. I’m pretty sure I can’t care. He’s not my dad, but he’s your dad, so he’s like my Peter. Only dead.”

And nicer. But Pels isn’t going to say that out loud. After all, Dad has his issues and can be manipulative at times, so while he’s definitely not Peter, he also isn’t perfect. Besides, Cheyenne doesn’t need to be reminded just how bad Peter can be. “Okay then.” There really isn’t much she can do about him anyway. If he wants to stay, he’s going to stay. “We need a plan.”

“Where can you go?”

It’s a reasonable question, and Pels has been thinking about it while they ate. If it were Cheyenne, maybe it’d be easy. She has friends everywhere. “I only really have friends at PHU,” she admits. “And most of them have gone home for Spring Break.”

Cheyenne rolls over on her elbow. “Did anyone stay? Or maybe do you know anyone else who lives in Pennsylvania? Or somewhere you could get to on the bus?”

Pels reaches for her phone, but the list of phone numbers in her contacts is small. She may have made friends, but she hasn’t exactly tried her hardest to connect with them.

She opens the group text with Shane and Jess. There have been more pictures since she last talked to them. The latest shows three large cats sleeping in a pile on top of Ángel.

“Oh my God, that’s so cute!” Cheyenne snatches the phone from Pels’s hands, squealing as she opens the photo stream for the chat and scrolls through the pictures. “Are they mountain lions? They’re adorable! Why are your friends hanging out with mountain lions?”

Pels grabs the phone back and uses pictures to explain. “The cats are Talented. The word for their Talent looks kind of like lynx, and they look like lynxes, so I’m going to go with that, because I’m not sure how it’s pronounced. That’s Ángel, and his boyfriend Tony, and those two are Tanner and Luca and that’s Hayley. Here’s a picture where they all look normal. And these are Jess and Shane.”

Cheyenne takes the phone back when Pels offers it, magnifying the pictures to get a closer look. “Jess is really pretty. She’s tall and like, totally solid. I love her hair and her freckles. Shane looks cute. Does he have a cane?”

“He broke his leg last January and it hasn’t really healed quite right.” Pels chews at her lip, not reaching out to take the phone back. “They are also pretty much literally the only people I think I can call.”

“Just call them,” Dad says. He plucks the phone from Cheyenne’s fingertips and drops it on Pels’s lap.

Cheyenne blinks. “I am guessing your Dad has opinions.”

“He usually does.” Pels picks up the phone as she lies back again, holding it above their heads. She presses the button to call Jess, and arranges the phone so the camera gets both her and Cheyenne lying side by side.

“Pels, hi!” Jess sounds surprised, and Pels can’t really blame her. She wouldn’t expect herself to call, either.

When the video comes on, it wobbles and shifts around until it’s set against something and is pointing at a bed in a dorm room where Ángel and Tony are sitting against the wall, and Shane’s on the floor. Jess flops on the floor next to Shane and waves. “Tanner borrowed Tony’s truck and he and Luca and Hayley went out to pick up pizza.”

“We will starve before they return,” Shane says dryly. “It’s already been an hour.”

“Why?” Cheyenne asks.

Pels is pretty sure she can guess the reason and it doesn’t have anything to do with the pizza. Her cheeks go hot when everyone else laughs. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “They’ll be back soon, I’m sure. I just—” She cuts off, not quite sure how to get started.

“It’s cool that you called,” Jess says easily. “Is that your little sister? Hey, Cheyenne, I’m Jess. Pels talks about you in our group chat.”

“Pels showed me pictures, but it’s really cool to meet you. Is it true that—ow.” Cheyenne rubs her side where Pels elbowed her. “Quit it.”

Ángel turns towards Tony, then leans closer to him as Tony murmurs something. Tony’s expression when he looks back at the camera is far more gentle than his rough looks would make Pels guess. For a moment, they both get very large in the screen as they climb over Jess and Shane to get off the bed, then they disappear from view. “Good to see you,” Ángel says from off-screen. “We’re going to go take a walk. Let Tony stretch his furry legs.”

There’s a low rumble, and a strangled laugh, and the door in the background bangs open as Jess and Shane both watch the action. Jess is laughing when she looks back at Pels. “Tony just bride-carried him out. Which is better than a fireman’s carry, but still, the look on Ángel’s face was priceless.”

Shane leans forward, picking up the phone and moving it closer, presumably on his lap so it’s looking up at him and Jess. “So, hey, Pels,” he says, his voice low and careful. “What’s up?”

“I’m supposed to get to know you.” She doesn’t know why it’s so hard to just say she needs help, but it is. It’s really hard to get the words out.

“And that’s why you’re calling with your little sister on the call?” Shane looks doubtful.

“Is everything okay?” Jess asks.

“No,” Cheyenne says firmly. “It’s not. Pels needs to go back to PHU right now.”

Jesus.

“Not right this second, Cheyenne. But yes, soon,” Pels admits. “Things are—it’s just not good here right now.”

There’s a loud car on the street, and for just a moment she thinks it might be Peter coming home. She drops the phone, scrambling to the window to look out, but a pickup truck rolls by, passing the driveway and continuing on.

“So, my dad and Pels got in a fight,” Cheyenne says, the phone in her hands now as she looks up at it. “He’s my dad, but not Pels’s dad—you should ask her about her dad sometime. Anyway, her and my dad don’t get along, and he doesn’t approve of her tattoo.” When Cheyenne says the words, Pels can almost hear the quotations around “tattoo” as if she’s trying to get them to talk about the soul marks. “Then things started rattling and when stuff like that happens—”

“I always get blamed.” Pels gets back on the bed and into view of the camera quickly. “It’s usually my fault. Kind of.”

“This time it wasn’t, but my dad doesn’t know that.”

“And in order to keep everything from getting out of hand, he’s pissed off enough that we think everything would go back to status quo if I weren’t here making it worse,” Pels says quickly. She knows they need to talk about it more, but she doesn’t want Mom to overhear them talking about Cheyenne’s Talent. It’s obvious that Mom isn’t ready for it, and there’s no point in taking the risk.

“I don’t have friends here,” Pels adds, when Jess and Shane are strangely silent. They glance at each other, and she wonders if they can have silent conversations. They’re best friends; maybe they’ve developed that almost telepathy some friends have. “We moved into this house right before I started at PHU. If I didn’t have GPS, I’d be constantly lost, especially since Mom has me driving Cheyenne around. The only person outside of this house whose name I actually know is Lonnie, the guy at the Coffee Shack.”

“I wonder if they’d be jealous if you told them he was flirting with you?” Dad muses.

“Shut up, Dad,” Pels snaps.

Cheyenne giggles.

Jess’s mouth is slightly open, staring at the phone. Shane looks as if he’s trying to see around the edges of the image. “Do you have someone else there?” Shane asks.

Pels puts a hand over Cheyenne’s mouth. “It is a long and complicated story. Just remember, if I say Dad, it’s—not an awful thing. If Cheyenne says Dad, she means Peter, and he’s the one who doesn’t like me.”

“Noted,” Jess says.

Cheyenne shoves Pels’s hand away. “Short version is Pels needs you guys to rescue her. So can she come home and stay with you?”

Jess makes the funny little fish face again, her mouth opening and closing while her cheeks go red under the freckles. Shane says something to her that’s too quiet for the microphone, and Jess shakes her head quickly. “I’m fine,” she insists. “I’m just going to grab a water bottle. I’ll be right back. You want one? Of course you want one. Shane. Not Pels. I can’t exactly give you a water bottle through the phone line.” She disappears from view quickly.

Shane’s expression goes soft and amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

A water bottle lands on the bed next to him. “Shut up,” Jess says from off-screen.

Cheyenne still has the phone in her hands, so she sits up, cradling it in her lap to look down. “The pictures of the cats were really cool,” she says. “Pels said they’re lynxes.”

“Lince,” Shane says, and Pels is relieved she didn’t try to pronounce it because it sounds more like linn-chay than lynx. “They’re a type of shapeshifter with only one form, and don’t call them Clan; Tony growls every time it comes up. It’s the only type of Talent I’ve ever seen where one person can call it out of someone else, which is why Tanner’s now a cat.”

Pels is sure there’s a story there, and she is equally sure that Cheyenne is going to get Shane to tell it. By the time she tries to decide whether it’s worth rerouting the conversation back to the rescue mission, Shane’s already deep into a discussion of how there was a twenty-two hour truck ride that ended with one of them becoming a cat.

There are pieces left out. There have to be, because it doesn’t fully make sense.

That doesn’t seem to matter to Cheyenne, who simply nods along with all of it. “So Tony and Ángel are soulmates and who else is?” she asks.

“Ángel and Hayley are the ones who did the original ritual,” Shane explains. “They thought they were going to be soulmates, but then everything went a little wrong. Ángel still brought Hayley home for winter break, though, and she met his best friend Tanner and they turned out to be soulmates, and now Luca’s their boyfriend. And Ángel ended up finding out Tony’s his soulmate, and really, it’s all far better matchups.”

Jess flops back on the bed, a bottle of water in hand that’s already half gone. Her cheeks are still faintly flushed, and her ponytail’s been pulled loose so her auburn hair is in dark waves around her face. “They make each other more stable,” she says. “Ángel and Hayley were like the same person sometimes. But Tony’s got a serious side that helps keep Ángel rooted in reality. And Tanner and Hayley balance well, too, and they make an anchor for Luca.”

“But the spell made them fall in love?” Cheyenne asks. “I mean, isn’t that kind of—”

“Popular misconception, but no.” Shane meets Pels’s gaze through the screen. “Magic can’t make you fall in love. All it can do is point out that someone might be a perfect match, but all the rest of it is up to you.”

Pels makes a noise rather than saying anything in reply. She rubs at her wrist, still uncertain, because this just seems messed up. “Aren’t soulmates supposed to be two people,” she mutters, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

“Ángel’s abuela has two marks,” Jess says. “She didn’t actually get together with both, but she loved both. Soulmates are different for different people. Like Rory’s mark is huge, trying to encapsulate Kit, and they balance each other perfectly. Then there’s Tanner and Hayley, and they’ve got Luca, and there’s no mark for him, but he’s part of their life, and Luca called Tanner’s cat.”

“So no, it’s not weird to have multiple soulmates,” Shane says, his tone very careful. “What happened with my mark is definitely different, but apparently magic likes to do things its own way.”

“Especially around Shane.” Jess knocks into him with her shoulder. “Since his innate ability is Chaos.”

“And if you had a Talent, your innate ability would be stable math,” Shane counters.

“It sounds like you two should totally be soulmates, if balance matters that much,” Cheyenne says with a soft laugh.

“Except for the fact that I am very much a lesbian, and apparently the equation includes Pels,” Jess replies.

Pels can feel the warmth rising in her face again. She’s pretty sure she’s supposed to respond somehow here. Either she should be encouraging, or discouraging, or something in between but there are no words that feel right on her tongue.

“You could just go with it,” Dad points out, and Pels turns to glare over her shoulder at him.

“So,” Cheyenne says, a little too loudly. “We need to figure out how we’re going to get Pels back to PHU.”

“And where I’m going to stay when I get there. Because I didn’t sign up to say I’d be there over break, so I’m locked out of the dorm until Saturday. It’s only Wednesday,” Pels points out. If money weren’t an issue, the travel would be easy. It’s sleeping space that’s hard.

Shane and Jess look at each other. “Sleeping space is slightly complicated because of all the cats,” Jess says slowly. “But we’ll work something out, we promise. You won’t be stuck sleeping on a park bench in the winter.”

“I’ve actually napped on those benches on the Quad,” Shane muses. “But it was a lot warmer. There was this one senior—my RA last year—who used to tell stories about camping out under the bushes. Apparently there’s a place where you can get under this ring of hemlocks—I’m not even sure where he’s talking about on campus. But it’s like a pine fort, and he’d go sleep outside there. On the other hand, he’s Clan, so I’m not sure he really cared about the weather or being outside in it.”

Jess elbows him. “We will find a place indoors, with heat and a bed, for Pels to stay,” she says firmly. “What about getting here?”

“I took the bus home, and can take it back, but my ticket isn’t until Saturday.” Pels goes to her bag and digs through it, pulling out the information before returning to the bed and in view of the camera. “It looks like there’s a fee to change it, and I can’t exactly ask Mom to change the booking.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Shane offers. “Just text me the information, and I’ll get it changed.”

“If she can go tomorrow morning while I’m at school, I can totally play dumb about it,” Cheyenne says. “Pels, you need the car to get to the bus station, don’t you?”

Pels nods. “Which means the car will be stuck at the station, and Mom and Peter will be pissed off about it. Do you think you can get Mom to the station to pick it up somehow without Peter getting involved? I don’t want there to be any backlash on you.”

Cheyenne pats her hand. “I can cry on demand, and you’ll be abandoning me. I will absolutely play dumb for you. Besides, I think Mom might be more on your side than you think.”

Pels thinks back over every time Mom’s forced her to wear the right clothes, act the right way, and hasn’t believed her when she’s talked about Talent. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“I think she’s right,” Dad says quietly. “Your mother was different when we were together. I’m sure that person is still in there.”

That’s a rabbit hole Pels wants to slide down, asking Dad about the past. But he never lets her dig into the details, and she has to be satisfied with the tiny random nuggets he drops like that one. So she shrugs, and grabs the phone from Cheyenne, using it to send the details of how to change it to the group text with Shane and Jess.

There’s a bang in the background of a door slamming open. “Hey there!” a voice calls cheerfully, and Pels thinks it might be Hayley. “We’re back with pizza. Where did Tony and Ángel go?”

“I think they’re on the phone.” A quieter voice, then murmuring in the background.

Jess wiggles her fingers in invitation, and three people enter the view. “Wave at Pels and her little sister, Cheyenne,” Jess orders. “This is Tanner, and Luca. You know Hayley.”

Barely. And she recognizes the other two from pictures. Luca’s taller than Tanner, and has one arm slung across his shoulder, leaning in like he has to touch him. Tanner’s hair sticks up every which way, but he’s also carrying four boxes of pizza, and a bag that Pels figures has wings in it.

“We should let you go,” Pels says quickly. “Just… text me when everything’s all set. We’ll figure out what to do on our side. Bye.”

“Is everything okay?”

Pels touches the button to disconnect the call while Hayley’s still speaking, then tosses her phone onto the charger so it’ll be ready to go in the morning. “I should pack.”

Cheyenne pulls her feet up as she sits up, arms around her legs, hunching over with her chin on her knees. “I’m going to miss you,” she says quietly. “Peter’s going to be okay, though. I mean. I think he’ll—”

“He’ll be glad that I’m gone.” Pels finishes the sentence for her. “I know, and I wouldn’t be leaving like this if I didn’t think that. Mom will think she’s failed, and it’s kind of a failure of the whole nuclear family unit thing, but he also can’t stand me, and he hates when I’m weird and different and act like I’ve got the devil in me. Which… I guess I do, but I also have a guardian angel, and well. He’s never going to understand.”

She grabs her dirty laundry from the last few days, shoving it into her laundry bag on one side of her bag. She looks at the few clothes she’d brought home, and the new dresses mom gave her with the leggings. Which were actually kind of comfortable, and a halfway decent compromise. Mom was trying.

Pels packs everything she can except for her toiletries, then lays out one of the soft dresses and a pair of leggings, along with her boots for tomorrow. She has to keep up the illusion, otherwise Mom will know something is up in the morning.

“I like them,” Cheyenne says. “I think you should go for it.” Because of course she’s still thinking about Shane and Jess.

“It’s not that easy.”

“It is that easy,” Dad counters. “All you have to do is reach out and try.”

Pels glares angrily at him. “No, Dad, it’s not that easy. I meant what I said. I don’t know how. I don’t make friends easily, and part of that is your fault. It’s really hard to make friends when I’m always moving, and always having things go haywire, and sometimes I look like I’m drunk because you’re trying to push me to do something. Literally. Although that time you made the annoying bird fly away wasn’t bad. I mean. There are times when you help. Yes. That’s good. But still. It’s not easy.”

Cheyenne’s eyebrows are high. “I take it your dad agrees with me?”

“Shocking to say, but yes, now I have two of you bugging me.” Pels flops down on the bed, curling up and pulling her pillow over her head. “Maybe it’s easy for you, but that’s not me. I don’t know how to make friends. It’s so—vulnerable. It could go wrong. I could suddenly have to leave when Peter decides he’s not paying for PHU anymore. Everything could change tomorrow.”

“I died,” Dad says flatly. “And that didn’t stop me from falling in love.”

“You didn’t know you were going to die when you fell in love with her,” Pels yells, her voice muffled by the pillow. “God. Both of you. Just. Let me do it on my own time. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know if I like boys. Or if I like girls. Or if I like those two people in particular. Or even one of them. I don’t even know them. I don’t know anything.”

“In order to find out, you’re going to have to try,” Cheyenne says. “If you want to cry on my shoulder, I’ll be here. I may be young, but I’m a good listener.” She pats Pels’s shoulder gently, then lies down next to her. “You always take care of me. I can take care of you, too, now. I’m old enough. I know how scary it is to like someone.”

As if her fledgling crush on Adric is anywhere near the same scope as Pels suddenly having soulmates and a permanent marking telling the world about them. Pels sucks in a breath, letting it shudder out as she exhales.

“I’ll always listen, too,” Dad says quietly. She feels his hand on her forehead, light and careful, somehow touching her through the pillow. Well. Ghost. Of course he can do that. “I’ll be with you as long as you need me.”

That implies that there might be a time when she won’t need him anymore, or when he thinks she doesn’t, and he leaves. And for all that she rails against him all the time, that’s a chilling thought.

“I’ll think about it,” she mutters into the blankets. Seriously. That’s all they can ask of her and they’re going to have to be satisfied. She’s not doing this at anyone’s pace but her own.

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[janus-stanus]

It Seemed the Better Way

Rating: Teen and Up | Category: General, Angst, Character Study

Characters: Virgil and Janus, + a Remus cameo (and maybe someone else?)

Setting: Half when Virgil and Janus were around 10 years old; half in early July 2017, right before the Season 1 finale

Summary:

Years and years ago, Virgil came to Janus with a problem. They both swore themselves to secrecy. In doing so, Janus discovered his purpose. Now, as Virgil looks back on that decision, Janus comes to him with some questions. This time, they don’t see eye to eye. Virgil has to pick a side. He chooses neither.

Content warnings:

Imaginably standard for fics about Virgil choosing to duck out, but we get into his self-hatred and wanting to disappear

Homophobia (the characters don't literally experience it but the description of it is fairly intense)

Spider-related body horror, not much more extreme than Patton turning into Lilypadton though

And temporary possession

AO3 Link (13k words, one chapter + a short epilogue)

Because the fic is so long and mostly one part, I won’t be straight up posting it here to tumblr. Fortunately, you don’t need an AO3 account to read it. I will put the first ~1,700 words below the cut as a preview (plus the taglist). Since this is my first complete Sanders Sides fic, reblogs, kudos, and comments would be greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoy!

[props to @books-are-cool for beta reading the fic for me!]

Virgil had to steel himself before entering Janus’s room. It always unsettled him how empty yet cheery it was. The daffodil yellow walls and carpet, plus the faint scent of lemon air freshener, made him queasy, and there was nothing else to add any character or additional color. The one object that wasn’t a yellow-tinted carry-over from Thomas’s bedroom was the cushioned yellow chair Janus was currently lounging in. He seemed to have dozed off in it, still in his black pants, bright yellow polo shirt, and sparkly dark purple waistcoat. The sight made Virgil feel somewhat underdressed in his lilac pajamas.

The door shut behind him, and Janus’s eyes fluttered open. When he saw the intruder, dragging behind him a thin black blanket patterned with skulls, he let out a beleaguered yawn.

“Yes, Virgil?” 

He approached cautiously, rubbing his fingers against his safety blanket to calm his nerves. He did his best to block the clips of the evening broadcast from his mind for the moment. Instead, he forced eye contact with Janus, and, in a hushed tone, spat out the words that had plagued him for the past hour:

“Is Thomas gay?”

“…What? You mean, does he like guys? No, obviously,” Janus retorted as he rubbed his eyes. However, when he lowered his hands and saw the sincere concern in Virgil’s face, he paused.

“Are you sure?”

Present-day: Early July 2017

It’s a quarter past midnight, and Virgil finds himself in a paradox. His body has dissolved into jello and cries out to sink into bed, yet it turns to stone whenever he even thinks of leaving his post. His face sags like melting wax, but his eyes remain wide open, staring with laser intensity into the formless darkness of his room.

Usually, it’s easy for him to pin down the origin of his fatigued insomnia; some issue he blew out of proportion during the day, or a potential problem lurking on the horizon. Not this time. It was a good day. Just like yesterday, and the day before, and every other day in the past week. It’s standard for Thomas, and presumably the other three, but for Virgil specifically? It’s the first time in Thomas’s adult life that he’s experienced this level of calm. He could get used to it - if it didn’t come with the itching need to do something about it, to tear back the curtain and drag out the monsters lying in wait, to make himself useful. In combination, he’s left with a light, murky haze of apathy filling in the gaps where his emotions should be, creating the sensation of him slowly rising into the air. He needs to feel something. He wants to feel bad.

So he slides off the desk into the leather chair, closes out of the Evanescence playlist on his laptop, and pulls up the video that has rooted itself in the back corner of his mind. While it was uploading, it was the typical brand of anxiety that made it monopolize his attention. As Joan and Thomas had said, coming out was something you’ll never be done doing; however, this video was as close to a final statement of intent as anything would be. There was no turning back from here, no more lying hiding. And, even this many years on, he was still terrified of the fallout.

However, now that it’s immortalized on the web and thousands of unknowable eyes and ears have consumed it, with comments still rolling in by the dozens, the uneasy feeling wracking his body is of a different nature. Because they love the video, of course they do. The online community that has formed around Thomas never ceases to amaze him. Just a year or two ago he’d have laughed at the idea that he’d choose to scroll through the comments on one of Thomas’s posts, but here he is, once again proving his visions of the future wrong. It’s the most he’s smiled in years (though the competition for that honor has been more heated recently than it was for a long, long time).

He scrolls past multiple “I’m here, I’m queer” jokes, compliments for everyone who took part, proud declarations of identity, and allies sharing their support. Those all warm his heart, but the ones which make him pause are the uplifting coming out stories: people who opened up to friends and found they have more in common than they knew; people who gathered the courage to have the talk with their parents (not in the foolhardy way he had, god no, he has yet to watch through the video without skipping that part); people who found acceptance in their communities, even religious ones, even at school. And more than that, people, total strangers from every corner of the globe, who claim Thomas as an inspiration for them living their truths.

It’s those comments that trigger the uneasy feeling. That, and whenever the word “repression” resounds in his headphones like a high-pitched whistle.

Virgil lives in the negative. He deals not just in apprehension and fear, but in embarrassment, regret, and guilt; and he exaggerates each instance by his nature. But this whirlpool in his gut is the result of more than just one bad memory, one isolated failure. It was a chain of choices that formed the armor which has since fused to his bones; actions taken and opportunities passed over, things said and unsaid, truths suffocated and lies that gained a life of their own,

“You called?”

Virgil slams the laptop shut almost hard enough to shatter the screen. He flicks the desk lamp on, then swivels his chair to face the intruder, shaking his head a few times to part his bangs.

“...Janus.” Not the bad feeling he was looking for.

“You remembered,” he grins, an artificial glimmer in his eyes. He takes a second to adjust his capelet and ensure that the golden clasps on his shirt are perfectly in place. “Forgive me for the lack of professionalism, I had to take care of, a thing.”

From the way he says ‘thing’, Virgil knows exactly who he’s talking about. Some things never change. “You couldn’t have knocked first?”

“I thought we were beyond that point in our relationship,” Janus pouts, putting his hand to his chest. “You’re not going to kick me out, are you?”

“Depends,” Virgil responds, without missing a beat, as he pulls his headphones off his ears and tosses them onto the desk. “Why are you here?”

“To talk.”

“About what?”

“...I was hoping you would take the lead on that front,” Janus says, “You’ve always been so good at that. But if it’s up to me, I suppose I could provide a starting point.” He makes a show of glancing around the dimly lit room, recoiling slightly at the inexplicable smell of lavender and expired Halloween candy, before he locks his gaze on the anxious side with the most neutral smile he can muster. “What are your feelings on last month’s ‘Having Pride’ video?”

Virgil huffs as his body tenses. He wants to say ‘fine’, but then he remembers who he’s talking to. “In all honesty? They’re mixed.”

“Really?” Janus gasps, with all the subtlety of a piano plummeting from a third-story window. “I’m, quite frankly, astounded to hear that from you. Why?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Look,” he hisses, “I don’t know what you’re hoping to get out of this, but we are not going there.” He flips up his hood and spins the chair a full 180 degrees. “Good to see you, now get out. Maybe try again another time.”

For a moment, the room goes quiet, music to Virgil’s ears. Then Janus fires back, with words like daggers:

“If you say so. It’s all water under the bridge now. Just, don’t sit there and make yourself out to be the victim.” When he gets no reaction, he gives a final thrust: “I did it for you, remember?”

Virgil’s hands clamp down on the armrests. He tries not to say anything, to just let him have the satisfaction of having the last word and leave. But the last statement out of his mouth devolves into outright mockery as it echoes in his ears, begging to be challenged.

In the blink of an eye, he rises and sharply turns to face his opponent. “You keep on saying that,” he growls, leaning in with his arms crossed atop the back of the chair, “But you and I both know it stopped being true a long time ago - if it ever was true.”

Janus’s eyes narrow. He briefly flashes his fangs, but he bites his tongue. Instead, he plants one hand on the chair, as if throwing down a dueling glove, then shoves it toward the other wall. Virgil catches his balance just before he’s sent tumbling forward, his hood sliding back down.

“Apologies, let’s try that again,” the scaly side smirks. “You were saying?”

Virgil takes a moment to refocus his frustration. “How mature of you,” he mumbles (not that he should have expected better from him). Then he jerks his head up so he can drill his eyes into the snake’s as he continues. “I won’t pretend I wasn’t in on it to start, because believe it or not I’m better than that. Thing is, I realized later that it was a terrible idea, that it would only make things worse in the long run, for all of us. So I asked you to give it up. Did you listen? Of course not. And you never said why you couldn’t, you just-”

“Because you knew,” Janus cuts in, his voice sparking with indignation, everything else about him suddenly stone cold. “You knew exactly why.”

All Virgil can do is stare blankly back at him. While he waits for further clarification, he idly notices the dark smudges fading in under the other side’s eyes.

Janus cocks his head in turn, scanning every inch of Virgil’s clueless face. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. When he fails to find the words, his arm begins moving with a will of its own.

Virgil notices the trembling hand in his peripheral vision right before it lands on his shoulder. He takes an abrupt step back, and from the depths of his subconscious something roars, “Don’t you dare t-”

And it clicks.

END OF PREVIEW

If you want to read the rest, here’s the AO3 link again!

TAGLIST: (massive thanks to @the-taglist-repository!)

@smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts  @thatgaydemigodnerd @arya-skywalker @itsabsurd-and-terrifying @potatsanderssides @legendsgates @demoniccheese83 @rainbowbowtie @kieraelieson @star-crossed-shipper @a-fandom-trashdump @just-your-typical-trans-guy @idont-freaking-know @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @ananonsplace @ollyollyoxinfree @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun 

[meta-squash]

Your ADHD procrastination post has really stroke a nerve with me. I've had the same issue for years, but thought it's normal for everyone. Since about a year or so, I've been wondering if I may have an undiagnosed ADHD along diagnosed conditions. If it's not too personal, how else ADHD manifests in you? I hope it's okay to ask. I love hearing women's stories about ADHD because they are much different than the stereotypical image of it...

It’s not too personal! (FYI I go by they/them pronouns, but I am afab; it’s all good though!) Also, this got VERY long, I’m sorry! I’m verbose and have a lot to say, apparently.

So I personally have a weird relationship with ADHD. I was diagnosed with it (or some sort of attention deficit thing) when I was in like 3rd or 4th grade. I was briefly medicated but I think I was on Ritalin (I forget) and my child body couldn’t handle it; I was a zombie during the day and then when it wore off at night I was Evil and freaked out and wanted to fight everything. So I went off it pretty quick and didn’t get medicated after, presumably because my parents thought my ADHD wasn’t bad enough.

The reason they probably thought that is because my brother has Really Bad ADHD. Like, all the classic stereotypical symptoms and characteristics to the extreme: never shuts the fuck up, really damn loud all the time, extremely high energy, can learn pretty much anything in about 5 seconds but can’t actually hang on to an interest really (now that he’s an adult he can, but not as a kid), can’t sit still or pay attention in class, doesn’t finish homework, etc etc. I was able to mask mine and function enough to get through school just riding pretty much on my humanities grades alone. It sucked a lot but I somehow did it. I had an IEP (Individual Education Plan, which is a US school thing for kids with learning disabilities and such that allows for accommodations and assistance in school) but it didn’t do much except I think give me extra time on math tests because of my dyscalculia (I was in Special Ed Math my whole grade school career). My mother is an OT but I also think that (as you said) ADHD in afab people often manifests differently than in amab people, so I guess my parents just didn’t know what to look for and that’s why I never really got the same help as my brother.

I like to jokingly categorize ADHD into two distinct but overlapping types: Fast ADHD and Mush Brain ADHD. Fast ADHD (in my opinion; this may vary from person to person) is the classic stereotype symptoms. Fast ADHD’s focus problem is too much happening all at once. Lots of thoughts and ideas flying by and you get distracted mid-thought with another thought, or your train of thought gets really crazy but is super fast so your reply to someone’s comment might not make much sense to anyone else because they weren’t privy to your brain’s journey, or you go down a focus worm-hole and sit and do One Thing all day and forget to surface for things like food/water/bathroom. Fast ADHD has more energy (though when paired with depression that usually manifests as restlessness or anxiety) and is quicker to pick up new things. Mush Brain ADHD is kind of the opposite. Thoughts take longer, or you think of something and then it almost immediately disappears (for example, scrolling a website, seeing something that you want to google, you scroll for like 5 more seconds and think “wait, I completely forget what I was going to look up”). With Mush Brain ADHD it’s harder to have conversations because thought-to-mouth time is slower, rather than (with Fast Brain) lots of stuff is going on up there. Mush Brain often feels like, well, mush and like you can’t really form thoughts very well if you want to do stuff. It’s like you’re trying to focus on thinking a thought but it just slides away. Another way I’d describe it is having thoughts but it’s like they’re on a blackboard and they’re being erased as you think them, so they end up mostly smears. Obviously, this is just based on my own experiences as a Mush Brain ADHD person while my brother has Fast Brain ADHD, so this might be different for other people.

Both have lots of overlaps: executive dysfunction (that’s the big one), insomnia, auditory processing problems, hyperfixation (which is not a bad thing! I love my hyperfixations! They’re fun!), absolutely crap organizational skills, constantly losing things, really bad perception of time, detachment from the world (like you drift off into your own daydream, or things feel distant, but not quite the same as depersonalization/dissociating),  difficulty making choices, sensory processing disorder, crap abilities with money, rejection sensitive dysphoria, and often comorbid mental illnesses like depression, OCD, anxiety, dyscalculia/dyslexia, etc.

 Oh, and a lot of ADHD characteristics also overlap with depression characteristics (and a lot of people with ADHD have comorbid depression, so it really doesn’t help).

But I can tell you about my own experiences with some of these.

The Big One which is basically what that schrodingers motivation post is about, is executive dysfunction. People also call it procrastination (it only kind of is) or inertia. Basically, executive dysfunction is where the difficulty lies in starting the task. You want to do something, but you just can’t get going to do it. You get sort of paralyzed. It even happens with things you like. For example, when I made that post, there was a short (just over 100 pgs) book I wanted to read before the end of the day. It’s a good book! It’s on my reading list! I want to read it! But I just sat on my computer and watched dumb youtube videos because that’s what I was already doing and executive dysfunction makes starting tasks really hard. This happens to me a lot. It can happen with reading a book, or getting up to go to the store and buy groceries, or making a meal, or watching a movie. The movie-watching one happens to me a lot. Basically it’s the brain struggling to switch tasks; you’re scrolling tumblr, and that’s what your brain is focused on, and it doesn’t know how to switch from doing that to doing your bio homework or folding the laundry or whatever the task may be. This happens with “bigger” or more complex tasks too, like starting an art project or starting a new book, because your brain has to figure out all the components of that task (I need these items for my project and this amount of time and I need to use them in this order) which is overwhelming, or it needs to comprehend how “big” the task is (how much time/concentration should I try and commit to in order to read this book) which is sometimes hard to gauge. Oh, also this can happen if you’re interrupted in the middle of a task, whether it’s to do another thing or just to answer a question or something; it’s hard to get back to it because it’s another kind of switching tasks. Aside from the blackboard-being-wiped-thoughts, this is my biggest ADHD problem. I can go more into how I dealt with executive dysfunction in college and now if you want!

Auditory processing issues is another thing that I deal with, although to a lesser extent than some people. It just means it’s harder for your brain to process sounds/talking. Part of this, for me, is because if someone is talking to me but there’s other noises (music, other conversations, general loudish ambiance) going on around us, my brain treats them all as equally important and I can’t focus in on the person talking. Another part for me is in my experience I seem to process conversation different from explanation. If I’m talking back and forth with someone about something and it’s not terribly important, I’m fine. If they’re trying to explain something to me, give me instructions, or read a passage of text to me, it just does not stick in my brain. If I’m helping my best friend with her grad school applications, I have to read the sentence she’s asking me check, I can’t have her read it to me. If she does read it to me, I’ve realized that I try to imagine the words as text in my head so I comprehend it better (it doesn’t always work). Auditory processing issues means that a lot of my conversations in public with people who are not my close friends (and therefore easier to pick out from the noise because familiar and/or easier to predict because familiar) are filled with a lot of me going “what?” Retail conversations with customers are slightly easier because there’s at least a mild “script” that they’ll stick to, usually.

Another one I experience is organizational problems. This one was bad enough that I actually went to a tutor-like thing to help me with it for most of grade school. Basically, I had no ability to organize tasks like doing homework or other activities, so things would get forgotten/lost/never even written in the calendar/etc. I couldn’t do projects because I couldn’t (and still kinda can’t) organize far enough into the future. I didn’t know how to break the project down across multiple days or weeks and make it manageable without totally forgetting pieces of it. I’d forget to write down homework when the teacher wrote it on the board, or I’d write it down but forget to do it. Or I’d do it but misplace it or leave it at home. My perception of time was also really crap; I couldn’t read an analogue clock until I was in maybe 6th grade? Even now I sometimes have trouble. It was hard to know how much time I had to allot to certain projects because I didn’t really have good perception of how hours fit in the day and how much time until homework is due and stuff. (Which meant lots of finishing things in class minutes before I had to turn it in and stuff. Once in uni I completely forgot to do an Entire Essay; luckily it wasn’t a class I needed to graduate.)

Along with this is losing EVERYTHING. I misplace things CONSTANTLY. I’ll put something that’s in my hand down to get a cup of tea or something, or even just to like, move a blanket, and I’ll forget where I put it. I’ve solved this problem with Important Things (wallet, phone, and keys always go next to my bed, for example, and rarely move from there if they’re not in my pocket. All important papers go in my Important Papers Folder as soon as soon as possible) but I lose regular stuff all the time. I’ll be working on an art project, I’ll put my glue stick down to reach for a piece of paper, and lose the glue stick in the time it takes to pull the paper towards me. The other day I was brushing my teeth and I put the toothbrush cover down to say hello to the cat and forgot where I had put it down once I had followed her to the next room. When things have a Place it’s easier, but I’ve learned to live with going “Where the FUCK did I put this thing? I had it a second ago!” at least once a day.

The “Mush” in “Mush Brain” is another big one for me. I don’t know if this has, like, a name? Or anything? It’s just what I call it. The best description for it would either be that blackboard description from above, or like you’re struggling to get to a thought through a lot of mud. Oftentimes I’ll have a sort of concept of a thought but not something full, and I know it’s there, but I can’t get to it. This is really apparent when I’m trying to remember a synonym for something, or trying to elaborate on certain concepts or pull ideas from texts. It doesn’t happen all the time. I was an English lit major in uni, so this affected me a lot back then. It’s sort of a similar feeling to reading the same sentence over and over and not registering the words, except it’s in your own brain instead. This kind of goes away for me when I’m writing/typing. Writing this out is easy (minus me forgetting the word executive dysfunction for like 5 minutes) but if you were asking me to explain this aloud I would struggle, probably. This is probably because I can stare at what I’ve written to see what’s missing or edit my thoughts, which I can’t do while I’m speaking, and also can’t do to other people’s interactions with me.

Just a general inability to focus is also one I struggle with. It goes with the “mush brain” to an extent but I think it’s different. It’s more like my brain doesn’t want to, well, focus on anything. If I’m just messing around on my laptop, that means I end up clicking back and forth between tabs endlessly because nothing is holding my interest. If I’m trying to read or do anything “intellectual” or “academic” it means I just can’t get myself to read or I can’t keep my thoughts on what I’m trying to write no matter how hard I try. Nothing holds my interest for long enough, it’s like brain restlessness. I try and concentrate on doing something, watching something, reading something, and my brain just slides away from it.

Rejection sensitive dysphoria is something I experience on a more minor level. It’s something that also overlaps with anxiety and depression. Basically, it’s a really intense emotional reaction to (perceived) rejection. For example, if my best friend says something to me with a certain tone or gets mad at me for doing something minor, my brain just goes “She hates you! She doesn’t want to be friends with you! You should isolate in your room and never speak to anyone again because you’re so annoying and terrible!” I know that’s mostly incorrect (although I also know I’m quite annoying and that’s another ADHD characteristic; knowing you’re annoying someone in some way and having no idea how to stop) so I can fight it but sometimes I do end up holing up in my room for a little bit. Things like criticism (whether towards you or towards, like, an essay or something) can also trigger this reaction. So can things like having an expectation that you’ll be good at something, and then failing at it or just not being as good as you’d hoped. (I developed a sort of defense mechanism for this one of never expecting to be good at things and never expect higher than a C in a class.) It also can come with a sense of feeling inferior around people doing similar things. It happens to me a lot here on tumblr, actually, because I’ll write a meta about something, and then read someone else’s good meta on the same thing, and feel like I’m an idiot and they’re really smart and nothing that I wrote was insightful or good. It happened to me in uni a lot too. It also happens to me kind of...secondhand, now. What I mean is, my best friend/roommate is extremely smart. Like genuinely one of the smartest people I know and an incredible thinker, straight A’s at uni in a degree she created, etc. She still gets imposter syndrome herself and feels like she’s not smart, and when she says she’s not smart, I feel bad for her but I also feel really terrible about myself, because if she thinks she’s stupid, then what am I? But again, it’s an overreaction to perceived rejection. It still sucks though.

There’s some evidence that ADHD comes with a whacked out sleep schedule. And not just insomnia (although that too, I know this because it’s 7am and I haven’t slept yet lol), but also Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder. Which basically means that most people’s circadian rhythms start slowing down so they’ll go to sleep around like 11pm-1am-ish, give or take. ADHD circadian rhythms are shifted so often we start getting tired around 3am or even 4 or 5am. (This is different from insomnia, btw, with DSPD you can fall asleep fairly easily, you just get tired later in the night; with insomnia it’s an inability to or difficulty in falling asleep quickly.) I always thought I’d just gotten my dad’s night owl genes, but it’s more likely that it’s the ADHD. I also have at least mild insomnia and it takes me a million years to fall asleep a lot of the time.

Hyperfixations are the Fun part of having ADHD (in my opinion). They can get in the way sometimes but they’re also really comforting and nice. Hyperfixations happen when you find an interest and it’s basically all you want to think or talk about, and you relate to the world through it, and you want to learn everything about it. It’s also a characteristic of autism. I’m not autistic, so I don’t know if there are major differences between ADHD hyperfixation experiences and autism ones. Anyway, often hyperfixations stick with you for a good amount of time, depending on the strength, and then you might find something else to focus on. Some of my hyperfixations have lasted a few months, some up to 4 years. A lot of ADHD people rotate through the same or similar ones. For example, a hyperfixation I had back in 2011-2014/15ish was Les Miserables. I then found a different thing to hyperfixate on. This past year I have returned to Les Mis. Hyperfixations are usually pretty cool, because it’s usually something you really like and enjoy learning about or doing and it’s kind of like the thing your brain would rather be doing/focusing on.

Personally, I’ve lived so long without ADHD medication that I’m fairly functional without it just due to coming up with personal adaptations and stuff. The thing that I have the hardest time with/that upsets me the most is the Mush Brain part, which also gets worse when my depression gets worse. I really would love to have clear, quick thoughts whenever I want. It’s frustrating to hold a conversation or try to write creatively and quickly when it takes forever for thoughts to fully crystallize in my brain and then come out my mouth or fingers. Right now I don’t have very good health insurance (all blame to covid layoffs) so I can’t really do the meds thing but I often wish I could. My ADHD is definitely not as intense or severe as some people’s. I have friends, and also my brother, who struggle a lot more than I do, and with different things

Holy hell this was so long. Feel free to message me if you have any questions! Or if you want me to elaborate on some of the things I do to deal with stuff.