#i could fix all his problems AND prevent one’s that don’t exist yet

[nerdrops]

mhmmmm

[chrysochroma]

A Summer’s Ball

This is my work as a part of the @mcytblraufest exchange, as a collaboration with @gaytimeswith-scar :D

thank you to @redistooviolent for beta reading!!

Check out the art that this is based on!

Read on Ao3

Rating: General

Words: 14.7k

Fandom: Double Life

Warnings: Bad parenting, Self doubt, Mild self deprecation

Jimmy’s steps echoed through the empty halls of the manor he had lived in all his life, wringing his hands as he walked. His eyes flitted across the walls, focusing in on every crack and chip, each one only proving to worsen his state. A calm breeze floated past him as he neared the end of the hallway. It was nice outside—the perfect temperature, sunny with only a few clouds dotting the sky, accompanied by the occasional sound of birds chirping. Despite that, Jimmy’s face was locked in a frown.

Finally, he reached the end of the hallway. He let his hands fall to his sides, then exhaled slowly and shakily. He stood just before the floor dropped off, a jagged crack snaking from the edge towards him, almost touching the toes of his boots. His eyes were focused not on the gorgeous scenery in front of him, but its broken, charred frame instead.

The walls around him were completely gone, cracked, charred at the edges, same as the floor. It was like someone had taken a giant ax and chopped off the patio that used to exist here, which was an explanation he much preferred to the truth. In reality, he had been the one to cause the destruction. It started as just a small fire, just a small source of warmth in the cool night, but quickly grew out of hand much faster than he could prevent. 

It was his fault, no doubt about it. It was his fault that their annual Summer Ball had to be canceled, his fault that his parents had to spend money on expensive repairs, his fault that he had lost one of the only places in this house that he truly loved. It was his fault, and his parents certainly had not forgotten. There was no way they would. And with the way they were acting, forgiveness might even be out of the question. In their defense, he doubted he would forgive himself, either. It was the only place where he could find some kind of peace and he went and burnt it to ashes, all over some stupid little fire. It wasn’t even cold outside that night. It was a dumb mistake and it cost him almost everything. 

Jimmy spun on his heel and strode away from the window and its charred frame, straight into another person. 

He jumped back, already starting to frantically apologize as the other person took a startled half-step away. 

“I’m so sorry!” Jimmy blurted out, his hands once again clasped together nervously. 

“Oh, it’s no problem, it was my fault too. Sorry about that,” the other person replied, a faint, crooked smile on his face. 

He had what seemed to be a carpenter’s belt on, the pockets filled with various tools, and the collar of his shirt was slightly askew. His golden blond hair was tied into a ponytail with a deep red ribbon, and there was a smudge of dirt on one of his cheeks, although Jimmy could’ve sworn that they hadn’t even started construction yet. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight let in through the open hallway, a warm, almost reddish shade of brown that was absolutely captivating to Jimmy. 

A full three seconds of silence passed before Jimmy rattled out a response. “No, uh, I’m sorry. I thought everyone had left already—you’re with the carpentry company, right?” 

The other person nodded. “I am. Here to fix, uh, that.” He gestured towards the lack of walls behind Jimmy, who barely managed a small nod in response. “So you must be James Solidarity, right?” 

Jimmy nodded again. “You can call me Jimmy,” he offered, the sentence quick and a little too quiet. 

He gave a small nod. “Alright then, Jimmy, you can call me Tango.”

Jimmy blinked. “Tango.”

���That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Tango joked. 

Jimmy gave a small chuckle along with him, trying to ignore his pounding heart and Tango’s playful smile. 

Then Tango locked eyes with him, still smiling. “You seem pretty cool,” he said. “See you tomorrow, Jimmy.”

Jimmy froze. Forget pounding, his heart skipped what felt like a concerning amount of beats as he floundered for a response. “Uh, yeah, you too!” He sputtered.

Tango gave another small smile that sent Jimmy’s heart back to thumping hard against his ribcage, then turned and started walking back down the hallway. Jimmy stayed exactly where he was, feet seemingly frozen to the ground. 

“Hey, Jimmy!” A voice called from behind him, one which he already knew, completely engraved into his memory from the only time they had talked to each other. Tango.

Jimmy spun around to face him, meeting the sparkling eyes of someone he had met only a few days prior. “Tango, hi!” He blurted out, more startled than he’d like to admit. “So, uh, how are ya?”

“I’m doing good, just been working on some other small projects,” Tango replied casually. “I made this sign for a bakery in town—they just needed their name carved and stuff—but they gave me some of these…” He trailed off, reaching into one of the pouches on his belt to retrieve a small package wrapped in brown paper, which he tore open to reveal a stack of cookies. He picked one up and held it out to Jimmy with a precious, giddy, almost child-like happiness on his face. “Want a cookie?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure!” He accepted the cookie from Tango and took a nibble out of it, internally screaming at himself for his awkwardness. At the same time, the cookie filled his mouth with a rich, sugary taste, which distracted him from his own embarrassment for just a second. 

Tango took a bite out of his own cookie, absentmindedly nodding as he chewed.

“They’re good,” Jimmy said, taking another bite from his. 

“Ye-ghh,” Tango agreed, mouth still full. 

A snicker escaped Jimmy’s mouth before he could stop it, his face immediately going red. “I-”

He started to apologize, but was cut off by a snort from Tango, who was holding back laughter of his own. Jimmy’s words fizzled out, replaced by another chuckle at Tango’s reaction. The pair caught each other’s eyes, both smiling, which caused another rush of pink to cross Jimmy’s cheeks. He found himself relaxing, regardless of the usual stress this kind of situation would cause him. Instead, he was focusing on the crumbs stuck on Tango’s upper lip, the strand of golden blond hair sticking straight up from his head, the pencil that was close to falling from its place tucked behind his ear, the faint scar across his pointer finger, the stray eyelash on his cheek—

Then another voice called from deeper inside the house. “Tango!”

Tango’s head swiveled to the source of the sound before looking back to Jimmy. “Guess I’m needed,” he shrugged. 

“Yeah, of course,” Jimmy replied, his face serious again. “Thanks for the cookie! It was really good.”

“‘Course, Jimmy,” Tango smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.” Then he shoved the rest of his cookie in his mouth before jogging off in the direction of the voice.

Jimmy managed to give him one final smile before their eye contact broke. “See ya in a bit, Tango.”

“Tango,” Jimmy started, walking up to him. “What are you working on today?”

“Just planning out some things before swinging a hammer into your wall,” he joked, giving a faint smirk at Jimmy’s chuckle. He set down his pencil and turned to him. “How are you doing today, Jimmy?”

“I’m doing well, thank you for asking,” he responded, almost automatically. “Although, I was wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s that bakery? The one that gave you the cookies yesterday? You never told me.”

“Those cookies were pretty good, weren’t they?” Tango agreed. “You could get some for that ball you guys have,” he added, Jimmy almost cringing at the mention before quickly moving past it.

“Well, that’s not the only reason I want to go there.” The pair made eye contact, Tango responding with a simple eyebrow raise. Jimmy continued after the slightest second of hesitation, “I want to see the sign you made.”

“Oh,” Tango said, not expecting Jimmy’s response. A slight tinge of red spread across his cheeks. “Well it’s not much, just a piece of wood with some letters carved in it—”

Jimmy waved him off. “I’m sure it’s worth seeing. Besides, those cookies were good.”

Tango nodded. “They were. Well, uh, if you really want to go, it’s the Red Velvet Bakery, next to the General Store.”

Jimmy nodded, recalling the area that he was talking about. “Right, well, I’ll have to visit sometime. Perhaps you could come with, show me around,” he offered.

“Perhaps I shall,” Tango smiled. “You just let me know when.”

Jimmy nodded back to him, then left the room, letting Tango resume his work. 

Sunlight covered the hardwood floor in rectangles cut out by window panes, the same pattern also draped across Jimmy as he sat, legs crossed, on a sheet-covered chair in the room Tango was last working in yesterday. The rest of the people he worked with were already there—various sounds of construction already filled this side of the house—but Tango hadn’t arrived yet. This was the room he would be in, he was sure of it. Even if it wasn’t, he had left one of his tools there yesterday, so he would surely return to pick it up, right?

“Jimmy? What are you doing here?”

Jimmy turned slightly to see Tango standing in the doorway, a confused look on his face. “Ah! Well, I’m just sitting here, I guess.” Jimmy cringed. He should’ve planned this out beforehand. 

“Well, I guess you are.” Tango’s eyes caught the hammer of his that was sitting on the table next to Jimmy and he stepped forward to grab it. “So that’s where I left you,” he muttered. 

“Yeah, I, uh, found it in here yesterday, just wanted to make sure you remembered.” Jimmy said. 

Tango smiled. “Well thank you, Jimmy.” He dropped the top into its place on his belt, then turned around to get back to work. 

“Hey,” Jimmy started. “Would you mind if I just sat here?”

“Not at all,” Tango replied, looking back at him over his shoulder. “Do you wanna talk or something while I work?”

“Oh, uh, yeah sure,” he stammered, mentally letting out an immense sigh of relief. 

“So what do you want to talk about?”

“Uh,” Jimmy said, his mind completely blank. “I dunno, whatever.”

“Alright, then,” Tango laughed. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“No!” Jimmy snapped his mouth shut, embarrassed by his sudden outburst. “We can talk. I just don’t know what to talk about.”

“How was your morning?” Tango asked. “We’ll start with that.”

And so began one of the best conversations Jimmy had ever had. It was pleasant and casual, while still being interesting enough for him to enjoy. Though, he doubted any conversation with Tango could be boring. They talked about nearly everything that came to mind for the next few hours, from favorite foods (Tango’s was pancakes) to their shared love of animals (Tango said that he had once fallen asleep on the ground next to his friend’s cat). Jimmy’s favorite part, though, was when he asked Tango what brought him to the carpentry business. 

“I like making things,” he had said. “I like tinkering, I like building, and I like being able to help other people with what I build.”

“Well you’re certainly helping me by doing this,” Jimmy said, long before he could think about his words. 

“Yeah?” Tango raised an eyebrow. 

Jimmy hesitated for a second. He wasn’t one to tell random people about his mistakes, especially not ones like these, but he guessed Tango wasn’t really random, was he? “It’s my fault that the fire started,” he admitted. The words flowed out of his mouth with surprising ease, like finally releasing a breath he’d been holding for too long. “And this was my favorite part of the house, so I’m glad it’ll be back soon. Thank you.” He had added on the last sentence in a bit of a rush, but it still managed to be one of the most genuine ‘thank yous’ he’d given in a long time. 

“I’m glad I could be of service,” Tango said, a smile on his face. 

Jimmy gave a small chuckle, the smile on his face matching Tango’s. 

A few seconds passed in silence, but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable for either of them. 

“Y’know, this isn’t unlike a date I once went on,” Tango said. 

“Yeah?” Jimmy replied, hoping the conversation was going in the direction he wanted it to go in. 

“These little conversations are kind of like mini dates if I’m honest,” he continued. 

Jimmy was about to respond when he was cut off by a voice calling from further inside the house. “James!”

Jimmy froze. “My parents.” He said quietly. 

Tango kept talking. “I could take you on a real date one of these days.”

The voice called again. “James!”

Tango locked eyes with him. “What do you say?”

Time seemed to freeze for Jimmy as he thought of what might happen. He couldn’t bear to throw this away—it was everything he could’ve ever wanted—but he was still faced with the looming consequences of what might happen if he did. He would get grounded, surely, maybe even disowned, but maybe he could be happy. 

Maybe he and Tango could be happy without the pressure of his family on his back. He could imagine the two of them together on a calm summer’s day without a care in the world and his heart was aching at just the thought of it. He would do anything to make that dream a reality—that is, until reality crashed back down onto him. He was scared. He had a good life that he was grateful for and he had no idea what could happen if he gave it up, regardless of the reason. However much he wanted to say yes to Tango, he almost didn’t think he was capable of it.

He weighed his options, both of them screaming at him to do the right thing. 

“James Solidarity!” His name, the one he hated, was ringing in his ears like a siren, warning—commanding—him to make the right choice.

“I can’t.” Jimmy said. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

Jimmy looked up into Tango’s eyes, that reddish-brown that he loved so much. They were filled with confusion and disappointment, but ultimately understanding, which he could never thank Tango enough for. 

“Ah. No problem.” Tango gave him a bit of a sad smile. “Sorry if I was coming on too hard or—“

“No, you’re fine, really,” Jimmy said. “I’m sorry.”

Tango nodded, a hint of confusion still on his face. 

Jimmy returned his nod, then stood and stalked out of the room, trying to keep his tears from falling onto the new hardwood floor as Tango called out to him. 

“Bye, Jimmy.”

He didn’t respond.

It had been almost a week since Jimmy had last talked to Tango. The repairs seemed almost done now, at least according to his judgment, and he would be lying if he said he was okay with it. 

He had spent that week wandering around the manor, no one else to really talk to. This wasn’t particularly unlike his normal behavior, but Jimmy still found him much more bored than usual.

It was because of Tango, he knew it. He might’ve seemed a bit too standoffish, which might’ve been a bit of a mistake that he was completely regretting. Gods, what if Tango hated him? He wouldn’t blame him. He panicked, that was all, surely he would understand. But there was no way he would and Jimmy knew it, however much he would rather not think about it. 

So, in order to try and avoid a public breakdown, Jimmy forced himself to avoid Tango, resisting the urge to walk over and strike up a conversation. 

That lasted for about a day. Since then, Jimmy had taken to being in his general area, usually just a room away from wherever Tango was working that day, by coincidence of course. 

He couldn’t tell if they were coincidences because of himself or his parents. 

Part of him wished he would just stop. It wasn’t worth it and it never would be. It would never work out. 

Every other part of him was barely resisting the urge to beat the previous into oblivion for even considering it. 

That was what kept him here. Even though every second felt like a risk, every spared glance into Tango’s eyes made him wish he wasn’t pathetically bare of courage and every time he caught a fleeting bit of conversation, he ached to be the one Tango was talking to. And every time he heard his laugh he nearly melted. 

Being here was such an incredible risk he couldn’t believe he stayed there—moved closer, even. It was a risk but Tango was worth it. 

“Jimmy, is that you?”

Jimmy spun around immediately at hearing Tango’s voice, right before thinking that maybe he should seem a bit less desperate. Too late. “Tango.” Jimmy said.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Tango responded, a hint of a crooked smirk on his face. Jimmy had to fight with himself to keep his face straight. “So, how are you doing on this fine day, Jimmy?”

“Fine, and yourself?” Jimmy was almost cringing at giving Tango his basic, automatic responses. They were meant for diplomats and extended family, not him. Still though, he couldn’t make himself say anything better.

“Doin’ good, doin’ good.” He leaned against the wall behind him and crossed his arms. “So, Jimmy, not gonna lie, I’ve seen you around quite a bit. Something going on?”

“No.” Jimmy shot back, his response much less lighthearted than Tango’s. “There’s nothing, what made you think so?”

He meant the question rhetorically, but Tango responded anyway. “Ah, well, I just figured you might have something to say to me considering how often we’ve seen each other.”

A split second of hesitation—barely anything but much too long for Jimmy’s taste. “No. This is my house, I can go wherever I please.”

Tango let out a laugh and Jimmy’s mind froze. It sounded warm and friendly and he was fighting to keep a smile down and it was ringing in his head so much that he almost didn’t hear Tango’s response. “Alright, Jimmy, whatever you say.” Tango shrugged. 

Mind void of any other possible responses, Jimmy gave him a curt nod, then spun around and stalked away from him, a whirl of emotions flooding through his heart and lungs, which would’ve been paralyzing if not for his tremendous need to get out of Tango’s general vicinity now, in fear of confessing his love on the spot.

He left the room, leaving Tango leaning against the wall with a faint smile.  

Jimmy’s heart was fluttering as he stood, silent, alone in a hallway. Unfortunately, it was fluttering in less of an ‘in love’ kind of way and more of a ‘close to a panic attack’ way. 

He could hear people talking in the hallway that intersected the one he was in, talking about things most likely related to the now finished repair job. Tango’s voice was among those speaking. 

What if this was a bad idea? He had been thinking about this moment since Tango had uttered the word ‘date,’ and yet he was still scared that it would go wrong. Not like he expected anything else, but it was still less than fun to be sitting here second-guessing himself.

The conversation around the corner stopped. Footsteps started in his direction. Jimmy pressed himself against the wall, not inhaling nearly enough air through his shallow breaths. His eyes were locked on the opening where the hallways crossed, waiting for one specific person to walk past…

A stroke of golden blond caught Jimmy’s eye. He lunged forward, arm out—

-

Something grabbed onto Tango’s wrist and pulled him back into a hallway, his arms pinwheeling to try and keep his balance. “Wh—hey!”

When his arm was finally released, Tango spun around, ready to find out who decided to randomly yank him into a hallway with no explanation, when he caught Jimmy’s eyes instead. 

They were an amazing shade of honey brown, sparkling in a stripe of sunlight let in through a window and wide open in a slightly panicked looking expression. “Jimmy?”

He opened his mouth as if he was about to respond, then shut it and grabbed Tango’s wrist again, pulling him into a nearby coat closet and shutting the door behind them.

“Jimmy?” Tango repeated. “What’s going on, what are you—”

“Tango. Look at me in the eyes.” Jimmy cut him off as he grabbed the other’s hands in his, holding them tightly. “Will you go out with me?”

A second passed in Tango’s stunned silence, leaving a blanket of uncomfortable tension over the two of them. Jimmy grabbing his hands had startled him, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he took that precious second to soak in the question Jimmy had just asked, almost relieved that he did so. 

He didn’t get the chance to respond before Jimmy dropped his hands and stepped back, the red tinge of embarrassment blooming across his cheeks. “Forget I asked.”

“No, wait a second,” Tango protested, stepping towards Jimmy and closing the gap between them once again. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

A smile broke out across Tango’s face. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay!” 

“So where are we going?”

Jimmy froze. “Uhh…”

Tango could help but stifle a laugh as he realized Jimmy definitely hadn’t thought this all the way through. “I know of a little park close to here,” he suggested. 

Jimmy nodded, relief clear on his face. “Yeah, no problem. I think I know what you’re talking about—the one with that old barn, right?”

“Yep! You’ve been there before?” 

“I used to go with a friend of mine,” Jimmy explained. 

“I see. Well, are you free Friday?” 

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

Tango gave a small nod. “See you there at, uh, 1?”

“I’ll bring some food or something,” Jimmy offered. 

“Excellent.” Tango smiled. “See you then.”

“Yep!” Jimmy smiled back. 

Tango stepped back, reaching for the doorknob to the closet, and let himself out, leaving the door open behind him. 

“Bye, Jimmy,” he called back. 

“Bye, Tango.” Jimmy responded. 

-

“Please,” Jimmy repeated. “C’mon, just this once.”

Bdubs stood with his arms crossed, looking at Jimmy with a skeptical squint. He was somehow able to keep a flat face as Bee, the horse he was currently tending to, butted her head up against his arm. “What is this for again?”

“I-“ Jimmy started to answer, but was cut off by Bdubs’ raised finger. 

“And you better tell me the actual truth, mister, or else I’m not helping.”

Jimmy deflated. “Fine. I’m going to meet this guy and I really need you to cover for me, alright?” He knew that this was a bit of a risk, but he couldn’t think of another way to get out of the house without raising suspicion, and Bdubs probably wouldn’t tell anyone. Besides, he was desperate. 

Bdubs cocked his head to the side. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, I am,” he insisted. “So can you cover for me? Pleeeeeease?” Jimmy tried to do his best puppy-dog eyes at Bdubs, which was a bit challenging since he was much taller, but he tried his best to pull it off.

“Goodness’ sakes,” Bdubs muttered. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Incredible, thank you very much, Bdubs, I owe you,” Jimmy replied, already hurrying out of the stables, a smile beaming across his face. 

“I want a raise!” he called after him. He doubted Jimmy had even heard him.

Jimmy started up the path towards the park he and Tango agreed to meet in, a small basket in one hand. He had asked the chef to make some pancakes for him, remembering Tango’s comment about them. He hoped Tango would like them. When he had said ‘pancakes’ as his answer to Jimmy’s question, he didn’t specify which kind, so he decided that it was best to have a variety. Naturally, part of him was afraid that it still wasn’t enough, that he wanted a specific flavor that he hadn’t even heard of from a bakery across the country, which he knew was ridiculous. He still brought four different flavors, though. Just in case. 

He had opted to walk the whole way to the park, rather than taking a horse in hopes of avoiding suspicion. He wasn’t sure if it had worked or not, but he hoped so. The walk was longer than he expected, to say the least, but he had already decided that it was worth it. His palms were getting a bit sweaty, though. His fist was clenched around the handle of his basket, almost as if he was holding it for comfort. 

The path was nestled between two small hills, in a valley of sorts. The park that he was heading to found its home in a small clearing between the two hills, transitioning into a field that stretched across the horizon, dotted with daisies and dandelions. Also on that horizon was the old barn the two of them had used to identify the area, its rustic and endearing charm making the scene seem more like a painting than real life. 

Jimmy stopped just where the clearing and the meadow met, something having caught his eye. It was a blanket laid out on the grass of the meadow, a light shade of somewhat desaturated yellow with a figure sitting on it—Tango. A smile flickered onto Jimmy’s face.

Once again, Jimmy was relieved upon seeing Tango there, even though it was nonsensical that Tango would’ve bailed, seeing as he was the one to offer a date in the first place, but that fact did absolutely nothing to help cure Jimmy’s self-doubt. 

Jimmy continued walking, still smiling. He reached up with his free hand and gave a wave to Tango across the grass, who caught his eye and waved back.

“Tango, hi,” Jimmy started. “The blanket was a good idea.”

“Thanks!” Tango smiled. “I figured I should contribute too, and since you said you were bringing food,” he gestured at the basket Jimmy was holding, “I thought—picnic!”

“Yeah,” Jimmy nodded, setting down the basket and sitting next to it, crossing his legs. 

Tango was staring off towards the horizon, looking a bit enthralled by their surroundings. “I forgot how pretty this place was. I haven’t been here in years.”

“Me too,” Jimmy added. 

The two of them settled into a comfortable silence as both of their eyes wandered across the scene they were immersed in, both of them taking occasional detours to look at the other instead.

Jimmy pulled the two out of quietness as he reached towards the basket he had brought. “I didn’t know which kind you like best so I brought a bunch,” he said, unpacking the basket. When he was finished, there were four stacks of three pancakes each, all of them set on plates that were probably too fancy to be on the ground; he didn’t care, though. His parents certainly wouldn’t notice them missing and Tango deserved better than ground pancakes. 

“We’ve got strawberry, blueberry, chocolate and plain,” he said, gesturing at each of the piles in turn. “Take your pick!”

Tango seemed almost speechless for a second. “Wow! This looks amazing, I—” he laughed, his smile growing across his face. “When you said you’d bring food, I didn’t expect this!”

A pang of something awful—regret, foolishness, embarrassment—struck deep into Jimmy’s heart. “Oh, I—is it too much?” He backpedaled. “I thought it was too much, I’m sorry, I—”

“Woah woah woah, wait, hold on, I never said that,” Tango protested. “It isn’t too much, it’s amazing. Saying sorry is quite literally the opposite of what you should be doing,” he joked.

“Oh!” A familiar red tinge found its way to Jimmy’s cheeks. “Well, thanks! I’m glad you like it.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” Tango said, looking up from the pancakes to lock eyes with Jimmy. 

Jimmy chuckled, letting out what felt like thousands of pounds of stress as he did so. “Right, well, dig in!”

Both of them had one of each of the pancakes so they were both able to try all of the flavors. Tango had insisted that he try them too, even though he had practically grown up on them. Jimmy was grateful that he did, though. They sent a rush of calming nostalgia through his body, only making him even more glad to be there with him.

Once the two of them had finished trying each of the flavors, it didn’t take long for the rest of the pancakes to disappear. 

“That really was great,” Tango said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That’s good,” Jimmy replied, stacking the now empty plates back into the basket. When he was done, he closed the basket’s lid and joined Tango in calm silence. 

The sun was slowly creeping its way across the sky as time passed, the two of them in casual conversation. Tango had been right—it did seem like the conversations they had already been having; this one was just a bit fancier. And like their other conversations, Jimmy found himself enthralled by even the most mundane of topics. 

Their date really wasn’t much, but Jimmy wouldn’t describe it as anything other than amazing. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve actually ever been into that barn,” Tango started.

“Really?” 

“Wanna go check it out?” 

Tango’s reply caught Jimmy off-guard—it wasn’t too often that people offered to explore abandoned barns with him—but his reply was instant. “Sure.”

The two of them made their way through the meadow, carving an ever-so-slightly winding path through the knee-high grass. Chirping crickets and singing birds accompanied them on their walk, adding a bit of background music to their conversation. The sun’s rays shone down on them, beaming light and heat across their skin. Before the warmth could get uncomfortable, though, the breeze swept it away, keeping the pair of them cool as they drew closer to the barn before finally reaching it.

It was fairly large, covered in light brown paint that was chipping off in flakes. There were a few small holes in the wooden planks that made up its walls and ceiling, but otherwise the building seemed to be fairly intact, although a bit overgrown.

Tango pulled on one of its hefty doors, using what looked like a considerable amount of effort to drag it through the unkempt grass blocking the entrance. Eventually, though, he was able to wrench it open. He stood next to the door, gesturing into the barn with one hand. “After you.”

“How considerate,” Jimmy joked before making his way into the barn. 

The inside of the building was about the same level of deserted as the outside—holes and chipping paint, now accompanied by scattered piles of hay and grass. 

Almost immediately, a sound caught Jimmy’s ear. It was high-pitched and a bit quiet, but he could tell what it was: a meow. 

“Did you hear that?” He asked Tango, who had just entered the barn behind him. 

“What?”

“It was like a cat,” he started, before he heard the sound again. “There!”

The two of them followed the sound to a small pile of hay in one of the corners. Tango pushed the pile aside to reveal a small kitten, curled up into itself. Its’ fur was mostly black, with patches of a creamy white on its arms and stomach, and all of it was slightly matted.

Jimmy let out a small gasp, eyes locked on the animal. “We have to help it.”

“Yes.” Tango agreed. He cleared more of the surrounding hay, craving out more of a clearing for the kitten. 

“We can be like ranchers,” Jimmy said. “This is a ranch, and if we’re taking care of something, we’re ranchers.”

“Y’know, you’re not wrong,” Tango shrugged.

Jimmy turned to him. “What should we name him?”

Tango thought for a second. “Pancakes?”

“No, that’s bad.” Jimmy waved him off, ignoring Tango’s vague sounds of offendedness. “What about Remington?”

“What?”

He continued, still paying no mind to Tango’s comments. “But he’s a rancher too, so we should call him Rancher Remington.”

“Double R,” Tango immediately suggested. 

“Perfect.”

The two of them still had their eyes locked on Double R, twin smiles on their faces. 

“We should probably meet back here in a couple days to check on Double R,” Jimmy said. 

“Mhm, and this totally isn’t just you asking me out,” Tango smirked. 

“Yep.” Jimmy tried to ignore the fact that he was blushing again. 

A few seconds passed before Tango looked up at Jimmy. “I have no idea how to take care of a cat.”

“We will figure it out together,” Jimmy promised. He held his hand out towards Tango, as if offering a handshake. 

Tango took his hand, smiling, then flipped it over and pressed a kiss onto his knuckle. 

Jimmy smiled. 

-

Tango leaned on the doorway to the room Etho was in, arms crossed. “Hey, do you still have your cat’s old bed?”

Etho frowned, looking up from his book. “Probably. Why?”

“Can I have it?”

“If I can find it,” Etho said, standing up and setting his book on the table, still open with the pages down. 

Tango stayed leaning against the doorway as Etho walked past him and out of the room, presumably looking for the bed. He heard the sounds of Etho rummaging through old things before he returned, cat bed in hand. 

“Here ya go,” He held it out to Tango, who took it. Then he sat back down and picked up his book. “Can I ask what it’s for?” “Well, I met this guy at the old park we used to go to yesterday and we found a cat in the barn, which we have decided to take care of.”

“Ah.” Etho nodded. “So how’s he?”

Tango looked off in thought, remembering the events of the previous day. “He’s nice. And really caring.” 

“So you like him?”

“Well yeah, if I didn’t then I wouldn’t be doing this, would I?”

Etho shrugged. “You owe me for that, by the way.”

Tango waved him off. “Yeah, yeah.” He walked over to the exit of Etho’s apartment, throwing a quick, “Bye,” to Etho before leaving.

Tango pushed the door to the barn open and was immediately surprised to see flickering light coming from the inside.

Jimmy looked up at him, his face instantly lighting up. “Tango! I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Me neither,” Tango admitted. “What’re you doing here?”

He held up a small chunk of some kind of meat. “I thought I’d bring some food for Double R. You?”

Tango gestured to the bed slightly. “This was my friend’s, he said I could have it for Double R.”

“Oh, perfect,” Jimmy smiled. “Well come over here, then.”

Tango complied, setting the bed down next to Jimmy before sitting down himself. He watched as Jimmy tore small pieces of meat off the chunk he was holding and offered them to Double R, who usually ripped them out of Jimmy’s hand before turning around to nibble at it. // A faint smile found its way onto Tango’s face.

Jimmy fed the last shred of meat to Double R, who immediately started pawing at Jimmy’s knee upon finishing it. Jimmy reached down and picked him up in response, cradling the kitten in his arms. 

Tango almost melted at the sight, dying of cuteness overload between the two of them. He let out a quiet “Aww,” which Jimmy smiled at. 

Soon enough, he fell asleep in Jimmy’s arms. Very carefully, Jimmy set him back down so he could really rest on a surface that wasn’t mildly afraid of dropping him. 

“You’re very graceful,” Tango commented.

“Yeah, I’ve been taking dance lessons forever,” he shrugged. 

“Can you teach me?” Tango blurted out. Part of him regretted the sentence the moment it left his mouth, but by then it was too late, so he continued. “I’m pretty bad,” he laughed.

Jimmy stood, reaching a hand out to Tango. “I’m sure you’re not that bad,” he reassured him.

“You haven’t seen me dance yet,” Tango countered, standing up and taking Jimmy’s hand.

“I suppose you’re right.” Jimmy held both of their hands out to the side, placing his other hand right where Tango’s ribcage ended. “I’ll lead, then.”

Tango nodded before realizing that he was still awkwardly holding his free hand up in the air, unsure of where to put it. He froze, a bit of fear in his eyes, and looked at Jimmy, who thankfully got the message. He reached up and moved Tango’s hand to his shoulder, keeping their shared look intact. 

Tango gave Jimmy a nervous smile, and Jimmy returned it with a smile full of happiness and patience. 

“You ready?” Jimmy asked.

“Who knows?” Tango shrugged, his smile beaming.

Jimmy nodded. “We’ll go slowly.” He stepped back, giving Tango enough time to follow him before taking another step. Then he turned to the side, then moved towards Tango, each step leading the pair of them gradually around the room. 

As they danced, Tango started to move less sharply, flowing with Jimmy’s movements instead of simply following. He was understanding the intricacies of their dance now, recognizing patterns in the lines they traced across the floor.

Jimmy smirked. “I’m gonna spin you.”

“Wait, what?”

Jimmy lifted his hand from Tango’s waist and held both of their hands up high, starting to rotate Tango’s wrist. Tango spun once, twice, stumbling slightly until Jimmy caught him in a dip.

The pair of them froze. Jimmy’s face was about a foot directly over Tango’s as he held him above the floor, his arms wrapped around him. A pinkish red bloomed across Jimmy’s cheeks just as the same shade completely covered Tango’s face.

“That was a close one,” Jimmy gave a small, sheepish laugh.

Tango, still being held up by Jimmy, also laughed, but it seemed like a release of stress more than anything else. “That was great,” he said, mind slightly stuck on just how much of an understatement the sentence was. 

Jimmy smiled, pulling Tango back up to standing. “We can keep going, if you’d like,” he offered.

Tango put his hand back on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Jimmy chuckled, resuming their dance where they had left off. He moved slightly faster now, adapting to Tango’s newfound comfort while dancing. Tango adapted to the new pace, his feet moving faster to match Jimmy’s. He was still taking occasional glances at the floor to double-check his footing, but he was looking into Jimmy’s eyes much more, which Jimmy couldn’t say that he disliked.

As their speed increased, the dance became more elegant. Tango supposed that the speed helped him find his balance, which was pure speculation on his part but he would rather put more focus into moving his feet the right way and staring into Jimmy’s eyes than actually figuring it out. So, he pushed himself to keep going, to keep up with Jimmy, almost feeling like he would let himself down if he didn’t. His heart was somehow pounding and fluttering at the same time, driven by a mixture of happiness and physical activity; although he was pretty sure the former was more responsible than not.

At this point, he and Jimmy were staring into each other’s eyes constantly as they danced, both of their faces split by a smile.

Then Tango’s foot caught on something. He stumbled into Jimmy, falling and taking both of them down onto the ground. Tango almost thought he heard something like paper ripping as they fell.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tango started, already apologizing before even picking himself up off the ground.

Jimmy waved him off, brushing dust off his arms. “Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. “I fell all the time when I first started.”

“There’s no way,” Tango disagreed. “You’re so amazing at—” 

Then he noticed it. There was a rip in Jimmy’s jacket, starting at the bottom hem and running at least three inches up into the fabric. It was like a ravine carved into the silky blue fabric, slicing through the delicate embroidery on the edges and leaving the edges jagged and slightly frayed.

“Oh god.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. “What? What happened?” “There’s a rip in your jacket,” Tango responded, the sound of horror evident in his voice.

Jimmy looked down, following Tango’s panicked stare to find the aforementioned rip, seeming significantly less upset than Tango. “Oh, that’s—”

“I’m so sorry!” Tango repeated himself, unsure of what else to say. “It’s completely my fault, I messed up.” His hands were held out towards Jimmy, as if he was trying to surrender to the fabric itself, or like he was warming his hands with the heat from the fire that Jimmy’s jacket might as well have been on, considering Tango’s reaction to it.

“No, really, it’s fine,” Jimmy reassured him, to no avail. 

“No, it’s not.” Tango’s face was racked with guilt. “Oh, I don’t know how to make it up to you, I am so sorry.”

“Tango.” Jimmy locked eyes with him. “Honestly, this is the most fun I’ve had in a while. I’m having a great time, and I promise that it really doesn’t matter if my jacket is ripped. Alright?” He hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

Jimmy offered his hand once again. “How about we finish our dance?”

A full three seconds of breaths that were much too fast and too shallow to be adequate passed before Tango finally put his hand in Jimmy’s. He almost didn’t let his hand fall into Jimmy’s at all.

They both resumed their previous positions, Tango much more reluctantly than Jimmy, who was giving him a small, reassuring smile.

They moved slower this time, to say the least. Tango thought that it was almost too fast, as he was doing literally everything in his power to keep himself upright this time. Tango kept his eyes on the ground and Jimmy kept his eyes on Tango, still gently leading the two.

Slowly and eventually, Tango’s horror at the situation faded enough for him to actually look up at Jimmy. He was immediately met with a warm familiar smile that would’ve hurt him not to return. Tango forced himself to give Jimmy a small, meek grin in response, fighting the urge to grimace instead. 

His mind kept drifting back to the sound of the gorgeous fabric tearing, although it sounded more like a gunshot after echoing in his head for so long. It was starting to become almost painful—whether physically or mentally he couldn’t tell—so instead he forced himself to focus on the freckles scattered across Jimmy’s nose, the softness of his hand, the slight upward curl of his eyelashes, the neat stitching on his shirt collar, the shininess of his hair, the rip in his jacket, the rip in his jacket, the rip in his jacket—  

And his eyes. His honey-sweet, warm ray of sunshine, deep, complex, full of compassion and understanding and love, perfect golden brown eyes. 

Was he telling the truth? Did it really not matter to him?

After one final step, Jimmy stopped. Tango stopped abruptly a second after. 

Jimmy smiled. “So how did you like your first dance lesson?”

“It was good,” Tango answered, still mildly petrified. “I, uh, have to go, though.”

“Oh, alright. I’m glad you thought it was good,” Jimmy gave a small chuckle. “Right, so meet back here in a few days? Is that okay?”

Tango nodded. “Yeah.”

“Great, see you then!” His smile was still shining.

“I’m so sorry.” Tango’s voice was at a half-whisper.

“That’s really not necessary,” Jimmy insisted. “Thank you for the dance, Tango.”

He just nodded in response.

Tango barged through Etho’s door, a mixture of panic and fear in his eyes. “Etho I messed up.”

Etho, who had previously been taking a nap on his couch, didn’t bother to open his eyes before responding. “What did you do?”

“So there might’ve been some dancing—I asked him to teach me—and then I might’ve tripped and ripped his probably super expensive jacket,” Tango rambled, starting to pace back and forth. 

“Well-”

“And he was so nice about it too, he was insisting that it was okay, and smiling, and just being really cool like he didn’t care at all and I feel so bad,” 

“Tango.”

“He hates me. He totally hates me. I messed up so bad,” Tango groaned. 

“He probably doesn’t,” Etho countered. 

Tango just grumbled in response. 

“Chill out. Literally everything you’ve told me about this guy makes me think that he actually didn’t care, okay?”

“Well you’re wrong,” Tango said stubbornly. 

“Isn’t there that little part of you that doubts yourself, though?”

Tango frowned. 

“Usually I wouldn’t say this, but listen to that part because right now, it’s right.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Etho raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. You know that he’s a good person, right?”

Tango mumbled something along the lines of a ‘yes.’ 

“And he’s been relatively honest so far?”

“Yeah.”

“So would it make sense for him to repeatedly tell you something that he didn’t believe was true?”

Tango sighed. “No.”

“So does he actually care?”

“Probably not,” Tango conceded. 

“Great,” Etho said. “So when are you meeting next?”

“A couple days.”

“Fantastic. Have fun, tell him I say hi.” Then he turned onto his side and resumed his nap, leaving Tango to show himself out. 

-

“Y’know I can’t cover for you forever,” Bdubs said. 

Jimmy turned his head slightly towards him, still half absorbed in his thoughts. “What?”

“This thing you have with Mr. what’s-his-name—”

“Tango.”

“Goodness’ sakes,” he muttered. “You know that they’re gonna start asking questions eventually, right?”

Jimmy waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, but that’s not happening yet, is it?” He met Bdubs’ eyes and his expression softened a bit. “Just—keep doing what you’re doing, okay? I know it's kind of a lot to ask, but they don’t know anything and I’m going to take advantage of that as long as I can. Thank you.”

Bdubs sighed. “You’re welcome. And for the record, I hope this goes well for you.”

Jimmy smiled. “Thanks.”

The sun was setting, painting the sky around Jimmy and Tango in a sea of colors, from pale pink to sunflower yellow. The two of them were sitting on Tango’s picnic blanket, watching the sun disappear behind the hills. 

Between them, Double R was playing in the grass, pouncing on innocent flowers. Tango had shifted his eyes from the sunset to the kitten, a smile appearing on his face. 

Jimmy, however, had moved to look at Tango. The warm rays of the setting sun had cast him in a gorgeous shade of golden light that made something in Jimmy’s mind dissolve. And the way he was looking at Double R—he was so kind and compassionate and caring, compared to Jimmy, who was cheating his way into being here. 

“Why do you like me?” Jimmy asked.

The sudden question seemed to startle Tango a bit, but he responded instantly. “Because you’re you.”

That caught Jimmy off-guard. “What?”

“You’re you,” Tango repeated. “You always know the right thing to say or do, you’re so kind, you never cease to be amazing—I could go on. The point is, you’re perfect. How could I not like you?” 

Jimmy broke out into a smile. He didn’t doubt for a second that he was telling the truth.

Tango pushed the door to the barn open, his eyes already scanning for Jimmy—he somehow always managed to get there first, no matter how hard Tango tried—but it seemed that Tango had beaten him there. Before he got to celebrate his victory, though, he noticed a small piece of paper stuck to the back of the door. He stepped closer to read what he realized was a note and immediately recognized Jimmy’s handwriting. 

Tango,

I can’t make it today. I’m sorry. I think my parents are starting to realize that I’m sneaking out and they’re making me sit in on this conference or something. Sorry.

I had a friend’s friend drop this note off, and he’s kind of a mail carrier for the area, so if you leave a note here he can get it to me.

I want to see you again soon.

Your fellow Rancher,

Jimmy

Tango frowned. Jimmy was starting to talk about his parents more as of recent, and it was starting to worry him. He knew Jimmy wasn’t lying about this, which made the whole thing 100 times worse. 

Unable to do anything else about his concern, he took the note off the door, folded it and put it in his pocket.

Jimmy’s mouth was pursed as he walked through the lobby of the Town Hall. The jacket he had on was hardly comfortable and the wig his mother made him wear was itchy on the back of his neck and it was so hot inside—Jimmy didn’t think he could hate anything more. He’d much rather be outside in the open meadow, running through the grass or laying amongst the flowers with Tango and Double R. However, to Jimmy’s dismay, he was here.

“James, there you are.” His father stepped out from one of the Hall’s rooms, gesturing for him to come closer with an unpleasant look of urgency on his face. “Where have you been? You’re late.” 

“Sorry.” He mumbled, not expecting his words to be acknowledged at all.

“You know, whatever it is you’re getting up to, it is not worth your time, I’m sure of it. You seem to have no idea of what is important anymore, much less a sense of punctuality. His father huffed.

Jimmy’s face stayed flat. It was almost sad to him—they were so incredibly wrong and didn’t even know it.

Tango sat down next to Etho, two cups of water in his hands. He set one in front of Etho, then leaned back in his chair and sipped from his own glass. 

The company the two of them worked for had moved onto another project after completing their work on the Solidarity’s Manor. The new job had kept him fairly busy as of late, which made it hard for him to find time to take care of Double R and see Jimmy. It was unfortunate, but he suspected Jimmy was currently having a worse time than he was.

As if reading his mind, Etho turned to him and asked a question. “So how are you and Jimmy doing?”

“We’re doing great,” Tango responded, a gleam of happiness shining through his voice. “He has been a bit busy recently so I haven’t really seen him, which sucks. Double R is doing great too, if you were wondering.”

Etho tilted his head to the side. “And you aren’t worried that he’s … not interested?”

“What?” “Well, you said that he got busy all of a sudden, so aren’t you worried that he’s just saying that so he doesn’t have to see you?”

“No,” Tango said with absolute certainty.

Etho looked skeptical. “You sure?” 

“Yep.”

“I can’t believe you called this ‘just a piece of wood with some letters’—this is amazing!” Jimmy said, looking up at the Red Velvet Bakery’s sign, the one Tango had made.

“It really isn’t,” Tango protested.

“Shhh,” Jimmy cut him off. “You’re wrong.”

The pair of them stayed standing in front of the shop for a solid two minutes, to the confusion of everyone around them, as Jimmy admired Tango’s work and Tango denied his skill and also failed to convince Jimmy to actually go inside.

The sign was stained a warm, reddish brown, with elegant, neat script carved into it. There were small bunches of flowers and leaves carved into each of the corners, along with a border that framed the writing nicely.

Jimmy turned to look at Tango. “You really are incredible, you know that?” A slight red tinge covered Tango’s face. “Shut up.”

Jimmy sat next to Tango, both of their backs against a tree on the edge of the clearing. There were small piles of wildflowers in each of their laps, freshly picked from the meadow. In Jimmy’s hands was a flower crown, woven from the daisies and dandelions the two of them had picked, and in Tango’s hands was a much less successful attempt at the same process. 

“I still don’t get how you can be so good at that,” Tango said, calmly watching Jimmy’s hands work to incorporate another flower. 

“A lot of practice,” Jimmy shrugged. “I used to make these all the time when I was younger.”

“Ah. Well yours does look a whole lot better than mine,” Tango admitted, looking at his own, slightly flimsy crown before placing it on his head with a sheepish grin. 

Jimmy looked up. “Well, it isn’t too bad,” he offered, which made Tango laugh. He finished attaching the final flower and held up the crown to inspect it, before reaching up to take Tango’s crown off his head and replace it with the one he made, putting Tango’s crown on his own head. 

“What?” Tango gave a small laugh, reaching up to touch his new flower crown while keeping his eyes on Jimmy. “C’mon, mine isn’t nearly perfect enough for you—-“

“Yes it is,” Jimmy smiled. “You made it.”

A wave of red washed over Tango’s face before he quickly regained his composure. “Well I guess you don’t need it to look amazing, do you?”

A matching red blush covered Jimmy’s cheeks. 

Tango was walking along the side of the road, in the direction of where he remembered the Solidarity Manor to be. Another one of Jimmy’s notes was in his pocket, where he put it after finding it on the back of the barn door like usual. Jimmy was busy again, to both of their dismay, and couldn’t meet him at the barn. So, he decided that if Jimmy couldn’t come to him, he would go to Jimmy. 

It took far too many minutes of hiding behind bushes and sneaking across swaths of grass before finally spotting Jimmy. He was alone, standing on one of the many balconies attached to the Manor, leaning against the railing. He had told Tango that it was where he spent most of his time these days, which made it a lot easier for Tango to find him, thankfully. 

Tango quickly snuck across one final patch of empty grass before reaching Jimmy’s window. 

“Jimmy!” Tango whisper-shouted, trying to be as loud as he could without alerting anyone else. “Jimmy!”

After a couple more iterations with Tango getting consistently louder, Jimmy finally looked down. “Tango?”

“Jimmy!” A smile was beaming across Tango’s face. 

Jimmy’s expression was filled with recognition and relief. “Tango. Goodness, it is good to see you.” He paused. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, since you couldn’t get to the Ranch, I thought I would come to you,” Tango explained. 

Jimmy looked almost stunned. “I—thank you.”

“So how are you holding up?” Tango asked. 

“Not great,” Jimmy admitted, his eyes flitting around their surroundings. 

Tango exhaled, frowning. He started to speak but was cut off by Jimmy, who seemed to be getting more jittery by the minute. “Did anyone see you?”

Tango was a bit taken aback, but answered Jimmy’s question. “No—well, I don’t think so,”

Jimmy nodded, but the concern on his face was still very much present. 

“Are you okay?” Tango asked. 

Jimmy exhaled sharper than Tango was expecting. “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit stressed—Tango, you really can’t be here. I really really appreciate you for coming to visit me, but you cannot be here.” His expression looked pained, but his face was set.

“Oh! I, uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” The red tinge of blush covered Tango’s face, heat stinging his skin.

“No, no, no, really it’s not your fault,” Jimmy promised, waving his hands frantically. “I’m really sorry.”

Tango paused, letting silence fall over the two of them. For a second, Etho’s words from before rang in his head. Tango guessed that Etho would’ve been suspicious of the situation, thinking that Jimmy was hiding something from him, but the pain in Jimmy’s eyes was some of the most genuine he had ever seen, completely dispelling any concerns Tango could ever have. Instead, he was overcome with worry for Jimmy. There was no way this situation was good for him. He had said that he was stressed, and Tango wouldn’t have been surprised if that was an understatement. 

“It’s okay,” Tango said. “I’ll tell Double R you say hi.” He smiled.

Relief flooded across Jimmy’s face, seemingly washing away the tenseness his shoulders once held. Tango just barely caught the bitter aftertaste of melancholy heartache in his eyes.

“Thank you.” Jimmy said. 

Tango nodded. They two of them held each other’s eyes for a second more before Tango turned and Jimmy watched him walk away. 

Tango’s pocket was full of notes from the past few days, all found in the same spot on the back of the barn door and all signed with the same name: Jimmy. 

They were all along the same lines, but somehow each one of them felt different.

Tango,

I’m sorry, I can’t make it again. I don’t even know what they want me to do this time—something about a celebration dinner? I’m really sorry. 

Your Rancher,

Jimmy

Then from two days after that:

Dear Tango,

I’m so sorry. I really don’t know when I’ll be back. How is Double R doing? I really want to see him again. 

Yours,

Jimmy

The next one came four days after. 

My fellow Rancher,

I am so, so sorry. I’m so busy all the time, I barely have time to write these. 

I miss you.

Jimmy

It had been about a week since he’d gotten that note. Since then, Tango had spent most of his waking moments in that barn, almost praying that another note—or better yet, Jimmy himself—would show up, to no avail. His company’s most recent job had finished early, leaving him with more than enough time to take care of Double R. Still though, he was left feeling empty from Jimmy’s absence.

-

“He probably hates me.” Jimmy dropped his head into his hands, his knees curled up to his stomach. 

“I doubt it,” Bdubs muttered. 

“C’mon,” Jimmy whined. “Quit lying. How could he not?”

“He literally snuck into the Manor to visit you,” Bdubs reminded him. 

“And then I told him to leave.” He shot back. “It’s like I haven’t even been making an effort to see him lately. He hates me.”

Bdubs turned and grabbed Jimmy by the shoulders, shaking him a bit before staring into his eyes. “He does not hate you.”

“But are you sure?”

-

“I’m sure of it.” Tango was laying, draped across one of Etho’s chairs as Etho stared at him, slightly judgmentally. 

“Yeah but are you?” Etho countered.

“It’s like literally the only explanation,” Tango said. “I did something and now he hates me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

-

Tango shut the barn door behind him, sparing only the slightest of glances at the back of it. He had to do a double-take to make sure the piece of paper he saw was actually there. 

He tore it off the door and unfolded it as quickly as he could without ripping it, his eyes scanning across the words at an impressive speed. 

Tango,

I am quite literally beaming as I write this. I finally have a day to myself and I could not dream of doing anything other than seeing you and Double R again. I would love to meet you at the barn on Saturday, if that’s alright with you. 

I’m so sorry it’s taken this long, but I greatly look forward to your response. Thank you for being patient with me. 

Your Rancher,

Jimmy

Tango nearly collapsed with joy. He was smiling ear-to-ear, clutching the piece of paper like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

He was finally going to see Jimmy again. 

-

“This is for you,” Bdubs said, handing Jimmy a folded piece of paper. 

The slight knowing look in Bdubs’ eyes let Jimmy know exactly who it was from, even though he had already guessed. The anticipation filled his stomach with waves, until he finally unfolded the note. 

There was only one word written on the paper, big enough to take up almost all of the available space. 

YES

Joy and relief filled his body as he thanked almost everything he could think of, regardless of their involvement. 

He was finally going to see Tango again. 

Jimmy ended up speed walking to the barn, doing his best to ignore the slight cramps that were starting to form in his sides. He was clutching onto the same small basket he had brought the first time the two of them met here, gripping onto the handle so hard his fingers were starting to go white. He requested pancakes again, although this selection of flavors was different, except for the strawberry ones, which Tango had deemed as his favorite. 

The hint of a smile was hiding just barely below the surface of Jimmy’s expression, held in place by just the slightest bit of doubt. He felt as though he was so incredibly close to the moment he had been chasing for so long, but there was still something telling him that it would never happen. Maybe Tango would suddenly bail on him, maybe his parents would whisk him away to attend some meaningless dinner, maybe he would get struck by lightning. Whatever. 

Tango’s note was still in his pocket. Jimmy had refolded it exactly on the original creases, careful not to damage the paper in any way. He had put it in his breast pocket, right on top of where his heart was. It felt safer there. 

Gosh, he was excited. That was the best word he could think of to describe what he was feeling, but quite honestly, it was nowhere close. There were a million other feelings in his heart that he couldn’t hope of describing, so ‘excited’ would have to do, he supposed. Besides, why bother to waste time on finding the right words when he could concentrate on walking faster?

-

Tango clutched his hands together, tight. He had resorted to pacing in circles, paving a small path in the grass. There was a seemingly permanent and very nervous smile plastered on his face as he walked, occasionally glancing at the point where the path met the horizon, intent on spotting Jimmy the very second that he would see Tango. 

He let his grip relax for a second, just so he could smooth back his hair and straighten his jacket—that he had spent fifteen minutes picking out—for the fourth time in about ten minutes, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

You could say that he was a bit nervous.

Tango looked back to the horizon, just in time to see a figure appear. 

-

The second Jimmy spotted a figure standing on one of the hills, he had to fight the urge to break out into a sprint. What he couldn’t stop, though, was the gleaming smile plastered across his face.  

Jimmy pushed himself even harder, walking as fast as he could without running towards Tango. After a few seconds, though, he decided that wasn’t nearly fast enough. So, he ran, his arms and legs pumping, pushing himself through the air and across the ground and even closer to Tango. 

By the time he was just ten feet away, he had forgotten the need to hold onto the basket, completely letting go of the handle and letting it drop onto the grass, fancy plates be damned. By the time he was five feet from Tango, he was ready to jump into Tango’s open arms, whether he was ready for it or not. 

Jimmy launched himself into the air and Tango caught him, the force of the impact sending both of them to the grass. There was a chance that he wasn’t quite ready.

Both of them were already laughing, smiling, so completely focused on the other that the fact that both of them were on the ground might as well have been irrelevant. Forget ‘might as well have been’—it was irrelevant. Who cared if they were getting a bit dirty, they were finally in each other’s arms again. If anyone did care, it certainly was not the two of them.

Tango wrapped his arms around Jimmy in a proper hug, rather than being all jumbled up. Jimmy followed suit, putting the two of them in a tight, warm embrace, where they stayed for longer than was worth counting.

Tango whispered into Jimmy’s ear. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jimmy whispered back. “I think I am too.”

Tango hugged him back harder.

Eventually, the two of them let go. Jimmy retrieved his basket and the two of them snacked on the pancakes he brought as the sun crawled across the sky above them. They got lost in conversation like they always did, bodies still half-intertwined under the shade of a tree. Jimmy leaned his head on Tango’s shoulder and Tango put his head on top of Jimmy’s as they laced their hands together. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and yellow that mixed with the deep blue of the sky above it. The stars were starting to twinkle, shining down on them as night slowly overtook the day. Jimmy’s eyes fluttered, eyelids seeming to get gradually heavier as the moon rose. Jimmy was curled up next to Tango, sharing body heat with him—although it was more the case of stealing his body heat for Jimmy. 

Finally, the last strokes of yellow across the sky vanished, leaving the moon to claim the sky for the night.

Jimmy blinked, slowly, then closed his eyes.

Jimmy squeezed his already-closed eyes even further shut, trying to block out the sunlight that was now covering them. He didn’t usually have the sun in his eyes when he woke up.

He jolted awake, equal parts delighted and horrified at the scene he saw. He was still next to Tango, laying in the grass in the same spot he had apparently fallen asleep in before. His heart dropped into what very well could’ve been ice water for how it completely froze. 

He pushed himself up and grabbed Tango’s hand, clutching it a bit too hard—hard enough to make Tango wake up.

He grumbled something Jimmy couldn’t really understand about being up so early, his eyes still closed. Jimmy shook his hand, still too hard. Tango groaned, “What’s goin on?”

“Tango, I have to go.” Jimmy spoke in a low, rushed voice. 

“Wha?”

“Tango—” He shook him again, with both hands this time. “Please wake up.”

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times before locking eyes with Jimmy. “Hey, are you okay?” Jimmy shook his head. “I have to go.”

Tango’s eyebrows furrowed as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Why? What’s going on?”

He took a single short breath; he felt as if he would start to hyperventilate if he tried to breathe more. “I have to go home. I shouldn’t have stayed here too long, they’re gonna catch on and I’m gonna get grounded and I’m not gonna be able to see you—” Jimmy cut himself off with another breath, completely failing in his efforts to not hyperventilate.

Tango put his hands on Jimmy’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug, pressing their bodies together. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jimmy whispered, tucking his chin behind Tango’s shoulder. His eyes were wide, filled with mortification and tears.

“It’s okay. Pinky promise.” Tango withdrew just enough to hold his pinky out to Jimmy, who matched his gesture, the two of them intertwining their fingers tightly. 

After a few seconds, Jimmy slowly stepped back, pulling Tango’s hand with him before letting go. He took another step back. “Thank you.”

Tango nodded, a solemn smile on his face.

Jimmy turned and started walking away from him, squinting into the rays of the rising sun as a tear dropped from his eye.

Jimmy was walking at a pace he would consider quick, but his movements were reluctant at best. He was half-hoping that if he waited long enough, they might forget about him. His lungs seemed to be frozen in a state of full exhale. He was starting to get dizzy. 

The walk seemed significantly shorter than when he had walked it yesterday. Much sooner than he was prepared for, Jimmy came face-to-face with the wrought iron of the gate that blocked the pathway, grimly staring at his family crest. Usually, he would’ve gone in through a staff entrance on the side of the house, but he didn’t see any point to it today. His entrance would be noticed whether he liked it or not. 

He retrieved a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock on the gate, letting himself in. His mother had insisted that he have one in the case of emergencies, although his father 

 much rather wanted to give it to one of his business partners in a show of hospitality. Jimmy had been sitting outside on the patio, watching the stars as the two of them argued over it. Like usual, they had come up with a compromise by the next morning—and like usual, the compromise was something neither would have agreed to mere hours prior. They agreed that Father’s partner was to have the key they had at the moment, and they would commission a locksmith to make a copy for him. He didn’t know why he still kept it. 

He started his trek up the long pathway toward the front door of his house. As he got closer, he could tell that the door was slightly ajar. His heart froze again. 

Every step seemed like a true test of his spirit, and every step made him just that much closer to breaking down entirely. Although, he figured that the coming ordeal would probably be much worse for him if he was on the ground sobbing. So, when he finally reached the door, he stood tall, looking straight forward. His eyes and cheeks were almost dry. He clenched his fists, trying to remember Tango’s ever-fleeting warmth, and raised his fist. 

Before he could bring himself to knock, the door swung in. Mother and Father were both standing in front of him. Neither looked a speck out of place. He looked down almost immediately. 

“James. Where have you been?” Mother demanded. 

“I was outside—-“

Father raised his eyebrow. “Likely story.”

“It was an accident, I promise, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. My deepest apologies.”

Mother gave a dissatisfied frown. “And why have you suddenly been gone so often?”

“I just prefer to be outside, I—“

“First the patio, now this?” Father’s tone was stern. “Get a hold of yourself, young man. I won’t tell you again.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And you’re filthy!” Mother gasped. “What has gotten into you?”

“Apologies, Mother.”

“You are not to leave this house, you are not to send or receive any letters and you are certainly not to go outside, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And since you’ve put us through so much trouble, you can make it up to your mother and I by attending our Summer Ball, without complaint.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And since you won’t be needing it anymore,” he held out his hand, “Your key.”

“Yes, sir.” The object in question was pressed into his hand without hesitation. 

“Now, up to your room. We’ll be expecting you for dinner, no sooner.”

“Yes, sir.”

-

“I hope everything’s okay.” Tango was laying on Etho’s couch, one arm across his forehead like he was at a therapy session—which wasn’t far off from the actual situation. 

“He’s probably fine,” Etho reassured him, stirring a cup of tea. 

“I mean, yeah, he’s probably not dead or anything, but he seemed really freaked out that morning. About his family and stuff.”

Etho hummed. “You could always write him a letter.”

Tango scoffed. “And what, get a bird to deliver it?”

“Well I was going to deliver it for you, but not if you’re a jerk about it.”

Tango looked at Etho in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Part-time job,” He explained, sipping his tea. 

“You’d deliver it for me?” Tango asked, eyes wide. 

Etho shrugged. “Sure.”

Tango leapt up from the couch, a newfound excitement covering his face. “Etho, you’re the best!”

“I know.”

Forgoing his usual snarky response to Etho’s comment, Tango threw himself out the door, not even bothering to say goodbye. 

-

A knock came on Jimmy’s door, interrupting his reading of one of his favorite books. He had been trying to stay busy in the time that he wasn’t trying to find someone to talk to or forced to awkwardly sit at the dinner table, and he was partially succeeding. He still couldn’t get Tango off his mind, though, no matter how hard he tried.

He stood up to answer the door, mentally trying to predict who it would be. His parents were an unlikely choice: he would be called to them if they needed something. It also probably wasn’t one of the staff: they didn’t usually come around this time. That left … not many possibilities. When he opened the door, though, he was pleasantly surprised. 

“Bdubs!” A smile broke out across his face as he opened the door wider, eager to finally see someone he actually talked to. 

“Hey, Jimmy,” He replied. His smile was significantly smaller than Jimmy’s, but at least it was there. “How’re ya doing?”

“I—” Jimmy started, but then stopped himself. “Y’know, not gonna lie, I’m not doing too well.”

He shrugged. “That was kind of expected, but I thought I’d ask anyway. You’re handling this better than I thought.”

Jimmy collapsed against the doorframe, almost too dramatically for his taste. “Oh, Bdubs, you have to help me. I can’t stand being in here all day, knowing that he’s out there in the sunshine and I can’t be there with him—I just—” His sentence dissolved into groans not unlike that of an angry toddler.

Bdubs tilted his head at Jimmy. “There it is. That is why I saved this—” he pulled an envelope from one of his pockets, “—until now.” He held it out to Jimmy, who looked up at him quizzically before accepting.

“What’s this?” He started to inspect the envelope, pushing off the door frame to stand upright. His eyes widened when he turned it over. His name was written on the back of the envelope, preceded by one other word: Rancher. 

He looked back at Bdubs, whose smile was now somewhat smug. “How did you get this?” “Well you see, our dear friend Etho managed to get the letter to me before the other staff picked it up, and I was able to sneak it up here,” he explained, puffing his chest out slightly.

Jimmy grabbed him and pulled him into a quick hug. “Thank you!”

Bdubs nodded before pulling away and walking back down the hallway.

The second after he left, Jimmy pulled his door shut and carefully ripped the envelope open, hurriedly unfolding the letter within. 

Dear Jimmy,

I really hope that everything is okay. Seeing as you haven’t been back since that day, I’m going to assume that your parents grounded you, like you said they would. In that case, I hope they didn’t give you too hard of a time.

Double R and I are doing well, although we both miss you. I tried to remember how you taught me to make daisy crowns, but I unfortunately failed miserably, just like the first time.

I hope you’re doing well. I really do miss you. I understand that things are a bit weird right now, but I’ll wait for you however long you need, pinky promise.

Yours truly,

Tango

P.S. - Something to remember me by.

There was one more thing inside the envelope: a hair ribbon in a deep shade of red. He immediately recognized it as the one Tango wore almost daily. 

Jimmy smiled, clutching the letter and his ribbon like they were​​ Tango himself.

-

Tango was leaning against the wall of the barn, Double R by his side. It had been two days since Etho had delivered his letter to Jimmy and he still hadn’t gotten a response. The whole ordeal was slightly worrying to him, but he figured that panicking wouldn’t do much about the situation, which is why that is exactly what he did.

What if he hadn’t gotten the letter at all? What if he had gotten hurt? Or sick? What if his parents had forced him to move away and they would never see him again? What if a giant monster ate him?

A million equally unlikely scenarios were gnawing away at him by the minute, refusing to follow the logical conclusions. So, Tango sat against the barn wall in silence.

-

“You’re sure you can’t send one back?” Jimmy asked for what certainly could’ve been the hundredth time.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Bdubs repeated.

“Are you really sure?” “I’m as sure as I was the first few hundred times,” he deadpanned.

“But why?”

Bdubs sighed. “Like I have said multiple times, it’s a lot harder to sneak something out than in. Your family doesn’t send a lot of mail.”

“You can at least try though, right?”

“No—” Bdubs spun on him. “Jimmy, listen. He’s fine, alright? Calm down.” Jimmy buried his head in his hands, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” He exhaled in a fit of frustration. “I literally can’t think of anything other than seeing him again, but all I’m supposed to think about is that goddamn Ball.”

“Well why don’t you invite him to it, then?” Bdubs suggested offhandedly.

Jimmy paused. “How didn’t I think of that?” He looked over at Bdubs, who was immersed in his work. “Bdubs, you’re a genius.”

“Yes, I know, thank you. Why specifically?” “Do you know if we have any spare invitations?” Bdubs rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother hiding his slight smile.

-

Tango opened his door to see an envelope on the floor in front of it. It was, by his standards, an incredibly fancy envelope, but that wasn’t the focus of his attention. He was more focused on the family crest adorned on the light blue wax seal that held the envelope closed: that of the Solidaritys. 

Tango picked up the envelope, carelessly breaking through the seal to get to its contents. 

Inside was an invitation.

SUMMER’S BALL

Tango Tek,

On behalf of the Solidarity Family, you have cordially been invited to the annual Summer’s Ball, held at the Solidarity Manor in seven days’ time, on Friday the 3rd, June, at 10 pm. 

Your attendance is appreciated.

It was fairly standard, although this was entirely based on assumption on Tango’s part. It was about as fancy as the envelope it had been contained in, although that wasn’t what he was focusing on. Instead, his eyes were locked on the flowing script across the bottom of the card, the one he recognized immediately. It was Jimmy’s handwriting, no doubt about it.

See you there?

-Your Rancher

Tango blinked. A combination of surprise, relief and excitement washed over him as he comprehended the words on this piece of paper, paying extra attention to the last four in particular. 

As he did, he tipped the envelope, causing something to fall out of it, to the ground. Tango bent down to retrieve it, smiling once he realized what it was—a sky blue hair ribbon.

-

Jimmy was sitting next to his open window, which had been his only source of fresh air as of recently. He was wrapping and re-wrapping Tango’s ribbon around his finger, staring off into the distance. 

He hoped Tango had gotten the invitation. He hoped he would show up.

Five days and counting until the Ball. 

-

Tango had been sitting in front of his closet for practically every waking minute since he had received the envelope on his doorstep. If he thought picking out an outfit for their date had been hard, this was about twenty times harder. 

Jimmy’s ribbon was wrapped around his ponytail.

Three days until the Ball.

-

Jimmy stared at the shining, deep crimson ribbon in his hands. One day left.

-

Tango was wringing his hands as he walked, clutching the invitation to the ball like his life depended on it. His eyes were flitting across the scene in front of him, taking in the landscaping and sloped roofs just the same. It was a rather nice night, with a cool breeze floating past Tango as he made his way up the path. The stars were out above him, shining down like minuscule spotlights on quite possibly the least important attendee of this Ball. 

He was nearing the entrance now, light from the inside shining through the open door. There was someone standing by the door too, a butler, probably. Tango gave him a small smile as he started to walk inside, before he was stopped by the butler. 

“Sir—“ He held his arm out in front of Tango. “Your invitation, please.”

“Oh!” Tango stepped back, embarrassment flooding his face, and held his invitation out to the man, his hand shaking slightly. “Sorry.”

He inspected the invitation for a few seconds, taking a couple short glances at Tango while doing so. One of his eyebrows was raised. 

He looked back up at Tango and held his arm out towards the entrance. “Enjoy your night.”

Tango nodded quickly, tucking the invitation into his jacket pocket. “Thank you.” Then he took a deep inhale and stepped through the doorway. 

The room in front of him was glowing with a warm white light, radiating from the crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling and reflecting off the cream painted walls. Granted, he had seen it before, while he was repairing the missing section of the manor, but not like this. It seemed like the room itself was dressed to the nines, was filled with people dressed in various colors, all radiating wealth. Tango suddenly became extremely self aware of the subpar quality of his jacket. It was ridiculous—him even being here—he could’ve never dreamed of it and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. In fact, he understood why Jimmy didn’t like it, this place seemed unbearable to Tango. At least he could see Jimmy again. That made it worth it. 

“Tango!”

He spun around to see Jimmy pushing through the crowd towards him, and for a second, all of his doubt vanished. 

“Jimmy! Hi!” Tango exclaimed. He pulled him into a short but tight hug before letting go. “You look amazing.”

He was wearing a cream colored jacket with delicate blue flowers embroidered along each of the sleeves. It complimented his eyes well. 

Jimmy blushed. “Why, thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Tango laughed. “I’ve had this jacket for what, three years? Trust me, it’s seen better days.”

“I like the red,” Jimmy said. “It looks good on you. You look nice.” He smiled. 

Tango smiled back. “Nowhere as good as you.”

His blush spread a little before he spun around. “What do you think about this?”

He was wearing the hair ribbon Tango had given to him. It seemed brighter in Jimmy’s hair. 

“I love it,” Tango responded, beaming. “I like the wig, too. Makes you look esteemed.”

Jimmy spun back and stuck his tongue out at him. “It’s itchy.”

“That’s the price you gotta pay,” Tango shrugged. “Oh, and—“ He spun around too, letting Jimmy see the sky blue ribbon in his own hair. “I’m wearing yours, too!”

His smile grew even wider. “It looks amazing. Y’know, we’re kind of matching, in a way.”

“Like a matching set,” Tango agreed. “So, uh, what are we doing?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Wanna go get drinks?”

“Sure.” Tango held out his arm, which Jimmy accepted. “Where am I going?”

Jimmy pointed him in the direction of a table stacked with glasses of champagne, both of them grabbing one. They found a quiet spot to lean against the wall as they finished their glasses, finally catching up with each other again. 

“How have you been?” Tango asked. 

“A bit miserable,” Jimmy admitted. 

“Yeah, me too. Double R misses you. I thought about bringing him with, but I don’t think he’d like being carried for that long,” he joked. 

Jimmy chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think he’d be very happy with you.” 

“No, he would not.” Tango drained the last drops of champagne from his glass. “Thanks for inviting me, by the way.”

Jimmy looked at him. “Tango, I think I would literally be dying if you weren’t here. Thank you.”

Tango nodded. “Well, I’m glad I could help.”

The band concluded the song they had been playing and began another. The new one was a much slower tempo, like a waltz. 

“Hey,” Tango started. “Do you want to dance? I promise I won’t fall on you this time.”

A second’s worth of scattered emotions flashed through Jimmy’s brain before he smiled. “I would love to.”

Tango held his arm out to Jimmy again, setting his glass on a nearby table. Jimmy did the same, accepting Tango’s arm, and the two of them made their way into the middle of the room. 

Jimmy’s hand slid down Tango’s arm and into his hand, lightly holding it as the pair spread out a little. 

Tango was looking into Jimmy’s eyes, and Jimmy was looking into his. Then his eyes snapped to somewhere over Tango’s shoulder, instantly widening. 

Tango turned, too, trying to spot whatever Jimmy seemed so concerned about, and spotted a pair whose presence seemed to command the room. They both looked immaculate and like they were horrible to be around, at least that’s what Tango thought. 

“My parents,” Jimmy said, confirming Tango’s suspicions. 

Tango looked back at him. “Are you okay?”

Still looking behind Tango, Jimmy took a deep breath, his face set. “Yeah.” He locked eyes with Tango. “Let’s dance.”

Jimmy grabbed one of Tango’s hands and set his other on Tango’s waist, Tango putting his free hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. They danced, just like that day in the barn, the one when Tango fell in love. They were spinning and swaying as the music floated through the air around them, carrying them through the waltz. As they did, Tango watched Jimmy’s face slowly soften and fade into a smile to match Tango’s. 

It was an amazing ordeal, a perfect combination of grace and giddy excitement. It was glorious. Tango felt as if he’d never been alive before this moment, like this was the firs time he had actually experienced joy. He was filled to the brim with happiness and loving and care, so much so that he felt high on his own emotions. So, when the song stopped and they both paused, Tango almost didn’t know what to do. 

His arms fell to his sides as he slowly stepped back, still holding one of Jimmy’s hands. He bent down, pulling Jimmy’s hand up to his lips, and pressed a long, hard kiss onto the back of it. 

He stood, eyes shining with happiness. Jimmy looked back at him with pure joy. 

“What a gentleman,” He joked. “You know what would be even more gentlemanly?”

Tango stepped closer. “What’s that?” 

“If you kissed me for real.”

Tango grinned. “Well, I’m pleased to let you know that I can definitely help with that.”

Jimmy smirked back. “I was hoping you would.”

Under the spotlight of the chandelier, in a room full of people he didn’t know, Tango stepped forward and tenderly held Jimmy, bringing their lips together. They kissed. Warm and passionate and loving and full of care and trust, they kissed.

And even in that spotlight, surrounded by strangers, nothing else could’ve even dreamed of mattering. Tango was more comfortable he had ever been. This was where he was supposed to be. Nowhere else. 

[obsidiancreates]

An Honest Talk

(Got to the episode where Valerie gets the ghost hunting stuff. I just want her to be happy and not Filled With Vengeful Rage so, here's this.)

Jazz sees the whole thing.

Really, Valerie isn't even good at hiding it. As soon as that Ghost Hunter shows up at that school game, Jazz figures it out. Not just because her voice is the same, but because of the insults she shouts while hanging in that basketball hoop. Sure, Jazz is in a higher grade, but she's heard that A-Lister group plenty of times in the hallways and after school.

They're real jerks. But not murderous jerks.

So she decides to do something about it. No-one attacks her baby brother. ... Well, except other ghosts. But Jazz can't always help with those.

This? No problem.

"Hey, Valerie."

Valerie jolts, yelping and almost dropping what is clearly some kind of ghost-detecting device. "Who are- ugh, aren't you Fenton's sister? What do you want?"

"To talk to you," Jazz says in her most empathetic voice. "I noticed you're having kind of a rough time."

"Why do you care?"

"Because my brother does." Cares about not being pummeled, at least. But Jazz is sure Danny hopes the best for his schoolmate, even with the attacks.

Valerie huffs. "Great, pity from the loser kids."

"Come on, it won't hurt to talk about it?"

"Talk about what? That some ghost kid and his dog ruined my life? That we're broke, and all my friends hate me for it? yeah, talking will fix everything."

Jazz sits down on a bench, and pats the seat next to her. Valerie looks away.

But then... she sighs. And sits. "I keep thinking about that five hundred dollar shirt I ruined. Maybe if e hadn't bought that, or I hadn't worn it to school, we'd be a little better off right now."

"It's not your fault."

Valerie grits her teeth. "Yeah. It's that ghost kid's."

"Ghost kid?"

"... You believe in ghosts, right? Because of your parents?"

Jazz nods. "Plus, that thing during the school game,, Kind of hard to deny."

"Heh. Yeah. ... That dog broke into the place my dad was working for. he was showing off what he did for their security, and none of it stopped the dog or the kid. And then they showed up again at the garage sale and wrecked our moving van, and the dog stole my lunch after all my friends rejected me!"

Valerie wipes her eyes, scowling. "It's not fair!"

Jazz hands her a tissue. "It's not, not at all."

"I wanna destroy that kid," Valerie growls. "Like he destroyed me."

"... Valerie... how old is he?"

"About my age, I think."

"And he's a ghost."

"Yeah. And?"

"So... how do you think a ghost kid comes to be?"

Valerie doesn't reply. But after a moment, her eyes widen a little. "Oh... no, no, but... but he's a kid. He can't be any older than me."

"Yeah," Jazz says softly. "So something horrible must have happened to him already."

Valerie looks at the device in her hands. "... But... he still ruined my life." She sounds a bit unsure now.

"Maybe he didn't mean to. I mean... imagine one day you wake up and everything is... different. Suddenly you've got no gravity, and-and no-one can see you sometimes and you're this weird thing-"

God, how scared was Danny when it happened? She's pretty sure by now that it was The Accident that did it, she can't think of anything else that explains it. What was it like for him, waking up as something different?

"It would be tough," Jazz finishes, looking at Valerie.

Valerie still won't meet her eyes, looking at the beeping device. "Then why is he following me around?"

"... Well... does he show up first, or the dog?"

Valerie thinks for a long moment. "... The dog. It's always the dog."

"So maybe he's trying to catch it."

"... I mean, I guess that could be it. But he's been fighting me!"

"And you've been fighting him."

"But-! ... Aw, geez..." Valerie deflates. "What do I do now, then? I can't... I can't keep attacking some kid who... we've barely lived, I can't just make it so that he's barely lived twice."

Jazz stands up and offers her hand. "How about we try talking to him?"

Valerie looks at her. "For real?" She's skeptical.

Jazz nods. "For real. Maybe we can clear some things up."

Valerie turns away again. And then, with a hefty sigh...

Takes Jazz's hand.

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

"Cujo?" Danny calls out. "Cujo! We need to get you back to the Ghost Zone, buddy! Come on, where is he?"

Someone clears their throat behind him, and he yelps as he shoots up in the air.

He turns around, and sees possibly the worst thing he could see right now.

His sister, and his hunter.

"Hello, Ghost Boy!" Jazz calls out.

"Um... hi." Danny waves, still looking startled.

Jazz nudges Valerie, and Valerie huffs. "Hi," she says shortly. Jazz smile at her, though.

"I'm here to mediate a talk between you two," Jazz says, walking closer (and somewhat pulling Valerie along behind her). "I figured there might be more to this story than we all three think."

"Um, you're not- I mean, I'm a ghost, you're just... casual about this?"

Jazz nods. "My parents are well-versed with ghosts, this is nothing."

A straight-up lie. Jazz hadn't even believed in ghosts until she peeled Spectra. But maybe it's to save face for Valerie? Or maybe Jazz recognizes him as the ghost from that day.

"Anyway," Jazz says, "Valerie here has something to say."

Valerie, arms cross and back hunched angrily, glares at Danny. "Who are you, and why are you out to get me?"

Danny floats back down to the ground, standing on it now. "I'm, um... Phantom-"

Valerie gives him a disbelieving look.

"Uh, Ghost Names are uh, different! It's this whole thing. And, I'm not out to get you, I swear. It's all been terrible coincidences."

Valerie scoffs.

"Val, we're here to listen," Jazz reminds gently. "Let him explain his side of things, and then you can explain yours, and we'll come to a solution. Trust me, I read a book about this."

Danny doesn't doubt it. "I don't own that dog, I found him wandering around outside. I thought he was cute at first, and then he turned into the big dog that keeps haunting you."

"And why's he doing that?" she snips.

"I don't know yet." Danny rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I'm trying to send him back to the Ghost Zone, but he keeps coming back out! I'm starting to think it's some cliche 'unfinished business' thing. But until I can figure it out I don't know how to get rid of him. All I can do is try to minimize the damage."

"Doing a great job." Valerie rolls her eyes. "Ruining my father's business, ruining our garage sale, ruining my lunch!"

"I swear, I was trying to help! He's really, really hard to get under control! He's like five times my size!"

"And you can't grow bigger and handle it that way?" Valerie retorts.

"No! I'm only a few months into this, I-"

He cuts himself off at the look on Valerie's face. "What?"

"A few months? ... So... so I could've known you?" Horrified, is the best word for her expression.

Danny shrinks, holding his bicep and hunching a little. "Um, nevermind. I just mean I'm not super powerful."

"No, no, we're going back. Did I know you? Is this a revenge thing?"

"What? No! I already told you, I'm trying to help prevent things from getting worse! And... no. I'm a loser kid, and you're popular."

"... Was," Valerie says quietly. "... All my friends ditched me when I lost my money."

"That's awful."

Valerie nods. "I don't know why I thought they liked me for more than money, looking back. But it still hurts. Being a lonely loser is the worst."

"Tell me about it," Danny mutters. "I mean, I have friends, but sometimes some stuff just makes you feel alone no matter what."

He thinks he sees Jazz tear up at that, but he's not sure. He's distracted by Valerie letting out a sob.

"I don't have anything left," she says, voice quavering. "I don't have the popularity, I don't have money, I don't have the grades..."

"... So you turned to revenge?" Jazz's voice is soft.

Valerie sobs again, and Jazz gives her some comforting slow pats on the back. She looks at Danny, nodding at Valerie.

Danny gets the hint. "You... you could, um, make something, more?"

Valerie gives a somewhat bitter teary chuckle. "What is that supposed to mean, huh? I'm already hunting ghosts. It's... something."

"... You could try to make new friends."

"Oh sure, that's easy. I'm a social pariah."

"So am I. But even just one or two friends helps a lot."

"You got a lot of ghost buddies?"

"... Humans, actually. An if I can make friends with some high school kids as a loser and a ghost, you can make friends too. You just might have to lower your social radar a bit."

Valerie rubs her arm. "... You're really not out to get me, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I want to protect people, not hurt them."

"... I'm sorry I shot those missiles at you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep the dog contained."

"... I'm sorry you're a ghost so young."

Danny snuffles a little. "... Thanks." Sometimes he is, too.

Valerie looks at her hand, and then holds it out to him. "Truce? I won't mess with you. I can't promise the same about that dog if it keeps showing up, but I won't mess with you."

Danny sighs. "So you're keeping the weapons."

"Oh, you know I am. Even if I'm not hunting you, now that I know about ghosts I want to be prepared."

"I guess I understand that." Danny shakes her hand. "Truce."

Jazz grins. "See? Just needed a real, meaningful talk!"

Valerie laughs a little, wiping her eyes again. "Yeah, I guess. But... now what? Who do I blame for this?"

"Probably the boss who decided that Ghosts Suddenly Existing was your father's fault," Danny says.

Valerie's eyes harden. "Yeah. Yeah, I can go with that."

"But," Danny and Jazz say at once. They look at each other, and Jazz let's Danny speak.

"But," Danny says again, "Maybe focus on making some more friends, first. One thing about us losers, is we don't ditch someone just for money reasons."

"... I'll give it a shot." Valerie smiles a little at Danny. "With better aim than the ones I took at you."

Danny chuckles a bit.

They both wave goodbye, Jazz and Valerie leaving Danny to continue his search.

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

"Hi."

Danny, Sam, and Tucker all look up. Valerie is standing nervously with her brown paper bag of lunch. Tucker brightens up, and Sam gives a little, slightly suspicious, wave.

Danny scoots over. "Wanna sit with us?"

Valerie looks over at the A-Lister table. They're all staring, smirking, whispering.

Mocking.

She looks back at the 'losers'.

They're looking at her with... openness.

"Yeah. Sure."

She sits down, and gets out her lunch. For a minute, she just listens to them talk while she unpacks the sandwich.

"Hey, is that peanut butter and honey?" Sam asks. Valerie nods.

Sam holds up a thick roast beef sandwich. "My parents are trying to get me to eat meat again, but I'm staying vegetarian. Want to trade?"

Valerie blinks. "Uh... sure?"

They swap sandwiches. Valerie looks at the sandwich, mentally trying to figure out the carbs and calories and fat content-

She looks around the table. No-one else is analyzing their food. Or, judging hers.

She takes a bite. It's pretty good.

This... is pretty good.

She smiles, and laughs a little at a joke Danny makes.

Yeah. This is pretty good.

[twistedmusings]

Vil Schoenheit: After RSA’S Performance

The first time he had been left speechless was because of you.

You who always knew what to say, you who always had an answer to the problem at hand.

Where were you?

A/N: What is formatting. I don’t even know.

But listen though. When did Vil get hot? I mean he has always been hot but is it now because he is sad boy? A rude boy turned sad boy? Is that why I am attracted to him now and was compelled to write this?

I don’t know but I’m in love so I’m going to run with it.

This is how Vil would react if MC looked like they were enjoying RSA’s performance.

Part 2, here!

What Vil felt couldn’t really be put into words.

His grades would say that he was one of the highest ranking students in the Language Arts for Night Raven College. Not just in regular human speech but also in fairy-dialect, animal dialect and any sort of dialect that Professor Trein would demand. Vil also excelled in prose, poetry and abstract writing.

Being left speechless was not something that was supposed to happen, not twice in a row.

The tightening of his throat would speak otherwise, as well as the sudden feeling of vertigo.

Vil could barely hear Kalim through the jovial sound of Neige’s voice, the one thing that had kept him awake for these past few weeks--no these past few years. When was the last time that he had felt so helpless? Was it when he had first met him? Neige, with his bright smile and lovable personality that made people overlook his mistakes, his very obvious mistakes. The way he wouldn’t go when it was his cue, or how Neige would forget almost every other line only to finally have the script memorized by the time it was opening night.

A children’s song.

“What even is this song! The chorus just won’t leave my head!”

He wasn’t even ready during dress rehearsal, Neige would wait until fucking opening night.

Was it dramatic to say that the whole event had haunted him? As well as the domino effect of undeserved fame that Neige had gotten afterwards?

No, to Vil, being overshadowed by this person despite all the effort that he put into each and everyone of his performances was something akin to being shot by a gun.

Over and over and over.

He had been beaten by a children’s song.

Every single commercial, every music video, every promotion and every product placement that Neige did was like a dagger carving him up from the inside out.

So when the VDC presented itself, he jumped at the chance to not just shape himself into the perfect being to defeat Neige, but to shape others to show that not only could he surpass himself but he could help others break through their own ‘ugly’ exteriors to discover their own personal beauty. And by all means he had done it, he had taken five rough and ugly rocks and turned them into polished jewels.

Polished jewels that framed the diamond he had worked so hard to turn himself into.

His grip on the audience seat loosens when something flashes through his mind.

The practices had been rather arduous, not only having to make sure that he was flawless but trying to deal with Epel’s stupid gender based ideas, Ace and Deuce’s lack of grace and even Kalim’s really really terrible singing voice. Yet something had made it even a little bit worth it.

Someone, he needed to correct himself, someone had made it a bit worth it.

The sixth potato that he had hoped to start shaping after this whole thing was over.

What could he say about you? At first glance you were truly nothing special. An uneventful, magicless person from an equally uneventful place that hadn’t even been accepted into this school but was instead made a student because of the monster next to you. You weren’t even a student, more like a glorified problem solver for the Headmaster. Ideally, Vil should have also hated your guts since you were essentially getting the same education that he had been getting when he was a first year but without any effort but there was something different about you that he had not expected.

I think you’re probably the fairest out of everyone in the school.

A small glimmer of something beautiful.

But in the end your opinion is the one that will matter to you.

You were honest. That is something that Rook had mentioned about you once he did his recon of the new manager for the VDC team. How the Ramshackle prefect really didn’t have anything to offer but that the quality that stood out the most to the hunter was your refreshing honesty.

He had modeled for crowds of adoring fans and yet he found himself pulling out his pocket mirror and fixing non-existent imperfections before talking to you. Yet even when he tried to make himself look presentable to you, you always seemed to catch him when all of his walls were down.

“You should have seen the information that I got from Riddle, Leona, and Azul. They have really gotten a reputation behind them, the Ramshackle prefect. I wonder what will happen if we keep them close~”

Vil wouldn’t admit it to anyone but there had been a brief moment that his heart skipped a beat when the news about how the VDC team would be rooming in Ramshackle. He figured it had skipped out of beat due to the horrific news that he would have to room in a dorm that had not been used for who knows how long but when he had come inside and been greeted by your smile, it was almost surreal how he had come to terms with this feeling of nervousness.

The night before the VDC had found Vil in the Ramshackle lounge, a cup of tea in his hand as he watched a video of that day’s performance. There were still minor imperfections here and there but those would be easily covered up by his own singing and movements. Epel had also improved exponentially which highly increased the probability of a successful performance and with Jami’s hypnotizing movements and Rook’s aura there was no doubt that he had this competition under his heel.

But nerves like these didn’t leave overnight.

A creak on the stairs brought him back to the present, taking a sip of his tea as he continued to look at the video.

“If you’re here to ask me about why I am awake at this hour, Rook, I would like to remind you that you insisted we review the performance in the morning which already did nothing to calm my nerves--”

"Vil-senpai?"

His head snapped up to look at you , the light of the moon masking him in shadows while illuminating you as you made your way down the staircase. He clicked his tongue and turned off his phone.

"Was I interrupting something?"

Vil shook his head, “Last minute detail check. Everything has to be perfect by tomorrow.”

You nod and walk towards him, standing next to the couch before pointing to it. Vil looked at you before looking at the seat next to him. What were you--oh. He nodded and you sat down on the other side of the love seat, both of you farther apart that he would have liked.

“Does the manager have anything they want to say to me?”

“It just gets me thinking. You have been doing this performance perfectly in my eyes. Over and over again that it makes me wonder just what you think is lacking.”

You bring your feet up to the seat, hugging your knees together as you look down at the floor, “Maybe your definition of perfect and my definition of perfect are so different.”

The Pomefiore dorm leader rolls his eyes, “Did your Heartslabyul friends put you up to this?”

“Ace and Deuce? Great Sevens no. If they did I would have rightfully ignored them and gone to bed. I’m just your manager, I’m not here to negotiate.”

“Just a manager.” Vil frowns and looks at you, “You understand that you are currently housing the Vil Schoenheit as well as six other people who happen to be under my temporary tutelage. If you and your dorm weren’t around I would have had to keep those two Heartslabyul potatoes in the Pomefiore dorm and I don’t think I could stand letting them sleep in one of our beds. Our dorm has standards, luckily yours is the most neutral place I can stand being around those two without losing sleep.”

He blinks at the snort you let out, staring as you wave your hands and apologize while trying to prevent another one from surfacing.

“That is the only straightforward compliment my dorm has received. Neutral.” you laugh again before wiping a fake tear from your eyes, “Am I allowed to take it as a compliment?”

Vil is glad for the darkness, it hid the sudden flush in his cheeks.

“Take it as you will.”

You nod and stand up, stretching and letting out a satisfied sigh when your back made a small cracking noise that had Vil clutching at his cup. Anybody else and he would have walked out of whatever conversation he was having, so why did he find that tolerable with you?

“Then let me pay it back.” you hold out your hand and for a brief moment Vil wants to take it. Clearly that was an invitation for something and it alarmed him that he didn’t mind the mystery behind it. Yet your finger pointed at the cup, Vil looking down and seeing it was empty.

Oh.

He hands it to you, doing his best to make it so that your fingers would brush in the most accidental way possible.

“In my own opinion, as well as the opinion of others, I think you are the fairest out of everyone in the school.”

The air in Vil’s lungs gets caught in his throat.

“No joke. The way you carry yourself, the effort you put into everything you are a part of. Even the potato comments are almost...endearing? Potato plants produce rather pretty flowers, right? Maybe you are just trying to get the flowers inside of us to bloom as well?”

He is staring.

He is staring and not saying anything. You had left him without speech.

“But in the end your opinion will be the one that matters most to you. I just hope that it will always be positive.” you scratch the back of your head and yawn, “I’m going to grab a glass of water and head back to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your eyes are still meeting his as a small flush adorned your cheeks, probably embarrassed by what you had just said. Or he would like to think you would be embarrassed, if this was any regular love story he would stand up and grab your wrist and keep you from running away from him before cupping your face and leaning in--

“Good night, Vil-senpai.”

"Goodnight."

You who always knew what to say, you who always had an answer to the problem at hand.

Where were you?

His eyes start looking around for your figure, hands itching and brain running slower than it ever had before. Maybe you would make it better? No, you would make it better. You would go over to him and smile before saying that the competition hadn’t even started and just because that song seemed to be moving everyone under a stupid nostalgia spell, Vil’s hardwork would shine through. Neige hadn’t taken everything from him, not just yet.

Vil feels the weight on his shoulders lessen when he looks at you only for it to double when he sees your face.

You were smiling, humming along to the silly melody as your head bobbed up and down.

Even in practice your gaze remained fixed on them, yet with Neige you seemed to feel that infectious, annoying melody and enjoying it?

“What’s wrong? You look pale.”

Had he lost you as well?

“Vil...Vil?”

The first time he had been left speechless was because of you.

“...Nothing. Don’t worry.” he turns his back to Rook, “It’s not worth seeing their performance. I will be in the waiting room.”

Vil walks away, so many thoughts clouding his head as he replays the words you had said to him.

Who the hell cared about his opinion when yours was just as important?

[inomios]

Beauty behind the madness || levi ackerman x reader || PART I

Summary: “You knew that under all of his layers of grief and rage there was something worth loving; he knew that under your easy smiles and sweet words there was something dark lurking. He wanted all of you and you wanted all of him.”

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Words: 7,4K

TG: Brief allusion to soldiers’ suicides; little description of a panic attack on the seventh part (I can’t feel my face); brief talk about death and addiction; and even though I wrote it all using gender neutral terms, at some point I used the term girlfriend because partner sounded too cold for the situation.

-        If you are triggered by some content that I haven’t mentioned, please tell me so I can add it to the list and prevent it from happening again.

Author’s note: Mushing my favorite album with my comfort character is being so much fun. I’m enjoying so much this process you wouldn’t believe it. The second part will be up next Tuesday, and it’ll be the ending. Please, share, comment and like if you enjoyed, it would mean the world to see your reactions and impressions. As always, English is not my mother language, so sorry for the mistakes.

                                                          . . .

1. REAL LIFE

He had carved on his soul, heart and mind the words that Kenny had once told him, back when he was a scared and weak kid under his wing in the Underground, back when Kenny had caught him crying in the dead of night over his mother.

‘Boy, you won’t survive a day with that attitude. Your mother was a whore and now she’s a dead whore, get over it. You don’t have time to mop over her, crying is for people who have nothing more important to worry about.’

Kenny, for better or for worse, had taught him many lessons that became the key to his survival, advices he would never forget, and this was one of them: ‘Grieving is a waste of time.’

Every second he cried over his mother was time he could have spent granting his sorrowful existence. He couldn’t let his grief control him, because missing his mother wouldn’t make him last another day, she couldn’t protect him now that she was gone. So, for better or for worse, he let his sadness and rage aside and started focusing on what was important: survival.

Grieve is a tricky feeling, it makes you think you can control it, while it just keeps bottling up until it explodes, and you better be ready for when that happens, because you may not be able to fix the mess it’s going to leave behind.

Levi thought he had masqueraded his feelings pretty well, he tried to shrug everything off, as if nothing mattered to him, but it did, and Kenny knew it and he loved to tease him about it, he loved to press his buttons, Levi had learned that pretty soon in the relationship, but he was trying to handle his feelings, he wanted to prove Kenny he was worthy of his time, that he was strong, that  he wasn’t weak, not anymore. So, whenever Kenny tried to get a reaction out of him, he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t water down the fire in his grey eyes and Kenny could see it, he always could.

‘You are as worthless as your mother, maybe I should leave you in a brothel too, then you would be useful for something.’

A loud howling laughter.

Levi’s brow twitched.

‘Did your mom have time to teach you how to read or was she too busy fucking half the Underground?’

He thought he had said something hilarious. He bent over his back.

Levi had a little knife clutched in his hand.  He was starting to see red.

‘You’re as worthless as your mother.’

He was pushing him to his limits.

Levi had already passed them.

He liked to think that there was a dark abyss inside of him, a bottomless place where he could hide all his emotions and thoughts, they were useless, so he ignored them, he kept them away, far from the surface. Levi thought that he could detach from his pain, but it was a part of him, and if you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss stares back at you. The Levi who grieved was still there, looking at him, the Levi who felt too much but said nothing wanted to get out, so he did, he escaped from the abyss and took control.

He run towards Kenny, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, knife in his hand, aiming for his heart, but Kenny was faster, quicker on his feet, he moved just in time. However, Levi still managed to scratch his shoulder, he teared his shirt and he could see the blood slipping, tainting the white fabric.

Kenny got mad. Levi had never seen him that furious. He grabbed his scrawny body and gave him the beating of his life. When he ended, Levi couldn’t even move, he was lying on the floor on a puddle of his own blood.

‘Listen kid, I don’t give a fuck about your shitty problems. You think you’re special? Guess what, you are a piece of shit, just like everyone else. Everyone here has issues, solve them or do whatever you want to do with them, but don’t you ever dare to pull a stunt like that again, because I’ll will leave you here to die, boy.’

That was the second lesson Kenny had told him: ‘Control is vital.’

He thought that by ignoring his feelings he was controlling them, but he was wrong, he realized that when those bottled emotions caused him to be bed ridden a few days.

Instead, he decided to let his feelings out in really calculated moments, he started to canalize all his rage into more productive stuff, like cleaning. He liked to think that by cleaning he had control over something, there was something cathartic to him in scrubbing floors, doing the laundry, and mopping floors. It was the Underground, it was filthy no matter how much effort he put into it, but it gave him something he could focus on, something he could use to let his frustrations out.

So, he cleaned, for his mother who deserved a better live.

For the innocent child that he once was, who had been stripped from everything he loved.

For Kenny, who he despised and was cruel and ruthless.

For all the things he had to do to survive.

He cleaned and cleaned, and he never had an outburst again. He was in control.

Looking back, he is sure that part of Kenny’s fury that day was that a kid made him bleed. You see, Kenny liked to think of himself as some kind of god, a ruler, someone who could control everybody, someone who was holding your fate between his calloused hands. And when he hurt Kenny, both of them realized two things, especially Levi, who discovered this: ‘Gods bleed to.’

Levi learnt his third lesson that day. No one could control him, the same way he couldn’t control anyone. You are the one who makes the decisions, just be sure to choose one you won’t regret. Kenny had no power over him, he wasn’t a god and if he was, Levi wouldn’t bow down to him.

Kenny learnt that Levi, that child, had a fire within he couldn’t tame, Levi wasn’t going to be a submissive, brainless follower. He had potential, he had willpower, he didn’t really need him, but the boy didn’t know it yet. So, when the moment came, he left. He had grown to care about his nephew, at least a little, but Levi was a survivor and Kenny knew he would fight with teeth and claws until the very end. Therefore, Kenny left him with the only person who could protect him: Levi himself.

When Kenny left him at his own, alone again in the Underground, he learnt his fourth lesson: ‘Love is a risk he wasn’t going to take again.’

  2. LOSERS

Stupid is next to ‘I love you.’ He was pretty fucking sure of that.

He made a bow to himself: he wasn’t going to love anyone ever again, people are bound to leave, and whenever they left, they took away a part of him, and he was already too broken for that. However, life happens, and it turns everything upside down, it doesn’t ask for consent, so his plan of never loving again was ruined sooner than he would’ve liked.

Furlan came first. He wasn’t looking for a companion, at all. A companion meant more people to care about, a distraction, and he didn’t need any of that. However, Furlan managed to convince him that he could be useful to him. Whenever he looks back, he thinks that both of them knew that Levi didn’t need anyone, he could survive on his own, he was tougher than anyone else in the Underground, but he was alone, so alone, and a part of him yearned so much for someone that he let Furlan come with him.  

Their relationship was weird at first, not sure where the boundaries of the other laid, what they could do or don’t. Furlan didn’t want to overstep and piss off Levi and Levi didn’t want to overshare with him, he didn’t want to show him his weaknesses, but at the same time he wanted to spend time with him.

He remembers that there were moments when Levi desired to say something, talk about pointless stuff, but he never did, after Kenny he was deprived of human contact that he even thought that he had lost his voice. However, as time passed them by, they fell into some type of routine, boundaries became clearer. Furlan started to get Levi, how he would never start a conversation no matter how bad he wanted; how his mind was always plotting something; how he always had an ace upon his sleeve… Furlan grew fond on him, he knew that there was a lot Levi wasn’t telling him, but from time to time he got to see a glimpse of all the man he was under his façade and layers of secrets, and he wanted to learn about him, he wanted to be his friend, he wanted to have someone to help and he wanted someone to take care of him, he wanted to stay.

On the other hand, Levi liked how Furlan seemed to know when he could talk and joke around and when he had to stay silent, it was like he understood him, Furlan was prudent and chill, thinking before acting, and he knew when to fight and when to give up. Levi started to care about him, a lot, against his better judgement, he just hoped he wouldn’t regret his choice.

Then, Isabel appeared on scene. Levi was happy enough with Furlan, he didn’t need someone else to worry about, that was more trouble, more chances to get hurt. However, he soon found he had a soft spot for the girl. She was so energetic, so bubbly, eyes always gleaming with hope, she was a ray of light in the darkest place. She was messy, reckless and wild, she balanced them out. When she asked to join them, Levi wanted to let out one of his characteristic ‘Tch’ and turn his back on her, there was no room for compassion in the Underground, but he couldn’t, he was weaker than he thought. He couldn’t leave her at her own knowing she could get herself killed, he didn’t want to be like Kenny, he wasn’t going to be like him.

The three of them became a gang, well, not just a gang, a family too. They looked after each other, they looked after Levi, just like his mother did. They were the best criminals in the Underground, and sometimes Levi felt like a god with the world at his feet. He shouldn’t have forgotten his third lesson: ‘Gods bleed too.’ He thought they were invincible, they weren’t, they were no gods, life wouldn’t bend at their will.

When Isabel and Furlan died, he didn’t even have proper bodies to bury, he just did two little makeshift graves and carved their name on the gray stone. He was the only person who would remember them, so he visited them at least once a week (he still does), mainly during his sleepless nights, when no one would ever question or notice his absence. Talking with them was the only reason why he hadn’t given up long time ago, he was their leader, he told them to always keep going, to never back down.

So, he kept going, for his mother, for Isabel and for Furlan. For the only people who ever loved him.

Maybe he didn’t really keep going, maybe he just let life pass by, what mattered was that he was alive and fighting for a purpose, he owed them that, their deaths wouldn’t be in vain.

Why did he always have to lose everything?

Why there was nothing good in store for him?

He was bound to lose to lose everything.

Stupid is next to I love you.

He was so fucking foolish.

3. TELL YOUR FRIENDS

The mission had been a carnage, a lot of fallen soldiers. He could still hear their screams and see the fear in their eyes, more images to haunt him while he was sleeping, as if they weren’t already enough. He couldn’t save anyone, he never could, he was human after all, even if some people thought about him like a god.

He had had a problem with his ODM gear during the mission, the gas cylinders were failing and wasting too much gas, so he ran out of it pretty quickly, which costed him a seven meters fall, breaking his right leg, his left arm, a few ribs and a concussion in the process. He could have died and a part of him wished he had, then, the pain would have ended. Luckily, Hange arrived just in time to help him, he still thinks that maybe they knew what was going on in his head, that he had thought about giving up right there, and that’s why as soon as they arrived back home, they sent him to the infirmary, not wanting to leave him alone. Hange still says it was because he couldn’t take proper care of his injuries by himself. They both knew he had had it way worse than that.

The infirmary was clean, and that meant a lot according to his standards, but your desk wasn’t, not at all and it was driving him crazy, if he could, he would get up and clean it himself. However, you seemed unphased by it, every day you would drop more documents on your table (but no document ever left, they just kept piling up); he had seen you drop coffee on some paper and not giving a fuck a single fuck about it; you had seven books on your table, none of them related with medicine, you just had them there because you wanted; and if you asked him what irked him the most, he would say the brush, you had a brush in your desk and it was full of hair. He couldn’t get his eyes of your desk, and if you ever noticed, you never did anything about it; or maybe you did notice and since you are a little shit, you just wanted to see how far you could go before he went feral. We will never know.

If you had been any other person, like one of the members of his squad, he would have said something way earlier, but you weren’t his subordinate, you were a medic and as far as he knew, he didn’t have the right to scold you at your own workplace.

You were competent, you just talked when necessary and you would always ask him if he wanted something, no matter how many times he had said ‘no’ and whenever Hange came to visit, you would always talk with them and ask them about their experiments and research. Hence, Hange thought you were the sweetest person ever, they had even told him that he better not be giving you any trouble.

You both had an easy routine. You would come in first hour in the morning, trying to be silent with no success at all, you were so noisy, luckily for him, he never sleeps more than four hours. You would sit on your desk and write a letter, every day, who the fuck had so many people to talk to or how many things worth telling did happen in your life? Then, you would go out to get him breakfast and you brought more documents with yourself, his breakfast always came with a cup of tea, a shitty cup of tea, but at least it wasn’t coffee or juice, he didn’t know if you were the one behind the tea, but if you were, he was glad you didn’t work on the kitchen. After breakfast, Hange would pay him a visit and talk with him, his squad would often visit him after training and Erwin once or twice a week, whenever his work let him a little free. At midday you would water the plants on the window, you had once called them ‘Asphodels’ and after watering them you disappeared, at the beginning he thought you just went to eat, later on, he would find why you did that. The rest of the day was the same, you wrote and read documents and he would either look annoyed at your desk or he would vert his gaze at the window to distract himself.

This routine changed the second week, because you asked him two questions that made him be more comfortable around you.

‘Why do you look at my desk as if it were making you sick?’

‘Tch, because is making me sick, it’s dirty as fuck.’

Okay, not the best words, but you asked, and he answered. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel better after telling you. You blushed a little and scratched your neck bashfully.

‘Sorry, I can be a little messy sometimes.’

‘I can see.’

That day you spent the evening emptying your desk, any other person would have asked you not to bother, but Levi couldn’t care, after all, his last thread of sanity depended on that desk. When you finished cleaning, you asked the second question.

‘You hate my tea, but you drink it anyways, why?’

He felt his ears getting a little red, and he just shrugged and looked away.

‘You are taking care of me, didn’t wanna be a bitch about it.’

You smiled, a smile brighter than the morning star, and for a fraction of second he forgot how the breath, but he obviously didn’t say a thing about it.

‘I promise you that tomorrow you’ll have the best tea ever.’

‘Tch, if you say so.’

He appreciated your gesture, kindness wasn’t something he was used to, it felt weird and strange to have someone to do good things just for the sake of doing them, it made him wary, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought that maybe you wanted to get something from him and that’s why you acted so nicely around him.

The next day, after writing your daily letter, at your then clean desk, you brought him breakfast with a steaming cup of tea. He drank the beverage under your expecting gaze and to his surprise it was nice, not the best tea ever made, but definitely not the worst.

‘It tastes better.’

‘Thanks, this time I followed the recipe.’ You admitted proudly.

‘How the fuck were you even making tea before?’

‘Instinct?’

He looked at you astonished, how come you were a doctor, but you couldn’t follow a three-step recipe? At that moment he thought his health was in the hands of dumbest medic in the area, however, he didn’t really care, well, at least not as much as he would have expected. You had something, an aura around your persona, that was soothing and endearing, rather than infuriating.

At the crack of dusk on that same day, he was the one who asked a question.

‘Who are you always writing?’

For a moment he swears he saw your happy demeanor quivering, as if he had opened a cage that should have remained closed, but you quickly fixed, the funny glint coming back at your eyes as fast as it had left. It was in that moment when he knew that you weren’t as shallow as he may have deemed you to be.

‘I’m just telling my friends about this annoying patient I have. Do you know he made me clean my office desk?’

Your voice was laced with amusement, you were trying to divert his attention to another topic, and he knew, but he was no one to press you about it.

‘Well, as soon as I’m free, I’m telling my friends about how my medic is a fucking shitshow.’ Too blunt, but you brushed it off.

‘They sound like a nightmare.’

‘They are.’

You smiled, yet again as blinding as the sun.

He didn’t smile, he didn’t even grimace, his face was as stoic as always, but for a split of second, a smile nearly slipped in.

To his surprise, he actually talked about you to his friends. When he had the medical lease, the first thing he did was visit Isabel and Furlan’s impromptu graves and talk about you. It wasn’t a lot, he just mentioned you a few times. It didn’t mean a thing, and at the same time, it meant everything.

 4. OFTEN

It didn’t mean a thing.

Not a single thing.

It was unimportant.

He was like that with everyone.

Except he wasn’t and he knew it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He would always find himself at your door, not because he was sick or harmed, he just felt the need to see you. He didn’t even talk with you that much, he wasn’t good at opening up or even small talk. He was foul-mouthed, snarky and his words could cut deeper than a knife. You were soft, kind, funny and there weren’t uncomfortable silences with you, your presence was comforting. Levi didn’t get why he felt that way about you, he barely knew you, but you had something that drew him in, maybe it was the normalcy you brought him. You were a doctor, you healed people, you tended their injuries; you hadn’t seen the titans, you hadn’t seen comrades die at their merciless hands, you didn’t know what was outside the walls and he liked that. You were an escape. It was as if his life was only centered around Titans and his existence had no other point but to kill or think about to kill Titans: Hange were always babbling about Titans; his paperwork was always a painful reminder of fallen mates; Erwin was always tracing missions and plans; and the whole point of his squad was training to defeat those beasts. He never had a break, but visiting you felt like it.

He knocked at your door and it opened, you were at your desk, which was an unorganized mess then again, humming some song he didn’t know while you were reading some medical reports. And the asphodels in the window looked beautiful as always.

‘Hi, Levi.’ You looked up and gave him a smile.

Your smiles.

Oh man, he took them in like a dehydrated man would savor the first droplets of rain.

He just nodded as a salute and walked towards the window to see the asphodels.

‘Why asphodels?’ he asked, you loved those flowers, and they weren’t necessary the most beautiful.

To him you were more like yellow lilies, he had read somewhere that yellow lilies meant joy and happiness. They always brought a simile to one’s face because they are the true depiction of the sun, just like you were.

‘I don’t know, they are special’ you said with a small voice, the same haunted look in your eyes, the same that appeared when he asked about your letters.

‘I guess they are.’

A comfortable silence fell in the room. He was getting used to these havens of peace.

That night at dinner, he was sitting next to Erwin, Hange in front of him, looking at him quizzically.

‘What’s going between you and y/n? You’re always at their place.’ They ask.

‘Tch, nothing, I just visit them often.’

Lies

‘So, there is no ulterior motive, like, I don’t know, our Short king having a crush?’ Levi sometimes forgot how punchable Hange’s face was.

‘No.’

More lies.

Something was going on, they both knew, but he was too scared to think about what it was.

 5. THE HILLS

Another fight. More deaths. What was the point of it? He felt like he was fighting for a pointless cause, the more deaths, the less they knew. He would have to send more letters to the families, telling them that their sons and daughters fought bravely until their last breath and sacrificed their lives for the sake of humanity. However, broken families would come to him and ask him if it was worth it, if the death of their children, cousins, brothers and parents brought them answers, if their deaths meant that humanity was closer to taste the freedom they longed for. He had always said that no death was in vain, but he was starting to question that.

He had barely seen you after the mission, he retreated to his quarters, drowning himself in reports and regrets, if he had been better, he could have saved more lives, but he wasn’t enough, he was no hero, he was a human. He had been fighting his whole life and he just wanted it to stop, he wanted peace and tranquility, not more deaths at his shoulders, no more ghosts to haunt him at the end of the day.

He never slept, at least not for more than a few hours. However, after a mission he didn’t sleep at all, the images of his comrades’ deaths still fresh on his mind, their screams still piercing his ears, his sanity vanished a little bit more every time he tried to close his eyes, so he just laid awake looking at the roof, thinking about all the things he could have done to save them, repeating their names as if he was asking for their forgiveness.

Sometimes it all got too much, and he needed to walk to clear his mind, there were nights when he walked for hours with no direction at all, but that night he did have a direction: your office. He didn’t really know why he was doing it, but he was too tired to turn back and ask himself why you. He thought that you would probably be asleep, but to his surprise there was a dim light coming from your office, so he knocked, just like all of those times before, and your soft voice told him to come in.

He had never seen you so disheveled and tired, dark bags under your eyes, traces of tears on your face and bloodshot eyes. He also noticed four new asphodels on your desk. He looked at them and then he looked at you. He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t, so you spoke.

‘My regrets follow you to the grave.’ He barely heard you.

‘What?’

‘That’s what asphodels mean, you asked me about them once, you remember?’

He nodded, that’s all he could do.

‘I couldn’t save them, I tried, but I wasn’t good enough.’ You broke down to tears.

He wasn’t good at processing his own emotions, let alone other people’s. What was he supposed to do? He knew that people hugged to show support, but as he would say, he was ‘emotionally constipated’, so he just stayed there, looking at you.

Do something.

Do something.

Do something.

But he remained stiff, it was like watching the scene happen in third person.

‘I’m sorry, I know this is making you uncomfortable, it’s just that it’s been a long day.’

‘It’s been a long day for me to.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘You told me that asphodels mean ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’, that’s why you have them? Because you feel guilty?’

‘I plant one for every soldier that dies on my watch.’ That was the first time you opened up with him.

‘I keep the badges of their uniforms.’ That was the first time he opened up with you.

Right then everything shifted.

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ He knew those feelings, the remorse and the guilt, he was so painfully familiar with them that they had become a part of his being.

‘It wasn’t your fault either, Levi.’

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

Your words echoed in his mind like a drum and for a moment he believed them.

You came closer and you wrapped your arms around him, he tried to respond, embracing you in strangely, you laughed at his antics and in that moment, he wanted to disappear. You smiled and you readjusted his arms around your waist. He brought you closer, slowly, not wanting to scare you away and break the moment. You laid your head in his chest, right above his heart, and he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart beating wildly. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin and your smell intoxicating him. For a moment he felt like home, even though he didn’t understand what ‘being home’ meant, but it had to be very similar to that: comforting, reassuring, peaceful, safe.

That night, he spent what felt like hours holding you, until you had to part separate ways, the only witnesses were the asphodels and the hills at the distance.

  6. ACQUAINTED

What are we?

Levi couldn’t stop asking himself that question.

Friends didn’t have what you two had. Maybe he wasn’t the most amicable person, but he had had some friends in his life: he once had Isabel and Furlan when he was younger, and now he had Hange and Erwin, and maybe he could even consider his squad friends. And none of what he felt for them was like what he felt for you.

He tried to make sense of his thoughts by writing them, but words weren’t his forte and he just ended more and more confused.

You were nice.

You were beautiful.

You made him laugh, well, not laugh, but close enough.

You were kind.

He appreciated you, he cared for you and he wanted to protect you, but he also felt the same towards Erwin, Hange and his squad. Then, if it was the same, why it was completely different.

He kept visiting you, everything looked like it was the same, but everything had changed. It felt like the calm before the storm, as if something was about to happen, the tides were shifting, he could feel it. There were words unsaid lingering in the atmosphere and sooner or later, someone would have to utter them. But who? And if you spoke them, what would he say?

He also spent a lot of his time thinking about that too, if you happened to confess your feelings for him, if you had them, would he be able to respond them? Normal people would try, give it a shot and see what would happen, what the relationship had in store, let things flow; but he wasn’t normal, he was far from normal, he knew he wasn’t the easiest to love. He was rude, mean, a control freak, he wasn’t the one for big displays of affection, he was the last person someone would want as a partner. People yearned for epic love stories, something that could take your breath away and he wouldn’t be able to do that, he wouldn’t be able to give you the bare minimum.

Also, after all the people he had lost, he didn’t want your name to be added to that list. He preferred the uncertainty of your relationship than the possibility of losing you. If he left more people in, more people he could lose. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were already in, but there were still boundaries between both of you.

He had also fantasized about laying himself bare in front of someone, share all of his trauma and memories, share the burden with someone, but who would love all of him? If he couldn’t even stand himself most of the days, how could he expect that someone would   do it?

‘If you were a flower, I think you would be a gladiolus.’ You would always blurt nonsense out of the blue, but for some reason, he found it endearing instead of annoying.

‘Tch, what’s even that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just, gladius symbolize strength, generosity, faithfulness and I guess those are things I associate with you.’ Your cheeks were tainted with the softest tones of red and you weren’t looking at him, your gaze was fixed on your paperwork.

Those words had a way deeper meaning, he knew it and you knew it, it was as if you were testing the water by putting the tips of your feet in it. As per usual he didn’t know what to say, what was he supposed to say to that? Thanks? I think I may be falling for you?

‘Sorry, I made things weird, I should just-’ you couldn’t finish because he had started talking.

‘I think you would be a yarrow flower.’ Amazing, now he was the one talking nonsense.

Not so long ago he pictured you as yellow lilies, joy and happiness, but after getting to know you better, he realized that that description was too shallow for what you meant to him. He didn’t know a lot about flowers, he wasn’t really into botany, but he had heard about yarrow before, he had heard merchants inside Sina call them ‘plant doctor’, since they would be often placed near other plants to keep the pests away, he had also heard that it was considered invasive too, because how easily it spread. Therefore, the association came quickly to him, you were healing, a solace from the cruelty of his world; and you were invasive, because he couldn’t be away from you, you consumed him.

‘That means a lot.’ Your blush was now more pronounced now and he wondered what you had made out of his words.

He felt a wave of panic travel through his body, maybe that statement was too deep, maybe he screwed it all, so he decided to excuse himself and ran away from the situation he had created. He had told you he was going to his room, he lied, he was going to the library, he needed to see what his words had meant. He wasted all his evening looking for books about the meaning of flowers, he sure looked like a madman, he hadn’t even gone to the Mess Hall to have dinner, he needed to found answers, and he found them at two a.m.

“The secret language of flowers” said the title, he opened the book and he started looking for the yarrow’s meaning.

Healing and Good Health

Courage and War

Everlasting Love

When he read the last symbolism of the flower, his heart stopped for a whole minute, did he just declare his feelings, that he wasn’t ever sure of, to you? He wanted to disappear in the spot, just vanish into the air.

He went to his room, holding the book close to his chest. He spent the rest of the night reading the book, he wouldn’t mess up again, if he ever wanted to talk about flowers with you, he would be informed. When the sun rose, his head was buzzing with flower meanings, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about you while reading some of them.

At breakfast he did go to the Mess Hall and took his usual place.

‘Where were you yesterday at dinner?’ asked Erwin.

‘With his girlfriend.’ Replied Hange with a big smile.

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with a grunt.

‘What are they then?’ Hange was using the tone, the one which meant “I know you’re hiding something, and I won’t stop pestering you until I discover it.”

‘We are just acquainted.’

‘Liar.’

 7. CAN’T FEEL MY FACE

He remembered how there were days when Kenny would drink himself to oblivion, Levi didn’t understand why he did it. He didn’t see the point of passing out in the floor, and when he asked, Kenny answered that ‘his vices kept him sane’. It still made no sense to him, how a man could be so cunning and sharp, while he wasted his nights and days with alcohol, women and many other things that Levi wasn’t interested on trying. He had seen Kenny drunk and it was far from having control. The first lesson Kenny had told him was that control is vital, then, how come he was powerless in his own life, letting alcohol take control of him.

‘You’re old enough to try it, boy. Take some if you want.’

The first time Kenny offered him alcohol, he had declined, he had said no, and Kenny had shrugged it off, as if saying: ‘more for me.’ He wouldn’t get it, it didn’t make sense, Kenny, who prided himself on his cold-blood and his steel nerves, would renounce to that control so easily, he didn’t want to be like that, never in a million years, he would never give up his self-control.

Until he did.

He had lost control. And he now understood Kenny.

He knew he should distance himself from you, he didn’t want more Furlan’s and Isabel’s, he was getting dangerously close to you and he didn’t want that. He should run away, disappear. You were kind and sweet, you would find someone else to feel the void he would inevitably leave. He had always been the one being left behind, and he survived, you would too. Also, it’s not as if he contributed a lot to your life. He was sure you both would be better with the other far away, I mean, the facts were there. Actually, they had been spiraling in his head for a while.

Then, if he knew all of that, why was he helping you cut clean bandages, especially so close to you that he could smell your shampoo? Oh yeah, because you asked him to, as easy as that, all his conviction melted away from every fiber of his body.

Why did he do that? Why was he so helpless around you? Oh yeah, because you made him feel so damn good. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t seem to notice, you acted as if it was nothing, you had power over him, you had Humanity’s Strongest at his knees.

‘My family died a long time ago, I couldn’t save them, I moved in with my aunt and I decided that I’d study medicine for them.’ You said out of the blue.

You cut one bandage.

‘The letters I write are for them. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel closer to them.’

You cut another bandage.

He didn’t say a thing.

He hated himself, any other person would have hugged you or said something, he just stayed there, frozen and acting as cold as always. Why did you confide in him something so personal? He wasn’t the one to go when you are sad, he didn’t even know how to process his own trauma and baggage most of the time. What was he supposed to do?

On the other hand, you trusted Levi more than anyone in your life. He brought you peace and solace, something you thought you would never have.

You lost your family when you were really young, always feeling guilty for being the one who survived, and you promised to yourself you would vow your life to help the others, never putting your needs first. When you joined the military, you watched many soldiers die on your hands, you could still hear their last words, how scare they were, how they didn’t want to die like that, alone and far away from their family; you could also recall their mutilated bodies; and you could also remember how many of them would survive the Titans but lose the fights against their own mind and end up being another fallen soldier that died for nothing. You loved your job, but it also killed a part of you every day, there were no victories on a war, and you knew it. That’s why you picked up gardening, you planted a flower for every soldier who died, something to remember them.

When you met Levi, you admired him, you had heard the stories about him, his courage, mood changes, sharp tongue, skills, intelligence… You would be lying if you said he didn’t make you curious, you were used to soldiers haunted by the horrors they had faced, but something about him was different, maybe because you saw yourself in those grey eyes. You two were similar, you both had so much pent up that you could not talk about, you had an image to keep, and it was exhausting. He had a name to uphold, people looked up to him, if he failed, if he crumbled, everyone else would; you were a doctor, and no matter how hard things were, you had to be strong for your patients, never showing how much their pain took a toll on you. You could let your mask down, because even though he didn’t talk too much or overall understand why you were sharing that, it felt good, liberating.

Sometimes, he would also talk about him, not a lot, but enough to make you feel understood, and those moments, when he showed the man underneath the façade, glimpses of his true persona, those few minutes, sometimes even seconds, were responsible for your growing feelings for the captain.

‘It’s not stupid, I talk to my dead friends’ graves.’ He said nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t baring a piece of him in front of you.

Those kind of flashes of the man he was underneath took your breath away every single time.

You came close to him, slowly, testing the waters, not wanting to scare him away. Maybe it was too forward, too reckless, too much at a time, but he didn’t move. You brought your hand to his cheek. He didn’t jump away. You looked into his eyes, pools of mercury. He held your gaze, expecting your next move. You could feel the tension. He could too.

‘They would be really proud of you.’ You said, voice thin and trembling.

He was silent. Your words caught him of guard.

He was feeling too much. His heartbeat was erratic, beating wildly, he could hear it. He felt the blood boiling under his skin, he was so hot, he was sweating. He couldn’t move, but he felt his body trembling. He could feel the room closing on him, trapping him. He wasn’t in control.

It was a too familiar feeling, one he had experienced a thousand times before.

‘Levi, are you okay? I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.’ You said worriedly.

He didn’t know what to do, he just wanted the pain in his chest to end.

You were too close. You were trapping him too. So, he pushed you away from you and run from the infirmary. You couldn’t see him like that, no one could.

Why did he share that with you? Why did you get too close? Were you going to kiss him?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why was he like that?

Why did he ruin things?

Why did he lose control of himself? He couldn’t even feel his face when you touched it.

He felt pathetic. He felt like the little kid he once was.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

If he was with you, he wasn’t in control. And if he lost his control, then he would have nothing.

He had to get away from you, because you were stripping him from the only thing he had: his control.

[liptonsbabe]

The light is coming [B.W]

Chapter 3

Previous

Summary: Bill meets the reader again. Some of the feelings that have been stored up come to the surface again

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: none

Chapter 3: When we were young

It turned out that Byron knew the location of Grimmauld place perfectly well. You were surprised at the ease with he had found the place, cause that was a great help in not wasting any more time. Standing in front of the door, you turned to Byron before announcing your arrival.

"How do you know about this place? I mean, I never told you about it, even I didn't know of its existence."

Byron looked sideways at you, one eyebrow raised and his pink lips curved into a little smile that made you blush. Byron knocked on the door three times before turning to you

"There's a lot you still don't know about me, honey."

"You're such a show-off" You rolled your eyes when you heard Byron laugh "And don't call me like that."

"Why not?"

“Cause I don't like it"

"Then what would you prefer me to call you?" Byron leaned close to your ear and whispered, "Love", "Darling", "Cutie pie"? You can take your pick. There's more where those came from."

"You’re such an idiot"

Byron laughed, but his mirth was interrupted by the sharp knock from the other side of the door. You gasped and recoiled as a small crack in the door swung open revealing a pair of blue eyes staring back at you

"Who are you?" He asked. You cleared your throat

"Uh... I'm (Y/N) and this is my partner Byron” you said, taking Byron by the arm so the boy on the other side could see him; he narrowed his eyes then turned his gaze back to you " We've come to the Order of the Phoenix meetings. We are aurors."

“Oh, really? What's the secret word?”

“I... I don't know”

“Didn't your sister write it in her letters or something?” Byron asked. You shook your head

“No, Dora didn't.”

“Wait, Dora? As in Nymphadora Tonks?”

“Uh... Yes?” You answered. The crack closed and immediately afterwards the door was thrown open by a tall, thin, red-haired boy. He greeted you with a smile and an effusive handshake.

“You're (Y/N) Lexington! I don't know how I didn't notice before, I'm such an idiot. Tonks has told us a lot about you, you know? Your powers are wonderful” The boy stuck his face to yours making you step back “I'm Fred Weasley, by the way”

“I met a couple of Weasleys when i was little”

“They were probably Bill and Charlie. Anyway, the meeting is this way”

Fred led you down a long corridor as he told you everything that had been going on with the whole Voldemort and his Death Eaters thing; he told that they had taken over the the Daily Prophet and that the members of the Order and Albus Dumbledore were almost certain that the Dark Lord's followers had managed to meddle in the ministry so just a few Aurors had the courage to be part of the Order of the Phoenix.

“Then it's a good thing that we don't belong to the Ministry," Byron commented. Fred cocked his head to one side.

“You don’t?

"No" you replied "We came from Beauxbatons, in France."

"What were you doing there?"

"We were Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers."

"I was a teacher, he was an assistant."

Byron rolled his eyes making Fred laugh. You smiled at that, but you didn't expect Byron to throw one of his arms around your shoulders and give you a kiss on the cheek

"And we were going to get married the next winter, weren't we?"

"No."

"Oh, couple problems?" asked Fred with amusement. You pulled Byron's arm away

"We're not a couple."

"You broke up?"

"We never started"

You looked to the front, you were near a huge room that was the gathering point for dozens of people. Among the sea of people you recognized a clump of bubblegum pink hair that undoubtedly belonged to your older sister -Dora always had a penchant for that color- and, without further hesitation, you entered the room.

You held up your hands and made light come out of them cause no one seemed to have noticed your presence. Everyone turned to look at you and you felt satisfied as each person's attention focused on the warm light from your hands. Increasing the intensity of the light, all the people in the room had to cover  their eyes and you took advantage of it to make your way to Dumbledore, who greeted you with a small handshake. You kept the light on over your left hand.

"I think that was enough demonstration for today, my dear."

You nodded and made the light disappear. Everyone fell silent trying to acknowledge the new arrival; Tonks, on the other hand, let out a squeal of happiness and ran to you to wrap you in a tight hug. In the distance, Bill Weasley made his way through the crowd with his brother Charlie.

"I knew you'd come," Tonks said to you. You smiled "Although I wasn't quite sure if all my letters made it safely to France, still, i appreciate you being here."

"Believe me, Dora, your letters made it all the way to my room at Beauxbatons" You looked at Dumbledore who was watching you patiently. You grimaced before sighing "Madame Maxime wasn't too happy when i told her  that I was leaving the school, but I couldn't stay knowing that you needed my help. I... I left my position at the school and have come to stay."

“Are you serious?" Tonks asked, astonished "You're staying?"

"Well, it's not like I have anywhere else to go, right? After all, Madame Maxime doesn't believe in the Dark Lord's return and I'm sure she won't lift a finger to get it talked about at school. Maybe the students don't even know what's going on. What happened at the the Triwizard Tournament...

"What happened at the Triwizard Tournament was an unfortunate event" said Dumbledore, raising his voice for all to hear "However, we are in time to prevent another such event from taking place, but well only succeed if each of us is willing to face any consequences from now on”

The chorus of voices from the Order members rose, agreeing with Dumbledore's words, who smiled in pleasure. People began to scatter around the room and as the atmosphere began to feel lighter, conversations formed that made a few people laugh. Sirius Black and Molly Weasley approached the sisters and greeted you with a smile.

"It's good to see you again, dear, Oh! You were just a little girl when i saw you years ago" Molly squeezed you in a bone rattling hug. Sirius let out a laugh "You must have been eleven when you left for France. You left without saying goodbye, how rude!"

"Calm down, Molly" Sirius said, gently pushing the woman away. He offered you his open hand and you smiled at him "I'm Sirius Black. You may not know me cause well, i was in Azkaban for a long time, but my cousin Andromeda has told me a lot about you."

"My mother,? are you two related?"

"Uh-huh. That makes me your uncle, isn't that wonderful, give me a hug!"

"Sirius!" Molly shouted, when he lifted you up and started to spin you around making you dizzy. She set you back down on the ground and waited for you to regain your balance before leaving a kiss on your flushed cheek "I told you not to behave like that!"

"Stop yelling at me, Molly, you already look like my mother. Besides, it was the excitement. I haven't had a family in a long time."

"Thanks for what I get" Tonks complained. Sirius laughed

"Relax, you're still my favorite niece. That is until (Y/N) competes for the position, then there's nothing I can do"

"You're unbelievable Sirius, you really are" Molly reproached him. You shook your head while maintaining a smile that made your face hurt.

At the back of the room, Byron struck up a conversation with the Weasley twins while Molly continued to berate Sirius for being so brash and crude. You watched Byron as he talked and talked about something you didn't hear, but it kept Molly's children wide-eyed and their hands static at their sides. Suddenly, Molly let out a squeak and took your hand.

"You must come with me, you haven't met my other children yet."

You wondered how many more children Molly had had when a pair of redheads came out to meet you. They were considerably older than the twins, but all retained their red hair, whitish complexions and huge blue eyes. Molly smiled, releasing your hand.

"This is Bill and Charlie, remember them? You used to play together as kids."

Bill's gaze collided with yours and it was then that you remembered your childhood before you left home, when you and Dora loved to visit the Weasley home solely to play and run all over the Burrow together with Molly and Arthur Weasley's children.

Charlie was the same age as you, but for some unknown reason you always had a special connection with Bill. You remembered playing with him for afternoons on end, or the time you tried to climb one of Molly's trees and fell and scraped your knee. Bill didn't want to call his mother to fix you up and, since you were still too little to do magic, he decided that a little kiss on the injured part would help the pain pass.

Your cheeks burned at the thought that Bill had been your best friend as a child and that.... Oh God, he had given you your first kiss when you were five and he was seven; it had been Charlie's birthday party and the two of you had been arguing over who should get the cherry from the cake. The fight ended when you put the cherry in your mouth and Bill gave you a little kiss on the lips so he wouldn't miss the taste of that cherry.

It was something silly and unimportant, but it still embarassed you horribly

Bill reached out his hand when he saw you deep in thought, and he took your hand slowly and shook it gently.

"It's good to see you again, (Y/N)."

You smiled apologetically. God, you looked like a fool.

"It’s good to see you too, Bill."

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

As Usual

Pairing: Mando x Reader

Summary: When Mando finds himself in need of some help in a tiny village on Arbiflux, he may leave with more than he expected. 

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual assault (or at least alluding to it), a lot of unimportant OC’s with names to fill the town

Word Count: 5700

A/N: This is my first Mando fic so I’m really sorry if it sucks. I tried though and if you guys enjoy this, I have an idea for another one.

_____________________________

The Mandalorian caught your attention the moment he walked into your family’s blacksmith shop. Tall, angular, and mysterious, the man landed his ship in the large clearing just on the other side of the river from where your town was and made his way across the utilitarian wooden bridge directly to the shops. You watched in curiosity as this new stranger made his way into your village, a small bundle of something you couldn’t make out walking right next to him. 

You had heard stories of the Mandalorians and the Great Purge, though you were no expert by any means on anything other than simply knowing they existed. Seeing one in person though felt surreal. For all you’d known, they’d been killed off years ago. But apparently not all because one was approaching you quickly. 

“Can I help you?” You asked, taking your worn protective leather gloves off and walking towards the open mouth of your family’s forge where the Mandalorian had approached. 

“I need a part for my ship to be fixed.” He answered shortly in a vaguely robotic voice. 

Tousling your fingers through your locks, you attempted to blindly force the stray hairs into place, “Well, we don’t get too many visitors with ships here. Your best bet for finding someone who can fix your ship would probably be in the city.” 

“Where is the nearest city?” He questioned, lifting a small bundle of tan fabric off the ground. Your brows furrowed when you saw that there was a small wrinkly green baby but the Mandalorian tucked the child further into his chest, almost shielding him from your view for some odd reason. 

Writing the action off, you pointed to your right with your thumb, “About ten miles west.” 

“How long is it to travel?” 

“On foot, about four hours. With a kaadu, maybe two.” You explained, gesturing to the large reptilian creatures in the pens around town. Mando sighed heavily and you got the impression he was on a limited time constraint, “What do you need fixed?” 

The man shifted, “The ventilation system. The fins on the fan are damaged, blocking it from spinning. The oxygen is hardly circulating throughout the ship.” 

“Broken fins? They metal?” You asked, to which the man just nodded, “I might be able to help if that’s the only problem. Can I see?” 

The Mandalorian led you back to his ship and you walked inside, skin crawling with excitement. You’d never been on a ship before. Like you’d told the man earlier, they never really landed in your little village and you seldom traveled to the bigger cities. It was like a metal maze, cramped but still somehow roomy enough to be comfortable. 

You took in your surroundings as he led you through the small hallways, stopping when you saw an almost book-like assortment of massive sheets of a black substance with what appeared to be carvings of screaming people. An uneasiness settled in the air that the Mandalorian noticed, glancing back over his shoulder to see you looking at his assortment of bounties that had been frozen in Carbonite. Since people had come after him, he wasn’t really sure what to do with the criminals he had yet to deliver but the thought was always pushed off. It wasn’t like they were going anywhere. 

“They’re alive. Just should have cooperated.” Your brows furrowed in confusion at his words so he continued reluctantly, “Bounties.” 

“Oh, you’re a bounty hunter?” You asked, relaxing slightly. Knowing that whoever these people were were both criminals and still alive, you felt a little better. They must have been pretty bad people if they had bounties on their heads. 

You were far from naive but you weren’t well experienced in matters of the universe. Arbiflux had been your only home, and, even then, you seldom left your small village. Always work to do, anything to help your family. You’d always dreamed of adventure though, getting off the forested planet and exploring the galaxy. The Mandalorian must have travelled all over the galaxy in his line of work and seen so much. It made you envious. You took his silence to your first question as an agreement so you continued, “I’d imagine work would have taken you all over the place. I’ve never left this planet. Hell, I’ve only ever left the village a handful of times.” 

“I have been to quite a few planets.” His modulated voice humored your musings, turning to continue his way to the ventilation system. 

You trailed behind, vague metal echoes following your boot covered footsteps, “What are they like?” 

“A lot of desert planets. Some have swamps. Some have forests. Some are just cities. A few are all ice. Some are a combination.” As he spoke, you fantasized about all the planets that could be out there. You had done so many times before and every time the new planets became more and more fantastic, sometimes to an unrealistic degree. But how could anything be unrealistic when you didn’t really know the constraints of reality in your own universe? 

“I’ve always wanted to see them.” You mused out loud, “Your ship is really nice by the way.” 

Mando looked back at you and, although you could see no hint of expression behind the helmet you immediately recognized as being made from beskar, he had an eyebrow cocked at you. It didn't sound like you were making fun of him but he knew the Razor Crest was anything but. "You haven't seen many ships before, have you?" 

 With a small shrug and slightly twisted face, you shook your head, "We don't get too many people coming through town and I don't make it into the city often." 

Mando almost felt bad for you. He had learned how to read people easily and you were an open book. It was in the way you stood, the words you spoke, the way your eyes twinkled in amazement at the smallest things on his ship. You were a girl who loved her family and had a sense of duty to them. He assumed by the look of the shop you worked in that blacksmithing was a generational career, probably dating back to your grandparents, at least. He could see the love for your community and home but he also saw a fire for adventure, for anything other than what you knew. With every word, every little subconscious movement, his image of you became clearer and clearer. 

"This is the fan." Mando stopped suddenly and pointed to an open panel in the ship's wall. You halted quickly, having almost forgotten why you entered the Razor Crest to begin with. "The rest of the system works. I was able to fix the wiring. It's just this part here that was damaged and now it won't rotate. It won't circulate the oxygen." 

He stepped to the side, allowing you to step in and inspect the damage. It was a long cylindrical metal piece with five slanted blades evenly spaced around the circumference. There was a mechanism in the middle that led you to assume that it spun around on some metal rod and the blades circulated the oxygen throughout the ship. Sure enough, two of the blades were bent and crumpled, so much so that when you gave the device a little test nudge to see if it would spin at all, it only rotated an inch or so before the crumpled fans hit another part of the system with a klink, preventing it from moving more. 

"As long as these just need to be flattened and straightened out, this should be a breeze. I could have it done by the end of the day." You continued to inspect the blades to get a full understanding of the damage. "So what happened to it anyway?"

"There was an altercation on board with a passenger. A stray shot from her gun hit the panel that used to cover this and it bent everything up." Mando remembered the fight with the Twi'lek woman. She was a fellow bounty hunter, yet another person who wanted the money for the Child. 

The slight black scar from the laser on the wall confirmed the report and you ran your finger over the smudge, curious to see if it would wipe away. It didn't. "Sounds like such an interesting life." 

“You said you could have it done by the end of the day?” The Mandalorian ignored your wistful comment and set the Child on the ground, making sure he stayed in eyesight. He didn’t see you as someone who would harm the baby but he also couldn’t be sure after everything that had happened. 

You nodded, “Yeah, this looks pretty simple. But you’re going to have to take it apart. I have no clue how any of that works and I don’t want to be responsible if it breaks.” 

“That’s no problem.” The Mandolorian stepped over and pulled on a few wires, disconnected a few fuses, and before you knew it, the overall fan had dislodged from its place with a hiss of decompression. He turned it in his hands until he found the button he had to push to unlock the mechanism holding each blade in place. It took no time before he handed you the broken blades one by one. 

You held the blades in your arms, moderately sized at about 18 inches long and 9 inches across. Leaning forward, you inspected the intact ones to get an idea of how these needed to be shaped. “Well, there’s not much to do in the village while you wait, I’m afraid. There’s a little bar you could hang out at I suppose. They serve some decent food.”

“Thank you. I’ll be around.” He responded in his typical concise manner. 

The blades really were quick work, like you’d expected. What took the longest was the order you had before, which was making the metal wedges of Naz Ta’ron’s ridge plow that he’d ordered to be made last week. Farm equipment made up most of your work, unfortunately, aside from the occasional weaponry. The weaponry never took too long, definitely not as much as you’d like. Making swords and hatchets was a hell of a lot more interesting than manufacturing plows and wheels. 

By the time the sun had just begun to set, you had finished the third blade, dipping the last blazing orange, newly repaired fan blade into the large bucket of water, bubbles sizzling aggressively at the contact with the nearly molten metal and cooling it rapidly. After setting it down on the workbench to cool, you untied your leather smock and brushed the loose strands of hair out of your face. As far as you could remember, these looked exactly like the intact fans back on the ship, though in better condition. You had no idea what they looked like new but this had to be close. 

*

Throughout the day, you’d watched from afar as the Mandalorian had wandered through the booths before returning to the ship with what you presumed to be a basket full of supplies. That was earlier in the day and he’d since been waiting in the bar you’d told him about earlier. You powered down the forge and gathered the fans before walking over to the bar. It was only a few buildings down, no more than a few hundred feet away, so the walk was quick. People meandered around town on their usual paths, the ones you came to know each person in the small village to take by heart.

When you entered the bar, the usual people were in there. K’jann Ving, Jared Amavia, and Haera Kiwai all sat in their usual seats with their usual drinks. All so usual. The only thing out of place was the Mandolorian sitting at the booth in the corner with his little baby whatever-he-was. 

He noticed you enter right away, which wasn’t saying much considering the small size of the room. You walked right up to the table, “Fans are all finished up. Figured I’d drop them off.” 

You placed the sheets of metal on the table. The Mandolorian reached down beneath the table and pulled out a small brown bag, “How much?” 

“30 credits?” You estimated, not really knowing how to price such a repair. Compared to other weapon repairs, though this was only slightly more because there were more than one things needing repairing. 

The Mandolorian began to sift through his bag, presumably counting out the coins. The little green baby by his side stared up at you with adorable large eyes and cooed. You couldn’t help the smile that crept on your face when his tiny arms reached out towards you, though you made no move to pick him up, opting to give him a tiny wave instead. Babies had always seemed to like you. Your nieces and nephews had loved you from the moment they were born. 

A commotion sounded from outside the bar that stole your attention away from your payment and the Child. Your brows furrowed when you made eye contact with K’jann, who looked equally as confused as you did. Jared stood up from his spot at the bar and walked to the door, “What the hell is going on out there?” 

Before he could find an answer, a bright flash of light struck him in the chest and he fell, lifeless. You shrieked and jumped at the unexpected attack. “Get down!” The Mandolorian demanded, pulling you closer to him before shoving the table over. He pushed you to the ground, scooped the child up, and placed him beside you hurriedly before you could comprehend what was happening. You were lying on the ground on your back, using the table as a wall of sorts to shield from the gun shots that were assailing towards you. 

“Protect the Child!” The Mandolorian demanded of you, his voice surprisingly calm considering he had just been randomly attacked. 

The baby reached up and clung to your shirt, struggling to pull himself up into your arms for protection. You reached around his body and scooped him up, flinching when a blast of laser zinged a little too close to your face for comfort. 

“You’ve been a hard one to reach, Mando. You could’ve just given us the Child and it would all be done with but now we’re gonna kill you, take the kid, and your shiny armor.” A man’s voice taunted from the other side of the table barricade. 

What the hell kind of trouble was this guy in?! 

The Mandolorian jumped over the table and you reached out for him, his cape slipping through your fingers as he disappeared into the fight “Wait!” You called out to now avail. What the hell was he doing? There were a few grunts and groans. The laser blasts stopped being directly in your direction and began to be shot more erratically around the room. 

“Get him out of here!” The Mandolorian’s modulated voice yelled at you from the other side. 

This was it. You were going to die. This was what you got for craving adventure. 

The baby squirmed against your body, making little fearful noises. Rolling over onto your knees, you scooped up the baby and held him tightly against your chest before reaching into your pocket and procuring a blaster. Peeking around the corner of the table first to ensure that it was clear to run, you took off like a bullet, darting as quickly as possible to the door. 

The Mandalorian was fighting against two humans, a Rodian, and a Cerean woman at once. It appeared like he had them until the massive Cerean woman pinned him on the table, hand crushing over a part of his forearm that he seemed in a struggle to have access to. 

You didn’t know anything about this man other than the fact that he was a bounty hunter with a broken ventilation system. Why did you want to help him? Why were you putting your life on the line to aid him when you knew damn well he could very clearly be in the wrong? Why did you trust him so much when you knew literally nothing about him? 

The Cerean woman fell on top of the Mandalorian the moment you pulled the trigger. He groaned at the heavy weight but used her body to knock one of the human men down. He quickly tapped on his forearm, right where the woman had been pressing, and a large flame shot out towards the Rodian, who shielded his face. 

You began to run towards the door again, so close to escaping with the child, but something hard suddenly knocked your feet out from under you and you crashed to the ground with a painful thud. You clutched the baby close to your chest as you fell, using your body to shield him from the impact. Your eyes opened to see a tall Zabrak woman that you hadn’t seen previously standing over you. 

“Aw, Mando! Using some little village girl to save the kid? That’s a new level of low.” She chuckled sadistically, rolling her eyes from the Mandalorian and back to you, “Sorry, babe, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. Hand over the kid so I don’t have to kill you.” 

You froze in fear for a moment, brain stuck buffering in a desperate attempt to comprehend the situation you were in. 

“Guess I have to kill you.” She continued with an unapologetic shrug after only a second or two. She had a large staff in her hand that she spun around with skill, picking up enough momentum for the black metal rod to look like a blur, before slamming it down right where your head was. Thankfully, you rolled to the side just in time for the stick to slam into the ground with enough force that it very easily could have killed you. 

Without a second thought, you aimed the blaster that was still in your hand just in time and shot her square in the chest. Her body crumpled into a heap of black robes, her staff clattering to the ground. It took you a moment to realize that the commotion had ceased. 

The Mandalorian hurried over to you, “Are you okay?” 

Your whole body was shaking but you nodded, adrenaline pumping through your veins, “What the hell was that about?” You demanded, sitting up finally. When you looked around, you noticed that everyone who had attacked was dead. The other patrons of the bar had seemed to escape. 

Mando reached to take the kid from your grasp but stopped when he noticed how the small alien snuggled into your body like it was the safest place in the galaxy. You looked down to inspect his little body for injuries but he thankfully appeared unharmed. “I’ve been quested to bring him to the Jedi. He was originally a bounty I was supposed to bring in but I learned that the man who wanted him was going to hurt him. I couldn’t give him up. It’s my duty to protect him. People all over the galaxy like this have been trying to get the bounty on both of our heads.” 

“What’s so special about him?” The baby looked like any other baby alien. You hadn’t necessarily seen many baby aliens but this one didn’t seem particularly extraordinary. 

“I honestly don’t know for sure. I do know he can do things with his mind when he wants to, though. I figure it has something to do with that.” He extended a hand, pulling you up to your feet, “I’m sorry you got involved.” 

You shook your head slightly, looking around at the bodies littering the bar, two of which you were responsible for killing, “You said they were going to hurt the baby?” You asked rhetorically, “It’s no problem.” 

“Do all small town blacksmiths just carry blasters on them?” He asked, nodding towards the gun that was still in your hand. 

You tucked it away again, “We’ve gotten a few less than pleasant visitors from neighboring cities and towns. Just some jerks who come to town looking to pick a fight with the men or take what they want from the women. Pull out a blaster, it’ll usually put them in their place.” 

Mando thought about what that actually meant for a moment and a few more pieces of the puzzle that was you began to click together in his head. He couldn’t help but wonder how many times you’d had to pull the gun on a man who was trying to take advantage of you and the thought made his heart sink. He didn’t know you nearly at all but nobody deserved that. There was a twinge of protectiveness in his chest that made him want to track down anyone who’d ever threatened that sort of harm to you and show them just how good at killing the Mandalorians really were. 

There wasn’t time for that, though. If these five bounty hunters were here by now, there’d be more soon. He couldn’t risk getting caught up with any more people who wanted to take the Child. “Well you’re a good shot,” He complimented with a small nod of his helmet, “Anyways, we need to take off now. If they already knew we were here, others will be here soon. You said the parts were ready?” 

You nodded, “They were. I’m not exactly sure where they are now, though.” Your face twisted as you gestured around the freshly wrecked bar, furniture pieces just as strewn out of place as the cups and plates that were on them.

The two of you looked around for the fans and people from around town slowly funnelled into the bar, also helping to clean up the debris from the attack. “You need to go.” Zim Golu, the bar’s owner stood over Mando, who was crouched down to pick up one of the fans that he’d finally found. Zim Golu’s arms were crossed, his cheek bleeding from being hit with something during the fight. 

“I’m sorry about the damage,” Mando stood up, “I just need to find a part for my ship and we’ll be off this planet as soon as it’s installed.” 

Zim Golu stepped closer, “I don’t care about your part. I want you out of my bar.” 

You looked over from the next table over, setting down the chair you had picked up where it was supposed to be. “What’s the problem?” You questioned, walking over to the pair with furrowed brows. 

“There’s no problem.” Mando responded calmly, “We’ll be leaving as soon as I find the pieces I need.” 

“No, he’ll be leaving now.” 

The Child, who had been wandering around the building while you all cleaned, came up and held onto your leg. You glanced down before gently running your fingers over his head. “We cannot leave without these pieces. The oxygen can’t move through the ship without them. We barely made it here as it was.” Mando again was calm but insistent. 

“What don’t you understand, Mando? Look at the trouble you’ve caused my bar and this whole town.” Zim Golu clearly had no intention of backing down, despite the fact that the intimidating Mandalorian towered over him. 

You stepped forward and extended your arm between the men, “Mando, why don’t you go back to the ship and wait there. I will look for the pieces and deliver them when I find them.” You sent Zim Golu a look that told him that that was what was going to be what happened, whether he liked it or not. “How’s that?” 

The bar owner shot Mando a dirty look before pointing to the door, “Don’t come back to this place again.” 

Mando stood strong and emotionless under the shield of beskar and stared down Zim Golu as he walked away. 

“I’ll meet you at your ship in a few. We’ve already found two so the last one shouldn’t take long to find.” Mando looked down at you while you spoke. You handed him the first two fans you found, “Maybe you can get these installed while you wait. I’m sorry about Zim Golu. He’s always cranky.” 

“No, I understand. I’d be mad if my bar was destroyed by strangers too. Thank you for looking. We’ll be on the ship,” He beckoned for the Child to follow him out the door but the baby was hesitant, only wanting to be near you for some reason, “C’mon.” Mando picked up the baby and carried him out. 

Finding the last fan was more difficult than you had hoped. When the table was pushed over, it had been kicked under a shelf in the corner and it took you lying face down on the ground to finally see it. 

When you got to the ship, you awkwardly stepped up onto the ramp that led up to the Razor Crest and just up to the entrance of the main hull, “Uh, hello? Mando? It’s Y/N. I found the fan.” You announced, looking around while you waited for the man to appear before entering the ship. 

He climbed down a small ladder and approached you. You extended the fan blade out to him, “Here it is. Sorry it took so long.” You apologized, following Mando as he took off down the hall towards the ventilation system. “How did the other two fit? Is it working?” 

He stopped by the busted open wall panel that was supposed to conceal the ventilation system and pulled out the cylindrical piece that the blades attached to. He slipped the last one into place and it fit perfectly, “They fit nicely. Now we just need to see if it works.” He slid the mechanism back into place and reattached all the wires that he’d removed earlier. “Stay here and tell me if it spins properly. I’ll head up to the cockpit and activate it.” 

With that, he disappeared before you could protest (not that you were going to) up to where you assumed the cockpit was. You waited patiently until the low hum of the ventilation system kicked on and the fan began to rotate without a hitch. The Child waddled around the corner and right to you, arms up, asking to be held. You lifted him into your arms with a smile and held up your palm to him, “We fixed it! High five, buddy. Or, well, high three, I guess.” You chuckled, counting his fingers. The baby didn’t understand what you were trying to achieve so you gently tapped the palm of your hand against his in a forced high five. 

“Is it working?” Mando’s robotic voice asked from behind you and you spun around to face him. 

You nodded, “Everything’s looking good.” 

Mando immediately noticed the Child in your arms but, for once, he didn’t tense up at it. You felt safe, which perhaps was an error to assume such characteristics, but he couldn’t help it. Besides, he’d never seen the Child so affectionate with anyone other than himself. “Thank you for all of your help. I’m sorry about the trouble we brought with us.” 

“It’s no problem. If I’m being honest, it was kind of thrilling.” You chuckled, looking away with a small blush. That probably made you sound crazy. 

A silence settled over the two of you and Mando watched as your attention quickly turned back to the Child in your arms. “He really likes you.” Mando noted, “He’s not usually like that.” 

A small smile appeared on your face, “Well I must say I’m pretty fond of him too. He’s adorable. And, for what it’s worth, I think what you’re doing is really noble.” You told the Mandalorian. Why did complimenting him give you butterflies? You had no idea what the man looked like. For all you knew, he could have tentacles for a mouth or four eyes. But, regardless, there was just something about him that made you uncomfortable in the best way - in the sort of way that left your skin crawling with excitement and a constant little urge in the back of your head that made you desperate for him to like you. 

“I appreciate that.” 

Another small moment of silence again left you rocking back and forth on your heels. “Where are you off to next?” You inquired curiously. 

“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out though. Tatooine isn’t too far from here. We might go there and lie low for a day or two.” Mando responded. 

A question had been whirring around your mind since the Mandalorian first arrived and enlisted your help but you didn’t realize how hard asking it would actually be. You knew, though, that this was your last chance. “Can I come with?” You asked, the words coming out quickly. 

“This isn’t a passenger ship.” He answered simply. 

“I don’t mean like a taxi or whatever. I mean... “ You struggled to figure out how to ask, “Can I come with you guys? Wherever you go, I don’t really care. I don’t have any money to pay you but I can help however you need. I have some survival skills in the wilderness. I can sort of fix some things. I have child care experience. And I’m a fast learner for anything else you might need.” You chewed your lip while waiting for the Mandalorian to respond. 

“Why would you want to do that?” 

You sighed, “I just… I don’t want to die here knowing I never did anything but smash metal with a hammer. I don’t want to spend my whole life stuck in this little village when there’s an entire galaxy out there to see. I understand that joining you would mean a life of danger but I think I’m willing to risk that.” 

Mando pondered the proposition. He had no actual need for a companion on his journey to deliver the Child to the Jedi but he could see the potential luxury in having one. Clearly, the Child really liked you. Fighting and caring for the Child was difficult at times and having an extra pair of hands would definitely prove helpful. Although you weren’t a trained warrior, you could hold your own in a fight and had no problem pulling the trigger when the moment called for it. You did have the ability to fix things that he wasn’t able to, at least when you had the proper tools. 

Beyond that, he could see your desperateness to leave this planet. Mando had never been what many would call a “softie.” He did what needed to be done and would do whatever it took to meet those ends. He had his ethics, of course, and obviously he felt bad for the people that he couldn’t help but he had to admit that he often had the “not my problem” mentality. Perhaps it was attributed to his newfound position as a father figure or maybe it was because he actually cared about you for some unknown reason, but he found himself sympathizing with your situation. He could see in your eyes that you saw hope in him and the Razor Crest as a way to get off Arbiflux. This was your opportunity to leave behind a life of “the usual.” But he still couldn’t help but find himself stuck on what you said earlier about the men from neighboring towns coming in to take advantage of the women here. The fact that you carried a gun in an otherwise safe community simply to defend yourself against men like that actually enraged him. His “not my problem” mentality seemed to be receding to his yearning to help you in some way, especially after all you’d done for him. 

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. “People try to kill us almost everywhere we go. You will never be safe. Can you handle that?” 

With a hard swallow, you nodded your head. 

“We are leaving in thirty minutes. Take only what you need.”

Your eyes widened with surprise and a big smile spread on your face, “Wait, are you serious?” 

“Yes. As long as you understand what coming with me entails, I could use the help.” Mando didn’t actually hate his decision to allow you to come with. Part of him was actually a little excited to have another person, an actual companion, on board. Of course, he would gladly kill you or strand you on an icy planet the second you indicated any harmful intent towards the Child but that seemed highly unlikely at the moment. 

The way you did a little excited jump made him smile under the helmet. Your enthusiasm and gratefulness gave you a humble, real, and, frankly, slightly adorable energy, despite the badass edge of literally forging blades and shooting people. “Thank you so much! You won’t regret this. I will be right back!” He watched as you ran off the Razor Crest, presumably to your home to grab a bag of personal belongings. 

Mando moved to the main hold and sat on a box, the Child standing on the ground and looking up at him. He could have sworn that the little green baby was giving him that look. It was the look that kids gave their friends when their crush walked by. “Hey, knock that off. You better be on your best behavior for her. She’s willing to help you not get killed so be thankful she’s coming along.” Mando told the tiny being, who just giggled in response. “We’re just helping her! It’s not like that.” Mando insisted to the Child, exasperated with his silent (imagined) insistence. It didn’t occur to him that he really was just arguing with himself. 

He stood up and did a once around the ship to try and work out the logistics of living with you. Frankly, he wasn’t sure where you’d sleep or how living with another person was going to work as it had been so long since he’d spent more than a few days with someone. All Mando knew was that he wasn’t totally dreading your company.

[clefairymuke]

regrets | chapter three

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairings: levi ackerman x reader / eren jaeger x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 1760

Levi's words had undeniably left you a bit shaken; this contributed to the pit in your stomach when you approached his door for the second time that day. Something about the way he glared at you -- so angry yet calm, terrifying yet serene -- had been the frontmost thing in your mind all day. His eyes cut straight through you in a way that you had never experienced. You nearly shivered as you raised your hand to knock on the door. You knocked twice and stood back, waiting for him to say, "Come in."

He didn't, though. He opened the door within moments, like he had been waiting. He looked different now. He was not wearing his typical uniform and cravat combo, which you thought made him look like a dunce anyways. He was dressed in a simple grey long-sleeve shirt and brown pants. On his feet were a pair of white socks. When your eyes came to his face, you noticed that his hair was a bit messy. If he wasn't such a pain in your ass, he might have been somewhat attractive.

"Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to say something?" he asked, breaking you from your unknowing trance of studying him. And with that, all of your musing about him disappeared and he was back to being the bane of your existence.

"I was just trying to figure out how you managed to pull that stupid tie from around your neck without having a conniption. I thought you probably showered in it," you told him as he stood back to let you in. The room was as you left it last, completely tidy.

"How did you make it this far being this disrespectful?"

"A lot of determination. So what exactly am I to clean?" You looked around searching for even a speck of dust. None was to be found.

He scoffed at you. "Do you honestly think I sleep, cook, and shower at this very desk? Believe it or not, I function pretty similarly to the average human being. I did say you would be cleaning the entire suite."

"Okay, asshole. You don't have to make me feel like an idiot." You felt the blood rushing to your cheeks and tried desperately to fight it off, if such a thing was possible.

"It's easier because you truly are one."

"An idiot?"

"That is what I said. Do you have hearing problems, brat?" He combed a piece of hair out of his face as you huffed. "Can you just get to cleaning and get the fuck out of my hair? If you would just be obedient and stop doing stupid shit, we'd never have to be in this situation again."

"If you would've minded your own business and let us have a little extra food, we wouldn't have to be anywhere near each other, either!" You threw your hands up in an overly exaggerated shrug. Messing with Levi was no longer fun. It was utterly infuriating. "What do you care if I'm a little disobedient? How does it affect you, Levi?"

"For the last time, you will refer to me as your Captain. And that is exactly why it matters to me. You will not ignore my authority. I will have your respect, feigned or otherwise." He was glaring at you again, the same look in his eyes from earlier. You tried to match his intensity as you scraped the bottom of your soul for as much courage as you could muster.

"What have you done to make me respect you, Levi? It isn't like you respect me. Or anybody. You don't watch your words for anyone, what makes you think you deserve for me to watch mine because of a stupid title?" You were absolutely fuming with rage towards the man in front of you. His muscles were tense and his jaw was clenched tightly. You wondered if you had seen Levi angry now. Would he be able to make the same threatening comment after this interaction?

Within a second, he had you frozen. He said your name roughly, almost as a growl, and was now so close the ends of his hair brushed your cheeks. "You will not speak to me this way. Continue to treat your superiors as peers. You won't make it past the first mission. Do not become a casualty over a stupid fucking complex." You were sure he was angry now. Your blood was running cold against your will. "Stop looking for attention. If you keep going down this path, the most you will get is at your funeral in the very near future."

For the first time, you had no snark reply to his rage-inducing words. All you truly wanted to do was hit him. It was nearly impossible not to. Your fists were so harshly clenched you could feel the crescent-shaped wounds forming on your palms. All you could form a coherent thought to say was, "Fuck you, Levi."

He backed up, likely for your safety. His hand rose to grip his hair as he exhaled slowly. "Get the hell out. I can't stand to look at you. Forget your punishment. You cannot fix blatant stupidity."

You accepted his invitation and stormed towards the door, Levi following closely behind. he reached in front of you and practically tore the door off of the wall, slamming it as soon as your feet planted in the hallway.

You wanted to scream.

---

You sat in a pile of hay at the stables, still filled with anger. You had no way to release it except pressing your fingernails deeper into your palms as you replayed the fight over and over in your brain. You wanted to storm back up to his room and punch him in the face. You despised the smug look on his face as he taunted you. He could dish out any disrespect he wanted, but as soon as you returned the favor, you may as well be dead.

You heard hay rustling a few yards away. You stood quietly, one hand on the hilt of one of your swords and the other on the trigger for your ODM gear. You began to walk slowly towards the noise, saying, "Hello?" when you drew near. You could see a figure, but it was too dark to know who it was for sure.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were on stables tonight."

It was Eren. He was brushing the mane of a horse as he spoke. You let your guard down.

"What the hell are you doing?" you asked rather harshly. You hadn't meant to say it so angrily.

"Woah, what's wrong with you?" he questioned, placing the brush on the rack to his left and stepping away from the horse. You leaned against the wall next to him.

"I really, really hate Captain Levi," you told him honestly, pinching the bridge of your nose between two fingers.

"Hey, me too. But what's your reasoning?" He kind of laughed with his words, cheering you up a bit.

You told him the story. By the end, you were sitting together in the hay. When you finished, you placed your hands behind your head and leaned back until you were laying down, facing the stars. Eren followed suit.

"Trust me, I get it," he told you, a smile hinting in his voice. "He publicly beat the shit out of me. He's not exactly in my top ten favorite people." You laughed, your first time smiling since breakfast. "I don't even think you have a top ten, Eren. Maybe a top two."

"Nah, you're up there somewhere. Probably Reiner and Bertholdt, too. Make it a top five." He looked over at you, pulling his eyes away from the night sky. You did the same. You noticed his eyes were a really pretty green. Jean would puke if he knew you had really just thought that. You chuckled at the thought.

"What have I done to get into Eren Jeager's top five?" you asked him, interested. The two of you hadn't really talked previously.

"Well," he stretched a bit, his shirt lifting to expose a bit of his stomach, "your awful taste in friends aside, you seem like a good person. Fun. Smart. Interesting. Typical top five traits. Your looks definitely aren't a detriment."

You hoped he couldn't see you blush in the dark surrounding you. "Jean would kill me if he knew we were hanging out right now." It was true, but you mostly wanted to redirect the conversation. Eren basically telling you that you were pretty made you happy and made you want to crawl into a deep, dark hole at the same time. Emotions and compliments were not your strong suit.

"Jean doesn't have to know everything, you know. Mikasa wouldn't be a big fan, either." You thought about that for a moment.

"Mikasa is in love with you. Jean hates your guts. There's a bit of a difference in their reasoning, I would say," you told him, grinning.

He ignored your comment about Mikasa and focused on you, instead. "Sure, Jean hates me. But do you?" He looked at you expectantly, his green eyes growing larger.

You looked away for a moment, embarrassed. Then you looked back and met his gaze. "No, I don't suppose I do. Should I?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't, honestly. You're pretty fun to talk to." His lips pulled into a smile as he looked at you meekly. You would typically describe Eren as anything but meek. It suited him.

You looked at each other for a few moments. You noticed how his hair fell messily over his forehead, almost touching his eyebrows. It looked nice shaggier like that. You, for whatever reason, found yourself hoping he didn't cut it anytime soon. He had a slender nose that came to a nice point above his cupid's bow. His lips were slightly parted. They looked inviting.

After a comfortable silence, you finally said, "Jean doesn't make my decisions for me, you know. Nobody does."

You saw his eyes moving slowly, studying your face. You didn't try to prevent yourself from blushing this time. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Why is that?" you asked as his face drew closer to yours. Suddenly, Eren was kissing you. Your face grew hot as he pulled away, but you put your hands behind his head and pulled him back towards you. As his hand traveled under your shirt, your worries about explaining this to Jean faded away completely.

[qqueenofhades]

Hey, I loved your post about queerness in historical fiction. I was wondering if you could help me find a better way to explain (or know of someone who could) to the white (usually male) fans of Tolkien who are currently losing their minds because in the series for Amazon they have cast Sir Lenny Henry (a black man) as a hobbit. It feels like the exact same argument that was dealt with when Anya Chalotra was cast as Yennefer for The Witcher. It just seems like only white people are screaming that the entire cast must be white in both the case of the Witcher and Middle Earth in order to be "historically accurate to the Dark Ages" when it's all fantasy. I'm a white person and I don't get it. It's really frustrating that the only way to convince them that people of color should be allowed to play characters who aren't evil-doers is to bring up the existence of the potato in both Middle Earth and The Witcher. In this most recent fight, I've been called all kinds of names (one dude keeps saying I'm racist when I haven't brought up race or anything like that) and it's ridiculous because Henry was cast as a Harfoot who were hobbits with dark skin that they claim means Mediterranean not Black.

Ooof. I admire your initiative, I really do, but also: there comes a point where all good-faith efforts are totally futile, because these people don't actually WANT their beliefs challenged, and there won't be anything you can do about it except to exhaust yourself. You can throw all the material or documentary evidence at them that you want, but it won't work, because racism, white superiority, and the assumption of a monolithically white medieval history are a helluva drug. They are eager to split ridiculous hairs like "dark skin means Mediterranean instead of black" because, well, racism, whether or not they want to acknowledge that. Because Mediterranean is at least European, whereas for them, Black is Bad, Inferior, or otherwise Unacceptable. This doesn't even get into the types who want to claim that Ancient Rome (which was rather notably, y'know, Mediterranean and North African) was actually lily-white, because even dark-skinned Southern and Eastern Europeans can't ultimately make the racist cut.

Tolkien himself obviously had problems with his depiction of race and racialized people (witness the Haradrim, "men from the South," being the only people of colour in the story and generalized as an indiscriminate evil force fighting for Sauron against the white/Northern European heroes). That's not to say Tolkien was actively racist (see: the letter he wrote to the Nazi German would-be publishers of The Hobbit, inviting them cordially to get fucked), but it does mean that he was steeped in the usual assumptions and expectations of a white upper-class British man in the 1920s and 1930s, and not least the mindset that the (white) rulers of the (nonwhite) British Empire were superior, morally correct, and the privileged resisters of "evil" political systems. (This isn't even getting into how Germany was admired throughout the long 19th century for its perceived cultural and social superiority, the American eugenics movement directly influenced the Nazis, a lot of people thought that Hitler's only mistake was being too obviously crazy, and America and Britain only actively entered World War II when their territory/perceived global power was infringed upon.)

White people tend to assume that if they personally don't hold discriminatory attitudes (and they usually do, just because that's what society has taught them for almost all of modern history), they can't be racist, and it's a personal insult to call them that. They know that Racism Is Bad, but likewise, it's always someone else's fault, not theirs. See the huge brouhaha over the supposed plan to teach "critical race theory" in American public schools, which is really just acknowledging that centuries of racism and discrimination have created a system that disadvantages people of color at every level. This is absolute heresy for today's right wing (which has become ever more extreme, reactionary, and historically amnesiac) to admit. They can admit historical racism, sometimes, maybe, only in demonstrably "bad" people, but as far as they're concerned, there was no lingering effect whatsoever, and it's "un-American" (read: anti-white supremacist) to insist otherwise. Land of the free! Everyone treated the same! Etc. etc. The continued inferior or disadvantaged life outcomes of people of color is, according to these types, simply a result of them not being motivated/ambitious/smart enough to fix their own broken circumstances. Those centuries of genocide, cultural destruction, use as literal chattel slaves, etc, has nothing to do with it.

If this sounds ridiculous: well, obviously, it is. But as reactionary mindsets have become troublingly normalized and social media has allowed people to spread both passively and actively racist content to unprecedented degrees, it has also leaked into media. The type of white-man-fan you're arguing with won't accept any "historically accurate" argument for the inclusion of non-white people, even as they're staking their own (bad) arguments on that hill. This is because they want to claim the sole privilege to create a nostalgic/imagined/fantasy space that looks just like them. Their underlying belief is that people of color never had any power or consequential role in history, and shouldn't have, so they don't want to see a space, even an explicitly fantastic/non-historical setting (like LOTR, The Witcher, GOT, etc.), where this is the case. Whether or not they want to say it, or even if they're aware of it, they feel that even if they've been unhappily forced to accept a small lessening of their cultural power just because we no longer automatically accept that white men get to run everything, they at least can take comfort in a (white) past. And now, or so they think, the "politically correct" types also want to ruin their racist fantasy comfort zone. They can't even escape from multiculturalism in media, as it too has become steadily more diverse.

Basically: it's racism, Jan. It's many levels of racism, you can't argue those people out of it, and you have to identify and understand that, especially since their favorite diversionary tactic will be the schoolyard maneuver of going, "no, YOU'RE the racist!!!"

(Also: "historically accurate to the Dark Ages" should tell you everything you need to know. These people know absolutely nothing about history, but that won't prevent them from weaponising it in defense of the perceived threat to their cultural and racial domination. Besides, yet again, fantasy universes have no claim to historical accuracy, and if you say that, I assume you just want to feel justified in creating a fictional universe where the only powerful/consequential people are white heterosexual western European-coded men, because you not-so-secretly wish it was still that way in reality.)

[kcatta-wodahs]

Trans, Enby, or anything not Cis MC + OM Demon Bros!

TLDR; they all fuckin love you okay you’re wonderful

Lucifer

It happens right away honestly, as he is your introduction to Devildom 

You arrive suddenly in the student council, with no fucking warning, and with a bunch of people who are saying they’re demons. And like yeah okay sorcery obviously exists in your world so we can work with this but

He looks at a file, and states your deadname, and in a fit of bravery or just “i guess im here now” you correct him. 

The silence after that is palpable and every negative emotion you’re feeling as you wait shows up on your face. 

Lucifer only has a slight frown, looking at the paper, and at you, before it clears.

“Oh. Humans. I understand.” He marks something on the paper, and repeats your name. Your real name.

“Should I assume that the pronouns listed are incorrect as well?”

He calls for a RAD uniform that you’re most comfortable with, while Diavolo gushes over “HUMAN!!!”

Okay, cool, you’re hanging with demons now but at least they respect your pronouns? Guess this is your life. Your next question is whether you’re dead lol

So he knows the whole time, but it doesn’t change a thing! He loves you the same.

When you’re closer, he is very to-the-point about caring for you when you’re feeling dysphoric.

He offers you tips, makes sure you maintain your voice training even if you’re embarrassed about it, and always pushes you to express yourself how you want.

Hell maybe they use that princely riches to get you whatever surgeries you might want!

And he will *very clearly* show you how much he likes your body, however it is. 

After all, by the end of the game you belong to him, don’t you?

Mammon

When he's first assigned to be your guardian or whatever in Devildom, he didn't get the memo. 

Didn't read the paperwork, cause he's just like me and puts off homework for way too long.

So he doesn't know these pronouns of yours that Lucifer has fixed in the documentation.

Which means, unfortunately, you have to correct him when he first speaks to Levi about you.

What's funny about it is that he'll complain about LITERALLY EVERYTHING having to do with you and you being a human and UGH he has to take care of a FRAGILE HUMAN

But when you correct the pronouns he doesn't even fucking blink.

You don't even explain.

You just say the correct pronoun after he messes up, and then he repeats you and *continues complaining about you* but this time in the correct pronouns.

This is the first moment out of a million of "hidden endearing things about Mammon" that you will come to learn.

Later, when you're closer, he will always be there to stand up for you and put up a fight if anyone wants to give you shit.

He will defend you to the end of time. 

And he adores you. If he -- The Great Mammon -- adores you, then you must be perfect. So you can tell your stupid human brain to stuff it with the negative talk.

Leviathan

This one is written as AFAB

When you deny wearing the Ruri-chan dress for him, he's sad.

He KNEW you thought he was weird… and his thing for Ruri-chan was weird… and weirddmmm

So, you hesitantly tell him that… no, truly its not because of Ruri-chan

You just.. feel so sick when wearing dresses.

Something in you physically hurts, and you feel so *wrong* when in a situation where you're supposed to act "girly".

And you tell him that you don't really identify as female. You try to avoid that image whenever you can.

Levi is so touched that you would tell him and be honest with him.

He hugs you tightly and then turns beet red.

"D-Does that mean that you m-might.. kabedon… as Henry….?"

Cause he has that costume too and has never told anyone that he def would be seduced by his TSL hero.

You can get behind that one, and seeing how flustered he gets around you being yourself (through Henry?) has your confidence skyrocketing

This makes way to you flirting with ya boi 100% more often to see his adorable face.

Beelzebub

You go with him to work out, which is nothing really new, but this time he's looking at doing endurance training

...by swimming.

You have no idea what to do. 

He didn't think twice about it, either. He didn't assume there would be any problem at all. 

But for some reason your brain decided that his helpful and loving attitude wouldn't extend to this? Brains are silly when scared.

You try not to tear up when he questions why you've frozen in the doorway when he told you his plan.

You have no reason to be ashamed, or fearful, but the suddenness of the moment overwhelms you.

"I can't wear a swimsuit," is what comes out.

He pauses and then just looked vastly confused. He thought humans could swim..? Anyone could wear a swimsuit. You were wearing clothes right? What's the difference?

You wrap your arms around yourself, tryiing to soothe your nerves. "It's.. It shows too much.."

Then he looks you over, causing you to blush further, and he tips his head. "But you look nice."

Well if you weren't blushing before, now you definitely were. But it's not that. You hold your breath.

You try to explain without actually saying it, almost as if the word transgender has been blocked from your internal vocabulary. 

But this babe just insists that you look great no matter what. Is it scars? Like everyone here has scars, it's okay. Weird toes? You should see Belphie's. There's a reason he wears socks all the time. 

That almost makes you giggle, and you use that courage to say that you're trans.

He pauses for just a seond to blink. "Oh... nobody cares about that here."

He pulls you into a hug while you struggle for words. He tells you that you don't have to go swimming if you don't want to.

But he makes sure you know that he thinks you're wonderful. You're strong and brave and amazing. He will fight anyone who makes you feel differently. 

Asmodeus

This one is AMAB

It’s seeing Asmo be unequivocally himself that gives you the courage to do it.

You haven’t even told your human friends yet. Your human family.

You’ve known for ages, but..

Seeing Asmo flounce over to you wearing the most STUNNING evening dress has you weak at the knees, for reasons other than he assumes.

He assumes that you’re wildly in love as you duck your head and try to mumble something through your shaking breaths, and of course, who wouldn’t be?

But when he coaxes you to speak up for him, delight of a whole different kind lights up in his expression.

“Could you… make me as pretty as you?”

Oh, darling, he wouldn’t even need to try.

He dolls you up, hosting a lovely makeover session in his room. What he doesn’t expect is for you to start crying when you look at yourself in the mirror.

Asmo’s unshakeable confidence is shaken. He rushes over to you, trying to brush away tears and learning what’s wrong.

That’s when you tell him what you’d been hiding for so long.

The adoration in his eyes catches you off guard, and he takes your hands lovingly. “Oh, honey..” he mumbles, affectionate and sweet instead of seductive. “What’s your name?”

He takes you out shopping the next day, and is always ready to help you be yourself. 

He makes the switch almost instantly, and calls you the prettiest thing he’s ever seen even when you’re just waking up in the morning and kind of feel like a toad. 

(You blame him for those mornings, though, since he’s the one working so hard to *thoroughly* exhaust you the night before.)

Satan

This one is AFAB

You and Satan have begun meeting rather often for tea. 

It’s even gotten to the point where you’re both perfectly happy to sit in silence around each other. You’ve never been more comfortable.

But today, chaos reigns, and it has decided to make you clumsy today. Not even like, oh “that’s reasonable” clumsy.

No, you were enthralled in your fucking book, and you MISSED. 

Tea, all down your chin and neck, and you hear a snort of derision.

Satan is looking at you, very clearly amused. “Very graceful.”

You huff and puff out your cheeks at him to prevent from blushing. “Shut up. Do you have a towel?”

Looking no less amused, he just pulls a new shirt from the dresser behind him and offers it to you. 

You guys are chill. Good friends. Like. You don’t want to get up to go find a bathroom to change in. Your book is good and like Satan’s not about to be a creep, so you ask if it’s cool if you just change there, and he shrugs in response.

So, you swap shirts quickly, but when you’re dry he’s looking at you curiously.

“You have battle scars.”

You realize that you’d never told him. About your past, or your surgery, and you suddenly feel very self-conscious. 

“It’s- .. Not exactly,” you fumble out, realizing that now, instead of finishing your amazing book, you have to deal with *coming out?* Ughhhhhh. “They’re from a surgery.”

Satan’s eyes don’t leave you. “I’ve read enough about the human world to know what they are,” he said, then he nods to himself. “I didn’t know you’d had such a fight.”

You are either very, very impressed or very, very confused and you really don’t know which to lean towards just yet. 

“I’ve never been in a battle, Satan.”

“You fought to become yourself,” he answered, a small smile tracing his lips. “You never cease to impress me.”

Belphegor

The best part about becoming best friends with Belphie is the snuggle naps. It's the sweetest, calmest thing.

He is a little confused about why you insist on hugging a pillow when you nap with him, though.

He admits, its adorable. When he's big spoon he loves looking at you as you snuggle the big fluffy pillow. 

When he wants to face you, though, he wants to be closer, he doesn't really understand it. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable but also.. why?

Eventually, he tries to get answers out of you by teasing you about getting closer *intimately*. 

He does expect the blush.

He doesn't expect the look of despair that you hide from him.

He's stunned for a moment before demanding to know why the hell you would look so sad about that.

You try to shake it off, but Belphie's nothing if not persistent and annoying when he wants to be.

He learns that you have been trying really hard for months now to hide your body from him. To keep your personal info private, even while snuggling. 

You didn't know how he would take it, after all. 

What if he got something he wasn't expecting?

Honestly, Belphie sulks after hearing this. He flicks your forehead and glares at you for doubting him. 

But he looks you dead in the eyes and reminds you that you could never convince him you were anything less than perfect.

If you expected him to be disappointed by whatever you hid during snuggles, he would never be. You would never be a disappointment to him.

Your next nap together doesn't feature the pillow between you, which makes your heart feel fit to burst while he snuggles you closer. 

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Arnav, Khushi: Choti Si Duniya

#3 Old Habits

On most days Arnav and Khushi were happily married, with ample amount of laughter, space, sex, healthy banter, mild arguments, partnership and friendship filling their days.

On some days they just took the breath away from the other by simply existing, thrumming in the evergreen Rabba Ve. And on other days they were quiet, with one of their past demons returning to haunt them while the other supported the best they could.

And on the rarest days their arguments would take an ugly turn. It wasn’t a difference of thought, but rather crossing an invisible line of trust. Old habits, which despite maturity and therapy, flared up.

Unfortunately, Arnav crossed it far more than Khushi did.

“You’re forgetting she’s my sister Khushi Kumari Gupta! How could you not tell me she’s dating my manager.”

“She is also my sister Arnav, and Di told me not to tell you-”

“I don’t fucking care-”

“-that’s exactly why she told me not to tell you. And Aman ji is a good man for Di.”

“I don’t care, you still don't know Aman.”

“I’ve known him for six years! And for your kind information, I am a good judge of character Arnav-”

“-no you're not. If you were a good judge then things would've been different.”

“What do you mean by that.”

“Forget it.”

“Don’t forget that with this judgement I chose to marry you.”

“Oh really? With this judgement you brought fucking Shyam back to the house. I told you it was a big mistake but no - you thought he had changed.”

Khushi stormed into their bedroom, packing her clothes for a week. How dare he accuse her for not understanding Shyam! Yes, she had made a colossal mistake regarding him, but bringing it up after five years?

Just because he couldn't handle Di having a boyfriend?

Khushi breathed hard, fought her tears and zipped up her suitcase.

“Khushi, I’m sorry.” Arnav panted, having run up the stairs. His panic grew at the suitcase.

“Then why did you bring that up.”

“I was angry, I didn’t... you know how I am regarding Di.”

“I do Arnav, but that does not excuse you bringing up that up. I would've never brought him to the house if I knew he killed Di’s child.”

“Of course, I know that. It’s just... I shouldn't know about Aman and Di after they’ve started dating.”

Khushi sighed. She understood his overprotectiveness, especially after the Shyam fiasco they were all at edge towards Anjali. Frankly if it had not been for Aman, Khushi would’ve confided in Arnav.

“I get it, but I’m leaving for Bua ji’s for a week... if I didn’t know you, I would've never forgiven you for what you said.”

“Khushi you know I didn’t mean it.”

“And you know that anything related to that man is... has never been my fault.”

“I know Khushi but don’t go.” He held her hand.

“Arnav, I’m not in the state to forgive you for what you said. I want to calm down, take a little break and talk to you about this. So first, go and talk to your sister and please let me go.”

Arnav’s temper ticked. He hated Khushi leaving home. Leaving him.

“Running away from things don’t fix anything.”

“I’m not running away Arnav, I need space.”

“I said I’m sorry.” He yelled.

“And that is not enough!” She matched his pitch, grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door. Except he shut the door on her face and pulled her away.

“You can’t leave,” He warned. Khushi snatched her hand away from his.

“Or else?” She challenged.

“You know what I’m capable of,” His mouth hardened into its cruel, familiar straight line. And Khushi’s heart broke, again.

“Every single fucking time,” Khushi swore and threw her bag to the floor, angry tears rolled down her cheeks. Arnav faltered, his grip on the door loosening.

“Khushi main-” Khushi stopped him and stepped away.

“Enough Arnav. Main kya? You didn’t mean what you said? Didn’t mean to hold my hand hard enough to hurt? Didn’t mean to bring up the past? Didn’t mean to break my heart?” Khushi folded her arms, analyzing his face.

“But it still hurts. And you do nothing to fix it. I wonder, where does this come from?”

“I don’t want you to leave me.” He said.

“I didn’t leave you when things were worse, when you couldn't stand being in the same room as me-” And despite the years, the memories filled Arnav with guilt and Khushi with pain. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” His voice had lost its strength, “I wish I could change-”

“Hume uss baat se koi farak nahi padta. I have never asked you for an explanation or your regret. I’ve left these behind. But you haven't. Your habits haven't.” Khushi wiped her tears, struggling to keep her composure.

“You know, let’s talk about this. Because I’ve heard all of this before and we never really addressed how you broke my heart. And the fact that you can say all this despite all the therapy we've been to...”

Arnav sank into the green chaise, head in his hands. Khushi, always having the bigger heart, kneeled by him and grabbed his face. He was crying. Her heart truly broke.

“Talk to me Arnav. Why do you say these things? It’s been so long, and trust me when you shut the door and grab me I still get scared, it still breaks my heart despite everything. It will never be okay-”

Arnav held her hand, whispering his sorries to her.

“And what do you mean by ‘my sister’. Don’t you know how long it took me to make this family my own. Arnav, my world changed overnight. You know this. Tumhara, mera... you make me feel like this is not mine. That this house, this-”

“No Khushi, everything is yours. Yeh ghar, Di, main-” He choked.

“Then why do you work so hard to push me away? I know you're concerned for Di, even I was first worried when I learned she liked Aman ji. But she's happy with him.” Khushi said.

“I can’t... Di was happy with Shyam. I can't see her go through pain again, when I know that I could've prevented it.” Arnav confessed.

“Arnav, things would've hurt irrespective of everything we did. Or maybe because of it. The problem was not that we couldn't protect her, it’s that we took away her choice. Our decision to tell her the truth depended on it our convenience to lie about him.” Arnav agreed.

“And Aman ji is different. You know him for twelve years and if he turns out terrible despite that, then we’ll support Di the best we can and murder him.” Khushi cracked a smile and Arnav chuckled.

“I’m sorry Khushi,” He said, wiping her tear away.

“You should be. I mean, yes, I should've known better about trusting a man who didn't hesitate to kidnap you-” Arnav tsked at her.

“You were barely in your twenties. I shouldn't have brought that up.” He huffed.

“But you did.” She smiled sadly. Arnav stopped himself from saying 'I didn't mean to'. If he didn't, he shouldn't have. So he attempted at pouring his heart, saying things he meant.

He often resorted to pulling people’s mistakes when they made a decision without his input to prove they can't always make the right choice.

“Because I believe I’m the only one who can take the right decisions for everyone...” Arnav scoffed at the irony of his sentence. There were times when he had succeeded but despite his best efforts he did hurt Khushi where it hurt most.

"I always think it’s right to use any means to stop you from leaving me, especially after a fight. Cause I think I’ll fix everything later, as long as you're in front of me.” He confessed.

“Except it fixes nothing. It just... Arnav I feel like I have to cut a part of myself to be with you after such things because I love you, I love you so much that I can’t bear to not love you. Aur aise harkatein ke baad... it gets difficult to love you.” Khushi began to cry.

“It kills me to not be able to love you.” Arnav kissed her forehead, holding her tight in his arms. Her sobs racked against his chest, breaking his heart to two.

“Khushi please don’t... how can I fix this? I feel like any sorry isn't enough.”

“Let’s talk. Like this, always.” Khushi sniffled. Arnav nodded, pressing another kiss to the top of her head.

“And... if I want to leave,” Arnav’s grip tightened, “know that I’m always coming back. Except I just need space to process things.” Khushi broke the hug, and caressed his cheek.

“Ok, I’ll tell Mohan to drive you to Bua ji’s. I won't- can’t, you know I won't be able to leave you there.” Arnav smiled, holding her hand against his cheek.

“I’ll talk to Di about everything and we’ll work on this.” He pointed to themselves. Everything was worth a shot.

“And I will never keep anything from you.” She promised, acknowledging her own mistake.

“Ab jao, otherwise I won’t let you go.” Arnav turned away, dismissing her. Khushi pressed the most loving, forgiving kiss against his cheek and left for Bua ji’s.

---

Aman and Anjali watched Khushi leave for Bua ji’s. She had and bid everyone goodbye - Aarav choosing to stay home, afraid of the cheek pulling at Lakshminagar. But promised to FaceTime his mum at every single minute.

Arnav, had not come down to see her off. Anjali was worried sick. Aman tried to placate her.

“Aman, you have no idea the problems Chote and Khushi faced because of my first marriage. I did not... I always ruin everything. My blind faith nearly destroyed my brother’s happiness and yet again-” Aman placed his finger against Anjali’s lips, shushing her effectively.

“No Anjali. You are not responsible for ASR and Khushi bhabhi’s lives. Your faith in your husband was admirable. If the narrative was different, you would've been lauded for your trust in him. Unfortunately that wasn't the case.” Anjali didn’t agree. Aman grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close.

“Anjali, look at me. Take deep breaths. Ab, listen. Yes, you affect ASR’s life - why wouldn't you, he's your brother, your support, your heart. But whatever happens in his life is a result of his actions. Same applies for Khushi bhabhi. Yes, they might have fought regarding us, but not because of it.”

“But Aman-”

“No buts, if we were to break up - because, of course, ASR affects your life too - would you hate ASR?” This time Anjali grabbed Aman’s shoulders in response to his questions.

“I would never hate my brother Aman Mathur. And no matter how much I love him, I would speak to him but not give up on you like that.” If they were not in  Shantivan, Aman would’ve kissed her senseless on the spot.

“It’s taken me a lot to fall in love, and I’m not going to change that-”

“Then that resolves everything Di.” Aman and Anjali jumped apart on finding Arnav leaning against a wall, a soft smile playing on his lips. These few minutes said a lot about Aman and Anjali’s relationship that he wouldn’t have been able to have assessed without a calm mind.

“Chote.” Anjali nearly ran into her brother’s arms. Arnav hugged her tight, happy and relieved at the same time.

“It’s ok Di. First of all, as Aman said, you’re not responsible for anything. Everything will be fine between Khushi and me. And next time, you can tell your brother everything, I wouldn’t sack Aman for being your boyfriend... even if I’m tempted to.” Anjali pushed him against his shoulder and the siblings grinned.

“Thank you Chote. This means the world to me.” Aman smiled affectionately at the duo.

“There’s nothing to thank me. It is your life. But if Aman hurts you-”

“-then feel free to do anything with him.” Anjali quipped.

“Precisely. Even Khushi is on board with murder.”

“Do you both realize I am here.” Aman cleared his throat.

“Yeah, that saves me the time to separately give the shovel talk. You are truly efficient Aman.” Anjali laughed and headed towards Aman, who was more than happy to receive the threats.

He was officially welcomed to the Raizada's.

---

Madhumati and Garima had long learned what interference could cost in both, Khushi and Payal’s lives. With Shashi’s recovery they realized that if they had let both the daughters take decisions they saw fit, a lot of misunderstandings would've been avoided.

So when Khushi arrived with her bag and a call came from Payal apprising the Guptas of the situation at home, the Guptas needed no answers from Khushi nor were in a hurry to send her to Shantivan.

For this home would always remain as Khushi’s.

Madhumati didn’t prod about the untouched jalebis (although she did have a good mind to use her belan on her beloved damaad), Garima busied herself with her hour long chats with her grandson on the phone and Shashi gave Khushi the space to talk.

Time definitely allowed healing and perspective.

---

It was one of those days when Arnav was restless. Neither tending his plants nor working gave him relief. Perhaps it was because there were three more days for Khushi to come home?

He paced across every square inch of his mansion - the Prakashes and Raizada's knowing well to steer clear from Pacing Singh Raizada.

“Wassup Nannav? Missing Khushi bhabhi? You want me to send her a message? I’m heading there to grab some samosas.” NK grinned, as if he hadn't seen his cousin pining for Khushi in the past four days.

“Nothing.” Arnav gritted. He knew therapy was working. If not, NK would’ve been six feet under. And maybe Lavanya would’ve murdered him for it, but that was a small price to pay.

“Everything’s alright Chote?” Anjali stepped in, slapping NK behind his head.

“Yes Di, I ju-” Arnav stopped. The air sweetened, goosebumps broke and a sudden wind hit him. Oh, it was one of those days.

“Chote-”

“Nannav,”

Arnav ignored them and walked towards the door, nearly running by the end of it.

There was Khushi, in a red salwar kameez, house keys in hand.

They looked at each other as a strong breeze washed over them. A few strands of her hair flew and she softly smiled, before her chin wobbled and a sheen of tears betrayed her joy of coming home.

Oh, the one to cry at the drop of a hat!

Khushi ran up the few steps and nearly jumped into his arms as he engulfed her in his embrace. They remained in the intimate hug, sharing a few discreet kisses and whispered promises, oblivious to the audience.

“Di, how does Nannav always know when Khushi ji’s home?” NK asked.

“Old habits NK bhai, puraani aadatein.” Anjali smiled.

---

A/N: This was the longest CSD one shot! Here's your slice of angst but happily ever after - just let's say I was in one of those moods.

Choti Si Duniya is going to be a series of one shots of Arnav & Khushi’s life post the end of the show. These are going to be snippets inspired by certain gifs. I hope you liked it - do share your views!

[maggiecheungs]

atots as a disability narrative

finally posting my mini essay about atots and disability one (1) hour before episode 4 airs. putting this under the cut because it’s long. cw for discussions of casual ableism, suicidal ideation, death, disability, mental health.

(note: throughout i refer to tian’s disability, which we obviously don’t know the details of; i mainly mean it as a catch-all term for the health difficulties he faces, unlike most abled people, which continue on even after his transplant)

after episode 1 i remarked on how i read tian’s story as a disability narrative, but i wanted to wait to get a bit more info before i expanded on that. after episode 3, i think i can take a bash at outlining the main things that struck me--but there’s so much more i could say about this topic, so feel free to ask for clarification. also i obviously haven’t watched episode 4 yet, so that might change things! and of course, tian is filthy rich so his experiences with the practicalities of disability are somewhat mitigated/different from most experiences of disability... but in an ableist society, there are obviously some basic similarities in the way disability is perceived and experienced. so far, here are some of the main themes that i��ve noticed in atots:

the space between wellness and unwellness

in our society, wellness is constructed as part of a binary. one is either well (perfectly fucntional, capable of working) or unwell (ill enough to be incapable of functioning in a ‘normal’ manner). the default state is, of course, wellness; people get ill sometimes, of course, but they return to that default. however, people with disabilities and long-term health conditions can’t do that--and in the society in which we live, there aren’t accomodations for this sort of existence. 

tian has spent the past few years living in the space between wellness and unwellness. it’s the space of hospital waiting rooms and people treating you like you’re fragile. it’s the space of always waiting for something to happen; waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the people around you to get tired of you. in tian’s case, waiting for death.

tian has spent the past years stuck in this liminal space: ostensibly well enough to live a fairly normal life, but not enough to do so properly. he--and everyone else around him--is just waiting, and it prevents him from forming any close emotional connections or long-term plans. even if he could forget about it for a while, others remind him through their behaviour and treatment of him. before his surgery, he isn’t allowed just exist on a day-to-day basis. his very existence is overshadowed by the threat of its end. 

being stifled by others

in episode one, we get a glimpse of the near-complete erosion of personal boundaries tian has undergone over the past few years. after his operation, his mother panics when he leaves the house; she and his father stifle his freedom. at the same time, their fixation on ‘keeping him safe and healthy’ prevents them from seeing what he actually needs on an emotional level, which can be just as dangerous.

tian doesn’t just have to deal with his own feelings; he has to deal with his mother’s anxieties about him. he has to act well to assuage her fears. (tbh, neither of them handled the situation in the best possible way but... there isn’t really ‘a best way’ for this sort of situation? it’s more just limiting collateral damage.) similarly, his father blames him (or appears to blame him) for the suffering his mother is going through. 

it turns into a thing where he feels as if he owes them wellness (or the appearance of it). he doesn’t feel like he can be vulnerable around them. he puts on a similarly blasé act with his friends, because he doesn’t want them to treat him the same way his parents do--like he’s made of glass. which leads to....

pushing himself beyond his limits

tian feels like he has something to prove. he wants to prove that he’s not a burden... which becomes the characterising theme of his stay in the village.

in going to stay at the village, tian’s managed to mostly escape the spectre of ‘unwellness’ that has haunted him for so long, as well as all the people who stifle him. now that he’s free, he wants to learn to stand on his own two feet; to prove it to himself and to everyone who doubted he could (his parents, phupha, etc.).

however, while this is great for him on one level, it’s not great on another. because in tian’s mind, his disability is equated with being a burden. (this is not unsurprising, given that we live in a hugely ableist society and given his own experiences with his parents.) now that he’s out of the stifling environment of his past, tian feels like asking for help or taking care of himself would be a concession of weakness/burdensome to those around him.

that means, when other people unthinkingly hold him to ableist standards which his body literally cannot accomodate, tian will push himself to the limit rather than admit that he ‘falls short’. this is something that could have grave--potentially fatal--consequences.

HOWEVER! this seems to be changing! he seems to be growing past his feeling that ‘disability = burden’. in episode 3, he voluntarily told kalae about his having to take medication, and actively equated taking care of oneself with maturity/strength (”kalae, i also take pills. grown-up men have no problem taking pills. do you want to be a child or a grown-up?”)

i’ll be interested to see how this progresses. hopefully when/if he discloses his condition to phupha, it will go some way towards helping him move past all the self-directed ableism he’s internalised. also it should stop phupha from inadvertently pushing him to exceed his limits. (i predict that one area of tension between them will be phupha’s worry about tian--if their relationship is to succeed, phupha needs to be aware and accomodating of tian’s needs without stifling him/treating him like he’s made of glass as his parents did)

survivor’s guilt

a lot of this might be unconscious, but... tian has, in his mind, done nothing with his life--unlike torfun. while tian was alive and being a burden on everyone around him, gambling his few remaining years away, torfun was being one of the best, kindest, most generous people in the world. inevitably, living in her house and interacting with her people, he compares himself to her at every turn. she could help the villagers where he cannot. she should be here, not him. her heart is wasted on him.

but this is changing! in the most recent episode (3) we can see him building bonds with the villagers on his own merits. in the first few episodes i was worried that tian’s journey would be represented as but a shadow of torfun’s, but he’s forging his own indivdiual journey. similarly, his relationship with phupha seems to be individual to him, rather than a copy of the relationhship with torfun (but i guess we’ll find out more in the next few episodes). 

suicidal ideation

as mentioned above, tian has spent his entire life waiting for death. now, that looming spectre has disappeared, but it’s still a part of his identity. for years, he’s shaped his sense of self around that fact: he is going to die, so it does not matter what he does or does not do (this post sums it up really well!) he’s reckless because why the fuck shouldn’t he be? even if he’s not necessarily actively suicidal, for a while he seems to be passively suicidal.

this is also starting to show signs of change--as he overcomes his survivor’s guilt, builds genuine connections with the people around him, and feels like he’s contributing to something bigger than himself.

which leads me to the overriding theme of the series: tian’s going to have to learn to love himself, disabilities and all. he’s starting to build himself back up in the village, but he can’t treat it only as an escape. at some point, he’s going to need to face all the things i’ve mentioned in this essay and work through them. hopefully phupha will be there to help him, but this isn’t a ‘love cures all ills’ situation. loving phupha won’t ‘fix’ him; tian needs to love himself.

but... honestly, i have faith. i was really cautious after watching the first episode, because i’ve seen so many shows handle disability badly. but atots has exceeded my expectations in every other way so far, and i am truly excited to see where it goes next <3

[inkweaver22-blr]

Phew! This one gave me a bit of trouble to get out! Here we have our second big reveal of the story! Let’s see what happens.

AO3 Link

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Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Five: Timely Assumptions

Tang gets more than he expects at the start of one cycle. This leads to a few startling realizations.

----------

Tang looked up into the frightened expressions of the much younger Sun Wukong and Macaque as his body continued to disappear.

“I-” Being erased scared him. Would he wake up in a new cycle or simply cease to be?

Tang weakly lifted his hand, desperate to do something, grab something to ground him. Anything. Anyone!

“I don't w-want to go-”

He faded out of existence, not hearing anything else they might have said after. The last thing he saw were their horrified faces.

----------

The cave. The voices. The light.

----------

Tang woke with a gasp, his heart racing.

He had died before, but accidentally erasing yourself using a time-traveling peanut cactus was a new and terrifying experience.

The scholar took a few deep breaths, grounding himself with the fact that he was still here and hadn’t been deleted entirely. He had never been so relieved to be stuck jumping between timelines before now.

Tang winced as he remembered the anguish on the faces of the two monkeys he had befriended. He hoped his vanishing hadn’t traumatized them too much. If they were lucky they wouldn’t even remember anything now that the version of himself that had gone back in time had never existed in the first place.

God, time travel was confusing.

He glanced around his room and noticed a book on his nightstand. Picking it up, he was slightly disappointed to find it wasn’t the one on constellations he had used to teach the younger Macaque how to read.

With a sigh, Tang got up and prepared for the day. There was no point dwelling too much on what couldn’t be changed. Once dressed he stood in front of the mirror and began his little remembering ritual.

He first checked the date on his phone. It was still a few days before MK would get the staff so nothing of real consequence should be too different yet.

Taking a deep breath the scholar began reciting what he remembered about himself this time.

“I am the immortal monk Tang Sanzang-”

Tang choked as he doubled over in pain.

Hundreds of years of memories flooded through him. He collapsed to the ground and clutched at his head as it pounded in agony from the onslaught of innumerable experiences.

Tang crawled over to his bed and leaned back against it, his eyes shut tight and hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the rushing thoughts.

Living humbly as a monk. Being chosen by Guanyin. The journey. Sun Wukong. Bai Long Ma. Zhu Bajie. Sha Wujing. The many, many demons they encountered.

(How had he ever been so naive?)

Completing the journey. Becoming immortal. He, Bajie, and Wujing choosing to live on Earth instead of in Heaven.

(Pigsy was Zhu Bajie and Sandy was Sha Wujing!)

Wukong sealing away the Demon Bull King and vanishing. The three of them searching for him tirelessly. Never finding him. Giving up and living the next five hundred years without him.

(He should have never given up. He should have kept looking until he found his beloved disciple.)

It was all too much to handle. Tang needed time to process everything.

He called in sick to work, which with his short breath and trembling voice wasn’t questioned too closely. After sending a text to Pigsy (Zhu Bajie!) so he wouldn’t wonder about his absence at the shop, Tang pulled himself onto the bed and pressed his face into the pillows.

The headache and whirling memories prevented him from falling asleep, so he tried to focus on one thing at a time.

In this cycle he was the immortal monk Tang Sanzang, sometimes also referred to as Tripitaka.

There was still just so much to unpack in that single thought it made him a bit dizzy.

Tang had never been anyone other than himself in all the timelines he’d been in. His roles may sometimes be a bit different but he had always been Tang. He had theorized once that it had something to do with how every soul was unique so he literally couldn’t be anyone else.

His breath caught as he realized the implication that brought.

Tang’s soul was unique and thus he couldn’t be anyone other than himself in the various timelines.

In this timeline, he was the monk Sanzang.

In order for him to be both himself and the famous monk simultaneously, their souls had to be exactly the same.

That meant he wasn’t the monk in just this timeline, but in all of them, including his original time.

Oh Heavens, he was the reincarnation of Tang Sanzang.

Tang gulped in several breaths of air as his mind blanked out. He needed to focus. One thing at a time.

Pigsy was Zhu Bajie and Sandy was Sha Wujing in this timeline.

After the previous revelation, this one was much less earth-shattering.

He had always known that his group of friends mirrored the original journey’s group closely. Pigsy and Sandy also being reincarnations of their historical counterparts in his own time wasn’t much of a stretch.

Tang’s breath slowed as he began to calm. What was next?

Wukong disappeared and the trio searched for him. They never found him and gave up, assuming the monkey to be dead.

This was upsetting in an entirely different way. Tang knew Wukong was still alive thanks to the events of the original timeline, and that made the guilt of giving up even worse. He’d have to fix that.

Tang sighed in relief as his thoughts finally slowed and the pain ebbed. He still had a lot to work through, but that could wait for later. Going back to sleep sounded heavenly at the moment.

He had just started to doze off when an errant fact suddenly popped into his head.

Wasn’t Tang Sanzang already a reincarnation of one of the Buddha’s original disciples, the Golden Cicada?

With a groan Tang shoved a pillow over his head and attempted to beat back the thoughts from whatever that implied about him.

He didn’t sleep very well.

----------

“So what’s this all about Tang,” Pigsy asked grumpily as he accepted a mug of tea from Sandy. It was late at night, a few days after the release of the Demon Bull King, and the three of them were meeting privately at Sandy’s ship on the scholar’s request.

Tang took a sip from his own mug as he studied the two other immortals. Had it not been for his own memories on the matter, he would have never guessed that they were two of the five companions of the legendary Journey to the West.

Zhu Bajie had been, no pun intended, pigheaded, crass, and ornery. He seemed to be contrarian whenever he felt like it and relished in trying to get one over on Sun Wukong. Tang couldn’t deny the pig demon’s ability to rise to the occasion when the chips were down however. For as much trouble Zhu Bajie seemed to cause, he’d been invaluable a fair number of times as well.

Sha Wujing lived to fight. His rage and battle-lust had definitely caused their own share of problems. Other than that, the large river demon tended to be the quiet one of the group and didn’t open up until the latter half of their journey.

Tang wasn’t blind to his own faults though.

Tripitaka, (after some meditation, Tang had decided to refer to his past self as such to avoid confusion with the name Tang Sanzang), had not been ready for such a perilous adventure. He had been too trusting of strangers, too proud to believe Wukong’s warnings. It was his own incredible naivety and insistence that he knew better that had led to the vast majority of the dangers they had found themselves in.

It was hard to reconcile who the three of them had been with who they were today, but Tang supposed five hundred years would change most people.

Pigsy still had a gruff exterior, but his desire to start trouble had long since faded. His discovery of a love for cooking had unlocked a surprising work ethic within the pig demon as well as a silent form of affection that he treated any he cared for with.

Sandy had sought out a therapist and took anger management classes. His love for battle long since extinguished, the river demon now spent his time taking care of his cats, making tea, and being supportive of his friends.

Tang was certainly not naive to the ways of the world any longer. He still did his best to treat any strangers he met with kindness and respect, but he never fully believed anyone new to be trustworthy until they showed themselves to be. He always listened to the advice of his friends as well, knowing that he didn’t know everything and those around him might have insights he did not.

Tang placed his mug down and steepled his fingers together.

“We need to tell MK, Mei, and Wukong who we really are.”

“What?!” Pigsy's angry reaction hadn’t been unexpected. They had made an agreement some time back to not reveal themselves to anyone. It was less to do with having to deal with annoying fans and more with avoiding the painful memories their identities brought with them.

If it wasn’t for the fact he had been hopping through timelines and saw first hand how hiding things from people hurt them, Tang was certain he wouldn’t have been making this decision.

“I said we-”

“I heard what you said,” Pigsy interrupted. “No way! Nuh-uh! Not happening!”

“Now hold on brother,” Sandy soothed, placing a comforting hand on the chef’s shoulder. “Let’s hear him out first.”

“This better be good,” Pigsy grumbled and slouched back into his chair.

“Which do you think will go over better? Us being honest with them about our pasts, or them discovering the truth on their own?”

“They won’t find out if we’re careful about it,” Pigsy countered.

“They will find out,” Tang stated with absolute certainty. “Whether it’s the kids putting the pieces together themselves or Wukong recognizing us, there is no doubt that this isn’t going to stay a secret for long.”

Sandy seemed thoughtful but the pig demon simply huffed and crossed his arms stubbornly.

Tang stared directly into Pigsy’s defiant eyes. Looks like he’d have to pull out the big guns.

“How do you think MK will react once he finds out that we, that you, have been keeping something this important from him?”

With a sharp intake of air Pigsy froze, his expression changing from defiance to horror. He leaned over, placing his face in his hands and groaned.

“Oh god. He’d- he’d feel like I didn’t trust him. Like I didn’t care about him enough to tell him.” The chef seemed miserable at the thought as he looked up. “Okay, we can tell the kid. Mei too, I guess.”

Tang shared a glance with Sandy. Neither had missed the exclusion of Wukong from Pigsy’s concession.

(When did he stop being the Monkey King to Tang?)

“So, uh, will we tell big brother before or after we tell MK and Mei,” Sandy asked, eyeing the pig demon warily.

Like a switch had been flipped, Pigsy’s anger returned in full force, his face twisting into a hateful scowl.

“We ain’t telling that bastard nothing,” he snarled.

“Pigsy,” Tang scolded, shocked at the amount of venom in his voice.

“No! He doesn't deserve it! Not after letting us think he was dead-” Pigsy’s voice broke slightly as he continued his rant. “Not after avoiding us for five hundred years!”

Tang took a steadying breath and pushed down the irrational emotions and hurt that wanted to agree with Pigsy’s stance. He needed to be calm if he was to convince one of his oldest friends to go through with this.

“Assumptions, my dear friend, are very dangerous things,” Tang said.

“Huh?” Pigsy looked confused at the seeming change in subject. Good, that meant he was paying attention.

“We never found Wukong after he disappeared, so we assumed he was dead. We continued to assume such for five hundred years,” Tang began, speaking clearly and with emphasis to be sure he was understood. “We now know our assumptions were wrong. Now you are falling back into the same mistake.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You are assuming that Wukong knew we were looking for him. You are assuming he hid from us intentionally. You are assuming that he knows we’re still alive.”

“Wait, what,” Sandy exclaimed. He had seemed to be following along with the conversation up until that point and now looked alarmed.

“How do we know Wukong didn’t fall into the same trap we have,” Tang explained. “That he didn’t just assume we were gone, either through death or reincarnation? With that assumption in mind, why would he ever think to go looking for us?”

There was a tense silence as Tang let his point sink in before finishing his argument.

“We can no longer assume things. That only leads to misunderstanding and hurt feelings. If we are to learn the truth we must actively look for it. To do that we must be honest with Wukong.”

Pigsy stared at him for a few moments before sagging and plopping down into his chair.

“I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Tang breathed a sigh of relief as Sandy chided their friend about drowning your feelings in alcohol. That was the first hurdle down.

Now for the hard part.

----------

In the end they decided to tell all three of them at the same time. Just to rip the whole band-aid off in one go so to speak.

It hadn't been too hard to convince MK to get Wukong to invite them to his island. He hadn’t welcomed them into his sanctum however, so they had a picnic on the shore near the waterfall curtain instead.

The food had been quickly forgotten once they began their explanation.

MK was upset at first at having the truth withheld from him, but some heartfelt reassurances and a teary hug from Pigsy had earned them his forgiveness. He bounced back rather quickly and immediately began launching questions excitedly at the trio.

Mei had simply accepted the revelation with great enthusiasm. She had pulled her phone and began live streaming a “Q&A WITH THE JOURNEY TO THE WEST CREW!!!”. So much for anonymity.

Tang gave an amused chuckle as the young adults pestered Pigsy and Sandy as he glanced at the uncharacteristically silent Wukong.

The Monkey King could have been carved from stone with how still he was, his expression frighteningly blank.

“Wukong?” Tang swallowed nervously as his first disciple turned to him with that empty look. “Do you want to say something?”

That had apparently been the wrong thing to ask.

“Do I want to say something? Do I want to say something?!” The empty stillness was immediately replaced with restless agitation as Wukong leapt to his feet and began to pace back and forth angrily. “Oh there are a lot of somethings I want to say to you three!”

“Hey Mei? Stop streaming for a bit,” MK said quietly as he pulled her a little ways away from the group. Tang would have been extremely proud of the emotional maturity the kid was showing, but he currently had a very pissed off monkey taking up most of his attention.

“How could you do this to me?! How could you even think of leaving me to be alone for five hundred years,” Wukong shouted at them, confusion and anger and hurt pouring from every word.

“Big brother, we-” Sandy tried.

“Don’t you ‘Big Brother’ me, Sha Wujing!” The way he spat out the name like a curse made the river demon flinch. “You all abandoned me! I thought I was never going to see any of you again! Yet here you all are!” Wukong clenched his fists as he glared at the three immortals. “WHERE WERE YOU?!”

“Where were we? Where were you,” Pigsy threw the question right back angrily. “We looked for you! For a century we searched! That’s more than what you can say!”

“And then when you got tired of it you gave up! You gave up on me!”

“WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”

“I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE BEEN!”

The anger bled out from the air at that confession and Wukong seemed to crumble into himself. Pigsy looked stunned, Sandy was nervously wringing his hands, and Tang’s stomach was twisting itself into a painful knot.

“I was alone, Bajie. My brothers were gone and I was left by myself,” Wukong trembled as he hugged himself. Tang had never seen the proud warrior look so small before. “For centuries I had nothing but my memories and grief. Sometimes I wanted to be dead. Maybe then I’d see you again.” Wukong fell to his knees as he looked up at them with tears running down his face. “I missed you all so much.”

Tang felt his own tears falling as he rushed over to embrace Wukong who began to openly sob. Sandy and Pigsy soon joined in and the four of them simply held each other as they let their pain free.

“We’re so, so sorry Wukong,” Tang said. “I promise you we would have never hurt you like this intentionally.”

“I- I know,” Wukong hiccuped, clutching to the three of them tightly.

“We won’t ever leave you alone again big brother,” Sandy vowed.

“We’re stuck with each other from now on, no matter how much we may get on each other's nerves.” Pigsy’s joke earned a choked laugh from Wukong.

Two more pairs of arms entered into their group hug as MK and Mei joined them on the ground.

“Please don’t be sad Monkey King,” MK said. “You have Mei and I now too. You aren’t alone anymore.”

Wukong just began to cry a little harder and held on a bit tighter at that.

The six of them stayed like that for some time, holding each other up in silent support and comfort.

As they sat there, Tang was a little overwhelmed by how right it felt to be holding onto the others. Love burned in his chest as he enjoyed the warmth of being this close to his family.

Oh.

Oh.

They were his family, weren’t they?

That wasn’t just another assumption. These five, across any timeline, were family to him, and he would always care for them as such.

Any lingering doubts about being Tripitaka melted away. It didn’t really matter who he was or had been in the past. All that mattered was the real love he felt for these people that were precious to him.

As long as he had that, he could overcome anything else that came his way.

----------

You didn’t think I would write a Tang-centric fic and NOT have him be Tripitaka did you? It was inevitable honestly.

I'm not sure if I characterized Sha Wujing correctly here, but Sandy canonically went to anger management so I made some (hehe) assumptions.

Speaking of! Count how many assumptions are made in this chapter! There might be more than you think~

The story referenced in this chapter is Tang’s Time Adventure by Poddlebud. It’s a fun little romp with a unique ship. It’s a shame we didn’t get to see the conclusion played out here…

Until next time!

[poisonedlovedarling]

Milo Murphy’s Law Theory

Okay I’m sure somewhere out there someone has had a theory like this. However! I just wanted to put it down in my own words, mostly to get it out of my head. 

In a short, my theory is that Balthazar Cavendish and his lovely partner Vinnie Dakota, (If not the entire time traveling agency) are the reason Milos family are cursed with Murphy's law.

Evidence! I hear you cry into the void, yes. Well the best I can offer you is theoretical science. (I hear you complaining in the background well you don’t have to listen...lol.)

Theoretical Science time! 

According to the laws of time travel, you might know this one. You go back in time and step on a butterfly and next thing you know all of humanity has never been born. Now the problem with this is that there are many theories saying that if you change time you can erase yourself from existence. However if you did that you then couldn’t have gone back in time and changed things in the first place. Causing a Paradox. Or less commonly known as Circular causation, you can’t change the past if you don’t exist 

Now on the other hand, there is a theory that you can change history causing yourself to never having been born but still existing to be the one to go back in time and change that point in history. Basically if you change a point in time you’re not changing your version of time but instead creating an alternate time line that runs parallel to your own. The future you return to you may not have been born but can still exist because you are from a timeline where you were born and are just riding the waves through a new timeline. Basically visiting an alternate earth where the history was change and you never existed. 

There's a ton more like this, such as self fulfilling prophecy, you couldn’t change time because what happened. Happened and you were suppose to do what you did anyways. 

Basically Time travel’s a messy.

However by changing history, you can cause unknown havoc. Example (though not proven by science) you drop a rock in the ocean in California. The ripples that the rock causes become bigger and more dangerous eventually reaching Japan not as ripples but as tidal waves. Causing havoc.

(For examples look at Futurama, Rick and Morty, or The Flash.)

Now if you are still reading theirs another time travel theory this one actually relating to my idea. This time theory states that if you do change history the time line will try to fix itself to change around it. Something small like stepping on a butterfly that was suppose to pollenate some flowers. It will make another bug or even wind do it instead, no big deal. Yet, if you do something big like prevent the death of a President. The timeline will have them die another time, car ride home heart attack. It will change history but not by much and is a lot harder for the timeline to fix. Sometimes that little rock becomes a tidal wave that hits but doesn’t kill who wasn’t already meant to die.

A lot of time this will effect those closest or those related to the target. Which Theory Time! Loops me back to Cavendish and Dakota. The time travelers who don’t follow the rules of time travel. My theory is the Milos families curse is because the timeline is trying to fix itself.

In the episode ‘The Island of Lost Dakotas’ (Spoilers ahead) we learn that one of our favorite characters Cavendish has ‘died’ many times over. Each time Dakota has gone back in time and changed the outcome. Saving his friend and then his past self goes on a trip to a lost island where versions of himself are making shoes and watching film of his travels with his friend. 

Now one or twice the timeline would just change how Cavendish dies, but Dakota keeps changing it. Which means that the timeline can’t fix itself the easy way. Instead the pebble Dakota keeps dropping is rippling back in time. 

If we follow this theory this means that either Cavendish or Dakota are related to the Murphy's. Great great ex. grandchild of Milo Murphy. Now based off the show it sounds as if the curse only effects the males of said family and follows the name not the people of the family. Which means that one of Milos kids finally change their last name perhaps in an effort to end the curse only to give birth to the curser or just another Murphy with a different last name. 

Well other than them not sharing the Murphy name, one of them could still be a Murphy.

Dakota is a popular choice, the bad things happen around him and though he doesn’t look much like Murphy’s family being a great something descendant he could still be. Especially with Milos love interest looking more like Dakota, and we can expect Milo and Amanda end up together in the end. Also we can see that in Milos experience the Murphy law effects the people around him equally if not more than it does the Murphy's themselves. So if Dakota is a descendant his curse would effect Cavendish as much if not more than it effect himself.

Now the best bet under this thought is that it’s Cavendish whos related to Milo. Between the two Cavendish looks more like Milo having the family hair trait. As well as the same body type as Milos father and Great ex. grandfather the original Murphy. Body types of all the characters at first look fairly similar but things from their noses to face shapes and body types tend to stay accurate within families. This means that through his family ties all the bad things that ‘kill’ him ripple back and instead effect his family. 

Cavendish’s deaths over and over again would effect the timeline. It would try fixing itself, effecting every last member of Cavendishs family. The epicenter being Milos ancestor the original Murphy in his own time travel version of the Bermuda triangle. Creating the Murphy law that the timeline needed to exist anyways. Now since the time line can’t kill any of the past Murphy's it also explains why the Murphy’s are so good at escaping deadly situations. The timeline can’t kill them but it sure can mess with them. 

Now if neither of them are related to Murphy then it just means that there relationship with Milos family, Dr.D. (Spoiler- Professor Time), and the time agency. All the things they change through out time made a time Bermuda triangle where the OG Murphy lived. These negative probability particles in that triangle could potentially be causing his family to be effected by it until those particles eventually run out if they run out. 

Now this theory is lengthy and all over the place. So here’s the long and the short of it. 

Cavendish or Dakota or even the time agency itself. Are the reason Milo and his family are cursed with Murphy’s law. By changing time they cause havoc which is centered around the Murphy family, because of their personal if not family  related relationships with Time agency. 

You don’t have to believe me honestly I just needed to write this down to get it out of my head. I’ve got many more theories about other tv shows, that might or might not be coming your way.

[c-is-for-circinate]

I'd love to hear more of your thoughts about why P5R didn't quite land for you. I had the same reaction to it, but I've never quite been able to properly articulate why the last section fell so flat.

God okay so I've tried several times to answer this, and it seems like the answer is 'I still have way too many feelings, personally, to say this in anything less than thirty pages and fifteen hours of work', because Persona 5 the original is a game I loved a lot and care about a great deal. And most of the reasons I disliked Royal feel, in my head, like a list of ways it broke some of the things I liked best about P5--which means explaining them feels like I need to explain everything I loved about the original game, which is a book in itself, complete with referents to P3, P4, Jungian psychology, the Joseph Campbell mytharc, and fuck all even knows what. And that is too much.

But today I realized that I could instead describe it from an angle of, Persona 5 Strikers succeeds really well at doing the thing I think Royal was trying to do but failed at. And that I think I can talk about in a reasonable amount of wordspace, hopefully, behind this cut because I have at least one friend who hasn't played Royal yet.

Note for reblogs/comments: I HAVE NOT FINISHED STRIKERS YET. I got through the jail that pretended to be the final jail and have not yet gone into the obviously inevitable 'ohshit wait, you mean there's something more than simple human machinations behind all of this?' dungeon. (I got stuck on a really frustrating side quest, put the game down, and then dived into Hades to avoid throwing the Switch across the room for a while--and anyone around this blog lately knows how THAT'S been going.) Please no spoilers past Okinawa!

So, one of the many, many things I really appreciated about Persona 5 was its straightforward and unashamed attitude towards abusers and their acts of violence. Because, while yes P5 is a story about the use of power and control to make others suffer, it fundamentally isn't about those abusers themselves. It's about their victims, those that survive their crimes. And this shows up repeatedly over the course of the game.

We do not give a shit why Kamoshida wanted to beat and rape his students. We really don't. Kamoshida does not deserve our attention one moment longer than it takes to make him stop. Because, ultimately, that's the goal of P5, start to end. We don't know for sure if what we're doing is fair, if it's justice, if it's questionable. What we know is that people are being hurt, badly, actively, right now this second. What we know is that victims are suffering. What we know is that we, personally, us-the-protag and us the Phantom Thieves at large, are in danger. And in those circumstances, we don't care about the abuser's side any more. We don't. We don't have the space or time or capacity to care, because that is not the point.

The point is to help the weak. To save the people who need saving, right here and now. To give others the courage to stand up on their own behalf. We're not even out to change society, not really--that's a byproduct. We are reactions. We are triage. We are important.

There's something so empowering and validating about that as a theme, y'know? In a media landscape so full of "sympathetic villains", the idea that, you know, maybe sometimes you don't have to break yourself to show compassion that might possibly heal the bad guy--that sometimes you can just make the bad guy stop hurting people--feels both refreshing and satisfying. I really appreciate it as a message! I liked it a lot!

And yes, there's nuance to that theme, and the game is not without compassion. We save Futaba, because 'make the bad guy stop hurting people', in that case, means 'make this person stop hurting herself'. We give Sae a path forwards, help her fix her own heart. Yet it's worth pointing out that in both of those cases, while we were very glad to do those things, to save those people, we also went into both of those palaces for extremely practical reasons to begin with. We needed Futaba's help. We needed Sae's help. The fact that we chose to talk Sae into a change of heart rather than simply stealing her treasure, while ultimately a very good thing for her, was absolutely a practical choice predicated on the need for her palace to still exist to save our life. And yes, we wanted to save her, for Makoto's sake--yes, we wanted desperately to save Futaba. But Sae and Futaba let themselves be helped, too, and that doesn't change the overarching themes of the story itself.

Akechi (and to some extent Okumura) would not let himself be helped. Akechi's another interesting nuance to this theme, because of all our villains, we do learn the most about what drove him to the cruelties and crimes he's committed. He's at that intersection of victim and villain, and we want to help him, as a victim--but we also know that stopping him as a villain is more important. We'd like to save him from himself if we could, because we save people from their sources of trauma, it's what we do. We regret being unable to do so. But in the end, what matters to the story is not that Akechi refused to be saved--it's that Shido and Yaldabaoth need to be stopped, for the sakes of everyone else they're hurting now and may continue to hurt in the future.

The thing is, there's space and maybe even a need for a corollary discussion of those places where victim and villain intersect. It's an interesting, pertinent, and related topic. Strikers made an entire video game about it, a really good video game. It's centered in the idea that, yes, these people need to be stopped, and we will make stopping them our priority--but they're not going after us, and that gives us some space to sympathize. Even for Konoe, who specifically targets the Phantom Thieves--compare him to Shido, who actively destroyed the lives of both Joker and Futaba, who ordered Haru's father's death, who's the entire reason the team is still dealing with the trauma of Akechi's everything. Of course the game can be sympathetic to Konoe where it can't with Shido. There's enough distance to do that.

But right--Strikers is a separate game. It's a separate conversation. It's, "last time, we talked about that, so now let's take it one step further." And that's good writing. (It's something Persona has done before, too, also really well! Persona 3 is about terrible, occasionally-suicidal depression and grief. P4 is about how you can still be hurting and need some help and therapy even if things seem ok. Related ideas, but separate conversations that need to be separate in order to be respectful and do justice to either one. P5, as a follow-up to P4, is a conversation about how, ok, changing yourself is great and all, but sometimes the problem is other people so how do you deal with that? Again, still related! Still pertinent! Still alluded to in P4, with Adachi's whole thing--but it wasn't the time or place to base a quarter of the game around it.)

So one of Royal's biggest issues, to me, is that it tries to tack on this whole new angle for discussion onto a game that was originally about something else.

Adding Maruki's palace--adding it at the end, which by narrative laws suggests that it's the true point that everything else should be building up to--suddenly adds in about a hundred new dimensions at once. It wants us to engage with "what in this abuser/manipulator's life led him to act this way?" for basically the first time all game (we'll get to Akechi later). It wants us to engage with, "if the manipulator has a really good reason or good intentions, does that mean we should forgive them?" It requires us to reflect on, "what is the difference between control and cruelty?" It asks, "okay, but if people could be controlled into being happy, would that be okay?" (Which, based on the game so far, is actually a wild out-there hypothetical! Literally not a single thing we've seen in the game suggests that could ever happen. Even the people who think being controlled is safer and easier are miserable under it. Control that's able to lead to actual happiness is completely out of left field in the context of everything we've encountered all game so far.)

That's too much! We don't have time to unpack all that! We only have an eighth of the game left! Not to mention we are also being asked to bring back questions we put to bed much earlier in the game about the morality of our own actions, in a wholely unsatisfying way. Maruki attempts to justify his mass brainwashing because "it's the same as what you're doing", and we know it isn't, but the game didn't need Maruki calling it out in order for us to get that. We already faced that question when we started changing hearts, and again several times throughout the game, and again when we found our targets in Yaldabaoth's cells. The fact that we change hearts does not mean we think "changing hearts is fine and kind and should be done to everyone, actually." Changing hearts has been firmly established in this game as an act of violence, acceptable only because it prevents further systemic violence against innocents that we must prevent. The moral question has never once been about whether it's ok to change the hearts of the innocent, only about how far it's ethical to go against individuals who are actively hurting other people. Saying "you punched that guy to keep him from shooting a child, so punching people is good and I will save the world by punching everyone!" is confusing! and weird! and not actually at all helpful to the question of, how much violence is it acceptable to use to protect others! So presenting the question that way just falls really flat.

(And right, I love Strikers, because Strikers has time to unpack all that. Strikers can give us a main bad guy who wants to control the whole world for everybody's own good, because Strikers has earned that thematic climax. It has given us sympathetic bad guys who started out wanting to control the world to protect themselves and ended up going too far. It's given us Mariko Hyodo, who wanted to control the world to protect other people and went too far. It's given us a long-running thread about police, the desire to serve, and the abuse of power that can lead to. And since we are actively trying to care for the people whose hearts we're changing in Strikers, we can open the door to questions about using changes-of-heart and that level of control to make other people happy. We can even get a satisfying conclusion out of that discussion, because we have space to characterize the difference--Konoe thinks that changing peoples' hearts means confining them, but the Phantom Thieves think it means setting them free. We have seen enough sympathetic villains that we as an audience have had the space to figure out how we feel about that, and to understand the game's perspective of "stop them AND save them, if we can possibly do both." And that message STILL rests firmly on Persona 5's message of "it is Good to do what you have to do to stop an abuser so long as you don't catch innocent people in your crossfire.")

It's worth noting that the general problem of 'asking way too many new questions and then not answering them' also applies to how Royal treats its characters, too. P5 did have unanswered questions left at the end! The biggest one, and we all knew this, was Akechi, and what actually happened to him, and how we should feel about him, and how he felt about us. That was ripe for exploring in our bonus semester, and to Royal's credit they did in fact try to bring it up, but by god did they fuck up doing it.

Akechi's probable death in the boiler room was absolutely the biggest dangling mystery of the game. It was an off-screen apparent death of a key antagonist, so all of the narrative rules we know suggested that he might still be alive and would probably come back if the story went on for long enough. So when Royal brings him back on Christmas Eve, hey, great! Question answered. Except that the situation is immediately too good to be true, and immediately leads to another mystery, which leads to a flat suspicion that something must be wrong. We spend several hours of gameplay getting sly hints that, oooh, maybe he's not really alive after all, before it's finally confirmed by Maruki: yup, he really died, if we end the illusion we'll kill him too. Okay, at least we know now. Akechi is alive right now and he's going to be dead if we do this, and that doesn't make a ton of sense because every other undead person disappeared when the person who wished for them realized they were fake but at this point we'll take it. So we take down Maruki, and okay, Akechi really is dead! Probably! We're fairly sure! Aside from our lingering doubts!

And then we catch a glimpse of maybe-probably-could be him through the train window, and I just want to throw something, because come on.

Look, it is just a fact of storytelling: the more times you make an audience ask 'wait, is this character dead or aren't they?', the less they will care, until three or four reversals later you will be hard pressed to find anybody who gives a shit. Royal does this like four different times, and every iteration comes with even less certainty than the last. By the end, we somehow know even less than we did when we started! Did Akechi survive the boiler room to begin with and Maruki just didn't know? Or was Maruki lying to try and manipulate us further? Or was he actually dead and then his strength of will when Maruki's reality dissolved was enough to let him survive after all? Is that even actually him out the train window?

Where is he going! What is he doing! How did any of this happen! What is going on! We all had these questions about Akechi at the end of the original P5, and the kicker is that Royal pretends like it's going to answer them only to go LOL JK NO. It's frustrating and it's dissatisfying and it annoys me.

The one Akechi question that Royal doesn't even bother to ask, though, let alone leave ambiguous, is how does the protagonist feel about him? The entire emotional weight of the third semester rests on the protagonist caring about Akechi, Sumire, and Maruki. Maruki's the person we're supposed to sympathize with even as we try to stop him. Sumire's the person we're trying to save from herself. And Akechi is our bait--is, we are told, the one thing our protagonist wished for enough to actualize it in this world himself. Akechi's the final lure to accept Maruki's deal. Akechi's survival is meant to be tempting.

For firm Akechi fans, this probably worked out fine--the game wanted to insist that the protagonist cared for Akechi the same way the player did. For those of us who're a little more ambivalent, though (or for the many and valid people who hated him), this is a super sour note. Look, one of the Persona series' strengths is the way it lets players choose to put their time and emotional investment into an array of different characters, so the main story still has weight even if there's a couple you don't care about that much. It has always done this. The one exception, from P3 all the way through P4 to here and now, is Nanako Dojima, and by god she earned that distinction. I have never met a person who played Persona 4 who didn't love Nanako. Nanako is a neglected six-year-old child who is brave and strong enough to take care of herself and all of the housework but who still tries not to cry when her dad abandons her again and lights up like the sun when we spare her even the tiniest bit of time and attention. It is impossible not to care for Nanako. Goro Akechi is not Nanako.

And yet third semester Royal doesn't make sense if your protagonist doesn't feel linked to Akechi. The one question, out of all the brand new questions Royal throws out there, that it decides to answer all by itself--and it's how you as a player and your protagonist ought to feel about an extremely complex and controversial character. What the fuck, Royal. What the fuck.

In conclusion, I'll leave you with this. I played the original Persona 5 in March and April of 2017, as an American, a few months after the 2016 election and into the term of our then president. It felt painfully timely. A quick calendar google early on indicated that the game's 20XX was almost certainly 2016, and the closer our plot got to the in-game November leadup to an election destined to be dominated by a foul and charming man full of corruption and buoyed up by his own cult of personality, the more I wanted to laugh/cry. It felt timely. It felt important. It felt right.

I went through Royal (in LP form on youtube, not having a platform to play it on) in summer of 2020, with a hook full of face masks by my front door and protests about racial tension and local policing that occasionally turned into not-quite-riots close enough to hear at night if I opened the windows of my apartment. The parts of the game that I remembered felt as prescient and meaningful as ever, if not even more so. The new parts felt baffling. Every single evil in the game felt utterly, painfully real, from the opening moments of police brutality to the idea of a country led by a guy who probably would use his secret illegitimate teenage son as a magical assassin if the opportunity presented itself and he thought he could get away with it. Yaldabaoth as the cumulative despair of an entire population who just wanted somebody to take over and make things be okay--yes, yes, god, in summer of 2020? With streets full of people refusing to wear masks and streets full of people desperate for change? Of course. Of course that holy grail of safety should be enticing. Of course it should be terrifying.

And then Maruki. Maruki, who was just so far outside the scope of anything I could relate to the rest of the game or my own life. Because every single other villain in the rest of Persona is real. From the petty pandering principal to the human-trafficking mob boss. The corrupt politicians and the manmade god of cultural desire for stability. And this game was trying to tell me that the very biggest threat of all of them, the thing that was worse than the collective force of all society agreeing to let this happen because succumbing was easier than fighting back--that the very biggest threat of all was that the world could be taken over by some random nobody's misguided attempts to help?

No. Fuck no. I don't buy it. Because god, yes, I have seen the pain and damage done on a tiny and personal and very real level by the tight-fisted control of someone trying to help, it never looked like this. Not some ascended god of a bad therapist. All the threats to the world, and that's the one I'm supposed to take seriously? This one man is more of a threat than the fundamental human willingness to be controlled?

Sorry, but no. Not for me. Not in this game. Not in this real-life cyberpunk dystopian apocalypse.

[londonhalcyon]

Since it will still be a while before I finish the next chapter of The Mad Witch, here’s a glimpse of the first third of the rough draft of Chapter 27: “The Cat’s Curiosity.”

Believe it or not, I did listen to advice sometimes. And, lately, since all my peers and mentors had been telling me, over and over and over, that my job in the Hogsmeade was important, and that I should most definitely not go chasing after Death Eaters, I was inclined to believe them. Reluctantly.

I truly could see my importance in the village, now that Dumbledore had pointed it out. I had never fully considered how many people smiled or waved to me when I passed them on the street—people whose broken limbs I had fixed or who I had delivered potions to when they had been too ill to walk to the Cauldron. Even with the rainbow flag in the window, the Cauldron was still getting a steady stream of business, and customers still chatted with me as much as they did with Penny. A few people even seemed to be going out of their way to give me encouragement (one of Rosmerta’s barmaids complimented my nails—a remark that mortifyingly didn’t register until after she had left). And, of course, there were those whose trust I’d had from the very beginning.

That’s not to say it was all smiles and waves. I was given plenty of glares on the street as well, including by Kenneth (Mr. Darrow, on the other hand, wouldn’t look at me), in addition to the occasional comment that cut deep (“This was supposed to be a child-friendly establishment.”). No one stooped to direct threats though. Rosmerta had instilled enough fear to prevent something like that, especially since, in her words, the apothecary vandal had been “taken care of.” And when a wizard spat on my shoes in the Hog’s Head Inn, Aberforth jinxed him without blinking, granting him a nice set of goat horns. So, yeah, I was feeling pretty good about my standing in the village.

I wouldn’t go chasing after Death Eaters. Not yet. Merula was right; I had my job, and she had hers. This was about more than my own frustrations, and I had enough personal experience to know that, if I sought revenge on Robin’s behalf, then I would be making it about me and not him.

However, that didn’t mean I was going to drop this whole matter. Just because I couldn’t go after the Williams’ attacker didn’t mean I couldn’t learn who they were. The fact that Merula was withholding details had only made me more determined. I had to know now. I wouldn’t do anything with the information, but I would get my hands on it, one way or another.

Since she was the closest, I first paid a visit to Tonks in her room at the Three Broomsticks. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember the specific techniques of any individual Death Eaters, because “it all looks the same when they’re trying to kill you,” and “you don’t want to get hit by any spell, regardless of who cast it.” I wasn’t surprised when she admitted she hadn’t paid that much attention during the non-practical parts of Auror training. Tonks was a very hands-on learner, which, when combined with her clumsiness and penchant for mischief, had often been to our professors’ chagrin.

“Is the Order running an operation I don’t know about?” I asked, sitting backwards in the desk chair. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed.

“There are quite a few of those, honestly,” she said. When I frowned, she added, “Uh, that was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it? What I meant was, I don’t know what goes on in all of them either.”

“I’m trying to figure out if Merula or Talbott are up to something.”

“I don’t know any more than you do, mate. Sorry.”

That was disappointing, but again unsurprising. Because she was right: if there was an Order operation going on, Dumbledore wouldn’t keep all his Occamy eggs in one basket.

That left Talbott. The only problem was Talbott was...being Talbott. When Talbott Winger decided he didn’t want to talk, then he might as well not exist. And, for some reason, he had decided he didn’t want to talk to me.

I had started by sending him a message through my painting. No response. Then another one. Still no response. On the slim chance Badeea’s charm wasn’t working, I dared to send a discreetly worded letter. Mudflop returned with empty talons. I sent another message through the painting: Are you really ignoring me? Nothing.

He was home. He had to be. If he was undercover, he would have warned me to stop.

After a full week of being ignored, I sent my Patronus to his flat out of spite. Not to say anything, just to sit menacingly in the corner for a while. It didn’t result in a response, of course, but it felt good.

This wasn’t his way of getting back at me for not communicating with him during the werewolf issue last August, was it? Surely not. I had apologized for that, hadn’t I?

It didn’t matter. I knew Talbott, and because I knew him, I could deal with him.

His London studio flat didn’t have a fireplace or large enough heating system to connect to the Floo Network, so exactly one week from my trip to Saint Mungo’s, I found myself once again catching a bus from the Leaky Cauldron late on a Saturday morning. A couple of kilometers and two flights of stairs later, I was pounding at his door with a paper shopping bag in hand.

Footsteps. Barely audible.

The door cracked open, just enough to reveal one brown eye and a fraction of an aquiline nose. He didn’t offer a greeting, simply huffed.

“Did you get my message?” I asked.

“Which one?” he replied flatly.

I glared at him. “We need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“I’ve been waiting.”

“Not well,” he muttered. “You know I hate cats.”

“You don’t hate me.”

“That’s up for debate.”

Annoyed, I pushed on the door, both jostling him and pulling the chain taunt.

“Lily,” he hissed. “I’m not dressed.”

“It’s after eleven.”

“I went to bed at nine. This morning.”

Oops. Ignoring my guilt, I said, “I can wait for you to put some trousers on, if you want.” And I’ll keep standing here until you do.

He shifted, his eye flicking up and down the empty corridor behind me. He sighed. “Just come in before you terrify the neighbors.” The door shut, and there was a rattling behind it as he undid the chain. Then it snapped open, and I was swiftly ushered in.

When we were safely enclosed within the dingy flat, Talbott faced me in his white shirt and plaid boxers, his arms crossed, as if daring me to judge him. I saw nothing to judge, other than that he was in desperate need of more sleep, if the dark circles under his eyes had anything to say about it. Based on the way his feathery hair was flattened on one side, I had accidentally stolen it from him.

“I could arrest you, you know,” he said. “For that Patronus stunt you pulled. That oversized house cat sat on my desk for an hour.” He pointed at the small desk tucked in the corner, where a mess of papers and broken quills smothered its face. “An hour. What if the landlady had walked in?”

Well, now I felt guilty about that too. Rather than admit that, I shrugged. “I hear you’re good at assisting the Obliviators.”

“I just want to go back to bed,” he groaned.

“I’ll leave when we’re done.” To demonstrate my point, I sat down on the ratty cushioned chair next to the kitchen. With a relinquishing huff, he sat down on his unmade bed. A coffee table, cluttered with dirty dishes and takeout containers, kept us separated.

I set my bag at my feet, next to an inflatable mattress, which had been carelessly rolled and shoved beneath the table. For long missions, maybe? It was hard to imagine him allowing someone to stay the night.

“You want to know what happened; I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Chiara told you what she knows. Merula told you what she knows. What do you want from me?”

“Have you figured out who led the attack yet?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then I want you to give me your best guess.”

“They’re Death Eaters. They use a lot of curses. I can’t list their favored ones off the top of my head.”

“That’s a lie,” I said. “You’re lying.” Tonks I could believe. But him? He was working the bloody case.

“I’m not.”

“Not completely. Give me a guess. Just one guess.”

“I don’t know,” he groaned. “There’s Dolohov. He’s known for his ‘special’ curses.” Antonin Dolohov. The man that had murdered Bill and Charlie’s uncles during the First War.

“Didn’t he get rearrested last June?” I asked.

He shrugged. Very helpful.

“Well, what did you find at the scene?”

“You mean besides the bodies?” he said dryly. “As you kindly pointed out, I spent most of the night with the Obliviators. We had to convince the Muggles all the noise and lights had been gunfire. Don’t ask how we explained the massive skull in the sky.”

“That’s really all you can tell me?”

“I don’t understand why you’re interrogating me.”

“I’m interrogating you because no one is telling me anything!”

“Oh, really? I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be.”

I jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare make this about that. I said I was sorry. You’re the one that terrorized Ava instead of talking with me about it.”

“And now you’re terrorizing me! If you really want to interrogate someone, go interrogate Merula. She got to the scene before I did.”

“I already did! I—” I broke off as his words sunk in. “Wait. Merula said she didn’t arrive till later. After the first Aurors.”

His expression didn’t change. “That’s right,” he said. “We both arrived later. Just at different times.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Are you…are you covering for Merula?” I asked slowly.

He frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“She wasn’t kidding. You two really do get on now.”

“Lily,” he growled.

“What time did she really arrive?”

“Lily.” His growl had become more like a whine. “Please, I’m running on two hours of sleep. I want to go to bed. Just let me go to bed.”

I let out a breath. I truly was torturing him if he had resorted to begging. Maintaining a straight face, I picked my bag off the floor and set it down on the coffee table with a purposeful thunk. Glass clinked inside.

He arched one angled brow. “What’s this?”

“A draught for the best sleep you’ve never had,” I said. “Plus a few days’ worth of home-cooked meals, courtesy of Penny, and some baked goods from our neighbor.” I shoved an empty takeout container to the side. “We thought you might not be eating properly.”

He gave me a grumpy look. “You’re a menace.”

I grinned. “Did I ever thank you for the dreamcatcher?” I asked.

“No.”

“Well, thank you. It’s hanging over my bed now.” Just like the white-feathered one that was hanging over his.

His eyes dropped to the bag. “Thank you,” he said begrudgingly.

Standing up, I rounded the table to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He pushed my head away. “Love ya,” I said happily, and then started for the door.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned.

I waved a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, you know me…”

“That’s the problem.”