#i know I’ve babbled a lot about pre writing for this fic…

[oldfashionedmorphine]

The word "Sorry" (for the wip game)

sadly no “sorry” yet for my current chapter BUT there are a few from other things I’m still working on for future chapters… this is from chapter 18 (potentially) of iawwyh:

“He said he was sorry for being such an asshole… and some other things… but he wanted to get a beer with me.”

[babyarmybabbles]

Run ARMY! (Cooking Part) a2 d3

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader won the opportunity to film a spin off of Run BTS! celebrating the boys return from enlistment, called Run ARMY!, over the course of seven days.

Word Count: 733

Notes: This part takes place way later, towards the end. I wanted Reader to have a nice candid moment with ARMY, bc I love this fandom a lot, y'know? It needs a lot of revision so that it's less rambly and dense, but I'd like to keep the honest and frank atmosphere I've got going on here. It'll probably change a lot by the time I actually get to this part of the fic, but I'll keep something like it in the final product, I'm sure.

Took Inspirations from Run ARMY! series on Tik Tok by _yamanika_ and Guess The Bias! by HelloMyAlien7 on Ao3

Warnings: I don't think there's any?

Masterlist Link <3 | Prev Part Link c: | Next Part Link :D

You crouch down to come face to lens with the camera in the hallway and wave tiredly.

“Hello~” you drawl out in a whisper, giving a small smile, “The boys have treated me to so many yummy Korean foods, so, because this is our last morning before we travel back to Seoul, I am up stupid early,” You pause to pull out your phone to show the glaring 5:15am, as if the pre-dawn lighting wasn’t already evidence enough. “So I make them my family’s traditional pre-travel breakfast feast!” You give a near-silent cheer and jazz hands to the camera before heaving yourself to your feet and ambling your way over to the kitchen.

As you set about gathering up your ingredients and finding your required utensils, you make sure to look around and spot all of the kitchen cameras. You hadn’t really had much purpose in here before, and when you had there were usually camera directors about to be mindful of instead of the mounted cameras you were taking advantage of now.

One of the cameras happens to be angled toward an ideal space to do most of your prep work (probably on purpose) so you point to it and make your way over.

“I don’t like cooking alone.” you tell it in a low, conspiratorial tone. “So you’re gonna be my buddy and listen to me babble.”

That being said you really only whistle lightly to yourself as you finish collecting the ingredients and lay out the stuff for your first dish - a simple fruit salad. When you begin slicing up the first apple, you finally start speaking to the camera as promised.

“Now, I know I’m not one of the members, but I hope ARMY will be fine with whatever this segment looks like anyways,” You start softly, “BTS may be my ult bias group, but ARMY is my ult bias fandom, you know? It might be weird to say as ARMY myself, but I’ve never seen another fandom quite like it.” You take a breath and pause your chopping, flexing your wrists and popping your knuckles while you contemplate.

“ARMY was welcoming from the start, for me.” You continue, “Heck, someone gave me a link for a BTS101 guide at some point! That was actually super helpful, It made catching up with content and understanding memes a lot easier.” you smile at the memory, grateful still to the person who’d given it to you. “It’s a very warm and close community, and very open and accessible to new people. That’s pretty rare, in my experience.”

You switch tracks now, beginning to explain what you’re making even though you’re already halfway done. No one claimed you were a pro at this entertainment stuff. “I’m making a fruit salad right now. It’s easiest to start with because after I put the lemon juice on, i can just put in in the fridge and get it out of the way.” You inform the camera. “My Ma says it’s the most important part of this spread because it lets us pretend any of it is healthy.” You laugh softly at yourself as you dice up your chosen fruits.

You’d been kind of surprised you’d been able to find everything you wanted, given that you weren’t entirely sure which fruits were available in South Korea. There had definitely been a few you’d never seen before when you’d gone shopping, and you were curious to try, but you were going for traditional today so you’d just have to hope you could find them again at an Asian market at home.

You fall into a bit of a daze as you wash fruits, chop them up, and dump them in a bowl on repeat. The silence you fall into is broken only by the occasional whistled tune or soft hum from you. You’re broken from your trance when it’s at long last time to sprinkle in the lemon juice and sugar and stir it all up. You speak to the camera again as you give your arm a workout trying to mix everything.

“If I really wanted to make this how my grandma does, I’d add this mix of cream cheese and whipped topping that she uses. It’s really yummy, but I think it’s a bit too much like desert for today.” You cover the bowl when you’re done and place it in the fridge.

[mickmundy]

okay so i know i kinda answered this in an ask BUT i really have been meaning to go through my gf and i's chats and find even more of our bushmeds so! ah! let's just think of this post as the dutchiebee medsnip masterpost where i will update with links to tags for each of these the more i ramble!! heh!! the catch-all tag for my personal bushmed rambles is still #medsnip of course, but some of these have specific tags as well! aaand as usual you can feel free to send asks or talk to me about any of these, i'm always glad to babble about them!! hehe!!

“Canon” MedSnip: the medic and sniper in Thou Giveth Fever is just the Main/Default/Canon/Whatever medic and sniper. takes place in same universe right after the comics! i default to talking about them the most!

Dutchiebee OC MedSnip: arlowe and wren! a lot of their story takes place pre-teufort but they eventually become RED’s medic and sniper! ^v^ “canon” red medic and sniper don’t exist in this universe. they’re already dating by the time they wind up at teufort together! we’re still working on a lot of their backstories but i’ll eventually talk more about them/write a fic for them too! ^u^

Vampire Medic/Hunter Sniper: sniper’s a vampire hunter who is hired by old, powerful and big vampire medic to do some dirty work for him. they end up falling for each other… but not before spilling a lot of blood together!

Merperson Medic/Human-Merperson Sniper: lots and lots of versions of this live in my mind but i think the one i'll elaborate on most is mermedic and lonely human fisherman sniper... for their fish parts, medic is a blanket octopus and sniper is a spotted wobbegong!! hehe... i also love the idea of mersnip and human medic, who harvests/researches exotic animal parts and is given sniper as a gift (mann co caught him? who knows) and thinks that sniper is simply too fascinating (handsome) to kill! hoo!

"Priest"-Demon Medic/Priest Sniper: medic was a human that was killed by the church and comes back as a demon set out to destroy it. takes interest in the church that sniper has been a part of for his whole life and begins causing chaos (falling wooden beams, gossip, making people question their faith etc. whatever medic thinks is fun at the moment)... but sniper catches his eye.... they develop feelings for each other..... but sniper doesn't know what medic Really Is.... gasps.... hehe

Researcher Medic/Swamp Monster Sniper: sniper is a werecroc that lives out in the comfy cozy australian bush/marshland (haven’t decided yet). roughs it as a human and also as a crocodile and loves being alone. until one day a very curious “doctor” starts stomping around his secluded slice of heaven in search of/researching the plants and animals of the area (to harvest for his zany experiments of course!)… sniper hates people but this one just seems kind of… Charming… hmm…. !

Cult God Medic/Nonbeliever Sniper: medic is a shapeshifting god/demon/spirit/whatever that thrives and grows in power from the cult that is convinced he exists and worships him. likes toying with them and giving them “signs” he exists and whatnot and loves the praise because, well, who wouldn’t! :-) hoo! buuuut a Certain Denier has caught his eye…! sniper thinks that cult nonsense is a load of crap and doesn’t fall for it. Naturally this makes medic Carnally Desire him and his attention… HEHE… >:)

Old/Retired/Domestic MedSnip: would follow my “canon” versions of them. years and years later, some vague skip of time. the sorrow..,., the sweetness.,., in the Unlikely Event they retire… how might that go.. :) sniper’s fine with aging but medic is NOT. everything can be defied! age! death! isn’t that what you want sniper!! but maybe sniper wants to retire to some small house on the german coast with medic.,., medic can extend his life infinitely with his “devil deal” but what about his sniper.,., who has already died once… but could either of them Really ever retire…? HEHEH.., i’ve actually written a lot of this and i should probably publish it in a standalone fic. very emotional very angsty!!

Unicorn Medic/Pegasus Sniper: EHE this is an extremely self indulgent one but i love it all the same! does what it says on the tin… what if they were ponies!! i’ve talked about it here and posted sniper’s design here! i need to work on medic’s just for the sake of having my own ref sheet to match sniper’s but i talk about him in the twt thread i linked! ^u^ <3 i just love gushing about them because i love ponies!!

[guzmapkmn-archive]

guaranteed chemistry

ও word count: 1,346

ও relationship(s): pre ryan/oswald

ও warnings: none

ও summary: ryan struggles with his feelings as oswald celebrates the election. set during 3x04

ও notes: me dancing around writing a confession fic that literally happens 2 episodes later. also there may be mistakes but that's bc i finished this at 1am

ok to rb!!

The mansion, as it had been the last few weeks, was packed full of Oswald’s campaign team, with their low chatter filling the remaining space. I stood towards the back of the room, trying and failing to focus on the TV screen. The reporter’s babbling about tonight's election was almost a white noise, drowning out everything around me, so I hardly noticed the rhythmic tapping of Oswald’s cane against the ground as he headed my way. He came to stand beside me, with his suit sharp as always, and his neat hair unfortunately devoid of spikes.

I did my best to match his wide smile, but it felt much more forced than I would have liked. Luckily, Oswald didn’t seem to notice, or he at least didn’t mention it. “This is it,” he said, “the moment I’ve been waiting for.” He broke off into a nervous chuckle then fell silent, following my gaze to the TV before speaking again. “I… thought a lot about what you said the other day.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, though I felt I knew exactly what he was talking about. The other day, when I told him my thoughts about him paying off the election to guarantee a win. I know for a fact he could win on his own - after all, who was his competition? Aubrey James? The man was a hack - but he wanted to make sure. I wasn’t the one running for mayor, so I wasn’t going to call the shots for him, but knowing he had spent so much of his life as a criminal, so hated by the public, I knew an honest, genuine win would be beyond gratifying for him.

“About my decision to buy the election. I… I hope you’re right.”

“You took the money back?”

“Yes.” He pressed his lips together tightly. “You seemed so sure I could win on my own. I trust your opinion. And seeing everyone who didn’t know cheer for me these last few weeks has been unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”

Despite Oswald’s confident words, there was a hint of anxiety in his voice. Which was understandable, after all, anything could happen, but I didn’t want to get him down with my usual pessimistic ways. And besides, I truly believed that he could win - that he would win.

The TV cut back to the news segment, about to announce the election results, and Oswald fell stock-still beside me, barely even breathing. I held my hand out to him and he took it, almost crushing it in his nervous grip. Silent anticipation filled the room in a moment that felt like hours, which made the applause that followed almost deafening.

In what can only be viewed as a seismic shift, even by Gotham standards, former underworld kingpin Oswald Cobblepot has won the mayor’s office by a landslide.

Oswald dropped my hand, speechless and teary eyed amidst the cacophony of cheers erupting around us. “I… I still won.” He took a step forward then turned back to me.  "They... they love me," he breathed, tentatively, as if he didn't believe it. As if there were any reason for him to not win.

I grinned widely at him, real and genuine this time. "Of course they do, who wouldn't?" My breath caught in my throat as soon as the words left my mouth. I didn't mean to say that. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice the true meaning of my words, too caught up in his euphoria and the chanting of his name, from both the broadcast and his campaign team.

I hung back as he began to accept his congratulations and praise, practically glowing with excitement and joy. He looked so beautiful, and I so desperately wanted to tell him so, tell him how amazing he was, but he disappeared into the crowd before I could even begin to work up the courage.

~~~~~~~~~~

“It is with a humble heart that I accept the trust placed in me by this great city to become your mayor.”

Oswald stood in front of the crowd, long after I decided against telling him how I really felt about him. Cameras clicked and flashed around me as he spoke. 

“The people have spoken, and I have heard their call.” He locked eyes with me before continuing. “As my first act as mayor, I would like to introduce you to my chief of staff, Mr. Ryan Campbell!”

My mouth dropped open and my face flushed dark as everyone’s attention turned towards me. I felt like a deer in the headlights, standing awkwardly amidst the throng until I noticed Oswald waving me up.

I somehow never even imagined the possibility of holding a position with Oswald, thought I probably should have seen it coming. After all, what else would I do while he’s mayor?

My brain went on autopilot as I made my way up to stand next to him, and when he grabbed my arm to raise it proudly, I really truly felt like my heart would beat out of my chest or my legs would give out. I had never had this much attention put on me before, especially so suddenly. Was I supposed to say something? I wasn’t sure, though it didn’t seem like anyone expected me to.

The rest of the night passed by in an overwhelming blur, and I was glad to find myself sprawled out on my bed in comfortable clothes that didn’t feel like they were choking me. A knock on my door shook me out of my daze, and I sat up into a more flattering position. “Come in.”

Oswald entered my room, still dressed but a bit disheveled. “Hello there, Mr. Mayor,” I said, grinning at the laugh he huffed out. I patted the bed next to me, swinging my legs over the side when he joined me. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I still can’t believe that I won,” he said softly. “I’m the mayor. Me.”

“I knew you could do it. I always believed in you.”

“I know.” He looked up at me. “And I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am for all you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” I ducked my head, embarrassed at the praise and raw emotion in his voice. There was no way that was true, I knew for a fact he could do all this and more, with or without me. 

After a beat of silence, he spoke again. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that, especially without warning and in front of so many people.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “But… are you sure you want me as your chief of staff and not, you know, someone more qualified?”

“Of course,” he said matter of factly. “I trust you more than anyone.”

Fuck. It was so unfair, how he could say things like that to me so easily and not know what they did to me. I could feel my face start to heat up, and I once again wanted so badly to tell him how I felt about him. How much I loved him. It’d be so easy, right? Just say it - I love you.

Oswald stood up before I could speak, oblivious to the complete and utter turmoil my mind was in, but saving me from the embarrassment of what I’m sure would have been a lousy confession anyway.

“We’d best be getting to sleep soon, tomorrow will undoubtedly be busy.”

“Yes,” I said. “Goodnight.”

As Oswald left, I cursed my cowardice and failure to tell him how I felt tonight, not only once, but twice. Although, I thought, settling into bed, perhaps this was fate telling me to just keep it to myself. After all, no matter how hopeful I was, I could never convince myself that Oswald would ever feel the same way towards me. I could settle for what we had now, no matter how much my heart ached for him every time he was near. I had to.

taglist (ask to be added/removed!!): @permafrown @sweethardtz @me-myself-and-my-fos @themorningdoves @dazaipaw @ilovekirei @final-catboy @sweettoothselfships @knightfallships @nikkzships @basilships @cyberwoman @lovinglittlecrow @halsdaisy @ramlethl @deanportmans @librarian-lover @dissonantyote

[bitchin-beskar]

all he could do was watch

Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of death, panic attacks, childhood trauma. Angst. I’m so sorry. 

Pairing: Pre-Din Djarin x Reader (no use of Y/N) 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 EPISODE 14: THE TRAGEDY. IF Y’ALL HAVEN’T SEEN IT DON’T READ THIS FIC. That being said, I will be writing part 2 after tonight’s season finale, so be prepared. I cried writing this. I’m sorry. (No I’m not.)

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment!! I love hearing what y’all think!!!

“Well, I guess this is it.”

You looked around at the strange stone formations, only partially paying attention as Mando rambled to Grogu.

“Does this look Jedi to you?”

You look at the way the stones are arranged, the carvings in the rock familiar to you even after all this time. Yet, you keep your mouth shut. Mando isn’t asking you, and even if he was, you’d lie to him. Just like you’ve lied to him every other time he’s asked about the Jedi. 

“I guess,” he grunts, setting Grogu down, “You sit right here. Okay. Here we go.”

Grogu babbles at the two of you, and Mando cocks his head. “This is the seeing stone. Are you seeing anything?”

A snort bursts free from your mouth before you can stop it, and you see Mando’s head swivel around to you, and you can feel the look of exasperation he’s giving you. 

Grogu babbles some more, and Mando turns back to him. “Or are they supposed to see you? Maybe there’s some kind of... control, or something.”

Grogu sees a little insect, and coos, reaching for it. Mando sighs, low and heavy. “Oh, come on, kid. Ahsoka told me all I had to do was get you here and you’d do the rest.”

The sound of thrusters suddenly reach your ears, and you jerk your head up in surprise and not a small amount of fear. You’re not that close to the ship, and you’re out in the open right now, and there’s not a lot of cover. 

“Time’s up, kid. We gotta get out of here.” You and Mando turn towards Grogu, and your eyes widen upon seeing him surrounded by a Force shield. “We don’t have time for this. We got to get–”

“Mando, no!” 

Your warning comes too late, and Mando is thrown back from Grogu, the shield blasting him back. You run to his side, helping him up from the dirt. 

“What the hell–” he grunts, movements jerky from being thrown sideways so violently. 

“It’s a Force shield,” you mutter, without thinking. “Nothing’s getting through that.”

Luckily, Mando doesn’t hear you, too focused on Grogu. He looks back and forth between the baby and where the ship had landed, clearly debating. 

“Stay here!” He barks at you. “I’ll see if I can buy him some time.” His helmet turns to Grogu. “Can you please hurry up?”

You’re left standing amongst the stone pillars, watching as Mando begins to make his way down the side of the mountain. Anxiously, you turn to Grogu. “Come on, kiddo. We can’t stay here right now.” You wish you could train the kid, but it’s been years since you used the Force, the warning your mentor and friend had given you at the beginning of the Purges still at the forefront of your mind. 

“Run, ad’ika. Run as far and as fast as you can. Order 66 commands us to kill all the Jedi. Don’t use the Force, and don’t get caught. Now go!” 

A few tears rolled down your cheeks as you remember the frantic hug, the desperate way Rex had gripped your shoulders as he shoved a small pack into your arms, eyes bright with terror as the sounds of his brethren slaughtering yours filled your ears. It had been the last time you’d seen the clone Captain. 

You’d listened to him, and you hadn’t used the Force, not for anything. Your lightsaber had been left in the Temple when you’d fled, so you’d trained with a staff instead, although Rex had made sure you knew your way around a blaster too. And for years, you’d lived, completely cut off from the Force, and it had been fine. You’d been fine. 

Until you met Mando and Grogu.

You’d recognized Grogu immediately. He’d been at the Temple, same as you. You rarely trained with him, since he was so much younger than you, but you’d known who he was. He didn't’ seem to recognize you, and you figured that was a good thing. The fewer people who knew of your past, the better. 

Mando had been cautious to take you on as a passenger, but he’d grown more comfortable around you in the ensuing months. You’d tried keeping your distance, knowing that the secret you were keeping could ruin everything, but somehow, Mando had wormed his way under your skin.

A sudden noise startled you, and you looked up, eyes widening when you saw the slight shadow of what looked to be a Star Destroyer in the atmosphere. Frantically glancing around, you realized Mando was nowhere in sight. 

You looked over to see Grogu still enclosed in the Force shield, and you made a split second decision. 

“Sorry buddy, I’ve gotta warn Mando. Stay here.”

Worriedly glancing at his still form once more, you began to follow the trail Mando had taken down the mountain, hurrying as fast as you could over the rocky terrain.

It took you a couple minutes, but you finally heard voices. They were arguing, but no blasters were being shot, so you hoped they weren’t enemies, or at least, they wouldn’t shoot you on sight.

The ground leveled out, and you broke into a run. Rounding the corner, you saw the back of Mando, and two people in front of him, although you couldn’t see who they were. 

“MANDO!” You yelled, trying to get his attention. “MANDO!” 

He whirled around, and you stumbled to a stop in front of him, gasping. “Mando, there’s a Star Destroyer here, we have to–” your frantic plea suddenly cut off as you noticed the man standing behind Mando, your throat closing up and you felt the blood drain out of your face. 

“Hey, hey, what is it?” Mando was shaking you, trying to get you to talk to him, but your eyes were glued to the man in the black cloak, unable to look away from the familiar face. “Cyar’ika, what’s wrong?” 

You sucked in a shaky breath, desperately trying to stop the tears in your eyes falling down your cheeks. “I–I, I don’t–” 

It was too much, the memories were too much, and suddenly you were back at the Temple, blaster-fire and smoke surrounding you as Rex begged you to leave so that you wouldn’t be killed. You were a scared little kid again, surrounded by death and destruction, and you couldn’t breathe–”

“Look at me!”

There were hands on your cheeks, and you blinked, the sounds of blasters and death cries fading into nothing as you stared into the dark visor of the Mandalorian. His gloved hands were cupping your cheeks keeping your face trained at him as he tried to get you to speak.

“Where’s the kid?”

That snapped you out of your downwards spiral, and suddenly a whole new panic took over your mind. 

“He’s still at the seeing stone, but there’s a Star Destroyer, he won’t be safe as soon as the shield comes down, we have to go–”

Mando begins to move, tugging you along as he runs back up the side of the mountain, jumping over rocks and bushes as he fights to get back to Grogu as quick as possible. You stumble along, telling yourself to ignore the man that shares Rex’s face, just focus on getting to the kid and then you can have your breakdown, later in the privacy of the Crest. 

When the two of you get back to the stone, you see Grogu still surrounded by the Force shield. Before you can stop him, Mando tries a second time to get to Grogu, but he gets thrown back again, this time knocking him out. 

“Shit,” you groan, rolling him onto his back as you shake his shoulders. “Dammit Mando, now is not the time for this, wake up!”

He sits up with a groan, grabbing your arms as he regains consciousness. You’re kneeling in front of him, one hand on his arm, the other cupping the side of his neck. He shifts, and you slowly help him stand. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, looking at Grogu before turning his head to stare at you. “I’m gonna protect you. Both of you. Just stay here.” He unsheathes his vibroblade, handing it to you. He doesn’t have many weapons on him, and you try to shove it back at him, but he forces your grasp around the hilt, fingers curling over yours as he presses it towards you. “I’ll be back soon.”

You stare into the visor, nodding slowly. He still doesn’t move, and for a moment you wonder what he’s doing when he slowly tilts his head forward, the cool beskar of his helmet resting against your forehead. He holds you there, one hand on your waist, the other wrapped around your fist as you clutch his vibroblade, his helmet pressing against yours in a gesture that feels way too intimate, but you don’t want it to stop. 

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” 

Though you don’t understand his words, they still send a shiver down your spine, the weight of them pressing heavy against your chest. 

“What does that mean?”

He sighs, finally pulling his head away from yours and standing back. “If we survive this, I’ll tell you.” 

With that, he turns, and you watch with a sinking heart as he begins the careful climb back down the mountain. You’ve got a bad feeling about all this, and you only hope that you both will come out the other side unscathed. 

A tiny whimper comes from behind you, and you whirl around, seeing the Force shield fade, and little Grogu slump over in exhaustion. Rushing over, you pick him up, cradling him in your arms.

“Brilliant timing, little one,” you mutter sarcastically, looking around nervously. “Just fantastic.”

The sound of blasters being fired and the cries of stormtroopers dying rang in your ears as you tried to get Grogu to wake up. But, apparently whatever he’d done on the seeing stone had completely sapped his energy. 

As the sounds of the firefight die down, you see something rapidly approaching. As it gets closer, you realize what they are. Dark Troopers. Fuck. Your vibroblade isn’t going to do shit against them.

There’s nowhere for you to run, nowhere for you to hide, they’re approaching too fast. They land in a circle around you, and you clutch Grogu tighter to your chest. They advance, and Grogu wakes up, immediately whimpering as he sees the Troopers marching steadily closer. You’re hyperventilating, head whipping back and forth, trying to find an escape. As one of them reaches for Grogu, you throw your hand out, as though to push them away. 

It’s sudden, the rush, the energy, and it takes you a moment, watching the Trooper fly backwards, for you to realize that you’ve just used the Force. Something brushes across your back and you whirl around, pushing out with the Force again, shoving the second Trooper away from you. 

Unfortunately, you’re not fast enough, and the other two are too quick, one of them yanking Grogu out of your arms, the other one wrapping it’s ‘arms’ around you, restricting you, and then you’re in the air. 

You struggle, but the grip is solid, and you can’t escape. You see Mando and the woman from earlier reach the stones as you’re rising away, and you can’t help the desperate cry that leaves your lips. 

“MANDO!” 

***

He reaches the seeing stone just in time to see two Dark Troopers taking off, one of them holding the Child, the other one restraining your struggling form. Without his jetpack, he’s stuck as a spectator to your abduction. He can see the tears on your cheeks, and he knows the exact moment you see him, because your mouth opens and a heartwrenching scream escapes your lips, calling desperately to him. 

He falls to his knees as your voice pierces his ears, screaming his name, screaming for him. And all he can do is watch. 

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[creativenicocorner]

Slides a ⭐ for a star person :p

Holy shit it took over a year and I barely remember which fanfic ask this is about...I think it's like a director's cut one? REGARDLESS! I do remember the star was to like talk about whatever - and while looking for a WIP I came across an attempt to answer this WITHIN a wip? Past Nico what were you thinking?!

I do know this was written sometime before Ch15 of Terpsichore came out, because there were a few references? But I rephrased the wording a bit.

Forgive me for using this as an excuse to just babble on about how I choose the music titles for chapter sections in Terpsichore, but also, I'm not entirely sorry haha Without further Ado! Here’s hoping this rambling makes sense haha!!

⭐ AN ANSWER!（♥￫ｏ￩♥）

So it’s taken me a long time to figure out how I wanted to answer this. For a while I was going to ramble about M*A*S*H how it was a rather formative show for me growing up, especially in its anti-war message as well as how it feels like a comedy played in a minor key. There was even going to be a link to a video essay on the show, and then I was going to hint at a want to write a series following the changelings in a pre-show context in the sort of vibe M*A*S*H gave.

But it got lost, and weighty…and…idk, I can’t seem to stick to a lot of things these days? I don’t know.

But there’s always been in me the want to attempt to explain why I choose the music pieces I choose to title the sections in each chapter. Cause despite the little message at the bottom of the first chapter and the last chapter talking about motifs leitmotifs…writing prose is nothing like composing music.

And not only that I’m sure less than half of the people reading the fic will listen along with the playlist. Which is 100000% fine! I anticipate it even!

Because at best, those sectional pieces serve less as soundtrack more like a silent movie’s musical medley.

Because it’s the written word, and I’m not Andrew Hussie ldgj though the day I find out how to put a little ‘play button’ to listen to music during a fic, I might do that. But at this point in time Hell No haha.

Despite this, there is a process behind my music selections.

There is a difference between what I consider ‘corpse de ballet’/ ‘ensemble’ sections, and ‘leads’ / ‘duet’ sections.

Or what my poor readers go through as ‘a shit ton of prospective shifts’ and two prospectives at best, at the same time. I don’t know why I’m such a fan of bouncing between perspectives so much that you probably feel seasick. I always consider it a miracle anyone understands what the heck is going on dfjglk The answer is probably because I like third person omniscient writing, and am a sucker for situational/character irony. But I’m also a grammar school drop out haha and don’t actually know the rules of writing by heart? I’m just a fool with a bunch of vibes and a dictionary doing their best lol.

[ stressed coffee sip ] Fake it til you make it baby

But yeah! Enough borderline weird self deprecating! Let’s talk music!!

So! Usually when writing a section I try and think about who are the central characters in the section, and or what is the theme/emotion I’m trying to call on. Is there a motif, or a reference I can play on musically? An idea or concept I can echo or even enhance? Will it be a specific genera of music tied to a character because that character embodies and or is known for a specific genera (example: Nomura and Opera- more on that at during ACTII )

Once I answer those questions, I’m able to narrow down my music choices. Which, again, acts more like a book of suggested musical medley orchestras and musicians would purchase during the silent movie era as like a cheat sheet of what they could play during a specific scene.

So…for instance, for a character like Barbara Lake I wouldn’t use video game music -or maybe I could…but it would only be in terms of perhaps referencing her son.- who I would have a higher chance at choosing to select a video game music piece for (hang on to your butts ACT II Zelda soundtrack).

In the fic I’ve built the idea that in order to explain Barbara’s ability to paint, that she not only took classes but was part of the production team in putting on a play, mainly in set design painting props. Which opens me to a world of musical options when it comes to Barbara’s character. Especially when certain musicals hold songs that can be really fitting to her character later on. An example of this can be seen in ch3 “Aquarius”, and ch14 “Julia”.

Ch3 is Barbara’s big planned picnic date. The first date she and Walter go on after she ingested the binding spell. The two of them coming together, but also the magic of which awakening something magical inside.

And Ch14 in which the binding spell is broken, but also whatever was holding Barbara’s potential to reaching towards that magical something inside her is also broken. And in a sort of my own attempt at written diegesis between the narrative and the song selections in the sections, the lyrics to Aquarius is written out as Barbara depends into the water. In which it is no longer the dawning of Aquarius, Aquarius is starting to take center stage. Their cue is played.

That would be my example on a very character driven musical choice.

Not only that, but it is at Ch3 where Walter is influenced more and more to Barbara’s appreciation to musicals, so much so that it begins to influence his own array of music pieces. His dreams no longer dialogue from movies he fell asleep to, but sometimes full on reproductions of staged musicals and plays. An example of this can be seen in Ch11 On the Right Track from Pippin the Musical - which oof I could go into a full dissertation on in regards to changelings/Pippin and The Pale Lady/Leading Player.

Not only that, but due to influence from Barbara’s love we get the moment of Walter’s ‘I want’ section piece in the form of Ch9 “Corner of the Sky” (aka Pippin’s I want song as well). The moment before this happened there was the interaction with Angor AND Otto AND the repercussions of Angor attacking the school. It is clear to these characters that Strickler is not giving his all in killing Jim, and perhaps never tried to give his all. Something that Otto proclaims as Strickler making excuses, and Strickler insists is tact.

Then there is the situational character driven choice.

I’m going to continue to use Barbara as an example here, and say that THIS can be seen in Ch2 “No. 9 – Finale Andante” and ch12 “Le Lac Des Cygnes Introduction: Moderato Assai”

Both of these music pieces come from Swan Lake. The reasoning behind the choice is probably asinine in thought process (Barbara Lake, Swan Lake), but also thought out in the sense of the following:

In Season3 of Trollhunters Morgana, in order to attempt to reacquire her shadow staff from Strickler (“The Exorcism of Clair Nuñez), transforms herself to take Barbara Lake’s physical form.

IN THE BALLET SWAN LAKE The wizard Von Rothbart, in order to obtain what they want, transforms (granted someone else) Odile to look like the hero Odette in order to trick the prince into proclaiming this imposter Odile as their one true love. In which Odile is the mirror to Odette, and while looking similar (in fact typically the ballerina who performs as Oddette would also perform as Odile) are opposites in spirit.

And, at least in Terpsichore, what near primordial eldritch force can rival that of the Eldritch Queen that we know from cannon will inevitably impersonate Barbara Lake?

But wait, there’s more.

In chapter 2 the piece used in section 2 is the end of ACTI from Swan Lake. The music hints not only the arrival of Odette, but also her inevitable tragedy. What is written in this section, briefly at that cause we watched how the scene plays out in the show, you don’t need me writing that back at you, but I digress- What is WRITTEN in this section is Barbara sipping the enchanted tea that binds herself to Waltolomew Strickler. Something that you, the viewer and fan will know ends in tragedy, as do I the writer and also fan knows will end in tragedy. The only people out of the loop here are the poor poor characters.

And then the revolving door of bad situations that is ch12 happens, and we return to Swan Lake with “Le Lac Des Cygnes Introduction” In which Barbara is introduced to Jim Lake’s Trollhunting world, finally. But wait! There’s EVEN more.

Because not only is Barbara introduced to Jim’s Trollhunting world, Barbara begins to allow herself an introduction to that weird magical more that’s inside her via dream. And YOU/WE the reader/writer/audience, are introduced to the strange figure Giselle is talking to on the beach of Lake Superior…who…well, you’ve probably already have an idea as to who that figure is ;)c

There are also moments when I just select a song piece because I think it fits Thematially well - ch11’s “Powerhouse” section. Aka the music that plays in Looney Tunes whenever an assembly line montage occurs - to which in that section Jim Draal and Walter are putting together the booby-traps to thwart Angor Rot (as well as try to reassemble some sort of emotional connection between them). Or it could be a reference to a meme I really enjoyed, example Ch12’s “Roundabout” aka the music piece known vernacularly as “The Jojo Meme” but also like…meme aside it’s really good and fits and just lkfgjkgsdj I have a lot of feels about Roundabout and I won’t apologize for it haha

And yet, something I pride myself in, is that you don’t need to know all of this to enjoy the story. It isn’t necessary to listen to the Swan Lake pieces or even the Musicals, or even the Jojo Meme. Because, if I did my job right, those echoes ought to be in the writing. The pieces to the section have always been optional. Just little markings in a booklet to be given to you the reader/composer as a suggestion and you can choose to play those pieces along to the silent film, or boot up a ragtime. And that’s the power you have. And that’s equally as wonderful!

[pearlcaddy]

What's your writing process like? 😊

Oh goodness. I could babble about that for ages, but the short version is:

Pre-writing: I spend a lot of time daydreaming. I come up with playlists of songs that fit the tone that I’m going for and listen to them while thinking about the initial story idea. Oftentimes, the songs will bring images to mind that become story beats. (In Searching for a Piece of Art, the entire karaoke scene came from listening to “You’re Such A.”) A lot of the big emotional beats and scenes are basically fully drafted in my head while listening to music like that.

With original stuff, there’s a lot of character creation and worldbuilding and research beforehand, but regardless of whether it’s original or fic, I usually don’t move on to outlining until 1) I know the central tension of the story, and 2) I have an image or scene in mind for how the story ends, because that tells me what the rest of the story is building to. (Both of those can change at any point in the process, but I like to have an initial idea as a starting point.)

Outlining: I’ve mentioned before that I tend to do very loose beat sheets, which for me translates to a single line that describes each scene so that I know the main point of that scene. I find plotting difficult, so I have to be more mechanical about it so that I can see what pieces of the story I’m working with and how they fit together and build on one another.

So for example, the four expo scenes of Wizard Love look like:

Julie’s first exposure to expo—struggles under Carrie and feels like a failure, Luke takes over, Julie learns what makes an expo god

Julie’s first time on expo—working with and supported by Luke and the guys, surprises herself with how well she does

Julie’s first time on expo for lunch—does well with chef by her side, Luke sees and is very into it

Fourth of July—she and Luke expo in the face of the food service apocalypse, but they do well because of their bond and because she’s experienced with expo by now, she feels like an expo god

If I go into too much detail in an outline, I find writing much harder because I lose track of the point of each scene, and because I’ve taken a lot of the fun of discovering the full scene out of the drafting stage. But that’s just my personal preference.

Once I have a full outline that I think is solid, I do two final checks: reading through the outline to make sure that every plot point I need is there and then checking to make sure that every step of the emotional journey is there.

Drafting: I’m a big fan of the zero draft, so I leave a lot of [FINISH THIS LATER] kind of stuff in my early drafts. The point of a zero draft is to just keep writing and get words on the page, even if scenes are way too long or there are awkward lines. If I can’t figure out how to open a scene, I start from the point that I know. I let it be bad--my zero drafts are not for anyone else to read. If something is stumping me for more than a few minutes, I skip it. Oftentimes on a later draft, it’s easier to figure out what I need to connect the scenes or moments on either side of something that I was stumped by, instead of getting slowed down the first time through.

Editing: With fic writing, I usually do four read throughs. Not full drafts per se, but four passes through the fic. That lets me check for missing scenes/moments and rewrite lines that don’t make sense. Ideally, I take some time away between these drafts, so that I can read it with a semi-fresh perspective. (With fic writing, I take a couple days. With professional creative/academic writing, I take at least a week.)

Hopefully that makes sense!

[sylvesterlestermanchester]

Fearfully and Wonderfully

Summary: Dan wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to experience when he starts his first semester at Uni, but he was pretty sure an incredibly sheltered Catholic boy stealing his heart wasn’t on his list of typical college tropes.

Word Count: 12401

Genre: Humor, fluff, angst. All mixed together. Fun times!

Warnings: Conversion therapy, homophobia, brief allusions to sex and genitals. One puke joke?

A/N: This is my first ever published fic-I’ve been writing for literally years little bits and pieces, but COVID has me going crazy and I just wanted to put some effort into an actual thing. Thanks for reading!

-

Dan wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he walked through the door to his dorm the first time, parents and sullen little brother in tow. All of his knowledge about Uni had been from TV and movies-maybe he would have some frat guy in the bed across from him, or maybe a stoner, or maybe a weird silent dude who will disappear after the first week and let Dan put their beds together so they would actually fit his gangly body.

What he isn’t expecting is to have an eight-year-old girl bodyslam herself into his legs, followed by a loud groan and a sharp voice scolding “Suzanne, we told you to stop running!”

Dan’s eyes look down at the (quickly retreating) girl and blinks a few times as he takes in the scene in front of him. There are way too many people in the crowded room right now-he counts two identical boys, both around 10, bouncing on the stiff dorm bed, one pre-teen digging through a cardboard box, a girl around Adrian’s age whispering something to an older woman with a toddler in her arms, standing next to a quiet-looking tall man, and, of course, the eight-year-old, now having been scooped up by a sheepish looking guy around Dan’s age who’s giving him an apologetic smile. This must be the Philip Lester on his room assignment form. “Sorry. My family is kind of, erm, excited.” He says with a small, nervous laugh and sets the girl aside before sticking out a hand to shake. “I’m Phil! You must be, um...Daniel, right?”

Dan takes a second to readjust the bags in his arms to shake Phil’s hand awkwardly, trying not to look too overwhelmed at the scene in front of him. “Dan’s fine.”

The kids have all frozen in place, staring at Dan with wide eyes like Dan just sprouted a second head. There’s a few long beats of silence as Phil shakes his hand just a little too enthusiastically for just a bit too long. 

Finally, Phil’s mum places a hand on her son’s shoulder, beaming brightly. “It’s so great our boys will be living together!” She cheers to Dan’s mum, who looks a bit bewildered. Ms. Lester gently takes a few of Dan’s bags and sets them on the bed, continuing to chatter on. “Come on, we can unpack while you two get to know each other better. I need to know who my son is going to be rooming with, right?” She continues to babble in a thick northern drawl as Dan glances back at his parents, who look like they’re about to bolt for the door and leave their son to be swallowed whole by these people.

“You’re rooming with an absolute freak,” Adrian mumbles in his ear with a small smirk. “Karma is a bitch, huh?” “Shut up.” Dan hisses back through his teeth, trying to look as interested as possible as Phil’s mum keeps talking. 

“The weather here is so nice-it’s already getting cold up in Rossendale, can you believe it? Max and Adam were running around outside, and I was so scared they were gonna catch cold, you know how quickly little ones do. Oh, the drive here was wonderful-” “We saw cows!” One of the kids butts in, and suddenly they’re all talking, any nervousness they had around the strangers suddenly vanishing.

“And horses!” “We got hamburgers, and there was this huge truck-it had to have, like, forty wheels-” Phil seems to take after his dad, quietly but quickly unpacking since his siblings have seemingly given up on it in favor of telling Dan’s family every detail of the six-hour car ride. At one point he makes eye contact with Phil, who gives him an apologetic look, his cheeks flushed and an embarrassed grin on his face as the kids chatter along excitedly like they’ve never talked to another person before.

Finally, right when Dan feels like his ears are going to fall off, Phil speaks up again. “I-I think I can get this from here, guys. Mum, Dad, why don’t we go out for a walk before we say goodbye? I know you guys want to see the geese on campus, right?” The kids all cheer like geese are the most exciting thing on Earth, scrambling for the door. Phil’s mum gives Dan a tight hug and Phil’s dad, still not having spoken a single word, even gives his shoulder an uncomfortable pat before they head out. The small space suddenly feels vast and empty, and the silence is almost tangible. “Well. They seemed...friendly.” Dan’s mum says after a few moments, his dad snorting. 

“You’re in for quite a year, huh, kid?” He jokes. Dan laughs weakly, but in all honesty, it doesn’t seem that funny. 

Just what did he get himself into?

-

Dan’s curled up in his bed when Phil finally comes back a few hours later, giving Dan that same crooked, shy grin from earlier. Now that it’s just him and not him with (presumably) his entire Brady Bunch-style family, he can get a better look at his roommate. He’s tall, about an inch taller than Dan, and lanky. His black jeans are just a bit high on his ankles, and his faded green shirt clings to his skinny frame. As Dan’s eyes travel higher he takes in his flushed cheeks, his blue eyes wide behind his oversized glasses, all behind shaggy black hair that doesn’t match his ginger eyebrows-ginger like every other family member of his. Dan suddenly feels a bit self-conscious in his Game of Thrones pajamas and old school shirt, pulling his covers up a bit higher as he takes in the other young man with a strange feeling in his chest. He’s definitely different than anyone Dan’s ever known. But damn, if he isn’t cute.

“Sorry if my family was a lot today.” He says after a slight moment of silence, a slight giggle slipping out as he walks over to one of the boxes on his side of the room. “I’m the first to go to Uni out of my brothers and sisters, so my parents decided to, like, make it into a whole thing.”

The memory of the chaos is still fresh in Dan’s mind, but hearing Phil talk about it, he can’t help but smile a bit as well. “I’m the oldest, so I get it. And they were nice. Your siblings are very...uh, talkative.” He says slowly, trying not to sound rude, but Phil’s giggling again before he can worry too much about it.

“We’re from kind of the middle of nowhere, so they’re just excited to see, like, humans outside of Rossendale for the first time.” Phil joked as he started reorganizing some of the things his siblings had just sort of dumped around the room. “Plus, they don’t usually get sugar, but they had soda on the way here. So they were practically about to explode by the time we pulled in. They just exploded all of that excitement onto you.” 

Dan can’t help but laugh a bit at that as he watches Phil set some thick books up one way and then rearranges them. “Oh, Jesus. That car ride must have been nuts.” Phil looks over his shoulder, grinning wider now. He looks more and more relaxed each minute, as if he was just as nervous about Dan as Dan was about him. “You have no idea, oh my gosh. They were already wound up for today, and then there was soda, and Max and Alex-they get carsick even worse than I do, and then Suzanne had to pee, like, forty times an hour, and Mum was all weepy...this has been the longest day of my life.” He joked, laughing along with Dan. 

Even though Dan can’t connect any of the kids to their names, he feels like he knows them decently well. In fact, as the conversation drifts into more goofy road trip stories, Dan’s surprised with just how close he feels to Phil like they’ve known each other before they even met.

It’s strange, he finds. But then again, Phil’s pretty strange, after all.

-

Dan doesn’t fully realize how strange Phil is until the next day. There’s a few hints-Dan makes a reference to some TikTok audio and Phil admits he’s never used it before, staring in awe as Dan scrolls through his ForYou Page for him.  When they head off to orientation in one of the lecture halls, Phil’s head jolts up and his face flushes bright red when one of the countless speakers jokingly curses (if you can count “ass” as a curse-Dan honestly can’t). But it’s not until they’re out at the quad with some of their new peers for lunch when Chris turns to Phil and asks if he went to the school his cousin went to up north. “Oh, I didn’t go to school.” Phil says with a bright smile, before quickly adding “I mean-I was homeschooled. So I just kinda did the work when I wanted to.”

“Your parents homeschooled you? Didn’t Dan say you had, like, twenty siblings?” Louise questions as they all turn to look at Phil. Dan feels a migraine coming on just imagining being home with all of those kids all bloody day, though he can actually picture Mrs. Lester teaching them all pretty well. Phil laughed a bit, cheeks flushing pink as he looked down at his sandwich. 

“We all were. My mum and dad didn’t like the schools in our area-they wanted us to be more connected to the church, said that “our values weren’t instilled in traditional education’.” He explained with a small shrug. When PJ raised an eyebrow at that Phil pulled a small cross necklace out from under his shirt. “I’m Catholic. I actually have plans for Seminary after getting my bachelor’s-so if you’re planning on getting married, I’m taking bookings now.” Phil’s last comment was clearly meant to lighten up the mood, but it’s obvious that the subject matter was making the group a little uncomfortable, considering they all just met. Dan’s mentally running through Phil’s belongings in their dorm-were all those books Bibles? Was he going to start hanging crosses everywhere? Or make him wake up early on Sundays? 

Before his brain could spiral out further Chris blurted out “So, were you raised in a Jesus bubble or something?” Louise smacks his arm but Phil giggled. “I-I have been told I’ve lived a bit of a sheltered life before, yeah.” “Were you allowed...TV?” PJ asks slowly, eyes widening when Phil shook his head.

“Not cable. We could watch DVDs, but they had to be approved, so it was usually educational. I know a lot of animal facts, actually. Did you know hippo-”

“What about the internet?” Louise cuts him off.

“Not after my older brother got caught Googling “bikini girls” when he was 10.” Phil joked lightly. “But even before that, my mum was pretty anti-internet. If I really needed it for school or whatever, I’d go down to the library.”

“No Harry Potter?” “Promotes witchcraft. Apparently. I haven’t read it for myself, but-”

“Dating?” “Not without serious intention to marry-and I’m not exactly ready for that, so-” “Running water?” “You know what’s funny?” Phil says, giggling a bit and bringing his knees loosely to his chest. “You guys think I’m weird, which is totally understandable. But your guys’ lives before this sound weird to me, too. Like-Chris, you got to play video games as a kid, right? And I was taught that those would turn me into some homicidal maniac. Dan, I saw you have a horoscope app-that’s the occult, so that’s a huge no-no.” Wow, okay. Before Dan could feel too offended, though, and Chris could jump in, Phil keeps going. “But, like, I get that you’re not a witch, or Chris, you’re not gonna chop me up into little pieces when I’m sleeping. There’s gotta be some middle ground here, right? So...you guys could show me how to live more like you, and maybe you guys would be more interested in what I’m into?”

There’s a small silence that falls across the group before a wicked grin slowly appears on Louise’s face.

“What do you want to learn first?”

-

The next few weeks are a bit of a whirlwind for Dan. Between classes, hanging out with new friends, homework, scrambling to find a job, remembering to text his mum and let her know he hasn’t died, he’s barely able to keep his head on straight. But the time he spends trying to introduce Phil to the “real world” is some of his favorite. 

Phil had set some ground rules-nothing that could kill him or ruin his life if it got out on social media. If he got too uncomfortable, he was allowed to tap out, but he’d give it an honest attempt. And nothing Satanic. (Dan had laughed until he realized by the look on his face that he wasn’t joking).

Granted, their friend group hadn’t done a great job at the start. PJ thought it would be hilarious to let Phil start with some “iconic reading material”. 

Dan had been in class when they had presented the book to him, and the two were in their respective beds when Dan heard a shocked gasp from Phil’s side of the room.

“You good, mate?” He rolled over, watching as Phil sat upright and started flipping through the pages. “Do-Do you know about this book?” He asked, face turning impossibly redder as he held up the cover for Dan. 50 Shades of Gray. As Dan burst out laughing, his roommate whined playfully.

“What-Phil, who gave this to you?” “PJ said it was necessary reading!”

“PJ is a dunce. Give it here, I’ll protect you from the big bad book.” Dan teases, but Phil quickly shoves the book into his hands like it’s on fire. 

“I’m gonna have nightmares about ties and rich men for weeks.” He grumbled playfully, curling up on his bed and reaching for his phone. “I’m never trusting Peej again.” 

Louise turns full maternal the next day when he struggles to recount the experience in polite language (Dan holding back laughter), and she decides to go the complete opposite way, launching a mission to, as she put it, “reshape Phil’s lost childhood”. Phil lightly pushes back against wording, because he feels like he had quite a nice childhood, thank you very much. 

Still, Louise comes over a couple of nights later, armed with her laptop.

“They couldn’t come up with a more creative name than “High School Musical”?” Phil teased gently as she pulled it up on her screen.

“Phil, you sweet boy, High School Musical is a cultural milestone that you need experience. So no backtalk!”

“Whatever you say.” He said, sitting on the other side of her and holding a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

They watch the first movie, and then the second, and then Phil’s begging to watch the third. As the final song plays Dan glances over and sees that Phil has his head ducked down, shoulders shaking gently.

“Phil?” Louise asks gently right as a choked sob erupts from him. She lets out a yelp as Phil flings his arms around her neck, laughing shakily. “It was just...Troy chose basketball and music…both of his passions...” He blubbers out, nuzzling into her shoulder as she coos. “You’re so weird, hon. You know that?” Once he’s calmed down enough (when Dan offers him a hug the waterworks start up all over again, sniffling. “So. Is that what your guys’ school was like?”

Louise and Dan glance at each other before bursting into laughter, only stopping a couple of minutes later when Louise turns to Phil once more. “If you liked High School Musical, you’re going to love this show Victorious…”

Of course, it’s not all smutty books and (incredible) movie trilogies. 

Being homeschooled meant that all Phil knows is doing school when he feels like it. Lucky for Phil, he’s a huge nerd, so homework and studying actually excite him. The problem is, these things tend to excite him at 3 in the morning, and he actually has classes to go to now outside of his room. 

By day three of no sleep, Phil swears Dan’s grown wings, and Dan intervenes. They make up a rules sheet-bedtime is 2AM, wake up at 10AM, eat three meals a day, no more than five cups of coffee a day (of all the vices Phil was deprived of, caffeine was clearly not one of them-Dan’s never seen anyone drink more coffee in his life). He gets him down to one all-nighter a week, and in turn, Phil wakes him up each morning and helps him with schoolwork so Dan doesn’t have to face going to the tutoring center. It turns out that Phil’s kind of a genius, despite never being in a classroom until a couple of weeks prior.

Chris is the one who convinces Phil to get social media, telling him that “only serial killers and old people” don’t. Phil’s not the greatest at it at first (there’s a lot of pictures uploaded on accident to his Instagram stories and nonsense tweets), but he slowly gets more used to it, getting his terrible puns and weird things he sees on campus out to the world (all 20 of his followers).

Dan can’t help but get slightly annoyed when Phil’s phone is shoved in his face to choose a filter of some stupid looking goose that’s close to attacking him, but the look of pure elation that Phil gets when someone sends a dog meme in their group chat is enough to warm his heart in ways he didn’t want to address fully but knew he couldn’t ignore.

There’s so much to teach him, and it seems like each day something pops up. Still, Dan’s surprised by Phil’s world, too. 

First, he brings them to a non-denominational bible study group. PJ groaned quietly as Phil handed them all cheap paperback Bibles before they entered the church.

“Can’t we do something a bit more...fun? With less reading?”

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it again,” Phil said with a grin, rocking back and forth on his heels. “And if you like it-which hopefully, you will-we can come back once a week, and I’ll get you some nicer Bibles. These are just to start out with.”

Louise forces a small “yay” as they head inside, Phil leading them through the sanctuary with a happy sigh before taking them down some stairs, where a young woman sits in front of a small arrangement of chairs. “Phil, you brought your friends!” The woman cheers and Phil laughs happily. “Caroline-this is Dan, PJ, Chris, and Lou. They’re new to all this, so we’ll go easy this week?” He joked lightly, and Caroline nods, asking them about their religious beliefs.

“Uh, went to church a few times with my Nan. Atheist.” Dan says, biting his lip. He never actually said the “a'' word around Phil, and he’s a bit nervous that he’s going to suddenly flip out, but he still seems just as excited as when he walked in.

“Atheist. Never been-parents hate churches. Can I still grab snacks?” Chris adds and Caroline laughs, nodding.

“I’m a little complicated, but it’s basically just hippie church.” PJ says, shrugging. “Singing and chanting and all.”

“I go about once a month-I’m Episcopal, officially, but I’ve been to other churches too.” Louise gently smiled, and with that, the group got started. They went around and talked about their weeks, a few upcoming events, a prayer, and then Caroline instructed them to get their books. Phil pulled a well-worn leather Bible out of his bag, and Dan’s eyes widened a bit when he opened it. There are post-it notes everywhere, with entire passages highlighted and notes covering practically every margin in Phil’s stupidly perfect handwriting. It’s clear that Phil’s spent a lot of time with the book.

“Since we have guests, I figured we’d take a break from our reading of Matthew and focus on a couple of specific verses today,” Caroline says brightly. “James 1:13-15: “Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man: But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.”

There’s a slight pause and Chris furrows his eyebrows. “Huh?” “In simple terms-don’t say God isn’t the one to tempt you, because when you stray off His path, that’s on you.” One of the group members explains. “And if you do sin, it’ll lead to, uh, death.”

“Well, does God not tempt us to do bad things by putting so much pressure on us to be perfect?” A girl with blue hair jumps in, raising an eyebrow. “He sets the standard so high. Sometimes I’m just like, ‘Chill, dude. I can’t do everything. I’m not you.’ “

PJ snorts at that, giggling. “You call God dude?” They’re all laughing now, but Dan can’t believe it-he wants to jump in.

“Can I ask a dumb question?” His voice is a bit quiet but inquisitive. “Isn’t God supposed to be loving and forgiving? Why does He want you guys to be perfect? That sounds kind of...harsh.”

“Well, He knows we’re not perfect.” Phil says, and another guy nods.

“He asks for us to be because it strives us to be better. And it teaches us that messing up is okay.” The conversation keeps up for a bit before Caroline interrupts, asking them to focus on the latter half of the passage.

PJ narrows his eyes at the text before looking up. “Am I really gonna die if I sin?” “Well, sin was what led us away from eternal life in the first place-Adam and Eve kinda messed that up for us.”

“Yeah, but our personal sins can lead us to death, too. Not just old sins. That’s what God’s warning us about here.”

“Not every sin does, though. Like mixed-fabric shirts.” Louise grinned a little. “Or grabbing dudes by their nads during fights.” PJ’s eyes widened and he turned to Phil. “Are those actual rules?!” “It was a different time!” Phil giggled as he watched him flip through the pages quickly.

“Where does it say we can’t grab nads?’ “Can we stop saying nads in church?” Phil pointed out, still laughing despite his red face.

Caroline tuts and wags a finger playfully. “Uh-uh, Philip. No judgment. They can talk about nads all they want, now.”

The entire room is laughing again as Phil buries his face in his hands. Finally, when he controls his giggles, Caroline speaks again. “Do you think talking about that kind of stuff in church is a sin, Phil?”

It’s teasing at first, but Phil actually thinks about it for a moment.

“Well...my household was pretty strict growing up. I mean, I got yelled at once for just sneezing during church.” He admits slowly and Dan’s eyebrows furrow a little. He can’t imagine either of Phil’s parents yelling at him, or anyone, really. “But I get why it was. They wanted me to love God, and respect Him, just like they loved and respected me and I loved and respected them. So I think if you do things with love, genuine love, it’s not a sin. But if you do things out of hate, or anger, or with the intention of hurting, that’s a sin. And that’s not automatically bad-like T’andra said, we’re all gonna make mistakes. Just keep on acting with love, and I think you’re good.” There’s a pause, and Dan’s face flushes slightly. Not just at how much Phil was saying “love”, but the words he spoke, and the true thought and passion behind them. 

The moment is cut short when PJ snorts. “So if I love nads, I can talk about them to Jesus?”

By the time the room is back under control, the group is over. “Y’know, that was actually pretty fun.” Chris said after they had all grabbed snacks and talked to everyone. 

“It was! It was like...philosophical debate.” Dan said. “The real nitty-gritty. The topics of good, evil, life, death, corruption-” Louise shoved him gently. “So deep, Dan. Of course you enjoyed it.” She joked lightly before adding “No offense, Phil!” Phil doesn’t seem to care-he’s grinning so wide it must be hurting his cheeks, and Dan would be lying if he isn’t tempted to start reading the whole Bible from cover to cover just to see him grin like that again.

Phil also manages to bring them to actual church services a couple of times (though getting college students out of bed before noon on a weekend proves to be a practically impossible task). 

Dan has to admit he’s not as impressed with this as he is with the study group. The group is fun-they can all talk, and laugh, and actually discuss the points. Church is...not. They sit on hard pews. They listen. They stand and sit and kneel and stand and sit and kneel. They sing a few songs, and while Phil’s quiet baritone makes Dan’s sore knees quiver, it’s not enough to really warrant him waking up at 8AM on a weekend. 

Phil is politely understanding of this, though it’s clear that this is of certain importance to him that his friends might not ever understand. It’s admirable if nothing else.

Other than storytelling from his childhood (which does little to make him seem more normal, honestly) and the weekly study, though, Phil doesn’t talk too much about the church to his other friends. Dan, however, is different. Maybe it’s just the fact that they live together and their space is more shared, but Phil opens up to Dan a bit more about it. He reads passages and verses to Dan, he prays in front of him, and he answers his questions in a non-condescending way. Dan has to admit that while he likes what Phil says, he can’t find himself connecting to it in the way Phil has, with his entire heart and soul. But Dan can admire the stories and the way his friend sees the world, and this new world that he’s entering with him.

It’s been a month of them being friends when Dan realizes that he’s seeing the world in two ways-Dan’s universe, and Phil’s universe. They’re so different, but (and he’s sure he’d never admit this out loud) Dan prefers when their universes collide. 

When Dan comes home after a long day of classes and working at the campus bookstore, he’s exhausted. The soft music fades through the room as he opens the door to find Phil chewing on a pen, looking just as anxious as him. “I think my brain is leaking out my ears,” Phil said wearily, looking over the top of his glasses at Dan. “Do I have brain on my desk?” Dan snorts and rolls his eyes, reaching over and grabbing his textbook. “We need a break. And you need sleep-I know you took that second all-nighter last night, rule-breaker.” “Fine. Watch something with me?” He says after a moment, grabbing his laptop. They load up an episode of Zoey101 (they’d finished Victorious the week before) and hit play.

As the bars from the theme song fade out, Dan suddenly feels a strange pressure on his shoulder. He glances over and finds Phil with his cheek pressed to Dan’s shoulder, glasses sliding down his nose as he lets out a soft snore. Dan pauses the show, and for a brief moment, it’s just the two of them. Dan and Phil. 

He lives for those moments: Getting coffee after a class. Sending each other memes. Trying new food at the dining hall. Brief greetings in the halls. Shared looks as they hang out with their friend group.

It’s been a month of them being friends when Dan realizes he's never fallen quite this hard before. He doesn’t just want to make out, all hot and heavy, or go further than just that. He just wants this-Dan and Phil-forever, even just as friends. He didn’t expect to find that in this pale, bible-banging weirdo, but now that he does he never wants to let him go.

-

Dan’s getting that feeling now more and more, the Dan and Phil feeling when they’re in the study group a few weeks later. They’re both sat towards the back, trying (and failing) to hold back laughter as they’re hunched over Dan’s Bible.

“I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots. Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold. We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver…” Phil says under his breath in a low, gravelly tone. 

Dan turns to the next page. “O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes!” He whispers, still trying to make his voice sound high-pitched.

“Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from-”

“Dan, Phil, I’m guessing you both are whispering about how excited you are about our retreat at Camp Brabeck?”

The two both fall silent, Dan quickly glancing between Phil and Caroline, her smile wearing a bit thin from having to call them out. Phil’s eyes are wide, suddenly all signs of laughter gone. “Camp Brabeck?” He squeaks out, and the leader nods.

“On our upcoming four-day weekend. It’s up North, so it’ll be a bit of a drive, but we’ve already got the vans rented out and everything.” She says before noticing Phil’s sudden change in demeanor. “Phil, you’re from around there, actually. Have you been before?”

Phil blinks a few times before nodding, curling up into his seat a little. “O-Oh. Well, I actually did, once, but-”

“Great! So you’ll be down to come, right? We’ve got more space in the van, and it’ll be fun…” Caroline says hopefully, not letting him argue as he starts shaking his head. “Plus, if you’ve already been there, you can tell us all about it! C’mon, this is right up your alley. I think you’ll-” “I’ll go if Dan does.” Phil blurts out suddenly, looking nervously over at. Dan’s definitely confused now-Phil loves the outdoors. He loves this group. He loves-well, to be fair, Phil seems to love most things. He’s racking his brain trying to figure out what it could be, but he just can’t, and now all eyes are on him, and-

“I mean...as long as someone brings bug spray.” Dan says slowly, Caroline beaming and writing on her clipboard before talking excitedly about the campground. The two stay quiet, Dan focusing on Phil’s eyes trained on her and hands gripping his Bible so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

The minute the group ends Phil makes a beeline to the door, walking so fast that Dan can’t catch up without actually chasing him. Dan’s phone dings a short moment later:

Sorry 2 run! Had 2 catch up w some1 4 a thing. Thx 4 signing up w me ^_^ - Phil!

Dan furrows his eyebrows, and not for the normal reason of Phil’s stupid abbreviations and the fact he insists upon signing all his texts. He’s trying to piece the pieces together from the few characters on his screen when Louise puts a hand on his shoulder. “So what was all that about?” She asks with a raised eyebrow, giggling a bit as she gives his arm a light squeeze. “What did you show him that spooked him so bad?” Before Dan can speak, Chris is at his side.

“He’s just embarrassed that Dan was flirting with him during the Jesus Power Hour.” “Dan, were you?” Louise gasped teasingly, and Dan sputters a bit, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket. “Chris-what?! No, no, I wasn’t flirting. I wasn’t! He just-when she mentioned the retreat-and the camp-” Dan’s face is bright red now, suddenly the words from Solomon seem a lot less goofy and a lot more...romantic, to outsiders, with their heads bowed together with dumb grins on their faces. 

Louise and Chris shoot Dan equally doubtful looks. “Dan-” She starts, but Dan grits his teeth.

“We’re not-neither of us are like that.” He snaps. As she steps back and Chris raises an eyebrow, guilt starts to pool in his stomach, but he can’t stop. “For one, I’m not gay, and two, Phil is gonna be a priest, remember? Aren’t they, like, sworn to celibacy?”

Chris and Louise glance at each other. “Mate...chill, yeah? We were just joking. We know you’re not...y’know.” “Good.” Dan said before turning and stomping up the steps, the unnerving sense that the painting of Jesus had his eyes following him the whole way.

A few minutes later, Dan is sitting in the back garden of the church that Phil helps tend to after services, the wind whipping through his hair. Usually, he’d be walking to a Starbucks with Phil, discussing that session’s theme in-depth and watching Phil’s face turn pink as Dan releases the string of expletives he’s been holding in for an entire hour. The expletives are running through his head at top speed, as he spends about three minutes crafting the perfect text message. 

hey, i’m sorry if i weirded you out today! didn’t mean to haha. i was goofing off way too much and i know you take these meetings p seriously. i’ll take it more seriously next time and not distract you

Dan hits send after rereading it about a million times, groaning audibly as he does. It’s not exactly a “Sorry I have a crush on you and made you seem gay but I get you’ll never like me and that’s fine I just wanna spend all my time with you”, but it’s the best he can do.

No worries! OMGosh I was just embarrassed 2 b called out like that hahaha! 0_o <= Literally my face. I was def the 1 who was whispering 2 loud. Lol! -Phil!

dude, it was totally on me. Dan texts back, chewing on his bottom lip. Phil had looked pretty freaked out, but if he was fine, maybe they could just...move past it? really, i started it. 

Noooooooo! I take all the blame. I had some cookies b4 group and I was on major sugar rush. Btw...I had some of those cookies ur nan sent! Sorry, I’ll buy some snacks 4 us. Ask her to send more, tho? So good <3 Thank u! Take dancing men as an apology (/-_-)/ |(-_-|) -Phil!

okay, seriously, who taught you to text like this? my head hurts trying to decipher everything

DANCING MEN 4 U (/-_-)/ |(-_-\) ~(*-*)~ (/-_-)/ |(-_-\) -Phil!

you’re ridiculous. Dan can’t help but laugh, in spite of the churning feeling in his stomach. He drops his phone onto the grass next to him and looks up at the sky. 

“If you know Phil so well, big guy, what do I do?” He asks before he can stop himself, before pausing. Half of him expects a thunderstorm to start, and him to get struck by lightning, or a rainbow to leap across the sky and the clouds to part to show Phil’s shining face as the sun. But after a few long moments of silence, Dan realizes he’s not going to get any divine intervention and groans. 

“Well...let me know when you figure it out.”

-

The next couple of weeks go by quickly. Everything seems normal-they go to classes, they go to work, they go to group, they goof off. The four-day weekend creeps upon them, but before they know it the whole group is up at 6AM standing in front of a huge white van.

“This isn’t cult-ish at all.” PJ yawns, chucking his duffle bag into the trunk. Louise sips her coffee and squints over at Phil.

“This has to be a sin, you know. Not giving a girl her beauty sleep.” Usually, Phil would spout something about “being beautiful in His eyes”, but right now he’s getting the same sense of panic in his eyes that he had when the camp was first mentioned, laughing weakly as he adjusts his glasses. Dan is just awake enough to get the sense that Phil has been repressing the idea of the trip until this exact moment, but he also knows just how to fix it. He had been stockpiling on Phil knowledge for this exact moment.

Phil jumps a bit as Dan nudges him. “Relax. Listen, I know what’s up.” He says quietly, watching as his friend’s eyes widen and a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“What?!” Phil yelps a bit as Dan gently leads him away from the rest of the group. “I mean...what do you know? What’s up?” He asks quietly, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag.

Dan holds back a fond noise as he smiles gently, shaking his head. “No need to be embarrassed, Phil. My mom went through the same thing for years.” As Phil looks more and more concerned, wringing his hands, Dan digs in his own backpack for a moment before pulling out a small box of Dramamine and handing it to him. “So you don’t upchuck all over us.”

There’s a beat as Phil stares down at the box, eyes wide, and Dan almost thinks he’s got it wrong. Does Phil not get carsick? Was he insulted? Was he really that embarrassed by it?

Phil finally starts to giggle, but it seems more relieved than anything. He nudges Dan lightly and opens his mouth to speak.

“Ah, Dan and Phil! The dynamic duo. You two can sit in the back with the bags!” Caroline’s voice cuts through whatever Phil’s about to say, and he turns to Dan with a small shrug. 

“Looks like it’ll just be you I puke on.” He says, a slight grin on his face as he pulls the door open for Dan, who rolls his eyes but steps in “Gotta get you a poncho for the splash zone.” Dan gags playfully before squeezing in to sit next to Phil amongst all the bags, rolling his eyes and plugging his earbuds in before holding out one bud to Phil and turning on their shared playlist-a mix of indie, Christian rock, (mostly clean) emo jams, and Disney Channel top hits. It’s not the most welcoming thing to listen to at 6AM, but if it keeps Phil calm and Dan from actually needing a poncho, he’ll welcome it.

The majority of the drive is spent in and out of sleep for Dan, guitar chords and vocals bouncing around his sleep-deprived brain. He’s not fully conscious until around noon when they’re about an hour away from the camp. The roads are getting twisty, and it’s then that he notices that Phil has his eyes screwed shut and face scrunched up, both hands shoved into his messenger bag. It only takes a slight peek for Dan to see his fingers curled tightly around his well-worn Bible, and he bites his lip. 

Phil talks about leaps of faith a lot in group. Dan doesn’t quite get it, but he’s pretty sure he’s taking one when he slides his hand into the other’s bag and gently coaxes Phil’s hand into his own. The young man stiffens up for a moment before turning to stare at Dan with wide eyes.

“Shush. It’ll help nausea.” Dan mumbles, his own face red and praying that Phil won’t ask how exactly it will. There’s a pause before Phil smiles weakly, turning his face away, and Dan is about five seconds away from opening the van door and hurtling himself onto the road.

Phil’s probably just been playing nice, and now Dan’s gone and made it uncomfortable for the both of them, and Phil can’t even look at him. Dan’s whole body turns hot, but right before he can pull away, he feels Phil’s slender fingers intertwine with his own.

It’s not the first time they’ve held hands-they do it at the start and end of study groups, and at church, and that one time Phil got them all to hold hands while standing on a hill to reenact the ending of High School Musical 2 for his Instagram. Dan was a bit flustered then, too. But this is different. It’s...intimate. Phil’s never held his hand with such need before, fingers locked with his and palm quivering gently as he mouths a silent “thank you.” Dan feels his entire body buzz, and he can’t help but close his eyes and try to focus on the music and not the fact that he feels like he’s literally twelve years old.

The rest of the ride somehow takes an eternity and only a minute before the van stops, Chris bemoaning his hunger loudly and the rest chattering excitedly. Phil finally opens his eyes and turns to Dan, slowly pulling his hand away. 

They both look at their hands, and then back at each other. There’s a long pause before he opens his mouth, and Dan’s heart starts pounding so hard he’s surprised Phil can’t hear it.

All that Dan has thought about them staying platonic goes out the window. Dan wants nothing more than to lunge forward and shove his lips against Phil’s, to run his hands through his hair, to climb into his lap and- “I didn’t puke!” Phil blurts out loudly, loud enough that everyone hears. The group falls silent before one of the other young men, Raz, gives Phil a thumbs up. “Good for you, bud. C’mon, let’s get these bags up to the cabin, and then we can get some food to celebrate.” Phil laughs a bit too hard at that, face bright red. As he clamors out of the van he leaves Dan in the backseat, trying to climb over the mountain of bags as he watches his friend chatter away as if nothing happened. He watches for a moment before shaking his head quickly, trying to erase the memory from his mind. He was just making things more complicated than they needed to be. They didn’t share a moment. No way.

Dan hauls his bag over his shoulder and walks along with PJ and Lou, struggling to stop the loop of those ten seconds from playing in his head.

-

Dan liked that the Bible study group wasn’t too Jesus-y. It was more philosophical than anything. Even church was just an hour a week on the weeks he went, which was really only once a month when Phil promised brunch afterward.

This weekend, he and his friends had realized, seemed to be where the group could get enough Jesus to last them until the next retreat. It started with grace before lunch-simple enough. But then a pastor had started to preach to them during lunch. And then after lunch. And then afternoon Bible study-for two hours, with a lot more reading and praying than actual discussion. Pj, Chris, and Louise were clearly trying not to fall asleep, while Phil sat off a bit, eyes trained on either the priest or his Bible, hugging himself tightly as he stayed completely silent.

“It’s just so boring!” Louise groaned once they were all finally outside and out of earshot. “I’m sorry, I know this is what you want to do with the rest of your life, Phil, but we’re in nature! Why are we just stuck in some stuffy room listening to an old dude read for hours when we can see the cool stuff God apparently built for us?” “God wants me to climb some of those rocks over there.” PJ agreed, snapping a few pictures on his phone. “He tried to call me earlier to tell me so, but reception sucks here.”

Phil laughed a bit, but it’s definitely more hollow than his normal giggles. “I’m sorry, I-I really thought-”

“Wait. Haven’t you been here before?” Louise asked as PJ started jogging over to the huge rocks, Chris following shortly after. Phil paused before rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I mean, yeah, but-” 

They’re both cut off by someone calling Phil’s name, and he whirls around to see the priest-the same “old dude” Louise had just been insulting-walk over and clap a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Philip, you must have grown a full foot since I last saw you!” Dan glances over at Phil with a slightly surprised look. He knew Phil had been here before, sure. But to know this man? Someone who seemed so different from Phil in so many ways?

“O-Oh, Father Richard. Hey. Guys, Father Richard worked at the camp I came to a-a couple of years ago.” “And Philip was one of the finest boys there, wasn’t he?” If the man notices Phil shift from one foot to the other nervously, he sure doesn’t show it. “I mean, they were all wonderful young men, don’t get me wrong. But Philip-you’re truly going to be a man of the cloth. Don’t you both think?” Dan is watching Father Richard’s face closely, immediately feeling himself wanting to leave the conversation as soon as possible. If it wasn’t for Phil, he’d have made an excuse and walked off by now. It seems like Louise isn’t thrilled, either, but she smiles and nods a bit. “It’s clearly his passion, uh, Father Richard.”

“Oh, absolutely. As long as he keeps his head out of the clouds.” He throws his head back and laughs, Phil’s grin looking more like a grimace as he chuckles along. “I swear, this boy would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to him!” “I think Phil’s pretty smart, actually.” Dan says suddenly, a good bit of bite to his tone. He’s not sure why, but something about this guy gives him the creeps. He stares him in the eyes as he gets a surprised look from both him and Phil.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Well...I suppose he’s matured a lot over the past two years. Good to see you again, boy. We’ll have to catch up.” With that he heads off, giving Dan a slightly curious look as he does so, and Phil watches him go before shaking his head.

“Jeez. Phil Lester Fan Club over here.” Louise teased gently before frowning. “What’s his deal?” Phil bit his lip and sighed. “That’s how he is.” He explained quietly, yelping as Louise pulled him into a tight hug.

“Philly…” She cooed before moving to sit on the grass with him, motioning for Dan to do the same. “Talk to us? You’re not usually closed off like this. We know something’s up.” Phil squirms, and Dan can tell he’s debating whether or not to lie. He’s seen it before-when Chris asked if he looked good in his new neon t-shirt, or when some girl asked him once if she was being too annoying after complaining about her roommate to them for five minutes straight. “I just...I came to this camp when I was younger and had different ideas than I do now.” He explains finally.

“Like how interesting that Richard guy was?” Dan tries to joke, instantly regretting it as Phil brings his knees to his chest and curls up into himself.

His voice gets quiet, as it does sometimes when things get serious in group meetings and he’s comforting someone with a verse or trying to explain a tough concept to Dan. 

“Like...I was raised to think God ruled with a vengeance. If you sinned in any way, He would punish you. That’s what my parents said. We were supposed to fear Him, y’know? And when I came here...Father Richard pushed that hard.” Phil explained gently. “But I don’t think God’s like that. I think we’re all sinners-we all make mistakes. James 3:2 and all that. God loves us in spite of our flaws. Hearing him talk about God like he was so cruel, and then reading about His love for us...it was the first time it didn’t add up for me.”

Dan’s eyes widened. In all his time of knowing Phil-two months doesn’t sound like much, but it feels like a lifetime ago-he’s never once heard him speak against his parent’s beliefs. Sure, he could admit that they were a bit extreme at times, but it was always quickly followed with how their intentions were good and that everything had been great. 

“And as someone who wants to be a priest, I don’t think the way to get people to turn to God is to scream at them until they repent and scare them into not sinning. I think you need to be like Jesus. Hate the sin, love the sinner.” He continued, forcing a tiny smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Because we’re all His children, after all. And He’s got a path for all of us-fear won’t guide us onto that.”

There’s a moment of silence before Louise reaches down, giving his hair an affectionate tousle. “You start preaching like that and I’ll come to your church every Sunday. I’ll even sing in the choir.” She joked. A slow beam spread across Phil’s face-a a genuine one, and he stood up before pulling her into a tight hug. 

“Thank you.” He whispered. “Thank you both. I-If I had known he would’ve been here, I’d have at least warned you-”

“Shush, mate. You had no idea. Trust me, you’re way too much of a softie to lie to us, we know that.” Dan laughed a bit, giving Phil’s back a light pat. Phil giggled a bit before pulling away, taking a deep breath. 

“Wanna go make sure Chris and Peej don’t crack their heads open?” He said finally, and before they could say anything the two of them were taking off towards the rocks, Dan chasing after both of them. Despite his grin, he still couldn’t help but feel like his head was heavy with questions. Father Richard had seemed boring, and a bit grumpy, but not angry. Were Phil’s changing beliefs really all that had happened?

-

Phil had seemed relieved to talk for a bit, but the mood shifted again once evening activities started. Father Richard had preached again during dinner-and again, nothing terrible happened. He made a few dry jokes, he talked about having “complete and total faith”, he read some long passages that Dan didn’t care about. He was too busy glancing over at Phil next to him, who had left his food practically untouched.��

Then there are evening vespers, with Phil’s hands clenched together so tightly in prayer that his knuckles turn white and his fingernails dig into the skin. The firepit seems to be going well-he shares a s’more with Dan, but before he could get another he’s pulled aside by Father Richard. Dan’s sure at one point the two glance over at Dan, but then Phil’s walking back over, trying to look interested in some story one of the group members is telling as he brings his knees to his chest. Even Chris and PJ seem to notice that something’s going on, but with a pointed look from Dan, they give him some space.

They turn in for the night, but Dan wakes up way too early to find Phil curled up on his bunk pouring over his Bible. The bags under his eyes tell Dan that he didn’t sleep a wink last night, and he sighs. “C’mon, you gotta show me where the showerhouse is.” He says gently, and Phil looks up at him with a tired laugh. “Do I?” He teased weakly. After a minute though, he sits up and stretches. “Mmm...fine. But no chickening out.” With that he hops down from the bunk, peeling off his shirt before walking over to his bag.

Dan’s pretty sure he gulps audibly as Phil grabs a change of clothes and a towel, eyes wandering over him. Though Phil braved the communal showers at Uni, he was always sure to change in the stall-Dan had never seen him in so much as a pair of shorts that went higher than his knees. And yet, here he was. Dan would feel guilty about watching him, especially considering he knew Phil was having a tough time, but…

He couldn’t help it. His best friend looked hot as hell from behind. He couldn’t help but admire his slim frame, his lean but toned arms, and when he turned around, the slight smattering of chest hair that slowly turned into a happy trail that crept lower, into-

“I’m telling you now, if you forget a towel you’ll regret it.” He said, voice still low from sleep, and Dan snapped his head up. “Towel! Right! Let me go grab that.” He squeaked and quickly moved to grab it, trying to hide his flushed cheeks as he snagged a change of clothes as well. By the time he looked up Phil was already heading for the door, humming under his breath, and Dan followed him quickly.

After a few moments of silence, Phil spoke. “Father Richard is leaving tonight, so you won’t have to sit through his lectures after today. He’s just stopping by to talk to us. So we’ll have less worship-y stuff and more free time tomorrow.” Phil glanced over at Dan. “Sorry if I’m weird about it. I just..y’know.”

Dan nodded and relaxed into the shared feeling of relief, even if he didn’t exactly know what Phil was talking about. Before he could ask, though, they were at the small building-just a row of four stalls that looked like bathroom stalls, built out of wood. As Dan stepped inside and stripped-definitely not thinking about how Phil was doing the same just inches away, especially as he heard his sweatpants hit the ground-he rubbed his eyes. “Is there coffee here?”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t need coffee here.” Phil laughed a bit, a genuine one, and Dan raised an eyebrow, glancing over at where his head peeked over the stall. 

“Dude, I’ve seen you-sweet fuck!” Dan shrieked as he turned the single knob on and freezing cold water shot out of a showerhead on the ceiling. “How the fuck do you get the hot water?!”

Phil was really laughing now, his witch cackle carrying over Dan’s screams. “No hot water at camp.” He sang playfully. “And no swearing, either, but-”

“Christ on a bike, no wonder you were fucking miserable here!” The words come out before he can realize it, and suddenly he freezes (as well as he can while shivering like mad), but Phil only laughs harder. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Dan can hear the grin in his voice, and he lets out a long breath. “Whatever. Shitting fucking fuck! Let’s get this over with.”

Dan somehow manages to survive the worst shower of his life, his hair curling as he towels himself off before tugging on clothes and leaving the showerhouse. If it wasn’t for the bright smile on Phil’s face, he’d say it wasn’t worth it. But at least for right now, Phil is his old, giggly self again, and Dan comes to the realization he’d do just about anything to keep him like that.

Unfortunately for Dan, it doesn’t last long. As they’re walking back to the cabin, Phil glances across the way and sees Father Richard, walking through the trees. “Oh, shoot, c’mon-” Phil grabs Dan’s arm and tugs him along a bit faster, not looking behind him for nearly a full minute. As he glances over and sees the look on Dan’s face he finally stops, sighing softly. The joy from before is gone. “Sorry. I just...too early to try to handle that right now.” “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s just get going to the cabin, yeah? I’m still freezing.” Dan jokes weakly, and Phil tries to crack a smile, still looking uncomfortable as they walk along the trail in silence.

The rest of the day is disturbingly similar to yesterday, and the whole group is sensing that Phil is just...off. He’s usually eager to jump into discussions, but even when Father Richard gives them the chance to talk, Phil seems totally holed up in himself, mumbling something about wanting to give others a time to speak (which pushes the topic along to Louise, who fumbles it totally and is earned a condescending smile from Father Richard).

By lunch, Dan thinks he can’t sit through another hour of this. By mid-afternoon, he’s considering faking being possessed by Satan. And by dinner, he’s come up with about forty ways to fake the possession. The only reason keeping him from doing so is that when he mutters it to PJ he tells him to wait until after dinner-if he keeps Chris from food, he’ll have bigger things to worry about than a camp full of religious fanatics thinking he’s possessed.

They set the tables and then get in line to eat dinner. Dan immediately realizes Phil isn’t anywhere to be found, exchanging concerned looks with Louise. When they get five minutes into dinner and realize that Father Richard is also missing, he starts to worry. 

What if Father Richard was...well, what would he do? 

The truth is, Dan doesn’t know what the big deal is with this guy. He honestly doesn’t seem to be too bad, but the control he has over Phil’s emotions is genuinely weird. Still, he doesn’t want to cause a scene. 

“Hey, Caroline!” He says, quickly jogging over to the young woman, and she gives Dan a kind smile. “Dan, hey! How have you been enjoying this so far?” She asked gently, resting a hand on his arm. “I know it can be intense, considering your, um...well, you weren’t exactly in the church before you joined us, and-”

“Caroline, it’s all great, but do you know where Phil is?”

She smiles and gives Dan’s arm a squeeze. “I’m so glad you two found each other, you know that? You guys are like-”

“Caroline.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t be mushy, even if you guys are my favorite freshmen.” She winked before waving her hand towards the door. “He’s out by the lake with Father Rich. They go way back, did you know?”

Dan nods slowly. It’s clearly not the answer he wanted, because Caroline leans in. “Don’t tell him I said this, but trust me, Phil’s not choosing Father Richard over you. You’re still his BFF.”

Wonderful. That’s the reassurance he needed right now, that Phil wasn’t going to choose a 65-year-old man to be his ‘BFF”. He manages to smile and thank Caroline before going to wait on the mess hall deck. If Richard was going to drag Phil away, then dammit, he was going to be the first to talk to him when he got back.

-

Phil doesn’t come back up to the mess hall for at least another hour. His eyes are rimmed red, and he’s alone. The second Dan hears his footsteps he shoots up. “Phil!” He shouts after he yanks his earbuds out, and Phil lets out a yelp, laughing shakily. “Oh my God, did he-did he make you cry?!”

Phil rubs his eyes quickly and giggles weakly. “Dan, I cry at everything. We cried together over that muffin in the dining hall on Wednesday, remember?” 

Dan doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but suddenly Phil’s arms are pulling him into a long hug. “We just had a long talk. Don’t tell me I missed anything?”

“They went on some dumb night hike, but-don’t tell me you wanted to go on the night hike?” He asked as he saw the disappointment on Phil’s face, frowning. “We can go! We can go right now, and meet them, and-” “Dan. Breathe, okay?” He giggled and led Dan inside. “Our group can go on our own little night hike tomorrow, I’ll survive. Besides. I haven’t gotten to spend time with you these past couple of days, and I’ve missed you.” Phil’s voice is a bit softer, and he gives him a shy smile.

Dan’s face turns red and he sits down in one of the faded couches, Phil flopping next to him. “It’s only been, like, a day and a half.” He mumbles.

“It’s been a long day and a half.” Dan nods slowly, looking up at Phil. “Is he gone?” “Yep. Just left camp now. Didn’t wanna make a fuss.” Dan can’t help but roll his eyes a bit at that, shaking his head. “Now, c’mon. Can we talk about something fun? Like…” He reaches out and snatches up an old copy of Women’s Health from a bin by the fireplace, clearly meant for kindling. “What advice can we find for two lovely women like ourselves?” 

As he flutters his eyelashes at him, Dan can’t help but laugh, grabbing the magazine from him. The two swap it back and forth, giggling like children at the stupid advice and making fun of all the pictures. The tension from before melts away, and suddenly it’s just Dan and Phil, the two of them being absolute idiots and laughing over nothing. After the last day and a half, it feels amazing to just laugh.

When they finish that one they go to the next one in the bin. They read through issues of Runner’s World, Golf Digest, Christian Living, Better Homes and Gardens, and even a Highlights before Phil’s stomach lets out a loud growl.

“Oooh, I need some food. Why don’t I go grab us some snacks from the kitchen? There’s some board games in one of the closets, find something for us to play?” 

With that, he’s up and going into the kitchen, and Dan wanders over to one of the closet doors. Sure enough, he sees some old board game boxes peeking out behind some moving boxes. Dan goes to move one out of the way when he catches a peek of the pile of brochures inside. His eyes run over the text and clip-art outline of a strong-looking man. Program Judges 6:12 at Camp Brabeck: For teen boys and young men struggling with sexual impurity.

Sexual impurity? Dan grabs the brochure and flips it open.

Today, our young men are raised in a culture where abnormal lifestyles are being accepted, even praised and celebrated. It’s no wonder that more youth than ever before are turning out oversexualized and confused, and more than ever are struggling with same-sex desires...

From there on, the words start to blur together for Dan, and he flips the brochure over.

And then Dan sees it. In the top corner is Father Richard, smiling wide.

With his hand on Phil’s shoulder. 

Dan feels his stomach churn violently as he looks at younger Phil. There’s no way it could be anyone else. Even if he’s a bit shorter, and his hair isn’t dyed, Dan’s studied Phil’s face long enough to know it’s him. As Dan grips the picture frame in his hands, Phil’s words from yesterday come back to him, hitting his chest like rocks.

“Hate the sin, love the sinner.”

Phil worked with Father Richard, at this-this “camp”, this place. They worked together.

“God loves us in spite of our flaws.”

Not only was Phil not gay, thus extinguishing the slightest bit of hope he had, but Phil was actively homophobic. Phil worked at a bloody conversion therapy site, for fuck’s sake.

“He’s got a path for all of us.”

Phil wasn’t uncomfortable about Father Richard-he was uncomfortable about Dan and their friends being around Father Richard, and them finding out just what a homophobic, lying, fake-

“I found Pop-Tarts!”

Phil’s voice interrupts the swirling thoughts in his head, and he slowly turns, holding the brochure up. “Were you ever going to mention this?” Phil’s face goes pale. “I...Where did you…” He whispers, but Dan growls. Actually growls. Red hot anger is taking control now as days, weeks, months, years of suffocated emotions rises to the top suddenly. A lifetime of not fitting in, a lifetime of hiding, and to be rejected by Phil-like this.

“Nice pic of you and your friend, Phil. You worked with him on this? You and Richard, two pals-and you knew we’d judge you for it, so you just decided not to tell us?!”

“Wait, wait, Dan, no. It’s not like that. That’s not what-” Phil tries to butt in. Dan isn’t having it.

“Do you realize what kind of damage you do to people, Phil?! You can’t act like-like Little Mr. Innocent about this, this is some seriously fucked up shit you’ve done!” Dan’s properly yelling now, getting to his feet and not even stopping as Phil cowers back. “And-And worst of all, you hid it from us! You talk like you love everyone, hiding behind your stupid flowery language, but you’re a total fucking hateful dick!”

Phil suddenly stands as well, putting his hands in front of his chest, but irritation is creeping into his voice. “Daniel. Listen to me, you don’t understand. I’m not hateful-” “Oh-Oh yeah? Not hateful, huh? Not hateful when you say ‘gay is an artificial construct, created to celebrate people’s sinful homosexual desires’? Or when your stupid fucking camp goes to ‘remove young men from their unhealthy environment to bring them to Jesus and see the errors they’re making’?” Dan’s reading directly from the pamphlet now. “That doesn’t sound loving, Phil!”

“Dan, let me-” “There is literally nothing you could say to make this better. You think you’re helping, don’t you? But you’re just-just spreading hate, and-” Dan’s words are cut off as Phil suddenly grabs him by the back of his head, pulling him into a hard kiss. For possibly the first time in his life, Dan is rendered speechless, especially a few moments later when Phil pulls away and his eyes well up.

“Dan…” He choked out, sinking down onto the couch and starting to sob. “I didn’t-I didn’t-” After a moment he grabs the brochure weakly. “I didn’t work at the camp.” He chokes out finally, and Dan just stands frozen in place. “I was a camper.”

Dan hates that he doesn’t know whether he should trust him or not. But...this is Phil, crying ugly, hard sobs, and he can’t help but feel his heart break in two. “A...camper?” He asks slowly, moving to sit next to him but keeping his distance.

Phil lets out a pained noise but nods. “I signed up to go. Because I kept having these-these dreams, and these urges. And I thought if I did everything right, if I listened to Father R-Richard…” He has to stop himself to catch his breath as it comes quicker, curling into himself and resting his head on his knees. “I thought if I could be perfect, I could b-be like him. A priest. A husband, to a wife. A father to my k-kids. An ex-homosexual.” He said, tears streaming down his face. “Dan, I-I tried so hard…” Dan frowns, running a hand through his hair slowly. “You can’t just-I mean, I don’t think it works like that, Phil,” Dan says after a moment, and Phil nods quickly. “I know, I know. God knows I know. They tried everything on m-me. I mean, everything. But the more they did, the more angry I got, with myself, with Richard, with God. I hated God, Dan, I hated him so much, and I did all this stuff…” Dan can’t stop himself but reaching out and taking his hand at that, and Phil clings to it almost instantly. “I lied, and I ripped up my Bible, and I did stuff with the other guys there…”

Dan blinked a few times. For Phil, that was intense, and he can hear the guilt and true sorrow in his voice. “You-I mean, no offense, but kissing a few guys and tearing up a book aren’t exactly unforgivable sins.” He says, hoping to bring him comfort. To his surprise, Phil laughs sadly.

“I did more than just kiss, trust me. When Richard found me in the showers with one of the guys-” 

At that Dan’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. Phil, who half an hour ago was blushing at ads for tampons, in the showers with a guy? “He-He decided I needed more intense therapy. It was hours and hours of just being told how disgusting I was, being shown these videos, being preached at, b-but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop feeling like I did.”

“Phil…” Dan feels his broken heart finally crumble. He pulls him into a hug, letting him sob into his hair.

“F-Finally I just lied my way th-through it. That’s what m-most of us do. And then I was th-the big success story, and they took that dumb picture, and it was finally over. I went home, and I was so mad I decided I’d go through my Bible-the nice, new one my parents had bought me, when they heard that ‘somebody’ tore up my old one-to s-see how wrong I was before and how terrible He was. So I stayed up for nearly a week, no school, no nothing. Just reading.”

Phil pulled away to reach out, grabbing his copy of the Bible from his bag “ And as I read, I…” 

He took a deep breath as he opened it up and slowly turned the pages, motioning to the Post-Its and notes littering the scripture. “I didn’t find that. I found a God that wanted me to love-He wanted me to love my family, and my friends, and my neighbors, and-and guys. He wanted me to love you. He wanted me to love you, romantically.” At that, Dan feels his heart stop and he gently moves to look Phil in the eyes. “You really think that?” He whispered, Phil nodding quickly as he ran a hand through Dan’s hair.

“God gave us all the ability to love-fully, and deeply, and wonderfully. And-And I love you, so much. I didn’t want to freak you out, and I’m not ready to be out, but-” This time it’s Dan’s turn to cut him off with a slower, gentler kiss. “Shh. We don’t have to tell anyone.” He murmured.

“It can just be us?” Phil asked in a small voice. “Just you and me?” 

At that, Dan is pretty sure he’s going to explode, because dear God that’s all he’s ever wanted. He wants to scream, he wants to jump up and down, he wants to run down the fucking mountain and throw rocks at Father Richard’s car-

Instead, Dan takes a deep breath before smiling and nodding. “Just me and you.” He agreed quietly.

He leaned in and kissed Phil again, cupping his cheeks. This time was gentler, and Phil let out a soft, relieved noise as his lips moved against Dan’s and he pulled Dan close to him.

“I love you,” Dan says once they pull away. “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

“Have I ever read you Proverbs 17:28?” Phil interrupts with a giggle. Dan raises an eyebrow but grabs Phil’s Bible, flipping to it.

Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.

“Did you just ask me to shut up and keep kissing you through a Bible verse?!” Dan whined, but he can’t help but grin as Phil kept laughing, nodding as he connected their lips again.

Time seems to stand still. Two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes, ten hours, ten years-Dan can only guess how much time has passed when they hear the group off in the distance. “Shit-shit, okay, one last-” Dan jerked away but Phil giggled, grabbing the plate of Pop-Tarts and Dan’s hand before dragging him outside. He took him out a bit before they got down to the lake, sitting on the sand and wrapping his arms around Dan. Dan pauses before shyly climbing into his lap, and then they’re kissing again, Phil only pausing to catch his breath and murmur “I’m sorry you thought I could be homophobic.” “I’m sorry I didn’t ask before jumping to conclusions.” “I’m sorry I didn’t open up about what had happened.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you away from Father Richard.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you away from Father Richard.” “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been that guy in the showers with you.” The words leave Dan’s mouth before he can stop himself-humor is a coping mechanism for him, but right now, he wants to kick himself when he hears Phil’s gasp.

“Oi! Not yet, at least.” He said with a slight laugh, pressing his lips to Dan’s cheek and watching as his face burns red. He grins and presses a few pecks to his lips before looking up at the sky. 

“...You really think God wants this for us?” Dan says and Phil closes his eyes, snuggling closer.

“‘For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:113 to 114’.” Phil recited quietly. “God made us fearfully-like, with great awe and respect of us-and wonderfully. He made us find each other, he made us love each other.” He kissed Dan’s nose. “So that’s us. Fearfully and wonderfully made.” Dan looks at Phil with a soft smile, a bit worn from all the excitement of the day, but feeling...free. “Fearfully and wonderfully, huh?”

Phil nods, and Dan pulls him even closer.

“I could get used to that.”

[ragnarachael]

I want you to know I haven't stopped thinking about waitress!au. it's my new favorite pre-bed fantasy world. like peter is just so pomatter you cannot convince me otherwise. even if you never write it, the fact that you galaxy brained it into my life is a blessing on its own. like I forgot about it for a day or two and then david hunter posted a "sing with me you're jenna" bad idea tik tok and while obv singing to it the idea of tom holland peter parker as pomatter smacked me in the face again

dude.... everytime i listen to bad idea i can only think of writing that scene with peter and lemme tell you, the smut that i’m gonna write for that scene is gonna be transcendent.

i’m honest to god just thinking about writing bad idea out first bc i wanna write it so fucking bad. but! i’m still in the planning stages! i don’t know what character should be who in the au and i’m trying to separate the songs to be in chapters kinda? idk it makes sense to me and eventually it’ll make sense. i wanna pick it up again but i’ve been working so much, but now i have a few days off so i might try and mess around with it again if i feel up to it. there’s a lot of ideas i’ve got and i gotta plan properly before i unleash my theatre nerd into another fic okay 😳😳

but, to tide you over... don’t think about how he absolutely loses his shit trying the first pie you give him at your first appointment. do not imagine his nervous babbling during it only takes a taste. don’t even THINK about peter in this au being shy, awkward and panicked before turning a bit cocky when he gets what he wants. don’t think about it. shhh. i said don’t.

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Something Borrowed, Something Blue ii

---

PART ONE

Wednesday morning started dark and early for her. Sleepy kisses as she bid good morning to the other in the bed, not due to get up for another three hours, and checked in on the youngest of the household to ensure he was still fast asleep before showering and preparing for the day.

Usually Jo would sleep for another thirty minutes, but given today was due to be a long one filled with photos as she baked and decorated the demonstration trial cake from scratch, she figured an extra thirty minutes to ensure her hair and make up looked nice for the day (though inevitably she’d be flour covered by the end of the day and tendrils would fall out of the nice high pony tail before lunch). Usually she would get to wake up and luxuriate in bed for a while before getting up, showering and then waking Billy to get prepared for pre-school. Today, Jack would get the pleasure of preparing the boy for the day, making him breakfast and hearing him babble about whatever strange dream he had the night before.

Dressing for the day in a pair of denim shorts and one of the oversized shirts that still remained in her wardrobe after five years, Jo smacked her lips together and blotted the excess from her red lips as she gathered her recipe-slash-sketch book and headed out to the bakery as the sun barely made it’s creeping way into the sky. Overhead the clouds were still the dark inky blue of night time, just slightly tinged golden to the edge and purples slowly building their way through the rolling masses. The perfect inspiration for her work that day, quickly snapped a few times as she walked on her way to the bakery.

As she reached the front door, she could see the exhausted looking journalist outside already, hands clutching as if to a lifeline to the Starbucks cup. At least she knew she looked more prepared for the day than him even if it was only just past five in the morning.

“Good morning Chuck.”

The grumbled sound she got in response made Jo laugh as she unlocked the front door of the bakery. Moving inside and flicking the lights on, she noticed the man slip in behind her before sinking into one of the closest chairs as she got the space prepared for the morning. The smell of baking bread was already filling the air, her favourite part of having automatically timed ovens that she could avoid the two am starts that other places had to endure. Flicking the coffee machine on, refilling the front displays with prepared trays of cookies, cakes, slices, pastries and other goodies, Jo hummed to herself practically forgetting the other was there aside from the odd groan.

There were breads to be pulled from the ovens, trays of prepared cupcakes and brownies to go back in, a pot of caramel to be placed on the stove while the shortbread bases baked; there were muffins to be loaded into the cake displays and covered with their glass dome, glass cookie jars to be refilled and brownies to be stacked high on plates within the display case. There was milk to be checked on, fruit tarts to be glazed and mixers to be started up with bases for the rest of the days work. And finally there was a section of the kitchen to be set up in preparation for making the wedding cake base later in the morning, butter to be set out to come up to room temperature and ingredients to be laid out in decorative bowls and artfully positioned.

As the clock approached six am, the first few customers began appearing - mostly other cafes for their daily pick ups that Jo moved through easily with a laugh and a smile, and the exchange of a bunch of mint with one of the herbal stores a few blocks away that always ordered raisin and oat cookies, an entire crate full of lemons and beetroots from Mrs. Mills who ran a tea shop just out of the city who grew her own produce but was a failure baking them into anything herself but would trade ingredients for discounted trays of pastries to go along with the tea and best homemade lemonade and hard cider in the area, and the constant flirting that even now Jo never could stop partaking in when Andy came by blushing and stammering for his special brownies for the medicinal store he ran across town. Others breezed in and out smoothly, and Jo had already poured Chuck his third coffee before the hour was out by the time her long-haired barista-lawyer arrived to start up the morning as the first of the commuters would begin to arrive.

“C’mon Chuck, lets get this shoot set up for today, huh?”

There was an almost awake nod before Jo lead the way back into the kitchen where she began to lend a hand setting up a selection of cameras to capture time-lapse as well as real time footage of her working through the preparations for a demonstration cake with all the elements she’d discussed. The cupcakes had been selling well and she thought that the blueberry icing was the way to go underneath the fondant for today’s trial in preparation of Friday’s mock-up. Usually Jo mocked up cake after cake once every few weeks for a wedding, but with the amount she’d be making these flavors this week she felt comforted that she’d be fine until a few weeks before the wedding itself this time around.

“Alrighty, fondant time.” Jo chirped to herself quietly two hours later, an ongoing stream of conversation from her having filled the morning where mostly she talked to herself or sang along with the radio while Chuck seemed to either work on typing up his notes from the last two days or try to wake up still. The fondant work was always her favorite thing when she got the chance to do it, for one important reason. Slapping the large white block of fondant down and cutting it into pieces with a dough scraper, Jo let out a laugh as she started working a quarter out with her rolling pin. “Who needs a gym when you can bake instead?”

“Who indeed?” Chuck’s answer was just as vacant and distracted as her own question had been, and Jo felt a laugh pop right back up at how relaxed and unobtrusive the other was to her work. He’d barely looked up from his laptop as she’d made the batter for each tier of the much downsized trial cake for the development today; and Jo liked it that way.

Working the white fondant out until it was a thin enough sheet to go through her larger scaled roller, she called him over to move a camera to catch the process as she fed the fondant through one end over and over until it was paper thin. Slicing out little shapes of various sizes and laying them out on a baking sheet dusted with potato starch and layer separated by a tea towel, Jo spent the next hour slowly making those white petals and then various petals of lilac and deep aubergine as well in smaller amounts. As she did that, there were cakes and brownies removed from ovens, loaves of bread traded out and cupcakes and pastries a plenty made and prepared all over again like her Monday in anticipation of the day off tomorrow to keep the bakery ticking over.

By lunch time, Jo had three full trays, six layers deep of petal and leaf shapes, and long flouncy ruffles to do an ombred ruffled layer, as well as the white fondant ready to be marbleised with the different purple shades after a lunch break.

“So,” The journalist’s voice caught her as Jo finally sat down for the first time in some seven hours as the clock hit just after one in the afternoon as she cut herself a slice of salmon quiche after dishing up the same for the other man. Perched on her stool and pulled up close to the central island, Jo raised a brow across at the finally awake voice and her eyes spotted the running silver dictaphone in the middle of the bench as they started her lunch break. Sam had been in the hour before for a quick bite while Jo’d worked the coffee machine for the quick lunch rush, and the amount of cocoa on her cheeks was less than normal considering. “I got my rough draft from a lot of stuff yesterday-”

“Was that helpful for you? Thinking about getting into INKED and leaving Rolling Stone?”

“Eye opening, yes, but I’m stuck here until this sham of a wedding is complete.” Chuck grumbled the words out quietly, eyes focused on the trashy magazine pile he’d brought with him that day that held stories that Jo suspected were about the bride and her ‘whirlwind’ romance - the fake stories that didn’t have a lick of truth to them.

Her back when rigid and Jo found herself snarling sharply at the accusation against her friend, lips curled into a sneer. “Now listen here, buddy. Absolutely nothing about this wedding is a sham.” Jo’s brown eyes flashed dangerously for a second as she caught his eye finally, and found herself shaking her head and holding up a hand as the other’s mouth opened to speak. “No no. No talking until I’m done. I get that you might have an image of what Shada is like, what she does for a living, how she presents herself to the world, and the way the show she’s on has given her whole... storyline. But absolutely none of that is accurate to the woman I know. Nor to the man that loves her, and the depth of their romance.”

“Oh?” Chuck’s brow raised in return before he set his magazines back down and picked up his notepad and pen instead even though his laptop was open beside him. An analog guy it seemed. “Well, I’ve got to say - I’d love to be able to write the most genuine series of articles I can about this wedding compared to this-”

“Trash.” Jo supplied the word at the gesture of his pen towards the stack of magazines, and the bemused smile she got for it made her hackles drop from how they had been risen.

“Exactly.” The other nodded for a moment before gesturing his hand at her. “Well, tell me the real story again then - I know we covered some yesterday but that’s just broad strokes. Give me fine details, huh?”

Jo found herself sighing, and then launching into the many, many positive and wonderfully genuine parts to her friend throughout the rest of the afternoon. For the next four hours as she layered the small cakes together with buttercream, crumb coated and then fondant wrapped one in the ombre ruffles, one into the beautiful purple marble coated and then sparkling with carefully placed gold-leaf, and the lilac purple buttercream cake which was then covered in the delicate roses made out of the petals - each with tiny edging of silver-leaf and shimmering with a light layer of lustre dust. And as she assembled the small practice cakes, she talked of her friend.

Shada’s genuine smiles, her love of her brother, how she’d always be kind to anyone and everyone she met. The way the dark haired woman never once ordered anyone directly to do something, unless it was followed by an apology for being pushy. How the girl had grown so much in the two years Jo had known her, and the maturity and wisdom that she spoke with on a regular basis. How Shada was so kind to her son, and the way the girl truly wanted to get married and have a family. That Shada had been unsure about the wedding being a part of the show and covered as much as it was, even if she’d daydreamed as a teenager of being rich and famous and a star-studded wedding to one of the Jonas Brothers - that now she was marrying the love of her life, that the brunette would be truly happy marrying in a potato sack (”one that she would obviously make purple and look beautiful in though!”) and still be happy. How the starlet had planned originally to have a quiet, intimate wedding at Ian’s family manor in France during the break in filming, before the couple had talked about the opportunity and agreed after being approached that they could do this for Shada’s career and have the smaller, intimate celebration for their anniversary the following year.

It was as Jo continued to place tiny edible pearls around the roses, that she found herself being guided into reminiscing about her own wedding in comparison. The quick court house event that she’d worn a lacey, white shift dress she’d bought for $2.50 at a secondhand store while her Marine wore his dress uniform. The posey of baby’s breath in her hand and the way the ceremony was completed in no time in front of her mom, Bobby the other couples getting married right before and after them. How the only photograph was taken by Ellen on the courthouse steps as she’d been lifted in her husband’s arms and one of her shoes had fallen off as she’d laughed. That her wedding dinner was pizza in bed as they watched some old black and white movie that he loved, and Jo’d fallen asleep in no time. That he’d been shipped out two months later, and dead within four from then.

And she spoke softly, as she wrapped the fourth option in a layer of plain white fondant before collecting her airbrush kit and the array of purples, blacks and golds to start covering the blank canvas in her own form of art, of how much she wished the couple far more than half a year of happiness. The gentle whistle of the airbrush as she delicately mottled the colors together and as she smiled thinking to herself that she was absolutely certain the pair would have that.

The noise from the front of the bakery was quieting down as Jo finished the last flourish and grinned across at the journalist as he continued to look up and down between her and his notepad. It was closing time, and she had four examples to show her friend on Friday when her and her fiance arrived originally for the final design choices, and she’d have enough cake prepared to do a full size mock up of the design they chose that day as the journalist would talk to the couple and snap photos beside her and her work. But for today, she was done and began putting away the demonstrations and the baked goods and doughs she’d prepared for Sam to utilise tomorrow while she was out with the bride and her entourage.

“Jojo, mamacita, your boyfriend is bothering me again!” The called voice that bounced through the door to the front as Ash pushed it open and followed in the grinning professor with his own laugh. “He was bothering me about someone’s photoshoot and when those photos would be coming in.”

“I wasn’t-” Jack’s blushed furiously as he moved towards her at the fridge, his hands reaching out to go around her waist before stopping short noticing the scruffy journalist packing away his laptop and notepad though the dictaphone stayed out in the middle of the bench. In an instant, his arms dropped to his side and Jo found herself frowning to see the smile drop just as quickly from his face and whatever he’d been saying disappear along with it. “... Jo.”

“Hunny.”

“How was your day?”

Arching a blonde brow, Jo let out a bit of a laugh to herself as she noticed the focus of Jack’s eyes on the silver recording device until Chuck’s hand wrapped about it and tucked it away in his messenger bag.

“It was fine,” Jack’s voice was still tight and quiet, brushing against the curve of her ear as she moved in closer, before he spoke a little louder and clearer. “Have a good evening, Mr Shurley. Big day tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Seven beautiful women and an array of gowns?” Chuck grinned widely as he moved about the kitchen towards the door and Ash’s equally appreciative grin. Raising a hand in a wave, he pressed it against his chest, mocking a wound. “How did I get this job, huh? Luckiest bastard-”

“Your week just keeps gettin’ better and better!” Ash laughed along with him and he followed the reporter out of the bakery with a wave behind him at the couple, closing the swinging door behind him. “See ya later, lovebirds.”

“Tell Sam I’ll close up!” Jo called out loudly to the others back as the door swung back and forth and finally closed, before she found two hands wrapped around her waist and then let out a squeal as she was lifted up onto her still floury work surface. “Hun!”

“Yes?” Jack’s lips spread into a wicked smile as he leaned in to catch her own for a moment before pulling back. Jo could feel her cheeks heating up as his fingers brushed over her flour and sugar covered hair to tuck a few strands back before he kissed her again, thoroughly and hard, fingers tangled in her messy hair. There were a long, heated moment before he pulled back again leaving her breathless as he let out his own sigh. “What a day.”

“Yeah? What happened?” Jo ran her own fingers through his hair gently in return as the slightly stressed look she’d remembered from the last years exam time started up again. He always ran himself ragged during them, and if nothing else, she could ease some of his stress with her kisses and touch. “Tell me all about it over dinner?”

“I’d much rather hear about your day.” He replied gently, leaning into her touch for a moment before they both smiled at one another.

Jo recalled the discussion of the day as they packed up the kitchen and closed up the front of the bakery too, with Jack’s hands carefully wiping the flour from her jeans and then helping her to pack each thing away as needed. They took no time at all to close up and walked hand in hand on their way back to Jack’s house. As he’d wrapped his fingers around hers, Jo couldn’t help but think as she talked about how happy she was for his little sister finding the love of her life, that perhaps she’d been lucky enough to find another one.

Dinner was quieter that night - Bobby and Ellen taking care of Billy for the next two nights as a fun sleep over as well as to keep him from getting Jo to run late the next morning - than usual with just the two of them, but at the same time it meant that Jo could relax on the sofa with her feet up and a glass of wine while she could hear the quiet humming of a song and the sizzle of bacon and the bubbling of pasta from the kitchen without lifting a finger.

“Carbonara?” Jo sniffed the coated pasta happily as the bowl was offered out to her and she swung her legs around to sit upright as the dark haired man took the seat beside her. “You spoil me.”

“Not nearly enough for what you’re going to be dealing with tomorrow for me.” Jack’s voice was gentle and teasing in equal measure as he slumped beside her and kicked his own feet up on the coffee table. The baker curled up beside him and tucked her feet under his legs as they both dug into their dinner together.

Jo shook her head, smiling. “Nah, I’m doing it for your sister, you idjit.”

“How am I an ...idjit?!”

“Because, hun,” She giggled quietly, slurping up one of the noodles with a loud noise before smiling widely. “Not everything is about you. And I love your sister all on her own.”

“You do, do you?” His voice was softer than before then, the teasing tone bleeding out and replaced with something gentler and that made her stomach flip a little as he chewed on his own mouthful thoughtfully before swallowing. Jack turned his head to catch her eyes with those piercing blue ones of his, staring straight at her and if Jo could she would have melted right then under his look as he quirked one side of his lips up. “And why’s that?”

Jo’s tongue felt ten times too big while her mouth felt parched of any kind of moisture before she blinked a few times out of that look. Her cheeks a bright red, she smiled back simply. “Because, she’s more like family now.”

“Aunty Shayday and all?”

“Exactly.”

If she was red before, it was nothing on the flaming feeling of her whole face and neck as Jack’s eyes had searched hers for something she wasn’t sure of as they spoke, before he finally seemed to reach a conclusion and turn back towards the television with a small, secretive smile. “Well, that’s good that you’re not going to be tortured for me.” There was a beat as Jo recovered herself and the other chewed another mouthful of pasta, before he added cheekily, “Now I don’t need to spoil you tomorrow night too.”

“Hey! No fair!” Jo laughed and giggled then, cuddling into his side as they settled in to watch a movie and then head up to bed later. It would be a relaxing night before the inevitable stresses of the next day, and she was going to savour every moment of calm she could fit in before the morning came.

But come it did.

Rolling over onto her back as she climbed off of her love with a quiet, happy moan as his hands followed her path to continue running across the bright colors of her sides, Jo wished she didn’t have to get out of the bed at all. Her skin was marked all over between her tattoos and the signs of their lovemaking, but if she had it her way they’d both stay there until there wasn’t a piece of skin without the ghost of his lips on it. Stretching her back and letting out a giggle at the slight tickle to her side, she finally sat up after the other rolled out his side of the bed to grab a shower and rush out to work. She’d made him late for his 8am class, but as Jack threw a glance in the mirror from the ensuite over his shoulder back at her with his toothbrush dangling from his lips and sudsy teeth flashing a grin at her, Jo knew she wasn’t in trouble for keeping him in bed.

Rolling her hips back and forth and tossing about languidly like a cat waking from a long nap, boneless and pleased, she finally pushed herself upright  before going to wrap an arm around the dark haired man’s shoulder to press a kiss on his back before heading to the shower.

She used to argue about staying the night here in his lavish townhouse - about his giving her a drawer in the ensuite and another in the wardrobe, and then more wardrobe space, and then how he got a cot-attachment added to the spare bed so that Billy could stay sleeping when he’d go down after dinner. And then it seemed pointless when her yearly lease came up and instead of renewing she found herself moving every bit of her life into a new house. Even the box of the clothes and books she’d still not thrown away, though she’d forgotten she still had it before the move. The spare, spare, spare room was reconfigured into Billy’s room, and Jack had even added another desk to the study and cleared shelves for Jo to add her cook books to the lounge and dining room spaces. Her cupcake cushions replaced his modernist blue ones, and there was a toy box brought in and added to each and every room in the house. Her tattoo designs went up on the wall beside a large oil painting of some beautiful woman with her face hidden behind shadow that held a dripping book out - Jo had not been surprised to learn that was one of the last of Jack’s work before he quit, the sheer mania, depression and confusion in the brush strokes hit her hard every time she stopped to stare up into the dark void where the woman’s eyes should be but weren’t yet felt like she was screaming out from. And in the kitchen her trinkets and gadgets and utensils had filled the drawers that before had the spartan one knife-fork-spoon combination.

The rainfall shower head was a luxury, and Jo waved goodbye through the fogged up glass as Jack left, leaving her to spend a good amount of time lathering and rinsing her hair. The whole room smelled like the bakery as she stepped out from the mists and set about doing her hair and make up nicely, but not too nicely as to upstage the stars of what was going on today. A little wave, a messy bun and just enough concealer to cover the darkest spots that littered her neck and her under eyes for different reasons was all that she needed to do to look suitable - if she needed anything more, Jo figured since it was actually being filmed but not scripted, she’d have access to an actually talented make up artist. Besides, she was known as the bubbly, cute baker girl so it made sense she looked a little rougher around the edges. At least this time she’d not have flour in her hair or cocoa on her nose.

Jeans and a black knit sweater, followed by a green hoodie borrowed from Jack’s wardrobe was her choice for the day. What she wore on the outside mattered less than wearing the nude colored strapless bra and nude toned underwear, but she drew the line at wearing heels for the whole day. Tossing her keys, phone and a few paper bags of snacks into her bag and her travel mug of coffee in hand before dashing out the door, the blonde flagged down the first taxi she saw and spent the trip chewing on her nails.

She hadn’t had to deal with bridesmaids for her own wedding - there hadn’t been time, and besides she hadn’t had female friends back when she was twenty-one and flunking out of her history major - and the few bridal parties that had come through the bakery had scared her immensely that a group of women with one goal in mind was a terrifying thing. To be part of said group felt entirely alien for her, and Jo half wished she could be on the grooms side of the aisle in a suit and without any drama instead.

Far quicker than she had wished, the taxi pulled up out front of the nondescript building with the small black sign and Jo handed over a twenty to cover the trip and tip as she clambered out ungracefully onto the pavement before steeling her nerves. She could spot that one camera guy she always spotted winking at everyone and who she had enjoyed flirting shamelessly and harmlessly with every time they filmed at the bakery leaning against the brickwork by the building’s door.

“Hey Gabey, what’s cracking?”

“Well now, gorgeous, that’d be spoiling the surprise wouldn’t it?”

“Like you care about spoilers!”

Gabriel, the previous camera man turned B-director, shook his head with a laugh and a smirk as she needled him for answers. “Come now, you know I need to get genuine reactions from you all.”

The blonde laughed in return, quirking a brow up at him. “Are you suggesting that I, Jo Harvelle, might not give a genuine reaction?”

“I plead the fifth.” The dark haired director laughed back, shouldering his camera bag on his shoulder with a sigh as a trio of black cars arrived and began unpacking with the rest of the small camera and other crew members poured out and then quickly into the building. “Ugh, I know Shada wished this could have been skipped-”

“But that would miss out so much potential drama, right?” Jo smiled back at him for a moment, before digging about in her bag to pull out one of the paper bags. Waving it at him, she raised a brow. “I’ll trade you these for confirmation that there isn’t any scripted drama today and that I don’t have to fake anything other than that I don’t think Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are vicious conniving bitches.”

The bag was exchanged in a flash, and the wide, toothy grin she got back in response when the other saw the selection of chocolate chip cookies that were also made using her burnt butter base and shards of salted toffee inside made her smile back at the cheeky salute before Gabe moved off with a shout for some hair stylist ‘Balthy’ to get his ass inside quickly.

Jo found herself leaning up against the wall herself instead, the warmth from the other’s back still in the brick, as she pulled her phone out to start getting ahead on orders and emails while she had the time. She dipped a hand into her bag to fetch out the bannana bread, oat muffin with peanut butter she’d packed for her breakfast that she started nibbling at between coffee sips as she waited. It was just before nine, but the girls were known to be late.

Over the next thirty minutes others slowly trickled into arriving - first was the taller blonde girl with a big, wide smile and the cutest habit of always covering her hair in little lace bows that was Ian’s little sister; followed by the brunette Bela who’s sunglasses hid almost all of her face except for her pout, and then the newly black haired Ruby with a snappy greeting for everyone before disappearing off at the wave of greeting from the director of the day. Jo was talking at length with Ombre about the different cake designs she had been working on and was showing her the photos of the trials from the day before when the next two women arrived.

“Oh lookie, the baker is here too.” The clipped tone pulled Jo out of explaining to the excited Ombre just how to make the ruffled cake that matched her name, and looking over her shoulder at the new arrivals, the blonde didn’t even bother to keep the sneer off her lips as she looked at the redhead. Anna smirked back, smugly, raising a brow at her. “I suppose you’re here to make our dear Shada seem more grounded right?”

“No, no, Anna, it’s cause she’s trying to fuck her way into society the same way Shada did.” Lilith’s snide comment rolled out from her with an equally vicious grin on her lips at getting to throw a few comments in before she would need to play nice-r to the cameras. “Tell me, Jojo, did you give her pointers for how to do that with your step-daddy or-”

“Lilith, you better shut your goddamn fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” There wasn’t even a beat before Jo had the other blonde pushed back against the brickwork with a hand around her neck, pressure tight but not dangerous as she glared up at the other woman. She held the position for a count of five in her head, before stepping back and leaning down to pick her coffee up from where she’d left it earlier. “Today is about Shada, and I will not have a single person say a negative thing about her, her life, her choices or anything to do with her and this wedding or anything else, okay?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself!” The deeper than usual tone cut through the small crowd of women as Ruby arrived back with their director in tow right then. Gabriel’s eyes caught Jo’s for a split second longer than the others as he stared each woman down - and all she could think was that this poor man had to herd this crowd of women day in and day out without anyone unconnected enough to lay down the law, and how much harder that must be dealing with five grown women than one almost-five year old. “Anyway, ladies, if you could head inside for the last touch ups and then Shada should be here and we’ll reconvene outside for the outside shots, right?”

Jo wasn’t at all surprised by the warm clasp of the dark haired Ruby’s arm around her shoulders leading her and Ombre inside into the ridiculous process of last minute checks and confirmations from the miniature hair and make up team preparing for the day. The younger blonde almost cried when the hair stylist Balthazar suggested taking out some of her bows, and then the fact both Anna and Bela were made to change their dresses to something different due to ‘looking too alike’ in the camera was insane. Jo watched on in a mixture of shock, awe and disdain as the make up, hair and wardrobe stylists did their work, and was only a little relieved when she was left alone as ‘good enough’ since she doubted she’d be filmed much that day. If she was, she’d have to bring out her back up bribery too. Ruby likewise was left alone, and the make up artist glared daggers at Jo when Lilith complained her neck looked ‘a little too red’. But everyone was touched up and finalised within half an hour, and Shada too had arrived and was barely containing her nerves.

She wasn’t sure when he arrived, but Jo noticed Chuck walking about behind other cameras and ducking under wardrobe racks at one point with his camera out and dictaphone hanging from a cord on his neck. Jo smiled when she caught his eye, but thankfully today wasn’t actually about her. Today was his content for the month after her cake special - all about the bridesmaids - and she would barely be spoken to today. This was his first chance to interview and speak with the other five bridesmaids, so really Jo would get to spend most of the day talking to Shada and keeping her company instead.

As the group were guided out to the black trio of cars again and slid into various seats to represent the way they would arrive to the studio, Jo laughed when Gabe grabbed her arm and had her lean up against the building instead.

“Really?”

“What can I say? The lighting looks great on you like that. Besides,” Gabe grinned conspiratorially at her as they waited for Shada and Ombre to climb into the third car, with Ruby and Lilith into the second and Anna and Bela in the first, “It means you didn’t have to go into one of the cars with those conniving bitches.”

“My hero.” Jo replied with a flourish of eyelash batting and laughter alike as she picked up her coffee mug, refilled by Shada’s PA Kevin, and began checking her phone as instructed and felt natural to her as she waited for this intro shooting to finish.

Soon enough the group were ushered back into the salon - now looking like a proper boutique rather than the explosion of wardrobe and styling that it had looked before - and Shada was greeted enthusiastically by the extremely smug fashion designer Meg Masters from Mastersara Bridal.

“Welcome, ladies, to my boutique.” The brown waves around the woman’s face were so well quaffed, like the other starlets that surrounded Jo as they moved into the space and were guided by the designer towards the luxurious white sofas with the golden accents. The whole group looked mostly put together, and Jo could tell as she made sure not to look directly down the lens of the camera walking backwards before them as they moved that there was a clear line between the reality stars, and herself and Ombre. If she hadn’t already been sure, then the look of distaste that swept the designers face as Jo slumped down on one end of the couch beside the perky blonde was enough to confirm it. “Our sophisticated designs are here for your review, and I am certain that you will find the perfect design for your vision in our collection.” The glance towards Shada and the rest of the stars as the B-camera came to pan across each womans’ reactions was enough to make Jo fight not to snort. “Mastersara Bridal is for not only the modern bride, but the modern bridal party - and we are so touched-” Jo found herself frowning at the tone as the dark haired woman said that word, the tiny curl to her lip and slight sardonic element to it as Meg’s eyes forcefully stayed staring straight, “-that you are here to select your gowns.”

Glancing to her right at the bride herself, Jo could see the glimmer of excitement and the wet sheen in the brunette’s eyes as she smiled that beautiful way that lit up the whole room. The family trait that Jo knew so well, and found herself smiling in return about it as Shada clapped her hands excitedly.

“I love shopping!” The excited giggle that came from the bride was perfectly timed, and the laughter that rippled out was almost entirely genuine from the group that were there, before Shada bounced back up to her feet. “I’m so excited!”

“I’m sure you are,” Meg smiled back, a tiny slice of danger behind white teeth, but waved a hand towards one side of the room. “Let’s see what we can find, shall we ladies?”

Jo actually flinched at the loud squealed exclamations from all the other women, before the group dispersed quickly in a rush in all different directions. Blinking in surprise, she caught the bemused look on their director’s face for the day as he bit into one of his cookies with a wink as he waved a hand for the three other camera men to start following the rest of the group.

Taking a deep breath as the noise slowly quieted down and instead each small group of women began talking amongst themselves, the blonde leaned over her knees as she breathed in and out. This was a lot. She was used to having this level of excitement and such around her, but as she finally got to her feet and approached where Shada was talking animatedly about only wanting purple shades regardless of if certain people’s hair would clash horribly and wash them out, Jo was surprised to realise that it was overwhelming for her in a way she’d never experienced before.

“Oh Bela, I know you’re not a fan, but green just is so not my color wheel.” Shada giggled loudly at the seductive green silk dress the other brunette was holding up to her frame. “Besides, you’re a bridesmaid - you’re not there to be sexy.”

“Says you.” Bela tossed her head back with a smile, eyes flashing and Jo was sure that the camera was eating every second of that wicked look. “You know weddings are the perfect place to meet men, and I know that Ian has some equally rich and handsome cousins-”

“No!” The chirp came from the blonde that stuck her head with a very exaggerated scowl through the nearest clothing rack. Ombre eyed the actress with a frown for a moment before adding sharply, “My cousins are all gay. Or married. Or-”

“Or you’re lying to disuade me.”

“Maybe.”

“Girls, lets not fight - we’ve got to find dresses.” Jo found herself speaking up as the bickering back and forth began and all she could envision was how frustrating it was to deal with Billy’s squabbling with his friends and put her foot in before it could get going. “Shada, how about you get everyone to grab a dress or two - so long as they can be made in a purple tone - and we can get started?”

There was a second before her friend’s arms went around her waist and Jo found herself laughing along with Shada as she grinned back at her. “See? This is why we need a mom around here! Someone who knows what they’re doing!” Looking over Jo’s shoulder, Shada flapped her hand at those around the room. “Let’s get trying!”

The god awful squeal happened again, and biting down on a wince, Jo let Shada link their arms together and herself be towed about the room as the brunette reviewed dress after dress with the designer pointing out features left and right. It took forever, but perhaps that was just how it felt to Jo, before the six bridesmaids were each sent off to their own dressing rooms with a large array of dresses in each to match one another - guided to start from the left to the right.

Letting out a sigh, Jo stripped off and quickly pulled on the first dress with little struggle. At least this one, compared to some of the others, looked a lot less intimidating. Tugging the chiffon straps carefully, Jo frowned when they wouldn’t stay up and instead hung off her shoulder. It must have been intentional, she thought as she readjusted her bra and settled everything where it should be before there was a called out direction by the directing man for the bridesmaids to emerge on the count of three.

Sighing to herself, Jo followed instructions and moved out of her changing room towards the central space in line with the other bridesmaids to scrutiny.

Looking down the line, the blonde found herself smiling to see Ombre swishing the skirt of the soft lilac dress happily, while both Anna was trying not to scowl on camera while trying to pull her dress down enough to show more cleavage than should be necessary or was acceptable in such a simple and classic dress. The color looked beautiful on a few of the other women’s skin tones, but washed out others like Bela and Ombre.

Jo jerked at the sound of a laugh near her, and looked over to see Chuck with his camera pointed directly at her while Gabe was directing his own the cameras away from her. Frowning, she raised a brow at the men in confusion.

“Have a good night, Jo?” Chuck asked, tone full of implication, as Shada and Lilith bickered about whether the color of the dress was dramatic enough or not. Jo frowned further in confusion until the reporter gestured at her neck. “Should have remembered you were doing things today.”

Turning her head towards the mirror, Jo let out a loud laugh noticing the dark patch under her ear that was visible now she’d switched her borrowed hoodie out for a dress. Giggling, she looked about for an option before a tall, lanky blond came over with a compact and whispered at her in an accent that would have once upon a time been dreamy about “got mauled by an octopus did you, dearie?”

Thankfully the rest of the women were busy squabbling or enjoying their dresses that by the time all turned towards Jo she was covered sufficiently and could simply say she thought the dress was ‘nice’ and ‘a good start’ without any further questions other than to turn the topic back to the bride.

“I agree, Jo, it’s a good start. I love the color - its so lovely and reminds me of spring! It would match the wisteria arches perfectly...” Shada frowned slightly in the sweetest looking frown Jo had seen in a while, tapping at her lip with a finger as her brows furrowed and a camera came in for a close up. “But something about the strap bothers me. Onto the next!”

The clap that followed that was order enough for the bridesmaids and director alike for them all to return to the dressing rooms for the next dress.

Jo emerged before being called this time - half to check that she didn’t have anything extra to be hidden and half to check on the bride herself - and found herself blushing at the loud exclamations of how beautiful she looked from her friend.

“Oh Jo, you have to get a dress like this some day. My brother would eat you up!” Shada leaped off of the sofa to run up to her, all smiles and grins as the camera crew focused on taking b-roll of the store itself while the other women struggled to get dressed. The brunette took her hands in a second before tugging for Jo to spin so the soft, tulle swirled about in a beautiful arch while Jo could hear in the background the shutter of the reporter’s ever observant camera going off. “Look at your figure, wow. Wow. You’d totally steal the show from me!”

Jo laughed along with the other at that, aware that the warm tone and the way the other pulled her in for a hug that that would in no way be true but the sentiment felt so strongly. She did look nice, she supposed, catching a glimpse in the mirror. She was just lucky her breasts had shrunk back to almost the same level after having weaned Billy onto a bottle all those years ago, because with much more cleavage and she’d look very different in this dress.

The rest of the bridesmaids slowly emerged, and Jo bit down on a smirk at the decreasingly excited or pleased reaction each woman got as more appeared in the beautiful design. The deep-v that looked lovely on Jo, Lilith and Ombre, looked borderline tacky on the two dark haired women when Bela and Ruby emerged even if the dark purple color of the bodice looked beautiful on their complexions. And on the redhead when Anna eventually emerged, it looked downright tawdry.

“Oh no.” Shada shook her head, eyes fixed on the ample curve of bossom visible in the deep-v of the redhead’s dress before she swept a glance over the rest of them with a wistful look. “No, no, this one won’t do. You all look far too sultry and amazing. Though perhaps I should buy one of these for my hen’s night?”

The round of laughter and eye rolls that came from that, as well as the extreme pout from the redhead were amusing, and Jo made her way over in a swish of fabric as the rest moved back to the dressing room to catch the bride’s arm.

“Hey, Shada sweetheart, it’s absolutely okay if we don’t find something today, okay?”

“But-”

“No,” Jo shook her head at the somewhat deflated look on the other’s face as Jo guided her to sit down. “I know all those girls have their own expectations of what they want to look like, but you should know that this is about what you want and what will make you happiest.”

The glance the dark haired woman gave to the cameras that were now focused on the pair was concerning, though Jo reached out to grip her chin firmly but gently and caught her eye again. “No. This is about you Shada, not any of that. This is all about you, and your love and your happiness - not the dresses, not the cameras or the opinions or the whims of everyone else. You tell me which dress you want, when you see it, and I will make sure you get exactly what you want.” Jo could feel the prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes as she said it - remembering the voice that was becoming less clear growling to her that 'whatever makes you happy’ when she’d said she just wanted her own wedding over with - before smiling widely. “You are the bride, Shada, and this is about your big day. Not everything else happening around it.”

There was a beat before the younger girl nodded her head a few times and Jo wrapped her up in a tight, bone-crushing hug for a moment regardless of the cameras on them and the shutter sound of the smaller ones. After a moment, she pulled back and knocked her fist gently against the other’s chin before rushing back to her dressing room to get into the next dress.

Jo barely refrained from jerking away when she noticed the next dress, scowling to herself as she pulled it on and tugged at the turtleneck of it as it scratched at her skin. Turning in the mirror, she pulled a face all over again at the figure hugging nature of the dress and just how much of a Mom-ass she looked to have already in that dress.

Heading to her spot in the line up, Jo found herself biting back a laugh at the vehement fight breaking out between Shada and Lilith over the dress itself.

“No way! They’re too sparkly-”

“I happen to think these are better than those trashy, boring dresses from before.”

“You all look trashy now!”

“You would know!”

“Get the Hell out of those things!” Shada shrieked, gesturing along the line of women as the smirking blonde continued to tug her dress to show of every single curve of her body in the dress in a way Jo was trying to conceal for herself. “My wedding is not in Las Vegas! No way, no how, get out of them now!”

Jo was glad to turn tail without even being out in that one for even a minute, before catching sight of the next dress with a sense of dread. Sparkles and sequins weren’t exactly Jo’s dream idea, but as she struggled to work out the straps to the open sides and back of the next dress and had to call a store girl in to help, she couldn’t help but find her breaths rushing realising that perhaps if this dress was chosen she’d definitely stand out.

Emerging to the floor to see Shada, Ombre and Bela gushing about the dresses in the centre of the room and how pretty the color was on each woman, Jo tugged a little at the side of her dress. Glancing towards the large mirrors before them, she could see three quarters of each of her ribcage tattoos on display under the straps - dark lines and bright colors standing out against her skin and the deep eggplant color. Frowning to herself, she moved up towards the other women and blushed brightly when all three turned to look at her with matching frowns at the distracting ink from the design of the dresses.

“What do you think? Too much?” Ruby’s voice cut over them as she moved up as well, and Jo’s eyes went straight to her chest and the limited coverage in this dress compared to the other deep-v.  “Not enough?” The additional comment seemed to be addressed over the women’s heads towards the camera crew, and Jo bit down a smile at the smirk and thumbs up sent back to the dark haired beauty from the directing chair. “Shada, me thinks this might not work-” There was a pause as Ruby glanced behind her to see Lilith and Anna emerging too with their own problems of either not filling out or over filling the dresses respectively, before looking around and at the tattoos visible on Jo’s sides. “For multiple reasons.”

Shada’s own face slowly shifted from a smile about how lovely Ombre and Bela had looked in the gowns to taking in the rest with a growing frown before nodding. “Yeah, I love the color though-”

“It’s definitely lovely!” Ombre chirped up from beside Shada with a wide smile, and Jo couldn’t help but feel glad that at least there were two of them on Shada’s side.

“But perhaps the design isn’t quite... accommodating enough?”

“We can expand the cups.” There was a sniffing sound as Meg moved forward to gesture towards the redhead’s chest with a sneer. “For those who need a little more coverage.”

Shada’s eyes darted about between the dresses and the designers frowning disapproval uncertainly, and as she blushed brightly, Jo could tell where this was going. She was such a people pleaser and so lovely a person, but that just meant sometimes she could be trampled too much. Not on Jo’s watch though.

“Oh, but you’d have to change the whole bodice of the dress to cover my tattoos though.” She quickly snapped out, tugging surreptitiously on the dress in the middle to show even more of her ink as she turned to the side, drawing everyone’s eyes over to her and away from Shada. Jo locked eyes with the designer fiercely, lips twitching to go into a smirk at the way the other woman’s own curled up into a sneer. “And then it’s jut a whole different dress. We might as well keep looking.”

“Exactly right, Jo. Thank you.” Shada spoke up then, stepping up to point and tap disapprovingly at the side of her dress as she looked back at the designer and then made a flapping, shoo-hand towards the rest of the bridesmaids. “Next dress, ladies!” As the group dispersed back to their own dressing rooms, the bride reached to hold Jo’s wrist with a smile. “Thank you,” She whispered quietly then, the intent and gratitude clearly pouring out that Jo could do little but smile back before shuffling back to the next dresses.

The fifth dresses resulted in a shouting match about just why was no one in the color purple and why would Shada want to look at silver dresses when none of those designs came in her chosen color; and the sixth was in another pale lavendar color but looked a little too sweet and girly on everyone except Ombre. Jo half thought that girl should be treated as a junior bridesmaid, given she wasn’t even nineteen yet, and could wear the flowy, laced halter dress to be different from the rest - but that idea brought tears to the other blonde at being treated differently and was quickly shut down. The brown bag of elephant ear cookies was quickly brought out and the younger woman calmed down with sugar before they moved onto the next dress.  The seventh dress was widely agreed to be Nice But Wrong in a way that nobody could put a finger on and was after about five minutes of dissection to get to the bottom of it called off with a shout of “NEXT!” from the bride that sent them all scurrying away.

Jo had noticed between dresses that Chuck had been making the rounds talking to each of the other bridesmaids for a few minutes before they changed to discuss the wedding, Shada, their involvement and connection, and whatever else he seemed to want to draw out of these women thrown together by a job or through the groom in Ombre’s case. Jo was just glad to avoid talking today until she noticed him hovering by her dressing room as she emerged in the eighth dress.

“So, how is this compared to shopping for your own dress?” Chuck’s voice was quiet, thankfully, in the space as he held the dictaphone between them with a warm smile. “You said it was at an op shop, but did you have much to choose from?”

“Not really. There’s only so many white dresses about the place that aren’t stained, if you feel me.”

“That makes sense. Did you get that feeling though?” Jo found herself raising a brow at the question, which brought out a chuckle from the reporter. “Oh I know, odd for me to ask. But all the other ladies keep talking about some magical feeling or experience, figured you’d be the one to know the truth maybe.”

Jo laughed a little at that, shrugging a bare shoulder as she tilted her head to the side considering. “Hmmm... I don’t think I did. I just picked the dress that fit and looked the nicest.”

“If you were to get married again, what do you think you’d be after this time around? That magical feeling?”

She shook her head as she moved out towards the group, smiling sadly to herself as she glanced back over her shoulder at the man. “Sorry Chuck, I’m a bit too much of a realist these days about marriage and weddings,” Jo felt that prickle again and blinked rapidly for a moment before sighing gently. “Once you’ve experienced that young love feeling, you know that fades. Real love is about the real world, and facing that together. I don’t think you need a magical feeling - just to feel like you’re home and safe together.”

The reporter nodded repeatedly and Jo watched as he pulled out his notepad to make a few more notes as he moved off distractedly out of shot from the other cameras as Jo stepped up on the podium beside the other bridesmaids in this dress.

She had felt a little self concious of her hips and butt in the dress in the dressing room, but standing in line with the other women she couldn’t help but think they’d stumbled upon something that flattered each woman individually without drawing too much attention. Sure, she definitely looked curvy in the dress beside the others, but Anna and Ruby’s chests looked equally full, while Lilith and Ombre’s hair color and svelte figures looked statuesque and beautiful. And Bela just looked gorgeous in any and every dress she’d worn that she blended in with the rest just as lovely in the deep plum dress beside the rest of them.

“Oh. Oh these...” The bride’s eyes had lit up as soon as the six of them has assembled along beside one another, taking in the elegant drop sleeves and gentle curve of the silhouette that flattered each of them together. “I think, maybe...”

As each woman took turns to speak how much they liked the dress - with the sole exclusion of Anna who pouted repeatedly and played up to camera that it was too form fitting while clearly meaning the complete opposite as she continued to perk her chest up higher and twist to make her butt stick out more as she glanced between her own behind and Jo’s own - or at least appreciated the design for various reason, followed by the designer to talk incessantly about how lovely and flattering it was, Jo kept her eyes on Shada’s own wide, glossy ones.

“Well, we still have two more to try!” Ombre interjected when no one seemed to be making a move either way, and watching Shada shake herself out of her thoughts, Jo smiled that perhaps they’d found the one that would make the other happy already.

Stripping out of the dress, Jo let out a yelp at the sound of her curtain being pulled open before scowling in the small mirror in the room back towards the blonde and redhead that were in her doorway, delayed in changing from their interviews with the reporter.

“Excuse fucking you?” Jo snarled the words out, turning to sneer back at them as she lifted the dress back up from the floor to cover her front as she raised a brow at their own nasty looks. “Your rooms are further down.”

“Oh, are they?” Anna’s question sounded innocent, but the way her eyes raked over her disapprovingly made Jo question just how good an actress she thought the other actually was. “Our mistake. Hmm, Jo, what on earth happened to you?”

“What?”

“Those marks. You’re absolutely riddled in such horrible stretchmarks!”

“You’re right, Anna!” Lilith jumped right onto the line of picking as her own eyes ran across Jo’s skin in a way that made her want to throw punches - bra and panties be damned. “Were you a fat little kid? Or is that all from that little bastard you’ve whelped?”

Everything seemed to flash red in that moment, and if it hadn’t been the slight movement of something silver out the corner of her eye, Jo would have grabbed the other blonde by the hair and shut her up one way or another. Instead she glared hatefully at the recorder that stopped her from breaking the sneering bitch’s nose then and there and instead snarled back harshly. “Lilith, grow the fuck up.”

“What?”

“And you too Anna,” Jo hissed the words out, holding the dress tighter against herself as she tried not to let her rage boil over as she glared hatefully between the two of them. “I get you’re pissed that your boob job last year was fucking lopsided, and that you, Lilith, only got released last month for that little coke habit of yours - but I won’t have either of you talking shit about my son or trying to ruin this for Shada. So shut the fuck up, grow the fuck up, and don’t make me force the issue after we’re done here.”

There was a pause as the other two women exchanged a look, and Jo felt a small amount of pleasure as the redhead hiked up her dress on one side self-consciously in a way that Jo had felt before her mind got flooded with anger, before they turned about on their heels to go back to their change rooms. As she slid the curtain back in place she could hear them continue to whispering viciously about her ‘dumptruck ass’ and stretch marks, and one comment that as Jo turned back to the mirror, dropping the dress to the floor, stuck harder. ‘What makes her think she’s so special to be included here? Just cause she tricked Shada’s rich older brother into thinking she’s someone worth anything.’

Staring back into the mirror for a moment, Jo struggled to keep her face straight even to herself as she ran an eye over each of the imperfections they’d named as well as every other problem she saw in herself - each cut and mark and the less taunt skin around her stomach that had never gone back as tight as it used to be and the way her arms were too muscular from all the kneading and her hair was getting the odd silver strand amongst the blonde between running a business with such early hours, having a child and trying to restart her romantic life - before she spotted the dark bruising starting in the tops of her thighs and the curve of her breasts and the spots covered faintly still by make up on her neck. The proof that all those little bits, those little flaws and problem areas, and pieces that showed the history of her life in them, weren’t anything to be ashamed of.

Shaking her head, Jo quickly pulled on the next dress with a scowl of disgust at how washed out the color was compared to the deep jewel tone of the previous one, and the flacid ruffle along one side that made her want to tear it off. Some how this was almost as bad as the sparkly one.

When Jo got out onto the platform with the rest of the bridesmaids, she was not surprised to see both Anna and Lilith refusing to meet her eye before the redhead said loudly to the other, “Oh it’s such a shame some people look like old mothers rather than young bridesmaids.”

“It’s a shame some of us look like an episode of Botched,” Snapped Ruby with a smirk as she lifted her nails pretending to inspect them as a few of the other women frowned uncertainly. “But as I believe Jo said earlier, it’s about the bride right? So if someone’s tits are pointing in opposite directions then it’s probably very helpful for us all that we’re supposed to blend into the background, right?”

Jo bit down on a snort of laughter at that as she could spot a few of the crew trying to hold in their own noises. The fact there was no script today meant absolutely nothing to the ability for Gabe and his crew to get enough soundbites and drama for an episode. Glancing towards the reporter who was fiddling with his voice recorder, she could see the bemused look on his own face as well.

“Shada?” The uncertain question cut through the tension, and Ombre blinked sweetly a few times at her future sister-in-law before everyone turned back towards the dark haired bride. “What do you think?”

“Get rid of the tapeworm dresses, please, immediately!”

Jo found herself laughing hard at that description, and louder still when she shimmied the excess frill towards the bride and got a horrified squeal in return.

This time she wasn’t disturbed as she changed into the last dress. The sequined monstrosity that it was.

Shada didn’t even let half the women emerge from the change rooms before the call was made for everyone to put back on the deep purple mermaid dress with the off the shoulder cut. The one dress that made everyone look gorgeous and equally beautiful, though the way Jo could see the dark haired woman’s eyes cutting towards the redhead she could tell she wished it looked worse on her.

As they stood in line as they would on the day, Shada let out a loud and excited squeal - clapping her hands and bouncing happily on the sofa as she looked at the line of bridesmaids with joy. “We found it you guys!” The woman practically buzzed with excitement as they looked them all over and then got swamped by a giant hug from the youngest blonde who launched herself over for a hug. “We did it! Oh I have such pretty bridesmaids!”

“She using the right term? For you I mean.” Jo startled at the question from beside her as the other women milled about to try on accessories, looking out the corner of her eye at the reporter. His dictaphone was away at this point, as was his notepad, and Jo felt her cheeks heating up at the implication of the words before she got called away by Bela to try a necklace.

The rest of the day was a quick blur, and as soon as she was back in her normal clothes and wrapped up in the faint smell of aftershave, Jo felt much more comfortable as she got talked through how to do a brief interview for the show itself rather than the reporter, and then got to take Shada and Ombre for a late lunch at the sushi restaurant that the brunette never got to go to often any more. It was a relaxing time, with all three talking happily and confirming that Shada had chosen a beautiful dress that would compliment her own wedding dress when it was finally chosen too.

After lunch, Jo stopped by the bakery but was shooed straight out by Sam with the end of his broomstick and a lot of laughter. Instead of heading home, she swung past the college instead to check on Jack. That led to her sitting in on his last two lectures, staring moonily at him as she watched the passion with which he talked about his work and whipped his classes up into a frenzy of enthusiasm and appreciation for whatever topic he talked about. Then it was dinner, a movie on the couch and kisses in bed before sleep caught up with her.

The next day was equally calm in the morning, with the opening of the bakery as standard and her morning breezing by as if it was any regular day. It felt kind of strange to be back to her regular routine without her reporter shadow or anything out of the ordinary planned like shopping or photo shoots. It was quiet even as she bopped around to her tunes and worked on her usual catalogue of treats and baked goods. It felt good to be back to normal.

That changed as the clock hit one, and Jack arrived alongside his sister and Shada’s fiance Ian. Just after Jo had served up lunch of pithiviers, the door swung open to let in Chuck as well as Ash for their own lunches and bringing in a tray of coffees for the others. Jack’s attitude dipped slightly at the reporter’s arrival, but as the questions bounced about simply interviewing Ian and Shada about their feelings about Jo’s baking and why they had chosen to have Jo make their cake, he calmed some and slowly relaxed next to her as Jo rubbed her thigh against his under the bench.

As soon as lunch was finished, Jo fetched out the four different cake styles as well as the base crumb coated tiers to make a three tier mock-up of the cake itself based upon whichever design the couple chose.

It was a quick blur discussing what elements they each liked of all the cakes, and what they didn’t, but the silver dictaphone was out and Jo found herself talking more professionally than she usually would between friends but taking the time to really discuss at length the different elements. That Ian really liked the demonstrated fondant flowers but they both would be so intruiged to see some pulled sugar demonstrations as well. That Shada loved the understated, modern elegance of the airbrushed cake. That neither liked the ruffle effect of the ombre cake, even though Ian softened at hearing the name of the style and both thought it was a sweet connection to Ian’s sister but not quite their style. That they trusted Jack’s opinion on every single element.

As they finally settled on wanting to see a three tiered airbrushed cake, Jo set the fondant rolling for each cake and after wrapping and stacking the bottom two tiers - she held her airbrush out to the dark haired artist with a smile.

“You want to do the first spray?” She asked with a smile as she started wrapping the last of the cakes. “Or do you have any suggestions for the patterning?”

“Jo, I’d never suggest I could paint a cake near as good as you could.” Jack’s smile was blinding as he turned back to her as she started putting the last tier to the top with a steadying hand from him to help her when it was above her head. There was a pause before a sudden gust of air and edible dye splattered onto her cheek as Jack sprayed at her lightly on accident with a laugh. “See? I’m all thumbs!”

“That you are!” Giggling herself, she set about starting to do the same mottled effect of blacks, greys, golds and definite purples across the side of the cake - spinning it carefully left and right on the cake stand so she could create a gentle gradation that worked on both sides of the cake at once. So that no matter where you stood, you could see a gentle flow of color spreading along the while surface and swirling together. “Whatcha think, hun?”

There was a pause before Jo felt the other’s hand wrap around her fingers and lift the gun to point at one last spot. “A tiny bit there, and I think it’s good.” Jack’s lips were brushing against the shell of her ear as he talked, and she almost forgot hot to breathe when his finger pressed down on top of hers to pull the trigger for a moment before releasing again as the final, perfect brush stroke finished off the cake. The noise of the whole room had dropped away as she took a minute step back into his arms, her back to his chest and his other hand spreading across her waist, before a loud squeal broke the spell wrapped around her like her love’s arms.

“Oh my gosh, Jo! It’s absolutely perfect!”

The happy exclamation from the dark haired girl felt so good after the week of worry and stress trying to perfect the design and flavors and options for the other, and as Jo turned to look across the bench top from between the beautiful mocked up cake and the warmth of her lover’s embrace, she found herself grinning widely to see the same amount of love and excitement that she felt on the young couple’s faces as they looked between her cake and each other. Tilting her head back to catch Jack’s eye, she couldn’t help but think Shada had it utterly right.

Letting out a laugh, Jo smiled back and after a loud cough from the reporter, quickly moved to pose with both the bride and groom and the cake alone, before Chuck announced he had more than enough content for his cake article.

“I’ll see you all in a few weeks for - what was it, florals and bridal showers?” Chuck looked equally as confused as the other men in the room, shrugging his messenger bag with all his gadgets up onto his shoulder. “This article should be out by then, I think, depending on what date exactly you’re doing those parts Shada.”

“Not until after, I don’t think.” The brunette smiled gently from her perch on one of the stools, holding hands with her fiance and barely glancing away from him even as Ian was answering some email on his phone. “I loved the first article!”

“Oh yeah, that one was good.” The reporter nodded a few times, and shook hands with the distracted groom before extending a hand towards Jack as well. It took a second before the men shook hands, and Jo quickly jumped to her feet as Chuck went to leave.

“Wait! Take one of these with you, won’t you? I’ve got more cake than I’ll need for ages!” Jo flapped a hand and quickly fetched out a large cake box to slide the cake covered in the edible flowers into it for him. The ombre ruffled cake was boxed up already to be dropped off by Ian to his sister as a surprise, and Jo knew she’d use the other two as cake specials for the rest of the weekend. “I hope you like lemon.”

“You better believe it.” He looked surprised and a little uncertain to be receiving the full cake, and Jo was confused by the almost guilty look that crossed his face as Chuck took it from her with a sigh. There was a pause before he smiled again and waved goodbye with his free hand and headed back out to the main part of the bakery.

Frowning to herself, Jo moved back over to the three tier cake and grabbed a knife, holding it out to Shada and Ian. Looking between them and her own love, the blonde grinned with a wicked smile before asking cheekily, “You two need to get some practice in before the big night?”

---

[mediawhorefics]

Preworkshop Thinking: Your Own Writing

Think: What are 3-5 of your favorite pieces that you’ve written? (Can be fanfic or not…)

Bonus Prompt: Write yourself a positive review, perhaps as if you were a separate fan reading it for the first (or fiftieth) time. As you did for the last prompt, try to make it effusive, specific, and encouraging. Again, extra bonus points for posting it publicly and linking it. (If you’re afraid of coming off as self-important or conceited, you can blame this workshop for the self-plug. In our experience, a healthy ego helps in doing the vulnerable work of editing and publishing. ;)

shoutout to @authorsworkshop for making me SWEAT trying to write this. i don’t know that i ever could write myself a review as a reader, but i am gonna try to say nice things about my stuff for a bit. i’m nowhere near confident enough in my original writing to talk about that so here’s some fic babbles for you... i think all of my favourite fics i’ve ever written are ones where i gave myself a specific challenge or asked myself the question ‘but am i good enough to DO that?’ and then set off to prove ‘yes, yes i am’. i think part of it is that i really love to try things, be in different tropes or pov or structure.... i like to challenge myself that way and if i fall flat on my face, or if it’s not fun then whatever yk ?? 

the dead things we carry 

September ‘49 He hasn’t seen him since that day in France, that horrible muddy day where for one terrifyingly long second, Louis really thought he was going to die. He winces with the phantom pain, the hand not holding his cane going to his stomach automatically, remembering the franticness, the tenderness, of Harry’s hands while Louis was bleeding out.

This is the man who saved Louis’ life.

For one second, Louis fears Harry won’t recognise him, but his eyes widen when he turns to his left and they meet Louis’. He takes a step forward, reaching for him with a shaky hand before stopping himself.

“Louis,’ Harry says with a shudder and Louis doesn’t think his name has ever carried more weight.

This is the only man Louis ever thought about kissing for real.

“Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?”

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

i don’t say this very often about my stuff but i genuinely love this fic. it might be my only fic that i genuinely fully 100% love. i’m so proud of it. i really wanted to say something with the format and give the story depth and symbolic meaning with it, and i truly think i succeeded ?? i wanted to write a story about trauma and surviving trauma and the healing power of love and like.... how opening yourself to that love is healing so i used the flashback in reverse to show that through opening himself to harry’s love, louis manages to go to a happier place that echoes who he was pre-trauma. aka that love doesn’t erase trauma but brings you closest to your true self ?? idk idk. i also did a lot of research for this fic, reading about gay men and women’s experiences in the army during wwii which was an interesting and eye-opening experience. i feel like i learned a lot through writing this fic. i even incorporated some war stories from my own family as a little homage into the fic so i feel like it’s my fic that just... holds the most ?? if that makes sense? i also had a lot of fun with some of the p&p aspects of it and harry being this coveted bachelor and kind of poking fun at his irl media image. i think that fic is funny yk? i always struggle writing funny stuff because it’s so subjective but i’m proud of the comedy in that fic. but yeah i feel like i balanced the angst and comedy well and it’s just.... a really soft fic. 

tired tired sea 

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

i..... really struggle with things to say about this fic because it is extremely personal to me and out of everything i’ve ever written, it’s probably the one piece that has the most me in it. if i think about it too long (esp. if i think about how many people have read it) i feel really icky haha. it’s my love letter to scotland and to who i am right now i guess. it’s just really really personal in so many ways even though i haven’t lived through any of the situations depicted in it, there’s just something quintessentially me that i’ve put in the core of that story. it’s like my soul is nestled somewhere in there yk ? which is just... such a vulnerable position to be in. it’s terrifying actually. but i’m really proud of myself for publishing it because i’m very closed off and it was scary but i did it anyway :) it’s always gonna be really special to me because of that. the fact that it had such a wonderful response is just... cherry on top ! (even tho receiving texts from friends being like LOUIS IS YOU IN THIS FIC UH was .... mortifying to say the least) 

on the other hand, there’s only two super common fic tropes i always said i really didn’t want to write because i think they deserve so much care and attention if you’re gonna write them without having lived through them yourself and that’s domestic abuse and substance abuse (hello tts & tbow i am a CLOWN). so when i got the prompt for this fic i automatically thought nope, not for me. i don’t know enough about substance abuse and the recovery process to write about it realistically and the last thing i want to do is be disrespectful. but the idea just... wouldn’t leave me alone so i jumped in and obvs it’s not perfect, but i’m quite proud of the way i handled it overall. i was really careful every step of the way in what i put in the story and hopefully, that shows in the final product. 

through eerie chaos 

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

ok this fic ain’t perfect and i’d probably write it better if i did it now BUT i do love it a lot. like... lbr the opening is way too long, i know a lot of people find it boring/that there isn’t much happening in it etc etc. and yk i don’t fully disagree. but it has all my favourite things in it (historical au/time travel au/ghosts/mysteries/ridiculous over the top romance/side ziall/sacrifices for love/etc etc) and i’m really proud of what i did. 

 i set myself quite a concrete challenge when i decided to write that fic which was to see if i could write a good plot twist that changes the reader’s entire view of the story in a way that can hold up against the scrutiny of a second reading. and again, not perfect, but i think i did okay. i managed to surprise a couple of people, which is what i wanted to do. to kind of... flip expectations. because we’re so used with fics for things to be formulaic and trope-y and tags to tell us everything, i wanted to do something a bit different where people would be like : where is this bitch going with this ??? while at the same time paying homage to all my favourite cheesy time travelling/historical romances. its one of my fav genre so i had a lot of fun writing my own version of it. 

i also really like the fact that it’s 100% a response to ctc and an exploration of the same themes through a different pov. both stories are historical fantasy ft. side ziall that a bit more plot-heavy than romance heavy and involve the pov character giving up something incredibly important to them for their lover. they’re both about growing, learning through the other & ultimately about sacrifice. in ctc it’s louis who sacrifices something for harry and in tec, it’s harry who sacrifices something for louis. i really enjoyed (and think i did an okay job?) writing both stories as mirroring each other. and by happy coincidence, they were illustrated by the same artist so they really feel like companion pieces and i’m proud for achieving that. 

[365daysofmchart]

A little venting, a little whining, a little I don’t know what... (Feel free to scroll on)

I’m so conflicted guyssss…

So with my three “5+ Headcanon” responses relating to/building upon a McHart pregnancy, I’ve sort of tentatively been planning to fully flesh out the first response in either one lengthy chapter or multiple segmented chapters to get things established, then try to adhere to more of the headcanon structure for the following two. But I’m second guessing myself. …But I don’t know which way I’m leaning?

One of the things I disliked most about In Sickness is that I didn’t commit to it as though it was a full multi-chapter fic but also went above and beyond the 5+ Headcanon format which left it coming across as a half-assed fic… because it kind of was? I put in a great deal of effort, don’t get me wrong, but I also didn’t pre-plan in detail and there were many-a-times when I called it “good enough” after having agonized over something for too damn long …Which was kind of okay, because it wasn’t supposed to be a full fic. But either way, I put a great deal of effort into what was, over all, a somewhat disappointing product for me and I don’t want to do that again! …But do I keep it simple or go all out?

The thing is, it’s not an original idea—in fact, it’s not a single idea of anyone’s at all, but rather an amalgamation of three people’s (assumably) separate prompts. Don’t get me wrong, it’s inspired some ideas that I’m excited about, but the inspiration isn’t my own, which makes it just a little bit harder to get as invested as is ideal when taking on something of that caliber. With that, if I wrote this in full, it likely means that I’d never actually write the specific McHart pregnancy fic that’s secretly been brewing in the back of my mind for give-or-take five years now. (Though, if I’ve yet to write it at this point, honestly, will I ever?) Finally, there’s the timing of it all—there are currently, like, what, three McHart pregnancy/kid fics in the works?? …Do we really need another right now?

On the other hand, I have all of these ideas and I honestly don’t really know how to condense them, and I’m afraid that if I try I’m just going to end up and the same boat I was last time with In Sickness. But of course writing a full fic takes a lot more than just ideas—it takes a lot of in depth planning and consideration as well. And time.

All that being said, am I just making excuses?? … I’m wondering if part of my resistance here is because I’m afraid of taking something like that on and having it not come out as I’d like? See (...getting a little vulnerable here), I’m rather a perfectionist yet I’m not confident in my writing abilities (in technical/journalistic/essay writing I’m fair, but creative writing has always been a struggle), and that is quite distressing. And if I don’t put my all into something and am dissatisfied with the outcome, it’s because I didn’t put my all into it. But if I do…? Then I’m just plain a terrible writer, no excuses. So maybe I just need to take that leap and be brave and get over it. …But if I’m going to do that, shouldn’t it be under the ideal circumstances, as mentioned above? When I’m really, truly, excited and inspired?

Ughhhhh… Anyway. I think I have an idea where I’ll end up but in the mean time I’ll just be over here chipping away at the beginning until I’m forced to figure out for certain what the hell I’m going to do with the rest.

Sorry, don’t mind my whining and babbling here just needed to sort of get that all out there? Not necessarily seeking input but not opposed to it, either!

Thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far!

And wishing you a wonderful weekend!

-E

…In the time it took to write this over the course of maybe three or four lunch breaks I probably could have written a solid bit for the opening but anyway, so it goes.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

FINALLY birthed this thing. I’m officially a disaster with writing anything that involves conflict. Just like irl. :”) Anyway, yeah, there were 3 reasons why I did not finish this immediately about a month ago.

Első: See above.

Második: I had no idea what I wanted the last drop for Hawks to be before writing the rest in advance anyway, whoopsie~

Harmadik: I was.... reeeeeally not sure whether I want to publish this during pride month, seeing as I’m cis, and what kind of shit I put in this. (..... ok I’ve been thinking about this, and somebody just tell me if I’m plain projecting shit here. I might as well. Like, I always am, but it has usually got to do with characters being heavily #relatable in some way in strictly canon, which goes for everyone I write scenarios for. But now I’m thinking about whether there is something more to this, bc me headcanoning Shiggy as genderfluid and starting that shitty LawxOC body swap fic came around the same time two years ago, and now here’s Hawks, too. I’m onto you, me. I’m so onto me...)

Anyway... if you want the usual fluff, you might wanna sit this one out. (There’s some of it, but beware of everything else... it got p long (~6.5k), too, so you might wanna read it on a proper platform for txt: AO3 )

Big, BIG thanks @cutiesableye @acidmatze @waxwingedhawks and @mistystarshine for basically proofreading it and slapping a big green GO into my nervous face. Or being at it rn; regardless, I am thankful. Sssh, only dreams now.

I hope y’all be as uncomfortable reading the meat of this as I was writing it, whoops.

For how much he's surrounded by people normally -which he enjoys most of the time, really- Hawks prefers the silent rooftop right now. It shouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, he'd need a lot more alone time in the first place… but he's supposed to be working right now. Be in the thick of this spying shit, collecting intel from social and environmental clues like nobody's business.

Returning to the room is not something he wants right now, though. The topic and the awkward atmosphere it brought are weighing on him, and he'd rather get over this before moving on with the sleuthing business. He's been perching over the weed-ridden parking lot for like half an hour already, though. Judging by what he can pick up, the League is back to their time killing activities, and not very concerned about his absence. He noticed Spinner checking on him some time back from the doorway, and that's what it was. He's low-key grateful that they would let him breathe instead of poking around some more, or tailing him. If it's something he's allowed to do all the time, it'll be a luxury he's plain going to cherish for as long as it lasts.

Another plus is… that his reasons to join have become more than just believable. Even if this bit of information was not something he wanted to share. Like, at all. Ever. It was perhaps naive to think nobody will ever find out in the first place, that it would stay a secret of the select few who trained and took care of him. But the ones aware of it now being the members of Japan's most infamous terrorist organization… is not reassuring. 

Still… they are letting him be alone. It's… nice. Being seen as a person. It also hurts, though.

His feathers catch onto the vibrations of someone coming up the staircase again. The echoes tell of familiar size, weight and shapes… he knows who it will be. Being a wild card, he's probably coming on his own volition. The plastic smile is already in place, even though it has never worked on the guy- this was nice while it lasted.

The metal door opens with a lazy creak, then there's a soft thud, followed by slacking steps that stop right behind him. Dabi takes a swig from the beer can in his hand before speaking. "So… Peacock and Starling, huh."

"What about them, bacon face?" It's a funny feeling to hear someone say those… names, technically. It's equally funny to think that one of those is what he'd be known as if things go a little more his way. Even considered the title Phoenix for a moment, but that was too pretentious even for him, not to mention ill-fitting past being made of reds and yellows. As for the flashy Peacock… it's easy to see why the blatant joke got rejected off the bat. He'd look sick in iridescent blues and greens for sure, but that's all the reason he ever had to consider it. Those colors didn’t fit his basically pre-established brand… and nowadays he'd rather be invisible than catch even more eyes, anyway. And there's the almost, almost final Red Starling, which had the prototype of his current hero costume and everything…

He wanted to avoid predatory birds when given the task to choose a hero name, blatant secondary traits notwithstanding. They were beautiful creatures, yes… but hardly something reassuring and safe, killing for a living, full of pointy bits. Someone else probably wouldn't have batted an eye and had gone for the intimidation factor, but it was simply not what he had in mind.

A hawk… is a borderline case. It's among the smaller species and underwent some form of domestication, after all. They are not ideal for being kept as mere pets, though; they serve a purpose, instead.

They are used.

Used to hunt for sport or pest control, as he usually does. As he's supposed to right now.

So 'Hawks' was an afterthought, invoking the image of speed and danger. Which they insisted on, especially after… that. Smuggling the S at the end on the form was a last passive-aggressive jab after getting the okay, before letting go of who he used to, or wanted to be. It was fascinating to see the big shots make peace with it almost immediately, and regarding it as an improvement, even; 'makes it easier to associate with a swarm of feathers,' and 'more unique and identifiable,' they said. As if the original idea didn't accomplish both. It really was just… fascinating. The rest of these names, he banished to the stuffiest, darkest corners of his mind, as there were few good things, and even less pleasant memories attached to them. Until… today.

What has happened was simple and logical- the idea whether he'd choose another alias for underground activities came up. Mentioning them in the first place was an enormous mistake… and entertaining either as a viable option was even more so. Disturbing those relics reminded him of those buried memories and feelings, and all he can think of right now is the way Himiko's words rang in his ears barely half an hour ago.

Today, your smell reminds me of Big Sister.

Dabi lets out a sigh before getting to the meat of it. He spent the time Hawks had been gone on thinking himself, and there's a lot to unpack here. So he ought to take it step by step, lest he gets lost in the details. “Let me… get this story of yours straight."

… Great. This is exactly what he needs.

"It starts with… dirty, piss-poor little you getting caught up in a car accident and single handedly resolving it, right? Then, for doing something nice and selfless like that… you got sold off like a slab of fucking meat to the government.”

He blinks. "Hmm… not the most revolutionary take on it. I know you can do better." Claiming that the thought has never crossed his mind would be a lie. He just never let himself dwell on it. But now, this idiot is making him do exactly that. Or is trying to, at the very least. It certainly seems to be one of those convos. This… is turning out to be a major pain in the ass right away. Maybe he should reconsider provoking him this time around, it could backfire big time in the current mood of his.

“It is what happened, though, wasn’t it?” Dabi continues, slipping down to sit next to him, one leg dangling over the edge. “And once your apparently sub-par parents raked in the easy money, and washed their hands of you… you got stripped of everything.”

"Bold of you to assume that I had much to lose, bro. If you know about the accident, you also know where they picked me up from." Putting up a front aside, there was a rough edge to that 'everything' that makes Hawks want to run for the hills immediately. Nope, he is positively not in the mood for antagonistic banter at the moment. He wasn't really able to hide his upset and embarrassment over the situation, so Dabi must have found some twisted sense of enjoyment in pestering him about this specifically. Why can't this asshole just… shut up for once. He thought the villain incapable of it, but he does it so damn well with others around. Sticking with the lot might be a good idea, because solo Dabi is worse. He… he better filter out all the babbling before he starts thinking about bad shit or worse. It’s been a while since he had to take such measures, but he'll have to lull himself into a coma, and just… shut up. Inside out. And hope that Dabi gets bored of him.

“Doesn't change the point, does it, now. They started with any meaningful human contact you may have had… until they erased every last ounce of self," Comes the continuation while Hawks tries to block it out; "They denied you time, likes, attention, possibly even your basic fucking needs while moulding you into a perfect little cleanup machine that fears no death. Then tossed your dried-up skeleton into a roomy cage, filled with expensive junk to fill the void, as a semblance of compensation. Well thanks for fucking nothing, you sick fucks."

Hawks' eyes have locked onto a sunbathing lizard in the distance, but the idle animal is not quite enough of a distraction and his fingers twitch with the tightening grip over the wall's edge. Why does it sound as if Dabi was taking his side?

Shut up… don't pay attention.

He winces when Dabi pulls on the collar of his tracksuit to take a disgusted look at the label. "All the shit you wear was gifted from companies you played dress-up doll for, wasn't it… one fantastic billboard, you are. You own literally nothing else, do you? I'm sure that's the case, because, funny story… a newbie classmate of mine, some dump kid whose parents became new money, had always obscene amounts of cash on him…  but after an initial shopping spree, he never could bring himself to buy a fucking thing. So we asked him about it. Turns out he simply felt like utter shit for spending any of it unless he had a good reason. I laughed then, but apparently, getting a bag of chips is a gargantuan issue for most people who grew up in poverty." 

He leans closer, low words dripping like liquid venom in Hawks' ear. "You, too, feel like garbage every time you spend an ounce of money on something you can do without, don't you? Reminding yourself that there are dozens of that thing at home, lying untouched in your wardrobe that's the size of some families' entire house. Pray-tell Hawks, how many times did you sit over a full basket of online goods… the stuff of your dreams, probably some basic ass shit... only to back out at the last second, hmm?"

Shut up.

Dabi's eyes slide to the tense hands possibly attempting to tear the crumbling edge off the worn wall. A second later, he distances himself again, stirring the can with lazy, circular motions. "I don't even want to imagine what it feels like. Never spent a fucking dime on anything but charities, I fancy. And the odd bottle of booze, fuck or junk food… Are those chicken bits the only thing you're allowed to get? Tch.” 

“What a fucking luxury, being allowed to treat yourself to a bucket every other week, when your disgusting training diet has been set in stone three months in advance." It sounds like a personal addendum, but not a single word in that sentence escapes the overbearing sarcasm and condescension.

A still ticking cogwheel in the hero's head wonders why Dabi knows of the standard diet thing he has to undergo at least twice a year being three months long, and how he could possibly know that he's come to hate half of the dishes over the years. The overwhelming majority of said cogs have long come to a halt, however, screeching SHUT UP. He's not sure who or what that message is directed to anymore. Probably both of them.

Dabi’s waltzing wrist comes to a halt, soon followed by the whirling liquid in the can; it's a minute break, the kind that's just enough to make conversations awkward. In fact, the silence is too big for Hawks to handle- there’s no white noise to drown out and it makes not thinking, not paying attention unbearably hard. The lizard disappears under the cracked asphalt, leaving him with nothing.

“With how long it took you to respond to Shigaraki, they also stripped you of your name. And what I got from the exchange with Toga… is that the same goes for your body, too.”

A shiver runs down Hawks’ back and wings over the addition, kicking the machine brain back in full order despite his best efforts. Dabi takes a big swig of beer and lets out a sigh, resulting in another ill-placed pause. It gives Hawks time to think, goddammit, and he thinks too fast, too hard, about everything.

“While you were moping up here, I've come to realize why you always seem to be so hilariously desperate to one-up me in any given way… it’s because you actually are grasping for straws. You have no control whatsoever, over anything. None." There’s a somber undertone to his voice. The can, along with the remaining sloshes of beer, are flung down to the concrete wasteland and land with a sad, high pitched clank. "My sister used to be like this… people like you don’t dare to ask why things happen. You will believe you’d done something wrong to deserve it all… maybe see yourselves as a necessary sacrifice. Did they ask you to be a martyr, or did you decide so yourself, bird brain? Not that it matters… because that’s exactly what your bosses want and they'd keep on twisting your arms until they get there… but I bet they did. They didn't ask whether you actually wanted it, though… or ask anyone else, about anything, for that matter." 

He reaches over Hawks' vaguely trembling shoulders for the jaw, forcing his face out of hiding. The grip turns gentler as the man's head turns in his general direction, though he's refusing to make eye contact. Dabi keeps him there like that for a while, dissecting him with icy, blue scalpels.

"Gentle like a dove… you'd have flipped the fuck out and been talking shit ever since I opened my mouth any other day. Is this the defense mechanism you developed for these situations?" There's some twitches to the corner of the mouth, but the other remains unresponsive. Heaving another, mildly annoyed sigh, he pries the hero off the crumbling wall with a disgruntled huff and turns to face him. Once there’s some space to work with, he tilts the head in his grasp to the left, to the right… no resistance. "To see you like this is creepy as all hell, birdie… do you even register what I'm saying anymore? Or is ignoring me the goal? Hmm?" 

He scoffs at the glazed eyes, then shakes his head. "I'd imagine you met some pigs high up on the food chain soon after the stunt… those monsters can do anything they want. Then buy silence from pocket change." He starts caressing the other's face as the trembling turns more and more into shaking. "Isolated, innocent eye candy kid at their mercy…… I can only imagine what they’d do to a sweet little plaything like you."

A visceral reaction makes Hawks' stomach convulse, threatening to empty itself, and the muscles in the rest of his body follow suit. Unwanted scraps of memories, all the blurred scenes, images and feelings he didn't quite manage to erase flare up in his mind. And even though his entire being is revolting against being reminded of hugs that felt off by a mere margin, of touches that were always, always distinctively soft and slimy, and things sometimes even worse, and much worse…  the sole thing that betrays his near perfect neutral expression is a pair of clenched jaws. What concerns him even more than any of this, however, is the fact that his tear ducts have been burning up for some unknown time, and...

… too late. There’s already a droplet of water sitting on the thumb Dabi lifted up a second ago.

The tear gets reduced to nothing between the pensive swipe of two fingers as he lets go of him. “Thought so…”

A sliver… a handful of cells, some unidentifiable part of Hawks is thankful that Dabi doesn’t elaborate on what he’s thinking right now, glaring somewhere distant both past the hero and his own damp hand.

The villain's eyes come back into focus soon enough. There's still… one more thing. "Then you started to grow… and they decided to focus on function over form, since your baby face would be just as marketable with a scruff. Becoming popular and following a strict schedule makes it near impossible for creeps to do as they please, with all the watchful eyes dissecting your every move… so you live on a leash instead. An accessory to show off to guests… and still shiny, new weapon to flashily beat up people with." He cocks his head. "And you loathe mindless violence."

On one hand comes the relief that the previous topic has been dropped as unceremoniously as possible, and he gets a moment to breathe and stop shaking like a leaf. On the other…

They are used. Used to hunt pests…

Having less than no time for himself, the daily drill of regular heroing and the overwhelming amount of paperwork the job comes with are things he can deal or cope with… It’s fighting, hurting and confronting other people he loathes the most, even if he'll ram heads with the bigger fish to ensure a more stable framework for everyone to live in. For… others to live in.

Forcing himself into a group of known murderers and the deception this comes with is just the icing on the rotten cake. God, all these fucking lies, he cannot look into the mirror anymore for being overcome with sheer disgust. And now he's stuck with it until the source of all Noumu can be located, too. Why can’t things be like a shitty cops and robbers chase and, just… easy? Simple? Is it really that much to ask for?

But what makes it unnerving is to know that Dabi’s right, always fucking right. About people, what a living nightmare being a hero is once one looks past the glitter covers, and pretty much everything else. But most importantly, he's right about him. He hates being predictable at all, not to mention being read with confidence, and right now he feels as naked as an open book with covers ripped clean off.

He can feel more tears break free, and his fingers scrape over the rough concrete, letting the bumps and glass shards cut a fingertip or two open. It's frustrating. Every single time they happen to make contact… Dabi either makes a good point or manages to get the upper hand in the most inane, little ways, and it’s so… frustrating.

He can’t keep bottling it all up forever, but what is he supposed to do about these feelings?

“What I'm not sure about… is what exactly they are thinking this time.” There’s a thoughtful pause before the continuation; every last tendon in the blonde’s body tenses up. “Are they actually this desperate to get us for good… or is it you they want to get rid of that bad?” 

For a moment that seems like an eternity, Hawks feels… absolutely nothing. Nothing but the piercing glare of the very sky above them, staring straight through the villain's eyes. “Psycho girl is right… you really have no idea how to say no.”

Why now… Hawks can't tell. But hearing the same shit he's thinking about for the millionth time makes something crack. Click. Snap. And next thing he knows, he’s already tackled Dabi to the ground and is clenching his fists into his coat; the man himself doesn’t look too surprised over the turn of events, which drives him even madder.

“Every,” his voice shakes with bubbling anger and is lower and gravelier than his normal, but it will do. Hawks pulls on the leather hard enough to lift the other before slamming him back onto the grey concrete--- “Every” --- over--- “single” --- and over--- “aspect” --- and over, “of you,” and over, “drives me up… the fucking wall,” and over… “any time you open your godforsaken MOUTH,” this time, he goes a little over the top, as the big yank is followed by a pointed knock upon Dabi’s head meeting the ground and his lungs flatten under the pressure of fists, but Hawks is not in the mindset to give a flying fuck about the minor inconveniences of the villain at the moment. Fucker has dug this grave himself, so he better lie in it. "how the everloving fuck... How…! How can you possibly know me more than I do?! TELL ME!!” He asks with an ever growing voice that borders screaming by now, all while shaking the man relentlessly.

He's about to pull and slam him down again when Dabi's hands grab onto his arms just below the wrist. Maybe it's that he did not expect it, but the grip definitely stings a little. As fragile as Dabi is, he thought those scrawny arms less powerful, but apparently what does he know? Still angry, he tears one hand free while shooting a glare at the villain.

There's a trail of blood flowing down his cheek around where Hawks' fist rubbed against at the time of the yank. Dabi blinks once, leaving his left eye with an odd pink texture as his lid smears the leaking red fluid all over it. Not too surprisingly, his face remains as unreadable as a mannequin's, and eyes as cold as that of a taxidermy specimen. Hawks hates looking at him when they are like this, which is most of the time. "Careful, little bird… you're tearing at the seams. Don't want to end up like this, do you?”

That calm voice works like just another taunt, making the hero want to beat him to a pulp, or at the very least, continue where he's just left off with flattening him into the concrete. At the same time… hesitation wedges his joints to a halt. No… No, he doesn’t want to end up ‘like this,’ whatever it may have been to drive Dabi into burning himself alive on a daily basis.

And he notices. Of course he does. Hawks could swear to see his lips curve, but it may just be the angle.

“Fucked-up kids know how to read others pretty well, don’t you think?”

Hawks’ still short breath hitches and he freezes upon feeling a hand, the very same he just shook off, slide over his hips, ice cold on his heated skin even through the fabric of a t-shirt. There's no real intent behind it; in fact, it feels like a doctor's indifferent, calculated touch. Somehow, that makes it even worse. "… didn't even have the decency to start stuffing you with testosterone from the get-go, huh?" 

Another statement that sounds more like a personal note than anything else, and it makes Hawks’ skin crawl.

“Well I can’t read you for shit! Congratulations!!!” He barks, slapping the intrusive limb away. “For starters, what was this supposed to be about, hell, why the fuck did you even come up here?! Just to gloat about it into my face? Or do you want to make fun of me for not being able to decide whether I’d rather be a cheeky bitch or the insufferable prick I am today?!” 

There’s tears streaming down his face again, but he couldn’t care less. It hurts like all hell… especially remembering full well how fucking much waking up from what was supposed to be nothing more than an open break surgery hurt- there was near nothing to remove, for fuck's sake. But claiming not to enjoy at least some aspects of what being a man brought would be just more lies on the throne built on them.

Mentioning his interest in IT and mechanics to strangers is not criticised or made fun of, not anymore. Neither is his tendency to run ahead of others in pretty much every situation. Instead of second guessing, people default to respecting and listening to what he says on any given topic in general, and he stopped doubting himself, too. The circumstances were a special kind of fucked-up for sure… but he also ended up having fewer weak spots than almost everyone else, which did come handy a couple of times. The hormones he received made him taller than he ever could have grown realistically, too. And rejecting fans is easier as most women- and most of them are women,- know basic fucking etiquette.

But he also wants cheesy tees with cats and birds and flowers that he never gets to sponsor. Cuter shoes that are still comfy. Some eyeshadow every now and then. Wear the prettiest blues and greens, and maybe… maybe a nice dress.

"… You are pissed for the same reason I am.”

By the time Hawks has processed the sentence, he is the one being pressed into the roof, with one wing stuck awkwardly underneath him. For a dreadful moment he breaks into cold sweat, because this also means that Dabi is between his legs, and--- fuck, this is the last fucking position he wants to find himself in, especially right fucking now. He doesn’t get to break out in panic, however, because the villain is busy strangling him against the lukewarm ground. It’s his turn to grab onto the other’s arms as he wheezes for some air. He needs to calm the fuck down somehow, otherwise he won’t be able to use his feathers---

“Looking at you… is like staring at a distorted mirror image at fucking funland.” Hawks cracks his eyes open, seeing Dabi stare right back at him. It's as if someone put goddamn transparency over the villain to make the blinding blue behind him visible. He’d blame cold eyes in general, but he doesn’t find Twice’s even lighter ones nearly this creepy when Dabi’s like this. His burn with intensity rivaling All Might and Endeavor, which have always made him uneasy.

“What a nice pair of custom-made patchwork monstrosities we are…” His voice delves into a hiss as the grip tightens over the hero’s neck. “… makes me sick to my stomach."

Hawks coughs under the weight on his throat. He manages to get some air in and think clearly enough to turn back to logical thinking; if Dabi wanted to go for the kill, he’d be toast by now. Motherfucker is just toying with him for the hell of it, isn’t he? He flexes his wings against the rough concrete and flips the two of them back over to where they started.

“Would you stop playing games, you *cough* sick fuck?!” he wheezes, all out of breath.

"Maybe you’re the one who should stop dicking around, bird brain!"

His next protest gets cut short when Dabi headbutts him in the temples. It feels half-hearted, but gets him to shut up for a moment nonetheless, which is all that the other needs.

"The fuck did you scrape us up from the floor for, HUH?! You had ONE JOB, and you could have been done with it just like that… but instead...!! INSTEAD you played nurse and started to GET ALL COMFORTABLE AND SHIT!” The villain’s voice is basically rolling like thunder over the forsaken plot.

Hawks’ angry and pained grimace twitches under his hand- he’s seen Dabi smug, and aloof, and crazed, but not… angry. Not to mention angry with him, specifically. And, once again, it’s one of those little, irritating, miniscule things that are… true. He didn’t get an order to stick around and follow the lead to the Noumu until like a week later, so it was all unnecessary and ended up being even more work and trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t have to help when he found all of them dying, bleeding and broken.

He also didn’t have to start talking to Compress and Twice and Giran, then all the rest as they warmed up to him and came to.

He wasn’t supposed to lie about their initial status, he didn’t have to keep covering for them after they were all walking and doing all right, after the decent person in him had already been satisfied.

And he definitely never meant to get… attached.

A pull on his tracksuit wakes him from the shock, just as Dabi continues screaming at him head-on. “And YET, there still isn't anything YOU want from us?! REALLY?!! Do you want to be a puppet for the rest of your life, idiot?!"

Well… Hawks had been called names before. He never thought that being called a ‘puppet’ would offend him this much, but that... that certainly just did it.

“NO, I DON’T!” He screams back at him, voice swaying all over the place.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU, BITCH!!"

"I SAID I DON'T WANT 'o!!” Whatever air's still in Hawks' lungs gets stuck inside as a wave of what’s probably fear washes over him upon hearing his own, distorted voice crack and echo in the empty parking lot. Realizing just how much he's straining his voice, a sudden knot manifests in his stomach that folds his rage into a small, jittery, awkward package.

“Ah… I,” It takes so much effort to squeeze out a single thing, what--- why is he embarrassed? “I don’t---”

The next word gets stuck somewhere between his thoughts and throat when the same cold hand from before leaves a little pat on his head.

"See? Wasn't that fucking hard, was it now." It combs Hawks' hair back, staples getting stuck here and there on the fragile strands. There’s nothing methodical about it this time; the entire gesture is just… gentle. "Good job, chicken."

Just like that… all that rage, despair and helplessness, along with the last confusing bundle of emotions, evaporates out of the blue, leaving Hawks empty and tired, somewhat nervous, and maybe a little… relieved. It takes him a bit to be able to think of anything at all, god knows how much time passes while he blinks blankly in front of him. It takes a rugged sigh from Dabi underneath him to phase back into reality; the scarred hand has long disappeared, and is tucked behind the villain’s head along with the other as he’s gazing at the passing clouds. The first coherent thought that crosses Hawks’ head is a fully formed fact- what kind, and with what purpose, he doesn't know or begin to understand… but this was… a test, or rather, a lecture.

A very… very crudely executed lecture.

Hawks sniffs with a stuffy nose. Fucking… fucking fucker. “… you are an asshole through and though, aren’t you?” And now he’s hoarse, too. Wonderful.

There’s a shrug… well, as much of a shrug it can be from someone in Dabi’s position. “I don’t believe it’s ever been up for debate.”

He sounds so smug, it's just so… ugh. The hero squishes his face with a palm in frustration before crawling off him at last. The annoyed grunt in response is all he needs right now. "Are you done being a nuisance, or do you wanna egg me on some more?"

There's a rare chuckle. "Already making bird puns…? Nah, little bird. Getting hell-and-back pissed is exhausting as fuck. You won't be any more fun today." 

With that, Dabi scrambles onto his elbows, then sits back up. He gives a quick massage to his previously flattened nose before rubbing the back of his head; there’s a number of fully formed lumps already. Feathers isn’t very gentle when riled up… at least the spot’s not bleeding. He'll need to put some painkillers to work, though. "Still… the manic look suits you well. I'm getting giddy just thinking about your bosses' reactions upon seeing you like that." In a move that is more or less successful, he licks a finger to rub the trail of rust off his cheek.

Hawks wrinkles his nose upon seeing a rather genuine looking smile on the other’s face. “Please. Noone in their right mind is in my face like you are all the damn time… at least not with the intent of driving me batshit only to make me murder them. You’re a freak case and should not be accounted for.” He sighs, resting his head on an arm- there really is no willpower left in him to do anything for the rest of the day. There better be no trouble on his late evening patrol, or so help him. Or help it, because there's no guarantee he won't snap back to this awkward beat-to-a-pulp mode if confronted with a no-name villain.

After some fidgeting, Dabi produces something from a pocket… something that looks very suspiciously like a worn blunt. “It’s because they don’t have to, dumbass… you are edging towards a nervous breakdown at any given time. Anyway, look… you are no doubt seen as an invaluable asset… but are worth so much more still. Give yourself some credit." Hawks peers back at him just as the conspicuous thing is lit over a wrist which gets shaken after, much like one would put out a match. There’s a tentative draw, followed by another. 

“What I want to say is… they are terrified of you, birdie. If not for the danger of exposing their disgusting practices, it's because they fear that their blue ribbon pet won't return from a hunt… for one reason or another. And, just for the record,” He breathes, offering the roll to him; “I'll gladly hold you back for a good scare."

Following a vacant stare and a blink, he takes it. It’s not as if this quite tolerable, for-the-hell-of-it mood of Dabi’s was new, but… he was seriously considering to strangle the guy a minute ago. When exactly did they return to casual banter? Hell if he remembers, or has noticed at all. God… this whole thing has him rattled real good. Hopefully a nap will get him back into the usual pace of things.

“I sure hope not everyone blows their sugarbird pocket money on beer and weed like you do,” The blonde muses once he can feel a different kind of fatigue set in, reaching the blunt back to Dabi. Hypocritical? Maybe. Won't stop him from nagging others for the same shit, though. Comes with the job.

“Well, Compress replaced the crumpled hat… and Tomura decided to save up for a new handheld,” Dabi muses, placing the smoke into the corner of his mouth. "It'll go via Giran, of course. After seeing the taxes on that shit, I can't even blame him."

Can’t help but smile at that. “You are all fucking hopeless.”

A hum is all he gets as a reply.

After a while of comfortable silence, the remains of the roll get snuffed out on the ground. Blinking past Dabi, Hawks can see the sun is soon to set. Fucked like two hours just sitting out here, didn’t he. The Commission better not expect much from today’s endeavor… cannot exactly tell them that he was getting high on the rooftop with the flame villain for a good portion of it, the only villainous topic being creepy fat cats and their own shortcomings. Or that his possibly biggest secret slipped, although they wouldn't give a rat's ass about that. Yyyeah… it’s best to bullshit it.

“Humor me for another minute of real talk, will you, chicken?”

Dabi’s voice drags him back to reality again, only to realize that the light has already turned into a warm yellow. If his bones… or rather joins popped now, he’d feel like the embodiment of a nice little bonfire under the sun. Huh. Guess the stuff was of the better quality to make him think of weird similes and turn his sense of time whack. What was he--- oh, right. He should answer.

“… cannot promise I'll be able to pay attention or remember any of it, but do your best, crouton.” There’s a mild prickly sensation in his wings and his brain feels like marshmallows. If only he could always be so calm.

“Don’t bullshit me, you barely had a whiff." The dirty remains of weed are flung over the roof in annoyance.

He can feel a goofy smile creep onto his face- it's nice to be the source of frustration for once. Maybe all he needs to do is be honest more often. "Second hand smoking goes a long way, bruh."

The initial answer is an exasperated sigh. "Shut it… Anyway, you should cut the sweet chirping and tweeting, birdie. No matter what you do, people take advantage of your position. You know this better than anyone else. So squawk and screech to your heart's content, if that's what you need… and if barking won’t help, get down to biting.” Having said that, he stops surveying the cracked parking lot under the golden sky, and turns back to Hawks.

He forgets to breathe for a second. Good lord… those eyes glow as if they were illuminated by blue fire from inside, and the contrast with the sunset is just… well, literally breathtaking, he supposes. This is among the few times when they don’t creep him out- quite the contrary, in fact. They still feel like X-rays, though. “I guess it really doesn’t matter… by the way, real talk question: can you fucking read minds?”

Not that he expected anything else, but a smug grin appears on the villain’s face. “Maybe~”

“Careful, man. Your pants are sizzling.”

Lo and behold, another rare chuckle. Despite being under the influence of drugs, (or maybe because of that?) Hawks is on a fucking roll.

He can't keep his eyes off those blue ones even once Dabi decides to stare back at him. “Jokes aside… suppose there really is an idiot like me out there, and they get up close and personal… put those clipped talons to work and gouge their fucking eyes out. You have all the means to tear them limb from limb… go all out, who gives a fuck. These are the same kind of people who shit on wild animals from beyond a cage, but watch them run with tail between legs upon realizing that the gates are wide open. And even if you weren't ready to dirty your hands or feathers like that…" 

He lifts a pointing finger and rests the tip on the hero’s nose. "One word of yours… and we'll make sure it's the last day they touched anyone. Understand?"

Really, all he can manage to that is a weak, sheepish smile. “… thanks,” he breathes, not knowing what else to say. He should be a thousand times more alarmed over basically being told that someone's ready to kill for him, and not… well, flattered? Touched? Especially since he knows Dabi means it, and so would the rest of them.

“Great,” the other grunts while getting on his feet, and leaning just a little bit on Hawks’ head while doing so. What a turd. Latter’s about to get his stiff legs working as well, but once the vague aching starts subduing, he can see Dabi stop in the doorway and put a hand on his hip. “… those filthy gremlins have been spying on us.”

Indeed… someone brought the hero’s scantily loaded bag to the top of the staircase and left it there.

“In that case,” turns Dabi around, flinging said bag over to Hawks in the same breath, “go straight the fuck home and get yourself presentable, you overgrown turkey. Might wanna decide on the new alias by the next time I call, too. You already know the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, dragging the strap over his head.

Between the echo of boots, there’s a distorted farewell: “See ya, little star.”

Hawks stops in his tracks. He looks over to the empty entrance, and the metal door wide open. The sound of footsteps has faded into barely more than creepy sounds in an abandoned building- if not for his feathers, he wouldn’t even know that six other people are under the roof he’s standing on. Spirits and shadows haunting an old convenience store like many others.

He's nothing more than another ghost out here, and yet… he's never felt so real.

---

No matter what he chooses, Dabi will just stick to 'fancy chicken.' Also, I’m so fucking proud of that Red Starling. Not only is it obscure astronomy bullshit (much like the title of this thing), but it would be a nifty alternative to Hawks; just hit up a video on a flock (or, as I just learned, murmuration) of starlings. Shit’s cray.

[trashayfanfiction]

1. Comfort zone: melancholy. angst. Tears. Suffering physically and emotionally.

2. Trope I want to try my hand at: Angsty highschool AU, but AU is hard for me.

3. Trope I wouldn’t touch with a 10ft pole? A/B/O sorry guys. I have squick for it. Give me all of the horrible rape, sex slaves, power dynamic/breeding kink and whatever, but don’t give me a biological hierarchy as to why it happens. (no kink-shaming if you do like it tho, but not my cup of tea)

4. I am nurturing...... 5 ideas? I”m doing RVBB, still the panic attacks fic, and yet another dead dove (but softer; less rape more angst this time)

5.Strengths: Introspection and internal conflict, portraying mixed feelings.

6. Weaknesses: External physical conflict. I can’t make a cohesive plot of physical things happening: I cannot write “adventure to gather all 7 dragon balls, fights along the way, we did the thing, the end”.

7. My favorite prose I wrote& why: ...I think I suck at prose. But ‘When She was Beautiful” An Ash’s Mother story https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004666

She was young. Fresh out of high school, when she met Jim at a country bar. She had a fake ID. In school they had called her a tramp, a harlot. It wasn’t true, even if she had the figure to put a porn star to shame. She was an attractive amount of tall and thin. Her curves were in all the right places. She’d had this figure since she was twelve.

The first time she did it, she was fourteen. He had asked. She protested. He kept asking. He did it anyways. It hurt. It was degrading. She grew used to it. It wasn’t rape. Eventually she liked that it was degrading; and would seek it out. This is what she was meant for, right?  She was a woman. She bled. This is what people like her were made for.

She was beautiful.

------I liked highlighting how the world saw her shaped how she viewed herself and justified (to her and those around her) what was done to her. I am trying to portray this critically and nuanced.

8. My fave dialogue and why: At Current I like this piece from Ch4 of ‘Fling” (Ash/Shorter)--- (Ash has suddenly ran away due to anxiety in the middle of what was suppose to be fun sex) https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768864/chapters/36680811

Shorter knocked on the locked bathroom door.

“Ah…. do you need a smoke?” He called, hesitantly.

“No! I don’t fucking need a smoke!” A quick response.

“Your pills are in the cabinet in there. You know, your anit-anxiety stuff-!”

“-I’m not sick! I don’t want my pills!!” Anger.

Shorter paused. Anything, anything to help. Anything to get his friend talking, “Do you want a sandwich?!”

A muffled scream of frustration, “I don’t need a fucking sandwich, Shorter! Leave me ALONE! I DON’T FEEL GOOD,”

“You’re not gonna like cut yourself and bleed out in my bathroom, are ya?” Humor, maybe? He hoped he was going for humor, but he was genuinely worried. Sometimes Ash flew off the handle…… Some of his other friends had done similar….

An exasperated exhale, “You know, I don’t fucking do that!” echoed through the door.

---- I like it because I think it portrays the disconnect Ash and Shorter have about what’s going on and lack of communication even though words are technically being spoken. Shorter wants to help, Ash isn’t letting him help and denying that there is a problem at all; thus resulting in more problems.

9. Hardest to write: The fic about Eiji’s reaction to Ash’s panic attacks that is still in production hell is my hardest. I don’t have anxiety, but I do try to help people with it. I want it to be an accurate representation, and attempt to be sensitive.

Also, my first Foxx’ rape fic was emotionally exhausting.

10: Easiest to write: ‘Fling’ I guess, I keep adding more to it because Ash/Shorter want to do more dumb things.

11. Writing is a fun hobby, I suck at writing. Writing is hard. I don’t wanna beta read enough to ever publish original content. Also, I like playing in other people’s sandboxes.

12. Episodes that inspire me: Neon Genesis Evangelion.... all that psycho babble.... yes. I’m here for it.

13. Best writing advice i’ve been given was by a friend who is a poet. Roundabout they told me; “You will never write something ‘good’, you will always write something better. Don’t worry about making it perfect.” They write with their emotions, so it vibes with me.

14. Worst writing advice I’ve come across: ‘Write everyday’ is horrible. It doesn’t work for me. It makes writing seem like a chore. I write when I am inspired. I will write a few sentences on a pre-started project when I am uninspired to help move it along, but ‘write everyday’ just tends to churn out a lot of garbage I didn’t learn from.

15. If I could choose a fic to be filmed? ....well, most of my fics are porn arent’ they. I think ‘Feelings of Loneliness” (Blanca+Ash post ending in the Carribean) would make an interesting art-house short-film. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144981

16. Write one paring for the rest of my life? Well, I think we all know BF as a whole is what I’ll be writing on an off forever. ....Honestly I’m torn between saying I’d write ash/Eiji or Ash/Shorter. I never shipped Ash/Shorter until the anime fandom, but they might have a more interesting dynamic if I was to write them forever..... OOH, I SHOULD WRITE A FIC ABOUT ASH COPING WITH SHORTER DYING. I HAVEN’T SEEN ONE OF THOSE. oof. the angst

17. Do you write start to finish or do you write sentences out of order? .....I definitely write out of order. I write when scenes come to me, and then I fill in the blanks in-between. It’s difficult to understand my drafts, it’s definitely ADHD storytelling.

18. I do not use tools like worksheets/outlines, I do use a thesaurus because I have garbage vocab, and I’ve gotten into the habit of having beta-readers/feedback before I post. I sometimes look at ‘writing tips’ pages.

19. My muse is also ‘man who lives in his basement’. I am/was one of the punk street kids, and I observe the interactions that go on between them.

20. My perfect writing conditions are: home alone in my room, in my bed, cat not bothering me, new ‘fresh’ music playing that I’m vibin with and haven’t heard before but not so good it takes away from my concentration on a story. Usually after a hard day of work, I write about a story that was brewing in my head all day. Hopefully I don’t get distracted by social media: like right now....

[chemically-imbalanced-romance]

I Won’t Say I’m In Love [Pre-Draft]

I’ll try to keep this short even though I have a lot to say

This fic was meant to be a one off, but a lot lot longer, and it didn’t end up that way. I got a sudden surge of motivation and since it was the first and so far only dose I’ve gotten for months, I went with it. If you guys like this enough for me to actually turn it into what it was originally envisioned- A cute origin fic of a quiet moody Virgil and a sheepish flirty Roman -then just lmk, and I’ll see if I can stir up any leftover motivation.

A huge huge thanks to my dear boy @confusedcaleb​ and @dazedtrains​ ((idk which blog you’d want me to tag lmao)) for reading this for me and encouraging me to actually write it. Fun fact: He’s the cute transboy I was talking about meeting a bunch of months ago.

Wow this really was supposed to be short

Anyway, no trigger warnings except for some crude language 

   “You’re kidding, right? He’s kidding.”

   Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Well, generally, I’d agree. He doesn’t look kidding, though.”

   Patton whined. “Come on, what’s the big deal?”

   “I have plans,” Virgil muttered.

  Patton squinted at him, trying to decide whether to call him out on his bullshit or congratulate him for getting out of the house.

   “Don’t bother, Patton,” Logan said. “He’s lying to you.”

   Patton gasped. “That’s so unfair!”

  Virgil turned away and resumed shoving his things in his backpack. The week’s worth of homework he’d been hoarding stuck out of his binder messily; He planned on using his assignments to kill time over the weekend. Usually he’d spend the weekend sleeping, or crashing at Logan or Patton’s house, but is only two friends were going to be busy and he’d been having trouble sleeping lately.

   He slung his backpack over his shoulder and looked at them. “He invited you, okay?” His voice was quiet, but strong. “You can go if you want, but don’t drag me into it.”

   Patton pouted, his eyes shining. God, why me. “Please?”

   Logan offered Virgil a sliver of a smile. “Don’t make me brood alone.”

   Tag teaming. Totally unfair.

   “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled. “Can I get a ride?”

  Patton squealed, jumping to throw his arms around Virgil. He squeezed the life out of him and moved on to do the same to Logan.

   “Remy’ll be picking us up. Just be ready at seven, okay?”

  Virgil cursed under his breath as a car honked outside. He stumbled around his room, snatching his hoodie and the two Monsters he had left on the desk, before dashing out.

   “You don’t know what a text is?” He muttered so that only Logan could hear as he climbed into the back of Remy’s car.

   Remy pulled away from Virgil’s house before his door was even closed. He started towards Patton’s house.

  Remy grinned at him through the rearview mirror, a sharp grin on his face. Due to the darkness, he was lacking his favourite sunglasses, showcasing his gray eyes.

   “Virgil! Glad you could make it.”

   “Can’t relate.”

   “Can’t help but notice you have two of those.”

  Virgil held out one of his Monsters. “Figured I could prevent some kind of fire,” he said while Logan opened it and handed it over to Remy.

  Remy was one of the most intelligent, talented people on the theatre crew. He knew this, too, which was why he refused to let anything lack his touch. He took on every project he could and got less sleep than Virgil, which was really a world record. One time Sophomore year, Remy’d gone a week without any sleep, and fell asleep in the middle of opening night- On the soundboard. He vowed not to let that happen again.

  He stopped at Patton’s house, also only kind of allowing him to get in before starting again. Patton grinned and attack-hugged Virgil again.

   “Yay! I thought you would change your mind.”

  Patton was the only one who apparently saw this as an event worthy enough of a new outfit. The rest of the boys were wearing what they’d been for school that day, but Patton picked out a lavender skirt and matching combat boots.

   Patton babbled on through the car ride, Logan and Virgil idly listening but Remy really the only one indulging him, until they got to the school. Remy thanked Virgil for the caffeine before he left to join the rest of the crew backstage, Virgil, Logan, and Patton taking their usual seats in the front.

   Virgil crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, sliding down in the seat.

  Remy had been inviting them to performances of all kind since Freshman year, and they went to every single one. Virgil knew the name of pretty much any student in the school who was A) slightly queer, B) slightly creative, or C) both. Any new faces stuck out like a sore thumb. So when the lights went down and the leading role came out onto the stage, Virgil’s honest-to-God first reaction was to lean to Logan’s side and mumble, “Who’s that asshole?”

   “Roman. He got here a few months ago. What, Remy hasn’t mentioned him to you yet?” Virgil shook his head. “Lucky you. He won’t shut up about him.”

   “Why?”

   “He’s an asshole.”

  Virgil snorted and sunk back in his seat, focusing back on the production. As always, the would-be trainwreck was pulled together last minute by the few drama kids who actually gave a shit, and managed to be pretty enjoyable. The only difference was the new guy practically sparkling in the stage lights.

   When the lights came back on and the majority of the audience poured out of the auditorium, Patton rushed to pull out a crumpled bouquet of flowers from his backpack. Virgil and Logan followed behind, muttering congratulations as Patton went down the line to hand a flower to everyone.

   Virgil and Logan both had been ready to leave for a half hour by now, but Remy was their ride home and they would’ve stuck around to congratulate him, anyway. Patton approached Remy with his arm slung around Roman’s shoulders with the remainder flowers. He grinned as he held them out.

  Virgil rolled his eyes, Logan chuckling as Remy made a big show of accepting them, kissing Patton on the cheek and handing one over to Roman.

   Roman blushed. “Thank you.”

   “You did so good!” Patton bounced up and down, hardly containing his excitement. “I told you!”

   They’ve met before?

  Well, that did make sense. Patton went to practically every rehearsal- It wouldn’t make sense for him to not have latched himself against Roman’s side. Any time there was a new kid, Patton was the first one they met. He tended to hover around and shower them in gifts and favours until they found their own friends. It would be annoying if Patton wasn’t so damn good at being a friend. He read people really well and adapted quickly. Logan and Virgil wouldn’t have ever imagined they be friends with someone like him, but, well, Patton really knew how to take care of them.

   Virgil went to take out his phone, knowing Patton and Remy could sit talking for hours, when Logan nudged him.

   “What?” He grumbled. He didn’t look up, but Logan nudged him again, so Virgil shot him a glare. “What?”

  Logan nodded to the boys; Virgil glanced over and caught Roman poorly disguising the fact that he was clearly staring at him.

   Virgil blinked. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

   “Okay,” he mumbled, hurriedly pulling his phone out.

   “You’re an idiot,” Logan sighed.

   “I know,” he snapped. His heart was racing.

  With Remy and Patton completely distracted by their conversation, Logan was free to shove Virgil as hard as he could without Patton’s scolding.

   “Motherfuc-”

   Logan was probably going for something ‘romantic-’ Shoving Virgil into Roman’s chest, having Roman catch him, maybe some life-changing eye contact. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Logan sucked. He completely missed, slamming Virgil into the stage next to Roman while Roman watched with wide eyes.

   “Virgil!” Patton rushed over to him, cutting off his sight of Roman. “Are you okay? What happened?”

   “He tripped,” Logan cut in before Virgil could cut him out.

   “Are you okay?” Patton asked.

   “Fine,” he grumbled. His hip hurt and his face was on fire. “Can we go?”

   “Actually, Patton-”

   Oh my god I’m going to throw something at him.

   “I need to talk to you and Remy before we leave.” Logan’s face was the picture of innocence. “Is that okay?”

   Patton bit his lip, looking between Logan and Virgil. “Uh… Yeah! Roman?”

  Oh my god.

   Virgil glared at him, silently promising murder as Patton asked Roman to walk Virgil to the car.

   Roman blushed. “Yeah! Sure. Okay. Sure.”

   “We’ll be there in a few minutes!”

   Before Roman could get to him, Virgil turned around and stormed off, ramming his shoulder into Logan’s on the way.

  Outside, despite being several steps behind, Roman talked like they were right next to each other. “I didn’t get your name?”

   He wanted to tell him to fuck off, but rather it be anxiety or manners, he couldn’t. “Virgil.”

   “I’m Roman. Do you, ah-?”

   “I can walk myself.”

   “Right.”

  Virgil stopped at Remy’s car, Roman stopping a few inches in front of him. He twisted his flower between his fingers, biting his lip. Virgil crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

   “I, uh… I like your hair,” Roman mumbled.

   Virgil glanced up. “Uh. Thanks.” He’s gotten a few compliments on his purple hair. Never from hot guys.

  What the hell did Logan even have in mind when he sent them out here? It wasn’t like anything was going to happen. Clearly. They were both messes of anxiety, they were just going to stand there the whole time.

   “Are you friends with Remy?” Roman asked, desperately trying to keep up conversation. Great.

   Virgil shrugged. “I’m friends with Patton. Patton’s friends with Remy.”

   “He talks about you a lot,” he said quietly.

   Virgil furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah?” Roman nodded.

  Awkward silence washed over them and Virgil prayed for Logan to come outside so he could strangle him. He’ll have to find a way around Patton to get to him…

   “Jesus,” Virgil finally groaned. How long could they take?

   “He probably knows…” Roman trailed off, his face red.

   Virgil glanced at him. “What?”

   “Well, uh… He probably figured we wouldn’t really talk… Easily…”

   “Logan?”

   “Mhm.”

  Right. He wasn’t an idiot- Of course he knew Logan planned this. Which means Roman’s probably not this awkward at all- Just uncomfortable with the thought of being set up with a dude.

   “Just ignore him,” Virgil mumbled. “He’s an asshole. I know you’re not interested.”

   Roman looked at him in surprise. “I’m interested.”

   “What?” Virgil’s heart slammed against his chest.

   Roman stuttered around his words. “I, ah- I’m interested. In, uh. In you.”

   Virgil’s first instinct was to say, ‘No, you’re not,’ but, God, what a dick move. Save that for later.

   He blinked. “Okay.”

   Roman deflated a little. “Are, uh…”

   “Oh, fuck- Right! Yeah. Yeah, I’m, uh…” Goddamnit. He didn’t think he’d ever been so embarrassed.

  The front doors to the school opened, Logan, Remy, and Patton walking out, heavily engaged in conversation. Roman hesitated, before stepping forward and pressing his flower into Virgil’s hand, and walking to Remy. Virgil gripped the stem, frozen, his eyes wide and his cheeks red.

  He still had to sit in the front seat on the ride home to keep himself from killing Logan, but he stayed silent the entire ride, a flurry of embarrassment, excitement, and anxiety swirling around in his stomach.

  He didn’t know what the hell to do with a flower when he got home, and he was too damn tired to Google it, so he just set it on his dresser and fell back on his bed.

   The knowledge of it sitting across the room kept Virgil up half the night; He persistently tried distracting himself, as every time he thought of Roman giving him the flower gave him a powerful surge of emotion that he just didn’t know what to do with.

   He prayed the feelings would go away soon, but he seriously doubted it.

   Fuck you, Logan.

[redlance]

How much planning has gone/goes into experimentation? like do you just kinda write and see where it takes you or do you plan out each chapter and several chapters in advance? Do you know how it will end? just vaguely or very specifically? I'd love to hear more about how you go about writing. I'm in love with experimentation! You should be so proud!

A little of column a, a little of column shitstorm. Which is to say that, nine times out of ten, whenever I start a chapter it's brand new. I haven't planned how it's going to start or bulletpoint-plotted every scene. So, in that sense, there's a lot of winging it going on. And that's largely because when I've tried to actually plot out chapters for fics in the past, it doesn't go well. I can't pre-render scenes because if I do, nothing feels organic. A linear plan makes me feel like I can't waiver from it, you know? If I work out exactly what's going to happen between a, b, c and d then, for me, there's no real creative process. That being said, I do have roughly ten pages of notes I've kept over the course of writing Experimentation. A lot of the stuff in there has been included already, but there are still plot points in there that I want to use. It could be a single line of dialogue I thought up in the middle of the night or a rough idea for a scene, but it's rarely a full... Piece? Like a whole jigsaw puzzle piece. It's not that. It's more like the rounded end and when it comes time to write, I fill in the rest of the piece and can slot it into the rest of the chapter. There are things I know for sure I what to have happen at certain points. In regard to chapter 36, I want Beca and Jesse to have a talk that's been in my notes as nothing but dialogue for... I don't even know how long. Months. There are a few little bits jotted down for Worlds, all things that'll be fleshed out. But sometimes my muse doesn't agree. A perfect example of this is that the Trebles Grad party from chapter 23/24, was SUPPOSED to start at chapter 19. But something sparked and distracted me, and suddenly there's a back rub happening and I've lost at least two chapters. So, things rarely go exactly as planned when I do plan things. Do I know how it will end? Yes. I actually have a chunk of the climax of the story already written out and it's been sitting in my notes for probably a year and a half. That's probably one of the few solid plot points I've stuck to. I'm a bit stubborn when it comes to the idea of changing anything about that ending, or the things that need to happen leading up to it. And then I have an idea for an epilogue that I think I have a little bit written down for but most of it is like a scene in my head. That's how a lot of my notes work actually. I'll see them play out in my head and then nab the key bits from them to write down. Then, when I go over my notes, I'm able to pull that scene back up and do my very best to write it as well as I see it. This was overly long and I babbled, but I hope some of it made sense and was at least a little interesting!