#might add another little flyaway strand piece

[squintsintwink]

Oh this is gonna take FOREVER

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 11: Ballroom Dances

Sorry for the delay on day 11 of the @felinettenovember​ prompts! I found out my spouse had the night off yesterday, which throws my after work plans out the window, since he wants to spend time with me (crazy right?). Add in writer’s block for the entirety of my remaining writing time and a complete change in idea 0this morning and you’ve got this. If the motivation ever returns (after November ends) I might try to finish my original plan for this (more of a throwback to when my high school included a short unit about dancing during gym) and give you another Felinette dancing fic.

So here’s some fluff and accidental reveals.

Chat!Felix and definitely taking place near the end of their high school time. 

Around 1900 words

Patrols were Felix’s favorite part of the week. Not only did he get to run across the rooftops as Chat Noir, pushing himself to move faster and grow stronger, but he also got to see his partner. After the akumas started getting stronger, the two agreed that they should get together once or twice a week to spar. Ladybug was light on her feet and surprisingly strong, but he had raw mass on her and was using the patrol to build up his stamina. Modeling didn't cut it. Afterwards he would sneak out to find some extra food to supplement his diet and avoid dropping weight. Doing this for a few years had really improved his fighting and he felt this helped the pair stay in tune better during battles. He noticed they fell under an akuma's influence less than when it first began (him especially) and the battles seemed to be more contained. 

Tonight was different from their usual sessions though. Ladybug seemed too distracted during their sparring and he had the upper hand for too much of it.

"Something on your mind, L?" Felix asked, backing out of their chalk-drawn ring to signify his ending the exercise. He grabbed his water bottle and sat near the edge of the roof. Her quiet steps marked the approach and she sat next to him.

"Yeah. Civilian life problems." She sighed out, slouching slightly. 

"Same. Would you like to share some general parts? If you don't want to, is it alright if I do?" Felix didn't want to pry. A few months into their partnership, they had a serious talk about his crush and the way his actions and words were making her uncomfortable. He took it to heart, examining where the line was, and worked to be better. It also helped their battle chemistry to know they could trust each other to listen and respect. It hurt Felix’s heart a bit to be rejected but if Ladybug's belonged to someone else, there wasn’t anything to do about it. 

"You can go first. I'm not sure how much I want to share yet…" she took another deep breath and pushed it out through her nose. Relaxation techniques. Both of them had learned a variety to try preventing either from becoming akumatized.

"As you've known for a while, I've been trying to move on from you since you told me you liked someone else a lot. I actually have a girl in my school that is pretty extraordinary. She's smart, very kind, and rather talented. Even my father likes her and he doesn't like anybody. I'm considering asking her to a school event that's coming up, as a date. However almost every guy in her class has had feelings for her and she declines everyone that gets the courage to ask her out, sweetly of course. Because that's how she is. Kind but firm," he couldn't hold back the sigh or keep his shoulders from the weight of his worry. Ladybug reached over and rubbed his upper back gently.

"Why not give it a try? She might just be waiting for the guy she likes to ask her. I would in her shoes… Plus you're a great guy, Chat! It could even be you!" she supplied encouragingly, turning to give him a smile. He knew she was probably correct about the first part, especially given how often she was right about Marinette. Every piece of vague advice she gave worked in his favor and actually was the reason he had managed to befriend her and started to view her differently.

"Yeah. You're usually right," the first word more of a sigh than actually spoken. He still felt nervous but her support eased it just a little. He wouldn't know unless he asked.

"Actually I’m worried about something kind of similar. I'm planning on going to a dance coming up and I want to ask the guy I like to a slow dance at it, if he comes. But I don't know how to dance and, based on a conversation with one of his friends, he was taught to ballroom dance… plus I always get weak-kneed around him so it makes me a little clumsy. So he probably wouldn’t want to dance with me anyway…" a blush spread across her cheeks as she spoke. He couldn’t help but laugh internally at the coincidence that her school would have a dance coming up too. He guessed it must be the season for it though. 

"I can help you out with that, if you'd like. Part of it at least. I have taken some waltz lessons for different events my father forced me to attend." Felix slowly climbed to a standing position and offered a hand to his partner. She accepted and rose.

"I forgot that your family attends formal events like that… I really appreciate your help!" A little of her usual shine came back. Amazing how much hope can light up someone's eyes.

With her assent, he began explaining and demonstrating the basic steps, positioned her arms in the air before her so he could correct posture, then had her practice without a partner initially. Then he began explaining leading and stepped in to demonstrate what it was like having a partner.

She was not great at the start, however with her focus and already light feet, she picked up on the dance relatively quickly. By the end of this lesson, she at least could hold up with the basics.

"Would you like to practice this again in the next week or two?" He offered, proud at the progress she made in such a short time. She affirmed that she wanted to practice more, the two deciding once a week for the next three weeks would be ideal. Before parting for the night, he reminded her to practice the steps on her own each night if she really wanted to be confident in them, especially in her dress and shoes once she had them.

Over the next few weeks, Ladybug was dutiful in her practice and lessons and improved drastically. Felix couldn’t help but wonder if her transformation helped or if she really was this graceful in her civilian life. If she was, it would seem like a dead giveaway to him.

Felix, on the other hand, had not built up his courage enough to ask Marinette to be his date to their school dance. She seemed so busy helping the student council prepare for it, just another responsibility of class representatives. He only had one more week to ask her as his school dance took place the next Saturday.

"I'm confident that you're good enough for a simple dance, L. I'm pretty sure you could even handle it if he threw in some turns. You don't have any reason to worry!" Felix assured his partner after their last practice session. It seemed her nerves weren't any calmer than his. 

"Thanks. I'm sure it can't be more of a disaster than some of the other things that have happened around him… Did you ask that girl out yet?" She looked expectantly and he couldn't help but avoid eye contact.

"Not yet… she has been rather busy so I don't want to bother her. As far as I know, she isn't going with anyone though," he answered reluctantly, running his hand from the back of his neck forward.

"Oh Chat, you can do this. It's just one moment of courage and then the two of you either move on with your lives or go on a date and decide where to go from there!" Ladybug clearly was excited for him, completely confident that the results would be fine. Felix wished he could tap into that enthusiasm. 

"I'll do my best… maybe I'll visit her and ask outside of school…" he tried to sound assured. Maybe I'll feel less pressure asking outside of school. He also began planning to himself how he would ask too. It hadn't occurred to him until then that he might want to do something more than just say it. He should probably bring her something she likes when he asks.

"Good luck!" Ladybug shouted to him as they parted ways again.

At school on Wednesday, Marinette was surprised when Felix asked if he could stop by the bakery that evening. She agreed and asked if he wanted her to have anything ready. He assured her she didn't need anything for him and that he likely wouldn't be there too long. This didn't relieve any of her confusion at his sudden request. 

She was even more surprised when Felix brought her a bouquet of flowers and a spool of nice silk ribbon, and asked her to go to the school dance with her. She readily agreed and, pulling up a photo of the fabric she had used for her dress, asked if he minded the color scheme she had chosen before having a date. She even offered to make him a tie to match, if he wanted. He assured her he had one that would match well and she didn’t need to worry about anything else regarding the dance. They set a time for him to pick her up the following week before parting. Felix kissed her hand gently before walking to his car, hoping the small flirtation would be acceptable and indicated his sincerity. Marinette blushed and watched until his car had pulled into traffic. 

When Felix arrived at the bakery to take Marinette to the dance, he was unprepared for all of the pomp that accompanied it. First her parents took pictures of him before she came downstairs, (apparently they had been taking pictures of her preparing and gotten a few of her alone upstairs), and then there was the moment she came down.

She looked fantastic, hair done up in a single bun, with the flyaway pieces curling around her face and the ends of the pulled up strands curled slightly around the bun. The main body of her dress ended just above her ankles, however the sheer fabric layer on top hung to her toes in her 8 cm heels. The top was tighter around her waist and dropped down in a fashion that complimented her thin frame but didn't hug it. The scoop neckline was high and flat and the sleeves covered most of her bicep. Her necklace and bright smile completed her look.

Felix's mouth may have hung open but he was more focused on her than how he looked right then. When she hesitantly walked towards him, blushing beautifully, and asked what he thought of the dress she had designed, he's sure he said something coherent and complimentary beyond a single uttered "wow," no matter what her parents say. They took more photos of the pair posing together before letting them leave. Her parents decided that their favorite picture was very possibly the one catching the look on his face when he first saw her.

Felix was in for another surprise after he asked her for a slow dance, expecting Marinette to simply wrap her arms around his neck and sway, when instead she shyly asked if a waltz was okay, as that's the only slow dance she knew. He was thrilled by the coincidence and they became the center of attention with their perfectly timed waltz. If either was reminded of their costumed partner’s dancing, it was unconsciously. At the end of the night, he surprised her by asking if she would like to continue dating him. She said yes.

The next joint patrol between Chat Noir and Ladybug ended with excited and more detailed updates on their respective situations. Both were surprised at the accidental identity reveal.

[katzuyas]

pulchritudinous

for @nerdbully thanks to @victuurisummerloving ❤️

I know this isn’t any of the prompts you’ve given me, but I hope it’s sweet enough to make up for it? ;3c

There's an elegant line to Victor's nape when he bows his head over the small piece of paper with jumps and combinations scrawled onto it in a confusing sequence of symbols that no one other than a figure skating junkie could decipher. Victor's hair is brushed away from one side of his face and falls gently on the other, lovely tresses of silver moonlight draped over his ear. Yuuri's fingers twitch to touch, to tuck in that one little flyaway lock that slipped out of the rest, but he forces himself not to: he doesn't want to disturb Victor when he looks so... he looks...

He looks... regal.

That's the only way Yuuri can describe it. Even if there's nothing kingly about Victor's low cut V-neck shirt that exposes his collarbones, or the sweats that he's wearing, which have slipped a little from the on-ice training and now ride so low on his hips that when he breathes, the hem of his shirt rides up and Yuuri gets glimpses of his pale skin; there should be nothing dignified about it and yet...

Victor doesn't look like a prince, nor is he trying to look like one. Sure, he likes to dress nice, but he doesn't dress to impress: he only does it to look nice for himself. And sometimes for Yuuri, too, but that is a whole another matter that makes him even less princely and more a dork, which Yuuri knows he is.

But the fact that from time to time Yuuri can't help the comparison in his own mind just adds more to his starstruck mooning. Victor doesn't seem to catch it while he chews on his lower lip in thought and that, like everything about him, is way too majestic – or it looks like that to Yuuri, who whimpers out loud when Victor finally releases the plump, now delightfully red flesh from the capture of his teeth.

"Anything to add?" Victor asks.

"Um..." Yuuri gives, as intelligently as his dizzy mind is capable of at the moment.

Victor smiles at him when no more words follow and it's that smile, the heart-shaped, lovely one that makes Yuuri's face flush and something adoring and vulnerable sting hot at his eyes. Victor turns to him while his forearms still resting on the rink barrier in a way that makes his shirt ride up on his back. Yuuri's eyes glue to the spot where Victor's spine arches and when he blinks, it feels like his body has moved completely of its own will, because he finds himself with a hand resting right there.

Victor's skin is warm. Yuuri presses himself into Victor's side and lets his hand sneak under the hem of the shirt to run his fingers over it. His hand isn't cold per se, but Victor sucks in a surprised breath.

Even then, he looks imperial. Beautiful. Glowing.

"I think it's perfect," Yuuri says.

You're perfect, he means.

He has no idea what Victor was saying before, but no matter what it was he's fairly sure he struck the nail on the head since Victor smiles at him again and his love melts into the tiny wrinkles around his eyes. They, like everything about him, look refined.

"Are you sure?" Victor asks again while Yuuri follows the soft curve of his cupid's bow with his gaze. It's lovely. So cute. Yuuri loves it, wants to press his lips to it. Right now.

"I wouldn't want to overwhelm you," Victor keeps talking, but Yuuri is barely listening, too distracted by the way Victor's mouth moves as he speaks. "I know you haven't thought about it yet, but April is close and if we want to plan the wedding ourselves there's only a little time left after Worlds to–"

"W-wedding?" Yuuri chokes out, stepping back from Victor so fast that he almost trips over his own skates. Was that what Victor was talking to him about?

Flushed and thrown out of the loop Yuuri looks at him again... only to see Victor's cheeks flush as hard as his own. The reason for it is vastly different, however. While Yuuri's face burns from a mix of surprise, embarrassment and heart-fluttering delight, Victor goes red from how hard he's trying to hold back his laughter.

It's only when Yuuri purses his lips as he realizes it that Victor breaks into a fit of giggles, which somehow make him no less handsome, no less exquisite... but more.

Victor was teasing him, Yuuri discovers in a bout of brilliance.

"Why would you say that," Yuuri complains quietly, hoping Victor would miss it among the sound of his chuckles, but he doesn't.

"You weren't paying attention," he simply says. Victor isn't upset, Yuuri knows, yet the indignation rises in him nonetheless.

"I was!" he argues. Then flushes, because he really wasn't: at least not to Victor's words. Victor's eyes laugh for him, only making Yuuri's flush deepen as he's caught in a lie red-faced. "Okay, I might have been a little distracted, but it's not what you think."

Victor hums. "I like when you pay attention to me, though."

"I was," Yuuri insists, this time truthfully. "Just not to your words."

He ducks his head a bit when he realizes how that must have sounded, but it's more than alright – Victor gives a chuckle and steps up to him to take both his hands and kiss his knuckles twice, like the prince he is. Yuuri's heart melts into a gooey, swooning mess, which he doesn't mind one bit, because that's just what Victor does to him and he's used to this by now. As much as a person can get used to a gorgeous, gorgeous man like Victor kissing his hands with so much pure adoration in his smile, of course.

"What were you paying attention to, then?" Victor asks and Yuuri has a sneaking suspicion that he knows very well what it was that Yuuri's mind mulled over in his speechlessness, but he still asks. He still wants to hear it, and Yuuri thinks of indulging him for a wild moment, but then he thinks again.

They were never that good at speaking anyway, were they?

Instead of doing it with words then, Yuuri pulls one hand out of Victor's grasp and lifts it up to tuck that little strand of hair that's been bothering him all this time back behind Victor's ear. He lets his fingers caress the lovely shell of it: it's soft and tender, and when Yuuri's touch slides lower Victor twitches a little as if he was ticklish there. And he is, Yuuri smiles to himself, a lazy, slow smile. He knows that now, just like he knows all the other areas of Victor's body that make him like this. The ones that make him blush, the ones that make him giggle, the ones that make him pant Yuuri's name into a pillow–

Yuuri moves on and slides his hand over Victor's jaw, to his chin, and presses his thumb against his lips as he lines that sweet mound of Victor's cupid's bow with the tip.

Victor's silent, fallen still, and Yuuri takes the opportunity to lean in close.

"I'd love an April wedding," he says through his own blush, and watches it being mirrored on Victor's face. Even with a blush, Victor looks so sweet, so beautiful, so–

"But I'd love a kiss a little more right now, I think."

It doesn't take more convincing for Victor to dip his head down and press his lips against Yuuri's. It's a little kiss, soft and not overtly passionate, but it fills Yuuri's lungs with a sigh content enough that once they break apart and Victor pulls him closer by the hip, Yuuri nuzzles their noses together. It's sweeter than honey, more addictive than any drug, and Yuuri knows that what his heart is feeling now cannot be described as anything other than utter bliss.

"I feel like I should reprimand you for trying to distract your coach while we're supposed to be practicing," Victor whispers. His breath fans over Yuuri's lips, which Yuuri licks out of habit.

"Me? Distracting you?" Yuuri asks back. "You're the one that's distracting, looking so, so–"

He pauses, but Victor doesn't let him stay quiet.

"So?" he prods, grinning ever so lightly.

Yuuri makes a conflicted noise, because he doesn't know if he wants to say lovely, or sweet, or princely, or beautiful, or perfect, or–

"–pulchritudinous," Yuuri says when his mind short-circuits from how utterly smitten he is in this very moment with this very man who is also his fiancé and whom he loves so very much it's impossible to express in words.

Victor draws his eyebrows, adorable confusion on his face.

"I'm sorry, what? I don't think I know that word."

He's cuter than allowed and Yuuri can't really help it when he tips almost onto the toe picks of his skates to kiss him again. One kiss turns into two, and between them and the third and fourth and fifth, Yuuri mumbles:

"You're beautiful," He presses his lips to Victor's, "and delightful," Kisses him again, "and dazzling."

The last kiss is longer and Yuuri holds onto Victor's face with both hands a little afraid to let go and speak the rest of what already sits heavy with affection on his tongue.

"And I've never felt this way about anyone before. Nor will I ever again, I just know it."

Victor's looks flushed and dazed, but his gaze is warm when their eyes meet. His mouth smiles sweetly and Yuuri melts into it when Victor kisses him again, so soft, so precious.

"April it is then," Victor says finally, out of nowhere going back to what they were talking before. "Or maybe March? No, not March – February!"

It means nothing that Yuuri doesn't reply, because Victor sighs to himself blissfully and hugs Yuuri close. His lips are kiss-warmed and pressed against the shell of Yuuri's ear, making him shiver with each breath. It makes him feel cherished and loved, however, so he buries himself into Victor without qualms.

"I can't wait to marry you," Victor whispers.

And Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor's back, and squeezes, and holds him tight, and gives:

"I promise I'll take care of you to the best of my ability."

Victor laughs into his neck.

"You don't need to," he says, his voice kind and overflowing with love, and once again Yuuri thinks of how he sounds, and looks, and holds him like a prince from a fairytale. "All I want is to be by your side, and for you to stay by mine."

"You'll have it," Yuuri promises. "And me. Forever."

"That sounds like heaven," Victor says softly and Yuuri can't disagree – it really does.

His own little heaven with a prince charming who loves him, and whom he loves just as much. Life couldn't get any better than this.

(It could and it does when Yuuri adds the five gold medals he's promised his now husband to their joint medal display case in their new St. Petersburg apartment, which they share with Makkachin, their new puppy and a whole lot of happy memories.)

[snowbellewells]

Looking for a Heart (that’s not walking away)  ~ Epilogue

(Well folks, this has taken way longer than I had hoped.  But here it is at last!  The concluding chapter of my first attempt at longer ouat piece not centered on CS.  It was certainly a challenge, but I’m sorry to see it end too.  The whole story can be found on ff.net as well, under my user name there: TutorGirlml.)

epilogue: no longer ships in the night

~eight months later~

           A light breeze on the placid, sunlit June morning comes in the opened windows of Storybrooke’s library, as Belle has opened them all to air the stuffy old building which sometimes takes on a bit of a musty smell along with the alluring scent of ancient pages.  It has never bothered the librarian, reminding her more of adventures yet to be taken, but she knows it can be a bit off-putting for most, as it can even tickle her nose a bit from time to time.

           Liam had helped her push them all up to let in the morning air before he left for the docks that morning in the early pre-dawn light.  The gentle gusts had ruffled her hair as she looked up into his rugged face, her word of thanks for helping with the corner frame that always sticks catching in her throat as he touched her face to brush off a flyaway strand, complete awe and adoration on his features, and she nearly forgot how to breathe.  Tucking the auburn lock delicately behind her ear, his fingers had lingered and she’d bitten her lip, shiver running through her, and she suddenly didn’t want him to go even as far as the water today, wanted to lock everyone else out, hold him close, and never let go.

           “There you are, Lass,” his warm voice, low and deep, had prolonged the shudders in her stomach.  He seemed hesitant to leave as well, even if he would return on his lunch hour as he often did; often stretching it to an hour and a half or ever two, and no one in town seems inclined to complain, or even notice.  If they spend that extra half hour in a far back corner like two lovestruck miscreant teenagers, his pleasantly solid weight pressed against her while she leaned back against the shelf of outdated encyclopedias no one ever looked at anymore… well, Belle smiles, deviously pleased with herself, that’s their little secret.

           Now, however, at half past noon, he is back with her and his lunch isn’t yet over. Liam doesn’t need to leave for another half hour at least, and he has joined her in re-shelving books the town’s residents have finished and returned. She is up on the ladder, sliding her beloved tales back into their places in the stacks, while Liam follows along with the cart, handing them up to her and – she knows – staying at the ready if she would reach too far, lose her balance, or risk falling in any way. She shakes her head slightly, knowing it’s a slim chance any such thing would happen – she’s been up and down ladders in libraries as long as she’s been able to walk – but she can’t help the touched, affectionate chuckle to herself. Liam’s protective streak a mile wide is just one of the many things she loves about him.  

           As if sensing her mother’s happy mood, Belle’s daughter chortles happily from her bassinet in the corner, waving her chubby little hands gleefully at the two of them and jabbering in her own cheery baby language.  

           “Is that so, Little Lass?” Liam calls over good naturedly, causing Mina Collette to squeal in delight at the sound of her favorite voice after her mother’s.

           Belle smiles at both of them from her perch; a few short months ago, she could never have imagined the scene before her.  It had seemed nearly impossible to have things work out this way – with nearly all her girlish hopes for a home and family of her own come true. Liam has turned out to be a doting surrogate father; she amends even that with a quick glance down at the glittering ring on her finger and a flush comes to her cheeks; he is soon to be father in name and law as well.  He is completely wrapped around the infant’s finger, and could not love Mina any more if she were actually from his own flesh and blood.  Belle can’t help but think that this is just another way her literature-inspired name suits her little girl.  Just as Mina Harker had inspired the devoted protection and chivalry of an entire team of men in Bram Stoker’s classic, her daughter seems to have done much the same in Liam, Killian, Henry, and almost anyone else she comes into contact with.  Belle had chosen the name for one of the first bravely self-possessed and intelligent female heroines in Victorian writing, hoping her daughter would be as stalwart and true in whatever she might face, with the middle name a tribute to her own beloved and long lost mother.  However, she has found that the second fit is amusingly apt as well.

           At any rate, this brilliant, noble, giving man, who laid down whatever childhood  he could have had in indentured servitude to try to be father, example, and only family to his younger brother could well have been lost here in this modern world – a man out of time, purposeless, drifting.  Instead, he has found his place, and quite possibly a sense of belonging, fulfillment, and happiness he never would have in his own.  Watching him now as he meanders over to peer down at Mina, whispering sweet gibberish to her and entertaining her with funny faces, Belle’s whole chest swells full enough to feel as if it may burst with love and pride for him.

           It hadn’t taken long, once things finally settled down with Rumple’s defeat, for them to set Liam up as Storybrooke’s harbormaster, monitoring the comings and goings from the town’s small port, making sure fishermen, pleasure boats, and all are lawfully satisfied and co-existing safely, as well as keeping the docks clean and well cared for.  The question of why the coastal town didn’t already have such a person had led to Killian’s shamefaced explanation of Cora turning the last one into a fish when they had first arrived on his ship some years back, when he had still been a villain and in cahoots with her, looking on without protest.  That poor man had actually been easily found once they knew – most large fish don’t linger right at the surface looking up at folks on the dock as if they want to be scooped out – and put back to rights, but he understandably wanted no part of his former position.  Liam is good at the job, naturally suited for it as well as possessing experience, plus he loves it and finds fulfillment there – as he does with she and Mina – but Belle would never begrudge him the exhilaration on his face, the twinkle in his eyes and the windswept hair when he returns from a day on the water.  It does her heart good to see him so satisfied.

           Liam has just glanced back to her, a mischievous quirk to his smile that make her nerve endings tingle just knowing he is about to cross the room in those ground-eating long strides and sweep her into his arms for a kiss, just like the dashing gallant men in her books whom she has dreamed of since she was a young girl. Her handsome hero found her at last. Her sailor has taken his first step toward her ladder perch when they hear the library’s main door open.  They smile at each other wryly, knowing just how Emma and Killian have felt for so long, always being interrupted, the sparkle of ‘later’ a promise in both of their eyes when they hear Henry call out a greeting a moment before he appears around the corner of the stacks.  

           “Hey Grandma!” he greets playfully, though she will soon be his aunt. “Uncle Liam,” he adds with a happy bob of his head.  Mina squeals with glee from her spot at the sound of Henry’s voice, equating it with bottles and stories the young man has been only to happy to provide while Belle feeds her many evenings after whole family dinners.

           Henry grins, blushing with pride in an endearing way at the babe’s recognition of him, and both Liam and Belle look on the sweet scene with love as the teen moves over to greet his young cousin, leaning over to the edge of her crib to speak with her and dangling his fingers for her to grab.  Clearly, he has come on a mission though, because once Mina has settled a bit, cooing occasionally still but calm, Henry turns back to them and steps forward, and a question clearly on his mind.

           “So,” he opens tentatively, looking from one to the other’s expectant face and then plunging on, “Violet’s birthday is next week, and I want to give her something she’ll really enjoy, and something she’ll know is from me.  I’m just not sure what.  If I ask Killian, he’ll give me too dramatic, grand gesture ideas – things I can’t pull off – and neither of my moms want us getting too serious for our age, whatever that means, so they’ll just suggest something nice but generic!” He looked up, his brow wrinkled as if personally offended by that last bit.  “She’s special,” he concludes after a short pause, “not every girl would understand all the crazy that comes with this family.  Anyway… I was hoping maybe you two would have some ideas.”

           “Well,” Liam ponders, smiling down at Henry paternally, a hand to his shoulder for a moment.  “We’re honored, aren’t we, Darling?”

           “Of course,” Belle agrees happily, her clever eyes sparkling in such a way that it’s clear she is already thinking on his request and simply bursting with ideas. Giving Liam a swift, silent glance; the two of them seem so in tune as to exchange a bit of conversation without speaking aloud at all.

           He nods his assent, and then looks back to his nephew, offering. “Well, Lad, you want something that says it’s from you and speaks of your connection, things the two of you have shared… What about a book?  You are the Author after all.  You met Violet in a land straight out of storybook and legend, and it is my understanding the two of you made quite a journey to a faraway city to see another library much larger than this one.  Perhaps the written word would be the most fitting symbol?”

           Belle nods vigorously, clearly full of suggestions if he seems interested. “Oh yes, Henry!  Books make the best gifts!”  She gestures a bit too excitedly causing the ladder to sway, and Liam to quickly steady it with his large hands.

           “Easy there, Lass!” he says with doting, humored affection.

           Henry shakes his head at them, both at the suggestion he should have seen coming, and at the fact that they are becoming almost as sickeningly sweet as his mom and Killian.  This makes sense, but there are so many books to choose from – so many stories – and Violet has been so understanding, so patient and supportive through so much craziness.  He really wants this gift to say thank you, to be just right for her and show her how special she is – just how very much she means to him.  Tilting his head slightly in thought, he offers, “Okay, a book does seem right, I’ll admit, but which one?”

           Liam speaks up first, “I’ve always found tales of adventure and valor to be the most gripping reads, especially if set at sea, but perhaps those aren’t the most suited to courtship or a young lady’s interests…”

           “Depends on the young lady,” Belle counters with an arched brow from her perch, making Henry snort a surprised guffaw at her quick comeback.  

           Liam merely nods to his love in deference, “Point taken. What about poetry?” he asks Henry.  “Do women not still love Shakespeare’s sonnets or the other blokes with romantic verse…um, Keats?  Or Browning, maybe?”

           Belle thinks for a moment.  “Browning is lovely,” she muses, “but isn’t poetry a bit predictable?  Too obvious?”

           Liam is the one who snorts this time, shaking his head at them both. “Predictable?” he challenges, “or popular because it works?”

           “Fair enough,” Belle concedes, grinning at his antics and thinking once more that now she knows the older brother and role model, her friend Killian’s quick-witted banter, his sense of humor, and his gentlemanly manner, and his caring nature all make perfect sense.  Still, after a moment beaming at him, she turns to Henry once more.  “Poetry wouldn’t be a bad choice, Henry.  But, I have another idea.  Violet strikes me as not being too fussy – despite the time and place she hails from.  I can’t help but think she would enjoy a bit of adventure and humor with her love stories.” She tilts her head in consideration then stretches far enough off to her left that Liam jumps to counteract the motion from below, overprotective but determined to be there if she would fall. However, this time the petite librarian manages without mishap, straightening up with a small, gilt-edged red leather-bound book.  “What if you tried your mom’s favorite?”

           Henry looks puzzled for a moment, then flushes as Belle hands the tome she has laid hold of to him and he glimpses the title.  “The Princess Bride…Oh, like the movie?” he asks, “Did they make it from this book? Mom did just have Killian watch this at our last movie night!”

           The young Author opens the book curiously and begins to leaf through the open pages, reading passages.  “How’d you know this was Mom’s favorite?” he asks after a few minutes.

           “She told me once,” Belle says.  “That, and she checked it out several times in the first couple of years she was here in town…said she’d loved it since she was your age.  Tell you what,” Belle says, “You keep that – regardless.  The library could stand to have a more recent printing anyway.”

           “Thanks!” Henry exclaims brightly, smile wide as he looks to her and Liam. “You guys were a lot of help.  I do think Violet will like this!”

           He talks with them a few more minutes, but before long Henry is bidding his goodbyes and heading on.  Belle smiles after him, and then turns to see Liam doing the same, looking after the young man with genuine affection.  

           Belle reaches out to take his hand in hers, smiling up at him, just marveling at the genuine, sensitive caring he has for all those he loves, and as he gazes back at her, she marvels at the openness in his eyes – no secrets or holding back.  He wants to let her in, to share a life in which she has an equal part, and she cannot help but lift his palm to her lips and kiss it in this moment.  This love is so different from what she’d grown used to, and she is grateful for that.

           “What is it, Lass?” Liam asks softly, a gentle smile on his face at her action and the soft smile she is directing at him. When she pulls back from the kiss to his hand, he simply pulls their joined ones to press over his heart.

           She merely shrugs at him easily.  “You’re pretty wonderful, Captain Jones.  That’s all.  You know that, don’t you?”

           He shakes his head and flushes red, making him even more adorable, “If I’m wonderful, which I am not so sure about, Love.  It is only because you have given me a way to show it.”

~~~~~ 000000 ~~~~~

           That night finds them relaxed at home on the long, cushy couch they have put in the corner of Mina’s nursery, for nights like this when they want to relax together but still want to watch over their little girl a bit longer. Mina Collette herself has been asleep for at least an hour, her lovely long eyelashes fluttering gently against her cheeks as she dreams of whatever sweet and innocent things are viewed in infant slumber.  Not a sound but the occasional small snuffle or peaceful little sigh comes from the crib.

           Belle and Liam revel in the quiet of the moonlit shadows around the room, a lovely calm settling over the space – allowing them to relax and simply be. After some coaxing, Liam has stretched out on the couch, his head resting in his love’s lap, stretching the knee that had been twisted slightly when some crates took a tumble and he dove to catch them – once he had returned to work at the docks that afternoon.  It is nothing really; he has had much worse in his long life and afterlife, but it seems to please his lady to tend him, to offer help and have her expertise and caring be accepted.  He knows she has spent too long being disregarded, kept in the dark, or left out of affairs of which she had every right to be part, and so he had let her fuss without comment.  Truth be told, though he knows Belle is not magic as Killian’s Emma is, he finds that his lovely brunette’s very touch is as soothing to him as any cure could be.

           For her part, Belle runs her fingers through her sailor’s tight, close-cropped curls, marveling at their softness and the vulnerable way he gave himself up to her ministrations – knowing it did her as much good as it would really do him. She pauses for a moment in the reading she had been doing, aloud, for the both of them to enjoy and looks around, savoring this cozy nursery room and this little cottage at the edge of Storybrooke’s forest, the shore in view from their back porch; her whole life now compared to the turmoil and sadness of just before and at Mina’s birth a mere half year ago.  So much has changed, and for the better, that it almost takes her breath away.

           “Alright there, Lass?” Liam’s voice questions, low and relaxed, but he still senses her thinking as she pauses and wants to make sure she is alright.

           Belle shakes her head gently as she comes back to the present and glances down to meet Liam’s eyes, brushing light fingertips over his brow.  “More than alright,” she whispers softly, not wanting to disturb the perfect tranquility of this moment.  “This is the life I always wanted,” she explains softly.  “I can’t believe sometimes that I am finally living it.”

           “Aye,” Liam affirms in a warm murmur, reaching out to twine the fingers of her free hand with his, his larger digits almost fully enveloping her own and bringing their joined hands to his chest.  “I know exactly what you mean.”

           Mina gives a sleepy little coo from her crib, and he and Belle share another smile at her peaceful sleep; despite her rough beginning, the infant seems to have all her mother’s determination and pluck, bearing no ill effects of the first few tumultuous days of her young life and sleeping soundly without the fears that haunt those who have lived a bit longer.

           “Let’s read a bit more, shall we?” Belle suggests eagerly.  Her enthusiasm for someone who will share the written word she loves so much with her both endearing and contagious.

           “Certainly, Lass… if you aren’t tired of reading, that is.  In fact, this reminds me of long ago – one of the few pleasant memories of Killian and my time on that ship as boys.  Some nights in that dark hold, if the sea was rough or if we’d been sent to our bunks without food, Killian couldn’t sleep.  I’d find the stub of a candle and a bit of flint to strike, and read to him.  He was voracious in his love of stories, adored hearing the words read aloud, even if all I was able to find was a discarded page of some log or a shipping order.”  He chuckles softly, and then continues, “Having you read to me now, like this, in our home together… I can see why he loved it so.”

           Belle blinks a bit through misty eyes, watching Liam’s face as he speaks.  Picturing the two frightened, mistreated, and abandoned young boys they had been, hearing what they had gone through, and knowing especially the worry and pain Liam had endured in feeling responsible for his younger brother but often not being able to do much for him, always affected her so.  For the moment though, she pushes that sympathetic ache aside; just as her worst days are behind her now, so are her captain’s.  This moment they have now is beautiful, and she isn’t ready for it to end.  “I’m glad,” she replies, scanning the page to find where they had left off in Longfellow’s poem once more, and picking it up again, “Ah! What pleasant visions haunt me as I gaze upon the sea!  All the old romantic legends, All my dreams, come back to me…”

           She reads with lilting cadence, and Liam hums softly, as if approving the words, looking so comfortable and pleased as he lies there before her, eyes closed and nearly drifting off, he could almost be a cat purring as one strokes behind its ears.  She smiles even more brightly as she comes to the final stanza, “Til my soul is full of longing for the secrets of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.”

           Upon finishing, Belle closes the book gently, sitting it on the end table at her elbow and turning off the one lamp still lit in the room.  She almost believes Liam truly asleep, until he turns slightly, pressing his face to her warm stomach through her robe.

           “That was lovely, Belle.” His whispered words send tingles along her skin deliciously, the love in his voice clear.  “Thank you.”

           Neither of them move, content to be in this moment as long as it can possibly last. To be here now, Liam thinks in the softness of long, blue shadows and the moonlight’s glow on Belle’s pale, perfect face, makes all his long struggle worthwhile.

Tagging a few folks who may enjoy: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @drowned-dreamer @mossandmushroom @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @bromfieldhall @kmomof4 @flslp87 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @jennjenn615

[himb0i]

!!!HEY!!! Someone asked for a hair tutorial, so I took some screencaps of the process while I worked on one of my commissions and wrote up my thoughts to go with it! If that’s something that interests you, click through the readmore!

Step 1: Lose the screencaps you took of your actual sketch, starting the tutorial off on a great note!

Whoops. I ended up drawing over my partially-rendered piece to reproduce it. (My actual sketch was much messier. You’ll be able to see a little bit of it later!) The actual Step 1 is: Draw head. Sketch hair. I rough in the shape of the skull, the facial features, and whatever part of the body is in-frame first. Then, I sketch in the hairline, highlighted in red. Hairlines come in all shapes, from rounded to square to widow’s peaks! Next, I draw in a part coming back from the hairline, following the curvature of the skull. From there I start drawing in “chunks” of hair, working front to back and from the part, out, in sweeping curves. All hair has at least little bit of lift- It grows up and out from the skull, then “droops” downwards. Depending on the texture, it may have more or less lift. This hair is fairly fine, so it falls down not far from the root, but even that little bit of volume makes it look more three dimensional. :v Pay attention to anywhere it parts around 3d objects and be mindful of which pieces go in front of your character’s shoulders (if any) and which pieces go behind (if any). Hair overlaps itself, too- Consider having pieces cross in front of and behind each other, or spiral together. This step can be messy and fairly imprecise, you just want a general shape to guide you later.

Next come the flat base colors. I choose and fill in my background color in a new layer beneath my sketch. On a layer above that (but still beneath the sketch!), I fill in behind my sketch with flat colors and a hard brush. I like to work from dark to light, so I pick a dark midtone or shadow color for this step- Since the character is going to be blonde, I went with a milk chocolate sort of color for the hair. You can see pieces of my original sketch here (everywhere but the face)- There are some bits showing through where they shouldn’t, like the jaw through the hair, but that’s fine. I lock my sketch opacity and change the color, usually to a brown, and set it to multiply, so I can blend it into the figure later. Then I merge it down onto my flat colors.

Like magic, the face appears!!! I neglect the hair for a while and do a rough render of the face. This isn’t quite what the final product will look like, but it’s a start. I’ve also pushed the hair around a little to reshape the face and removed the jaw lines in the hair. Around her shoulders I painted over some hair bits, but that’s going to be all covered later anyway. You can see how my rendering gets lighter than my base colors here, too.

For my darkest darks, mostly around the face, I colorpicked the bits of the sketch that were in the hair and filled in a little bit, mostly on the far side of the face where i felt like the edge was getting lost.

Keeping in mind what color the hair is going to be in the end, I pick a lighter midtone and start layering it over top of the base color. I’m using Clip Studio’s default oil brush here, since it picks up underlying colors and blends but preserves a fairly hard edge. You could get a similar effect with other low-opacity brushes. Keeping my hand light and my wrist loose, I start making quick strokes out from the roots, following the direction of the hair every time! My brush is just a little bit smaller than whatever “chunk” I’‘m working on to start..

...but as I start to build up more color, I progress to smaller and smaller brushes. Keeping your strokes really quick and messy creates a natural, organic streakiness that forms the beginning of your hair texture, and since the oil brush picks up a little bit of the underlying color on each stroke, the area you’re coloring gets closer and closer to your selected color every time you go over it. In this case, it’s getting brighter. So, keeping my brights concentrated towards my light source, I build up layers, and where I see those streaks starting to form I emphasize them and start dividing the chunks in my sketch into smaller segments. Since the sketch is on the same layer and a darker shade of brown, it almost immediately starts to blend away.

More texture! Also, roots. With a small brush I sharpened her hairline, and you can see the texture I’m emphasizing as I go, using a small brush to pick out pieces of hair. I’ve also swapped back to a darker brown for a few seconds to add furrows between pieces of hair that were solid beige from the last step.

This is what the whole head looks like at this point. That streaky swatch in the upper right corner is what I’m using next- it’s the “Painterly Sparse Bristle” brush from Frenden. It comes in a third party brush pack you can find with a quick Google, and I do love it- But you could get the same effect with a small brush and a few more strokes.I picked a lighter color for the next layer- I tried the color of the x on the left at first, and it was a little too grey, so I went with the one on the right.

Light hand, loose wrist, following the direction of the hair and avoiding the shadows with the sparse bristle brush to lighten the hair overall and add texture. The shape of the brush gives me more strands per stroke and cuts down on time. It’s a little patchy where my strokes begin and end, which is fine- It’s also still too grey, as it turns out.

I picked a soft yellow, a soft brush, and set a new layer to “soft light”, then shaded over the hair to brighten it up. Not a super standard step but it does explain the shift in hue. Then I merged it down. It’s a little bit blotchy, but that will blend away as I work.

Up close, the edges of that sparse bristle brush look kind of square and chunky. Yuck.

It’s fixable, though! I’m done adding new colors for a while. Instead, I zoom in closer and move around the piece, colorpicking off different parts of the hair and going in with the default oil brush at a tiny tiny size. I’m doing two things: Blending out the less appealing parts of those “sparse bristle” brush strokes, and emphasizing shadows and highlights to suit my taste. The orange section is untouched- The white section has been worked on a bit. Loose wrist, fast strokes, always in the direction of the hair! This is where I start making a lot of conscious decisions about my shading, refining a lot of the haphazard streaks into coherent shadows and highlights. Remember that the chunks of hair are objects in a three dimensional space that cast shadows on each other.

While I’m zoomed in close, smoothing things out, I tend to start picking out areas where loose or flyaway strands would work well. The idea here is to break outside of the boundaries of your sections with finer pieces and individual hairs. Disrupting the edges of the smooth shapes in a few places makes the hair look less like a sculpted helmet and more like..hair. You don’t have to do this everywhere- Just a few flyaway pieces can be enough to establish the illusion of a head of individual strands. I tend to go a little bit overboard for stylistic reasons, adding a few more than I strictly need to, and separating them a little bit further from the body of the hair than they might realistically be, almost like the flyaway pieces are being buoyed upwards by water or a breeze. This is just a matter of taste, though. :v

Something to remember: Whenever you’re working on details / zoomed in to a piece, you should zoom out and look at the piece as a whole, often. Otherwise you might find that something that looked good while you were really close to it looks out of place in the context of your painting as a whole!

Moving around the hair at a high zoom means you’re going to run into the ends of the hair, and if you’ve been working with blendy brushes they probably look like this.

This is another great place to put some loose strands. I use the default “darker pencil” tool at a small size and sharpen the edges up, then blend a little bit on top with the oil brush if I need to. A little bit of a sharper curve at the ends of the hair, where there’s less weight pulling it down, can add some life- I tend to go exaggerate here, too, making the ends a little bit floaty, or a lot floaty, or swirling the ends of straight hair into spirals. It adds a little bit of magic to an otherwise static portrait.

Do the whole head! This is the most time-consuming part, but it can be really soothing, too. Take your time and work steadily, section by section. :> Speaking of exaggerated swirls, that piece starting to twist up on the (viewer’s) far right is a good example- That hair probably wouldn’t twirl up that way, but it DOES add a little bit of visual interest! I don’t have any loose hairs on the outside of the outermost edges of the hair here, though.

And now I do. I like to add the loose hair on the outside edges on a layer beneath the figure- That way, I don’t have to worry about blending the ends into the rest of the hair. When I’m done, I merge the two layers together.

Anddd highlights! I picked the lighest coor I’d put down, made a new layer above the figure, set it to “Add-Glow”, and used light, short strokes with the sparse bristle brush. Avoiding the shadows, I arranged the highlights in horizontal bands, keeping them dense towards the light source and fading them out as they moved back.

At this point, I still have some work to do, especially on the face, and I’m guaranteed to do more with the hair along the way. But anything I do from here on out is going to be a repeat of one of the above steps- More blending, more flyaway hair, etc. :> I change things around a LOT as I work, so no part of a piece, hair included, is for sure done until the whole piece is polished up and saved! If you want to see how the finalized painting came out, hair and all, you can click here!

I hope this is helpful to someone! If there’s anything else you’d like me to break down, let me know, and I’ll see about documenting my process the next time it comes up.

[salamoonder]

Dark Side | [ch. 6]

Sometimes Patton feels like he’s nothing but a pile of emotions.

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: implied eating disorder

A/N: I am...so sorry...my upload schedule is absolutely fucked. College is hard, y’all. Anyway. I’m posting it now so that’s what counts. Masterpost/links to other chapters to come!

| Read on AO3 |

The moment Remy slips off Patton is instantly lost in the crowd. The voices and laughter mingle in his head into a mess of colors. He feels like levitating. He’s here. Finally. He’s off on his own and--and he can go anywhere he wants, talk to anyone--an older guy bumps into him and Patton turns his most brilliant smile on him, jolting a surprised grin onto the other guy’s face.

The air smells amazing. Patton can identify barbecue of some kind, of course, but he can also smell what he thinks is fresh brownies and cherry blossoms. It’s like trekking through heaven. He doesn’t even mind that it’s so hot. No way is he going back to his room now just to put on shorts. He hasn’t even unpacked, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind. There are people out here. People. And food and games and--Patton almost stops dead. And music? Is that live music? There’s no way he’s leaving now.

It takes him a while but he eventually tracks the singing to a large gazebo. A few upperclassmen are standing up there with guitars and mics and amplifiers, singing a slightly off key (but nevertheless enjoyable) rendition of Don’t Stop Believing. Students are scattered all over the steps, talking and singing along and eating.

That’s when Patton’s reminded how long it’s been since he and Virgil had breakfast, and he sets off in search of food. Music’s fun, but it’s not gonna fill his stomach.

His eyes light up when he finally spots the food tables, which seem to be about a mile long stacked end to end--then his face immediately falls when he sees how long the line is.

Oh, well. It’s probably best to get in line now rather than later. Patton’s sure if he waits any longer all the food will be gone. He treks to the back of the line and settles in for a long, hot wait, then texts Remy.

How is he?

Not answering the door, Remy texts back.

Patton frowns. He’s about to respond when another text pops up. He’ll be fine. He’s probably just mad, he’ll cool down. You guys are like best friends right?

Right, Patton texts back, biting his lip. Then he adds: Are you gonna come get food? I’m saving you a spot in line.

On my way already. Then, a second later, Can you wave?

Patton waves a hand over his head and a second later Remy comes bounding over to him. She’s changed into a tiny sundress vibrant enough to match her eyeshadow, and her sunglasses have still not come off. “Hiya!” she chirps. “Enjoying yourself? Met anyone new?”

“Oh, definitely,” says Patton, grinning. “Haven’t met anyone yet, though. I’ve been too...excited, I guess. So many people to start a conversation with, it’s hard to know where to start.” In truth he feels like he might vibrate out of his skin with excitement. He’s shaky with the movement of it all, of being on the road, on campus, in the res hall, out here. Shaky with the  heat and weight of Virgil’s frustration and what that means for him. Before he can think about it anymore, however, he’s interrupted.

“Here, I gotchu,” says Remy, and taps the shoulder of the girl ahead of them in line. She turns to look at them, vaguely curious, and Patton’s somewhat stunned by how obviously and boldly attractive she is. That’s not usually the kind of thing he notices. She’s got dark brown hair waterfalling down her shoulders, reaching nearly to her waist. It curls in tight corkscrews and the flyaways make a bright halo around her head in the light. Freckles are flung haphazardly across her nose, partially obscured by the oddly patterned gold makeup she’s wearing. She’s drawn swirls and solid blocks of gold all around her eyes. It looks like she’s wearing a gold leaf mask. Her features are clear and sharp, and she holds herself like a dancer, as though every movement is a choreographed step.

“Hi!” Remy smiles. “Patton’s trying to meet new people. You’re a new person. Meet each other.”

“Oh,” says the girl softly, and giggles. “Hi, Patton.” She holds out a hand for him to shake, and he takes it. Despite the heat her skin is cool and delicate; Patton feels like he’s holding a baby bird. “Are you a freshman too?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah.” He can’t think of anything to say after that, so he just keeps smiling.

“And this is…?” the girl asks, indicating Remy.

“Oh, I’m Remy.” says Remy, shifting her weight from hip to hip, watching the interaction between them and grinning. “We’re roommates.”

The girl raises one eyebrow. “Wow, they let you live with your girlfriend?” she asks. “That must’ve taken some fighting. How’d you do it?”

Patton chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, we’re not-”

“Patton’s single,” Remy says helpfully. “Very single,” she adds, eyes sparkling. Patton looks at her, a what-are-you-doing kind of look, but Remy doesn’t seem to take the hint and anyway...Patton’s not sure he minds all that much that this girl knows he’s single.

“So, Patton,” the girl asks, “where you from?”

“Ah, little town in the middle of nowhere. Victoria. You probably wouldn’t know it.”

The girl’s eyes light up. “Actually, I have a cousin in Victoria.”

“Oh, really? That’s cool. I wonder if I know her.”

They fall to talking about Victoria and the girl’s glamorous cousin (who evidently moved there because she had eloped with a boy that her parents, the girl’s aunt and uncle, had thoroughly disapproved of).

Remy stands by and smirks at the whole thing, swirling the seemingly unmeltable ice in her coffee. Patton’s not sure he’s entirely comfortable with that, but he really likes this girl, and with the way they’re talking it feels like it’s taken about five minutes to get the food table instead of the twenty that it probably is. The array of food is impressive: fruit bowls, a number of cold salads including potato, macaroni, and tuna, Indian rice, black beans, baked beans, tortilla chips, guacamole, and of course barbecue. Barbecued chicken, barbecued ribs, brisket...Patton can’t believe the school has the money to pay for all of this. Then again, he reasons, that’s probably where ridiculous tuition costs come in.

Patton takes what is probably way too much food and follows Remy and the girl they’d met in line to a clear spot on the grass.

“In the summer,” the girl tells him as they sit, “they bring a huge projector out here and show movies. It happens every weekend until it gets too cold.”

“Really?” asks Patton. “That’s so cool! Where did you learn that?”

“My sister used to go here,” the girl says breezily. She then proceeds to tell Patton everything she knows about the school: secret passages under the theater building, hauntings in the residence halls, scandals and epic senior pranks and legendary students. Patton doesn’t even feel like talking; he just wants to bask in the light coming off her.

About an hour later when the line’s died down he goes up to get more food even though he’s full; he’s not going to pass up an opportunity to eat barbecue, especially barbecue this good. The girl doesn’t seem to mind that he’s not contributing much to the conversation; instead, she seems to smile bigger or lean closer at his little “mhm”s and “gosh, what happened then?”s. Remy gets up and leaves and comes back and he hardly notices.

Finally his plate is emptied for a second time and the sun’s actually started to sink. Patton can’t believe how much time has passed. They’d been talking for ages. The lawn was still buzzing, of course, but people were starting to wander off to do other things--looking for freebies and checking out the halls. He suddenly remembers that his room still isn’t unpacked, and he hasn’t heard one word from Virgil. Not a single solitary “I’m okay” text.

He starts to get up with the intention of telling Remy that they should probably go unpack the room and falls back with a half groan instead. “Ugh, I don’t ever want to look at a piece of food again in my life.”

The girl giggles. “Should’ve slowed down, maybe?”

He smiles and shrugs. “Maybe.” He turns to Remy. “You wanna start unpacking?”

The girl brings a napkin delicately to her mouth. “You guys haven’t even started yet?”

“I was having too much fun,” says Patton sheepishly.

The girl tosses a long strand of hair over her shoulder. “Well, you two should probably go do that. I don’t mind, I’ve got other people to talk to.”

Maybe she doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but the tiniest cold shiver runs down Patton’s spine. “Hey, wait,” he says. “You’ve gotta at least give me your number, after all that.”

He swallows hard. He’s used to approaching people, used to being what most people would call ridiculously outgoing, but he’s never asked for someone’s number so blatantly before.

She gives him a coquettish smile. “I suppose.” She holds out a hand. “Unlock your phone?”

He does, and hands it over. She takes it, eyes flickering mischievously between his eyes and the screen, and a moment later hands it back to him, flicking it off before she does so. Then she gets up and leaves, disappearing into the crowd so fast that Patton doesn’t even have the time to process and call out a goodbye until it’s too late. He looks up at Remy, who arches an eyebrow at him high enough that he can see it over her sunglasses.

“Well,” she says. “That was eventful.”

“Do you like her?” Patton asks anxiously as they start to clear away the plates and napkins.

“Too quick for any kind of judgement,” Remy says evenly. “She is interesting, I’ll give her that. Hey, did she ever say what her name is?”

“Shoot,” says Patton. “I can’t believe I completely forgot to ask.”

“Check your phone, maybe?” Remy says.

Patton pulls out his phone and brings up contacts. She hasn’t exactly hidden herself; she’s the very first contact on the list. Or, at least, he assumes that that’s her. He’s not sure he knows any other “snake emoji you’ll see winking face”es.

But he has been known to make mistakes.

He shoots off a quick text to Virgil-- How ya doing, buddy?-- and leaves it at that. Of course he’s worried, but it never does any good to push at Virgil. He doesn’t know how to push back and inevitably the whole thing just gets messy and sad and more often than not it ends in tears for one or both of them.

Walking back to his room already seems the tiniest bit familiar, and Patton is hoping that by the end of the semester this path will be seared into his brain. He wants it to feel like home. He can already imagine walking back from a class or lunch or coffee with Remy wearing matching scarves and cardigans in the fall, talking and laughing.

Somehow he can’t see Virgil in a scarf or cardigan.

When he and Remy make it back to the room, just the sight of all the boxes stacked on the floor makes him want to collapse and never move again. But then Remy bumps him from behind and says “get moving, slowpoke, or we’ll miss movie night,” and he gets a surge of energy.

“There’s movie night?” he says, perking up.

“Uhuh. Snake emoji girl was right, they sometimes do them on the lawn, but I think tonight it’ll be in the drama building, in the theater. In case it rains.”

“What’re we watching?” he asks.

Remy shrugs. “No idea. But a movie’s a movie, right?”

Patton’s not entirely sure he agrees, so he just shrugs back and changes the subject. “Are you really going to call her snake emoji girl now?”

“Yup,” says Remy, grinning. “It’s stuck in my head and won’t get out. She’s going to forever be snake emoji girl so get used to it. Unless you’d prefer eye makeup sorceress, Rapunzel of curls, or little miss talkative.”

“Um…” Patton can’t really say that any of those are appealing.

“Great. Snake emoji girl it is.”

“If you say so.”

“...We should probably be unpacking instead of sitting on the beds and talking.”

Patton groans and stands up, but continues talking. It becomes rather quickly apparent that the two of them aren’t really able to be in the same room without talking, but they do manage to get all the boxes opened and their contents dumped out on the floor. This is very satisfying at first, but then Patton looks at the huge mess they’ve made of the floor and kind of wants to pull his hair out.

“No worries!” says Remy. “We just...uh...we need music.”

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, runs to the kitchen and comes back with a red solo cup, and puts on Pandora before placing the phone carefully in the cup. The music echoes out, a little tinny and artificial but definitely louder. Remy’s selected some song with sugary sweet pop tunes that all sound like they were played on the bus on the way to school in 2012-- Party in the USA, Girlfriend, Call Me Maybe, et cetera.

Honestly it’s not too far off from what Patton usually listens to.

“So where’d you meet Virgil? What’s his deal?” Remy asks as they start dividing up dresser and closet spaces, refolding the clothes that got jostled in the moving process or in being tossed to the floor (which is pretty much all of them).

“We grew up together,” Patton tells her. “We were in the same kindergarten class and...I dunno, I just kinda gravitated to him. The kid just looked so lonely, y’know?”

Remy glances over at him. “You remember thinking that all the way back then?”

Patton frowns. “I’m not sure. It’s just kind of a….feeling from a memory, that I remembered.” he shrugs. “And anyway, just look at him. Kid’s always had kind of a...lonely demeanor.”

Patton had always sort of hated that. Hated that his friendship wasn’t enough to lift the moodiness that seemed to settle around Virgil like dark clouds.

“Anyway,” he says, “We were friends in kindergarten, and just...never stopped. He had a whole lot of stuff going on in middle school, and it only got worse in high school….and I just...I wanted to be there for him, y’know?” He stares down at his tie dyed green tee shirt. “He’s like my brother. Heh, even my siblings just seem to think that he’s part of the family.”

Remy nods from her seat on the floor, going through a pile of sundresses. “I think that’s really great,” she says softly. “That you guys have been friends for so long.”

Patton smiles at her. “Well, hopefully we’ll be friends for just as long.”

Remy giggles. “That’s mathematically impossible, you dork. You’ll never know me for longer or as long as you’ve known him, because you’ll always have known him for whatever the number of years between kindergarten and freshman year of high school is longer than you’ve known me.”

Patton giggles at her. “All the same,” he says. “We’ll be close, right?”

“Definitely,” says Remy, shaking out a sundress patterned with red poppies. “Speaking of,” she says, suddenly sharp, “You never told me your thoughts on snake emoji girl.”

“That’s gonna get awkward to say real quick,” Patton mutters.

“Snemojirl, then,” says Remy, making Patton snort. “What’s the deal?”

“Aw, geez, I don’t know, Remy!” he says. “This is literally our first day on campus. We haven’t even had classes start yet.”

“Buuuut…” Remy prompts, wiggling her eyebrows. Patton sighs. “No ‘buts’ yet. No matter how good they look,” he adds cheekily.

Remy pouts. “But you’ll talk to me like we’re best friends and this is the first day we’re even meeting in person.”

Patton holds up a hand. “Actually- can we maybe limit talking about that?”

Remy looks puzzled. “Limit talking about what.?”

“About...us knowing each other before this.”

Remy only looks more confused. “But Patton, literally every set of roommates knows who the other roommate is going to be before they get to campus. Can you imagine meeting your roommate for the first time as soon as you get to campus? On the day you’re literally supposed to start living together?”

Patton chuckles uncomfortably, but he’s sure it sounds more like he’s choking. “Um, Remy-?”

“What?”

Remy looks up from her pile of sundresses and seems to catch his meaning. “Oh. Ohhh. Wait. Not oh. I’m confused. Explain. Why did Virgil just meet his roommate today?”

“He...he thought his roommate was going to be me.”

“Yeah? And you guys had some kind of problem with administration, right?”

“Uh...not exactly, no.” Patton buries his face in the shirt he’s holding. It smells like it’s been drying in the sun, like heat and dregs of laundry detergent and dryer sheets and his cologne. “Virge and I requested a room together. Well. We were supposed to. He requested a room with me. I….” Patton lets out a soft snort. “I was really, really stupid, Remy.”

“What’d you do?” Remy asks softly, and Patton can hear the concern in her voice.

“I withdrew my request to room with Virgil and put in preferences for a random roommate, and that’s how I ended up with you. That’s why I actually had to use the gender neutral opt in, because I was looking for people that were...not...Virgil.” Patton unburies his face from the tee shirt. It sounds awful when he puts it that way.

“Oh my god, why?” Remy asks. “Did you tell Virgil?”

Patton picks up the next tee shirt, tossing the first one into a drawer. “Did you see how upset he was? Of course I didn’t tell him.”

“But why’d you do it?” Remy repeats.

Patton balls up the next shirt he’s holding almost angrily, picks up the next one. “Because I really, really really want him to be able to survive on his own. He’s been clinging to me his whole life, and it’s not like I don’t mind….heck, if I could I’d never have him leave my side for the rest of our lives...but…” Patton bites his lower lip. “He’s dependent on me, I think.”

“Ohhh,” says Remy softly.

“I didn’t want him to just...y’know, keep on being the exact same all through college. And I feel like if I didn’t...fling him into the deep end, so to speak, he’d never learn to swim.

Remy stands up and lays a hand on his arm. “You’re not his dad, y’know.” Her tone is still gentle. “It’s not your responsibility to make him grow.”

Patton half pulls away, frustrated. “But no one else is going to do it! His parents treat him like some kind of ornamental goldfish! And like, not even like they know about and care about the proper treatment of ornamental goldfish! Just like...bad goldfish owners!”

“Still,” says Remy, “that doesn’t mean it should be your job.”

Patton groans and flops onto his bed. “I guess.”

Remy mirrors him, flopping onto her bed. “You wanna ask housing if we can do bunk beds?”

“Huh?”

“Enough serious talk, Pats, we’re gonna make our room look awesome.”

“Okay,” says Patton quietly.

“It’ll be fun,” Remy presses.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any hobbies, Patton?”

“Uh...keeping Virgil out of trouble?” Patton tries to joke.

“Ha, ha. I mean fun stuff.”

“Before we talk about that, Remy, do you promise not to tell Virgil that I withdrew my request?”

Remy props herself up on her elbow and frowns at him from across the room. “Hm. I suppose so. But I honestly think you should tell him at some point. It’s not good to keep stuff like that from your friends. Especially if it’s eating away at you like this is for you.”

“Okay,” says Patton in a half groan. “I’ll tell him. At some point. I promise. But I’ll tell him after he discovers that he actually really likes his new roommate, and they’re super close friends, and their dorm looks so awesome he won’t wanna move, and he’s decided he likes all his classes, and-”

“Okay, okay,” says Remy, waving a hand at him. “But hobbies?”

Patton rolls over so he can look at her. “Well...I really like astronomy. So I do a lot of stargazing.”

Remy perks up. “Have you seen the observatory yet?”

“Yeah!” says Patton, lighting up like a glowstick. “Isn’t it awesome? I can’t wait to be there at night.”

“Me neither.”

They manage to unpack the room fairly quickly, outdated pop playing in the background and making Patton feel like he’s in a slightly lame but weirdly motivating music video for a teen summer blockbuster. The montage of unpacking at the awesome new school.

Two hours later, everything is put away and Remy is leaning over Patton’s shoulder as they check the internet for which constellations will be visible that night. Patton’s almost put Virgil out of his mind, determined to give him some space, when he gets a long overdue text back.

Patton. Can we meet somewhere that’s not my room? I’m not okay.

Patton’s heart sinks but he stands up from the computer, fingers already flying over the keypad. Sure, what’s up? Where do you want to meet?

By the river, maybe? I don’t know. I’ll tell you when we get there.

“What’s up?” Remy asks when Patton stands up. Patton must be frowning pretty hard at his phone.

“Uh...Virgil needs me. I’m not sure what’s wrong. I’ll be back later for movie night.” He gives her a halfhearted smile and pushes out the door before she can ask questions.

The river is almost right behind their hall. Patton has to walk along it for a while before he finds Virgil. Almost no one is around; Patton figures they’re all still at the barbecue or exploring the actual buildings on the grounds. Whatever it is, the nearest person is at least a quarter mile away on the other side of campus.

He’s perched on the guardrail of the bridge, hunched together, earbuds in. He looks like the album cover of a depressing band that died out in 2007. But then again, that’s how Virgil usually looks. It’s just striking Patton in particular right now.

“Virgil, buddy, what’s up?” he calls before he’s fully there.

Virgil looks up and Patton immediately goes still. His eyeliner is running all over his face; he hasn’t even attempted to wipe it away. He looks like he just got done sobbing.

As soon as Patton walks onto the bridge, Virgil hops off the railing, throws himself into Patton’s arms.

“P-patton, I h-hate my roommate. S-so much.”

“Aw, Virge,” says Patton, recovering from his shock enough to trail a hand over Virgil’s back. “Are you sure he’s that bad? I mean, you’ve known him, what, a few hours?”

“I d-don’t care. I w-wanna kill him.”

“Whoa there kiddo, that’s a bit of a leap, don’t you think?”

Virgil makes a vaguely disgruntled noise and wipes a hand under his eyes, smearing the eyeliner across his cheeks.

“I wanna go home, Pat. Just wanna go home.”

“This...this’ll feel like home soon enough, Virgil,” says Patton, hunting around for words. “Look, maybe this’ll be a really good experience for you! You got real good classes, didn’t you? Philosophy and biology and…” Patton can’t remember what else Virgil’s taking, so he just expands on those. “And you love philosophy, right? I can barely keep up with you. And you’re always drawing animals, and you have all those plants in your room.”

“It’s not the same,” Virgil mumbles. “Pat. I had a really bad panic attack just now. I think...I think they might be getting worse.”

Patton’s frown deepens. “Well, we can’t have that,” he says. “Why didn’t you call? Or walk over to my room? It’s only a few rooms down.”

“Couldn’t,” says Virgil. “I froze up again. Patton, what if I start having panic attacks in class? People are gonna think I’m a freak.”

“No, they’re not,” Patton sighs. “Plenty of adults have panic attacks. Especially, I’m sure, adults in college.”

Virgil whimpers.

“And,” Patton continues, “If you get a panic attack in class, you’ll just do what you did in high school. Wait it out if you can’t move, or go get a drink of water if you can. You don’t even have to ask anymore.” Patton tries to smile at him, but Virgil resists his attempt to pull his head away from Patton’s shoulder.

“If you want to, if it’s really bad, you can even walk out and not come back. Just go to your room to calm down, email the professor, take the rest of the day off. This is college, Virgil. We’re adults. People care way less what we do now.”

“Still,” Virgil wails. “I’m going to have to go back to my room with my awful roommate.”

Patton sighs. “Virge, really, you gotta give him a chance. For me?”

Patton can practically feel the frown emanating from Virgil. “I guess. For you.”

There’s another unexpected pulse of guilt. Patton squeezes Virgil, trying to make the feeling go away. “You coming to movie night tonight?”

“Um...I..uh...I might. Will there be food?”

Patton tries to hide his grin. He has a feeling Virgil’s just going to get away from his roommate, but still. “Probably. I’ll ask Remy.”

Virgil pulls away then, hops back onto the railing of the bridge, and stares off into the water as he attempts to (and fails miserably at) scrubbing the eyeliner off his face. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

Patton tries not to feel offended. Virgil often shuts down after an emotional event or recovering from a panic attack. He feels like he should probably be used to it by now, but he’s not. But he respects Virgil’s space.

When he gets back to the room, Remy’s asleep. It looks like such a good idea that he curls up and goes to sleep on his own bed, clothes and all.