#since i’m not taking any subjects that could lead to an arts degree i couldn’t even access the good questions

[f-athr]

you know what.

i severely dislike writing essays

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Let’s talk: Serendipity with a side of 4 O’Clock and other guest appearances

by Admin 1 and 2

We’ve been meaning to write a analysis/theory/discussion on Serendipity for the longest time, especially after I once mentioned in a previous post how I think the song can be interpreted in a way that works for both vmin and namjin. So, while I’ll add my thoughts in regard to the latter, the vmin portion is more based on conclusions and thoughts Admin 2 arrived at. I think their idea presents a perspective I haven’t really seen anywhere else before yet, so I think it’ll hopefully be interesting.

As with any song analysis/discussion/theories, this only represents some of our interpretations which don’t have to be right and no one is meant to take this as gospel. Art is subjective and while we all listen to the same song, read the same lyrics, our understanding and thoughts may/will vary, so you might not agree with any of what we say and you are not obliged to do so. This is just meant as a discussion, some pondering, and perhaps we can discover something along the way that we haven’t considered yet.

With that being said, let’s get into it.

Additional preface: this post will work off of the assumption that both vmin and namjin have romantic feelings for each other and/or are together. If this isn’t an angel you’re interested in reading about, this likely isn’t the post for you. Furthermore, if you’d prefer to put on your delulu hat for the duration of this post, please take a moment to put it on now. Enjoy!

All lyric translations are from doolset.

Serendipity is the opening song on Love Yourself: Her, the first album of the Love Yourself trilogy, and was released September 18th 2017. Of all the members, Namjoon is the only one credited as lyricist on it along with four other people (two outsiders, Slow Rabbit and Bang PD). Based on that we can say that Namjoon definitely had a big influence of the content of the lyrics and the story they tell so analyzing the song in the context of Namjoon makes sense. But at the same time the song is Jimin’s solo so I don’t think it is that farfetched to think that he kept Jimin in mind when writing the lyrics, and judging by how attached vmin, and especially Tae, seem to be to this song, thinking that there might be more to it than just the fact that it’s Jimin’s solo, again, seems like a sensible conclusion to arrive at. In 2020 Tae even used a moment where he recommended Serendipity (as part of the digital Map of the Soul ON:E Exhibition which, by the way, opened on Jimin’s birthday) in order to wish Jimin a happy birthday.

Serendipity /ˌsɛr(ə)nˈdɪpɪti/ as: the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

Looking at the meaning of the title and the big focus on the concept of destiny displayed in the lyrics, I think it makes a lot of sense in the context of Bangtan. The members themselves have spoken about how it was meant to be them, these seven men, and just think about how many different factors had to work in their favor for them to end up not only as trainees for BigHit but also as members of BTS. If Seokjin hadn’t gotten on that specific bus and gotten off on that station the BigHit staff might’ve never seen him and approached him, if Tae hadn’t gone with his friend to the audition and hadn’t gotten talked into auditioning himself, he wouldn't even be an idol at all, and if Jimin’s dance teacher hadn’t encouraged him to audition he wouldn’t have come as trainee to Seoul either. And if one of the BigHit producers hadn’t seen Namjoon, hadn’t shown him to Bang PD, BTS wouldn’t have been created at all. As the lyrics themselves say:

이 모든 건 우연이 아냐 All this is not a coincidence

Timeline wise we think Serendipity is about two different moments in time depending if you look at vmin or namjin. For the latter I’d say it’s about the beginning of their relationship which, if namjinists are right in our thoughts and theories, would put this sometime 2013. Meanwhile for vmin, Admin 2 actually thinks it would be 2016, more specifically the time of the dumpling incident, so before FIRE was released. This also leads us to the main idea that Admin 2 arrived at and thought of, being that Serendipity and 4 O’Clock tell two sides to the same story, as in Tae in 4 O’Clock is the one waiting for the other person, who describes the moment in time and the feelings he had when that person came to meet him. Meanwhile Jimin is the one who came to meet him, who asks him to love him, who cried because of his feelings and who’s telling him about those feelings and thoughts (as displayed by the sentiments of Serendipity). Namjoon also wrote both, and he knew as many details of the incident as Tae was willing to share with him which, seeing how filled with emotion and deep the lyrics to 4 O’Clock are, I’m sure were rather extensive. How else would he has been able to write such beautiful lyrics?

Actually, to sidetrack for a moment, Admin 2 thinks that it’s not a coincidence that Namjoon isn’t just on 4 O’Clock was writer but also as artist, that in a way he also verbalizes his own pain/troubles through his verse even though, as far as we know, namjin never had anything that would be like the dumpling incident, but in this sense it’s more about what the incident represents rather that the literal event. As in, for vmin this was the big fight they had, a majorly significant moment that brought about a change in their dynamic and bond, and according to them it was their last big fight in general. Like a moment that was destined to happen in order to allow for them to later down the line grow into what they are today in connection to each other, but we think it was also a moment in which, while they might’ve realized and opened up to each other about their feelings, it was also when they had to realize that despite there being more to their feelings, it wasn’t the time for it.

As the lyrics in Serendipity say:

설레는 만큼 많이 두려워 As much as my heart flutters, I’m afraid

운명이 우릴 자꾸 질투해서 because the destiny keeps getting jealous of us

너만큼 나도 많이 무서워 As much scared as you are, I’m, too, scared

When you see me When you touch me

Destiny in this case represents their career and them being idols, being part of a group destined to become the phenomenon and the superstars they are today, meaning that this destiny stood in the way of their bond in a romantic sense. They had to prioritize this destiny over their feelings, over wanting to be with each other, because they were afraid of the repercussions that could otherwise bring upon them (as well as the other members). Besides, they could also look at namjin who, in a way, came before them. If theories are right and namjin were together sometimes starting in 2013, they had to eventually split romantically for the greater good of the band, so if their relationship had to take the back seat, so to speak, destiny having gotten in their way (gotten jealous of them), how could vmin know it wouldn’t be the same for them? Besides they already had so much going on with Jimin’s feelings of jealousy due to Tae’s Hwarang hyungs, Tae’s work on the drama keeping him away from the band and exhausting him even more, and the sad things still to come which they couldn’t know at that time just yet.

From Sweet Night we know that they had a first chance that Tae didn’t take, that he couldn’t have known that one day he would wake up and feel more for his best friend, as in Jimin, even though, deep down he realized that he’d long reached the shore already. So, in that park that night the conclusion they arrived at was that while they couldn’t move forward with their feelings (because perhaps Tae didn’t even know just yet the extent of his own), he realized that Jimin is an angel after he told him that he at least wants to be his source of strength which subsequently unleashed arrows of pent up emotions from his heart. So while it was a positive event in sense of it bringing clarity, to a certain degree, about their feelings for each other, it was also one of sadness because they knew they couldn’t follow those feelings. Remember how when performing 4 O’Clock Tae cried in the end? If it were a song just reminiscing about two friends making up at the park after a fight over them being stubborn about dumplings, would he really feel saddened enough to cry, to get to that level of emotionality?

Later in the song the lyrics say:

이젠 곁에 와줘 Now, please be by my side

우리가 되어줘 Please be us

I don’t wanna let go no

그냥 맡기면 되는 거야 We can just leave it to fate

말 안 해도 느껴지잖아 We can feel it even if we don’t talk

Here the important part would be the line about how they can leave things up to fate, which can be interpreted as even if things might not be what we want them to be right now or anytime soon, they will happen eventually because that’s how it’s meant to be. The lyrics generally make a lot of mention of how their love is destined, how their happiness together has been destined since the universe was first created. So it shows a sense of trust that regardless of what will happened, or might’ve happened in the past, they will find their way back together eventually (in a romantic sense). Like, again, in Sweet Night where Tae didn’t use his first chance but hopes he’ll get a second one and, judging by the hopeful tone of the song and everything that we know currently, it looks like he got it and it worked out in their favor. The same, I think, can also be said about namjin.

Looking at the lyrics of Serendipity, the idea of them being fated even though their meeting was serendipitous, Namjoon is basically telling us that here, too, he believes that his connection to Seokjin, if we are correct in the interpretation that Seokjin is the lover hinted at throughout different songs on the Love Yourself albums, was also meant to be and that it will remain as such even if they had to step away from each other romantically, that while they used to be scared back in the day to be together, to open up to each other about their feelings, it still was destiny and that it would work out in the end. Looking at how much they’ve influenced each other, how Namjoon even went as far as saying that Seokjin is his muse/inspiration in a way, would such conclusion really be all that farfetched?

The first line of the quoted verse also reminds me of the same sentiment that Jimin wrote about three years later for Friends in which he wrote:

언젠가 이 함성 멎을 때 stay hey Someday, when these cheers die down, stay hey

내 옆에 함께 있어줘 Stay with me by my side

영원히 계속 이곳에 stay hey Forever, keep staying here, hey

We know that forever/eternity is a big thing when it comes to Jimin and Tae which we’ve seen as early as 2014 with the picture of their intertwined hands that Tae posted on twt with the wish of them keeping going together for a long time and then with Jimin’s addition of saying forever. Later during Bon Voyage 4 he also said that again, how he wants to live with his lovely Taehyungie forever, and years before that how he wants them to be together until they’re grandpas.

So, in a way, it isn’t just destiny they trust that will be in their favor, but it’s also their active wish and “work” in that direction, that it’s not just something a higher force has foreseen for them but it’s also something they consciously want for themselves as well. All because of that serendipitous fact that they ended up as trainees and members of BTS.

넌 내 푸른 곰팡이 You’re my blue mold (penicillin)

날 구원해 준 that saved me

나의 천사 나의 세상 My angel, my world

Here is where we can draw two connection directly to Tae and Jimin, one because of something Jimin said about Tae years prior and the other due to the fact that as recently as the second half as 2020 (DICON Magazine) Tae said he had Jimin saved on his phone as Penicillin. We also know that after the song came out, Tae made a phone case for Jimin with the word penicillin on it which Jimin proudly used and showed off. 

Furthermore penicillin itself is something that can save you, and while we might not know from what, exactly, Jimin needed to be saved, he did say that Tae is more than just his close friend, he is also his savior.

As for Namjoon, there was certainly a time where he would’ve needed someone to save him, from himself and his dark, less than life positive, thoughts (as displayed by the lyrics in Always) but also the world around them back in 2015/16 where he was seen as the worst of the worst for things he’d said that had been purposefully misconstrued and misunderstood, as well as lyrics he’d written which, again, where taken to mean things much different from what he actually tried to say. While there is nothing I can use or base any assumptions on that Seokjin would be the one/was the one who saved him, contextually, I don’t think it would be farfetched that he did help him and was there for him during that time, much the way the other members surely were too. Based on what we know about Abyss and the background of that song, we know Namjoon helped Seokjin in some ways with it, so if Seokjin came to him and spoke to him about the hard time he was having in 2020, it isn’t that out there to think that Namjoon might’ve done the same back in 2015/16, and during other times between when they first met until Namjoon wrote these lyrics, right?

난 네 삼색 고양이 I’m your calico cat

널 만나러 온 that came to meet you

Love me now touch me now

Calico cats are very rare, and usually you’ll only find female calico cats, meaning that male ones are even more rare than that. Looking at Namjoon as a person, I’d say he is a very rare type of person as well, I mean, how many teenage underground rappers turned idol group leaders who might also be queer and is also a literal genius do you know off the top of your head? Furthermore calico cats are seen as lucky cats in many cultures and places so in this sense Namjoon/Jimin would represent something lucky/positive that came to their partner which, if we again look at things that were said over the years, Jimin did say that Tae is the happiest when he’s with Jimin.

As for Namjoon and Seokjin, this could be connected to the fact that Seokjin was thankful that Namjoon is on their team, their ally, instead of someone from another group, thus seeing it as luck that they are together (Rolling Paper FESTA 2020), like he is their good luck charm that played a major role in them getting to where they are, so to speak. And yes I’m aware that he said that three years after the song was released but it wasn’t the first or only time he ever voiced such sentiment. Seokjin has underlined how much he admires Namjoon’s abilities as leader and lyricist many, many times over the years.

“Our leader, RM. This guy is amazing. There are 2 more older guys than him, yet he is great as leader. I want to thank our leader personally.” -- Seokjin as a concert which, judging by their hairstyles (and the use of Namjoon’s old artist name) must’ve been some time around Dark & Wild perhaps?

As a side note, the mention of calico cats reminds me of a picture Seokjin posted for Namjoon’s birthday in 2019 (so two years after Serendipity had already come out) in which Namjoon is seen asleep while sitting and hugging a calico cat plushy. You’ll recognize both the plushy and the ARMY B*mb hat as part of the VCRs for 4th Muster in 2018. So I’m mentioning this as more of a cute thing rather than some kind of definitive sign of any sort really. By the way, that same cat plushy can also be seen when Tae lies sleeping and Jimin sits next to him singing the calico cat line and places the plushy on Tae.

But, what I think is, for me at least, the biggest hint toward Serendipity being, to a degree at least, about/inspired by vmin is the fact that early in 2017, February more specifically, Jimin and Tae both called each other their soulmates during one of their fansigns. And what are soulmates if not two people destined to meet and be with each other, two people quite literally meant for each other? And here Jimin is singing a song about how his love for this person and his happiness with them was fated, that destiny had this planned for them regardless how scared they may be and how destiny (outside factors) might be jealous of them (keep getting in their way).

Furthermore, isn’t it curious how this song, specifically, is written as gender neutral instead of with female pronouns like their songs in the past or even Outro: Her off the same album? Yes, Namjoon explained in their interview with Billoard that this decision was one he made because these rare moments and special things in life are something that transcend genders, cultures and barriers between people, and love is also something that doesn’t care about genders, in this case love and destiny don’t care about the fact that they are all the same gender because they are fated anyway, they are soulmates, each others fated person, and their happiness is meant to be in one way or another. Together.

[ghost-in-the-hella]

Could I get "39. holding hands in a museum to pull them to the next exhibition", Chasemarsh, Bless this Mess AU?

As you wish :) Same AU as Bless this Mess, but early days. (For those who haven't read Bless this Mess, it's an AU where Victoria and Kate didn't meet until they were adults and therefore Victoria had never bullied Kate) The museum in this ficlet is fictional but based on my own favorite museum, the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art.

---

“This… is a museum?” The building before her has nothing of the grandeur that Victoria has come to expect from museums. It is neither cold nor imposing, just a modest one-story building with some whimsical decorative frills around the entrance. Bright colors show through the large windows. There are bronze statues scattered around the grounds, but they’re all of creatures that look like they’d be more at home in a fairytale than at a museum. Children run around the grounds, screaming and frolicking.

“Of course it is, silly!” Kate stands next to the entrance sign and Vanna Whites a hand across the bold letters. “The Leo and Diane Dillon Museum of Children’s Book Art. See? It says ‘museum’ right there.”

Part of Victoria wants to roll her eyes, curl her upper lip, and unleash a comment so scathing Kate will feel flayed to the bone for having the temerity to call this obvious travesty a ‘museum’. Fortunately, this is the part of Victoria that - with the help of her therapist and years of hard emotional labor - she’s gotten better at catching and overcoming before it can claw its vicious way to the surface. She searches for something nice or at least neutral to say instead. She likes Kate. If she didn’t like her, she would be home marathoning something on crunchyroll in her pajamas instead of getting dressed up on a Saturday morning to go out on this date with her. She doesn’t want to scare Kate off by being needlessly rude. “It’s… not quite what I’d pictured when you invited me to go to a museum with you.”

Kate’s smile doesn’t falter as Victoria had feared. Instead, it softens into a grin that does frankly criminal things to the state of Victoria’s heart. “I know what you mean,” she says so fondly that Victoria is both certain and relieved that Kate has taken her comment as a compliment instead of a barely masked insult. “The first time I came here, I couldn’t believe my eyes.” Her eyes - such warm, lovely eyes; Victoria can’t imagine a work of art that holds a candle to those eyes in any museum - sparkle. “It’s been my favorite museum since I first set foot inside. I come here at least once a month.” She sighs rapturously and Victoria’s heart gives an embarrassing squeeze. “We’re so lucky to have such a special place so close by.”

Victoria makes a noncommittal sound, not wanting to quash Kate’s enthusiasm. Kate smiles at her and beckons playfully for Victoria to follow her as she leads the way inside. They’ve only gone on a handful of dates so far, but already Victoria suspects she’d follow Kate just about anywhere.

The museum truly is unlike any that Victoria’s ever been in before. There are so many children, for one thing. The security guards just smile at them benignly, for another. The last time Victoria was in a museum, she watched someone get chewed out by a security guard for having the audacity to take notes with a pen instead of a pencil. Had a parent been foolish enough to bring a small child inside, they would’ve been stalked by security and stared at so ominously they would soon think better of their faux pas, and perhaps reconsider their decision to reproduce altogether.

But here… Here, the children are not only encouraged to run free, they’re allowed to touch things with their grubby little child hands. Encouraged to, even; there are kiosks set up all over the room they’re in with interactive exhibits, as well as cozy reading areas all around full of children’s books, where parents and children can sit together and paw through museum property with their bare and presumably unwashed hands.

“Isn’t this place amazing?” Kate asks, her voice as warm and gooey as melted chocolate. “You can practically press your nose up against the art and not get in trouble for it. I love it. I can really get in there and see how the artists used all their different materials. It’s so inspiring!”

“I’ve never seen a place like it,” Victoria replies neutrally. Honestly, the idea of children near artwork makes her break out in nervous sweats. She tries to imagine how her parents would react to children running loose at the Chase Space. They’d probably have a coronary each. She herself wasn’t allowed to set foot in the gallery until she was solidly in double digits, and even then she’d always been treated like a disaster waiting to happen, a ticking time bomb in Mary Janes.

Kate nods in satisfaction. “It’s really special.” She gestures at the room they’re in. “This gallery always has a show of Leo and Diane Dillon’s works, plus the interactive exhibits. The specific stuff changes periodically. The gallery across the hall has shows of different works by children’s book illustrators.” She smiles bashfully, a delicious pink tinge warming her cheekbones. “It’s one of my biggest dreams to be included in one of those shows.”

Victoria stops short and blinks rapidly, trying to process. “Here?” she asks, dumbfounded. Here, where children run amok? Where your artwork will never be hung alongside that of a truly great artist?? She remembers Kate mentioning minoring in illustration in undergrad, but somehow that had never really clicked in Victoria’s brain as something important. It’s not like she’d studied photography or even painting, something Victoria would be able to sustain a deep conversation about.

“Of course here!” Kate giggles. “I illustrate children’s books. Well,” she avers with a shy shrug, “a little bit, anyway. It’s only a side hustle right now, but someday I’d like it to be a bigger part of my career.” She looks around the room and sighs dreamily. “It would be such an honor to show here.”

“Here,” Victoria repeats, her brain still struggling to compute. She’s fully being rude now; she can hear it in her voice, a shift from merely confused to straight up condescending.

But Kate just giggles again and rolls her eyes, not looking remotely fazed by Victoria's attitude. “Not every artist needs to show at the Guggenheim, Tori. Some artists dream of being showcased in the Whitney Biennial, and some dream of showing in, well, the Leo and Diane Dillon Museum of Children’s Book Art.”

The nickname throws Victoria even more than Kate’s good natured response to her blatant rudeness does. It distracts her so much she almost doesn’t notice when Kate’s fingers suddenly thread into her own. “Come on,” Kate goes on, “I’m really excited about this month’s exhibit. Have you ever heard of Mary Blair?”

There’s a firm but gentle tug at Victoria’s hand leading her toward the doors separating exhibition rooms and Victoria’s awareness sparks to life. Kate’s holding her hand. Her heart dances a little two-step as she fumbles for words. “N-no, I haven’t.” Heat flushes her cheeks and she clears her throat self-consciously. “My art history degree didn’t cover children’s book art.”

Kate nods thoughtfully as she pushes the doors open and returns the security guard’s smile and wave. “She was actually more involved with animation and concept art, especially for Disney. Murals, too. But it’s true; art history classes tend to leave illustration out as a whole. It’s such a shame, really. There’s some fascinating history there.”

Victoria’s never given a shit about illustration - for children’s books or otherwise - before, but she’s pretty sure Kate could deliver a four hour lecture on the subject and she’d have Victoria’s undivided attention for every minute. “Photography gets the shaft, too, especially in survey courses,” she says. “Anything other than art history courses specifically oriented toward photography, really. It’s like if you’re not a white cishet male painter, you don’t matter.” She shakes her head in aggravation. “As though the advent of photography didn’t change the entire course of art history, and painting in particular. Such bullshit.”

Kate gives Victoria’s hand a little squeeze, and Victoria is floored once more by the realization that Kate is holding her hand. Still. She’s not even leading Victoria anywhere anymore; they’re just standing there, holding hands. It’s astonishing. “We should write a book,” Kate suggests. “Shed some light on the more underappreciated aspects of art history.” Her tone is light and teasing but Victoria finds herself considering it seriously.

“I could probably sell that pitch,” Victoria muses. “I have some contacts in publishing. You could cover illustration, I could cover photography, we could tap my friend Taylor to cover--” She’s snapped out of her brainstorming by the sensation of Kate’s thumb rubbing softly over her knuckles. “Uh, but we can work out those details later. If you want to. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me about…” She gestures with her free hand. “...whatever’s going on here?”

Kate grins and gives her a warm nod, not letting go of her hand as she leads her to the nearest artwork. “Don’t be scared to get up good and close,” Kate instructs her, tugging her closer. “We’re not at the Met, don’t forget.”

Victoria scoffs. “As if I could forget that.” She lets Kate pull her closer til she’s scant inches from the art and her shoulder is pressed firmly against Kate’s. “Close to the art… or to you?” she asks softly. She doesn’t know how to look at art this closely; it all blurs to abstraction as she waits for an answer.

“Both,” Kate replies seconds before a tender kiss presses bold and warm against Victoria’s cheek.

[mnemosyne-musing]

i have no fear, i have only love (11/river)

Here on ao3

This is a young River fic from Berlin through Luna to Lake Silencio.

--

Find River Song. And tell her something from me…

 That’s all very well, but just who exactly is River Song and how the hell does she find her? It’s a question that’s been haunting her since Berlin. She certainly wasn’t Mels anymore. But was she River yet? And how would she know? And then the second part of that sentence? Well, that was even more mystifying and more than a little bit terrifying, if truth be told. Would anyone really love a psychopath like her? And would she really love him back? Maybe it wasn’t really true? She wouldn’t blame him if it wasn’t, after all, he was dying at the time and now she’s free. The rest of her lives in exchange for her freedom in this one. It’s a bargain she’d make again in a heartbeat.

 She resolves to try and not dwell on it for now. After all, she’s got a whole universe to explore now.

 --

 Tell me. Why do you want to study archaeology, Ms Song?

 She eventually ends up at Luna University. She’d never been particularly fussed about the idea of going to university before but now it seems to appeal. She settles on archaeology. It seems varied and interesting but not so intensive that she can’t indulge in a few extra-curricular activities. Plus, all those months freelancing for that high-end intergalactic antique smuggling gang seemed to have really paid dividends now. She finds she can identify a priceless vase or spot a fake much easier than her classmates.

 To be perfectly honest Professor, I’m looking for a good man.

 There’s also him. It’s been several years since Berlin now. Years since she woke up in an empty hospital room with just the fading memories of a kiss that kickstarted his hearts, of a tantalising glimpse of the mysterious River Song and the life she might lead. She’s swaggered, blagged and conned her way around several corners of the universe. She’s revelled in the freedom and grasped the opportunity with both hands. She hadn’t realised quite how stifling linear life on Earth had been to her until she was offered the chance to break free.

 At first, she deliberately tries to avoid him. At any mention of him she disappears or finds an excuse to go elsewhere. She wants the chance to discover for herself just exactly who River Song might be. But now she’s here - studying ancient things, half-formed myths and living legends. It’s the perfect place to learn about a shadowy Time Lord.

 She can’t deny that she’s still incredibly curious about him. The tantalising rumours, myths and legends that have formed most of what she knows about him seem to only be half the picture. Sometimes it seems the more she reads, the more she gathers from dusty books, the further away from her he gets. Then she remembers a dying man begging her to save his friends and then herself with his final breaths.

Still, he doesn’t appear in person. A couple of times however she thinks she sees him. She’ll catch a flash of tweed or a glimpse of a bowtie in a crowd but when she looks properly, he’s not there. The years pass. She completes her undergraduate degree a year early – it would have been quicker but she spends a large part of her second year competing in, and winning, an intergalactic poker tournament.

 She discovers she actually loves archaeology. What had begun as a slightly whimsical choice accompanied by a glib comment to her professor has turned into genuine interest.

 She tells herself she won’t waste her years here pining for him. She won’t drive herself mad with self-pity and longing. She’ll learn what she can. She’ll discover everything there is to know about this man she gave up her lives for. And if that’s the end of their story, if she never sees him again, then so be it.

 And it works. Most of the time. She’s happy and satisfied in a way she never was, never could be, as Mels. She’s doing something entirely for herself, for once, and it is wonderful. She thrives.

 He still doesn’t appear. On dark days she tells herself that time can be rewritten. That those words he whispered to her as he lay dying have somehow become undone. That they won’t happen.

 Or, worse, it was simply Rule One.

 --

 As luck would have it, when he eventually shows up, she’s having a terrible day. The archaeology department have rejected one of her research proposals and a blip in the biosphere security systems has led to a constant stream of noxious fumes into most of the university buildings.

 She’s decided to cheer herself up by going out for the evening with one of the professors from the art history department. He’s young and a bit dashing for a professor, intelligent and just the right side of arrogant to be charming. He’s also been asking her out for weeks now and tonight she just couldn’t think of a good enough excuse not to say yes. She’s not looking for anything serious right now but a good-looking distraction is never a bad thing.

 She’s applying the final touch to her lipstick when there’s an ostentatious, almost-ceremonial knocking on her door. She rolls her eyes slightly, grabs her bag and does a final check in the mirror before she opens the door.

 She’s just about to say something witty and mildly salacious about his grand entrance when she stops dead. Standing in her doorway is not the handsome art history professor but the Doctor. The mysterious, legendary, enigmatic last of the Time Lords who left her years ago in a hospital on the other side of the universe is standing on her doorstep beaming at her and wearing what looks like a… a poncho?

 “River!” he exclaims as she stares at him in disbelief, “What?” He frowns as she continues to gape at him, “Have I got something on my face?” He swipes his hand hastily across his cheek, “I’ve just been for cream tea with Virginia Woolf. Always a messy meal.”

 “No- I-“ she finds her voice eventually as he continues to frown at her, “I- what are you doing here?”

 “I’m picking you up!”

 “Why?” she demands, now glaring at him with her hands on her hips

 “Why?!” he repeats, frowning in bemusement at she keeps staring at him, “I told you last time! We’re going to see that meteor display near Sirius IV! The one with all the… ohh have I got the timing off?” his face falls as he anxiously checks his watch.

 “I-, I-  no I can’t go to Sirius IV,” she stutters, watching as his face falls further in disappointment, “I have a date.”

 “A date? Oh, am I crossing wires with myself again!?” his face lights up again at the thought.

 River stares at him for a long moment before she steps forward slightly into his personal space and raises a finger to point at him. “Eight years Doctor,” she manages to grind out from between gritted teeth. She punctuates each of her words with a slight jab into his chest that makes him rock back on his heels. “It’s been. Eight. Long. Years.”

 “Eight years?” he looks at her in confusion, “What do you mean? I thought I just saw you- oh- oh-” he trails off as comprehension dawns, “You haven’t seen me since- since Berlin?” he checks nervously as River shakes her head, “Ah. Well, that explains the-  the- ” he trails off again, gesticulating nervously as River glares at him, “Never mind! Hang on- if you haven’t seen me since Berlin, then who are you going on a date with?!”

 Before she is able to reply however, the subject of their conversation suddenly appears from the nearby stairwell.

 “Him?! The Doctor exclaims in outrage as River manages a somewhat flustered smile at the arriving professor, “You can’t be going on a date with him!”

 “And why not?” River visibly bristles as she glares back at him.

 “Because he- oh- wait that’s probably- Ha- spoilers!” the Doctor’s scoffing suddenly turns to glee as he rocks back on his heels and bites his bottom lip in amusement.

 “I’m sorry, have I missed something?” Handsome Art History Professor looks between River and the Doctor in confusion.

 “No, nothing,” River pulls her door shut and steps determinedly past the Doctor, taking the professor’s arm and flashes him a brilliant smile as she takes his arm and pulls him towards the stairway, leaving the Doctor still standing on her doorstep. “We’re leaving.”

 As he turns round to watch her retreating form, he shakes his head fondly before he shoves his hands in his pockets and heads back to the TARDIS.

  --

 She dates Handsome Professor for two months and then realises he’s been stealing some of her ideas and passing off them as his own in his lectures and papers. She gets him all hot and bothered in his office one day, leaves him naked and handcuffed to his desk and then reports him to the faculty for plagiarism. He leaves Luna soon after that.

 Keep reading on ao3

 --

[bloodyshadow1]

Beauyashaweek 2021 day 2 Classical Art: Birthed from Stone

Beauyashaweek 2021 day 2 Classical Painting Art

Technically, the prompt is Classical Painting, but I couldn't really think of anything to write for that so I decided to do Classical Art as the prompt and thought of this. There's more to it, but I decided to cut it short because it was getting too long and not ending. I hope you enjoy my story, if you do please leave a comment, they help more than you know.

It was Saturday, there were a million things Beau would have preferred to be doing on her Saturday, one of the few days off she had, than going to the Zadash Museum of Art. That wasn’t fair, she liked the Museum, she liked the artwork, but she hated that she was here on an assignment for school rather than because she wanted to which meant she hated the Museum currently.

Beau had only taken Art Appreciation 110 on her best friend Jester’s suggestion. The blue tiefling art major thought it would be fun to have her best friend in the class she was TAing and assured Beau that it was an easy class being a 100 level. Beau didn’t mind an easy A, she was a double major history and sports medicine in her senior year, she figured she might as well since the rest of her course load was killer.

Unfortunately, unlike most of the classes Beau had taken though her time at Z.U. Art Appreciation 110 wasn’t a blow off class that she could just take the tests and write papers to pass with an A. The teacher Mr. Artagan was more eccentric than most of the faculty at Z.U. full of new age ideas how to run his class. No tests at all and only a few papers, which would be fine for most people, but the fact that participation was worth 60% of her grade made the class a living hell for Beau. He thought that children (despite them all being college students) should be rewarded for showing initiative, not just memorizing facts, something that Beau relied on. She was a smart girl who read the assigned reading before the class had even started hoping it would mean she didn’t have to show up for class only to have Jester’s hippy mentor ruin that dream the first day.

Artagan, as he liked them to call him, no mister for him, was one of those ‘cool’ teachers who thought they were changing the world in their 100 level course that contained mostly freshmen trying to get their gen ed credits out of the way. The teacher who wore an actual green cloak to class everyday that clashed horribly with his tangle of reddish orange hair, but went well with his inhuman green eye, knew he was put on this earth to reach the kids. Beau hated him instantly and thought if not for his laziness, his biggest weakness other than a wicked case of ADHD that no amount of Adderall would fix, he would probably be a cult leader. Luckily for the class, Jester took her job as his TA seriously, or at least as serious as Jester could leading a class taught by Mr. Artagan about appreciating art, so she was at least a competent teacher when the actual teacher decided to take a nap in the middle of a lecture or jump out the window to chase a bird. She would call on Beau whenever she could because she knew her best friend at least knew the information even though she wouldn’t volunteer the information willingly. It saved Beau’s average from tanking in class, but by the time the semester came to a close it didn’t look good, Beau was sitting at a low C which again, wouldn’t be bad for most people in their blow off class, but was horrible for Beauregard Lionett, the disgraced daughter of the Lionett wine family in Kamordah.

Without getting into it, Beau’s relationship with her family, especially her dad Thoreau, was horrible to be kind. She was only at Z.U. due to both academic and athletic scholarships, and losing one would mean she wouldn’t have enough money for her final semester, and she needed at least a B in all her classes if she wanted to graduate. Technically she would still be able to graduate, but her diploma would remain as property of the school until her debts were paid up, which meant she couldn’t get a job with her diploma unless she lied on her resume. And while, no one could say Beauregard Lionett was against lying, she wasn’t a self destructive teenager anymore she knew it would only hurt her in the long run.

Luckily, having her best friend as her T.A. meant Jester begging Mr. Artagan to let Beau have some extra credit so she could pass. Artagan agreed and told her to write a paper on how a piece of art makes you feel. If Beau didn’t desperately need to pass this stupid class she would have thrown it in his face, but instead as a self destructive adult who at least was aware of her money problems, she gritted her teeth and took the extra credit assignment.

Beau had been to the museum at their school a bunch of times, she had given tours for a bit as a work study gig until the people in charge realized how bad she was with people. But there was something about being forced to go there for an assignment that soured the whole thing for her.

“Let's check out the Emon exhibit first Beau,” Jester said taking her and dragging her to the Tal’Dori section. Beau didn’t mind it, but there was too much…, cleanness in the artwork of their neighbors to the West. Tal’Dori was really similar to Wildemount in a lot of ways, without the whole equally large enemy neighbor country that you’ve been in a Cold War with forever. Emon had its own set of problems, but propaganda or not, whatever Beau read made the other continent sound like a less shitty version of the Dwendalian Empire.

Still, the paintings and sculptures were nice enough to look at even if she didn’t have Jester’s excitement. There were a lot of paintings of naked people in some of the exhibits, which Beau enjoyed since there weren’t a lot of men as the subject. She had to hand it to the old masters, they might have been a bunch of old pervs, but they painted a pretty dame without her clothes. Even if they did give their works pretentious names like, “the Sin of Sarenrae,” or “the Seducer of Nations,” as if the women who were the subjects were at fault for being beautiful enough for men to want to paint them naked.

Eventually Jester got bored, it didn't take long, and they moved on to the other wings of the museum. “I’m gonna check out the Xhorhasian exhibit for a bit Jester,” Beau said, needing some alone time. She loved her best friend, but the girl could talk forever on her worst day, a day surrounded by hundreds of years of artwork around her meant she hadn’t stopped since Beau mentioned her paper.

The Xhorhasian exhibit was small and quiet, they were technically at peace, legally and all that, but two powerful countries can’t be neighbors without a lot of animosity. With only the Ashkeeper Peaks between them, there had been a long cycle of wars and ceasefires between the two nations that could break at any moment. That meant not a lot of people congregated in this out of the way exhibit. Most of the artwork and relics were probably technically stolen. Beau wasn’t happy about that despite being a citizen of the Empire, born and raised in Kamordah, less than a day from Zadash.

Maybe after she graduated she could break into the museum and somehow send the stolen goods back home where they belonged. Jester would probably be into it, and Veth wasn’t exactly opposed to petty theft or grand larceny. But that was for Future Beau with her bachelor’s degree to think about. For now, since they were here, Beau was going to enjoy the things from the Empire’s oldest enemy and learning about them, despite how they were procured.

Technically, the Empire wasn’t enemies with Xhorhas, they were enemies with the Krynn Dynasty, the country that had been the dominant power in the Wastes of Xhorhas for thousands of years. There were other people living in Xhorhas that were roped into the conflict, or so Beau heard, most of the stories from the East were about the Cricks or Krynn and the rest were hardly mentioned at all.

As Beau walked around the empty exhibit, for the most part it was bleaker than the other exhibits. Xhorhas seemed like a dreary place, all their artwork lacked the color of other nations artwork. Most of the paintings, few of them as there were, tended to be battle scenes of Drow soldiers in their dark insect like armor tearing through Empire soldiers like paper, it's a wonder citizens of the Empire never come to look at this exhibit. The rest was mostly pottery or weapons, the placards said they were souvenirs from survivors of perilous expeditions into enemy territory. Beau had read them all before.

But surprising her, there was something new in the exhibit. In the center of the exhibit, in a place of honor was a statue with lights pointing down on it. It was made of white marble and depicted the most beautiful woman Beau had ever seen. She was large, tall and wide, if she wasn’t made of stone she would tower over Beauregard, with arm muscles larger than Beau’s head. Long wild hair that the sculpture had managed to get across in the marble. She wasn’t just standing still either, she was swinging a sword like some goddess of battle. The massive feathery wings exploding from her back, that almost looked soft to the touch despite being made out of rock, made her seem even more divine. But even more than the wings, Beau was drawn to her eyes, they were perfect. Despite being just another part of the woman carved from the white stone, they seemed so dark, holding so much anger and sadness that it made Beau’s chest hurt to look into them, but she didn't have the willpower to look away.

The only flaw Beau could find in the sculpture of the beautiful woman, was the smile. Unlike the rest of the statue, the smile was just off. It was just too plain. The rest of the work from the woman, from the way the marble simulated how her arm muscles tensed like a real person would when swing a sword to fight, to her large soulful eyes, to the massive two-handed sword that looked like it was a real metal blade turned to stone, was the work of a master. Yet the smile was clearly the work of an armature, it looked like the smiles Beau had drawn on posters to look extra goofy to passersby. It didn’t fit such a beautiful woman, especially when the rest of her was clearly ready for battle.

It looked so off Beau immediately looked at the placard to find out if it had been damaged in shipping and the archeologist or smuggler did their best to fix it with a smile. The sign didn’t say anything about the smile, just that the sculpture had been found 3 years ago in an ‘expedition’ in the south of Xhorhas. The title of the piece was ‘Angel of Beauty,’ which made Beau gag. Sure the woma-, the sculpture was beautiful, but it was such a boring shitty title for such an awesome bitch. She was wielding a sword ready to chop someone to bits and ready to take on a whole army, Angel of Beauty was such a generic title for a real work of art. Skimming the rest of the paragraph for any more info, Beau learned the locals called the work ‘The Orphanmaker,’ before the archeologist procured the work.

Beau thought it was a bit better, at least more metal and fitting for such a bad bitch, but it still didn’t fit the woman or the sculpture in Beau’s unasked for opinion. Still, Beau couldn’t let her dumb lesbian brain that made her have a crush on the only more unattainable woman in the world than Jester, stop her from getting her paper done. She took a picture of the placard to get a reference and took a few more of the statue itself from as many angles as she could. You weren’t technically supposed to take pictures of the artwork, but no one was around and Beau needed the pictures for her project…, and nothing else.

Still, the more time she spent with the statue the more Beau was enthralled. The more she stared at it, from every angle it felt like the woman was ready to come alive at any second. That one second Beau would be staring into eyes of white marble and then she would blink alive the next. The skill of the sculptor had practically tricked Beau into thinking the woman would have a pulse if she touched her, like she wasn’t carved out of stone.

It got to the point where Beau, who would never break the law, especially when it came to stolen art, got so fed up she decided to touch the statue just to prove to herself it wasn’t a real live person. Just a quick tap on the arm to prove to herself that the woman wasn’t alive, that’s all it would take to make her crazy thoughts quiet for a bit.

Unfortunately, or perhaps very fortunate given the outcome, Beau was wrong, very wrong. The moment she touched what would be the flesh of the woman, not her sword, or hair, or clothes, the moment her finger touched the skin on the woman’s arm, it felt warm. So warm that Beau couldn’t believe it, until the woman’s pulse woke her up. She tore her hand away like the statue was made of fire, but even as she did, she could see cracks forming in the sculpture starting from where she touched the woman on the arm.

“Shit,” Beau yelled, as she slammed her back into the wall, she didn’t even know she had backed away that far. She desperately tried to search for glue or anything that she could use to fix the crack she made, but the cracks only got bigger. By the time Beau looked back, they had shot down the woman’s arm and were coming down her body, and Beau only had time to swear every curse she knew in the five languages she spoke fluently (which you would think would take a while, but Beau had always been quick with her mouth and was well practiced with it and cursing) before the statue exploded.

The room was full of dust clouds and the only sound other than the hammering of Beau’s heart was the sound of a large woman breathing heavily. It only took a moment for the dust to clear and give Beau a good look at the Orphan Maker. On a whole, she was pretty much the same as the statue, same massive frame, same gorgeous face that Beau had gone gaga for, same strong arms holding the now sharp steel blade, and older Xhorhasian garb, not from the Krynn Dynasty. Now that she wasn’t a statue anymore though, there was a big change, even if she was mostly the same, there was a big difference between a beautiful woman carved out of white marble and a real gorgeous flesh and blood woman.

Her skin was pale, almost as pale as the white marble, but the rest of her and her clothes had splashes of color, mostly black, but not white stone. The biggest change though, other than being a living person of course, was her wings. When she was a statue the wings on her back had been white and feathery, now, they were black and skeletal. As if they had been burnt to cinder’s but still attached to her. She has heterochromatic eyes, one is light green, the other is violet, they are filled with rage, but it’s not directed at Beau, the woman who burst from the marble is just angry.

“Where am I,” the strange woman demanded once the dust cleared enough to see Beau.

“The Zadash University Museum,” Beau said trying to stay on the good side of this strange Amazonian goddess that just flexed out of a statue.

“Zadash,” the woman said slowly, like it was a foreign word. “That is a is a name from beyond the mountains,” she asked more than said.

“Yeah,” Beau nodded, “or I mean I suppose. We’re on the other side of the mountains from Xhorhas if that’s what you mean.”

“Then I am a long way from home,” the strange woman said seeming to calm down.

“Are you a spy from Xhorhas,” Beau asked, immediately realizing how stupid that sounded. Beau could handle herself in a fight, but this woman was massive and had a sword almost the size of her. It would be really hot if it was in a movie or a book instead of real life.

“No,” the woman shouted, “I am from Xhorhas, but I am no spy.”

“Alright,” Beau said, throwing her hands up to show she meant no harm, “I believe you.”

“I think…, I am lost,” the woman said calming down, her voice was a lot softer than Beau would have guessed when she wasn’t angry. “I was in my homeland, I was fighting something and then…, nothing.”

“Well, maybe you could start with something you do remember,” Beau asked, trying to keep things calm. “Do you remember your name?”

“Yasha,” Yasha apparently answered after a moment, “Yasha Nydoorin. And I think I need your help.”

It probably wasn’t a great idea to agree to this, she didn’t know Yasha much other than she was big, gorgeous, and popped out of a marble statue. But despite her well above average intelligence, she was also a lesbian with a dumb lesbian brain sometimes, and all she could say was “sure.” Maybe she’ll let Jester drag her off to the museum if this happens all the time.

[gumnut-logic]

Two Birds with One Stone (Bit 6 and The End)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 6

I finished it! Yay! Still @godsliltippy​ ‘s fault. I’m just happy to have this one off my plate because yesterday I wrote 2000 words of a new fic! I’m incurable, I have to say ::headdesk:: Like I have so many waiting to be finished ::wails::

But lookie! I finished one ::distracts all with this single finished fic waving it around with glee::

Many thank to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ and @janetm74​ for all their support through this fic and of course to Tippy for sparking it in the first place with this glorious piece of art!

I can actually archive something cos it is finished! Yay!

I hope you enjoy it...cos it is finished! It’s a miracle!

-o-o-o-

“A combine harvester?!”

“Totally cool sounding, don’t you think? I’m adding it to my list.”

Virgil stared at his brother. “You have a list? Of what?”

“Dramatic stuff. Near misses. Things worth bragging about at the bar.”

Virgil blinked, fortunately with both eyes this time, since the swelling was starting to go down.

He was sitting up in bed, surrounded by flowers. Grandma had gone all out this time with two boys in the hospital. Fortunately, they wouldn’t be in much longer.

Alan had dragged in one of Virgil’s sketchbooks and to Virgil’s surprise, he had found the energy to draw for a little while, though his head wouldn’t take much.

And his head was more than one problem.

He was missing half his hair.

And he looked stupid.

Worse, there was a jagged slice in his scalp where apparently a piece of that combine harvester had made it through his helmet and nearly sliced him in half.

The thought was downright alarming and he shunted it to the back of his mind with not a little terror.

He would examine it later.

Later.

But the problem at the moment, apart from the bandages that conveniently hid the issue temporarily, he only had half a head of hair and it looked stupid.

He had to appreciate that Gordon hadn’t laughed. In fact, none of his brothers had laughed at him. He couldn’t fault them for that.

Though there was a sparkle in Gordon’s eye that foretold at least one comment in the future, even if it was fond and caring.

Besides…

He kept waking up to find Gordon sitting on the end of his bed.

It was done with nonchalance and a smile, but Virgil was beginning to suspect an underlying cause. Not that he couldn’t acknowledge that he was happy to see his little brother and sharing a room with him in hospital was actually a boon to the medical process, but honestly, Virgil was beginning to worry.

“Don’t you have a list?”

Of course, a fish without a pond tended to be a bored fish.

“No, not really.”

“You don’t count successful rescues?”

“John and Scott keep records. I don’t like to dwell.”

His little brother shrugged. “I get that.”

There was silence for a while and Virgil let himself settle back into his pillow. Dosing was a rare pleasure.

“So, you don’t take advantage of being a hero even a tiny bit?”

Virgil blinked and frowned. “What?”

Gordon rolled over holding his injured arm and settled so he could see Virgil clearly. “You know, leverage a little heroism to start a conversation? Get one up on the stiffs at parties?”

He stared at his brother. “Are you having trouble at Penny’s charity functions?”

“Nooo.”

Okay, that meant yes. “You should talk to her, Gords.” He shrugged. “Need a wingman? I could come with.” Though he had to admit, he could see where Gordon was coming from. Some of those attendees were definitely stiffs who had never lifted a finger to help anyone but themselves in their entire lives.

“I can handle it.”

Okay, Virgil was definitely filching an invite to the next one. Could even drag in Scott. Big bro would torch the social scene. He wasn’t a fan, but he could play...to every other man’s detriment.

Or Virgil could ask John. Having a genius brother in orbit who had a daughter who had been told off several times already for influencing the stock market was an advantage.

“Virgil, stop the plotting. It is fine. I’ve got this. I just flex a little muscle, mention a few scars and spin a few tales. Joe WallStreet, or whatever they call it in London, doesn’t stand a chance.”

He eyed his brother. The urge to step in was strong.

Gordon smirked. “It is fine. Besides, you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon with that hairstyle.”

It was an obvious subject change, but it still earned Gordon a blistering glare. “Shut up.”

A snort and Gordon capitulated. “Don’t worry, bro, it’s cool. Shave the other side, get yourself some tatts and no one will ever question you on a rescue ever again.” The second snort was almost a giggle.

If only he could reach Gordon, clap him up the head.

There must have been something in his expression because Gordon burst out laughing, rolling on the bed, holding his arm to his side.

“You’re an ass.”

“And you, my dear artist bro, are entertaining.”

“Shove it.”

But at least Gordon was smiling.

Virgil would take that any day.

-o-o-o-

Gordon was up and about long before Virgil and took to disappearing from time to time into the depths of the hospital, often with one brother or the other and on several occasions, with Penelope.

Virgil didn’t get out much. He still had headaches and occasional dizzy spells, a lead on from a massive concussion and was the reason why they were still in hospital. Virgil had no doubt Gordon could probably have gone home, but was hanging about just because Virgil couldn’t.

If it pinned Gordon under medical observation and not in the ocean after such a serious injury, Virgil wasn’t going to argue. But it was frustrating that he himself wasn’t very mobile and he was sick of staring at the ceiling tiles.

They always bugged him as his artistic brain always constructed designs out of them and they always lacked symmetry.

Grandma, Alan, John, Scott and even Kayo were regular visitors. The Tracy clan had parked themselves in a nearby hotel, no doubt fueling both news agencies and the local economy.

Virgil just wanted to go home.

And Scott was out of sorts.

Scott was always out of sorts when a member of the family was injured, but this was different. And it was bugging Virgil.

Between his own injuries and the inability to pin his brother down due to interruptions and the lack of alone time, whatever it was that was bugging Scott was festering.

Topeka hospital was a familiar place to all of them. It had been their local major hospital for much of their formative years and considering the tornado seasons and IR responses, a regular delivery point for rescuees. There was a rooftop garden that had been sat in on several occasions in the past and it was with some conniving that Virgil spoke to Kayo to arrange for a corner of it to be secured so Virgil could go and sit up there for a bit of fresh air and privacy with his big brother.

He had no doubt that Scott knew he was being railroaded, but the lack of protest just emphasised how troubled his big brother was.

The sounds of the city below were no longer familiar and Virgil found himself longing for the ocean and the quiet of Tracy Island. It was evening, the sun having just set and the sky was a welcome sight after being confined to ceiling tiles for a few days, but the stars were dim, hidden by light pollution and a touch of smog.

It made him even more homesick.

“You okay, Virg?”

Scott had pushed him up here in a hoverchair. Virgil still needed it due to the dizzy spells and it ticked him off to no end. “Just homesick.”

Hi brother sighed. “Won’t be long. A couple of days and I’ll take you down to the beach and you can lay on the sand and stare at the stars to your heart’s content.”

Virgil shot him a glare. “I’m not John.”

“But you miss the stars anyway.”

Virgil grumbled. “I’m just used to seeing them.” He waved at hand at the sky. “It’s not the same.”

“Uh huh.” Scott was smiling in that condescending big brother knows better way he was so good at.

“Shut up.”

Scott didn’t stop grinning, he just dragged the ‘chair backwards until it nestled beside a park bench and then sat himself down beside Virgil.

They sat in silence for a while and Virgil let the soundscape seep into him. It was quieter up here than inside the hospital. There was a breeze with the scent of farmland under that pervasive smell of the city and cooling concrete. The breeze spoke of a possible storm in the distance. Virgil hoped it wasn’t a supercell. He had had enough of tornadoes for some time.

He missed the scent of the sea.

A sigh. He was being pathetic and falling into the doldrums over nothing. He was getting better. He would be home soon.

And screw it, he would plant his butt on a beach and drag Scott with him just to piss him off.

“You okay?”

Huh? Scott was peering at him, that worry ever persistent in the darkness of his eyes.

“It is you who I’m worried about.” So, it was defensive, big deal. Needed to start the conversation somehow.

“Me? I’m not the one who took on a combine harvester and nearly lost.”

“It wasn’t exactly a choice, you know.”

“I know.” It was quiet and Virgil knew he had hit the nail on the head.

“Talk to me, Scott.”

“About what?”

Virgil flat-eyed glared at him. “About whatever has been bugging you the last few days.”

“I would have thought that was obvious with two brothers in the hospital.” Definitely defensive.

“No. This is more.”

“What? There are degrees? I don’t need analysis, Virg.”

Virgil pressed his lips together. “You’re hurting. You’re not talking. What other recourse do I have?”

“Do you need one?”

“Of course, I do! You’re you! Whatever this is, it’s weighing on you and I hate to see you in pain.”

“I’m not in pain. It’s you who was injured.”

“If you’re trying to tell me that doesn’t affect you, you’re either lying through your teeth or I should be even more worried because you’ve obviously suffered brain damage of some kind and are no longer the Scott Tracy I know. Perhaps I should check you for a holographic disguise.”

Scott let out an annoyed scoff and shot to his feet, his actions agitated. “Virg, it’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Goddamnit, Virgil-“

“Talk to me!” And yelling apparently hurt his head, because it throbbed in protest. He grit his teeth and glared up at his brother. Please, Scott, for both our sakes.

“It was close, okay? Too damned close.”

Virgil swallowed. He knew that. “Not the first time.”

“So, I should be used to it by now?” Despite the darkness, Scott was lit up with internal fire.

“No.”

But he had finally triggered the avalanche and Scott spilled it all over him.

“Do you have any idea how close this was? Millimetres and you wouldn’t be here anymore, Virg.”

“Again, not the first time.”

“But it was so senseless!” Scott’s hands shot out palm up, desperate for understanding. “You weren’t even in the middle of a rescue. The sky just opened up, stabbed down a twister and threw a chunk of farm machinery at you. It lasted mere seconds and it nearly took both of you. Why? If you had landed a few metres further away, if you had been a few seconds later in arrival, hell, the margin for error was astronomical, yet, it still happened. I nearly lost you and Gordy for no damned reason whatsoever!”

“You need a reason?”

“Goddamned, I do! If I’m going to lose a brother, at least it should be for a reason. A sacrifice made for the good of all.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way.” Virgil’s heart was thudding in his chest.

“Well, it should. We do so much, sacrifice so much already, I don’t think it is too much to ask. We’ve already lost...” Scott shoved his face into his hands and parked himself back on the park bench. “Why the hell do you ask me these things?”

Ever so quiet. “Because they need to be asked.”

“I hate it.”

“I know.”

“I nearly lost you for nothing.”

“We were there for a reason. We both went in knowing the danger, you know that.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I’d be worried if it did.” Virgil sighed. “We survived, Scott. Thanks to you. You were fast enough.”

The grunt and groan that made it out between his brother���s fingers was pain itself.

The hoverchair made it awkward, but Virgil reached out and snagged his big brother with an arm and hauled him in the best he could. Scott, of course, protested, but Virgil’s arms were not injured and he was always smug that he had at least one thing racked up on the achievement scale that beat his almighty big brother and that was strength.

So, Scott was dragged into a hug whether he wanted it or not.

“Still here.”

Scott grumbled something unintelligible.

“Gords is adding it to his story list to tell at Penny’s parties.”

“He’s what?”

Distraction achieved.

“Wanna drop by Penny’s next charity dinner and play wingman to Gords? You get to take a few stiffs down a peg or million. Apparently, a few asses need a big brother kicking. We can break out Johnny and Eos for extra fun, if you like.”

“Who’s been messing with Gordon?” There it was. Exactly the trigger point needed.

“The Joe Wallstreets seem to think they are better than a fish Tracy.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Want to help me educate them? Though admittedly Gords was doing quite well on his own, higher education is always a good thing.”

Scott was staring at him in the darkness. It was obvious his brother knew exactly what Virgil was doing.

“I’ll be there.”

“Great. It will be good PR for whatever charity Penny is supporting. With a bit of luck we can play it to her advantage as well.”

Scott was still staring at him.

“What?”

Ever so quiet. “What would I do without you?”

Virgil swallowed, desperately ignoring all the implications and the reverse of that question. “Here’s hoping we never find out.”

Scott sighed and let his head drop onto Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil just tugged him a little tighter and returned to trying to see the stars.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[misssophiachase]

You Make My Heart Smile

So, happy (belated) birthday, Tina @tnapki Your edits make me smile (pardon the pun) and I wanted to thank you for that and everything you bring to the fandom.

I based it on your GORGEOUS EDIT

I also made it about food cause it’s SO you. On AO3 HERE

Also thanks to the gorgeous Kait @an-awesome-wavve for being amazing and my part brainstorm, part beta, part researcher and part undercover partner in crime. 

Renowned Chef Klaus Mikaelson has a bad reputation until he meets food blogger Caroline Forbes and has no idea how to handle her or the unfamiliar feelings she evokes, especially that annoying ability to make him smile. 

3 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 3pm

“I’m not going to do some stupid interview, you know I have other, more important things to do, right?”

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do interviews. He didn’t need to because his accomplishments spoke for themselves. He hadn’t slogged away in kitchens since he was twelve and worked his way through culinary school and some of the best restaurants to waste his time. 

Being a world-renowned chef owning not one, but four, three-Michelin-starred restaurants across the globe meant he could do whatever the hell he wanted. 

But yet here she was running his life. 

Still. 

“Like yell at me? I mean, you’ve been doing that since we were little so I guess it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before. ”

“I knew I should have never mixed business and family,” he snapped. “You always throw our childhood back in my face as an excuse to insult my life choices.”

“Because it’s too easy not to,” she pouted, flicking a stray, blonde lock over her shoulder.  “And, while I am unfortunately related to your sorry ass, I am also your publicist and this interview is good for your career.”

“I don’t need publicity.”

“Correction, you do need publicity,” she argued, her fork now attacking the very veal he’d cooked with more fervour than needed. 

“Easy on the product, little sister,” Klaus growled, his protectiveness for his art on full display. 

“Oh, silly me I thought it was already dead,” she shot back, tartly. “And before you interrupted, I was going to say that, yes maybe you shouldn’t need publicity given your career achievements, but that was before you dropped an entree on the food critic’s lap from the Chicago Tribune, fired your sous chef in front of the entire restaurant and insulted Gordon Ramsey on national television.”

“Ramsey is a sell out, I stand by my comments,” he muttered. “The critic had it coming and, now you mention it, so too did that sorry excuse for a sous chef.”

“You realise people call you the angry chef, right?”

“Better than the naked chef I suppose.” He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Klaus wasn’t in the business for gimmicks or to secure his own cooking program. He took his food seriously and there was nothing wrong with that. 

“At least people like Jamie Oliver,” she replied, arching her eyebrows knowingly. “Anyway, there’s no point in arguing because she’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Please tell me you didn’t just schedule an interview without my permission?”

1717 N. Halsted St, 3:10pm

“What’s with the expression of impending doom, Care Bear?” He asked, lugging his camera equipment as they walked up the block toward Alinea. 

“What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Not to do it but it’s too fun not to, Care Bear.” Given his general maturity level, Caroline decided it was a losing battle and she had more important things on her mind. 

“Anyway, it’s not doom,” she muttered. “It’s just the overwhelming desire not to do this interview but given I don’t want to get fired and also pay my rent, there’s no other option.”

“Is someone afraid of the angry chef?”

“Oh, puh-lease, I’m not afraid. Although, I might not be able to bite my tongue if he decides to insult me like he did Gordon Ramsey.”

Caroline wasn’t one to judge but his indiscretions were well-known and well-documented. Although, chefs with egos weren’t an entirely new phenomenon to the industry or to Caroline given interviewing them was her job.

“You and I both know Ramsey deserved that dressing down, if anything Mikaelson earned my respect that day.” Caroline couldn’t argue with that. 

Although this one was another kind of beast. 

The effortlessly attractive kind. 

For Caroline, this was an unsettling prospect. Until she reminded herself why she was here in the first place. 

Caroline loved food. Sometimes, she thought, more than life itself. 

So, when she became a food blogger after graduating with a journalism degree from Northwestern, it wasn’t a surprise. She was currently the senior blogger at popular food blog Delicious. 

“You love food and writing about it,” Was Enzo reading her mind? “How about instead of focusing on the negative, remember that this will be your biggest interview yet. Think about all of the exposure this will garner.”

The upper echelons of Delicious had decided that an interview with Klaus Mikaelson would be a big scoop. Caroline was all for interviewing chefs about their food and the passion behind it but she knew her editor wanted something less about his craft and more about his bad boy reputation.  

“Yes, but I want to write about food, not produce tabloid fodder.”

“Just think, once you do this then maybe you’ll have enough of a following to start your own blog and write what you want and not what someone tells you to do.”

“Mmmm, you do have a point.”

“Of course I do because Enzo knows everything. Also, take me with you because you’d be lost without me, sweetcheeks.”

“Third person, huh? That ego of yours knows no bounds, Lorenzo.”

“You know it, Care Bear,” he joked, flashing his most dazzling smile. “Well, looks like we’re here.”

“Looks like it,” she murmured, noting the intimidating sign overhead and wondering what she’d gotten herself into. “Here goes nothing.”

3:15pm

“Caroline Forbes?” 

“You must be Rebekah and this is my photographer Lorenzo St John.”

Klaus, who’d been throwing a temper tantrum not one minute ago, found himself looking up into the blue eyes of one Caroline Forbes. Suddenly, all of the white noise of the moment fell away and it was just the two of them in the room together and the blonde in question was looking at him expectantly. 

It was paralysing. 

But good paralysing he decided. 

“Nik?” Rebekah questioned. Now they were both looking at him. Had he zoned out and not realised it?  Well, if so, this was all kinds of embarrassing. “Caroline is the senior blogger for Delicious and she’s here for that interview, you know the one we talked about earlier?”

Yeah, ten minutes earlier, he thought to himself doing everything he could not to bite back in front of the new arrival.   

“It’s nice to meet you Mr Mikaelson, I have to say I’m a big fan of your…”  

“Look, it’s not going to be possible, I have to prep for dinner service,” he lied, although regretted it immediately when he noticed her expression. Klaus wasn’t used to being nice, it wasn’t in his DNA and usually it didn’t bother him. 

Until now. 

Klaus decided to blame it on the foreign feelings she was causing. As soon as he got some distance between them it would be fine, especially that vanilla scent he couldn’t ignore given it was infiltrating his first line of defence.

Klaus liked women, in fact he slept with many when his busy schedule permitted, but that was sex and nothing else. Just the way he liked it, easy and unemotional. 

“Why don’t we multitask then? I’m happy to help. ” Her voice was light and melodic. Klaus was hoping it wasn’t going to sound so enticing. He also wasn’t expecting that response. “I worked in a restaurant kitchen for years, I can do dishes, polish cutlery and peel a mean potato and an onion, well almost without crying.”

Why was he buoyed by that ridiculous statement and increasingly trying not to flash her a goofy smile? 

Klaus didn’t smile. He just didn’t. Ever. 

This wasn’t how he saw his day going at all. He was going to kill Rebekah. Before he could reply, the current subject of his ire spoke. 

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” she grinned. “How about Lorenzo and I make ourselves scarce then?” 

“It’s actually Enzo, darling, you sound a bit too much like my mother and my oppressive boss Care Bear here.” 

Klaus hadn’t even realised there was someone else in the room up until this point but it was clear Caroline wasn’t too impressed by his nickname or the oppressive part. Maybe they had more in common than he thought? 

Care Bear.  Klaus thought it was adorable. Then he could feel it, that idiotic urge to smile again. 

Before he could object again, Rebekah had made a quick exit with the photographer and she was just standing there. Klaus could feel the awkward tension between them and knowing he’d caused it wasn’t helping matters. But he didn’t know any other way to act. 

Then the words he’d struggled with just tumbled out. 

“How do you feel about fish?”

Not the most suave topic or question but this was his ‘uncomfort’ zone. 

“Depends on the context.”

“The context?”

“I mean, if you think I can clean, fillet and debone a fish, you’ve obviously overestimated my cooking talents.”

Klaus had to practically eat the smile that was threatening to appear.  Again. 

“Everyone has to start somewhere and get their hands a bit dirty, otherwise what’s the point?” He advised. “But, if you don’t want to then…”

“Oh, I never back away from a challenge, chef,” she promised. 

Again, the pesky smile was hovering just beneath the surface. 

Leading her towards the kitchen, Klaus told himself that preparing a fish was definitely going to keep his emotions at bay and also block out that perfume which was throwing him off balance. 

4:45pm

“Why do I feel like this was a ploy to distract me from my interview?” Caroline asked, dipping the fish into egg wash and then flour as instructed by her cooking mentor for the day.. 

This was not how she saw her day going. It was surreal to say the least. This guy was supposed to be an ogre but Caroline was realising he was something else entirely. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shot back. “But you filleted that fish like a professional, maybe you’ve missed your true calling?”

“I suppose I had a semi-good teacher,” she admitted wryly. 

“Wow, tell me what you really think, Forbes.”

Caroline was trying not to to get too caught up in the moment but Klaus Mikaelson had challenged every judgment she’d ever harboured about the temperamental chef.  He’d been unusually kind and patient.

The one thing she’d noticed was that his overall demeanour didn’t match his expression. 

He didn’t smile.

Not once. 

A few times, Caroline could swear it was close or maybe she was just imagining it?

“So, why do you like food?” It was a question she wasn’t expecting. Especially seeing as she was the interviewer and him her subject. 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking you?” He was silent for a moment, almost like he was contemplating it. “But I get the impression you don’t like that question much?”

“I’d much prefer to hear your story first, call it a warm-up.” Clearly he was nervous and Caroline was happy to oblige if it helped. 

“My grandmother,” she smiled knowingly, visions of her nana filling her head. “When I was younger I’d go to her house most weekends and we’d cook together. She could make anything and everything. She died last year and it’s been tough without her but at least I still have those memories.”

Caroline didn’t mean to get personal, especially with the so-called “angry chef” but for some reason she felt nothing but comfort in his presence, even if he didn’t smile. 

“What was her specialty?” 

“Banana cream cheesecake,” she smiled, the taste of it rushing back in all its delicious glory. 

“Hard to beat,” he murmured. “Have you ever eaten a Bananas Foster? My restaurant in New Orleans does a modern version over flame.  According to my maitre’d there’ve apparently been a few proposals over dessert.”

“Over your dessert?”

“Someone sounds dubious. Let’s just say it’s fireworks but without the danger. Well, unless the tablecloth is accidentally set on fire but the fire department down there are pretty good first responders I understand.”

“I just didn’t take you for the romantic dessert type.”

“I suppose there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me then.”

“So, why do you like food then?”

“Well, of course I like food, I wouldn’t be a chef otherwise,” he shared, moving swiftly in behind her and taking the fillets from her hand and placing them in the hot pan, Caroline was trying not to react to his touch or that welcoming and heady mixture of sandalwood, spices and soap . “But one interview isn’t going to even begin to answer that question.” 

He had a point and Caroline knew it. How could you sum up what food meant to you in one interview?  

“So, what exactly are you trying to say? I do have a deadline to meet.”

“How about we schedule a follow-up interview tomorrow morning? Dinner service is imminent and if you stay I’m going to have to ask you to do more than fillet a fish. My pastry chef Lucien is also very needy, requires constant gratification, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

“Not gonna lie I’m intrigued and by that I’m talking about Lucien. Did you insult his choux pastry or something?”

 “Not if I want my patrons to eat dessert this century. But, if you insist on staying, there’s a whole pile of onions there with your name on it and we can call it even.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He raised his left eyebrow by way of response. Caroline was trying to ignore just how good he looked, even if there was no smile forthcoming. 

“Fine,” she conceded. “Tomorrow morning but that’s it otherwise my editor might fire me.”

“Great, let’s make it 10:30, you can poach an egg, right? And I also expect extra crispy bacon.”

Caroline knew she was possibly in trouble and not because he was tasking her with cooking. Enzo would also parrot that particular concern but she couldn’t help herself. 

Today was probably the best day she’d had in a long time and she didn’t want it to end. She told herself that she’d return tomorrow and get her interview, that’s all she wanted from him, right?

4 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 11am

Klaus Mikaelson was in uncharted territory. 

That’s what scared him the most. 

Caroline Forbes was seated across from him at his best, window table in jeans and a cream sweater, her plate empty and a very full but satisfied look on her face. Klaus decided to add that to his favourite expressions file. It was fast filling up and he’d only known her for 20 hours. 

He wasn’t this guy. 

At all. 

But she’d consumed his thoughts since their first meeting and all night through dinner service and beyond. He’d barely slept, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He’d been looking forward to seeing her as soon as she left. 

The only problem? Not smiling because it was that difficult when she was in his presence. He had his reasons of course. 

“So, why do you love food? And no arguments given I poached a mean egg and also let you have a reprieve yesterday.”

“The bacon could use some work, just saying.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to cook itself yourself, Mikaelson. Are you always such a critic? Last time I checked that was my job. Also enough with the distractions. So?”

“My mum,” he admitted quietly, even if it took a minute or so to verbalise. For some reason her opening up about her grandmother had filled him with courage. He didn’t do feelings or talk about them for that matter. “She cooked with me practically from birth until she got too sick last year.” 

Those last words wobbled, it was unfortunate as it was expected. He’d struggled for a long time and losing his mother had been difficult.  

“What was her specialty?” Klaus recognised the question he’d asked himself yesterday, but the fact her hand squeezed his at the same time filled him with the confidence and warmth he needed. 

“Rosemary braised lamb shanks, it was her favourite protein. I’ve tried to pay homage on all my menus since.”

‘So, that explains the Saddle of Elysian Fields Farm Lamb with Babaganoush, Romano Beans and Harissa Jus on your menu then?”

“You’ve done your homework clearly?” 

“That and the fact it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, and I have to say it’s really nice.” 

Klaus didn’t even realise he’d let it slip but suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t want to hide it, not with her. 

“She used to tell me to smile all the time because I was too serious, you could say it’s something I’ve battled with ever since she passed.”

“All the more reason to smile, even just to introduce those dimples to the general public. Has anyone ever told you they should come with a warning?”

“No, but more than happy to discuss further.”

“If only, but I have to get going.” Klaus felt almost deflated that she was leaving as quickly as she’d arrived. Maybe he’d shared too much. “Deadlines and all that. But if you could just consult the email I sent confirming the details of our interview that would be great.”

Klaus felt disillusioned, he’d opened himself up to someone and she was running away.  She was out the door before he could even move from his seat. Checking his emails was the last thing he felt like doing, but his hand went to work on his cell checking it anyway and dreadfully waiting for its contents.

“As of three minutes ago, I no longer working for Delicious. It wanted a story I wasn’t prepared to write. I like your smile and dimples too much and I also want a Bananas Foster.”

His chest constricted as he read each word and his grin was unmistakable.  It didn’t take long for him to reply.

“You make my heart smile.”

Tabloids would report months later that famed food blogger Caroline Forbes married famed chef Klaus Mikaelson in rural England after proposing over a dessert of Bananas Foster in New Orleans. 

[mandoalorian]

What the Pedro boys are like at college

This is my first time doing one of these so please be nice! Yep, TUWOMT isn’t out yet but I have read the script and I have written for Javi Gutierrez here. If you don’t want spoilers, maybe don’t read his scenario. I’ve made it so Javi’s is the last one so you can skip over it easily. I write for all the main Pedro characters! These include:

·         Din Djarin – The Mandalorian

·         Javier Pena – Narcos

·         Frankie Morales – Triple Frontier

·         Maxwell Lord – Wonder Woman 1984

·         Jack Daniels: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

·         Oberyn Martell: Game of Thrones

·         Dave York: The Equalizer 2

·         Pero Tovar – The Great Wall

·         Ezra Prospect – Prospect

·         Marcus Pike – The Mentalist

·         Max Phillips – Bloodsucking Bastards

·         Dio – NYPD Blue

·         Javi Gutierrez – The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

·         I DO NOT WRITE FOR PEDRO PASCAL.

Please please request a ‘Pedro boy’ scenario HERE. You can also request for me to write a one shot HERE.

Masterlist

Enjoy!

 ***

Din Djarin: Does college exist in Star Wars? I’m not sure… but if we take a moment to imagine Din being schooled by the Mandalorian Creed. He learns the history of Mandalore, about the great leaders such as Satine Kryze. He learns the importance of ‘the way’ and studies the art of weaponary, learning how to use guns, detonators, vambrace, and whistling birds. He learns about the legacy of the darksaber and, as we already know, he trains with the Rising Phoenix. I imagine Din likes to keep himself to himself and has been a loner his whole life. He places his trust in his fellow Mandalorian’s but they are not his friends. They are simply just his allies. Being schooled in the Mandalorian Creed would be physically exhausting but it’s something Din can manage. After all, he doesn’t have a choice. This is the way.

Javier Pena: We know Javi always wanted to leave Texas, and I think college was the perfect time for him to venture out. He didn’t choose a school with a pristine academic reputation, but instead, he picked a school that had the best renowned night life so he could go out and enjoy drinking and partying. Javi wasn’t a complete wild card. He was the kid who seemed to be good at almost everything. He was able to graduate top of his class with honours in Criminal Law.

Frankie Morales: When Frankie was younger, he loved helping his dad work on the family car and he even scored a part-time job at a garage when he finished high school. At high school, he never really found interest in the core subjects like English, math, science, history… and so when it was time for college, he wanted to develop on his hobby. Frankie chose to major in engineering, with a minor in transportation and logistics. This was perfect for him. In his second year, he went from looking at cars and motorcycles, to different forms of aircraft. He remembers one morning, he sat in the pilot seat of a helicopter after the fuel compressor had went bust and he had never felt more at home. On a whim, he dropped out of college and was lucky enough to get a place in piloting school. Frankie stuck by Santiago throughout college, but while Santi went out and partied, Frankie would slump down in his chair, drink a few beers, and be ready to head back to his dorm at 9pm. He had a few flings in college but had no interest in pursuing an actual relationship. It was important to him that he used his time in college to discover what he really wanted to do with his life.

Maxwell Lord: He probably went to Cornell, or Harvard. Maxwell could’ve gotten in from his family name alone, and if he wasn’t the most academically bright, no doubt his mother would’ve paid him into college, but Maxwell had always been smart. He was home schooled his whole life and so college was a big change for him. He worked hard. He showed up to every class early, and handed in homework and dissertations early, and used his charm to schmooze with the teachers, doing all he could to make sure he got the best grades. Maxwell majored in Business and Economics, and minored in Marketing. He didn’t have much choice in what he studied in college because he had his life set out for him the moment he was born. Maxwell didn’t have friends, but that’s not to say he was a loner. Everyone on campus knew who Maxwell was, and everyone knew the kind of family he came from.

Jack Daniels: Despite Jack and his high school sweetheart going their separate ways for college, they couldn’t stay away from each other for long. He was a Political Science major but never really cared much for it. He had a lot of friends, was a care free spirit and attended parties. He is someone who has natural academic ability but his failure to attend class and do homework meant that he, inevitably, began to drag behind. Realising political science isn’t for him, he dropped out of college and moved in with his high school sweetheart. He much preferred it that way, and he was able to be with her all the time. Having his company meant that she was now distracted from her studies and when she fell pregnant with their first child, they decided to run away from college all together and start a family far away.

Oberyn Martell: Is there college in Game of Thrones? I’m not sure, but a modern! Oberyn would major in classical studies and minor in philosophy. He is a prince, after all. He excels in both subjects and picks up languages such as Latin and Greek easily. It comes natural to him. He passes with flying colours and never has to try too hard because the words of Aristotle and Plato were engrained into his brain ever since he was old enough to read a book. As prince, he knows it is important to graduate with honours and that it’s his priority but that doesn’t mean he can’t make time for fun. He doesn’t commit to any relationship during college but does embrace his sexuality. He’s kind, gentle, and respectful. He’s a really great lover, but an even better friend.

Dave York: Dave studied criminology and forensic science at college. He was able to learn the ins and outs of criminal psychology and the process that cops and forensic teams go through when trying to trace a murder. His knowledge in this subject sure helped him in later life. He passed with flying colours, but never wanted a career in crime – or at least, not a career you’d need a degree in. But his newly received qualification, Dave decided to join the CIA as an operative where he met Robert McCall. He played good guy for a long time, but his bad intentions linked to criminal activity traced all the way back to college. He met his wife in college, and truthfully, she was the only thing who kept him from spiralling into criminal activity at an earlier stage.

Pero Tovar: Again, I am almost certain college didn’t exist during this time period but if we make it a modern AU, I think Pero would have majored in geography and minored in cultural studies. He had a goal to travel the world and see all the magnificent places. Pero was a grumpy adolescent, and seemingly he never really grew out of it. He had a group of people he hung out with who were similar to him but he never really considered them friends. He didn’t partake in extracurricular activities and he would just focus on studying. But he did have a flare in art which was lost on him during later life. He used painting as an emotional outlet and a means to express his feelings.

Ezra Prospect: I guess this is a modern! Ezra then. He studies geology, and he’s really smart. He does a lot of reading, but he actually prefers non-fiction over fiction. His interest in geology goes past his degree, and he actually collects a variety of rocks and gemstones, going into deep research about them and believing that certain ones possess healing powers. Ezra has a partner throughout his time in college, and they spend a lot of time with each other. Ezra’s partner encourages Ezra’s love for geology and finds his passion endearing, even encouraging him to earn an income from his knowledge! You help Ezra use the rocks that he collects to create bath salts and make jewellery to sell on and earn profit.

Marcus Pike: Marcus was an art and design major, and all his teacher’s loved him. He was never the best at the practical side, but he excelled in art history and his knowledge on the subject was outstanding. Marcus had one long term relationship during college but his partner ended up breaking his heart. It took a long time for Marcus to recover, but he’d always been one for second chances. He’d hope that he’d never get his heart broken again.

Max Phillips: Max was a bit of a player in community college; a jock, who studied his undergraduate in Physical Education. When Evan had Max kicked out for sleeping with his girlfriend, Max went and studied Sales Management at a university just for Vampires. Filled with a feeling of wrath and hatred for Evan, Max made it his mission to ruin him. No more time could be spent partying in his fraternity, playing soccer for the college team and sleeping with the cheer leader’s – Max made it his goal to graduate from Vampire University with a top major and steal the job of leading Sales Manager from Evan. And that’s on holding grudges.

Dio: Yeah, Dio didn’t go to college. He dropped out of high school when he was fourteen. In his youth, his hobbies included making fire and stealing from the rich.

Javi Gutierrez: He’s a film major of course! He was born into a rich family, we know that, and comes from a very financially privileged background. His parents knew that he did not have to pursue a degree in something that would ensure him a job, because Javi would be well off no matter what, and so they were fine with Javi doing something he was truly interested in. Javi has loved literature, art and movies his whole life. He minors in screenplay writing and excels top of his class, constantly impressing those around him with his ability to memorise anything from one liner quotes to whole scenes from movies. He shares his extensive knowledge of trivia, and all his lecturer’s firmly believe that the film industry is something that Javi could one day potentially succeed in. However, Javi is awkward. He shy’s away from all the partying and spends Friday night’s in his dorm, munching on popcorn and watching classic movies. A relationship is never in question for Javi because of his family circumstances, so he just lays low and focuses on his studies. As soon as he graduates, he heads back home to Mexico and his dreams of being a famous Hollywood screenplay writer seem so distant.

[rjhpandapaws]

Secure the Stage

Ch 2: A Man of Many Masks

"Alright, that's a wrap." Silas called as the scene finished, he was smiling. The play was coming along well, "You guys did great today. Go home and relax."

The group that was practicing today packed up their scripts and dispersed. Silas walked out with them, seeing them off and then lighting a cigarette with a content sigh. As he took the first deep inhale he felt his muscles relax and some of the lingering tension fall away. He let it out with the plume of grey smoke that curled away from his lips on the exhale. Silas took his time smoking and headed back inside once he was done. Like usual he used the back entrance to get to the stage.

Silas loved acting, it allowed him to be someone who was more than just Connor's mirror image. The faces he wore, the people he became, they mattered, brought to life by someone who took pride in his craft both on and off the stage. Silas was always acting, bending himself into whatever those around him needed him to be. Silas protected himself behind a labyrinth of masks. Any company he kept was held at arm's length if not farther. He didn't do relationships, everything was a no strings attached kind of deal. He didn't want anyone getting too close. The person Silas was once the curtains fell was only for those closest to him to know. And that group was made up of Markus, Connor, and Richard. His family and no one else.

He finished putting the chairs away and moved on to taking apart the floor props and set pieces so they could be put away. He started to sing, going through the set list for the play. He hadn't realized he had gained an audience until he had finished one of the more depressing numbers and heard a gasp. It was Saturday and the theater was technically closed so no one should have been around. He straightened up and turned toward the right side stage wing where the sound had come from.

His one man audience turned out to be a member of the security staff. He had near black hair and dark caramel eyes, there seemed to be a perpetual furrow to his brow that was reminisce of concern. He was taller than Silas by about three inches, if he were to hazard a guess. The security guard was attractive and filled out his uniform quite well. Silas frowned at the thought, he needed to finish cleaning up so it would be done right, not day dreaming of sneaking off with a stranger to blow off steam. He sighed and approached his unwanted audience.

"You just planning to stare or are you going to help me," he looked down for the stranger's name, figuring it was a bit rude to start in on someone with out knowing their name, "Allen."

"Uh," Allen glanced around seeming a little unsure of himself. Which was probably Silas's fault for snapping at him, he decided he would be nicer. Be whatever Allen needed him to be, like he did with everyone else, "I guess I can help. What do you need me to do?"

"Great. We're breaking down sets." Silas smiled over his shoulder at Allen as he moved to get back to work, picking up from where he had been interrupted.

He heard Allen follow behind him. He came to work beside Silas as they took apart the city scape back drop, "Do you have a name?"

Silas couldn't help his grin at the stupid way the question was phrased, "I do." He teased, easily falling into the role of someone easy going and fun. Easy in part because he meant it, "Would you like to know it."

Allen rolled his eyes before he returned to work, "Yes."

"Silas." He said, finally relenting in his teasing.

They made small talk sometimes as they worked on taking apart the sets. Other times Allen would ask him to do impressions. His requests getting more outlandish ad they worked. Though he was delighted every time Silas pulled them off. It was the most fun Silas had ever had while cleaning the stage. Eventually, when the novelty wore off, they went back to talking.

"So why do all of this?" Allen eventually asked, gesturing to the left over set pieces that they had to break down, "Breaking down the sets and all the cleaning? Isn't that what the theater staff is for?"

"The theater staff are here to make the experience of the theater better." He said as he walked to the left stage wing to grab the broom and start sweeping trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. Allen didn't know any better, "Not to clean up after the actors."

"Okay, but like, why you specifically." He prodded, "No one stayed behind to help you."

"They never do." Silas said as he finished sweeping and headed back to the left stage wing to grab the dry mop, "Most of the group have lives outside of the theater. This is my time to unwind and I enjoy it."

"Sorry for intruding then." Allen said, straightening up from where he had been leaning against the wall and gestured behind him as he spoke, "I can leave if you want."

"You're not intruding, its fine." He smiled and then changed the subject because his curiosity was starting to kill him, "You know about me, so how about you tell me a little about you. What's with the security get up?"

Allen rubbed the back of his neck and let out a nervous chuckle, "I'm in school for criminology. This is just to pay the bills."

"Ah," So he probably wanted to be a cop like Richard did, he wondered if Allen would ever cross paths with his brother, "Going to the police academy when you graduate then?"

"That's the plan." Allen said with a slight smile, "I'd like to make SWAT at some point."

Silas's eyebrows took a hike toward his hairline, he propped himself up on the mop handle staring at Allen in shock, "That desperate to get shot? Here I thought you were working security to flex your strength. Use your muscle to knock some heads together."

His eyes roamed over Allen without his permission, he briefly wondered what it would be like to be pinned down by him. A solid body like that had to feel good. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the timbre of Allen's voice.

"I want to help people. Save them if I am able." The genuine conviction in Allen's voice shook Solas down to his bones, "There are enough people trying to prevent the bad from happening, but not enough ready for when it inevitably does. I want to change that."

Silas couldn't prevent his smile even if he had been bribed with his favorite brand of cigarettes, "That's very noble of you. I like it."

"Thanks." Allen paused for a moment, not used to Silas's brand of complimenting, "I think?"

Silas laughed and started mopping again, "It was a compliment."

"So what about you?" Allen asked as Silas put the mop away, "Why theater?"

"That's easy." He walked to the edge of the stage and sat down, "Up here I get to put the world away and become anyone I want to be. In the process I get to help people find there escape as well. Pull people into a story and we all get to forget about all the bad shit going on in the world for a few hours. A performing arts degree seemed like the best way to make sure that I get to keep doing that."

Silas was surprised that he spit all of that out. Normally he just gave a simple answer. He didn't really understand why or how Allen pulled the answer out of him so easily. His phone rang scaring the life out of him. He looked down to see Markus's name. It was time to go apparently, it didn't feel like three hours had passed. He answered so Markus wouldn't worry, listening as the nurse told him where he was parked. When it was done he hung up.

"That would be my ride. See you around Allen." He hopped off the stage and headed for the lobby.

"Yeah. See you around Silas." The security guard called after him.

Silas lit another cigarette on his way out smoking it on the way to Markus's car. When he finished he stuck the butt back in the box to throw away when he got home since there wasn't a trash bin near by.

"So how was practice?" Markus asked when Silas got in the car.

"Good." Silas said with a smile, "We're about a week ahead of schedule."

"That's great." Markus turned on the radio as they pulled out of the parking lot back toward Silas's apartment.

When they got to the complex Silas thanked Markus and headed up to his unit. Allen made his way back into his thoughts. More specifically Silas's worries, he didn't normally open up that easily, but Allen had asked about the theater and Silas hadn't been able to stop himself. It was uncomfortable and the sensible solution would be to keep his distance. But he was so tempted to give in, and he knew if he did he wouldn't come out of it in one piece. Like all tempting things, Allen was dangerous. He was attractive, sweet, and strong. Silas was interested, and that was a problem. Interest lead to feelings, and feelings lead to love, and Silas didn't do love.

"If you're not careful Silas, you're gonna fuck around and fall in love." He mused aloud.

And what a thing that would be. Breaking his own set of rules for someone like Allen. Someone who looked like safety incarnate. This would only end badly. He was already in this deep so what did he have to lose. If he got burned he would have known from the start.

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 17 - Good Luck, Mr. Min!!

5k 

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 5k words

Chapter 17 - Good Luck, Mr Min!

           We’re going to need your skills for an important project, Kim Taehyung! I’ll explain more when you get in this morning. We’re counting on you!

That was the text from Seokjin that Taehyung had woken up. He had no idea what it meant, or what the job would entail, but he knew even bothering to ask before arriving at work was pointless, so he simply headed out the door. Despite this curiously ominous message, Taehyung walked into the school Monday morning, and he was practically beaming. He hadn’t seen you since Friday, when you had your date, however, knowing that came to an end today excited him more than usual. As he entered the building, Taehyung could hear a commotion coming from Kim Seokjin’s office, which was only getting louder the closer that he got. When he approached the office, he quickly opened the door.

            “I think we should do it.” You said simply. “I can draft up a little field trip pamphlet to give to the parents, too.”

            “Is it too short of a period?” Hoseok asked curiously, scratching his head. “I mean, we just found out a few hours ago.”

            Seokjin shook his head. “I don’t think so. If we make a few phone calls today and I run out to the store afterward, we can have everything ready for-.” Seokjin looked up when the door opened and grinned. “Good morning, Taehyung!” He said happily. “I’m glad you’re here! Did you get my text?” Taehyung simply nodded. “Okay, perfect! Listen, our schedule this week is going to change just slightly these next few weeks.” As Taehyung walked over, he looked over in your direction. You offered him a gentle smile before turning back towards your boss. “Yoongi is coming in today for an entire hour to do gym with the kids. The basketball team he coaches at the high school is preparing for their state championship at the end of the week. He’s managed to work around coming here, but now that it’s only a week away, he’s having the kids preparing any time during the day that they can. So, he’s coming in today to see the kids and do a big activity with them.”

            “So, we were thinking of maybe taking the kids this Friday when school lets out to the high school and bring some good luck treats for the team and Yoongi-Hyung. He was kind of bummed he couldn’t work his schedule out to do both.” Hoseok added.

            “That sounds like a good idea,” Taehyung said. “But can I ask why I got a text saying that there is something only I can do?” Seokjin grinned.

            “Aha, I’m glad that you asked, Taehyung! See, I want the kids to make little posters for the team, but they’ll need some samples and stuff. So, since you have some time while the kids are doing the gym, I want you to make some. And if there’s anything else that you think the kids will need let me know and I can get it all for you.”

            “Alright then.” Taehyung smiled. “I’ll work hard.”

            “Alright then, I’ll start making some phone calls.” Seokjin agreed, before shooing the trio out of the room. Hoseok closed the door behind him, waving Seokjin off as his boss plopped down in his chair and reached for his phone. When Hoseok turned around towards his co-workers, he saw Taehyung already leading you down the hallway. He watched for a moment as Taehyung purposely scooted himself close to you.

            “Did you have a good rest of your weekend?” He asked curiously. You smiled happily.

            “Yes, I did.” You said happily. As both of you continued to walk, you glanced over at Taehyung and could see him continuing to look at you, and it made you giggle. “What are you staring at?”

            “Staring? I’m not staring…” he said quickly, averting his eyes. You laughed a bit.

            “Okay…” you said softly. “Oh!” You quickly turned towards Taehyung again. “I hung up my painting in the classroom. Do you want to see it?”

            Taehyung offered you a grin, nodding his head. “Absolutely.” You quickly took hold of Taehyung’s hand, leading him down the hall and towards the classroom. Taehyung was shocked by the initial hand gesture, looking down at his hand which was locked in your tight, yet gentle grip. He didn’t complain, however, and followed you into your classroom. Upon entering, Taehyung noticed that right above the whiteboard that was cluttered with objects such as erasers, posters, and markers, hung the adorable painting of a beautiful, sunny hillside, with a few scribbles that were hardly recognized due to the height and distance of where the painting was hung. It made Taehyung chuckle. “I think it looks amazing.” He assured. “The kids are going to love it when they come in.”

            “Good. I think it gives the room a lot more personality.” You were beaming, and it only amused Taehyung even more. When you turned your head to the sound of the door opening, you saw Hoseok finally entering the room. “Hobi hung it up.”

            “I would say my work is finally being appreciated.” Hoseok teased, grinning. You offered him a smile, and when Hoseok noticed the way Taehyung was looking at you, he put his hands behind his head and decided it was time to change the subject. “I can’t wait for this event with Yoongi-Hyung.”

            “Oh, I know. I can’t wait to see what kinds of posters the kids make. He’s going to be so surprised.” You were grinning ear to ear, and now Hoseok found himself falling victim to your beaming, child-like grin, and he was smiling along with you. “We should be getting ready for the kids to come in. I’ll see you later.” You finally said, turning to Taehyung and offering your remaining smile. Taehyung nodded.

            “Right, I should probably get started on those posters and things anyway.” He nodded, waving you both off before excusing himself out of the room. With the door closed, only you and Hoseok were left behind in the room. When you looked at him, you saw him turn to the door and stare, even after Taehyung had exited view.

            “What are you staring at?” you asked curiously. Hoseok looked over at you, and you could see his smile replaced with a slightly somber thin line on his face. You frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re still-.”

            “No, I’m not,” Hoseok said quickly. “I was just watching him leave, that’s all.” Despite this, you knew Hoseok was lying. After he confessed his concerns regarding his place in your life, much less your love life, you were able to better identify the cracks behind that normally beaming smile. Walking towards your desk, you grabbed your water bottle and took a sip.           

            “I work with children who lie for a living, Hoseok. Don’t be another one.” Hoseok pouted as you put the drink up to your lips. “I already told you that you’re in my life regardless of what else happens in my life. Got it?” Hoseok nodded as you walked back over to him, patting his shoulder. “There’s no need to worry about anyone else.”

            “Then what kind of life am I supposed to lead if not as your jealous bodyguard?” he asked playing. Now, both of you offered a giggle as you headed out the door to the front of the school, to wait for the kids.

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            As the day rolled on, you and Hoseok were working with the kids, while Taehyung was sitting in his room getting busy looking up information about Yoongi’s school and, most importantly, his basketball team. He wanted to make sure that, much like he would with a paying client, that all details were perfect, and Taehyung took that promise to the nth degree, as Yoongi had been a good friend to him in the months he had been there. As Taehyung was scribbling a few ideas on notebook paper, he heard the door open. When he looked up, he saw a face that made him quickly shove his paper into the nearest desk drawer.

            “Yoongi-Hyung.” He grinned. Yoongi smiled a bit.

            “Hey. Just wanted to say sorry I took your usual slot today for an hour session.”

            “Oh, that’s okay!” Taehyung assured. “Mr. Kim told me your teams preparing for a regional championship. It’s really exciting!” Yoongi nodded, crossing his arms.

            “We have a lot of work to do. My team is great and talented, but they’re still teen boys so they’re lazy and love to goof off. None of my beatings are proving effective just yet.” Taehyung grinned at Yoongi’s playful humor. Yoongi rolled his shoulder a bit, rubbing it slightly. “But I tried to work everything out.”

            “I’m sure the kids will understand,” Taehyung assured. Yoongi nodded, looking around.

            “Oh. Seokjin-Hyung told me you finally managed to ask-.” It didn’t take Taehyung long before the sentence ended to turn slightly red, and Yoongi noticed when he laughed in amusement. “How did it go?”

            “Fine.” He said simply. “I think she liked it and she said she wanted to have another one soon.” Yoongi nodded when he saw the faint smile on Taehyung’s face simply at the memory of the evening.

            “Good.” He grinned. “Alright, then I’ll let you get back to work.” Yoongi grinned. “See you later, okay?” Taehyung nodded and waved him off as he watched Yoongi head out. When he was alone again in his room, Taehyung sighed. He returned to his seat and plopped down onto it, once again pulling out the different posters he was working on, and quickly getting back to work with his designs. As color filled the previously white canvases, Taehyung felt himself getting more and more excited for this little surprise to occur. Yoongi was relatively quiet when he wasn’t with the kids, which was rare considering his schedule, so getting to see this new side of him was going to be…interesting. It was not long after that the faint sound of children cheering as they headed down the hall was heard, and Taehyung smiled to himself as he heard them.

            “We see Mr. Min for almost a miblion hours today!” That was Kai. “That’s like…a triblion hours!”

            “I know.” You gasped, easily matching the excitement of the kids. “Mr. Min is so excited to see you guys!” Taehyung paused his doodling for almost a second, listening as the voices of several students came and went.

            “What about Mr. Kim?” he heard a curious little Yuna ask from the other side of the door. His ears perked up a bit.          

            “We’re going to see him too. Isn’t it exciting that you have a long gym time and an art class today?” Hoseok asked curiously.

            “Uh-huh. I like Mr. Kim, he’s funny.” Yuna chimed. Just like that, the children were out of earshot, on their way to their extended gym class. Taehyung couldn’t help but grin, leaning back in his seat. He felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

            This job was so rewarding.

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            The end of the week came quickly, and plans were being made in secret. Yoongi had an absolute blast with the children, playing everything they wanted to, from freeze dance to basketball, to simply sitting on the floor and rolling balls back and forth. It was simply the time with their favorite gym teacher that made them have a blast. If any other outsider was taking a peek at the gym class today, they would think it was Yoongi’s last day forever with all of the tight hugs he was giving to the girls and boys that swarmed him. You would never think it was only for a few weeks of preparation for a big championship. However, the children had worked hard the entire week to create colorful and amazing posters that would excite Yoongi and his basketball team. You and Hoseok bought snacks for the teens, and the kids each made their good luck charm for the team. The morning of the trip, the children were buzzing with anticipation. They could barely contain their excitement, the event feeling like some sort of secret mission, at -least according to the ever-adventurous Ryujin it was.  You watched as the kids sat in their seats, Taehyung handing them each of the posters they had made.

            “Now remember, are we arguing about who gets to hold the posters?” Taehyung asked the class curiously.

            “Nooooooo.” The kids hummed in perfect harmony. Taehyung grinned.

            “Right. They’re big, so we can all get to hold up the signs so Mr. Min and his team can see us. Plus, we can all give out our charms so we’ll all get to do something -.”

            “I wanna go now!” Kai gasped, beaming. You crossed your arms, your nonverbal look of disappointment at Kai’s abruptness immediately causing him to stop and sit back down, his hands in his lap. “…Sowwy…”

            You offered him a smile, before turning to Hoseok. “Ready?” you asked curiously. Hoseok nodded, holding up the field trip folder that contained all important information, like the children’s contact information, medical information, local emergency numbers, and their signed permission slips from their parents. In his other hand was the bag of goodies you both got. “Perfect. Alright, everyone, line up!” The kids began screaming as they headed into line, but you couldn’t help but allow them to do so. Just this time. They were excited, so it was hopeless to do anything more than a simple “Quietly, please.” When that failed, you shrugged and walked to the front of the line. “Everyone, partner up, please.” As if on cue, the children grabbed hold of the hand of the child beside them, in two perfect rows before you. However, you were shocked to feel a tiny hand grab hold of your own. When you looked down, you saw Kai beaming up at you. “Kai…Soobin is your partner. You both picked each other.”

            “Uh-uh. I wanna be with you.” He said, quickly squeezing your hand tighter. You sighed.

            “Kai, honey…Soobin needs a partner too…” Kai’s wide eyes only went wider, and he whimpered.

            “But…”

            “It’s okay,” Taehyung interjected quickly. He lifted his hand, intertwined with little Soobin’s. The heigh difference was so apparent, and made Soobin jump slightly in the air, causing him to giggle. You sighed, knowing immediately what would follow.

            “I wanna hold Teacher’s hand!” Beomgyu shouted.

            “Me too!’ Yeji begged. You sighed, turning around as kids continued to shout out the names of teachers they wanted to be paired with.

            “And we’re walking!” You said, beginning your journey almost immediately to stop the shouting of jealous children.

            The walk was very close, the high school only being a short walk from the daycare, and an even shorter drive for Yoongi to make regularly. Seokjin locked up the daycare, leaving a note of absence, and the group of 20 children with 4 guardians made its way down the street. A few passers waved hello to the children, who happily waved back despite them being strangers. You smiled as you lead the way. When the travel got silent, you decided to spice it up. “Sing for me! Let me hear the Stylish Tomato Song!” The kids gasped, and without any further prompting, began to sing.

            With a muscular body (crush, crush)

            Wearing red clothes (love, love)

            Giving out sweets and sour scent (yoohoo)

            It’s the Stylish Tomato (tomato)

            I will become a juice! (gulp)

            I will become ketchup (squirt)

            I will dance! (Hey!)

            Boastful tomato (tomato)

            The sound of the children singing the song with Hobi and Taehyung acting as the backup vocals was nothing short of hysterical to you. Seokjin was sure to record the performance from the back of the line, grinning all the while. As your group approached high school, you quickly quieted the children down and looked at the front gates. School had recently come to an end; you could tell by the few straggler students who had looked at the singing children as they passed one another on their way out of the school. When the group came to a stop, this was when Seokjin took the lead. He had already called the headmaster of the school to inform them of their arrival, and the details were already worked out to have them go to the gym upon arrival, where Yoongi would be with his team. Hoseok and Taehyung handed the posters to the children in groups, and they gripped them tightly. “Are we ready?” you asked curiously. The kids nodded, and you headed towards the door. Both you and Seokjin approached the door, and already, you heard a loud noise as you entered and headed down the small hall leading into the room.

            “ARE YOU GUYS KIDDING ME!?” The sound of the loud whistle alerted all of your attention and made a few kids squeak in surprise. You and Seokjin poked your heads in. Immediately, you saw Yoongi standing with his hands on his hips. He was glaring up at one of the taller high school boys, and despite the height difference, he looked intimidated. “I WORK AROUND MY SCHEDULE JUST TO COME HERE AND WATCH YOU ACT LIKE A FOOL?!”

            “N-no, sir…” The boy gasped softly, meekly almost.

            “Well, it sure and hell seems that way. We only have two weeks and you would much rather be late to my practice for what? A girl?”

            “I told her I couldn’t talk but she wouldn’t-.”

            “No excuses.” Yoongi tossed the kid the ball. “You’re the best guy on this team so every second you’re not here in an insult to the rest of the team.” The teen-only nodded.

            “Yessir…” he said softly.

            “Get out of my sight before you sit bench the whole time.” Yoongi scoffed, and the teen scurried away with the ball. “I want 20 consecutive passes to Jin-Sung.”

            “Wow…” Taehyung said softly. “Who knew that little body held such rage?”

            “I did.” You, Seokjin, and Hoseok said in unison. Taehyung blinked. “You’ve never seen Yoongi have a stern talk about teamwork with these guys, have you?” You asked curiously. Taehyung shook his head. “Exactly.” As you gently pulled the door back a bit more, Hoseok whipped out his phone and allowed the kids to make their presence known.

            “THIS GYM IS SO BIG!” Beomgyu gasped.

            “It’s bigger than a big room!” Yeji agreed, and Chaeryeong nodded along with her. Immediately, you saw Yoongi looked over, as did the boys on his team. You turned to the group of children.

            “Guys…why do we say?” you asked. Immediately, the kids rushed over to Yoongi, posters flapping the wind.

            “GOOD LUCK, MR. MIN!” They shouted. Immediately, the sour expression on Yoongi’s face disappeared, and he knelt to immediately see the children at eye level when they approached. He was beaming, his gummy smile practically glued to his face.

            “Oh my gosh, what is this?” he asked curiously.

            “Good luck in your fight!” Yuna said, beaming as she handed him the poster, she held with Taehyun and another little girl. Yoongi grinned.

            “Thank you.” He spoke. As he took a moment to examine the posters, the kids gathered and showed him what they made on their respective boards. “Did you make these with Mr. Kim?” he asked curiously. The kids nodded in confirmation. “Awww that’s so sweet, guys.” He ran a hand through Beomgyu’s hair, who was beaming as he hugged Yoongi tightly.

            “We made uhm…” Chaeryeong began to speak and Yoongi looked over. “Uhm…we made…”

            “Good charms!” Lia interjected, helping her friends. Hoseok and you walked over, handing each child their charm. They stuck them in Yoongi’s direction, the chaos only adding to the smile on his face.

            “Why don’t you go give them to the boys playing basketball? Mr. Min only has so many hands…” you pointed out. A few kids decided to shuffle towards the basketball players.

            You and Taehyung looked to see that Yoongi’s basketball team, who was standing on the end of the field, looked stunned. Were they dreaming? Where was Coach Min…and who the hell was this guy? The confusion on their faces was enough to make both of you snicker.

            “What the hell man?” one guy asked.

            “Hyung…” a seemingly younger player asked, kneeling as a group of children approached the team. “Is Coach Min okay?”

            “I uh…I think so?” The boy who had just gotten scolded coughed into his hand. “Mr. Min?” Yoongi looked up as his team got closer. “What’s uh…what’s going?” Yoongi finally stood up, and Hoseok took the posters from the kids as they watched Yoongi.

            “These are my preschool class.” He said simply. “I had to cancel my next few weeks with them so we could only focus on preparing-.” He shot a glare at the older boy, who shivered. “So they came to surprise us, it seems?” You watched as Yeonjun walked over to one of the teens.

            “Are you grown-ups?” he asked curiously. The boys knelt to the kid’s level as they began to get swarmed by curious kids, all of whom began chattered out a million questions a moment, especially the more talkative ones. Yoongi looked over at his four coworkers, who were simply grinning.

            “What made you guys do this?” he asked. You could see him blushing slightly in embarrassment from all of the attention.

            “We thought it would be fun.” Hoseok grinned. “And you were surprised!”

            “Yeah, I was…I’m amazed that the children were able to keep a secret.”

“It was pretty easy when the only person they couldn’t tell wasn’t going to be around, you know.” Hoseok pointed out. Yoongi nodded, and the duo laughed a bit.

“Oh, well Yeonjun ‘accidentally’ told Seokjin about the whole thing, only to be berated by the other kids.” You pointed out. The memory of twenty-something young children shouting at their friend that they ruined the surprise was, honestly, pretty hilarious. Yoongi laughed more, always amused by the hyperactive child. “It was adorable; you had to see the relief on his face when Seokjin said that he already knew.”

“Gosh, those kids are hilarious.” Yoongi then turned to watch as the teens showed the younger kids the baskets and the balls, and one teen had taken a curious set of boys to the crate that held all of the spare balls as well as the air pumps. “…DON’T JUST STAND THERE!” He shouted. The teens looked up. “These little angels are here for me! Get back to practice before you get to relax! We’ve barely broken a sweat you lazy punks!”

            Taehyung snorted as the teens scurried away from the laughing toddlers. “Jesus…” He said. “You’re cold, Hyung.” Yoongi chuckled.

            “Mr. Min! I wanna play basketball!” Ryujin begged. Several other kids agreed, and Yoongi nodded.

            “I guess we can work something out.” He said, nodding his head.

            For the next little while, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Hoseok took small groups of children and allowed them chances to be lifted and try to toss the ball into the basket. The teens were practicing on the other side, and those who didn’t want to actively play sat to the side and watched with you and Seokjin. It was a bit loud, and a lot was going on, but the kids were having a lot of fun and the teens seem to enjoy the ever-enthusiastic audience supporting them. Yoongi scooped up Ryujin into his arms as she made a basket, clapping her hands as Yoongi spun her around.

            “I think we’ve got a natural talent here, everybody!” He beamed as the girl giggled in his hands. A set of teens waiting for their turn to practice watched the scene unfold, and once again, their utter confusion at Yoongi’s constant mood changes had you giggling.

            “This is the weirdest practice I’ve ever been to.”

            “It’s going down in the history books, Hyung…” Yoongi, overhearing the two gossiping boys, turned to face them, and they immediately went silent.

            “What? Scared my new prized student, Ryujin will take your place?” he asked. The little girl grinned in Yoongi’s arms. The boys couldn’t help but chuckle at the girl’s confident expression.

            “Awww Coach, come on now.” One said.

            “I’m gonna play for Mr. Min!” Ryujin said.

            “You are,” Yoongi said, high fiving the little girl. “Alright…” he set her down. “I have Ryujin to replace Jin-Sung, who is next to replace Jeong-hoon?”  The kid’s hands flung in the air, shouting and begging to be next as Yoongi looked to his star player. He immediately looked up at the mention of his name.

            “What?! Coach!” Jeong-hoon gasped. His distraction led to him being hit in the side of his head with a flying ball, thrown to him mid-conversation by a teammate. “OW! Damn it.”

            “Oh man, sorry Jeong-hoon.” The male said quickly as he rubbed his head. Yoongi snorted.

            “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to keep your spot at the captain of this team.” Yoongi turned back around towards the children to choose who was next to go. Jeong-hoon pouted, tossing the basketball in Yoongi’s direction. He heard his teammate shout at him that he was crazy, and the ball just kept flying. Yoongi, just as he was about to scoop up Soobin, turned back around, and grabbed the basketball. Jeong-hoon smirked, crossing his arms at his coach as he watched as Yoongi set the ball on his finger and spun it around a few times. The children gasped, aweing at their teacher’s spectacular talent. Yoongi stopped after a moment, tossing the ball back to the team captain. “Get back to work.”

            “Yessir,” Jeong-hoon said. The other teen’s boys sighed, grateful they weren’t going to die just yet, and the game resumed.

            “He’s ruthless.” You said to Seokjin, who grinned.

            “Seriously. Remind me to never get on his bad side again.”

            Both of you laughed at that. “But he’s very similar with both groups of kids. He cares a lot about them all.” You nodded. “We got lucky with him.” Seokjin nodded.

            “I consider myself very lucky with the staff I managed to collect.” He stated. You looked at him. “You know, like Pokemon.” You laughed a bit, and Seokjin’s attention was averted by one of the little boys beginning to talk about how he knew of Pokemon from older members of his family, the duo having a fun little conversation. Your eyes quickly turned back towards Yoongi, who was back at lifting children to the net as they shot baskets. You rested forward, your chin resting in your hands. It took a few moments for your eyes to wander around. Taehyung had not only been holding children up to reach the basket, however, instead, but he also hoisted each child upon his shoulders. The kids were cheering in delight as they got to toss a few different baskets. He was beaming as she playfully swayed from side to side, causing whichever child was on his shoulders at a time to grab hold of Taehyung’s head, squealing in delight as if Taehyung’s shoulders were a ride. It made you smile a bit, watching as the children waited with such anticipation to have their turn. After a little while, Yoongi rounded up his team. He sent two boys to go get a small table for them, for Hoseok to set down the snacks that you brought. There were cookies, juice, a bowl of various fruits, and other snacks for people to pick at. The kids and the teens were already starting to form a little bond with one another, and when Yoongi finally allowed for a break, they all sat around and talked, which the boys were finally starting to enjoy.

            “Okay, let’s eat,” Hoseok said. Yoongi motioned for the boys to wait, allowing the kids to get snacks first before they were able to as well. Once the kids were all seated and eating, the teachers grabbed a few things and began to eat as well.

As you sat beside Yuna and Yeji, both of whom were eating and chatting about their time at the school, you looked over to Taehyung. He was sitting with a few of the teens, who were talking about Yoongi, and what he was like as their coach. By the looks of it, the small handful of boys were laughing at each other, and overall having a good time. You hummed, watching Taehyung lean back on one of his hands. It immediately reminded you of his posture, his stance, back on top of the hill. You always knew Taehyung was attractive, any person could notice that. However, there was something about him right at this moment, popping a piece of cut-up apple into his mouth, that was just…really interesting to look at. Yoongi must have noticed you staring at Taehyung once again, but you had not yet noticed that he was staring at you. When you blinked yourself back to reality, Yoongi had stepped aside you, popping a grape into his mouth.

            “You spacing out?” he asked curiously. When you looked over at the gym teacher, he knew immediately, and a smirk formed on his face. “I was right, huh?”

            “Thinking about what?” you asked curiously, resting your hands on your lap.

            “Well, that’s something only you can tell me, huh?” he asked curiously. “I can take a pretty good guess, though.” He motioned to Taehyung, who had just set Chaeryeong onto the floor and lifted Kai onto his shoulder. “I heard you guys went on a date recently.”

            “Yeah, I guess you can say that.” You said softly.

            “You don’t sound too excited about that…” Yoongi’s comment made it feel as though your chest was tightening, and you had to take a deep breath. Your eyes wandered to Hoseok, who had sat in a circle with a few kids and passed and basketball between them.

            “It’s not that…” you said softly. “At least, I don’t think it is.” As your eyes wandered between Hoseok and Taehyung, your mind began racing, about a lot of things. You were thinking about your date with Namjoon, your date with Taehyung, the feelings of concern with Hoseok, and his underlying years of feelings with you, all of it was making your head spin for days. You looked at Yoongi, who was patiently looking at you and waiting for an answer.

            “Can we go somewhere and talk?” You asked curiously.

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[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Four

A/N: I can see that I’ve gained quite a few followers for this particular story over the past week since I posted chapter three! I just want to say welcome, and I hope you enjoy the ride!

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Roman climbed in the car, where Damien was already waiting. He appeared to have finally gotten some of his voice back, because he said, “You look good.”

“Thank you,” Roman said. “I much prefer jeans and a t-shirt to any dress I’ve had to wear, ever.”

“Understandable, but I wasn’t referring to your clothes,” Damien said. “You’re holding your head high, your shoulders are back and squared, and your voice is more confident and more compassionate at once. You come across as...well...regal.”

“I’m acting like a prince, you mean?” Roman asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I...suppose so,” Damien said with a sheepish grin. “It does sound silly, doesn’t it?”

“Only a little,” Roman laughed. “It’s easy to forget that people see you as royalty sometimes, until it’s thrown in your face. Because I don’t feel any different than any of my other, non-royal friends.”

“True. We’re all human at the end of the day,” Damien agreed. “And human nature seems to be forgetting that fact.”

Roman laughed as they drove into town, and Damien asked, “So, a paint bar? Or grabbing art supplies?”

“I think I’d rather just get the art supplies,” Roman said. “That way, we can save whatever materials we don’t use for a later date.”

Damien nodded. “Sounds good,” he agreed. “Virgil, do you know where the art store is?”

Virgil sighed. “Yes, I’ll take you there, but I won’t be happy about it. And if you get paint splatter everywhere again, I will be telling your parents how your clothes got ruined.”

“It’s nothing a little rubbing alcohol and laundry detergent couldn’t fix,” Damien protested.

Roman snickered. “Not much of an artist, then?” he asked.

“I will admit I have had...multiple issues when it comes to art supplies. It wasn’t just the glitter when I was young,” Damien said.

“Yeah, he tried pottery, painting, dry media, wet media, any and everything, right down to graphite pencils and later, photography. He always ends up covered in something,” Virgil piped up.

Damien sighed. “Thank you, Virgil, for enlightening Roman to my shortcomings.”

“You’re welcome!” Virgil responded brightly.

“No, I—” Damien cut himself short. “You know what? Fine. Whatever.”

Roman laughed as they pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car. “Oh, come on, Damien, it’s funny! And it’s nice to know that you’re not perfect.”

Damien rolled his eyes and they made their way inside the store, Virgil beside them all the while, glancing around. “I’ll let you take the lead on finding paints,” Damien said. “I assume you’d know far more about what is and isn’t a good paint brand from experience. Just bear in mind that I’m a beginner, so please be kind and explain art jargon if I ask?”

“Of course,” Roman said with a smile. “I’m always willing to explain to someone who wants to learn! Remus and I used to talk about the things we had learned from different experiments in our preferred arts. I enjoyed painting and drawing, mostly different scenes of places I’d been or would like to go. Remus preferred writing. Often violent, gruesome, and dark stories, but it made him happy whenever he thought of something new. We’d swap creations and tell each other what we liked about them. I miss those days...It’s not that we couldn’t do it anymore, but we have less time to pursue our passion projects.”

“I know the feeling,” Damien sighed. “I am pursuing a degree in History, but I would love to teach philosophy, given half the chance.”

“Really?” Roman asked in mild surprise. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Most people don’t,” Damien replied easily. “But I loved reading about philosophy ever since I was a young child.”

“Huh,” Roman said. “The more you know.”

“Indeed,” Damien said. “Now. The paints?”

“Oh! Right,” Roman said, heading further inside the store in the general direction he thought the paints might be. Damien gave him an amused smile and Roman rolled his eyes. “Shut up. You’ve been distracted by conversation before, surely?”

“I will admit to nothing,” Damien said simply, but he was smirking.

“That’s basically saying yes,” Roman informed him.

“Ah, but it is not a definitive answer,” Damien pointed out.

Roman rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Damien. Damien laughed. “Not very princely behavior,” he teased.

“It’s just us here, no one has to say anything,” Roman shot back.

Damien’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ah, but what if I want to? You may have to buy my silence.”

“Oh yeah? And how would I do that?” Roman asked.

Damien smiled enigmatically.

“Oh come on, that’s mean!” Roman laughed. “Tell me!”

Damien’s eyes looked around conspiratorially, before he whispered in Roman’s ear, “Get us to lose the chaperone.”

Roman looked at Damien in surprise, and Damien just smirked back. Roman looked around, noticing one of the smaller aisles that had children’s art supplies. He grabbed Damien’s hand and ran down the aisle while Virgil looked behind them, and then sprinted down the back of the store until they reached the paints. Roman looked around, smirking. “Not bad, eh? And we got where we were going!”

Damien grinned. “Oh, Virgil is going to kill us both.”

Roman laughed. “It was your idea! I’m innocent!”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Damien said, nodding.

Roman laughed, looking at the different paints the store had to offer. “What do you think, oil or acrylic?”

“Don’t oil paints require paint thinner to use?” Damien asked.

“In some cases,” Roman agreed. “So maybe not oil today. I should probably make sure that you can paint at all before I bring out the fancy supplies.”

“There’s also watercolors,” Damien pointed out.

Roman shrugged. “True, but those are very tricky to use as well. If you’re not careful, you could wind up with mud as a picture.”

“Acrylic it is, then,” Damien said, walking up next to Roman. “Which brand should we get, and how much paint would we need?”

“A starter’s kit for each of us should be enough for now,” Roman said. “They have a deceptive amount of paint in them. Or, if you want something bigger, we could invest in tubes of cyan, magenta, and yellow. That’s how you can mix more vibrant colors.”

Damien hummed. “I think that if we’re going to be spending some time away from your art supplies, we should get the larger tubes, if only so you have more to work with. Cyan, magenta, and yellow? Should we get black and white as well for shades and tints?”

“Probably a good idea. I’m impressed with your knowledge of terminology,” Roman said.

Damien waved him off. “Trust me, Your Highness, the terminology is about all I’m good at when it comes to art.”

Roman laughed, just as Virgil dashed into the aisle. “You!” he exclaimed, pointing at the two of them. “You two are in huge trouble!”

“Uh-oh, he found us,” Damien stage-whispered, and Roman snickered.

Virgil stalked over, breath heaving in his chest. “Do you two have any idea how terrified I was when I turned back around and you weren’t there?!”

“Virgil, we’re not toddlers, that tactic won’t work on us,” Damien said, arching an unimpressed eyebrow.

Virgil’s nostrils flared. “I thought the two of you were about to be seriously hurt. It’s my job to look out for the two of you and you treat it like it’s a game to get away from me when any number of people out here could be waiting for a chance to kill you.”

Roman felt just a tiny bit guilty. “We weren’t trying to make your job harder Virgil, we just...wanted some privacy.”

Virgil looked between them. Damien’s face revealed nothing, and Roman shrugged as if to say, What else do you want from me?

“Next time you want to make out, at least tell me where you’ll be making your attempt so I can make sure no one’s coming over,” Virgil growled.

“We will, Virgil, rest assured,” Damien said.

Roman sputtered. “We weren’t trying to make out!” he protested.

Virgil shrugged. “Why else would you want privacy?”

“We could be sharing secrets, or just want a moment to talk by ourselves without worrying about anyone else overhearing, for any reason! We don’t immediately go to the gutter when you’re not around!”

“Just immediately, hm?” Virgil asked.

“I...no! No, that is not what I meant and you know it!” Roman protested.

Damien and Virgil were both smirking to various degrees and Roman huffed. “You’re both being incredibly mean,” he growled. “And if that continues, you’ll both end up covered in paint by the end of the day.”

Virgil’s smirk dropped but Damien just shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he simply said.

“But it would be the last,” Virgil warned. “Because I’m not getting in trouble for you being covered in paint, and I would never allow you near art supplies again.”

Damien held his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right, I’m done.”

“You promise?” Roman pressed.

“Yes, yes, I promise. If it means I get the chance to paint with you, then I won’t push this subject any further.”

Roman smiled, and proceeded to pick out some beginner’s acrylic paint, grabbed two brush sets, and then asked, “Mixed media paper, or canvas, do you think?”

“Canvas,” Damien said. “Much easier for me to work with a bigger surface that is very clearly not a table.”

Roman laughed. “Okay, then. Canvas.”

“Maybe easels, too? We could do some on-site painting with those,” Damien pointed out. “And we have quite the scenery at the base of the mountain. It could be fun.”

“Sure,” Roman agreed. “Do you not have any easels remaining after your painting escapades?”

Damien coughed. “Well...my parents may or may not have tried to deter me from future endeavors by not keeping the materials around.”

Roman giggled. “Oh, it was really that bad?”

“Hush, you’re hardly one to talk,” Damien said. “You have plenty of embarrassing stories, too.”

“True, but they’re not relevant to this conversation,” Roman chirped.

Damien glared at Roman. “Traitor,” he muttered.

Roman just offered him a grin in response. Damien glanced away and gravitated towards a sign that said the easels were in that aisle. Roman followed, paint in hand, and Virgil trailed behind them again. Damien picked out two smaller easels, and then turned to Roman. “Canvases?” he asked.

“Right,” Roman said.

They grabbed a pack of canvases and went to the front of the shop and rang everything up. Once they had everything in the car, Virgil looked at them. “Where will you two be painting?” he asked.

“I was thinking halfway up the mountain, where we have quite the view of farmland, it’s beautiful scenery,” Damien offered.

“Sounds good to me,” Roman agreed.

“All right, I’ll drive the two of you up there,” Virgil said. “But if I see any shenanigans with paint I will kill both of you.”

Damien gave Virgil a playful salute. “Whatever you say, Your Highness,” he said, voice soaked in sarcasm.

Virgil took a deep breath. “You’re really dead set on testing my patience aren’t you?”

Damien shrugged. “Well, you seem to be dead set on telling me what I can and cannot do when I’m my own individual, so it only makes sense to balance the scales somewhat.”

“Oh, you are playing a very dangerous game, Your Highness,” Virgil warned. “Get in the car.”

Damien gave Roman a very satisfied smirk as he did as told and Roman followed him into the car. Virgil shut the door a little harder than necessary as he got in as well. He drove them to a point that Damien picked out and then Roman and Damien got their supplies out of the car, setting up the easels and canvases so they were facing the farmland. “This should be fun,” Roman said with a smile as Virgil continued up the mountain. “And it looks like we’ll be on our own for a bit.”

“We’re close enough to the castle that the guards can watch us from there and pick us up if need be,” Damien said simply. “So we’re not necessarily ‘alone’ but we do have some space.”

“Some much needed space,” Roman said, looking out at the farmland below and taking the paints, before gasping. “We forgot the palettes!”

“Oh, damn it,” Damien muttered.

Roman laughed. “That was not a very princely response,” he teased.

Damien rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Your Highness. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Roman said. “I suppose we could mix the paint on the canvas, go for a slightly more abstract way of painting.”

“Well, unless we want to call Virgil back down here, that’s what we’ll have to do,” Damien sighed.

“Yeah, I don’t want to call Virgil down over this,” Roman said, shaking his head. He grabbed the tube of cyan paint and popped the cap, pouring some onto his canvas...or attempting to. Nothing was coming out. “That’s weird,” Roman muttered. He turned the tube so he could see the opening, and gently squeezed. Paint splattered out of the tube, all over Roman’s face, and he sputtered as Damein burst into hysterics. “Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” Roman asked, picking up a glob of paint and flinging it at Damien’s face.

Damien stood stock still for a second, before he slowly reached for the magenta paint and poured some onto his fingers, flicking it onto Roman’s arm.

“Oh, this means war,” Roman said, pointing the tube of cyan at Damien and squeezing again, getting paint all over Damien’s shirt.

“How dare you!” Damien exclaimed, laughing. He poured out more magenta and smeared it across Roman’s face, getting some in his hair.

Roman cackled as he grabbed the yellow and used both tubes to smear paint over Damien, while Damien took the magenta and black and returned the favor. They chased each other around the easels, and Roman squealed as he lost his footing running backwards and nearly fell straight to the dirt, only to have Damien wrap an arm around the small of Roman’s back, catching him in a dip. The two were laughing and breathless, and Roman muttered, “Hi,” to Damien.

“Hi,” Damien laughed back. “Truce?”

Roman considered it, looked at the yellow paint he hadn’t dropped, and grinned, saying, “Nah,” and squirting paint directly into Damien’s wavy hair.

“How dare you?!” Damien exclaimed. “And I kept you from falling, too! I had to sacrifice my black paint to do that!”

Roman laughed and got back on his feet, exclaiming, “Catch me if you can!” as he flung one last glob of yellow paint at Damien before running away.

Now, Roman was fast, but Damien was undoubtedly the taller of the two of them, and he managed to catch up to Roman quickly, snagging the back of Roman’s shirt. He pulled Roman into a bear hug, effectively getting paint all over both of them. “Virgil is gonna kill us!” he laughed.

Roman shrieked with laughter and wriggled out of Damien’s grasp, shoving him to the ground and pinning him there as Roman grabbed all the cyan off his face that he could and painting little clouds all over Damien’s face. He was shaking so hard from his laughter he could barely make the shapes.

“Hey!” a sharp voice hollered from the top of the mountain. “What did I just tell you two?!”

Roman and Damien shared a brief horrified glance before Damien was on his feet and grabbed Roman’s wrist, yelling, “Run!”

They both sprinted their way down the mountain, but soon found themselves outnumbered by guards driving their way down the road to barricade them in. Virgil barrelled down the mountain, breath heaving in his chest. “I said no shenanigans with the paint!” he exclaimed.

Damien pointed at Roman. “Roman started it!”

“What?!” Roman asked. “Did not! It wasn’t my fault that the paint tube squirted into my face!”

“But it is your fault that the paint was subsequently thrown onto my face,” Damien said.

“You didn’t have to laugh!”

“You didn’t have to retaliate!”

“Boys!” Virgil snapped. “I don’t care who started what, you both are complicit in the shenanigans and you’re both covered in paint! What am I supposed to tell your parents, huh?!”

“I imagine you’ll tell them you left us alone for five minutes under the impression that we could be mature and turned to look at how we were faring once you reached the top of the mountain only to find us having a paint fight below,” Damien said, completely deadpan and with a straight face that Roman couldn’t possibly hope to achieve.

“You both are walking up the hill and will be getting cleaned up before dinner this evening. I imagine that most of the dignitaries coming to congratulate you two on your engagement will not want to see the two of you covered head to toe in paint.”

“Why do we have to walk up the mountain, though?” Damien asked.

“Because we are not getting the back seats of any of the guards’ cars covered in acrylic paint!” Virgil hissed. “Do you have any idea how easily that stains?”

Roman raised his hand. “Actually, I do, and it’s not as bad as you might think,” he said.

Virgil glowered at him and Roman promptly shut up, following Damien and Virgil back up to the castle. Damien hissed as they approached the top. “Our mothers are waiting for us,” he whispered to Roman.

“Shit, what?!” Roman asked in clear panic. His mother was going to kill him!

Damien took one look at Roman and grabbed his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she doesn’t chew into you too much.”

As they reached the top, the two queens looking at them with twin unamused expressions, Damien scratched the back of his neck. “It’s...uh, my fault,” he said quickly. “One of the paint tubes exploded in my face on accident, I started the paint fight.”

“Damien —!” Roman hissed.

Damien held a hand up at hip level to stop Roman. “It won’t happen again,” Damien assured.

“You’re right, Damien, it won’t,” the Queen said. “Because you are not going to be allowed near any of Veronica’s art supplies for the remainder of the week.” Ouch. And not just because of the use of his deadname, even if it was for his safety.

Roman’s mother looked at him and he inwardly braced himself for what he knew was coming. “Veronica, I’m disappointed in you!” she exclaimed. “I raised you better than for you to engage in a paint fight! That’s not very ladylike behavior for any woman, let alone a princess!”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snarling at his mother, but he just nodded stiffly. “Of course,” he practically growled. But I’m not a princess.

His mother kept staring at him, but Roman was not going to give her the satisfaction of apologizing. Not to her. “Damien, you didn’t get any paint in your eyes, right?”

“Yes, I can still see,” Damien confirmed.

“Good,” Roman said, nodding. “Then we should probably change and get cleaned up. Virgil’s right; I doubt any visitors would appreciate the fine art that is...well, fighting with art.”

Damien barked a laugh, before covering his mouth with a hand. “I suppose you’re right,” he said with mirth in his eyes. “Although I must admit I like you in pants, they seem to do wonders for your confidence. Maybe tonight a pantsuit for dinner would be appropriate?”

Roman felt his heart soar at the excuse right there for him to take. “Sounds perfect,” he agreed, and together the two of them walked into the castle, while their mothers sent them one last look and a warning to behave.

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[falsificatore]

       introducing liam d’antona as antony

“ our courteous antony, whom ne’er the word of ‘no’ woman heard speak ”  - enobarbus, antony and cleopatra (act II, scene II)

gday ! my name’s jason, i’m 18, use he/him pronouns, and live in eastern melbourne/the aedt timezone. this is my last year of mostly free time before i move to scotland to get my bachelors degree in acting - i’m insanely excited for this group, and i can’t wait to meet and write with you all! without any further ado, here’s liam!

stats

full name: liam riley santino d’antona age: 18 dob: 5th of december, 2001 gender: cis male pronouns: he/him nationality: english hometown: london, england current residence: edinburgh, scotland spoken languages: english & italian, both fluently - also knows some latin from school

history

( his full bio ended up being i-dont-even-know-how-many-thousand words long - again, kati, i’m so sorry - so for this intro i’m just gonna do my best to boil it down to the key points, but if you’d like to take a gander at the full thing you can do so here! )

tw for parental neglect, alcoholism, and death

liam d’antona was born the first and only child of an english businessman and the heiress of a historic italian winery - his parents had met in edinburgh in their early twenties, his father a student at ashcroft and his mother simply there on holiday. they kept up correspondence even when she returned home to campania, and pretty much as soon as he graduated he came down to stay with her - he won her parents affections through very quickly managing to expand their business to being more of a household name in the uk, and after they got married only a year and a half into their proper relationship they spent a few years making connections, going to lavish parties, and spending way more money than they needed to. both had already come from fairly wealthy families, but the increase in business certainly helped boost them a fair bit. 

finally, for no reason that liam could retrospectively figure out, they had him - and it was fair to say they weren’t the most generously loving parents. he was more a trophy baby than anything else, and while they were never especially vicious to him, they didn’t go out of their way to make sure he was being cared for. luckily, though, he had relatives who did - those being his grandfather on his father’s side, and his nonna on his mother’s. 

the two of them had only met in person once at his parent’s wedding, but they played equally important roles in essentially raising him as he grew up. his grandfather’s house was only a few minutes drive from his parent’s in london, so he spent more time there than not in his early childhood, spending most his time being read any book from his shelves that looked intriguing visually, and when it wasn’t that he would be taken to plays, galleries, museums, he’d be taught how to use a fountain pen and tie a tie, told stories upon stories about his life before his father was born. that was only for three quarters of the year, however - in the summers, liam’s family would travel down to campania to be with his mother’s family. while his nonno took care of business and entertaining his parents, his nonna would tell him about their family history, take him through the vineyard and down ancient streets, let him vent about his school life and tell reaffirm all the things he should be proud of about himself, her passerotto - she’d only ever get stern with him when his italian was off, but even then, she’d come round and forgive him within seconds. 

he doesn’t have a lot of clear memories of his early childhood, but he knows one thing for sure - it was golden.

primary school is where his early memory starts to clear up, especially when it comes to how he met his best friends - distracted when they were first put together as a group for an art class, they’d ended up essentially just spending the first ten minutes throwing paint at one another to see what worked, and when they got sent out and told to wait in the hallway, they’d ended up just heading outside and spending the rest of the lesson time trying to clean their uniforms under the bubblers while they got properly acquainted. he did manage to get on the good side of pretty much everyone else in his year level over time - he could tell jokes, he could speak italian, he knew enough random bullshit to impress people, and he’d actually argue with their teachers but in a way he just couldn’t get in trouble for it - but his gang of four? they were absolutely inseparable. 

when it came to actually learning, that’s where liam fell short - he’d only be able to focus if he actually cared about the subject, which was rare, and even then, liam’s always learned in conversations - all the random bullshit he’s learned, that’s all through things people have told him in discussion. he needs to be able to talk back if he wants to actually retain anything or he’ll just zone out and do something he finds more interesting - any individual studying he’s done is just to win an argument or make a point. the only extracurricular he ever did was debating - he was on his primary school team for his last two years there, but wasn’t allowed on his highschool one given how he outwardly said that the other teams points were ‘absolute bullshit’ when it was his turn to speak in the trial debates.

for his whole schooling career up until he was 16, there were only two classes he could say he did well in - latin, since it was close enough to his second language to be able to piece most things together, and english/literature, since he’d spent most of his time as a kid reading the books that would end up part of the curriculum. pretty much all of his electives were either with teachers he knew loved him, ones no one else would pick so all his friends could make it in, or simple bludge subjects - and one of the ones that fell into the last category was philosophy. he went into it with no clue what he should be expecting, but within twenty minutes he’d fallen in love - it was the one class where he was supposed to argue about nonsensical bullshit, supposed to think of out-there justifications, supposed to do all the shit he’d been sent outside time and time again for in every single other subject. it was like it was made for him - and for a teen alcoholic with an unfavourable learning style, those sorts of classes don’t come easily.

an alcoholic isn’t what liam would call himself - but the compulsive liar he is, his word shouldn’t always be trusted, especially when it comes to drinking. for him, it’s never been a risk, never an act of rebellion - his family’s fortune, his parent’s whole relationship, it was built on wine. he’s been drinking since he was five, sat up at his nonni’s dinner table with a glass of red next to his meal, and when he was finally allowed to tag along to his parent’s parties, no one seemed to mind him taking the champagne only offered by the waiters out of courtesy - some because they found it adorable, some because they were too inebriated themselves to think about it, and his parents? they simply just didn’t care. his mother had grown up with the same familiarity - it was just family custom, really. family custom that may have lead to a dependence, sure, but custom nonetheless - the passing around and judging of a new brand is the d’antona monopoly night.

for seven years since he started, his consumption was minimal - he’d have a glass at dinner, of course, and he’d take something if he was offered at a soiree, that was just polite - but it wasn’t until he was twelve when he slowly started to swim into dangerous waters. he himself wasn’t fully aware of the cause, but then, he wasn’t fully aware anything was changing other than he suddenly needed more and more to distract himself and feel anything but how he was - but the cause was there.  

his grandfather’s passing was nothing less than objective - one day he’s in his library, bitching about one of the dickheads from across the city they’d debated in their tournament that afternoon, and less than a week later his father arrives home from an unusual absence, sits him down at the table, and tells him - actually, he doesn’t know what he told him. he just comes away from it knowing he’d died. he can’t remember the conversation, can’t remember anything between the talk and the funeral - only that he hadn’t cried. neither of them had cried. he treated the funeral with the same business formality he treated his parent’s parties, keeping conversations short with a polite enough smile - but then, when the service starts and people he’d never met before start coming up and telling stories about him, his whole life, a life he’d only been there for a tiny fraction of, and the sheer love they have for him, the same as his - it’s too much. he can’t carry the coffin, can’t watch the hearse drive away - he simply collapses into his mother’s shoulder when they walk past the front row, and he sobs. for the first time since he was a newborn, he goes to her for comfort, and she gives it, in murmured italian he can’t be bothered trying to understand - but it can only last a few minutes before he has to pull away, wipe his eyes, and join the rest of the crowd. he stands alone at the burial. he doesn’t go to the wake. 

from then on out, he does remarkably fine. he goes back to talking at the back of the classroom, back to roaming the city with his friends, back to fancy parties - yes, he’s started topping up his own glasses more, taking a bottle with him when he and his friends go to hang out in the park, but he’s not crying, he’s not wallowing, and that, to him, is what matters. if there is one thing, though - he can’t bring himself to clear out the house with the others. when he comes home from an outing he’d organised as an excuse to get out of it and finds boxes and boxes of books in the corner of his room, he can’t touch them - can’t touch them for two more years. it’s only when he wakes up, fourteen, with one of the worst hangovers he’s ever had, that he finally turns to them - he can’t leave his room, he can’t look at a screen, so he finally grabs one at random. and he reads. and he cries, a bit, when he comes to the parts he can suddenly remember reading with him, when he’d do the voices or chime in to explain for the millionth time why what a character did was stupid - it’s cathartic, in a way. that becomes practice - whenever he’s hungover, at first, but soon it’s whenever he’s bored, whenever he’s lonely, he’ll go over and pick up another book, and he’ll read it until it’s done. soon enough, he uncovers a set of fountain pens, the ones he’d been taught to use as a kid, and he starts to use them again, properly, even if his friends give him shit for it at first. he goes down to his grave for the first time since he was buried, and though he doesn’t cry like he still feels like he’s meant to, he opens up a bottle of baileys - his favourite - and just talks. fills him in on all he’d missed, how his friends are doing, the girlfriends he’s had and lost since he started highschool, everything - and though he doesn’t stop drinking or properly clean up his act, he’s able to carry on.

as much as he would like to carry out all the wishes he doesn’t fully know, theres one thing liam knows he can’t do - and that’s go to ashcroft. both his father and grandfather went, business and literature majors respectively, and he knows full well they were both star students - but school’s not for him, especially not a school that posh, no matter how much they’d both encouraged him to apply as soon as he’s able. he’s seventeen, and he and his friends are taking full advantage of the fact that the school courtyard’s empty during their free gcse study period while everyone else is either in classes or, in their year, in the library - and then one of them comes up with the first spark of the plan. it’s simple - he knows he won’t have good enough results to get in, so to get his dad off his back, he’ll send whatever he gets off to ashcroft anyway, tucked in an envelope with a letter from his philosophy teacher - because who else - and some bullshit essay, and when he inevitably gets rejected, he’ll take as much money as he can and flee in shame. they all will - they’ll move to another part of london, or travel europe, or go to stay in campania, or wherever, and they’ll keep living their lives in opulence, only several hundred miles from where they first began. he does his exams, completely wasted all the while, and when his results come back he doesn’t even bother giving more than philosophy a glance before throwing them into the photocopier and sending the copy away to edinburgh. it’s flawless.

it should’ve been flawless.

when the acceptance letter comes, an actual letter in the actual post, the dickheads, he’s stunned. it takes over an hour for him to process it - there’s no way in hell he should’ve got in, but it’s his name on the envelope, his name at the top of the letter, he’s read it over and over and over again, there’s no mistake. he spends hours trying to find where the original copy of his grades were - on the photocopier, where he’d left them - and when he actually looks, he’s nearly paralysed where he stands. his mark for every subject, they’re all amazing. his whole life, he’s barely managed an average for most of his classes - when he asks his father, he just shrugs. he knows, he knows these can’t be his actual grades, he barely even remembers the exams - it isn’t until muckup day that he finds his answer.

they’re hidden at the back of the staffroom pigeonholes, only the ones belonging to his teachers - in each one, three bottles of wine, tied together with a ribbon, and attached, a card he immediately recognises as bearing an all-too-familiar signature.

it’s a school full of rich wankers, any family could use money as a bribe for better grades - but he knows full well how much all of this is worth.

not just any family can freely give out some of the finest wine in europe.

at first, he wants to go straight home, shout at his parents, call them out on all of their bullshit - he’s lied to get out of worked, sure, but he’s never cheated to get a ‘not exactly one in a million but pretty damn close’ position in one of the most prestigious schools in the country, and this isn’t even what he wants - but as he’s heading down the hallway back towards the main entrance of the building, he realises. he can’t. if he tells them he knows, then he’s admitting that he didn’t want to get in, he’s admitting he was trying to get rejected - he’ll ruin any chance he may have at salvaging the plan.

so he doesn’t mention it. he books a hotel he can stay in while he’s there for the campus tour, packs a bag and jumps on the 5:30am train from london to edinburgh. when his phone inevitably dies, he’s left only with the book he threw in last minute if he doesn’t want to just stare out into the countryside like he’s reenacting some kind of harry potter bullshit - it turns out to be moby dick, which is fine, not ever really a favourite, but decent enough for passing the time - but then he hits chapter 39. 

‘i know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, i’ll go to it laughing.’

he’d managed to forget about it until that moment, let it sink away like basically everything else he’d lost from his childhood, but - it was the quote his grandfather had always used to reassure him, to give him confidence. the evening before his first day of primary school, he’d kneeled before him, lifted his chin, and they’d said it together, and he had, he had gone in laughing, if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have made any of his friends, gotten away with any of the shit he had - it feels like a sign, in some stupid sort of a way. and then, when he actually arrives for the tour the next day, he happens to spot a board up on the wall, and at first he’s willing to just look past it, it’s just a boring old honours board, he’d seen plenty in his time - but then a name catches his eye. his grandfather’s name, illuminated by the faintest bit of sunlight coming in through the window - and it hits him like a bolt of lightning.

he has to be here. 

it only cements itself further and further as he walks around with the rest of the group, takes in the art, the architecture, everything - it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t deserve to stay, he’ll make it so he does. he’ll work hard. he’ll actually pay attention, even when he doesn’t want to. he’ll study everything he’s told, not just the things he wants to prove a point about. he won’t stop drinking, but he’ll only do it at the end of the day. he’ll be the model of a philosophy student. he’ll care. because if he doesn’t, he’ll have to leave - and if he has to leave, he has no idea what he’ll do with himself. 

it may be a retrospective resolution, but he’ll do it. he’ll earn his place at ashcroft or he’ll die trying.

personality 

(very, very narrowed down, only key points)

+ definitely something he’s inherited from having successful businesspeople as parents, liam is quite the charmer - he’s been able to get away with most of the shit he’d pulled at school for so long simply with a smile, a shrug, or a baffled ‘i don’t know, it wasn’t us, do you want me to try and ask around?’  + despite being largely neglected save for social situations by aforementioned successful businesspeople parents, liam is genuinely compassionate more often than not, and he tries his hardest to stay polite and civil, avoiding conflict when possible and trying to include people if they’re being left out - or at least figure out why it is they got left out in the first place. + even though schoolwork isn’t really his forte, he is naturally quite curious about the world, and loves debating questions and figuring out answers - if something intrigues him, he won’t be able to forget about it until it’s properly dealt with - even then the chance of it leaving his mind is rather small. when he wants to learn, he’ll learn, and he’s good at it - he’s a quick thinker and has a good memory. + above all else, liam is a romantic - he’s had more than his fair share of partners, but all of them he’s treated with equal adoration and respect. he falls in love with someone before even properly realising they’re in front of them, and he’ll do anything he can to make them feel cared for and like they can be comfortable around him. he has a lot of love, not just for people - old books, italy, good drinks, fountain pens - he’ll love something for the love of it, not because it’ll make him look more cultured or help him get further with those around him.

= liam is fairly matter-of-fact and objective - though this helps him get things done and does certainly lend a hand coming straight into the middle of a post-murder scene without letting emotions that aren’t really his cloud his vision, it can get in the way of him properly connecting with people he may not see as justified.  

- though it did help him make his way through both primary and secondary school without having to do much work, liam is a compulsive liar, and he has very little problem with it - he’s keeping up a lie he was at first horrified by that his parents put in place to stay at ashcroft, for example. being a good bluffer isn’t necessarily a good thing, and he doesn’t fully understand that. this extends to how he acts around others, able to quickly put on a mask and discard his emotions, no matter how well he’s actually doing. he doesn’t have time to feel bad, he has a job to do.

- although he does try to avoid lashing out, his temper can quickly rise and get the better of him - he does try to handle his argumentative streak by debating about irrelevant, stupid topics, which does work a treat to stop him from yelling at people, but it can definitely be annoying to some.

- despite confidence being good in some situations, it doesn’t always lend him a hand in trying to fit in with the others - especially in the aftermath of a murder, he should have more tact when it comes to approaching members of the society, but he really has no qualms with going up and just talking to them even if they’d love nothing more but to swat him like a fly, which, in some cases, he may definitely deserve.

- unless he really cares for the subject, liam will put in as little effort as possible, if any, to try and do a good job - despite being energetic, he mostly directs it strictly away from his schoolwork. if he doesn’t want to lend a hand, he’ll simply walk away with no concern for who he’s leaving behind.

imperium

it’s fair to say that liam got into not just ashcroft, but the imperium society because of his family’s notoriety and history with the school - but his name isn’t all he has, even if he doesn’t fully see it himself. he’s a skilled debater, able to see things both objectively and have that objective be outside of the box, and this has lent more than a hand when it comes to his work in his philosophy classes. he can take a lot of knowledge in and boil it down to the things that really matter, which, given how large some of the concepts covered are, is a fairly significant skill for his subject, and he’s able to apply or retract lenses to matters at the drop of a hat to see things from another perspective. he can find an argument in anything, and until he’s perfectly sure he’ll never be 100% concrete in any one view. in short; despite being brash about it, he’s a good philosopher.

octavia

liam honestly didn’t even know that there had been a murder at ashcroft until after he arrived - when he did learn about it properly, he was already beyond the point of being put off from the school by the fact. it was only when he was invited to the imperium society that he had to properly think about it - because it didn’t take a genius to realise there’s no way he’d be in if the spot hadn’t open up. immediately it started gnawing at him, and it was only made worse when he moved into escalus house, in the empty room he quickly learned was once lysanders. he’s felt like he’s being watched since he came in, and even though he knows its ridiculous and he has no reason to feel like he’s overstepping by being there, he’s tried to avoid being in the room on his own since he arrived, much preferring to hang around the communal spaces or just stick close to ophelia. he’s tried to avoid getting involved in the other member’s feelings about octavia’s death since it’s not his place and, honestly, he has no real idea what to make of it. he knows it was a tragedy, and he know it affected them all deeply, especially his cousin who he has the heaviest concern for - but he’s never been the best griever, he knows that just carrying on with his life and ignoring it isn’t a good way to go about death even if it “worked” for him, what’s he supposed to say to those still in the throws of mourning?

he doesn’t remember when he first dreamed about her, because really, he didn’t even know it was her - it wasn’t until he saw her photo up in one of the rooms that he was able to put a person to the face, but by that point, the dreams had been numerous. at first he just brushed it off - he’d probably just seen the photo in passing, and drinking a bit too much every night to make up for not being able to do it between classes like he had in highschool probably did something to his mind. but they kept coming, relentlessly - so, slowly, he’s started looking into things. this is just a problem he needs to deal with, deal with it and he’s done, he doesn’t need to get it involved with the others - and even though he tells himself he wants it to be done with faster, truly, he’s intrigued. he can’t rule out ghosts not existing, he’s a philosophy student, he’s spent more than his fair share of time debating it in class, what happens after death - so if she is really her, and it isn’t just because he’s thinking about it a lot more now, then doesn’t that mean something’s happened to bring her back? he’s no detective - but he’ll find an answer. despite this, he’s avoided joining in on rumours of her return, and denies ever having seen her, dream or otherwise.

miscellaneous

ExTP (50/50 observant/intuitive) the debater/the entrepreneur 9w8, the referee  sanguine gryffindor

- he has genuinely no idea what he wrote in his essay to get accepted into ashcroft - he was drunk while writing it, which isn’t a huge surprise given he hasn’t been fully sober at any given moment since he was about 14, but usually when he’s closer to sober than not he’s able to recall something. with the essay, though, complete blank.

- he’s never played any instrument, but he loves violin music - his first celebrity crush was alexander rybak, and he still has most of his discography on his playlists 11 years after first seeing him in eurovision.

- he’s been to italy every summer without fail since he was born, and though his mother was fluent in english, she still spoke to him in italian when they were at home.

- he is dependent on alcohol, but he’s pretty good at hiding the fact he has a few shots to wake him up in the morning and at least two glasses of wine in the evening - but he’s been drinking as a family thing since he was a kid, so you’d suppose he’s used to it. it takes a lot for him to get properly drunk.

- he’s never learned how to drive, but, again - hasn’t been sober since he was 14.

- he never watched a lot of movies or tv growing up, and still doesn’t, but he adores the truman show - he watched it for his philosophy class in high school when he was first starting out, and now it’s a go-to whenever he’s bored.

- he likes the debating aspect of his philosophy classes more than actually learning about the philosophers behind what he’s being taught.

- his handwriting is more than illegible, and it’s definitely not helped by the dual factors that he’s using easily smudged fountain pen ink and that half his notes are in italian - granted, translating helps him remember, but it’s no help to anyone else who wants to read them for revision.

- as far as his gang from school are aware, he hates ashcroft and is still trying to find a way to get himself expelled.

- he’s good at breaking things but can rarely put them perfectly back together - in his own words, he’s perfectly capable of undoing knots, but he struggles beyond shoelaces and ties and has literally no clue how people manage to tie two pieces of string together.

- despite struggling in school environments, he does still know a fair bit about history and just general random trivia, though for the most part its just things he picked up in conversations.

pinterest

[eldritchsurveys]

674.

have you ever violated school dress code? >> I wasn’t allowed to wear anything that would have violated any school dress codes, so I have no idea how that would have ever happened.

if you are listening to music, is the singer male / female? >> I’m not listening to music.

what [ if anything ] do you give up for Lent? >> I don’t observe Lent.

what phrase leads your mind directly to the gutter? >> I mean, I can’t think of any on command, but there are plenty I come across online and stuff that make me snicker. I just like wordplay, tbh.

when you feel like giving up, how do you convince yourself not to? >> I mean, it’s mostly Can Calah who gives the impassioned arguments in defense of not giving up. I just listen and gripe and wait for his infallible logic to work its magic.

what are your opinions on immigration? >> I don’t have a blanket opinion on immigration. I have no personal issue with individual immigrants, no matter their story. They’re just people to me, who want the same things I want -- to survive, to have their needs met, to make a better life.

would you tell an actual immigrant your views? >> Of course I would, if they were unsure where they stood with me.

what was the subject of the last list you made? >> I don’t remember the last time I made a list.

do you ever get nervous before interviews / important meetings? >> I mean, I would if that was a thing that occurred in my life.

who pays for the majority of your belongings? >> It’s pretty evenly split between me and Sparrow.

would you ever willingly shop in a thrift store? >> Of course...?

what is the most that you would ever spend on an outfit? >> I mean... that depends on many factors, including what the outfit is for and how much money I have.

is there anything you do that just outrages your parents? >> ---

when was the last time you were embarrassed in public? >> I don’t remember.

have you ever won an award you were actually proud of? >> I mean, maybe a long time ago. Doubtful, though.

the importance of education, rate it from 1-10, 10 as most important? explain your choice to rate it as such? >> I rank formal education rather low on my personal importance scale, but I rank informal, interest-based learning very high on my personal importance scale. I love to learn, but I don’t operate well in school settings and actually end up learning less in those settings.

what is the coolest science experiment you've ever done? >> I haven’t done any cool science experiments. :(

are you experiencing difficulties with any friends right now? >> No.

how do you deal with a fight between yourself and a friend? >> I don’t know how to deal with that kind of thing anymore.

when you apologize to someone after a fight, how do you go about saying that you are sorry? >> I haven’t been in this situation in a long time, I don’t know.

have you ever played around with "dry ice"? >> No.

do you think parents are responsible for the actions of their children? >> Of course they are, if we’re talking literal children (not teenagers). It takes some time for a small human to develop the sense of independent reasoning and reckoning of consequence that would allow them to take full responsibility for their actions.

how do you, personally, define music? >> I never really thought about it, it’s one of those concepts where I basically take my understanding of it for granted.

should the military draft take both men AND women? why / why not? >> That’s not a debate I’m willing to get into. I want nothing to do with a draft and I ideally wouldn’t want anyone else to have to deal with getting drafted, actually.

when was the last time that you corrected someone? >> I don’t remember. It was probably something really minor and not a big deal for either party. --Oh yeah I remember now, it was about why Bourbon Street is named Bourbon Street.

when was the last time you were corrected? >> It was also probably about something minor and nbd. I think the last time might have been when I misspelled “Lolth” because believe it or not, I’ve been doing that since 2009. I always misspell it “Lloth”, it’s just what happens.

when did you last say " i told you so "? >> I don’t remember. I try to avoid saying that unless it’s about something funny/silly.

is there any celebrity you like to " keep up with "? >> Not especially. I mean, there are definitely actors and directors that I pay attention to more than others when they get involved in new things, but I always forget to like, keep regular tabs on them or whatever.

celebrity gossip: YAY or BOO? >> Boo.

what is the most life-changing book you have read? >> I couldn’t say. A lot of books I’ve read have had a significant impact on me in some way.

have you had a negative impact on anyone's life? >> Sure.

has anyone had a negative impact on yours? who / why? >> Absolutely. I’m not going to elaborate, the negative impact that others have had on me is both 1) way too lengthy and sensitive to elaborate on and 2) not worth dwelling on right now when I just want to chill and take a survey.

what does marriage mean to you, specifically? >> It means legal recognition of our partnership, which is necessary for things like, say, being each other’s advocates in a medical emergency.

how will you know when you are ready to get married? >> I didn’t bother fretting over whether I was “ready” or not. We’d been living together for a couple of years by the time the topic even came up, it didn’t seem like a weird next step to make.

how much time have you spent contemplating your own death? >> Way more time than is logical, probably.

is there a joke that you just can't stand? >> I mean, probably. There are a lot of insensitive jokes out there.

have you ever read any self-help books? >> Yeah.

what's your take on the obesity problem in america? >> I don’t have a take on it. You know what I do have a take on? The constant social pressure to be thin, and the resultant contagious obsessions with eating the “right” foods, compulsive exercising, and worrying about a number on a scale. Being fat, of all things, shouldn’t be this dramatically frightening or repulsive to people, but that’s what we’re made to believe, and that’s the message we’re all internalising on a daily basis. I’m fucking tired of it. I got enough problems.

what is something you used to love, but now greatly dislike? >> I don’t think I’ve ever flipped that hard on anything. There are things I’ve liked casually that I ended up not caring about later on, but nothing that I loved that I started hating later. I might shift from being obsessed with something to just being chill about it, but that’s it.

what is something you used to dislike, but now like? >> I disliked Metallica as a child.

when ( if ) you become a parent, what will you do differently, compared to how your parents raised you? >> I don’t plan on being a parent, but how I treat children in general is almost directly in contrast to how I was treated as a child. I treat them with respect, I listen to what they have to say, I let them feel their feelings, I show interest in their interests, etc.

do you equate spanking with physical abuse? would you spank a child? >> Let’s just say that I did not ever feel loved or respected when I was spanked. I felt terrified and shameful and being left alone to self-soothe afterwards with no real understanding of why I was being punished so harshly definitely didn’t help. I don’t feel like my understanding of right and wrong was healthily developed by corporal punishment. I don’t see any benefit to it, but I see a lot of harm. So, no. I would not spank a child.

what's the most ridiculous thing you've done this week? >> I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve done anything especially ridiculous?

--- did you regret it / love it / hate it / want to do it again / etc? >> ---

is emotional cheating ( in a relationship ) as bad as physically cheating? >> I have no opinion on this, it’s irrelevant to my life.

if your bf/gf wanted to wait until marriage for sex, would you be willing? >> ---

when you look at the sunset, what do you think about / feel? >> I mean, it all depends, don’t it? I don’t have the exact same thought every time I look at something.

is there someone you wish you could trust / you wish was trustworthy? >> No. I just wish I didn’t have such overdeveloped trust issues.

is there anyone that you no longer want in you life? who / why? >> Well, yeah, and those people are, therefore, no longer in my life.

how has your outlook on life changed in the past few years? >> I’m not sure, I haven’t really kept track.

have you ever walked out of a boring movie ( in theaters )? >> No. I did want to walk out of Infinity War, though. Not because it was boring, but because it was pissing me off. (Also, that was back when Anthony was still around, and he wanted to walk out too.)

how open are you with people you know online? >> It depends on how I know them, what we have in common, how long I’ve known them and to what degree, etc.

what do you think of athletes that take steroids? >> I don’t think about that.

if a celebrity is involved in scandal after scandal, is that likely to effect how you view him/her & his/her work? >> Not really. I barely notice when scandals like that happen, anyway. It also seems like most scandals are just sensationalised overhyped nonsense to get people talking about whoever it is, for publicity, and has nothing to do with, like, the merits of the performer’s art or whatever.

what is one celebrity that you have zero respect for? >> ---

what is one fashion trend that you hope makes a comeback? >> ---

what is one that you wish would just die out already? >> ---

have you ever driven under the influence of alcohol / drugs? >> I don’t drive, period.

are you overly attached to your material possessions? >> No. I can be a bit under-attached, in fact. I’ll throw a thing away in a heartbeat. (This doesn’t apply to like, electronics, or any other expensive thing that I use on a constant basis. But like, t-shirts, books, toys, novelty items, other shit that ends up just taking up space and collecting dust? Bye.)

have you ever ridiculed anyone for their clothing choices? >> Not since I was a teenager, most likely.

living in poverty: what do you think it'd be like? >> I... I have lived in poverty. Poverty is my default state of existence. I don’t really know what to tell you about “what it’s like”. What’s it like to not be poor?

what is one " diet " that you think is just utterly worthless? >> All of them are worthless to me.

what advice would you give someone that is uncomfortable with his or her body / appearance? >> I wouldn’t give them advice. Advice is what the entire world is going to try to give them. I’d imagine they’d be tired of advice (unless they’re specifically asking me for it, I guess). But I’ll always have a “mood” or “I know that feel” to offer, because... yeah. Same. The shit sucks and there’s no easy way out of it.

what advice would you give someone about to start high school? >> I don’t even want to think about that phase of life, I’ll pass.

what foreign food are you NOT interested in trying? >> *shrug*

what foreign country do you believe is misunderstood? >> I mean, I don’t know. USian attitudes towards and assumptions about a lot of countries are... misinformed at best.

have you ever felt entirely unwanted and alone? >> Yeah.

in your eyes, which is worse: rape or murder? >> Nope, don’t care.

do you understand / read shakespeare? >> I have never been able to grok Shakespeare, and I’m not interested enough to keep trying.

would you feel comfortable living with someone that owned a gun? >> Most likely not. Luckily, that’s not likely to happen.

do you know anyone that lives in a foreign country? >> I mean, yeah, I use the internet.

[you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus]

Cyrus’ Dictionary

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Summary: Cyrus has always been good with words; there’s a reason English is his favorite subject. But with TJ, he seems to be at a loss for words. When they get paired up for a summer assignment, Cyrus slowly starts to build a new dictionary. One that involves TJ and everything they do together. Along the way, maybe he’ll find the words to tell him how he feels.

Chapter 20 (Epilogue): Love

Word Count: 5280

Read on AO3

Candles were on the table, glowing brightly in the late afternoon. Utensils were set out at all the places at the table, and a banner hung from two poles that were in the ground.

Celebrating Ten Years!

TJ followed Cyrus into his backyard; it truly hadn’t changed over the years. It was hard to believe it had really been ten years since he’d graduated high school, but here he was, celebrating all the time that had passed. The big celebration was held at the school during homecoming week, but the Goodmans, ever involved in the school’s activities, decided to host a smaller party at their house. It was mostly for Cyrus and his close friends, but friends from each of their respective colleges decided to tag along for the ride.

“Wow, I haven’t been here in, like, forever,” TJ commented, letting Cyrus lead the way through the crowd.

“Hasn’t changed much has it?” he asked, offering a soft smile. That hadn’t changed either. Cyrus still had the same cute smile that he had all through high school and into college.

TJ smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. “Nope,”

“And she’s so cute, except ever since we got her, Piper’s been exceptionally unfriendly,” Andi chuckled, sitting down with Amber and Jonah.

“So how many cats do you have again?” Jonah asked.

“Three,” the girls answered in unison.

“Wow, you really are lesbians,” he noted, the group bursting out into laughter.

Amber and Andi had bought an apartment not too long ago. They didn’t plan on getting any pets, but when they found a box of kittens outside the complex, Andi begged Amber to let her keep them. Amber always says that she ‘hates the rotten little weasels’ but Andi knows that she would actually do anything to protect them.

Both girls ended up going to the same college, unbeknownst to themselves until they revealed their decisions in April.

“Okay, no matter what happens, things are going to be okay,” Andi had assured her, giving her hand a squeeze.

Amber had nodded, letting out a slow breath. “You first,”

“Okay,” she started, staring down at her feet. All of a sudden this seemed a lot harder than previously thought. “I’ve decided that I’m going to be going to Savannah College of Art and Design,”

Amber’s jaw dropped. “Shut up,” she squeaked, “shut up! Are you serious?”

Andi opened her mouth to say more but she was immediately cut off by Amber.

“That’s where I’m going!” she was nearly screaming at this point, other people in the park started to stare at her. And the next thing Andi knew, her feet were off the ground and Amber’s arms were around her.

Andi couldn’t say anything, she was in complete shock. At one point, she did try to say something along the lines of ‘this is so exciting!’ but ended up just bursting into tears.

They roomed together for the first few years, but then decided to get an apartment together in their junior year. And even after they both graduated, Andi with her degree in graphic design and Amber with her degree in architecture, they stayed in the same apartment. Cats and everything.

“I’m just saying that I don’t want to have to give in to your pouting if you see another stray cat,” Amber warned, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to say no to Andi if she tried.

“Oh please,” Andi gave her a nudge, “so, how are you and Walker?”

Jonah shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “We’re alright. Long distance, you know,”

Jonah and Walker were still together, but since Walker was offered the job to design some stage sets over in New York City, Jonah hasn’t seen him for a few months. Money wasn’t exactly something he could burn to see his boyfriend, but he did whatever he could. They video chatted almost every day, and Walker always sent Jonah some drawings of him every now and then.

“You miss him,” Andi noted, placing her hand on top of his, “but he misses you too. And he loves you a lot,”

Jonah nodded, downing the rest of his drink quickly. “Yeah, I know,”

Before any of them could start crying, Buffy and Marty entered, hand in hand, before she started running towards her friends.

“You guys,” she drawled, tapping her fingers on the table, “how are you?”

Andi pulled her into a hug; how she’d missed her. “It’s been too long!” she exclaimed, pulling back, “how are you, what’s new?”

Buffy smirked, a few laughs escaping her mouth. She glanced at Marty, who gave her a wink before continuing his conversation with TJ.

“Well,” she sighed dramatically, putting her hand over her chest, “since you asked. . .”

Andi’s jaw dropped, shaking Buffy by her shoulders. “Oh my god, you got engaged?”

Buffy nodded excitedly, which resulted in a lot more hugging and a few tears from Andi. “Oh my gosh, tell me everything! Did he take you to your favorite restaurant? Did he have a speech prepared for you? Did the whole restaurant clap for you guys?”

“Actually,” she hesitated a little, offering a small smile, “I was the one who proposed,”

If Andi was surprised before, she was nearly paralyzed with shock now. “You proposed?” she squeaked, “that’s. . .actually very like you. Forward. I’m really happy for you guys. Have you started thinking about the wedding?”

Buffy shrugged, glancing over at Marty. “I think we both want something in the fall, but other than that, we haven’t really talked about it,”

“Regardless,” Andi beamed, “I’m so incredibly happy for you both,”

“Hey, Buffy!” Marty called, waving her over to the basketball court that was set up in the driveway.

“Love calls,” she laughed, giving Andi a final hug before heading off with Marty. That left TJ alone, so he wandered over to the bar, getting himself a drink and wandering around the backyard.

“There you are,” Cyrus nudged his shoulder, “I haven’t seen you all night,”

TJ smiled, slinging an arm around Cyrus. “I’ve been catching up with Marty. You know he and Buffy are engaged?”

Cyrus nodded, smiling to himself. “Buffy actually had me help her plan it out, so I knew before even Marty did,” he chuckled, earning a quiet gasp from TJ.

“And you kept this information from me? I feel betrayed,” he swooned, placing a hand on his forehead.

“TJ, duuuude, stop being so cute with him,” someone called out, snickering and holding up a camera.

TJ rolled his eyes, offering a small smile to the camera. “Don’t you drunks have anything better to do than bother us?” he joked, giving the guy with the camera, Aaron, a gentle shove.

“I’m going to go and catch up with Jonah,” Cyrus mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to TJ’s cheek and heading off.

“You guys are the worst,” he said, but he was smiling. His friends from college, Aaron, Wyatt, and Rowan, tagged along to the celebration because they were working on their, as they so delicately put it, ‘gay-ass project’. Basically, they were documenting every moment that they could of Cyrus and TJ.

After senior year of high school. Cyrus ended up going to Stanford to study journalism with a minor in cinematography, while TJ stayed back and went to University of Utah, where he was offered a full time scholarship for playing basketball. They tried to make the distance work, they really did, but one day over video chat, they decided that they needed a break. Just until they were out of college.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Cyrus really didn’t like Stanford. From the insane amount of work, to not having TJ by his side, it was, in short, a bad experience. After his freshman year, he decided to transfer. And while he would never tell TJ that a part of the decision was because of him, it was. He realized that he didn’t need to go to a fancy college in order to get a good education. Plus, it was going to be nice to be closer to home.

Cyrus had texted TJ that there might be a familiar face on campus and, in short, TJ harassed all his friends in the middle of the night.

“Get the hell up, assholes,” he flicked on the lights, earning groans and curses from his roommates.

“TJ, I love you man, but I swear to god if you keep me awake for more than a minute, I will rip your fucking throat out,” Wyatt mumbled, pressing a pillow to his face.

“But Cyrus is coming here!” TJ crooned, and that seemed to perk at least Rowan up.

“Isn’t he that kid that you dated in high school? The one you’re always practically drooling over?” he mocked, making kissy faces.

“Fuck off,” TJ muttered, tossing a pillow at his face, “regardless, I don’t want you assholes messing with him, got it?”

“Oh, Cyrus, I missed you so much! I look at pictures of you before I go to sleep!” Aaron wailed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. TJ flushed red.

“That’s. . .that’s not-”

“Oh, Cyrus! You’re the only thing I talk or think about, which is why I’m failing my econ class,” Wyatt crooned, batting his eyes towards Rowan.

“Shut up, you know that class is-”

“Oh, Cyrus, I love you so much! I have never loved another!” Rowan exclaimed, and the boys doubled over in laughter.

“I hate you all,” TJ mumbled, flicking the lights off.

The day that Cyrus stepped foot on campus, Aaron, Wyatt, and Rowan made it their mission to find him before TJ did. Considering TJ talked about him all the time, and he had a wall of pictures that was mostly of him and Cyrus, it didn’t take long for them to find the boy.

“Hey!” Wyatt called, approaching a shorter brunet boy, “are you Cyrus?”

He eyed the group suspiciously, furrowing his brows. “I. . .yeah?”

“God, you really do look just like how TJ said,” Aaron mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Cyrus perked up at the mention of TJ. “TJ? Is he here now? Can I see him? Does he talk about me?”

“Wow, the homo is strong with this one,” Rowan commented, “I mean, the homo is strong with all of us too, don’t worry,”

Cyrus chuckled; he already felt more at home here than Stanford. “Do you know where he is?”

Wyatt nodded. “He has econ right now,” he grinned, “but we can show you around, if you like. You should see our room,” he declared, and the other boys grabbed his hands and started dragging him towards their room.

TJ sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. Not the greatest way that test could have gone, but not the worst, by far. He reviewed all the questions on the way up the stairs to his room, unlocking it only to be greeted by a room of darkness.

“What the hell? Did Rowan burn the lights again?” TJ muttered, feeling around on the wall for the switch.

“No, asshole,” Rowan snapped.

When TJ did find the lights, it took him a moment to adjust, but when he did, he had never been happier. Cyrus was standing in the middle of the room, and he looked like he was about to burst with excitement.

“Underdog!” he exclaimed, rushing towards him and engulfing him in a hug, all the while Aaron was recording from his place on the bed. He didn’t really care if TJ knew.

“I missed you,” Cyrus whispered into his hair. He was so happy to see him, he felt like he could cry.

“Reunion of the gays,” Wyatt commented from the side. TJ chose to ignore that remark.

“How long are you here for?” TJ asked, finally setting him down. Wyatt was cracking up behind the camera, and TJ shot him a look.

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Cyrus teased, a hint of flirtiness in his tone, “I transferred here,”

Error 404: TJ has stopped working. “Wait, what? Why?”

He shrugged. “I just. . .Stanford was great don’t get me wrong, but I just. . .I missed being here. Closer to home. Plus, I didn’t like all the stress of an ‘ivy school’. I don’t need to go to a fancy school to get my degree,”

TJ grinned so wide he felt like his face was going to split. “Do you have everything you need? A room and bed and all that?”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Wow TJ, you’re right. We don’t have an extra bed in here. Guess he’ll have to share yours,”

TJ flushed a deep shade of red, shooting him a glare. “That’s not what I meant,” he said through gritted teeth, before turning to Cyrus with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m all set. But. . .maybe we can catch up?” Cyrus asked, a hopeful tone in his words.

TJ lit up immediately. “Yes! There’s actually a really nice coffee shop downtown, if you wanna go tonight?”

Cyrus nodded, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s a date,” he said, before bouncing out of the room in order to go get settled in.

TJ watched him leave before turning to his roommates. “I fucking swear if you make any more jokes I’ll kill you guys,”

Rowan laughed, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Note taken. But dude, you got a date with him!”

“Maybe now we won’t have to keep listening to you talk about him all the time,” Wyatt mumbled, earning a high five from Aaron, who was trying to balance the camera.

“I don’t talk about him all the time,” TJ countered, crossing his arms.

All the boys looked at him. “Bet,” they said simultaneously.

TJ huffed, kicking his shoes off. “All I’m saying is that he’s not the only thing I talk about,”

Wyatt scoffed. “You literally woke us up in the middle of the night the other day in order to tell us that he was coming to campus,”

TJ bit his lip, trying not to give in to their antics. “Whatever. I need to study for econ,”

“I’m shocked,” Wyatt mumbled, “you were probably thinking about Cyrus,”

TJ turned around. “For your information I was focusing very hard. It was really hard,”

“That’s what she said,” Wyatt hollered, earning a high five from Rowan.

“Fuck you, all of you,” TJ grunted, pulling out papers from his folder.

“You wish,”

“I hate you guys,”

A week after their first date, TJ’s roommates were at least happy that they didn’t have to listen to the same stories about Cyrus in high school.

“So, TJ,” Aaron, started, bringing up the camera, “how does it feel to be dating the one and only Cyrus Goodman?”

TJ chuckled, nudging the camera a little. “Well since you asked, I’ll tell you,” he played along, “it’s great. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy since we dated in high school,”

Rowan joined in from his bed, looking up from his work. “Mr. Kippen, any juicy details you’d like to share with our viewers?”

TJ hesitated a little, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, black velvet box. Aaron nearly dropped the camera, and Wyatt was just saying ‘holy fucking shit’ over and over again.

TJ opened up the box, revealing a small ring inside and he showed it to the camera. “Got it a week after we started dating,” he said with a smile, putting it back in his pocket.

“This is some Jim Halpert level shit, Kippen,” Wyatt scoffed, shaking his head, “but maybe now you’ll finally lock him down and stop complaining to us every time he looks at another boy,”

“I am not that jealous,” TJ insisted, pushing the camera aside.

“Right, okay,” Wyatt mumbled, turning back to his work.

He never knew when he wanted to propose; all he knew was that he wanted to do it at some point. He’d know when the right time was.

“-and I was the one that proposed!” he head Buffy say for the thousandth time that night, but he smiled anyways. He really was happy for her and Marty; they completed each other like pieces of a puzzle.

“TJ, wave to the camera,” Aaron cooed, coming up beside him.

He instead decided to flip them off, smirking. “When are you asshats gonna leave me alone,” he wondered aloud.

“That depends, when are you going to get your head out of your ass and propose?” Wyatt countered, a tiny grin poking at his lips.

“Hey TJ!” Cyrus called his name, frantically waving him over from where he was by the tree.

“Duty calls,” TJ muttered, finishing off the rest of his soda and heading off to where Cyrus was. He was hunched over looking at something that looked like it was a hundred years old.

“Norman was digging holes for the poles to hang up the sign,” Leslie explained, “and he came across this,”

Cyrus was bouncing on his toes, he was so excited. “Don’t you remember? It’s the time capsule that we buried back in high school!”

All the memories flooded back, as Leslie excused herself to go tend to some of the other guests. He remembered the day they buried it, but came up a little short on what’s inside. “Well, open it!”

Cyrus hesitated over the hinges. “Right now?”

“When else are we going to get the chance?” TJ asked, giving him a knowing look, and that was all it took for Cyrus to unlock the hinges and open it up slowly. He pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it, nearly laughing when he showed it to TJ.

“Best muffin recipe ever,” TJ read, skimming over the ingredients, “chocolate chocolate chip muffin? Lies. The best is-”

“-blueberry macadamia,” Cyrus finished for him, folding up the paper again and setting it down. He pulled out a photo of the two of them, decked out in Christmas gear.

“Remember when Amber framed that?” TJ asked, bumping his shoulder.

Cyrus nodded. “How could I forget,” he chuckled, fishing out a bunch more pictures from the container. They looked like children, but then again, they were children. TJ’s hairstyle hadn’t changed, and neither had Cyrus’ smile. They were just a little bit older now, but things were mostly the same.

Cyrus then pulled out his journal and nearly laughed when he flipped through the entries. “Wow, my handwriting was so much worse in high school,” he chuckled, “then again, I guess I write a lot more now,”

TJ took his out of the box as well, rereading through the entries. Even in high school, he felt the same way about Cyrus as he did now. “Do you remember that list of words you wrote?”

Cyrus didn’t even nod, flipping to the back of his journal instead. And sure enough the list of words is there. He had a picture of it, but it got so cluttered in his camera roll, which was filled with pictures from vacations and assignments he’d sent to other classmates.

TJ read over a few of them, only being able to remember a handful, but that didn’t matter. He missed how close they were in high school, and after a while, they were finally back at that stage again. And he loved it.

Cyrus read over the words a few more times before he shut the journal, placing all the items back in the box. “Ah, memories,” he chuckled, pushing the box into TJ’s hand, “I’ll be back,” he said, getting up and heading into the house.

TJ smiled, shifting things around in the box in order to fit his journal in there. When he did so, a small polaroid corner poked out from underneath all the other photos. Digging it up from the bottom of the box, he thought he was going to cry when he saw it. It was the picture that they’d taken the day they’d made the time capsule. TJ remembered how surprised Cyrus had been when he kissed him, and even though the photo was a little blurry, it was by far his favorite. He flipped it over to the back, and saw both of their names on there, even with little hearts.

“Teeeeejaaay, my man,” Aaron slurred, wobbling over to the tree, “how goes it in the Cyrus department?”

TJ rolled his eyes, standing up and trying to steady the boy in front of him. “You’re drunk as hell, man,” he informed him, handing off the camera to Rowan, who at least looked less drunk.

“No I’m not,” he laughed, wiping tears from his eyes, “whatcha got there?” he asked, poking the picture in his hand.

“Oh, uh, Cyrus and I were looking through a time capsule we buried in high school,” he said lamely, giving the camera finger guns.

“Could you guys be any more romantic?” Rowan chuckled, shaking his head, “dude. . .it’s a sign,”

“For what?” TJ groaned, knowing the answer.

“For-”

“-what the hell is up, dicks,” Wyatt slurred, stumbling over to the boys with two beers in his hands.

“Okay, no, enough of that,” TJ said, swiftly taking the alcohol out of his hands and setting the bottles down, “everyone hates when you’re drunk because you’re insanely loud and rude, so ease up on that, okay?”

Wyatt pouted like a child, crossing his arms. “You’re not my mom,” he mumbled, tugging out a chair and taking a seat in it, “what are you talking about anyways?”

“We were saying that TJ needs to propose tonight,” Rowan supplied clearly, ever the sober one.

Wyatt lit up, clapping his hands together and laughing so hard he started coughing. “Yes, dude! Love is in the air, and there are. . .two Rowans,” he fumbled with his words, reaching his hands out.

“Alright, let’s get you some water,” Rowan muttered, shaking his head and shutting the camera off, “but seriously, think about it, TJ,” he said, before dragging Wyatt towards the cooler of water.

Aaron was leaning against the tree, looking almost deep in thought. “What do you think, Aaron?”

He shut his eyes, and said, very sagely, “Do you think it’s called sand between it��s in between the sea and the land?”

TJ blinks a few times, shaking his head. “No, dumbass, about the proposal,”

“Oh, uh, go for it?” he shrugs, “he obviously loves you a lot, like, full homo. So then you guys can be homo squared,”

TJ sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Gee, thanks, man, that really helped,” he mumbled, stuffing the photo in his pocket and leaning back against the tree. He saw Cyrus heading out of the house, and decided to go join up with him. Aaron was still hanging around him, trying to handle the camera without dropping it.

He took a seat down at the table, chatting with Jonah a little bit while he wanted for some of the noise to die down a little. At some point, he was ready to stand up and clink his fork against his glass, but Leslie beat him to it.

“Alright everyone!” her voice echoed through the microphone, “we’re going to be playing some music, so let’s all get up and dance!” she set the microphone down, and wandered over to the speaker, connecting her phone with it, and selecting a playlist of songs that were popular when the kids were in high school. First one up was Shut Up and Dance by Walk the Moon.

“Oh, I love this song!” Cyrus exclaimed, dragging TJ towards the open section of the yard where the rest of his friends were dancing. They screamed along to the lyrics, bumping and jostling one another in a vague attempt to dance. Wyatt, who had returned after downing a bottle of water, was finally able to not see double, but each time he moved he felt like he was going to be sick, so Aaron and Rowan put him on camera duty. He pulled up a chair and tried to balance the camera.

After a few other songs that were upbeat and lively, the song shifted to an Ed Sheeran song, earning a few groans from the crowd.

“Ed Sheeran this, Ed Sheeran that,” Jonah muttered, walking over to get a drink for himself.

Cyrus took TJ’s hand, tugging him a little closer. And in that moment, it was like TJ was back in high school at prom, placing his hands on the other boy’s waist and staying side to side. Cyrus smile was so endearing, but he couldn’t seem to focus on that warming feeling his smile always gave him. All that he could think about was the storm of butterflies in his stomach, and all the snickering of his friends who were giving him weird looks.

“TJ?” Cyrus broke him out of his daze, “you okay?”

“Hm?” he hummed, blinking a few times, “oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m just. . .thinking,” he mumbled. It wasn’t a complete lie, at least.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Cyrus offered, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

TJ didn’t say anything for a moment, glancing over at Wyatt, who gave him a thumbs up. “Ah, one sec,” he rushed out, heading towards the phone that controlled the music and selecting another song to play.

“Owl City, really TJ?” Amber groaned, shaking her head in disbelief, “you’re stuck at sixteen, I swear,”

TJ ignored her remarks, making his way back to Cyrus. “Do you remember when we went stargazing in high school? And. . .and they played this song?”

Cyrus nodded, albeit confused. “Yeah, you really liked that song,” he noted, taking TJ’s hand in his.

“I remember I could barely look up at the stars. You were lying down beside me and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Because none of the stars in the sky could even compare to you,” he admitted, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Aww, that’s cute!” Aaron shouted from the table, earning a glare from TJ.

Cyrus laughed shyly, ducking his head to hide his growing blush. “Aw, TJ, that’s really sweet,”

His nerves were too strong for him to smile at the moment, taking a step closer to Cyrus. A couple people had glanced over at them, some of them even halting dancing. “Ever since we started dating, you’ve been my stars, my moon, my everything, and even before then,”

A chorus of aws filled the air, as more people turned their gaze towards TJ and Cyrus.

“Oh my god, this idiot’s really going to do it,” Amber chuckled, excitement bubbling up inside of her.

Cyrus thought his cheeks were going to burst from smiling so hard. “I. . .that’s, like, really sweet,” he mumbled, glancing around the crowd.

“And I, uh,” he stammered, pausing. He could very well back out of this right now, things could stay the same. Things could stay comfortable and safe and under control, like they’d been for years. He tried to concentrate, absentmindedly placing his free hand in his pocket, and clutching the box. He could feel the smooth polaroid picture in there too, and he began to calm down, trying to refocus his thoughts.

“And I know I’m not the best with words, that’s your department,” he chuckled lightly, “but, I can try,”

Cyrus raised his brows slightly, the smile never leaving his face. “Wait what’s happening,” he chuckled, looking around for some sort of hint. TJ took a deep breath, and Wyatt started walking towards where everyone was, attempting to appear more sober than he actually was.

“I know I tell you all the time that I love you, but I truly don’t think I’ve ever felt like this about anybody, ever. I don’t even think I can put it into words, a testament to what I said earlier,” he chuckled, and a few people around him joined in with laughter, “…but, god, for lack of better words, you’re everything. Even when you think that what you’re doing isn’t enough, it is. It always is. Everything you’ve done for me and for so many other people is more than enough…it’s time for me to do something for you,”

Now Cyrus looked more confused than ever. He glanced around at his friends, who all looked like they know something he didn’t. “What are you doing?” he asked softly, a gentle smile still on his face.

There was no backing out now. Rowan came up from behind and gave him a quick pat on the back before scurrying away. TJ hesitantly pulled the box out of his pocket, fumbling with it a little as he tried to open it.

“Oh my god, what are you doing?” Cyrus squeaked, tears brimming in his eyes.

TJ chuckled weakly, kneeling down. “Doing something for you. . .for us,” he said, his voice threatening to break. The moment was filled with tension and affection, so much so that even Wyatt didn’t dare ruin it with some sort of noise. Cyrus was crying, and people around him were also wiping tears away.

“Cyrus Goodman,” TJ started, cracking open the box to reveal the ring, “will you do me the honor, and biggest favor of my life, of becoming my. . .husband?” he asked, offering a gentle smile. The kind that he reserved only for Cyrus.

Cyrus opened his mouth to say something, but nothing coherent came out; he was so speechless that for once, all the words that he could usually think of with ease, all left his mind. He nodded vigorously, taking a step towards TJ and letting him slide the ring on. It was simple, but beautiful; a simple silver band with a moon and a few stars engrained in it. People all around were cheering, Wyatt loudest of all, who was so excited that he grabbed Rowan and planted a kiss firmly on his cheek.

“You’re so drunk,” Rowan mumbled trying to shake the blush on his cheeks.

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re cute,” Wyatt mumbled, his words connected through slurs.

Cyrus threw his arms around TJ, never wanting to let go. TJ laughed lightly, carding his fingers through the other boy’s hair. “You okay?”

Cyrus nodded, peeking his head up to see him. “Yes, yes, oh my god, I love you,” he blurted out, the words spilling out quickly.

TJ grinned, pressing his forehead against Cyrus’. “I love you too,” he said softly, leaning forward and capturing his lips in a kiss. His first with his fiance. He couldn’t believe he got to use that word now.

And maybe later when Rowan, Aaron, and Wyatt all showed the couple their ‘documentary’ of their relationship, TJ was grateful that they had bugged him all those times about Cyrus. Because it ended up being one of the best things he’d seen. From the nights where he was so drunk all he could say was ‘Cyrus’ over and over again, to the time he’d first shown them the ring, it was beautiful. TJ made a mental note to thank his friends later, after they’d finished watching it. For now, he was perfectly content with sitting on the couch, Cyrus by his side, and a ring on his finger.

Wyatt and Rowan were howling with laughter when they got to rewatch the proposal, even though it had literally just happened.

“You guys are so drunk,” TJ noted, shaking his head. He stuck his hand in his pocket, and felt the picture in there, smiling to himself. He reached over and grabbed a pen off of the table and took the picture out of his pocket, scribbling something on the back and handing it to Cyrus.

love: being with you until the end of time

Tag List: @shortstackofpeaches || @seanna313 || @geekingbeautytx || @heavenlybyers || @ginnychrises|| @wlwandimack || @giocondasstuff || @lemonboytyrus || @adorejrizzle || @swingsetboys || @ifellintotyrushell || @idk-dude-17 || @rbf-lesbian || @marianara-sauce || @kaptainjinxz || @alex-poster-pizz || @quietmarvel || @blueberry-my-hero-macadamia || @broadwayitbitch || @tjsmuffin || @tjthekippen || @idpleasesir || @hi-hello-hey-there || @bingewatchingenthusiast|| @booklove-2 || @illbeyourreasonwhy || @birdiesandflowers || @whistlepunk || @phinallyjackie || @thedampjofangirl || @tyrus4eva || @tj-is-a-lemony-boy || @tj-goodman-bittersweet-boy || @dis-app-oin-tme-nt || @nessarinthegay || @breadisticks || @typewriter-riz || @gobletofash || @bluemuffinboy || @sofuuh || @cheesystars || @tjmuffin || @multifandom-bxitch || @allylovessadie || @hithatsmyname || @tyrusinarush || @tyrus-lookback || @gaycefulwords || @theobligatedklutz || @bambikippen ||

[phxse-shifter]

Love Fool

Summary: Elaine is accused by many of trying to betray Dr. X because she refused PROJECT-X. Eventually, he began to believe those accusations, forcing her to prove her loyalty. A rewrite of the original story posted on my art blog.

Word count: 2,738 

Inspo

          “Crazy, for thinking that my love could hold you, and I’m crazy for                             trying, I’m crazy for crying, and I’m crazy for loving you.”

The elusive, merciless, and often cruel wife of Dr. X found herself a part of the recent scandals currently boiling over in the Midas Group. Elaine, who loved her husband dearly, and would do anything for him, and has already done so, was being accused of wishing to betray him after seven years of marriage. The rumors were petty at first, she thought, but when it turned to scandals, Elaine scorned them all and her anger knew no bounds. The reasoning was all because she did not wish for her husband’s creation, the PROJECT- X, to seep through her veins. To the Midas Group, it was the final step. The determiner. Once you were injected with PROJECT-X, there was no running away from Dr. X.

The seven years of marriage could not defend her. Many thought she was using him just for that title of “Wife of Dr. X.” No one cared about the love she openly showed to him. They accused her still. Elaine had her reasons for denying it. When her husband finally trapped Christine with the help of Prince, and forced PROJECT-X on him, he changed drastically. She doesn’t know how he was able to counter it to some degree, but it did change him that night some of the Genius League participants went over to the one of the owned mansions for experiments  in Romania. Elaine did not want to change for the worst, being turned into some monster who’s humanity was stripped away entirely. Part of her was wary of PROJECT- X.

All of this scandal which stressed her finally overflowed. Even though initially, her husband didn’t care whether or not she injected herself with it, finally decided to “care.” When she entered their suite that night, he was idly sitting down, as if he were waiting for her. Immediately she could see that he looked angry.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Do you hear the rumors?” He snapped. “They’re all saying it. That you’re ‘planning’ something, or want to leave me. Is that true?”

Elaine flinched. He never snapped at her, which made her eyes widen. She crossed her arms, willing herself to be strong.

“You don’t possibly believe them, do you?” She asked, caution in her voice. “You know that I love you. I would never do such a thing to you.”

“I don’t know what to believe!” he stood, staring and yelling at her with such malice it weakened her.  “Why don’t you want PROJECT- X? There is no logical reason as to why you do not want it!”

Elaine’s hands loosened as she took a step back from him. She shook her head. So he really did believe them. The poison finally spread to him, and now she would be put in a position where she would have to prove herself or face consequences she herself had to dish out to those that showed disloyalty. She couldn’t believe this. In fact, the weakness she currently showed turned to malice.

“How dare you accuse me!” She exclaimed. “I was loyal to you for all of these years, willingly helped you create your precious project, and helped you get rid of your disgusting enemies and you’re telling me that you want to believe what irrelevant sons-of-bitches want to say about me?!”

“Get out. I don’t want to see you.”

“Don’t… Want to see me?” Elaine repeated softly, hugging herself. “I-I can’t believe… I can’t…”

Elaine looked at him one more time, but his expression was unwavering. She simply turned on her heel and left him standing there. She was more than hurt. For the first time , Elaine felt betrayed, as if her heart was just ripped straight out of her chest for no reason. Where would she sleep tonight? All of the other suites were taken, and it wasn’t like she could immediately get a makeshift one. The only place she could go to was the lounge area, which did hold couches. She supposed she could sleep here tonight, then see if she could find someplace else in the morning.

Sitting on the painfully stiff couch, Elaine could not force tears to stop and ended up sobbing, hugging herself again. It was cold, and she didn’t have any blanket to keep her warm, which only made her sob louder, and clutch her hairs, pulling. No one could help or comfort her. She felt truly alone, save for the footsteps she heard.

“I- Doctor? Elaine?”

Elaine scoffed, trying to fix her composure. She forgot that at night, Kaito would always be up doing some experiment he wanted to get over with for Dr. X, and getting coffee when he needed it. Her messy hair and wet cheeks would do nothing to help her.

“You’re crying,” he notes. “What the hell happened to you?”

“My husband is what happened—if I can even fucking call him that now,” she hissed.

Kaito came over to her then, sitting next to her.

“Hey, is it because of all that shit about you that’s circulating around?” He asked. “He actually believes that? Absolutely ridiculous.”

It occurred to Elaine then, that Kaito, along with Sharon oversaw the PROJECT- X experiments as decreed by Dr. X. If he wanted her to have PROJECT-X so bad, then she would get it, and then he would regret having ever accused and yelled at her.

“PROJECT- X… Can you make an injection?”

Kaito looked at her, brows raised.

“…I can. In fact, Sharon’s helping me with what I was doing, but I figure your husband wouldn’t be so mad if I don’t finish what he wanted. I have to ask though, is that truly what you want?”

“I… It is,” she responds. “Give me the injection.”

Kaito helps her up, and leads her to the laboratory he and Sharon shared. When they entered, it was like it was morning, and the bright lights bothered her briefly. Kaito immediately gets Sharon and tells her of the situation. Elaine could have sworn she heard a curse from the often stoic woman as she came out and approached Elaine.

“He what?!” Sharon exclaimed. “I have a mind to go over to him and chew his head off!”

“Don’t,” Elaine sighed. “He was angry. He might hurt you.”

Sharon had to bend in order to cup Elaine’s face and turn it towards her, to fully survey what happened to her. She noticed her eyes were red, and the messy hair which she tried to smooth back.

“And you cried? He made you cry? Forgive me, but he is utter trash,” Sharon hissed.

Elaine shrugged. Around her, no one could have objections towards him or insult him, but Elaine didn’t care. He was all of those things to her now. Trash for believing strangers over his own wife. Trash for kicking her out without even allowing herself an explanation. The more she thought about it, the angrier she would get. She just wanted to get this over with.

“Can you make the injection? You and Kaito. I give you full authorization,” Elaine asked strongly.

Sharon looked at Kaito and nodded.

“Alright. Get her ready.”

Sharon helped Elaine to the steel examination table located in the room, and told her to lie down. She moved away only to place gloves on her hands and get the empty syringes ready. Elaine saw a total of three. Kaito, on the other hand, was at a cabinet that required multiple means of identification. At some point, she sees him clip off a piece of his hair and place it into the scanner. The cabinet unlocked finally, and, of course, he took out three vials. One which glowed a dark blue, another a dark green, and lastly, the one that glowed the brilliant red.

Elaine feels her left arm lift, and sees Sharon rolling up her sleeve. She makes three precise markings on her arm, all 3 inches apart. She then takes a cream and rubs it on the three spots. Elaine recognized it as EMLA cream, used to numb the skin before injections.

“The needle is bigger than normal ones,” Sharon explains. “Even I needed it.”

“Fifteen minutes before the injection,” Kaito instructs.

More waiting. Elaine sighed, but she supposed Dr. X didn’t make them oversee PROJECT-X for his health. She averted her eyes.

“So… The two of you have PROJECT-X. Yet the two of you seem the same,” she notes.

“PROJECT-X was your husband’s bright idea after he wanted to exploit the power of supernaturals and amplify it to dangerous heights. Since not everyone is born supernatural, he also wanted to see whether or not it could give power to the subject,” Kaito explained. “For example… myself.”

Elaine gasped. “Yourself?”

“I wasn’t born with any sort of special power,” Kaito responded. “Before I started working for Dr. X, I was distraught by that, so I did tests on myself and created cybernetics in my own body, which gave me the power I wanted, as well as passive abilities. Your husband wasn’t satisfied by that, however, so…”

Sharon chimed in. “He made me inject Kaito with PROJECT-X, under his supervision, despite him not needing it. Then, a couple of days from when that happened, I had to undergo it. Dr. X was going to be the one that injected me, but I snapped at him for making me inject Kaito, so he had him do it instead.”

Elaine opened her mouth to speak, feeling some sort of guilt, but couldn’t speak.

“It’s not your fault,” Kaito says, noticing her abrupt change. “Though we would love if you were more mindful to the bullshit he puts us through sometimes. I’m not going to sugarcoat it… There are days we can’t even sleep because he gets so pissed off if we don’t finish what he wants in time. That leads us to even skipping sleep for the night entirely.”

“Preposterous,”  Elaine sighed. “How can he expect his plans to come to fruition if our lead scientists can’t even get proper sleep? I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

There are times Elaine had to force Sharon and Kaito be silent  whenever Dr. X assessed their experiments, giving them no defense when it was needed. She would do that no longer. In fact, she was glad that the pair would be overseeing her injection.

“Before you ask,” Sharon mentioned. “There are no regrets. As long as you keep Kaito and I together, of course. We are your lead scientists, so there is no room to separate us.”

“Noted.”

Kaito looked at his watch, as he was keeping track of the time and cleared his throat. “Fifteen minutes.”

It was time. Kaito instructed Elaine to lie down, and he reached for the three vials and placed each liquid into it’s own syringe. He picked up the blue one first, and had Sharon hold the green and red one.

“You will be in excruciating pain,” Kaito says seriously. “The blue protects your bodily functions and organs, but does not protect you from the pain you’ll feel. The green amplifies the power of the actual PROJECT-X injection you’ll get. The green isn’t necessary for all injections, but I plan on giving you a gift when the effects wear off, since Dr. X put you in this position. Are you ready?”

“Do it.”

Kaito injected her with the syringe containing the blue liquid. When she’s injected, she feels a strange coldness, as if her insides were numb. Immediately, she shivers. This felt worse than the cold from earlier. Sharon hands him the green syringe, and he injected Elaine with it then in the middle mark on her skin. The amplification caused her to shake uncontrollably, to where Kaito had to hold her down. Elaine felt her heart beating rapidly. She looked at Kaito, but he had no words for her. He warned her of this.

While he held Elaine, he motioned for Sharon to do the last injection. She walked over, and in the last mark she made on Elaine’s left arm, she injected the red liquid. That is when she couldn’t control herself anymore. Elaine screamed, the pain coarsing through her. Kaito still held her down, no matter how much she thrashed about. Elaine grasped her hairs for the second time, moving her bangs out of the way with no care if the pair saw the scars on the right side of her face. All she could see is red.

“I-I can’t see!”

“We know,” Sharon tells her. “It will go away, I promise.”

Elaine’s blood felt like it was boiling, changing her on the inside, infusing her with hell. She couldn’t stop sounds of pain, and held on to Kaito for dear life. This is what the pair—and others went through? She couldn’t imagine Sharon screaming or whimpering like she currently is doing, nor could she imagine the same of Kaito. What would this do to her? Would she recognize herself in the morning?

“M-Make… Make it stop!”

“I’m sorry,” Kaito tells her. “It’s almost over.”

Elaine’s exclamations of pain turned to soft whimpers, an indication that the initial effects of the injection was almost over. She blacked out moments later, tears running down her cheeks.

Around 3am, Elaine wakes. She notices her clothes are changed, and she is only wearing a white robe with her undergarments underneath. There were holographic monitors around her, keeping track of her vitals, and probably one of the “passive traits” of Kaito’s cybernetics. One of the monitors began to beep as soon as she woke, and Kaito comes out. He looked relieved to see her awake and immediately went over to her.

“You’re awake. Are you okay?”

“Somewhat. Did… Did you guys have to undress me?” She asked.

“I wouldn’t dare. I asked Sharon to. The PROJECT-X injections make the body scorch in the first few hours of injection, way above normal body temperature,” he explained. “You have to wear as much light clothing as possible until it wears off, or you could suffer from a variety of ailments, even heatstroke. The robe was constructed by myself, which uses the natural air around you to cool your body.”

Elaine nodded, and attempted to stand, but her legs wobbled and Kaito had to help her down from the steel table. He helped her to the chair and Elaine thought it peculiar that the monitors which checked her vitals followed her as well. Kaito hands her ice cold water, and she drinks greedily.

“Unfortunately, we have to let your husband know. I have to ring the bell,” Kaito warns her.

Elaine didn’t respond, so Kaito took that as initiative to get Sharon, telling her that Elaine was awake, and then went for the bell. It was necessary, so all would know an individual chose to take PROJECT-X, including Dr. X. Every time he heard the bell, Elaine saw delight in his face. She wondered what reaction he would give this time. Sharon is by her side as Kaito rings the loud bell.

Not even a full ten minutes and Dr. X bursts in the room, looking around, yet not noticing Elaine yet.

“You better have an explanation. I didn’t authorize any injections,” he hissed.

Kaito rolled his eyes. “You did when you accused your own wife of trying to betray you.”

He motioned to Elaine, and seeing her weakened state made him freeze.

“Elaine, you-“

“Leave her alone, Doctor,” Sharon snapped. “You had no right to accuse her. This is your fault.”

“You will hold your tongue-“

“She will not,” Elaine jumped in. “You hurt me. You betrayed my trust. I don’t want to see your face.”

He attempted to approach her, but Elaine turned her head.

“I don’t want to see you,” she repeated. “The same way you didn’t want to see me earlier.”

“Will you please listen-“

“Get OUT!” Elaine screamed at him.

Her screech shocked him, she could tell. His demeanor changed, and she could even see guilt rising in his eyes, but it was too late. He’d hurt her, and it would take a long time for her to forgive him, if she even wanted to think about forgiveness. She found herself sobbing easily, shaking her head.

“I was crazy,” she said weakly. “For thinking that my love could hold you.”

[thewidowstanton]

Stav Meishar, multi-disciplinary performer and creator – The Escape Act: A Holocaust Memoir

Stav Meishar – a stage artist who mixes theatre, circus, music, dance, poetry and puppetry – was born and raised in Tel Aviv in Israel. She attended the Thelma Yellin High School of the Arts and has worked professionally as an actress since childhood, notably starring in Wicked’s original Israeli cast. 

After moving to the US in 2008, Stav has performed internationally in Hebrew, English and Yiddish. In 2012 she founded Petit Mort Productions to provide an outlet for multi-disciplinary artists whose works are “innovative, unique and perhaps a bit strange”. In 2013, her play The Dreamer and the Acrobat ran at the NY Frigid Festival, and she made her circus debut on silks in the Off-Broadway revival of The Megile of Itzik Manger.

Stav is now based in Bristol and this month embarks on a UK tour of her solo show The Escape Act: A Holocaust Memoir, which is based on the life of Jewish-German circus artist Irene Danner. Stav chats to Liz Arratoon in the run-up to its UK premiere at Jacksons Lane in London on 23 September 2019.

The Widow Stanton: Is there any showbusiness in your background? Stav Meishar: Almost everybody in my family is in love with the arts but nobody else makes it. Everybody does other things around it. My mother is an arts critic, lecturer and guide. She knows everything there is to know about arts but when I asked her if she ever wanted to make any, she said: “Heavens, no!” My dad owns a business he funded… it’s kind of hard to explain but it’s like an archive of Israeli folk dancing. So ever since I was little whenever a new Israeli folk dance would be created, he’d get the choreographer and a bunch of volunteer dancers and videotape it, with instructions, so that enthusiasts around the world can learn how to dance.

How did you start performing so young? I’ve always loved attention [laughs]. There’s video tapes of me when I’m two or three years old doing, like, hand puppetry. Not with actual puppets, just with my hands. I think it was a Mr and a Mrs who met at a movie theatre and fell in love. It was always something I wanted and I used to scour the newspapers when I was little for audition notices. So when there was one for an Israeli production of Oliver Twist I figured, why not be an orphan? [Laughs]

So you just auditioned and got the part? Yep! The production was first in Tel Aviv. There’s a big tradition in Israel on Hanukkah to have shows for the family because everyone’s off from school and the parents are going crazy trying to find something different for the kids. I was… 11, I think, and then the following year it toured all around Israel. I had a lovely time.

What happened about your schoolwork and all that boring stuff? If I remember correctly, the rehearsals were about a half-hour bus ride from my school and I had to get special permission to leave the last class a bit early, so that I could make it on time. All the kids were really mean to me about it: “Oh, you know, she’s hoity-toity with her rehearsals.” I’d rehearse every day and get home at about 7pm.

But being on tour… I think because Israel is so small it’s a bit different to what we think of as tours in the UK or US. There were about 50 kids in the cast so the production would hire a bus and I think there was at least one adult from the production with us.

Was the Thelma Yellin school like a Fame school or something? [Laughs] It’s pretty much what you imagine when you think of a performing arts school; a little bit like Fame. It’s a great school in Israel that still exists and has a great reputation. All the students have to be good at all the regular subjects. You can’t slack off in any of that but you also have to choose one of six artistic majors: theatre, classical music, jazz, cinema, visual arts and dance. So mine was theatre. I was there from 14 to 18.

Why did you move to the US? I always wanted to be in musical theatre, and originally the dream was London. I got accepted at a few schools here but none of them had international scholarships. There was a lot of crying and sadness around that [laughs] and then I picked myself up by the bootstraps and figured, ‘Well, I’ve got to come up with a plan B’, and I got accepted to a musical theatre programme in New York at the American Musical and Dramatic Academy that did have quite a generous international student scholarship.

I worked my arse off for about two years saving every shekel I could and got some help from my parents as well, God bless them, and yes, I moved to the States and studied musical theatre. I graduated and worked in professional musical theatre in New York for about a year and then one day I woke up and realised, ‘I hate it!’. Not musical theatre, I still love that, but the business around it; how mean everybody is and how soul-crunching open calls are. I couldn’t do it anymore.

This crisis was in about 2010 and I was in a really dark place for a while and decided, ‘I’m just going to see as much theatre and performing arts as I can and see if I can get inspired by any of it, and take as many classes as I can in all kinds of different things’. So I took yoga, and I took Pilates and all kinds of stuff… and I took a silks class and uh… well… yeah, fell in love. [Laughs]

Where did you learn your circus skills? I trained for a long time at the Circus Warehouse in New York, which is a fantastic space with really high-level professional training. It’s not a university, it’s not accredited, but the level is super high and the coaches are all fantastic.

I see also you play ukulele and do poi spinning… have you got anything else up your sleeve? I had a year or two of trying a bunch of different things. I still play the ukulele mostly for my own pleasure. I took a street show to the Edinburgh Fringe for a couple of years where I put together Shakepearean monologues with whatever was popular that day on MTV, on the ukulele. So Taming of the Shrew and how badly he treats her, how awful he is leading into  Bad Romance by Lady Gaga. That was fun for a little while.

Oh, and poi spinning… I do a lot of things none of them in any way as professional as I do theatre. You can’t do too many things well. You do a lot, you end up being OK at most of them. I’m skilled in a lot of things but wouldn’t consider myself expert in all of them. Theatre is where I’m most confident… history, specifically World War II history is something I’m very confident in, and Jewish education is something I feel an expert on. Circus is always a tricky thing because I’ve been doing it long but I have never done it with enough… let’s put it that way, I started late and I’m lazy.

Have you done stuff at Circomedia, being in Bristol? Yeah, I just did one year full time there, basically shadowing their foundation degree students doing all the practical stuff but none of the academic stuff, because I already have my degree. It sounds much more than I’m capable of. Yes, I just graduated from a full-time programme; I’m still pretty shit at circus but I never intended, like, I don’t market myself as an acrobat. I’m a multidisciplinary artist who has a lot of tools and because this current project is about a circus artist, I had to have some circus skills thrown into the melting pot of the show, but I’ve been really adamant with everybody where I’m performing, don’t market it as circus show or people will be really disappointed. It’s a theatre show. It has puppetry, it has circus but I’m no more a circus acrobat than I am a puppet master.

So let’s talk about The Escape Act. How did it come about? It was completely random. I started my Jewish education company, Dreamcoat Experience, and our niche, so to speak, was teaching progressive Jewish education using performing arts: drama, music, puppets, thing like that, and I started weaving circus methods into our curriculum. I was curious if anyone had done that before and I went to Google and I typed in ‘Circus Jews’ and one of the first things to come up was the New York Times obituary for Adolf Althoff, the German circus owner who saved this Jewish family. I just remember reading it and my jaw dropping to the floor going, ‘How is there not a movie about this?’. It was incredible. I just started going into this Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole from which I never emerged.

You’ve written about Irene Danner’s story for Circus Talk, but give us a brief outline of her story. In seven years of research, I uncovered a lot and it’s a big story. The short of it is, Irene, born Danner, was a descendent of the Lorch family, Jewish Circus royalty; they were the most famous Risley act of their time. They performed with the Ringling Brothers in America, they went on tour with Circus Sarrasani in South America, they really were the celebs of their time. The circus closed when she was about seven years old; they went bankrupt around 1930 with the rise of anti-semitism and people not really wanting to see ‘the Jew circus’ anymore.

Irene trained as a acrobat from when she was little and got her first job when she was 13, with Circus Busch. She was the flyer for the horse-riding troupe The Carolis and was there for three years until the law changed and Jews weren’t allowed to work anymore. About three years later she went to see the Circus Althoff and fell in love with their clown, Peter Bento. Peter asked Adolf if he would give her a job. Adolf knew it wasn’t legal but he didn’t really give a shit, excuse the language. That’s his, not mine. She was not allowed to marry Peter because of the racial laws of the time but they had two kids during the war and three more afterwards.

At some point when the Jews were starting to get deported, she persuaded Mr Althoff to let her family join as well; so her sister and her parents, and all four of them survived the war. Other members of her family didn’t make it. If you visit their house there are a few stumbling stones outside for all those who perished. The idea is that you shouldn’t just be reminded of the Holocaust when you decide to be by going to a memorial, but that you stumble upon them.

The Escape Act is as faithful to the story as I could make it but I took some artistic liberties. For example, she joined the Althoff circus because she fell in love, but in the show I’ve made it that she joins because she misses performing and she wants to do what she loves. It’s a bit of a feminist twist; she’s making her own path.

So in the show, you’re doing a bit of trapeze and juggling but it’s a theatre show? It is definitely a theatre show. It’s quite text heavy.

How did you go about your research? I started at the Yad Vashem Museum – the big Holocaust museum in Israel – because the obit mentioned that Adolf Althoff and his wife Maria, had received the honour of the title ‘The Righteous Among the Nations’ from Yad Vashem, which is a special sort of order, I guess, for Gentiles who saved Jews during World War II. As they’d given them this honour I assumed they’d have files on them and indeed they had.

They had interviews with both Adolf and Irene… photos… and then I just started visiting museums, archives, libraries, just picking information wherever I could, speaking to whoever I could. I wish I spoke German; my research would have been so much better. A lot of my info came from a wonderful book called Jewish Identities in German Popular Entertainment. It’s the only English book available that talks about circus performers in Germany during that era. Of course I looked at the bibliography and saw where I could branch off from there.

One of the books I got in German is this tiny little book that’s all interviews and testimonies from Irene, her husband, Adolf, basically everybody involved. I crowd-sourced the translation. I just reached out on Facebook and got something like ten German speakers to translate two chapters each voluntarily. So I got the whole book translated out of the goodness of their hearts. One of my favourite things described was the friendship that Irene and her husband had with a Moroccan acrobat called Mohammed; Muslim, of course, and being Jewish, I was like, yes, Jewish/Muslim friendship, yay! He was their best friend during the war and he helped hide them, he protected them, they were really each other’s backbone.

Years later when I went to Irene’s town and interviewed her kids, who are now in their seventies, I asked them if they were still in touch with any of the saviours. Her eldest son was like: “Ja, ja, we still speak, Christmas cards, birthday cards, but the one we are really in touch with, we speak every week on the phone, is Uncle Momo.” It just took me a second… I’m like, ‘Do you mean Mohammed?’. He goes: “Yes, yes, he lives in Tangier now.” ‘I’m sorry, is he still alive?’. “Yes, he just celebrated his 94th birthday.”

It was just incredible! So here I am in a living room in Germany, learning that there’s one person still alive from that era, and here’s the real amazing thing… this was in May and in June my husband and I were booked on our honeymoon, guess where? Morocco! That was incredibly random. It was meant to be. I told Irene’s son, ‘It so happens we’re going to Morocco. Will you please connect me with Mohammed?’. So a few weeks later, there we were in his living room in Tangier.

What does it mean to you to be performing the show in Germany on the anniversary of Kristallnacht? I think I’m actually more terrified than honoured, because her kids are probably going to be there and I’m so terrified that they’ll be angry at me for making changes. That’s my own demons and whatnot. I think as an artist it’s something of a trait to imagine a worst-case scenario. It’s something we do to ourselves but I’m sure it will a wonderful experience and hopefully her kids will love it. I did ask for their blessing and they gave it to me.

But just talking to you I get emotional about bringing the show on Kristallnacht because this is where it all took place. Even when I visited there last year it was really emotionally difficult to be in that synagogue where I know Kristallnacht happened, and to be in the family’s home where I know Irene saw her own grandmother being snatched away. In those places there’s a visceral element to being in the spot where it happened. Like visiting Auschwitz is different than reading about it. And there is a scene in the show that takes place on Kristallnacht, so to be at the synagogue where it actually happened, in the town where it actually happened, in front of that family, I mean, it’s… ahh! It’s an incredible gift that they’ve given me to invite me to do my show there.

Do you feel, with the rise of the far right, that your show is even more relevant now and it’s even more important that people should hear this story? Yes, absolutely. It’s been in my mind ever since I started researching this history, and every time I think it’s going to become less relevant, it has to get better from here, it doesn’t. It’s getting worse. Every historian has this feeling of helplessness where you see history repeating itself and yet people do it anyway. Even with Germany and all that history, when I talk politics to people, they’re like: “Oh, but it’s getting better now. Gays have the right to marry, trans people are accepted.” But if you look at history, the Weimar Republic happened right before the Nazi regime. They had, like, the biggest gay parties, they had cross-dressers, they had cabarets, they had this amazing period of artistic and sexual liberation and then this happened. I’m not sure that an improvement necessarily says an upward motion.

When I first starting working on the show the thing I really kept thinking about was how the Holocaust was taught to me. Growing up in Israel it’s a big subject in our curriculum. We study it, I dare say, a bit too early, but one of the most powerful experiences that I had growing up and that I saw as a Jewish educator in America is that schools would bring survivors to tell their stories first hand. And that’s always been for me and my students the most powerful experience, more than watching movies, more than seeing pictures of naked skinny bodies. Just having a person there telling you this is what happened, this is what they did to me, to my sister, to my parents, it’s different. And it’s a resource that’s not going to be available forever. Survivors are dying out and the thought that led me in this work is, ‘OK, what experience can I create that would get as close to a first-hand telling as possible?’.

I’d like to think this show is a good alternative. It’s not perfect, it’s never going to replicate that, but telling a story in the first person as if it were my story and taking those moments of stepping away from the character, and being myself and telling my own experiences, more about the after-effects it has, I think that’s powerful for everyone. What’s it like for someone who is descendent of refugees from a genocide? How does that affect you? Here’s this person who was never in the camps, who never starved and who had a pretty cushy, privileged life and yet there’s this scar that was her inheritance, and it’s never going to go away.

Would you say this show is the highlight of your career so far? It’s definitely the most ambitious project I’ve taken. I’ve been a performer for most of my life but I’ve always interpreted other people’s work. That’s what actors do, and this is not the first time I’m doing my own project but it’s the first time I’m doing, first of all a project that I’ve vested so much time and effort in, but it’s also the first project that has autobiographical elements. So the show I would say is 95 per cent Irene’s story but the rest is me and my history.

The way it’s structured is when there are points when her experiences sort of trigger my own memories growing up, I take a step out of Irene and become myself, the house lights go up and I talk to the audience about my own experiences. It’s a wonderful thing as an artist to be able to share that sort of vulnerability with an audience, and it’s absolutely terrifying and it’s difficult. It’s so raw and it’s weird because those things haven’t happened to me. I’m telling the stories of my ancestors and still, yeah, it’s right there in the really innermost parts.

Stav Meishar performs The Escape Act: A Holocaust Memoir at Jacksons Lane in London on 23 and 24 September 2019, before a UK tour.

Picture credits: Michael Blase; Asaf Sagi; Kati Rapia: Shirin Tinati: Gilad Kfir

For Jacksons Lane tickets, click here 

For tour dates, click here

Stav’s website

Twitter: @stavmeishar

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