#tam is always in black of course

[pierrotwrites-hc]

Part III Ch1 sneak peek

Bartimaeus Kemp came down the gangplank and onto the wind-scraped beach to meet his king. Bestride a dark horse, cloak tossed over his shoulder, Kenever looked every inch the grandson of Roland the Conqueror. He had the upright carriage of a soldier, while the thick black hair touched with gray at the temples gave him a scholar’s gravitas. His stiff double-breasted tunic was styled after the Solasan officer’s uniform he’d worn for most of his adult life, but the gray wool was embroidered with the sigil of his Guyish mother’s house. He was the living embodiment of royal diplomacy.

This is what a king should look like, thought Kemp as he bowed.

Kenever swung down from his horse and made the royal sign before clasping Kemp’s hands in his.

“It is so good to see you, Kemp. I trust the voyage wasn’t too difficult?”

Before Kemp could answer, Tam Tregeryth jumped down from the gangplank. As he straightened, the sun caught on his handsome, smiling face. Kemp felt Kenever's hands tighten involuntarily around his own.

Tam winked at Kenever—Indiscreet, Kemp chided in his mind—before bowing. Kenever released Kemp and went to Tam. They stood simply looking at each other, Tam beaming, Kenever almost smiling—which, for him, was as good as the broadest grin. He was not a man who showed emotion in his face.

Rather like the Golden Bird in that way, thought Kenever.

It was not a thought he would ever share, except perhaps with Emine. Likening a king to a pleasure slave was a bridge too far, even for a man with politics as radical as Kemp’s.

Still, comparing the two in his mind, he could see clearly how marked they both were, Kenever by navigating Highcourt’s perilous waters as the second son of a weak king and Luca from whatever horrors had been visited upon him at the training house. Both had grown into men whose implacable exteriors served as armor for what lay beneath.

It had been Kemp and Kemp alone who saw their potential. As he watched Kenever mount his horse, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at how well his investment had turned out.

Mounting his own horse proved the usual combination of painful and humiliating. Kemp was keeping himself up by a death-grip on the damn thing’s mane while trying to maneuver his good foot into the stirrup when strong arms lifted him up and placed him on the saddle. He looked down to see Tam grinning at him.

“I thought you’d lost weight since we left Absalom, Teacher.”

“Testing a theory, were you?” said Kemp, returning the smile.

“Aye, and right I was! We’ll need to fatten you up once we get to Castle Guye.”

Kemp laughed. It was always a marvel to him how little Tam had changed from the lively, good-humored boy he’d once been. Then again, it wasn’t as if Tam had ever endured the hardship that changes a man’s character. The sun had shone on him all his life. Kemp suspected it always would.

As they rode along the rocky beachhead, Kenever pulled his horse alongside Kemp’s. Kemp had been expecting to be taken aside for a conference, but he was surprised when the first words out of Kenever’s mouth were, “Teacher, I need your advice.”

“Of course, my dear boy,” said Kemp, lapsing into their usual informal address.

“It’s about my half-sister, Amelia—or rather, her sons. What do you know of my nephews?”

Had anyone else asked the question, Kemp's answer would have been painstakingly neutral. Fortunately, Kenever rarely wanted anything but the truth.

And the truth was what Kemp gave him. He described Edmund, Amelia’s eldest, who had all his mother’s vanity but none of her shrewdness. This was to be expected: Edmund was good-looking, which Amelia never had been, and as a man, he hadn’t needed to learn the low cunning and subtle games his mother made her art. Indeed, a man in Edmund’s position needed to play no games at all. He’d been cursed with too much of everything: wealth, breeding, beauty. It had, in Kemp’s estimation, resulted in an idle, stulted mind.

So much for Edmund. Rafe was another matter. He had the potential to be very dangerous indeed. He’d been born to the same banquet of riches, but his eyes were never on his own plate, always on Ademar’s. They were very alike, the King and his cousin. Decadent, ruthless, childlike. That streak of immaturity came out in Ademar’s tantrums and lethally short attention span. In Rafe it manifested as a monstrous yet fragile pride. Even minor or accidental slights he took as mortal wounds. Every act of perceived disrespect obsessed him. His reprisals were carefully planned, totally merciless, and undeniably brilliant—cruelty being perhaps the only sort of brilliance he was capable of.

Kenever listened silently, the furrow in his brow deepening. When Kemp finished, he shook his head.

“Sometimes I believe what they say about my father’s first wife having cursed blood,” he said. “What about Amelia’s youngest, Tobias?”

“There I can offer very little. I met Lord Tobias only once, when we visited Chesten after the death of your royal brother, may he feast in the Hall of Rest.”

Kemp paused, trying to recall the young Lord Tobias. A memory took shape of an unloved and unlovely child, unwilling or unable to speak, lurking at the back of every gathering until the opportunity came to make his escape.

“A lonely boy,” said Kemp at last, “and quite desperately unhappy.”

“Yes, that was my impression as well,” said Kenever, sighing. “When I heard my sister had sent him to squire for that lowborn General, I worried for him. Well, it seems the General sent him away; my scouts found him wandering in the Wychwood. He’s at Castle Guye now.”

“As your guest?”

“A guest with a room locks from the outside. He’s already tried to run away once, you see. Something about a slave he had some attachment to.”

“Ah, so he takes after his father the Duke.”

Kenever shot him a humorous look.

“It doesn’t seem to be that sort of attachment, thank the gods. I almost wish it were; that would make him a little easier to understand. He’s a very strange young man. More like a boy, really. The tantrums he throws! He’s got the servants convinced he’s spirit-ridden. I tell you, Teacher, what Amelia was thinking sending him to war I'll never know. A blind man could see he has no promise as an officer.”

Kenever was an even-tempered man, but there was outrage in his voice. No mystery why; Kenever had himself been an inconvenient youngest son sent off to war too soon. Fortunately he had all the promise Tobias apparently lacked.

“Would you mind interviewing my wayward nephew, Teacher?” Kenever asked. “You have Akena’s eye, you always have. You see things in people they don’t see in themselves. I should know,” he added with a hint of that self-deprecation which Kemp had always felt it so important for a king to have (or, at least, pretend to have).

“It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”

“I’ll count it as a favor.”

“Really, my dear boy, there are no favors between us.”

Kemp had been vaguely aware of Tam and his friends playing some game which involved trying to shove each other off their horses and over the ridge. Now he galloped past Kenever with a taunting whistle. Kenever gave a shout of mock outrage and kicked his horse forward. Kemp would be the first to admit that his was a cold heart, but watching his former pupils spar and jest, he felt it thaw a little.

The warm feeling lasted exactly as long as it took to arrive at Castle Guye.

[name-6775]

Here is the second part of my kotlc list of quotes:

Keeper of the lost cities - Neverseen:

“Sometimes rebellion is the only course of wisdom” - Oralie

“And someday they’ll see that. In the meantime, please try to remember that there’s a difference between hiding by choice and hiding from fear. You should never be afraid of who you are” - Della

“We will never be more than a few words away” - Grady & Edaline

“All it takes is one to stand where others fall” - Calla

“You are a sprout, fighting to take root among the rocks of our world. It’s going to cause a few cracks, but that is the only way for you to grow strong” - Calla

‘I will do everything in my power to help my world’

“Glad you made the right choice” - Collective

“This was my choice—and it was the right one. It’s just hard not to want it all sometimes, you know?” - Fitz

“But one should never rely on their enemies to give them hope” - Mr. Forkle

“What I’m trying to realize is that it’s okay to be different. If everyone were the same, we’d all make the same mistakes. Instead we all face our own things, and that’s not so bad because we have people who care about us to help us through” - Sophie

Sophie wanted to do more than hope—she wanted to act

“Welcome to working with the Black Swan. It’s full of disappointments!” - Sophie

“Leaders must lead” - Granite

“It’s remarkable what one can withstand when one feels they must punish oneself” - Mr. Forkle

It was far too easy to misunderstand a single action

“I just need you to promise that you’ll never give up. No matter how hard it gets. Or how hopeless it feels. Never, ever give up” - Edaline

“Sometimes the greatest power comes from showing mercy. Especially to those who may not deserve it” - Sophie

“Answers can be lies. If you really want me to trust you, I need to read your shadowvapor” - Tam

“Hope is all we have left” - Sophie

“I think it’s time to admit the world no longer makes any sense” - Sophie

“He’s not all bad. No one is. That’s what makes villains so scary. They’re not as different from us as we want them to be” - Sophie

“And you stay my brave moonlark, always” - Calla

Keeper of the lost cities - Lodestar:

“Change can be a powerful, inspiring thing when we keep an open mind” - Magnate Leto

“Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better” - Keefe

“Questionable actions can be forgiven when they’re done with good intentions” - Magnate Leto

“Actions never tell the whole story. Good can be done for the wrong reason. And bad can be misunderstood” - Linh

“I’ve often said that it seems we’re attempting to drain the ocean with a leaking spoon. But even if that’s the case, we can either give up, or we can continue taking it one dripping spoonful at a time” - Mr. Forkle

“Dude—this guy uses more hair products than I do!” - Tam

“Oh . . . you know. People I care about are in danger, and none of the adults want my help. Same old, same old” - Sophie

“But I also think we all know the hard choices we have to face for this cause. You don’t defeat a group of murderers with rainbows and candy” - Sophie

“‘If you could change our world, would you?’ And when I said yes, she asked if my answer would be different if the only way to change the world involved breaking rules” Juline / Physic

“We all make mistakes. The only thing we can do is try to move past them” - Juline

“Safety is an illusion. It exists only when we, as a society, agree to enforce it. But theoretically, any situation could turn violent if someone decided to treat it that way” - Mr. Forkle

Some problems were too important to worry about breaking promises

“Gold is a weak metal. But we are strong. We don’t build houses or walls for protection. We build them to have a place that inspires awe—a place worth defending” - Sandor

“Trust me, I know enough about these things. Sometimes there is no fix. Even for elves. This is my swan song” - Mr. Forkle

“Time is a funny thing. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. But then it passes to someone else. You’ll do great things with it, Sophie. Wonderful, incredible things. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see them. But don’t let that stop you from living them. Dream. Fight. Love. Take risks. Allow yourself to be happy” - Mr. Forkle

“Thank you for being brave enough to find me this one last time. You gave me the gift of goodbye” - Mr. Forkle

Keeper of the lost cities - Nightfall:

“Communication can be a powerful weapon, and an essential defense” - Alden

“Sometimes I get sick of being strong” - Sophie

“We wanted her to see that the shadows that scared her could be beautiful and powerful when we learn how to take control of them” - Edaline

“We all have things we hold back. Maybe we have no choice. Or maybe they’re small things that we feel aren’t anyone else’s business. Whatever the reasoning, secrets are simply a part of life” - Mr. Forkle

“The past is the only finite thing in this uncertain world, and in a way, that’s somewhat comforting” - Mr. Forkle

“Embracing violence doesn’t make you strong. True strength comes from finding a peaceful alternative” - Blur

“Sometimes we have to break so we can rebuild ourselves into something stronger” - Lady Gisela

“I know how easy it is to slip into despair, but try not to lose hope” - Edaline

“But the more you complicate a mission, the more it reduces your chances of success” - Mr. Forkle

“It’s not fun having to admit that what you want just . . . isn’t going to happen” - Biana

“You can’t change who you are, or who your family is. Believe me—if I could, I would. All you can do is make sure you’re living by what you believe in” - Tam

“Is a day any less worth living simply because you’re not going to remember it? - Bronte

“I know it still hurts. And I can’t change that. But just . . . know that whatever happens, it’s going to be survivable—and never stop hoping for the happy ending. Sometimes you get one you don’t expect. I’ll definitely be fighting for it with everything I have” - Sophie

“I’ll be fighting for the happy ending too” - Amy

“Because nothing good can come from looking too deeply into the tragedies that can’t be changed” - Quinlin

“You can’t control everything that’s going to happen, Sophie. I know on some level you know that—but I still see you trying. And I understand that instinct. But the real secret to facing these kinds of challenges is to go in knowing that something will go wrong. Many things, most likely. It’s not about perfect plans. It’s about believing you can handle whatever happens” - Mr. Forkle

“The right choice sometimes isn’t easy, Sophie. But that doesn’t mean it’s not right” - Lady Gisela

If you want, you can also put quotes in the comments because I also want to have on the list.

[aalghul]

I'm not adding this to the post bc I don't wanna invite argument from the OP, but re: the "DC doesn't whitewash bc the batfam is diverse" I can't help but notice the way that the OP stuck to the Main Batfam with two exceptions: Kate Kane and Luke Fox.

I can accept Kate being included in the batfam, but why Luke Fox? Who has ever included Luke Fox in the batfamily?

I'm sure an argument can be made about his inclusion, but like... in that post, it really just reads as the OP trying to shoe-horn in a second black man to add to the diversity argument. At least to me? Because genuinely, why is he on there?

Like. If we're including Luke on this list, then why not Tam? What about Terry and his brother I can't remember the name of right now (I'm an embarrassment), or Helena, or Jean-Paul Valley, or Maps, or Harper? All of them except Helena and maybe Harper (I know nothing about her tbh) arguably have more of a claim to being "batfam."

Also, why did they write about Babs as if she counts toward diversity because....she's a redhead???? Why did OP bring up the percentage of redheads in the world, in a post about WHITEWASHING?

Also, the OP literally bringing up the whitewashing of Damian as...an argument AGAINST the idea that there was whitewashing?

I'm so baffled. How do you write out that post without realizing what the words you're typing actually mean. Why did OP think that making an argument about the batfam even means anything about the broader DC as a company. I can't stop thinking about this sorry for the long ask, it just made me feel nuts

that’s definitely what op was doing because truly why isn’t the rest of the fox family there? it’s not even that luke’s the only fox that’s also a bat….because that’s also not true. it would’ve helped their argument to include the others, but my guess is they don’t know anything about them and (like you said) only included luke because he’s the only black gotham vigilante besides duke they could think of lol

i have to assume that if they’d brought up helena it would be something along the lines of “they made a white character black! but she’s still white because that’s what she was originally of course so she can never actually be white washed” (which is what they said for dick lol)

the red hair thing actually made me want to cry because why are we bringing up white red haired women in a conversation about racial diversity?

well apparently because damian was white washed the first time he appeared (because the al ghuls were only allowed to be as sympathetic as they were in SOTD when they looked white) he should always be white. if white washing is the base and standard then how dare anyone want change. i guess

[toxxtt-kotlc]

Hello! If I may, would you be amenable to expanding on your "most of you are kinda racist" tag? I do have an idea of what you're referring to with characterization for character of color, and there have been several posts about that in the fandom in the past, but I wanted to ask for clarity to know what you, specifically, have noticed. To be aware of what's happening, talk about it, correct mindsets and actions if needed

Of course, you don't have to answer and can just delete this if you'd like. No pressure. Hope you have a good day :)

hi! mostly i was referring to characterizations of the song twins and wylie and maruca. obviously posts about the issues with linh and tam have been made many times before. for the most part i think that problems with the song twins come from canon itself, but i think people in general need to be more conscientious when looking at their characters and the stereotypes that are already in them :)

and for wylie and maruca, i can't really speak on stereotypes and biases that the fandom has for them as a non-black person, but i just feel like they get put aside by the fandom a lot despite being major characters (wylie in particular)

i really feel like wylie should be an incredibly popular character in this fandom. i mean, he's just got so much... angst about him. you guys love angst. i feel like people take what makes his character so interesting and the hurt and loss that comes with him and just slap it onto another non-black character.

obviously not everyone has to be in love with wylie. but i think the reason such a hurt-and-comfort fic generating machine is ignored so much is because as a black male, he's automatically viewed as more masculine than other characters. therefore he can't be the fandom's "boohoo sad wet sopping cat" character like fitz or keefe, even though HE IS LITERALLY THE DEFINITION OF SOPPING WET SAD GOT KIDNAPPED AND TORTURED DEAD MOM FUCKED DAD WHAT ELSE DO YOU GUYS WANT FROM HIM!!!!!!!!

anyways i wish this was more eloquent but i just wrote this really quick!! these are really specific examples but i don't know how to put the general overall racism that i see into words... i'll work on that!! i also don't know how to explain the issues with fanon maruca that i see so

tldr: the song twin's characters have pretty obvious bias and stereotypes that the fandom needs to be more aware of, wylie isn't popular despite his sad cat-ness because black men are seen as more masculine, maruca's characterization makes me uncomfortable in general but idk how to explain it

please tell me if anything i said was wrong or hurtful! i am not black so you should always listen to black people before me. also i am probably biased as a die-hard wylie fan so take anything i say with a grain of salt :) would love to hear other people's opinions on this!

*also, put this in the tags but i feel like its important to say here too: sad sopping wet meow meow wylie is NOT a good interpretation/characterization its pretty shallow but he still should be getting the same treatment as other characters

[alaydabug2]

@sparklenarniawizard

Broken heart/Broken mind

Chapter eleven

(Human AU)

Sophie and Keefe met in the children's hospital when they were little. Because of how long they were confined to the four walls of the hospital, they became very close during their stay.

As the years pass, they wind up being in the same classroom together due to their physical conditions. This makes their bond deepen.

But are they able to handle when life gets tough, throwing problems and complications their way?

This originally had a song with it

So use your imagination or play ot on your own 😅

The song is "Stand By You"

(Don't play song until said for best effect.)

Grady dropped Sophie off at the roller rink. She said goodbye and hurried inside. Tam and Linh were already waiting inside. She ran over to them.

"Hey!" Linh said. She tried to meet her half way, but lost control of her skates. Tam rolled over to her and grabbed her shoulders to stop her from spinning out across the floor.

Sophie walked over to her instead. "Ready?"

"Yup!"

"Alright, lemme go get my some skates."

Sophie went to the desk and got the skates. She strapped them on. She made her way onto the hardwood and tested her balance. Once she was good, she rolled to Tam and Linh.

They waited near the entrance for a few minutes while they waited for the others. Keefe came through the door next, Dex right behind him. They got their skates and went onto the floor.

Finally, Biana arrived with her brother trailing behind her. She quickly got situated and ran to join her friends.

"What's he doing here," Tam pointed at Fitz.

"Babysitting," Biana said with an eye roll.

"Hey, I'm not happy about third wheeling you and your friends either," Fitz said as he pulled out his phone. "I tried to see if Alvar would do it, but he's going on a date tonight." He propped his feet up on the armrest of the bench.

"Never mind," Biana muttered. "Let's just skate already!"

Sophie and her friends rolled around the rink. They rotated playing tag, dancing to the music, and trying to knock each other of their feet.

When some slower dances started to come on, they took it as their cue to take a break and get some water as couples invaded the floor.

(Play song.)

After a few songs, Keefe squeezed her hand. He motioned to the rink as Stand By You turned on. She took his hand, and he led her to skate around the edge of the rink together.

They rolled around in silence for a moment until Keefe said, "I know your birthday isn't until next week, but I wanted to give you your present now while we're here."

Sophie's eyebrows raised. He... almost looked flustered. She couldn’t tell for sure because of the dark room, but she could almost see a pink tint to his cheeks. It made one spread across hers, too.

He held out a little box. She took it from him, and gasped when she opened it. Inside was a charm bracelet. It only contained one charm. A small black swan. Alongside it was a tiny drawing of a black swan. On the back, it read in his hand writing:

"I hope you have a very happy birthday, Sophie. I know you've always liked how graceful swans are and how elusive the black ones are, so I figured you'd like this bracelet I saw when I was out shopping with my mom. I hope you like it."

"Oh wow," she breathed. She looked into his eyes. "I love it!"

He almost seemed to slump with relief as a tentative smile etched his lips. He helped her put it on. She tackled him with a hug and nearly sent them tumbling down from the skates.

Keefe was able to steady them. He chuckled a little bit, but wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you," Sophie murmured. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course." He held her a little tighter.

It was pretty much the same as any other time he hugged her. But somehow... this felt different for some reason.

Was it the way his grip was ever so slightly tightened? The way he almost seemed to be swaying her to the music? How her face was buried in his shoulder?

Whatever it was, she had to double-check herself to make sure she wasn't having a seizure with the way her heart seemed to do that same weird flip. That was surely a new development. Although she wasn't sure what it was. With the way her head was pressed against Keefe, she could also hear his heart beating fast.

They rolled around the rink again for ten more minutes. Neither of them had pulled their hands away. They didn't break away until they made it back to their friends and went to sit back in their seats.

Dex had suggested food, so they all made their way to the concession counter. Sophie made her way over to the table and sat down. Keefe took a seat beside her. She smiled at him. His pupils dilated and he looked away.

After eating, they spent the rest of the night horsing around. The dance music came back on, and they chased each other around.

Sophie stayed outside the rink after nearly everyone else left. Keefe still wasn't picked up yet. Thankfully, Sophie and her parents knew the drill at that point.

They waited until headlights drove into the parking lot. Ro rolled down her window and told Keefe to get in the car.

Keefe told Sophie goodbye and climbed into the vehicle. She could see through the tinted windows as he collapsed into his seat and started ranting to his sister about something. Except it seemed to be a good rant. When he finished, he had a smile on his face, and Ro patted him on the back.

Sophie got into her own car and her parents drove them home.

[phoebehalliwell]

which branch of the family is each next gen closest to outside of their own?

like example being chris is closest to maybe his siblings (only for an example) but of the cousins and his aunts/uncles respectively

like he might be closer to parker but overall closer to paige/henry/kat/tam/henry's unit (or majority of five) does that make sense

if they were going to absorbed into a different branch. which would it be is what I'm saying (I think. now I'm unsure)

ooh okay kk

wyatt is probably closest with mitchell gang and honestly henry jr is probably doing a lot of heavy lifting in this as wyatt and henry are basically the only two to study magic But wyatt and tamora are the only one with healing powers and the wyatt and kat both like weird looking art (headcanon that paige was really the one to drag kids to art museums and really helped foster wyatt's love of art)

chris is with the cupitches & co honestly mainly bc of paige bc let's not forget paige did watch him die so she gets the same overprotective quality leo gets whereas phoebe trusts him a lil bit more, so to speak. next gen + relationships with phoebe and paige! chris still is really close with henry jr (he's like wyatt minus the i'm coming with you which is great for chris) and he's close with kat bc they're both black sheep. but as a trio chris does really like all of the cupitches he kind of views them as little sisters they're like melinda lites bc melinda still has empathy and won't dunk on him mercilessly (she's still call him out on his bullshit, but in a constructive way) whereas the cupitches will draggg him for not having a bedframe and never really having a girlfriend and for having pathetic lil outfits. chris likes pj bc she's a skilled witch and very competent charmed one, which he respects. he likes parker bc honestly she's really fucking funny and a good sparring partner. he likes peyton bc she's quiet (like, the only quiet one in the family) and they both are telekinetics with interests in tech/coding/etc so there's opportunity to bond there

rest under the cut!!

melinda is closest with the cupitches & co bc not only are they all very close in age but also phoebe was kind of her main trainer seeing as she's an empath and that is a notoriously hard gift to control. she is still v close with henry tam and kat but her bond with phoebe really is the deciding factor

kat is closest with cupitches & co bc she is both a hopeless romantic and a fashion fiend. she is still close with mellie and obvi with chris and piper as well bc piper trained her but she does kind of have beef with leo bc leo respectfully will snitch to paige sometimes who has a bad (well, bad in kat's opinion) of freaking out when her children get mortally wounded

tamora is closer with halliwell household bc first off, someone needs to snitch to mom when kat gets gravely injured and she doesn't want it to be her, secondly she has always been incredibly uncomfortable with her power (of molecular combustion) and piper has really helped her get a hold on it. she thinks kat and chris can be overdramatic sometimes (most times) but she's close with wyatt bc they again both have the healing factor and the fear of the immense and deadly power just constantly coursing thru them (really no one else has insta kill it is very difficult for almost anyone else to accidently murder someone) and she's close with mellie bc mellie is kind and not loud. she likes the cupitches and she has fun helping them put together outfits (that she would never wear bc she does Not want that kind of attention on her) but they are just so love oriented and like. tamora just. is not that she's not both her and peyton have a lot of fun playing dating sims but she is so so so scared of dating and just would prefer not to talk about it. also does not like combat training (something the cupitches frequently engage in) bc she is very scared of injuring someone

henry jr & cupitches & co easily. for starters he's closer in age to them and then secondly they involve him in a lot piper and leo get really concerned about him bc he's mortal he and wyatt are close he and chris are close hell even he and mellie are close but he just hangs out with pj and parker like all the time they even insist that he does partner sparring with them and they di use their magic against him in fights (something he insists on bc it's not like evil will hold back just bc he's mortal) so yeah. cupitches.

pj is probably closest with the mitchell gang probably with henry as the deciding factor she and henry are also in the same year at school. she's still v close with melinda and close with chris she's not as close with wyatt just bc of their age delta and they don't have so super much in common but they will def gossip about anything and everything at family get togethers so it's not like she dislikes him it's just that she's much closer with his sister you know? she also likes yapping with kat about love and with tamora about clothes so those are all pluses

parker is a tough call actually. i'm gonna say the halliwell household with the deciding factors being she really likes kicking it with mellie bc psychic girlies need to stick together and chris is spiritually her annoying old brother. she loves the mitchells too obvi esp henry i would say the deciding factor is just sometimes it gets under her skin how tam and kat kind of complain about their powers. like kat does not consider herself all that powerful and of course tamora is a lil scared of her power and parker would never say anything to their faces but like. they have active powers. and she kind of doesn't. but she really doesn't want to bitch about it bc no one likes a whiner and besides she can kick ass regardless but like. she would Like an offensive power

peyton is also gonna be halliwell household she is really close with tamora probably the closest with her tbh and she does like henry but i think she connects the most with mellie and wyatt re: wanting to be a person first and a witch second and then also she really likes piper bc piper will always teach her how to cook (peyton's more of a baker in general but loves being in the kitchen regardless)

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Second Chance

Ch. 6

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Fluff and stuff

Read on AO3 or keep reading below:

“So… what happens now?”

“Whatever you want.”

Tamlin dropped his gaze to look at Lucien’s hand still resting in his hand, at the subtle differences in color in their skintones. Tamlin’s hand was the sort of tan you get from being outside too long, while Lucien’s seemed to have the glow of the sun within it. It was as warm and soft as a spring day after a long winter.

“What are you thinking about?”

Tamlin felt himself blush. “My hand. Your hand,” he said softly. It was all he could think to say.

“Is it okay if I say I was thinking about your mouth?”

His blood caught fire. As he looked up and into Lucien’s warm brown eyes, he managed a nod.

Lucien smiled. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

He managed to nod again.

Lucien chuckled as he leaned in. “Come here.”

As Lucien’s fingers slid through the sensitive hairs at the back of Tamlin’s neck, and as his lips softly melded to his own, Tamlin discovered that being kissed by a man was very, very different from kissing a woman.

For one thing, it was far more tender than he had thought it would be.

Feyre had always been so eager, so passionate, and he wanted to make her happy. He often let her take the lead, because she seemed to know what she was doing and what she wanted more than he did. He remembered her lip balm, and lilac-and-pear hand lotion, and lacy underwear with all of its confusing straps and hooks, and the chocolate torte from her favorite restaurant afterwards. Everything had been very… sweet. Like having dessert all the time. The funny thing was, he’d never had much of a sweet tooth.

But with Lucien, from the black coffee they had shared down to the citrus-y notes of his cologne, it was like sampling a three course dinner… and he was starving.

As their kisses began to quicken, Tamlin made some kind of small noise that must have been the lovemaking equivalent of a stomach growling—guttural and discomfiting and completely involuntary—because Lucien pulled his warm mouth away to murmur something, and it took him a moment to understand what it was.

“You okay?”

“Mm? Mm-hmm.” Tamlin tasted his lips and tasted Lucien and could think of nothing else.

“Am I moving too fast?”

Tamlin shook his head, but Lucien moved off him anyway.

“It’s okay, Tam. We don’t have to rush.” He smiled to himself as he patted Tamlin’s chest. “We have all night.”

Tamlin shook his head to clear it as Lucien sat up. “W-we do?”

“Oh…” Lucien paused from smoothing back his hair. “I guess we didn’t really discuss it. Did… did you want me to take you home? Because I can.”

Tamlin thought about Jurian’s cold, dark apartment with its broken couch and stained carpets, then shook his head. “I want to stay. I-if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Lucien said warmly, then said something in Scythian.

“What does that mean?”

“My home is your home.”

“One couch is as good as another,” Tamlin joked, then when Lucien stared at him, he faltered. “I-I guess.”

“You sleep on the couch?”

Tamlin rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, yeah… It’s only a one-bedroom apartment, so…”

“You sleep on the couch?!”

Tamlin shrugged and crossed his arms. “It’s better than sleeping on the floor.”

Lucien closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. Nuh-uh. No way. You are not sleeping on the couch,” he said, then grabbed Tamlin’s arm and pulled. “Come with me.”

Tamlin was led to the same bedroom that he had had to go through to use the bathroom earlier. All of the furniture matched, from the giant king-size bed with its padded headboard to the sleek nightstands and bureaus made out of polished, dark hardwood.

“You’ll sleep here.”

Tamlin looked between him and the bed. “Isn’t this your room?”

“Yeah… Is that okay?”

Tamlin fiddled with his shirt collar as he began to blush. “Yeah. Sure…”

“Tell you what,” Lucien said, retrieving a pillow next to the headboard. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Tamlin stopped him before he could get past.

“Do you want back problems? Because that’s how you get back problems.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Tamlin blushed. “Um, well… We—we could both, um…”

Lucien’s eyebrows rose as he looked at him sidelong. “Are you suggesting we sleep together after the first date?” He hugged the pillow to his chest and drawled, “Why, Tamlin. I don’t know what to say…”

Tamlin’s face flushed from his neck up to his hairline. “No! No! That’s not what I meant—” he stammered, but Lucien only laughed.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered, Tam,” he said, then tossed the pillow back onto the bed.

Cute. Tamlin rubbed the back of his neck. His skin was fiery hot. “It’s just, we shared a room back in college, so…”

“Yeah, but that was a room. Not a bed,” Lucien said more seriously. “I don’t want to push you farther than you’re willing to go.”

“I mean… It’s just sleeping, right?”

“That’s up to you.”

Tamlin swallowed hard at the thought. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he said quickly. “I don’t even have anything to sleep in, so…”

“You want something to…? You know what? That’s okay. Baby steps.” Lucien held up his finger as if something had just occurred to him. “Actually, I think Alex is about your size.”

“Alex?” Tamlin grimaced. “Is this another ex-boyfriend?”

Lucien looked at him askance. “Do I detect a little bit of judgment in your tone there, Tam?”

“What? No!” Tamlin’s face flushed anew. “This is all so new to me, I just… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” Lucien said in a gentler tone, then sighed. “This is honestly pretty new to me, too. I’ve been fighting with my dad about it for years now. My mom has been amazing about it, and my brothers are finally coming around, even Alex, so…”

“Oh.” Tamlin blinked and understood. “Oh.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lucien nodded, smiling. “Alexander Vanserra is brother number five,” he explained, then added in a low, confidential tone, “He stays here sometimes when his wife ‘accidentally’ locks him out of their apartment.”

“Oh…” Tamlin nodded slowly. “Well… what happens if his wife decides to lock him out of the apartment?”

“Then he can sleep on the couch.” Lucien smirked. “He always does.”

Tamlin gawked as Lucien went to the large bureau and pulled out some folded clothes from the bottom drawer. “Why would you make him sleep on the couch, but not me?”

Lucien turned and stood with a grimace. “First of all, I don’t make him sleep anywhere. He gets to sleep there. And second of all, you know what it’s like having brothers. I have six. If I set up a spare room or something, they’d feel welcome to stay over a lot more often. I like my privacy.” He held out the bundle of clothes and smiled. “It just so happens that I like you more.”

When Tamlin hesitated to take the proffered clothes, Lucien nudged them closer.

“Don’t worry. They’re clean.”

Tamlin bit his lip and tentatively accepted them. They looked—and felt—like a basic t-shirt and pajama bottoms, but made of a finer quality fabric than he’d ever been able to afford. Not quite silk, but damn close.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, tucking them under his arm. “I didn’t mean to criticize. I just know what it’s like to sleep on a couch, so…”

“I know,” Lucien said gently. “But you’re not my brother, so you get a choice: Would you rather sleep on the couch, or with me?”

Tamlin’s face grew so hot he broke into a sweat.

Lucien smirked at his speechlessness, then winked. “Thought so,” he said, then gave him a friendly slap on the arm. “The bathroom’s through that door, but you knew that already.”

Tamlin watched as Lucien crossed the room to a large walk-in closet. “What about you?”

Lucien turned in the doorway and paused unbuckling his gold wristwatch. “What about me?”

“What are you going to do?”

Lucien gave him a kind, if bemused, smile. “I’m going to change, then I’ll use the bathroom when you’re done. Then we’ll both be ready for bed. Sound good?”

Tamlin’s heart leapt to his throat. Done. Both. Bed. He swallowed hard. “Good,” he rasped.

Lucien nodded, still smiling. “Good,” he repeated, then disappeared into the closet’s depths.

The brown-and-bronze bathroom was enormous, and terribly well-lit. Tamlin faced away from the large rectangular mirror above the marble sink to change clothes. He wasn’t quite ready to face anyone naked, least of all himself. It had been at least six years since he had been intimate with anyone, and that had been with a woman.

He didn’t know exactly how gay men did it. His father had practically beaten all the curiosity out of him, and Feyre had made him feel like he was just like everyone else. But now, standing in another man’s home, getting ready to get into that man’s bed… He couldn’t help but wonder.

“That was fast,” Lucien remarked as he stepped out of the bathroom.

“Yeah, well, my stuff is at home, so…” Tamlin trailed off and blushed as he realized what Lucien was wearing—or not wearing: a white tank and a pair of what looked like luxury sweatpants that hung low and loose around his hips. Lucien’s feet were bare, as were his, and that seemed more intimate than anything they had done on the couch. This was happening.

Blood was beginning to flow where it shouldn’t, so he was grateful when Lucien brought him back to the present.

“You know,” Lucien remarked, turning off the light in his closet. “I could empty out a drawer or two for you, if you’d like to keep some things here.”

As Lucien stepped closer, the smell of his cologne filled Tamlin’s nose and made him heady and hungry: notes of citrus and cinnamon and clove…

“Unless you don’t mind wearing my brother’s old pajamas,” Lucien continued with a wry smile.

“Oh, um…” Tamlin looked down and pinched the fine pale blue fabric covering his chest. “It is a little tight, so…”

Lucien looked him over with a sly smirk. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said in a low, meaningful voice, then nudged him as he passed by. “Go on. Get comfortable. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Tamlin let out a sudden breath as the bathroom door closed behind him. His heart and his lungs and his head were on fire. Nothing seemed real.

Especially the bed. The pillows looked like they were covered in chocolate satin, and the thick, quilted duvet looked like layers of whipped cream. Like swimming in a sea of rich hot chocolate.

As Tamlin slipped between the silky satin sheets, he couldn’t help but moan as the mattress cradled his body in just the right ways, like that little fairy story his mother had told him as a child. Not too hard, not too soft, but just right. Perhaps he’d wake up to find three bears staring down at him, or even Jurian nudging him awake on his way to the kitchen because he’d slept too long.

Even if this was a dream or fairy tale, he was going to savor it. His eyes had just drifted closed when the bathroom door opened, and his eyes shot open, too. Right. This was Lucien’s bed, and he was in it.

Lucien smiled at him as he stepped closer. His hair was pulled back into a high half-ponytail, and he was rubbing something onto his hands that looked and smelled expensive. “Are you still awake?” he asked gently. “You look so comfortable, I couldn’t tell.”

Tamlin had the covers pulled up to his chest. “I’m afraid if I move I might actually wake up.”

Lucien chuckled, then looked thoughtful as he put his hands on his hips and looked him over. “Are you okay with this? I could still sleep on the couch, you know.”

“So could I.”

Lucien shook his head. “That is not going to happen,” he said firmly, then switched on his bedside lamp. “You’re my guest, and my friend, and—” He paused before he pulled back the covers. “—Would you mind if I said ‘boyfriend’? Because we don’t have to be exclusive if you’re not ready.”

It was getting difficult to breathe. “You mean like… friends with benefits?”

“If you like.”

Tamlin stared at the ceiling fan high above his head. “I—I’m not sure yet.”

“Yeah,” Lucien said softly, finally pulling back the covers. “We only met this morning, so…”

“It seems like longer than that,” Tamlin remarked as Lucien slipped between the sheets. The mattress barely dipped from Lucien’s weight, but the presence of him, the heat of him was more than palpable, even though he was on the other side of the bed. It made him shiver.

“Yeah,” Lucien said again, settling onto his back. After a moment’s pause, he turned his head and motioned to the television on the other side of the room and said, “Do you want to watch something? I don’t, usually, but if you want to…”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Lucien murmured.

Tamlin was sure Lucien could hear his heart beating. His pulse was thrumming like violin strings as he laid there… It had been so long since he had played. Would he even remember how? Would he like it? And most importantly, would Lucien like it…

“Tam?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

Tamlin turned his head at that. “You are?”

Lucien smiled. “Yeah.” He turned onto his side and propped himself up onto his elbow. “After all these years, I finally know you’re safe… It’s nice.”

Tamlin considered this as he shifted the blanket around his shoulders. “I thought about reaching out, but… I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, I did worry.”

Tamlin swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re together now, and that’s what matters.”

“Yeah. Together,” Tamlin echoed, then took a quivering breath.

“Hey. We don’t have to do anything tonight. It’s been a long day. Why don’t we get some sleep, then we can talk in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Tamlin whispered. “Okay.”

Lucien looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, rather shyly, “Would it be all right if I… kissed you goodnight?”

A nervous laugh threatened to bubble out, but Tamlin managed to squelch it. “Okay.”

Lucien leaned in, then paused, hovering over him. “Where?”

“Where? Um, anywhere, I guess.”

Lucien smirked. “Anywhere?” he asked in a low, sultry tone.

Tamlin’s head emptied. “Uh…”

Lucien’s smile was bright in the dim light as he leaned in to kiss Tamlin’s forehead. “Good night,” he murmured, then trailed another kiss down to one eyelid, then the other. “Good night,” he whispered again, then kissed Tamlin on the mouth, and lingered.

If Tamlin’s hands hadn’t been knotted in the sheets, he might have reached up to keep Lucien there, but he had already moved away by the time the thought occurred to him.

“‘Night, Tam,” Lucien said, settling back in between the covers.

“Good night, Lu,” he managed. Each kiss seemed to sparkle on his skin. “Hey, Lu?”

“Yeah?”

“I… Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For this.” He tasted his lips. “For—for kissing me goodnight.”

He could hear Lucien’s smile as he replied, “Anytime, Tam,” then switched off his bedside lamp.

Tamlin took a deep breath, then somehow found the strength to turn over onto his side to blindly face the center of the bed, and the sheets rustled as he could hear and feel Lucien doing the same.

When it had been silent for a minute, and only a minute, he whispered into the darkness, “Hey, Lu?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to sound incredibly stupid, and-and juvenile, but—”

“No, it won’t,” Lucien said gently. “Tell me.”

Tamlin sighed, then found his courage to ask, “Can… can I hold your hand?”

There was a moment of surprised silence, and he was prepared for the answer to be: You’re right, that was completely juvenile, when a warm, steady hand reached out and found his in the dark, then turned his hand so that Lucien’s fingers could slide between his fingers… until their palms connected.

“Like this?” Lucien whispered.

Lucien’s hands were so much softer than his own that it was a wonder he didn’t drop Tamlin’s hand entirely. Much to his astonishment, Lucien’s thumb even rubbed his own, gently.

“Yeah,” Tamlin breathed. “Like that.”

Lucien’s breath was warm against the back of his hand as he brought his lips to Tamlin’s knuckles, then lingered.

Tears sprang to Tamlin’s eyes at the softness, the tenderness. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him without obligation, just because they wanted to be near him.

“Sweet dreams, Tam,” Lucien murmured against his skin.

Tamlin managed a smile, and his voice came out in a husky whisper. “Yeah. You, too.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but he fell asleep shortly after that. They were still holding hands.

* * *

Lucien rarely remembered his dreams, and when he did, it was rarely about the past. No doubt Tamlin’s reappearance in his life had unlocked a memory, and it was a bittersweet one. He dreamed about the end of summer, and the way the dust motes swirled in the slanted golden light of his dorm room window. He could still feel the thumbtacks between his fingers as he pulled down the last of his photos from the worn corkboard hanging above the empty desk sitting on his half of the room.

He sighed as he halfheartedly thumbed through the stack of photos he had taken over the last two years. “I guess that’s everything,” he said with a thoughtful frown. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep any of these?” he asked his roommate sitting on his bed.

Tamlin stood. “You need something to decorate your new room,” he said with a wry, hesitant smile, then added, “Besides, you might forget what we look like.”

Lucien snorted softly. “As if I could. We’ve been sharing a room forever.” He tapped his temple. “Your face is burned into my brain.”

Tamlin chuckled, then took something out of his back pocket. “And speaking of burning…” Lucien took the proffered photo as he continued, “I got everyone to sign it.”

Lucien barked a laugh at the sight of them and the rest of the so-called High Lords sprawled around the room, stoned out of their minds. He turned it over and read: Tam, Tarquin, Kal, Thesan, Rhys…

“It just needs your signature,” Tamlin hinted.

Lucien smirked. “Why? You think I won’t remember my own name?”

“Dude. That whole night is a blur.” He jerked his thumb at the potted plant soaking up the sun behind him. “Besides. Think of this as a keepsake of the last time we were all together, since we can’t go to Scythia with you.”

Lucien felt tears prick his eyes even as he smiled, then hid it by bending over the desk to add his signature to the back.

“That’s L-U-C-I-E-N,” Tamlin prompted.

“Dude, shut up,” Lucien said, laughing. He nearly messed up his own name, but finally managed to add his scrawl to the top right corner.

Tamlin grinned at him as he straightened up. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“Dude.” Lucien laughed, and playfully shoved him.

Tamlin barely flinched, but continued to smile.

His golden hair curled across his forehead and around his ears, and the amber flecks in his warm green eyes shone brightly in the afternoon light.

Lucien’s chest grew tight. “I’m going to miss you, man,” he said quietly.

Tamlin’s smile faded as he nodded. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Lucien was grateful when Tamlin opened his arms first for a shared embrace. He had come a long way since his first day, when he had looked at Lucien with such distrust, and, almost, fear. Now he held his arms wide without hesitation, and Lucien went into them gladly. They thumped each other’s backs the way friends do, then held on a little longer.

Lucien’s fingers curled into Tamlin’s shirt as he tried to hold back tears. “I love you, man,” he whispered, muffled against Tamlin’s broad shoulder.

Tamlin’s hand slid across his back and held him tight. “I love you, too, Lu.”

They held on a moment longer, then parted to each furtively wipe their cheeks.

Lucien sniffed and slid his hands into his pockets, then had a sudden idea. “Oh, you know what? Here.” He drew out one of his most prized possessions and offered it to his best friend. “I want you to have this.”

Tamlin stared at the gift, then at him. “Your camera?” he asked gently. He looked tempted to take it, then shook his head. “No way, man. I can’t accept that. You need it for when you go to Scythia…”

Lucien shrugged dismissively. “I’ll get my mom to buy me a new one,” he insisted. “Or maybe she can convince my dad to buy me something for once.” He let out a snort of disgust. “I swear, it’s like I’m not even his son for the way he treats me. You know, he didn’t even want to pay my tuition, even though it wouldn’t make a dent in his bank account.”

Tamlin smiled sadly, then nodded. “I know what that’s like,” he said softly, then bit his lip, staring at the proffered camera. “Are you sure about this?”

Lucien nodded. “I’m sure.”

Tamlin tentatively accepted it with a soft ‘Thanks, man’, then hefted it with a surprised laugh. “Geez, you take photos with this thing? It feels like a giant paperweight.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Lucien said with a grin. “Then maybe you can send me something when I’m in Scythia, so I can see how you’re doing.”

“Yeah, if I can figure out how,” Tamlin said, turning it over. “Hey, show me how it works, or it really will be a giant paperweight.”

Lucien smiled, then stepped closer to point out the buttons and controls. After Tamlin took an experimental photo of him, he suggested, “Hey, why don’t we take one last picture together? That way I don’t forget what you look like.”

Tamlin smirked as he lowered the camera. “I thought my face was burned into your brain.”

“It is, but… What if I get amnesia? Or you get kidnapped and I have to give your photo to the authorities so they know who to look for?”

Tamlin rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he said, then held out his arm. “Come here.”

Lucien remembered the way Tamlin’s strong arm slid around his shoulders and held him close, and the way their heads touched as he held up the camera.

“Wait,” Tamlin said, lowering it again. “Saying cheese is too cheesy. How about… ‘Scythia’?”

Lucien’s heart twinged, but he managed a smile as he looked into Tamlin’s eyes. “Sure,” he agreed, then looked at the lens as Tamlin held the camera out at arm’s length.

“Okay… One, two, three… Scythia!”

“Scythia…”

Click.

Lucien opened his eyes, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The room was dim, and the sky beyond the windows was barely gray.

A low voice moaned beside him, and he lifted his head from the pillow in alarm. As his wild heartbeat began to slow, he shifted onto his side and squinted at the person sleeping beside him.

His hair was much longer than it had been in his dream, so long that it spilled across the pillow he was hugging to his cheek. The blanket had fallen down to his waist, revealing a pale blue sleep shirt stretched across a muscular torso. His body rose and fell with each soft, steady breath. Despite Lucien sidling closer, Tamlin slept on.

Lucien smiled as he remembered the night before. He was tempted to bend down and kiss Tamlin’s forehead again, but he didn’t want to wake him. Besides, he wasn’t sure how he would react. Tamlin had looked so… surprised every time Lucien asked if he could touch him. It was like they were starting over from scratch. He had to tread carefully.

As gently and carefully as he could, Lucien lifted the blanket up higher and drew it over Tamlin’s shoulders. Even though the room was by no means cold, Tamlin still let out a relieved sigh and relaxed beneath the heavy blanket’s warmth.

Lucien smiled fondly, then carefully withdrew to swing his legs over his side of the bed. He had a fire to light, some coffee to brew, and a very, very important phone call to make.

* * *

Sweet dreams, Tam, Lucien had whispered in the dark. Like magic, Tamlin dreamed about apples. Specifically, sliced cinnamon-and-sugar apples with a pinch of clove, fresh out of the oven. He even started to drool.

The dream world blurred into reality as something warm and fragrant wafted below his nose, and he swallowed. “Are those apple latkes,” he murmured, “or am I dreaming?”

Lucien sounded rather pleased with himself as he said, “Open your eyes and see.”

When he did, the first thing he saw was an open styrofoam container holding a batch of freshly made latkes, just the way he liked them. There was even a sprig of mint on top. “Dude,” he moaned, then looked up to see Lucien grinning from ear to ear. “I think I love you.”

Lucien chuckled, then sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hey, at least buy me dinner first before you start spouting poetry.”

Tamlin groaned as he sat up, then scrubbed at his face with one hand as he accepted the container with the other. “Didn’t I already do that?”

Lucien was silent a moment, then breathed a laugh. “Yeah. I guess you did.”

Tamlin sighed and managed to open his eyes to a squint. “What time is it, anyway?”

Lucien paused from opening his own container to glance over his shoulder. “Umm… Almost nine. I thought about letting you sleep, but I wasn’t sure how long you would, and I really wasn’t sure how well latkes would reheat.” He pointed with his plastic fork at the nightstand at Tamlin’s side. “You’ve got a fresh cup of coffee there if you want it, by the way.”

“Hmm? Oh, thanks,” Tamlin murmured, then set the container down between his blanketed legs to reach for the steaming mug. After a sweet sip of that heavenly caffeine, he sighed, then asked, “Did you really go all the way out to Annie’s just for me?”

Lucien was still dressed in the tank top and sweatpants he had worn the night before, but a loose knit sweater now rested around his shoulders in a flattering navy blue. As he caught Tamlin’s eye, he smiled. “No, but I did call and asked if they deliver,” he said, tucking one leg under him. “And you know what?” He reached out and gently slapped Tamlin’s leg. “They do.”

Tamlin thought of Alis’s gangly nephews racing from the warmth of the diner and into the frosty morning to get in their aunt’s car and drive all the way down to Lucien’s place on a Sunday. He sighed, and lifted the mug to his lips for another sip. “I sure hope you gave them a good tip,” he murmured.

“Of course,” Lucien said, sounding mildly offended. “I didn’t inherit my dad’s tight purse strings, you know.”

Tamlin sighed again, feeling more awake now. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, staring into his coffee. “I just don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Lucien said gently. “I just want to take care of you. And I didn’t want you to wake up and wonder where I’d gone, so…”

Tamlin nodded. “Thanks, Lu,” he said quietly. He ran his thumb over the smooth handle of his coffee mug and thought of Lucien holding his hand the night before.

“How did you sleep, anyway?”

“It was good,” he squeaked, then cleared his throat. “Really good.”

“Your neck doesn’t seem to be hurting you as much.”

Tamlin paused to think about it, then experimentally rolled his neck and rubbed the back of it as he thought it over. “You know, it doesn’t,” he remarked, then smiled in wonder. “A few more nights like this would probably cure me.”

Lucien smirked. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to give it a try.”

Tamlin blushed like a teenager and dropped his gaze. “Good to know,” he murmured.

Lucien shifted so that both of his legs were beneath him. “So… I don’t want to make things weird, but, uh, I had a dream about you last night.”

Tamlin’s blush deepened as he looked up. “You did?”

Lucien’s face was a little red as he shyly grinned. “Yeah. It was about the last time I saw you… before yesterday, I mean.”

Tamlin tried to think back, but it was a hazy memory at best. “What happened?”

Lucien shrugged. “Nothing important,” he said dismissively, breaking apart his latkes with his fork. “I just mentioned it because I can’t believe you’re really here, that’s all.”

“Yeah… Me, neither,” Tamlin murmured.

He had just taken that first sweet bite of applesauce-laden latke when Lucien spoke again.

“Hey, Tam?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember that time we draped lights over your plant and sang ‘O Christmas Weed’?”

Tamlin closed his eyes and shook his head, chuckling. “God. I do, now,” he said with his mouth full.

Lucien twirled his fork with a shy, thoughtful smile. “So, I was thinking… Maybe we could do something like that this year. You know, but with a real tree.”

“You want to get a Christmas tree? Now? In the middle of December?”

Lucien winced. “Yeah, well. I didn’t really have anyone to celebrate with… before now.”

Tamlin pointed at himself. “You want to celebrate with me?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Lucien chided with a smile. “I know you said Christmas isn’t really your thing, but… seven years is a long time. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

As Tamlin sat back and considered it, Lucien went on.

“I mean, we did sleep together, so… Decorating a tree together seems pretty tame, don’t you think?” he teased.

Tamlin chuckled and glanced away. “Yeah, it does.”

“If it sounds like too much work, we can get something small,” Lucien suggested. “Or, maybe, if you wanted to, we could invite Vassa and your friend Jurian over to help decorate.” He shrugged. “You know. See how things feel.”

Tamlin’s gaze dropped down to the coffee in his hand to the container of still steaming latkes resting between his legs, to the pajamas he was wearing, to the extremely comfortable bed he was still sitting in. “Yeah,” he said, then smiled up at Lucien. “I’d like that.”

Lucien’s answering grin was a thing of beauty, and he nodded. “So would I.”

[a-sexy-asexual-658]

Hi! Your one of my favorite writers btw! Also make sure to not push yourself to hard and get proper sleep,food and water 💕

I was wondering if you could do the main characters reaction to the reader self h@rming? If it triggers something for you I get it, then don’t do it.

Stay save!!!

-🌸anon

Hi! Yeah of course! Anyway I assume you meant kotlc? Cause that’s the only thing I really write for but feel free to suggest something else and I I’ll see if I could do it.

Anyway here ya go love! Sorry if their bad.

Summary: he gang reacting to you self harming (neutral, you can see as either platonic or romantic, it’s not specified)

Warning: self harm; poor mental health; comfort

DNI if the subject triggers you; read at your own risk

~~~~

Fitz:

• I think he’ll have to take a minute to register what’s happening and then he’d rush over to stop you

•he’d make sure your alright then….. start yelling

•his worry would channel into anger like many of his emotions but as soon as he sees you flinch he’ll try to calm himself down

•he might just hug you and then make any precautions necessary to keep you from doing it again

• he’s devastated tho, he can’t believe someone he cares so deeply for would do this

Biana:

•immediately wackos whatever it is out of your hands (whether it be a lighter, knife or whatever); she literally karate chops it out of your hands

•after she takes you in her arms and hugs you tightly and won’t let go

•your both crying

•this reminds her of the dark time she was in after what Vespera did to her

•from then on she just makes sure your ok and is always more caring with you then before

Tam:

•would just freeze and you could feel the tension in the air

•then you’d start freaking out as he calmly walks over but instead of freaking out like you’d think he’d probably grabbed whatever you injured (arm;leg;head;etc) and just heal whatever you did

•then he’d pull you into a hug and just hold you and let you cry; he’s crying too

•then you’d just fall asleep together; not even in bed just wherever you are

•he’s way more careful with you now and more protective

Linh:

•she’s crying— like sobbing as runs over to stop you

•I honestly think she used to do it to herself after she got exiled but then Tam stopped her so this would remind her of her dark times

•she’d be so worried and be glued to your side

•always makes sure your comfortable and never forces you to go out if you don’t want to

•she’s more careful and caring, makes sure not to push you either

Sophie:

• would freeze as soon as she walks in and you wouldn’t notice her but before you could do it again she stops you

•she stops you by hugging you tightly and won’t let go until someone else walks in, sees the injuries and calls Elwin and then Elwin needs to pry Sophie off of you

•she will be so worried and start overthinking, she’ll try to keep you out of the war and black swan business but you get in it anyway

•tries to convince Forkle to fire you for your own mental health and safety but all he does is give you a temporary leave to heal (if that’s how it works)

•gets really worried and finally just lets it be and just is near you 24/7

•cuddles to sooth both of your broken minds (not to elfy broken, just minds in pain)

Dex:

•freaks out

•runs over and hugs you to stop you, you just freeze and he cries

•he's barely able to say anything while he's on the phone with Elwin

•this poor boy is definitely heartbroken, how could someone he cares so deeply for do that to themselves

•tries his best to make sure your ok and gives you lots of attention

Keefe:

•is frozen, literally

•tense eye contact then "tf you doin..."

•he's trying to stay calm as he walks over but you could see the many emotions and the panic in his eyes

•definitely feel like an emath at that moment

•he just makes sure your ok then pulls you into a hug

•is soft at first then the hug gets tighter to the point you can't breath

•he cries softly as this brings back memories of his own thoughts although he never did it himself.

•best cuddles of the century (better than anyone elses I may add)

•is just really sweet and more gentle with you

~~~~~~

Thanks for the request! I enjoyed writing this. Thanks for reading and anyone out there feel free to request anything. No limits go wild and I'll see if i can write it of not I'm sorry.

And yes to a few of you, I will write NSFW for adults or AGED UP characters.

I also write neverseen members becaus ei love them and always will. I love them more than black swan.

Anyway, bye loves!!

~Sahiko

[littlest-w01f]

Slumber Party

Feyre x Evelyn (my oc, Tamlin's sister) [Feylin ship]

For @feyreweekofficial

Feyre week 2024 Masterlist

Day 7: Free day

Summary: Feyre having a first proper sleepover with Evelyn

Cw: Fluff, slightly sad, Friends yelling at each other about their choices to make bargains

Feyre couldn't believe it, in a year she had settled in the Spring court so easily, she had Evelyn to thank for it, bubbly Evelyn who always made sure to not make her feel excluded. Evelyn and Feyre had formed a sister-like friendship soon after Feyre had arrived to live in spring.

"So, have you ever had a sleepover?" Evelyn had asked her, her eyes wide, popping a berry in her mouth. The two of them were on a picnic, eating different forms of berries.

Feyre looked at her confused, chewing her own fruit, seated in Evelyn's garden, "Well, don't we every night? We live in the same palace..."

"Oh, you did not just say that," Evelyn looked at her almost offended, "No... That's not a sleepover."

She smiled softly, "A sleepover is another step of friendship, we do each other's hair, and nails, we talk about males, we twirl around in pretty dresses or just stay in our nightgowns." Evelyn smiled brighter, "And we also kick the males out and sleep in the same bed." Evelyn turned to face Tamlin and Lucien, who were a little further away from them when she stated it.

"That sounds fun." Feyre smiled back. "And we have snacks...?"

"Of course, we have snacks, Feyre!" Evelyn gasped, playfully enraged they wouldn't be. "A sleepover is nothing without snacks that people can't finish and they have to be packed away."

Feyre looked over her shoulder to Tamlin and Lucien, "Well I could do without those two for a while." Making them send a wave of talking over each other, pissed at the two females making a joke on their behalf.

"You can paint me," Evelyn wiggled her eyebrows, ignoring her brother and their friend.

Feyre and Evelyn were soon alone in the mansion, Evelyn sprawled over a couch with Feyre standing on the opposite ends, with her canvas and paint. Feyre's brows were furrowed in concentration as she moved the brush flawlessly across the canvas.

"So...?" Evelyn had a teasing tone, "How is being a High Fae?"

Feyre smiled, looking up from her work, "I... I can see colours so much clearer, it's amazing."

"We're just better." Evelyn gave a cocky grin, the grin that matched Tamlin's almost identically.

"You are gorgeous," Feyre breathed with a soft blush, if Feyre had thought the Spring Court Fae were pretty before with their masks, Evelyn was painfully gorgeous, especially by human standards. Evelyn was a mix of soft and sharp features, something Feyre felt she could not put on paper. There was something in her emerald eyes that swirled differently than some other Fae she had seen, well, she had also seen only a handful of Fae as close as she had seen her.

"Should've chosen me over Tam, Feyre." Evelyn gave a wink, chuckling slightly. "You're gorgeous too."

Feyre was a lot fuller now, especially after Under the Mountain, she and Tamlin had managed to figure out how to make her feel better and manage being High Fae, she was a lot more powerful, just as much powerful as the heir of High Lords.

It was quite after that, Evelyn posing for Feyre as she painted, a little pain splattering on her hands. Alis had come in, setting their finger foods down on the small dining table in the room, Evelyn had asked Alis to stay with them but she had smiled and said he would be with her nephews, taking them out for dinner in a new place that had been fixed up.

"Could... Could you not include this?" Evelyn whispered, motioning to the black ink band around her ring finger on her left hand, and a tattoo of stars and swirls flowing up.

Feyre smiled a little sadly, looking at the tattoos "What does it signify?" She had never asked, seeing how Evelyn was uncomfortable with it, as Tamlin had told her, telling her it was Evelyn's story to tell. "If you are feeling up to telling me."

"Well, we do have deep conversations during sleepovers," Evelyn smiled softly, "It's a bargain I made with Rhysand." She didn't talk of the band but the rest of the ink. "I... I made it so that Rhysand would look after you... Keep you... Alive."

"What...?" Feyre set down her brush at that, walking to sit next to her, "That's why he was... Did he ever...?"

"No." Evelyn cut in, "No he never actually hurt me, even if we did piss each other off a lot."

"What did you give away?" Feyre asked, her hand holding Evelyn's tattooed one, stroking the swirls.

Evelyn smiled slightly, letting Feyre feel the magic of the bargain, "A week every month, for my entire life. I have to stay with him."

"But it's been months since then." Feyre looked slightly hopeful, "Maybe he forgot."

Evelyn smiled, moving to sit closer to Feyre, "That's just wishful thinking, the Night Court is rather... Firm... about their bargains."

Feyre looked melancholy, "Well, this got upsetting quickly."

"Ok." Evelyn shrugged, a smile forming on her face again, she picked up the pillow she was leaning against and smacked Feyre in the head with it.

Feyre's eyes widened, "Oh no you didn't!" She picked up her own pillow before swinging at her.

"Oh yes I did!" Evelyn dodged her hit. Swinging again as she got up, Feyre followed her, trying to get a hit on each other.

Feyre landed a hit, making Evelyn stumble slightly against the wall, "How could you give yourself up for me!" Feyre held the pillow against Evelyn's neck as if it were a weapon.

"Because it's you!" Evelyn yelled before hitting Feyre across the face with her pillow, "Because you gave yourself up for my brother! For me! For Lucien! For all of my people!"

"Stop yelling!" Feyre yelled back, glaring, holding her pillow like a sword.

"No!" Evelyn glared back but didn't yell anymore. "You were willing to die for my brother, and you did die. Of course I would do anything to protect you. Even if it is making a deal with Death itself."

Feyre paused, "You did it all for me?"

"Of course I did." Evelyn set down the pillow in her hands, "And I would do it again."

Feyre smirked when she put her pillow away, choosing to strike her again hard enough to make feathers fly out of it, "And I would always help our people!"

"Oh, are we screaming again!?" Evelyn glared, throwing the pillows on the couch at her. "You don't get to be the only person who scrifies something for people."

"Well, you're too gorgeous to end up dead over me!" Feyre yelled and Evelyn was surprised at the splash of dark green paint that now covered her face.

"There!" Feyre smiled, rubbing the paint in Evelyn's hair, "Now I can capture you in paint!"

Evelyn squealed as she heard Feyre mumble "Stupid gorgeous Fae" running to the paint table and throwing the bowl of pink paint.

"Shut the fuck up Feyre." Evelyn watched the pink paint run down Feyre's face, "You're gorgeous too!"

The two run in circles, hitting each other with pillows and paints, yelling aggressive compliments at each other. They end up falling on the floor of paint and feathers, giggling. Evelyn uses her magic to clean both of them.

"Is this what a sleepover is like?" Feyre asked, breathless.

Evelyn shook her head, "I don't know, It's my first too. But I liked it."

The two smile, looking at each other and the mess they had made.

"We left you guys alone for 4 hours!"

"GET LOST!"

{General taglist: @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria}

[electromignion]

Bridgewater fanart! (Who is surprised? /lh /j)

This fanart has been inspired by Lauren Shippen herself, from the # she put on the reblog she did of my Jeremy Bradshaw sleeping fanart “also: new headcanon I now have vipin started TAing for Jeremy when he was still in undergrad soJeremy also has one photo of the two of them at Vipin's graduation in his office”. So I had to draw it of course, I’m so thankful for Lauren’s support, feeling truly so honoured so this is the least I can do 🤧

This is to me, what Vipin asked to do to Jeremy, and so he did because he has always appreciated Vipin (a beginning of friendship there?? They both cherish that pic for sure and yes I plan on drawing Jeremy’s office, and yeah I only drew this to put it in a small frame in Jeremy’s office, that’s my dedication 😭🤌 I’m putting a read more for a further explanation of my headcanon and also the outfit (regalia, cords, medallions wise) because yeah there is a whole day of research behind this and also finger cramps because my Apple Pencil decided to slowly d word on me as I was trying to finish this fanart so I used my fingers jejdjd)

So: please know that I’m French, so it was very hard to find information about graduation ceremonies: we do not have that in France, so I’m sorry if something is off!

First of all, professors and whole faculty members must wear their regalia at graduation ceremonies hence Jeremy having his academic regalia. And it made me learn that the velvet colour on some parts of it + the hood colour differ depending on the field they had their phd in, Jeremy’s is white because to me he has his phd in history (at least from what I understood, as even in S1 EP01 he talks in his lecture room about getting credits in history) which counts in the “art, social and humanities” section because history counts as humanities which is white. (Which also explains why Vipin’s tassel on his cap is white because to me he also went in that field) Jeremy’s hat is a velvet tam with a gold tassel which is the formal hat for the doctorate level.

Then… come Vipin’s cords and medallions. I headcanon Vipin as a really high achieving student, I might be wrong though, but he is too great of a TA to not be. So as a disclaimer: all the information I gathered there come from things linked to the Bridgewater State University because I really wanted to be accurate as much as I possibly could (Yes I truly spent a day for that and I might have drunk one or two Monsters).

For the medallions: the one with the black neck ribbon is “the Diversity Champion medallion recognizes and honors those students who have worked tirelessly for the advancement of diversity and inclusion during their time at Bridgewater College.” I really see Vipin trying to really be actively trying to make it go for the best in clubs and such at BSU and the second one with the blue/green neck ribbon is “The Alpha Chi medallion symbolizes the honor and distinction of being a member of the national academic honor society.

The supporting neck ribbon is in the colors of Alpha Chi.”

Which brings us to the cords he has on his regalia: the green and blue cords represent Alpha Chi as well.

The gold cord represent his level of achievement it’s for “summa cum laude” (“meaning "with highest praise", typically awarded to graduates in the top 1%, 2%, or 5% of their class, depending on the institution.” Which is the highest distinction one can have when you get a diploma at uni in the US).

Then the red and blue cords “Graduates wearing blue and red cords with mixed tassels are members of the national history honor society, Phi Alpha Theta.” (Which for me also was a good idea as Vipin is truly going through so many documents linked to history for Jeremy, our guy is that interested into academic stuff)

Then for the purple rainbow scarf… it’s a real thing I’ve seen on graduating pictures from BSU!! And I gotta admit… I’m quite fond of the idea of Vipin being pan 🫣 (just my own hc always)

I’m sorry for the extra lengthy explanation but I feel like it was needed (maybe it is to flex my research /j) as I think it was really interesting in the development of the hcs around Vipin and even Jeremy!

And to me needless to say but Jeremy has been greatly moved that Vipin asked him to do a picture together where they throw the cap in the air because to Jeremy, Vipin could’ve done it with his fellow classmates. And Jeremy is fully aware of how much it was important for Vipin. (And maybe own little headcanon: I’m sure Jeremy doesn’t even have much pics from his own graduations)

I truly imagine that during the whole graduation ceremony Jeremy was feeling uncomfy in his academic faculty regalia because it’s way too formal (although it’s quite mandatory to wear it) so he is just 🧍🏻 standing being no thoughts head full of folklore only (he is of course very proud of his students nonetheless) therefore, Vipin asking him to do that picture must have been THE highlight he had during the ceremony (even counting all the ceremonies he ever had to attend to)

And to finish in case you missed it, here’s the fanart Lauren reblogged and where she talked about her new headcanon (saying this like that sounds surreal to me, I’m so honoured once again 🥹): https://www.tumblr.com/electromignion/716771521320878080/i-finally-finished-my-bridgewater-fanart-this

[tam-shade-song]

Okay so I had another idea for a fic I'll prob never write, so here's me telling y'all about it 'cause I can't tell my IRL friends

It's called "The Three Who Were Never Seen" and it's about Tam, Rayni, and an OC called Pippa, who was a project Moonlark Prototype called Project Phoenix. Here's the synopsis!

When people looked at Tam Song they saw a freak. A Shade. A twin. The boy who stared a little too long, who made it clear he didn't trust anyone in those glamorized hallways of the nobles' school. He wasn't normal. He wasn't right. And, the only trans kid in Foxfire. He probably enjoyed being in the Neverseen. It was where he belonged after all.

When people looked at Rayni Aria they saw a bastard. A bastard who's parents shouldn't have been matched. Of course they raised a Neverseen member. That's what happens when you're parents aren't a good match, their sweet little girls turn into mean big girls with knives. Rayni was a bad egg, and she was always going to turn out this way.

When people looked at Pippa they saw the experiment. The rough draft. The girl who was supposed to be Sophie Foster....but ended up being Phillipa Sorin. The one whose wrinkles and folds and quirks weren't smoothed out, and who would never be as good as Sophie Foster. Because girls like Sophie Foster didn't burn down Black Swan hideouts and join the Neverseen.

Tam Song, Rayni Aria, and Phillipa Sorin were all a part of the Neverseen at one point or another. Everyone says that they were still loyal to Gisela, and perhaps, just for one of them, they're right, but not for long. Being in the Neverseen wasn't all they had in common. All of them were never seen who they were. And they were going to change that and change the world in the process.

[steverogersistheguy]

dark!Thor x innocent!fem! reader~The song of the waves Ch.1

A/N: This fic is DARK, so proceed with caution. DMs, and comments are welcomed about this fic, but be kind! Also, thank you for stopping by and reading my shit. REMEMBER: These characters are made-up, they are NOT based on real life people.

Warnings: some heavy language, swearing, hints of misogynism BUT things will get darker every chapter.

Chapter summary: Your friends decide to break the usual routine and have a runaway on an island. Little do you know what time has in store for you there.

ENJOY!!!

Your friends were nothing like you, but you loved them, if you were honest.

Everyone called them, and implicitly, you, degradating nicknames in school, like sluts, whores, gold-diggers and the list could go on. Amy, Tamara, Leslie and Tyler were your best friends since high school started. The girls were your room-mates, and they liked your "innocent" and sweet nature, so they immediately took you in their group.

Amy was the girl that couldn't think of a day without her make-up kit. She always had to have lipstick, eye-liner and foundation on. Amy told you make-up is indispensable for her, just like the headphones or books were for you. Amy tried to get you to wear all those layers of make-up, but you only liked to wear some mascara and chapstick. Amy was the one that never failed to cheer you up. She was so sweet, you couldn't understand why everyone called her a "moody bitch"

Leslie was the girl that dated three guys in a week. Her mother always left her alone in that big house of them, because she had to meet some old rich guys...Leslie was raised like that, so she did the exact thing: dated every single guy. For Leslie, it didn't matter it was her middle-aged Geography teacher, the principal's son, or the hot guy that worked at Starbucks. She only screwed them, and then ghosted them...Everyone called her a slut, but you knew she suffered a lot because of her mother and you felt sorry for her. Poor rich girl.

Tamara was that one girl. She had thick black hair, she had the perfect body and her father was also filthy rich...He owned the greatest company in your state and he was extremely unbothered by Tamara's problems. Tam was always in depression or always crying until she got sick of it. She started drinking, partying, but deep inside, she was also broken. Then, she met Tyler.

Tyler was Tam's boyfriend and he adored to be in your company. He was kind, he always protected you from the mean words. His mother died when he was fifteen, and his father just...disappeared after, so all the money and the houses were his now.

These amazing friends of yours decided to go on a vacation, just...running away from freaking school, from the gossips. They wanted it and they actually could do this, and they wanted to take you with them, of course. Yo knew they wouldn't accept a refuse, so you started packing.

The details Tam gave you about the island where you were going weren't actually detailed...She just threw at you some phrases like: "...pack many swim suits." (yeah, like you really had that many) "...a peaceful island..." "...I've spoken to your aunt already..." (The aunt that didn't give a shit about you or your life) and some other stupid words thrown in the air.

When you arrived home from classes, you packed your pastel-colored dresses, an ash-colored swimsuit and some sneakers: your favorite Converse pair made of peachy material and the plain black ones. You also put in your travel bag the perfume Tyler gave you for your birthday, your mascara tube and your favorite chapstick flavor: strawberry pop-tarts. You also put three books (your favorites actually, even though you knew the girls won't let you read) and...that was all. You climbed in your small bed and covered yourself with your fluffy blanket. Tomorrow, you were leaving for the very first time in such an important trip. But, instead of excitement, your tummy filled with a weird, actually frightening feeling.

Meanwhile, on the Tavarua Island:

Thor was all wet, his shiny swimsuit thrown on the sand. He was only in his shorts, his godly designed, tanned figure looking deliciously good in the sun. He caught some good waves and now, he was cleaning his board on the beach.

Thor quit trying to be a hero...his loved-ones died, and now he felt...surprisingly free. He retired on this island, building himself a brand new life. He was daily surfing, he loved the ocean. His mind wandered to Jane, to her last days...He also thought about the Avengers, his once-friends.

Suddenly, Thor was pushed out from his thoughtful world by some annoying laughs. When he turned his head, he saw a bunch of girls having some drinks at the local bar. He clenched his jaw, sick of all these "whores". They were all throwing themselves at any men, all-plastic, make-up too intense. They even failed at making him hard, at least.

Thor picked up his board furiously and headed back to his house. He was sick of these plastic dolls, and he swore to himself again that he will never get one like those.

Oh, if he'll only find a sweet, natural woman, he would take her all to himself, to protect her like she would have been a very rare flower.

And he will, soon...

Chapter 2 ->

[obsidianstrawberrymilk]

Kotlc gang on a road trip

Fitz - he’s driving to everyone’s absolute terror, alternates between murderous road rage that nearly causes him to run a family of four off the side of the highway and yelling back at everyone whenever they make even the slightest bit of sound. Which is hard because they are constantly making sound. When they finally get to the motel he collapses into his bed for three hours and then immediately begins planning out how far away the next stop is.

Sophie - she’s in the middle at a window so she can stick her head out like a dog and definitely hits people with her hair by accident. Eats all of one specific snack everyone wants ten minutes later and nearly jumps out of a moving car at all the glares she gets. In charge of the aux and she alternates with Tam, but as they have basically the same music taste its always just emo/metal music that gets played w the occasional side of ear bleeding autotuned pop.

Biana - she and Marella and Linh are here to judge all the food even if its just plastic like pizza at a 2am gas station stop. They act like food criticis and make Fitz even more murderous. Changes her makeup - from foundation to eyeliner to lipstick - like five times despite being in a moving, shaking car. She’s directly behind the passengers seat and puts her feet up on the headrest constantly and it drives Dex crazy which is a feat in and of itself. She’s the only one who isn’t tired when they get to the motel and decides to ‘go exploring’.

Maruca - in one of the back seats, generally listens to music and ignores everyone but occasionally just yells something to start a fight and fades back whenever she gets bored. Has her own collection of snacks she’s only sharing if people ask nicely and so far only Marella has noticed this. Is sadly dragged by Biana to ‘go exploring’ when they get to the motel, but also cannot sleep anywhere unfamiliar so it wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

Tam - alternates control of the aux with Sophie and whenever he plays songs you can see the Black Parade flash through his memories. Gets pissed at everyone for being too loud and tries to sleep but hits his head on the window from all the bumping and invents five new death threats. He’s in the middle, squashed between Sophie and Biana, and has to alternate dealing with Biana’s makeup kit and Sophie’s snacking. By the time they get to the motel he just disappears and they find him sitting in a bathtub brooding to Teenagers.

Linh - like I said, she Marella and Biana are just here for the food. She comes out of this road trip with a new appreciation for digital art and an addiction to 7/11 road slushies. Probably asks everyone to play ‘I-spy’ all the time to everyone’s great despair. Awful at handling road trip boredom, but she forgot her headphones so her options are either draw or bother people so she happily does both. She somehow finds a pool near the motel and tells everyone someone has been murdered there once and no one is quite sure how she knows.

Marella - at the back between Linh and Maruca and is only here for food and chaos. Is the main person Fitz yells at when he nearly crashes the car for the 100th time. She nearly gets them beat up at a gas station when she cusses out some guy in a pickup truck. Is the only person who brought sufficient reading material and is also the only person who can read maps, which is a shame given she’s all the way in the back. They get stopped by the cops at some point and she tells them to fuck off. Its a miracle she hasn’t been arrested yet ngl.

Dex - he’s in the front seat as the only guy who knows how to work a gas pump, an ATM, change a tire, or anything about mechanics. He sadly doesn’t know how to read maps and yet goes ballistic whenever he thinks they’re even a bit off course. Is the only one who can match road-rage Fitz in sheer energy tbh. By the time they get to the motel he’s so drained he just passes out and then accidentally scams someone on his way to get breakfast.

Keefe - he hid in the trunk and was determined not to let anyone know but also has to stop for the bathroom every fifteen minutes. Is accidentally a backseat driver but in the worst way possible and is the cause of 90% of Fitz’s road rage. Biana tried putting eyeliner on him while he leaned over Linh and now it’s smeared all over his cheeks. Tam once threatened to tape him to the top of the car before they realized he would probably find that fun.

[guesswhojusttt]

when I’ve learned how to love

Covey!Reader x Sejanus Plinth

Summary:

Lucy Gray is Reaped. The Covey each handle it in different ways.

When she comes back, you're all not sure how much of her she's left behind.

-

You are nothing but hatred and anger and desperation- a tall boy with soulful brown eyes somehow carries the same anger, but kindness, too.

AO3

Chapter 1: one foot in the door

Word count: 6891

Summary: When the first punch flies, it’s you who pulls the plug and kills the lights.

“Still awake?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

“Lucy Gray-“

“Let it go, sweetheart. There’s nothing any of us can do and we all know it.” What killed you was the resignation in her voice: while you knew her voice when she wasn’t on stage, while you knew what she was like when she wasn’t flirting or charming or singing, she rarely sounded so defeated, so utterly deflated. But under the black veil of this cold night, where you both huddled under a scratchy green blanket while CC snoozed on the couch and Barb Azure curled up on a yellowing mattress, there was no need for pretense.

Still.

Still. “Still, you could just go hide out at the lake house and-”

“And what? And let someone else get reaped? Maybe- maybe someone younger? Maybe Maude Ivory? Is that what you want, for Maude Ivory to be carted away-?”

“Of course not,” you hissed, clutching your threadbare pillow like it was a stuffed animal, “I just meant, it’s stupid how it’s rigged, all because of some petty love triangle.”

She scoffed, her dark locks pooling round her head while she stared up the ceiling. “No love there. Besides, I only think Mayfair’s tried to do me in. It’s just a hunch; I don’t actually know. I could be wrong.” You weren’t sure if she was trying to convince you or herself.

“Hm. At least if you go hide away- let me finish!- then whoever’s reaped, it won’t be because of some privileged mayor’s daughter, it’ll be a random name, a slip plucked by chance, at least it’ll be fair-“ but you bite your tongue, and she didn’t say it and neither did you: the word fair was a cruel joke, now. Always was, really. “I just… I don't want you to die, or to come back traumatized for life. It’ll be bad either way, you know? Death or a life plagued with nightmares.”

A silence stretched out over you, the only sounds of sleep were Clerk Carmine’s near-inaudible snores, Tam Amber’s head shuffling on his pillow, and Barb Azure’s soft puffs of air out the nose, Maude Ivory curled next to her. You wondered if Lucy Gray had decided to sleep now, too- until she poked you just below your rib cage.

“Thank you.”

“For worrying about you? We’re all-“

“For so naturally assuming I’ve an equal chance of living as of dying. For not speaking of me as if I’m already dead. For even considering that there’s a possibility I might survive this.”

“Well, of course you do,” you said obviously, “we’ve survived District 12.”

The next day, there’s this silent, mutual agreement amongst yourself and the Covey that Maude Ivory shouldn’t watch the Reaping- she never does; you can’t let her. Once when you were 6 or 7 this woman was reaped but refused to go- the Peacebreakers (Peacebreakers, you call them) had dragged her, kicking wildly and screaming ferally, and when they’d dropped her in a heap on the stage she’d try to run off only for them to yank her back. She’d shrieked and lashed wildly, swinging her arms in haphazard attempts at self defense- and no matter how they beat her, she wouldn’t succumb- until she did. Until they had to call up another tribute, and her mangled corpse, beaten to a raw pulp like a smashed pumpkin, was dragged silently away by her husband.

So, no. You wouldn’t let Maude Ivory see the reaping.

“Hey, I’m actually feeling a little nauseous,” you said tenderly, “could you stay, please? It’s too scary for me.”

“You’re such a scaredy-cat!” Maude Ivory giggled, but stayed with you the same while Barb Azure and Tam Amber and the rest went to the Reaping. You kept her entertained by teaching her how to do a fishtail braid.

It really all was less than a theory, a paranoid guess. It was natural to assume Mayfair would use her position to harm Lucy Gray, but would she really go this far?

This was the deal: you kept her occupied during the reaping, but when they came back, when she asked where Lucy Gray was- and none of you would lie to her, you would not keep her in the dark because honesty, honesty and communication fix half the world's problems- but the deal was, since you kept her occupied, you wouldn’t have to explain what had happened to her. Instead, you went to a client’s house in the Seam, to a little 5-year old named Nathaniel, to play with him and feed him and keep him company while his father went off to work in the mines. Mother long since dead, birthing what would’ve been his little sister. Honestly, you felt guilty for charging money for spending time with children, as if you did it only for pay and saw them as a product rather than as human beings you genuinely cared for. But this line of thinking was ridiculous: you needed money like anyone, and you were able to earn it while helping parents too busy to stay home and raise their kids.

After him was a bright 10 year old, Makayla, who needed tutoring since, despite her teacher’s efforts, nothing she learned in school stuck. Truly, it wasn’t her fault: she just had a hard time paying attention or absorbing information on an empty stomach.

And everyone here lives on an empty stomach.

None of the Covey so much as suggested playing at the Hob, or anywhere else. It was sort of like you’d all lost a tooth and were constantly running your tongue over the gap, and chewing always feels strange, now. You pick up more shifts, keep yourself busy every hour of daylight, both to avoid sitting with your thoughts and to make an income to make up for the lack of any performance.

“And how’s everyone’s favorite lost soul doing today?” You plopped next to Tam Amber, who was polishing his tear-drop shaped mandolin with a threadbare rag that had been oiled and used again and again- used to be part of a loose white shirt. And here was the thing about quiet people- around the right person, they’re more talkative than anyone.

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“Wish I had some oil for the doors, and olive oil for my hair would be nice.”

“Is that really what’s put your face in a permanent frown?”

He heaves a sigh. “If I’d been reaped. What I would do, how I’d survive. And I’ve played it out in my head again and again and come to the same conclusion: I wouldn’t.”

“No? But you’re faster than any of us.”

“Sure, but I haven't got any muscle. None of us do, so the victors are probably going to be someone from districts one or two. Three or four, barely. You?”

“Me…” you reclined next to him, crossing your ankles before you, “I’d hide, if there’s a place to hide, but I’d probably get caught and killed before that. I wouldn’t kill anyone, though. Or at least I like to think I wouldn’t. Not because I’m a good person or because killing is wrong- because it’s self defense and it’s an arena and all but one will die anyway - but because I feel like if I did kill someone I'd be giving in. I’d be giving them what they want: a show, a bloodbath. I know it won’t mean a thing to anyone watching, I know being one of the many to die in the battle royale makes me insignificant at best, but I’d like to know I died without succumbing to their wishes. You can drag a horse to an arena but you can’t make it run.”

He nods silently. Pinched the rag over the mandolin’s first string, running it down its length and back again. “If Lucy Gray doesn’t live, what’ll we do? Keep doing what we’re doing now? How will we explain it to Maude Ivory?”

“Maybe she’ll live,” you shrugged, “maybe we’ll all storm the Capitol-“

“Not this again-“

“There’s more of us than there is of them-“

“But they have more weapons, more food, they’d outsurvive-“

“They’re privileged and pampered, they wouldn’t last a week-“

“The rebellion’s still fresh in their minds, there’s military men and not to mentioned trained Peacebreakers-“

“Then we’ll all go on strike-“

“Oh, yes, that worked out so well for District 8-“

“What else, Tam Amber? You know full well the only thing keeping me sane is devising increasingly elaborate strategies of overthrowing the Capitol! It’s not impossible,” you added eagerly, “you know what else seemed impossible to abolish? Divine right. Did you know, thousands of years ago, there were kings and queens that ruled over nations and credited it to divinity, so they could assert control and no one could do a thing about it.”

“Sounds like what we have now.” Tam Amber grumbled, now polishing the long, elegant neck of his mandolin. “We didn’t get rid of it, we’ve just replaced it.”

“Not quite, because now, anyone- I mean, anyone in the Capitol who gets an education and has connections and wealth- can become President. It obviously doesn’t include any of us, but at least it leaves the ground open for us to do it, unlike divine right, which keeps authority within the bloodline.”

“So what do you say? We stage a coup, guillotine the Capitol sheep?”

“At least it would be some thing,” you fumed, “every day of my life feels like a waste, you know? What’s the point in babysitting and tutoring these kids who are just going to grow up to be even more miserable and malnourished than they are now? Remember that girl I spent two years looking after, only for her to be Reaped? You know what we need.”

“No.”

“Just hear me out-“

“We do not need a rabies-“

“Outbreak! That would fix everything.”

“We’d all die out while they hoard their precious resources. They have better access to medication than we do.”

“No, because it would only happen there, not here.”

“Then District 1 would replace the Capitol.”

But you went to bed like you always did, except you shared the scratchy green blanket with Barb Azure tonight instead of Lucy Gray.

When the feed was finally rigged up with a makeshift antenna-foil contraption, and the interview flickered to life, you huddled on the couch next to Tam Amber, while CC and Maude Ivory sat criss-cross applesauce[1] before the screen and Barb Azure sat aloft on the couch arm at a careful, if awkward, angle. She could sit next to you, but chose firmly to be on the other side, and you were equal parts guilty and indignant because you knew the fight was, admittedly, mostly your fault.

“She’s alive,” said CC breathlessly.

“She looks awful,” you muttered, unsurprised by the raw heartbreak in your voice, “it- I don’t know why, but I assumed they’d give them enough food and water to make it into the tournament?”

Tam Amber heaved a sigh. “Enough for them is just barely to keep them from collapsing. Remember, we’re less than animals to them.”

“Her dress! She’s still wearing her mom’s dress!” Maude Ivory leaned closer to the screen, wide grin pinching her cheeks into dimples. Even in her cheer, what was between the lines wasn’t hard to miss: she’d thought, at least a little, that they’d take it away from her.

But her hair was matted and knotted- and that must be killing her, more than it would you, considering how she values her appearance- half-crescents stamped beneath her weary eyes. You could tell she’d cleaned up, she’d washed her face and hands and had likely smoothed out her rainbow ruffles a dozen times and a dozen more, but the sallowness of her cheeks, the peeling of her parched lips- even with all the energy she put on before the camera, you wondered privately if sleep deprivation or raw thirst and starvation would crumple her to her knees before the audience.

“What’s with that guy?” Barb Azure’s eyebrows tugged to a frown, the same tone of “what’s with that garbage?”

“The one with a funny mustache, I think he’s there to add some entertainment.” Stated CC thoughtfully.

“No, the one staring at her, right? He reminds me of someone but I can’t put my finger on it.” You mused.

“I don’t like it.” Tam Amber agreed.

“He looks like he adores her.” Said CC.

“Like he’s proud of her!”

“No, like he thinks he owns her.”

“I don’t know, those eyes seem pretty passionate either way. You don’t think they…?”

“I think he’s nervous. Like if she does poorly it’ll reflect on him.”

“Well, now I hope she does do something embarrassing just so it does bring shame on him. I mean, what are they gonna do, kill her?” When she sings, you find yourself first relieved she has her voice and second, a near-imperceptible twitch of your fingers, running to pick at the blemishes on your face, and- as soon as the broadcast cut off- stated you were going out to get some water.

Your thoughts came one after the other, like a necklace whose string was cut and now the beads all slipped away:

I don't know who I want to kill first, but I guess the order doesn’t matter if it ends with both their corpses in a ditch.

Or the lake- no, can’t subject the poor fish to such rotten meat.

Since Billy Taupe is CC’s brother, we can’t actually kill him, can we?

No, but we sure can traumatize him.

This is why, you know? Why I’m so angry at Barb Azure for- for seeing that girl. Hasn’t she seen what romantic relationships do to people? All the fighting, the arguing, the yelling- how quickly their love turns to loathing!

You trudged down the Seam, eyes ablaze. The clouds above you are dusted pink and orange- with the sunrise came a dark night, all the better for paranoia, for jumping at the slightest sounds.

All the better to avoid being caught.

I’ll get them back.

I won’t. I can never truly- even if I tear them limb from limb- it’s not enough, nothing will ever make up for losing her- she’s a piece of us and no amount of revenge-

I can take a long white string, tie it around a tooth, tie the other end to a doorknob and slam the door and rip their teeth out one by one from its roots until their gums are loose and gushing and- why bother? Nothing, neither torture nor death, undoes what they’ve done. And that’s the issue with revenge, isn’t it? It’s just not satisfying enough. Nothing is.

Except Lucy Gray coming back?

No, because there’s a chance one of us will be reaped some day. Again and again until we’re too old, but if any of us have kids we’ll live with that fear just the same. It’s a cycle and the only way out is- is- to fix it or to flee.

But you were wasting your time: you always were. While at first you were naive enough to voice your views, idealistic enough to think that it was so obvious that once you explained it, your friends… would what? Agree? Yes, you had even thought one would side with you and be angry on your behalf. Would defend you. But they didn’t, ignorant and stupid and selfish as they were, privileged as they were- no. Where were these thoughts coming from? You love them. They’re your family. Not one of them is selfish, not one of them is ignorant. What kind of thoughts are these? You don’t believe them, yet they intrude as the most unwelcome of guests: They don’t care about you unless you don the tightest mask. They’ll never understand you; how could they? You could not speak of your passions, or your beliefs, of your values or-

“Stop.” Stupidly enough, you did- and it was Barb Azure who whirled on you. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing.” You said, and before Barb Azure could roll her eyes, you added hastily. “Oh, come on, I haven’t done any harm! I just wanted to give them a good scare, not actually hurt them- just give them paranoia so they can’t sleep at night like the rest of us. It’s only fair.”

(There it was, that cruel word again, the same one when talking to Lucy Gray that night: fair.)

(What is fair, anyway?)

Barb Azure worried at her lip, and you took her in: worn sooty shoes, a dress that hung several inches over her ankle because she was taller than you but thinner so sharing dresses meant what you borrowed you was tight around the waist and what she borrowed- like this pretty chocolate-brown dress- had sleeves that hugged just below her bony elbows. Her lips, despite always being chewed up from constant worrying, were still thick and plump and, like everyone and everything, just a little dehydrated. Her eyes, big and brown and always warm, had recently taken on a pesky little shine that she refused to admit was due to a certain someone she’d started seeing.

As if she’d ever put so much effort into smoothing out her hair, before now. Even going so far as to tie Lucy Gray’s cerulean scarf like a bandanna, knotted at the base of her neck and weaving up to the top, her dreadlocks flowing to between her shoulder blades.

“I don’t care about them, I care about you. Who do you think the Peacebreakers will side with, the mayor’s daughter or some-“

“Some performers that you know they like more. You said, at the Reaping- they cared more about the mayor hitting Lucy Gray than about the snake that had bitten Mayfair.”

“Mayfair,” Barb Azure said firmly, “has too much influence. I know you’re hurting, and you want revenge, and that’s fine, that’s normal. It shows you love. But it’s not safe to do anything- not as long as, in the eyes of those who hold the guns, we’re not equals.” The underlying We never will be. didn’t need to be stated.

“Come on,” she said softly, “come now. Lucy Gray wouldn’t want you to get shot for this.”

“Don’t you? Aren’t you mad at me for- for not being supportive of whoever it is you’ve started seeing?”

“You’ve never been supportive of a couple in your life,” Barb Azure quipped, and you began to head back, arm-in-arm, “I honestly didn’t expect you to start now. You’re protective, and… and since I’m practically the mother of the group, it’s nice to have someone looking out for me. Really.”

And that was it, the last push to drag you back home, at least for now. That night- having seen her sing, alive but dehydrated and exhausted but alive, she’s alive - you curled up in your bed and smothered your face in your pillow and, for the first time since she’d been reaped, let yourself sob and shake and weep, because she was so hungry, so tired, and all the confidence you’d had that she might win had gone out like the most fickle of candles.

Clerk Carmine lays out breakfast- and a plate for Lucy Gray. Always, a plate for Lucy Gray. “It’s not like the nuts or bread will go bad,” he’d argue, when Tam Amber wanted to have a bite, “the Games should be over in what, a week? She’ll need plenty of food to recover.”

You liked babysitting Nathaniel, really. He was such a sweet boy, so excited, so full of life. Quick to burst into tears but quick to race and play, you always felt his head was a bobble head, and when he said the kids he played with made fun of him for having a big head you’d poke his cheek and tell him it’s because his brain is so big.

He says he’ll use his brain to invent a forcefield.

A forcefield for what, Nathan?

A forcefield to keep the Peacebreakers out!

You spend a good while finding long sticks, then pretend sword-fight with them, then use them to review his counting (he was capable of counting if he did it all in a row- 21, 22, 23- but had a very hard time counting from memory- what number is before 20? , for example, would take a little bit. But he was getting there, and quickly, too.)

It won’t be long before you can add, Nathaniel. I’m so proud of you.

When his father comes home, you’re extra nice, always telling him Nathan was very good and polite and smart and anything you could muster up to keep him from beating his son, which you know full well he does whenever, like today, he has a drunken little step to his feet. Maybe you’ll stay to serve him dinner, just to delay it longer.

Maybe you’ll take the long way home, just to have the time to slouch and frown before you get home and put on the mask, the same one you have to put on before Maude Ivory and CC of cheer and strength, a bright pillar, because it wasn’t fair to leave all the mothering to Barb Azure and all the responsibility on Tam Amber. The mask of semi-maturity had to be worn for Barb Azure because she got stressed if you were too serious about the things you wanted to do- the bad things. The mask of strength in front of everyone, even Tam Amber, who shared your burning loathing for the Capitol and the reaping and the Games, but before whom you couldn't be weak and pathetic- you could, technically. You know these people and they are good and kind and they’ll probably be okay with you acting like that, quite honestly they probably wouldn’t even think you pathetic and would probably appreciate your transparency. Probably.

But probably just isn’t worth the risk. You still felt guilt gnawing at you for those vile thoughts you’d had the night you’d all watched Lucy Gray’s performance. How dare you think poorly of them? Why do these thoughts, that you know full well you don’t mean or believe, intrude on you?

Nathaniel’s father shoves a meager payment into your palm, and is quick to usher you out: “You’ll be glad. Your pretty friend’s back.”

And you abandon any thought of taking the long route home and run and sprint until you’re back and there she is, there she is in the same rainbow dress, in all her songbird glory, and you’re pumping your legs and she sees you, mid-crouch to be eye-level with Maude Ivory, and a grin nearly splits her face and then she’s running too, and you’re not sure which one of you reaches the other first but you do, you finally do, and you’re flinging arms round each other and pulling each other in and she’s burying her head in your shoulder and you’re grasping fistfuls of the back of her dress, and she’s gasping sobs and you’re heaving “you’re alive you’re alive you’re alive.”

And then Barb Azure’s wrapping her long arms around her from behind and resting her head in the crook of her shoulder and Tam Amber engulfs you both, and drags Clerk Carmine in, and you grasp blindly for Maude Ivory and pull her in too.

Rather than celebrating with generous food or going to the Hob or catching up, the moment she enters the wooden home her eyes widen and she kneels and picks up a pillow- the same one you’d sobbed into a few nights ago. She kisses it all over until CC mumbled to save some kisses for the rest of us.

“A pillow,” she said breathlessly, “my head has touched nothing but metal and hay and rock since their pillow.”

“Hay?” Tam Amber said dubiously, “they treat you like barn animals?”

“At least animals are fed.” Lucy Gray mumbled, then cocooned herself in a blanket- despite the unforgiving heat, she burrowed into it. “All that rain, cold enough to kill the snakes. And nothing but this dress to warm me. Oh, I didn’t think I’d ever touch a blanket again.”

And touch it she did, running her hand over its weave and trailing her fingertips over it as tenderly, as reverently, as she did with her guitar. Finally, she lay down to sleep, and you all followed suit although it was just barley past sunset, and that morning while you all ate breakfast still she slept, and when CC and Maude Ivory went out to get water she slept and when you went to babysit and came back still she slept, catching up on the exhaustion of the past two weeks.

When she wakes up, you run a wooden comb through her hair while she talks animatedly of her time in the Capitol, cherry-picking the tiniest details to expound upon in great earnest but leaving out anything big that would normally be included. She doesn’t mention anyone she killed, the if or how, but she does describe the little girl who gave her food through the bars while a melted popsicle ran down her arm. She doesn’t tell you a thing about her time in the arena but she does tell you that she thinks Jessup and Lysistrata definitely had a little something-something going on. But then the mention of Jessup clams her up until you ask her to please teach you to pronounce Lysistrata and then she’s back, and so it goes. Any time she approaches a big or serious event, she quickly ricochets off it and clings instead to a minor, light-hearted detail.

Barb Azure comes in with a shallow well of golden, glistening olive oil.

“Oh no, I can’t-“ Lucy Gray begins.

“It’s barely enough for one slice of bread,” she says gently, placing it on the ground and sitting cross legged, “we won’t miss it, really.”

So she gives your fingers a rest from working through Lucy Gray’s knots and your wrists a break from tugging through her matted hair, dipping the wooden comb into the oil to help soothe and detangle and gently encouraging Lucy Gray to continue her story.

She tells you of the blonde you all saw on TV, that he smells like roses, that he was the only good thing in the Capitol. Barb Azure gives you a look as she massages the olive oil into Lucy Gray’s scalp, a we're not going to ruin this for her look, but you’re both thinking it: she speaks of him a little bit like she spoke of Billy Taupe. The analogy, the association, makes you dislike him all the more- just as someone who’d gotten food poisoning from a certain cheese never wants to eat it again.

Everyone goes about their day as normal: Lucy Gray, reunited with her beloved black guitar, seems to be normal too, or is trying very hard to be. When she sees the food Clerk Carmine had stored up for her, she insists you all divide it in equal portions and eat together.

She is preparing this lunch, and when you walk in to help, she swipes at you with the butter knife, which scratches your arm (but, being a butter knife,) you only utter a dull “ouch.”

“Sorry! I- I didn’t mean-“ she sets the butter knife down on the counter with a clatter, a bitter laugh, “once a killer, always a killer, I suppose. Can’t look Maude Ivory in the eye since I killed a girl scarcely older than her. Can’t look anyone in the eye, really.”

“Oh, Lucy Gray, you know full we won’t think less of you. You did what you had to do.” If the first time she’d mentioned anything she’d done in the arena took you by surprise, you didn’t let it show on your face.

“Sometimes I think, I know it’s selfish of me but I wonder, what was the point of surviving? Because Reaper, he was a better person than me. Taking the weapons out of each tribute’s hands and folding their arms and covering them with the Capitol flag to give them death with dignity, lining them up for some semblance of a funeral. He said he’d kill us but never killed anyone. I killed and he showed so much more kindness to the tributes than I did and he deserved to win- or Wovey, she was too young, she shouldn't have died! She should’ve gotten the chance to grow up and- and I stole that from her. From all of them. So sometimes I wonder why I bothered to survive.”

Tam Amber pushed the door open with Maude Ivory on his shoulders, holding two feathered hats they’d been retouching for this weekend's performance. “And then I see you all and I remember what I was fighting to come back to.”

You all mutually decide not to treat her like glass. Not to walk around eggshells, nor to pretend that nothing happened. To comfort her after nightmares and when she’s jumpy and flinched in a way she never has before or gets incredibly, inexplicably, panicked over a gnat bite on Barb Azure’s neck.

You’d almost never seen her panic before.

“Would it make you feel better if I killed two people?”

“What?”

“Just- oh, it should be three. That way mine will be worse than yours and you don’t have to feel so guilty anymore.”

“Sometimes I think I’ll understand it was for survival. Sometimes I think I’ll live with myself. Then I see Maude Ivory and she’s Wovey and I realize I’ll never, ever forgive myself for the blood on my hands. It won’t wash off. And… there’s actually a third kill I haven’t mentioned. I did it with a snake, just like I did with Mayfair.”

“Why- um- why haven’t you brought it up?”

“Well. My feelings for that one are complicated. I know I should feel burning guilt for Wovey and Reaper because they did nothing wrong, never lifted a hand against me. Though with Reaper it was a mercy kill, I still feel… and Treech… was trying to kill me, and since it was self-defense, I don’t think I know how guilty I should feel. It really was self-defense, so why do I feel…?”

You clasp your hands in both of hers: you need her to understand her hands are capable of more than killing. “You’re allowed to feel as intensely as you want, or not guilty if you prefer. Whatever you feel, every one of us loves you and missed you and will continue to love you and be so, so relieved to have you back.”

She tries for a smile, but it wobbles and breaks. Still. She’d talked about her time in the arena now more explicitly than she had since she’d gotten back, and that was a start: you can’t heal a bullet wound if you pretend it’s not there.

Outside, all grass and sunshine, Barb Azure sat Maude Ivory in her lap, braiding her hair, every girl having something to say about Lucy Gray’s mentor. “You do realize that’s what Peacebreakers do, right? They view us as primitive but exotic, that’s why you’ll hear of some Seam woman pregnant with a soldier’s child- they fetishize us, but they still don’t view as fully human-“

“I don’t think that was it,” Lucy Gray said thoughtfully, working her fingers to milk Shamus, “I think, you know, I think such a large part of it was winning the prize he gets as a mentor- meeting me on the platform just to get a leg up on his competition. That much was obvious. I can’t pinpoint when it changed, or how. Like how if you keep your eye on the sky, you can’t quite tell when it goes from late afternoon to early sunset, but it does it anyway.”

You held the dented bucket firmly below Shamus as she worked, keeping it steady.

(Once, a few months ago, it had been particularly windy and the bucket had blown over. You’d all cried over spilled milk that day.)

“It’s just all too convenient, don’t you think? That everything he did to help you just so happened to be the same things needed to get him the money? Even the fact that he stole for you or gave you that compact- is there anything he’s done purely for you? Any action, no matter how small, that he did just for your sake, no strings attached?”

“When he was hungry and he told me he once ate sticky paste-” she broke off, almost a chuckle but not quite, “I don’t think he’s like the others in the Capitol. He knows poverty, which is why he always snuck me food. He was ashamed of it, I could tell, he tried so hard to be confident and appear wealthy but he’s madly insecure. He didn’t have to tell me about his hunger, that day, but he did. He did.”

You resisted the urge to gag. The very fact that he was a mentor meant he was complicit in the Games, the very Games that kept Lucy Gray awake at night and jumpy during the day, though she tried so hard to conceal both.

“Well, he made you happy, which makes me happy!” Said Maude Ivory, admiring Barb Azure’s handiwork in the form of a newly-woven braid, sweeping it over her shoulder [2]. “You’re both making it too complicated. You were hungry and he brought you food, you were crying and he wiped away your tears. What else is there to say?”

You know she misses him, and the truth is, though you know she loves Covey, some part of you wonders if she wishes she could- could what? Have moved in with him, stayed with him? She wouldn’t do that, of courses, not even if the Capitol let her- but did she wish it?

But then again, CC misses his brother, and he’s staying here, too.

-

“People will be glad to have you back,” says Barb Azure, “our band just hadn’t been the same without you. But… are you sure you’re ready to perform?”

“Yes.” Lucy Gray says it with the most confidence she’s had since she’s come back, and rifles through the shared outfits to pick out a dress for the occasion. Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber wear their feathered hats, Maude Ivory bouncing on her heels. “In the Capitol, I sang to impress, to win people over, to convince me I was worth being alive. I want to perform for the sheer pleasure of it- and for the happiness it brings others, too. Black or green?”

“Green,” you all said in unison, and it was enough for Maude Ivory to giggle, for CC to break into peals of laughter, and the Covey house filled with enough light and laughter to make up for the absence of these two necessary things for the past month.

Barb Azure secured the drum round Maude Ivory’s neck while you sat Lucy Gray down, smearing greasy red balm on her lips and dusting rouge along her cheeks.

“You know you could be a makeup artist?”

You scoffed, smoothing her hair down and clipping a strand back. “There’s no such thing.”

“There is, in the Capitol, sweetheart. I know because the comedian who interviewed me- remember, the one who hosted me when I did that song you watched?- he had makeup and some powder in his hair. You could get paid to do this, you know.”

“Were there coal miners there?” Asked Maude Ivory, and now that she was all dressed, she sat on the dresser and swung her legs above the ground, impatiently signaling for you all to get on with the prep, too.

“No coal miners, dear, that’s what we’re here for.”

“Were there bands?” Asked Clerk Carmine, slipping on his black shoes (which were once Billy Taupe’s, when he was his age), the heels nearly peeling off.

“No bands. No music except for once, Coriolanus sang the anthem. That was it, though.”

“No music,” Barb Azure pondered, “maybe they’re the poor ones.”

Such a statement seemed to be the perfect one to tuck away between your rib cage, and you headed out to the Hob, which had already garnered quite the chattering, drunken crowd.

Backstage- if a blanket being the partition made it ‘backstage’- Maude Ivory went out to introduce the Covey as usual. Lucy Gray shut her eyes tight, the way one would before plunging into a very cold shower.

“Hear that?” You said gently, “All these people who missed you. All these people whose whole week is brightened just from hearing you.”

“But the last time I sang- snakes, there were so many snakes- I was singing but there were just so many of them, too many- hissing and slithering so fast, too fast- where could I run? How could I outrun them? They were nothing like my snakes here- I thought it would be my swan song-“

“But it wasn’t.” Tam Amber said, and it was so little that he said- but it was enough. Outside, cheers rang out, and Lucy Gray smoothed out her dress, tucked in a strand behind her hair- picked up her guitar, fire in her eyes, and stepped out onto the stage.

What you loved most about Performance is that everyone wore masks and then you didn’t have to feel guilty about your own. Lucy Gray was all sparkly, though you knew full well much of it was genuine, and Barb Azure’s shyness and Maude Ivory’s good cheer and everything else stayed just the same- but everyone was bigger, on stage, and brighter. When Lucy Gray gets a bottle and after she takes a swig of it, she passes it to you so her hands are free to play. You hold it with one hand, your colorful tambourine in the other.

(It wasn’t always colorful: Clerk Carmine had done the kindness of dying it for you.)

At some point Lucy Gray’s face shadowed with confusion then with raw elation, and you followed her gaze to a man who, quite frankly, looked as bland and simple as any other Peacebreaker around him.

But, no. As Lucy Gray declared this might be the greatest night of her life and went for another song, you watched him- yes, there was the smile, yes, for a moment he looked so besotted that you were convinced he was truly in love with her- but, what was that? You edged closer to the lip of the stage, needing so desperately to understand that look in his eyes- not quite hatred, but certainly not love. Almost like anger, but closer to desire…

Jealousy. You didn’t know what or why, but it was bare envy if you ever saw it- the disapproving curl of his lips, the stare that was no longer a yearning gaze but a glare. You’d seen it when Mayfair saw Lucy Gray and Billy Taupe together, had seen it back when your mother spoke of your neighbor’s wedding, had seen it most blatantly when Lucy Gray flirted and charmed and once even kissed the cheek of one of the audience- that flare of Billy Taupe’s nose was enough.

The same look the blonde-buzz cut man wore now.

But Lucy Gray was dazzling the crowd- of course, she was too busy to pause and study his facial expressions- so you would pull her aside during the upcoming duet of Tam Amber and Barb Azure, you’d go backstage and you’d tell her, because she was sharp and clever and she’d understand.

You are so focused on how to word it, how to describe it most accurately, that you don’t notice Billy Taupe’s entrance until he begins pleading to the Covey.

But you can’t focus on his entreaties- you keep your eyes on the blonde. Is he jealous of this, too? Or satisfied to see the rejection? Both?

Billy Taupe’s voice grates on your eyes, and you permit your eyes to wander over to Mayfair instead- ha! She wears the same face as the man, anger and jealousy which are both insecurity. Her hair is in a bun, her dress pretty and pressed and pink, and there it is, the hatred you’d been tending to well before the reaping- how you want to wring her neck, how you want to punish her and Billy Taupe for ruining Lucy Gray’s life- she may have survived, but she certainly has enough pain now, enough trauma, to last till the end of her days. And you fix your gaze on Billy Taupe and his drunken stupor and think how easy it would be, when he’s inebriated like this, to kill or at least severely injure him, too. He deserves it. She deserves it. Romance and love triangles are one thing, cheating and two-timing and sending Lucy Gray to near-certain death and sentencing her to a life of nightmares and flinching and guilt are another. It wouldn’t be fair for them to get away unscathed- it wouldn’t be just.

(Those words again? So deluded. Fairness, justice. You think you have the power to bring them forth?)

When the first punch flies, it’s you who pulls the plug and kills the lights.

—

Author notes: It wouldn't be right to write a story about oppression- the world tolerating and even encouraging the deaths of children- without acknowledging the genocide in Gaza right now. So, this is your reminder to email and/or call your representatives, sign a petition, donate, attend a protest, or reblog posts you see- to demand an end to the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians. (If you have call anxiety, don't worry- it tends to go to voicemail. And if it doesn't, there's a script you can use). Refer to my pinned post for ways to help.

[1]- 'crisscross applesauce' is a colorful expression, one I can't see the Capitol ever using- so I thought the Covey might use it in tandem with their other phrases

[2] Maude Ivory wearing a braid over her shoulder is a nod to the theory that she's Katniss's grandmother

Let me know your thoughts in a reply! The story so far, currently six chapters, below

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 31: Play for Your Supper

What's this, a picture of Josha being used in my reread of a book told almost exclusively from the POV of the character he portrays? Bizarre! What else is bizarre is just how much I love spoiling the whole damn Wheel of Time series, so if you're not into that sort of thing it's time for you to get out of here. Begone!

This chapter opens with the icon of a heron-marked blade. It's a little odd since the sword doesn't come up too much in this chapter, whose "climax" revolves around the gleemen equipment. However, it is discussed, and Rand does have some complex thoughts about Tam. Still though, one of the odder choices.

A sudden gust swirled road dust up around him, obscuring everything. He blinked and adjusted the plain, dark scarf across his nose and mouth. None too clean now, it made his face itch, but it kept him from inhaling dust with every breath. A farmer had given it to him, a long-faced man with grooves in his cheeks from worry.

Yes folks, we're in that section of the story, where Rand does a bizarre flashback sequence that doubles around on itself so circuitously that many people assumed there was some kind of editing error. Frankly, I feel like Jordan's wife was a little distracted this section myself. The good news is, Jordan never does anything this confusing again. The bad news is, there's no counterbalancing bad news for me to use in a "good news/bad news" sequence.

One of them casually swung his eyes toward the hedge as he went by the opening, and Rand bared an inch of his sword. Mat snarled silently like a cornered badger, squinting above his scarf. His hand was under his coat; he always clutched the dagger from Shadar Logoth when there was danger. Rand was no longer sure if it was to protect himself or to protect the ruby-hilted dagger. Of late Mat seemed to forget he had a bow, sometimes.

I'm sure the best thing to do in this situation is to not worry about it, Rand. Absolutely nothing bad could be happening with your friend who is descending into paranoia before your very eyes. Of course, you've descended into paranoia too, so I guess the warning signs are hard to spot when you're busy assuming every dude on the road is trying to kill you.

Most traveled in the same direction that they did, eastward toward Caemlyn. Sometimes they got a ride in a farmer’s wagon for a little distance, a mile, or five, but more often they walked. Men on horseback they avoided; when they spotted even one rider in the distance they scrambled off the road and hid until he was past. None ever wore a black cloak, and Rand did not really think a Fade would let them see him coming, but there was no point in taking chances.

The good news about Logain's being captured and toured through Caemlyn is that the road is way too busy for any Fades to be wandering freely on it. Things had to play out this way or Rand would have been shanked on the roadside six miles out of Whitebridge.

Even if you go into one of those houses Tam won’t be there. If he was, could you look him in the face? You know, now, don’t you? Except for little things like where you come from and who you are.

Is it just being adopted that you know, Rand, or are you finding it harder to deny the other obvious truths?

Between them they had enough coins for a few meals at an inn, but a bed for the night would take too much. Things cost more outside the Two Rivers, more this side of the Arinelle than in Baerlon. What money they had left had to be saved for an emergency.

As someone who found that living on the outskirts of the civilized world made things cost more, not less, I'm curious as to if this checks out more in the economies of the Third Age.

They stood like that in the middle of the road until Mat suddenly gave an uncomfortable shrug, and dropped his eyes to the road. “Who would I sell it to, Rand? A farmer would have to pay in chickens; we couldn’t buy a carriage with chickens. And if I even showed it in any village we’ve been through, they’d probably think we stole it. The Light knows what would happen then.”

The dagger's quite lucky to have ended up with someone as clever as Mat, because while he's obviously being compelled not to part with the dagger, I think the specific arguments he makes are by and large his own.

“He’s up to something, I tell you,” Mat said. “See the way he wouldn’t meet my eye? Why are they so friendly to a couple of wanderers they never laid eyes on before? Tell me that.”

And here Mat is being paranoid but he's entirely correct: this farmer is deliberately choosing to screw them over by having them work and then kicking them out anyway.

It could have been worse, he thought. Three days earlier, while they were still working, they’d had the dogs set on them. The dogs, and the farmer, and his two sons waving cudgels chased them out to the Caemlyn Road and half a mile down it before giving up. They had barely had time to snatch up their belongings and run. The farmer had carried a bow with a broad-head arrow nocked. “Don’t come back, hear!” he had shouted after them. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but don’t let me see your shifty eyes again!”

And this is a different farmer who also fucked them over for some reason. What the hell kind of glowers was Mat giving them? Or did they finally notice the sword and freak?

Perrin would know how to handle this, he thought. He’d make some offhand comment, and pretty soon she’d be laughing at his jokes instead of mooning around where her father can see.

Rand, have you met Perrin?

He could never handle the instrument without a pang of sadness. Touching its gold-and-silver scrollwork was like touching Thom’s memory. He never handled the harp except to see that it was safe and dry—Thom had always said the harp was beyond a farmboy’s clumsy hands—but whenever a farmer allowed them to stay, he always played one tune on the flute after supper. It was just a little something extra to pay the farmer, and maybe a way of keeping Thom’s memory fresh.

It's a damn shame Moiraine didn't leave you some kind of sweet memento before she went to go live with the elves. Maybe you would have found a different outlet for your grief than what you picked. Also, the reference to the harp is a nice touch that will pay off next book when Thom is pissed that Rand ruined the strings.

“I think they should have a reward, father,” Mistress Grinwell said as she picked up her youngest boy, who had long since fallen asleep in front of the fire. “The barn is no fit place to sleep. They can sleep in Else’s room tonight, and she will sleep with me.” Else grimaced. She was careful to keep her head down, but Rand saw it. He thought her mother did, too. Master Grinwell nodded. “Yes, yes, much better than the barn. If you don’t mind sleeping two to a bed, that is.”

Mistress Grinwell is quite clever about handling her horny little daughter.

Rand and Mat are actually probably quite happy to avoid having a young lady drop into the barn in the night. They'd probably have panic attacks from the Trolloc memories alone.

Historically speaking, sleeping two a bed while traveling was quite common, so it's interesting that Grinwell thinks they might not like the concept. Sure it's probably just Jordan being a 20th century dude with 20th century norms, but I'll treat it as another subtle sign of the slow population drop that's been creeping up on society: much as the Emond's Field inn is far larger than it needs to be, all over the subcontinent is a surplus of furniture.

If there was more than one inn in a village, the innkeepers would bid for them once they heard Rand’s flute and saw Mat juggle. Together they still did not come close to a gleeman, but they were more than most villages saw in a year.

Okay, I was able to explain Whitebridge's gleeman enthusiasm, but this is too far. These people live on a well-traveled road between the capital city of Caemlyn and the major city of Whitebridge. They probably shouldn't be swarming with traveling entertainers, but they should do well enough. Where Emond's Field hiring a single performer for a holiday was a once-a-decade deal, these people should be pulling them frequently.

Ah well. Little details like this are some of the hardest worldbuilding to keep straight. Can't expect Jordan to be perfect if I'm not even going to read more than one chapter at a time - and we're at the end of this one. See ya next time for Four Kings!

[dreaming-of-the-end]

echoes, saltwater, lemon juice (or: a lesson in pressing bitterness into wounds): Kam

A/N: In which i give them the unhealthy relationship they deserve <3 Love these babies. Hi @pissy-victorian-vampire, I’m your secret santa! you said angst of any sort soooo...

Summary:

Keefe leans forward, places his hands on either side of Tam's legs and presses their lips together, quick, warm. "I'm sorry about that." He's not.

"You're not," Tam says.

TW: kissing? there’s a brief mention of physical violence. also, death mention. and mental illness.

Taglist: @steppingonshatteredglass @real-smooth @sunset-telepath @melanie-schmelanie  @stardustanddaffodils @jaxtheoraliestanner  @song-tam @turquoise-skyyyy @completekeefitztrash @wu-marcy  @saintashes  @rune-and-rising @lavender-and-rainy-days @chasteliac @confusedamphibian @hellomyfriends @cadence-talle @kai-i-guess @callas-starkflower-stew @a-harmless-poison  @professionalwhalewatcher @theogony @gay-otlc @confuzzled-fox @almostfullnerd @athenswrites @synonymroll648 @squishmallow36 @xanadaus

"It burns you sometimes, doesn't it?" Keefe twists his paper napkin so tightly it rips, shreds of the stained white scattering over his black pants. "The memory, I mean."

He doesn't have to ask what he means. "Like lemon juice. Like saltwater."

Keefe's fingers trace the grainy wood of the restaurant table with difficulty, the surface probably still sticky from the syrup-soaked pancakes he'd finished less than five minutes previously. "Like echoes?"

Tam stays silent. His hands are at his sides: he's never liked the cheap fast food places, preferring the clean-cut elegance of his own kitchen over screaming children and food he can't trust. More than that, it's the effect of it all: the bright lights in his eyes, the under-flavored over-sugared food, the lack of privacy, the smack of chewing gum coupled with the constant thrumming of the kitchen fridge, the tacky orange booth seats that stick to his skin.

And this conversation is too rich for the mediocrity of his surroundings. There's must still be something to be said about nights under the stars in a clearing in the woods, or perhaps a dock in the middle of the ocean, or floating in space, filled with the possibility of nothing and everything all at once. These words don't belong here. But Keefe does—not in a way to call him cheap or tacky, but in a bright, everything-everywhere-all-at-once kind of way. He's everything loud, everything bright, everything overwhelming.

"You need the reminder," Keefe says, resolute, as stuck in his self-righteousness as Tam's fork is to the syrupy table. "It's not over, Tam."

"Can't it be done? Can't it have died with her?" Tam feels the warm scent of unwashed bodies brush his skin. He wasn't made for this.

"You know that you did this to yourself."

And he hates Keefe for saying it. He hates him more than anyone, with an overwhelming catastrophic desperation that makes the entire world fade away, because it's always been that way with him. Keefe is simple and complicated in a terrifying, tell-me-who-i-am-and-i-won't-like-the-answer kind of way.

You know you did this to yourself.

Add that to his list of mistakes. Along with falling in love.

...

Tam might have physical echoes, but Keefe's are just as tangible.

The thing is, it's impossible to measure who has it worse (not that it stops him) when Tam's power is the thing attacking him night after night, while Keefe's mind is the only thing holding him hostage.

He's been there during attacks, of course. The times Tam loses himself in nightmares and his shadows come to life on the walls, shadowflux taking physical form to rake scratches into the mellow blue wallpaper Keefe handpicked for their bedroom, foggy condensation dripping from the ceiling onto the sunny yellow sheets of their bed. Their room is falling apart around them, and Keefe can't lie. He doesn't lie anymore.

It's his fault. Tam's.

His fault for choosing to learn shadowflux at all. Umber's journals taught him to weave shadow arrows and knives, rend apart concrete as if it's paper, bring objects crashing down when they're trying to sleep.

It's his fault. But he knows the way it burns. Lemon juice, saltwater, the sting of a frown and the twinge of hate. He knows burning like his own name.

So he knows regret. It calms him somewhat, to know that it was his own fault that he has these nightmares. At least he doesn't have to deal with blaming Tam.

Every day, he sees her: light auburn hair pulled into a bun tight enough to stretch the scars on her face that he'd given her. Right before he ended that light in her cold eyes, the ones that live on in his own face.

Gisela is trapped in his mirror. He has to live with the knowledge that every day, she might escape.

Every time he stares into it, meets his own eyes (her eyes) he feels her a little more. The burning of hate, of the fight with Dimitar and the salt of the ring in his wound. Sophie's desperate eyes, tear filled with prepared grief, because she knew then who he is now, and it destroyed both of them. And so he lost her.

Keefe plays that moment in his mind over and over, but he can’t come up with a version where she doesn’t learn who he is, what he is. He can’t come up with a version where she doesn’t leave him.

Sophie was right to mourn him then. Didn't that make it better when he died? When his mother killed him every way but physically?

...

Tam does not know who they want him to be.

It's a game of fear and choices, both of which he has learned from a schoolbook, studying the art of it.

This is fear: when your nightmares come to life, when your partner clutches at your arm because his mother formed from shadows made real, when the ghosts take physical form and you are powerless to stop them because you learned too well how to make them and not enough of how to send them away.

This is choice: to leave or to stay, to live or to die, how to run and how to love, how to unpack his clothes into drawers or how to make promises and keep them, how to leave one for another, to trust in his safety and let those he loves leave his sight to go with another.

And it's an art, along the lines of painting or singing or the poems he scribbles in his private journal. A love letter to terror, asking it to please stop calling because I'm happy now, I promise I'm happy, I don't need you anymore. All these lies.

He knows lying better than fear. Better than choices.

Tam knows lies, like the ones he tells himself. Like it was my fault (trying to convince himself) when it's not. It wasn't.

It was his fault. Keefe's.

Because he picked up Umber's journals for him, memorized every word to make the shadows leak into Keefe's head correctly, twisted his own insides around to keep him safe.

He would do it all again, of course. Every time, he's the one to lose himself in the glory of being a shield: Linh's protection, Sophie's rock, Keefe's last shred of common sense. It's him who makes the sacrifice, him who chooses to be exiled, to join the Neverseen, to give bits and pieces of himself away in a bargain that cancels out the danger instead of fixing it. He’s a bandaid on a gaping wound.

So perhaps this is fear: when you've given enough of yourself away to not recognize your shadowed eyes when you see them in the mirror.

Perhaps this is choice: whether to go on as half a person, or steal yourself back and take some of them with you.

...

"It drowns you sometimes, doesn't it?" Keefe watches Tam's legs swing back and forth on the countertop, and presses his hands against the cool marble. The chill is a tether and a knife cutting him free from his body. "The anger, I mean."

Tam considers this. Or, he puts on his Thinking Face, the one where his head tilts to the side and his eyes get all wide and his mouth comes open just a little bit, waiting for the spark to come through the space and light an idea in his head. It takes him a little while to form an answer, and when it does, it comes slow, tight with guilt. "Of course."

Keefe leans forward, places his hands on the counter on either side of Tam's legs and presses their lips together, quick, warm. "I'm sorry about that." He's not.

"You're not," Tam says.

He likes the anger, and Tam knows it. The day the two of them stop being angry about what happened to them is the day they turn into their parents and start being angry about what other people are doing and thinking and saying. It has to go somewhere. They have to go somewhere.

Keefe shrugs. He's less furious and more simmering these days. He paints it, his anger, the coolness of ice and piercing eyes. They stare at him always, worse at night, worse with Tam's shades bringing his mother back to life like she hasn't been dead for nearly three years. "You're not, either."

"No," Tam agrees, and this time it's him who moves forward to kiss him. His breath is warm against Keefe's cheeks, and he uses that warmth to center himself. Cold at his palms, heat on his lips.

See, he wishes he can tell his mother, I can still feel. Killing you didn't break me.

Tam did, though. Broke him apart and remolded him. For the better, maybe, or for the worse, probably. With a fire in the pit of his stomach like the throwing star he'd landed in hers. He hates him a little for that: for making him a new version of himself that he doesn't entirely like.

It's an attack, Tam's hands on his cheeks, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb, pulling him closer, threading through the tangles of his hair like he's not a boy made of lemon juice, of saltwater, of echoes. An attack because of how much it hurts, in his lungs and blood and bones, as Tam's palms warm his icy skin and Tam's lips part his own and Tam's eyelashes brush against his cheek with their closeness.

Keefe writes his own name in the fog in the mirror after he showers so he doesn't forget it.

He lets himself forget it now.