#this is what broke me out out drawing funk

[huntersghouls]

DATHOML starts playing

[prittiswaggy-co]

INSANE!AU - Serial Designation N

divider by. @/rwuffle

Extra infos under the cut since I couldn't fit it all in the drawing *cough* (cw: spiraling/self aware character??)

N seem to easily forget names & faces, but will always be polite.

His behavior changes drastically at night, he often talks to himself/stare at a blank wall or just zone out with trex hands and his legs slowly giving out. Resulting in him sitting on the floor with a blank stare.

Dog-like mannerisms, Tessa tried to fix it but it never was successful, but hey, that's not a big deal if he sometimes whine or growls or just like to sleep on people's lap if his battery runs out, plus it's effective if one of his friends is having a panic attack! (Woof?)

He seems like the most 'normal' drone from their little group, is as funked up as them, just good at repressing it. He doesn't have a choice.

Hopeless romantic w/ V, they're both so lovey dovey but there's always this invisible wall separating them, secrets and always secrets.

Good with hands, bad with feets. (Goodness why are his feets like a ballerina's?) He can handle up to 50 wine glasses but trip and broke them all in a few seconds. His walking is always slightly curved, not a straight line but he does his best to not end up eaten by the crows

Tessa's favorite? At least that's how some drone sees it...

N doesn't wear any jackets, too annoying + I hate drawing them

N doesn't mention V in his enjoy because he's unsure about his feelings, but she does have a big place in his heart though, or pritti just forgor uuuu

Infected. They're all are anyway. Why are you questioning it

Over do anything, this is normal for him anyways, what was he made for if it wasn't to be useful? ...

...

...

Someone is calling me.

Wrists or joints in general can be painful if he overused them, Tessa always makes sure to clean & oil those rusty joints! She promised him new ones when she could go outside again. One day.

He likes to play pretend with his little sister, somehow she always ends up being a surgeon and him the patient! But at least they often have tea parties after with warm oil :3 yummy

[heartfullofleeches]

Hey I'm the anon that asked for the minotaur yan,

how about a member of the audience trying to flirt with reader and her having to jold him back from the audience member and try to calm him down?

(Reader's gender is never specified srry)

The bull paws at his restraints, frustrated to see you not by his side.

You perform for the crowd as he waits on the sidelines to join you. The handlers have come to learn as long as they wear rings whether they're married or not, or talk about hypothetical partners he'll allow them to monitor him for a while. He's easily pushed to jealousy as presented in the huffs and snorts he makes as a member of the crowd continuously tries to chat you up each time you pass.

You smile and try to play off their advances, but that only eggs them on more. During the next break in your act, they grab you by your ruffled collar before you can retrieve your partner for the next show. The braiding of the ropes binding your mate gives way as you let out a choked gasp.

You free your airway by swatting their hand and pulling the collar from your neck. "You're... not supposed to touch the workers."

"Sorry about that. I've been trying to get your attention all day."

There's zero sincerity in their words. You try to avoid drawing attention by turning them down face on. It makes things easier when the other members of the crowd peel out of their seats.

"Really, I'm flattered, but I'm not interested.."

"Don't be like that. I'm sure you have a cute face under all that makeup. A person like you probably doesn't have many options anyway."

"Actually I have a-

You stop short. What is he to you? It feels like the shadows are close in around you. No, wait- something is blocking the sun from above. A frighten yelp and agitated whines draw you to the scene overhead, angry saliva dripping onto your shoulder. The minotaur had the crowd member's shirt by his fist, lifting them in the air by the tearing fabric alone. They try to break free, but raises their arms in defense as he snorts in their face.

"Keep your hands off unless you want them broke."

The minotaur roughly grabs their wrist and slowly bends it backwards, skin tight around the bone as they cry out. You face his torso, standing on your toes to grab his arm.

"Stop! You're hurting them!"

You smack his chest, but he doesn't budge - screams ascending in pitch. You mutter an apology you're sure he can't here as you raise your voice.

"Bad boy!"

The world freezes. The stranger looks at you bewildered while the minotaur stares vaguely like he had just been shot through the heart. He drops the shivering individual who books it as soon they're free. He lowers his head.

"I was just trying to protect you."

You knew those words would come back to haunt you. You guide his face into your hands by his broken ropes and massage the edge of his ears.

"Hey, I didn't mean that.. You're a good boy. The best I've ever met."

He huffs. "If you meant that you wouldn't have said what you said."

"I know... and I'll do whatever I can to make up for it. I was just upset you just can't do things like that, or you might get taken away and I don't want to lose you. You're a good boy. My favorite boy. My..."

He perks up. "Your?"

"Mate."

Truth be told, hearing you say you'd miss him brought him out of his funk, but he had to milk the scenario of all its worth. He licks up the entire right side of your face and picks you in what you'd consider the most threateningly sweet hug you've ever had. He plants his large head on your chest as he nuzzles you.

"You finally admitted! Took you long enough. Since were officially together we never have to be alone again. I heard the owner talking about me moving in with you too!"

"aw.... wait-"

[jacquelinesbookclub]

Monks - Des Dillon

I’ve been in a Funk. A Funk with a big fat capital F. Let me explain.

I had a whole thing lined up to talk about this book, about how sometimes a story is written in such a way that it begs to be read out loud. The difficulty in teaching Shakespeare to kids in English class is that it’s not meant to be read, but heard. It’s written with performance in mind, and trying to untangle it wholly within your own head won’t give it the space it needs to express itself. Monks has an element of this as well, and I can see why Dillon took it and turned it into a play after its initial publication, it’s expressive in a way that needs to be performed. I read the first third or so of this book out loud to myself, pacing my living room gesturing wildly like I was on stage again for the first time in twenty years, and it was fun! It felt like that was exactly how it was meant to be experienced, out loud, in person, in real physical space where it can breath and shout and play, where it can exist. But then disaster, I broke my glasses.

I broke my glasses while cleaning them on my shirt, snapped them clean in two, right down the middle. Less than a week later I broke my backup pair in the exact same place in the exact same way. Broken glasses means I can’t see which means I don’t see and by don’t see I mean I’ve stopped looking. I can’t read, I can’t write, I can’t diddle away on my phone for hours on end. Driving hurts my poor soggy little brain, as does literally anything that requires focus, no riding my bike, no video games, no model kits, no painting, drawing, sketching. I can’t see properly so I’ve not even bothered trying, I’ve let the Funk in and its made itself at home.

...

And stayed there. I wrote these first two paragraphs a month and a half ago, which was two weeks after finishing the book, I’ve barely left the couch in eight weeks. I’ve had new glasses for a while now and I’m still not out of the Funk, so it isn’t that. I tried to blame the weather, it’s been below freezing in the mornings and constantly wet and dreary, but no-one believed me. “I’ve been busy”, I say from my comfy chair, they’re not buying it. I’ve gotta come clean, I’ve been depressed. Not just sad and mopey, but real, teeth in the flesh depressed. Like a bulldog’s lockjaw around my ankle, the ol’ ball and chain dragging me down. But it’s me, I’ve created this, the Funk is coming from inside the brain, and I’ve sealed all the doors and closed myself in with it.

Dillon’s unnamed protagonist continuously refers back to time spent in “the Ward” with Jimmy Brogan, and those of us who know, know that there is often very little healing to be done in places like that; locked up with your own thoughts, ruminating between bouts of sedatives, only people to talk to are like minded or trying to fix your mind like. It’s suffocating, there’s no fresh air to be had, no way to stick your head above the clouds and feel the sun on your face even for a second. You’re in with the Funk, and you’re not goin’ till the Funk is gone. But where is it supposed to go? You’re trapped in there playing hot potato with the Funk, back and forth, bouncing from hand to hand, feeding it with every touch, with every contact. The Funk has seeped into the walls, it’s a sticky film over all the furniture, the entire place reeks of it behind the bleach, you can’t get clean of it because it’s everywhere, you can’t get clean of it in there.

Breaking my glasses might have been the catalyst, but what I’ve actually done is built myself my own personal Ward, not of wood and bricks but of Funk. Dillon says “at some stage we level our eyes to the earth and don’t look up the rest of our lifes”, that’s what I’ve done, I’ve stopped looking out at the stars and turned in on myself. We’re all guilty of this, in our own way, building up walls and keeping our whole world inside. It’s scary out there, and comfortable here in here, I tell myself, but in here there’s nothing but Funk, a circuitous bubble of the same thoughts ricocheting off each other. I need to get OUT.

This is what Monks is telling us, to get out. “We’re over here to stretch our lifes. Make them bigger. Experience things”. Healing happens not in my Funk in front of the TV, but out there, in the world. It happens when I meet a neighbourhood cat, or feed some ducks. It happens when I improvise a silly song with a friend in the moment, when I say something embarrassingly wrong on the phone and the world doesn’t end. It happens when I laugh about missing a shot in a game of billiards, and when the room cheers once I get it right. It happens when I breach above the Funk for a moment and take some space for myself. Every time I get out of my comfort zone and come back safely, my zone expands. Yeah, it’s hard, fuckin’ oath it’s hard. “But strugglin’s good. Strugglin’s perseverance an indomitable spirit. Strugglin’s searching for something stronger inside. Strugglin’s what it is to be alive”. The struggle is what helps the healing, It’s like training my muscles, I push them so they can grow bigger, without resistance I’ll never grow.

So that’s what I’ll to do then, push through the struggle to get out. Get out into the world, Run up a mountain, kiss a beautiful woman, laugh with friends, have a wierd conversation with a wierd guy, share a knowing glance with a cashier at the shops, feel the cold on my face, and see that it’s real. It’s really really really real.

[yupuffin]

In summer 2016, I got one of the Japanese bookstore's last copies of the KAITO 10th anniversary album Glorious Blue. The whole album is full of BOPS, but I got particularly hooked on Doctor=Funk Beat by nyanyannya. I was super excited to see it slated to be performed at Magical Mirai later that year. I learned the choreography as fast as I could and became, to my knowledge, the first person to publicly upload a dance cover of Doctor=Funk Beat using the Magical Mirai choreography.

Sometime in the next few months, I got hooked on the rest of nyanyannya's discography and decided to subscribe to his Patreon. We got monthly updates and the early release versions of some songs, which was cool! I believe it was in the announcement post for the song Justin⇒Jive⇒Justify in which he included the song lyrics, footnoted with "It'd be cool if I had an English translation!"

So, like the bilingual student I was, I went 🤔🤔🤔, assembled my best attempt at a translation, and stuck it in the comments with "Hey, I wasn't sure if you were serious about wanting an English translation for this, but in case you were and wanted to use one, I gave it a shot!"

I thought this would be a singular instance, but I was wrong! Unexpectedly, this led to us collaborating on quite a bit of translation work for him over the years, including captions for his music videos back when community captions on YouTube were a thing. It was a really cool experience. I remember consulting one of my housemates, an exchange student from Japan, to help me proofread my responses to the messages we exchanged. Once nyanyannya started to get into Vtubing, I learned how to make subtitle files from scratch to match the skit videos he'd send me so he could upload them with the final product. Most of those videos have sadly been unlisted now, but I have fond memories of his avatar's antics, and many of the one-liners still live in my head rent-free despite the defunct source material.

The cozy fandom for his body of musical work "the Namari Hime series" was led by a dedicated user who'd host regular drawing chats -- the kind where everyone doodles on the same canvas while voice chatting. Every few weeks or months I'd get to wake up ridiculously early to discuss new song releases and favorite characters with a bunch fellow fans from the other side of the Pacific Ocean, and nyanyannya even joined in himself on a couple of occasions. He laughed at the cleverness of me posting a photo in cosplay of one of his characters "Cash" gesturing dramatically at an ATM. He rightly proclaimed our little corner of the Internet a "super cool fandom."

For a while, we had an unofficial Discord server for the worldwide English-speaking sector of the fandom as well. It's probably still out there, actually! It was really cool to see how the fandom grew over the years from just a couple of people to at least several dozen, if not more.

Shortly after protests broke out across the United States in 2020, I woke up to a message from nyanyannya saying he'd seen the news about what was happening on my side of the pond and wanted to ask if I was okay. It was really touching.

I followed his work less closely after he officially started Vtubing, just because, as a college student, I didn't have the spare time to watch a large quantity of ~3-hour-long videos. And a couple of years ago, I stopped financially supporting him after he started experimenting with generative AI to make YouTube thumbnail images and singing samples.

But we still follow each other on Twitter--even though he posts mostly about Vtubing now, and I mostly post about Hoyoverse games and not Namari Hime. I still see the selfies he posts on Instagram from time to time. And I'm still mutuals with a lot of the previous fandom members, too, even though a lot of them are less active and we don't speak directly basically at all anymore.

nyanyannya's song Fräulein=Biblioteka is featured in the ongoing MIKU EXPO North America tour. nyanyannya is not a mainstream musician. In fact, he deliberately quit mainstream music production before he wrote Namari Hime because of the toll it was taking on his mental and physical health, and turned instead to Vocaloid as tool to help him express his individuality, instead of whatever would be the most commercially successful.

Well, that's just one example. There's plenty more.

KIRA, the producer who wrote the featured song "Highlight," is younger than I am by several years. He wrote the lyrics to another one of his hit songs, "MONSTER," when he was sixteen, and almost scrapped it because he thought nobody would like it. Now a song he wrote played at COACHELLA and he's over the moon.

Utsu-P, behind "Hyper Reality Show," is experiencing similar feelings, as he never would have dreamed of one of his songs featuring at Coachella back when his parents bought him Hatsune Miku with graduation money.

yukkedoluce is another of my favorite Vocaloid producers. He grew up wanting to be an astronaut, but didn't qualify because his eyesight was too poor -- so now he lives his dream in a different form by writing Miku songs about space.

At one of the side events at MIKU EXPO 2018, my siblings and I happened to sit next to a Vocaloid producer named Lystrialle who specializes in making contemporary folk music featuring MEIKO and KAITO. I looked up her music after the expo; her album "You, in the Endless Starlight" almost literally defined my sexuality (or lack thereof), and my Genshin Impact AU is named after some of her lyrics. She runs a Mastodon instance for Vocaloid fans.

What I'm trying to say is... there are Vocaloid producers who might be more comparable to mainstream producers, and there are musicians who started with Vocaloid work and eventually transitioned to more mainstream work. But there's also an endless list of Vocaloid producers who make little to no money off their work and hence are far from major corporate entities.

Individuality and collaboration is at the heart of Vocaloids like Hatsune Miku. Miku is primarily a tool to give musicians the power to create the music they want, not to make a highly successful commercial product. I've given an entire hour-long panel on this that convention attendees still remember ten years later, but that's a lot to put into a post that's already long enough, so I'll spare you the details for now.

Vocaloid was one of my first fandoms back in 2011. I got into cosplay and dance because of Vocaloid. Now I'm heavily involved in my local cosplay performance scene, both in terms of participating in events and helping organize them.

How does that phrase go? Do not recite the magic to me; I was there when it was written.

Don't spread misinformation that Vocaloid producers don't care about people's feelings because all they care about is making a commercial Product(tm).

Instead, please fuck all the way off.

[ariel-s-awesome]

Commander Peepers, love cute little evil bastards. Also I heavily relate to this nerd.

Lord Dominator, there's soooo much misogyny and demonizing women for not returning men's advances in her character. Literally ruined the show.

Friendship!

My artstyle is still heavily based on it. Also I learned about some writing mistakes to avoid.

The Funk! I love how it really showed Hater and Peepers' friendship. Also bonding over being horrible is funny.

The Toddler was kinda a weak episode. Not bad but...

The Eye on the Skullship! I love watchdogs so I was glad to see them get some focus!

There was literally nothing enjoyable about The Matchmaker. Not only was it incredibly heteronormative, but it established a pattern that twisted Wander and Sylvia's relationship and made it unhealthy. Sylvia was taught to ignore her own doubts and trust Wander without question. This was treated like a good thing. I also hate My Fair Hatey because as an aro (and someone who thought I was a girl at the time), it... literally broke my heart.

Sylvia's. The cyan and magenta with yellow and black accents is a really good look.

Ripov! She's soooo cool and I wish she got introduced far earlier. Maybe as part of the core cast instead of Dom. I'd love to see her and Sylvia bounce off each other. Directly related, I wish Captain Tim appeared more. He's such a large part of Hater's life, and his relationship with the watchdogs didn't get much focus.

Watchdogs by far.

Death Glare. Wouldn't want Peepers' obvious crush requited pre-character development and establishing a healthier (and far less toxic) friendship though. Btw I have no clue what Nomadic Heroes is.

Sylvia. She's my second favorite character and a pretty cool gal. ...And the only member of the main cast who isn't exhausting to be around.

The Skullship is super cool! And I'd love to see the watchdog homeworld... Can only interpolate what it's like from the Skullship's design and the watchdogs.

Peepers and Sylvia's gay/lesbian hostility and/or solidarity.

Yes. Most of them are prominent in season 2, although seeds were planted in season 1. I could write multiple essays. Most of them stem from misogyny and the distinctly Christian ideal of unconditional faith.

No one, I'm aro/ace. If I wasn't, Sylvia. Gotta admire cool buff women. I can also see Peepers' appeal, but he's horrible to be around and surely worse to date.

Mayo, the smell of mustard literally makes me gag.

The standard. And the variant in The Fancy Party.

Eh? Peepers', I guess? They're fun to draw.

Depends on the situation, I guess. And the hat's whims. I don't think it's what Wander hypes it up to be, just a traveling companion who tries their best and doesn't communicate well.

Looney Tunes, specifically with Marvin the Martian or Commander X-2. Either one of them could be a great friend and/or rival to Peepers'. Their respective universes would also mash up well.

Sylander. Please stop ruining a rare m/f friendship with heteronormativity/amanormativity... Men and women can be close friends. There's no such thing as people being too close to "just be friends."

Rhubarb, meringue is kinda tasteless.

That's How We'll Get Her. I love how they bounce off each other! And how it shows that while Peepers and Sylvia are both realists, Peepers is an optimist that starts with "what will it take to get to my end goal?", in contrast to Sylvia being a pessimist who defaults to "how can we salvage this situation?" Also we didn't get nearly enough of Peepers and Sylvia singing.

I already mentioned the one that made me boil with rage so here's a touching one: When Sylvia called out the Lords of Illumination for tormenting Wander.

Backstories, character development. They had a lot of good ideas but wasted time with that all-consuming love interest subplot.

Frankly? No. After season 2 it was a mercy kill. (And the whole Dominator thing, and tainting Wander's character by making him an infallible Space Jesus are not my only complaints.)

Peepers'! I don't remember the source but apparently a crew member said that they recorded Peepers singing The Commander Who Gave His Last Command. And they never released it??? A tragedy.

No. Being aro aside, he's just a cube. Honestly he's a meh character anyways.

Wander over Yonder Themed Asks!

[d0llhousess]

⇢ fandom: daiya no ace ⇢ pairing: miyuki kazuya  x f!reader ⇢ genre: angst ⇢ warning/tags: exes to friends to lovers, so much angst it’s ridiculous, angst w/ hopeful ending, mild language, pining, coffeeshop!au basically, pro player!miyuki 

⇢ summary: you met him at the wrong time of your life, yet fate has awarded you a second chance to fall in love with him once again. ⇢ word count: approx. 3k 

⇢ a/n: let me tell you, being hit with a massive wave of insecurity about your writing through the week you post the most is not fun but like yooo here we are. This is Day 3, and I hope you enjoy it! I’m not too happy with how this came out, but I do hope it reads well for you guys.

⤆ Back to Week of Fic’s Masterlist

It’s hard to recall the moment you first fell in love with Miyuki Kazuya. 

You were young, in your teens, navigating through highschool in the best way possible. He was just a mutual friend of yours; someone to just say ‘hey’ to  when you spoke to Kuramochi. You couldn’t quite remember what led to the two of you hanging out more and eventually going on a few dates, but you clearly remembered the emotions he elicited from you. 

Being with him made all your problems fade to the background, it made you feel, believe, that you were on top of the world. Being in love with Miyuki Kazuya was an experience like no other. Yet, you weren’t his first love. You didn’t hold his heart like he did yours, and eventually the dates faded. He stopped making time for you, and you stopped pushing to be a part of his life. In hindsight, your issues could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation, but both of you were young.  

So, instead of soft words explaining how neglected you felt, your feelings exploded into hurtful, sharp phrases that led to the demise of your relationship. Gone were the lingering touches in the hallways, the soft good luck kisses before a game, the playful teasing remarks between the two of you. He’d faded into a stranger, and when the both of you graduated high school, you stopped seeing him all together. 

There were nights you would replay your relationship in your mind, you would linger on your regret of never mending the bridge between the two of you, because him leaving your life left a slight hole in your heart. Yet, the loudest part in your brain never failed to remind you that communication was a two way street, and that if he truly loved you, he would’ve fought for your relationship. 

But that loud part of your brain didn’t stop you from scrolling though his Instagram feed in the late hours of the night. It didn’t stop you from lingering on the sports article that covered him going pro, and it definitely did not stop you from sinking into a deep funk when news broke of his engagement. 

If you were honest, you felt a bit pathetic. You were still hung up on your highschool sweetheart, and he was about to get married.     

Honestly, how pitiful could you get? 

So, instead of holding onto your dead relationship, you allowed yourself to relive the emotions the relationship elicited out of you. You allowed yourself to come to the terms that while Miyuki was terrible at communication, you were too. 

You both were too young, too immature,  for the seriousness of your relationship, and that was okay. It was okay that things didn’t work out. Sure, lighting doesn't strike twice in the same place, but you were too young to even realize that lighting had struck.  It was okay to have regrets because that’s how life was. It was rare to have the perfect conclusion to, well, anything, and with that realization you were finally able to move on. 

As the years passed, you chased your passions. You attended culinary school, and graduated which eventually led to you opening your own local cafe. It wasn’t much, but it was your own warm little abode that you’d built from the ground up. It was a physical representation of your hard work, and you couldn't be more proud of it. 

Through those years, you didn’t think much about Miyuki. You didn’t scroll through his feed for updates. When you saw a sport’s article with his name in bold letters, you’d turn away from it. He was a person of your past, and you were content with that. You didn’t need to know how he was doing, what he was up to, because you were over him. 

Well you were over him until he walked into your coffee shop. 

It was a normal winter day. The city streets have been recently plowed because of frequent snowfall; the air was bitingly cold, yet the warmth of your cafe brought in a decent amount of customers who couldn’t wait to get their daily fix of caffeine or sweet treat. 

Your mind had been occupied with getting each customer served, that when you heard the familiar chime of the front door’s bell, you only called out a light greeting, not looking up from the cash register as you logged in the current customer’s order. Yet, when you lifted your head, mouth parting to recite your practiced greeting to the next customer, you felt the words die on your tongue. 

Your eyes widened, gaze locking with bright amber eyes that you’d only seen in pictures over the past few years. Your heart speeds up in your chest, and it takes everything in you to still your shaking hands. Never in your life did you expect for him to waltz into your coffee shop, fixing you with that crooked smirk that always seems to make your thoughts stutter. 

You blink once, then twice, before you allow a professional smile to spread onto your face. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” You greeted, head tilting as you hoped  that he didn’t notice the way your brain short circuited just moments before, “What can I get for you, Miyuki?”

“I hope you aren’t saying I aged bad,” He immediately responded, drawing out a soft giggle from you. 

You shook your head, denying his claim, because no matter how much you did not want to admit it, he became even more handsome with age. You allowed your gaze to roam over his features as he gazed over the menu that hung above your head. 

You noted how he’d grown just a bit taller, how despite years passing he somehow had the same style of black frames that he had in high school, and how his features seemed to be more pronounced. Before you could linger over his face any longer, you quickly snapped your gaze to the digital screen of your cash register, because you could not be caught checking out your high school ex. 

“What do you suggest?” You hear him ask, and you lick your lip as you thought about your answer, recalling the seasonal drink options and your usual menu. 

“Well, what are you in the mood for?” You eventually respond, turning your gaze back to the man on the other side of the counter, “If you’re feeling festive we have an array of cinnamon or ginger based drinks, yet if you’re a fan of more simple drinks, we have your basic cappuccinos and lattes.” 

 Shifting your stance, you watch as he mulls over your response, eyes still firmly locked on the menu before he waved his hand in an indifferent manner. 

“Just make me your favorite drink.” 

You nod, immediately logging in the order, refusing to allow yourself to think too deeply about the request. He was just here to get coffee. He was just another customer. He was just Miyuki. 

After you told him the total and he paid, you began to work on his drink. You ignored the way he seemed to watch you buzz around behind the counter. You refused to glance at him again. No, you solely focused on the task at hand. 

Once you finished his order, you handed it to him over the counter, ignoring the slight sting of electricity that shot up your arm as your fingers brushed against each other. You watched as he brought the cup to his lips before taking a small sip of the drink, eyes fluttering shut briefly before they met your gaze once again. 

“Oh this is good,” He mummers, and you open your mouth to explain what's in the drink, yet he holds up his hand to stop you. 

“I don’t need to know what’s in it.” He explains, causing your brows to furrow in confusion. 

“But how will you order it again if you don’t know what it is?” 

Miyuki is quiet for a moment, bright eyes roaming over your face as he leans against the counter, “How often are your shifts here?” 

You blink at the question, a bit confused at what he was getting at, “Uh, I’m here nearly everyday.” 

The smirk that spreads onto Miyuki’s full lips and it lets know that you’d fallen for something, yet you’re still unsure of exactly what that something is. 

“Perfect, then you’ll just have to take my order every time I come, right?” He chirps, taking another sip from his coffee cup. 

“Um,” You begin to say, but before a full sentence leaves your lips, he’s already bidding you goodbye, leaving just as fast as he came. 

Throughout the rest of your workday, you’re plagued with thoughts about Miyuki and why on earth did he come to your cafe. Fuck, how did he even find out about your cafe. You attempted to push the thoughts away from your mind, yet they still plagued you even after you’d closed. 

The next day, Miyuki comes into your coffee shop again, but this time he lingers. 

It was a slower day for the cafe; your usual morning rush wasn’t that heavy so you knew who he was the moment the bell chime rang through the nearly empty coffee shop. Immediately, you began to go through the process of making his drink, handing it to him as you began to ring him up.

“Slow day, innit?” He commented, and a small smile played onto your lips.

“Yeah, but that gives me more time to do other things besides just making drinks,” You responded before telling him the price of his drink. 

He handed you the exact amount of money you’d said, causing your brows to raise in slight surprise, but you don’t comment on it. Instead of leaving right after he received his coffee, he remained in your cafe, eyes lingering on your form as you cleaned up your work space. 

He asked you questions, seemingly catching up with all of the things he missed in the years you’d grown apart, and fuck did this puzzle you. Why on earth did Miyuki just randomly breeze back into your life? Why was he behaving as if the last conversation the two of you held didn’t end in scathing words and tears? 

You wanted to ask him this, to demand answers on how he learned about your little cafe, but you didn’t, you couldn’t. You were afraid of the answers to those questions, and seeing him again, even for a few minutes, brought a sense of peace in your life. 

When you gazed into his amber eyes, you felt as if it was the very first time you’d seen him all those years ago. You’d missed the banter he brought, you missed his jeering, you missed him. You wished you could press rewind on the clock, to go back to the very moment of your relationship’s demise, yet you couldn’t. 

Besides, you were getting ahead of yourself. To him, you were sure he just viewed this as catching up with an old classmate. He was happily engaged, and just engaging in a purely friendly conversation. At least, you thought he was engaged until he informed you that he’d broken off the engagement nearly a year ago. You don’t have much time to respond to him after this confession, because he’s wishing you a goodbye. 

Yet, just like the day before, your thoughts are riddled with him. 

You can’t help the bubble of curiosity in your chest. Did he seek you out for a sense of familiarity after a failed engagement? Was it purely chance that he’d walked into your cafe? You didn’t know, and frankly you were slightly afraid of the answer, but you knew that you needed to ask him these questions. 

It takes weeks for you to build up the courage to ask him the questions that swarmed in your mind the moment he left your eyesight. 

Sure, he still came to your cafe, ordering the same thing nearly everyday, engaging you in light conversation topics that filled in the gaps of the years you’d miss of his life. He told you about university, about the pro league, about how he was in general. Yet, his engagement was never brought up. 

He’d ask you about your life, and you’d found yourself telling him about it rather candidly. You told him about the slight funk you fell into after graduation (of course you didn’t tell him the reason for the funk), about culinary school, about opening the cafe. 

The unspoken questions linger in the air between the two of you, and though you find yourself tentatively growing closer to the man that visited your coffee shop nearly everyday, there was something actively holding you back from him. 

So, when he walked through the door of your cafe after nearly a month of being your number one customer, you decided that this is the day that you’d ask the questions that’d been causing you to keep him at arm's length. You fall into the routine of fixing his drink, and as you hand it to him, instead of giving him your usual playful greeting, a question falls from your lips in a jumbled up mess. 

 “How on earth did you find out about my cafe?” 

Miyuki’s gaze widens behind those black frames, and his usual smirk is dropped from his face. The pair of you look at eachother, minds filling with unspoken words, and the nearly empty cafe is so quiet that you’re sure he can hear your heart hammering away in your chest. 

“How about we talk about this after you close?” He offers, and you nod as he paid for his coffee (the exact amount of cash like always), and bid you farewell. 

The rest of your day is spent in an anxiety induced haze, until you’re flipping the open sign closed. Nursing a cup of your favorite warm beverage, you wait for Miyuki at one of your window seats and a mere five minutes pass before he’s walking into the cafe, discarding his snow littered coat. He sits beside you, thanking you for the drink you’d prepared for him as well. 

The two of you are quiet, unsure where to start. Years of tension hang in the air, and you can feel your leg begin to bounce out of sheer nervousness. You hear Miyuki chuckle softly and your eyes shift to his grinning face. You raise a  singular brow in question, and he shakes his head. 

“It’s just funny how you still do that,” He comments, and you then halt your bouncing leg, soft laughter breezing through the warm air of the cafe. 

“You know what they say,” You responded, facing him fully with a soft smile, “Old habits die hard.”

Miyuki’s grin melts into a smile that mirrors your own, and just a bit of the tension dissipates. You open your mouth to apologize for the rather random question that led the both of you to your current position, yet before you can even utter a word, he begins to tell you about the events that led him to your cafe. 

He told you about how devastated your breakup left him, about how you broke his heart, about how he knew he broke your heart as well. He tells you about how thoughts of you plagued his mind all throughout your time apart, about how he yearned for a simple “do over.” Then, he begins to tell you about his  engagement. A part of you wants to tell him to stop, because you don’t want to hear about the man you’d loved for years falling in love with another person. 

Yet, you allow him to continue because he needs to get this off his chest, and you need to hear it. 

You listen to him as he recounts the engagement, at how the relationship deteriorated into something toxic simply because he refused to let go of his love for you. Your hands began to shake around your coffee mug as you listened to him admit that the reason called off his engagement was because of you.

You nearly begin to cry. 

You don’t know what to think, what to say. 

A part of you wants to throw your arms around him, to weep into his chest about how much you missed him, but another part needs him to finish recounting his tale. So you anchor yourself to your seat, encouraging him to continue. 

Finally, he tells you about how he heard about your little cafe. He tells you about how Kuramochi mentioned it in mere passing when they were catching up, and about how he couldn’t resist seeing you again.  By now, your heart is beating so heavily in your chest, that it’s nearly hard to breathe. 

Here he was laying his heart out bare for you to judge, to even reject. He wasn’t the boy that you’d turned your back on all those years ago. He didn’t brush off your questions with jokes, no, he answered them truthfully. 

He was being vulnerable with you, and never in a million years would you have expected Miyuki Kazuya to approach you with his heart in his hands. You exhale shakily, hands removing themselves from your now cool mug, before you placed a soft hand over his larger one. 

“Kazuya,” You breathed out, facing him fully, if he could bare his heart to you, then you could do the same, “I never stopped loving you.”  Your confession fills the air between the two of you, and your hand squeezes his closed fist that rested on top of the table.

 “Even after all these years, Kazuya,” You whispered to him,“I’m still in love with you.” 

A mere second passes before his lips are on yours, and the same electricity you felt clap through your body from your very first kiss with him, strikes through you. Goosebumps littered your forearms as you melted into his embrace, pressing your body even more closer to his. 

Apparently, lighting did strike in the same place twice.

[geekwiththegoggles]

Hi I have no idea what's going on but thanks to @doodledrawsthings I literally broke myself out of a depressive funk to draw their human Snatcher.

I may not fully understand and I might not be part of the A Hat In Time fandom, but I do love me some super-powerful baddie turned-redeemable friend content when I see it.

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Electric Kingdom: Episode One 1999 Nu Skool Breaks / Breakbeat / Electro

Allow me to start this post off with this one extended thought that was rattling around in my head as I was listening to this comp: literally no one knows what they're talking about when it comes to defining the terms breakbeat, breakbeat hardcore, and breaks, and that includes yours truly. You go on different websites that consider themselves to be authorities on the definitions of electronic music genres and they all happen to differ from each other. As it turns out, the consensus is that there really is no consensus and it's something that happens to be really annoying and frustrating.

And websites like Discogs contradict themselves internally, too. Like, they define breakbeat as a specific type of jungle-adjacent rave music that was popular between 1990 and 1993, but then you look at Discogs' top releases for that style and a lot of them don't match the website's own definition of breakbeat at all.

So, I've come up with a way to delineate all of this. And I know I'm just someone on tumblr whose case to be made only ends up adding even more to all of the convolution, but I think I have a logically foolproof method for categorizing all of this stuff. But it takes some pained explaining, so strap in.

Let's start with where most of the confusion is probably derived from in the first place: the musical term, "break," which is also referred to as a "breakbeat" or a "drum break." The break is the foundational element of a song that unites all of these styles of music that I'm about to try and describe to you all. It's a sampled piece of music, usually from a 60s or 70s funk, soul, jazz, or R&B record, that acts as the rhythmic base for the entirety of a track or at least a significant portion of it. In this context, a "break" and a "breakbeat" mean pretty much the same exact thing, but a "drum break" is a more specific type of break, in that it consists of either only drums or mostly drums. Some of the most famous drum breaks are the "Amen" break, the "Funky Drummer" break, and the "Apache" break.

The genres of breakbeat, breakbeat hardcore, and breaks all use a break in their music. But here's how I see these three genres differing from each other:

Breakbeat is the umbrella term for any form of electronic dance music that uses a break as a foundational rhythmic element. But it differs from jungle and drum n bass in that the break in a breakbeat song isn't necessarily the focal point of the production. Jungle and dnb like to tinker around with, combine, and layer drum breaks as their main draw, but breakbeat isn't so much concerned with that.

Within breakbeat then are a bunch of subgenres, the two most prominent of which are breakbeat hardcore and big beat. I would classify breakbeat hardcore as being that early 90s jungle-adjacent rave music that Discogs simply just wants to call breakbeat instead. Big beat, on the other hand, is a form of breakbeat that broke through to the mainstream in the late 90s and early aughts with acts like Fatboy Slim and the Chemical Brothers. It sounds poppier than traditional breakbeat and it uses a lot more rock samples, too.

Another confusing thing here is that The Prodigy are both one of the biggest and greatest breakbeat hardcore and big beat acts of all time. The way you differentiate them though is between their early work, like their Experience album, which is breakbeat hardcore, and their later material, like The Fat of the Land, which is big beat.

And that leaves us with one genre left to define, which is breaks. Discogs defines breaks as all forms of break-driven electronic music that isn’t jungle or drum n bass and also doesn't meet their definition of breakbeat, which again, is that early 90s jungle-adjacent rave stuff. Contrarily, Rate Your Music considers breaks to be a word that's merely interchangeable with breakbeat.

But I see breaks as a whole other thing entirely, which is a style of music that actually falls under the hip hop umbrella. To me, breaks is a style of music that gained popularity between the mid-90s and early aughts that simply cuts and pastes and splices together numerous breaks and samples in order to create one, continuous track. And it doesn't really use much in the way of synthesizers or drum machines; it's just a well-put-together string of old samples. And I don't mean The Avalanches, who use literally thousands of samples in their records; I mean those hip hop-minded breakdance-types of DJs and producers who were trying to find a way to make the cardboard-mat-mentality of the 70s and 80s relevant again. A lot of people already call this kind of music breaks, but they tend not to differentiate it from big beat or breakbeat, and it's really different from both of those things. You can find breaks songs  in things like Fatboy Slim's own DJ mixes from the late 90s and early aughts, for example, as he alternates between breaks and big beat tunes, and you can also find them in a fantastic compilation called Revenge of the B-Boy.

*deep breath*

Now, here's where all of what I just carefully laid out gets fucking torpedoed, and it's because of one guy named Rennie Pilgrem. Rennie Pilgrem is a British dude who heralded in a new type of breakbeat in the late 90s. This style fuses drum breaks with elements of electro, it tends to be more technical and minimal, and it's much less loud than other forms of historically popular breakbeat. And what'd Pilgrem decide to call his new subgenre? Fucking nu skool breaks, of course. And because he coined this style of music that he happened to pioneer himself, the name is universally accepted. This motherfucker. I was trying to make this all less complicated and he made it even more complicated. Whatever. Nu skool breaks is breakbeat and it's not related to breaks. There, problem solved.

***

Electric Kingdom: Episode One is a compilation that encapsulates what was then a new frontier of nu skool breaks in 1999 rather well. It's not really my cup of tea, but some tracks on it are pretty cool, and it has a 4.3 rating on Discogs, meaning nu skool breaks heads like it a lot. The opener comes from Rennie Pilgrem himself and it kind of sounds like the intro music from if that street racing video game series, Midnight Club, came out a few years earlier for N64 and PlayStation. I tend to dig the heavier, darker-sounding kind of stuff with the super fuzzy basslines though, like the back-to-back pairing of "Rocweiller" by Sons of Mecha and "Electro Bitch" by Thomas Krome. Not so much a fan of the lighter fare on here.

Highlights:

Rennie Pilgrem & The Thursday Choir - "Some Place Funky (Back To The Future Mix)" Sons Of Mecha [VR Boy & DJ Erb] - "Rocweiller" Thomas Krome - "Electro Bitch"

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 6 Part 6

Hello, and once again, I introduce you all, to a world of fantastic imagination! Welcome, to Midnight Striga!! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!

“Well that was a waste of time.” Amity grumbled, as she and the others broke away from their circles, disappointed at the lack of response.

“Aw, look at the bright side, Ams,” Skara said, slinging an arm over her friend’s shoulder, “At least we gave it a shot, and we’ve had a pretty great time overall, Conjuring or no!” Her peppiness was almost infectious. Scratch that, it was infectious, as a small grin fought its way onto Amity’s face.

“Please don’t call me Ams,” Amity sighed, choosing not to hide her smile. Skara just gave her a cheeky wink.

“But it suits you so well, Ams!” Skara laughed cheerfully, even as Amity gave a good-natured groan. “This is nice.” She said, a look of content on her face.

Amity nodded. “Yeah, it is.” She smiled, before a conflicted look crossed her face. She sighed. “Skara, I’m sorry.”

Skara cocked her head. “Hmm? About what?” She asked.

“That it took you getting hurt for me to start treating you like an actual friend, instead of someone my parents made me hang out with.” Amity confessed, even as the eyes of Skara and the others widened. “I let my issues with my parents define my relationship, and I can’t even begin to say how sorry I am for that. Can you forgive me?” She asked. She didn’t honestly expect to be forgiven, because what she did was nothing less than crappy.

She wasn’t expecting Skara to snort, and laugh in response. “Oh my Titan, is that why you’re always on edge around me?” She asked rhetorically. “Amity, there’s nothing to forgive. We all just got a little look at how… difficult your mom can be, and my family definitely has its own issues.” She explained, lightly pressing her hand against Amity’s shoulder. “While it may have been a lame thing to do, you owned up to it, and were there for me when I really needed you to be, and have done your best to be a real friend ever since. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a great friend.” She finished, pulling a surprised Amity into a hug, which she tightly returned, eyes misting.

“While learning that you didn’t want to be friends with us is a little painful,” Amelia added, drawing glances from Skara and Amity, “Skara’s got the right idea. You may not have been the best friend, but you did what none of us ever has,” She said, gesturing to herself, Cat, and a sheepish Bo and Selena. “You were there for her, and stood by her when she was hurting. You didn’t just walk by and ignore it. You even apologized when you were in the wrong!” She exclaimed, throwing up her arms.

“Yeah, wasn’t expecting to hear that.” Cat said, a sardonic grin on her face. Her face fell into it’s usual stern look. “We all just stood on the sidelines and let Boscha do whatever she wanted, and went along with even her worst ideas. You never did that, even when Boscha really wanted you to. You may have hung out with us, but looking back? It was pretty clear you were only there out of obligation, and you never went along with anything that had even a hint of getting you into trouble. Out of all of us, you were by and large the best.” She stated, a proud gleam in her eyes.

“You pulled Skara out of her funk, and got her to start living again. She was starting to backslide after the Covention, but then you did all this!” Bo exclaimed, gesturing to the party setup surrounding them. “I can never repay you for that.” She finished, bowing.

“I’ve always been a face in the crowd.” Selena stated, her face finally regaining some color after her prediction. “But you took a chance and let me come here. Because of that, I’ve met some really cool people, and had a lot of fun. And while I am now utterly terrified about my imminent future,” Everyone gave her an odd look at that,” for the first time, I can say that I’m living my life without regrets, and I’m going to keep doing that!” She gave a beaming grin.

“Ahem!”

The group turned, looking sheepish at the sight of Gus and Willow standing just a few feet away from them. Skara cleared her throat, blushing. “Um, sorry for ignoring you.”

Gus rolled his eyes. “It’s fine.” He sighed. “Look, Amity?” He began, causing the girl in question to go ramrod straight. “I don’t know you. Not really. I only know what I’ve seen, and some of what Willow’s been willing to tell me about you and her.” He gestured to the two of them, causing both girls to clench their fists in nervousness. “Still, you took a chance and let Willow come here and hang out with all of you. That’s never happened before. So, I’m gonna give you a chance, and while I’ll never forgive you if you mess it up, I don’t think I have to worry about that.” He finished, a half-smile on his face.

“Amity, you hurt me. Badly. In ways that any and all of Boscha’s taunts never could.” Willow said, Amity’s eyes turning to the ground at her words. “But I’ve never hated you over it.” That caused Amity to whip her head up so fast she almost felt her neck hurt. “I was sad, and lonely, and a lot of times I just wanted to scream and scream and never stop! But… I always remembered how, even after we stopped being friends, you never had a real smile. But lately, that’s changed. You’re enjoying life again. And I’m happy for you.” She finished, giving a tearful Amity an honest smile.

“I think we should go check on Luz and the others.” Skara said in a choked up voice, enthusiastic nods following her suggestion. As they walked over to the humans, they instantly took notice of the murderous look sported by Luz and the guards, and Neon’s tear-stained face. “Um, what happened?” Skara tentatively asked.

“Let’s just say that Neon’s dad is an even bigger piece of trash than I thought.” Luz bit out, cuddling Neon closer. She gave Neon a meaningful look. “Do you want me to tell them?”

Neon bit her lip, visibly conflicted, but nodded. “Yeah. If you trust them, it’s okay.”

Luz sighed, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. Turning to the group, she gestured to Neon’s arms, exposing the heavy bruising covering them. “As you can tell by his handiwork, Mr. Nostrade had a nasty temper, and a liking for using Neon as a punching bag.” She growled, trying to resist the urge to bundle Neon up and scream at them all to leave.

The Witches felt sick. This man, whoever he was, had used his own daughter as an object to take his anger out on? Something to attack and scream at, and blame for whatever problem was plaguing him at the moment? As the sickening feeling built, so too did a surge of blistering hate. “You know,” Willow began, her voice far too casual, “I’ve always wondered how good a living body would serve as plant food.”

“That sounds pretty interesting, Willow,” Gus chimed in, his voice also way too casual, “I’ve honestly gotten invested in this one spell I found. It was apparently based on Grometheus, in that it mines a target’s memory for their deepest fears and most traumatic memories, and traps them in a labyrinth composed of those same memories and fears!”

“That’s fascinating!” Bo chipped in, a toothy grin stretching across her face. “It honestly makes me think of this one spell I read about that forces the body to heal wounds it doesn’t actually have! It’s supposed to be agonizing, ripping the flesh open as extra material and limbs forcibly claw their way out of your skin!” Cat nodded along with her words, a bloodthirsty smile on her face.

“Really? That’s super similar to this one spell I heard of that lets an Oracle summon a spirit directly into a person’s mind!” Selena added, an ominous gleam in her eyes. “It’s incredibly painful, and has a one-hundred percent rate of madness inducement.”

“Personally, I’m rather fond of the idea of using Bard Magic to extract a target’s blood through their pores, deliberately taking as little blood as possible for as long as possible. You know, to really draw the experience out!” Skara chirped, looking far too perky at the mental image.

“Mmm… I don’t know, I think I’d have to go with Willow’s plant food thing,” Amelia maliciously stated, glancing towards Amity. “What about you Ams?”

“Firstly, don’t call me Ams.” Amity said, before an absolutely remorseless grin crossed her face. “And secondly, I always wondered why my textbooks said not to use living beings as Abominations ingredients, and what better way to find out than to test it?” The Witches started cackling, tenting their fingers and rubbing their hands together in malevolent glee. Oh yeah, they would make that monster pay, big time.

“Uuuhhh… are you guys okay?” Luz asked, honestly a little weirded out at the turn the discussion had taken. The Witches blinked, surprised at her confusion, until Amity face-palmed.

“Luz, we’re talking about ways to kill Neon’s father.” Amity bluntly stated, a look of comprehension finally dawning on Luz’s face, along with Neon’s and her guards.

“Oooohhhhhhh!” Luz exclaimed, flushing in embarrassment. “I’m surprised you jumped to that so quickly, not that I disagree, really.” She stated, rubbing her head.

“It shouldn’t be that surprising. Children are precious, and one of the greatest duties a parent can have is to look after them, to care and guide them for their future.” Amity said passionately, a fierce light burning in her eyes. “Of course we aren’t going to stand for someone who treats his children as things to walk away from what he’s done. That is,” She glanced at Neon, who was watching them all with an unreadable expression, “if that’s alright with you?” She asked tentatively.

“Papa never said he loved me. Mama always did. Papa didn’t like it when Mama did that.” Neon stated hollowly, staring into the distance. “I always hoped Papa would tell me he loved me. But he didn’t. I’m never going back. If he has to d-die,” She choked briefly, before soldiering through it, “then I’ll be okay.” She finished, giving a look of gratitude to Luz.

Amity gave a considering look. “Neon, what happened to your mother?” She asked. She felt that she had an idea, but…

“Hmm,” Neon began, pressing her finger to her chin in thought. “Mama and Papa always fought a lot. Mama was always really mad that Papa kept me in my room. She used to yell about leaving. Then, one day, Mama screamed, and I ran out of my room and over to her. Papa said she fell down the stairs and hit her head really bad. I tried to kiss it better, but Papa told me not to, that it was stupid and I was stupid to try it. Mama went to sleep, and never woke up.” Neon finished, a look of sad acceptance on her face. The Witches and Humans all exchanged looks of understanding about what had REALLY happened; Neon’s father had killed his wife, either accidentally or on-purpose, made it look like an accident, and assumed total control over Neon’s life. And with that, they now had another reason to kill the bastard.

“Well then,” Amity stated, her flat tone doing nothing to hide the icy rage in her voice. “If that’s settled, I believe I have a solution for you and your guards’ residency issues.”

Neon and her guards instantly stilled. “W-what makes you think we don’t have a place to live?” Neon nervously laughed.

“I never said you didn’t have a place to live, but thank you for confirming that.” Amity’s reply instantly choked off Neon’s laugh, causing the girl to sigh in embarrassment.

Amity gave a light laugh. “Don’t worry about it too much, afterall, I have a plan.” She gave a daring grin, the type normally found on her mother’s face when she was about to take a high-payout risk. “Simply put, out of all of us here, I am the best equipped to host you and your guards, so it makes sense for you all to stay with me.” She stated, relishing the shock her offer elicited.

“You… you would do that for me?” Neon asked incredulously, a glimmer of hope shining in her eyes.

Amity nodded, now solemn. “Of course. I am the best option, logically speaking, and...” her face screwed up in frustration, “I do owe you for my mother’s conduct earlier, and can use that conduct, as well as your skills and the strength of your guards as a counter-argument for whatever risks or concerns she may use as a reason to refuse.” A calculating gleam peaked into her eyes. “This situation honestly presents a perfect opportunity for loosening some of the… restrictions my mother has placed upon my life. That is, if you aren’t upset at the thought of my offer having such a selfish motive.” She finished tentatively, only to get an annoyed eyeroll from Neon.

“I may not have a lot of ‘weal rorld’ experience, but I’m not a dummy.” Neon stated, lightly thumping her knuckles against Amity’s forehead. “You are still doing something really nice for me when you don’t actually have to. That’s all I need to know.” She pouted, getting an flushed look of reluctant acceptance from Amity.

“Well, if that’s all settled, I think it’s safe for me to share a little tidbit with you all.” Luz said, the Witches puzzled at her mischievous look.

Alador braced his arm, tightening the internals of his project, one ear carefully tuned to his wife’s frantic rantings.

“And it could be the end of it all!! The Blight name, gone for good!! We have to prepare, we have to ensure the children have all the resources they will need to survive the fallout!” Odalia shouted, a frantic look in her eyes. Alador absentmindedly nodded along; he perfectly understood where Odalia was coming from, as the thought of even a fraction of the implications of that prediction coming true being more than enough of a reason to necessitate… drastic actions. Oh for sure, if their back-up plans ever came to light, they would instantly be branded traitors, and most likely be petrified, but that was a risk they would need to take.

“Calm yourself, Odalia.” He announced, feeling a hint of satisfaction peek through as his wife forced herself to center and focus. “While the implications are certainly worrisome, we have more than enough contingencies in place to ensure the Blight name will endure and thrive… no matter who stands at the top.” He stated, an ominous note entering his voice at the last words.

Odalia sighed, forcing herself into her chair. “You’re right dear. It’s just so frustrating! I can’t believe I allowed myself to act so unbecoming in front of the future generation!! What if they tell their parents!? That Porter boy’s father is a reporter, what if they tell the media!?” She ranted, a look of anxious horror on her face. She brought her face to her palms, groaning. “Ugh, and I just know Mittens is going to use this against me somehow, I just know it! Why must she be so ungrateful for the effort we’ve expended to see her succeed?”

“Uh, it may have something to do with you making her wear that stupid Oracle Necklace and choosing her friends for her? You know, just a suggestion. Also, Edric keeps singing off-key in here, and I am THIS close to throwing him out the window!!” Emira’s voice spoke up from the panic room, irritation and amusement coloring her voice.

“~Oh, Butter Town, Like Creamy Streets of Gold!! Oh how we Love you soooo~!!!”

Alador and Odalia blinked at their daughter’s words. “Hmm… you may have a point,” Odalia conceded, before focusing on something far more pressing, “But how would you throw your brother through a window, the Panic Room is a solid block!”

“I have my ways, Mother Dear!” Emira mockingly called back.

“It’s true, she once twisted this one dude from Glandus who wouldn’t take no for an answer so that his face was inserted into his butt! I was watching, and I still don’t know how she did it!” Edric threw in, his voice colored with amusement.

Alador blinked, scratching his chin. “Hmm… that could be an interesting feature for one of my inventions.” He muttered, instantly scribbling the idea down.

“Right!?” Odalia exclaimed, just as intrigued at the idea for one of their self-defense oriented products. She frowned, considering. “Still, I’m unsure just how Mittens intends to use my… earlier indiscretion against me.”

“She could attempt to use it as leverage to allow the Nostrade girl and her entourage to stay here.”  Alador stated, calmly resuming his work on the project before him. His wife’s explanations of those… conditional spells were certainly intriguing, and if he could successfully implement it into his line? Oh, the possibilities…

“Yes, that is the most likely possibility.” Odalia conceded, tapping the table in thought. “I merely do not wish to close off alternatives.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Alador replied, lightly nodding as he resumed his work. “Still, whether she attempts it or not, we should move to offer Miss Nostrade shelter.”

Odalia smirked in understanding. “A girl with an incredible talent for prediction and a bevy of loyal guards? We would have to be fools to turn that away.” She chuckled, sipping her tea, only to grimace. It had gone cold.

“I am only understanding half of what you guys are saying, but I’m grudgingly willing to agree with you two!” Emira called out. “Having more bodies around to protect Mittens is never a bad thing!”

“Then it’s settled!” Odalia cheered, her earlier dread pushed aside for the moment. “Whether Mittens pushes for it or not, we will move to have Miss Nostrade and company stay here, under our protection.” Alador nodded in agreement, a faint smirk rising to his face.

“WWWWHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTT!?!?!?!?!?!?”

The two paused, clapping their hands to their ears at the raging shout. Odalia blinked. “Hm, it seems the children learned something rather frustrating.”

“Really mom?” Emira asked through the door.

“Indeed, I am most familiar with such sounds, considering my own experience with making them in response to Edalyn’s childish pranks back in school.” Odalia grumbled.

“I still say you looked adorable in that butterfly costume.” Alador interjected.

“~Oh~! Tell us more!” Edric called, engaging in the conversation at the thought of parental humiliation on the part of the parents for once!

“Alador!” Odalia cried, face flushed.

Eda shouldered her way into the stand, grunting in annoyance. King skipped in after her, warily glancing around the environment. Marching up to the counter, Eda roughly hammered against the counter top with her fist. “Hey, I’m looking for a guy named Grimm Hammer for some potions! Whoever he is, he better get out here now!” She shouted, unconcerned with disturbing someone. If anyone had the guff to complain around a place like this, she’d just knock their head, or heads, off their shoulders.

“Oh, coming, coming!” A higher-than-expected voice called out. As she and King exchanged raised eyebrows, they stepped back, watching as a small, Pig-like demon climbed onto the counter, clad in a dapper little vest. He would’ve looked harmless and charming… were it not for the cold, calculating gleam in his eyes, and the naked greed that danced at the mere sight of Eda. “Oh, and what can I do for you fine individuals today?” His politeness was undercut by the almost menacing undertone, as if he’d been expecting them.

“You’re Grimm Hammer?” Eda questioned. He probably was, but getting confirmation was always best, and it would help her and King get their bearings.

“Yeah, you seem a bit different than what talk made you out to be.” King added. He was totally bluffing of course, they’d heard NOTHING about this guy beyond his name, but the more they could twist out of him, the better of a position they’d be in afterwards.

Neither missed the slight narrowing of the Piggy Creep’s eyes. “Indeed! I am Tibblet-Tibblie Grimm Hammer III, better known as Tibbles!” He explained, grin wide and welcoming, eyes cold and considering. “I must say, I never thought I’d see the day the Owl Lady herself found her way into my humble little shop!” Eda and King instantly smelled a rat; something about this wasn’t adding up, particularly in how he’d side-stepped their little bait to get him talking about himself.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s nice and all, but I’m in need of some potions, and word is you’ve got the kind I need.” Eda brusquely stated.

“Yeah, so fork ‘em over!” King chipped in, trying to make himself look bigger.

“Now, now! There’s no need for such aggressiveness!” Tibbles chuckled, ducking down to retrieve the potions in question. He popped up, a cheerful smile on his face. “And here we go! One stock of Curse-Suppression Potions!”

“Hey that’s great-! Wait a minute, how’d you know what kind of potions we needed?” King questioned, hackles raised.

Tibbles chuckled. “Considering your infamy, very few don’t know about your curse, so there are very few reasons you’d be in search of this elixir for any other reason.” He explained calmly, arching an eyebrow in mocking challenge. King growled, marching forward, only to be held back by Eda’s grip.

“That’s great, really it is. How much?” She asked bluntly, wanting to get as far from this creepshow as she could.

“A thousand snails.” Tibbles stated, an amused grin on his smug face.

“For this whole thing!?” Eda demanded incredulously, eyes panning over the box.

“No. A thousand EACH.” Tibbles grinned, relishing the look of rage building on Eda and King’s faces.

“You slimy little-!” King’s impending death threat was cut off by Eda, whose face was shifting into grave calculation, details clicking into place as she stared at the potions. Her hand whipped out, yanking one of the potions out of the box.

“Hey! You can’t just-!” Tibbles protested, only to reel back at the angered glare Eda sent his way.

“I thought this looked familiar.” She growled, eyes roving the container in her hands. “This is Mort’s work, I’d recognize it anywhere! You bought up his stock to resell at a price hike! That’s low, even by my standards.” 

“Hmph! The fool should’ve been more concerned at someone placing such a large order when his most prominent customer is the known bearer of a rather vicious curse.” Tibbles spat, yanking the potion back from Eda. He gave her a glare, grinning maliciously. “I’m honestly surprised no one has attempted this with you before.” He said slyly.

“Most people aren’t stupid enough to provoke the most powerful Wild Witch of our time.” Eda said, honest to Titan murder coating her voice. Her eyes focused on Tibbles sleeve, fixating on an image peaking through. “Hey, what’s that on your wrist?” She asked calmly, a malicious bit of satisfaction slithering to the surface at his face going pale. Before he could scuttle backwards, her arm whipped out again, lifting the little menace off his feet. She roughly yanked back the fabric, staring in hate at the familiar symbol inked into his arm. “Oroboros.”

“Why yes!” Tibbles grinned, abandoning all pretense of civility. “And you should know, this is supposed to be a trap.”

Eda and King blinked, before rapidly turning pale. Before they could respond, a massive blow slammed into Eda’s side, sending her flying. A violent chuckle echoed through the air.

[gooseking]

I think I figured out why I was in a funk this weekend; it's coming up on the 1 year anniversary of my ex breaking up with me. October 20 is the anniversary. I realized this because I noticed a pattern: sleeping 12 hours but still waking up out of it, tired all day, then when I try to go to sleep, I can't because I can't get comfortable.

Vent below the break

This breakup that I keep mentioning was the hardest one I've ever experienced. Everything I did was because of them. I loved them with everything I had. Then once I went to college, they stopped texting as frequently. I sent them memes, and they wouldn't respond for like a week. Calls would be cut short. The one time they called me (it was always me calling them), it was for them to break up with me. After 3 and a half years of being together and over a year of living with each other. Known each other for around 14 years. They said they still wanted to be friends, yet they never texted me first. I had so many questions, because it was a shock to me, but they danced around them, which raised more questions for me. They got increasingly pissed with every question I had.

With one of the questions, they had their friend answer for them, acting as them.

I still wanted to be friends with them. They were one of my only friends. They were my closest friend. I still lived with them after coming home early from college due to holidays and my carpal tunnel increasingly getting worse.

During this time of living with them, their friends were living with us. They told me that we'd establish boundaries in person, but they were always with their friends, so boundaries were never established. I tried playing games with them, but they always ignored the games. I felt thrown to the side.

When I had my surgery, literally the day I got my stitches out, they called me and asked if I could drive their dad to the store within walking distance of their house.

After I accepted the fact that they broke up with me, I started to realize that they used me for so many things. Rides. Favors. Sex.

They didn't really listen when I told them I didn't want to be touched. Dysphoria and other mental stuff that makes me overstimulated easily. They guilt tripped me into sex sometimes. They wanted to compromise with my consent. They said I gaslit them when I told them I was put in uncomfortable situations with them when they pushed me into a corner after me backing away from their affection (due to what I mentioned earlier with being touched).

The entire relationship I was wearing rose tinted glasses. I loved them more than anything. But I didn't see the red flags. I didn't want to see the red flags.

When I moved out, they called me immature. Shit was moved around in my room, some things torn up/ruined. Their friend accused me of leaving my room a mess after going to college, when my mom and I cleaned it beforehand. My ex lent out my oil diffuser to my friend without my permission/me even knowing about it, who was unable to give it back, and hasn't repayed me for it. When we were still together, I let them use my iPad to draw, and there were times they didn't want to give it back to me because they "were about to draw", when I hadn't touched my iPad in weeks because it was with them. When they returned it one day, it had a big scratch on it that wasn't there before. I never addressed it because I easily forgave, especially with them.

This relationship broke me. Fuck, I used to be so happy with them. Now I have worse trust issues and tainted memories. I have a hard time connecting with people in my life now because I keep having anxiety leading back to the relationship. "Will they use me? Are they just wanting favors out of me? Are they just trying to be my friend to make fun of me down the line?"

I kept telling myself that Percival and Azrael's relationship was only loosely based on our relationship, but the more I developed the two, the more the two relationship overlapped.

Percival was happy with Azrael. He cared so deeply for him. Shit hit the fan, but he stayed. Azrael stopped listening to Percival as an equal and started ruling him. When Percival started realizing it, he wanted to get away, but Azrael cursed him.

I want to be in a relationship again so bad because I crave the warm feeling of being loved, but I just don't want to be used like that again. I don't care about sex all that much; I just want to be cared for. I want to care for someone.

I just hate how even after all this time, the thought of them still plagues my mind.

[monomonomagines]

could you write dr2 boys reacting to learning their s/o is part of the neo world based off of a dead classmate like chiaki after being able to graduate the simulation the intended way or through surviving the killing game ?

Oh my goodness anon I love you for requesting this but I am equally angry that I never even contemplated something like this. I'm going to go with the boys graduating from the simulation the correct way for this ask and used bullet points but if you want me to do it the other way as well feel free to tell me. I won't go on much longer I just had to get it out that this is a great idea. An angsty idea no less but still amazing.

I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. If you all couldn't tell already I live for angst. Anyways here's the boy's reactions.

Teruteru

Teruteru had been so glad that you had accepted him for who he really was.

You didn't mind his accent or quirks and loved him for him.

That's why he was elated to graduate from the simulation you were in together after the class had collected all the hope fragments.

It meant that you and him would be able to be together for real. Just him and you with nothing else between you.

As soon as he woke up from the simulation and got to actually explore the real island his immediate goal was to find you but he just seemed to be missing you.

He thought that he'd find you soon enough when Hajime approached him and put a hand on his shoulder telling him about your own demise before the simulation.

He didn't want to be the one to break the guy's heart but no one else would be better at telling him the cold hard truth.

You didn't exist anymore. You slipped through Teruteru's fingers long before they were placed into the Neo World program.

As soon as the words left Hajime's lips it was evident that they weighed on Teruteru.

His smiling face had taken a more solemn expression. He needed to be alone so that he could mourn you. He'd end up bawling like a baby and crying out for you until he'd pass out some nights until he'd force himself to get out of this funk.

Neither you nor his mama would want to see him like this. He needed to honor your memories, not just mope around.

He'd make all your favorite dishes, he'd walk along the beach like you two said you would in the Neo World, and he'd cherish you. Even the you that wasn't real because it was still you that made him feel whole not that simulation in the end.

Imposter/BBB

The imposter never expected to end up getting close to you but with your kindness and tact, it wasn't unforeseen.

You weren't unworthy of his love or anything and you seemed to genuinely enjoy his company like no other person.

You wanted to know his dreams, his hopes, his inspirations, and most of all to get to know him and his heart.

Unlike Teruteru he wouldn't jump up at immediately graduating until after he'd turn to look at you and have you both promise that you'd find each other when you were out of the Neo World.

The only issue is you couldn't promise. The simulation's version of you did just that but you were long gone far before that promise was made.

That was why he couldn't find you.

Unlike Teruteru when everyone else was somehow all there but you, he'd quickly put the pieces together and rush to excuse himself.

He never wanted to get attached and here he was left heartbroken over a simulation.

He'd mourn without showing many expressions around the others. He just wanted to be alone to think, to reminisce as he'd gaze at that same ocean you two would in the Neo World.

Normally then you'd be holding hands but now his were empty as he was alone.

Nagito

Nagito like Teruteru is the type to rush into things.

They both tend to take drastic actions in order to get the things they want most in life so he wouldn't bat an eye at graduating from the Neo World with you.

Only he wouldn't be able to.

The same person that had gotten to know and accept the real Komaeda didn't exist anymore.

They perished long before the Neo World Program began and it fits almost too well with his luck for the person he loved to never have been real.

Like the Imposter, Nagito would wan to be alone for the most part to mourn you, getting snippy and irritable with anyone that dared to interrupt him.

He didn't want anything but you and you were dead. He'd try to laugh but would just end up crying as he remembered each moment he shared with the illusion of you.

He missed you more than anything.

Fuyuhiko

Fuyuhiko only had you and Peko. That was all he needed, he thought.

You two were closer than anything and he couldn't be happier. You never underestimated him. You saw all his capability and appreciated him for who he really was.

That's why he decided he did want to graduate with everyone. He wanted to be with you and Peko. With all three of you together he felt invincible.

However, that invincibility duration was not long. It soon fizzled out as he came to the real island he and his friends were on.

He thought he'd be able to find you but from the look on Peko's face when he asked he knew something was wrong.

Looking as distraught as him she had to tell him why their search for you was unsuccessful. How it was because you weren't real then.

You had been gone for years and you weren't coming back. Not now, not ever.

Fuyuhiko would immediately fly into a fit of rage, taking things out on inanimate objects and lashing out at others but whenever it was just him he'd cry his eyes out.

He missed everything about you. He was sorry he sometimes bitched at you or that he acted ungrateful at times he was sorry so why couldn't you be here with him?

He's filled with far more regrets than most of this cast at the loss of you.

Kazuichi

Like Nagito, Kazuichi's always been a pretty obsessive guy but he'd decide in an instant that he'd want to graduate from this simulation.

He knew you'd end up with him so what was there to worry about?

Apparently, a lot more than he knew because even after running around the whole island a few times, there was no sign of you.

He'd have just kept running on and on simply thinking he missed you if not for Hajime stopping him.

Like with Teruteru, it was better if Hajime broke the news to him since they were so close.

But as soon as he hears what Hajime has to say he goes into denial immediately.

He refuses to listen to reason still looking for you for days on end until the reality hits him like a slap to the face.

You really were dead! You were dead and there was nothing he could do to bring you back.

He'd end up isolating himself like Fuyuhiko and being quite irritable but when he's alone he surprisingly wouldn't cry.

Instead, he'd talk to the sky as if you were there with him right then and there.

Hajime

Once Hajime would leave the Neo World Program to be with his friends he'd be the quickest to piece together why you aren't with them.

Once he's in the real world he is basically Izuru reformed after all.

However, he's able to feel more than Izuru could. He'd know that you were a mere simulation, that you died long before this all began but he'd struggle with accepting it still.

He wanted so badly to see you running up to him to embrace him like you did so many times within the simulation but it was hopeless.

He knew it was true but he would want some time alone to think.

He didn't need to bawl his eyes out but he'd definitely cry those first few nights without you.

It's just that after he'd come to the same conclusion that Teruteru would at a faster speed.

He'd keep your memory in his heart for as long as he was around.

It didn't matter if he was just sitting on the shore watching the sunset or if he was drawing with his fingers in the sand alone because your memory was there with him.

You were still there by his side doing your own thing as he did his. Your memory was real enough for him to still cherish your time together.

Nekomaru

Nekomaru loved your fun-loving nature from the start of your escapades in the Neo World Program and was more than excited to continue to enjoy life to the max with you.

He was definitely would graduate without a second thought, immediately assuming you'd be there when he'd wake up.

But when you didn't he just assumed you were taking your sweet time.

Hahaha, S/o's so funny waiting to graduate.

He'd keep positive thoughts the whole time that you weren't there, arguing with anyone who said otherwise when deep down he realized.

You were like Chiaki, you didn't exist anymore.

You died before he went into the Neo World Program and there was no bringing you with him when left.

He'd have a lot of anger like Kazuichi or Fuyuhiko but he'd put it all into his fights with Akane or when he was training anyone.

He'd try to stay positive for you but some nights he'd find himself looking at the sea and thinking about how things could've been different if you could just be standing next to him right now.

He felt so empty.

Gundham

For someone to infiltrate the Dark Overlord's defenses was an anomaly at best.

He didn't allow others to pierce his walls but somehow your might had completely obliterated them.

That's why you were dating.

You understood Gundham and his eccentricities and even when you didn't you accepted him.

You did more, you loved him. You loved him and his dark devas, him and his poison blood, you just loved him as he was and he couldn't ask for more.

He decided to graduate with everyone rather hastily at the prospect of getting to see you for real but reality quickly caved in on him.

When everyone was there but you, he'd immediately assume the worst but would try to stand tall. Simply asking Hajime as to where you were.

But when Hajime shook his head and put his hand on his shoulder he instantly knew.

He'd barely comprehend those words but at the same time, they'd stick to the inside of his skull.

S/o died long before the Neo World Program started.

He just wouldn't be able to do more than turn into a mere husk of a man.

He wouldn't speak to anyone, not even Sonia. He'd just stand by the shore in solitude, wondering what you'd tell him to do now.

[m-lesmxrales]

Less Than I Do

Modern AU

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: not really, some curses word? lol

Summary: After some time passes, you can’t shake your feelings for her. Even after going some time without speaking, you only want her to be happy in the end.

Words: 3.5k+

“What?!” You yell, your phone pressed to onto your ear, shoulder shrugged to support it, listening to your friend jabber on “I can’t really hear you!” The jingling of your keys and the booming music in the apartment next to yours drowning out their voice.

“I-“ you sigh, struggling to hold your grocery bags–only frustrating you further– while you twist your wrist, finally unlocking the door to your apartment, shoving it open with your foot.

Groaning, you drop the bags at your feet, closing the door behind you while your other hand takes hold of phone, finally letting your shoulder rest.

“Look, can you just– just text me, ok?” You sigh, slipping your shoes off as you mumble a bye.

The vibration from your phone catches your attention. Unlocking your phone, you click on the Instagram notification. A picture fills the screen, showing a group of college friends, your friends.

And there you stood, arms wrapped around her, the biggest smile on your faces. Her doll like eyes shining brighter than usual from the flash of the camera. It seemed like yesterday the two of you were in her apartment, seated on the couch under a blanket. Her body pressed into your side with popcorn in between the two of you, Mission Impossible playing.

Letting out a breath, your thumb hovers over the picture.

You could say you were questioning on whether or not it was worth liking.

Fuck it.

You double tap, a red heart briefly appearing.

The others tagged in the photo popping up along with it, including her.

Clicking on her username, your screen becomes filled with pictures of her. Plentiful of new ones, though that was to be expected considering the last time you looked through it was almost two years ago.

Two years.

It had been almost two years since she ended things with you.

—

“Can you-” You groan, shrugging Wanda’s hand from your shoulder.

A look of confusion fill her features “Can I what?”

“I don’t know- just, go do something with Nat.” You gesture towards the redhead sitting with Steve.

Her brows crease in, eyes roaming over you “What’s wrong, love?” Concern written in her eyes. She’d noticed in the last few weeks how pent up you’d been. All the emotions you were bottling up. All the offers to vent to her you had turned down recently. Everyone had noticed.

“Hey..” She soothes “Is there something you wanna talk about?” She asks, hands coming to cup your jaw.

You retract harshly “Holy shit, Wanda, No. No! I don’t, alright? Can you for once, for once” You yell “stop being so overbearing!?

Caring

“Do you to want talk about this, do you wanna do that?” You mock her “God, you can be so needy!”

Loving

“A-And you never once, think that maybe- just maybe I don’t wanna’ sit down and talk about my day? Or shitty my life can be compared to yours?” Your shouts now drawing in some attention, including your closet friends.

“So fucking selfish.” you hiss through your teeth.

Selfless

You don’t even noticing the hurt in her eyes. The way their glistening up the bar lights. How her jaw is so tense, enough to crack her teeth. You’ re too indulged in your anger to.

“You can be damn overly sensitive, you know that?” you finish, slamming your glass down against the bar counter with a huff.

It’s partially silent for a bit, some chitter chatter here and there.

Wanda swallows, eyes shifting to anyone but you.

Only able to nod, turning swiftly on her heel as tears begin to flow. Natasha hot on her tail, shooting you a glare just as she passes you.

And takes a moment for the situation to hit you. For what you’ve said, to hit you.

_“Shit.” _

The side of your hand collides with the door, fingers bunched into your palm, the bangs filling the building hallways. You were sure by now the neighbors were more than upset with the amount of noise you were making. Knocking for five minutes straight at two in the morning—despite it being a friday night and most of them being out, that didn’t mean the ones still home and in bed weren’t being disturbed.

“Wanda..” another knock on her door “Can we talk? Please?” You call out, desperation evident in your tone.

You’d messed up, that you knew.

The current event all caused by words; hurtful words, that should have never slipped through. And you regretted them the moment they spewed from your mouth.

Selfish, overbearing, overly sensitive, needy.

Those were some of the words you used to hurt her tonight. But you didn’t mean them. Yes, she may have said a few hurtful things back, it was all in retaliation to yours.

If anything all of this was a build up. A build up of frustrations, work, family, and plenty of other separate events out of your relationship. And holding all of it in just led to an outburst. One taken out on her.

Surely if the two of you hadn’t gone out tonight with your group of friends, just maybe, your words could have been said in a way that was, well, less insulting. It would have been nice to properly vent to her. You know she loves to listen to you babble. No matter the topic.

Yet, here you were. Still banging on her door. Wanting more than anything just to talk. Though, you couldn’t say the same for her.

Just as you hand comes to connect with door again, it shoots open. A glaring Wanda now replacing it, Nat lingering a few feet behind her. Your breathe hitches, mouth drying as you struggle to find your words.

“Wan-”

“If you really thought about me that way, you could have told me a long time ago.”

“Wanda, I’m so, so sorr-”

“Go home, Y/N” She sighs, closing the door.

Forehead coming to rest against the door, you mumble

“You’re the only way I’ll have it..”

—

“You know, Pietro’s extremely upset with you still.”

Silence, only the chatter and sound of utensils answer the blonde back.

“She misses you, you know?” Steve hums, stirring his coffee, blowing at the steam emitting from it.

Snorting, eyes on the table, you sip from the plastic cup in front of you, fiddling with the napkin underneath it.

She misses you.

Wanda misses you.

So believable, yet, so hard to believe.

“I doubt it, I’m sure she’s doing fine.” You mumble.

_Idiot. _

You know damn well how sensitive Wanda can be.

“If crying yourself to sleep almost every night is ‘fine’ then she must be doing great.” Steve frowns, throwing his crumbled up sugar packet at you. Cocking a brow, you flick the piece of paper, watching it fall to the ground. “It’s been- what four months?” He asks.

Five and a half, but he was close enough.

A broad hand grips your cup, pulling it away from you, the end of the straw retracting from the cup, bits of the liquid dripping onto the table. Taking the straw out from your mouth, your eyes finally meet his blue ones. A look of disappointment plastered on his features.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, she broke up with me..” you shrug, punching the straw back through the lid.

“I thought you two were taking a break?”

Shaking your head, you ease your drink back towards yourself “She called it quits last month..”

A groan leaves his lips, palms running down his face “So, that’s it?” He starts “Ten years of friendship and four years of dating- just gone, down the drain..” his index finger landing on the table.

“I mean, you guys were in love with each other.” he huffs, slumping back in his seat “You still are in love with each other.

Steve had a point.

You and Wanda had crossed paths the first day of senior year in highschool, hitting it off right then and there. And that same day she had introduced you her brother and best friends. From then on, everyone had been inseparable. The two of you were inseparable.

It was something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Even when most of you had attended different colleges and universities. Even when you and Wanda had started dating your senior year of college. When careers began to advance, when lives became busier.

Somehow, someway, nothing changed.

Your love for one another was unwavering.

However, after that night, five months ago you broke the balance.

“I think you should talk to her, Y/N. It possible things could be different this time.”

“Yeah..” you murmur, lips wrapping around the top of the straw.

Things could change.

But, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d need to change this time.

—

A year had passed.

A painfully slow year at that. And your feelings for Wanda hadn’t died out.

But you’d heard she had slowly been grown out of her funk, taking the time to go out more. Some of these outings you weren’t invited to and the ones you were, you declined.

Not that you were avoiding her. It was more like avoiding further heartache.

If anything you missed her and the pictures in your apartment weren’t helping. So, you took upon yourself to do some spring cleaning, in hopes that if the pictures were out of sight then the process of healing would officially start.

Rummaging through your closest, looking for a shoe box, the sight of a light denim jacket in the corner on the floor catching your attention.

It couldn’t have been yours, yours was already hung up, not to mention slightly darker in color.

Reaching for it, you pick it up, holding it out in front of you, examining the front. Walking over to your bed, you flip it over laying it on its front.

Your gaze softens, the corner of your lip perking. You hadn’t seen this jacket in a while. That design in a while. A chuckle emits from your throat, hand swiping at pieces of lint—you should probably wash it.

It’s Wanda’s favorite jacket. At least, you think it still is.

You can only imagine the pout on her lips, remembering that she must have forgotten it at your place and how she was properly too stubborn to reach out to you to get it back.

Or, maybe she didn’t care about it after a while.

Smile fading, you swipe through your phone, opening your Instagram dm’s, opening hers—glad your old conversation was long gone.

Thumbs moving across the screen, pass hitting letters.

Send.

—

“I still have your denim jacket, the one with the Madonna graphic on the back.”

That was the last message you sent. The last message she actually read in almost a year and a half. All the others from previous dm’s had been ignored.

Unfortunately, she never came to pick it up. But, Natasha did.

“You know she was sitting on my couch, pouting, when she realized she forgot her jacket here when she came to get some of her things?” The redhead snickers.

Figures.

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” You smirk.

Inhaling, you slowly hand the jacket over to Natasha, thumbs grazing over the Madonna graphic “She didn’t wanna come and pick it up herself?” You ask, brows creasing in.

“She has work, so..” Natasha shrugs, placing the jacket over her forearm.

Humming, eyes still on the jacket, you nod “Right, yeah- no..work.”

The redhead rolls her eyes, arms slumping to her side “Y/N, come on. You two already agreed to be friends, you both talk every now and then in the group chat. What’s the problem?” She sighs “It’s different, going out without you..”

“You haven’t shown up to any of Tony’s parties. You don’t even want to go bowling with all of us anymore.” She continues.

“Why are you avoiding us?”

Silence, that’s all fills the apartment.

Not knowing what to say, how to explain yourself; you shrug. You had no reason to avoid them.

Of course, you wanted to hang out with all of them. You wanted nothing more.

You two had mutually agreed to be close friends again. Yet, you still were struggling.

“You guys were her friends first..her family first, so.” Clearing your throat, you look up, catching Natasha’s eyes.

Their soft, as if she’s in deep thought.

“We miss you, Y/N.”

“Wanda misses you.”

Translation ;

She’s still in love with you

—

Still looking through the mounds of new photos, you catch site of her next to a taller, slightly older, blond man.

And you can’t help the feeling that overlaps your heart, as if someone tied a rope around it with an anchor attached, letting it sink.

Exhaling, you move to her dm’s.

Previous messages you sent filling the screen.

‘I said some things I wish I hadn’t, I’m so sorry.” seen

‘Can we please talk about it?’ seen

‘I’ll change this time.’ seen

‘I hope you feel blue, less than I do.’

Seen.

That was a couple months ago, after a night out with Tony and Pepper, including just enough drinks to get you tipsy and in your feelings. Feelings you’d restricted for too long.

It was stupid. An in the moment decision.

Cringing, you go to swipe out of the chat.

“…”

She’s typing.

_Why the hell is she tying? Why now? _

Is she going to tell you to ‘fuck off’?

Or did she mistakenly open your dm’s, thinking it was someone else’s?

A message pops up.

“Are you coming to movie night at Tony’s?”

The creases in your forehead deepened, your head tilting to the side “Movie night?”

And it hits you.

You completely forgot you promised to show up for once.

And Tony hadn’t stopped inviting you to movie night, none of them had. But you couldn’t bring yourself to go, even if she hadn’t always shown up.

Only after Tony’s constant texts, emails and calls, but who really got you to agree was Pepper.

You could never say no to Pepper

“Oh shit-” You grumble, running into your room “Movie night!”

—

Stepping into his home after all these months, it was nauseating to be frank. It was you like a truck. The exterior hasn’t changed but the interior had somewhat.

You let her guide you into the living room.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.” Pepper smiles, looping her arm around your shoulder as she pulls you into her side, her other hand rubbing soothing circles against the shoulder closest to her body.

There’s a pregnancy in the room. Heads turn. All eyes now on you, and you can’t help but notice how their faces light up—damn, did you miss the way they’d smile when they looked at you.

A body rushes into, arms wrapping around your mid as they pick you up, arms tightening. The scent of their cologne hitting you.

Woody with kicks of spice.

Pietro.

You hear chuckles, mainly Pietro’s. His laughter reminding you of a toddlers first time going down a slide.

Enveloping your arms around him, you pat his back, a chuckle growing in your chest.

You feel a vibration against your shoulder as he sets you down, arms still tightly wrapped around you “What?” You ask, retracting your head “I said-“ he lifts his head from your shoulder, arms loosening as he takes a step back, “I’m still mad at you.” Arms coming to fold over his chest, a stern look on his face.

You can’t help but smile. You were never able to take him seriously half of the time.

Your palm connecting with his forehead, shoving it back “Missed you too.” You hum.

He holding back a smile, the ends of his lips tucked in “Me too.” He grumbles, arm wrapping around your shoulders, moving you towards the rest.

“I’m still very, very upset with you too.” Sam snickers, a smile plastered on his face as he stands up, pulling you into a warm hug, the others coming to join in.

Tony clasps his hands together “Alright, enough all of the sappy-sappy stuff.” He says “Y/N, since you’re late, you can help make the snacks with Wanda.”

“Fair enough.” You sigh, looking over towards the kitchen, catching site of her figure leaning against the counter, a tall, older blonde man close by.

Her mint green eyes softening at the sight of you, a small smile forming.

“You know how to use a popcorn maker, right?” He asks, brow cocked.

“I- Sure?”

—

You watch idly watch as the popcorn gradually flies out of the metal tin. One pop at a time.

The sound of hard candy being poured into a bowl pulling you from your thoughts. Turning around, you see Wanda retracting the bag, placing it back on the counter.

“So..” you begin, walking towards the kitchen isle “How’s everything?” Taking a seat on the stool.

Wanda hums, a grin growing “You mean how I’m doing?” Popping a skittle in her, she leans forward, finally looking at you “Really good. I started yoga classes a few days ago and works great, for once.” She giggles.

You chuckle softly, a warmth growing in your chest at the sound of her laughter. Content that even though things hadn’t ended well between you two, your dynamic hadn’t faltered. That she still feels comfortable around you. But, you two were close friends before anything else, it was only to be expected.

“What about you?”

“I got a new job, finally. Don’t have to work in drama filled work place anymore.” You voice, cracking a smile “Also, the pay is ten times better.” nodding your vision falls to the colorful candy. That place was always a hell hole.

“What? Are you serious?!” A voice squeals

You feel arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close “That’s amazing, Y/N.” Wanda hums. Your arms instinctively wrapping around her mid.

She pulls away slowly “I’m so happy for you.” She coos “Thank you, I’m just glad to be out of there. No more stress- well, excuse, extra stress, no more being pulled into drama. It’s fantastic.” A look of bliss setting in.

“I know, I can only imagine.” She snickers, pulling out the stool next to you before sliding the bowl of candy.

The two of you idly watch your friends, taking in their presence as a whole.

“I’m sorry, about what happened, Wanda. I didn’t mean anything I said that night. I was a complete and utter asshole-” You pause “I’m really, really sorry..”

“I know, considering the long apology you sent me and the mountains of texts.” She says, cocking a brow at you ‘I know, Y/N, If you couldn’t tell, I forgive you.” she assures you, her palm coming to rest on your forearm. You nod, a small smile forming.

“So” you drag “are you and-“

“No.” She cuts you off “We’re friends..” she notes “Are you and-“

A wave a relief seemingly washes over you. Not that you wouldn’t be happy if she had already moved, but, content that she hadn’t as so much jumped to the next person. Knowing that all those years spent together weren’t tossed in the trash.

“Carol?” You interrupt, snorting “No, she’s taken.”

Wanda hums, continuing to munch on the candy. Exhaling, you stand up “Alright, let’s get these snacks rolling.”

—

The sound of car tires screeching, bangs and explosions blast through the surround sound speaker. Everyone’s gathered on the couches, couples squeezed together, sharing snacks with another.

Leaning against the armrest of the couch, hand reaching into a shared bowl of popcorn resting on your lap.

You feel Wanda shift next to you. The temptation to curl into something getting the best of her, especially sitting next to you. Someone. She’d always been a cuddler when it came to movies. Usually it was and you could tell she was opting into using Pietro as a pillow.

“Fuck it.” you grumble.

Moving the popcorn to the side, you hook your hands under her knees, laying them over your lap. Pulling her body into yours, arm coming to hook around her shoulders out of habit.

You can feel her tense up, shifting slightly as she adjusts her upper body. Placing the bowl of popcorn onto her lap.

Wanda leans her head on your shoulder, creating a new nesting spot in your side “Thanks..” she whispers, going back to enjoy the action movie,

The brunette clears her throat after a beat “Can I ask you something?”

“Always”

“Did you mean what you said? You know, about me feeling blue..” she asks, snorting a bit as weird the question sounded.

“Of course.”

The last you wanted when it came to Wanda was to see her suffer. Physically or mentally. You had always hoped she was able to see that, dating or not.

Another beat.

“Been a while since we watched Mission Impossible together.” she adds.

“You mean, like this?”

“Yeah..like this..”

“Yeah” You breathe “too long..” ends of your lips curling.

If there was one thing you knew, it was You/d trade feeling blue over never seeing her crack a smile ever again, in a split second. Even if that meant in the end, you’d receive all the hardships, heartaches, bear her burdens.

In the end, you only hope she feels blue, less than you do.

[dippedanddripped]

Debbie Harry doesn’t believe in harbouring regrets. “I have made many, many errors, but nobody leads a perfect life,” she reflects down the telephone from New York. “So, should I regret anything? No. It is a waste of time. It really is a waste of time.”

Dial back to the turn of the 70s and the life that Harry led before fronting Blondie – prior to her image being burned onto the retina of popular culture – was colourful to say the least. “I was so desperate to live life,” she says of her time spent hanging with the outcasts and artists of downtown New York. “I was jamming in as much experience as I possibly could and I don’t know if I could have done anything differently. I learned a lot.”

The old Bowery music venue CBGBs has long passed into music folklore as the place that called the likes of Television, Patti Smith, and the Ramones their house bands. It was also where punk and new wave progenitors Blondie cut their teeth before they sashayed into the wider world with the protean panache that would make them a household name. Classic singles such as “Heart of Glass”, “Call Me”, “Atomic”, and “Rapture” have been responsible for more worldwide rug-cutting than an industrial carpet tool. To imply that they were merely a solid singles band is to do them a cardinal disservice, however.

And although they’ve always cocked their attention to the things ahead of them, Harry and her Blondie cohorts have spent a lot of time looking back just lately. Harry’s long-awaited autobiography, Face It, hit the shelves last year, and Blondie co-founder and one-time partner Chris Stein published Point of View: Me, New York City, and the Punk Scene, a photography book featuring personal snaps taken during the band’s pomp in the 70s and early 80s. “We can’t keep on touring and doing club dates the way that we used to. It would be physically impossible,” Harry concedes. “Living through this pandemic has certainly made us take a long look at the value of what we’ve got with our body of work.” Asked if it is a process of attempting to frame their legacy, she admits it’s something that they “have to do”.

This deep-dive into their canon has culminated in a mouth-watering archive set, Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982, slated for release next year. Coming in four formats, it promises to include extensive liner notes, “track by track” commentary by the entire band, a photographic history plus rare and unreleased bonus material. The group will also go out on the road – coronavirus permitting – for an autumn Against the Odds UK tour with Garbage.

The artist born Angela Trimble was put up for adoption only a few months after she was ushered into the world in the summer of 1945. A loving New Jersey couple took her in, rechristened her Deborah Harry, and raised her as their own. She grew up in a suburb that she “never left”,  was voted best-looking girl in her high school yearbook, and oscillated within a social circle that consisted of “many of the same people” throughout her childhood. “I was somehow shy within that,” she recalls, “(but) somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that!’”

Harry travelled by bus as a curious teen to nearby Greenwich Village, imbibing the febrile inner-city atmosphere. In 1965, she graduated from junior college with an associate of arts degree and New York’s allure became too enticing to resist. She decamped to the bright lights of the city and made ends meet with a succession of odd jobs, including secretarial work for the BBC, waiting tables and an infamous nine-month stint as a Playboy Bunny.

The period was a traumatic one, too, with Harry enduring an ex-lover-turned-violent-stalker and a near-miss with serial killer Ted Bundy (although Bundy’s identity is contested by others). In her memoir, she writes candidly of the time she was raped by a man wielding a knife while on her way home from a concert with Stein. Music offered a vessel for her creativity, and she spent time as part of girl group The Stilettoes and folk ensemble Wind in the Willows before her meeting with guitarist Stein which set the foundations for Blondie. Their classic lineup was completed by Gary Valentine (bass), Jimmy Destri (keys), and Clem Burke (drums).

“Somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that’” – Debbie Harry

Although they self-identified as punks, the parochial and nihilistic mandate as promulgated by the genre’s militant diehards never fit Blondie comfortably. The group looked outwards from the moment they started, drawing inspiration from their cosmopolitan city. Their sound was a melting pot pulling at the seams of culture’s fabric, and they would weave their own patterns from it.

Harry agrees that their eclecticism was down to good fortune in coming from the “metropolitan area of New York” where they ingested “a lot of musical influences”. Taken as a whole, their catalogue bears this out. Blondie never stood still musically – yet never sounded like anyone else – and they loaded their songs with more hooks than a fisherman’s trawler. 1976’s punchy, eponymous debut married surf-rock textures with 50s girl-group sensibilities, and their palette had expanded exponentially by the time of seminal third album, Parallel Lines (1978). Eat to the Beat and Autoamerican followed, by which point they could boast flirtations with disco, rocksteady, funk, hip hop, and more within their enviable output.

When asked to pick one track that encapsulates the essence of Blondie, Harry opts for their 1981 US number one single “Rapture”. “What happens in ‘Rapture’ is very comprehensive,” she says. “It took a form of music that was, or still is, very modern and can be very political. Rap and hip-hop songs back then didn’t have their own songs. Rappers would just rap on somebody else’s music. (‘Rapture’) was crafted specifically for that rap. Until then that hadn’t been done. It was a breath of fresh air.” It stands as one of the things in her career that she feels “very good about”.

Blessed with the sort of features that could sell sand to the Saharans, Harry’s appearance caused a stir from the band’s earliest days. “That’s part of showbiz,” she says to me, trying to downplay it. “We always had an eye for that, the entire band. We always had an idea of making a look that represented our sensibilities and links to British pop and mod.” Maybe so, but it was Harry alone who was immortalised by Andy Warhol in one of his iconic silkscreen prints, and who posed for era-defining photographers including Robert Mapplethorpe and Anne Leibowitz.

Did the disproportionate attention she attracted ruffle feathers within the Blondie camp at the time? “Yes and no,” Harry remembers. “We were all happy that it was working. I suppose there was a certain amount of competition or jealousy but ultimately, no. I think that’s a better question for Clem or one of the other members in the band. Of course my relationship with Chris was so close that he was very happy about everything.”

The band’s wheels eventually came off after their muddy and unfocused sixth album, The Hunter, dashed against the commercial rocks in 1982. They had to abandon their subsequent tour after Stein became gravely ill with a rare autoimmune disorder, pemphigus vulgaris, that proved extremely difficult to diagnose. Blondie had no option but to bow out of the public eye, and they broke up quietly.

15 years later, with Stein fully recovered, the group reconvened and released a critically acclaimed and commercially successful comeback album, No Exit. They even topped the UK charts with lead single “Maria”, but faced tussles with erstwhile members at the time too. Former bassist and co-writer on “One Way or Another”, Nigel Harrison, and guitarist Frank Infante attempted to sue the rest of the band over their omission from the reformed lineup. And when Blondie were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, Infante grabbed the microphone to express his ire publicly.

Fast-forward to 2020 and the settled iteration of the band are working on a new album with John Congleton, who produced 2017’s Pollinator. Does Harry have a formula when it comes to songwriting these days? No, as it happens. “When a phrase or a sentiment makes me respond emotionally or physically, I write it down and I save it,” she explains. “At a certain point, I’ll sort of review things. A lot of times I like to just work with a rhythm track. Just a drumbeat or some kind of drone-y rhythm, a groove. Other times people will give me a rough sketch of some chord changes – an idea that they’ve got. I seem to work in a lot of different ways.”

Thanks to her effortless chic and timeless looks, Harry’s relationship with the fashion industry has been a mutual love-in since forever, and she recently announced a revival of her partnership with ethical fashion designers Vin + Omi – the duo responsible for her profane ‘STOP FUCKING THE PLANET’ cape worn at the Q Awards in 2016 and throughout Blondie’s Pollinator tour. They have teamed up for a new sustainable clothing line entitled HOPE, and her enthusiasm for the project is palpable. “I love Vin + Omi,” she says. “They are so creative and adventurous. They have this desire to prevail and do things that are smart and modern in terms of recycling and making energy count. I think that is brilliant.”

As a fledgling bee-keeper, the plight of the bees is also something close to Harry’s heart. It was one of the reasons why 2017’s Pollinator was, well, named exactly that. “You’re either being stung by a bee or you’re going to eat its honey,” she chuckles softly, marvelling at the absurdity of the contrast. “But bees and water are two issues we cannot escape from. We should be concerned with finding better ways of living, using our resources in the best way possible.”

Help is coming, she hopes, through the election of Joe Biden, who is “firmly attached” to the idea of helping the environmental cause – and she believes his ideas can help the economy, too. “I’ve been saying for quite a long time that solar and wind power are renewable (energies) that can create jobs,” she says. It’s a far cry from her feelings towards outgoing President Trump and his “daily infusion of bullshit” and “thunderstorm of endless diatribes”.

“One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP”) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time” – Debbie Harry

What strikes you when you speak to Harry for an extended period is not only her warmth, but her unexpected humility for someone so staggeringly famous. I reference a Bob Dylan BBC interview from the 80s in which he observed with sadness how his fame had the ability to change a room’s energy and how he missed seeing people act naturally around him. She paws the comparison away, saying she’s nowhere near famous “to the degree of Bob Dylan”, whom she calls “such a megastar”. This could sound like false modesty coming second-hand, but in person it feels like a sincere statement, even if it is a little bewildering coming from an international icon. She will concede, however, that she has “definitely noticed and felt something like that” and has often wished she could simply be “a fly on the wall”.

There is also an inquisitiveness that makes the conversation a more two-way affair than your quote-unquote typical ‘interview’. She fires questions back at you, not as a deflection tactic, but to expand and explore a topic further. This happens when conversation turns to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s ubiquitous “WAP”. A recent interview had her fangirling over the track, but Harry’s feelings no longer appear to be as clear-cut and she wishes to discuss the song further. “I love it and hate it at the same time,” she now shares. “One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP’) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time.” She pauses. “I don’t know. Everything is revealed and maybe sexual explicitness has come of age.”

Pushed about what she dislikes about “WAP”, she says she would “hate it” if any young girl or woman was hurt by the song’s message. “I think that, in a way, men have to know that women think like this, and that there is this component,” she says, “but I would hate it to mean that everyone should be treated like this. I don’t think anybody should be hurt by sex”.

Harry has long championed the LGBTQ+ communities. When she refers to her dearly departed friend and Hairspray co-star Divine as a ‘drag queen’ in Face It, she acknowledges the term in some instances is no longer accurate or politically correct. I suggest that it can often seem as though the evolution of our language is speeding up in the digital age – by necessity, of course – and ask her if online culture fills her with concern when it comes to using the right terms. “Yeah, (because) in many cases it can be a slip of the tongue, especially for an old dog like me! Things do move so very, very quickly. It is hard to keep up,” she observes. “Fortunately, I have a lot of godchildren!”

Speaking of younger generations, Harry likes to think she’d have coped with social media if she were coming up today, but is thankful that she had her “dark cocoon” in which to “bloom out of”, a place where she was able to “ripen”. “When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not,” she says. “It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth. For good or for worse, who knows?”

“When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not. It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth” – Debbie Harry

One thing that remains is her fierce level of self-criticism. “I always want to do better,” she declares matter-of-factly. “I’ve always been very critical of everything. I hear things or look at them and say, ‘Oh God, it should have been that (instead).” Maybe this hypercritical inclination is what still drives her forward. “I honestly don’t like resting on my laurels. I like working and I like creating. I always beat myself up about not being more creative or more prolific.”

When looking at the bounty of projects she has lined up, no one in their right mind could put Debbie Harry and laurel-resting in the same sentence. Aside from the new album, archival set and fashion project, the paperback edition of her autobiography will be released with a brand-new epilogue in April of next year. (Just don’t ask her what’s in it – “I don’t remember what I wrote. I’ll have to look it up!” she says with a laugh.)

The signs are that the musician is done looking into the rear-view mirror, though. Time may be passing, the tide may be higher, but Debbie Harry is doing more than merely holding on. Her eyes are locked to the future and she’s positively thriving.

Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982 will be released next year; Face It is out now via Harper Collins

[crystalessenceswrites]

You’re Enchanting--Chapter Seven

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: mentions of Del’s injuries from previous chapter (no graphic descriptions) angst and some guilt tripping

Can also be read on AO3

[Masterlist] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven] [Chapter Eight]

Chapter Seven-Embers 

“This-” Elazar cradles Delphine’s hands in his own as he looks at the bandages now wrapped around her numbed palms- “this is why we left the Circle. To stop this.”

His usual sunny disposition has given way to a dark expression, one Del finds does not suit him. She can’t look him in the eye as he kneels in front of her seat, “you see what happens when your name doesn’t protect you, Del? When you are just another “Maker forsaken mage” to them?”

Delphine’s thankful Dalish and the others had left when El arrived, she’d rather not have the mercenaries as an audience to the tears she can feel coming.

“I know Elazar… I-I know this is how they see us. I just… I didn’t think he’d…” How was she supposed to know one of Cullen’s men would do that?

“He’d try to kill you?”

Elazar’s harsh snap cuts through whatever resolve Del had left. A sob bubbling up as the tears begin to fall. This was not how it was supposed to go.

He drops her hands, standing and glancing around Adan’s workspace with fists clenched tight to his side. “Krem said Bull would take care of him, for what he did to you.”

Delphine’s not sure what hurts more, her hands or hearing El seethe like that. “El you shouldn’t say things like that- they shouldn’t have to do anything.”

“Well Cullen and the others didn’t notice-” Elazar throws his hands up, Delphine cannot remember the last time she had seen him so outwardly agitated. The energy in the cabin is buzzing, the air nearly crackling as he begins to pace- “they should’ve noticed! There’s a cluster of mages here. Can you imagine how many people he could have hurt or killed when he wanted to?”

“They couldn’t have known, El- they wouldn’t have left him alone if they knew…”

“When have they ever stopped templars from hurting us?”

Del shakes her head and tries to push down the tears, “this isn’t the Circle, El. They’re not in the Order anymore. We’re not prisoners anymore.”

It’s obvious her attempts to soothe his frustration will not work. The air remains thick with the energy rolling off him, too wrapped up in his own emotions to notice. “Yet we still act like we are! You practice your magic in secret and we walk around on eggshells every time someone so much as mentions the templars! We might be physically free but not all that much has changed apparently.”

Her heart breaks for El. This was the last thing he needed weighing on his conscious. The weight of the world already seemed to be resting on his shoulders, he did not need to worry about looking out for her too. Del had joined the Inquisition to help him and now she was holding him back.

“El-”

“I’m going to check in with Iron Bull and Krem… make sure everything is handled.”

Biting her lip, Delphine watches him leave, a stony expression sliding into place, one she has not seen since she had told him about her plans to leave the Circle. There was no way this ended well.

.

El was moody and withdrawn in the following days, never quite looking Del in the eye when they did speak. She knew he blamed himself as much as he blamed Cullen and the others, and it would continue to eat away at him. Normally Del was able to sit down a talk him out of funks like these, help him sort through his thoughts and address his concerns. The task would have to fall to someone else this time because not even she could break through.

Iron Bull came to her on the morning Elazar decided to return to the Hinterlands. Ever observant Bull knew something needed to be done.

“We’ll make sure he works it out of his system. Sometimes beating up on some bad guys makes everything else seem much simpler.”

Del shoots the Qunari a half smile, pulling down the sleeves of her sweater over her bandages. “I hope you’re right.”

“Just focus on resting and getting better while we look out for him.”

“I’m doing alright, Bull. The poultice Stiches made for me has been working wonders.”

Bull does not look too pleased, “that good to hear, Ghostie, but that’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Too observant.

The days that followed proved him right. With El gone Del found herself more withdrawn than usual, spending time shut away in their shared cabin. The last thing she wanted was anyone’s attention and by now everyone in Haven had to know what had happened. Del shuddered at the thought of talking to Vivienne again after this all cooled down. She prayed to the Maker she and Elazar never talked about it. El was likely to bite her head off over it too.

Both Josie and Leliana had stopped by to check in, which was appreciated, but Del did not quite feel up to conversation yet. Josie did offer to have someone drop off diplomatic letters for her to write as soon as her hands were completely healed so that she wouldn’t feel as if she was a freeloader again. It gave Del a welcome goal, once the burns were gone she’d at least have some menial work to assist with. Until then Del made herself content with curling up under numerous quilts and continuing her studies with her new books. That counted as resting and healing, right?

It was just after midday on the fourth day when the sudden rapping at the cabin door broke her concentration. Del assumed Josie or even Vivienne had come to see her again. She had not been expecting to find the Commander shifting back and forth with a basket in one hand.

“Cullen?”

She had not seen him since Dalish had helped her off the training grounds and begun to wonder if he was angry at her too. He looks her over rather quickly while she stands in the doorway, wide-eyed. Del tugs her sleeves down as his eye linger over her hands. His expression is almost pained as he takes her in, she can tell he’s trying to hide it though, lips pressed into a tight smile.

“What’s with the basket?”

“Uh, well, Leliana flipped the script. She sent me with food this time.” Del tries to ignore the way he can’t look her in the eye as he explains his rather sudden appearance.

Their Spymaster was up to something today. It was not as if Del had been skipping meals recently. She was sure Cullen still probably took the top of the list in that department.

“But- I’m sure you have more important things to do.” Like train soldiers or draw up battle plans or even calibrate the trebuchets.

“Well, I thought… I wanted to apologize for what happened. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been injured…”

Del’s gaze narrows as she folds her arms tight across her chest, “can you read minds?”

The man in her doorway goes wide eyed, “what? No, what are you asking?”

“If you can’t read minds then you couldn’t have known.”

“There’s more to it than that, Delphine… should have seen myself in him- I should have seen it.”

She sighs, gesturing for the blond to come in and take a seat at her desk. It seemed he was just as stubborn as Elazar about this and the debate would not be over anytime soon. Cullen takes a seat, briefly glancing over the correspondence she’d left out and notes from the books he had given her. Del grabs a quilt and curls up where the end of her bed meets the desk, watching as he silently unpacks the basket lunch. She wordlessly accepts the food he pushes towards her. This seems to satisfy him as he leans back in the chair, smile growing just a bit.

“You’re not all knowing-” Del can’t help but break the silent peace- “and you have an army to worry about. You can’t watch each soldier individually.”

Cullen shakes his head, “doesn’t mean I couldn’t have seen what was right in front of my face. I should have recognized it in him- myself in him. If I had been truly worried about your safety, I would have looked closer, never trusted him with you. I’m sorry. Truly sorry. You are supposed to be safe here, all mages here are, and I’ve failed you. There’s no excuse for that.”

Up until Rosche had attacked her Delphine had always felt safe in Haven. The first time she had met Cullen he had been breaking up a fight between templar and mages, which might not have been all that reassuring then, but after coming to know him and the other advisors Delphine had never been worried. She was not sure that she was worried now. Shaken? Yes. Scared? No.

“You keep saying you should have seen yourself in him…”

A long sigh escapes him as Cullen scrubs a gloved hand across his face. “I’m not proud of who I was before. The way I treated mages, the hate I held towards them, the same hate Rosche held towards you. So completely unjustified. It’s why I left the templars, to do better here. Letting Rosche go unchecked, letting him hurt you… that’s not doing better.”

Wasn’t it enough that he realized his mistakes? That he was making an effort to change? He had helped her and never made her feel unsafe or unwanted. They were able to have civil conversations about the Circles. That was more than she could say for most former-templars.

Del can feel his eyes on her as sits for a moment, wrapping her head around what she wanted to say. “You didn’t let him hurt me.”

His frown deepens, “you don’t need to keep making excuses for me, for my failings.”

“I-I’m not…” she didn’t feel as if she was but here she was denying him when he was trying to take responsibility for the incident. “Maybe you’re right… I’m sorry.”

“Maker, you shouldn’t be apologizing for anything after all this.”

Part of her want to, so Elazar and Cullen would stop unnecessarily shouldering all the blame. “It’s… it’s just you’ve been nothing but fair to me since I arrived here. I don’t think it’s right to put all the blame on you for what someone else did to me. You’re already tearing yourself up over your past. I don’t want this to add on to it. Rosche decided to attach me, you didn’t make that decision for him- please don’t put all this on you. You don’t deserve that either.”

Cullen’s eyes go wide for a moment, “you’re kinder to me than I deserve, Delphine.”

Del suddenly finds the blanket much more interesting, picking at a loose thread, eyes downcast. “I don’t think that’s the case. I think I’m being fair. Especially considering those books you went out of your way to get me.”

She can’t help but smile a bit as Cullen scratches at the back of his neck. “It was supposed to be an anonymous gift.”

“In a place this small, nothing really stays secret, or at least that’s my experience.”

“Leliana?”

“Maybe…”

He chuckles, “I should have known.”

“Am I allowed to thank you for your thoughtful gift or are you going to shoot that down as well?”

“You’re more stubborn than you lead people to believe,” Cullen sighs.

“Elazar has rubbed off on me in more ways than one.”

Del’s heard drops to her stomach as Cullen’s face falls. “The reason you didn’t want me to speak with the Herald… you knew he would be upset.”

“Yes. Elazar and I have differing views in some ways… and I knew that a templar attacking me- attacking any mage for that matter- would set him off… you didn’t deserve to have him bite your head off about it. There were more important things for you to be worrying about. Now he’s just being an ass about it.” Del tightens the quilt around her shoulders, “I’m hoping Iron Bull will help him work it out of his system. He was going on about hitting things with sticks before they left.”

.

Whatever it was Iron Bull had suggested in the end, it had helped. Elazar and company returned from the Hinterlands in much better spirits than when they left. Del returned to attending War Room meetings with El, and whatever tension had existed before had seemingly vanished into thin air. Along with the fact that there seemed to be even a miniscule amount of good news out of the Hinterlands helped as well. The encampments of rogue templars and apostate mages had been cleared out, watch towers were completed and fully functional and the bandits had been cleared out of the East Road. The Crossroads were now a safe place for the refugees to gather under Inquisition protection, and word was spreading fast.

Josephine and Leliana both reported that word of the Inquisition was spreading and in places it was even being received well. There was still work to do on the public image of the organization but Josie seemed thrilled to get to work tackling that. Delphine did her best to assist. There had been no mention of her returning to assist with the training efforts at any point, so she spent all her days either chained to her desk working in her cabin or meeting with the steady stream of visiting nobles and well-to-do merchants alongside Josie.

Elazar, in better spirits, had returned to his charismatic self. Del thanked that Maker and thanked the newfound companionship in Haven. Varric had been on El’s side since the beginning but Del quickly notices something has changed since their last trip, a stronger mutual sense of trust, maybe? Though sometimes Del thinks it’s just because they have nearly the same sense of humor. There was Bull and the Chargers as well, which was no surprise, and the seemingly honorary member from the Red Jennys. The lot of them had fallen into a routine, spending evenings in the tavern, often drinking themselves into a rowdy mess. It was the perfect recipe for chaos, but Delphine would let that go for now. They had not caused any serious damage. Yet.

Tonight, was one of the rowdier nights Del had sat in on. They had been going on about celebrating, but Del was never quite sure what exactly they had to celebrate. It did not take long for them to drink themselves into a stupor. Considering El was a spindly elf who had never partaken in alcohol before leaving the Circle, it seemed reasonable he was a light weight. Bull on the other hand boasted and bragged as he quickly fell to the drink as well. Del did not envy Krem one bit as he and a few other Chargers made an attempt to peel their captain off the tavern floor and haul him back to his tent. Thought she would not have minded some help with El as she struggled to drag his limp form across Haven.

Del was not petite by any standard. Not as gifted in height as some of her brothers but she was not short. Tonight though, she felt tiny as she pulled along the lanky Elazar and his freakishly long elf legs. She had half a mind to throw his arms over her shoulders and just drag him along behind her, screw his pants and shoes and whatever else wound up covered in dirt.

What Delphine did not expect was to see Cullen descending from one of the makeshift ramparts on the wall, doing his best to stifle a smile. “Is everything all right with the Herald, Delphine?”

“He’s right as rain now, but he may not be feeling that way in the morning, Commander.” Probably because she was about to leave him lying outside in the snow all night.

Cullen chuckles, “had a bit too much fun tonight?”

“Him and Bull both,” Del sighs.

“I see… here, let me help.”

Elazar’s weight is quickly lifted off her shoulders as Cullen hoists the elf up. Del snickers as El’s head crashes against the shoulder plate of Cullen’s armor.

Cullen does not say anything but quirks an eyebrow as he starts off toward their cabin. “Well, he was already going to have a headache in the morning.”

That one earns her another laugh from the Commander, “indeed, he probably will.”

Del holds open the front door as Cullen shuffles in, lugging El in and depositing him ungracefully into his cot.

“Better than a tavern floor.”

“If it had been any of my own friends, I probably would have left them there.” As Delphine leaves against the doorframe, Cullen comes to stand across from her, arms crossed, “give them a dose of reality.”

She shrugs, “one of these days I probably should. But I figure he’s had enough reality recently. It seems the least I can do for him. Even if he’s too damn long.”

“You are a kind friend,” Cullen’s smile looks rather wistful as he glances back at Elazar. “The Herald is lucky to have you.”

“I was lucky he befriended me first.” Del wondered where she’d be right now if he hadn’t been there all those years ago.

“Sounds like there is a story there.”

“Oh, not an exciting one. I simply didn’t have many, if any, friends before Elazar was brought to the Circle.”

Delphine pauses, trying to backtrack ad figure out how taking care of a wasted Elazar had turned into talking about her troubled childhood with Cullen.

“I find that hard to believe,” Cullen frowns.

“I was...” Del worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, trying to find the right words, “I was resented by my fellow mages, early on in my Circle days thanks to my family… I received extremely preferential treatment from the templars in the tower. And I understand why that would have been upsetting to the others.” She probably would have done the same had one of the other apprentices been spoiled the way Delphine had.

Cullen’s frown deepens, “templars are supposed to maintain a distance from their charges in order to keep that from happening.”

“I’m not sure about other Circles but Faxhold didn’t always abide to a strict reading of all the rules, particularly in my case. Between having relatives serving in my Circle and templars trying to curry favor with my family, my life in the Circle was much cushier than that of your average mage.”

“Why didn’t your First Enchanter request a transfer? Or the Knight-Commander?”

Del scoffs, “the Knight-Commander was my uncle, Othar.”

She could not help but relish the surprised look on Cullen’s face for just a moment, “are you related to everyone in Ostwick?”

“Just all the important people.”

Her father was the Bann Trevelyan, her mother was the younger sister of Bann Bowen and Knight-Commander Othar Bowen. Her magic and her family tree were the perfect storm.

“Even if our First Enchanter did manage to get me transferred elsewhere, I challenge you to find a Circle in Thedas that doesn’t have a Trevelyan templar already there.”

Cullen shakes his head, “so, this special attention caused a rift between you and the others?”

“The other apprentices, mostly. We were all young and had recently had all our other freedoms stripped from us. I was an easy target for their rage at the system that had imprisoned them.” Her family was the system that imprisoned them at times. “I simply put up with it until El came around. He tried to get the others to see I was just as trapped as they were… that I hadn’t chosen to be a mage from a powerful family… eventually they came around and we all moved on with our lives.”

“That was that?” Del couldn’t blame Cullen for being surprised. These days it seemed like people had forgotten how to forgive and forget. All Del wanted was to move on, there was no benefit to being stuck in the past.

“El just has that effect on people.”

“I can believe that,” Cullen smiles softly, “well… I should get back to rounds. I will see you at the morning meeting?”

“More rounds? Do you ever sleep, Cullen?”

The blond rubs his neck, “when I must.”

“That’s not healthy, Cullen,” Del pouts, this man was going to work himself into an early grave, “first you skip meals, and now sleep? We need you at your best, you should be taking better care of yourself.”

Cullen sighs, “you sound like Cassandra.”

“Well then I’m most definitely right.”

“She’d be happy to hear you say that,” he chuckles, “if I promise you to get some sleep as soon as I’m done with my rounds will you be satisfied?”

“Satisfied? No. But it will make me worry a little less.” One night would not fix anything, but it was a start.

“Well then you can worry a little less tonight. I promise.”

“Alright.” Del smiles up at him, “goodnight Cullen. And thank you again.”

“Of course. Goodnight Delphine.”

[takadasaiko]

Growth and Comfort Do Not Coexist (a Veronica Mars oneshot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: When Logan and his Navy buddy get volunteered for the Career Day fair at Neptune High on the same day that Veronica is hired by Principal Clemmons for a case,  Logan's two worlds cross with some soul-searching results.

Notes: When I started this series the plan was to keep it as a pretty strict extension of canon, but after going through S4 again I feel like it's more accurate to say that it's a very subtle AU with most of canon intact. Most of the time, you may not even be able to tell, while others I'm going to splinter off a bit more. This is one of those times. I haven't finished the novels yet, but I understand that Logan provides a bit of backstory on how he joined the Navy in the second one. At least in spirit it lined up pretty closely with the head canon I was already getting attached to, so I decided to keep the head canon for this series. I'll try to let you know in any future fics as well if it splits for information I know was provided.

Growth and Comfort Do Not Coexist

One of the countless ironies in his life was that it had been his father that had started him on his love of quoting others to find his own way. It made sense, even if he hated it. An actor regurgitating others' words in his own voice and making a mint of people for doing so, but Logan hadn't stopped with movies. He watched everything, read more than admitted to in his younger years, and stored every word, every syllable that he could away in the library of his mind to work into his own vocabulary. He'd honed a quick wit and sharpened his tongue to a razor's edge of protection over the years. It hadn't defended him at home, but it left him ready to take on anyone outside of those walls willing to come at him. Anger had fueled him and made him deadly to the point that he'd driven off nearly everyone that was willing to challenge him for whatever reason.

Almost everyone, and those rare few that had remained had been his saving grace. All these years later he could acknowledge that. Duncan Kane who had been willing to walk off when he'd crossed that line into total jackassery, Dick Casablancas who had done what he could - if he even knew he was doing it or not - by harassing him out of the deep funks he fell in, and that shining beacon of light named Veronica Mars that had reminded him of his own mortality while simultaneously easing the sting of the wounds inflicted by his life. It hadn't always been easy, especially with Veronica. Aaron may have led him to a love of words, but as Logan closed the door to his convertible - tucked in a line of clunkers and high-end cars that made up the Neptune High parking lot - he knew that he never would have made it this far on words alone. He had always craved support. Needed it. And even after Veronica had left, fleeing the black hole that Neptune felt like at times, he'd found it.

He just wondered what kind of quote he could rattle off that could somehow find peace between his then and his now as he stood looking onto the high school that he'd graduated from, the life that he'd left so far behind in so many ways, but he was drawing a blank. No, this was what it was, and really he couldn't even trace it back to a place where he could remember agreeing to this potential powder keg of a day. The order had come down and he'd said yes sir like a good soldier.

"The rest of the squad and I have a bet going on just how much trouble you got into back in the day."

Logan turned to look at Dave Riley, one of the very few people on the planet that he would be willing to die for. He straightened, showing himself to be a good three or four inches shorter than Logan and skinny as hell. His strawberry-blond hair and green eyes that were too big for his freckled face gave him an air of innocence that Logan knew he used to his advantage. That Midwest drawl did it too. People always underestimate him, but Riley had scored even higher than Logan had on the ASTB-E - Aviation Standard Test Battery - which was saying something. He wouldn't have had anyone else watch his back in the air. Thankfully the Navy had agreed when they assigned Riley as his Weapons System Officer.

"Yeah? You really think it's a fair bet for you to weigh in on?"

Riley shrugged and flashed a wide grin that would have put anyone else at ease. Logan knew better. The more innocent he looked, the more shit Riley was likely to pull. "I'm just here to be the honest voice to deliver back anything I learn."

Logan snorted. "Uh-huh."

"Trust issues. You've got them, my friend."

"I've just known you too long."

"Maybe, but you do trust me."

"Doesn't mean anybody else should."

"Maybe I just want to see pre-bottom-of-the-barrel Echolls. They all saw you after you enlisted, but me? I saw you before and it was not a pretty picture."

Logan snorted, the corners of his lips quirking up as he caught Riley out of the corner of his eye. "Weird. See, I thought you were into me, because I kept telling you to fuck off and you kept coming back."

"You wish," Riley chuckled and shrugged. "Seriously though, what was I supposed to do? No telling what you would have done if I'd just left you there by yourself."

"Flunk out and drink myself to death?"

"Yeah, probably."

Logan finally turned to meet those amused, green eyes and his smirk eased out a little. "Rather have you at my back than anyone else."

"Better believe it, brother," Riley answered and reached up, ready for Logan to tap the back of his hand off of his in an old ritual. "You ready to go talk up the Navy to a bunch of teenagers that remind you of yourself?"

"'Originals cost more than imitations.' Suzy Kassem.'"

Riley snorted. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're one of a kind," he chuckled as they started towards the building.

Logan flashed him a broad grin as his gaze swept the parking lot that they were walking through, finally falling on a familiar blue Hyundai that didn't belong there. Or maybe it did. Maybe a student there just had the exact same make and model of car that his girlfriend had. Coincidences happened. Sometimes. In theory, at least.

"Remind me again how we got roped into this?" Riley asked, drawing his attention back around.

"Pretty sure Wallace - Veronica's friend - put in the specific request. He's a teacher here."

"And here I am. Dragged in because of you," Riley sighed dramatically and Logan popped his fist against his shoulder, receiving a shit-eating grin and response dripping with false cheer in return. "And I wouldn't want to be anywhere else!"

"Logan!"

"Speak of the Physics teacher and he appears. Like magic," the man in question muttered, receiving a muffled laugh from his cohort as Wallace Fennel broke into a light jog towards them. "I hear we have you to thank for this," Logan directed at Wallace.

"I just put your name into a hat. No clue what had to happen to get a couple of aviators in."

Logan opened his mouth to take advantage of the oh-too-easy joke that Wallace had left open for him when Riley cut him off. "Technically, he's the aviator. I'm the Wizzo." Okay. So maybe he brought some of his Midwest propriety with him. There was a first time for everything.

"The what?" Wallace asked, tilting his head a little to the side in question.

"Weapons System Officer," Riley clarified. "WSO. Wizzo."

"Because we're in the Navy and we nickname everything," Logan popped off and tilted his head towards the man standing on his right. "Lt. Dave Riley. He literally watches my back."

"I shoot the assholes, Echolls makes sure we don't get shot by out-flying them," Riley added.

"So you're Goose?" Wallace asked.

"Yeah… just with less death."

"What do you need us to do, Wallace?" Logan asked, watching students filing in towards their first classes of the day.

"Are you going to hate me if I tell you that I didn't warn Clemmons it was you?"

"Pretty sure if you had he would have shut it down."

Riley straightened, interest piqued again. "And exactly why would this Clemmons fellow hate you?" It took less that two seconds for Riley to turn that inquisitive look on Wallace and, while Logan knew the man had to be able to keep up with Veronica in order to stay in her life as long as he had, it would have been nice to think that he didn't have to worry about fielding questions all day. There was a reason he didn't intentionally connection his life with the Navy to his life in Neptune with the exception of Veronica. Ah well. No turning back now. Good thing he was well versed in pretending things didn't phase him.

"I got some dirt," Wallace offered.

"And here I thought you came along to have my back," Logan grumbled, his glare sliding towards Riley.

"Always, man, but the rest of the squad is relying on me."

"Yeah, when'd you get promoted?"

"Even the squad leader has to own up," Riley teased, nudging Logan's shoulder as he strode forward. "Whatcha got for me. Wallace, was it?"

Logan did not like the look Wallace wore as he said, "How 'bout a trade? I'll tell you about the time Logan and one of the other guys from our class put the lit teacher's car on the flag pole -"

Riley's grin only broadened. "On?"

"On," Wallace confirmed, "if you tell us his call sign. Man will notshare. Can't be that bad, right?"

Logan snorted and started back towards the buildings, hearing a far-too-amused Riley agree to the terms and Wallace's story began. This was going to be a trip.

---------

Some days being a PI was exciting. An unexpected client dropped into the office with an interesting story, lots of holes in it that they didn't think you could possibly discover, and a whole puzzle to solve. And then other days it was your old high school principal who showed up with the Case of the Missing Lockbox. What was in the lockbox, she had no idea, just that it was connected to Career Day - she had zero recollection of having a career day at Neptune High. Wow. - and that it mustbe found.

And it was. Almost before Clemmons had finished rattling off his explanation of just how important it was. There was something in that someone needed and he needed…. Really, she'd lost track. Whatever the reason he wanted it, she found it hidden under a loose floorboard in the gym. The rest was history as soon as he'd signed and handed her the check. As soon as she found where Mac had gotten off to, she had no interest in sticking around.

At least until she spotted a very familiar figure standing at the Navy booth talking to an excitable teen about the F/A-18 Hornets that he flew.

Veronica felt her lips turn up at the corners without permission as she inched forward, waiting behind him until the kid was gone. "Take me to bed or risk losing me forever," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

Logan turned, cringing as he did. "I swear, if I never hear another Top Gun reference today…."

"You can live a long and happy life?" she offered.

"Exactly. What are you doing here? I thought I spotted your car."

Veronica leaned against the booth, never breaking eye contact. "Oh, you know, solving cases. Stopping crime. Paying the rent." She waved the check in her hand in front of him.

"One of the kids steal something from Clemmons?"

"You know they did, but I fixed it." He snorted a laugh and Veronica cracked a full grin. "Wallace rope you into this?"

"He did. I'm a good friend. Please feel free to remind him of that at any and every possible moment."

She felt her playful smile soften a little, but a voice broke in from the other end of the booth. "Hey, V!" Riley called, offering a wave when she looked over.

"Look at you standing on two legs," Veronica returned and motioned at the potential recruits. "Ask him how he broke his leg a few months ago. Go ahead. Ask him."

"You're not helping," her boyfriend grumbled with feigned irritation.

Veronica turned back to look at him. "So you and Wallace are friends now?" she asked, circling back around to their conversation. "I like the sound of that."

"I like Wallace. I may have even won him over with this one. It's Mac I'm hesitant about. What'd I do to her?"

Veronica cringed a little. "I think it was Parker."

"Seriously? She knows Parker broke up with me, right?"

"There was something about me involved, I don't know. She's around here somewhere bolstering the campus security. You'd have to ask her."

"I think I'll leave it as one of life's many mysteries."

She laughed, inching in. Hell, she did love him in those Navy whites. Her hand reached forward of its own accord, fingers touching the fabric there and ready to curl into it to pull him closer to her, but he caught it before she could. "I'm technically on duty."

"You're technically on duty when you get home from deployment and haul me off the deck to kiss me," she reminded him, her voice low and he'd have to be an idiot to miss her meaning. Logan Echolls was a lot of things, but an idiot wasn't one of them.

"They give me some leeway there. Not so much when I'm telling kids why they should enlist."

"You telling them to get shot at for a living?"

"Hey, now. Technically I have never gotten shot."

"And you've jinxed yourself."

"It's really not as likely if they're on the ship," he answered, his smirk more cocky than she would have liked. She knew all too well that they had come under fire.

"You're not funny."

"Seriously? I hear you find me hilarious."

Veronica held his gaze, those perfectly thin lips of his stretched out into a smile that made her want to drag him back to some secluded corner right then and there, but she knew she couldn't. He couldn't. Or wouldn't. For all of Logan's flippancy towards authority in their youth, he'd found something sacred in the Navy. She wasn't sure if it was the authority, per se, or something deeper that was just reflected there. He'd grown up alone in many ways, even before his parents had died, and certainly without the usual limitations that most children received. He had never told her the full story of how he'd tumbled into the Navy of all things, but her working theory was that it had something to do with the structure and direction that it provided.

Whatever the case, he loved it. His job, his squad, every inch of it. He didn't just love it, he respected it, and for that reason he would respect the fact that he was there to represent it. Oh, if only sixteen-year-old Logan could see himself now. What would he say?

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Mars," he teased, drawing her attention around.

"There was nothing to say that it was inthe gutter, Echolls," she countered, grinning up at him.

"You need a mirror? All the evidence you'll need for - what do you call it? - a money shot."

Her grin grew as her voice dipped. "Usually fewer clothes for that."

"Give me a couple hours," he promised.

Veronica loosed a laugh out on a breath and leaned against the booth, her gaze drifting out to the crowd of kids. They looked like them years before in so many ways. In others, nothing at all. For the first time in a long time she found herself desperate to see the ghost of Lilly Kane dancing through the throngs of students, laughing and teasing and alive. She'd missed so much.

"So, your buddy Wallace told me about the car on the flagpole incident," Riley's chipper voice pulled her out of her thoughts, "but even as spectacular as that is, it couldn't possibly warrant that look."

Veronica followed where he was pointing to see a very nervous looking Van Clemmons standing with Wallace, the principal's gaze fixed on Logan who was chatting with a student.

"Oh, you know, started a few fights, kept getting charged with murders he didn't commit."

"There was more than one?"

"Well, only one in high school," she answered with a shrug. "Looks like you boys may get let go early. Hiya, Mr C."

The principal looked over on his way to the booth, startled and he mumbled something about a dangerous pair. Veronica snorted a laugh and looked back at Riley. "So how do you like the old stomping grounds?"

"It's an experience. Never thought I'd see kids driving Teslas and Beamers nicer than Logan's to class."

She liked Riley, but she didn't often get time alone with him. She wasn't sure if Logan intentionally kept his Navy and his Neptune life a little bit separate, but she did know that as soon as Clemmons could pry his students away long enough from the Navy table he would politely thank the guys for their time and send them on their way. If she wanted to pick Riley's brain at all, now was a chance she hadn't expected. "You guys met sophomore year, right?"

"Yeah. After you left." His gaze slid over to her. "You fishing for intel, Veronica?"

"Just curious. Tell me you didn't sign on to get a few new stories on him."

"Where Echolls goes, I go," Riley answered with a shrug, but as Veronica waited a little of the mirth washed off. He turned to meet her gaze fully. "A few fun anecdotes are one thing, but this? It changed his life. That's his story to tell, V."

She nodded slowly, turning back to find a missing Logan and Mac having appeared at some point, now patiently waiting with Wallace. Wallace started forward. "Hey, Veronica. Didn't know you were going to be here today."

"Missing something or the other," she answered offhandedly. "Where'd Logan go?"

"Not sure. Fair's wrapping up so the kids can get back to class. Clemmons let you guys go early." Wallace extended a hand. "Lt Riley—"

"Just Riley's good, after the stories I got from you." He happily shook the offered hand, his grin returning. "So if Echolls wandered off, who's the lucky volunteer to drive me back to my car at his place? Unless you have extra keys to the Beamer, V. I'd be willing to slum it."

"But would you be willing to stake your life on it if you wrecked Logan's car?"

"Fair."

"We can take you," Mac offered. "If you're parked at their place it's not too far out of the way."

Veronica shot her a questioning look before filing she dug in her purse for her keys and tossed them at Mac. "You two kids be good. I'll grab a ride home with Logan."

She watched Riley turn a funny sort of smile on Mac who fell into step with him towards the parking lot. She would have to file that away in things to figure out later. For now, she had a Logan to track down.

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

Veronica had been busy chatting with Riley when Clemmons gave them the all clear to head out - not a huge surprise and probably the reason Wallace had tried to keep quiet who he'd managed to snag out of the aviation department to come in - and he just needed a couple of minutes to work through the thoughts that he'd shoved down below the surface since arriving on the campus. The students had been called back into their classes and had left the halls deserted, Logan standing alone on the school crest with one hand stuffed deeply into his trouser pockets, the other holding onto his uniform cap.

He hadn't been here since graduation, not that many people made an effort at returning to their high schools, but Logan had made even less so. Hell, he wouldn't have bothered with his ten year reunion if Sean Freidrich hadn't released those videos of Carrie to his instagram account. He didn't have a lot of positive memories associated with it. Sure, early on he'd been popular enough. Money tended to do that in Neptune, as did prestigious parents. Logan had had both. Funny, he'd still had to face most of the battles that had rolled in alone. Especially the ones that counted for anything.

"Hey handsome," a familiar voice chimed behind him and he felt Veronica's hands touch the small of his back lightly as she circled around, her smile flirty and light. "Deep in thought about all the scandalous things that happened here?"

"Yep. I'm pretty sure we made out in that corner. That one too. Oh, and there's the infamous women's bathroom that you kept dragging me into."

"You liked it."

"I did."

Veronica circled around him and he couldn't help but feel his smile turned a little more real. Well, one good thing had come out of it all. Her.

"What are you really thinking about?" she asked, her tone a little less teasing now and damn her. She did see right through him, didn't she?

Logan felt his smile even out, the weight of his thoughts settling back into place from their momentary relief. He let the feelings roll around in his mind for a long moment until they got enough traction to form something like words. Another moment or two and they even started to make at least a fraction of sense. "I've been trying to reconcile who I was with who I am," he said slowly, tasting each word as it left his tongue to make sure it was the right one that best coincided with the emotions that had bubbled up like a geisser ready to shoot towards the sky.

Veronica was uncharacteristically silent as she settled in next to him, both standing on the emblem in the middle of the hall and looking down the long stretch.

"I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. It's easy to say I was young and stupid, but I think…. It used to be easier to keep it all separated. Even living here, when I dated Carrie…. It was different. She had no interest in the Navy. The two worlds were completely separate. Riles only met her maybe… two or three times."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It was awkward and forced. In the end it was just easier to live two lives, but since you came back it's been… complicated."

He could feel her tense at his side and he risked a look. Well that wasn't a happy look. More of a hurt-desperately-shoved-under-irritation look. "Sorry I complicated things," she groused and Logan scrambled.

"That's not what I mean. I mean, it is, but not like that." He pulled in a breath, trying to find a way to express it in a way that she might be able to understand. "I mean I want Riles to know you. I want you to know him. I want to be friends with your friends and vice versa until they're ours. I just… don't know how to do that without opening myself up for a hell of a lot of shit toted out for everyone to see."

There was another moment of silence from her and Logan shifted from one foot to another, feeling exposed. Finally, he heard her draw in a breath. "'Growth and comfort do not coexist.'"

Logan blinked hard. "Ginny Rometty," he cited, surprise lacing the name.

"I guess? You had it as your voicemail one time. One of your inspirational quotes." Her careful smile flooded him with a sense of warmth. "Seemed to fit."

"Yeah," he breathed.

"I get it," Veronica murmured, looking back down the hall. "When I went to Stanford, I cut ties with everything. I didn't want the two worlds colliding. I never dated anyone for long enough for him to feel like he should meet my dad or anything. To come home. Even with Piz who knew so much of it. I just… kept it separate."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't think I wanted to be that person."

"I love that person."

A small smile tugged her lips out and she reached for the hand still stuffed in his pocket. "Can I ask you something?"

Funny, that question would have terrified him a decade ago, but he heard his response roll off his own tongue without reservation. "Anything."

"Why'd you choose the Navy? I'm glad you did. I've seen…. What it gave you. What it did for you. I just wanna know how you got there."

Logan pursed his lips and considered the question for a long moment. It wasn't the first time she'd asked and she wasn't the only one curious. Just earlier that day Wallace had tried to press Riley for it. Good man Riley. He'd run his mouth about a lot, but not when it counted, and this did.

And because it counted, he knew Veronica deserved to hear it from him.

"I was okay all summer," he started, feeling a little numb as he spoke. "I thought you'd come back. I thought we'd...do what we did back then. Fall apart, come back, try again."

"I transferred."

"Yeah."

"Without telling you."

"I got the hint," he murmured, trying not to sound too bitter. He tightened his hold on her hand in his. "I never really… learned how to process things, I don't think. Not things that mattered. Hell, my go-to when my mom threw herself off a bridge was to hire my best friend's ex girlfriend to prove she wasn't really dead." A mirthless chuckle left him and he felt her tighten her hold on his hand. "I fell apart. Hit bottom. I was on the edge of flunking out, drinking waytoo much, and then this asshole sat down at my table in the cafeteria and just started babbling on about the design of a jet. Honestly, I was so hungover I couldn't tell you what jet he was talking about. All I remember is telling him to fuck off and he thought it was hilarious."

"Riley," Veronica said softly and Logan nodded.

"Riley. He's a stubborn bastard. He kept on me until somehow we became… friends, I guess? Something close to it. Found out later we'd had a class freshman year. The one Wallace and I had where I lost the bet and went streaking through it?" Veronica snorted a laugh at that. She had rolled her eyes pretty hard at the time. "He saw something, through all the bullshit. I don't know why or how, but he had… faith. Ended up convincing me to join ROTC and it was the first time I think I really found structure in my life. I always thought it'd be exhausting but it was… nice, somehow. Not just some assholes that had no business telling me what to do getting off on it, but these people had my back. I eased off the drinking, got my grades up, and did what I had to to get my wings."

"That's… amazing."

"You hear me say Riley saved my life and sure. In the air, definitely, but before that. He got me in the air."

The bell rang. "I'm glad he did," Veronica said earnestly as the doors started opening all around them and she tipped up on her toes to press the briefest of kisses to his lips before the students started to flood out. "Let's go home."

He nodded, words escaping him in that moment as she took him by the hand and led him towards Neptune High's exit, the chatter following them out.

----------- 

It felt like a weight had been lifted off that Logan hadn't even known was there. He had always known what had drawn her into the life she lived, what had driven her to find an outlet for the questions that raged after Lilly's death, but that small, lying voice in his mind had told him that she'd be upset if he explained how he had gotten to where he was. She'd be hurt, thinking that he blamed her for finally scraping rock bottom. Or angry that he had. Whatever the case, it would be his fault and clearly it would drive a wedge between them.

But it didn't. Instead she'd taken it in stride, seeming to be more grateful that Riley had been stubborn enough to help him through it than upset that he'd crashed and burned after she had left. They had both done what they had needed, and they had needed it. As much as they'd loved each other they had been so young and so angry and hurt by the world around them. Jaded and pained in ways they couldn't work through together, not at that point. No, they had had to work on themselves, to find themselves, before they could come back together. And they had. Of course they had. Their story was epic.

Logan pulled the BMW around to park it on the street, brows drawing together at the sight of both Veronica's blue Hyundai and Riley's Mustang. "I thought he'd be halfway back to San Diego."

"Yeah, and I thought my car would be at the office…."

They slipped out of the convertible, finding the steps leading to the apartment empty of waiting guests. Logan heard Veronica's voice and glanced over to see her phone pressed to her ear. "Uh huh. Suuure," she answered with a wide grin. "See you in a sec." She ended the call and motioned towards the beach. "Riley forgot his keys in the apartment and Mac decided to wait with him."

Logan tilted his head and they started the short trek to find his Wizzo and one of Veronica's best friends sitting on a beach towel that must have been in her trunk, deep in conversation. Mac was the first to turn at their approach. "Hi there, Hollywood!" she greeted, her grin quick and mischievous.

And suddenly he knew what the conversation had been about. He locked eyes with Riley whose grin was a bit more sheepish. "Traitor," Logan muttered even as Veronica barked a laugh.

"You finally got it out of him. 'Bout damn time." She turned a clearly fake apologetic look at him. "It's not so bad. You've told me some of the other guys' call signs and they're a lot worse."

"It wouldn't have stuck if he hadn't been such a baby about it early on," Riley chuckled.

"Asshole," Logan huffed without any real spite in his voice.

"Yeah, you love me." Riley stood, brushing off his uniform. "I should head back. Good meeting you, Mac. Loved the story about the scavenger hunt. We should do it again sometime." He glanced back pointedly at Logan. "Cross the streams a little, huh?"

Logan rolled his eyes a little, but he knew the smile inching into place was going to give him away. It was nice to find some weird equilibrium between two pieces of his life. "C'mon. Let's grab your keys."

"Oh, wouldn't you know it?" Riley stuffed his hand deeply into his pocket and returned with his keys. "Oops. There the whole time. See ya next time."

Veronica snorted a laugh as Riley sauntered his way up the beach towards the road. "He's a sneaky little bastard."

"I warned you, " Logan chuckled. "He's been looking for high school stories all day."

"And freshman year of college," Mac offered as she stood, stooping back down to grab the oversized beach towel. "But he does pay well with stories from after you ghosted everyone. How did you stay in ROTC with some of the stuff you pulled?"

Logan flashed her a smug grin and Mac laughed, shaking her head.

"You wanna stay for dinner? We can order Thai," Veronica offered.

"I think we have chicken. I can cook," Logan countered.

"You cook?" Mac asked, the amusement still strong in her eyes. "This I have to see."

"I even know how to wash dishes," Logan countered.

Veronica nodded at the distant figure just reaching the street. "Bet we can grab Riley before he leaves. Swap a few more stories?"

"There's no stopping you now, is there?"

"Flood gates aren't open," she agreed.

"I'll go catch Dave," Mac offered and she was gone before either of them could get a word in.

Logan looked to Veronica, finding those clear and curious blue eyes on him too. "Did she just call him Dave?"

"Pretty sure she did."

"Huh."

They started up the beach towards their friends, Logan risking a glance at the woman he loved out of the corner of his eye and feeling a strange sense of peace washing over him despite what would likely turn into a one-up-manship of stories that evening. Growth and comfort didn't coexist, it was true. It had nearly killed him to find a way to survive everything life has dealt him, He couldn't go back and change the past, and he didn't think he wanted to. Without the struggles he faced, he never would have grown like he had, and that growth had brought him here. It had brought him back to her, and for that he would endure any pain.

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Notes:

Hat tip to @his-beautiful-girl_Beautiful_Girl for the Suzy Kassem quote and all of the fantastic folks in the VM Fic Club that were willing to help me find the best quote to use there 3