#yeah I kind of intend to leave their relationship vague in this universe

[carewyncromwell]

“All I want is the wind in my hair -- To face the fear, but not feel scared...”

x~x~x~x

🌹 HPHM Cardverse developed by @ariparri​​ // learn more about Abraxan Derby here! 🌹

x~x~x~x

Abraxan Derby was a sport both native to and most popular in the Land of Clubs. This didn’t mean, however, that it didn’t have its fans elsewhere. Even in the Country of Spades, where street cars were pulled by mechanical creatures rather than flesh and blood ones, there were those who loved the freedom that the white winged horses represented. One of those such Spades was the young woman who would eventually become the Queen of Hearts -- Carewyn Cromwell.

From the time she was a little girl, Carewyn had always been enamored with the idea of flight. She found peace looking out from the highest height she could whenever she most wanted to be alone, and her older brother Jacob -- who worked for the Jack of Spades, Duncan Ashe -- used to love treating Carewyn to rides in the royal zeppelin whenever he could wrangle it. The young redhead’s love of flight also extended to winged horses. Although growing up in a rather poor home had made it so she couldn’t afford to travel and thus had only ever learned how to ride mechanical horses, Carewyn loved the thought of one day riding a real horse, especially an Abraxan. She got her chance, surprisingly enough, the day that the Country of Spades’ university hosted an Abraxan Derby competition.

The Land of Clubs and the Country of Spades shared a border, and it couldn’t have been more stark. As soon as one left the perimeter of the trees of the Clubs’ northernmost forest, they would be immediately greeted by a wide-open, industrial landscape decked with high-rise buildings made of iron and glass. It was only this forest and these buildings that separated the grounds of the Land and Country’s respective universities...and it was to hopefully foster good relations between these two schools that this competition was held.

Carewyn herself wasn’t attending university yet -- she was still only a lass of fifteen, though a very capable one. She’d more than made an impression at the court of Spades, after all the times she’d gone to visit Jacob and his “boss,” the Jack of Spades. Some even suspected that the hard-to-please Ace of Spades wished to enlist Carewyn to work for her in some not-too-distant future, though Carewyn didn’t show any particular enthusiasm for the idea. Instead Carewyn chose to work as a shopgirl part-time, so as to help financially support her family. As soon as she was done with her classes, she’d immediately dash out to catch the trolley, putting on her best shoes and her nicest pair of gloves while riding to the general store, and then she’d quickly fix her short ponytail and give herself a quick look-over in the shop windows she passed on her way over. Once she’d arrived, she’d immediately get to work behind the counter, bustling about to help the store owner with his customers and setting out on foot to deliver packages of goods across town.

This day in particular, at the end of her shift, the store owner sent Carewyn southward to deliver some packages to the university dean’s house. It was an address Carewyn was used to visiting -- the dean had a wife and several daughters, all of whom he loved to spoil with gifts, so him ordering stylish new dresses, jewelry, and shoes was a regular occurrence. Carewyn tried not to feel too jealous when she saw the pretty pearl drop earrings one of the dean’s daughters took out of the smallest of the boxes: the only earrings Carewyn had been able to afford were the rusted, clumsily-carved, flower-shaped studs she was wearing now.

Once Carewyn had finished her final delivery, she set off on foot back uptown so she could take the streetcar home. Her way was halted, though, by the commotion in the streets.

During the first round of the university’s Abraxan Derby, a particularly nasty foul had resulted in one of the Land of Clubs’ horses getting badly spooked by  some firecrackers in the Spades’ side of the stands and its rider getting thrown off his horse as it took off into the air. This very same Abraxan ended up just as spooked, however, when it flew right into the path of a zeppelin, weaved down right into the path of a very loud construction site, and then finally zipped right into the very loud incoming traffic of several dozen streetcars.

Alarmed by the sight of the poor, panicking creature, Carewyn pushed her way through the bewildered, wary bystanders, fearlessly rushing up toward the winged horse. Although truthfully she hadn’t known how to calm a real, living horse any better than anyone else around did, Carewyn tried her best, speaking to the white steed as calmly as she could.

“Easy now,” she whispered, taking off her black lace gloves as she approached, “easy...”

The horse flapped its wide wings as if to ward her and everyone else off, but Carewyn nonetheless stood her ground. Several law enforcement officers tried to intervene, whether by urging Carewyn “out of harm’s way” or to grab the horse’s reins, but their loud voices only served to make the Abraxan more nervous.

“Stay back!” Carewyn hissed at them under her breath.

She turned back to the Abraxan, keeping eye contact with him as she kept a respectful distance. The creature was not going to let any of them get any closer, even if they did want to help -- that much was obvious.

Carewyn racked her brain, trying to think of what to do. She had to calm the poor thing down...

The red-haired shopgirl took a very careful step forward. The Abraxan padded the ground anxiously, its eyes locked on her. Not entirely sure what made her do it, Carewyn offered the horse as brave of a smile as she could and started to sing to him.

“The pale moon was rising above the green mountain...

The sun was declining beneath the blue sea

When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain

That stands in the beautiful Vale of Tralee...

She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,

Yet ‘twas not her beauty alone that won me --

Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning

That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee...”

It was a modest, old-fashioned melody -- a folk song, full of admiration. And perhaps because of the sweetness of Carewyn’s voice and the smile that made her voice and eyes sparkle, it held the Abraxan’s attention, making it focus on her enough that it slowly settled down. Finally Carewyn was able to get close enough to touch it, but she moved slowly, holding her hand out in mid-air a foot or so away from its nose for the horse to smell. At last the Abraxan blustered softly through its teeth and bridged the gap between them, bringing its soft, velvety nose up to her hand. Carewyn’s eyes shone like stars as she brought both of her hands gently along its snout and stroked its neck.

“Oh, you are beautiful, aren’t you?” she whispered. Trailing a hand along its back and wing made her wistful in a way she could hardly explain. “You poor, sweet creature...it must be so much louder here than you’re used to. It’s no wonder you’re so frightened...”

“Indeed.”

Carewyn looked up.

The crowd parted for a young dark-haired man only about a year so older than Carewyn to pass through. He was dressed all in loose-fitting, breezy green, and something similarly bright white walked alongside him. The young man’s Abraxan’s wings were folded up at its side as he led it through the crowd toward Carewyn.

“I’m afraid the stables and woods back home are remarkably quiet, in comparison to your city,” he said calmly.

His black eyes ran over Carewyn’s hands up onto the horse’s face and then back onto her with interest.

“...I must thank you for restoring some peace to her spirit.”

Carewyn blinked at the young man in surprise.

“...She’s yours, then,” she surmised.

“My teammate’s, yes,” said the green-dressed man.

Before he could say anything else, however, the traffic in the street seemed to reawaken. It seemed that now that the Abraxan wasn’t flying around like crazy, all of those people who’d been on their commute home or to work had lost their patience.

“Oi, can you take it outta here?!”

“Get outta the way, will ya?!”

“Move it already!”

The Abraxan started to neigh restlessly at the blaring horns and clanging bells, and Carewyn hurriedly tried to calm it by stroking its mane.

“You horrid people!” she scolded them. “Don’t you see you’re making it worse?”

“Clearly they don’t,” the man said very coolly.

Bringing a tanned hand through his own horse’s mane, he quickly leapt up onto its back and took hold of the reins.

“Can you ride, miss?”

Carewyn was taken aback. “...I know how to ride a horse, yes.”

A mechanical one, at least.

“Well, then,” the man said, undaunted, “best be off.”

With this, he took off into the air.

Carewyn glanced at the white Abraxan at her side and then up at the green-dressed man flying just over her.

Well, it really was the best way to get this poor thing back where she belonged, Carewyn supposed.

Despite her slight misgivings, she climbed up onto the winged horse’s back. Taking hold of its reins, she then took a deep breath.

“Let’s go, girl,” she whispered in the Abraxan’s ear.

She flicked the reins. The Abraxan reared back, its wings fully extended, making Carewyn’s heart slam against her ribcage as she clutched its neck harness for support -- and then, just as abruptly, the horse had taken off, soaring up into the air.

It was stunning. Oh, Heavens above, was it a thrill! To be so weightless and so above it all -- it was like pure, exhilarating freedom was coursing through her veins with the heat of hot iron!

Carewyn felt her face flushing with joy -- she felt like a child, uncaring that her hair had come loose of its usual ribbon or that it was flapping loose in her face. She didn’t care how she looked in that moment, or what anyone might say. In this moment, here -- she’d never been happier, in her memory.

The green-dressed man flew up alongside her, his soft black eyes and large white smile rather bright as he considered her.

“Your course is worth several rubies,” he said.

Carewyn glanced up at him questioningly.

“You are a very skilled rider,” he clarified himself. “You’d be an admirable opponent, or ally, were you to fly in the derby.”

Carewyn shook her head modestly. “Thank you...but I’ve only ever ridden mechanical horses, prior to today. I’m hardly experienced enough.”

“But does your inexperience not make your talent all the more remarkable?” the young man challenged her. “You bonded with your steed with nothing but heart and instinct, rather than tried-and-true knowledge or experience.”

“Yes, but if people were relying on me to help them succeed, I wouldn’t want them to choose me just with their hearts,” Carewyn said very firmly. “I’d want them to know I was the best choice, that I’d be the best I could be -- be everything they need me to be, and then some -- and that I’d do the best I could for them, too.”

The green-dressed man cocked his eyebrows. “It seems your standards for yourself are even higher than your flight trajectory.”

He soared around her in several graceful loops, his hands not even touching the reins. Carewyn watched him with admiration despite herself -- he was a very, very talented rider.

“Urge her up with a light tug to the reins,” the green-dressed man encouraged her. “Then lean to one side, pressing your foot up against her flank.”

Carewyn did so, and soon she was soaring up and over him. Her face brightened with a smile, and the green-dressed man grinned at her as they weaved back and forth.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Carewyn!” she cried over the wind. “Cromwell!”

He swept right up alongside her, their horses’ wings brushing up against each other’s.

“I am Orion!” he answered as he passed.

Orion came up and over Carewyn, completely upside down, before charging ahead.

“Are you a performer, Carewyn Cromwell?” he called back over his shoulder.

Carewyn flicked her reins, determined to catch up.

“No! I’m a shopgirl at Pique’s General Store. And a student -- though I hope to work in law someday -- ”

She came right up alongside him, so close that their shoulders touched.

“And what of you, Orion?” she asked him. “Are you a professional Abraxan Derby player? Or do you hope to be?”

Orion beamed. “I wish to fly free. That is all I dream and wish.”

Carewyn felt her smile widen, both empathetic and charmed despite herself.

“And to win your matches, I would think,” she said a bit more coolly.

“That wouldn’t hurt,” Orion said amusedly.

For the next half-hour, Carewyn rode alongside Orion, perfectly matching his speed even as he weaved up over and around her. At several points she even overtook him, dodging and soaring like a shooting star around him. Orion’s black eyes sparkled brightly as they flew together -- as brightly as Carewyn’s own blue eyes were, if any outside observer were to have taken notice.

At last, the two made it to the university, to where the rest of the Derby players were waiting. The next match was set to begin, and the Land of Clubs had been a little tense about how long their captain had been gone. Orion, however, soothed their concerns with relative ease, his smile and aura remarkably calm.

“A rider without his steed is akin to a shooting star pinned to the earth. Although yes, one could shine brightly while stationary, that star would lament being so locked in place, unable to fly across the sky.”

His eyes flitted over to Carewyn brushing her loose hair out of her face as she disembarked. As she did, she reacted with surprise as her hands ran over her ears and a flash of faint resignation rippled over her face.

Orion approached her, and Carewyn immediately put on a smile as she faced him.

“Well...” she said slowly, “I suppose I’d best be getting on. I hope your match goes well...with how good of a flier you are, I’m sure you’ll be brilliant...”

“You’re welcome to stay and watch,” Orion invited her.

Carewyn’s smile softened. “Thank you...but my brother will be getting off work soon -- he’ll be worried, if I’m not home when he gets there...”

She curled her loose hair behind her ears. Orion noted immediately that she was only wearing one flowery earring made out of crudely-shaped steel.

“Did you lose your earring?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Carewyn said offhandedly. “I suppose it must’ve come off, while I was riding. But it’s all right -- I’ll save up for a new pair.”

She extended a hand to Orion. He looked down at it, before gently taking and shaking it.

“My team and I owe you a debt, Carewyn Cromwell,” said Orion. “Thank you.”

“Nonsense!” huffed Carewyn. “Why, I only did what anyone would’ve done, in my place...”

She brought a gentle hand along the back of the Abraxan she’d ridden, and the winged mare brought her nose up to Carewyn’s cheek with an affectionate murr.

“Perhaps,” said Orion, “but you were ultimately the only one who did it.”

He inclined his head to her, his black eyes glinting with a touch of mischief as he smiled.

“I lament that we probably won’t meet again, unless by chance. But perhaps if you were to become a performer, as I supposed you might be, you might have more reason to travel to the Land of Clubs.”

Carewyn beamed. “Or maybe once I graduate university and have made my own way in the world, I’ll have more chance to go where I want. Then I can visit you, just as well as you can visit me.”

Orion’s eyes sparkled. “May we both chase that freedom.”

~*~

By the following night, Orion had already departed back to the Land of Clubs. That next week, though, Carewyn was startled to receive a tiny package in the mail, addressed from the Land of Clubs. Inside was a pair of sparkling emerald green earrings shaped like clubs and a very short note --

I hope these are a suitable replacement for the one you lost. As much as your talent in flying is worthy of rubies, I thought the stone of intuition better suited your aura. If nothing else, a green clover seems good company for the Rose of Tralee.

I sincerely hope our paths will cross again.

Fairfarren,

Orion Amari

Carewyn wore those earrings nearly every day from then on, taking exquisite care of them all the while. She even wore them after she moved to the Kingdom of Hearts and -- not long later -- became their Queen. By that point, Orion had likewise become King of Clubs: a role that Carewyn knew very well Orion would’ve likely never chosen for himself, however much he felt an obligation to his people, country, and allies to care and provide for them.

As much as the two royals had to perform on protocol, though, they still always enjoyed whenever they had the chance to collide again. At least then, for part of that time, they could chat, banter, and confide like ordinary people...as friends would...free of their duty and obligations, if only for just a little while.

[chaos-burst]

one way or another (i’m gonna get you)

Dorian has a problem.

That problem is currently drunk off his ass and trying to balance one of Opal’s daggers on the tip of his nose. Of course he’s failing miserably, hitting himself in the eye with the blunt end twice thus far and maybe Dorian shouldn’t chuckle about it, but Dariax just keeps trying as Opal and Fearne edge him on.

“If you’re not careful you’ll stab your own eye out”, Orym says. He’s still nursing the same beer he started drinking an hour ago, probably to stay sober enough to stop any shenanigans that go too far.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, buddy. That already happened to me, like, three times, and I just healed it back together. No big deal.”

Dorian can see that Orym is at a loss for words.

“Dorian, do you think I can do it?”, Dariax calls over to him where he’s sitting, holding his lute and enjoying the warm evening breeze.

“Sure, Dariax. I’ll write a song about you if you do”, he says with an amused smile. Dorian tries to keep his smile from widening as Dariax beams at him and tries even harder.

All his life Dorian has been taught to be proper and well behaved—maybe that is why he feels drawn towards—well. Towards the group. The group that Dariax is also a part of and that Dorian definitely doesn’t feel drawn towards more than any of the others.

He starts moving his fingers mindlessly over the strings of his lute as Dariax stumbles backwards, falls over Opal’s outstretched legs and lands in her lap with the dagger clattering to the ground in front of them.

Dorian thinks about Dariax sitting on his lap, then he almost chokes on his own spit because so far Dariax hasn’t done anything even remotely appealing or attractive. He’s had shit on his beard, piss on his hands, he’s dirty and loud and so obnoxious.

But when he told Dorian that he’s the handsome one and that he’s just good at talking to people and whether Dorian wants some tips from him—Dorian was tempted. For a split second, he was thinking about Dariax offering to teach him how to flirt.

Because Dorian might be aware that he’s handsome, but he has exactly zero idea about how to flirt with people.

“Hey, Dorian! Do I still get a song?”, Dariax shouts, still half sitting in Opal’s lap.

“Sure, buddy. I’ll write you a song.”

“Cool! It’s a promise!”, Dariax says, thumbs up, a big grin on his handsome face.

There, Dorian can admit it.

Dariax is handsome. They’re all handsome. It’s really no big deal. Not at all.

Dorian tries not to think about what his parents would say about Dariax, because it’s completely irrelevant. It’s not like his parents will meet his friends, and especially not Dariax. Maybe he should go to bed and hope that come the next morning his circling thoughts will have stopped.

“Are you working on the song?”

Dorian blinks and turns his head, only to come face to face with Dariax who managed to get up from Opal’s lap and is now sitting right next to him, leaning way into Dorian’s personal space.

Dariax smells like ten different kinds of alcohol, leather and thankfully no bodily fluids, which is definitely an improvement. Dorian wishes that the fact that he’s seen this man with shit on his beard would dissuade his heart from beating a little faster every time Dariax grins at him.

Sadly his heart doesn’t care.

Neither does his stomach, which is currently doing all kinds of complicated gymnastics since Dariax invaded Dorian’s personal space.

“No. I don’t think I can concentrate in here while all that is going on”, Dorian says and gestures towards Opal who is now teaching Fearne how to do body shots.

“Aw, man. Can you play something? Something...hm. Something cool.”

“All my songs are cool, thank you very much!”

Dariax laughs.

“Yeah, okay, you’re not wrong there. You have a really beautiful voice, buddy. No wonder that goliath lady fell in love with you after like, three minutes!”

Dorian feels something that reminds him a lot of the feeling he gets when he’s falling or misses a step on some stairs. His heart starts doing an offensive little tumble and he clears his throat a little too loud as he leans out of Dariax’ space and clutches his lute as if his life depends on it.

“I don’t think I would know what to do if someone actually fell in love with me”, Dorian says with an embarrassingly shrill laugh and a second after the words have left his mouth he regrets them already.

“Aw, buddy, I told you—I can totally teach you a few tricks, you know? Just show you how to get real popular with the ladies. Or gents. Or people in general”, Dariax says and winks at him.

Dorian wishes he could turn into thin air. His cheeks feel very hot.

“I—uh. I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s not like I really have the time—“

Dariax snorts and raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, come on, Dorian. We’re just hanging out, right? If you wanna get laid, we have plenty of time for that. You should just relax a little more. Okay, so. What’s your type?”

Dorian stares at Dariax for almost thirty seconds before he clears his throat again.

“Uh. I—don’t. Well. Adventurous. Maybe—uh. Maybe brunettes?”

“Adventurous brunettes? That’s pretty vague, buddy. Just saying. Wait a second!”

Dariax leans closer again and puts his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Then he does a terrible shout-whisper into Dorian’s ear that shouldn’t give him goosebumps but, fuck, it definitely does.

“Are you into Orym?”

Dorian blinks and turns his head to stare at Dariax who looks as if he just found out an earth-shattering secret through some careful investigation.

“N—no! No, he’s not. I mean, Orym is—fine? I don’t, uh—what I meant to say is... I don’t really know what my type is”, he ends lamely.

Of course Dariax feels the need to put an arm around Dorian now.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get you laid in no time. You have a pretty face and voice and all that, pretty sure that’ll go easy peasy.”

“That’s really not—“

“Hey guys, what are you whispering about?”, Opal shouts.

“We’re trying to figure out what Dorian’s type is to get him laid!”, Dariax shouts back.

“No, that’s not—“

“Ohh! Interesting! You don’t have a type? Did you never have a relationship before? Wait—are you like, a virgin?”

Dorian abruptly gets up from his chair. He’s definitely not drunk enough for this.

“I’m going to bed”, he says and leaves the room in a hurry, ignoring the disappointed shouts of his new friends following him outside.

*

Dorian hopes that his friends have forgotten the whole thing about supposedly getting him laid and about how Dariax intends to teach him flirting. But unfortunately the universe decides to not do him this favor.

Suddenly, every remotely attractive person they pass invokes a whole litany of questions.

Opal, Fearne and Dariax want to know everything. Which height, body-type, eye color, temperament, and style of clothing does he like? Does he prefer any genders to others? On six different occasions, Dariax tries to wingman Dorian into asking random strangers on dates.

Dorian is so desperate that he considers just telling them that he actually has someone back home, just so they will leave him alone.

It wouldn’t be the first lie he told.

Dorian feels a pang of guilt for lying about his name to these people who keep fighting alongside him.

Orym, bless his soul, is the only person who doesn’t partake in these interrogations and at some point, after Opal had asked Dorian if he was more into “tits or asses” Orym had quietly stated that “he deserves his privacy, you guys”.

Dorian has no idea if he’s a “tits or asses” kinda guy.

But Dorian just can’t stop thinking about the way Dariax’ voice sounded when it lilted “Man, you have the prettiest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen” the last time they were drunk.

It seems weirdly typical and ridiculous that Dorian has to have his first crush on the most chaotic man he ever met.

Dorian wishes he could forget about those damn words, just like everything that happened in their first week.

“You know”, Orym says to him two nights after that cursed conversation as they’re making their way further south towards Byroden, “if you told them to stop in earnest, I think they would respect that.”

The landscape is a carpet of green, sloping hills, rolling fields that lie bare now that winter is closing in around them. The sky is blue and cloudless and as they talk their breath puffs up in front of their faces and vanishes shortly after.

Dorian looks at Orym and then pointedly turns his gaze at Opal and Dariax, who started making a list of their findings regarding Dorian’s type.

“You sure?”, he says with one eyebrow raised.

Orym looks at least as pained as Dorian feels right now.

“I see your point. But they’re not—you know. Not bad people, I guess. I don’t think they want to hurt you.”

“Well, they’re not hurting me, they’re annoying me to death!”

Orym pats him on the back in a way that is so pitiful, Dorian can hardly take it.

“I wouldn’t usually encourage lying, but maybe you could just make up a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or—“

“What if I just tell them that you’re my type”, Dorian interrupts and Orym blinks at him.

“Uh—“

“No offense, you’re not. Not that you’re not handsome or anything, I just. Well—“

“It’s fine”, Orym says with a snort and shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. “You don’t have to fuss about it. You’re also very handsome but not my type.”

Dorian tries not to be offended after the last kick to his ego in Gilmore’s shop and clears his throat.

“Okay, so. What about it? Will you be my—I don’t know. My fake boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Orym, I’m desperate here!”

“I will not be swept up in all of that. I still think you should just try to talk to them.”

Dorian feels betrayed and huffs, but he doesn’t press the issue any further. It’s probably going to be fine, he thinks. That is, until Dariax walks up to him, grins up at him cheekily and bumps his elbow into Dorian’s side.

“So. Are you finally ready to admit it?”, Dariax asks.

There is a glint in his eyes that Dorian can’t quite read.

“Admit what?”, he asks, already dreading the answer.

“That you have the hots for Orym!”

Dorian stares down at Dariax, the man he, so, so very unfortunately has “the hots for” and sighs deeply.

“You caught me”, he says with a gravelly voice. “I have the hots for Orym.”

“I knew it!”, Dariax shouts, then catches himself and turns his voice into a whisper instead. “I fucking knew it!”

Dorian massages his temple.

Maybe becoming an adventurer was a terrible idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here. He could make a name for himself somewhere else. The Menagerie coast is supposed to be lovely all year around.

“Okay, don’t worry, buddy. I gotcha. I’ll keep your secret, won’t even tell the girls at all. And you know what, because we’re such great friends I have a special offer just for you”, Dariax says and leans in even closer to Dorian, who has to lean down significantly.

“And what offer is that?”, Dorian asks with a sigh, resigning himself to his fate. At least Orym knows that Dorian isn’t actually attracted to him, so, he thinks, this can’t possibly get any worse.

“I should totally be your fake boyfriend so you can make him jealous.”

Dorian stares at Dariax.

Dariax stares back with the proudest grin on his handsome face.

The universe is trying to punish him. For whatever reason, it must have decided to make Dorian the butt of a cosmic joke. That’s the only explanation for all of this.

“I don’t think that’s—“

“It’s perfect! Don’t worry, I have experience with this sort of stuff, just lemme handle this.”

Dariax winks at Dorian and then grabs his hand to intertwine their fingers.

“Hey guys”, he calls as he pulls Dorian along who follows helplessly, his heart stumbling in his chest as his consciousness zooms in on the feeling of Dariax’ hand in his, “guess what. I should’ve clocked it all along, but of course it makes perfect sense! Check it out!”

And as Orym, Opal and Fearne turn their heads, Dariax raises their intertwined fingers and beams at the others.

“Wait…”, Orym starts slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion, “what…?”

“Too late, Orym. He’s my boyfriend now”, Dariax says and Dorian wishes that the wind would just pick him up and carry him away.

*

Dorian has to say something.

He can’t, under any circumstances, keep this up.

He is sitting—and gods, his heart is beating so terribly fast—on Dariax’ lap.

Dariax had insisted on it and now his muscular arms are wound around Dorian’s waist as if this is the most normal thing in the world. For someone who doesn’t actually have to breathe to survive, Dorian feels a little bit like he’s suffocating from the staccato inside his rib cage.

They made camp close to a rock formation that, according to Fearne, looks like a pig with wings. The night smells of snow, but Dorian feels hot despite the cold.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He knows it even less when Dariax’ hand finds one of his and just casually starts rubbing circles into the back of his hand with a thumb. Dorian can feel Orym’s eyes on them and sadly that edges Dariax on even more because he thinks his plan is working.

“You know”, Dariax says and sounds way too casual about it, “I can’t believe how lucky I got. Pretty sure you’re the most beautiful person I’ve been with so far, Dorian.”

“I—uh”, Dorian says, then somehow forgets how to speak. His cheeks feel incredibly hot even though he doesn’t sit remotely close to the fire.

Orym cocks his head and suddenly his eyes turn a little too wide for Dorian’s tastes.

Dorian doesn’t want anyone to understand anything about this disaster.

“Well, I would certainly love a boyfriend who tells me nice things like that”, Opal sighs dreamily. “Or—you know. Maybe a girlfriend. Who knows. I certainly don’t.”

She laughs a little too shrilly but Dorian doesn’t have the mental capacity to think about it anymore because a tingling sensation is running through his body and crawling along the underside of his skin as Dariax’ fingers just keep on gently, way too gently, drawing nonsensical symbols and circles on Dorian’s hand.

“Well, I just know what’s good. I make a great boyfriend”, Dariax announces with a smug undertone to his voice. The sad thing is that Dorian can’t even disagree.

So far, Dariax has been nothing but—well. There is no other word for it. Gentle and accommodating. He also started flirting with Dorian and his flirting only ever got tasteless twice during the last twenty-four hours.

He has offered to carry stuff for Dorian, held his hand, given him way too many compliments for Dorian’s poor heart to handle, helped him climb over some rocks and purposefully took a hit for Dorian in combat earlier today while shouting “Not my boyfriend, you ash-hole!”.

If someone had told him that Dariax makes good boyfriend material, Dorian would have scoffed at them.

But now.

Well.

Now he’s in even deeper shit, because this doesn’t help his feelings at all. It does the exact opposite of helping.

Gods, Dorian wishes he could kiss him.

“Well, I am certainly—uh. Happy? For you two”, Orym says with a pointed look at Dorian. Dorian tries to tell Orym that this wasn’t his idea with his eyes alone, that this is the worst, that Dorian definitely needs saving, but he doesn’t think anything gets across because the moment that Orym says that and looks at Dorian, Dariax seems to decide that he can’t have Orym looking at Dorian like that.

Dorian makes an embarrassing screeching sound as he is dipped backwards on Dariax’ lap. There is a very handsome, dwarven face with glinting eyes right in front of his when he opens his eyes again.

“Just go along”, Dariax whispers and before Dorian can protest or even just try to catch up with what’s happening, there are dry, warm lips pressed against his mouth and Dariax is closing his eyes.

Dorian’s brain is blank for a few seconds, then it kicks into overdrive, much like his heart that seems eager to jump right out of his chest and into the campfire. Dorian can’t fault it, because he, too, would love to jump into the campfire, never to be seen again.

Dariax is holding him with one arm while his other hand is resting on Dorian’s cheeks where Dariax’ thumb starts rubbing circles again as he kisses Dorian.

Dorian wants to run away.

He wants to kiss back.

He wants this to be real.

Dariax doesn’t actually want to kiss him. He only does it because he’s pretending, there is nothing real about any of this, no matter how nice and exciting his warm lips feel against Dorian’s.

Dorian pushes him away, clambers up from his position, trying very hard not to fall as he stands up, and steps away from Dariax hastily.

“I—ah. I need to. Pee. Yes. Pee. I’ll be—uh. Later!”

And he walks as fast as he can without breaking into a run.

His lips are still burning after he stops walking without even seeing where he’s going. It’s dumb. All of this is so incredibly dumb.

Beautiful eyes, beautiful voice, beautiful person.

Dariax really has to stop saying these things.

It’s already enough that Dorian developed this stupid crush after such a short amount of time on the road. It’s stupid that it had to be Dariax of all people—couldn’t it have been someone reasonable? Like Orym?

Couldn’t it just have been no one? Or a nice, noble lady that he impressed with his songs and good looks?

No.

He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, his heart beating rapidly in his chest with no clue where he even is or what he’s doing. The trees around him are leafless and bare, stretching towards the dark sky like skeletal silhouettes. Dorian doesn't know what to do.

Dariax kissed him.

He had his first kiss with a complete and utter maniac of a person. His lips are still tingling and gods, he wants to kiss him again and again and again—

“Dorian! Doriaaan!”

Dorian turns around and wipes at his face that feels weirdly wet.

Gods, he hates everything and everyone right now.

Dariax comes to a halt in front of him, his breath coming quickly and holding his compass rose.

“Okay—wow. Your legs. Are so. Long. You’re so. Fucking fast”, Dariax huffs and puts his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

Dorian looks at him and can’t decide whether he wants to kick Dariax in the shin or just run away further.

“So, uh—sorry. I got a little carried away and I kinda—uh. It was brought to my attention that it wasn’t very cool of me to just kiss you without asking if that’s okay with you. So—uh. Really sorry about that, shoulda thought about that before I—uh. You know.”

Dariax scratches the back of his head as he looks down at Dorian’s left knee.

“It’s—well. Yeah, I suppose a little warning would have been nice. It’s—uh.”

Dorian stops and wipes at his face again and when he looks back up Dariax is studying him, his gaze intense and uncharacteristically serious.

“Wait—wait a second. Was that your first kiss?”

“No! I mean. Yes! Sort of! Maybe!”

Dariax gapes and Dorian wishes the earth could swallow him up whole.

“Oh fuck, buddy, man, that’s. I’m really sorry, I didn’t—damn. I really fucked that one up, huh?”

Dariax looks so earnestly mortified at what he’s done that Dorian can already feel how he’s forgiving him, how he finds it endearing, how his heart swells in his chest like the idiot that it is.

“It’s not such a big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just—uh. Maybe we should talk about all of this stuff before… you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, totally. I swear I’m usually not a creep or anything, it was just… you know. The heat of the moment, or something. So…”

Dariax is scratching the back of his head again and swallows before he shoots Dorian a lopsided grin.

“So. No kissing and stuff like that, huh? Just the hand-holding? Hey, maybe a hug or something?”

Dorian stares at him and he could swear that Dariax’ cheeks are a little redder than before, which, Dorian supposes, comes from his embarrassment about his earlier fuck-up.

As long as they’re doing this fake-boyfriend gig, Dorian could kiss Dariax whenever he wants. Because apparently Dariax doesn’t mind that one little bit. He might never get the chance again to kiss him if he says no now.

So Dorian does something incredibly stupid and impulsive and maybe it’s even a real ash-hole move. In this tiny moment in time he decides to be selfish.

“Kissing is fine. Uh—you know. You’re not that bad at it, I guess”, he says and laughs which sounds terribly false in his own ears but Dariax perks up and throws him a reckless grin that makes Dorian’s heart stumble in his chest.

“Ha! You just wait for it, I’ll kiss your brains out before you know it!”

*

Dorian might be addicted.

He knows that this is all a ruse based on a misunderstanding but gods, kissing Dariax is so good.

And Dariax somehow makes it seem as if he’s just as into it as Dorian is, because he keeps kissing him all the time. Of course, it never happens when they’re alone and only when Orym is in more or less close proximity but if Dorian isn’t careful he’ll start believing that they’re actually boyfriends sooner than later.

Dariax is so good at pretending.

He kisses Dorian as if he never wants to kiss anyone else. He holds Dorian’s face in his hands as if it’s something precious. He kisses Dorian breathless and at more than one point Dorian had to stop him because he was getting a little too into it and he’s afraid of overstepping any boundaries.

Dariax promised that he would kiss Dorian’s brains out and it’s absolutely working. On the seventh day on their journey south they get so caught up in making out that they don’t realize that the others have gone to find a camping place for the night.

“We should—uh. Probably follow them”, Dorian croaks and stares down at Dariax’ lips.

“Hmhm. Yeah. Probably a good idea”, Dariax mumbles. Then he kisses Dorian again.

Dorian gets lost in the sensation of tongues sliding against one another and the feeling of Dariax’ hand cupping his cheeks. Dorian slides his hands into Dariax’ hair and buries his fingers in there, something that provokes a sound from Dariax. A sound that gives Dorian goosebumps all over his arms.

He wants to hear it again. He wants to touch more. He wants, he wants, he wants—

Dariax pulls back, his eyes glassy, his breathing labored.

“I—uh. Ha. I got a little carried away. Sorry. What do you say about checking where the others went?”

“Sure. Yeah. Great idea. Let’s go.”

He steps away from Dariax and stuffs his hands into his pockets to keep Dariax from reaching for them. This is a complete and utter disaster.

Dorian knows that he should stop it.

He shouldn’t abuse Dariax’ trust like this and keep up his pretense when all that Dariax wants is to help Dorian make Orym jealous.

Which has, of course, not worked in the slightest, but Dariax insists that it’s just because Orym is such a rational and level-headed guy.

“We just need to wear him thin, you know.”

Dorian doesn’t know.

He feels like he doesn’t know anything anymore.

When they finally reach the campsite, Fearne has placed her head in Opal’s lap and seems to be napping as Opal carefully braids her long, green hair.

“You guys alright?”, Orym asks with his eyebrows raised. Dorian feels himself flush and clear his throat.

“More than alright”, Dariax answers and winks. The implication makes Dorian’s cheeks heat up even more.

He didn’t think that Orym’s eyebrows could climb even higher, but that’s exactly what happens as he regards the two of them.

“Dorian, can I talk to you for a second?”, Orym asks and gets up from the log he was sitting on. Dorian shoots Dariax a glance and he seems… off.

Dariax doesn’t return Dorian’s look, he just walks over to the fire, lets himself fall down next to Opal and asks, way too loudly to be necessary “So what’s for dinner?”.

But Dorian doesn’t have any time to think more about this, because Orym grabs his wrist and pulls him towards a group of trees, away from the campfire and away from Dariax whose eyes seem to bore themselves into the back of Dorian’s head as he follows Orym into the night.

“What are you doing?”

Dorian doesn’t have to ask what Orym means. He wrings his hands and stares at the ground.

“I—uh. I don’t really... I don’t really know?”

“So when you said adventurous and brunette, what you actually meant was short, stocky and a complete disaster?”

“I—um...”

Orym looks at him with raised eyebrows and despite the fact that Dorian is so much taller than him he suddenly feels very small.

“Well. Dariax kind of got it into his head that I’m into you. Which I’m not.”

“Yes, we established that.”

“Exactly. And. Well, he thought it would be a good idea to be fake boyfriends to make you jealous.”

Orym’s eyebrows rise even higher towards his hairline.

“But I’m not jealous. Because you and I are just friends.”

“I know, okay? It just kinda got out of hand?He’s so—I don’t know! I don’t know what to do!”

Orym sighs and rubs his temples.

“So. You’re actually into Dariax?”, he asks.

Dorian presses his lips together and takes a deep breath before he nods.

“And he doesn’t know. He thinks you’re into me?”

Dorian nods again.

“And now he’s waiting for me to get jealous and for us two to be boyfriends?”

Dorian shrugs helplessly.

“Isn’t that... I don’t know. It seems like lying to him.”

“What do you want me to do? Just tell him that I have the hots for him and then leave the country forever?”, Dorian hisses.

“Well, maybe he has the hots for you, too!”, Orym whispers back and Dorian can’t help but laugh. It sounds a little hysterical.

“Then why would he offer to help me to get with you?”

Orym stares at Dorian for a full thirty seconds. Then he sighs.

“I guess it’s a little hard to... fathom... what goes on in Dariax’ head.”

“That seems like an understatement.”

Orym scoffs and shakes his head with half a smile on his face.

“I can’t believe you actually fell for—that.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. I guess to each their own.”

“So what’s your type then?”

“Uh—I don’t really have a type. I’m not into the whole relationship stuff. Or—uh. The sex stuff, for that matter.”

“Oh. Oh! I see. Well, that seems pretty convenient. Way less stressful than what I’m doing with my life.”

Orym smiles and shakes his head again.

“I’m not going to lie, when I’m watching you and Dariax or Opal and Fearne I am glad that I don’t have to deal with any of it”, Orym admits.

“Opal and Fearne? How do you mean?”, Dorian asks. His brain is still stuck on kissing Dariax without Orym even being in any close proximity. His whole brain capacity seems to be occupied by thinking about Dariax. It’s an absolute clusterfuck.

“Never mind. So, what do you intend to do? You can’t keep this up forever”, Orym says and pulls Dorian away from a trail of thoughts that was leading towards something explicit and utterly unbefitting of a talk with a good friend about feelings.

“I—uh. I’m still figuring it out. I’ll just. You know, I could just tell him that I’m not into you anymore and then he would probably stop”, Dorian says and ignores the uncomfortable tightness of his chest as he thinks about not being able to kiss Dariax anymore. Or hold his hand. Or being told that he’s beautiful.

He’s so fucked.

“I think you should just tell him, you know? We’re adventurers now, no one knows what might happen. If I learned anything from our Voice of the Tempest, it’s that you should do your best to live without any regrets, because time is a precious thing”, Orym says.

“A weird soup”, Dorian answers, his voice weak and his heart hurting. Orym snorts.

“Yes, sure. A weird, precious soup. Anyway. Think about it, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

*

Something is up with Dariax.

Dorian has no idea what it is, but there is definitely something wrong.

He’s quieter than usual, which is disconcerting. He’s also, very definitely, holding onto Dorian’s hand way tighter than before.

“Hey, is everything alright?”, Dorian asks him quietly as they’re getting ready for the night. The sky overhead is dark and full of clouds and the moon is barely visible.

“Yeah, sure. Stellar”, Dariax says but he’s not looking at Dorian.

“You don’t look stellar”, Dorian insists and puts his hand on Dariax’ shoulder. Dariax’ eyes flicker down to his hand and then up to his face. Dariax opens his mouth to answer, but Dorian doesn’t hear anything because there is a searing pain on his back and he slumps forward and crumples onto his knees.

His vision goes blurry from the pain and he can feel that there is something coursing through his body. It hurts.

“Dorian? Dorian!”

Lying down seems like a great idea. What if he dies now and he didn’t even tell Dariax that he’s not into Orym? What if his adventure ends here already? He doesn’t want to sink into the weird soup that is time already. He wants…

“Take your hands off my boyfriend, you fuckers!”

“Hey! What’s going on?”

“Dorian, are you okay?”

He is definitely not okay and while he probably should have different priorities as he’s bleeding out in the grass, all he can think about is the fact that Dariax just called him his boyfriend.

“Dorian, are you okay?”, Dariax’ voice sounds muffled and far away.

“Heh. You’re really good at pretending”, he lulls as he’s turned onto his back to look up at Dariax’ face.

“What? Guys, I think he has a concussion or something!”

“Well, heal him!”

“I’m trying! Dorian, hey! Buddy, don’t pass out on me, okay?”

“Did you know that your eyes are really pretty?”, Dorian slurs and he wants to raise a hand to touch Dariax’ face that seems way too red all of a sudden, but he can’t move a muscle and as he feels Dariax’ warm healing magic flow into him, he passes out from the mind-numbing pain.

*

Dorian has never shared a bed with anyone. Neither in a platonic nor in a romantic or sexual way.

When he wakes up there is someone plastered to his side. The quiet snoring tells him that it must be Dariax.

“Are you okay, Dorian?”, Fearne’s soft voice reaches his ears and he turns his head to see her sit on his other side, her hand places closed to his shoulder as if to make sure that he’s within reach.

“Uh—ow. Yeah. What happened?”

Dorian tries to concentrate on his own body and on Fearne’s words, but he’s distracted by the feeling of Dariax sleeping so close to him. His arm is thrown over Dorian’s chest and his face is pressed into Dorian’s shoulder. Orym is nowhere to be seen.

“Those Nameless Ones seem to have a pretty far reach. They really want that spider crown.”

Dorian groans as he tries to move.

“They hit me with poison or something?”

“Yeah. Dariax fixed it. Then he insisted on carrying you back to the cart. Then he insisted to tuck you into bed. And then he just sort of flopped down next to you and stared at you really intensely until he passed out.”

Dorian tries to laugh but almost chokes on it as he imagines this short man trying to carry someone as tall as Dorian. His thoughts circle around the fact that Dariax cared for him, healed him, tucked him into bed.

“So. Ah—where are Orym and Opal?”, he asks to distract himself from the feeling of having Dariax pressed so close to him.

“They’re checking to see if we’ll be safe for the night. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Fearne smiles down at him and starts scratching Little Mister under the chin as she hums a melody that Dorian’s never heard before.

“Did you ever have a really dumb crush?”, he asks before he can stop himself. Fearne turns her head to look at him again and cocks her head.

“A crush that was dumb because it wasn’t mutual or a crush that was dumb because the person was dumb?”, she wants to know.

“Ah. Huh—I haven’t thought about it that way. I guess… how about we go with both?”

Fearne puts her index fingers to her lips and cocks her head from side to side as she thinks about it.

“Well, I don’t think crushes are dumb just because they aren’t mutual. And I also think that Opal is very intelligent in her own, special way.”

Dorian blinks.

“Wait. What?”

“Hm?”

“You have a crush on Opal?”

“Sure. I thought it was pretty obvious”, Fearne says and smiles dreamily.

“Uh—maybe. Now that you mention it, I think Orym clocked it.”

“She is just. You know. Very exciting and spontaneous and funny and creative and pretty.”

The way that Fearne just talks about her crush makes Dorian wonder why he isn’t able to just say it like this. That he likes Dariax because he’s funny and brave and adventurous and a complete idiot in a lovable kind of way.

“What do you like about Dariax?”, Fearne wants to know.

“Uh—well”, he laughs nervously and clears his throat. Dariax is still softly snoring into his shoulder. “I guess… I guess pretty much everything?”

“That’s so sweet! And that’s what he said too. You guys just fit so well”, Fearne says with an earnest smile.

“Wait. What?”

“Hm?”

“What did you just say?”

“I said that you guys fit really well.”

“No. No, I meant before that.”

“Uh—well, when I asked him what he liked most about you, he also said that he likes everything about you. I thought it was really sweet, you know? There was a whole list of things, but he stopped midway through it and said ‘So basically, everything’.”

There was a whole list of things.

A list.

 “So basically, everything.”

“Dorian? Are you really okay? You look a little flushed.”

“Hm? Oh—yeah. I’m fine. Perfect. Peachy. Never better.”

He laughs nervously and glances over at Dariax as his insides dissolve into small, hyperactive butterflies. Maybe it’s not what he thinks. Maybe Dariax meant that he likes everything about Dorian as a friend.

“If you’re sure you’re okay I think I’ll stretch my legs a little bit. This cart is pretty small”, Fearne says and scoots towards the exit of the cart. Little Mister follows behind her and a moment later Dorian is alone with a snoring Dariax, whose hand has somehow managed to sneak under Dorian’s shirt.

What is he supposed to do now?

Wake Dariax up? Confess his feelings?

His heart beats so quickly that Dorian is almost afraid that it might just leap out of his rib cage. In the end he’s not brave enough to wake Dariax up and instead intertwines their fingers and turns his head to look at Dariax who has definitely drooled onto his shirt.

He knows that he’s completely fucked because he thinks that this is endearing.

Dorian raises his arm and gently cards his hand through Dariax’ hair.

Dariax makes a small sound in his sleep, something that sounds like a content sigh, and the butterflies in Dorian’s stomach start dancing happily.

“D’you really think my eyes are pretty?”, Dariax mumbles a second later and Dorian pulls his hand away hastily as Dariax’ eyes open.

“Um—well. Yeah. They’re… they have a very nice color”, Dorian croaks. Dariax pulls his hand out from under Dorian’s shirt and starts rubbing at his eyes.

“You okay again?”

“Yeah. Thank you for saving me. And carrying me to the cart. And—uh. Tucking me in.”

Dariax’ cheeks redden as he coughs slightly before sitting up.

“Well, you know. It’s what boyfriends are for, right?”, Dariax says with half a laugh in his voice that doesn’t sound completely genuine.

Dorian swallows and bites his bottom lip as he tries to find the words. He’s usually not bad at talking, so why does this seem so endlessly hard?

“So—uh. I have something to confess”, he starts as his thoughts start spinning around in panicked circles. Dariax turns his head to look down at him.

“I know, I know”, he answers.

“Huh?”

“Well, I figured, you know. When Orym dragged you away I thought you guys probably had a talk?”

“We did, yeah”, Dorian says but he is endlessly confused about what that has to do with anything.

“See, I knew it. So you think it finally started working, huh? Told you, I’m really good at this kind of stuff.”

Dorian decides that he has to sit up for this. His head is spinning and his heart is racing and he is endlessly confused about what in the ever-loving hell is going on.

“Working? What are you talking about?”

“You know, the jealousy thing.”

Dorian stares at him.

Then it finally clicks.

“Dariax… I don’t want to be fake boyfriends anymore”, he says quietly before he can think of a better way to say it. Dariax’ expression twists and he looks away, his hand reaching for the back of his head to scratch at his scalp—a sign for nervousness, as Dorian knows by now.

“Yeah. Okay. I—uh. That’s—“

“I want to be your real boyfriend.”

Dariax blinks a few times. Then his face turns the deepest shade of red that Dorian has ever seen on him.

“You—what?”

“I don’t like Orym. I never have. Not like that. I—uh. I like you. And when—if—I kiss you again I don’t want it to be just pretend, I want to really kiss you. Because I—uh. I really like kissing you.”

Dariax is still staring at him, seemingly stunned. The hand at the back of his head has stopped moving and started to sink slowly back into Dariax’ lap.

“So…”, Dorian says and the nervous energy humming under his skin is almost unbearable, “can I? Can I… kiss you? For real?”

If Dariax doesn’t say anything soon Dorian might have to flee from the cart and actually leave the country. The suspense is torturous, his words hang heavy in the air between them. And then, faster than Dorian can react, Dariax lounges himself at Dorian and kisses him so passionately that Dorian can’t suppress the moan that escapes him.

Dariax pushes at him, shoves Dorian back down onto the bedroll, sinks one hand into Dorian’s long hair and cups his face with the other.

Dorian’s brain goes blank as he arches up against Dariax’ weight on top of him.

“So, is that a yes?”, he pants into the kiss.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes”, Dariax rasps and kisses him again. “Gods, you’re so pretty. I thought I was going to go insane.”

Dorian makes a very embarrassing noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Maybe he likes those compliments more than a normal person would.

“So you like me?”

“Are you kidding me? So fucking much.”

Dariax is kissing his whole face now and Dorian wraps his arms around him. He feels light as a feather and the butterflies in his stomach have gone completely off the rails.

“Are you guys decent?”, Opal shouts from outside the cart.

“No! Go away! I want to make out with my boyfriend!”, Dariax shouts back and Dorian laughs.

“Don’t leave any icky spots though!”, Opal says.

“Oh, come on”, Dorian hears Orym protest.

“That’s what Prestidigitation is for, Opal! Read a book about magic!”, Dariax announces loudly and Dorian has no time to protest this obscene exchange because Dariax is kissing him again and Orym seems to be dragging Opal away from the cart.

“So do you know what that means?”, Dorian mumbles against Dariax’ lips.

“Hm?”

“I don’t need any flirting lessons from you after all.”

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

jacqueline wilson’s ‘love lessons’

tw: abuse, pedophilia, characters making Bad Decisions, long unnecessary spiel about my childhood like I’m running a recipe blog

It’s funny how loads of the authors who helped shaped me into the vaguely humanoid being I am today have names beginning with the letter ‘J’; Judy Blume, Jeff Kinney, John Green, J.K. Rowling (yikes, I know) … and Jacqueline Wilson.

I’ve never owned a Jacqueline Wilson book of my own; they were always borrowed from a friend, or from a friend of a friend, or from a friend of a cousin- you get the gist. Her books, for me, come with an entire aesthetic: something reminiscent of yard sales, and reading under the covers with a flashlight, and being lulled into a false sense of security by the deceptively innocent Nick Sharratt illustration on the cover until someone’s best friend gets mowed over.

So I knew what I was getting into when I picked up Love Lessons. I knew this was going to be Fucked Up; and boy, was I right.

(Here’s the part where I warn you about spoilers.)

From an abusive dad to creepy child predator teachers to slut-shaming and victim blaming, this book has it all.

The main character is Prudence ‘Prue’ King, who is homeschooled at the beginning of the book, along with her sister, Grace. Their parents remain rooted in the early twentieth century, and are very strict about- well, everything. No TV, no computers, not a single mobile phone in the house; their clothing worse than the orphans’ from Annie; and their father remains distinctly distrustful of modern institutions like the school and the hospital; and so on, and so forth.

Daddy King suffers a stroke, and has to be taken to the hospital. Meanwhile, Mrs. King (a floppy, spineless woman who lives in fear and awe of her, frankly horrid, husband) sends the girls to school, behind the then invalid Mr. King’s back. Cue Prue and Grace being the freakshows of the school, with their strange clothing and overbearing mother.

Grace manages to make friends, but Prue remains alone. The kids are dicks, the teachers are dicks… well, all of them but one. And that’s the art teacher, Mr. Raxberry (I just couldn’t get over that name; it seems like something you’d name a mythical plant from Pixie Hollow or some shit. I’m assuming it isn’t an actual name, since the spelling & grammar check on my computer doesn’t seem to recognize it), or Rax, as he’s called.

Oh, yeah; Prudence’s favorite subject in school is art, and she’s a whiz at it. This is relevant, because reasons.

And here’s where stuff gets murky. Prue develops a crush on Rax- which is perfectly normal. I’m definitely no stranger to it; I’ve had crushes on my teachers, my mum admitted she used to think one of her professors was cute. And yeah, as I grew older, I grew out of those crushes and now have a markedly more refined taste in men (unless he’s 5’ 7’’, born in ’97 and named Bang Chan, I don’t want him); and my mum married my dad, so I’m assuming she did, too. Admittedly, now that my dad teaches at a university, it’s icky to think that there might be students who have crushes on him- but I digress.

My point is, loads of us have liked our teachers. But I doubt the majority of us have acted on it.

And Prue actively showing her interest in Rax isn’t the worst part. That’s a spot reserved for Rax reciprocating her feelings.

Guess Ezra Fitz and Ms. Grundy (yes, I watched Riverdale; please don’t cancel me) have a new addition to the Creep Club.

The age of consent in the UK is 16, if I’m not mistaken. Prue is 14. She’s just barely become a teenager, and she’s being preyed upon.

Because that is what Rax is. He’s a predator; he preys upon this vulnerable girl who’s never been in a relationship before- hell, she’s never even had friends- her father’s abusive, so she obviously doesn’t have the best experience when it comes to men- she’s unpopular at school, with the students and staff alike- and he lures her in. I don’t care how bloody nice he is to Sarah, or what a good dad he is (well, he’s really not, seeing as he cheated on the mother of his children WITH A BLOODY FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD)- the guy’s a fucking pedophile.

I was staunchly stuck at a yellow light with him; like, sure, maybe Prue thinks he’s flirting with her- maybe she’s looking at this all wrong, she doesn’t know how relationships work- see, he drew a picture of Sarah, too, in his secret notebook- Prue’s just reading into this too much- up until he says he loves her.

Dude. Humbert fucking Humbert. She’s fourteen, for Christ’s sake, and you’re married. You have two children. She’s a child. She’s probably closer to your son’s age than she is to yours.

(This is the part where I bury my head in my pillow. And scream. Extensively, and with passion.)

The book does make some genuinely good commentary on slut-shaming and victim blaming and abusive parenting. And on one hand, I can see why so many people find issue with the romanticization of the when I kissed the teacher trope- but I can defend it, too.

The book is in Prue’s perspective. She thinks she’s in love with Rax, so obviously, she’s not going to throw in some valuable moral at the end- because she’s too young and inexperienced to think otherwise. And sadly, there are loads of instances of child abuse that go unreported because the victims just don’t know better.

What I have issue with is how the school dealt with it, ultimately. Prudence, a child, has to deal with the consequences of the actions of a literal child predator. Sure, Rax ‘clears his name’ by cooking up some bullshit story about how it was only a crush and he didn’t encourage it, but you’d think other adults would know better and, oh, I dunno- dig deeper into it, instead of blaming it on a child?

“She says you told Mr. Raxberry you loved him and he held you in his arms and fondled you.”

Which Prudence denies, because, again, she doesn’t know better. She then goes on to say that they did nothing wrong. To which the adult speaking to her, in this case, the principal, Miss Wilmott, goes on to say:

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true… I feel that there are some aspects of your friendship that could be considered inappropriate.”

FYI, lady, he kissed her- multiple times (not that kissing her once makes him any more redeemable), and told her he loved her, and admitted to fantasizing about running away with her and leaving his family behind. Fun fact: do you know Prudence is underage?

You’d think that Miss Wilmott would maybe give this whole fiasco a favorable ending, but it turns out she listens to school gossip;

“I haven’t been at all happy with your attitude. You don’t seem to understand how to behave in school. I’ve heard tales of unsuitable underwear and then a silly romance with one of the boys in your class. I feel that in the space of a few short weeks you’ve made rather a bad name for yourself… I don’t know whether you intend to be deliberately insolent but you certainly come across as an unpleasantly opinionated and arrogant girl… I can’t help feeling that you’ll be much better off elsewhere. I shall try hard to engineer a suitable transfer to another school.”

And then she comes out with this gem:

“If you won’t leave, then I shall have to ensure that Mr. Raxberry finds another position.”

“No, you can’t do that! He’s a brilliant teacher.”

“You should have thought of that before you started acting in this ridiculous and precocious manner. If I were another kind of headteacher, I would have Mr. Raxberry instantly suspended. There could even be a court case. He would not only lose his job, he could find himself in very serious trouble. Did you ever stop to think about that?”

Girlboss, gaslight and gatekeep. The fucking trifecta.

Also, by ‘another kind of headteacher’, does she mean the kind of headteacher WHO DOESN’T LET CHILD PREDATORS ROAM FREELY WITHIN THEIR HALLS?

This bitch is out here blaming a child, a literal child, for the crimes of an adult man.

The only time Prue seems aware of the fact that Mr. Raxberry is actually a very shit person is her immediate thoughts that follow after she tells Miss Wilmott she’ll take the fall;

I so wanted to save darling Rax- and yet why hadn’t he wanted to save me? Had he told Miss Wilmott it was all my fault, that I’d got a ridiculous crush on him, that I’d made ludicrous advances to him? … I wanted to tell this horrible, patronizing woman how hungrily he’d kissed me, but I couldn’t do it. I loved him. I had to help him.

NO, SWEETHEART; YOU MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT.

And maybe I’m going overboard with all these excerpts, but here’s what Rax has to tell Prue, after school, following her expulsion:

“I let her think the worst of you, the best of me, just to save my skin. I said it was ridiculous talking about a love affair between us. I said you simply had a crush on me, and that I was just trying to be kind… You were brave enough to stand up to me and force me to acknowledge the truth… I love you… That’s why I had to take a risk and see you this one last time. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care… Every night when I close my eyes, I’ll think of us together in this car and how badly I wanted to drive off with you. I’ll imagine us walking hand in hand at the water’s edge… I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”

(I burrow into the pillow further. I’m trying to suffocate myself.)

And that’s where I think Wilson went wrong. Sure, Prudence getting expelled for something that was completely out of her hands is unfair, and horrible, but it’s real. That shit can happen.

What’s bad is showing Rax in a positive light after all that. If only Wilson had written Rax to not be the Romeo he thinks he is. Make him ignore Prudence, throw her under the bus in front of her face, instead of this star-crossed lovers bullshit it’s made out to be. Show your younger audience that Rax is not a good man. I’ve got a little over two weeks left for my twentieth; I can see why this is unacceptable. But I was a little younger than Prue when I watched Pretty Little Liars, and my only gripe with Aria dating Ezra was that Noel Kahn was so much cuter.

It shows when you scroll down the Goodreads reviews; you’ve got adults giving it one or two stars, and teenagers giving it four or five, with their biggest complaints being, “but Toby was cuter!!!”

Other non-pedophilia related complaints regarding the book include: Prudence being unlikable- which I didn’t really notice, considering she reacted to some people way better than I would’ve, even at 19 (which probably says a lot more about me than it does about Prue, but oh well). Still, Prudence obviously isn’t the most prudent of people- and again, she’s fourteen. Look me in eye and tell me you weren’t an arsehole at that age (unless you’re fourteen now, in which case, I assure you that you’ll look back on yourself someday and go ‘wtf was I thinking’). Bringing up Toby’s dyslexia in an argument was low, though.

There were people who thought the Kings’ almost-Amish lifestyle was exaggerated and unrealistic, but I assure you, it may very well be real. There are 8 billion people on the world- it’s fair to assume that several of them are complete weirdos.

Grace was a sweet character, and I adored her with every fiber of my being. As were her friends Iggy and Figgy. Honestly, I would’ve loved a book about Iggy, Figgy and Piggy’s (mis)adventures too.

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

confiding over cuddles

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, background Roman & Remus. Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Analogical, both pre-relationship and during the relationship.  Warnings: Language. First scene has mentions of being outed, religious homophobia, the implication of the f-slur having been used (the actual word is never on the page), and could maybe come across as critical of Christianity although I intend it more as critical of the homophobia. All of this is kept vague and not gone into in great detail. In the second scene, there are a couple of lines that are implied to be suggestive, but no other warnings. Word count: 4657

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Throughout the years, vulnerability has always been easiest for Virgil and Logan while cuddling.

Notes: Day 3 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Yes, I’m posting it a day late, but I technically finished it before midnight last night, lol. Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read.  Remus uses he/they pronouns in this universe. 

part 1 - nightmares “Virgil?” Logan said quietly, looking up from the textbook he’d spread open on the floor of Virgil’s dorm room.

Virgil flinched, startled in spite of the soft tone and not too eager for conversation. “What?” he mumbled, dragging his headphones off one ear. He wasn’t actually listening to anything—he’d put them on to avoid conversation—but apparently now they were having a conversation anyway.

“I’m sorry if I am overstepping, but you don’t seem like you’re doing okay.” Logan looked up at him with wide, earnest dark brown eyes. “If there is anything I can do to help, I would really like to.”

Virgil heaved a sigh, considering his options. He hadn’t had time to cancel their normal study session, and when Logan had picked up on his distress at the beginning of the visit, Virgil had insisted it was fine and Logan didn’t have to leave. Logan had taken him at his word and settled in, sprawling on Virgil’s floor while Virgil curled up on his bed and hugged his pillow, avoiding homework and everything else too, to wallow about—well. The reason he would have canceled if he’d had five minutes’ more notice.

On the one hand, it was kind of personal, and Logan was a good enough friend (not a crush, not a crush, not a crush—) that he’d certainly be understanding if Virgil said he didn’t want to talk about it.

On the other hand, Logan had offered to help, and the opportunity to seek comfort from a pretty, thoughtful boy with nice hair and eyes and lips and hands and—but this wasn’t a crush, so none of that mattered, obviously—well, regardless, it was a tempting opportunity.

“Can I talk about it?” Virgil asked in a voice that came out smaller and more vulnerable than he intended.

Logan nodded at once, closing his textbook and climbing to his knees. “Is it okay if I come up there?”

Virgil nodded, patted the space on the bed beside himself, and scooted over to make room. Logan joined him, clambering onto the bed and laying down beside him with a good few inches of space between them, propping his chin up on his elbows. “What’s up?” he asked, focusing all his attention on Virgil.

This close proximity had the unintended side effect of shorting out Virgil’s brain for a solid three seconds. “Uh.” He tore his eyes away from Logan’s face. “I… so I have this friend, right? He used to be my best friend. When we were kids. I haven’t really talked to him at all in a few years.”

Logan nodded.

“So, uh.” Virgil hesitated, fidgeting with his phone. “I guess somebody outed me to him. And he wasn’t okay about it.”

Logan sucked in a concerned hiss of air, half-reaching for Virgil’s shoulder and stopping himself partway through the motion. “Are you okay?”

Virgil nodded on instinct, thought about it, and then shook his head. “He texted me out of the blue about it and offered to pray for me.” His voice shook. “And I—I told him no thanks, I like being gay.” He swiped aimlessly back and forth on his homescreen, opening a folder of apps and then closing it, just so he had something else to focus on than the words he was saying. “He got mad. Called me a—a, a… you know.”

“Oh my god,” Logan murmured in a hushed, horrified tone, and this time he did put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m so sorry, Virgil.”

Virgil let out a little hiccup of a laugh that held no humor but was a way to avoid bursting into tears. He drew the back of his hand across his eyes. “I blocked his number right before you got here,” he mumbled.

Logan nodded. “Good.”

“But he’s been messaging me on Instagram this whole time,” Virgil added with a grimace. “I haven’t been opening them, but…” Right on cue, a notification banner popped up across the top of his screen, previewing a message that contained more of the same stuff he’d been seeing flash across his screen for the last half hour.

“Block him there too,” Logan said instantly. “He doesn’t deserve your time.”

Virgil brushed at the corners of his eyes, swiping away the tears that were threatening to accumulate. “I—I don’t want to open it,” he admitted, voice cracking. “If I open the app, I know I’m going to read all of the messages, and I don’t want to.”

Logan was already shaking his head. “No, don’t read them, oh my god—please don’t read them, please don’t hurt yourself like that.”

“I don’t want to,” Virgil repeated, burying his face in the bedcovers for just a second to hide the tears he couldn’t quite hold back.

Logan’s hand cautiously crept from his shoulder to his back, where it began rubbing soothing circles between his shoulderblades. “Is there any way I can help?” he asked after a moment, his voice almost calm enough to hide his own distress. “I could block him for you, if you want. That way you wouldn’t have to handle the app at all.”

Virgil considered this. He didn’t like the idea of others going through his phone, ever, full stop. But he really didn’t like the idea of opening the Instagram app himself and seeing the little red notification in the corner and inevitably clicking it against all his common sense and scrolling through the messages, reading them over and over again, and maybe trying to reason with the guy about Virgil’s own humanity, even though all that would do was invite a dozen more paragraphs of hurt to read and internalize and argue about, and it would only turn into a vicious cycle of never-ending emotional damage. Not ideal.

And he trusted Logan. He still didn’t like the idea of handing Logan his unlocked phone, but it was a lot less bad than the idea of pretty much anyone else having that access, and it was probably way less bad than trying to do it himself and just hoping he’d somehow have the willpower to leave well enough alone when he knew he didn’t trust himself to do that.

“Can I watch you do it?” he asked, turning his head to the side so he could make suddenly-tired eye contact.

“Of course,” Logan said gently. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”

Virgil worried at his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment, then unlocked the phone with a quick hard press of his thumb and passed it to Logan, wincing slightly.

“Instagram?” Logan asked, finger hovering over the app and waiting for Virgil’s confirmation.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

Logan opened the app and, waiting at each step for Virgil’s next instruction, blocked the guy without opening any of the messages sitting in Virgil’s DMs. “Does he have any other accounts?”

“I don’t think so,” Virgil mumbled.

“I’m glad. Are there any other methods he has of contacting you that you’d like to block him on?” Logan offered the phone back.

Virgil accepted it gratefully, his shoulders untensing a little. “I guess Snapchat.” He looked up the account and blocked it. “I deleted my Facebook ages ago.” He drummed his fingers on his lips, thinking. “I don’t have a ton of social media, I think that’s everything.”

Logan nodded, visibly relaxing. “Do you need anything? Any kind of support, or anything?”

“I dunno,” Virgil mumbled. He rolled over onto his back. “It just… it sucks.”

“It really does,” Logan agreed.

Virgil forced out a dry chuckle. “Guess I didn’t need that many friends, anyway,” he said, trying hard to make the situation into something amusing. It didn’t particularly work. “It’s not like most people like me, what’s one less?”

“I like you!” Logan protested, his voice much louder than it had been for the last ten minutes. He froze, looking anywhere but Virgil’s face. “I, I like you a lot. You’re a very good friend,” he added, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, his expression flustered.

Virgil set that aside to overthink for ages later. “Uh. Thanks. You—you too,” he managed.

They were both very quiet for a moment, Logan’s fidgeting only increasing as Virgil chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek.

“Is there anything you need right now?” Logan asked again, just as the tension between them began to become uncomfortable.

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I don’t know… are you busy?”

“Not until my next class, which is at noon tomorrow,” Logan assured him.

“I don’t want to be a bother—”

“I enjoy spending time with you, and you are clearly distressed and I’d like to help if I can,” Logan interrupted, “and you are my friend and I care about you very much, and it is not bothering me to ask whatever you want. If I want to say no, I will.”

Well. He had covered all his bases when it came to anticipating Virgil’s hesitations.

“Would you mind staying for a bit?” Virgil blurted. “To help me keep my mind off it? I—I don’t want to be alone. I think too much.”

Logan’s expression softened into something so tender it almost hurt to look at. “Of course,” he agreed easily. “As long as you like.”

“Thank you,” Virgil whispered.

“Anytime.” Logan fidgeted with his sleeve a bit more, not looking at Virgil. “Um. Would you like to cuddle?” he asked hesitantly after a minute.

Virgil wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. “What?”

“There are several physiological and neurological benefits to—” Logan began, determinedly not looking at Virgil’s face.

“No, I believe you,” Virgil interrupted, and in a surge of daring, added: “Sure.”

Logan blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “Oh! Alright.” He shifted closer, carefully closing the gap between them like he was afraid of doing it wrong, and arranged himself against Virgil’s side with his head on Virgil’s shoulder and his arm draped across Virgil’s chest.

Virgil’s own arm curled around Logan easily, like it was meant to go there. Virgil ignored (mostly) his rapid heartbeat and how soft Logan’s hair was where it brushed against his cheek.

“Do you want to know something totally stupid?” Logan asked.

“Sure,” Virgil said, wondering where this was going.

“I’m scared of the space under my bed.” Logan half chuckled.

Virgil blinked. That had been kind of out of the blue. “What?”

“I’ve tried to rationalize it away. I know it doesn’t make sense.” Logan sounded half amused, like maybe he was trying to cover up some mild embarrassment with humor. “But ever since I was a little kid, it’s scared me. It was worse when I was little, I would have nightmares about it and everything. But it still makes me kind of nervous to just have empty space there. I like to fill it up.”

“That’s fair,” Virgil said. He understood irrational fears. “How come you’re telling me, though? Like, not in a judgemental way,” he added quickly, feeling Logan’s shoulders tense just slightly. “Just wondering where that came from.”

“Ah.” Logan relaxed again. “I am attempting vulnerability. You just shared what seemed like a pretty personal moment with me, and I know that can feel uncomfortable. I am trying to level the playing field a little.”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile. “That’s really sweet, Lo,” he said.

“I am just trying to be a good friend.” Logan shrugged one shoulder, but Virgil could hear the happy note in his voice.

“I was scared of going places by myself when I was little,” Virgil said. “Actually, that came from a nightmare, too.” He laughed a little.

“No, hey!” Logan protested. “Now it’s uneven again!”

“I don’t think that’s how vulnerability works,” Virgil told him, only teasing a little bit. “Friendship isn’t math, it doesn’t have to match on both sides. Besides, I got over that one, mostly. It’s all good.”

Logan nodded slowly in acceptance, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Virgil’s shoulder. “Alright.” He half sat up, but only took his glasses off and reached to put them on the sidetable, then lay back down, cuddling up even more cozily against Virgil once again, making a small noise of content.

“What have you been up to lately?” Virgil asked, his voice hardly above a whisper, because he needed there to be some kind of conversation. Not just to distract himself from the unpleasant stuff of earlier, although that was still a part of it, but also so that he could avoid examining the current situation too hard. Because Logan was just a friend, just a friend, and Virgil couldn’t afford to risk ruining a friendship as wonderful as this one with a big gay crush on his friend.

“Getting used to my new board position in the astronomy club,” Logan said. “And a lot of reading for my classes.”

“You’re the Vice President this year, right?” Virgil asked. Almost without thinking about it, he raised his hand to stroke Logan’s hair, which was just as soft against his fingertips as it had felt against his cheek.

Logan let out a soft sigh of content at the touch, nestling his head a little more snugly against Virgil’s shoulder, and coincidentally fucking melting Virgil’s heart into a puddle of goo. This whole not-a-crush thing was getting to be a serious problem.

“Yes, I’m the Vice President,” Logan confirmed. “I was the secretary last year, so I kind of know the ropes, but I have very different responsibilities this time. So that’s been interesting.”

“Tell me about it,” Virgil invited.

Logan did tell him about it, and then he asked Virgil what he’d been up to, and Virgil got to talk about a research project he was helping one of his favorite professors out with, and that led to telling each other stories about their favorite professors and classes (and some of the bad ones, too), and that led to stories about their friends, and Logan was looking up at Virgil with a soft gaze that Virgil could have stared into forever, and he really didn’t know what was up with Logan of all people’s sudden desire to cuddle, but he wasn’t asking questions because this was kind of the best thing that had happened in forever.

When, much later, the conversation slowly died down and Logan’s voice trailed off into a sleepy noise that he stifled against Virgil’s shoulder, scrunching his whole face up into a yawn, Virgil only tugged at the piled-up blanket he was leaning against until it half-covered the pair of them. Maybe the more responsible thing to do would have been to rouse Logan so he could go home to his apartment, but when Logan shifted closer to him and held him a little tighter, his eyes drifting shut, Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

And he’d meant for it to only be a brief nap, really he had. He hadn’t planned to drift off himself as well. He could’ve sworn he only closed his eyes for a second or two—but when he opened them, sunlight was streaming through the window, and Logan was still there, still in Virgil’s arms cuddled close against his chest. Logan was wide awake now, but he seemed perfectly content to just lie there and examine Virgil’s face, a funny look in his eyes and a tiny smile on his lips.

“Hi,” Virgil said blearily, blinking at him. Then he processed where they were and what had happened. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I should have woken you up,” he began, half sitting up, his voice coming out a sleepy mumble that probably wasn’t anywhere near intelligible.

“No, it’s fine,” Logan assured him, gently pushing him back down. “I don’t mind.”

Virgil was half of a mind to keep apologizing, but it was very warm and he was still barely awake and Logan was so soft and nice, so all in all it was much easier to just lie there and accept the cuddles.

“Are you doing better?” Logan asked quietly.

It took Virgil a minute to fully remember the events of yesterday and figure out what he was referencing. “Oh. Uh, I guess. Like, it still sucks, but I’m going to be okay, you know? And this is nice, anyway.”

Logan nodded, resting his head on Virgil’s chest as if to listen to his heartbeat. “Yes. This is very nice.”

[4 years later]

part 2 - dreams  “Come to bed,” Logan said. “You have been scrolling through Tumblr for the past twenty-seven minutes, you can do that just as well while snuggling me.”  

“I’ve been attacked,” Virgil said lightly, shutting off his laptop and turning around to face his boyfriend. Logan was sitting in bed in his pajamas, leaning back against the headboard of their bed, a book in his hands and the covers pulled up over his lap. Virgil smiled. “Let me go brush my teeth and then I’ll come cuddle you, babe.”

“Acceptable,” Logan agreed with an answering smile, his eyes flicking up briefly from the pages to meet Virgil’s own.

Virgil brushed his teeth in the little bathroom of the apartment Logan had shared with the twins in the two years since they’d all graduated college. Before reemerging, Virgil changed into the old t-shirt and flannel pajama pants he’d brought with him—he usually stayed overnight on the weekends these days, and this one was no exception.

Roman, sitting at the kitchen table poring over a wad of papers that were probably a script from the local community theatre’s latest production, waved at Virgil as he exited the bathroom. “G’night, Virge,” he called.

“Night, Ro,” Virgil responded, and for good measure, he added, “night, Remus.”

Remus, somewhere out of sight, cackled. “Have fun getting—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Virgil interrupted automatically, without any real bite, making his way back into Logan’s room and shutting the door behind himself.

Logan smiled at the sight of him, pulling back the covers invitingly. Virgil snagged his phone off of Logan’s desk on his way over, climbing into the bed and curling up with his head in Logan’s lap.

Logan let out a small, pleased sigh, resting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Happy?” Virgil asked, reaching up to touch Logan’s face.

Logan nodded. “Very.”

Virgil chuckled and half sat up so he could reach to kiss Logan, then settled himself back where he’d been and unlocked his phone, scrolling through Tumblr without paying too much attention. Logan’s hand came to rest lightly on the back of his head, and after a moment began stroking his hair.

He turned a page, then after a minute closed the book and set it down.

Virgil looked up. His boyfriend was gazing down at him, face scrunched up just slightly the way it always did when he was thinking hard about something.

“You good?” Virgil asked.

Logan started slightly. “Oh! Yes.” His hand, which had drifted to a stop at the base of Virgil’s skull, resumed gently stroking Virgil’s hair.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Virgil asked.

Logan was quiet for a beat, then met Virgil’s eyes. “Would you like to get married?”

Virgil choked on air. “What?”

“Married,” Logan repeated, a little shy this time. “You and I. Would you be interested in doing that?”

“I—” Virgil found himself at a loss for words. “I don’t know? Maybe?” He sat up, shutting off his phone and setting it on the sidetable. “I’m sorry—are you proposing to me in our pajamas?”

“No,” Logan said emphatically, frowning. “This is not a proposal. This is so we can talk about it ahead of time, so that if you do want it, then you won’t need to be anxious when I do propose.”

Virgil blinked, processing that. “Wow.” He reached over and brushed his thumb lightly across Logan’s cheek. “I love you so much, you know that?”

Logan’s brow smoothed out and his shoulders visibly untensed. “I love you too.” He put his hand over Virgil’s where it rested on his cheek, cradling it tenderly. He closed his eyes. “And you don’t need to have an answer right now. We can have this conversation whenever you like. I just… wanted to bring it up. Because I would like that, if you are also amicable.” He turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to the palm of Virgil’s hand.

Virgil hooked a finger in the collar of Logan’s pajama shirt and drew him close for a soft kiss. “Come lay down and cuddle me properly, nerd.”

Logan obediently set his book down on the sidetable beside Virgil’s phone, pulled off his glasses, and set those down too. With some shuffling of limbs, the two of them lay down, Virgil curled up in Logan’s arms. To anyone else, Logan would have seemed perfectly relaxed, content to lay there and press the occasional kiss to Virgil’s forehead; but Virgil could sense the slight tension in Logan’s face. He was nervous, even if he was trying hard not to show it.

Virgil’s own thoughts were whirling. Did he want to get married? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But they were both still so young. Marriage was so big. Even if they’d been dating for more than four years at this point, that was barely more than a blip in the really long run. And what if they found out too late that they disagreed on something important? What if Logan wanted to take out a huge mortgage, or move across the country, or have kids? (Okay, they’d talked about kids, and both felt super hesitant, not-yet-ready at best, about the whole idea. But what if Logan changed his mind?)

(But also… waking up to Logan’s face every morning. Waking up to coffee with Logan and sleepy yawns. Casual touches on the elbow or shoulder or wrist or waist or cheek throughout the day, little reminders of love that were almost thoughtless in their routine. A home that would be just theirs. They could get a pet, if they wanted. They could paint stars on the ceiling or walls. They could cook dinner together every night. They could stay up late watching old TV shows and making snarky commentary back and forth. They could be each other’s home.)

Logan was watching Virgil’s face intently, even as he did his best to play it cool. Virgil met his eyes. “So,” he began, struggling to find the right words for what he wanted to convey. “I—I don’t know what I want. Or. I guess I kind of do. But I’m nervous.”

“We don’t have to,” Logan said quickly. “I mean. Obviously. But I don’t want you to—to feel pressured, or anything, to say anything one way or the other or to have to even say anything at all or—”

“Hey,” Virgil interrupted soothingly as Logan’s voice sped into anxious overdrive. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Logan sucked in a breath. He nodded. “I—sorry.”

Virgil shook his head and leaned across the few inches between them to kiss Logan. “Babe, I just told you I’m nervous. It’s fine if you are too.”

“I’m not nervous—” Logan began. He cut himself off at the wry look Virgil gave him. “I—okay, fine. But it’s not a big deal.”

“Hmm, disagree.”

“But the whole point was so I could support you if you felt—”

“L. Babe. Light of my life. You get nervous when you’re vulnerable. I get it.”

Logan bit his lip and reached for Virgil’s hand. He held it tightly.

Virgil squeezed back and snuggled closer under the covers. “Anyway, uh.” He paused for a second to make sure he knew how he wanted to say it. “I—I still don’t know exactly what I want to say about that idea. But I know the answer is definitely not a no.”

Logan breathed in, not quite sharply enough to be a gasp. “Oh,” he breathed, letting go of Virgil’s hand so he could caress his face.

“Does that make sense?” Virgil asked. “Like, I don’t yet know how or when I want it. But I—I think I want to, eventually, and I really want it to be you.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice coming out a little choked. “Yeah, that—that’s good.”

Virgil half smiled. “Kiss?” he asked.

Logan was reaching for him before he even finished the word, pulling him close and clinging to him as he kissed the breath from Virgil’s lungs like he never wanted to let go. Virgil wrapped his own arm around Logan, holding him just as tightly, and cupped Logan’s face with the hand that was trapped between the two of them.

“I love you,” Virgil whispered as they pulled apart, and now he was choking up a little too.

Logan pressed their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

They were both quiet for a moment, holding each other close.

“I think it’d be nice to get one of those really fancy coffee machines,” Virgil whispered after a minute. “Someday. For our someday kitchen.” He enjoyed Logan’s sudden intake of breath and the way his eyes widened slightly at the word our. “The kind that can make espresso, and shit,” Virgil went on. “We could try out all different kinds of things. And I wouldn’t tell anybody how much sugar you always put in your coffee.”

“I put a normal amount of sugar in my coffee,” Logan protested, a smile quirking onto his face.

“L, I love you, but that is maybe the least true thing you have ever said in your life.” Virgil snickered.

“Shut up,” Logan whined, pushing lightly at Virgil’s shoulder with an answering grin.

Virgil leaned in and kissed his cheek. “It’s cute.” He hesitated for a beat. “What would you want? In your dream future?”

“You,” Logan responded immediately.

Virgil pressed a hand to his mouth. He absolutely should have seen that one coming, but he hadn’t, and the surprise made the pang of fondness in his chest all the sweeter. “Logan,” he managed after a minute.

Logan only grinned, looking very pleased with himself. “A coffee machine does sound very nice, too, though,” he added. “And space for you to keep an instrument.”

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, lighting up at the idea. “Yeah, that sounds really good. I’d want a library for all your stupid nerdy books.”

Logan put a hand on Virgil’s cheek. “I’d want a kitchen table that we both picked out together.”

Virgil grinned. “A couch to hold you on.”

“A wall full of art that we both like.”

“Windows so there’s light everywhere and you can see the stars at night.”

“A pantry full of our favorite foods.”

“A bed to—”

“Virgil!”

“Whaaat?”

“We were being cute!” Logan smacked his arm lightly. “Remus is a bad influence on you,” he accused, though Virgil could see he was trying not to laugh.

“I mean, probably,” Virgil allowed, grinning. “But maybe I was just going to say a bed to sleep in. And cuddle in. And perfectly innocent things like that. Maybe you’re the one Remus is a bad influence on.”

“I—” Logan struggled for a second, then broke down into snickers.

Virgil grinned, wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist and enjoying the sound of his laughter.

“Were you going to say something like that, though?” Logan asked, composing himself.

“Oh, no, absolutely not.” Virgil snickered. “You were right, I was going to ruin the cutesy vibe we had going on there, one hundred percent. But you’re really cute when you laugh, so no regrets.”

“Hmm,” Logan hummed, leaning closer. “You know when else I’m really cute?”

“When?” Virgil breathed.

“When I’m kissing you,” Logan murmured, and closed the gap between their lips.

Virgil kissed back, eyes fluttering shut and hands sliding a little more securely around Logan’s waist. In his opinion, Logan made a very compelling point.

[hookingminor]

Halloween prompts. Number one “mortal enemies accidentally showing up in matching costumes every year” with Vince Dunn ??

mortal enemies accidentally showing up in matching costumes every fucking year

-

Un-fucking-believable.

God had some personal vendetta against you or thought this was the funniest running joke in the history of mankind, apparently, because you were about two seconds away from strangling someone.

“No, absolutely not,” you groaned when you saw Vince’s costume, “Go change right now.”

“Hello to you, too, babe,” Vince said cheerily, pulling you in for a side hug and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Don’t ‘hello, babe’ me, we did not come together,” you scoffed, pushing him away by the chest before people saw you and presumed you were a couple.

Vince was wearing the complementary Scoops Ahoy costume to your Robin set, and you couldn’t understand how this happened. For the fourth time, you’ve unknowingly showed up in matching costumes with Vince.

The first time was set up by your friends, thinking it would be hilarious because the two of you hated each other.

The second time was accidental. Actually, you had showed up in a different costume, but due to someone spilling their drink on you, you had to shed some layers and slipped on an old NBA jersey the homeowner had. Coincidentally, Vince had worn the same jersey, deciding on a lazy look that year, and once again you were matching.

The third time, it technically wasn’t matching as you two had intended for different looks, but it looked similar enough that everyone just assumed they were matching. You had done your makeup intricately and wore a tattered wedding dress, going as Corpse Bride from the classic Tim Burton movie, and Vince had gone as Abraham Lincoln, though he lost the beard and top hat within twenty minutes and looked like a standard groom.

This year, however, you were so careful. You had told none of your friends your plans. You wanted no possibility of information leaking to Vince somehow about your costume.

God, it seemed, had other plans because here you were again.

“I think the universe is trying to tell us something,” Vince chuckled, following you into the kitchen where you had escaped in an attempt to avoid him.

“That you’re an annoying asshole who will go to, literally, any length to piss me off?” You suggested, pouring yourself an extra strong drink.

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘maybe we should get together,’” Vince shrugged, and you rolled your eyes.

“Over my dead body,” you snorted, taking a long chug. Vince waited for you to toss your drink back before he spoke again.

“Do you really hate me that much?” He asked, and you swore you saw his face fall just a little bit.

“As much as you hate me,” you replied with a forced smile. Vince gave you a dramatic eye roll to let you know you were being ridiculous.

“I never said I hated you,” he said, and now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Your actions say enough,” you muttered.

From the moment you’d met, you’d never gotten along. There wasn’t a definitive reason or instance that made you hate him, but you always clashed at every turn. Every time you suggested dinner, he was never in the mood for that type of food. Every time he wanted to go out and do something, you hated all his ideas. Little disagreements like those just continued to build up and over time, it just got to the point where the two of you refused the other’s suggestions out of spite. You were too proud to admit when he was right and he would never apologize to you so you both let it simmer and stew.

Not wanting to continue conversation with him anymore, you pushed your way past his body and into the party in hopes of disappearing into the crowd.

You’d managed to avoid him for a half hour or so, but even with him somewhere else, he was still with you.

“I saw your boyfriend earlier,” the guy that you thought you’d been flirting with said after a few minutes, “I love your guys’ costumes.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” you chuckled awkwardly, “It was purely coincidental.”

“I just talked to him a little while ago, and he definitely insinuated that you were his girlfriend. He was asking people if they’ve seen you. It sounded like he was looking for you,” the stranger explained, but you were already seeing red by the end of his first sentence.

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me,” you politely excused yourself with a strained smile.

Walking away with purpose, you roamed the house in an angry stomp until you found Vince tucked away near the pong table, clearly caught in the middle of a game.

You strode up to him with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw when you heard him laughing with his friends. You stopped next to him, reached up to grab him by the ear, and dragged him behind you as you searched for a quiet space to kill him in.

You walked all the way to an abandoned bedroom at the furthest corner of the house and, quite literally, threw him in the room before slamming the door behind you.

“What the fuck is your problem, Dunn?” You exclaimed as you turned on him with crossed arms, “Do you think it’s fun to cockblock me all night?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He asked instead, deciding to play dumb.

“Telling other people we’re together? Is this a joke to you?” As the seconds passed, you were getting progressively more upset.

“It’s kind of funny,” he muttered under his breath with a light laugh, and you swore you never wanted to strangle anyone more in your entire life.

“You’re unbelievable,” you scoffed, “You know what? Do me a favor and ignore me for the rest of the night.... Actually, no, for the rest of your life.” Turning on your heels to leave the room, you reached for the door with one hand, but Vince was leaping forward before you could exit.

“No, wait,” he rushed out quickly, pulling you back around to face him, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? That’s all you have to say?” His cheeks heated instantly, and he averted your gaze.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, okay? It was childish and stupid,” he confessed, but it only confused you more.

“Why?”

Vince took a few seconds to respond, but he still held onto your wrist. You raised your eyebrows as you waited for him to continue.

“Ikindofhaveacrushonyou,” he mumbled quickly.

“What?” You asked, not sure if you’d heard him correctly.

“I have a crush on you,” he admitted, “and I acted like an asshole because of it.”

“What?” You repeated, though this time it was more in disbelief and shock than misunderstanding.

“I know I deserve it, but you don’t have to be a dick about it,” he said timidly. In all your time knowing Vince Dunn, he never got shy. Until now.

“I’m not being a dick, I’m just genuinely confused,” you said softly. Probably the first time you’d ever spoken to Vince with a soft tone.

“I thought you were cute and that we had a good banter going, but at some point I probably took it too far which lead to all of this,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, “and then the only relationship we had was when we were fighting, so I kept it up.”

“That’s the worst way to show a girl you like her,” you replied in a monotone voice. If it weren’t for the slight smile that quirked at the corners of your lips, Vince would’ve thought you were about to kick him.

“I know, it was dumb,” he chuckled, “but then some guys were talking about you, so I acted before I could think.”

“Did you plan all this? All these years?” You questioned.

Vince gave you a slight shrug, “The first two times, no. The third time, yeah a little bit.”

“And tonight?”

“I may have asked your roommate to find out. She only agreed because she knows I’ve been after you for a while now.”

“You know if you had just asked me out like a regular person, I probably would have said yes,” you replied, “I thought you were cute when I first saw you too.”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours.

“And then you opened your mouth.”

Vince laughed heartily at that, the tension in the room dissipating as you joined in with him. Taking a tentative step closer, you took the hand that was still holding your wrist to grip your waist as you felt your way up his shoulders. His eyes widened at your close proximity, and you could see him take a deep breath in.

“Ask me now,” you stated, curling your hand around his neck.

He released the breath he was holding in.

“Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me?” Vince asked.

You pretended to ponder your answer for a moment before you finally replied.

“Yeah, I guess. I have nothing better to do.”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Vince groaned, dropping his head against your shoulder in defeat. You let out a small chuckle, and you felt his lips smiling against your skin.

Pulling his head back up to eye level, you gave him a warm smile.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Vince.”

[marjansmarwani]

You Can Learn to Love (Again)

A Tarlos Teacher AU // 14.3K

[Read on ao3]

TK Strand needs a fresh start. He needs to get as far away from the memories and temptations of NYC as he possibly can so when he finds an opening at a prestigious high school in Austin, he jumps at the chance.

As things fall into place he is surprised to find just how well he fits into Austin; how well this new life he built for himself suits him. There’s only one complication: another (insanely attractive) English teacher by the name of Carlos Reyes whose existence does not fit into TK’s carefully constructed plans. The universe, however, seems to have another plan entirely.

Or, the Teacher AU absolutely no one asked for.

Welcome to the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written! I had a good time writing it and I ended up really liking it though, and I hope you do too. Huge shoutout to @officerrxyes for helping me with the edits and putting it up me throughout the entire process. 

-----

This is not how he had wanted to start his first day. He had been hoping to make a good impression, maybe make it through the first week without drawing too much attention to himself. 

 The universe had other plans, it seemed. 

 It had started with the traffic. He was still new to the area and had severely underestimated how heavy traffic was in this city (really, who knew?) Thankfully he had been nervous enough that he had left his apartment almost an hour earlier than he should have had to for a 4-mile drive, which had gotten him here with about 10 minutes to spare. 

 If it had just been that, it would have been fine. He could have shaken it off, gotten into his classroom and been ready to face the day with plenty of time before his students showed up. But no, it couldn’t be that simple. Instead, he was stuck here, in his current predicament. 

 By the time he arrived there was not a parking spot to be found. He had anxiously circled the parking lot twice before spotting an empty space miraculously close to the front doors. He thought maybe his luck had finally changed - until he tried to open his door. The car next to him was parked so close that he could barely even get his door more than an inch let alone wide enough to get out. He glanced over to the passenger side to find that car was almost as close. He banged his head against the steering wheel in frustration. Of course. Of fucking course - he had moved across the country, managed to get a job in one of the best high schools in the state, and now he was going to blow it because he was trapped in his car. Typical. 

 He forced himself to take a deep, calming breath before examining the situation again. There might just be enough room on the passenger side to open the door and squeeze out. Then he would just have to wait long enough that the other cars would be gone before he tried to leave at the end of the day. Totally doable — he just had to climb over the center counsel. He examined the layout and sighed. There was no way to do this gracefully. He took a silent moment to mourn his nice professional wrinkle-free first-day outfit before he resigned himself to the inevitable. 

 He had known it was not going to be a graceful process, but he had still underestimated exactly how awkward it would be. He cleared the counsel and got one foot on the ground outside the passenger door before carefully sliding himself out, careful not to let his door hit the car beside him. Once he had both feet on the ground he reached back in to grab his bag, which he pulled out before closing the door and walking to the back of the car. Once he was free of the confined space he took a deep breath as he smoothed out his clothes, wiping away any wrinkles. 

 “That was pretty impressive,” someone noted, voice full of amusement. 

 TK spun around to find an incredibly attractive man standing behind him, looking him over with a raised eyebrow. TK wanted to shoot back something clever but instead he tripped over his words, stuttering through half-formed thoughts before he blurted out “thanks.” 

 Inwardly, he groaned. Because this morning hadn’t been bad enough - now he was a stuttering mess in front of this guy who possibly had the most gorgeous eyes TK had ever seen and had just used those eyes to watch TK climb out of his own car like a contortionist. He was really winning today. 

 “Anytime,” the stranger returned with a grin. They stood there, not saying anything for a few more moments until the stranger continued, “Well I guess I should,” he trailed off gesturing towards the building. TK nodded vaguely before a glance at his watch pulled him back to reality, “Oh, yeah. Me too.” 

 “Well, I hope you have a good first day. My name is Carlos, by the way.” 

 “TK,” he offered, plastering on what he hoped was a charming smile. 

 Carlos grinned at him, “I’ll see you around, TK.” 

 And with that, he was gone. TK watched him walk away until the snap of the door closing behind him dragged him back to the present. He glanced at his watch again only to see that he only had two minutes before he would officially be late for his first day. 

 “Shit,” he muttered to himself before hiking his bag up in his shoulder and sprinting towards the door. 

 ------

 “Don’t forget to get those syllabi signed!” TK called to the retreating backs of his second-period freshman class.  “Whether or not you think it’s stupid does not change the fact that it is an easy grade!” 

 This earned a few chuckles from the students still gathering their things and he flashed a grin at them. Despite the rough start, the morning has actually gone pretty well. His first two classes had gone smoothly and the kids seemed like a good bunch. He was optimistic about the year. Now he was looking at his first prep period of the day and since there was no grading to tackle yet he figured this was as good of a time as any to try to get the lay of the land, so to speak. Plus, he needed to find the copier. He had printed out the syllabi for the first day on his home printer but there was no way he was going to keep doing that. He fully intended to use the school provided resources, thank you very much. 

 He was just about to grab his ID and keys and head out in pursuit of a copy machine or faculty room when someone stepped into his classroom. TK recognized him but couldn’t put a name to the face. 

 “Hey Mr. Strand, I just wanted to stop by to see how your first day was going. I’m Judd Ryder, one of the Assistant Principals.” 

 TK smiled at him, crossing over to shake his hand, “I remember you, you were on my interview committee, right?” 

 He nodded, “That’s right. I was pretty impressed by you, I think you’ll do great things here.” 

 “That’s very kind of you to say, I hope I can live up to it,” TK responded, a little taken aback by the praise.

 Mr. Ryder shrugged, “I was impressed by your thoughts on curriculum, but really I think you’re going to do a good job connecting to the students. You’ve got the freshman this year and they need that. That connection might be the difference between failure and success for some of them.” 

 TK nodded, unsure of how to respond. He fiddled with his lanyard for a moment before the AP laughed, shaking his head; “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you - my wife is always telling me I don’t need to voice every thought that pops into my head and, well clearly that’s a problem for me.”

 TK relaxed and smiled at the older man, “It’s fine, it’s nice to hear such good things, it’s just the first day and all—a lot to take in, you know?”

 Ryder nodded, “I hear that. Anything I could help with?”

 “Actually, yeah—any chance you could point me towards a copier? My printer at home will never recover if I try to do much more with it.” 

 “Sure thing, I’ll take you there. It’s on my way anyways,” he said over TK’s protests, “no trouble at all.” 

 They step into the hallway and once TK is sure the door to his classroom is shut and locked behind him they move down the hall, back towards the main hallway. Judd keeps up a steady stream of conversation all the way and TK nods and makes noises of agreement where necessary. It’s not that he doesn’t like Judd, he’s just not used to such an amicable relationship with administrators. It had never been like that in any of his previous schools. He liked the feeling of familiarity but knew that it would be a while before he ever completely bought into it. He was much more likely to err on the side of polite professionalism. 

 They had arrived at the faculty room now and as TK went to open the door it swung open as another teacher stepped out. He was a little older than TK and his eyes went wide as he halted inches from colliding with him. Judd laughed from behind TK, “Well I was going to say you two should meet at some point, so I guess now is as good a time as any. TK Strand, meet Paul Strickland, one of our Earth Science teachers. He’s also your neighbor.”  

 Paul grinned and stuck out his hand, “it’s good to meet you, man. I was going to stop by later on, but bumping into each other works too I guess.” 

 TK chuckled and took the offered hand, “I suppose it does. So you’re my neighbor, huh?” 

 Paul nodded, “And part of the grade level team. You’ll actually be seeing the rest of us in a bit—we have common planning 5th period.” 

 TK nodded, he had noticed that on the schedule. “Cool, well, I’ll see you then. In the meantime, I should get some copies done while I have a chance.” 

 “Don’t use tray 3—it always jams.” 

 “Thanks for the tip.” 

 “Don’t mention it; I know how much it sucks to have to spend your entire prep clearing out a paper jam.” 

 “Still, I appreciate it.” 

 Paul nodded and then with another smile and a wave to Judd, he was gone. They watched him go for a second before Judd spoke again, “You have a solid team to work with in your wing, I’m sure you’ll all get along fine.”

 “I think you might be onto something,” TK agreed. Then, with another thanks, he stepped into the faculty room, leaving the Assistant Principal behind.  

 ---

 Two periods later and TK was starting to remember how exhausting the first week of school was. The endurance it took to do this all day was nothing to scoff at, and each year in September it needed to be built up again. Somehow each year, he managed to forget that. As the last of the 4th-period stragglers filed out he sank into his desk chair and leaned back, allowing himself to take a deep breath. All he wanted to do was sleep for a week, but he still had common planning, hall duty, one more class, and an apartment full of boxes waiting to be unpacked. Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford right now. 

 A knock at his door wrenched him from his fantasies of peaceful sleep. He jumped to his feet, blinking the exhaustion out of his eyes as he looked towards the door to find Paul and two others standing on the threshold.

 “The first week is always the hardest, isn’t it?” Paul noted as he invited himself into the room, the other two at his heels. 

 TK nodded, only cutting off for a yawn, “You could say that,” he finally got out. 

 Paul gave him a sympathetic grin before turning to his two companions. “Guys, this is TK Strand, the new English teacher. TK,” he said turning to face him, “this is Marjan Marwani and Mateo Chavez, Math and Social Studies teachers respectively.”

 TK gave them each a nod and a smile. “So, we’re the ninth grade team?” 

 “One of them,” Marjan confirmed, settling onto one of the desks. “So you better get used to us - we’re stuck together and you get to see our lovely faces every day for this common planning period.” 

 “Where do we meet for that, by the way?” 

 “Your room of course,” Marjan said with a raised eyebrow, “the newbie always hosts.” 

 Paul rolled his eyes. “She’s kidding,” he informed TK, “but we do usually meet in here because there are more tables so it’s easier to spread out.”

 “Fine with me,” TK replied with a shrug, “you guys are more than welcome.” 

 The others smiled their thanks before Mateo spoke up. 

 “So TK,” he asked in what was clearly meant to be a casual tone, “how long have you been teaching?” 

 TK raised an eyebrow, “This is my 4th year, why?” 

 “Damn it,” Mateo swore mournfully as Marjan let out a bright burst of laughter. 

 When TK shot Paul a confused look he stifled his own laughter long enough to explain, “Mateo here is our probie. He’s only in his second year and he’s desperately hoping to find someone lower on the totem pole than him. You being new to the district and pretty young, he thought maybe he had a chance.” 

 Now TK grinned outright as he turned his gaze back to Mateo, “sorry to disappoint you probie, but I already put in my time as the newbie. You have my sympathies though.” 

 Mateo pouted as the other two laughed lightly at him. TK shook his head fondly and sat on one of the desks to survey this group—his new team. 

 As Marjan crossed to Mateo to ruffle his hair and Paul rolled his eyes at the pair while not quite being able to hide his smile, something settled in TK’s gut. They were going to get along just fine. More than that, TK had a feeling that as long as he had this group at his side he’d be fine. Maybe, despite the disastrous beginning, this year might not be the disaster he feared after all. 

 ---

 After the first day, things went pretty smoothly. He’d settled into a routine and beyond the usual unpredictable nature of teenagers, he had everything under control. He was feeling pretty confident about this change—for once he may have actually made the right choice. He wanted to savor that feeling, but there was still one more unknown element to his work life that he hadn’t gotten to experience yet: the department meeting. So when Thursday rolled around he waved goodbye to the rest of his team and set off to find room 306. 

 If his past experience was anything to go on this meeting would likely be nothing more than a waste of time. Just something they are mandated to do where they talk about goals and test scores and analyze data without actually accomplishing anything actionable. But it was still something new; a potential disaster waiting around the corner for him. He’s almost convinced that’s what it’s going to be too - everything else is going far too well. Something has to give at some point. 

 He found the room and entered cautiously; scanning the room as he took an empty seat. Everyone else is chatting amongst themselves and while a few sent him curious glances as he entered, for the most part everyone is minding their own business. He was so focused on surveying the room that he almost jumped when the chair next to him was pulled out and someone slid into the seat beside him. He looked over to see a woman smiling at him warmly, “You must be TK Strand,” she said by way of greeting. 

 He nodded and her smile somehow grew as she stuck out her hand, “I’m Grace Ryder, one of the 10th grade English teachers and yes, Judd Ryder is my husband,” she confirms. 

 TK chuckled as he took her hand. Apparently, his surprise at hearing her name was more evident than he had thought, “It’s nice to meet you Grace, and I’m afraid I don’t have a very good poker face.” 

 She laughed lightly and shook her head, “No, you do not. I can’t say I blame you though - new school, first department meeting, and someone comes up and knows your name - I’d be flustered too. But my husband has mentioned you so I figured I’d check-in, make sure you weren’t left out for the sharks. They do love fresh meat.” 

 TK raised an eyebrow, “It’s not that bad, is it?” 

 “They like a laugh, but from everything I’ve heard I think you’ll do just fine.” 

 TK was going to ask what she meant by that when her expression shifted again as she spotted something over TK’s shoulder. 

 “They’re not all bad though,” she said with a smile. “In fact, here’s one you should meet. Reyes!” The last part was directed at someone behind TK. He turned to see who Grace was intent on him meeting and froze. 

 “TK,” Grace was saying as the man walked over, “This is Carlos Reyes, one of the Senior English teachers and an all-around good egg.” 

 Carlos chuckled and TK felt a shock run through his body at how wonderful of a sound it was. 

 “You’re too nice to me Grace,” Carlos was saying as he bent down to give her a quick one-armed hug.

 Grace swatted at him, “I am exactly as nice to you as you deserve. Carlos, this is TK Strand - the new Freshman English teacher.” 

 Carlos turned his smile on TK, who was fairly certain he was going to melt in this very spot from the warmth of it, “We’ve met, actually—in passing. I didn’t know you were in the department, how’s it been so far?”

 “Good, it’s been good,” he managed to splutter out after a few moments and the mortifying realization that he had been quiet for too long and Grace and Carlos were both looking at him. 

 Carlos kept smiling at him, “That’s good to hear. I’m sure I’ll see you around but feel free to let me know if you need anything. I’m in room 214.” 

 TK nodded and then with a wave, Carlos was gone. TK shook himself from his stupor to find Grace giving him a pitying look, “Oh honey,” was all she said. Her voice was low, but it was clear she was suppressing laughter.  

 “What?” TK demanded, even as he could feel a blush creeping up his cheeks. Grace just shook her head and let some of the laughter escape. He turned away from her petulantly but she reached out and put a comforting hand on his arm. 

 “I’m sorry dear,” she said through her laughter, “I’m not making fun of you, really. I can’t say I can blame you either; he is quite something.” 

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responded stiffly.

 “Yes, I’m sure you don’t,” Grace said, making an effort to match his tone. He rolled his eyes and shot her an exasperated look but she just kept chuckling quietly even as the meeting started. 

 It was good to know he had been right about this meeting being the disaster he had been waiting for—it was just not the kind he had anticipated. 

 ----

 The days marched on and more and more it felt like any other school year. TK had fallen into a routine; he had found his stride. He had found his footing with his students; he had found friends in his team. This change—the new job, the new school, the new state—was going so much better than he had anticipated. When he had sent in the application, it had been on a whim. He had been floundering in the shambles of what had been and desperate for a direction, a way out. This job had seemed like a desperate hope; a future he could only dream of surrounded by the wreckage of his old hopes and plans. He had just needed a point to aim for, an exit sign to direct him out of this mess. He had never expected it to actually work. 

 But against all odds and his own firmly held beliefs he made it work, he hadn’t failed. It was an exciting prospect, but also a terrifying one. With things going this well, it was only a matter of time before the proverbial other shoe dropped. He does everything he can to prevent that eventuality. He works hard, throwing himself into every lesson plan and every assignment. He tackles any administrative task as soon as possible, never letting anything sit on his desk. Above all, he takes a wide berth around room 214. Carlos’s smile may live in his head rent-free, but he can’t afford a distraction. Especially not one like him —one so objectively perfect. He’s not ready for that and to be so close to the possibility would break his still-healing heart. 

 He almost welcomes the distraction of his traditional beginning of the year benchmark essay—right up until he gets a look at the stack awaiting grading. He is in the middle of the first period’s stack when the rest of the team walked in for common planning. 

 “It’s only the second week of school,” Mateo noted, “isn’t it a little early to be assigning essays?” 

 “No,” TK explained, looking up from the paper he was reading, “because it’s my job to get them to high school level writing by the end of the year for the sake of all of the other English teachers and I need to know where they are at now so I know what to focus on.” 

 Marjan leaned on the corner of his desk and poked at one of the piles apprehensively, “Learn anything yet?” 

 TK sighed wearily as he circled yet another use of “bc” and left a comment indicating that abbreviations may have their uses, but they did not belong in academic writing. “Yes,” he said, looking up from the paper before him, “I have learned that we have a lot of work to do.” 

 Mateo chuckled and Marjan winced sympathetically. Paul, who had grabbed one of the essays off the stack and was skimming it, raised an eyebrow. 

 “I do not envy you, man,” he noted as he replaced the paper, “and I thought trying to hammer the format of a lab report into their heads was hard. This is next level.” 

 “Academic writing is something completely different from what they’re used to,” TK pointed out reasonably, “It’s my job to teach them how to do it,” he paused here as he glanced back down at the paper before him. “Doesn’t make it any less painful though,” he said with another sigh. 

 The others settled down at and on the desks nearest to his and watched as he skimmed through another paper, pausing occasionally to make a comment or correction. After a few minutes he looked up at them, eyebrows raised. 

 “Are you all just going to sit there and watch me grade these or…”

 Mateo shrugged and Marjan grinned back at him, “We’re offering you moral support, didn’t you know?” 

 He scowled and grabbed an old worksheet from the table beside him and balled it up to throw at her. She dodged it expertly and grinned even wider. Paul sighed from a nearby desk. 

 “Now children,” he admonished, voice filled with exasperation as he rolled his eyes at their antics. 

 “She started it,” TK pointed out reasonably. Paul shook his head and stood up. 

 “I think that as long as we can agree that there are no pressing matters to be discussed we can all take this time to work on our own grading, in our own classrooms. Any objections?” 

 Marjan looked like she was going to say something, but at TK’s narrowed eyes she sighed and shook her head. 

 “Good,” Paul declared with a nod. “Good luck with all those, man,” he added to TK as he headed to the door. TK wearily waved his thanks and then they were gone. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. He loved what he did really, but sometimes when faced with the stack of 120 essays and the reminder that other content areas didn’t have to do this, he sometimes regretted not following his father’s footsteps. Firefighters didn’t have to grade essays. 

 Inevitably, he would recall all of the reasons he didn’t join the family business: the long hours, the danger, the toll it had taken on his father over the years both physically and emotionally. Then he would think of all the reasons he loved teaching anyways and go back to work. This time was no exception. The only difference was that as he picked up his pen again to continue grading he felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He should really call his father. It had been too long. He knew that his dad was trying to give him space, trying to give him the time he needed to adjust on his own terms; but his dad had been the one thing in New York he hadn’t needed distance from. He was the one thing he had regretted leaving. He needed to call him - he owed him that much. More than that, it would be nice to hear his voice. After he finished this class’ essays, he promised himself, he’d take a break and call his dad during his lunch. 

 Fate seemed to have a different plan though as the next thing TK knew students were entering his classroom. He glanced up at the clock in surprise, only to find that he had worked straight through his prep and lunch without even noticing it. He sighed and put down his pen, standing to go greet his students at the door. His dad would have to wait, it seemed. He plastered on a smile and got ready to start the lesson. 

 At some point, Marjan appeared in his doorway, a sheepish look on her face. He nodded to her and instructed the kids to read the next section in the text on their own and be ready to share some thoughts from it before he crossed the room to meet her. 

 “What’s up?” he asked, expression furrowed. 

 She held up the papers in her hand, “I forgot I promised the SPED teacher I would get these 408s sighed during our common planning. I have all the documents that you can look over later, but for right now could you just sign so I can get these back to her?” 

 He smirked at her as he took the papers; flipping through them to see what students he was signing for, “How could you have possibly forgotten? Were you so busy doing something else that maybe it slipped your mind?” 

 “Haha,” she responded drily, expression far from impressed. He shook his head and chuckled, but pulled a pen out of his pocket and used the wall beside the door to sign his name on the appropriate lines. He went to hand them back to her, but pulled up just short and held them just out of her reach, “do I have your word that you will provide me with the proper documentation for all these students so I can be assured I did not just commit fraud by signing these?” 

 She rolled her eyes at him, “Yes, I will bring them by at the end of the day.” With that she held out her hand for the papers, which he passed back to her. Then she was gone, and he turned back to his class. 

 “Alright, I asked you to have things to share, so who’s going to break the ice?” 

 There was the typical teenage silence before one of the girls in the back raised her hand tentatively, but not before glancing at her friends. 

 “Aniyah, what do you think?” TK asked her with a grin, perching himself on his desk. 

 “Mr. Strand, are you and Ms. Marwani dating?” 

 TK blinked at her. He glanced around at the rest of the kids in the room, none of whom seemed surprised by the question. “No,” he answered slowly, “why would you ask that?” 

 She shrugged awkwardly, glancing at her friends for support, “You guys just seem really close, and almost like you’re flirting?” 

 He shrugged, “No, we’re just friends, definitely not dating—not that it is any of your business.” 

 One of the boys in the front smirked at him, “I don’t know Mister, you two seem pretty friendly, I think maybe you’re in denial.” 

 TK met the kid’s eyes and raised a single eyebrow as he said drily, “I can assure you she’s not my type.” 

 Most of the kids nodded sagely, but a few seemed puzzled. He rolled his eyes and stood up, “Okay, ‘discuss Mr. Strand’s love life’ time is over. Don’t think you’re going to distract me enough that I forget about the homework. Anyone else want to share any thoughts on the reading—you know, the class work; that thing we’re here for?” 

 A few hands raised but even as he called on them he was chuckling to himself. Marjan was going to love this. 

 ----

 As time progresses TK sticks to his plan: do his work, make a good impression, avoid Carlos.  He’s successful in that last goal too, for a while. But of course, nothing good can last and one October afternoon in the faculty room, his streak is broken. 

 He crossed the room towards the mailboxes without glancing around and didn't think to check his surroundings until a familiar voice called for his attention. 

 “Hey TK, how have things been? You settling in alright?” 

 He froze, slowly glancing up from the flyer about the can drive he had been reading. He knew before he saw (there was no mistaking that voice) but his heart still skipped a beat just the same. 

 “Carlos, hey. Yeah, it’s been great actually. No problems at all.” 

 Carlos grinned at him and TK had to remind himself how to breathe. “Glad to hear it. Oh,” he said suddenly, “this is Michelle Blake, one of the school social workers. And my best friend,” he added with a roll of his eyes when Michelle, apparently, gave him a pointed look. 

 She grinned at his addition before turning to face TK. She looked him up and down appraisingly before speaking, “It’s nice to finally meet you TK, Carlos has mentioned you.” 

 TK flicked his gaze to Carlos who was very intently studying the rice in his lunch and studiously avoiding both their gazes. “Nothing bad, I hope,” he said lightly. 

 Internally, he was panicking.  

 “Definitely not. Nothing but the truth I’m sure, and the truth was all good.” 

 “Right,” TK said with uncertainty. He waited, but Michelle did not speak again. “Well,” he said eventually, “I should get going. I just wanted to grab these flyers and then I was going to try to use the rest of my prep to try and put together a mini-unit for Halloween.” 

 At this, Carlos looked up, “What are you thinking?” 

 TK shrugged, “I was leaning towards Poe. Always a classic, and in my experience, kids have always liked his stuff.” 

 “I have some materials you could use, if you’d like. I’ve done that before, so I have most of the stuff in one of my binders.” 

 “Really?” he didn’t even bother to hide the surprise in his voice. 

 Carlos nodded, “Sure. You can stop by at the end of the day, if you’d like.”

 TK hesitated. One the one hand, there was the pact he had made with himself: no distractions. On the other, there was a unit he wouldn’t have to plan. Which meant more prep time to spend on grading, which meant less work to take home.   

 “That'd be great, thanks. Room 214, right?” 

 As if he could have forgotten. 

 Carlos nodded in confirmation, “See you later then?” 

 “Absolutely.” 

 Then with a smile to the pair, TK was gone. He didn’t realize he was still grinning until he ran into Paul outside of his classroom. The other teacher looked at him suspiciously, “what has you looking so chipper?” 

 “Nothing,” TK said too hastily, judging by Paul’s look, “one of the other English teachers has materials I can use for a unit I wanted to do so as long as they work out, that’s an entire unit I don’t have to plan.” 

 Paul nodded appreciatively, “That’s a lucky break.”

 TK nodded again before excusing himself and stepping into his own classroom. The rest of the day flew by and before he knew it he was seeing his last class out the door. Once they were gone and the hallway was mostly clear of students, TK grabbed his things and headed up to room 214. There’s a trophy case down the hall and he stops and anxiously checks his reflection before approaching the door to room 214. It’s open but TK hovered at the threshold nervously, knocking on the doorframe to get Carlos’s attention. He looked up from his desk and the smile that spread across his face at the sight of TK nearly had him holding onto the doorframe for support.

 “Hey,” he said in what he prayed was a normal voice, “I was just here for those files, if you still wanted to give them to me?”

 “Actually, I’ve changed my mind and you can’t have them.”

 “Oh,” TK said, “I’ll just go then, sorry for—”

 “TK, I’m kidding,” Carlos assured him as he stood up from his desk. “I offered them, didn’t I? Besides, we’re working on college essays and applications; there won’t be any time for Poe this year.”

 “That’s a shame,” TK noted as he took a few tentative steps inside the room, “but I’m sure they’ll appreciate it when they have their applications done.”

 “That’s the hope,” Carlos agreed, “but right now they’re not too fond of me.”

 TK chuckled and Carlos looked up from the bookshelf he was scanning to see TK still standing a few feet from the door. “I don’t bite,” he deadpanned, “you can come in.”

 TK laughed nervously and crossed the room, coming to a halt several feet away from Carlos. The other man continued scanning the shelf and upon finding what he was looking for made a triumphant noise before turning to face TK, holding out a binder. TK raised an eyebrow and took it, glancing over at the shelves that were filled with neat rows of binders all clearly labeled.

 “You are aggressively organized,” he noted.

 Carlos chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah. I know it looks like a lot, but after switching grade levels a few times it’s the only way I can keep anything straight anymore.”

 TK nodded as he slipped through the binder, “That’s fair. I used to have a lot of binders like that too, but I thankfully digitized them before I moved down here. I can’t imagine transporting all those across the country would have been fun.”

 “No, I can’t imagine it would be. Guess it’s a good thing I have no intention of leaving.”

 TK looked up from the binder to see Carlos studying him. He smiled at the other man, who returned it before settling onto the desk across from TK.

 “I didn’t realize you were new to the area.”

 TK nodded, “Just moved here from NYC about 2 weeks before school started.”

 Carlos raised an eyebrow, “that’s ambitious.”

 TK sighed and nodded. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice, but everything happened so fast. Thankfully everything has worked out pretty well so this may not be the horrific disaster I thought it would be.”

 “That’s optimism for you,” Carlos observed dryly. “What brought you down here, if you don’t mind me asking.”

 TK’s hand froze in its journey down the page he was reviewing as his other hand clenched the binder tightly.

 “Just looking for a fresh start,” he said evenly, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the page before him and praying that Carlos could not hear the racing of his heart.

 If Carlos noticed anything odd, he didn’t let on.

 “That’s a big change. Did you come down here alone?”

 “Just me, myself, and my boxes.”

 “So why Austin then? I could be wrong, but it seems like a pretty big change from NYC.”

 “I wanted to leave the city and try something new. I saw this opening here, researched the school, and decided it was worth a shot. What about you though,” he asked, switching gears and looking up from the binder, “Austin born and raised?”

 “Yep, go Longhorns,” he said with forced enthusiasm. TK raised a skeptical eyebrow and Carlos pushed on, “never mind. So,” he continued, and TK noticed a change in his tone that had him looking up again, “leave anyone behind in New York?”

 There was silence for a moment as their eyes met and they both knew what was really being asked.

 “Just my dad.”

 “Yeah, I only have my family too. But there’s a lot of them so that’s more than enough.”

 TK smiled in spite of himself. “My mom’s in New York too, but she’s always traveling for work so really it’s always been just me and my dad. Honestly, leaving him there was the hardest thing about this move, and the only thing I regret.”

 He paused in the wake of his words, surprised by how much he just shared with this near stranger but before he could dwell on it Carlos was giving him a reassuring smile that set his nerves at ease.

 “Sounds like you’re close.”

 “We are,” TK confirmed, voice growing softer as he thought about his dad. “He’s still my hero, always has been. He’s a firefighter, and I thought I wanted to be one when I was young too. But as I got older, I saw the toll it took on him and decided to take a different path. I still love and admire him for doing it though. I couldn’t picture him doing anything else.”

 There was quiet in the room again. TK started to panic, thinking that maybe he shared too much (he still can’t believe he said any of that), but something about Carlos makes him feel so comfortable he hadn’t even noticed until the words were already out there. He’s about to apologize when Carlos speaks.

 “I get that. My dad was a cop and it was the same way when I was growing up. He was larger than life and my hero; I wanted to be just like him. But then I got older and decided I didn’t like the reality of law enforcement as much as I had the concept. I decided I could do more good from inside a classroom and well, here we are.”

 “Here we are,” TK agreed, “who would have thought?”

 Carlos laughed appreciatively and the sound washed over TK with all the warmth of sunlight. He smiled back at him before turning his gaze back to the binder. The conversation flows easily between them and before TK knew it he caught a glance at his watch and let out a curse when he realized how late it had gotten. Carlos gave him a questioning look and TK gestured up at the clock, “We should have left ages ago. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you up; I’m sure you have things to do.”

 “It’s fine, this was nice. Maybe if you stop by more often, we can chat in smaller increments. Otherwise I’m afraid this is just going to keep happening—I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go quickly if I don’t think there is a chance of it happening again within the next year.”

 TK rolled his eyes, “Well excuse me for being busy settling into a new school.” 

Which was a reasonable excuse. There is no way anyone would suspect he had been avoiding the other man (even though he absolutely had been).

 Still, this had been nice.

 He fingered the strap of his bag as he picked it up, “maybe we can continue this during lunch tomorrow? I’d like to actually ask you some questions about the materials, which is what I came here to do before we got sidetracked.”  

 Part of TK was praying he would say no.

 Instead, he grinned, “sure, I’d like that. Until tomorrow then, Mr. Strand.”

 “See you then, Reyes.”

 And with a wave, he was gone.

 His heart was still racing as he climbed into his car. He leaned against the seat and sighed. Operation avoid Carlos Reyes had officially crashed and burned. This was a terrible idea; he should find a reason to cancel tomorrow and go back to avoiding him as much as possible. This was a risk he didn’t need to be taking.

 But even as he sat here, he couldn’t ignore the warm feeling of the aftermath of a pleasant conversation. His mind was shouting at him that this was a terrible idea, but he was having a harder time believing it with every passing second. His rules said no dating, but there was no reason they couldn’t be friends, right?

[Continue Reading on ao3]

[star-anise]

Hey! I recently discovered and devoured the Wild Magic series at my local library, and the romance that developed at the end of the series was actually very upsetting to me. Not only was the age gap huge, the power dynamic was one of a student and her mentor, which felt v wrong to me. I read these at a much older then intended age, and I’m curious to get the perspective on this of someone who read them at the “right” age. Was this gross at 10? How do you feel upon reflection?

When I was 10, I thought it was FABULOUS MAGICAL ID CANDY and would have been upset if the series ended any other way. 

Now that I’m older? I still understand why the relationship works for these people in this culture, but the age gap is genuinely bad optics and teaches kids some bad lessons, like, “It’s definitely great for teenagers to date people twice their ages!”. 

But at the same time, if you gave me the series to rewrite (for example, if anyone wanted to hire me to help create a TV adaptation!), I wouldn’t take Daine and Numair’s romance out, personally; I’d change it to make it more appropriate, both altering their respective ages, giving Daine more development and maturity, than I think you could get away with in 1990s YA, and giving them some time without the student/teacher roles before the romance happens.

Part of why teenagers in our culture are so vulnerable is that there’s an extreme dichotomy between “you are a NAIVE AND INNOCENT CHILDLING you do NOT get to make your own choices” where kids can go right up to 18 having never made any important choices for themselves–not their hobbies, not their studies, not their forms of relaxation, not their friends. They’ve never had a haircut their parents disapproved of, and suddenly they’re shipped off to university with total autonomy. Or, before 18, most kids in most places do not have the right to learn anything more about sex than their parents want them taught; if their parents refuse permission to sex ed in school, they might not know anything about sex. And then they turn 18 and they lose most of the legal protections keeping them safe from predators and it’s open season.

That’s a really bad disconnect. It takes a lot of practice to learn things like “disagreeing with people without completely losing your shit” or “telling someone you love who wants something from you that you don’t want to give it to them” or “telling people vulnerable things about yourself and having that respected”. Those are the fundamental building blocks that make relationships safe, that let you add more reactive chemicals like romance and sex without it all blowing up.

Tortall is in its way this dream of an adolescence where you get to start doing meaningful work right away. In other series, Kel and Alanna chose to pursue knighthood at ten years old, and Neal is like this ~super late entry~ at 14. Pages leave “school” and become squires doing fieldwork at 14, usually. Meanwhile, I knew what I wanted to do when I was 12, and I spent the next twelve years jumping through academic hoops that only vaguely related to that before I could even get close to the kind of work that I wanted to do (and am now doing). I feel like there’s got to be some reasonable middle ground between “Let’s send 14-year-olds into battle!” and “You may begin acting like an adult at age 25″.

A big part of the difference between Daine and actual teenagers is that she’s been functionally treated by everyone in the cast as… if not an adult, then a fully autonomous adolescent who answers for herself. She gets to make all the important decisions about where she lives and what work she does. She’s had authority over fully grown adults since she was like… 13? 14? And all the other adults have completely backed her up in that. The adults around her know she’s young and learning and a little unsteady on her feet, so they provide her education and emotional support and financial resources and social support.

Of course, as a 10 year old, I then thought it totally reasonable that *I* should be able to function as a mini-adult, and that… is not actually realistic, both because I hadn’t had nearly the same enculturation that would prepare me to make those decisions, and everyone else in our society is not really equipped to handle Adolescents With Jobs. 

I’ve held back from writing my dissertation on How I Would Change The Immortals (for example, if someone wanted me to adapt it for TV…) right now, because I have some thoughts on what a more accurate and healthy portrayal of teenage development should be.

Because while kids in our world do need protection as they mature, that maturation cannot just be this purity culture “YOU CAN HAVE SEXUAL THOUGHTS ONLY ABOUT SOMEONE WITHIN TWELVE MONTHS OF YOUR OWN AGE” bullshit. Some of the purity police literally say that acknowledging that teens have sexual thoughts is “sexualizing minors”, as if human sexuality literally only springs into being when kids have passed some magical age.

The truth is the absolute opposite: Kids need safe ways of exploring themselves and their sexuality. A complete absence of things like dating people within a few years of themselves or reading a wide variety of stories about relationships, both good and bad, doesn’t generally protect them; it atrophies their ability to make critical judgments and decisions. Kids need to be encouraged to experiment in whatever way is comfortable for them, and then ask themselves questions like, “How does this make me feel? Do I like this? What don’t I like about it? What would I change if I could? Do I want to do more of this, or stop? What else would I rather do instead?”

This could be anything from an aroace teenager reading books about romance and going, “Yeah, that does not at all sound appealing to me” to a teenager having a crush on their teacher and learning how to handle those emotions in a way that makes it easier for them to have a crush on someone who’s actually a dating possibility, to teenagers actually–gasp!–deciding that a certain kind of sex (including a certain emotional connection and physical aspect) sounds really cool and they’d really like to try it if they can find a safe and willing partner. They might even learn about how to do that safely and find someone willing and appropriate and try it out! And that’s a process that should be supported by not having to lie to adults about what they’re doing, and by proper sex education, birth control, and medical care.

And then when you’re an adult, when you have actual mastery and ability to decide between several different viable life paths… you actually can re-negotiate a few relationships. Relationships can go from adult-child to adult-adult. You’re not nearly as vulnerable. And in that place, there are a lot more possibilities open.

[spooks-and-tea]

Entangled (Spencer Reid x femReader) [Ch.2]

Summary: You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were watching Criminal Minds, and the next moment you were literally in the show. Can Spencer be the key to helping you find your way back home?

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of su*cide, bad explanations of quantum mechanics, sexual situations, the usual criminal minds-type content

A/N: 2 chapters in one day for you :)))). I plan to make this one into a few parts if people like it. If this has any relation to other fics it’s not intended. Literally just an idea that popped in my brain. I’ll also eventually add it to my wattpad .@ kittentastic

Word Count: 3,401

Chapter 1.  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 4. Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7. Chapter 8.  Chapter 9.  Chapter 10.  Chapter 11.

************************************************************************

Spencer left you laying in the backseat, finding a spare blanket in your trunk to wrap you in. He dressed in his now semi-wet clothes and you threw on yours as he drove. He didn't speak to you. You caught him looking at you through the rearview mirror, but you had trouble reading his exact emotions, some profiler you were.

Spencer parked the car and you managed to stand with his help. You threw the blanket back inside and, with Spencer's arm around your waist, you managed to make it up a flight of stairs to a familiar apartment door.

No way.

This was Spencer's apartment.

When the door opened, you stood still at the doorway, eyes wide as you scanned the room. Spencer looked back at you, curiously, as you had stopped him in his tracks.

You looked like a child visiting a Disney park for the first time.

The apartment looked exactly as it did in the show; filled with books. You felt almost giddy as Spencer placed you on the couch. This was Spencer Reid's couch! These were his things! Your brain screamed, but your pain returned and you were thrown back into reality.

Spencer sat next to you, handing you a warm cup of tea, while clutching his own. He looked down at the swirling steam rising from the cup, taking a shaky breath, and finally spoke.

"Why? Why would you do that? Why would you just- try to take your own life like that?"

You sipped at your tea, trying to think of an answer. You hadn't fully come to terms with what had just happened.

You didn't want to die, and you hated the water. The thought of what you had nearly done sent a spark of fear through your spine, but you were so sure that this had been a dream.

"I wasn't trying to end my life," you answered; truthful, but vague.

"Then please explain to me exactly what you were trying to do because I don't understand why you would even want to step foot near a large body of water." He sounded angrier now, rightfully so.

"You know I hate the water?"

"Yeah, your dad. Something to do with your Dad." Spencer narrowed his eyes, subconsciously trying to find answers in your features.

"Spencer I want more than anything to tell you why I did that, but I'm afraid anything I say will make you think I'm absolutely insane."

"Does this have something to do with your memory loss? Is it the lack of sleep?" Spencer tried to reason.

"Yes and no. I've been sleeping just fine." Your throat began to burn again as you took another few sips of tea.

"You know you can trust me. If something's been bothering you, we can find you help. This can be between us and I can get you the best treatment in the country."

"I'd like it if we just kept this between us, Spence," the nickname fell easily from your tongue, "but I don't need treatment. I'm fine, really. I'm not depressed and I'm not suicidal, I swear. I can't explain why I did it, not yet." You looked at him earnestly, hoping he could profile that your were telling the truth.

Spencer's face fell, his eyes going glassy.

"What can I do that will help you then?"

Your heart clenched in your chest. Never before had you imagined you would make Spencer Reid cry. You must be really important to him in this reality.

"Spence." You set your now finished tea down on the coffee table next to his and reached up, wiping a stray tear from his cheek.

"Please don't cry, Spencer."

He held your hand over this cheek. His touch was magnetic, you hadn't noticed the pull before, but now it was obvious. You wondered if he felt it too as he grasped your hand tighter.

"What am I supposed to do then? I-I nearly lost you today! I just want to help you get better."

"You saved my life. I can't thank you enough. And you don't have to do anything more than be your normal, amazing self."

From an outsider's perspective the man in front of you should have been a complete stranger to you, but in your eyes, you already knew him. You've watched him fight his addiction, prison, relationships. He had been through it and yet he still found it in himself to dedicate all his time and energy into saving lives and putting unsubs behind bars. The last thing he needed was someone else to worry about.

You weren't sure where you fit into the canon of this universe, or if Spencer's struggles had even played out the same way they did on the show. You only knew that you had one goal at the moment and that was to make Spencer Reid happy.

"At least- at least stay with me today. Let me take care of you," Spencer spoke, rubbing at his tired eyes.

You opened your mouth to protest despite the butterflies in your stomach, but decided it was best you stayed. Letting Spencer care for you would probably give him some much needed peace of mind. This was just as beneficial to him and, truthfully, you didn't want to leave his side. That magnetic feeling returned, pulling you to him. Before you knew it, you were hugging him close to you.

"I'll stay as long as you'll have me." This wasn't just your hopeless crush on the man talking, you had a feeling this magnetic pull could be what pulled you into this alternate reality in the first place.

************************************************************************

Loyal to his word, Spencer took care of you. He made you warm soup for lunch and spaghetti for dinner and repeatedly checked your temperature throughout the day. You even made him check his own temperature a few times.

He gave you some of his clothes to wear, changing out of his own. Thinking about his daring rescue made your stomach tighten, he really was a superhero. You told him so as you both, ironically, watched a Marvel film together.

He gave you a small smile. You were happy he was smiling again, it was one of the first things that made you love his character. Come to think of it, now that all of that adrenaline and confusion was gone, your nerves were setting in. This was the man you wanted so badly to be real and walk into your coffee shop on one of your painfully long shifts. It was one thing to daydream about it, but to actually have him in front of you was beyond nerve-wracking.

Now that you physically had him here, you didn't know how to react. Like a fan girl? He had thousands, and he didn't even know it. Were you canon in this story? Were they watching you on their television screens right now? Had they seen the way he held you in the backseat of your car?

Your vision focused as Spencer waved his hand in front of you. You swallowed, feeling dirty and guilty for the past thoughts you've had about those restless hands as they trailed down book spines. You felt guilty for ever sexualizing the kind-hearted, selfless man taking care of you.

"What are you thinking about?" Spencer asked.

Way too many things.

"How did we meet, Spence?" You could see the eidetic brain gears turning as he looked down at his wringing hands. He scrunched his nose in thought.

"I-I don't- I don't remember," he looked up at you in disbelief.

"How could I not remember? The...the only clear memory I have of you is you leaving my apartment last night." Spencer's hands started to shake.

This was his worst fear coming true. You instantly hated that you had even brought it up. This universe had somehow written you in from the time you fell asleep to now. Everything else was just planted information, it never happened. You and Spencer had never had a first meeting because you've only just started existing here. How could you explain this to him?

"Spence. I have to tell you something. It's going to be hard to grasp, and I know we've already had a hell of a day. I'm sorry I've caused you all this pain when all you've done is help me, but you have to promise me you'll keep an open mind. Please don't think I'm crazy. I can explain why you and I don't remember. I know I asked you to wait for an explanation, but I can't deal with this alone. I need someone else here to know the truth." You gently cradled his head between your hands as he looked at you with wide, fearful eyes. Not fearing you, but fearing his own mind.

He nodded, appreciating your touch grounding him to reality.

"I'm a barista and an aspiring actress. I live alone in a small apartment in L.A. The last thing I remember before waking up in the bullpen today was falling asleep on the couch of my apartment. I was watching a television show called Criminal Minds and had an audition lined up for it tomorrow." You swallowed as Spencer stared at you, unblinking.

"The show is about a team of behavioral analysts who work at the BAU headquarters in Quantico, profiling and catching criminals. The team changes, but consists of Hotchner, Garcia, JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, Gideon," Spencer inhaled when you listed Gideon's name, "and my favorite character, Dr. Spencer Reid."

A second of total silence filled the apartment.

Spencer's hands dropped limply at his sides. He looked at you now as if you were a stranger, and you technically were, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"I know you don't believe me. I wouldn't believe me, but think about it Spencer. You don't remember me. You remember assorted facts about me, but today was the first day we met. Last night didn't actually happen. Isn't there a scientific theory out there that explains alternate realities?"

Spencer stood up suddenly and covered his mouth with his hand, raking his other hand through his hair. He walked to his bookcase and back, pacing, while sometimes glancing down at you. You couldn't begin to imagine what was going through his head. You decided to relate it to something you knew he knew well.

"Doctor Who." You stood up on shaky legs, Spencer moving to catch your elbow before you lost balance. He looked at you, waiting, listening, wanting to believe you weren't a stranger.

"Rose Tyler gets stuck in an alternate dimension in which she previously doesn't exist, but her deceased father is alive and well there. The Doctor can't traverse to see her without threatening to rip time and space apart. This is my alternate dimension, Spencer.  Please, if you know me at all, you'd know I am not smart or creative enough to make something like this up." You pleaded with your eyes for him to understand, for that crease in his brow to disappear.

He stayed silent, looking straight through you.

I'm losing him. I've fucked up.

"Please say something, Spencer, you're the only thing that has felt real since I woke up here. I just got cleared at the hospital, my brain is functioning fine, I'm healthy."

"When you jumped into the lake. You were trying to return to your reality. You thought it would wake you up." Spencer shook his head, putting pieces together as he went back to pacing.

"Look at me, Spence. Profile me if you have to. I'm telling you the truth."

"There are plenty of unsubs that think their contrived reality is the truth, you've seen them."

You deflated, feeling your shoulders go slack. He was comparing you to delusional criminals. You should've expected that it would be too much for the analytical Spencer Reid to accept. What else could you say to prove to him you were telling the truth?

Spencer suddenly stopped pacing, staring at his bookcase.

"Quantum mechanics," he spoke.

"What?"

He turned around to look at you.

"There's an interpretation of quantum mechanics called the many-worlds interpretation, created by physicist Hugh Everett. Though many physicists call it a theory. The interpretation can be explained through the Schrodinger's Cat equation in which the cat, placed in a box, exists in two different realities. One in which it is alive in the box and one in which it is dead in the box. These realities then branch off into more realities, like tree branches. There is a consequence to this theory, as observations of events are constantly taking place, the number of possible, simultaneously existing realities, is always growing as the interpretation chooses to discard the wave function collapse process. Subsystems may exist independently, but once they interact, they become relative. Once the observation is made the observer and the object become entangled and new states are created. Every reality created is equally real, but do not interact with each other unless this entanglement occurs. It's a highly debated interpretation in the scientific community."

You stared at him, mouth open in shock, trying to process all of the information he was throwing at you. He took a step towards you, one hand in his pocket, while the other accentuated his speech.

"Essentially if multiple universes exist. If what you're saying is true, then our subsystems have somehow become entangled, yours and mine. One universe in which you exist, and one in which you never existed. We're both the observers of our own universes and you've crossed over into mine, creating another branch in the system of my universe in which you and I can exist simultaneously." Spencer licked his lips before continuing.

"The problem is this is nothing but an interpretation of quantum mechanics, an ongoing debate. There are so many theories that exist in that realm of science that all have their inconsistencies. There's no way of knowing for sure how or why this is happening to us, or what will become of it."

You weren't sure if you had fully understood his theory, but he sounded serious, he believed you. Suddenly, you didn't feel so alone.

"Oh, Spencer. Thank you!" You threw your arms around him, hugging him.

He stiffened, but slowly wrapped his arms around you. "It was my memory that made me believe. I could never forget you. Doctor Who helped too."

"What are we going to do, Spence? What if this happens to me again, where will I end up?" Cosmic fear gripped you as you imagined yourself as a character in a Twilight Zone episode, doomed to dreading the unknown.

"We're going to continue living as normal. This is real, though it might seem like a dream to you. There's something that pulled us together, a magnetic force that entangled our worlds. The possibility of you being here at all is infinitely improbable. The probability of this to happen again is just as infinitely unmeasurable. You're a physicist's dream girl, Y/N."

You blushed as he called you a "dream girl." His explanation put your nerves, and existential dread at ease. He was always better at statistics than relating to others emotionally on the show, but his info-dump in this case made you feel sane.

You felt emotionally and physically drained. This was definitely the longest day of your life. Spencer felt your weight against him and pulled away.

"It's been a long day, how about we try to get some sleep? We can talk about this more tomorrow."

You nodded, eyelids already growing heavy. You turned to collapse back on the couch.

"Oh no. You're taking my bed tonight." Spencer stated.

"I'm fine, Spence, you're too tall to comfortably sleep here. You can have the bed, it's the least I can do after all you've done for me."

"No, you said I could take care of you today. This is me taking care of you." Spencer held out his hand, leaving no room for arguments.

You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness, finding it fitting for his character. Would you ever stop referring to him as a character? Clearly if he existed here, Mathew Gray Gubler didn't. That thought made you feel a little upset.

You took his hand without further protest and he led you to his bedroom. He turned on a light and pulled back the sheets, gesturing for you to climb in.

"Try not to sleep on your back, you swallowed a lot of lake water today, there's a good chance it won't stay down. Tomorrow I'll check your temperature again. You seem to be recovering well, but there's always a chance of pneumonia." You nodded, sitting down on the bed in front of him.

"Will you stay?" You asked as you pulled to blankets up, feeling so small in the large bed. The infinite universe and its sub universes had already had you feeling tiny. 

Spencer to hesitated.

"In here? On the floor?" Spencer asked, a bit flustered.

You shook your head and pat the empty spot next to you. It wasn't a plot to seduce the man, honestly, you just didn't want to let the only other being in the world who understood your predicament out of your sight.

"Please. I don't want to be alone." You said, after he stopped to consider it. The magnetic pull gave a tug, you absentmindedly leaned towards Spencer. You didn't notice him do the same towards you.

"Okay."

He turned off the lights and crawled in. You turned on your side to face him. His face was illuminated by the moonlight, the shadows accentuating the sharp angles of his face.

If this were a dream, you would reach out and trace the lines, feel the coarseness of his stubble. If this were a dream he would reach up to leave a gentle kiss on your forehead and pull you close to his chest. If this were a dream you wouldn't feel so nervous to be close to him. You would show him just how grateful you were to have him around; just how lucky that, of all the possible universes, you ended up in the one with Spencer Reid.

"How does it feel?" Spencer whispered, not daring to clash with the stillness of the night.

"Hmm?" You hummed, meeting his eyes.

"Before today, I was nothing more than a character in a crime show. A writer created me, and an actor brought me to life on the screen. How does it feel to meet your 'favorite character?'" Spencer smirked.

"Of course you remember that. I can't believe I told you that you were my favorite." You chuckled, Spencer's own smile reflecting yours.

"I guess I accepted you as a real person when you saved my life. Although, it's strange, knowing who you are, your likes and dislikes, your characteristics, seeing your triumphs and trials. I still find myself relating the small things you do, like scrunching your nose and info-dumping, to the character I've observed."

"Why am I your favorite?" Spencer sounded genuinely curious.

You tried to think of a way to explain in which you didn't sound like a fan with a blog full of Spencer-centric gifs. Not to mention, the staggering amount of fan fiction you consumed on lonely nights.

"I-It's okay, you don't have to answer that, but it's nice to know that you think so highly of me. Don't let Morgan find out, you'd ruin his ego." Spencer laughed to himself. "Although I'm sure he's a fan favorite and you're an exception in the viewership."

"You're plenty of people's reason to watch the show, Spence. You don't even know the half of it."

"Do they like me, or the actor who plays me? Wow, that feels weird to say."

"Both. You two are alike in some ways, but I think you are different enough that it's easy to love the character while knowing nothing about the actor. I should also say, you're a bit of a teen heartthrob, they seem to really like you."

Spencer snorted out a laugh at your last comment.

"Me? A heartthrob? You really are from an alternate reality."

You rolled your eyes.

"Sometimes you can be absolutely clueless."

"What? How?" His voice raised an octave.

"Forget it. Goodnight, Pretty Boy." You closed your eyes, not trusting yourself to hold back a blush if you met his eyes.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Next Chapter

[toonqueen]

Duckvember 2020

PART 1 OF 2

Part 2 is Here

Frenemy AND Paramour

This is my Negaverse Gladstone (Grimstone) and Nega Magica in my 87/Comics headcanon. SHELDRAKE is @cataradical 's and he’s a cool jerk. Wheee.

THERE IS CUSSING and dirty things said. It’s the Negaverse that's just what goes down there. PG-13ish?!

--------

Sheldrake was glad to have a very easy mission this time. It was planned to be the typical “act natural at a party, steal a thing, and then slip out” kind of job. And it was a solo mission; no coworkers to be annoyed with him (and vice versa). To top it off, he was actually invited to this shindig. Well, his paladin sect received the invite, but that meant he didn’t have to sneak in. With everything added up, it was practically a vacation!

What Shel expected to be a boring hunters’ gala was anything but. The leaders of different groups were trying to appeal to a modern, younger crowd. Instead of a stuffy meeting with the typical job fair flair, it was a real, honest to God party. A full bar! And dancers in cages! Sheldrake couldn't help but chuckle at how hard old fogey hunters were trying to get new blood. Crimey.

The paladin went to the bar and ordered a drink. He sat on a stool facing the crowd, keeping an eye out for his target. 

"Well, hello there," a sultry voice greeted him. A tall redheaded duck leaned up against the bar beside him. She motioned to the bartender to get his attention. "I'll have what he's having."

Sheldrake wasn't caught off guard by the attractive duck's flirting. Despite his cursed energy that often drove others away or made them immediately dislike him, people that were intentionally and professionally deceptive could overcome it in an attempt to get something they wanted. Lord, it was a test, though.

The lady’s tight red dress and orange wavy locks were clearly up to no good. She was a literal red herring if Shel ever saw one. However, he played it cool.

"First hunter's gala?" He sipped his drink and gave the mystery woman a smile.

"Oh, I've been to a few--none quite like this though. Luckily I dressed for the occasion," she paused like she was turning a knob to up the seduction. She moved around, but kept looking back at Shel. "It would be even more exciting if I had one of those VIP passes I've heard others whisper so much about."

Sheldrake smirked. He knew this overtly sexy duck was trying to weasel her way to being a plus one on a special invite. However, he was curious as to why. "Yeah, it would be great to have one of those. But what is it even for? To join an exclusive party with more go-go dancers in cages?"

The redhead let out a giggle. A high pitched one, as if Sheldrake were just the funniest, most charming guy in the room. "I heard it was for a special auction. A bunch of rare items retrieved and uncovered by different hunters,” she replied. “My, I couldn't afford any of them, but I would love to look. Be some nice arm candy for a kind gentleman."

Sheldrake just chuckled before taking a sip of his drink. The lady hadn't touched hers yet. She watched him, slowly drawing her finger around the rim of the glass with a bewitching glow in her eyes.

Finally, Sheldrake said bluntly, "I'd give your performance a 9 out of 10. It might work on those first year hunters over there.” He waved vaguely to a group of younger bachelor-types chatting and laughing on the dance floor. “However, not quite buyin’ what you’re sellin’.”

The redhead shot them a quick look before turning back to Shel. "But they're not my type," she pouted. She leaned in a bit toward the paladin, and placed her hand over his on the bar. "I’d rather have someone more seasoned who can answer any questions I may have about the artifacts."

"Oh, I see, I see; switching gears, okay, okay. Stroke my ego first, then go for my intellect? If sex doesn't sell, then try brains? Gettin’ any warmer?" Sheldrake downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Well, this has been very amusing, and I wish you all the luck. Unfortunately, my VIP pass is just for me and doesn't allow a buddy. Boo dang hoo. Maybe try one of those light paladins in the white capes over to the left. They're way more sociable and have to travel in pairs." He gave another general hand wave… everywhere.

The redhead narrowed her dusky eyes. It was the first time she had shown any annoyance with Shel--ah, there it was, back to normal. The paladin slid off his stool, but before he could stand, the lady pressed her entire body flush against his side, beak in his head feathers..

Sheldrake expected a final desperate plea. Something to the effect of “I really need to see this event for my research,” or “please help me, I lost my own pass and my sect will be furious.”

Instead he got a low, unexpected voice. A familiar one that could be likened to Antonio Birderas' role in “Debate with a Vampire”, except if he were a white peking duck raised in suburbia with a twinge of a farmboy accent.

"Shel, I need to get into that auction to obtain a crucial item," Grimstone's voice whispered clearly out of this petite, curvy redheaded lady’s bill, "you have to give me your pass."

The paladin did not outwardly act surprised. He had 100% picked up the fact this woman was hiding something--more than the obvious. He did not expect, however, that Grimestone would be involved.

Shel hummed shortly. With a coy smile, he slid a hand around the redhead’s waist, whispered, "I didn't know you were so proficient in glamour spells."

"I'm not," Grimstone said, his voice reverting back to that soft, playful feminine tone, "my wife is one of the gentlemen servers."

"Oh, how cute," Sheldrake teased, pulling away from the duck.

"She doesn't like to be… flashy," Grimstone explained, a little defensive, looking over his luscious figure and tight-fitting dress.

"I get it, I get it. Taking one for the team, hm?" the paladin smirked as he sized Grimstone’s disguise up, "give my compliments to the caster, though.” He blew a kiss from his fingertips, as if praising a delicious gourmet meal. “Great job. Succulent, divine, mouthwateringly juicy."

Grimstone scowled, crossing his arms. "Sheldrake, the pass."

"Sorry. I have business here, too," the paladin disagreed, "why don't you try those frat boys I recommended earlier?”

"I’ve already tried. You were my last resort. Trust me, this is for the greater good," Grimstone explained.

Sheldrake put his hand to his chin, pretending he was thinking deeply. Grimstone and him had an interesting work relationship; they’d helped each other on several occasions in the past, but also had been on opposite sides a few times, too. Finally, after much consideration, he said casually, "Yeah, no. I'm sure you'll find another way."

Grimstone’s tiny manicured fingers curled into tight fists. "Is there somewhere private we could discuss this more openly?" he pressed.

"Man, this is a borderline orgy sex party. I'm sure there’s a room we can get for a half an hour," Sheldrake replied, then gave an obnoxious wink. 

Grim rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. People have been dipping out to the stairwell to smoke. We’ll talk there,” the disguised warlock suggested.

“Sure. Sure. I take it your high school prom wasn’t that exciting,” Sheldrake taunted. 

Grim sighed and nodded to a waiter nearby before taking Sheldrake’s arm in his. “Let’s walk, then. Hopefully no one’s there at the moment,” he said. Despite the voice coming from the redhead being so playful and demure, Sheldrake could tell Grimstone was using his “I'm taking charge of this operation” tone. 

Sheldrake would normally roll his eyes when Grim spoke to him so seriously, as if he were one of his many wild rugrats. However, he played along, swaying off side by side with this very attractive lady.

Once outside on the desolate stairwell, Grimstone exhaled heavily. "There is a magical person of interest I’m here to free, and it's of the utmost importance that I do.” He spoke in an unusual voice; neither his normal voice, or his disguise’s. Rather, a unique combination; feminine, but more husky. Kinda cute, actually.

"And you don't think what I'm doing here isn’t important, too?" Sheldrake replied, loosely crossing his arms.

"I really *do not* have time for this Shel. I’m handling a case where a school of children were transformed into inanimate objects, and I need to free this woman known as the Brunswick witch who specializes in these curses and can break it,," Grimstone explained. He glanced cautiously at the stairwell window.

"And I have an out of place artifact from a different universe I need to win--or steal, if I have to. I can't give you my pass," Sheldrake insisted. He was going to add a flirty comment, but quickly saw the short nod Grimstone gave in the window’s direction before looking back at him again. 

Sheldrake sighed. "You're really going to fight me in a building full of hunters?” He leaned close, booping his beak against Grimstone’s. “*Really*, my guy?”

"I need the pass, Shel. You leave me no choice," Grimstone lamented, rolling his hands up his arms as if drawing back sleeves. Sheldrake expected a punch, but was instead tackled around the waist like a damn linebacker instead. 

Sheldrake would’ve had the wind knocked out of him if he hit the ground like Grim intended. Instead, he wiggled his shoulder and pulled an arm free, grabbing his attacker. With expert ease, Sheldrake pinned Grim down on his back with one knee in a partial straddle. 

Brushing loose bangs from his eyes, he looked down to see if Grim had slipped out of his glamour in the brief scuffle. Rather, Grimstone’s disguise was shifting, brows becoming thicker, body filling out, patches of feathers turning black.

Grimstone was trying to copy and transform into Sheldrake. 

“Aw,” Sheldrake chortled at the struggling duck, “well, they do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Grimstone gave a distinctively annoyed “ugh” before ripping an arm free and grabbing Shel by the throat; however, he didn’t squeeze or attempt to choke him. "And I do often tell you to go fuck yourself."

"That… trying to be a badass line doesn't quite work in your position, buddy," Sheldrake added as he fought to keep Grimstone's hand down.

"I just have to,” Grimstone's voice dipped back down to his own before changing into one eerily similar to Sheldrake’s, "keep you talking."

"Hol-lee shit. Well, the glamour spell might’ve been the missus, but you're totally doing that all on your own. How quaint! I can't believe you've been holding out on me. I thought you told me *all* the tricks you could do," Sheldrake replied. Grimstone went to grab something, anything from Sheldrake’s pocket. “Oh, no, you don't! Don't get handsy with me."

"You didn’t have a problem with it before," Grimstone snarked at the comment. He continued flailing and clawing until Sheldrake eased back to elbow him in the beak. Just enough leverage for the warlock to free his second hand, grip Shel’s shoulder tight.

Grimstone snarled, twisting one of his leg's around Shel's until they switched positions, the paladin now pinned beneath the demonic duck.

"How is it that we're both expertly trained in hand to hand combat, but whenever we fight, it’s like we’re stupid little kids slapping each other on the playground during recess?" Grimstone grunted. He continued searching desperately for some personal item on Sheldrake while also trying to hold the speckled duck down. Shel managed to punch him in the jaw before Grim hooked his arm around Sheldrake's to pin it back above the paladin’s head.

"I just assume,” Sheldrake grunted, arm freed and throttling Grim, "I assume we don't really want to kill each other, so we do all this bullshit ass grabbing--"

The stairwell door abruptly and loudly opened. Both ducks stopped fighting, looking up with eyes comically bugging from their shocked faces.

A paladin recruit in their early twenties stared back at them, blinking. “Um…” he gaped.

Two almost identical dudes, possibly, maybe twins, with one wearing a sexy dress, wrestling on the stairwell. 

“Look,” the recruit grumbled, raising a hand, "I'm not judging whatever fetish is going on here, but please do it somewhere more, uh, private? Some of us need to vape.” With a grumble, he left, shutting the door behind him.

"Well, shit," Sheldrake snorted. Grimstone sighed. The two relaxed and unwound, sitting side by side.

"We need to solve this. Now," Grimstone said firmly. Sheldrake watched as he stood, offering his hand to help the paladin up. "I don’t want to fight you, but I need to save those children."

Shel blinked then finally conceded with a big, exaggerated sigh. "Okay, okay.” He took Grim’s hand. “... Actually... I think I have an idea."

-----

The third floor of the hotel was unsettlingly quiet. There was a low murmur of voices coming from the auction room, barely audible outside the door.

"Grim! Grim!" the blonde duck whispered harshly as she walked up to Sheldrake. The male server uniform Magica wore was baggy when she was out of glamour. She fixed the bun in her hair as she said, "You have to be careful. I overheard a few disturbing things about the auction… I'm worried some of the items could hurt you. Maybe… maybe I should go instead."

"It's fine, it's fine. I know what I'm doing. Besides, I'm the only one who could get his voice right,” Sheldrake--Grimstone--replied. He smirked, a slight leer on his beak. “But how about a kiss for good luck anyway?"

Magica glanced around the hallway; with the coast clear, she leaned in to peck the corner of Grimstone’s beak. "Please, please, please do be careful," she pleaded.

Magica turned to leave, then stopped; turned back around quickly. She took Grimstone’s face in her hands and pulled him into a deep kiss. He could feel her tongue shyly stroke his for a second, hands affectionately squeezing his cheeks, caressing the corners of his beak. 

The light witch broke the kiss when she heard a noise from down the hall. Luckily, they were still alone.

"I'm getting this foreboding feeling off you, Grim,” Magica said dubiously, “you sure you're full up on luck?" She let his face go and stepped back, slipping into the form of a masculine Borzoi waiter. 

The “paladin” restrained an amused grin. "Really, I'm fine,” he reassured. “You do your job, and I'll do mine.” He winked, then entered the ballroom.

Magica took the stairwell at the end of the hall to the lobby downstairs, only to be greeted by Grimstone a second later. She looked up, eyes wide; it was Grimstone’s voice, undeniably, but he was still disguised as Sheldrake.

"Love, there’s been a change in plans," Grim stated.

With a blink and *poof*, Magica changed back to her normal form. "Who... what...? I thought I just spoke to you a second… You were that paladin, but... How?" She squeezed Grimstone’s shoulders, scanning his eyes and face closely.

"I’m disguised as the paladin I told you about, yes. He’s agreed to help us; we need to wait by the fire escape in case he needs emergency back-up should anything go wrong," Grimstone explained.

Slowly, color drained from Magica’s beak.

“What is it?” Grimstone asked, concerned.

"N-Nothing!” Magic squawked. How could she have been so easily deceived-- “I'll explain later. Let's go help your friend." She quickly disguised both herself and Grimstone as canine servers. "We'll just… act like we’re taking a smoke break in the back."

"Good, I was thinking the same.” Grimstone frowned and looked away. “And he's not my friend…” he trailed off.

"But we can trust him to help us, right?" Magica asked in her own voice.

"Eh, we can trust him, but not *trust* him," Grimstone said vaguely, “if you get what I mean.”

Magica rubbed her temples. "We're leaving this mission to a paladin *you don't fully trust*?"

"Oh, I don't know. I seem to remember doing the same thing a long time ago, and that worked out just fine," Grim said with a half smile, squeezing Magica’s shoulder.

"That's different! I was a lightbearer. I--" Magica was interrupted by the opening of a stairwell door above them.

Grim took Magica by the arm. "Let's go take that smoke break," he said quietly, guiding her down the hall.

------

[lightspeedrobin]

Found (Chapter 3) - Morisawa Chiaki/Reader

Summary: Chiaki can vaguely remember that time in kindergarten when he saved a girl during a school field trip but he knows that it was the first time he became someone’s hero. With only a dolphin plush and a worn-out handkerchief to remind him of that memory, he finally meets her again.

A/N: A lot of IRL stuff happened which caused the delay of this update but here it is~ Hope you enjoy and please look forward to the next and final chapter~!

Chapter 3: A Snippet of the Past

-

It seems like today is his lucky day as Chiaki is called up on stage by the emcee, his smile couldn’t be any wider as he joins the other kid next to the sea lion. The next bit of the show was to have volunteers from the audience play some tricks with the aquatic animal. 

He was waving excitedly to his mom from the audience seats when he heard a scream followed by a splash of water.

The crowd was in panic as the girl was pulled underwater, the emcee calling for a lifeguard through the microphone and the girl’s classmates shouting at her. Chiaki is stunned as well. One second she was just standing next to him and the next she’s gone. 

But he was moving before he even registered what he’s about to do and jumped into the water, the worried voice of the emcee fading as he tried to swim deeper into the water to reach the drowning girl.   

‘Heroes have these kinds of moments too, huh? Suddenly rushing in to help without giving it any thought.’, he thinks to himself, stretching his arm long enough to grab hold of the girl. With the sudden charge into the water, however, Chiaki didn’t have a chance to take a deep breath so he was struggling to pull themselves above water before he ran out of breath.

But he couldn’t hold it any longer. He lets out air from his mouth, bubbles escaping and making their way upwards, and started to inhale water. It was painful. Despite that, he kept a firm hold of the girl’s arm. Judging by the ease of pulling her towards him, the animal must’ve let her go.

However it was too late, as Chiaki’s senses were fading and his grip started to loosen.

It was the aquarium staff who ultimately saved both children, pulling them out as quickly as they could. Thankfully, they were able to regain consciousness after receiving first aid, and their worried parents rushed in.

As his mother was patting his head in relief, Chiaki looked over to the girl who was fighting the tears in her eyes, telling her mom how scared she was and the older woman comforting her. She seemed okay physically, at least.

They were led to the infirmary for a quick check-up, and after confirming that both didn’t sustain any injuries were taken to the souvenir shop to get some dry clothes.

--

Chiaki feels a tug on his shirt and turns around to see the girl in a fresh new set of clothes bought from the shop. She was fidgeting with her fingers before shyly meeting his eyes. 

“Mommy said I should always thank people who help me… so… thank you very much for saving me!” She bows her head and Chiaki is at a loss for words. 

“No, no. It wasn’t really me who saved you.” The young boy quickly denies despite the warm feeling her words brought him. He felt like he didn’t deserve the gratitude. He did almost drown with her after recklessly jumping in after her.

She shakes her head. “I already thanked the nice adults earlier. But you were the one who tried to save me first, right? So, thank you!” She insists and bows her head again. The sincerity of her voice made the young boy give up any more argument and accept her gratitude. He smiles in reply.

“A hero never hesitates when there are people in need, after all.”

Chiaki then notices a paper bag beside the girl. It was the same size as the one he has after purchasing a souvenir from the shop. “Did you also buy one?” And the girl tilts her head to the side in confusion.

He points to the bag. “A souvenir, I mean.” He clarifies. She turns her attention to the bag and nods. 

“Yes. The dolphins from the show were cute”, she reaches inside the bag and reveals a pink stuffed dolphin, “so I want to keep one too!”

Chiaki’s eyes grow wide and opens his own bag. “I also liked the show so I got one too!” A blue stuffed dolphin peeks from inside, the same kind the girl has. The girl gasps in awe and giggles before speaking again. “We match!”

“We do!” And he matches her laughter with one of his own before being interrupted by a sudden sneeze, surprising the both of them. 

“Are you okay?” The girl worriedly asks, and Chiaki quickly wipes his nose with his sleeve. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine! This usually happens when I get a little chilly but it should be fine when we get outside.” He explains. He was never good with changing temperatures to begin with and the air conditioning of the shop was doing more harm than good. They did both just came from the outside stage earlier and that summer heat was no joke. Not to mention them being dripping wet not too long ago.

The girl gives him one more concerned look before patting on the pockets of her skirt. She pulls out a handkerchief. “Here, you can use this. Mommy always makes me carry one.” 

Chiaki was hesitant but gave an awkward laugh before taking it. “Thanks! It’s a little embarrassing you had to see that.” He can already feel his cheeks turning red. He should really start bringing a towel of his own in the future. But the girl pays it no mind and says that it didn’t bother her at all.

Before they could start another conversation, a voice calls out and the girl turns around to see her mother waving at her from the entrance. It must be their time to leave.

“Mommy is calling me... I guess it’s time to go home.” She says, a hint of sadness in her voice. The girl didn’t move from her spot and looked down on the floor with a frown. It must be hard to say goodbye to a new friend so early.

A cheerful ‘Well, take care!’ should at least break the silence, Chiaki thought. Though he too didn’t want to part too soon, he knows his mom would be calling for him too. So he puts on a brave smile and steps forward. But just as he was about to open his mouth the girl lifts her head.

“It was nice meeting you! Thank you again for rescuing me!” She spoke with all the appreciation she felt at that moment. “... And I hope we can meet again.” She quickly grabs her paper bag and runs away before Chiaki can even utter a reply. She takes her mother’s waiting hand but before the two exit the shop, she turns around.

“Bye bye, Mr. Hero!”

--

Chiaki lies awake on his bed, his mind still reminiscing the incident from long ago. How could he have forgotten? 

He remembers having a field trip when he was younger. A troubled expression of his mother when she realized Chiaki picked up the wrong paper bag from the aquarium shop. And the panic he felt after realizing he and the girl had accidentally swapped bags. He remembers coming down with a fever on that same night.

So that memory wasn’t a fever dream after all? 

He sits back up on the bed and reaches for the old paper bag he left by his bedside. A pink dolphin, a handkerchief, and a name. No matter how many times he opens it, nothing changes. He closes his eyes to let it sink in once more.

He was the one who saved her. He was her first hero.

--

After dropping by the ES building for work, Chiaki spends the rest of his free time roaming around ES. He still can’t believe it. Remembering what happened is one thing, but meeting the girl he had saved back then was almost too coincidental that the brunette wonders if there really is some divine being at work here. Or it could also be fate trying to tie them together. Not every person you meet will cross paths with you again, after all.

Maybe this is the universe giving Chiaki an opportunity to give her back her handkerchief. He didn’t really intend to keep it back then, just wipe his nose quickly and then hand it back, but she was gone too soon. The pink dolphin was hers too, so he can give that back as well. But that could mean her giving him the blue one, which was supposed to be his. She had treasured his dolphin for so long and for her to just return it like that, in exchange for a pink dolphin that he didn’t really paid attention to all these years, would be a really disappointing trade.

All he’s thinking right now is if their current relationship would change if he tells her. And if that change would be for the better or for the worse. 

Right now, he’s assuming the worst.

He thought a walk would clear his mind of these thoughts, but it only made him think about them more. He needs to find another way to distract himself.

But somehow in his wandering around, he ends up at the front of the cafe. He must’ve navigated there by instinct, though he wasn’t sure if he would call it that considering he was only able to go there twice. Well thrice, if he counted today.

He steps a little to the far side of the road to let the other people walk past. It would look a little suspicious if people saw him just staring at the shop so he takes out his phone and pretends to be texting someone. 

He subtly looks up from his phone to see inside the cafe and spots the owner by the counter, picking up the orders to serve. Another female joins her with a tray in hand. That must be the other employee who was sick for the last few days. Well, he’s glad the owner didn’t have to wait tables alone today. Yesterday was a hectic day indeed but today’s atmosphere looks a little calmer, with a manageable amount of customers. 

‘There was a festival nearby which would explain why there were a lot more children in the area’, was what the owner told him.

At the thought of what happened the previous day, Chiaki remembers a funny exchange he had with her. He had tried to pay for his order but she insisted it’s on the house, saying that she might still get in trouble for making him work so it’s the least she could do.

“Haha! I told you, you won’t. So it’s okay, really. Let me pay for it.” Chiaki was already reaching for his wallet, taking out some L$ and placing them on the table in front of her

She pushed the money back at him, shaking her head. “Well, then just consider it as payment for helping out. It’s the least I can do.”

“No, no. Just take it. I’m still a customer after all!”

“Usually when someone’s offered something for free they’d gladly take it, you know?”

“And I’m not one who just takes advantage of that and not compensate you properly for your hard work.”

Their exchange went on for a few more minutes until both started laughing at how silly they both are for just a parfait. In the end, they decided to just meet halfway and pay the dessert on a discount. 

A small laugh escapes Chiaki’s lips after looking back at the memory and he finally tucks his phone back to his pocket. Maybe he really is just overthinking it all and she’d actually be happy when he tells her. Maybe. He should probably at least tell Kanata or Kaoru about this whole situation. Knowing their thoughts about it would also help him get out of his pessimistic tunnel vision.

Chiaki nods to himself and takes one last glance at the cafe before heading back to the office, now with an objective in mind.

--

this fic is also up on my ao3, @lightspeedrobin , do give me a follow there too if you can~

Ch.2 | Ch.4

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before AU (Sanders Sides Style)

I have decided that I am going to write a fic from my prompt list!

I was thinking that I would write a To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before AU.

But who was to be the protagonist?

Who is multishipped?

Who is a hopeless romantic?

Who is a total dumbass?

Ah. There’s the protagonist.

But what is his characterization besides the letters?

-Has probably been to many, many ren fairs.

-Seriously. His cosplay game is superb.

-Theater kid disaster trying his best.

-How many trees has this kid fallen out of? How many cliffs? He is great at climbing stuff, and terrible at getting down from them (and generally good at getting into situations and not knowing what to do next).

-Has watched the Princess Bride 500,689 times.

-Not exactly drastically unpopular but a bit too odd to be capital p Popular? Roman is like terms and conditions. Always accepted, but ignored.

-Does he have all the confidence or none of it? Find out at 7.

-Secretly likes the idea of having a crush more than the prospect of an actual relationship.

So, Roman writes letters whenever he falls in love. As in TATBILB fashion, he’s written five so far, all of them hidden away. 

But will they ever be [gasp] sent? Take a wild fricking guess.

But whoever would do something so chaotic?

Remus. How could you. Such betrayal. 

-Remus is a band kid. Trust me on this one.

-He’s probably on this hellsite.

-Honestly all the Dark Sides would be on the hellsite, whether through emo-ness, wanting to fist fight the government, or just sheer chaotic energy.

-He can always find a way to light something on fire. He doesn’t even have matches. The stuff is just On Fire and no one knows how to stop him.

-You want to hear some serial killer trivia? No? TOO BAD!

-Would just randomly post this picture to the Dark Sides group chat:

Alongside the words, “Ever wondered why people fear geese?”

(Virgil: WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK Janus: Well, I can cross “staring death in the eyes and screaming” off of my bucket list.)

-Could win Jeopardy if the theme was “trivia facts that have made the school counselor quit”

-Positive attention, negative attention, hey, people are acknowledging his existence!

But we need more people in this fic. For starters, who have these letters been to?

Introducing, These Poor Fools!

Okay, so Patton isn’t actually one of Roman’s love interests. There hasn’t been any romantic feelings between them since 5th grade. Roman would have trashed the letter by now, but it’s nostalgic and funny at this point.

But they are best friends!

They’re both Terms And Conditions, plus they support each other’s weird hobbies, be it ren fairs or increasingly convulsed plans to break into the local shelters and steal all of the dogs and cats.

Oh, yeah.

-Patton’s grand ambition is to break into the local shelters and steal all of the dogs and cats.

-It’s mostly a joke, but he has the blueprints of every building.

-SWEATERS!!!

-He has been told he’s a great baker. This is because he is too endearing to tell him that he is a terrible baker. In truth, he can make toast. Barely.

-Probably listens to ABBA music.

-WHY DO SPIDERS EXIST??? HE KNOWS THAT HE LOVES ALL ANIMALS IN THEORY, BUT HECKING SPIDERS

-Very, very opinionated, while looking like someone who has no opinions on much of anything.

-Why isn’t there anyone in his life who isn’t having a crisis right now including him? Are all senior years like this, or is his especially chaotic?

-Emile

-Isn’t

-Really

-In

-This

-Fic

-Beyond

-A

-Few

-Mentions

Remy!

-“I couldn’t care less”, he says while getting too invested in the drama.

-”Why can’t you people leave me alone”, he says while trying to discreetly match-make.

-”All of this pointless drama”, he says while making like half of it.

-His sunglasses will remain on his face at all times or the universe explodes.

Logan!

-ACTUALLY didn’t intend to be in the drama

-SERIOUSLY EMOTIONS HAVE RUDELY ENTERED THE BUILDING AND IT’S ALL HE CAN DO TO BEAT THEM BACK WITH A BROOM

-JUST...HIT YOUR EMOTIONS. WITH A BROOM. IT’LL WORK, RIGHT?

-On the debate team and great at it.

-You can Ethos, Logos, Pathos your way into asking someone out. This is going to work!

-BUT WHAT IF IT DOESN’T THERE ARE NO RULES OR JUDGES TO SOCIAL ENCOUNTERS JUST COLD HARD FAILURE

-Almost got a B+ once. The memory haunts him.

-Doesn’t know anyone else in this fic. Everyone else has like vaguely met, or at least know of the other’s existence. But Logan doesn't knows who the hell any of these people are, just that they are screaming messes.

-Sherlock fan. Doctor Who fan. Has probably gone to many a comic con.

-Knows all the words to In The Heights and can probably rap Guns And Ships flawlessly.

And finally, Janus, Roman’s latest crush!

-Also a theater kid disaster

-Is technically the head of the Dark Sides (they won’t be called the dark sides in the fic, of course), but, like...he shouldn’t be in charge of anything?

-He’s the most responsible one out of the friend group, but that’s because that particular bar was laying on the ground. No. Six feet under the ground. So he’s the “responsible one” but compared to a normal human he is not responsible AT ALL.

-”I know what I’m doing!” Narrator voice: He did not, nor will he likely ever know what he’s doing.

-Will physically fight the government if given half a chance

-Is his brain an interconnected web of genius or a broken compter with a post-it note saying, “Give Em’ The Old Razzle-Dazzle” on it? Nobody knows.

-Chicago. It’s memorized. All of Chicago is memorized.

-Slytherin, but in a good way.

-Conspiracy theories galore.

-Plays piano

And there you have it! Everyone Roman sent a letter to!

What’s this? 

You’re saying I forgot someone?

I assure you, I did not.

VIRGIL!!!

-What are his thoughts on everything? Well,

-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

-HE JUST WANTED TO BE LEFT TO THE GLORY OF MCR’S RETURN IN PEACE AND NOW EVERYTHING IS THIS MAMMA MIA HELLSCAPE

-Stupid love pentagons. Stupid high school. Stupid Roman...

-He and Roman are kind of nemeses, but it’s not like he’s Princey’s only nemesis or anything. This guy goes through nemeses like crushes.

-🎶Everything is chaos! Everything is chaos! Everything is chaos and he’s going to scream!🎶

-Panic!, yet nary a disco in sight

-Let’s play the game of, “where can Virgil sit that is not a chair?”

-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

-He’s fine.

Hopefully this fic will turn out okay, or even just kind of get completed!

Wish me all the luck

Here’s a John Mulaney GIF for the long post:

[d-pennants]

Spoilers for the Dragon Prince Season 4 and beyond.

My collated notes of all the hints about what is coming up in the Dragon Prince, from interviews, AMA, ComicCon panels. Updated with stuff from Through the Moon.

There will be 7 seasons of 9 episodes each total and possibly some side projects. The story will be in three arcs with a time skip between the arcs. Books 4 & 5 makes up the next arc, which may be called the Mystery of Aaravos. Book 4 is Earth.

Side projects have been confirmed to all be part of canon and include a video game set in Xadia, an tabletop RPG game called Tales of Xadia, a possible feature film of the Orphan Queen and a possible side story set during the reign of Sol Regem featuring Sir Phineas the Cursed and his travelling companion an elf professor Delilah Geel (Who wrote the Secrets of Xadia book).

The video game was in play testing in October 2020, and Wonderstorm was still hiring staff to work on it. After S3 came out they said there was going to be an announcement about the game in 2020, but things may have been delayed due to Corvid.

Through the Moon graphic novel is set between seasons 3 and 4. It feature’s Rayla, Callum and Ezran having returned to Katolis and receiving a request from Lujanne to go the Moon Nexus  for a ritual at new moon and bring Phoe-Phoe’s ghost feather. While there Rayla seizes the opportunity to use the lake’s power as a portal between life and death to try an answer the questions that have been plaguing her about the fate of her parents, Runaan and whether Viren is truly dead.

There will also be a second graphic novel set between seasons 4 & 5.

Reminder - stuff said in interviews, AMA & so forth is subject to the team changing their mind when it comes to actually putting stuff in the show or books. They’re still planning things out. So take things as “the current idea is this, but we’ll see how it pans out”

There’s no word on how long the time skip between season 3 and 4 will be, however, Through the Moon starts 3 days before new moon and S3 ended 2 days after full moon, which is only 11 days. About 17 days pass in TTM. The Tales of Xadia TRPG is also going to fit in between these season too. AE said a vague ‘lots of weeks.’

Season 4 will include the hero trio trying to address how to heal and start to change things in the world, however there are scars history has left that will impede them. Aaravos will bring those scars to bear, though the creator did say that Aaravos himself didn’t cause those scars, he ‘brought it out’ in the people who did.

There’s a big theme of understanding what’s happened in the past and how it affects what’s happening now. Questioning what their fore-bearers have done, admitting fault and forgiving mistakes. (BTW, this is on both human and Xadian sides).

“Ezran is the key to everything.” Ezran’s empathic ability will allow him to play a role in the world no other can as he can connect to non-human beings. Though the circumstances of S1-3, who his parents are and his strong compassion, Ezran is in a unique position to cause real change.

Callum will learn more Sky magic spells well as obsessing to work a connection to another arcanum - he is dedicated to being the best mage he can be. Callum will always have a conflict between what do you want to do with magic and what will you do for magic. One hint given is that Callum cannot perform healing with his Sky magic. On an Instragram Live AE admitted he was trolling a bit, but said a betting person would pick Callum being the first human archmage. On an AMA there was a hint that historically there may have been elves that learned a second arcanum. (However, interview stated Aaravos’ mastery of all the primals is just him - he’s special).

Callum’s ‘destiny’ is tied in with the Key of Aaravos Rune Cube. It will be very important coming up. The Key is being pulled towards a location in Xadia. The closer it is to the location, the stronger the pull. (Reminder - it previously belonged to Aaravos and unlocks a great power in Xadia). In Callum’s Spellbook it says that once Zym has been returned Callum intends to find out what the Key does and make Harrow proud.

Writers have been very cagey about whether Callum being able to learn an arcanum means other humans can. “Callum learning Primal magic means that Callum learned Primal Magic.”

They’ve referred to him as the first human to learn an arcanum. However, another interview indicates that humans may have been able to connect to the primal sources in the past - thus Callum relearned something that has been forgotten for over a thousand years

Are non-magical species able to evolve into one that can use magic?

JR: There have been humans long in the past that could have AE: Yeah, right JR: They’re like [waves hand], but modern day he’s a phenomena. Like nothing is done like this no longer. AE: Yeah, I mean if Callum is developing the ability to do Primal magic do you believe that Callum is special because he’s the only human who’s able to do it or do you believe that that Callum is special because he’s the first human in forever to realise it is possible for humans. You know that kind of a little bit the question - I mean he’s special either way and right, but is he special because he’s realising that that maybe those limitations weren’t true or is he an exception to to this limitation.

Cartoon Universe interview

Though they did point out there’s not been much incentive in the last 1000 years for humans to learn Primal magic, given that Dark magic is both easier to use and more powerful.

Rayla will have an inner conflict about her future as a Moonshadow elf that she needs to figure out. Including how being friends with humans and wanting to be a protector rather than the assassin she was raised to be will affect her relationships with her people. (Plus, the whole being ghosted and ghosted parents issue needs to be addressed). Update info from TTM: Rayla ends TTM by going on a quest by herself to locate Viren. Her clues are the Storm Spire, a cave and... a giant cocoon.

There is an unspecified but important storyline involving Runaan. But the coins will get addressed at some point.The coins would require very powerful magic to release the trapped elves and it may not be possible for Primal magic. However, Viren is capable of releasing people he has coined.  Also, Rayla knows something happened to her parents, but doesn’t specifically know about the coins. Viren showed Rayla a pouch and mentioned adding her to his collection. AMA answer suggests Callum didn’t see what Viren did in the history spell - he just know Viren did something to Rayla’s parents. TtM seems to confirm Callum’s spell didn’t show that part. Whether Gren saw Runaan in the coin seems up to debate - in the novel he knew Viren used magic on Runaan came out holding something small, like a button or coin.  (PS. They also confirmed Runaan slew Harrow, and Harrow is dead dead).

Soren has a complicated future ahead of him as he’s lost the only support system he’s known his whole life. He has a lot to learn and many places to go.

Claudia is going to get a lot worse and there’s a long way to go for her, though they did hint that there’s hope for her in the end. Her motivation is love and family, not power. However, she is willing to go to great sacrifices for her family... Also, her hair will get whiter. 

“When we get back to her in Season 4, there is some amazing stuff, just in the first few episodes, which by the way are also funny and quirky and all the things we’ve come to love about the character, but she becomes a very critically important driving force of the narrative in Season 4.”

Inverse interview.

It will be explained in S4 how Claudia was able to perform the resurrection spell. It hasn’t been used previously because she either a) didn’t know it - as in Aaravos taught her it - or b) didn’t have what was necessary to cast the spell.

The story about how Claudia managed to find a supposedly extinct for a 1000 years unicorn and capture it will be addressed in S6.

According to Claudia’s VA -  Racquel Belmonte - Claudia will likely have a protege dynamic with Aaravos. She will change her mind a bit on disliking all elves and open up a bit on seeing Viren’s connection to Aaravos.

They have a backstory about why Viren treats Soren so harshly compared to Claudia (though he’s manipulative of both), though it’s not indicated when this backstory will be shown. New info from the book said that Viren used dark magic to save Soren from dying of an illness. This ravished his appearance and whatever he did scared his wife, Lissa, into leaving him. Also Viren wanted a son who would carry on his path and is disappointed Soren isn’t like him. Viren feels some resentment towards Soren that he refuses to acknowledge.

AMA confirmed that Lissa will not be making an appearance in S4 or 5. There is a possibility she may be included in S6, but it’s just a potential idea. Early mage fam life involving Lissa will come up in the novels.  (BTW she currently lives in Del Bar and was in no danger from the smoky assassin as she has nothing to do with the leadership of Del Bar)

Viren became a bit of a card carrying villain in season 3, however in season 4 & 5 some of the complexities behind his actions will be revealed. (His VA said that Viren had understandable reasons in S1 & 2, but was a villain in S3, however, he’s happy with how S4 & 5 will develop Viren. Also he gave a strong hint that Viren will have a kind of “fresh start” thing going on, and “do a 180″, and his story is apparently kinda wild). 

Viren and Aaravos: Viren didn’t take Runaan’s warning that “you found something worse than death” seriously enough. Viren is ‘in hot water’ in his dealings with Aaravos. The question over time would be - “Wait, am I making my own choices or am I being led to choices you wanted me to make, Aaravos?”

This current era will be known as the Return of Aaravos. Apparently in S4 & 5 Aaravos is going to be very... mysterious. In fact the arc could be called The Mystery of Aaravos.

“The next two seasons are about understanding who Aaravos was, who they thought Aaravos was, how they realized what was happening, and imprisoned him.” 

This is tied into the Orphan Queen storyline, for more info see this post. Parts of this storyline will feature in flashbacks S4 onwards.

A lot of Aaravos’ motivation comes from a relationship he had with a character whose name is featured on the map from the novel. (Candidates are Skall’s Hook, Ruins of Elarion, Mount Kalik and Eboreus. They said on a Q&A that Elarion wasn’t referring to a person, just the city).

Aaravos has a speech coming up in S5 that explains about the history of magic and why he’s interested in humans. Summed up - Over 5000 years ago there was only one kind of magic, deep magic, and it was very difficult to wield, then something happened that split magic into the 6 Primals Source and gave every creature and plant a connection to one of the 6 Primal Sources, which were much more practical magics. Except humans. 

When asked what was coming out of the cocoon an interviewer gave “Aaravos’ physical form” and some jokes options. Ehasz replied, “I’m gonna say none of the… well, I’m not gonna say.” TtM update: In the world between life and death the cocoon held a corrupted version of Viren - a month after Viren was resurrected at the end of S3. Rayla says Viren is caught between life and death, but in the living world.

Janai is Queen Khessa’s heir, so she should be the next Sunfire Queen. Janai also has a brother. (Sunfire elves also have a Light Being form with healing powers that’s even rarer than the beserker Heat Being form. This fact has come up a couple of times so they’re likely going to introduce a character with this form - could be Janai’s brother). 

Janai will find out that Aaravos whispered something in Khessa’s ear before he killed her.

Also on Amaya and Janai:

Also, they did a reveal page for Janai's mount, a Twin-Tailed Inferno-Toothed Tiger, with some interesting info. These flying firecats are believed to only tolerate those of pure-heart and aggressive to those of ill-intent. You can't give a factoid like that and not use it somewhere.

Tales of Xadia will feature storyline content that bridges the gap between Season 3 and the newly-announced Season 4 of The Dragon Prince,” according to Fandom’s press release. “Players can explore the ruins of Lux Aurea, try to restore the corrupted Sunforge, and fight to stop the spread of the evil monstrosities it radiates. This off-screen story will come alive in game supplements—as well as in organized play events—prior to Season 4’s release.

Forbes

Sol Regem will be in season 4. (No character makes me think of “scars of the past” more than this character. He is not going to be interested in reconciliation between Xadia and humanity).

There will be a new elf character - Terry the Earthblood elf. Has similar powers to Toph from Avatar tLA and is said to be very funny. For reference this Earthblood elf is from Callum’s Spellbook;

Also a new dragon in season 4 - Rex Igneous (Fire King) the Earth Archdragon, who lives underground but comes up every hundred years. He’s appeased by food he hasn’t tried before (looking at Ezran and his jelly tart habit here);

They mentioned that both Earthblood and Tidebound elves will be introduced in seasons 4 & 5.

There’s another archdragon who has been mentioned at SDCC and in the novel, Luna Tenebris, who reigned between Sol Regem and Avizandum.. Ehasz said that the end of her reign is being explored in S4, but no current intentions to explore the beginning.

JR mentioned that the territory of the Skywing elves will be visited at some point, and how having a small portion of the population that has wings, and a even smaller population that can magically manifest wings, has an affect on their culture. (The three types apparently have different outlooks - with winged elves being known for moving on when they don’t care to deal with things).

They’ve mentioned a character that will be introduced in the video game will make it into the show. AE & JR were talking about how they were currently writing stuff for S5 and how this character just got their moment, so I think this character is due in S5.

Core novel Book 2: Sky will introduce a very important Dark Mage character not yet featured on the show.

Also, as a tidbit from AE - there’s a scene in S5 where someone makes a sacred promise to Bait.

Sarai will feature in the show again. AMA confirmed Callum’s father is “fully human.” His father may come up in the novels.

In the novel new lore about unicorns was introduced. This lore will be incorporated into the show at some point.

The reactions to elf/human romantic relationships will be a thing.

Aanya will be featured again. Ezran and Aanya will be friends. 

Queen Fareeda of Evenere actually survived the smokey assassin’s attack - she just went missing for a bit. Her story may come up later on.

Captain Villads and Berto are likely to be featured again, but not confirmed. 

They do have some stories about Callum’s father they want to tell, but it’s likely to be in books rather than making it into the show.

Crow Master has scenes coming up. The Crow Lord is real but that’s all they’re gonna say.

Some very epic beings will eat jelly tarts in the show.

And a finishing note to put the fear in you - possible major character death.

PS. It has been confirmed that Rayla, Callum, Zym (and Bait) are the main characters for all seven seasons, so this leaves... Soren, Claudia, Viren and Amaya. 

[damienthepious]

[spoilers re: the new ep redacted]

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 11)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [ao3] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: It is just the three of them, for a while. Until that begins to feel almost normal.

Chapter Notes: Psst. Happy Lizard Kissin' Tuesday! I am tired and have ceased to be creative. Chapter specific warnings for... hm. Some fraught arguments, I'll say. Not much more than that, this time.

~

Damien prefers to stay in the room, if Rilla and Arum are sharing space. Paranoid, Rilla thinks, but she can usually keep the frustration of it from biting at her. He's mostly harmless, anyway, and if she can get him talking enough to where he seems to forget Arum is there, it's almost pleasant. Arum pretends not to care one way or the other, but Rilla knows his body language well enough to tell when he's either nervous about Damien's scrutiny, or alternatively when he's just as drawn in to Damien's stories as she is.

"Amaryllis… explain the muttering to me," he asks, some afternoon when Damien has left to report back to the Citadel.

"The muttering?"

"Incessantly," Arum growls. "The muttering of your little knight. He is a poet, that much I understand, and the constant spinning of tales is not entirely disagreeable, but even leaving that aside, must he be always chanting to himself?"

"Yeah," Rilla says. "He actually does kind of must."

Arum frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's important to him. Praying to Saint Damien."

"Saint," Arum hisses darkly, rolling his eyes.

"It helps him think, helps him keep himself calm."

"Tranquility," Arum mutters, his frown deepening. "Hm. That does not bother you, then? His chattering?"

"It's important to him," Rilla repeats. "Saints know I have my own irritating habits, anyway." She pauses as Arum scoffs, and then she shrugs. "I mean, I'd be lying if I said I never got annoyed with him, but I love him. Talking to himself- talking to his Saint doesn't hurt anything. If it makes him happy, I wanna do my best to support that."

"How magnanimous of you," Arum drawls, his teeth bared in a vaguely malicious smirk.

Rilla frowns. "Don't."

He blinks. "Don't- what?"

"I know that look," she says. "I know you like pushing his buttons, and I know he's cute when he's flustered, but this- it wouldn't be the same, Arum."

"I- cute? I don't have the first idea what you are talking about, takatakataka."

"It's fine if you tease him," Rilla continues, "but I'd really appreciate it if you made an effort not to make fun of him for that."

Arum opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, and then he flinches and looks away from her for a long rattling moment. "I… I do not intend to do the knight any favors, Amaryllis, but I am perfectly capable of verbal sparring without taking a cheap shot," he mutters, and she buries a smile because of course he wouldn't agree because she asked, but if it's about his own pride-

"Thank you," she says anyway, and then she changes the subject before his growling gets too out of hand.

~

Rilla leans in the doorway of her hut in the morning, coffee steaming in her hand, slowly rounding out to awake as she watches Damien go through his routine with a lazy sort of hunger curling in her stomach.

She hears Arum behind her, limping slowly from his room on the crutch, and she tries not to feel irritated that he's pushing himself instead of asking for help. He is getting stronger, she reminds herself, and she buries the little flash of nerves that comes with the thought.

"Morning, Arum," she murmurs over her shoulder, and instead of going towards the table she hears him pause, and then approach, the crutch thumping rhythmically against the wood of her floor.

"What are you doing, little doctor? Why have a door at all if you intend to leave it hanging in the… wind…"

She doesn't turn towards him, tilting her head to better watch the way Damien is stretching instead. "Morning routine," she mumbles, her voice catching on a yawn at the end. "His, and mine too."

"A-ah," Arum says, and she hears him whir out a strange sort of exhale. "Routine?" he echoes. "He does this… regularly, then?"

"Almost every morning." She takes a slow sip of coffee, and then tilts her head the other way, watching the light gleam off of Damien's skin as he rolls his shoulders before he moves into his next set of forms. "Mm."

"And the- his- clothing-"

Rilla hums again, sighing a light laugh. "No point in getting his shirt all sweaty if he can avoid it," she says, making no effort to disguise the pleasure in her voice. "You won't hear any complaints from me," she murmurs, and then she takes another sip. "Anyway. You sleep alright, Arum?"

He doesn't answer for a moment, and Rilla glances over her shoulder. Arum's head is tilted as hers had been, his lips just barely parted, his tongue is flicking lightly, and his eyes are very obviously fixed on Damien.

Huh.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Hmm…" Arum trails off, then he blinks quickly as he seems to realize what she actually said. He flinches, the crutch skidding a step against the wood, and Rilla reaches automatically to stabilize him as he hisses in alarm. "Ah-"

"Whoa, easy- I've got you-"

He shakes his head, readjusting and then taking a large and decisive step back from her, back from the door.

"I-" his frill flutters, but he clenches his teeth and it settles before it can flare entirely. "Certainly you will forgive me for being distracted by the sight of the outdoors, Amaryllis. I have been cooped up in this hut for- for entirely too long. I am unused to prolonged captivity, I am sure you understand," he hisses, looking very deliberately away from both herself and the door, and then he hobbles over to sit at the table, growling low as he goes.

Rilla watches him go, too stunned to really respond to that. After a moment, the monster still refusing to look her way, she bites her tongue, and then she closes the door.

~

When Rilla comes into his room Arum is sitting on the edge of his cot, shoulders stiff, and he has her recorder in his claws. He stares up at her, eyes narrowed to vivid violet slits, hard and flat and angry, and Rilla feels a little pang of confused dread drop through her.

“Arum?” she says, and the monster’s lip curls into a sneer as he presses the button down on the device.

“Subject is severely injured,” says Rilla-in-the-past, her voice crackling through the recording and noticeably detached. “Wounds consistent with… attack by another monster. Likely, multiple.” The version of herself on the recording sighs. “Injuries will likely prove fatal. I’ve done what I can to stabilize the subject, but it hasn't regained consciousness, and it's unlikely that it will. Honestly, I would be surprised if it survives the night. Which is unfortunate, since this seems like it might actually be some sort of new and undocumented ashdragon variant, or possibly something even less documented than that, which would make it utterly unique. I guess I’ll see if it regenerates when this particular body dies, and then I’ll have that answer, at least.” Another sigh, some shifting noises. Rilla imagines herself moving some papers aside, possibly a bestiary being closed. “Well, either way I’ll get some interesting data out of it. Even if it doesn’t regenerate when it dies, I’m sure I’ll be able to learn something useful in dissection.”

Arum stops the playback. He drums his claws off of the recorder in a rapid-fire staccato, still staring up at her in silence.

“Arum,” she tries again after a moment.

“I hope, human, that I have provided enough useful data in my convalescence that I have made up for the inconvenience of not dying and presenting you the option of weighing my internal organs.”

“That's not-”

“I knew it was all a lie, I knew there was no possibility that your precious little I am a doctor nonsense was genuine.”

“It was, Arum, I didn’t lie-”

“You kept me alive to gather data. You’ve been spoon-feeding me so as to get a better picture of how your knights might take me and my kin to pieces. None of this was because you-” he cuts off. “How long were you planning to maintain this little play-act? How long until your pet knight was meant to slit my throat? Did you simply want to get in sight of my nest before you destroyed me? How much data were you going to gather before you decided you had properly wrung me dry, Amaryllis?”

“That wasn’t what I-”

“Don’t lie to me, human! I have had enough of this farce.”

Rilla presses her lips together, her throat feeling tight. He’s not going to listen, right now. Not to her, not to-

He won’t listen to her now. But…

“Skip ahead on the recorder,” she says.

“What?”

“Skip to entry four two one one. Should be… eighteen to twenty after the one you just played, I think.”

“Why?” he snarls, ducking his head and clutching the recorder close against the bandages on his midsection.

“Because there’s something else you should hear, too. You heard what I said when I first found you. You should hear what I said after. If you really think that I’ve been using you for some sort of spy work, then the rest of it should interest you too, right?”

He hesitates, his expression tightening. “Perhaps I have no interest in hearing myself cataloged, doctor.”

“Please. Just- listen to it. And then you can decide if you want to- I don’t know. How you want to proceed. But before you make any sort of decision, please- please just listen, Arum.”

Arum stares at her for another long moment, suspicious with a growl in his throat, and then he moves his thumb, sending the recording forward with a thin squeal of sound. He overshoots the start of the entry a little, and it cuts in just in the middle of a word.

“-ter than that, and it seems like his frill is really starting to knit together properly. Finally. It’s been tricky since it’s only a half-conscious thing, the flaring, but- I mean, it’s hard to complain about. It’s always so funny when he gets indignant and it just- fwoops out like that and-”

She laughs on the recording, breathless, and Rilla remembers this moment with exact clarity. The door to his room had been cracked, she could just see half his face through the gap as he rested, the gentle light of early morning on his scales and his expression untroubled in sleep-

“He’s beautiful,” she says, and she still feels the little stunned swoop that realization had made her feel. “He’s… I didn’t know a monster could be so beautiful. I didn’t know they could be funny either, honestly, or- or-”

There is a pause.

“Saints…”

Another pause. Quite long.

“He… um. He’s improving by leaps and bounds, now,” she says, her voice a little clipped, a little muted. “He can almost stand on his own, though it tires him out. He’s… soon he’ll be well enough to travel, I think. Which means we’re going to have to have another conversation, soon, about- about exactly how we're gonna get him back home. And that shouldn’t… it shouldn’t hurt to think about that, should it? It’s good. It’s a good thing that he’s… soon he’ll be well enough to go home, to be free again, to go back where he belongs and rest and recover where he’ll be comfortable and safe, but-”

A little half-laugh.

“I’m gonna miss him, is the only thing. I’ve gotten so used to having him around, and- and even if he’s always arguing about the methodology he’s been so- it’s been nice to have him around when I’m doing my experiments, I mean- it would have taken me ages to think of modifying my bandages with machracnid silk, and the improvement to the elasticity is- but that isn’t even the point, you know? He’s just- he’s-”

Less of a laugh.

“It's almost time for him to go home. It’s the only way to keep him safe. The longer he stays here- I know Damien won't hurt him, not anymore. I think he’s seen it too, he’s seen how- how much- he’s seen Arum, really seen him. I know he has. But every day Arum stays here is another risk, is another chance that he’ll be seen or- and if that happens, then what? I don’t care what they do to me, I’m not afraid of them, but Arum- he’s still not strong enough to defend himself, and even if he was, what would he do against an armed squadron of knights? I wouldn’t be able to do anything to protect him, and- he- I can’t let that happen. I won’t. I won’t let the Citadel hurt him. So- so… so he has to go home. It doesn’t matter that I- it doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to get him home. He deserves- he-”

“Amaryllis?”

Arum’s voice, distant and a little distorted on the recorder, and Rilla-in-the-past gasps lightly. Rilla remembers pressing a hand to her mouth. Remembers plastering on a smile.

“I’m here, Arum. Just a second.” A rustle, and then, quieter, “I’m gonna make him well again. And then I’m gonna get him home. I’ll miss him… I’ll miss him so badly. But I’ll get him home. End of log.”

Arum stares at the device in his hand, his frill flaring around his head in a way that Rilla would otherwise think is appropriately comical. Now, it just makes her want to do something foolish.

The next entry starts a little too loud and they both jump, Arum pressing his thumb decisively down on the button to stop the playback. When he finally looks up at her again, his eyes are still guarded, but no longer furious.

“What… what was the point of that, then?” he asks, voice thick and low.

“To show you how I think about you now. That first day- I didn’t know you, Arum. And that’s not an excuse. Monsters aren’t- you aren’t what I thought you were, and I had no idea- I was cruel. I was callous and clinical in a way that I hate, and I’m sorry you had to hear that. But I was never, never doing any of this to get information on monsters for the knights. Never. And I would do anything to keep them from hurting you now.”

“You… why?”

“I care about you.”

“You do not. I heard- what you said, you wouldn’t simply turn-”

“I don’t agree with how I dealt with the situation, Arum. I- I don’t see you in the same way. Not anymore, and- honestly? I stopped seeing you that way the first time you woke up and I saw- I saw that look in your eyes. And then it got more and more obvious the longer I was around you, the more I talked to you. You… Arum, the luckiest moment of my entire life was when I happened to look at the lake at just the right time to see you. If I hadn’t- if-” she has to stop, to press a hand to her mouth. “I hate the thought that if I just hadn’t looked, you would have died out there. Died alone, in that much pain, out in the wilds. That- Arum, you’re- you deserve- you’re special to me, and I had no idea how special you would be when I first found you.”

“So why keep those notes, then?” he asks after a pause, his tone carefully blank.

“Because,” she says, frowning. “Because of this. Not you finding them, I mean, but because you don’t learn from mistakes if you try to bury them. I’m not going to try to make something go away because it’s inconvenient. I was horrible, the way I talked about you, the way I thought about you, about all monsters. There’s- there so much more out there than I ever knew, and I can’t believe I let myself be so ignorant of it for so long.” She shakes her head, then after a half second of hesitation she steps towards him. She reaches a hand out and- he misinterprets, lifting out the recorder for her to take. She moves her hand aside, instead, slipping her palm along the back of his hand and wrapping her fingers around his wrist. He inhales, sharp, his eyes widening as he looks up at her. “I’m sorry, Arum. Sorry that I talked about you like that, and sorry that you had to hear it after I- after I finally convinced you to trust me, even a little. I’m sorry, and I hope I haven’t- I hope I haven’t broken anything that can’t still be fixed.”

“Amaryllis,” he says, and then he drops his eyes. He does not move his hand, his grip on the recorder flexing awkwardly. “You- you’ve broken nothing, Amaryllis. We- you-”

His voice scatters off, unsure and lost, and after a moment he raises two more hands, one to grip the hem of his cape, and the other reaching by slow inches to brush his palm down her forearm until he can loosely wrap his fingers around her wrist, an echo of the way she is holding him. Her skin tingles at the touch, the gentleness and the cool strange texture both.

“You’ve broken nothing,” he repeats in a low murmur, and then he finally looks up at her again, that gentle violet pinning her in place. “You… you are meant for mending, Amaryllis.”

Her dark cheeks darken further, her lips parting in wordless surprise, and their arms are still clasped as they stare- they are simply staring at each other, now, and-

“Your…” Arum swallows, his thumb on her wrist moving just barely, just gently, tickling the skin at the heel of her palm. “Your heart is beating quite quickly, Amaryllis.”

“You know what a- a quick pulse feels like, in a human?” She asks, raising an eyebrow despite the slight breathlessness in her tone.

“I know what your pulse sounds like. I know when it is…” he trails off, possibly at the way she blinks, startled.

“You can- hear my heart?” She gives the smallest breath of laughter. “Your hearing is ridiculous, huh?”

“Vastly superior to you mammals, anyway,” he mutters, and he barely makes an effort to act as if he means it.

“Your heart is beating pretty fast too, you know,” She says quietly, and his hand flexes against her skin.

“Y-yes, well,” he glances aside, then he sits up a little straighter without pulling away before he meets her eye again. “I apologize, also. For- for ambushing you with this.”

“You don’t have to,” Rilla shakes her head. “I know that what I said was-”

“I have been searching for things to distrust. Digging for proof of deception, for anything that would indicate that your intentions were false, so that I could have some fuel for my anger. I wanted to be angry with you. It is not… easy for me, to accept help, or to- to indulge in hope.” His mouth presses into an uncomfortable line, his frill pressing tight against his neck. “Always you are harping on evidence and proof, and I know- I have seen-” he exhales sharply, not quite a sigh. “I know that you are… genuine, in… caring for me. I do not understand it, but I know. And if- if you- if you are willing to show me such so readily, I should be able to…”

“Arum, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Rilla says, and he shakes his head.

“If I ever-" he pauses. "When. When I return home, at last, I will… I will miss you as well, Amaryllis.”

Their eyes are fixed, each with a hand still gently clasped around the other’s wrist, and Rilla finds that she doesn't quite know how to breathe, with him looking at her like that. Not a great response, Rilla, keep it together-

“In fact,” Arum says very quietly, and his thumb brushes against her skin again and she shivers with gooseflesh instantly. “In fact, Amaryllis, I would say-”

“Rilla?”

Rilla only glances over her shoulder at the suddenness of Damien’s voice in the front room, but Arum pulls his hands away as if burned, his expression going shuttered and distant again. She can’t help the sting of frustration, at that. It’s not fair, of course. Damien is still… well, it’s difficult, anyway. But Rilla is stuck with her mind five seconds ago when Arum’s thumb was gentle on her wrist and he had started to say something. Something Rilla gets the feeling she’s not going to get the chance to know, now, like it’s been chased away. She feels like a glass that got struck on the edge of a table, still ringing. She wants to know where that moment was supposed to go, but now-

She sighs, smiling despite herself. “One sec, Damien,” she calls lightly. “Probably good that he reminded me,” she says, more casual than she feels as Arum looks up at her uncertainly. “I just got done making lunch. It should still be warm. Did you- do you want to join us? I promise I’ll make Damien behave, and if he doesn’t wanna he can just go eat on the stump outside again.”

She’s only half kidding, and the mild mischief in Arum’s eyes at that possibility manages to creep past his guarded veneer.

“I suppose that sounds… agreeable enough. I shall be interested to see if the little knight will stoop to share a table with a monster, today.”

“He’ll deal,” Rilla says. She takes the recorder back from him, and then lifts her hands out again. “Steady enough to stand, Arum?”

He frowns, but he looks aside and reaches an arm to allow her to help pull him up to standing. It’s still a little odd, looking up at him after spending so long with him in that bed, where he has to peer up at her. He still leans on her, just a little, though. Just a very little. Just enough that he could deny it, if asked. His body beside her own is heavy, slightly cool, fascinatingly textured, as always. She does her best not to think about that.

Damien watches them exit Arum's room with guarded eyes, but he does not mention their proximity, nor does he comment on it when Rilla helps Arum settle himself on one of the cushions around the table. After a quiet moment, while Rilla takes her own seat between them, Damien takes the pitcher of water, and he fills three glasses.

~

"What…" Arum pushes a small stack of books aside after dinner, pulling one thin volume out from beneath the rest, and his eyes are narrowed and confused when Rilla glances his way. "What is this?"

Ah. Damn. Rilla absolutely hadn't meant to leave that out- she must have slipped it in with the wrong pile before she put her dads' books back under the floorboards. "Oh," she says, trying to sound casual. Damien is looking at the book too, now, which isn't exactly great. "Uh. I'm not sure. I haven't been able to translate it properly, so I only kind of have an idea what's in there."

Arum frowns, something that isn't quite suspicion crossing his face. "… is this why you asked me about monster languages, before?"

Rilla blinks. "What? No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't gonna bring you a stack of books you couldn't even read."

Arum seems satisfied enough with that answer, but still he turns the slim book in his hands, eying the cover. "Hm. This is simply a coincidental curiosity, then?"

"It- I couldn't find you in my bestiaries, so I wound up pulling out… well-"

"You kept your fathers' books?" Damien asks softly, and she doesn't look at him, trying hard not to wince. "I thought their more…" he coughs, "questionable possessions were- were confiscated."

"Most of them were," Rilla says, her tone going bitter. "Not all. I kept what I could."

"You were looking for me?" Arum says, an eyebrow raising.

"Well-" Rilla glances between the pair of them. "Yeah. I figured that if I could find out exactly what you were it would help me figure out how to treat you more effectively. No such luck, by the way."

Oddly, Arum smiles at that, something smug in the expression as he flips through the pages, his scales making a whispery noise against the paper. "It seems you managed my treatment quite skillfully, regardless, Amaryllis."

Damien narrows his eyes, as if he's trying to find a way to make that sentence fit as a dig instead of a compliment, and then he shakes his head and refocuses on Rilla.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"It- I mean, when we started seeing each other it wasn't like-" her eyes flick around the hut, noting uncomfortably the way that Arum is watching her too. "You're a knight, Damien, I didn't know when I met you that you wouldn't get me in worse trouble for-"

"Oh, my darling flower-"

"It wasn't like I lied, Damien, I just- I didn't know how to bring it up. I-" she pauses, and tries a vague sort of smile. "It just kind of got to the point where I hadn't talked about it for so long, you know? Got to a point where it seemed- like it'd been too long already, and I couldn't change my mind about it."

Damien sighs deeply, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. "Oh, Rilla… I am sorry you felt that there was anything you could not share wi-"

"I could translate this for you," Arum interrupts, and the both of them turn towards him. He isn't looking at them in return, his eyes firmly on the book as his tail coils tightly around an ankle. "The dialect is somewhat more eastern than I am entirely used to, but the bones of the language seem familiar enough. I suppose you already inferred from the illustrations and the size that it is a rather limited botanical census."

"Yeah," Rilla says, her voice bright with surprise. "Yeah, that's exactly what I was hoping." She pauses. "You'd really be willing to do that?"

"It's a book of herbs, Amaryllis. You can hardly do any harm with it." He glances towards her, his eyes guarded, and then he looks to the book again. "Seems a small sort of service I can easily provide. It shall not even begin to edge the scales between us towards even, I should think," he mutters, and then before she can respond to that, he points to one of the entries in the middle. "We can start here. I do not suppose you are familiar with this herb at all. It grows in a rather small range, quite a ways to the East."

Rilla doesn't want to let him deflect from the fact that he apparently sees her treatment of him as transactional, but she doesn't want to have that sort of conversation with Damien a foot away, either. She's already had one awkward conversation in front of someone who probably didn't want to be there, tonight. "Yeah, that would be- incredible, actually. Just let me grab the notes I already made, and-" she stands, and she tries not to look too uncomfortable or too eager as she goes to pull up the false floorboard in her bedroom to fetch the right journal. "Okay," she says as she returns, shuffling through the pages, "so I managed to work out the numeral system, I think, if you want to just check my work there before we dig into the conte-"

"Knock knock. "

The voice comes simultaneous with an accompanying actual knock, on the doorframe and not the actual door from the sound of it, and Rilla flinches hard enough that she drops the book in her hand to thwump to the floor. Damien rolls from his seated position to snatch it before she can, his own expression openly concerned, and Arum's frill is pressed tightly to his neck as he eyes the door in alarm, his tail coiling and then curling around his own ankle.

Rilla pats a hand in the air, a gesture for quiet, and no one moves for a long moment as she waits for whoever the hell to take the hint. It's late, even on a day when she was open she'd be unlikely to come to the door at this hour.

"Knock, uh, knock?" the voice comes again. "C'mon, Rilla, your favorite guest is here! I know you're home, there's smoke coming from the chimney-"

"Marc. Shit," Rilla scrambles, reaching to help Arum pull himself to his feet as she calls, "we're closed, come back- come back later. Tomorrow! Come back tomorrow!"

"Marc," Damien mutters, clutching the book to his chest with a scowl.

"C'mon, Rilla. I know you've got a minute for your best friend," Marc calls through the door. "Can you open up?"

"Dammit," Rilla hisses, and Arum chokes down a very nervous sort of laugh as Rilla presses a hand against his shoulder, making sure he's standing stable. "Marc, I really can't hang out with you right now! I'm- I'm right in the middle of-"

"I, uh, really, really can't, Rilla. Can you-" he pauses, and she can hear Dampierre's hooves shifting against the dirt. "Can you please open up? I… uh…"

Rilla stiffens, grits her teeth, and sighs. "You're… out of medicine."

There is a pause.

"I'm out of medicine," Marc confirms in a quick mutter. "But! But only just barely, Rilla, like, less than five minutes ago barely!"

"Marc!" Rilla complains, and then she stops herself to take a deep breath. She can handle this. She just- has to make up enough for the day, and then- then she can get him out of her hair for long enough to make a proper batch he can pick up tomorrow. She frowns at Arum, and then at Damien, and then she calls out, "Two minutes, Marc. Give me two minutes, alright?"

Marc gives some sort of relieved confirmation, but Rilla isn't really paying attention anymore as she walks Arum partway across the room, and then she passes the monster into Damien's arms as the knight splutters, his cheeks going dark as Arum hisses in alarm.

"Shush," she says with a scowl. "Damien, just walk him to his bed. Please? He can't be in here, we can't risk him being seen and I just- have to get Marc out of here."

"But," Damien squeaks, "but Rilla, I-"

Damien doesn't strain under Arum's weight, he's perfectly capable of supporting the monster, but he leans away awkwardly, leaving Arum to grit his teeth and sway in a way that makes Rilla instantly nervous. Her scowl deepens and she steps closer again to push Arum more securely into Damien's grip as each of them makes another quiet, indignant noise. "Into Arum's room, Damien, now. If you drop him I will be furious with you. No time to argue. Just do it."

Damien swallows, then meets Arum's eyes for only a moment before his cheeks darken further and he looks sharply away. He nods, though, and shuffles Arum into his room, the both of them wincing through the movement as Rilla marches in the other direction to throw the front door open and glower up at Marc as he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Is there- uh. D'you have company over, Rilla? Because you could have just said- "

"Marc? Please shut up," she says, already turning back and marching to start throwing together ingredients, her hands moving quickly over bottles and jars. "You know I'm busy, and if you and Tal want to stop by with no warning then you don't get to complain that I'm not ready to jump up and help!"

"Well I mean- it's just me, this time."

He sounds sheepish, and Rilla glances over her shoulder in surprise. "Wh- huh. Where's Tal, then?"

"Doing something dumb somewhere dumber," Marc scowls.

"Marc." Rilla turns away again, snatching up ingredients as she goes. "Come on."

"He stayed behind to take a job, and- if he just stayed with me we wouldn't have gotten lost and we definitely would have gotten here a lot sooner!"

"Sure," she says. "Whatever." Rilla can't actually decide if it would have been better or worse if the pair of them had visited a week or so ago. Might have been awkward for the boys to come knocking when Arum was collapsed by her front door, at the very least. Her lip pulls into a frown and she refocuses, rattling off the list of components as she mixes them together, but when she reaches for the last of the bunch-

She pulls down an empty jar. And then a second empty jar.

"Oh, come on. Really?"

"Uh, what's up?"

"The Numb-Cap. I'm out," Rilla groans, dropping her head to thunk off of the cabinet in front of her. "I used all of it because I had to make up so many batches of painkiller for-"

She pauses.

"For?" Marc calls warily, and Rilla grits her teeth.

"Another patient, Marc, because you're not the only person relying on me!"

"Well, I mean, uh. If you made up so much of it-"

"I made so much because I needed it, Marc! And even if I hadn't used it up, it's not even the same recipe as your pills. Which means- " she cuts off into an exasperated exhale, smacking her palms on the counter.

"Which means- what?"

"I need to go get more Numb-Cap. Now . And leave-"

She cuts herself off again.

"Well- I mean, if you're too busy to leave I can run off and collect the dumb mushrooms myself, right? I'll just grab a few and come back and-"

"There is no way I would trust mushroom identification to any untrained non-mycologist in the middle of the night, let alone you, Marc," she growls, marching towards the door and grabbing her boots. "You wanna have actual effective medicine, or d'you wanna wake up in a week with no clothes and no idea where you've been? Or, more likely, just choke to death on some fun magic poison?"

"Well, that first one doesn't sound so bad-"

"Marc." Rilla grips the doorframe tight. "This is, and I need you to understand this, wildly inconvenient for me right now, but I'm going to go out into the jungle with you, collect some stupid mushrooms in the dark, and come back to make more medicine for you. But first you gotta just- chill out here for a minute while I t- while I grab my stuff. Okay?"

"Yeah," Marc says, sounding just barely chastised enough as Dampierre whickers and stamps beneath him. "Uh. Yeah, Rilla, okay."

She sighs, then presses the door firmly closed so she can gather herself for a moment before she darts to the exam room. Arum is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the door as she enters, and Damien is carefully placed at the opposite end of the room leaning against a counter until he sees her enter, at which point he straightens up again.

"You're leaving? " Arum asks before she can say a word, and Damien stumbles as he crosses the room.

"What?!"

"That is what she just told the loud one at the door," he growls, gesturing towards her with narrowed eyes.

"Rilla you can't possibly-"

"I really can possibly, Damien," she says, grabbing a pair of work gloves from the counter and then coming close enough to grab Damien's hands tight. "Marc needs that medicine and it won't work without the ingredient I'm missing. It'll probably only be a few hours, I know where they usually grow, but it's a bit of a walk."

"But Rilla, surely- if you are venturing into the jungle then I must accompany-"

"I'll be fine, Damien, Marc and I can handle anything that happens. And I-" she squeezes his hands, winces. "I need you here a lot more."

"Here? But-" he looks towards Arum, and then they both look away.

"You realize that I do not require moment-by-moment babysitting, Amaryllis," Arum snarls.

"Precisely, and I-"

"Damien, I really don't want to have to deal with you and Marc fighting while I'm already stressed out about making sure he gets his next pill before his last one wears off," she admits in a rush, and Damien winces. "Please, please just stay here, don't fight for like, just a few hours, I promise, and- and everything will be fine. Just keep an eye on the stew and bring him a bowl when it's done, okay? That's your one job. Just that, and not fighting. And preferably not freaking out, either. Can you do that for me, Damien? Please?"

He wilts, just a little, his eyes going soft and his hands pulling her close enough that he can press a kiss to her temple. "Of course. Of course I can. Such small favors you ask of me, my love," he says, very lightly, and she laughs. "Of course. I should be used to the urgency with which your brilliance is needed, by now."

She breathes a laugh, then kisses his cheek before she pulls back from his hands, eying Arum (his own eyes carefully turned away from the both of them again). "You too, okay?"

"Me too, what, precisely?" he mutters. "I will not be going anywhere, and so long as the little songbird does not shoot me I cannot imagine I would have any way of coming to harm."

Damien scowls, but Rilla steps a bit closer to the monster, reaching out to tap the tip of his snout lightly, making him blink and hiss lightly in response.

"A couple hours. Just be nice, for Saints' sake. Or-" she laughs. "For my sake, at least."

Arum frowns (or pouts, more accurately), but something about the way his lip twitches makes her think he's trying to clamp down on a smile, and that makes her feel a little better about this whole thing when she returns to the door.

"Don't have too much fun without me," she says, and as they both splutter she closes the door behind her.

[->]

[darks-ink]

Forgive Me (Not)

Rating: K+ / Gen Warnings: None Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort Words: 2,604 Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin “Foggy” Nelson (platonic - friendship) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Identity Reveal (sort of), Roommate era

Summary: Matt keeps apologizing, over and over, and he's so serious, so guilty, and Foggy can't help but worry that he's going to have to help a blind man hide a body.

[AO3] [FFn]

---

“Foggy,” Matt says, quiet like he hopes that Foggy wouldn’t hear it. Quiet like he hadn’t quite intended to speak up.

“Yeah?” Foggy replies anyway, pausing with his packing to face Matt. “What’s up, buddy?”

“I…” He pauses, and yeah, Foggy thinks, Matt definitely hadn’t planned this out quite yet. “Um.”

“Take your time,” he assures, turning back to his packing. “But whatever it is, you know you can always tell me, right?”

“Right,” Matt echoes. Foggy hears him take a deep breath, like he’s trying to summon his courage. For what, Foggy honestly wouldn’t know. He can’t remember ever seeing Matt so nervous—not even for any of the exams they’ve done.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says, now, and Foggy’s heart skips a beat because he sounds… so, so serious, and so, so guilty.

Foggy’s hands still over his half-packed bags. His heart thumps away, too fast. He can’t imagine anything Matt might be sorry for. Nothing that would involve such guilt.

“For what?” he asks when he manages to untangle his tongue. He’s sweating, but that’s normal, right? It’s summer. It has nothing to do with… this. Whatever this is.

He hears Matt shift behind him. “I’m sorry,” he says again, like repeating it makes it any more clear what, exactly, he’s sorry about. “If you want to switch dorms after this… I understand.”

That was literally the opposite of an explanation, Murdock. Now Foggy just has more questions.

Foggy sighs, puts down the shirt he’d been holding for at least five minutes by now. Matt is sitting on his own bed, curled in tight. The line of his shoulders says ‘guilty’ as much as his tone did.

Foggy wants to joke, wants to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t know how.

“After what, man? You haven’t even told me what you’re sorry for.” He tries to keep his tone light, but his heart is loud in his chest, and he can’t hear if he succeeded.

At least he won’t have to worry about smoothing out his facial expression, he thinks, and then immediately feels guilty for drawing even the slightest comfort from Matt’s blindness.

Matt is not looking at him. Or, well. Turning towards him. Remains hunched over, playing with the legs of his glasses.

“Matt, man, don’t leave me hanging like this,” Foggy prods. “You can’t tell me I’m gonna be upset about something and then not tell me. I just said you can tell me anything.”

“I…” Finally, some progress. He’s not upset, not really, and whatever Matt’s big secret is, Foggy is sure he can handle it. But Matt is… a little emotionally constipated. “I’m sorry.”

Foggy stomps down the desire to groan, but he’s so, so close.

He fixes his roommate with an unimpressed look, though, hoping that it’s powerful enough for Matt to notice. And, somehow, he does. Turns slightly towards Foggy, eyes turned down and refusing to meet his gaze even if he could.

“Matt,” he says, like the other man will be any more forthcoming this time than the previous three times. His heartbeat is too loud and too fast. “Seriously, whatever it is, there’s no way it’s as big of a deal as you’re making it.”

“I,” Matt repeats once more, and Foggy braces himself for another ‘I’m sorry’. “I have heightened senses.”

Foggy jerks his head, feels his heart skip a beat.

That wasn’t an ‘I’m sorry’.

Holy shit.

“Blasphemy,” Matt murmurs, and Foggy is certain that he hadn’t said that out loud. No louder than a breath, at least.

Holy shit.

“Sorry.” Matt turns his face away again, shoulders tight. “I shouldn’t— should’ve— Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Foggy tells him, because he’s still wrapping his mind around the news but if Matt apologized one more time he’s gonna strangle the guy. “It’s…”

“Fine?” Matt finishes sardonically after he trails off. Shakes his head. “You don’t think so. I can tell.”

“How?” Foggy asks, not actually sure if he wants to know the answer or not.

Matt takes one hand off his glasses. Gestures vaguely as his head—or more accurately, his ears.

“Don’t tell me you can hear what I’m thinking.” He can’t. There’s no way. If Matt was a mindreader, he would’ve said as much. Right?

He snorts, shakes his head. “I can hear your heartbeat,” he explains.

And, oh.

Foggy isn’t sure if that’s any better, actually.

Matt must have heard the way his heart skips at that news, because he nods, his mouth a tight grimace.

“So your hearing is… how good?” Foggy asks, because he’s curious, now. He can’t quite wrap his head around it, yet, it seems too fantastical to be true, but… but something about it seems right. It pings around his head, echoing off of countless memories of the past year.

The way Matt’s head twitched around, sometimes, like he was hearing something Foggy didn’t. The way he grimaced at— well, at all kinds of stuff. How he insisted that stuff had gone bad, sometimes, when nothing off about it could be found.

The time that Matt had insisted they skip out on some free meal that was being offered on campus, saying he didn’t trust it. How glad Foggy had been for Matt’s gut instinct the next day, when almost everyone in class had been sick.

Matt makes a face, lifting his face slightly so Foggy can finally see him. He’s still playing with his glasses, no doubt smudging the lenses to no extent.

“The guys in the room on the end of the hallway are fighting again,” Matt starts, slowly, cautiously. “Apparently one of them keeps bringing back girls, and the other is not too happy about that.”

Foggy hums. The end of the hallway… that was pretty serious.

“There’s a couple fighting on the end of the street,” Matt continues, more steadily. His tone is almost challenging. “And someone’s hailing a cab a block away from there.”

“Oh,” Foggy breathes.

“Sirens,” Matt adds, cocking his head slightly. Frowns. “A few blocks away. Police.”

“Oh,” Foggy repeats. “I can’t… imagine. Do you just… hear that? All the time? Or are you… like, listening for it?”

Matt shrugs, weakly. “I try to block it out, usually. But I can’t, not all of it.”

“The heartbeat?”

A nod. Matt’s shoulders hunch up again. Always with the guilt, that guy.

“Okay,” Foggy tells him. Takes a deep breath to try and calm his heartbeat to something more appropriate for excitement. “Wait, so are like, all your senses like that?”

“Besides vision?” Matt asks wryly. “Basically.”

Well, that was… a lot.

“Isn’t that like, super overwhelming?”

Matt jerks towards him, like he was surprised by the question. “What?”

“Well, it just seems like a lot to me,” Foggy explains, shrugging even if Matt can’t tell. “Unless you grew up with it, I guess.”

“I—” Matt says, and raises a hand to his eyes. Ah.

“Knocked your peepers out and gave you superpowers, huh?”

Matt snorts, drops his hand again. His posture seems slightly more relaxed. Foggy will count it as a win. “It didn’t knock my eyes out, Foggy, you know that.”

“Psh.” He flaps a dismissive hand. “Details. So, super senses. Anything I gotta like, know?”

“Know?” Matt repeats, like he’s never heard the word before.

“Well, yeah.” Foggy shrugs. “I’m shrugging at you, Murdock, just so you know. But, really. Anything I gotta do to make life friendlier on the ol’ senses? Shower more often? Different deodorant? Come on, work with me here.”

Matt frowns at him like he’s never seen Foggy before. Heard him before? Um.

“You’re… okay. With this?”

“I mean, it’s a little weird.” Matt flinches, and ouch, Foggy felt that in his heart. “But not, like, bad weird. It’s pretty cool, actually. I can’t imagine how often you’ve saved me from food poisoning. And here I was, thinking you had good instincts.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Matt cocks his head at him. “Not… bad?”

“Matt, seriously. For a guy who can hear people talk two streets away you sure are bad at listening.” Foggy grins, and wonders if Matt can tell, somehow. From the tone in his voice, at least, he’s sure.

Matt gapes at him. “You’re not…”

“Upset?” Foggy finishes for him. “No, not really. I mean, it would’ve been nice to know sooner so I wouldn’t have done anything stupid or embarrassing, but,” he shrugs, “I understand why you wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Oh.” Matt turns his head down again, like he’s looking at the glasses he’s still fidgeting with. “I… thanks.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. That’s what we’re friends for, right?”

Matt’s head jerks back up. “What?”

“Friends,” Foggy repeats. His heartbeat speeds up again, and he tries to stamp it down, to no avail. “Right?”

“I… I didn’t…” Matt licks his lips, blinks confusedly. “You still want…”

Foggy scoffs. “Of course we’re still friends, man. We just went over this. I asked if I could do anything to help accommodate for your senses. Keep up, Matt.”

“It’s… fine,” his best friend finally manages, weakly. “I’m used to it.”

He squints at Matt for a moment. “Fine. But if anything comes up, tell me. Really, Matt. No martyring of any kind in this dorm room, you hear me?”

Matt laughs weakly. “I hear you.”

“Walked right into that one, didn’t I?” Foggy shakes his head, then leans forward a little. “I just gotta know… if your senses are all so strong, can they, like… make up for your vision, sort of? Like, you explained how good your hearing is, but how does touch work? Smell? Taste?”

“Well, I could tell you exactly what you’ve eaten the past twenty-four hours,” Matt says, slowly. He seems to know when Foggy opens his mouth, because he adds, “Even if we hadn’t spent all that time together, I mean. I can tell you exactly what ingredients are in a meal—even the stuff you don’t want to know about. I can… I know where you are. Where stuff is, if I focus.”

“What, like a bat? Echo-location?”

“Sort of.” Matt shrugs. Reaches over to the nightstand and picks up the baseball that Foggy hadn’t packed yet. “It’s more than just sound. I can feel the— the currents in the air, and the warmth, and all that. It kind of… combines. Almost like seeing, but it’s… not quite that.”

“Sounds complicated.” Foggy hums, watches as Matt puts down his glasses and rolls the baseball in his hand. “So if I asked you to throw that…”

Matt grins, weakly, and tosses the ball in the air. He catches it smoothly when it comes down again.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Murdock!” Foggy holds out his hands. “Come on man, show me!”

Matt wafers for a moment. Then, before Foggy can taunt him again, he winds back and throws the ball straight at Foggy.

He catches it easily, whistles lowly. “Not bad, not bad.”

And then, before he can really think about it, he throws it back. Straight at Matt.

Who seems to catch it automatically, his hand coming up to intercept it.

“Shit, sorry,” Foggy apologizes, even if nothing happened. “I didn’t think about it. Fully automatic.”

Matt clicks his tongue, sounding almost… disapproving. “Throwing baseballs at a blind man? Don’t let anyone see you.”

Foggy laughs, and catches the ball when Matt throws it back. “Yeah, good advice. I’ll pack this before any more incidents happen.”

Matt hums, a grin still lingering on his face.

“But if you can tell when a baseball is coming…” Foggy pauses where he’s stuffing the ball in his bag, turning his head back towards Matt. “You can tell when a car is coming, too, right? At like, intersections and stuff? And you can sense walls, and buildings?”

“Yes,” Matt agrees, hesitantly. Cautiously.

Foggy turns fully back towards Matt. His heart is thumping in his chest again. “So the… the leading, it wasn’t really…”

“Necessary?” Matt finishes for him.

“Wanted,” Foggy corrects. “I was going to say, wanted. Do you not—”

Matt shakes his head vigorously. “No, no. I…”

He pauses, like he’s searching for the right words. Foggy waits to let him.

“I… like it,” Matt finally settles on. “I like hearing you talk. It’s… nice. To not have to focus so hard on the world.”

“Oh.” Foggy’s heart flutters. He clears his throat, wishes he could clear the emotion the same way. “Well, good! Because there’s plenty more where that came from!”

“You really don’t… mind?”

Foggy snorts. “Of course not. It’s part of the patented ‘Foggy Nelson best friends’ package, pal. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

“Good.” Matt grins, a little. “I’m… glad.”

“You’d better be! It’s an exclusive deal.” He opens his arms, wide. “Now come here, give me a confirming best-friends hug, won’t ya?”

Matt tilts his head, like he’s… listening. Ah. Then, hesitantly, he pushes himself to his feet. Crosses the distance between their beds, step by step.

Foggy continues to hold out his arms. He’s not sure if he should narrate the distance, or if that would ruin the moment. Maybe not narrating ruins it, instead.

Then, suddenly, a warm body is pressed against Foggy’s. Matt must’ve crossed the rest of the distance while he’d been distracted.

He wraps his arms around Matt. He feels Matt mimic his positioning, like he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to put his hands. Like he hadn’t had much experience with hugs.

Just that thought alone was so saddening that Foggy made a note to hug Matt more often. The guy clearly needed it.

“Man, you’ve got some solid fucking muscles under that sweatshirt of yours,” Foggy comments thoughtlessly, patting Matt on his shoulder. “How do you even fit sporting in that schedule of yours?”

Matt laughs, softly, and Foggy can feel it throughout his whole body. “I box, sometimes. It helps me relax.”

“You know, I’m really glad you told me that after explaining your super senses, because I would’ve been really worried otherwise.” He grins against Matt’s shoulder, wonders if Matt knows, can tell. “You should show me, sometime. I bet you look really cool.”

He can feel Matt stiffen against him, and he worries, for a moment, that he misspoke. But Matt relaxes again, and laughs quietly against Foggy’s neck. “I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“Oh, walked right into that,” Foggy mutters without heat. “But?”

“But it sounds… good. Fun.” Matt sighs, and it sounds happy. “You’re… taking this really well.”

“You made it sound like a way bigger deal than it was.” Foggy scoffs. “Seriously, the way you were apologizing, man. I was starting to worry that you had, like, killed a man and hidden him in the walls.”

Matt laughs again. “Nah. Wall’s too thin for that.”

Foggy pauses, but Matt’s posture remains relaxed. “Oh, come on, don’t even joke about that.”

A loud sound shreds the peace, suddenly, and they jerk apart. It takes him a moment before he recognizes the sound—his alarm.

“Shit,” he swears, already moving to turn it off. “Sorry. Totally forgot I set it.”

The quiet returns, but Matt has already wandered back to his side of the room. “It’s fine,” he says, rubbing his ear a little. “Just surprised me.”

“Well, that makes both of us.” Foggy lets himself fall back on his bed, grabbing the previously abandoned shirt. “Now I’ll need to hurry to get all this packed before my parents get here.”

“Want me to help?”

Foggy looks over at Matt over his shoulder. Then back at the stuff he still needs to pack.

“Yeah, that sounds great, actually.”

[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - prompt #1: It's all my fault.

Chapter 11 is up, in which Belle and Gold go shopping. Please send me a prompt from this list or this list to fuel the angst and smut

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] 

[AO3]

x

When she had found out that she was pregnant, Belle had gone through a range of emotions. The first was panic, closely followed by denial, then by bitter anguish. She had spent much of the day of the test results crying in the university restrooms and lamenting the day she had ever decided to go to bed with Alexander Gold. For a brief moment, she had been tempted to call him to give him the news, just so he could share in some of her misery, but the thought of his cold disdain was too much to face, especially after her father had practically disowned her.

She had made up her mind almost immediately that she would keep the baby, which was one less decision to fret over, but that meant that a number of other choices had to be made, and made quickly. She had the test result confirmed, was given an approximate due date, and had talked to the university about deferring completion of her studies once the baby arrived. She had sought advice from Emma about what to expect throughout pregnancy, had read every book on the subject that she could find, and had tried to ensure that she ate a balanced diet. When she could keep her food down. Overall, she felt that she was about as well-prepared for motherhood as a single woman in her early twenties making minimum wage and with no family to support her could be. Which was not very prepared at all.

Belle had assumed that having Gold tell her categorically that he intended to help out both financially and physically with the baby would make her relax, but in reality it only caused her more anxiety, and she was unsure why that was. Certainly having the apartment had given her some security, and waking up in its large and comfortable bed every morning was like letting out a deep, calming breath. She was free of the constant worry over money and making ends meet, of the landlord knocking at the door to demand rent that she didn’t have. And yet, she still felt an ongoing, exhausting sense of stress, an acidic ball of iron that had settled in her belly and refused to leave. 

He was true to his word, picking her up from outside the university in his Cadillac and driving her to the new clinic for her check-up. Belle sat in silence, hands folded in her lap as they went, and once they had parked up Gold offered her his arm. Taking it felt strange, but she tried to put it from her mind, focusing on the doors of the clinic, and beyond them the gleaming waiting area with its plush leather seats and fresh coffee. 

There was paperwork to fill out, and tests to be run, but it was nothing she hadn’t been through before. Gold seemed anxious as the doctor held the consultation with her, but Belle was unfazed by the questions asked and the measurements taken. She had expected this first visit to take a little longer, given that she was a new patient. Dr Jekyll was a nervous-looking man who blinked a lot, but he seemed to know what he was talking about.

“Well, the baby seems to be developing as expected,” he said at last. “You’re a little underweight, though. You could do with eating a little more, if you can manage it.”

“I’ve been trying to tell her that,” put in Gold, and Belle glared at him.

“Yeah, well, there’s only so many hours in the day,” she muttered. “I have work and study to take care of, alongside everything else.”

“Then try to make sure you get as much nutrient-dense food as possible,” said Dr Jekyll kindly. “Carry snacks with you as you go about, and make sure you don’t go too long between meals. Building a baby is hard work, you need to make sure your body has the fuel it needs.”

“I’ll try to feed her up,” said Gold.

“Good, good,” said Jekyll vaguely, looking at his notes. “I don’t expect there to be much change between now and next week, but try to make sure she eats a range of quality foods, not just sugar.”

Belle bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from snapping at both of them.

“Well, the good news is there’s not long to go now,” said Jekyll, peering at his computer screen. “You’re due on May fifth, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“A spring baby,” he said, glancing at her over the top of his glasses. “This cold weather will have cleared up by then. A little sunshine to welcome the new light in your life.”

He smiled at her, and Belle couldn’t help smiling back. Yes. She was looking forward to the baby being born. Quite how it would change her relationship with its father was still to be seen.

x

After the doctor’s appointment, they went to buy paint. Belle had chosen the colours she wanted: lilac and pale blue for the nursery and terracotta for the kitchen. She hadn’t made a decision on the lounge and bedrooms yet, and Gold said it could wait until she was sure. He bought paint trays, rollers and brushes, along with a set of painting overalls for her to wear and several large sheets to spread over the floors and furniture.

“Thanks,” she said, as they packed everything into the trunk of the car. “You know how clumsy I am. I’ll probably track paint all over the apartment without these.”

“I could still get professionals in to paint the walls,” he said.

“Thanks, but I’d like to do it myself,” she said. “It - it would help to make the place feel more like mine, you know?”

“I understand.”

Gold closed the trunk, taking a step back.

“I can always help you out, if you like,” he ventured, but she shook her head.

“Emma and Neal have already said they’ll help,” she said. “We’re gonna have kind of a paint-the-apartment party this weekend.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, if there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

He flashed her a brief smile, the light catching in his eyes. He looked very handsome with his short hair, and she looked away, pain making her mouth twist. She hadn’t been lying when she told him she couldn’t move past him. How long would it take for her to fall out of love with him? Forever, she imagined, if he continued to act like a decent human being. Damn him.

x

As the afternoon wore on, he continued to treat her with a gentle solicitude, insisting on taking her for tea at a nearby deli and watching as she ate a piece of pumpkin pie with cream that had been laced with cinnamon and whipped to soft peaks. Pumpkin pie probably wasn’t what Dr Jekyll had had in mind when he told her to eat more, but it was so delicious she didn’t really care. Gold waved away her offer to share, merely drinking a black coffee, and she wondered if he had appointed himself her nutritionist. Chief engineer of the baby-making machine. The thought made her frown to herself, but it didn’t stop her from eating the pie.

After the deli, Gold took her to a large department store that she had never before set foot in due to the prices. Inside was a beautiful glittering paradise of sleek synthetic marble and polished wood, filled with the scents of hundreds of perfumes and toiletries. The baby section was large, a sea of pink and blue and white, and she felt out of place in her scuffed boots and five-year-old coat, although she tried not to let it bother her.

Gold seemed almost animated by the shopping trip, having lengthy discussions with the sales staff about items to purchase and displaying a surprising amount of knowledge about what babies needed. Belle largely left him to it, wandering along behind him with the little shopping cart and only giving input when he asked. They agreed on a set of furniture in pale grey and white, a chest of drawers and dresser with a large, well-cushioned chair in which she could sit and feed the baby. It was a strange thing to think of, that the child inside her would very soon be on the outside, in her arms and looking for her to feed it and keep it safe. It was overwhelming if she thought about it too much, so she tried to put it from her mind. Low-level terror over being responsible for a tiny human would have to wait.

“So, the furniture can be delivered on Wednesday afternoon,” he said, making her look up. “Is that alright?”

“Uh - can we make it Thursday?” she asked. “I have to work Wednesday.”

“Ah. Well, how about next week?” he asked. “You’ll have stopped working by then, right?”

“Right.”

“And I suppose it’ll be better, because the nursery will have been painted,” he added. “You can just take everything for the baby in there, rather than store it elsewhere in the apartment.”

“Right,” she repeated.

“I’ll tell them when it comes to paying for everything,” he said. “Let’s keep looking.”

He hurried off with what was almost a spring in his step, and she watched him go, a wave of sadness washing over her. She became more withdrawn as they made their way around the section, and responded with unenthusiastic murmurs to his suggestions. Gold eyed her with a slight frown on his face at first, which made her bristle, although she tried not to show it. 

“I have a crib,” she told him, as he was looking over the third one that afternoon. “Emma was going to lend me Henry’s.”

“Our child doesn’t need hand-me-downs,” he said dismissively. “Besides, what if she chooses to have another baby? She’ll need it back.”

“I think that’s highly unlikely in the middle of her studies, don’t you?”

“I think babies come when they come,” he replied.

Belle sighed, and left him to it, merely nodding when he asked if she agreed with his choice. She could feel herself getting ever more anxious and resentful, and while she told herself that he was stepping up and supporting her as she had wanted, and that she was therefore being unreasonable, she couldn’t seem to shake her negativity. The reactions of the staff didn’t help.

“Are you and your husband finding everything okay?” chirped the third sales assistant in ten minutes, as Belle pawed listlessly through a rack of romper suits. Gold was some way ahead, his free arm filled with clothing in a myriad of colours.

“We’re not married,” she said coldly, and the sales assistant beamed.

“Oh, sorry! Still, plenty of time for that. I guess you’ve been concentrating on preparing for baby, right?”

“I’ve mostly been concentrating on not killing him,” said Belle flatly, and flourished one of the suits. “Do you have this in any other colours?”

“Uh - let me check out back.”

The sales assistant wandered off, and Belle heaved a sigh of relief.

“What about these?”

She looked around to see Gold holding up a pair of patterned booties with pom-poms hanging from strings. He shook them at her, a wide smile on his face as the pom-poms bounced.

“Adorable, hmm?” he said. “How could you resist them?”

“What are you doing?” she demanded, and he looked puzzled.

“Picking out baby things.”

“No,” she said. “No, I mean - I mean what are you doing?”

His confusion only seemed to increase.

“I don’t understand.”

“Forget it,” she sighed, snatching the booties off him and dropping them in the cart.

She could feel him staring after her as she walked off, but to give him his due he soon caught her up, dropping his choices into the cart and making quiet suggestions as to other things they might need. It felt as though he had picked up on her mood and was trying to placate her, which only made her more irritated, and then annoyed at herself for being irrational. It was a relief when he announced that they probably had enough to be going on with, and went to pay for everything. She was silent on the way back to the apartment, and the atmosphere between them was heavy and dark, making her feel awkward as she plucked at the skin on the back of her hand: a nervous, repetitive gesture. 

Gold could sense that Belle was annoyed with him, although he wasn’t sure why that was, other than the massive fuck-up that had led to them being in this situation in the first place. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, though, and he didn’t know what to say, so he endured the painful silence on the journey back to her apartment. He helped her carry up the tins of paint and the bags of brushes and rollers, and she thanked him quietly as he set them on the kitchen counter. She had stepped back, towards the window with its view over the park, and was looking out of it and chewing her lip.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked, his voice seeming loud in the tense silence, and she shook her head. He heaved a sigh.

“Belle, you seem upset with me,” he said wearily. “I don’t know why, besides the obvious, so can you please tell me what I’ve done?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

It was said automatically, and in something of a monotone. He wasn’t sure she believed it any more than he.

“Please,” he said again. “I know this is a difficult time for you, and I know the baby’s arrival must be making you nervous, so if there’s anything I can do…”

He left it hanging, hoping she would help him out and tell him what she needed. Belle seemed to wriggle uncomfortably, sucking her teeth a little.

“It’s - it’s hard,” she said eventually.

“I know,” he said carefully. “That’s why I’m trying to make sure you have as little to worry about financially as I can, and why I wanted to get everything the baby might need.”

“No,” she said. “It’s hard - it’s hard having you around.”

She wasn’t really looking at him, her eyes darting furtively to him and then away, her shoulders hunched a little. It felt as though a heavy weight had lodged in his throat and was making its way slowly down towards his stomach.

“Oh,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. You’re a fucking idiot. Of course it’s hard. Why would she want the person who broke her heart back in her life? Moron!

“It feels—” Belle screwed up her nose, glancing away. “It’s like when we’re out shopping together and people treat us like we’re a married couple or something, and it’s like a slap in the face every damn time.”

“Why do you care what people think?”

“That’s not the point…” She ran her hands over her face. “It’s not what they think, it’s - it’s what it is. Maybe I’m not explaining it all that well. I’m not sure I even know what I mean.”

“Okay,” he said, bewildered. “Well, in that case, why don’t you tell me what you need?”

“I need you to go,” she said decidedly, nodding.

The weight settled in his lower belly, spreading outwards and anchoring his feet to the floor.

“Right,” he said, his voice hollow. “Right. Then I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

She was hugging herself now, arms folded protectively over the top of her swollen belly. He wanted to hug her himself, to take her in his arms and hold her close, to offer her comfort and reassurance. It hit him hard in the gut, a painful, breathtaking blow as he realised that he had never done so. Not once. He tried to think of a time when he had shown her some intimacy without them having sex, and couldn’t. God, no wonder she hated him! He swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

“Can I still take you to your next appointment?” he asked, his voice sounding eerily calm in his head, and she nodded.

“Of course.”

“There’s still the matter of seeing my lawyer,” he went on. “Perhaps we can schedule them both for the same day.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Right,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Then I’ll see you next Monday.”

She nodded again, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders, still hunched against him, shutting him out.

“I’ll go back to Storybrooke,” he added, figuring it would do her good to know he wouldn’t be in the city. That he wouldn’t be haunting her, stalking her from the shadows as she tried to go on with her life.

“Thank you,” she said again, and hesitated. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” he said, his tone wry. “It’s all my fault, after all.”

She hung her head a little, as though she agreed with him, but didn’t want to say it aloud. He could feel his hand beginning to ache from gripping the cane handle, and loosened his grip. 

“Well,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”

She nodded, giving him one final glance. Her blue eyes were filled with sadness, and guilt, and regret. He could feel his own emotions rising up inside him, wanting to burst out and drown him, and so he nodded stiffly and turned away, heading for the door with a slow and heavy tread. She needed space. He could give her that, at least.

[fmdjaewonarchive]

► reply.

date(s): 6 september - 23 september 2020 mentions of: charm (very brief but i thought it was fun to mention), @fmdsamsoo​ word count: +/- 1850 (minus lyrics) warnings: jaewon being gay tw details: fmdos2, the creative process behind reply, basically jaewon is really fucking gay, that’s the solo. i could’ve split this up into two solo’s probably but i like to have the whole creative process in one place plus i need to write about his performance still anyway. 

a part of jaewon still had a hard time puzzling together that somehow, someway he had actually managed to secure the first place last round. it was nice of course, alarm was an incredibly personal song to him and he didn’t know how his already brittle self-esteem would’ve taken the blow had he ended up in the bottom ranks but as nice as it was, it was still unexpected.

there was, however, no time to perfectly puzzle out how exactly he felt about the result, the bliss short-lived as he found himself back in the studio’s of dimensions entertainment mere days after, ready to do the whole circus all over again only this time with a much, much harder mission. colors were a vague concept to write a song around after all and a part of jaewon felt back in high school all over again, the familiar anxiety of receiving a very unspecific task that somehow had to fulfill the criteria set that were completely unknown to him. he didn’t like that gnawing in the back of his mind, having to second guess if maybe, he was interpreting this in a way that wasn’t expected of him.

if anything, jaewon felt lucky that he didn’t have to tackle the task alone (even if it still felt a bit like cheating) finding himself back in the studio with the same producer from before. jaewon kind of felt for the man, seemingly assigned to deal with him for however long his run on the show was gonna be.

“look who we have there, if it isn’t our big winner.” the producer greeted him enthusiastically and jaewon received the compliment with a hint of a blush and a quick bow of his head. “ah, thank you, but please the credit is just as much yours as it’s mine hyung, i couldn’t have pulled it off without your help.”

the man just shook his head. “always with the humility, enjoy a nice thing for once buddy, you’ve earned it.” he turned to the computer in front of him. “unfortunately, i don’t think we have much more time for pleasantries and celebrations, we’re short on time as always so what are you looking for?”

and that was the million dollar question wasn’t it. what was jaewon looking for? the color white, apparently. and someone in direct contrast with his last song. those two together meant something far out of his comfort zone. but truly, that wasn’t as telling as one would assume it was. truth be told, jaewon’s comfort zone was very small (both in terms of music and well… in general). most things were outside of his comfort zone.

“okay… so… remember what we did last time?” jaewon asked, more rethorical than anything yet still waiting for the producer to confirm with a nod. “forget all of that, we’re completely abandoning that. i need a complete 180.”

the look the producer shot him was one of mild despair and mentally, jaewon noted that after all of this was over, he owed the man much, much more than just a meal to thank him for all his efforts.

“i need something that doesn’t sound like anything i’ve ever done before. not by myself, not with my collaborations, not with unity, not even with champion. something people would never associate with me.” he elaborated further and the more he spoke, the more the other man seemed to form an idea.

“okay, that i can do. but tell me jaewon, do you think you can wave the brooding angsty vibe goodbye for one song?” it would’ve felt like a dig if well… the question wasn’t so valid. jaewon’s whole image was created around being dark and mysterious with a bit of a sexier push from dimensions. he could show up with a song completely different from that, but could he pull it off?

“yeah, yeah i can.”

when jaewon left the studio, it was with an instrumental filled with light-hearted, bouncing piano chords woven together with a deeper drum sound. he could work with this, he could make this work.

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

with kick it promotions wrapped up and little schedules outside of that, jaewon has plenty of time to withdraw himself in either one of the many studios of dimensions entertainment or the one back in his and soo’s apartment (the perks of both being involved in making music, a home studio was a must).

unlike for alarm, where jaewon had just forced himself to stare at an empty document until some semblance of an idea, this time the process was more guided. there was a lot of mood setting, browsing visuals of… white things. because that was the theme had to run with after all right, whatever that was supposed to mean. but also going through music, listening to songs much softer than what he was used to.

first just unity’s music, songs on their softer side. like touch for example, or 0 mile, but also a large chunk of their unity zone album (pandora’s box, daydream, love me now). none of them had the same playful edge the instrumental had, all on the softer side rather than the cute side but it was a step in the right direction. especially for jaewon who had always gravitated to the grittier, more experimental, noise-heavier sound of unity’s music. it was good to remind himself he’d done lighter before, that he could again.

it wasn’t just unity’s music though. jaewon doubted he’d ever listen to as much charm music as he did for writing this song.

so the first few studio days were spent spitting through reference material, both audio and visual, the most jaewon actually wrote a list of vague ideas, feelings, directions he could take the song in without, you know, actually writing lyrics.

the actual concept for reply came, funnily enough, completely by accident.

it’d been the fourth consecutive day jaewon had locked himself away in a recording studio in the company’s headquarters. it hadn’t been the plan to be away from home so much but he was on the verge of a breakthrough, he could feel it, all he did was try a little harder.

and still most of the day passed without much progress.

fine then, a small break was probably in place with how it had started bleeding into the evening already and jaewon retrieved his phone from wherever he had discarded it, not having looked at it for hours as he had been too busy with the creative process (even if, truly, he hadn’t achieved much).

unlocking his phone, he was immediately met with a row of text notifications, all from samsoo.

[ 09:16 incomming message : my universe ] i saw you already left, what time will you be home? [ 14:48 incomming message : my universe ] i’m going to get groceries, is there anything you need? [ 16:04 incomming message : my universe ] don’t overwork yourself jagiya [ 18:35 incomming message : my universe ] i’m assuming you won’t be home for dinner, there are leftovers in the fridge [ 19:22 incomming message : my universe ] just let me know what time you get home yeah? [ 19:59 incomming message : my universe ] jagiya?

of course, jaewon felt bad for leaving his boyfriend unanswered for so long, still, a part of him couldn’t help but smile fondly at the texts, warmth spreading in his chest at the concern, a feeling no one other than samsoo had ever been able to evoke in him.

that much had to be worth a song right?

jaewon could work with this, but of course not before responding to his boyfriend.

[ 20:31 outgoing message : my universe ] sorry, i lost track of time [ 20:31 outgoing message : my universe ] i just got an idea so it will be few hours still probably [ 20:32 outgoing message : my universe ] let me make it up to you tomorrow? no plans or anything, just us [ 20:33 outgoing message : my universe ] i love you, see you in a few hours

after that, his phone ended up back where it had been all those previous hours, after all, he had better things to focus on, like writing. he wanted a song that did justice to the happiness he felt whenever hearing from soo, how his heart felt lighter with every text message, every phone call from his boyfriend that had pretty much been dragging him through the workload that mainly had come with champion lately.

even two years into their relationship, their was a certain giddiness that came whenever his boyfriend’s name popped up on his phone, especially when the two of them were separated for a longer period of time.

it's a waste of time being alone and i'm waiting for your reply

the more lyrics he writes, the more he deviates from his original inspiration, somewhere along the line deciding to depict a relationship in its earlier stages rather than his own. as lovestruck as him and soo still were up to this day, jaewon had no doubts that he had been even more whipped, even more impatient to spend more time as a couple than he was today. this wasn’t supposed to just be about his relationship, it was supposed to have a universal feeling to it, something almost everyone could relate to.

i don't want to be alone let's just go out to the cafe on a day like this

it seemed a fitting theme for the color white, the excitement and eagerness of young love. of anxiously awaiting a text message even though you’d seen each other a few minutes ago, almost obsessively yet so innocent, so well-intended that it’s hard to attach a negative connotation to it. a helpless, awkward kind of impatience as you’re still figuring out the ins and outs of dating.

ya, what are you doing, except for me, call me what are you doing?

some more hours passed but eventually, jaewon finished the song a little before midnight. it was still a draft, some parts would undoubtedly have to be tweaked, words swapped out to be more fitting but it’s just fine-tuning, it can wait.

at the moment, jaewon just wanted to return home to soo with the same eagerness in his heart that he had just written down for reply.

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

(he did end up fine-tuning the lyrics but not until the 23rd, the day he went in for recording and producing the final version of the song. ideally, he would have waited with the final recording until after the demo performances the next day but with champion leaving for america almost immediately, there was no time for that, the deadline slated for when he would be in the state. this would have to do instead, trying to get done the majority of the work before he left and if anything needed to be changed after the demo recording, any unforseen feedback, suggestions of criticism, jaewon would have to trust on his co-producer to take care of it. not that the thought worried him, the man was probably more skilled than he was anyway.)