#I wish I could talk to my parents in any normal capacity at all but neither of them are able to communicate like normal ppl so I can't and

[ceruleanwhore]

I wanted to make another set of childfree headcanons like I did for ikevamp but for ikeprince this time. For the record, when I do it like this where I’m going through all the characters in this way, I’m doing that for all the cf folks out there who maybe want to be able to think of their fave as being compatible with them or whatever else. This isn’t me being like ‘I believe every character in this story would genuinely be cf,’ this is me coming up with ways to justifying whoever out there might want to believe that any of these characters could be cf, potentially. I’m not doing all the characters, though, since Silvio, Keith, and Gilbert haven’t been released yet and I have all my knowledge of them from Tumblr translations that not everyone has seen.

Also, this is going to be more dark and serious than the last one, so TW for talking about ptsd and also a mention of suicide. 

Jin — He has a very complicated relationship with his parents and with his childhood that I think would get in the way of him consciously deciding that he wishes to have kids. I also could see him doubting himself and his ability to protect any potential kids after that one time he couldn’t protect some children 🙃 Regardless, I see him readily agreeing to a cf lifestyle if prompted by a cf partner.

Chev — I get the vibe from him that he has no real, genuine desire to have children and also that his own complicated relationship with his mother might further dissuade any such desires, but I do also think that he sees procreation as part of his duties as a prince or as king. I believe that having his partner come disclose to him that they do not desire children would in a way be liberating for him because then he could let go of feeling the need to force himself to do so anyway and come up with a different solution if he’d need an heir as king.

Clavis — He’s said it himself that what he wants more than anything is for someone to love him above all else and, as both my parents have explained to me, once children come into the picture you do love them even more than your partner, and I think he’d struggle with that. Also, he’s so much better suited to be a fun uncle than to actually be a father and I genuinely think that’s also what he’d want for himself more than actual fatherhood.

Leon — The strongest impression he gave me in his route is that, once he’s interested, he is 100% dedicated to making his partner happy, so that’s where he strikes me as one of those guys who would go with whatever his sweet baboo desires.

Yves — I mean, I don’t see him doing well with the mess and the noise, not to mention that he has his infamously bad luck that actually could prove harmful to a baby. More than that, though, he already has tremendous amounts of stress from all the added pressure he puts on himself with his work for perfectionism as well as all the criticism he constantly receives from everyone else around him who isn’t Sariel or the other princes, so I just don’t think he has the capacity for the additional stress that would come with a child. Also, beyond the normal stress of having kids, he would then also suffer additional stress from the constant criticism he would receive from people around him every day about how he is as a parent or even about his kids and I genuinely don’t think he could handle all of that, all stacked up.

Licht — This man is so traumatized from his childhood that there’s no way he’d let himself even consider it. If he ever had a partner end up pregnant, it would massively trigger his PTSD and might push him to leave or even die by suicide, given his mental health history. I think he’d be positively delighted to skip that part of marriage and just enjoy his relationship with his partner, without any stowaways.

Nokto — Also heavily traumatized, also not getting over that trauma any time soon, would likely do horribly with having children. The other thing you need to remember about the twins when it comes to kids is that it isn’t just how much they’d panic about the idea of having children, it’s also that massive, unprocessed trauma like they both have can get triggered by said children and come out in some pretty awful ways. I was lucky enough that, in my personal experience with such things, all I got from my dad being blindsided by suddenly having all this trauma he didn’t know he had being triggered by me was yelling and, when I was younger, some spanking. With the twins, yes, we can all agree that they’re good people, but if they were genuinely triggered by a child in a way they never would have expected to experience, they could do something worse than yelling or it could even send them back, mentally, to their childhood so now the baby’s crying because it’s hungry but Nokto’s now in the middle of a PTSD episode and is also crying and yelling about how his mom needs to leave Licht alone. Like I cannot express how bad it could be for these two to have kids without YEARS of therapy at least.

Luke — He has that really interesting attachment style where he gets so singularly attached to one person, so with as much as he talks a lot, even at the very end, about how he doesn’t give two shits about anyone except his sister and his partner and maybe also Jin, he could very well see a potential baby as just a stranger that he doesn’t really give a shit about. Now, obviously, one could point out that once a baby has actually been produced he could come to love it like he loves his sister, but that would require the production of a baby in the first place, which wouldn’t happen if he had a childfree partner. 

Sariel — First off, he lives and breathes for his work, so I really don’t see him having the time to really focus on a child the way that they need. Secondly, it’s clear that he doesn’t like or do well with chaos of any kind, as proven by Clavis, so it seems unlikely to me that he would desire to produce something that is inherently going to be the living embodiment of chaos for some time. 

Rio — This man would be thrilled to do literally anything at all to make one woman happy, including having or not having kids. He’s a delightfully submissive simp who will do anything his mistress asks, no matter what, so it’s only natural he’d accommodate any preference, including this one.

[cocomoonskysailing-2016]

Reflection 🪞

When I was younger, I met someone I thought I liked. I was a shy quiet person and didn't know how to reach out so I was on Facebook messenger and text messages. I knew I was questioning my identity, and who I loved, and I thought I could trust them. I was going under a lot of stress with a family member going through cancer and I overwhelmed them with ramblings they didn't bother to read. But their parents got involved and showed the school.

I don't remember much about being pulled out of school other than it being right before Christmas. My parents knew I needed more support with social skills, but the school didn't have much they could provide me. I ended up spending 8th grade mostly alone because it felt like everyone was against me so I just stopped talking. I would interrupt conversations that didn't involve me, and didn't know the right people to approach, so I sat at a lunch table by myself. One day when I was lonely I sang out loud "someone like you" when it clearly wasn't the right time and place for it, and a trip to the guidance office to be told to stop singing, no matter how I feel.

I was removed from participating in what I wanted to do because I couldn't accept that one person out of the class didn't want me to be their friend and it felt like I was making too much eye contact. I remember being told that having a YouTube channel was "wrong" at 13 and I might regret it someday. I have all these skills in media arts, but now I hope to find the motivation to use it.

Years later as I look back now as an adult, I wish I had more self restraint in accepting rejection. It didn't help me believe in myself when I had a resource teacher yell at me almost every day for 3 years telling me I need to do better when I am trying to stay motivated and still treat people with kindness. It made me afraid of authority and being able to speak up for my basic needs. I don't remember how I graduated high school beyond mapping out every restroom break to avoid an accident, yet people started to value what I had to say, sometimes people enjoyed learning from me or listening to me. The sense of community brought me inspiration and warmth I still carry in my heart. If my voice could only reach back through the past and tell them some people need to go their own ways, so other things can glow for you.

When I look at the person I lucky enough to call my partner, they are everything I could have dreamed of. They have their own issues, but they are trying their best, and I believe they have what it takes to succeed. The importance of showing love for yourself within so it can be shared with others over time. Everything in life happens for a reason.

My inner child still screams out loud for diapers because I still get sensory overload using the toilet. I have the awareness of an adult and I know what people expect of me, but I don't always know my limits until it can't wait any longer. I still value being responsible even if taking cate if my needs looks different. I am in therapy and trying to move on from it, but I still need to try to believe myself. My twin sibling has severe disabilities that make them like a small child with no short term memory and they just locked up their bathroom door again after a thunderstorm made them have a meltdown. I need to move out someday, I do not have the physical or emotional capacity to care for him if my parents pass away, but I don't want to be labeled as neglectful when I have felt ignored for my own needs.

Normally I just throw these writings away, but maybe posting it here can reach someone? Instead of drinking alcohol tonight writing this, I'm stimming/hand-flapping to some music. I need to smile more.

[squirmydonnie]

Vent:

I am.causing my pain

I never know quite where to.look

But when I do. It's often recently been the wrong place

With people who.simply don't have the capacity for me

I hope that they do or will

But the truth is I can never be sure.

I forget that my parents are even an option sometimes.

They would hate to hear that.

And they will same the same things I'm used to.

Sometimes they surprise me.

I often only want more information about them. I don't want to hear your name old story you usually do. The same topic again. I liked hearing more. Not that it was positive things. It was sad things. But I still liked hearing it.

I get the need for.positive reinforcement. But I don't want to give it to you.

I've done it before, and it's become tired.

I don't really feel like it.

I didn't think very much about it before.

I didn't realise I was making a choice.

That I've been making the choice to not tell them.things.

I do it very regularly.

I think.i might be a more healthy individual if I did that from the start.

But I had seen it as something I would do on my own. As to not bother anyone with it.

In the same way I chose to not ask for clothes I liked, out of fear that money would squander.

I wish i wasn't perceptive.

Not that it doesn't do any good for me, but that it hurts me.so much.

Being aware only does you a bit of the work.

I don't really know where I'm going with this.

But it feels better to not be rushed.

Rushed by fear.

Even though I actually still am.

My dad told me I'm the first thing he's ever loved at first sight.

He's told me this a few times.

When driving me home from the hospital he couldn't stop looking at me through the mirror.

My mom had to keep reminding him to focus.

I've never heard him say anything like this about my mom.

It made me wonder if I'm the first thing he's ever loved at first sight, how he could treat me like this.

The way that he did. Because he's mostly stopped now.

But I've forced myself to remember. So I could understand why we are like this.

When I said that it may be a trust issue yesterday. I wished that I could have taken it back. So that he wouldn't think it was so seriously.

I want people to take me seriously but I'm also quite afraid of it.

I didn't want him to think things were more wrong then he already thought.

I guess that he probably should know, but it doesn't make me feel much better about saying it in the first place.

It made me wish I would have shut up. That I just wished I would have been able to so stay quiet like I normally do.

That just the once I'd be able to keep it in, like I do regularly.

But how could it be anything but mistrust when you do not see me.

When I came out it was a mistake.

It was supposed to be 2 years from now.

But I got so caught up in the emotion of the moment that I said it.

This time I was getting so tired of hearing the regular and more annoyance than usual, that I let it slip.

You see a lot about what I was like.

How I was before 5th grade.

He always says that.

He mentions 5th grade as if it's a maker about me. And everytime I don't know what he's saying about it.

5th grade was a turning point, but still what I'd say was a great year for me.

I enjoyed it greatly.

He even admitted that I didn't seem phased by graduating from the grade. So I never fully understood why he's held onto it so much.

He told me about something that happened at the playground once.

But to me because I don't remember it and I can't connect it much with problems I have now I don't really understand.

There weren't any kids my age there. They were all my brothers age or younger. I got sad. We were leaving. But a.girl came there who was my age. I asked to stay and then we did.

Its sweet of him to remember this. But I'm not quite sure what he means by the change.

I really wish that he would hurry up and tell me sooner. That he would just elaborate on it already.

Because he's been talking about it since 6th grade.

I may have an idea of what he's talking about. But I wish he was more specific.

I can't believe I stayed up until 6 today.

[kae-karo]

any advice for dealing with a conservative homophobic parent who has no sympathy for my anxiety and depression but i can't cut out of my life because i still wanna go home for holidays to see the rest of my family?

aaaa hi dear !!! oh no first of all i am so sorry that is just. so sucky :/ i'll be real i wish i had some stellar, catch-all solution, but the reality is that i probably don't have something foolproof - i'll do my best, though!!

are you looking more for advice on dealing with the parent outside of actual in-person contact with them? or more in the context of dealing with them in-person (ie over the holidays, or during other situations mandated in order to keep enough contact to still see family during the holidays)?

if the former, it might help to minimize contact as much as possible - not sure how often you keep in touch with the problem parent today, but less contact (if possible, if they're not planning to guilt trip about it) might help mitigate stressful or upsetting conversations

this is...possible, obviously, but it definitely depends on your relationship as it stands today. the relationship i happen to have cultivated with my parents basically means i text them maybe once a week just to say hi? and see them maybe twice a month for like a dinner or something. so avoiding any engagement in deep discussions is pretty simple for me, but if you're in regular contact with this parent, it might be harder to straight up avoid them?

if avoidance isn't really feasible, it might be helpful to brainstorm some topics you can easily segue to from something you don't want to talk about - if this parent has a particular hobby, a show/movie they enjoy or might enjoy, recent life event, a job you can ask about, etc, that can be really useful to redirect. if they're nosy, having some easy 'here's what i've been up to' things to talk about (or here's what i've been watching/reading/etc) that are 'safe' topics may keep them off your back/keep longer conversations more limited. it may help to take some time beforehand to prepare some ideas so that you don't end up stressing yourself out more trying to think of something on the spot (depending on how these convos typically happen)

if you're more looking for advice on dealing with the problem parent over the holidays specifically, then my advice still...goes back to avoidance if possible lmao

i don't know your living situation or that of the family you want to be around, but my very first recommendation would be to consider whether it's possible (both from a physical/practical standpoint and from an emotional standpoint) to visit with the family you like without seeing the problem parent

is there another relative's place you could gather while you're visiting? or someone else you could stay with, if you'd normally stay with the problem parent in some capacity? or is there some way to gather in public without the problem parent? not entirely sure how feasible this is for you, but in my experience, avoidance tends to be the least stressful situation to manage, at least in the moment

obviously, that's not always possible, which is totally understandable? if you have other places to stay to visit fam that aren't at home, that might still help alleviate contact with the problem parent, but again, not always possible. as for actually dealing with the parent...

frankly i think this depends on what you feel comfortable with? everyone is really different on how they feel comfortable engaging with people that they know will be distressing to be around - i personally try to avoid or deescalate, so my advice is probably more geared toward that type of encounter, as i tend to get very stressed out very quickly and then nobody's having a good time lmao

if that's the route you're going for, i'd suggest enlisting some trusted family members - people you can lean on to help get you out of awkward or stressful encounters, or who are willing to step in to deescalate or change the subject to something else. i'm absolute garbage at remembering to take a step back when i start getting upset or stressed or heated about a topic, and it can be super helpful to have someone you trust looking out for you when those situations come around! letting them know ahead of time that you really want to spend time with them, but being around that parent can be stressful and if the subject changes to (insert topics here - politics, sexuality, mental health, etc), you'd be really grateful if they could help you redirect the conversation or just shut it down if they're comfortable with it. sometimes, just having allies can really help mitigate problems. idk what this parent is like, but there are def some unkind people that learn pretty quick to shut up when everyone (or lots of people) aren't supporting them

this is also something to try yourself if you feel comfortable! using those topics i mentioned earlier to segue away from discussions that might end up stressful should they continue for too long

this all of course leans more toward the management of a problem parent and not so much on the 'trying to change them' aspect...which can be very hard to even approach, let alone accomplish, so i'd say it's really only something to try if you're genuinely in a very stable place with a lot of love and support around you to help navigate stressful situations. i personally don't have a ton of advice here, and i don't think it'd be a one-and-done kind of solution, but rather an ongoing conversation in which your parent also needs to be willing to consider change. not entirely unlikely, but it can be frustrating if they're not genuinely willing to make an effort to meet you halfway. this one is very much a buyer beware piece of advice, and i don't feel particularly well-equipped to offer more than a suggestion that a conversation about wanting to have more conversations without dipping into territory that makes you (or the parent) feel attacked or hurt can potentially be a place to start

phew. okay. all of that said, i think my most significant piece of advice is to focus on the people you care about. ask them for help, try to spend more if not all of your time with them wherever possible. in the meantime, i'd personally probably keep minimal contact with the problem parent unless necessary :/ i am sending u all the best vibes and i hope that this helped at least a little 💜

[sevencolorsoul]

U ever almost don’t eat cuz ur father decides to be a dick

[mercy-burning]

Myth or Movie

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Unbeknownst to the two of them, Y/N and Spencer's children have worked up a plan to get them to meet... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative/unprotected sex, someone is misgendered (nothing too bad, it’s very brief, and it’s sincerely apologized for by the person who misgenders) Word Count: 4.2k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is my 2nd entry for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) Enemies To Lover’s Writing Challenge! This one was one of the prompts she provided: You and (Character)'s kids don't get along, so you have to have a talk. Turns out you... really really get along... and I couldn’t wait to tackle it! I believe my exact words were: “I’m gonna Parent Trap these bitches”... So do with that what you will lol

———

"I'm so sorry I'm late!"

Two heads turn to stare at me as I burst through the doors. I'm out of breath from running through the building, something the staff really didn't seem to appreciate, though their shouts and annoyed glances were the last thing on my mind.

As I try to catch my breath, the two heads stand, and suddenly I feel a lot smaller.

One of them I recognize— Principal Anteros. I'd met with her before over some of Sky's academic achievements, all positive things, which is why today's circumstances make being in this office rather uncomfortable.

It's also why I seem to shrink with embarrassment at my tardiness— and appearance. Waitressing has its benefits, but today's whirlwind of phone calls and a mention at meeting another parent are not any of them.

Speaking of, the other person in the room is one I've never seen before. He's taller than both Anteros and I, extremely well dressed, and probably the most intimidatingly beautiful human being I'd ever met. I can barely meet his eyes, and so I try not to think about what he's doing here—to think about having to talk to him.

I shrink even further.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Principal Anteros greets. Thankfully she doesn't sound too upset given the circumstances. "Please, have a seat."

I do, brushing off my uniform as if that will somehow help my appearance. The soft leather of the chairs, however comfortable they might be, fail to bring me any comfort at all.

"As I'm sure you've guessed already, this is Doctor Reid, Vivian's father."

Great, he's a fucking doctor? This already bodes well for me...

Regardless of my reservations, I turn to him and give a faint smile. He waves in turn, and for the time being I'm extremely glad he doesn't insist on shaking my hand.

"It's nice to meet you," he says, surely nothing but a formality.

"You, too," I say quickly, then turn back to Principal Anteros. "Your phone call sounded urgent... Is everything alright?"

As soon as I say it, I feel kind of dumb. Because of course everything isn't alright. My child's principal called a meeting with another parent, and that can never mean anything good, not to mention the fucking intimidation and awkwardness in the room right now. I almost apologize, trying to explain that that wasn't exactly what I meant to get across, but then I would have just been talking for way too long, embarrassing myself further.

Once again, I'm thankful for Anteros's ability to move the conversation along. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't seem so. I only bring this to attention because Sky and Vivian are both stellar students. They've never had any disciplinary issues or difficulties with other students..."

"No one's hurt, right?" Mr. Reid asks. I know he's just concerned for his child, but for some reason it feels like an attack on me, like he assumes my kid had something to do with it.

"No, no one's hurt. Thankfully there weren't any physical altercations. But it seems your girls are quite... loud."

The doctor looks like he wants to say something, but I'm quick to jump in before he can. "Sorry... Sky is non-binary. They use they/them pronouns."

I half expect one or either of them to make a big deal or just roll their eyes at me, as most people seem to do when I correct them on the matter, but Anteros gives a sincere apology and Reid probably couldn't have cared any less.

I still can't tell if I like him or not...

But that doesn't matter right now.

"What do you mean by loud?" I continue.

Anteros sighs. "Well, while there hasn't been any physical violence, your kids seem to have very heated arguments, usually during lunch or in the hallway in passing... We thought maybe we could resolve it here since, like I said, they're both excellent students, but then it started escalating to classroom arguments... It's a lot of screaming..."

I have never known Sky to raise their voice at anyone, not even in a situation where I probably would have. Lord knows I'm thankful they don't have my impatience and tendency to get pissed off easily...

So what happened that was so bad, it made them snap?

"You... You're sure you mean Vivian is acting out like this?" Reid asks slowly, and I can't stop myself from laughing out loud.

"Come on, she's a professional. This has been going on for weeks, in her school, I'm sure she would know if it was your kid having a screaming match with someone else..."

This time Doctor Reid actually looks over at me, an eyebrow raised, and though I very much believe what I've just told him, the way he's looking at me right now drops my heart straight down to my stomach, like he's the principal and I'm the student acting out—No, it's worse than that... I feel like he's a disappointed parent, but not with Vivian, with me.

I avoid his intimidating stare and look down at the ground. "Sorry... I'm just... This isn't like Sky, either, I don't know what to do..."

"Well, usually when we have these sort of disputes, we like to have the students talk it out amongst themselves with a moderator present. But we've tried that, and it seems that they still haven't made any progress. Now, I know your children are good at heart, and it seems like you both are excellent parents— You know your children better than anyone here ever could. So, I'm proposing the two of you take a meeting some time and try to figure out how to settle this."

Seriously? If it hasn't been made clear already, this man is a doctor of some kind, planets away from my league in any capacity, and I can just picture the two of us in a screaming match close to what I imagine our children's looked like...

Maybe we can just e-mail.

"Okay," he agrees evenly, and I'm surprised he seems this calm considering I've just practically yelled at him... "I have free time this afternoon if you want to talk it over."

"I have to get back to work, but I get done at five," I sigh, wanting to get this over with. "Are you free then?"

"Mhm."

"Good," Anteros chirps, standing and leaving Doctor Reid and I to follow suit. "Perhaps over the weekend we can get this settled."

I sure as hell hope so.

———

"Ms. Y/L/N, wait!"

I have no idea what he could possibly want from me now that we've set a time and place to talk tonight, but I'm just praying desperately that he doesn't want to take this time alone in the parking lot to get back at me for accosting him in Anteros's office...

Thankfully, his face when he approaches seems rather kind.

"You can call me Y/N..."

"Right," he says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and nodding. "I'm Spencer."

"Spencer... So, um... Did you need something?"

"O—Oh, I just... I know you have to get back to work so I'll make this short, but I wanted to see if you wanted to do, uh... dinner tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I just figured since we probably didn't expect for our weekend to go this way... We should make it worth it?"

"Are you really trying to turn this into a date?"

"W— No, not really, I just... You know, I thought it might be nice to... make this less like a chore, you know? A—And don't feel like you have to say yes, it was just a thought, I'm sorry if I made this weirder..."

The fact that I still can't figure this man out bothers me, but right now he's blushing, and he looks like he's trying to save himself from embarrassment, and it's so fucking adorable that I don't really care that I was just annoyed.

So I tell him, "Sure. Why not?"

"Really?"

"Yeah... Besides, Lord knows I haven't gone out for dinner in a long time."

The doctor is relieved, a smile creeping up on his lips that suddenly tugs at my insides and makes me wish for a second that it really is a date he's offering... "Okay, good. Do you want to meet at Waterstone, seven o'clock?"

The excitement starts to drain from me as he says it, followed by an incoming wave of embarrassment. "Oh, man, that... That place is kind of expensive, I don't—"

"Oh, it's okay, I'll pay for everything. I'll even wait outside for you so we can go in together if you'd like..."

Why he's being so nice to me I have no idea, but it's making my annoyance melt and my heart start to beat faster, and I really don't know how to feel about that. In fact I'm pretty sure it's weird as fuck given the circumstances.

But all I have to do is make it through this weekend, hopefully all will be back to normal, and I won't ever have to think about it ever again.

"Alright... It's a date."

———

Out of all the scenarios I'd pictured for the end of the night, this definitely had not been one of them.

I finished my shift at the diner, imagining on my drive home the look on his face when I inevitably showed up with something on my face or stained on my dress; Instead I showed up to Waterstone and was greeted with wandering eyes and showered with bashful compliments.

I expected to get into some type of argument about how each of our kids were better than the other or something, but we ended up talking through their traits with compassion, interest, and pride, all while agreeing that we just have to sit with them this weekend and explain that there are easier, better ways to sort out disagreements than screaming at each other in public.

I expected not to have much fun at all, but by the time we gathered the check and headed out the door, Spencer and I were laughing, just a little tipsy on Cabernet, our hands gently brushing and sparks shooting up my arm at the feeling.

I expected to go our separate ways and walk to my car and drive home, but instead he ended up telling me he was taking the Subway home, and I offered to give him a ride to the opposite side of town where I lived (Waterstone was right in the middle).

I expected to walk through the door, stumble straight up to bed, and sleep until Sky inevitably woke me up with them saying I've slept in too late and needed to get ready for work, but instead I ended up following Spencer up to his door to say goodnight.

And now we're at a fork in the road, and I can take one of two paths.

I can say goodnight, watch him walk in, and then go home and forget about this whole thing.

Or I can keep letting him stare at me until I find myself leaning in to kiss him. Whether or not he'll actually reciprocate is another story, but the little bit of wine tingling in the surface of my body and the dark, intense look in his eye gives me more courage than I've had since I met him.

Before I can make a move, Spencer talks, his voice small and inviting. "Do you want to come inside?" The beating of my heart quickens immensely as he takes another step forward and brings his fingers out to graze my chin. "Vivian's with her mom tonight."

Yes. Vivian's mom, who divorced Spencer pretty soon in the marriage after she just decided his job was too much to handle. He'd quit and took a teaching job, but even still, she declined his pleading to stay married and eventually admitted that she just wasn't in love with him anymore. At least she had the decency to let him have joint custody once his schedule cleared up, and it seemed like they were decent co-parents. Maybe even friends.

I think about Sky, how much they wish their dad had stayed, and how much I wish he had too. I was devastated when he left without anything more than a note. For years it took a huge toll on us, and I barely had the headspace to even think about dating anyone since then.

But here I am now, standing with this man who has also lost a spouse, who's somewhat of a single parent, and who seems kind and genuine enough that I don't think I'd have to worry about bringing him into the life of my child.

Though, I don't even know it'll go that far. I'm getting too far ahead of myself, and so to slow down I look at what's right in front of me. Right now.

Spencer looks at me like he wants to devour me. My whole body is tingling from head to toe. I want to kiss him, and I'm pretty damn sure he wants to kiss me back. He just invited me inside, which means that if I accept, we'll most likely end up sleeping with each other.

Again... Definitely not one of the scenarios I'd had in mind when I left the school today. But it's a damn good one, and he's so hot I want to cry.

My flirty switch turns on so fast, it nearly gives me whiplash. "And what are you gonna do if I say yes?"

"Depends... How badly do you want to walk tomorrow?"

My first instinct is to jokingly tell him to put me in a wheelchair, but I settle for kissing him instead, hoping that gives the same sentiment.

The way he melts into my body tells me I've succeeded. My arms fly up to his neck and pull him closer, and he holds me tightly to him, waiting for my lips to part so he can expertly slip his tongue past them.

I whine out and take a step towards the door. Spencer comes with me and fumbles with the keys in his pocket before reluctantly pulling away to get us inside.

Once we take our jackets and shoes off, he clings to me like static, drawn to me like a magnet, and I let him near without a second thought. Our lips find each other perfectly, like they've always meant to fit together. And as pieces of clothing come off on our way through the house and up to his bedroom, our limbs fit together just as well. Nothing is out of place.

Hell, I don't even remember how inferior to him I felt earlier in the day. Our jobs and lifestyles might seem like polar opposites, but for right now, the two of us are on very equal footing, coming together like it's always been meant to be.

I nearly fall apart when his fingers gather wetness from my cunt, just enough to tease me before pulling away and bringing them to his lips. I watch with a whine waiting on the back of my tongue as he slips his fingers past his mouth and sighs.

"More," is all he manages, and I want so badly to tease him—tell him how I know he can be more eloquent than that—but words are all lost on me too, when he drops to his knees and spreads me apart with ease. I have no choice but to reach behind and grip the foot-end of the bed as he works his tongue expertly against me.

Each of my sighs and whines are met with more avidity from him, taking the form of sharp flicks of the tongue over my clit, and once he adds his fingers to the mix, pumping them expertly inside me, I'm a fucking goner.

I come with a silent shout, clenching my thighs around his face and gripping the foot of the bed so tightly it feels like my hands might go numb.

Once my body loosens, Spencer gets up and kisses me, nearly knocking me over. I'm breathless and dizzy as the tang of my arousal coats my tastebuds. His hands are gentle despite the hunger in his lips, and the medley of sensations of all of these things has me weak in the knees.

"Getting harder to stand already, sweetheart?" he laughs, catching me as I fall into him. His hands clutch at my thighs and he carries me to the edge of the bed, crawling over top of me and kissing down my neck. "That's okay... I'll take good care of you."

I still can't manage to speak as he gently pushes in, the slow burn of him splitting me in two rendering me utterly incapable of even thought. I gladly welcome the pressure, especially once he's inside me all the way and lowering his body to mine. Our chests press firmly together as he pulls back and starts a steady pace with his hips. He traps me with his arms, bringing them to either side of my face. And when his fingers brush the hair from my eyes, he stares into them with intensity as he fucks me.

It's slow and hard. It's heart-pounding. It's earth-shattering. It's everything that makes sex worth having. In that moment we're two equals, so wrapped up in the mere feeling of each other that everything else is just background noise. He breathes me in and I do the same, and with each cant forward of his hips, he brings me deeper into this world we've both ultimately created together.

I want more than anything to wrap my legs around him and keep him close to me, but he's fucking me so good that I don't have the willpower. Instead, they lay spread out, lazy and open as his hips move between them. I'm warm all over, tingling everywhere our skin connects. When he kisses me, swallowing my pathetic attempts at whimpering his name, I'm positive that this is what Heaven must feel like.

Whether it's hours or only minutes later, eventually my body tenses, unable to hold back any further, and two particularly deep thrusts from Spencer send me barreling over the edge.

"There it is, sweetheart..." he praises, caressing my face with long, gentle fingers and leaving little kisses wherever they trail. His voice only seems to help me along, each warm syllable soothing the muscles that pulled taut at his mercy. "That's a good girl..."

I feel tired, calmed, and relaxed, when he pulls out only to jerk off over my lower stomach. Through tired eyes, I watch as he lets go and covers me with his release. Hearing him grunt out my name as he does it nearly wakes me up again, and it even finally brings some words out of me.

"God, you're so fucking hot..."

Well... Not exactly elegant, but the feeling gets across.

Spencer laughs and rolls over so that he isn't nearly crushing me anymore. He kisses down my neck, my arm, and he ever-so-slightly swipes the tip of his tongue over the mess he made before kissing my thigh and getting up to leave— presumably to get me something to clean up with.

Sure enough, he returns shortly with a wet washcloth and tenderly cleans me up. I manage to sit, leaning back on my elbows once he's done and smile at him. He's practically kneeling in front of me again, smiling back as his lips press featherlight kisses to the inside of my leg.

"How're you feeling?" he drawls, letting me pull him up to lay down with me.

"Really good. I haven't done that in so long..."

"Me either... I um... I hadn't really thought much about seeing other people once Lena and I got divorced... I guess I just wanted to put all my focus into being the best father I could, you know?"

"Mhm," I answer, turning to face him and interlocking our fingers. "I know exactly what you mean."

We lay like that for a few moments in comfortable silence, hands and limbs tangled while we breathe the same air and revel in the afterglow we've just created.

Suddenly Spencer laughs, and I squeeze his hand. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking... We probably wouldn't have met if not for Anteros calling us in, right?"

"Yeah..." I piece it together. "Guess I never thought of it that way."

"I just think it's funny, because in Greek mythology, Anteros was an Erote, known as an avenger of unrequited love, and he punished those who scoffed at romantic advances made by others... You and I never even thought about dating after our separations, and yet... Here we are now, because of Anteros."

Hearing him educate me on Greek mythology only serves to remind me how different we are. Still, the little story brings a comforting smile to my lips. "Well... Remind me to send her a basket of muffins or something to thank her."

"And tell her what? That you're grateful she got you laid?"

"Yeah. And what about it?"

The two of us dissolve into laughter that eventually fizzles and leaves us silent again. Our fingers are still tangled, and somehow we've snuggled in even closer.

"In any case, I'm glad I got to meet you, Doctor Reid."

"And I, you, Ms. Y/L/N..."

———

In the past two weeks since that first meeting, I hadn't received any more phone calls from Principal Anteros, which bode as a good sign.

Spencer and I decided to see each other as secretly as we could, which meant only giving vague details to our kids as to what we were doing in our spare time— It seemed weird to spring it on them if they didn't get along, so we figured it was best to wait until the situation was handled.

I tried to talk to Sky about their progress with Vivian, but they only insisted that everything was fine and they wouldn't have to worry anymore. And after relaying this information to Spencer, he informed me that Viv had said the same thing to him.

It wasn't until we both realized that they'd said the same things verbatim each time we asked, that something odd was going on.

And that's how we end up right here, Sky and I sitting on a park bench bathed in the golden October sun while I patiently wait for Spencer to 'coincidentally' show up with Vivian.

Thankfully I don't have to wait too long, because almost five minutes after we sit, I hear the familiar sound of my name falling from his lips, and it's hard to contain the cocky, playful smile that appears upon my own.

"Spencer, hey!" I call back, standing up and going to give him a hug. He pulls me in and he's nice and warm. He smells like burnt wood for some reason, and I want to breathe him in forever. Instead, I settle for a sweet kiss on the lips, both because I simply want to and also because it should baffle the fuck out of our kids.

Sure enough we pull away and look to them, and they look panicked. They have no idea what to do, what to say...

"Oh! Sorry... Viv, this is Y/N, Sky's mom."

The pure amusement in Spencer's voice makes me feel even warmer than being in his embrace. I look to his daughter and give her a wave. "Hi."

"H—Hi..."

It almost seems cruel to laugh at their predicament, but as I turn to Sky and introduce them to Spencer, they have clear annoyance written all over their face.

"Okay, Mom, I think we get it... How did you guys figure it out?"

"What, that you two pretended to hate each other so your principal would have to call us both in to meet?"

The pre-teens look at each other and sigh, truly defeated once and for all. "Yeah," they mutter simultaneously.

"Well, it surely didn't make any sense when you got in trouble for yelling at each other in the first place," Spencer points out. "And then when we asked you how things were working out, you both said the same exact thing..."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out, but we appreciate the effort," I add, reaching out to ruffle Sky's hair. They jerk away playfully, and I can't help but notice their smile as they peek over at Vivian.

"Our plan worked, though, so I call it a win," Vivian says with a shrug.

"As long as you two don't plan on causing any more disruptions at school..." Spencer looks between the both of them, and then at me, his eyes softening as he takes my hand and squeezes it. "Then yes. I'd call it a win, too."

I lean into him and laugh. "Turns out it wasn't Greek mythology that brought us together. It was The Parent Trap."

He raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't get what I mean, and before I can ask or explain, Vivian does it for me. "He's never seen it."

Spencer looks between the three of us like a lost and confused puppy, and we all laugh.

"Well, then, maybe we'll have to have a movie night sometime soon," I offer, reaching out for Sky.

Hand in hand, the four of us continue down the pathway, walking away from the setting sun while dried leaves rustle under our feet.

———

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[blackleatherjacketz]

Father’s Day

Peter Parker x Frank Castle (Platonic)

Summary: Set a few months after Spider-Man No Way Home, Peter goes to the last person he knows for help, someone he knows will be at a carousel on Father’s Day.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of major character deaths, Peter reaching out to Frank

Notes: I’m a week late, but it’s Cancer Season, and I’m in my feels. I’ve never written Peter before, but for some reason, I got possessed by the idea of him seeking out a father figure in Frank on the saddest day possible. This was going to be a drabble and got away from me. Forgive me.

WC: 1.7k

Tags: @letsby @likedovesinthewnd​ @genevievedarcygranger​

The tinny tune of the carousel rang through the humid air of the park, children's laughter and babies crying mixed in with the song as it created its own odd melody. Dozens of different types of families were scattered in the picnic area between him and the moving circle, those closest to the ride absorbing most of the sound before it reached his sensitive ears.

“Can I sit here?” His voice shook as he pointed to the empty spot next to Frank, the summer sun beating down on the rubber-coated metal of the bench.

Peter remembered him mentioning this place a year or so ago when they were fighting King Pin’s men on top of a roof at four in the morning. Or maybe it was a little bit longer ago than that? The current state of things made it difficult for him to remember everything that happened before he made that stupid wish that turned his life upside down. He’d get things mixed up sometimes, wracking his brain to remember if certain things he recalled happened before or after the change, or if it was nothing more than just a dream.

Frank looked up and over at him, eyes pinpoint and defensive until he saw how young he was, his lip twitching in annoyance before his face finally relaxed along with the rest of his muscles. He didn’t recognize who he was; so much for hoping that there was still someone out there who did.

“Sure, kid.” Frank’s voice always reminded him of what a grizzly bear might sound like if one ever learned how to talk. He was big and scary despite not having any ‘real powers’, but he was always nice to Peter, seeming to sort of… soften a little when he was around him.

“Thanks.” Peter sat down next to him, not too close, but just close enough to relish in the feeling of sharing a space with someone he used to call a friend.

It was the little things that he missed the most as the days passed by alone. He missed being able to recall shared memories with someone, to notice the little things about them that no one else seemed to pay attention to but him, and vice versa. He missed high fives in the hallway with Ned, hugs from Aunt May and the long warm kisses he used to share with MJ. Most of all he just missed being seen, understood and cared for in literally any capacity.

The utter devastation he felt when MJ looked at him with cold and distant eyes, as if he were any other stranger walking down the street made his heart sink into the bitter acid of his stomach. How could he convince himself to explain their situation and bring things back to normal, chopping up their years of bonded experience to a few short sentences? How could he make someone love him who didn’t even know his name? He couldn’t, and he was going to have to learn to live with that. Every time he looked at her, though, whether from across the street or on a faraway rooftop, he knew that he could never get back what they used to have. Not the way he wanted, anyways.

He tried going to support groups on the outskirts of town, ones for people who’d lost their parents or for those who lost relationships during the blip and couldn’t quite get over the loss. No matter what the degree of tragedy he shared with them, no one could quite understand what he was going through. No one had lost everyone they had ever gotten close to before, only to have their identity completely eradicated as payment for saving the world.

He couldn’t even get a respectable job without a proper ID, and all the work he’d done at school and with Tony? Wiped clean from existence, as if he was never even born. The only person who would remotely know how he felt right now would be Frank, no stranger to devastating loss, false identities or going off the grid from time to time. If Peter was going to get out of town and start fresh, he was going to need Frank’s help.

Peter opened his mouth to introduce himself, coaching himself mentally with the details of his fake identity as he paused, thinking better of his initial plan of attack. Frank was a wild animal, one who had to be approached in just the right way in order to earn his trust and not get his arm ripped off or eaten for lunch. “You lost somebody, too, huh?” he asked.

So much for playing it cool, Peter.

Frank scoffed, putting something into his pocket before leaning back in his seat. “Do I know you?” His tone wasn’t angry, but it sure wasn’t friendly, either.

Peter wanted to say yes, to geek out about all the times they fought together alongside Daredevil against the worst of New York City, but he didn’t want to scare him away. He didn’t want to seem like some kid who wore a Punisher t-shirt to bed every night before kissing his Momento Mori poster, either. He really hated having to lie all the time, especially to people he knew or cared about. Sure, he had to do it to protect his identity when he was Spider-Man, but this was different. This was a constant, every second of everyday kind of lie. One that tied itself around your ankle and pulled you down to the bottom of the ocean until you couldn’t breathe anymore, kind of lie.

“I guess I just know that look when I see it,” Peter confessed, thinking of all the pain he’s had to endure since his parents passed away, now compounded a hundred-fold. He wondered how Frank had gone so long without totally collapsing in on himself the way he did every night when the world stopped spinning.

“Yeah?” Frank continued to look ahead, his jaw clenching as he clasped his hands together and leaned forward.

Oh God, he hated him already, didn’t he? The only reason he ever talked to him in the first place was because he saved his life when he nearly fell off a ladder that one time. It was pretty obvious that he wanted to be alone, that he didn’t want to be bothered, especially by an annoying kid like him. Why did he come here in the first place thinking this was going to be a good idea? Why was he so stupid?

Focus, Peter. If you can save the world as many times as you have, you can definitely do this.

“And what look is that?” Frank brought him out of his thoughts, bouncing his knee up and down.

“The one where you keep waiting for them to come out of a crowd somewhere… anywhere, really. At a park like this one, a mall, the subway, a busy street, anywhere you go could be the last place you’ve looked until one day you finally find them, even though you know that you never will.” He faked a cough to cover up the lump in his throat, wondering just how much worse he would feel if Tony were still alive and looked at him as if they had never met.

“Yeah,” he resigned, swallowing hard and dropping his head. He took in a deep breath, slow and steady as he smoothed over his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger.

Peter had never seen Frank this pensive, but then again, they were usually fighting bad guys when they were together, not mourning their loved ones on a summer’s day in the park. “I’m sorry, Mr…” he bit his tongue, barely stopping himself from calling him ‘Mister Punisher, Sir’ like he always used to.

“I’m Pete.” He sat up straight, placing his folded hands in his lap.

“No shit,” Peter whispered under his breath, wondering if his alias had anything to do with him at one point or another. Probably not. But what if? “I’m Michael,” he lied for the twentieth time today.

“Well Mikey, that shit they try to feed you about it getting easier over time ain’t true, not even a little bit.” He ran a hand over his head, brushing his fingers through his overgrown locks as he squinted toward the setting sun. “You just learn how to deal with it better.”

“Oh,” he sighed audibly, slumping his shoulders. He’d heard the same thing from dozens of other grieving sons and daughters in his support groups, but was secretly hoping that Frank had some trick up his sleeve to help him get over this pain a lot faster. Although it was looking more and more like the only way out was through. “How did you deal with it?”

“Look,” Frank sucked the air in through his teeth, shaking his head in a pained smile. “You seem like a nice kid and everything, but I’m not the one you want to take advice from right now, okay? Why don’t you try going to a priest or a rabbi or…”

“But I’ve tried all that.” Peter cut him off, the thought of Frank dismissing him forcing tears into his eyes. “It doesn’t work. I tried getting new hobbies, going to therapy, going to group, but nothing helps.” He blinked a few times in an effort to absorb the tears into his eyelashes, only to force one down his face. “I need your help.”

“What?” He turned to face him, his features barely changing as he realized that Peter knew who he was this whole time. “You want me to kill that guy who hurt your family for you? Hmm? Make him pay for what he did? It’s not gonna bring them back, and it’s definitely not gonna make you feel better.”

Wow, he just jumped straight to murder, it’s a miracle we were able to work together at all.

“No, not that.” He wiped the stream of saline off his cheek with the back of his hand. “I need a new identity, and Mr. Murdock said that you could at least help point me in the right direction?”

“Fucking Murdock,” Frank grumbled, rolling the idea around in his head before looking back at the carousel that seemed that much farther away now. “Whose after you, anyways, kid?”

Peter thought about lying to Frank again, about telling him it was the Gnucci gang or hell, even Wilson Fisk that was after him. He thought about every single smile he’d lost over the years, about every sound of Aunt May’s laughter and sting of Tony’s snark that he’d no longer be able to keep for himself.

“Everyone.”

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch4)

AO3

When he woke the next morning in Amsterdam, his feeling of utter contentment quickly gave way to dread as his hand eagerly searched the space in the bed beside him only to find it empty. Immediately, his eyes snapped opened and he looked around the room for her, for his Claire.

His heart sank at the sight.

The twin bed that she had slept in for the night prior to the one they shared was made, her suitcase gone from its spot by the door. He stumbled as he got out of bed, his limbs not quite awake yet as he burst through the bathroom door and he noticed that her things were gone. It was as if she’d never been there.

If not for the taste of her still on his lips, he’d have wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing.

He spun around the room in a flurry, unsure of what he was looking for or what he planned on doing once he found it.

Then his eyes fell on the slip of paper that sat on the windowsill, the sun casting its rays down on her pen strokes.

I can’t bring myself to wake you. I have to catch my flight. I’ll let you know when I land in Boston.

Jamie’s heart clenched in his chest and he used the palm of his hand to rub at his sternum without thought. He knew that she was gone. He cursed himself for being such a deep sleeper, wished that he’d had the awareness to know that she had been moving around the room silently, packing her things to leave. But in the afterglow of their love making, having released tension and anticipation that had been building inside of him for years, sleep had taken him down and down until he was oblivious to the world. The last thing he remembered was the ghost of her fingertips on his cheekbone and his jaw as he whispered to her once in his mother tongue, the language of his heart that he knew she didn’t understand but hoped that she could feel the meaning of, before falling into a deep sleep.

“Mo ghaol ort, mo Sorcha.”

He had to find her, had to make her understand that he loved her and had loved her since the moment he saw her. Scrambling into the same clothes from the day before, he tore out of the hotel, not caring that they’d charge him for another night when he would inevitably miss check-out. He rushed to the train station and bought a direct ticket to Schiphol, his shaking fingers calling her repeatedly and his heart falling every time it went to her voicemail.

He left his third message, laying his heart out for her to hear, “Claire, please just answer the phone. Talk to me. I winna ask ye to do anything ye dinna want to do but I have to say it, Claire. And I refuse to say it on your bloody voicemail so answer yer phone, tell me where ye are. I’m on my way to the airport. I’m coming to find you.”

Once he arrived, he pushed his way past the crowds of holiday goers, businessmen in their suits and parents trying to corral their children into order. Suddenly thankful for the view that his height gifted him, he searched frantically for any sign of her. He’d found her flight on the departures board and raced to the terminal, praying to God that something had delayed her and she hadn’t had time to make it through security yet. The panic bubbled in his chest as he began to breathe heavily, black dots appearing in his vision. It took everything in him not to simply start shouting her name in the hope that it would bring her to him.

A furious hysteria was beginning to claw its way into his nervous system, controlling the frantic jerks of his long limbs that felt too heavy for him to carry. He dialled her number again and was astonished when she answered.

“Jamie,” she whispered and he felt his heart shatter at the pain in her voice. “Oh, my Jamie.”

“Claire, where are ye? What were ye thinking running off without saying goodbye?” His voice sounded desperate and angry as he spun on the spot, knowing that the compass in his heart that always navigated him to her side would point him in the right direction. Still, his eyes weren’t able to land on her. “Damn it, Claire, tell me where ye are!”

He heard her let out a sob.

“I’m at my gate. You won’t be able to get through.”

Unable to remain upright at her confession, he slumped against the wall beside him and let his head hang, releasing tears that he had been keeping at bay from the moment he had realised that she had left. He cried with her, not caring if people saw.

“Why did ye do this?”

“I couldn’t stand to say goodbye.”

“Claire, I lo-“

“Don’t,” she cried softly, only speaking when he went to say it again. “I’m begging you, don’t say it. If you care for me at all, don’t make this harder.”

He restrained himself from driving his fist into the cement and pushed his forehead against it as his fingers gripped his phone tighter in his hand.

“I canna believe ye weren’t going to say goodbye,” he whispered with a voice full of hurt and not devoid of anger. “Do ye regret it? Last night?”

Her answer came out in a burst, “No. No, I don’t regret it. But you’re my friend. My best friend and with everything changing… I’m going to need my best friend.”

“Yer being selfish, Claire. To give me hope last night and then to pull it out from underneath me, to leave me wi’out breath,” the words were spilling out of him, not caring if he hurt her. She had hurt him well enough.

“Jamie, I thought-“

“No, ye didna think at all. Only of yerself getting to have a wee bit of fun before running off and settling down a whole fuckin’ ocean away.”

With a man who’s not me, he thought.

The line went quiet apart from the gentle sound of her crying and the odd ragged breath that he drew into his lungs to try and settle his racing mind. He screwed his eyes shut and banged his head lightly against the wall.

“Claire, forgive me, I- fuck, I just dinna ken what tae do.”

“They’re calling my gate, I have to go,” she whispered.

“Please, I didna mean it, I was sore and said more than I meant,” he desperately tried to explain himself.

“I’ll let you know when I land. Goodbye Jamie.”

“Claire—”

When she hung up the phone, he sat on the floor and went to pieces. An hour passed before he was able to bring himself together enough to make his way back to the hotel, gather his things and get his own flight back home. With one look at him, standing on the steps of Lallybroch with the spirit of a broken man, Jenny set her mouth in a straight line. In a feat that would’ve astounded Jamie had he the energy to care, she kept her words to herself and brought him a bottle of whisky as he sat in front of the fireplace, somehow managing to keep her children from pestering their uncle. He spent days moping around the estate, barely speaking a word but she made sure that he knew that when he did want to talk, Jenny Murray would be there to listen.

It was two weeks after Claire had left that Jamie heard from her. It was early evening and he had just punished himself with a 10km run around Lallybroch’s grounds, thinking that if his muscles were screaming in pain then he might get some distraction from the dull ache that had set up shop in his chest. The minute he stepped into the hot stream of the shower, his phone pinged with a message. How he would kick himself afterwards that he hadn’t given it a cursory glance because when he exited the bathroom ten minutes later, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw it.

Sassenach: Message

He opened it greedily, desperate to receive any sort of contact since the painful last phone call that would play on a loop in his mind every night as he lay in bed, sleep evading him.

It was a picture of a bouquet of flowers, a huge arrangement made of foliage and sea holly, thistles and white calla lilies that he knew were her favourite. He’d spent more time than he’d like to admit picking out the perfect flowers for her and knew exactly which bottle of whisky to put in with it (the one that they’d drank together the night that he’d teased her that she had no friends before she replied with a blinding smile and said the words ‘I have you’). She had photographed them prettily displayed on a windowsill that was drenched in sunlight. Underneath she had simply written the words ’Thank you!’ and he realised that he had forgotten that he’d even arranged for the gift to be sent. It was meant be a moving in present, a little reminder of home and the people that she’d left. Now it seemed sad and it made Jamie and his bruised ego feel a bit pathetic.

But it was a start, a small plaster on the gaping hole that was their friendship but one that he was determined to improve on. Anything to keep her in his life, in whatever capacity. He replied to her message with hopes of her having had an easy move, asking whether she was settled in yet. Claire replied almost instantly and so begun the back and forth, both of them trying to be painfully normal as Jamie paced in his bedroom, naked as the day he was born and dripping water all over the floorboards.

When he slipped on a puddle of his own making, he chucked his phone back onto the bed and set to rummaging amongst the old clothing in his drawers in an attempt to find something clean. He really needed to help out around the house more, he thought. Jenny had been rushing around after a husband, two children and now her brother and she deserved better. He had started to deal with the pile of unwashed material that had accumulated on the floor by his bed when he heard his phone ring.

Without even looking, he accepted the call.

“Aye?”

“Hi! It’s Claire!”

As if she needed to tell him that. The minute that he heard her voice he felt like he could breathe that little bit easier for the first time since being in that fucking airport, the gentle lilt of her English accent making him picture the shapes that her lips made. The memory of it stabbed him in the gut and he took a calming breath, turning from his discomfort into the humour that they both teased each other with.

“Sorry whoever ye are, I dinna ken anyone with a Boston accent, ye must hae the wrong number.”

“Asshole,” she snorted. “I sound exactly the same as I always have. It’s… it’s good to hear your voice.”

He smiled into the phone, letting his voice soften and convey the sincerity of his words, “Aye, Sassenach, it’s good to hear yours too.”

An hour or so later, when Jenny Murray went up to her brother’s room to let him know that dinner was on the table, the sound of her brother laughing halted her hand just before she knocked. For the past fortnight, Jamie had been dour, sullen and more prone to tantrums than Wee Jamie and Maggie put together. Getting the two of them fed tonight had been a battle, Ian trying his best to wrangle a teething Maggie as Jenny had an entire bowl of mince and tatties spilled down her front by her son. It had been a tiring night but now, the two wee ones were in bed and her brother was laughing again. Her heart lifted at the thought and she sent a prayer of thanks up to her parents for giving him a bit of a reprieve from his heartbreak.

“Sassenach, ye ken fine well…”

As soon as she heard him say it, she spun herself from Jamie’s door, cursing under her breath about her eejit brother who didn’t know what was good for him and definitely not what was bad for him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Claire, in fact she had been glad knowing that there was someone to look out for Jamie when he’s was away at university. Jenny always knew that her younger brother was more green behind the ears than he was willing to admit. When he had nonchalantly mentioned that he’d be bringing home a friend for the summer of his first year at university, Jenny had pulled Claire into a hug on the steps of Lallybroch, welcoming her with literal open arms and finding Claire to be a quick witted, intelligent woman but with a softness behind her eyes that Jenny hoped would lend her to being a good friend to her brother. The problem, Jenny quickly realised the first night they’d all sat down to dinner together, was that Jamie had fallen head over heels in love with her.

She tried her hardest to lighten her step as she made her way back into the kitchen, knowing that she would not react kindly to any teasing about her ‘stomping’ around the house. Instead Jenny took out her frustration on the chicken curry that was bubbling on the stove, whirling the wooden spoon around with a little more force than was needed.

“Did I miss saying goodnight tae the bairns?” Jamie’s voice rumbled against the stone walls of the kitchen, pulling her attention away from the storm cloud that was brewing in her stomach as she plated up for herself, his large frame appearing over her shoulder. “Smells fine.”

As the full plate slammed down on the countertop, Jamie frowned in confusion as Jenny turned, her hands set at her hips in a way that still put the fear of God in him.

He took a step backwards (out of her reach if she decided to brandish the spoon at him), his eyebrows raised along with a single hand. Jamie knew from experience that it was better to pip her to the post before she got into the swing of an argument, “Before ye say anything, I want tae apologise first.”

“And just what will ye be apologisin’ for this time, mo bhràthair?”

“For treatin’ this place as a hotel, havin’ ye run after me like I’m one of yer bairns,” he had the foresight to look genuinely penitent and it softened her a bit. “I promise ye I’ll start pullin’ my weight.”

“Well, I canna say that I disagree wi’ ye. And I’ll be thankful of the help, Ian was just sayin’ the west gate needs mending. About time ye bucked up and started helpin’ wi’ the jobs around here,” she said firmly. Jamie’s eyes narrowed in at her face, confused. He’d apologised before she even asked but there was clearly something still there that he hadn’t addressed, that she was expecting him to bring up.

“Is there somethin’ else?” He asked carefully, fighting the urge to pull up the door to the priest hole that he was standing on in an attempt to hide from her wrath.

Instead, she sighed and handed a second plate to him. Her hands went from her hips to the table in front of her as she manoeuvred herself to sit. He followed her lead and sat down across from her, watching closely as she began to eat after expelling another pregnant sigh.

“Will ye give me a hint as to what I’ve done tae piss ye off?” He grumbled as he began to eat himself, trying his hardest not to cower as she sent him a death glare from across the table. Suddenly, the space between her brows furrowed and she let the weight of her head slump into an upturned palm.

“I’m worried about ye, Jamie. I’m always worried about ye but still,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I ken I’ve no’ been out of my room much and I’ve been a right miserable sod. But I’m starting to feel better… I think.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes at him, trying hard not to let the judgement seep in as she quickly placed her hand over the top of his, rolling her eyes when he jumped at the sudden contact.

“I think ye should stay away for a while. She’s in Boston wi’ Frank and havin’ tae adjust to her new life, ye should give her the space to do it.”

Realising that she’d overheard their phone call, Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fighting the urge to pull his hand from underneath hers as she tightened her grip.

“She was just phonin’ to say thanks for the flowers,” he mumbled, spooning a large helping of his dinner with his free hand into his mouth to try and shut down any need for a further explanation. Sadly, his big sister wasn’t buying it.

“I ken that yer finding it difficult, mo bhràthair, but maybe this is the opportunity tae find someone. Someone who’ll have ye. Ye’ve pined for Claire for so long but she’s never—“

“We slept together. In Amsterdam.”

The words hung in the space between the two siblings, heavy as lead. Jamie had felt the twist of his stomach at saying the words out loud and shot a glance to his sister’s dumbfounded face as the information permeated her thoughts.

“Ye glaikit bastard,” she finally exhaled softly, earning herself a sad smirk from her brother. “Why would ye dae that tae yerself?”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders, “It seemed… it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. And then I woke up the next morning and she was already gone. Chased her to the airport an’ aw but I was too late.”

Jenny huffed again, leaning back in her chair.

“I just thought if I could tell her that I loved her, that I’m in love wi’ her, maybe she’d have stayed. But she didn’t let me say it.”

“Aye, sounds like Claire,” Jenny scoffed, quickly composing herself at the glare she received. “Suppose it makes mare sense for all the mopin’ ye’ve been doing.”

Jamie humphed and rubbed a hand roughly over his face, sinking his fingers through his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s done and I canna change it, wouldn’t change it anyway. It was a very special night for me.”

“I ken but, Jamie, she is gone. She has made her choice. And it’s coorse of her to dangle herself in front of ye when she’s away living her life and yer here, where she left ye.”

His bright blue eyes bore into her, a warning, “Careful, Janet. Claire is my friend and I wilna let her navigate this on her own—“

“She’s nae on her own, she’s wi’ Frank!”

“Aye, she is. And there’s fuck all I can dae about it so this is where I find myself. I wilna let my feelings get the better of me. I will be her friend, as I have been these past years.”

Jenny knew that there was no point in pushing. It was a Fraser family trait, digging your heels in, more often than not to your own detriment. And if there was one topic that Jamie wouldn’t budge on, it was Claire. She got to her feet and grabbed her plate, moving around the table to press a single kiss into the mop of his red hair before leaving the room.

“Ca canny, mo bhràthair.”

[phantom-curve]

44 for willex and au of your choice! If you’re still taking prompts

Oop this prompt invaded my brain and ran off into the sunset. I definitely didn’t mean for it to get as long as it did, but here we are! From the gimme a chance AU, I give you 3 times Willie sat on Alex’s lap +1 time Alex sat on Willie’s (these span the time between all the other one-shots I wrote for Willex in this universe!)

#44: sitting on the other’s lap (Rated a heavy T for some adult themes and language. Also available on ao3!)

1.

Willie hardly ever thought about it anymore. When they were out in public, when they were at the studio with Luke and Reggie for band practice, when they were just hanging around one of their apartments, he never really thought about them in terms of dating. He kind of more thought about them in terms of forever. Not that he was rushing anything, but more that there was a kind of aura around Alex, a kind of energy, that had a way of sinking into Willie’s very bones and saying hey, I’m gonna stick around for the rest of your life that made him think in terms of absolutes. Alex was an absolute. Willie was totally a-okay with that.

The thing that bothered him though, was the fact that Alex didn’t seem to get it.

He still waited for Willie to offer his hand to hold. He didn’t kiss him unless Willie made it painfully obvious that he was okay with that. He hadn’t even managed to get him to spend the night yet because Alex always came up with a reason to go home before Willie could even try to extend the invitation.

And it wasn’t that Alex wasn’t into him. He was. He so totally was. Willie knew that. But it was like he was afraid to own up to it. Which Willie could kind of understand. They had talked about their families and while Willie was lucky to be fully accepted for who he was at home, Alex’s parents were a different story.

They weren’t outright cruel, they had still provided the necessities in the form of food, water, and shelter while Alex had been living at home, but they didn’t love any more. They didn’t talk, they didn’t help, they just ghosted along as if they had never been a part of Alex’s life in the first place. It seemed worse than outright hatred, but Alex claimed it was better than nothing. After all, it had meant that they didn’t ask where he had been or where he was going or when he would be home, which had kinda been a dream as a high schooler. Other kids had wished they had that kind of freedom, Alex told him. Not worth complaining about. It had basically been like having roommates, which was great practice for when he moved out and actually had roommates, Alex said, and Willie pretended all of that was normal because he could tell Alex wanted it to be. They didn’t talk about how now that Alex was living on his own his parents had completely dropped all communication with him. Willie just made a note of it and decided he would make up for all that affection Alex had been missing out on.

So, Willie carried on the way he was used to when it came to being interested in someone and in a relationship with them. He complimented Alex, gave him cute little nicknames, and generally tried to see how often he could manage to make the other boy blush. One of the most successful tactics he had found was sitting in Alex’s lap, especially when he least expected it.

Like right now, in the middle of a Sunset Curve practice.

Luke had been getting frustrated with part of the melody of a new song or something, and Reggie had finally told him to just jam it out until he found the notes he was looking for, and Alex had paused his drumming, tucking his sticks into one hand, and reaching down with the other to grab the large water bottle he kept at his feet when he played. He watched the way the light caught on Alex’s hair as he flicked it off his face, turning the blonde strands into spun gold. Found himself mesmerized by the lines of Alex’s jaw and neck as he tipped his head back to rehydrate. His feet moved on their own, pulling him over to his boyfriend’s side like Alex was a magnet and Willie was made of metal.

Alex quirked a brow at him as he lowered the water bottle, but Willie didn’t say anything. Just grinned and plopped himself down right on Alex’s lap, even though he knew the stool was only meant to hold one person’s weight and Alex had grumbled more than once over Luke and Reggie messing with it. Alex didn’t grumble at him though. Especially not when he looped his arms around the other boy’s neck and leaned forward to place a kiss against his temple. Alex’s cheeks blushed Willie’s favorite shade of pink, the one that almost matched the hoodie he always wore.

“You looked a little lonely over here. Thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi.”

Alex’s lips parted as he breathed out the word, his eyes softening the way they did every time Willie looked into them for a beat too long. Willie felt his smile widen. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of sweaty band boys and fresh linen and Alex’s honey vanilla shampoo. Alex started to slip his own arms around Willie’s waist, his head tilted up as his gaze fell to his lips. And then an extra loud guitar chord rang out through the amps and Alex jumped, nearly dumping Willie on the ground.

“Alright, lovebirds, enough! I figured out what was wrong with the chord progression. I just gotta switch it from a G chord to a...”

Willie tuned out, never fully able to follow along when Luke got going on a musical tangent. Instead, he pressed one quick kiss to Alex’s lips and stood, slipping out from behind the kit to return to his original position on the couch set up across from where the boys stood to play. Alex watched him with a soft smile and starry eyes before giving his head a quick shake and refocusing on Luke, cheeks still tinged that pale pink that made Willie’s heart soar. Willie tucked the memory away with all his other favorite Alex moments and watched the band get back to it, head bobbing along as he watched his boyfriend shine. And if he made sure to keep his gaze firmly focused on Alex, winking every now and then just so he could see that blush creep back in, well no one else had to know about that but him.

2.

Surprisingly, the hardest part of dating a guy like Alex, a guy who was beautiful and effortlessly sexy and regularly doing something that gave literally anybody a free pass to ogle him for as long as his band was up on stage, was the fact that his boyfriend seemed to have no fucking clue just how attractive he was. And he was also shockingly bad at knowing when someone was hitting on him. Willie was pretty sure if he hadn’t asked Alex on a date after running him over, the guy would have never made a move. And that was afterWillie spent 20 minutes openly flirting with him and dropping ten-ton hints as he helped him clean up and bandage his wounds. It was simultaneously adorable and exhausting, because it meant that sometimes Willie had to watch people chat up his boyfriend while Alex awkwardly bumbled his way through what he assumed was a friendly conversation.

Willie, as a rule, did not get jealous. Jealousy was for people who had trust issues, and Willie trusted Alex more than he had ever trusted a single other person before. So, he wasn’t jealous, per se, as he made his way through the crowd, eyes locked on the back of the guy casually leaning over where Alex was sitting alone in a booth against the wall. He was actually a bit concerned because Alex looked uncomfortable, and he hadn’t thought to tell him that he was gonna make it to the show tonight, which had seemed like a romantic idea at the time but obviously wasn’t because Alex was drumming one of his hands against his thighs and tapping his fingers against the back of his phone on the table in front of him with the other.

He was probably waiting for Willie to call him, because that was something Willie had been doing now that he had gone pro and started traveling for competitions on the weekend instead of showing up at Ebbie’s to cheer on the band from the front row. He had been a little late to snag a front row spot this weekend, barely making it for the last couple of songs in the set. But he had made it, because the competition had ended up getting rained out and Willie had braved the hours of Saturday evening traffic back to LA so that he could see his boyfriend in person instead of through a phone screen.

His boyfriend who was now being hit on by a complete stranger in a crowded bar where Luke and Reggie were nowhere to be found. Willie frowned slightly as he watched Alex draw back into the booth a bit more, both hands picking up speed as they continued to mindlessly tap out a rhythm. No, Willie wasn’t jealous. He was mad that this dude wasn’t picking up on Alex’s cues and backing off. So, now that he was only a few steps away, he skipped forward and made his presence known.

“Hey Hotdog, you looked pretty good up there tonight.”

Alex’s face lit up like the 4th of July, his green gaze skipping past the guy invading his space and latching onto Willie like he was seeing the sun for the first time. Willie felt his lips curve into a soft smile. The unknown guy straightened a bit, eyes skipping back and forth between Alex and Willie, brow furrowed. Willie didn’t have the capacity to help the dude connect the dots, because all he could focus on was Alex and how fast his expression had changed upon hearing Willie’s voice.

“Willie.”

Alex’s tone was quiet and awed, like he had conjured Willie up out of thin air. His hands stilled, and Willie couldn’t resist anymore. He slipped past the stranger who was finally starting to back up and step away, hands raised slightly as if to say sorry, bro, didn’t know you had a boyfriend, and wormed his way into the booth, settling himself on Alex’s lap. Alex leaned forward, his head falling to rest in the crook of Willie’s neck, breath stuttering out and sending a wave of goosebumps across his skin.

“I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

“Comp got cancelled. And I missed you.”

Willie dropped a kiss on the top of Alex’s blonde head, breathing in the distinct honey-vanilla-laundry scent that always got a bit more intense after a show. Alex’s cheeks warmed, Willie delighting in the fact that he could actually feel the blush against his own skin, and his lips moved against the hollow of Willie’s throat.

“I always miss you.”

The words were tempered with gentle kisses and Willie thought he might melt into the floor right there on the spot. He didn’t censor his next words, let the longing bleed through so Alex understood just how badly he wanted to be with him.

“Come home with me tonight then. I think six months of dating is long enough to move into sleepover territory.”

Alex’s arms squeezed around his waist for a brief second, Willie biting his tongue as he listened to Alex’s breath hitch and then pick up a bit faster than before. He pulled his head out of Willie’s neck, mouth open to answer, when the other two-thirds of Sunset Curve suddenly arrived at the table in their typical whirlwind fashion. They called out happy greetings as they clocked Willie’s arrival, slipping into the other side of the booth. Willie smiled and tried to focus on what they were saying so he could beat back the disappointment of not getting an answer. He only startled slightly when Alex’s lips were suddenly at his ear.

“Six months of dating is definitely long enough. Take me home, pretty boy.”

And Willie felt his own cheeks heat, prayed that Luke and Reggie wouldn’t spot the change in the low light as he settled himself further into Alex’s embrace. He kept himself occupied with linking his fingers through Alex’s where they still wrapped around his waist and tried not to think too much about finally getting to sleep next to the guy he was falling more in love with every day as he counted down the minutes to bar close.

He wasn’t even surprised when he woke up in the morning and realized a feeling of homecoming had settled fully and deeply into his heart and soul. At some point in the last six months home and Alex had become synonymous anyway.

3.

The worst part about getting in a car accident and breaking his leg in three places was the fact that Willie couldn’t skate for several months while he recovered and went through physical therapy and all the other bullshit necessary to make sure he was strong enough to compete at a similar level as before. His sponsors had been understanding and Willie was able to do little things here and there to fulfill his contracts, so he wasn’t too worried about any of that for the time being. Mostly he was just bored and fidgety. But it was okay, because the best part about getting in car accident and breaking his leg in three places was having Alex as his caretaker while he recovered.

Alex, who had shown up at the hospital when Willie was still groggy from surgery and climbed into bed with him and kissed his bruises and told him he loved him. Alex, who had come back to the hospital every chance he got for the week Willie was stuck there post-op. Alex, who had practically moved into Willie’s apartment once he was sent home, even though they had both agreed they weren’t ready to live together yet, because Willie needed someone to help him get to and from the bathroom and shower and Alex was obviously his first choice despite the fact that Willie had three capable roommates who had offered to help.

Alex was the best part about his recovery, hands down. Except for the fact that he seemed to think Willie was made of glass now.

They were supposed to be having a movie night at the Sunset Curve apartment. Willie had gotten his cast off and been switched to a walking boot earlier that day, and he had told Alex he would come by after he left the hospital because he needed a break from the same four walls of his bedroom. Luke and Reggie had sent a text that they were picking up a pizza and drinks, so Willie had hoped for maybe a little bit of make-out action on the couch before they got back. Instead, Alex had fretted and fluttered about, forcing Willie to lay down on the couch with his leg elevated while Alex plumped his pillows and asked him a million times if he was feeling okay. Willie had been about ready to tackle Alex just to get him to shut up, still healing leg be damned, when Luke and Reggie came back.

Then it had been an argument over what to watch with Reggie insisting they hadn’t watched Star Wars recently even though they definitely had, and by the time the yellow words were rolling across the screen Willie realized Alex had opted for the floor next to the couch instead of the actual couch itself. He had his arm stretched out along Willie’s hip, but it wasn’t nearly enough contact. So, Willie swung his legs over the edge of the couch and stood, before unceremoniously dropping himself down directly in Alex’s lap. Alex let out an indignant huff, rolling his eyes as Reggie turned to shush him.

“Willie, what the hell? Get back on the couch, you need to rest your leg.”

Willie rolled his own eyes, snuggling further into Alex’s chest, winding his arms around the back of his neck to play with the blonde hair that was a bit overgrown at the back.

“No, I need to cuddle with my boyfriend. You keep acting like you’re gonna hurt me if you touch me and its honestly pretty rude. I’m not that breakable.”

Alex made sound of protest in the back of his throat, his hands waving around and above Willie’s booted leg.

“Obviously you are very breakable!”

“Yeah, in a fight with a car,” Willie snorted, sighing and refusing to budge even an inch. “You could never hurt me. C’mon, baby, please?”

Alex flushed from head to toe. Willie didn’t usually break out the softer pet names unless they were alone because they kind of made Alex blue screen, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Willie pressed a kiss against Alex’s throbbing pulse as well, in for a penny, in for a pound and all that.

“Guys,” Reggie whined, “can you like...take it to the bedroom or shut up? Some of us are trying to watch the Empire strike back here.”

And Alex, sweet, beautiful, perfect Alex, scooped Willie up like he weighed nothing at all, cheeks still pink and eyes unfocused in a way that told Willie his mind had taken a nosedive into the gutter. He couldn’t help but laugh, clinging on so that he wasn’t complete deadweight in Alex’s very capable arms.

“Dude, seriously?” He heard Luke call out, but the sound was muffled quickly behind Alex’s bedroom door as it closed, the lock clicking into place.

“That wasn’t fair.”

Alex’s tone didn’t match his words, his voice going breathless as he snuggled both of them into the bed, his hands sneaking under the hem of Willie’s crop top to skim along his ribs.

“All’s fair in love and war, babe.”

Willie let Alex swallow the sound of his laugh, lips meeting for the much-anticipated make-out session he had been hoping for earlier. Movie night was forgotten. By the time the sun was rising, Willie was pretty sure he had convinced Alex exactly how not breakable he was.

+1

Alex wasn’t usually the one to initiate physical contact. Willie was completely at ease handing out kisses and hugs and linking their fingers together whenever it suited him, but Alex wasn’t quite as uninhibited. He had gotten better over the last year or so of dating, but he still wasn’t quite as casual with it. It was easier when they were alone, Willie’s lingering glances and complimentary words making him feel bold and confident.

It was kind of a running joke between them, the fact that Alex had initiated their first kiss so suddenly only to then spend the rest of their relationship holding himself back a bit. And even though Willie never meant it as more than a tease, Alex had been genuinely trying to change that about himself. He had started therapy and he was doing the work to unpack all of the ways his parents had fucked him up over the years. He was learning and growing, and not just for Willie, but for himself. It was nice.

Okay, it was really fucking hard and stressful. But it was also kind of working. Alex had found himself feeling a lot less anxious, especially when Willie was out of town competing and Alex had flashbacks to the car accident and other minor injuries Willie had sustained while on the road. He had learned some new coping mechanisms, and he had started to be a bit freer with his own physical affection. Which definitely had some very nice side effects.

Side effects like finally being the one to make Willie blush and blank out for once.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. They had been dating for over a year, they regularly spent the night together, they were fully committed to each other. They had sex for Christ’s sake, so nothing should have felt like too much intimacy wise. And it didn’t. Until they were at some BBQ for one of Willie’s skater friends and Alex started to feel a bit overwhelmed, but instead of taking himself into the bathroom to have a quiet moment and pull it together, he found Willie, sitting next to a fire pit with a beer in hand. He didn’t even think twice before dropping into his lap and snatching the can from Willie’s grasp to steal a sip.

The contact was instantly comforting, and Alex suddenly realized that must be why Willie was constantly crawling into his own lap. It felt cozy and safe in his boyfriend’s arms, every part of him warm and close enough for Alex to inhale the scent of coconut shampoo mixed with cherry Chapstick. It was only when he went to return the beer can to Willie that he realized he had kind of frozen. For one second, Alex let himself panic that he had gone too far, done something wrong that would end up ruining everything, and then he realized Willie was breathing a lot faster than normal, one of his hands finding purchase against Alex’s waist and squeezing. The conversation carried on around them, but time seemed to stand still within their own personal little bubble.

“Alex, you cannot just do that and expect me not to want you six ways to Sunday now.”

Willie’s breath was hot against Alex’s neck, his words coming out fast and furious like he had to say them all now before he couldn’t speak at all. Alex felt his cheeks warm as he turned his head slightly to meet Willie’s eyes. His pupils were wide, cheeks the kind of ruddy dark brown that Alex had learned meant he was definitely blushing too. The fingers on the hand that was clenched around Alex’s hip danced across the thin strip of skin between his pants and his shirt, drawing a series of patterns across Alex’s side that made him shiver. Willie groaned beneath him, the sound breathless and just loud enough for Alex to hear. He smirked, wiggling a little like he was trying to get more comfortable.

“Lex, I swear to God I will make out with you so hard right in front of all these people. It won’t bother me. You gotta stop it unless you’re willing to risk that.”

Alex kinda wanted to risk it. Knowing he made Willie feel that out of control was a huge rush. God, he really should have taken advantage of all this physical stuff a lot earlier, huh?

“You wanna make out with me here, or you wanna make out with me back at your apartment?”

Alex kept his voice hushed, dipping his head so his lips were right next to Willie’s ear. Willie shuddered beneath him and then downed his beer in one long swallow. He nudged Alex to standing, following him but not moving out from his spot slightly behind him as his hand fit itself more snuggly into place along Alex’s waist.

“Gents,” he addressed the other skaters scattered around the fire with a two fingered salute, “Lex and I gotta get going. Got some plans to take care of.”

Alex tried not to snort and blush at the obvious undertone to Willie’s words. The rest of the group had no such qualms, hooting and hollering as Willie practically dragged Alex out of the back yard, hand raising to give them a middle finger when Alex heard Max call out get you some, Stewart! Alex laughed, stepping up close behind Willie as they came around to the front of the house, voice dipping low in a tease.

“Jeez, Wils, who knew sitting in your lap would do it for you?”

Willie turned without warning, catching Alex before he could trip into him and surging forward to connect their lips in a kiss that featured a bit more teeth than usual.

“You do it for me, Alex. It’s all you, all the time. God, I fucking love you.”

Alex didn’t get a chance to respond before Willie was pulling away and ushering Alex into his car. He linked their hands together on the console between the seats, and Alex didn’t even complain once about his speeding. He was too busy thinking up all the other things he could do to make Willie lose it in public like that again. He had a lot of time to make up for, and the rest of their lives to do so.  

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 2.3.8 “Inconveniences Of Entertaining A Poor Man Who May Be Rich”

This chapter is so long. Here goes.

Is it normal for Cosette to have to knock to get into the house she lives in? Or is Hugo just using that as a vehicle to make Mme Thenardier meet Valjean first?

It’s times like this that I desperately wish I knew more about biblical stories and fables and things. This, a rich man in disguise as a poor man being treated poorly by innkeepers and taking something from them, sounds like a bible story or a similar type of fable. But the only two bible stories I know with similar themes are the nativity story and Sodom and Gomorrah and neither of those seem quite right. Still, this entire episode reads like a fable or fairytale.

We’ve already seen how Evil the Thenardiers are re: their treatment of Cosette. Now we are seeing their Evil in the form of treatment of the poor.

You know, that’s an interesting thing that I’m not going to get into in this longass chapter. Javert’s evil and Thenardier’s evil are different because I feel like Javert’s evil is a lot more muddied or obscured by morality and duty and things like that. Where are the Thenardiers are bad but the badness of their actions is much more black and white. I think it’s also because, technically, they never have social power over anyone unless they are manipulative, whereas Javert always has the social power. I’m not sure where to go with either of these ideas but I will look back on it for a shorter chapter.

Cosette is ugly because she’s sad. It’s like the exact opposite of Roald Dahl’s description of ugliness. I called it on the orphanage thing and kids looking years younger than they are; she looks 6 when she’s 8. That doesn’t seem like a huge difference when you look at it written down but the difference between the size and maturity of a 6 year old vs an 8 year old is surprising.

In the way that the description of the doll was a distant echo of young Fantine, the description of Cosette here is a faded echo of dying Fantine.

“Fear was spread all over here; she was, so to speak, covered with it; fear squeezed her elbows against her sides, drew her heels up under her skirt, made her shrink into the least possible space...” I’m sure this description comes from Hugo observing children in his lifetime, but I also wonder if any of this comes from his brother who had schizophrenia and was institutionalized?

“The expression on the face of this child of eight was habitually so sad and occasionally so tragic that it seemed, at certain moments, as if she were on the way to becoming an idiot or a demon.” What an interesting pair of choices. Fear and sadness either stun and numb you completely or they turn you aggressive and evil. Hugo said the same thing before when talking about Valjean’s prison time. Again, like I said before, Cosette here is Valjean when we first met him: exhausted, scared, sad, numb, hatefully terrified of the people around her; the difference is that she still has hope. She had that moment of hoping someone would rescue her, she had the moment of pausing and wondering what the doll’s paradise was like; when we met Valjean he was past that kind of hope.

(Funny that Mme Thenardier doesn’t suspect the trick Valjean just pulled, despite Valjean “finding” a 20 sous piece instead of 15 sous piece.)

I love the description of Eponine and Azelma because it’s so innocent. They as little human beings aren’t morally bankrupt at the level of their parents yet. They’re still pretty and glowing. Partly because they are well-cared for unlike Cosette, and partly because they are still innocent.

“Eponine and Azelma did not notice Cosette. To them she was like the dog. The three little girls did not have twenty-four years among them, and they already represented the whole of human society: on one side envy, on the other disdain.”

Ah, human microcosms. Hugo loves those. The Thenardier children and Cosette are the pared down, simplified version of society. It’s also an excellent example of how Privilege works in layers. The girls’ doll is worn and old and broken, but the fact of them having a real doll and Cosette having nothing is already a layer of privilege Someone else, another little girl with wealthy parents and a new intact doll would have privilege over the Thenardier girls. There are layers.

I really love this passage too because it shows the start of the zero-sum game between Eponine and Cosette. At no point are Eponine and Cosette able to be equals. But the important thing is that neither of them are aware of this. Later, when Cosette and Eponine encounter each other again in the Gorbeau house, Eponine doesn’t have the awareness to be angry about the reversal of their fortunes. She seems sad, mostly, a jealousy born from a feeling of worthlessness rather than feeling slighted. And Cosette doesn’t even recognize Eponine, so there’s no room at all for disdain on her part, unless she’s disdainful of Eponine et al due to their poverty, though that never seems to be the case. But Eponine cannot be happy while Cosette is and Cosette cannot be happy while Eponine is, because their goals occupy the same fulcrum (Marius) and they can’t both be on the same level at the same time.

Fanfiction has explored this a lot in modern AU but I wonder the kind of havoc that could have been wreaked had Cosette and Eponine met and become proper acquaintances. Their teenage personalities are two sides of the same coin. I’ve always been of the opinion that had they switched places as children Cosette would have ended up like Eponine and Eponine like Cosette. Because Eponine has the capacity for kindness within her, except that she doesn’t know how to use it selflessly; and Cosette has the same stubborn ruthlessness as Eponine, except that she is held back by convention and reduced to talking a lot in order to try and somehow glean information from Valjean or Marius.

“Now your work belongs to me. Play, my child.” This is the second (or third?) Myriel moment for Valjean. Cosette is a child, an innocent child, but her soul doesn’t need to be bought for god. As far as I can tell, for Hugo, children are always holy. Instead, he’s buying her work. But that makes sense. For Valjean, his soul needed to be bought for god because he had already lost it to sin and to evil and to doubt. Cosette still has hope; what she needs bought from her is suffering.

And here is where the parallel continues. Cosette up until now has been Valjean as we first met him: sullen, suffering, scared, dulled, close to becoming “an idiot or a demon” and now, like Valjean’s soul, her work has been bought so she can be free.

I think it is within the walls of the convent that their parallels will catch up to each other and they will become more equal.

I feel as though the cat in a dress vs the sword in a dress must be some sort of parallel to Eponine and Cosette’s personalities but I’m not quite sure how to pull the meaning out.

“A little girl without a doll is almost as unfortunate and just as impossible as a woman without children.” Ugh. Gross, Hugo. This whole chapter was so lovely and then this misogynist bullshit.

I can explain the “water on her brain” line! Mostly because it’s a medical condition I actually have! So, “water on the brain” is another term for hydrocephalus, which is a buildup of cerebrospinal fluid in the ventricles of the brain. It can be caused by being born prematurely (like mine was) or by infections/head trauma. Nowadays they can put a shunt in your head that pumps the fluid into the abdominal cavity (which is what I have), but obviously they didn’t have the technology back then. So what happens to the head if the fluid doesn’t drain, is the head will start to increase in size, and the fluid buildup will squish the brain against the sides of the skull, causing seizures and brain damage/intellectual disabilities and vision problems and other such things. I function perfectly fine except for mild dyscalculia and ADHD (which might have been genetic anyway) but back in the 19th century hydrocephalus probably would have resulted in either mild-to-severe disabilities or death.

Cosette doesn’t have hydrocephalus, but what she does have is severe malnutrition, which can make a person’s head look much too large for their body. So Mme Thenardier is likely using Cosette’s appearance due to neglect to fake that she has a neurological problem and explain why they have to “take care of” her.

Jesus fucking christ this next bit is so much. There’s so much going on. Mme Thenardier is talking to Valjean about Cosette’s mother, the drinkers are singing vulgar songs about the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus, and Cosette is under the table singing “My mother is dead.” to herself. Woof. It is, yet again, an instance of the memory of “Fantine” (in the symbolic, saintly form of the Virgin) being sullied both by the foul songs of the drinkers and the callous, flippant commentary of Mme Thenardier. And Cosette is there under the table, staring at the fire, suddenly playing the role of her own mother, rocking the sword-baby (herself) to try and comfort herself from the shock of this new knowledge that her mother is dead.

(Anyone else read As I Laying Dying, by the way? All I could think of when I read that line was “My mother is a fish.”)

We start to see Cosette’s bold personality come out in fits and starts. She’s brave enough to sneak out and grab the doll Eponine and Azelma have abandoned. But it’s also an example of how desperate she is for something pleasurable and good, considering she’s doing that at the risk of a beating.

For the second time, we see Cosette so absorbed in her moment of “I Want” that she doesn’t see or hear anything else. Again, this seems unusual considering her constant hypervigilance. But her success in getting the doll and her increased confidence due to Valjean’s presence probably have something to do with her lack of awareness.

Cosette is caught with the doll. Is this the parallel of Valjean being caught with Myriel’s silver? Mme Thenardier says “That beggar has dared to touch the children’s doll.” The gendarmes don’t say as much when they return Valjean to Myriel, but it’s pretty obvious they’re thinking something similar.

“We are forced to add that at that moment she stuck out her tongue.” COSETTE IS SO CUTE I LOVE HER SO MUCH SHE DESERVES THE WORLD. Also I just love the way Hugo writes children, it’s so real.

Why did Hugo choose Catherine for the name of the doll? Is it to do with St Catherine? She (the saint) became Christian at 14 and converted hundreds of people before being martyred at 18 after rebuking the Roman emperor for his cruelty and winning a debate with his best philosophers.

“This solitary man, so poorly dressed, who took five-franc pieces from his pocket so easily and lavished gigantic dolls on little brats in wooden clogs, was certainly a magnificent and formidable individual.” Valjean is now Myriel. Outsiders are fascinated by him because he dresses so shabbily and yet is so benevolent and charitable with his money. Again, the difference is that Myriel’s name is always known, and Valjean’s is never known.

I know I say this so often but the distance with which Hugo treats Valjean is absolutely fascinating to me. Valjean has this incredible power to just go inside himself and not move, but we never get that kind if internality unless it’s really really important (like with the Champmathieu affair). Otherwise, Hugo keeps a respectful distance, and even when we get Valjean’s emotions described to us, I feel like Hugo is always holding back a little, like he’s not letting himself see all the way into Valjean, or Valjean isn’t letting him in.

Valjean asks for a stable; I think this is the first time we see his whole thing about sacrifice of physical comfort. Things like this asking for the stable and sleeping in the shed behind the house at Rue Plumet and not having chairs and only eating black bread etc. This is the first example we see of him feeling unworthy of physical comforts to such a degree.

(It’s interesting to me that we don’t see this characteristic when he was mayor, or at least not to this extreme. Is it because it would be unbecoming of a mayor and therefore would blow his cover? Or did going back to prison hammer in that feeling of worthlessness and lesser-than and warp his perception of what he is compared to others?)

“What a sublime, sweet thing is hope in a child who has never known anything but its opposite!” We’ve said this already, but Cosette is full of hope and life and light and that is Important because it is exactly what Valjean did not have when he was in her position. But it means that she doesn’t have to work as hard in her ascent towards happiness and goodness.

And, lastly, I love that the placement of the gold Louis in Cosette’s shoe isn’t just a sweet Christmas gesture or a gesture towards Cosette: it’s also an echo of M Madeleine breaking into houses to place gold pieces on the table.

Wow. Long af post for a long af chapter. Congratulations if you read through all of my rambling thoughts.

[justafewsmallsteps]

Okay, with the new series announcement, I’ve finally been inspired to finish off this artwork and story that I’ve been sitting on for years. Call it a goodbye to my headcanon kids because now we have the real deal!!! 

Title: The Golden Girl 

Word Count:

3576

Rating

: G+

Let it be known that Mizuki adored her father. Anyone could tell by the way she followed him around and tried to copy his actions. 

She had his temperament and lack of patience, but in a cuter way (for now). Her big, shiny, golden eyes were just like his, and the black ears atop her head swiveled around just as his did. She loved it. She loved being just like him in every way she could; going around picking up big sticks to swing like her own Tessaiga. 

She looked up to him so much, it made Inuyasha’s heart ache. It did come with some new, dangerous territory though. For instance, he had one hell of a time trying to watch his vocabulary once Mizuki started speaking. He’d never forget the dagger of a glare that Kagome sent his way when their daughter babbled her first, “Damet” after dropping her snack. He thought he would be skinned on the spot. 

“She’s going to copy anything you do, so you have to be more careful!” Kagome chastised. 

“Why me?” Inuyasha asked in a grumbled whine. “She should be looking up to you! You’re her mother, ain’t ya?” 

Kagome frowned. “Mizuki thinks the world of you.” Her expression softened. “That’s what daughters do when they love their dad.” 

A pang of guilt seized his chest. In flashes he remembered another time and place, photographs and a stick of incense at the shrine tucked away in a private room; a young man with Kagome’s eyes. It was something that she didn’t talk about often, but her father’s loss still shook her sometimes. He took in Kagome’s glassy eyes and the pink flooding her nose. He reached around to hold his wife in his arms. “Okay,” Inuyasha mumbled as he kissed the top of her head. “You win. I’ll watch out.” 

So he proceeded with caution, tried to hold his tongue from cursing, and he did his damn best to be more patient than he’d ever thought possible. All for their family, for his wife, for his daughter. 

He never thought of himself as a role model. 

He used to think he was a freak.

But then Kagome came around, and then he had friends. He found a place in the world that accepted him as he was, and he held onto her with a fierce protectiveness. He even let her go once and was forced to find peace within loneliness. He did it for her, because even if he never saw her again, he’d love her. He’d live for her even without her there. 

But then by some miracle Kagome came back. The world was right. He belonged, they got married, and they were a family all on their own.  He didn’t think life could get better honestly. Then they had their first kid. When Mizuki was born, Inuyasha was sure that he’d never seen anything more precious in his life. He loved the dark ears atop her raven-haired head, and he nearly melted the first time she opened her honey-colored eyes. She was an existence made up of his and Kagome’s love. 

He wished she didn’t take so much after him though. She was just shy of passing for normal… 

“So beautiful,” Kagome had whispered, instantly washing away his fears and doubts. “Just like her dad.” 

Beautiful, huh? He hoped that someone would love his daughter like Kagome loved him. He also hoped that day was very far away, he thought warily. For now, he would make sure that his kid felt good about herself. He would never let Mizuki think of herself as a monster or a weirdo. He’d do his damnedest to build her confidence and surround her with love. 

And it worked out pretty well. Maybe too well if her ego was anything like his own. 

Mizuki really did love everything she had in common with her father. When they both heard a sound and turned the same way, she’d puff up with pride. “Mizuki hears it too!” she’d exclaim gleefully, making a point to wiggle her ears. 

It always made him grin. 

He never thought there could be a downside to her adoration. She loved him, she loved herself; everything was good. 

Then Shouya was born. 

Shouya, his son, who did not have his ears or his eyes. He actually looked a lot like Kagome, Inuyasha thought fondly. He had his mother’s nose, her human ears, even her adorable puffy cheeks. The one thing that made Shouya anything like Inuyasha was his distinctly silver colored hair. Yet somehow, despite being almost the opposite of his daughter, he was equally as perfect. Inuyasha had thought it was impossible to love anyone more than Kagome, and then Mizuki, and yet somehow his capacity for love simply grew as soon as he witnessed his son. 

And when Mizuki, at just five years old, laid her pretty, amber eyes on her brother... she burst into tears! Kagome was still bedridden and recovering, so Inuyasha flew into action. He tried to calm her down but she was inconsolable, and her crying triggered Shouya to follow. 

With two wailing children, Inuyasha and Kagome were immediately set to high stress mode. It was not the cute first meeting between new siblings that they had anticipated, dreamt about, planned for when Kagome was still waddling around as she told Mizuki all about being a big sister. 

Instead she cried. A lot. Loudly. 

Inuyasha had to pick up his distraught daughter and take her outside. 

“Kiddo, what’s wrong?” He asked, shifting her a little in his arms. 

Mizuki rubbed at the tears on her face and clutched to her father’s shoulders. Unable to form words past her sobs, she grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tugged, but Inuyasha didn’t pay any attention to the pain. Instead he did his best to soothe her, patting her back until she was reduced to hiccups. That night she cried and sniffled herself to sleep, leaving two very anxious parents. Thankfully Shouya slept soundly. 

It took a week of grouchiness and tantrums before anything productive happened. Inuyasha whined to his recovering wife about his daughter’s poor attitude and lack of communication. Kagome simply laughed at him. “Now you know what it’s like dealing with you.” 

Indignant, he scowled, “She’s a child!” 

“At least she has an excuse,” Kagome retorted cutely. 

Inuyasha would’ve been more upset, but having her humor back was a relief to him. She’d been exhausted and bedrested for the end of her pregnancy. Kaede had assured him that she’d be fine, but it still made him anxious to see her so putout. Shouya came out a fat, healthy baby, but even then Kagome didn’t get much time to relax. The newborn was up at odd hours and constantly hungry. It was the least Inuyasha could do to try taking care of Mizuki, though he hadn’t anticipated her moodiness. 

Whenever they were out of the house and away, she seemed to relax, but otherwise his girl was totally uncooperative. Miroku and Sango figured that she didn’t like sharing the attention. It was something they dealt with in the early days with their own twin girls. They shrugged and gave him their sympathy, but otherwise couldn’t offer much advice except for him to be patient and try to talk to her. 

The problem was Mizuki didn’t want to talk. As soon as he mentioned her brother she’d have a fit. Admittedly, he joked dryly to himself, he felt the same way about his own brother for a long time. The feeling had been mutual, probably. 

But Sesshoumaru was an asshole, and Shouya was barely eight days-old. 

Inuyasha sniffed the air as the wind passed them by. Kagome was waiting for them. “Kiddo, the sun’s getting low. We gotta go home to Mama.” 

Mizuki didn’t look up from her spot on the ground making leaf huts. “I don’t want to.” 

“There’s dinner at home.” 

“I’m okay.” 

He wondered how to persuade her. “Papa’s getting real hungry though. I might fall over if I don’t eat!” 

“Papa can fish,” she replied with no mercy. 

“So we’ll never go home again? I’ll never see Mama again?” 

She seemed to consider that. “Mama can visit us, but leave the baby.” 

Inuyasha folded his arms. “That’s your brother, ‘Zuki.” 

“I don't care. I don’t like him.” 

“So you won’t go home unless we get rid of your brother?” 

“Maybe Mama can put him back in her tummy.” 

He snorted. “That’s probably going to hurt your mother.”

“Then give him away to someone who wants a new baby. Far away.” She seemed set, and if Inuyasha knew anything about his daughter, it was that her stubbornness rivaled her parents’. Yikes. At least that was only half his fault. 

He figured lying would get him farther than arguing for now. It’d get him home at least. “Okay. We’ll tell Mama to leave the baby because you don’t like him. Then you’ll let us go home and eat? I can smell the food. Smells good. Can you smell it, little one?” 

Mizuki wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air. 

“I smell it too, like Papa! It does smell good!” she agreed with enthusiasm, but Inuyasha smirked. She had to be lying. They were far away enough that Inuyasha knew she’d have trouble picking out the scent, but she was always trying so hard to keep up with him. He decided to humor her. 

“You smell the stew?” 

“Yes!” 

“Wow, I’m so impressed. Let’s go get some. I’m starving!” He knelt down and opened his arms wide for her. When she barreled into his arms he was reminded of his great, unending love for her. He spun her around and squeezed her squirmy body as she giggled, then dipped her over to attack her face with kisses. 

“Papa, let’s go!” 

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.” He shot off with his usual pace when carrying his daughter. She liked to feel the bounce of his steps, laughing her way as they went up then down. It was slower than his run, but way more fun. He figured he should put her in the best mood possible when they broke the news that they were going to have to keep her brother around. 

“We’re home,” Inuyasha announced as they entered. 

Kagome was standing near the futon, rocking the baby in her arms gently. 

“Good timing. Shouya just had dinner and just fell asleep.” 

“I’m envious. Sounds like a good life,” he joked. 

Mizuki tugged on his arm. “Papa.” 

Right. 

“So Kagome, I have some bad news.” When she looked at him confused, he made sure to emote that everything was fine. He liked how easily they communicated. 

“Oh yeah?” she goaded. 

“Yup. Looks like we’ll have to get rid of the new baby.” 

“Oh no! That’s so sad. Why’s that?” 

Mizuki squirmed around and pulled her father’s face down. “Papa!” she whispered with urgency. 

He held up a finger, motioning for Kagome to hang on. She gave him a smile to show her amusement. He missed her face today. He hasn’t seen enough of her while he was out distracting their daughter. Speaking of which… 

“What’s up, kiddo?” 

She cupped her small hands around her mouth to relay her secret message. “Tell Mama you don’t want the baby! Don’t tell her I don’t want him.” 

“Mizuki, I’m not going to lie to Mama. You’re the one who wants him gone, so you should tell her,” he whispered back. He lifted his head back to Kagome, assuming she must have at least heard some of their conversation. “Mama, Mizuki has something to tell you,” Inuyasha proclaimed, full-well knowing he was throwing her under the bus. Poor thing. 

The girl seemed to go red in his arms, suddenly panicked as she faced the most intimidating figure in her (and his) life: her mother. 

“Is that so? What do you need to tell me, Mizuki?” 

“I--” She sputtered and her eyes began to water and she looked up at her father, silently pleading for him to take over. He shook his head. Of course he felt bad, but she wasn’t being very cooperative when he asked. Kagome was their best bet at getting some answers. If she could get him to open up, she’d manage a five year-old. 

“You?” she leaded. 

“I want the baby to go away!” she admitted quickly. Her mouth turned itself into a defiant pout, as if she was putting on a brave face. 

Kagome paid it no mind. “You do? Why?” 

She hesitated for a second before supplying, “I don’t like him!” 

“Okay, but why?” 

Mizuki whined; a true, genuine whine that sounded like a puppy. 

Inuyasha would’ve broken, but Kagome seemed unfazed. How could she? Did she have no heart? It amazed him. 

“Do you not like him because he’s a boy?” 

“No.” 

“You don’t like how he smells?” 

“No…” 

“Are you jealous?” 

Bingo. 

Mizuki ruffled and got even redder in the face. Inuyasha gave his daughter a reassuring pat. They already figured that was the problem, but it was a new feeling for her to navigate. 

“Mizuki, are you jealous that Mama spends so much time with Shouya?” Kagome asked softly. 

“No!” she yelped back.  

“Don’t yell at your mother,” Inuyasha chastised. 

She shrunk down, her ears flattening. It must have felt like they were ganging up on her, but the time had come for her unexplained tantrums to end. With pent up frustration and embarrassment, pools of tears began to stream down her face and she cried, “I hate him!” 

“You don’t have to be jealous, kiddo.” 

She wailed, and Shouya finally took notice of the volume, beginning to wiggle and fuss in his mother’s arms. Kagome motioned for Inuyasha to take her away so she could calm him down before he had his own fit. The baby was a heavy sleeper and not a huge crier, but he was cranky when woken up. They’d both be miserable with the two of them crying up a storm, especially Inuyasha with his sensitive hearing. 

As soon as he got out the door, he went into comforting mode. There was no use trying to talk to his little girl in this state. He bounced her up and down, shushing her and rubbing her back as she got out her tears and hiccuped. 

Inuyasha wracked his brain for the right approach. He had only recently come to terms with expressing his emotions. How was he supposed to tell a child to handle hers? “It’s okay to have feelings, you know.” 

Exhausted from crying, she slumped against his shoulder. 

“Papa gets jealous too sometimes. Is that what’s happening? You’re jealous?” 

She sniffled and slowly nodded. He could feel the heat and moisture of her tears seeping into his firerat. Probably snot too. 

Gross, he thought affectionately. 

“That’s alright. Do you want to tell me why?” 

He felt her shake her head. 

“And it’s not because Mama’s busy taking care of him?” 

Another no.

He was kind of at a dead end. She was jealous without much reason behind it. Was she capable of having a good reason? He searched the recesses of his mind, channeling the nurturing care of his wife. 

“Even if I love your brother, you know I don’t love you less, right?” 

“Okay,” she replied in a small voice. 

“Does that make it better?” 

Negative. 

Inuyasha sighed, feeling impatient and hopeless. 

Kagome emerged from the hut just then; Shouya once again soundlessly asleep and swaddled against her chest. She smiled at him sympathetically, knowing that crying was never his wheelhouse. He’d always hated when women cried, but Mizuki’s tears were a whole other level of unbearable. 

“The weather is nice. The sunset looks like it’ll be pretty,” she stated in a soft, even tone. 

“Wanna take a look, kiddo?” 

“The colors are pretty. The clouds are getting pink! Our favorite.” 

Mizuki shuffled a little as her father angled himself so that she could see from her place on his shoulder. She turned to rest her cheek on him, but otherwise kept sniffling. 

“Are you feeling any better now?” Kagome asked her daughter, placing a quick kiss to her swollen face. 

Instead of replying, she tugged at her father’s hair again, using it to cover her face. It was a strange, new behavior. Usually when she wanted to hide she’d simply turn her head into his shoulder. Maybe it comforted her though. 

“Not sure why she’s doing that,” Inuyasha murmured. “She does it whenever she has one of her fits now.” 

Kagome stared for a while before she let out the lightest gasp. When the hanyou looked down at her curiously, he saw the familiar expression of her coming to some kind of understanding. 

“Oh, Mizuki…” she cooed with sympathy. “You poor baby.” 

Inuyasha raised a brow and Kagome pulled away to laugh. Whatever it was, he knew she’d explain, but it was killing him to be out of the loop. 

“She just wants to be like her Papa,” she said with soothing empathy threading her tone. Kagome looked up at her husband fondly, taking her hand to cup his cheek. “From his golden eyes,” she ran her thumb across his eyebrow. Then she reached up towards his ears to stroke one until it flicked in response, “To his fuzzy ears…” she smiled brightly, “to his pretty, silver hair…” Kagome finished, loosely twirling a strand around her finger before turning her gaze to their son. 

It clicked for him then. 

“You’re jealous of your brother because of his hair?” 

Mizuki whimpered, the scent of collecting salty tears assaulting Inuyasha once more as she grabbed more of his locks to cascade down over her own head. 

Mystery solved! 

It was so cute and so stupid that Inuyasha wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. 

“Is that really it, ‘Zuki?” 

“I told you, she wants to be just like you,” Kagome reiterates, placing a soothing set of fingers to touch her daughter affectionately. 

“Keh!” Yet somehow he was blushing. Maybe it had to do with the way Kagome was beaming at him, prettier than any sunset. “That’s stu--silly. What a silly reason to be upset.” 

Mizuki huffed in anger. 

“I mean,” he faltered. “It’s sweet. It’s very sweet.” Finally feeling like he had a hold on things and the world made sense again, he mindfully moved back his daughter’s sagging body from his shoulder, some of the hair getting pulled along with her. “But you don’t have to be jealous, little one. You’re great just the way you are, you know that?” He nuzzled their noses together. 

“B-But I want to be like Papa!” she sobbed, pushing back. Not even her snotty nose or blotchy crying face could detract from how wretchedly adorable she was. 

Kagome thought her heart would melt. “Papa is pretty great, but baby, you are so much like him! You don’t have to have everything be the same.” 

It didn’t seem to matter. “Why does the baby have Papa’s hair and I don’t? It’s not fair!” 

Both Inuyasha and Kagome exchanged looks. It was clear that Mizuki wasn’t going to get much consolation from her mother on this issue. 

Finally, an idea popped into Inuyasha’s head. 

“You got my eyes though, don’t ya?” He asked, looking right into her honey colored irises. They were even more intense at this golden hour. 

“Yeah…” her ear twitched along with her sniffle. 

He grinned. “Then you see the same way I do. You see everything I do, right?” 

“Right,” she agreed. 

“When I look at you, I see the most perfect little girl in the world. Beautiful eyes, cute little ears and nose, pretty hair like her mother, and the best smile. I see all that. You see it too?” 

Mizuki’s eyes watered again, but she nodded. Kagome took the time to brush back the hair stuck to her face. 

Inuyasha prodded his daughter more. “You see it, kiddo? Just like me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s what I want to hear!” He pulled her from his body and hoisted her into the air. It was one of their favorite things to do. He spun her around and tossed her until she was nothing but an exhausted heap of smiles, and the stars began to twinkle in the early evening sky. 

Later that night when she was about to sleep, Mizuki looked at her brother for a long time before turning away with a curt, “Goodnight baby. We won’t give you away.” 

Kagome snorted back a laugh and had her husband put her to bed. Crying, laughing, and letting go of a grudge all in one day really took it out of their poor toddler. Still, seeing Inuyasha fumble through feelings and childrearing-- it all felt so surreal. It felt like home, and she’d never been more content with her life. 

Once the kids were both asleep and tucked away, Inuyasha sat behind his wife and finally held her close, his head sitting on her shoulder. He inhaled her scent to re-center himself. 

“Tough to be a dad?” she asked teasingly. 

“She’s a lot to handle.” 

“She’s just like her father.” 

Inuyasha rolled his eyes but let them fall shut as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck. 

Kagome turned her cheek and pressed her lips against his bangs. 

“Perfect to me,” she added. 

Embarrassed but happy, he simply tightened his arms around her. “Yeah, yeah.” 

[thiswasinevitableid]

Pleasant Surprise (Indruck Superhero AU)

A little fic I’ve had bouncing around my head for awhile, set in the universe of “The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight.”  It takes place after that story, and after the events of the small fics “Aww, Rats” and “Back in Time”. You can read it as a standalone, but it does contain some spoilers for main fic.

“You know how you always say communication is important in a relationship?” Indrid drums his fingers on the arm of the couch. 

Dr. Mwangi nods, the chain on her glasses glinting in the soothing lights of her office.

“I...there is something I am not sure how to communicate to Duck. I, it’s something I’ve been dishonest about. I” Indrid takes a deep breath, “I lied about the date of my birthday.”

Dr. Mwangi doesn’t so much as cock an eyebrow, much like she managed not to gasp in horror when he told her what his training regime involved when he was learning to be a villain. Indrid’s going theory is that this self-control is his therapist's super power. 

“Do you want to spend part of our session today figuring out how you’d like to talk with him about this?”

Indrid fidgets with his glasses, “Yes, please.”

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

Duck comes home to one of his favorite scenes; Indrid sitting with his easel in front of the rat run. His boyfriend decided he needed to cultivate his artistic streak, so that one part of his life would not involve superheroing or villainy in any capacity. From the look of it, he’s still on the theme of inserting the rats into still-lifes of different styles. 

Duck loves watching him paint, in a way at once connected to and completely different from the attraction he feels observing the other man train in the hideout or dig himself into engineering a new invention. There’s the same cleverness in his hands, the same concentration lining his face. But there’s an innocence that’s absent other places, a kind of happiness that only exists in activities untouched by his past.

“Hello, chivalrous one.” Indrid murmurs as Duck comes to drape his arms over his sweater clad shoulders.

“Hey sugar. I like the new paintin’--is that Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

“Indeed.” Indrid turns his head, his grin as bright as the streetlights flickering to life outside, “The fuzzy medical practitioner in the style of Seurat. I foresee Aubrey liking it as a Christmas gift, and I wanted to do it while the inspiration was still fresh.”

“Bet she’ll get a kick outta it.” Duck kisses the top of his head, then starts removing his work clothes, “you had dinner? Thought I might reheat some pizza.”

“I ordered us dinner, it should arrive within ten to fifteen minutes, depending on whether this is the broken stoplight timeline.” Indrid sets his brushes aside, stands so he can follow Duck down the hall to the bedroom.

“Thanks for doin’ that.”

“There is, ah, something I wish to discuss before it arrives.”

Duck turns and his heart twinges. Back when Indrid was his nemesis, Duck learned to read his emotions, a skill that eluded everyone else. He can tell when Indrid is nervous and, most often, when Indrid is nervous and doing everything he can to hide it.

“What’s on your mind?” He takes a soft step towards the other man, who goes very still as he summons his next words. 

“Do you remember what I told you about my birthday?”

“That it was in the spring and you’d let me know when we were gettin close to it. Wait, fuck, you never did, not this year or last year. Then again, last year was when the White Star boys kept tryin to fuck everythin up, think a lot of stuff got missed. Do you, uh, wanna do a birthday observed or somethin? Could even get a little goofy and do a half-birthday.”

Indrid shakes his head vehemently, “No. That is not it. I, I ah, I lied. My birthday is not in spring. And before you ask ‘when is it,’ the answer is I have no idea. We never celebrated birthdays. I only know my age because my father unleashed my brother and myself upon the world some time after I, or rather we, turned eighteen.” Indrid tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweater, “that is all I wish to say.”

It would be easy to giggle at his serious tone. 

Duck pulls Indrid into a hug, “Thanks for tellin me. Do you want help tryin to work out when it really is?”

“I...I do not know. I was simply tired of such a small lie weighing me down.”

“Okay. You wanna cuddle until dinner?”

“Of cour--oh damn it all.” Indrid steps back, pulling off his sweater, “Baron Thorne is going to try and hold an entire dormitory of students hostage in forty-five minutes.”

“More than a two hero job?”

Indrid tips his head back, then replies, “it’ll go best with for. I shall alert Barclay and Aubrey.”

“Roger. I’ll get the car.”

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

Duck’s researching potential plants for Dani to modify into non-lethal weapons when the secure elevator dings open and Agent Stern hurries out, looking a kind of excited he hasn’t seen since Barclay’s parents landed their ship to meet their son’s new boyfriend. 

“Gettin the feelin you got good news for me.”

“I do.” Joe pulls out his datapad, “I went through the files we confiscated from Abbadon to find the one on Indrid. It did indeed have his birth date, and you are not going to believe what it is.”

Duck looks at the little boxes of letters and numbers beneath the photo of a much younger Indrid with a much crueler smile. 

“No fuckin way.”

“I know right?” Joe grins, “ I think he’ll get a kick out of that.”

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

“My birthday is on Halloween?”

“Yeah!” Duck looks so happy that for a moment the emotion carries Indrid as well. 

“That is rather fitting. It’s always been my favorite holiday.” He can see it now; little orange lights, a black tablecloth, some cake.

“And it’s three weeks away, so we still got time to plan somethin to mark the day. I was thinkin we could have it Friday, since Halloween is a Saturday and I know at least Barclay and Dani got things they do every Halloween. How’s that sound?”

He isn’t sure. Something circles up from the deep, animal part of his mind, but he can’t name it and so does his best to ignore it. 

“It sounds wonderful.”

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

Indrid cannot escape. Everywhere he turns there are birthdays; on the T.V, in the restaurants he and Duck go to, on cards and balloons when he’s getting groceries 

It’s your big day!

“You don’t turn thirteen everyday”

To my son, on his eighteenth birthday

“To my brother, my favorite partner in crime”

“This week on ‘My Neighbor’s a Werewolf,’ Jamie throws Max a surprise party, and gets a big surprise of his own.” 

When that one flickers across the screen, Indrid clicks the T.V off with a little hiss. He’s tense, feels like the embodiment of the moment a knife-tip meets skin; resistance and resignation in the instant before it all comes pouring out. 

“You got a cake preference?” Duck rests his hand on the couch near Indrid’s shoulder, tone light as he continues, “know you like really sweet stuff, I could get mom’s hummingbird cake recipe from Jane-”

“Whatever you think best.” Indrid flexes and coils his fingers.

“‘Drid, it’s your party, you get to mark the occasion however you want.

“And what if I do not wish to mark it at all?”

“Uh…” Duck clears his throat, “uh, that’s fine too.”

Indrid turns his head to see the expression he knew would be there. 

“That upsets you.”

“N-uh, fuck, I uh, it don’t uh-”

“Duck, please do me the courtesy of not drawing out the lie.”

Ducks shoulders sag, “Guess I’m a little disappointed. I, uh, I was havin fun plannin it with you. Thought I could make up for all the times you didn’t have one.”

“Well, you can’t.” Indrid snaps, stands more dramatically than he means to. He just wants this to be over, wants to stop seeing the memories he thought he’d properly laid to rest, “you cannot make up for what I saw, what was done to me, what I did.”

“I-”

Indrid holds up his hand, “I know you see it as your job to remove all traces of my tragic past that you can.”

“Hold the fuck on.” Duck shakes his head, “Is that what you think I’m doin? ‘Drid, it’s just a party. If you don’t want it you don’t want it, but don’t fuckin pretend this is some indicator of us as a pair.”

“Oh but it is.” Indrid feels his lips curl into an old smile, “you get to play the nice, normal hero making everything better, while all I am is someone to pity, broken long before you ever met me!”

Duck goes still, and in his visions he sees the rats finishing skittering to the far side of Ratopia. It’s at this moment he realizes he’s been yelling. 

“I…I am going to bed. Goodnight.” He hurries down the hall, only bothering to change his pants before crawling under the covers. In most futures, Duck follows him and demands they finish their argument, leading to a far larger fight. But the hero doesn’t come. This gives Indrid time to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal, to try and work out why the thought of his loved ones gathering to celebrate his birth makes him want to disappear into the night. 

He’s not quite asleep when Duck comes in. He’s not quite ready to apologize. As he’s contemplating his options, his boyfriend slips under the sheet and lays in such a way that his right hand is inches from Indrid’s own. 

Without opening his eyes, Indrid slides his fingers across Duck’s palm. Duck shifts to interlink their fingers, and closes his hand. 

Indrid wakes up five hours later in two discrete stages. The first is coming out of the nightmare, of his body registering the need to move, to hide, before his brain is fully back to the present. The second is waking up enough to wonder why he always hides in the closet after these dreams; he didn’t have a closet growing up. 

He creeps into the living room, hoping he hasn’t woken Duck. He has woken Chicken, who decides it’s close enough to her breakfast time to yowl at him until he feeds her. While she crunches her cat food, he opens one of the doors to Ratopia. The mischief is mostly asleep, but at  the sound Void rouses from his spot atop Mallard and scurries over to Indrid’s hands. 

“You forgive so easily.” Indrid murmurs, cupping him in one hand and closing the cage with the other, “or perhaps you just forget with much greater skill than I.”

He knows when Duck is behind him. Without turning, he sets Void on his shoulder and says, “I think I know why I have been so unpleasant tonight. I...I have only ever marked two changes in age; being old enough to face the trials of my order and being sent out to cut down those who dared oppose us. My ‘birthday’ is a harbinger of suffering and death. And I, I know that is not the real truth, but it is the one my body believes, the one my mind has been bracing for without me fully understanding that’s what it is doing. I did not mean to take that fear out on you.”

“‘Drid” Duck’s voice is scratchy with sleep, but when Indrid turns his eyes are alert, “I’m so fuckin sorry. It, uh, it didn’t occur to me that your birthday would be wrapped up so tightly with the shit you went through as a kid. I never meant to push you into somethin you didn’t want.”

“But I do want it!” Indrid shoves his hands into his hair, “I want to have dinner with our friends, to get gifts, to enjoy a thing that millions of people partake in every day. And I am so, so very angry that I cannot, that instead I am dealing with all of this.” He gestures vaguely to himself, then looks at Duck, his body registering safe as the hero joins him by the rat run. When Duck opens his arms, Indrid nestles into them without hesitation. 

“Whatever you decide on, that’s what we’ll do.” 

Indrid hums, snickers when Void clambers onto Duck to tickle his cheek with his whiskers. After the shadows of the past recede in the warmth of Duck’s embrace, Indrid whispers, “I would like to have the party. I would like to help you plan it. But I...I would like a few of the details to still be surprises for me. It might be nice for my birthday to bring me a pleasant one for once.”

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

“Oooh, this looks so cool!” Aubrey sets a gift on the table as she admires the mothman string lights, banners, and balloons, “dang, Duck, didn’t know you had a decorator streak.”

“Don’t get a chance to flex it much. And it’s kinda easy when the theme is so specific.”

“I’m trying to compliment you, doofus.” Aubrey playfully whacks his arm, then squeals, “honey, look, rats in hats!”

“Awww” Dani joins her to regard the mischief in their tiny party hats (only Mallard is still wearing his, the others in various states of tossing them about), “Indrid, did you make these?”

“Indeed, though Barclay made these.” He slides the enclosure open and sets five rat-sized cupcakes on the floor, “which is wonderful, because I did not want them to feel left out. They’re getting them earlier than the rest of us because Barclay is looking for ways to keep me out of the kitchen.”

“It’s your birthday, that means letting someone else cook!” Barclay calls from the kitchen.

“But I modified the blender and the mixer to be self-operating!”

“Wait, what?” Is all they hear before Barclay is drowned out by whirring. 

“Should we help him?” Dani says through their laughter.

“He’s a professional, he’ll be fine.” Joseph steps from the kitchen, his casual wear of jeans and a Loch Ness Monster dress shirt still somewhat jarring to the former villain who only ever saw him in suits, “Aubrey, Dani, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Yes please. Okay doctor, time to play.” Aubrey opens the special hatch in Ratopia and deposits the rabbit, who settles in to be groomed by his smaller friends. 

Dinner is fancy macaroni and cheese and fruit salad, Indrid’s favorites. As Ned regales the table with his latest misadventures in fixing up his new van (“I was unaware an owl could nest in a seat cushion”) Indrid glances at the entryway. 

“Everythin okay?” Duck whispers.

“Yes. I, ah, I simply did not expect so many gifts. I know it’s customary to receive them but I thought you got one or two. Not that everyone brought them.”

“You wanna open them?”

Indrid nods, grinning, “very much so.”

He takes care not to peek at the futures when unwrapping them, wanting to preserve the excitement as long as possible. Aubrey gives him a six pound bag of Lucky Charm marshmallows, Dani sneaks out to the car and returns with a potted plant (“I modified it so that the blossoms will be extra attractive to moths”). Ned gifts him a signed, limited run poster from Red Dust on His Soul, Joseph and Barclay a stack of new romance novels (“I think you’ll like Agent X, it’s a mystery series but he romances quite a few characters in them”). Mama sent a package from West Virginia that contains a small, wooden duck she carved herself and made especially smooth so it would be soothing to rub). And Lydia Little, AKA Sylvia Cold, presents him with a mug declaring him “Favorite Brother.” 

Duck’s present is the last one he opens. Waiting for him in the rectangular box is a white shirt with “World’s Greatest Rat Dad” on the front. The back is covered in squiggle-scratches of five different colors, which Duck explains are signatures from the mischief made in rat-safe fabric paint. 

“It’s perfect.”  Indrid sighs, kisses his boyfriend and then beams at his friends, “it is time for cake.”

They dim the lights, sing to him as Barclay emerges from the kitchen with a massive, mothman shaped cake with lots of candles. To his delight and surprise, the inside is layers of pink and yellow, flavored with strawberry and vanilla. He eats far more than is perhaps wise, but it is his birthday and it is his understanding that such things are allowed.

His guests linger for a few hours more, Aubrey and Dani the last to leave with a reminder to put the plant on the balcony. Indrid waves goodbye, closes the door and arms the security to full. He turns back into the house, sees the cards and gifts his friends put so much thought into locating for him, the stray dishes and half-empty glasses that signify they were here. For him. Because they wanted to be, because they care about him.

“‘Drid? You want any more cake before I put it aw--oh fuck, sugar, what’s wrong.”

“Nothing” he sniffles, grins, “these are tears of happiness. I, ah, I hurried us into cake because I felt them upon me when I opened the gifts. It will take some time yet for me to be willing to show such feelings around our friends.” He wipes his eyes, “thank you, my love, for arranging this.”

“Any time, darlin.”

He smiles, “Have I mentioned lately that you are my hero?”

“Pretty sure you called me that this mornin. But I sure as hell don’t mind hearin it again.”

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

“What is this?” His brother scowls up from the paper plate Indrid passed to him through the complex delivery system keeping his cell from the world around it.

“Cake. Today is our birthday. Did you know that?”

“Who cares for such frivolous things, little brother?”

“Those of us who do not spend our lives steeped in the misery of others, twin brother. If you do not want it, give it back and I shall share it with one of the guards.”

Apollo looks at the cake. Then he kneels on the floor, tearing into it with his hands. He doesn’t eat it what he destroys, and after a moment Indrid grasps why.

“Did you really think I hid some device to help you escape in there?”

“Yes.” His brother is now trying to light stab the cake with his gaze. 

Indrid rubs his forehead, “Perhaps some day you will learn to see things for how they are, not how you believe them to be.” He starts for the door, looks over his shoulder and says softly, “happy birthday, Apollo.”

A slam as his brother strikes the see-through front of his cell, “Get back here this instant you worthless, traitorous, coward!”

The door slides open and Indrid steps into the hall. Joseph is waiting for him, drops his eyes from the security feed to the man in front of him, “what a waste of Barclay’s cooking.”

“Agreed.”

A gentle pat on his shoulder, “You tried, that counts for a lot. Now go enjoy your night.”

“And my knight?”

“Him too.” Joseph waves goodbye, then adds, “and happy birthday!”

Indrid gets home before the city trick or treating hours begin; he’s feeling rather good, all things considered, and Halloween is so beloved by villains that the odds of his evening being interrupted by work are almost none. 

Duck is on the porch lighting their Jack ‘O Lanterns, grinning brighter than all the candles and lights on the block combined when Indrid walks up the steps to join him. He sees in the futures that he’s made him a special, Halloween themed birthday dinner. 

He pulls Duck into a hug, kissing the top of his head with happy sighs, thanking whatever twist of fate pushed him into the arms of the man who was, in many ways, his first-ever pleasant surprise.

[airiervessel]

When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More with logince?

also combining this with an anon’s request of 57 and logince! // prompts are open! (list)

67. When one stops the kiss to whisper “i’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more 57. Breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that they’re murmuring into each other’s mouths

Word Count: 2241 Pairing: Logince Content: high school au (i’m imagining them as juniors or seniors? so they’re both 17 or 18), childhood best friends, asexual logan, so much pining, healthy discussions of feelings

Logan and Roman are best friends. Logan always acts awkward around their friends who are couples, and he has an asexual pride patch on his favorite jacket, alongside the various NASA and other nerdy patches he has all over it -- many of which Roman helped him sew on. Once, a couple of years ago, during a sleepover when they were staying up late talking about everything, he told Roman that he didn’t think he could ever see himself in a committed relationship. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to do it.

Logan and Roman are best friends. Logan isn’t interested in dating. Neither of these facts stopped Roman from falling head over heels in love with him. 

He reminds himself every time he finds himself staring at Logan’s face, every time he realizes his heart is nearly beating out of his chest whenever Logan laughs. He pinches himself in the thigh when he feels Logan’s shoulder brush his, or when Logan’s hand passes over his as he reaches for a certain book or pen. He acts as normal as he can, flopping down dramatically onto the sofa next to Logan and throwing his legs over his lap like his stomach isn’t full of butterflies, and tries to ignore the way Logan’s fond eye roll and careful adjustment around Roman brings warmth to Roman’s cheeks. 

Everything Logan does makes Roman’s heart sing, and he wants nothing more than to confess his feelings because this is the one thing Logan doesn’t know about him, the one secret he’s ever kept from his best friend. 

They promised, once, at Logan’s ninth birthday party, never to keep secrets from each other again. Roman had helped Logan’s parents and brother plan a surprise party for him, and he had been so excited to see Logan’s face, to see his reaction when he walked in his house after school to find everyone gathered there, ready to celebrate with him. But Logan had been scared by the noise and the number of people and had run off to their treehouse in a panic, and Roman had followed him and helped calm him down from his first-ever panic attack. 

After, when Logan was sniffling into Roman’s shoulder, he asked Roman to always warn him about parties in the future. “I can act surprised,” he whispers, his voice thick from the tears. “But you know I need to prepare to spend time around a bunch of people.” 

Roman had pulled back and offered his pinky, his expression serious. “I promise to never keep a secret from you again, Logan,” he said, and Logan smiled and hooked their pinkies together. 

“I promise too,” he replied, his expression so trusting and open, even after Roman’s surprise had hurt him so much. 

Thinking about that exchange now makes Roman roll onto his back in his bed with a dramatic groan, covering his face with a pillow. Guilt burns in his stomach -- they’d promised never to keep secrets from each other, and here he is, two months after realizing he has romantic feelings for Logan, and he’s kept it to himself. He hasn’t told anyone, not his parents, not his other friends, not even his cat. The first person to learn important things about Roman has always been Logan, and it makes the guilt boiling in his gut even worse to think about sharing this secret with anyone besides his best friend. 

He rolls onto his side, tugging the pillow down off his face and frowning at his stuffed Winnie the Pooh on the other side of his bed. He has to tell Logan. He can’t keep going like this -- the guilt is already eating him up inside. It rises like bile along with the butterflies that appear every time he looks at Logan, the confession burning at the back of his throat before he clamps down and swallows it back. 

Roman is terrified of ruining what they have, of losing his best friend. But he can’t keep breaking their promise, either. 

---------

His resolution to confess to Logan turns out to be much easier said than done, as so many things are. He comes close several times over the next week, when they’re at lunch in their favorite spot in the courtyard, when they’re hanging out in Logan’s room studying, when they’re leaving math class and Logan laughs at something Roman says. Several times a day, the words burn his mouth, but his tongue feels like it’s glued to the roof of his mouth, and his vocal chords feel as though they’re tied into knots in his throat, and he can never say it. 

It’s Friday evening, over a week after Roman’s decision to come clean about his feelings, and still he hasn’t done it. He and Logan are in his bedroom, Logan reading a chapter in their history textbook aloud as Roman works on his current cross-stitching project. He focuses on the needle in his hands, on poking it through the fabric over and over again, the mostly-mindless work with his hands and eyes helping him process the information Logan’s lovely voice is reading. 

Logan stops, apparently having come to the end of the section, and Roman smiles even as he doesn’t look away from his stitching. “Alexander the Great sounds pretty awesome,” he says. “He actually listened to his men when they said they were ready to go home. That’s a pretty good leader, if you ask me.”

Logan usually argues with him on points like this, usually brings up some horrible thing the person did or the stupid way they died to counter Roman’s point, but he’s silent this time. Roman knows he’s not entirely right, knows Logan must have some kind of argument to make, so he looks up, turning his head to look at his best friend, tilting his head to the side in concern. “What’s up, Sir Nerds-a-Lot? You don’t usually let me admire historical figures without bringing up their flaws. Is anything wrong?”

Logan opens his mouth, then closes it, his eyebrows furrowed. Roman lowers his stitching to the bed and turns to face him fully, really concerned now. It’s rare that Logan is at a complete loss for words, and Roman is already running through the events of the afternoon, trying to find something that could have upset Logan. 

“Specs? Are you-” he begins, but he’s cut off by a mouth on his -- by Logan’s mouth on his. Logan is kissing him.

Roman is so shocked he can’t even respond, his eyes wide open as his hands flutter uncertain over Logan’s shoulders. He can see one of Logan’s eyes squeezed shut, and just when Roman is about to melt into the kiss, Logan pulls away, already rambling. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking, I-” but Roman cuts him off as well, taking Logan’s face gingerly in his hands and capturing his lips in another kiss. 

And oh, is it amazing. He always wondered if the books were exaggerating when they described fireworks, but it really is like fireworks are going off in his chest, like bright spots of color are dancing behind his eyelids, like he’s never done and will never do anything as wonderful and amazing as kiss Logan Sanders. Logan’s arms wrap around his neck, his hands wrapping into Roman’s hair, and he hums into the kiss, feeling Logan shudder in response. 

He finally pulls back slightly, though hardly puts any space between them, his lips still brushing Logan’s as he whispers into the small space between them. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now,” he breathes, and his stomach does a flip when Logan chuckles quietly in response. He presses another kiss to Logan’s lips, and the other returns it for a moment before pulling back, further this time, and stroking his hand through Roman’s hair as he meets his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you?” He asks, his expression open and so clearly happy that Roman has to look away, his eyes drifting to the side as something that feels suspiciously like shame crawls up his back, settling on his shoulders like a lead weight. 

Logan’s thumb traces back and forth over his cheekbone, though, and he brings one of his own hands up to cover Logan’s closing his eyes and smiling slightly at the sensation. “I thought….you have the ace pin. You told me that one time that you didn’t think you could ever be in a relationship. I thought you weren’t interested.” He turns his head slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to Logan’s palm before opening his eyes, his lips still brushing Logan’s skin as he continues. “I didn’t want to ruin anything. I didn’t want to lose you.” 

Now it’s Logan’s turn to look away, looking sheepish. “When I said that….” he clears his throat, and Roman squeezes his shoulder where his free hand is resting on it. Logan looks back at him and smiles, seeming encouraged. “I didn’t mean that I did not want a relationship. I have, in fact, wanted one very badly for several years. With you, specifically.” 

Roman lets out a gasp at that, tightening his grip on Logan’s hand. “Lo…” he breathes, amazed that Logan’s felt that way about him for so long. 

(Then again, Logan has always been a genius, has always picked up on things faster than Roman, or anyone else, for that matter.)

Logan strokes his thumb over Roman’s cheekbone again, looking amazed that he’s being allowed to do it. “When I said that, I was actually speaking of my belief of my own inability to properly perform in a relationship. Being in a relationship with someone...it requires a great deal of emotional intelligence, which we both know that I do not possess. And…” he trails off again, looking away and pulling his hands away from Roman, who ardently wishes he would do anything but that. 

“And as you said, I am asexual. I would be….unable to. Perform. In that capacity. If we were to date.” Logan looks at his lap, clasping his hands together there and looking as if he’s about to cry. 

“Logan,” Roman chokes out, leaning forward and taking Logan’s face in his hands once again, tilting it up gently and stroking it with his thumbs as Logan just did for him. “Logan, I-” his voice breaks, and he leans his forehead against Logan’s, feeling the other’s hands resting lightly on his waist as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to sift through the roiling emotions in his chest. 

After a moment, he opens his eyes to meet Logan’s, one of his hands moving to brush his hair back, cradling his head as he leans back slightly, just enough so he doesn’t have to go cross-eyed to maintain eye contact. 

“I love you,” he says finally, his voice and heart barreling forward even as his mind struggles to catch up, as usual. “I love you just as you are, and all that you are. I would never-” his voice breaks again here, and he shakes his head, stroking Logan’s hair back again. “I would never make you do anything, anything, that you’re not comfortable with,” he finishes in a whisper. “I would love to be with you in any way that you’ll have me, whether it’s as a best friend, or a boyfriend, or a partner, or...or if you want to--to never see me again, that’s okay too,” his voice cracks once again, and this time tears spill out of his eyes and down his cheeks. 

Logan’s hands fly up to wipe them away, and his head is already shaking in Roman’s gentle grip. “No, no, no, I--of course I want to see you again, you idiot, you’re my...you’re my Roman.”

Roman can’t help but laugh wetly at that, and Logan surges up to kiss him again, and they fall silent for a few moments. When they pull back, Logan resumes wiping at Roman’s face, his expression soft. “I love you too,” he whispers. “And I’m yours. In any way you’ll have me.” 

Roman laughs and kisses him again, pecking him three, four, five times on the lips, then all over his face, drawing giggles out of Logan as Roman moved down to blow a raspberry on his neck. 

Later, they’ll order a pizza for dinner, and sit on Roman’s bed eating it and talking about everything they’ve always talked about, and everything they’ve never talked about. They’ll discuss their own boundaries, and who they want to tell about the relationship, and who’s going to plan their first date. Roman will joke about celebrating anniversaries weekly, and will immediately resolve to do it when he sees how the idea makes Logan blush. 

Later, Roman’s parents will come home and find Logan there much later than usual, and they’ll see how the two of them smile at each other and know that they finally worked things out. 

Later, they’ll fall asleep with Big Hero 6 playing in the background, snuggled close together under Roman’s comforter. 

But that’s all for later. For now they laugh, and kiss, and tickle each other, and bask in the glow of the new step of their relationship. 

Logan and Roman are best friends. They both spent a long time believing their feelings for each other are unrequited, that saying something would ruin their relationship forever. They were both wrong.

[bethpeaches123]

Everlark #46

Okay, this took much longer than I’d hoped, but that’s because every time I thought I was finished, something new popped into my head and I had to include it, so it’s also much longer than I’d anticipated. But, here it is, @mandelion82! I hope you enjoy! I’m thinking of continuing it too, so stay tuned! Also going to post it on AO3. :)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everlark 46: nanny/single parent au

The Nanny/Babysitter/Minder

When Katniss Everdeen placed an ad looking for a nanny to care for her five-year-old daughter Cassie, the gorgeous blond, blue-eyed specimen of a man standing on her front porch was not exactly what she had in mind.

“Can I…help you? Sir?” she asked, trying to wipe the puzzled expression off her face when she opened the door.

He smiled, his hands shoved in the front pockets of his dark wash jeans, looking slightly puzzled himself. “I’m Peeta. Peeta Mellark? I emailed you about the nanny position for your daughter? We agreed I’d come over to meet her at one o’clock today?” he replied. His eyes flickered to the side at the sound of a car horn behind him on the busy street, then flicked back to Katniss while he waited for her response.

Flustered that Peeta was apparently a man’s name and not an old woman’s like she’d assumed, (Why had she assumed that? What could have it been short for? Petunia? Come on, Katniss) she hesitated and then said, “oh, yes, of course. Um, please, come in,” stepping aside to let the subtly muscular man walk past her and into the hallway.

Hesitating again, she decided to throw caution to the wind and continue with the appointment with this man, Peeta. She hadn’t received any other responses to the ad she’d placed two weeks prior, and she was getting desperate. Her surgery schedule had changed at the hospital, thanks to crotchety Chief Abernathy who didn’t care about her childcare woes, and she needed to find someone to pick Cassie up from school until her current shift rotation changed again in a few months’ time. If it changed. Knowing Abernathy, he’d keep her on this schedule indefinitely.

“Cassie? Can you come out please sweetheart, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she called down the hall.

She motioned for Peeta to proceed into the living room as a tiny pixie of a girl came bounding down the hall and into the room, her dark brown hair in two messy braids down her back. “Mama, I was playing,” she whined, but stopped and stared, wide-eyed at the blond man standing in front of her. “Who are you?” she asked, curiously.

“Cassie honey, I told you we’d be meeting your new nann-err…your….baby-um…your…minder…today. Remember?” hastily fumbling over what to call Peeta. “This is Mr. Mel-um, Peeta.”

“Hi Mr. Peeta,” Cassie whispered, peering up at him shyly as her little mouth curling into a smile.

Peeta knelt down in front of Cassie and held out his hand. “Hello Miss Cassie, it’s very nice to meet you. You can call me just Peeta, though, if you’d like,” he replied, gently smiling at the girl. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, I hope.”

“Cassie, why don’t you tell Peeta about school? Cassie just started grade one. Peeta, can I get you something to drink?” asked Katniss, starting towards the kitchen. She needed to put some distance between herself and this gorgeous man. Needed to catch her breath and steady herself – it had been a while since she’d been around anyone who made her feel so flustered. She was usually so calm and cool-headed; she needed to be, being an orthopedic surgeon and all. When Peeta didn’t reply right away, she turned to face him and found him staring straight at her.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied, his eyes warm as he looked at her for a beat longer than normal, before turning his focus back to her mini-me sitting before him on the floor. She could feel the heat from his brief gaze go straight to her core. She shivered and spun on her heel, swiftly walking to the kitchen. What was that? As she poured herself a glass of water, she gave herself a mental shake before gulping it down and returning to the living room to sit and observe.

As Katniss watched the two interact on the floor, her initial hesitations began to melt away. Peeta was patient, attentive and gentle with her sweet girl, listening to her talk about her dolls, how much she wanted a cat (Katniss refused - she and felines did not get along) and how nice her kindergarten teacher Mr. Cinna was. Peeta asked her questions about her favourite colour (purple, but also green, like Mama) what she wanted to be when she grew up (a veterinarian) and her favourite flavour ice cream (Rocky Road).

After 45 minutes had passed and the two seemed thick as thieves, Katniss’s worries were gone. Her desperation to find someone to look after Cassie while she was at work had melted away as she watched Cassie, normally a shy, reserved little girl, open up and giggle at the gentle man who made silly faces and showed her pictures of his cat, Cupcake (she could’ve scolded him for that - she didn’t need Cassie getting any more ideas about wanting a cat.) Occasionally, she’d laugh softly at something one of them would say, and she’d catch Peeta’s eye when he’d glance at her and smile warmly, his dimples dusting his cheeks.

With her ex Gale no longer in the picture, and her mother and sister living two states away, she didn’t have any family support. Peeta seemed to be the answer to her prayers, judging from how quickly he and her daughter got along. Plus…he wasn’t hard on the eyes. Stop lusting after the hired help, Katniss. Get it together.

After some more time had passed, Katniss looked at her watch and said, “Well, I think we’ve taken up enough of Peeta’s time, Cassie, and you have to get ready to head out to your singing lesson too,” said Katniss, standing up and motioning to her daughter to go to her room and get ready. “Why don’t you brush your teeth, use the bathroom and get your sheet music from your bedroom while I talk to Peeta?”

“But I don’t haveta use the bathroom, Mama,” Cassie grumbled. She didn’t make any moves to get up from her spot on the floor next to Peeta, who smartly stayed silent as he watched the mother and daughter talk.

“You will as soon as we get in the car and by then it’ll be too late. Go, please, missy,” replied her mother, sternly.

Peeta stood up from where he’d been sitting crossed legged on the floor with Cassie and dipping into a deep bow, offered her his hand to pull her up. “May I be of service to the young lady and help her up?” His eyes twinkled as she giggled again and placed her little hand in his, letting him easily pull her to her feet. “Will I see you again, Mr. Peeta?” she asked shyly, glancing at her mother before turning back to him.

“I would like that, Miss Cassie. How about I chat with your mama while you get ready? It’s a good idea to listen to her - she knows best,” he replied gently.

Cassie huffed, but turned and bounded out of the room, the chorus of “Let It Go” echoing down the hall as she went.

Peeta chuckled and shook his head amusedly, shoving his hands in his front pockets, adopting his stance from earlier. He turned his gaze to Katniss once again, his piercing blue eyes warm and kind. Before she could speak, Peeta beat her to it.

“She seems like a wonderful little girl, Mrs. Everdeen. I’d be happy to look after her for you when needed,” he said. “I can provide a list of references and my child CPR certification if you’d like. I mean, if you’d like me to...if you’d like t-to hire me?” He stuttered, watching her face spread into a wide, amused smile.

“It’s Dr. Everdeen, actually. Ms. Dr. Everdeen, really. I’m not married. Ever. Haven’t ever been married. I mean, not that that matters, I’m jus-I mean Cassie’s father and I weren’t married, we were just together, but he’s not around anymore, he-” what was wrong with her? She was a top-notch surgeon; a strong, independent woman, raising a child on her own. Why was she so tongue-tied around this man? She took a deep breath and said, “Katniss is fine. And your references and other files would be great. Could you email them to me please?”

Amused by her stuttered response that mirrored his own, Peeta replied, “Okay. Katniss it is, and yes, I’ll send them over today.” He seemed relieved that she was as nervous as he was.

After they discussed hours and rate of pay, the one questions that had been nagging in the back of her mind finally couldn’t be left unasked. “Why do you want this job?” She blurted.

Mortified, she continued before he could even open his mouth. “Sorry, it’s just...when I placed the ad, I expected to find an old, grandmother-type woman. Not a young, handsome guy. I mean-I just...I haven’t come across a lot of male...nannies,” she trailed off, embarrassed by her word choice. Did I just call him handsome? To his face? Oh god, I wish I could bury MY face in my hands right about now.

Peeta shifted somewhat uncomfortably from one foot to the other before replying. “That’s a fair question, I guess. I work in my family’s bakery in the mornings, but my day is finished by noon. I wanted something to fill the rest of my days and I love kids – I have a niece and nephew who are just the greatest, I love spending time with little people that age, they’re so inquisitive and honest. I’ve actually thought about going back to school to become a teacher – I mean, I haven’t ruled it out yet, I’m only twenty-six, that’s not too old. Plus, I thought about how much of a struggle it must be sometimes to be a single parent and if I have the ability and capacity to help someone out, well, then I want to do that.” He realized he was rambling a bit and flushed with embarrassment. “Is that weird? I just thought I’d combine helping people and kids and...well, here I am. Here we are.”

“Here we are indeed,” mused Katniss, staring at him wonderingly. “That seems like as good a reason as any, I suppose.” She started to turn away but stopped and looked at him once again. “And I do appreciate the help, by the way…can you start Monday?” Her lips curved into a small smile, Peeta beamed back at her, this time his dimples on full display.

“Great! Yes, Monday’s great. Okay. Good. I think this will be...great. I’ve said great a lot. I’ll stop,” said Peeta sheepishly, running his hand through his messy blond curls. His face flushed bright red again, a shade Katniss found endearing.

Before she could respond again, Cassie came bounding down the hallway, her teeth clean and music bag in tow. “I’m ready, Mama! Mr. Peeta, so will I see you again?” She asked hopefully, peering up at her new friend once again.

Peeta glanced at Katniss, who smiled and nodded, before replying to Cassie. “You will! I’ll be there to pick you up from school on Monday. I have a very serious question for you though, Miss Cassie. Are you ready to hear it?” Her brow furrowed as she nodded slowly. “Do you like to have fun?” She little face broke out into a grin as she nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. “Well good,” he continued. “Because we’re going to have lots of it.”

Hearing her child break out into giggles again melted her heart and stirred something inside her. Looking at Peeta, she met his intense gaze with one of her own, grateful for this kind man to care for the more important person in her life.

“Well, it’s time to go, sweetheart. Peeta, thank you so much again. We’ll be chatting before Monday to go over the rest of the particulars,” said Katniss, ushering Cassie out the front door and turning to Peeta once again. As he moved past her to go through the front door, his hand lightly pressed against the small of her back to step around her, and Katniss felt the heat of his touch through her coat. It spread from her back throughout her body, right down to her toes. She froze as he passed through the door and hopped down the steps, turning back to look at her and flashed his dimples once again. Oh my. This is going to be interesting…

“I’ll speak to you very soon, Katniss. Cassie, I’ll see you Monday afternoon!” he called, cheerfully as he waved and headed to his car.

“I like Mr. Peeta, Mama. He’s nice. And he has a cat!! Do you think he can bring Cupcake over to play with me sometime?” Cassie babbled as Katniss strapped her into her seat, her mind replaying the memory of Peeta’s touch on her back over and over. She flushed again, thinking of how close his muscular body had to hers been when he walked by, how his blue eyes sparkled when he stared at her, how his dimples seemed to make an appearance when he beamed at her….how his ass looked when he bent over to help Cassie up...

Oh no. She was in trouble.

A young, hot, (she has to admit he was hot, there was no denying it) kind, patient man was going to be looking after her child and thus very, very involved in her life for the unforeseeable future. This would be interesting indeed…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[thekillerssluts]

My Relationship to Performance Has Changed

A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

Last October, before the second pandemic wave took off in New York City, I had one last band practice in my backyard in South Brooklyn. Five of us were working on songs from my new solo record. Normally we’d play in the basement, but it’s pretty low-ceilinged, and we’d read Zeynep Tufekci’s recent Atlantic article on viral spread, so we were all hyper-focused on air circulation. My bandmate Sara had contracted COVID-19—and recovered—in March, but the rest of us had no immunity. Besides, we suspected that we were in for a long winter and might as well hang out outdoors.

It was warm in the sun. After hauling the drums, keyboards, keyboard stands, guitars, and amps outside and plugging everything in, I hadn’t wanted to bother setting up microphones, so we had to play softly to hear ourselves harmonize. When we paused for lunch, someone leaned out of a fourth-story window in the apartment building next door and yelled: “Are you done or are you just taking a break? I have things to do, but I really miss live music!” “Me too, man!” I called back. “Should be just a break.”

Six months and a difficult winter later, the break is ending. I’m seeing more and more Instagram posts for shows that aren’t just wishful thinking. Low-capacity indoor shows are popping up in New York. Outdoor—maybe even full-capacity indoor—concerts are coming this summer. Am I ready to play? Ask me every other day and the answer changes. I’m torn. I’m desperate for sound engineers to get back behind the board and bartenders to start earning tips. I want venues to thrive again, both as places for art in neighborhoods and for the sake of the network that keeps music culture alive in America. I want my booking agent to feel excited again; he loves music so much. And I want musicians to make a living. So many people have been so screwed by the past year. I guess I just want everyone to get paid.

But the actual performance; the rebuilding of the sonic cathedral, as Dave Grohl wrote last spring; communally reaching for rock-and-roll transcendance? I’m not there yet. I’m not concerned that I’ll get sick. I received my second vaccine shot at the end of March and am ready to high-five strangers on the subway. My hesitance has an element of crowd-shyness, which we’ll all get over. But in my own performance, I don’t know how to meet this moment. A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

I used to think of performance in purely aesthetic terms. In the movie La Strada, a clown wearing angel wings does a high-wire act across a crowded piazza. For his finale, he brings out a table on the wire and, while balancing, tries to sit and eat a full plate of spaghetti. The heroine of the movie watches him with an almost religious ecstasy. When I first started performing, I strove for transcendence and stupidity, high concept and low art. My focus was on keeping myself in the air.

When my band Arcade Fire was playing mostly to people who hadn’t heard us before, we felt that the best way to get them to open up was to blow the windows and doors out. At an early show in Lawrence, Kansas, my brother, Win, bashed Styrofoam tiles out of the venue’s ceiling with his mic stand. We pushed as hard for an audience of six people (two of them my parents) upstairs at AS220 in Providence, Rhode Island, as we did in front of tens of thousands in the desert at our first Coachella show (during which I accidentally cut Win’s guitar cable in half by repeatedly smashing a cymbal into the ground).

At a certain point, as people got to know our music, my relationship to performance changed. The energy from the crowd was greater than anything coming from the giant speaker stacks. The audience wasn’t a challenge to overcome, or an opponent to conquer. We became a team. Not in an abstract, lovey way but how a sports team operates—pushing one another to do better, sometimes failing, sometimes frustrating one another, sometimes just joking around.The high-wire act of live performance—Will the music come together?—was still there. I’ve even sometimes tried to make the metaphor real, climbing arena scaffolding with a drumstick in my teeth and a drum strapped over my shoulder to play 30 feet in the air. Some of our crew members hate it—“Will! You have children now!”—but climbing up there doesn’t actually feel that dangerous, and a little nervousness is good. I’m reaching for primate simplicity and catharsis: The crowd needs tension to experience release.But now I have no desire to make tension. I want people to feel safe and comfortable, and I wonder whether creating a feeling of danger and openness is antithetical to that. I know that cultivating a perception of safety and actually making people safe are different. On tour, in a big venue, every night our management and local security have a briefing. It’s partly to set a vibe—People are here for music. Everybody be chill. If some teenager sneaks into a closer section, please let them. But the briefing is also serious—where the medics are located, what the escape routes are. Most of the time, these safety measures are invisible. I worry that post-pandemic precautions, as welcome and necessary as they are, will be depressingly visible. Some elements, such as temperature checks, will be inane. Some, such as requiring vaccination, will be important. Regardless, they will also set a tone—not You are entering a place for music, but You are entering a secure location. Dancing is hard when you’re looking at your feet; singing is hard when you’re thinking about everybody else’s breath. I bet the crowd could get over this. I’m not confident I could. With limited capacities and tight procedures, I worry that the stage will feel like the VIP section of the VIP room at a members-only club. Sterile, lonely, all of us chillingly aware that we are part of a ticketed event.

I have another concern that’s hard to shake. After this pandemic year, I’m more aware of the responsibility I have not only to the people who buy tickets, but to the driver making deliveries to the show and to the family of the woman working arena concessions, people who really don’t care about what I’m doing onstage. Vaccination numbers will grow, and the pandemic will end, God willing. I’m not worried about the spread of the coronavirus in particular. But these links of responsibility remain. The analytical part of my brain turns off when touring starts. Before scrambling back to normalcy, I want to make sure that this sense of connection becomes embedded in how I think. I would really love to just be a musician—but I’m also an employer and a player in an industry that has chewed up and spit out plenty of people, especially in this past year.

My hesitations are all about shows, though, not music. Over the past year, I’ve rarely played music with others—a few practices and filmed performances; work on the new Arcade Fire record in November; a handful of Zooms with bandmates to help a school’s PTA fundraiser or support a candidate in the city-comptroller race. But in all of those instances, I’ve experienced an ease, a rightness to the communication—not through the screen with whoever was listening, necessarily, but the people I was playing with. That connection felt restorative, like having a night of deep sleep that repairs parts of yourself you don’t know how to access.

I know people are ready for live music, ready to forget themselves in a wash of sound, ready to loudly talk with their friends over the song they don’t like that much. And so, for heaven’s sake, go to Neumos in Seattle when shows come back. Go to the Hideout in Chicago. See your favorite band, or somebody new. Plenty of artists don’t share my nervousness. I don’t want to add worry to the world; I’m just figuring out my new relationship to performance.

The magnolias are out in New York, and some of the apple trees are blossoming. Temperatures are creeping past 60. The vaccines keep rolling out. The future seems more possible. If I miss an emotion from live shows, it’s not any moment of transcendence. I miss the time just after, when, dazed and excited, you still feel the reach of some universal gesture, but the only thing concrete is the people around you.

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/04/world-changed-what-makes-live-show-successful-didnt-arcade-fire/618625/

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chapter 4: History

A/N: Hey guys! Afternoon update since I was busy with pancake breakfasts this morning. Another Kendra chapter. Ronodin gets a little pushy, but it’s still G rated and won’t ever get worse than this, you’ll see what I mean. Remember, you are supposed to hate him. Still playing around with the chapter title for this one, and some of you who caught my analysis post a few months ago might recognize some themes.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 4: History

Kendra picked another book off the shelf, noticed it was in a language she couldn’t read, and put it back. Over half the books in this library she couldn’t read, which seems like poor planning on her part.

She wasn’t even sure she wanted to read. It had sounded like a good way to get her mind off her apparently outrageous life story, but there was really no hope of thinking about anything else.

Kendra was the seventeen-year-old daughter of a noble family, very old fashioned, that obtained their status through years of keeping the undead enslaved and trapping dragons and other magical creatures considered dangerous to mortals. Kendra, as the eldest, was expected to follow in her family’s footsteps as jailors, but had grown doubtful that their way of life was right.

Kendra had met Ronodin at the engagement party for her arranged marriage with his cousin, Bracken. Ronodin teased her that his cousin was such an ugly bore, she had fled from Bracken right into Ronodin’s arms. (Kendra had rolled her eyes when he said that). He had been invited, as family, but Ronodin was far from welcome.

He wouldn’t tell her why just yet, but promised to soon, when they trusted each other a little more. Having nearly killed him, she agreed that that explanation could wait.

Ronodin and Kendra started meeting in secret, and talking. They fell in love strolling through the dragon prison her family kept. To throw suspicion off their meetings secret, they told her family that she was fine going through with her engagement with Bracken.

Her wedding was approaching in a couple of months, and they cared for each other more than ever. Kendra knew that not even her family’s love was worth marrying anyone but Ronodin. He had sounded so amazed when he quoted her, awed that someone so amazing could ever feel that way about him.

Kendra had blushed at her own boldness, and simultaneously felt heartbroken over that fact that she had given that feeling up. She was attracted to Ronodin, certainly, but when she tried to summon the life changing love he talked about, she had nothing. Just attraction and the feeling that he was speaking to someone else.

She had apologized, and he said she would just have to let him court her again. He’d do it as many times as it took to stick, he had laughed. He would understand if she wanted to break off their engagement, but he hoped she would still give him a chance.

Kendra promised to think about it.

They devised a plan, to take place just after she and her brother participated in a coming of age trial specific for their family against the dragons of sanctuary. It was a disgusting spectacle, offering the dragons their freedom once a generation, if they can claim the wizenstone first. It would be the last thing her parents ever forced her to do, she had vowed, and arranged for it to look like her servant had kidnapped her in the immediate aftermath.

For, despite everything, Kendra loved her family. They tried to follow the traditions of their ancestors without cruelty, and they had faced hundreds of trials together. By staging her own kidnapping, she would be breaking their hearts, but in a way they would understand. She would preserve their reputation, and be utterly free.

And that was apparently who she was. Kendra hadn’t counted on losing her memory, but maybe she had felt okay doing it for her brother when she knew about her fake kidnapping going to occur. She must have trusted herself to fall in love with Ronodin again, and Ronodin to take care of her. It was a lot of trust to place in someone.

Kendra did wish she had a family picture. If she went to such great lengths to protect them, then she must have wonderful memories of them, locked under the enchantment. She picked up another book, this one in English, The Forgotten Crown.

The library kept with the crimson and black theme, and she picked a black leather armchair by a fireplace. Normal fire, this time, not blue. It was strange, when things were lit by blue fire, it washed out the red and made the black look like a void. Ronodin must have handled the design choices, she couldn’t imagine picking this out herself under any circumstances.

She wanted to warm her feet, but didn’t think she could move the heavy chair, so sat on it sideways. Her black dress rode up her thighs, but the exposed skin felt the warmth from the fire, so she didn’t bother with modesty while alone. Mendigo was standing guard, he’d knock if someone was going to come in.

Kendra curled up with her book, and started reading about what the author called the six great crowns. They were the pillars of immortality that moved the natural world through its extremes: The crowns of the Giants, the Dragons, the Underking, and the Demons, the Fairies, and the Fair Folk. Humans were the interlopers, and the author took a three whole pages to describe why humans were the absolute worst.

Their sins included but were not limited to:

-Having the audacity to not always want immortality

-Ignoring boundaries like disrespectful heathens

-Killing immortals

-Assuming they have purpose

-Not tasting good

And their greatest sin of all: daring to change. Their ability to change affected even perfectly happy immortals, how dare they! After the rant on humans, Kendra got absorbed in the discussion on the powers and functionality of each crown, and there was a diagram of how they related to each other.

It started with an upside-down triangle. Fairies on the top left corner, Demons on the top right, and the Fair Folk at the bottom point. These three crowns were defined by their morality. The Fairy Crown on light, innocence, and creation. The Demon crown on darkness, pain, destruction, and cruelty. The Fair Folk were the forgotten crown, the main topic of the book, after the background was set. They were entirely neutral, and refused to take part in wars, and only ever offered to broker peace. Their power came from their neutrality, and the author recorded rumors of the horrible fall that came from the one time they broke their neutrality.

Kendra was tempted to skip ahead, but the background came first for a reason. The second triangle overlaid the first to create a six-pointed star. They were creatures based on space. Giants were the lower left corner, and took the sky, the Underking on the lower right took the places below ground, and Dragons stood at the top able to dwell high in the air and a ways underground. Their morality mapped the first triangle. Dragons had the capacity to create and destroy, love goodness or love evil, and came in every space on that morality line. Sky Giants tended between creation and neutrality, while the undead and the underking worked between destruction and neutrality.

The first triangle also worked within the second. The fairies tended between the air and the land, Demons below and on the land, while the fair folk, in the opposite of dragons, could only dwell on the land.

The opposites were also important. Dragons were many things, but it was extremely difficult for them to be neutral. Demons and Sky Giants avoided each other’s domains, so it was most difficult to understand their relationship. The Fairy Realm and the Under Realm however, were the most combative pair of opposites. Neither could tolerate the other. Darkness would swallow light, or light banish darkness, it came down to strength, and there was very little middle ground.

What middle ground there was came from the rare case where beings abandoned their magical alignment for the opposite, spiritual alignment. There were rumors of a demon sworn to pacifism, that occasionally helped naiads, and —

There was a single booming knock, the door flinging open with a bang. Kendra spazzed, fumbling her book and sinking into the armchair. The book fell, and Kendra glared at her “fiancé”, who was chuckling at her again.

“You look lovely,” Ronodin said, pausing to take in her disheveled state.

“Your whole ‘let’s make Kendra jump’ deal makes me think yesterday wasn’t the first time I’ve attempted to kill you,” she said. Well, one sleep ago. Time was hard without clocks or the sun.

That made him laugh once more, and Kendra couldn’t help but smile in return.

“No, not the first time, and probably not the last,” he said with a grin, “But you’ve never regretted holding back.” His eyes flicked to her pale legs.

Pale, bare legs. Kendra squeaked, and tried to pull her dress down, but only managed to flip herself onto the floor. She stood up with burning cheeks and a huff.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so easy to rile up. I love that look in your eye,” Ronodin said.

“Mendigo! Come here,” Kendra called, and the puppet came into the room. “Mendigo, next time, please do some gentle knocking yourself instead of letting the guest attempt to destroy the door before entering.”

Mendigo nodded.

Kendra turned and was about to say something when Ronodin squinted at her.

“Oh, right, sorry,” she said, and with a couple of deep breaths managed to dim her own light. It was an odd sensation, like walking around with her fist clenched. She would get into the habit again eventually.

Ronodin led her into another room down the little hallway of their living space, where Chinese takeout was set up for the meal.

“I’m going to take a guess and say my suave fiancé can’t cook?” she said, noticing the cartons.

“If you’re going to be rude, you don’t have to eat,” Ronodin said, pulling out her chair for her.

“Do I know how to cook?” she asked.

Ronodin shrugged, “I don’t think so, you usually had servants for that, and you lost any memory of experiences that would help you cook. We’ll just stick to take out for now.”

“You have any trouble out there?”

“If you mean your family, no,” he said. “You seemed to have pulled it off, and no one knows where you went. It won’t be long, I think, before we can find somewhere else, if that’s what you still want.”

“Yes please,” Kendra said, serving herself some friend rice. It smelled good, even if she couldn’t remember if she liked it or not, “Look, maybe its part of the fairy thing, but I can’t live in hiding forever. This place is really nice, even if it could use some color, but if you’re going to make me fall in love with you again, its not going to be here. Sorry.”

“I’m working on it, I promise,” he said, pulling her free hand into his and giving it a kiss. He pressed it to his heart, like he had done when Seth had made her touch him with the glove, and it made her blush again.

“I need that hand for eating,” she complained, lightly twitching her hand to reclaim it. It wasn’t like she was repulsed by Ronodin, but his overly physical affection got tiresome.

“You can have it back if you promise to hold your chopsticks right,” he said.

Kendra huffed, “Not all of us grew up using these. And even if I had, I lost my memory. You should be giving me a lot more breaks than you are for that.”

He simply waited, smiling, still holding her hand tightly. Kendra sighed, “Fine, show me how?”

Ronodin grinned and helped position her fingers. Kendra ordered the variety that Ronodin had brought in order from most favorite to least, and Ronodin commented on what his favorites were.

“Careful, you’re going to want the left overs,” Ronodin said, when Kendra eyed the remainder of her favorite. “I met with our host on my way back in.”

“Oh? I thought you said I arranged this myself before I came down here.”

Ronodin sighed dramatically, “Yes, and part of your ‘oh so brilliant’ arrangement was to loan your wonderful and talented fiancé out to our host for errands. I have to go out tonight. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but tomorrow night is probably the soonest we can hope for.”

“Oh,” Kendra said. Sure, he was often annoying, but he cared for her and was the only company she had besides Mendigo. “I guess I’ll explore the library some more.” She stood up to throw her dishes in the sink.

“You could do that,” he said, coming up behind her. “Or you can ask nicely for your other present.”

“I have the feeling asking nicely doesn’t actually go very far with you,” she put her hands on her hips and faced him, “And presents are meant to be given, not asked for.”

Ronodin’s arm snaked forward, pulling her into a kiss. She had a moment to flail, then he released her, and it was over. “You’re right, my favors have costs. Lucky for you, you just paid in full,” he teased.

“Ronodin!” she said, flushing and shoving him away. “Don’t do that.”

He just grinned cheekily and held a shopping bag towards her.

Kendra snatched it from his hands. “I mean it. I’ve known you two very stressful days, no kissing yet.”

Ronodin bowed his head in mock humility, “My lady, I didn’t mean to irritate you. I had to try the old fairy tale cure somehow. Alas, it appears true love’s kiss wasn’t the cure to this curse.”

She wanted to protest that of course it didn’t work, she didn’t love him. But she’d pulled that line once before to get him to back off and he always looked haunted when she did that. Haunted and sad, she didn’t have the heart to keep throwing that in his face, no matter how rude he was. This was at least as difficult for him as it was for her. And a small kiss didn’t hurt her, not really.

Instead she changed the subject by looking in the bag. “Wood blocks, books, fabric, and paint?”

“Your hobbies were another reason your family was suffocating,” Ronodin explained, “You liked carving, painting, and sewing more than dragon slaying and ‘monster’ hunting. Each of these materials comes from a magic source. The wood comes from different enchanted trees, the fabric is made from the hair of a goat the size of a house or lotus fibers, and the paints are mixed with tears and blood of various magical creatures.”

“Why is that important?”

“Because you are one of the select few beings that can craft magic items,” Ronodin said, “Part of you is that everfull wellspring of magic. You’ve done amazing at dimming it by the way, your control after just a day is astounding. But you can also recharge magical items that have run out of power, and when using the right materials, you can create new ones.”

Kendra’s eyebrows raise, “I thought…” she chased the elusive fact down, “I thought only wizards can create magical items.”

“They create it by crafting a vessel, using the same materials, and then binding their own magic into the object through an enchantment. You can skip that part, with the unlimited magic source you have at your disposal. You are more limited in what you can create, especially when starting out, you generally have to stick to reinforcing and enhancing the properties of the materials you’re using. When you do it right, the item will retain its magic long after you’ve put it down.”

“Wow,” she said, “And I could paint, sew, and carve?”

He nodded, “Enchanting items wasn’t at all in your family’s plans for you, so you tended to craft in secret. It will probably take you a while to pick up the skills again, but at least you’ll have something to occupy yourself if the library fails. The books in there provide some basic theories that will help.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling and holding the bag close. “This was really thoughtful. I know that since I gave up my memory and my family in one swoop, I don’t have a chance at getting them back. But little connections like this help me feel…a little less lost.”

“I love you, Kendra,” he said, simply, “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

Kendra smiled back uncertainly, unable to reply in kind. He seemed disappointed when she didn’t respond, but moved on to helping her set up a crafting room.

What kind of person led the life that she did? What would it take for old Kendra to not be a stranger anymore? Ronodin was a lot of things, but he deserved so much more than to have her break his heart at every turn.