#i think this might actually be one of the first asks i‘ve ever gotten

[user-without-a-cool-acronym]

I love how you're continuously slandering arin after cinder(ella) broke his spine, like my boy gets both his spine broken (for the second time) AND slandered???? give him a break man 😔😔😔

a break? you mean how his spine-?

[genaleah]

ANSWERING WILDCARD QUESTIONS

For the first time in about a year maybe??? Some of these might be even older than that.

Yes, it is Korka! I definitely want her involved, she’s a wonderful character and there is a *lot* of fun paranormal stuff going on in this setting that she can help them research. Also, I’d just love for her and Nelson to become friends!

Thank you! I love him a lot, and it’s fun to picture him interacting with the other guys. They’d all make for some interesting uncle figures, but they might not be that great in terms of role models.

OHOHO. Devilish laugh. That’s a wonderful idea, and a good way to keep him occupied at some point. He’s a great character, but he’s incredibly powerful, and I want these dudes to solve their own problems whenever possible. 

A good question! I don’t remember most of my dreams, but there’s usually a consistent look to the vivid ones. Lots of water, mountains, creeks, and high, winding roads. There are also a lot of buildings that are closely integrated with nature, even though I have almost never seen construction like that. 

I had not, but now I have! Here’s a trailer, for anyone else that missed it:

https://youtu.be/33HXHaaagsw

I really like these new models! I’m looking forward to watching a playthrough when that’s available. Just like with Rhombus of Ruin, I don’t think I’ll be able to play this one myself.

DOUBLE FINE, I WISH TO SPEAK WITH YOU- no, I’m kidding! I think great minds think alike. But I’m really excited to learn more about that character and possibly involve them in this whole au eventually. 

I’ve actually tried to avoid almost any info about Psychonauts 2 so I can go in mostly-blind, and a lot of the characters are vague to me. It’s fun to look forward to, but it’s also a little harrowing because I don’t know how to anticipate for it!

N...NO..... I NEED TO... Honestly those are old enough that it might be a good idea for me to re-make them, as well as the playing cards I made for the mega playlist cover. I think it’d be nice to remake them as vectors... that might make for a nice art stream sometime. I’ll mention publicly if I start doing that, and sharing any of these conceptual Wildcards arts when they’re done. 

And if you’re just curious about what the tarot cards for the other characters are going to be, it’s this:

Eddie: Judgement, The Magician, The Emperor

Manny: Death, Justice, The World

Sam: The Chariot, The Tower, Strength

Max: The Devil, Wheel of Fortune, Joker

Although! I may actually give the Moon card to Max instead of the Devil, and replace the missing card from Nelson’s selection with the High Priestess?  🤔  I’ll decide when I get to it.

Could be! I’ve flip-flopped occasionally on if I want the split-a-cab gang to participate much in the story. I think they deserve a break, and splitting an apartment in New York seems like a good situation for the four of them.

Oh boy, that must be so disorienting for him. The Psychonauts deal with a lot of hippy-dippy weirdness in a seemingly organized way, but it seems like they’re not as paranoid about safety as a real federal organization would be. Not necessarily a good thing, considering one of their camp counselors went AWOL one day, and the head of the Psychonauts got kidnapped the next. They kinda need to get their act together.

Fun fact, in one of the earlier drafts of Chapter 3 I was actually going to make Nelson get scanned by the equivalent of a metal-detector for malevolent thoughts at the door and get really spooked by it, but I decided against it.

YEAH IT’S ON THE LIST

Honestly, a big bulk of the plot in this just regards characters having to face their mental health struggles... via facing it as literal internal demons, unstable powers, etc.  It’s going to take a little while for any of Eddie’s teammates to realize how MUCH he has going on under the surface because he does a pretty good job of hiding it. “Needing to help others above ever helping themselves” is a hard issue to notice if you’re not looking for it. But it’s a guarantee that once they find out he needs help, they’ll give it; whether that’s making sure he’s not working himself too hard, or fighting off demonic cultists. Care comes in many forms.

SHE NEEDS TO REST.... POOR SYBIL (on the upside, they don’t TECHNICALLY work there, so she might be fine most of the time.)

Strong Bad isn’t a Psychonaut! He’s just a vlogger and a petty (psychic) criminal. It’s honestly not very different from canon.

Free Country, USA is a smalltown hotbed of psychic activity. Nearly everyone there has some mild capacity for supernatural powers, but nobody really notices or cares. Strong Bad just pops the tops off of cold ones and.... sometimes alters reality, a tiny bit. But mostly just in regards to media. The cartoons, comics, etc, that he invents and talks about have a tendency to suddenly voip into existence and nobody knows how. I swear, there’s actually a line of him saying something to this effect, but I can’t find it anywhere.  Don’t worry about it! Nobody in town is ever going to do anything truly nefarious with their powers, so it’s not a high priority on the Psychonauts’ radar, just a weird footnote.

The only reason Homestar is an actual agent is because he seems like exactly the kind of guy to sign up for a job like that on accident and then stick with it. And he’s a talented telekinetic! None of his other friends know about his job or notice his absences.

And just for fun, here’s some weird instances of psychic overpowering that happened in the cartoon:

---

(Poor Strong Sad)

I’ve actually answered this one before! BAM  Pretty sure all of it is still accurate.

Nelson: He sees floating sheets of paper containing notes, questions, etc. Anything that he wants to know more about regarding that person. The notes are subject to edits, cross-outs, ripped pages, etc.

Guybrush: He sees the item that the person is carrying that he wants most. As he gets to know people better, he sees them for their useful skills first.

Manny: His view of most living people is not very kind...

The people he’s closest to will eventually look a lot less garish. More like a flattering, camera-ready versions of themselves.

Eddie: Sickass sketch drawings that look like they belong in the margins of a composition book. The illustrations improve as he gets a better picture of where they’d fit in the internal lore of his mental world.

Sam: A lot like Nelson; Sam pictures case files, though his are a bit more in-depth.

Max: Max’s visions of people are highly personal and uncomfortable for those who witness them. He sees Nelson as a puzzle with a piece missing. Guybrush is a ripped up voodoo doll. Manny is a forgotten ofrenda. Eddie is a powder keg with a long, lit fuse. Sam is Sam, but he’s the wrong one.

I also got two questions that were pretty big subjects, or that I didn’t want to repeat, so I’m gonna cover them pretty broadly:

REGARDING [X] CHARACTER OR SERIES INCLUDED IN THE AU

Sure, I support it! I’ve gotten this question a few times in regards to things that I haven’t had time to delve into yet, or I’m not interested in, so I’m not going to include it into the AU myself. But if you want to explore an idea like that, feel free! This AU is pretty dang collaborative.

My main focus is just on the main 6 properties: Psychonauts, Puzzle Agent, Monkey Island, Grim Fandango, Brutal Legend, and Sam & Max.

But my general rule of thumb for “characters that exist somewhere within the background of this story” are any other properties owned by Telltale, Lucasarts, or Double Fine. And considering all of the licensed games that Telltale was getting into before it kicked the bucket, that includes some really weird characters, even up to the Venture Bros. I loved that series, but I’m not really interested in doing anything with them for this story! Partly for my sanity, the canon I’ve picked are already a lot of content to play with. 

ASSORTED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE WILDCARD AU DISCORD

There’s no particular criteria needed to join the discord, and it’s not strictly on a need-to-know basis! Because it’s been a long while since anyone has joined, I've been hesitant about adding new people in... But I‘ve decided to try sending invitations again! Everyone who had asked about it in the past will be getting a ping by me in about a day or so, since I want to double-check if you’re still interested. If you’ve been nervous to ask you can reply to this post or message me privately.

Some things to keep in mind before asking or accepting the invite:

If you’re not a friend or a follower I recognize, I will likely double-check your tumblr along with some other current members before sending the invite. 

Here’s the Rules page, so you know what to expect before you join: 

Be Mindful - Respect other people's boundaries, don't do or say things that would cross the line. If your behavior makes other people feel uncomfortable or unsafe, I will remove you from the chat. In most cases I will try to resolve things with you and offer a chance to do better, but that will depend on the severity of the situation. And if you have any concerns regarding another member of the chat, you can contact me privately.

Health Boundaries - While discussions of mental health do occasionally pop up, do not rely on the chat for help. None of us are equipped to handle serious mental health concerns, and it will only cause distress for everyone. Please seek real help if it is needed! If you rely on people beyond the point that they have asked you to stop, I will remove you from the chat.

NSFW - Generally speaking, try to keep NSFW talk to a minimum. Swearing and humor is fine, but don't get too explicit please! Discussions should usually keep to a PG-13 / occasional R, but no NC-17.

Spoilers & Censorship - Please use the spoiler function to hide story spoilers, as well as discussions and graphic depictions of gore/excessive blood/body horror/severe psychological horror. Include a content warning so that people know what they could potentially be seeing when they click on the censored content. If the spoilered content is the subject of a back-and-forth discussion, please use another warning when you are switching to a different spoilered topic. (Note that these rules were added to the chat later, so be careful when using the search function or back reading.)

The canon series involved with the Wildcard AU are Psychonauts, Puzzle Agent, Monkey Island, Grim Fandango, Brutal Legend, and Sam & Max. Please be mindful of story spoilers!

Channel Organization - Also be mindful of which channel you're in and move a discussion over if need be! That way they don't get too clogged with unrelated info.

Creative Criticism - When it comes to writing, art, or character creation; try to be open to suggestions from others! Nearly all of the creative work in the chat is collaborative, so input from others is important! Creative criticism is not the same as judgement, and is not a personal attack.

Have fun! - Discussions move quickly in this chat! Don't feel bad if you ever need to step back, whether it's because of the speed or a disinterest in whatever current topic we're focusing on. If you ever want to come back, we're happy to have you and can give quick explanations if you feel out of the loop! :thumbsup:

We’re a group of approx. a half dozen to a dozen people, either posting very very quickly in a span of a few hours or barely anything for a few days. We’ve been in an activity uptick lately and there’s about a year and half of back content, too. If it’s hard to keep up on, not that interesting to read through, or you just have a hard time gelling with the group that's already there, there’s no shame in just lurking or dipping out if you need to.

We also talk a lot about Psychonauts OCs, so anticipate that.

[the-sympathetic-villain]

You Belong With Me - Chapter 6

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.  

Word Count: 4290

Chapter Warnings: None (Let me know if I missed anything!)

 Logan looked up as they crossed the courtyard to the bathhouse. A massive stone archway hung above the entrance as Virgil finally slowed his pace in front of him. Logan blinked, slowly inhaling the warm, humid air drifting out of the bathhouse.  He tensed as Virgil slowed, shifting his bag on his shoulder nervously as Virgil turned to face him.

Virgil noticed his discomfort and smiled reassuringly at him. “Hey, listen Logan, these are private rooms and I'm going to respect your privacy and stay outside but there are multiple points of entry to each room so I need you to keep talking to me while you’re in there.” Virgil paused. “I know it's a bit awkward and it's unlikely anything will happen, but I don't want to take any risks. Okay?”

Logan shrugged, looking at the ground. “Of all the things that have happened, I think I can handle this.”

Virgil nodded. “Okay, stay here a moment. I'm going to do a check of the area. Keep talking to me though.” Virgil ducked into the room, checking its nooks and crannies for any indication of someone's presence.

“L, keep talking.” Virgil called out to him when Logan remained silent.

“L?” Logan looked up from the floor in confusion.

“I've never been big on using people’s proper names. I hope you don't mind.”

“Oh, uh, no. I actually like it.” Logan said uncertainly, slightly taken aback with Virgil’s familiarity.

“Good. I think it might stick then.”

Logan smiled but his sense of ease only lasted a moment. “Vee…why did Roman pick you to guard me?”

Virgil came back out of the bathhouse, distracted. “I think we’re clear. Just call out if you need anything.”

Logan looked at him, waiting for an answer.

His question seemed to finally register in Virgil’s mind. “Oh, umm, Roman doesn't know if he can trust all of his members of the guard after what happened. Roman asked me because we’ve known each other since we we’re kids. He knows he can trust me.”

“That's not really what I meant.” Logan said offhandedly as he walked past Virgil.

“What did you mean then?” Virgil called out over his shoulder as he leaned up against the stone archway, glancing down the hallways.

“I meant to inquire about your qualifications for aiding in my protection.”

Virgil leaned his head up, looking at the ceiling of the bath house. “Oh, well…this isn't a typical job for me.”

“What is a typical job for you then?”

“That's…a good question.”

“That’s not an answer."

Virgil could hear doubt in Logan’s voice.  He paused, thinking.  “What I do is…complicated. I am whatever Roman needs me to be.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment before Logan spoke again.  “That doesn’t answer my question, Vee.”

“I know, L. Listen, if Roman needs information, I get it for him. If he needs someone tracked down, I find them for him. If he needs correspondence with some of the city’s shadier residents, I set it up for him.” Virgil snorted, rolling his eyes. “If his new advisor needs a bodyguard, apparently I do that too. Whatever he needs, I make it happen.”

Virgil heard Logan mumble quietly. He turned closer to the door frame. “What was that, L?”

He heard Logan clear his throat. “Do you do this for the whole royal family?”

Virgil hesitated. The flat tone in Logan’s voice gave him pause. He softened his tone, hoping to ease Logan’s mind. “No, I serve Roman and only Roman.”

Logan was quiet.

“You don’t have to worry about me being assigned elsewhere, L.”

“L?” Virgil’s muscles tensed as his inquiry was met with silence. He turned to the door, calling out louder.  “Logan?!”

“I'm fine, Vee.”

At Logan’s soft response, Virgil sighed, relaxing back against the wall. He kicked idly at the floor beneath him. “Don't scare me like that.”

“Sorry.”

Virgil winced, hearing the dejected tone in Logan's voice. “It’s all good, L. Don’t worry about it. Just keep talking for me.”

“How did you end up working for Roman?”

Virgil relaxed, leaning back against the door frame, sliding down the wall until he squatted on the back of his ankles, elbows on his knees. “I was a thief before Roman pulled me off the streets. We were both teenagers and I was dumb enough to pickpocket him.

“You pickpocketed a prince?”

“I didn’t know he was the prince. I thought he was just another spoiled noble.” Virgil laughed quietly at Logan’s attempt to conceal his surprise. “And I would have gotten away with it but one of his guards decided to harass me.”

“What happened?” Logan called back. Virgil glanced over his shoulder as he heard the movement of water.

“One of his guards searched me just for the hell of it, found the things I’d nicked from him and turned me over to Roman. The guard nearly threw me in prison but Roman was impressed. He offered to give me the opportunity to train with a master, in return for working for him.”

“That was…fortunate.”

“The break of a lifetime, for sure. If I’d stayed on the streets, I’d probably be dead.”

“Do you ever wish you could leave?” Logan asked, so quietly that Virgil barely heard him.

Virgil looked over his shoulder towards Logan’s voice. “Logan, I can leave. Roman doesn’t own me. I stay because I choose to.

Logan was quiet.

“L, he's not going to keep you here against your will.” Virgil slid further down the door frame, sitting on the ground.

Logan’s tone dropped. “I know.”

“If you did, you wouldn't have asked.” Virgil leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m trying to establish a baseline for who he is.” Logan was quiet for a moment. “I want to trust him, Vee.”

“It's okay. You have to figure out who you’re dealing with. I'm not going to fault you for that.”

“What type of training did you do?”

“My master trained me in several martial arts disciplines. They taught me how to use shadows to my advantage and the basics of being undetectable. I also became proficient in skills like lock-picking, escape artistry and other ways of…evading obstacles.”

There was a long pause before Logan spoke again. “Do you kill people?”

Virgil took a deep breath. “I'm not an assassin. I don’t kill unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“But you have?”

“A few times, it's been necessary. I had no other choice, L. It was me or them.” Virgil sighed. He hadn't talked about this with anyone, not even Roman. Virgil shook his head, looking down at his feet. Roman was right. Logan had a sort of charm he couldn't ignore.

“I'm sorry, Vee.” Logan looked down at Virgil sympathetically as he walked out to the hall, swinging his bag over his shoulder and running his hand through his damp hair.

“It is what it is.” Virgil shrugged his shoulder, standing up off the wall. “Anyways, that's our first obstacle down. I think we should head back to your chambers. Your breakfast will be delivered soon.”

Logan nodded.

Virgil gestured for Logan to lead the way down the corridor and they began their trek back to Logan's chambers. Virgil took a slightly more direct route this time. He was confident they weren’t being followed, at least for now. They were quiet as they walked at a brisk pace upward through the tower.

-

“It looks like we made it just in time.”

Logan looked up to see a boy rolling a cart up to the door just as they approached his quarters. He yawned, quickly thanking the delivery boy. Logan gave the boy a few copper coins before watching Virgil roll the cart inside.

“They don't expect you to do that, you know.” Virgil commented offhandedly.

“Do what?” Logan stifled another yawn.

“Give them money. It's their job to bring you your food.”

Logan shrugged. “I've got more than I need working for Roman. If it helps the kid, I don't mind.”

"Well, it probably makes their morning so it's probably worth it then."

Logan could just make out Virgil smiling at him in his periphery as he lifted the plate covers off the food on the carts. The bowls were filled to the brim with roasted vegetables and fresh fruit. The chef had even sent a small loaf of freshly made bread. Logan swallowed. He knew he should be hungry but unlike yesterday, he didn't have much of an appetite. The sight of the food made his stomach turn.

“I take it you don’t eat meat.” Virgil said, browsing the cart.

“Oh, um, yeah.” Logan paused. “I‘ve never really been able to stomach the texture of meat and the whole concept of… processing it disturbs me.”

“Honestly, same. It's pretty gross.” Virgil grabbed an apple, and lazily draped himself over the side of the couch.

“I wouldn’t have assumed it would affect you.” He leaned against the mantel of the fireplace, picking at his food.

“Why? Because I'm a merciless killer?” Virgil raised an eyebrow at him.

Logan nearly choked on his food. “No, that’s not—"

Virgil flashed him a playful grin. “It's all good, L. It’s a fair assumption. Most people in my field aren't the empathetic types.”

“No, I suppose not.” Logan cleared his throat. “Do you know many other people…in your field?”

“I have to. It's a matter of survival. You have to know who the major players in the city or you risk crossing them.” Virgil continued to eat his apple, strolling over to the cart to pick away at the other food. “The city’s underground isn't forgiving of mistakes.”

“I guess I'd never taken the time to consider it.” Logan said absentmindedly.

“You'll learn soon enough.” Virgil didn't look up as he continued picking through the food on the cart.

“What do you mean?” Logan looked up at him, tilting his head in confusion.

“Well, if you’re going to be advising Roman or whatever you’re doing, you’re going to have to know what's going on in the city.” Virgil said, looking up from the food cart. “I mean, you’ll have me to guide you for now, but you hardly seem the type to be satisfied with my expertise.”

“Practically, it is best for me to garner my information from multiple sources.” He sat his plate on a table, slowly sitting down onto the couch. He stared off into the distance, deep in thought.

“Yeah, I figured.” He cut off a few slices of the fresh loaf of bread, continuing to pick at his other food. He paused, noticing that Logan had stopped eating. “Not hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Jeez. You don't eat. You don’t sleep. What's wrong with you?”

Logan flinched.

Virgil looked over at him guiltily.  “Sorry, L. I didn’t mean it like that.   It’s just... you're not going to last long the way you’re going.”

“I know. I appreciate your concern. I promise I ate well yesterday.” Logan sighed. “Sleep is getting to be a problem though. If I don't sleep soon, I'm going lose my mind.”

“The nightmares really get to you, huh?” Virgil sat down on the couch opposite of Logan.

Logan couldn’t meet Virgil's gaze. He could feel shame burning on his cheeks.

“Hey, uh, listen.” Virgil moved around the couch to sit next to him. He leaned in close. “I've heard stories about the dungeons. I don't know how much of it’s true and I don't know what you’ve been through the last few weeks or in your life but…it's going to be okay. You’re safe here.”

“I-I don't know.” Logan struggled to keep his voice from shaking.

“Listen Logan, you don't have to believe it yet, but I need you to hear it.” Virgil wrapped his arm around Logan’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

“You can't guarantee anything, Vee. You and Roman. Even if your intentions are good, you’re both human beings capable of making mistakes.” Logan pulled away. He moved his legs up onto the couch, pulling them close to his chest and leaning back into the cushions.

“You’re right, L. I can't guarantee you'll never be hurt again, but I'll guarantee you’re not alone anymore.” Virgil pulled his legs onto the couch and crossed them, looking over at Logan.

Logan smiled tiredly at him.

Virgil watched as Logan's eyes started to droop. “Maybe you should try to get some rest.”

“If I sleep now, I won't be able to sleep tonight.” Logan evaded.

“That’s a lie. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” Virgil pushed.

“I don't know."

“You look like a soft wind could blow you over.”

Logan was quiet, looking down at the ground.

“Look at me, Logan.”

Logan looked up at him.

“I have had a dozen opportunities to hurt you by now. You’re alone with me and you’re clearly weak. You’re pale as a sheet. There’s not much you could do, awake or not, if I decided to try something.”

“Great.” Logan said bitterly.

“My point is that I haven't done anything, despite clearly having the opportunity. Come on, logically, you know I'm not here to hurt you, L. If I was, something would have happened by now.”

Logan sighed and nodded.

“Go sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours.”

Logan started to stand. “If you insist.”

“I do.” Virgil smiled at him.

“Thanks.” Logan said softly as he wandered out of the room.

Virgil watched Logan until he closed the door before turning back around on the couch to face the door. He leaned back into the corner and pulled out a small dagger to pass the time, twirling it around his fingers.

-

The sun was high in the sky as Virgil laid on couch, picking at the dirt underneath his fingernails with his knife. Logan had been asleep longer than he’d expected but he was grateful. Logan clearly needed the rest. Virgil glanced to Logan's door, contemplating their morning. Roman had been right about Logan. There was something about this guy. Virgil took a deep breath. Perhaps, he simply couldn’t ignore someone who was so clearly in pain.

A small noise jolted him from his thoughts. The lock was moving in the door. Virgil jumped up from the couch silently, holding his dagger close to his body. He was across the room in an instant, pressing his body against the wall behind the door.

The door eased open quietly. Virgil tensed ready to surprise the intruder. He leaned forward, peering around the door. He quickly relaxed.

“Roman!” Virgil hissed.

Roman jumped, spinning around. “Virgil! What are you doing here?”

Virgil looked at him, dumbfounded. “Having a picnic.” Virgil whispered sarcastically. “What do you think I'm doing here?”

“Right, sorry. You just surprised me." The prince glanced around the room. "Where’s Logan?”

Virgil hushed him. “He's asleep.”

“It's the middle of the day.” Roman said, confused.

Virgil frowned. “I know. I don't think he's been sleeping.”

“Oh,” Roman face fell. His eyes filled with concern. “Is he okay?”

“No…or maybe.” Virgil paused, unsure of his words. “He's getting better, I think.”

“What does that mean, Virge?”

“I don't know, princey. I can't tell what’s going on in his head. Sometimes, he seems okay. Other times, he just looks really sad.” Virgil hesitated. “Or scared.”

Roman sighed. “Did he say anything about what happened?”

“No offense, princey, but even if he said anything, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Roman looked over at him with a shocked expression.

“I agreed to protect him, not to spy on him. If Logan wants you to know something, he can tell you himself.” Virgil said sternly.

Roman reluctantly gave in. “Fine, Virge. You're right to not violate his trust. I'm just worried. He doesn’t trust me enough to talk to me.”

Virgil shrugged, turning to jump over the back of the couch, landing softly on the cushions. “He's afraid of the power you have over him.”

“I know. I don't blame him.” Roman stepped around the couch, sitting next to Virgil. “But it's difficult to know he's afraid of me.”

Virgil smiled sympathetically at him. “Give it time, princey. You got me to trust you. It doesn’t get much more difficult than that.”

“I know we'll get there.” He paused. “I only wish we had more time. Something dangerous is headed our way and we need to get out in front of it. My gut's telling me that Logan is going to be important to us making it through this.”

“We'll be ready, princey.”

“We will be, Virge.” Roman sighed, pondering for a moment, before turning back to Virgil. “Listen, take off. Get some rest. I'll take over here for a while.”

Virgil nodded, standing up off the couch. “I promised to wake him soon, so you'll have to do that.” Virgil hesitated. “And make sure he knows I'm coming back, princey.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the cushions. “You really took to him, huh?”

Virgil shrugged. “l couldn’t help it. I know what it’s like to feel out of place around here.”

Roman smirked at him. “I know. That’s part of why I asked you.”

“Yeah, figures." Virgil smiled tiredly over at him.

“Go get rest, Virgil. You’ve earned it. Be back by nightfall. I'll handle things here until then.”

Virgil hesitated, staring at Logan’s door over the prince’s shoulder.

“I'll make sure he knows you’re coming back.” Roman reassured him.

“Okay, princey.” Virgil finally replied tiredly, turning his attention back to Roman. “I’ll be back tonight.”

-

Logan woke with a start, jolting upright in his bed. His muscles tensed as his tired mind registered the sound of voices outside of his door.  He listened intently, sliding silently out from underneath his blankets. Creeping across the room, he kneeled down, holding his ear to the door. The tension in his body eased as he recognized Roman and Virgil’s voices. Unable to make out their word, Logan looked at the door, swallowing back a pang of guilt as he slowly cracked the door so he could hear their conversation.

“Is he okay?” Roman's quiet voice drifted in through the cracked door.

A faint smile formed on Logan’s face as he listened to Virgil try to make sense of his behavior. He was clearly having a tough time pinning down Logan's emotional state but what he had picked up on was surprisingly accurate.

“Did he say anything about what happened?”

A chill swept over Logan realization washed over him that Virgil reported to Roman. Logan silently berated himself for not guarding his words more closely with him. Anxiety settled in the pit of his stomach as he leaned in to listen closer.

“No offense, princey, but even if he said anything to me, I wouldn’t tell you. I agreed to protect him, not to spy on him. If Logan wants you to know something, he can tell you himself.”

Logan sucked in a breath of air, immediately feeling guilty for doubting Virgil. Aside from their initial encounter, Virgil had given him no reason to distrust him. Still, relief washed over him. He wasn't ready to share everything with the prince just yet.

To Logan’s surprise, the prince accepted that Virgil wasn’t going to share rather easily. He leaned closer to the door, listening to Roman's words through the crack. The prince sounded almost disappointed that Logan didn't trust him. and, despite his obvious curiosity, the prince still didn't push Virgil for more information.

“He's afraid of the power you have over him.”

 Accurate, Logan thought. He turned his face down, tracing the bruises on his wrists absently. The power Roman had over him at this point terrified him, though he clearly craved Logan’s trust.

He listened for a while longer but his interest had began to fade. Logan couldn’t help but feel that the rest of the conversation was hyperbole.  Roman couldn’t possibly believe he had any ability to influence the kingdom's future. He was merely a bystander, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.  

“You really took to him, huh?”  

“I couldn’t help it. I know what it’s like to feel out of place around here.”  

Logan felt heaviness in Virgil’s words. Even with what he’d learned earlier, he felt like he was missing a part of the story. He leaned his head back against the door frame and listened as Roman sent Virgil off to rest. He sensed Virgil felt guilty for leaving. Logan frowned. Virgil couldn't be here watching over him all the time any more than Roman could. He needed rest and time to recover. Eventually, Virgil seemed to give in to the prince's insistence. Logan smiled. He was glad Virgil had decided to take care of himself and, admittedly, pleasantly surprised that Virgil seemed to genuinely care for his wellbeing.         

After Virgil had departed, Logan let a few minutes of silence pass before he decided to come out of his room. He cracked open the door slowly and silently. The prince sat on the chair crouched over a piece of parchment he was reading.

“Good afternoon, my prince.” Logan said quietly. He walked across the room and leaned on the mantel of the fireplace, facing the prince.  

“Logan, you’re awake. Good to see you." Roman glanced up and down at him. "And again, please call me Roman. Truly, I can’t stand the formalities.”  

“Ok, sir-"         

Roman raised an eyebrow.

“As you wish, Roman. Where's Virgil?” He asked, not wanting to let on that he’s eavesdropped on their conversation. Fortunately, Roman seemed oblivious to Logan's nervousness.

“I sent him to rest. He's going to need the energy for when he comes back tonight.” Roman paused. “He was reluctant to leave you, but I insisted." 

Logan smiled.

“How are you today?” Roman asked.

“I'm fine.” Logan said but his smile faltered, and he sighed as he noticed Roman's look of disbelief. “I'm better than I was. My face is still sore, but the bruises are fading.”

“Logan,” Roman began cautiously. “I’m going need to know how you got those bruises.”

“Oh, umm-uhh… I-I mean…” Logan stuttered.

Roman held up his hands, backtracking. “I'm sorry, Logan. Relax. I don't need to know right this moment. I don't want to push you because I know you’ve been through a lot, but eventually, I need to know.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Logan seemed relieved.

“I wish I didn't have to rush you. I'd much rather you have the time to process your hardships before having to re-live them.” Roman paused. “But, unfortunately, this is a matter of the kingdom's security and I can't wait indefinitely.” 

“I know, Roman.” Logan looked away, crossing his arms.

Roman hesitated, feeling Logan closing himself off. “I'm sorry, Logan. Truly, I am. For now, just consider it. That’s all I’m asking of you, okay?”  

Roman watched as Logan snuck a glance up at him, gauging the truthfulness of his statement. “Okay. I’ll consider it.”  

They sat in silence for a few minutes.  

“I am glad you're doing better, Logan.” Roman said, breaking the silence again. “Please, forgive my persistence. I didn't mean to disturb you.”  

“It's okay.” Logan sighed, turning back to him. "I know I need to recount my experiences. I know that it's important information for you to have. Just...every time I think about it though, my throat constricts and I feel like there is a physical blockage keeping me from saying anything."

“That's entirely normal, Logan. I've seen soldiers unable to recount their most traumatic battles even years later.”

“But I didn't go to war. I just…” Logan’s voice trailed off.

“Don't compare one experience to another. You've been through a lot and events like this affect everyone differently."

“I know.” Logan paused, trying to keep his voice from quivering. “I just feel weak, knowing I'm struggling to cope with recent events.”

“Having feelings isn't weakness, Logan.”  

Logan shrugged. Crossing his arms, he moved over to the window. Warm sunlight lit his face as he looked down on the kingdom below.

“Let's table that thought for now, okay?” Roman said, changing the subject. “I have a job for you.” 

Logan continued to stare out the window, watching the people move about the courtyard below. “What do you require of me?”         

“I need you to do some research for me.”  

Logan looked up from the window at him, his curiosity piqued. “On what subject?”        

“I am meeting secretly with a small council tomorrow, regarding the recent attempt on my life. I need information on the poison that was used and, more specifically, where it came from. I need a starting point for identifying the person responsible for the attempted assassination.”  

“Do you have the dart in your possession?”  

Roman nodded. “It was recovered when I was discovered unconscious in the corridor.”  

Logan looked at him seriously. “Roman, I can complete this task for you. I'm certain of it, but I’m not confident I can identify the poison in such a short window of time. I am knowledgeable about local plants because of my apprenticeship but I’m hardly an expert in botany.”       

Roman was quiet for a moment. “I have to admit. I am surprised. I thought you had already identified the poison.”  

“No. I haven’t.”         

“How—” Roman paused, looking over at Logan in confusion. “Never mind. Perhaps, now is not the time for that conversation.” 

Logan watched as Roman pondered his new dilemma. Silence filled the room for an uncomfortable amount of time. Logan shifted his feet uncomfortably. He froze as Roman’s gaze finally snapped up to him.  

“I think I have a solution for you. Let's take a walk, Logan.” He moved from the couch to the door, gesturing for Logan to follow him.

You Belong With Me Taglist: @cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @dwbh888

[ft-dads-au]

Behind the Wall

A Collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

Lyoke Week 2020 Prompt: Family Pairing(s): Lyon & Loke (Pre-relationship)

AO3 | FF.Net

Summary: Loke is stunned when he finds Lyon sulking at the bar, and learns that he might be a father to a teenage girl. He starts to see the man he'd often thought of as cold in a new light, and is pleasantly surprised to discover that there's so much more to the family lawyer than he'd ever considered.

August 26, 2020

Loke entered Crime Sorciere after a long day in court. Handing his briefcase over to Natsu to put behind the bar, he took a seat next to Lyon, awaiting some sort of friendly insult in greeting, surprised when he didn’t get one.

“What’s the matter with him?” Loke asked Natsu as he ordered his usual drink, noticing that Lyon was staring off into space. “Did he lose a case or something?”

“I don’t think so. When he loses a case, he just goes off into a rant,” Natsu shrugged, mixing Loke’s drink before walking away to talk to another customer.

Loke decided that if Lyon wanted to talk, he’d do so, and seeing a pretty girl a few stools over, he introduced himself. When he returned twenty minutes later, he noticed Lyon had not seemed to have moved an inch.

Motioning Natsu for another drink, he stared at his friend with concern, “Okay, that’s it! You’re acting creepy as hell. What’s gotten into you?”

Lyon seemed to notice his presence for the first time, startling out of his trance and blinking at him, “Did you say something?”

“Yes! What the hell is wrong with you? You’re sitting there like some damn statue, it’s unnatural,” Loke complained.

“I just- I had some unexpected news, that’s all,” Lyon shrugged, trying to pretend like the matter held no importance, but Loke knew better.

It took a lot to shake Lyon. The man was like a fucking robot sometimes. He didn’t laugh at jokes, or hit on people, didn’t respond to advances of any kind, just worked hard at his cases. And he was damn good at what he did. He rarely lost.

He continued to stare at him, trying to see if he could somehow figure out what could be bothering him, but after a few more minutes of silence, he decided just to go ahead and ask.

“What type of news?” Loke asked, for once trying to be tactful. For all he knew, the guy’s parents could have taken ill or something.

When Lyon didn’t answer right away, he pushed a little, figuring that he’d call Gray and let him deal with it if that didn’t work. “Hey, we’re friends, remember?”

“You’re just going to turn it into a joke.”

“Hey, I resent that! I can take things seriously too, I couldn’t do my job otherwise,” Loke reminded him.

“Alright, but I swear if you’re an asshole about it, I won’t trust you with anything again.”

Loke made the cross your heart gesture and waited for Lyon to tell him what was bothering him.

“I think I’m a father,” Lyon breathed out, and from the panicked expression on his face, it was clear that it was the first time he’d said the words out loud.

“You knocked someone up?” Loke sputtered, “When the hell did you manage that? I’ve never seen you dating anyone.”

“Not to state the obvious, but you don’t have to date people to have sex with them. And you wouldn’t have seen it anyway. It happened over a decade ago. The girl has already turned fourteen.”

“That’s great, isn’t it?” Loke asked, “I have three daughters, and they’re awesome!”

“Yeah, but you’ve been a part of their lives from the very beginning, and you’ll continue to do so after the divorce is final. Her mother never told me anything, what am I supposed to do?”

Loke did some math in his head, “So this was in high school? Were you guys dating?”

Lyon shook his head, hiding his head in his hands, “She had a thing for me, and right before I left for college, we got together. It was only one night.”

“Well, that’s all it really takes,” Loke pointed out.

“Yes, Loke, I am well aware of how babies are made, thank you.”

“Wait, if the mom never told you, how did you find out?”

“The girl, who I suspect to be my daughter, called me at work. She’s looking for her father. She knows the man her mother is married to isn’t her biological father.”

“Did you tell her you were him?”

“Of course not! You don’t just blurt that sort of thing over the phone,” Lyon peered at Loke’s dumbfounded expression and amended, “Well, most of us wouldn’t.”

“I don’t see what the problem is, go talk to the mom. She can tell you whether you’re the father or not.”

“It’s not that easy. I can’t just waltz into this kid’s life and say, ‘Gee sorry you’ve never heard from me before, but I’m your dad.’”

“Don’t be an idiot, of course you can. It’s not your fault you weren’t there, you didn’t know,” Loke reminded him. “I’m sure if you had, things would have been different.”

When Lyon didn’t answer right away, Loke pressed, “You would have been there for them, right?”

Lyon looked away, appearing embarrassed, “I was a different person back then. I might have grown to resent her, or…” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “I just don’t know.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Loke scoffed, “Look, I think you’re missing a critical point here. She’s looking for you. She wants to meet you, maybe have you be a part of her life.”

“But what if knowing me messes her up?” Lyon looked horrified, and Loke had to laugh at him.

“Welcome to fatherhood, we’re all one step away from messing up our kid’s lives,” Loke grinned, “Dude, you’re like the most standup guy I‘ve ever met, I doubt you could mess her up if you tried. The best advice I can give you is to make sure you go through the mother if you want any chance of this not turning into a huge mess. But I think if it turns out you’re right, and she is your daughter, and you don’t do anything about it, you will regret it.”

Lyon’s eyes bored into him as he considered his words, and Loke met his gaze unwaveringly. He’d never seen this side of Lyon before, and he had to admit he rather liked it, even if it was a bit disconcerting to see him show actual feelings. He offered him an encouraging smile.

“You’re probably right,” Lyon finally responded, eyes softening slightly as he added, “Who would have thought you’d be the voice of reason.”

“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose,” Loke’s mouth twitched in amusement at the backhanded compliment. He motioned for Natsu to bring them a round of drinks.

“You feeling better?” Natsu asked, placing the drinks in front of them and glancing at Lyon with concern.

“Yeah, I’m good now.”

Natsu nodded and left them to their drinks. They sat silently, and Loke was surprised to realize he didn’t feel uncomfortable in the slightest.

“So, uhm, what’s it like to be a dad?” Lyon asked suddenly, startling Loke out of his thoughts.

“It’s amazing,” Loke said with a proud smile. “Stressful, exhausting, chaotic...but you get so much in return. No amount of money I make or cases I win can compare to that feeling of coming home to my girls jumping into my arms.”

“It is kind of nice when Aki does that, the days when I get home early enough anyway,” Lyon admitted with a shy smile.

Had he ever seen Lyon genuinely smile before? He didn’t think so. It was actually kind of nice. Loke didn’t know quite how to respond to this unguarded side of Lyon, so he reverted back to more comfortable ground. “I’m still trying to accept the fact that you’ve ever gotten laid,” he teased, “I was pretty sure you were such a hardass cause you were still a virgin.”

“No, I’m a hardass cause you’re a pain,” Lyon retorted but soon recanted, “But I guess sometimes you’re alright.”

“Just sometimes? I’ll have you know I’m fucking awesome all the time!”

Loke kept up the banter for the rest of the night, staying at Crime Sorciere with Lyon until closing time. It was the most fun he’d had in quite a while, and he couldn’t help but think he’d like to spend more time with this Lyon, and hoped that it wouldn’t take another life-changing discovery for them to share a night like this again.

[larriefails]

First off, I’m not a rad nor a larrie, I’m a louie who hates both. I was just commenting on that because I’ve been in the fandom since 2013 and the de facto leader comment not only came from the boys but also during a billboard interview. In the billboard interview, they highlighted how Louis was the one taking the business calls and talking to their team about certain things. Also it’s not completely impossible to believe that once the 1d train ran out the big producers/names didn’t care to +

Work with him, because he was no “harry styles” liam is the same he even said that Simon didn’t want him on his label as a solo artist despite him having a great rapport with him. But there were other times louis’ business contacts were brought to light such as when he went to the Brits in 2016 and a reporter commented on how he was constantly on his feet to greet big name record executives and businessmen. He has the connects in the business that’s all I was trying to state.

Look, 99% of the time when I reply to an anon “you sound like a conspiracy theorist” it’s not because I think they believe in Larrie or because they’re rads, it’s because they fucking reason like conspiracy theorists

And your reasoning here is just… conspiracy theory mess. I don’t care which parts of it you believe or not, I don’t care what your personal feelings on these specific sets of conspiracy theories are. It doesn’t matter, the point is that you’re reasoning like a conspiracy theorist

I was gonna put this in a separate post, but I think it fits here very well (I might still make a separate post about it who knows)

A few days ago, I saw this video on twitter of a woman talking about her own death like it was nothing in a very matter of factly way, wearing a wig and using a very funny tone. Someone in the replies linked to her IG page so I went to look at it, and when I saw comments telling her “thank you for accepting my follow request” I realized she was usually on private and I’d just been very lucky to find her profile to be open, so I followed her just in case with the intention of watching her funny videos later

Since she was a new follow she continuously appeared on my recent IG feed and I soon realized how relevant what she was saying was to my interests

This is the woman

One day she posted this, and my alarms went off

Let me clarify that I don’t care if she’s a professor or a therapist or not, I followed her because I thought she was funny and that she’d go on private soon, this was all a complete surprise to me. The DM rang close to home to me, seeing as I’ve read Larries for a while now, it was all too familiar, her reply was too

Then she posted this

Once again, I said it before and you can read it here X it doesn’t matter if she’s a professor or not, if their suspicions are real or not, if she’s lying or not, because going through UCLA’s professor roll call is a step too far, and confronting her about it, even more so. And the way she presents it.. she’s right. She just linked the website, she never claimed to work there. If you go to her page, she’s very careful with the information she provides, so the people that want to prove she’s lying have very limited resources. They go with the preconception that she’s lying so they try to find ways to prove their preconception

You have the preconception that Louis was the de facto leader of 1D, so you’re working your way backwards to prove it. You’re looking at bits and pieces of interviews that will prove your theory right, but that’s just not what reality is

“The de facto leader comment not only came from the boys” .. no it didn’t, though? They didn’t say this. Do you know where the “the boys say Louis is the leader” comments come from? Stuff like this

Context for that interview? The Hot Desk, August 2011 X

One Direction had exactly ZERO songs out, this interview was recorded before they even released WMYB. All 5 of them had written on 3 songs of their first album that would come out in November. Savan Kotecha was still running the show. Louis was still 19 and he hadn’t been in show business for a year. How much of a leader that conducted business meetings do you think he was? I’m not gonna watch the entire interview to see the context, but this is not Zayn saying Louis was the de facto leader, this is Zayn kidding

What to even say about this, which is from the video diaries in X Factor?

Or this?

What? No, no they’re not, like, they’re just not, they’re standing in a circle and looking forward

This is just ridiculous

Does the person that created this gif set not realize that this is the performance where Louis doesn’t sing at all? It’s Torn at judges’ houses. It’s infamous for the fact that only Liam Harry and Zayn sang. This is all for dramatic effect because X Factor was a reality show

Louis liking motivation chants means he’s the leader? That he goes to business meetings? I’m so confused

That’s not because “he’s the leader” that’s because he’s the class clown

If accepting an award means he’s the leader then I guess this meme fits 1D very well

They all accepted awards, Christ

Anyway….

And that’s an entire gif set that was solely engineered to show that Louis was the leader and that “the boys said so”…. but they actually didn’t? The only two times it comes up they answer jokingly and it’s before Louis could do anything remotely leader like. But that gif set is so popular, created by a Larrie but that spilled out to the general fandom enough that I saw it on my dash reblogged by non CT blogs X

And it created this notion among some people, especially those who have Louis as their fave, that the other members of 1D had in fact said that Louis was the de facto leader, when they didn’t. It’s conspiracy talk, scouring through hundreds of MILLIONS of milliseconds of footage to pick 9 of them and put them in a gif set to prove a point they’d already decided on

There are also three news articles linked (copying and pasting directly from the source, sorry for the weird formatting idk how to take it off)

1: That’s the number of hotel rooms in Mexico City used for dance rehearsals. The guys locked down a room for three hours. Louis took control of the rehearsals and even helped conceptualize some of the routine.

That’sabout 1D learning the choreography for Best Song Ever

How exactly does it prove that Louis is the de facto leader for him to take over 1 dance rehearsal when everyone in 1D had confessed they couldn’t dance a million times at that point? Louis had some musical theater experience, so that’s that..

Harry: Louis is still loud and mischievous - he likes to test the boundaries. He’s quite outspoken. You need someone like that, because he’s great at standing up for us as a band.

That’s perhaps the most “leader like” comment any of them have ever made about Louis, and it’s not really about him being a leader once you put it by itself instead of surrounding it by “look at all the times they said he was the leader,” right? It’s just more of a testament about the fact that Louis was louder than the rest, which we already knew. If someone had asked me six months into my journey in the fandom who I thought was the loudest in band meetings I would’ve said Louis. That doesn’t mean he’s the leader. A leader has SO many more characteristics than being loud and outspoken. In fact, a lot of leaders aren’t loud or outspoken at all

The last link they put is once again, what How I Met Your Mother explained as the cheerleader effect X which taken away from the time period sounds quite misogynistic but let’s not dwell on that. Basically, it’s when a group of women appear hot when they’re all together but not individually. When you have the gif set all together, it looks like “wow, these are hot arguments as to why EVERYONE thought Louis was the leader,” but look at them individually, see their context and they’re not as hot now, are they? Especially when you realize, once again, that these are very very small morsels of time taken from very very large portions. That’s how Larries operate

Several people in your management and inner circle have described you to me as the unofficial businessman or leader of the group. Is that a fair assessment? I’ve sometimes felt like that, but to be honest most of the time I’m the immature one who needs to be told to get focused. I’m a bit of a perfectionist so I have to be kind of be on board with every minor detail and [I’m] quite opinionated.

And that last link is also the Billboard interview you mention in your ask. Do you know when it’s from? December 2012. One Direction had just released Take Me Home, their second album, which according to the interview that Larries love the most to base their sabotage conspiracies, didn’t very much involve 1D’s input at all

Savan Kotecha: I think by album 3 (Midnight Memories), yeah, not all of them, there was definitely one or two-one especially-that was like, kind of bitter about the fact, that, you know

Ross Golan: They were a boyband?

Savan Kotcha: And he was not the talented one. He wasn’t the singer, and he wasn’t the star. And you know which one I’m talking about…

Ross Golan: Of course.

Savan Kotecha: And he then started having something against me and against that process, I think. And, you know, maybe we could have been more inviting in the creative process during album 2 (Take Me Home) and not been so…authoritative.

At that point, Louis STILL wasn’t in a position where he could really be the leader. None of them were because the creative process wasn’t inviting still. It wouldn’t be until the third album

The conclusion here isn’t that Louis isn’t outspoken, or that he didn’t care about business or that he didn’t defend the band, or that he didn’t want to write more, or that he didn’t want to make connections. No one here is arguing that he didn’t care at all or not giving him credit for anything. The point I‘ve been making for days now and that people don’t seem to get (one way or another, because I’ve gotten very unpleasant messages about how he’s not equipped to be a businessman and shit like that that I’ve just decided not to publish at all), is that things don’t have to be black and white

I don’t think ANYONE was the leader of 1D. I think that Louis’ personality made him stand out more in certain aspects (such as meetings with their team), and because people need to label everything all the time, instead of describing it as it was, it took the position of “de facto leader”

The problem here isn’t even that people believe he’s the de facto leader, that wouldn’t concern me at all in and of itself because who cares? It’s not hurting anyone… The problem is that it puts an excessive amount of weight on Louis’ shoulders, I also explained this. It’s this dichotomy of a person who basically carried the whole band during its five years but that also is completely defenseless and at the mercy of binding contracts to even choose the socks he wears

These sort of preconceptions aren’t harmful by themselves, they wouldn’t be harmful in a normal band. I wouldn’t have a problem with this preconception if Louis was Calum Hood and this was 5SOS, my problem is that this is One Direction and preconceptions and conspiracies have tormented these guys for YEARS. No conspiracy and no preconception is innocent, they all have to be dismantled, we have to examine EVERYTHING that leads to absolutes if we want a chance at healing the fandom, and I don’t mean the 1D fandom because that’s gone now, it’s never gonna heal, I mean Louis’ specifically

If we want a chance at him being left alone from Larries these things have to go. Stop seeing him as this commodity that you can just paint over and start seeing him as a person, not a caricature

That interview also doesn’t say anything about him taking any calls business or otherwise. I don’t think anyone has ever said it and I have no idea where it came from because I’ve found zero sources. The interview doesn’t mention him “talking about certain things“ either, it’s just what I pasted here. That’s all of it. Everything else comes from years and years of stretching this one question out of this one interview done when Louis was still 20 and 1D had less than 2 years in the music industry. It’s no exactly the smoking gun y’all think it is, guys. Same with the Savan Kotecha podcast

Then the rest of what you say is just noise, man. IDK what to tell you. It’s just noise. If Louis had ran the show BTS for five years, then he’d have access to the best producers and writers on speed dial, why would he not being Harry Styles hinder how he’s perceived by the people that work backstage? They’d recognize the person that was “the backbone of 1D” for who he is because those things spread in the business. If LOUIS said that wasn’t happening, then it’s because your preconception was wrong and you took a bunch of things out of context to create a “narrative” that simply wasn’t real. Louis was dedicated to the band and wanted to write for it and involve himself in the creative side and he GENUINELY WAS IMPORTANT for the band, but he wasn’t its backbone or its de facto leader

Simon didn’t wantt Liam on his label probably because he couldn’t afford him, btw. He decided to stick with Louis because they’ve been thick as thieves since 2014 and those contracts cost money and Syco is a very small label with very limited resources, so they couldn’t offer anything to more than one member. I’m  aware that I’m making assumptions here, but they very much align with reality, especially now that Syco lost so many other acts and now that Fifth Harmony disbanded and Syco landed only Lauren (Camila being like Zayn) and having to leave Ally, Dinah, and Normani go to other labels. That doesn’t mean they saw no value in them (in fact, I think Lauren is the one faring the worst), it’s just that they can only afford so much

And how much can you grin on one report written by the HUFFINGTON POST in 2016?X I’m talking about the “Louis hugged industry people that one time” comment you made. Once again, I’m not saying he doesn’t know anyone. I’m saying I BELIEVE WHAT HE SAYS. If he says he can’t easily get the producers and writers he wants, then I’m going to believe him. And that one report doesn’t really change anything for me. It’s, once again, very conspiracy theorist behavior to put more weight on an isolated report from an untrustworthy source three years ago than on Louis’ own words. If he really had enough reach to be friendly with everyone in the industry, then he’d be able to get any producer he wants

You can’t have this dichotomy that you present in this very ask of “they’re not picking up the phone because he’s Harry Styles” but he was the de facto leader of the biggest band on the planet for five years and everyone in the music industry knows him. It just doesn’t mesh together. You’re placing him in the same impossible position Larries are placing him and that’s harmful. He needs fans that see him as a person and you, I’m sorry to tell you, do not. You see him as a caricaturesque figure that can both be incredibly important and incredibly subjugated

“He has the connects in the business is all I was trying o state” 1. no that’s not all you were trying to state. 2. According to himself, he doesn’t have all the connects. He’s clearly close enough to be friendly with Rob Stringer, but that doesn’t mean that Rob Stringer will lift a finger for him and according to Louis, he’s not.. But that doesn’t mean that Louis can’t get ANYONE or that he’s being sabotaged. As always, truth lies somewhere in the middle. The only reason it’s harder to spot in this case is that people stretch it on every possible side so much

I know this is long as fuck and I probably lost any person that was willing to read my drivel in the first place, but I just really think it’s important that you start taking what LOUIS SAYS ABOUT LOUIS as fact, instead of twisting it around to present alternative facts that would present a reality that will please you more. It starts at “Louis was the de facto leader” and it ends as “he’s been faking fatherhood for three years and lied about his mother’s last few days” Sick..

[myrish-lace-love]

This is the fourth installment in this series. You can read the first one here, the second one here, and the third one here. They’re also all on AO3 here. 

Summary: Sansa is a physical therapist doing her clinic hours in Milwaukee for the winter. Jon, her downstairs neighbor, is a veteran who’s come back from Afghanistan. They first met during a power outage, and have been getting to know each other since then, sharing a meal every Tuesday. They’ve had some Thanksgiving and Christmas adventures, and have been friends for about six months. Now Jon’s leaving for a summer sailing vacation with his army buddies, and he wants to write to Sansa while he’s gone. He has trouble telling her how he feels when they’re together, but he opens up when he writes.

***

“I’m so jealous, Jon! A trip to the Virgin Islands with your old army buddies.” Sansa had finally gotten the news out of Jon at the end of their meal. They were sitting on the couch in her apartment. She had the AC cranked up. Summers in Milwaukee were hot and muggy. The old, single-pane windows were fogging up, but at least she and Jon were comfortable.

Plus Jon wore t-shirts all the time, so she called the summer a win.

Jon started clearing away the dishes. She followed him to the kitchen. He tried to keep her from helping, since she’d cooked. She took a towel and shot him a just you try it look, so he gave in. Her galley kitchen had a double-basin sink but no dishwasher. They formed their own little assembly line as Jon washed and Sansa dried.

“We planned the trip a long time ago,” he said. “For when Sam turned 25. We fly to Miami first. Ten days, five ports. It’ll be about three weeks total. We’re chartering a boat, so we’re not doing the big cruise ship thing. We all know how to sail. I almost cancelled, I haven’t got much money-“

Sansa put the glass down a little too forcefully. “Jon, how could you? Sam’s counting on you and you deserve to have fun, even if it costs a little more money than you can afford. You can’t put a price on-“

“Memories, I know.” Jon’s mouth quirked. “Trust me, you convinced me about a week ago.”

“You only told me about it tonight!”

“I have conversations with you in my head.” Jon sloshed the soap around. “Okay, that sounded really strange. I mean, you give me good advice, and I remember it. Sometimes I ask you questions even when you’re not there….And that sounds weird too.” He paused. “I-“

Sansa took pity on him. Actually, she was touched he thought about her when they weren’t together.

“I’m just a little mad that I’m so predictable, is all.”

“Don’t be. You’re really easy to talk to.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls who cook you pizza.”

“I don’t, Sansa.”

“Yeah, because I’m the only girl who makes you pizza.”

“You are, but–“ Jon stopped scrubbing the plate. He closed his eyes. This weight in the air between them came up more often now that they’d been friends for six months. Sansa didn’t know whether to lean into it or shy away from it.

She took the easy way out. “So when are you leaving?”

He handed her the last dish.

“This weekend. Can I – Can I write you while I’m gone, Sansa?”

“You’re only gone for a few weeks, Jon, you don’t have to go to all that trouble.” She would miss him though. A lot.  She wondered if she looked distraught. He was leaving for less than a month. She was a big girl. She’d be fine.

She tried to lighten the mood. “Besides, we do this thing called texting in the 21st century, remember? I text you about a blackout in our apartment and you come save the day. You text me about a burned turkey and I talk you into ordering fried kitchen when your buddies visit.”

“You saved the day, too, on Thanksgiving,” he said.

“And we even managed to have a fight about mousetraps over text.”

“We figured it out though.” He was smiling.

“See? Texting it is.”

Jon glanced away. He took the dishtowel from her and hung it to dry, then looked at her again.

“May I write you, Sansa?”

There was so much yearning in his expression that she felt like he was asking if he could kiss her.

Read more below or continue on AO3

“Y-yes, of course, Jon, you can. You don’t have to ask. But I won’t be able to write you back, will l?

Jon shook his head. “The charter won’t take incoming mail. I’ll send the letters when we dock. You don’t – if they’re boring, or too much, just…set them aside.”

She wasn’t sure why he was nervous. “I’ll read them, Jon.” She couldn’t drive him to the airport because she was visiting her family. But she made him tell her when he was coming back, so she could give him a ride home.

***

The first letter arrived three days after he left. He’d bought heavy, ivory stationary. Or he’d bought stationary sometime in the past ten years and dug it up, she thought.  Be realistic, Sansa, this isn’t a movie. It felt a little bit like one, though, when she slid her nail under the edge and carefully tore the envelope, sliding out Jon’s letter.

He had neat, sloping handwriting. The way the blue ink sometimes smudged reminded her of Arya, and she thought she’d guessed right, that Jon was left-handed.

Sansa,

I hope you are well.  We’ve shipped out of Tortola. Don’t worry, I know where the life vests are. It’s good to see the guys again. We’ve been realizing how much we forgot about sailing over the past few years, but it’s coming back to us. Sam and Pyp and Grenn say hi. Virgin Gorda is next.

Thanks for letting me do this.

Yours,

Jon

Sansa smiled. She had asked him about life vests before he left. She knew she was being silly, but she was happy he’d remembered. Other than that, though…she had to admit she was a little disappointed. Jon’s letter seemed kind of…perfunctory. She’d expected more, after he’d asked whether he could write to her.

His last line stuck with her, though.

Thanks for letting me do this.

It was hardly a favor to get letters from a friend in the mail.

And his sign-off wasn’t so bad, either.

Yours, Jon.

She traced the words in the little yellow circle of lamplight by her bedside table.

She did want Jon to be hers. No harm confessing it to herself here in her bedroom, surrounded by her floral sheets and lace curtains that were completely frivolous. Even if this was the only letter she got, it would be worth saving for Yours.

***

His second letter showed up two days later. She ran upstairs to read it, opening it on the kitchen counter.

Sansa,

Virgin Gorda’s beautiful. I wish you could see it. You’d like the water, I think, how blue it is in the evening. We did some hiking around the Baths. The grottos and caves are amazing. I can’t wait to show you the pictures.

The guys have headed out to get food, so I have a few minutes to myself on the deck. It’s peaceful here. The sky is filled with stars.

How is Willas? I hope he’s trying the new exercises you gave him. If anyone can get him to do it, it’s you. No one can match you for kindness and stubbornness.

We’re headed to Anegada next. Wish us luck. It’ll be some tricky sailing, but it should be fun.

Yours,

Jon

It was lovely, how Jon asked her questions even though she couldn’t write him back. Jon let her chatter on about how her work was going at the physical therapy clinic downtown. He paid attention, too.

Willas was her favorite patient, and she talked a lot about the good progress he was making with his leg, especially now that he had a new brace to wear.

Sansa loved her job. Even her dearest friends, like Margaery, sometimes couldn’t keep their eyes from glazing over when she went on about the Pilates equipment they’d just got. Or how she hated charting progress notes, because they took away from the time she had to talk to her patients about how they were doing.

But Jon was thoughtful, more thoughtful than people gave him credit for. He was thinking about her, and her job, and how she was, while he was on vacation looking at the stars.

He’d called her kind. And stubborn. He was right, about both. But then, he was both of those things too. She stacked the second letter carefully on top of the first on her bedside table before she went to sleep. She couldn’t wait to read his next letter.

***

Six days later, Sansa’s spirits sank when she swung open the door to her mailbox in the apartment lobby and found only a few sales flyers. Again.

She knew his letters might take a day or two to arrive, and he could only mail them after they’d pulled into the slip at the harbor.

But six days….six days felt like he’d moved on.

She wound her way up the stairs. She let herself in and heated up some spaghetti. She carried it to the couch, feeling sorry for herself. Did you really think he’d mail a letter at every port? He was probably having a ball with Sam and the guys. That was a good thing for him. He didn’t get out enough as it was.

She wasn’t allowed to mope because he was finally having fun on his vacation and he’d stopped writing to his upstairs neighbor. She needed to get a grip. She pushed her food around and watched some TV before getting into bed. This situation was absolutely fine. No big deal.

And she definitely did not squeal when she found an envelope with Jon’s handwriting in her mailbox the next day. Okay, maybe she did, but at least no one was around to hear it.

Dear Sansa,

Sorry I couldn’t write. There’s been a rough storm. Don’t worry, we’re all fine, but we were all pretty seasick for a while there. Sam’s going to kill me for this, but he was the greenest of all of us. I feel bad for him, since it was his birthday yesterday.

After not eating anything for two days we were starving, so we had a big meal tonight, steaks and grilled corn. I don’t know when you’ll get this, but it’s Tuesday tonight, and although I’m having a good time (I am, really, I’m living in the moment, Scout’s honor) I miss our pizza night tradition. You make the best pizza I‘ve ever had, and I get to sit next to you and share the night with you. It’s the best part of my week, every week. I wanted you to know that.

We’re docked at Anegada. It’s secluded, and quiet. We spent some time on the beach today, and we’re going snorkeling tomorrow on the reefs.

Okay, they’re calling me up on deck, I have to go. I miss you. Hope that’s not too much. I’ll write soon.

Yours,

Jon

A storm. A storm was the only thing that had kept him from writing to her, and now he was apologizing for it. And he’d remembered the bit about living in the moment, which she’d tried to drill into him before she left. Only one 25th birthday and memories with your friends and don’t spend the whole time in your cabin and…yeah, she’d probably crossed the line from cheerleading to nagging at some point.

But Jon had taken her words to heart. She smiled at the thought of him and Sam and Pyp and Grenn checking out tropical fish underwater.

She ran a bath that night and used up one of her Lush bath bombs. The water turned pink and fizzy, and she sank into the tub with a contented sigh.

She’d double-checked the packaging this time. She didn’t want a repeat of the glitter bomb experience. She’d shown up red-faced at work the next day. It was pretty hard to help patients get the most out of their abdominal series and hip flexor stretches when you were shedding sparkles all over them.

She drew circles with the bubbles on the surface of the bathwater and let her muscles relax, thinking about Jon and what he’d said about pizza night. Best part of my week.

It was the best part of hers, too. Sometimes, she suspected Jon felt like he was on the periphery of her life. As if she only thought about him occasionally, since she was more outgoing and had a wider circle of friends.

She took Mr. Duck down from his shelf and let him swim in the water with her. “It’s not true, Mr. Duck. Jon’s important to me. He’s like an anchor. Not the kind that keeps me weighed down but the kind that keeps me steady, you know? Keeps me grounded.”

Mr. Duck bobbed his orange beak. Great, now she was talking to a duck. Maybe she missed Jon more than she thought.

He’d said that too. I miss you. And it wasn’t too much, like he thought it might be. It was just right. She had a warm feeling in her chest as she dried off and laid her clothes out for tomorrow. She wished Jon was here, so she could tell him she missed him too.

***

Margaery stopped by to visit the next night, and she was her usual whirlwind of nonstop questions. As much as Sansa loved her, Margaery could sometimes drive her crazy.

“This adorable apartment of yours. Made for a magazine. I’d kill for that clawfoot tub.” Marg stuck her head in Sansa’s bedroom.  “What are these, my dear?” Margaery snatched the stack of letters from her bedside table.

“Marg! Put those down.” Sansa had planned to tell Margaery about the letters, but she wasn’t exactly sure if she wanted Marg to read them. They felt very personal, even if they were short.

Margaery unfolded the pages. “You know this is ridiculously romantic, right?” She sighed dreamily. “A sailor, writing to you from every port.”

“Marg, he’s made three stops and he’s just on vacation with his friends.”

“Please. He’s sending you handwritten letters on gorgeous paper and–“ Marg picked up one of the envelopes.

“The stamps, Sansa, did you see them? They’re flowers! Not those American flag stamps. You know he had to ask for them specifically?”

Sansa hadn’t known, but she’d wondered.

Margaery put her wrist to her brow, as if she was fainting. “He’s thought about this, Sansa, and he asked you if he could.  Like he’s courting you.”

“He’s not.”

Margaery smirked. “You’re not fooling me. You’re glowing, my dear.”

Sansa smiled. “Okay, yes, it’s super romantic and I get butterflies each time I see one and –  how’s work going anyway, Marg?”

Margaery turned the pages over again. “He seems to be getting more comfortable with each letter,” she mused. “You absolutely have to text me when he writes next.”

Sansa laughed and waved her off. She wasn’t sure if she would text Margaery. She wanted these letters to be just between her and Jon.

Three days later, she got two letters on the same day in her mailbox.

Dear Sansa,

How are you? Has Margaery visited yet? Is she driving you nuts? How was Arya’s swim meet?

Sorry – I fill up with questions for you, when you’re not around. I save up stories to tell you. We just got back from sailing to Jost Van Dyke Island. We managed to make it all the way up Mahjonny Hill. You can see all the way around the island from the peak. You really feel like you’re on top of the world, with all of the green hills below you and the sky like a big blue bowl overhead.

We’re back in Tortola now.  We were at the market today. I didn’t want to go at first, but the guys dragged me, and I’m grateful. Like I’m grateful for how you encourage me to get out and see things, even when I feel like staying at home is easier.

The square was noisy and crowded and colorful and I think you would have loved every booth. I got you something, nothing big. Just earrings I thought would look pretty with your eyes. They made me think of the waves on the ocean, and you.

Yours,

Jon

Sansa’s cheeks were warm. She’d loved Jon’s Christmas present – a beautiful picture frame, for her holiday photo of all the Starks together. But that gift had been about celebrating her family, not about her and Jon.

She’d thought, at the time, that it was intentionally platonic. Just friends, nothing to see here. Then again, her Christmas gift had been that way too – she’d given him a tin of peanut butter cookies. They’d both been walking the friend line so carefully.

But jewelry – jewelry was intimate. More than just friends. She couldn’t wait to see the earrings. And she couldn’t wait for Jon to give her a gift that was about the two of them.

She tore open the next letter like she was having a mini-Christmas of her own.

Dear Sansa,

We’re coming to the end of the trip. We’re still docked in Tortola. There was dancing in the square tonight, after the sun went down. The streetlights came on and people came out of their houses as soon as the music started playing. There were old couples and young ones, swaying in the twilight. I only watched, though Sam teased me about it. I’m glad Sam got to dance. Pyp and Grenn did, too.

I’d like to dance with you, Sansa, take you in my arms and hold you close and sway with you. (I’m not a great dancer, so swaying is all I can manage.) I try to tell you how I feel, when I’m near you. I just get tongue-tied, and stop.  

But now that it’s nighttime, and I’m back in my cabin, and I miss you so much it hurts, I can write it down. I lo care about you a lot, Sansa. There’s part of me that almost hopes you’ve stopped reading, because I’m scared of how I feel. But you deserve to know, so you can make whatever choice you want.

You’re beautiful and smart and funny and generous and I’ve never met anyone who’s so patient with me. I’d like to try to be more than friends, if that’s something you want too.

Please know that whatever you decide when I come back, I’ll respect it. I promise I will, Sansa. I’ll see you soon.

Yours always,

Jon

Sansa saw a splash on the letter and realized she’d been crying. She wiped her eyes.

She cared about Jon so much it scared her too. She kept stepping away from that feeling, because it was big, and risky. But now she knew he felt the same way. Yours always.

She drove to the airport early that Sunday, to make sure she could see Jon when he got off the plane. The airport was packed, and she had to elbow her way to the front of the line at the arrivals gates.

She kept scanning the crowd, and suddenly Jon was there. She ran to meet him. Jon saw her, and a mixture of fear and hope flickered across his face.

“Sansa I-“

She didn’t let him finish. She threw her arms around him. He dropped his suitcase and pulled her tight, his hand at the small of her back. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. She could smell sunblock and soap and that faint scent of pine she associated with no one but him. She held on to his shirt with one hand and looked up at him.

“Jon, they were beautiful.”

“They were about you,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “I had to go away, to be able to tell you how I felt.“ He smiled at her. “I was so afraid I’d put you off. Did you – did you read all of them?”

She nodded.

“And you’re here,” he murmured. “In my arms.”

She reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead. They’d spent so long not touching each other, and now she didn’t want to stop.

He leaned in and she closed her eyes. His kissed her gingerly, at first, until she ran her hands through his hair, and then he kissed her deeply, hungrily, like he couldn’t stand to let her go.

“Get a room, you two!” Someone hollered from a distance.

Sansa tuned them out. She tuned out the crowd of people streaming around them, too. All she felt was Jon, his warmth and his strong arms and how he held her like she was something special, something he cherished.

When they finally broke apart the crowd had slowed to a trickle. She helped Jon with his suitcase and drove him home. They spent the night looking through his pictures, and talking about his trip. Jon blushed when he pulled the earrings from his bag. They were silver triangles, with a crescent of blue-green abalone shell. She traced them with her fingertip.

“I love them, Jon.”

“I’m glad, Sansa. I really wanted you to like them enough to wear them.”

They kissed him again and again that night, and she went to bed far too late.

Her favorite kiss was the one he gave her at the door. He’d insisted on going back to his apartment. Sansa was half-tempted to drag him to her bedroom with her, but Jon seemed to want to go slow.

“So this – us – this is all right?”

“More than all right, Jon.”

Jon kissed her cheek, then tucked her hair behind her ear. “Then goodnight, sweet girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sweet girl saw her off to bed. She wasn’t sure where they were going next, but she was happy they’d go there together.

[ars-simia-animus]

What I Can Afford is Yours

Chapter 8: “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark”

Summary: Tony gives his gift to Peter and Peter gives him back the only thing he can afford. He doesn’t realize how valuable it will actually be to his friend.

Jarvis had noticed the little note flagging out from Pepper’s bird encyclopedia. Peter addressed the note to both Mrs. and Mr. Stark, and Jarvis decided to take it up with breakfast. Tony greeted him joyfully as always, as he fastened his cufflinks. “Good morning, J! Does this mean Happy has left to take the kid home?” Tony pouted a little. “That little saucebox left without saying goodbye…”

“I’m sure he would have said farewell, sir, had you been awake.” Jarvis said.

Tony grinned in mock indignation. “Is that derision aimed at my sleeping habits?”

Jarvis deadpanned. “Not at all, sir. I’m relieved to see you get any semblance of rest.”

Tony walked to the breakfast tray and saw the note. “What’s this?” He retrieved it and began to read. After a while he could not stifle a chuckle. “What a tender little thing.”

“A rare young man, indeed.” Jarvis said and Tony, knowing him well, detected his fondness for Peter. Nobody could resist, after all.

Tony held up the note. “How much would you wager that Pepper sheds a few tears when she reads this?”

“I shouldn’t make it a habit of betting against the lady of the house, sir.”

“Well, it’s never profited me, that’s true,” Tony said and skimmed the paper again. He mused to Jarvis, flippantly. “Was I ever so silly-hearted?”

“Incredibly, sir,” Jarvis said, with traces of warm nostalgia, “you were.”

Tony looked up, surprised, then sniffed a little. “I don’t remember that.”

“No.” Jarvis agreed and there was a pregnant pause. After a moment, he said, “Mrs. Stark should return within two hours and you might see off Dr. Banner, sir. He is the only guest remaining; I believe he was waiting to say goodbye before he went.”

“Where do I find so many sentimental souls?” Tony asked with a laugh.

“It seems you find each other, sir.”

May and Peter’s bungalow in Queens was very small, but May had ensured it was cozy and clean so that when one was inside, it felt like a house in the country. May was endlessly proud that she earned the money to move herself and Peter from their apartment in the tenements, where there was nothing but tuberculosis and not even false hope. Even small, this house was much closer to the childhood home Peter deserved. He never complained, but May diligently worked for her “society” clients so she could afford to make their lives comfortable.

Happy had so much difficulty finding the little house in the dark that Tony woke Peter and asked if he could help guide them. Bleary-eyed, Peter looked out the carriage window and said, “I won’er if this’s wha’ fish see in dark wat’r.” He yawned and Tony sighed irritably.

“We’re trying to get you home, you little idiot.” Tony said. “Rub the sleep from your eyes and look. Does anything look familiar?”

“Lemme see,” Peter said and drowsily opened the carriage door.

Tony seized him before he could tumble out onto the road moving below them. “Do you ever think before you act?” He chided and then called for Happy to stop the horses.

Eventually, Peter was able to peer around in the light of Happy’s lantern and he directed them to the small lot where the Parkers’ house sat tucked behind three tall complexes. Peter wrung his hands, worried what May would think of him. “I‘ve caused everyone so much trouble.” He agonized.

Tony just smiled and said, “True.” He ruffled Peter’s hair and it helped the boy relax a little.

Peter climbed the walkway to the front door; he sighed. The familiarity of his home embraced him and he didn’t care anymore if returning meant he must confess what he did to his aunt, as long as he could stay with her for a little while. The past week seemed a horribly long time and he wasn’t sure what it would take to recover from it. The door opened and May swooped outside.

“Peter!” She fussed, cupping his face, and he hugged her. Then, she turned to Tony who was coming up the walk. “Thank you for bringing him home, Mr. Stark.”

“Sorry to bring him in such a state.” Tony said.

“Aunt May—“ Peter said. He humbly shuffled and took a breath. “I lost my apprenticeship with Mr. Jameson. I’m sorry!”

“Lost it?” May asked.

Tony interrupted. “It’s been a full day. I would recommend putting him straight to bed.”

Despite everything, Peter was a little peeved by Tony’s choice of words. “Mr. Stark, I haven’t been ‘put to bed’ since—“

“I agree!” May said, pushing him inside. “Please, won’t you come warm yourselves before your long ride home? You, too!” She gestured to Happy. May had a way of bossing others into health and happiness. Happy bashfully complied, following Tony into the Parkers’ house.

Once inside, Peter was henned into his bedroom and told to wash and dress. May couldn’t be argued with, so Peter began to peel off the grimy shirt and trousers that had been ruined by the slick jailhouse floor. He caught the sight of blood on his sleeve at the elbow. It made the fabric stiff. Peter weakened. His stomach lurched and he didn’t want to be undressed anymore.

Ignoring the nausea, he rushed to pull on something else, anything, to cover himself and chase away the feeling of vulnerability. He would skip the long-johns, though he might regret it later. May had started the steam radiator in his room when word had gotten to her that Peter would be home that night, but it took a while for the room to warm.

Then, he saw the string-of-pearls, in its pot like a mermaid’s treasure, sitting on his dresser. A little peace touched his heart. He was so happy to see Pepper’s gift to him safely brought to his home. How had it gotten here? Today was so confusing.

He heard May bustling to entertain Tony and Happy. Never would he have guessed that Tony would be in his home. Then May said, “Ms. Friday and a young boy left not long ago. Ms. Friday said they needed to retrieve Mrs. Stark from the jailhouse?” This last statement was an anxious inquiry.

So that was Pepper at the jailhouse; it hadn’t been his imagination.

Tony’s voice answered quickly. “Yes, she is just reaching an understanding with the officers there. No need to worry. My Pepper can handle herself.”

“Yes,” May said with a small laugh. She sounded very relieved.

“I take it all of his belongings arrived then?” Tony asked politely.

Peter was distracted from working the buttons of his nightshirt. Finally, he wondered how Tony and Pepper had discovered he was in jail. Had Mr. Jameson told May and May sent word to them? It didn’t make much sense. May would have come herself. Then again, Pepper knew so much about law. And, Tony held much influence in New York— and probably the whole nation or world .

Their voices faded and Peter peeked out the door. He saw May and Tony talking in low tones.

Peter quickened, eager not to be left out, despite how tired he felt. May had told him to wash, but Peter decided to scrub away just the dirt that was not covered by the protective nightclothes… at least until the feeling of Westcott’s breath was out of his hair.

At the sound of the front door, Peter left his room and looked at the empty hall. Did Mr. Stark leave? Suddenly a flood of questions beset him. Could he make ceramics anymore? There wasn’t likely another ceramicist who would take him on if Jameson spread the word that he was a thief.

Would he still get to see the Starks? Would Tony come read to him and talk about chemistry and thermodynamics when he had no more need to learn about them? And, he would have no more work to catch their eye, nothing to show them, nothing they could buy— let alone have as a gift!

He began to feel awful again. The guard in the jail had been right: he brought this on himself. He lost everything because he’d been greedy and impulsive. He heard all the names he and May and his family had been called and hated how he’d let those people feel justified in their use.

Now he’d never get to craft the beautiful vases or figurines, or experiment with the components and colorants, or tease transformations from the clay and glazes through centuries-old alchemy.

In fact, he would need to find another job to help May and earn his share of the household expenses. What would he do? Clean houses, perhaps. He didn’t want to go to the factories.

May came into the hall holding a clean cloth and a bottle of antiseptic. She saw the dejected look on his face. “ Sheifale , it’s late. Don’t worry. You’ll see Mr. Stark again soon.” She took him in her arms and led him back to his bedroom. He couldn’t help but lean into her.

As she cleaned the scrape under his chin with Acriflavine, May asked him gently about what had happened. He was able now, in the security she created, and no longer in the grip of adrenaline, to articulate more than he had with Tony.

At first he was shy, ashamed, but as she met every confession with empathy, he told her more and more. Occasionally, her eyes flashed, angry at Mr. Jameson. Then, he told her about the jail cell.

“You never should have been put in such danger.” May said firmly. Peter nodded, but she commanded his attention. “I’m sorry, Peter! I shouldn’t have trusted that schmuck .”

“No, Aunt May. It’s my fault; I stole—”

“And that was foolish,” she said. “But your bad choice is nothing compared to what they did! If you stole from me, would I throw you in a cage? Or let some wild animal hurt you? Would Mr. or Mrs. Stark do those things, for that matter?”

That was unimaginable.

“Those men are hateful and evil. But,” she said and drew a steadying breath, “you’re safe here. I promise. I’m so proud of you, Peter!” Her hands smoothed his forehead and she kissed his cheeks. Then she stood and prepared to snuff the candle. “If you feel scared, come to me, no matter what time. I’ll chase off any creeps, nightmare or flesh and blood!”

Peter smiled and soon he was asleep, the smells and sounds and sensations of home enveloping him, and May’s promise standing watch over him.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Stark,

I can’t describe what this wonderful visit has meant to me! I wish I had beautiful words to at least tell you how thankful I am for your hospitality and generosity, but can’t seem to find any good enough and I must return to the shop. It’s just that you’ve made me feel so dear to you and I have so few friends and none like you! I will try so very hard to return your kindness toward me, though I know I never will be able. I hope this letter makes sense; I hardly ever write letters.

Yours,

Peter Parker

P.S. - Thank you so much for lending me your bird encyclopedia, Mrs. Stark! I hope you like the lovebird design on your tiles; I based it on the beautiful paintings in the encyclopedia.

When Pepper read the note from Peter, which Tony eagerly handed to her as soon as she’d stepped into the parlor that afternoon, she did shed a couple silent tears. She folded the note and carried it with her, in the little pocket sewn into the waist of her afternoon dress. After lunch, she sat in her winter garden and read it again, twice.

“Wake up, Peter!” May called, tossing the blankets away from his chest. “Come now and wash your face and neck. Don’t forget behind your ears.”

Peter groaned. At the sound of her voice, he became irreversibly aware of the sunlight from the window. It shone across the white walls and linens, across the pearly planter with its opalescent gleam, making everything appear radiant. Even keeping his eyes closed wasn’t sufficient to hide from it. He sat up in his bed.

May bustled and spoke again. “I was trying to let you sleep, but I really thought you’d wake by now.”

“Huh? Wha’ time izzit?” He rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t felt this happy to be home in a long time.

“A quarter until nine.” May said, throwing some clothes on the bed, across his legs. “I must run to the Thompsons’ and finish a fitting for the lady’s Christmas gown. I left some bagels and butter on the table. Hurry and get dressed! Your guest will be here soon.”

Peter’s mind couldn’t keep up with her. He looked at the clothes she’d deposited on him and noticed they were some of his best. “My— who?”

She didn’t wait to explain. Her coat and hat were already on. She called as she swept out his bedroom door: “There are two grapefruits and a tin of tea cookies you can offer. I must run to catch the streetcar!”

Peter had just wandered from his bedroom and to the dining room table when he heard a knock at the front door. He nearly leapt at the sound. Being at home during the daytime, without May, was such an unusual occurrence that he felt oddly giddy. He ran to answer the door. When he did, Tony greeted him on the doorstep.

Astonished, Peter said, “Mr. Stark! I didn’t know if I’d see you again!”

With a raised eyebrow, Tony asked, “Did you think I’d turn into a pumpkin?”

“I just,” Peter said, “I wasn’t sure, sir.”

“Well,” Tony said, breezily, “I may be easily distracted, but I don’t think I’d forget about you that quickly.” Peter smiled and they stood for a moment before Tony said, “So, may I come in?”

“Oh!” Peter said, tripping over himself to let Tony inside. “Yes, please, come in!” When Tony removed his hat, Peter took it and offered to take his coat and muffler, too.

“How are you feeling this morning, Pete?” Tony asked as Peter hung his coat, muffler, and hat on the coat rack. He dipped down to glimpse the underside of his chin. It looked much better, as did his lip.

“I’m fine, sir. Thank you for seeing me home last night.” Peter said. He was trying to gain his confidence as a host, but was floundering a little. This visit felt so much more formal than when Tony would visit at the workshop. He wished they were there instead; he could sit at the wheel and talk to Tony normally. “Are you well this morning?”

That earned an amused look from Tony, but he answered naturally. “I am, thanks. Sorry to have taken off last night without saying farewell, but I thought you were better off getting some rest.” Tony sniffed then and took something small from his pocket. “I wanted to give you your gift, as discussed. Here you go!”

Peter held out his hand and accepted a small, folded rectangle of gift-wrapping paper. It was the same crepe paper that Peter found so lovely. When he saw it, he laughed. The bubbly sound filled the hall. “Thank you, Mr. Stark!”

Tony smiled at him as Peter examined the paper. He rocked on his heels for a moment. “I don’t suppose I could ask you for a cup of coffee?” He asked.

“Of course!” Peter flustered. He scrambled for the kitchen, not noticing Tony’s gentle smirk. “I’m so sorry! Let me start some water.”

In the kitchen, Peter searched for the kettle. He realized May would have used it earlier for her own breakfast tea. He scrambled to where the stove stood on the far wall. His every motion slowed, however, as he looked across the kitchen to the little scullery. Finally, he stopped completely.

A kiln stood, installed in the scullery, beside the small sink where there had been an assortment of laundering items stored. The kiln was gas-fueled, like he was used to, and Peter judged that it should allow for a high-fire.

Stepping closer, Peter could see wooden boxes sitting a safe distance from the kiln. Those boxes, he knew, held clay. The type was printed in stencil letters on the side of the boxes. A pottery wheel sat in front of the sink. Beyond that was a small set of shelves with jars of what Peter knew were different components for glazes.

Peter was breathless.

Moving to the wheel, he reached out and absently laid his hand on it. He saw another small rectangle of gift wrapping paper. This one, he realized, had been folded into a tiny envelope. Unfolding it, he read the note, scrawled in pencil, inside:

“Everything you fire in this kiln will belong to you. - T.S.”

Peter gripped the paper with both thumbs. They began to hold the paper more and more tightly. Tears fell as his breath returned, shallow and quick. He drank down his bottom lip then turned toward the doorway. “Mr. Stark—?”

He walked back into the dining room, peering toward the hall. Tony was gone. “Mr. Stark?” He spoke to the empty room in a nearly frantic voice. He noticed the man’s coat, hat, and muffler were removed from the coat rack.

Peter glanced at the kitchen door. Beyond it was the kiln-- his kiln, his pottery wheel, his clay -- a gift so monumental he could hardly comprehend it. He looked at the vacant room and again at the door. Anxiously, Peter ran a hand through his hair. Whispering to himself, he said, “I can’t accept...” He sighed helplessly. Then, he bolted out of the front door, grabbing at his outer clothes from the hook. However, he only managed to hold onto his hat as he sprinted outside. The others fell to the floor.

The lane was quiet; the usual sounds had been absorbed by the snow. He called for Tony. Making his best guess at Tony’s direction, he ran down the street. The thin winter air sliced in and out of his lungs and he was soon winded. He reached a little bridge over an aqueduct, head down, pushing himself. He jogged past a tall horse and figure who leaning on the railing. Realizing it was Tony, he tried to regain his legs, which clumsily ground to a halt beneath him.

Tony smiled, still gazing over the dark slush below. “Well, Mr. Parker, I had every intention of avoiding that tearful face of yours.” He sighed and stood up straight. “But then I decided to wait because I figured you were foolish enough to run after me...”

He turned and saw Peter. “And without a coat, scarf, or gloves like a damn imbecile!” He admonished, unwrapping the muffler from his own neck. He began to coil it around Peter, looping it from the very end so it would reach up to his ears.

Peter tried to talk as Tony wrapped loop after loop higher over his chin. “Mr. Stark — Mr. Stark! Thank you for your gift, but it’s—” By this time the thick muffler covered his mouth and Tony was looking at him with immense entertainment. Peter jerked the woven yarn back down. “— It’s too generous. I can’t accept it, sir!”

Tony nodded. “I also guessed you’d be foolish enough to say that. Well, Pete, it seems you have two choices: tear it out from the wall and return everything or...” He emphasized the rest of his line with a firm incline of his head toward the young man. “Consider this a business investment on my part.”

“What do you mean?”

“Be my apprentice and work for me.”

Peter was shocked. He was speechless long enough that Tony was able to reposition the muffler over his mouth and ears. He smirked. “I have far more interesting projects to challenge that budding genius of yours. True, I’m not an artist , but I’m in a position to accommodate your studies.” His voice lowered. “And I wouldn’t always be over you, trying to make you into a tiger.”

“A tiger, sir?”

Tony stepped closer, taking a confidential countenance. “I wouldn’t leave any stripes on your back.” He said quietly. Peter choked. He lowered his chin, wondering how Tony found out, mortified that he may have witnessed such a scene.

“You’re right. That metaphor was a bit labored.” Tony grimaced. “Not one of my best.”

Peter didn’t speak; his mind was full.

“You haven’t given me an answer, so I’ll just keep talking. The apprenticeship will provide food and board—“ He held up a hand in reassurance. “You may remain at your own home. That’s where the kiln is installed after all; but, I can provide a monthly allotment for rent and groceries. Of course, whenever you’re over to see us, the kitchen is yours.

“You may have every shabbat and all your people’s holidays off, with pay. I’m going to keep talking until you accept.” He warned and Peter gaped, unleashing the sob that had bubbled up at Tony’s kindness. “I will take you to see the great works of Brussels and Morocco and Paris... Sixty percent of the profit is yours, the rest goes toward business expenses—”

“I accept!” Peter pulled the muffler down from his mouth and shouted. “For god’s sake, I accept. Stop before you promise me half of your estate.” He couldn’t help but laugh then, a little out of control.

Tony gazed at him and smiled. “Well,” he said finally, with a sniff, “I’ll be going then.” He turned to his horse and spoke to it.

“Mr. Stark, wait! I wanted to give you a gift as well! But, I, well, how could I, after what you’ve given me—”

“Don’t let it worry you, kid.” Tony said and attempted to lead the horse away from the walls of the bridge..

Peter flung himself in Tony’s path. “No, sir! Please! I must give you something. You’ve given me so much and I’m never going to be able to match it. And the way you’ve treated me like a friend even though no one else ever has-- And I tried to make you something and I worked so very hard, sir, I honestly did, and saved my money and dug up clay from the river and built my own kiln in the alley, but I failed so miserably--”

Tony interrupted angrily: “You went digging in the river when it was below freezing? Have you lost your mind ?”

However, Peter couldn’t stop. His thoughts were a runaway train and they all charged out indiscriminately in a passion of sorrow and affection between which he could no longer distinguish the difference. “I was so lonely! Mr. Stark, I was so lonely before you began visiting me and you’ve supported all my work and studies and I never would have learned so many things about chemistry or -- or anything without you. And I want so much to show you that I love you, sir. But, I can only think of one thing I could possibly give you, but, but—.”

Through this speech, Peter didn’t see the look of emotion on Tony’s face. Tony wasn’t sure how much more he could take. “Pete!” He finally broke through his fretful chatter. Tony sighed, at a complete loss of what to say to him.

Peter stood looking at him through a flood of tears. “Goddamn it, this is what I was trying to avoid.” Tony griped and took out his handkerchief. He dabbed at Peter’s eyes and Peter took the handkerchief. Tony tried to reason with him. “Look, kid, I still have an hour’s ride back to my home, so… Give me something or don’t; but it is very cold out. And we should both get out of the wind.”

Peter muttered shyly, seeming to have made his decision: “You’re not going to like it.”

Tony burst out: “Peter, it doesn’t matter! If you want to give me a gift, then I want you to - no matter what it is. Whatever makes you feel better and lets me go home . I’m not used to digging up river clay in the subzero weather.”

Peter seemed to shrink. Face lowered, he sighed and shuffled up to Tony. Then, his eyes peered up at Tony over the muffler. Tony returned the gaze expectantly, a little confounded by Peter’s expression. In one swift, decisive motion, Peter put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, rolled up onto his toes, and kissed Tony’s cheek.

Tony’s eyes swelled. Peter quickly withdrew. He seemed to tremor and began to tap his foot while waiting for Tony’s inevitable reaction. Tony was speechless, but worked out a response clumsily: “Well. I... wasn’t expecting that.”

Peter groaned and pulled his hat down as far as he could over his eyes. “My-my Papa, he--” Peter gulped down a huge breath. Tony politely hummed, giving him permission to continue his explanation. “My family has never had money for gifts. My parents worked hard to get me small things from time to time and I always wanted to give them something back! I would ask my Papa what he wanted for his birthday and he would tell me, ‘just a kiss cheek from you.’

“Every year, that’s what he asked for. Then, when he and Mama got sick and… I went to live with Ben and May, they would say the same. That all they wanted was a kiss on the cheek. They knew it’s what Papa said.” He dropped his hands; the brim of the hat rose slightly and Tony saw his eyes again; they were blushing with tears. “And besides, it’s all I could afford to give.” He ended, miserably.

Trying to contain the powerful surge of emotion in his chest, Tony breathed for a moment. Once the thumping of his heart was quiet, Peter still had not attempted to meet his gaze. He tapped the kid’s chin and the pitiful eyes met his.

“Thank you, Pete.” Tony said genuinely. “No one has ever given me a gift like that. I doubt there’s another like it in the world.” He placed a hand on top of Peter’s cap and was sorry he couldn’t ruffle his curls. Then Peter looked at him and smiled with such pure gratitude that Tony had to look away. He cleared his throat. “Well then, I expect to see you at my estate on the 26th to discuss logistics.”

“Yes, sir!” Peter piped.

Tony took the reigns of his horse’s bridle and muttered to it, “This way, dummy.” Then, he said goodbye to Peter.

“Goodbye,” Peter said, then added: “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark!”