#this chapter features a lot of physical affection. NONE OF IT is romantic.

[randomwriteronline]

(I Missed You)

(WARNING for a long paragraph featuring depersonalization, derealization and mentions of medication. Begins a little after Ingo was home again. Medication mentions continue until the end.)

The desk across from him was dusty.

Emmet blinked slowly, grabbing the covers idly between his fingers. His eyes wandered about: Excadrill was curled up on her side, Chandelure sat on the pillow with her beady eyes closed; Crustle had discarded his own house on the floor in an unexpected display of vulnerability in favor of hiding under Durant’s steel exoskeleton as if she were a weighted blanket. Galvantula cradled Archeops in her front legs, mandibles nibbling ever so slightly at his feathers, while Eelektross had his tail wrapped around Klingklang’s core, pulling it down to hover closer to the bed; too big to lay on it without either taking up all of its space or breaking its frame, Haxorus and Garbodor sat at its ends, heads leaning on it no matter how awkward the angle might have been, their own vast bodies acting as mattresses for Gurdurr and Boldore respectively.

Well.

This was a brand new low.

Sleeping in Ingo’s bed.

He had managed to avoid doing something that pathetic until now. Even made it through the first year - arguably the worst one - without ending up like this.

The vivid dreams, the ones where he hugged a living man and the ones where he hugged a body bag, where he sank to the bottom of a bog with it and where a Zoroark lured him in its den through his own blind despair - those had happened. He could not control that.

(This had been such a long and pleasant one.)

What had brought him to scrape so hard at the bottom of the barrel, anyways? Emmet struggled to remember the date, but still he was certain it was not around the time of the anniversary of his brother’s disappearance. He drew a blank on whatever he might have seen or listened to that could have reminded him of his twin being there - a song, a movie, a piece of art of sorts… Maybe his coat. Yes, it had to be his coat, he could feel it under his fingertips, under his arm.

God, even worse than he thought.

Taking his brother’s coat and curling up in his bed, like a distraught Lillipup desperately trying to sorround itself with the scent of its trainer.

He raised himself to sit up; a handful of Joltiks clinged harder to his shirt.

He hadn’t even changed himself.

What a fucking joke.

Emmet removed the ‘tiks slowly, gently, one by one, sitting them next to their much larger, evolved sister.

(They had had two Joltiks, both little ladies; in Opelucid, another kid had traded a Spinarak for Emmet’s, and Ingo had gifted his brother his own electric bug. Haxorus had belonged to both of them when he was still an Axew, and so had Garbodor when she was still a Trubbish, but Ingo was the one more involved in their training, so without Joltik Emmet would have remained one Pokémon short - which was unacceptable. When they evolved into Ariados and Galvantula they began a courting of sorts; Emmet followed their relationship as intently as an old lady follows a soap opera, and kept every batch of eggs. His brother had noted they were lucky Emmet had only evolved one of those that hatched, or they might have been drowning in Galvantulas instead.)

(Which would have been much less manageable.)

Now he stared at the dusty pavement where a square block of rock laid, its inhabitant busy sleeping on clean covers.

Both their teams were there. The poor things must have confused him for Ingo. Not that he blamed them, far from it - they were more than allowed to grieve, to have their judgement clouded enough to believe such a poor illusion. He hoped they were having good dreams. Hopefully that would have sweetened the disappointment and heartbreak when they woke up.

His legs shook a little when he stood (at least he’d had the decency of taking his shoes off) and began wobbling his way to his own room.

He vaguely remembered crying so much he had no tears left. His body must have been trying to find an alternative outlet that wasn’t screaming by making him near incapable of moving his feet.

It was 3 in the morning, the alarm let him know with its dull glowing digits.

He thanked it by staring at it for a little longer.

Two hours and a half.

What was he to do for two hours and a half before opening time?

Going back to sleep would have been impossible. He had tried before and it did not work.

He could have just gotten properly dressed and sneaked into the station to do some early work, which on the other hand always worked, at the expense of his breakfast and lunch being forgotten and the blinds remaining closed for the whole day. See if the coffee machine was full, if maintenance had been properly scheduled. Check the lights, the trains, the routes, the timetable and shifts.

Make sure depot agent Jackie had not managed to once again get locked inside on purpose to sleep in the main room for the sake of validating the weird shit they liked to tell challengers about having never been out of the station even just once in his entire life - although that had stopped happening now that the substitute had made it clear through horrendous promises and examples of grievous bodily harm that she was very willing to physically remove him from the premises with a literal kick up his ass.

Emmet pawed at the nightstand to find his Xtransceiver; then, remembering he had not changed into his pijamas, he checked his wrist. The smooth plastic and glass had his fingers sliding over it.

He didn’t even need to look. He found the contact and called.

One ring.

One whistle.

Two rings.

Two whistles.

Three rings.

Three whistles.

Emmet covered the device, brows furrowed, to muffle the sound.

Four whistles.

Pause.

Five whistles.

Pause.

Six whistles.

Like a very insistent steam locomotive.

He turned around, quickly, walked like a fury back in the empty dusty room.

Ingo laid curled on his side under clean blankets, snoring softly, arms reaching out ever so slightly. He looked so tired, with his tattered coat strewn on top of him to keep him warmer somehow, with his Pokémon curling around him so protectively. Close to his legs the sheets were ruffled and pressed where the younger twin had been just a few moments before.

Emmet gazed at his older brother sleeping for what felt like an eternity.

Then the Xtransceiver gave a twelfth ring, and he hurried to close the call before it would wake up any of the resting bodies.

Was he still asleep? Dreaming? His eyes fell back onto the man in his twin’s bed. His hand shook a little as he approached him, fingers bent, arm completely paralysed halfway to the other’s shoulder.

Was this really his brother? So all of that - Elesa telling him the news, Burgh filling him in, learning about the amnesia from Cheren, making all those calls, the nerve-wracking wait, seeing him again, holding him, crying, crying, crying - all of that had been real, and not just an elaborate fantasy? His palm hovered above the body without even grazing it, a horrid thought sliding in his ears to clog his throat and tie it in a knot: would he have woken up, if he touched his brother? Would he have been thrown back into reality if Ingo stirred awake in this dream and found himself on the floor of his twin’s bedroom, alone?

His entire body trembled hard enough to give him spasms. He bit down at his finger to calm himself, almost shoving it whole in his mouth: his teeth gnawed at the bone and left craters on the pulled skin.

Should he risk it? He wanted to. So bad. So bad. The memory - or dream - of holding Ingo lingered at the back of his head. He needed to know he was real. He needed to know this wasn’t fake. And if it was? No. It had to be real. He had to be real. He had to try. He had to. Even if he was scared.

Fingertips grazed the sleeping limb. Then they pressed upon it some more.

Ingo kept groaning intermittently like a train, unbothered.

Emmet laid his palm on the shoulder, cupped it in his hand whilst making sure not to shake it. It was stiff, hard and bony, but its muscles were relaxed.

It was real.

He finally let go of a raspy breath that had lodged itself in his throat and let himself drop to sit back on the mattress.

He caressed his brother’s shoulder mechanically, slowly, softly, trapped in a sort of trance. It wasn’t quite like being drunk, the lightheaded feeling that had him almost ooze out of his own body, or losing his grip on reality – overwhelmed, that was the word: he was overwhelmed, with relief and with such a heavy kind of love falling in chunks out of his chest. Ingo was there. Ingo was alright.

Ingo was back with him.

His hair was longer. At least, it sort of looked like that in the poor lighting. Emmet reached out slowly and caught a white lock in his fingers, twisting and curling it around them. It was clean. A little soft. So unlike Ingo, to have hair like this.

He could have had a mullet now, like he wanted when they were kids. He was too afraid to commit to it fully back then. Maybe this was the right time.

Emmet blinked.

What kind of thought was that, he asked himself in what would have been a laugh if he had been present enough in his own head to muster one. His brother is back after years of being missing, and the first thing he notices is his haircut. If he weren’t aromantic he’d make for a good boyfriend, he assumed - wasn’t it a cliché, that of a girl cutting her hair to make a boy notice and failing. Not that he’d know if that really happened to real people.

He registered all that slowly, distractedly. His own words were white noise against the deafening silence of his senses as he took in his twin’s concrete existence piece by piece, as if composing a puzzle.

He was… Mostly well kept, unlike his clothes. Which was a relief, even if his cheeks seemed a bit too shallow, and his palms and fingertips were cut all over, and his eyes were circled by a faint purple shadow. Emmet cupped the side of his face in his palm, carding through Ingo’s sideburns in the process. His thumb stroked the pale skin softly, carefully; his brother let him coddle him as he pleased, continuing to sleep without a single worry to crease his brow.

The notable loss of mass and the beard made him seem much older. Not frail, somehow - but he still appeared so, to his younger twin; maybe it was how his knuckles peeked through the skin, or how he slept on his side half curled up on himself, as they had stopped doing a little after moving in with their uncle…

Emmet shook his head slightly. Maybe he was just projecting.

He wanted to lay down and fall asleep again, wrapped in a hug around Ingo, but for that he would have had to move Excadrill and he could not fathom doing such an awful thing to her.

She had missed him so much.

(That must have been the real reason she had taken care of him.)

(In her grief she must have convinced herself he was Ingo.)

(Poor sweet thing.)

(Emmet didn’t know that if Excadrill had heard him she would have jabbed him in the stomach with her claw and yelled at him to never think such a thing again.)

The lights from streetlamps outside casted bright shadows through the blinds, distorting colors into colder hues. It made their skin gain a cyanotic undertone, similar to the blue of veins snaking towards knuckles; but Ingo telegraphed each of his breaths by expanding his ribcage with every inhale and snoring softly at every exhale, and Emmet juxtaposed his own breathing cycle with his brother’s, and so he knew they were both alive, there, together.

Then Ingo groaned, whined, stirred; his eye opened and lit the room with how white it was.

Emmet felt his chest implode.

His brother’s scarred hand rose in the air in a clumsy manner: “Emmet,” he called, blindly, grasping at nothing until he was caught by another set of much smoother fingers. His elbow punted itself against the mattress as he tried to stand up: “Emmet – sorry, I’m late - no delays on, on the schedule, I’ll–”

He found himself getting pushed back down gently, with a long slew of hushed monotone no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no‘s almost lulling him back to sleep instantly.

“It’s early,” he heard his little twin say in that voice he had completely forgotten yet missed so much, “Verrry early.”

“Verrry early,” he repeated absentmindedly. It was so immediately familiar.

Emmet nodded, feverish, panicked: “Verrry early. I could not sleep. I woke you up. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s fine,” Ingo reassured him, “It’s fine…”

“Go back to sleep. I woke you up, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. It’s early. It’s…”

He quieted down as his palm was squeezed intermittently. The fear of waking up from a dream now that Ingo was awake began to wobble, to shrink and wane like an image on distorted water.

“It’s fine,” his older brother repeated.

For a little bit, all they did was hold each other’s hand in the dark.

Then Ingo’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he looked up to Emmet from where he laid on his side, and held his hand a little tighter.

His twin felt a knot in his throat, a sudden shame coiling around him, and murmured sheepishly: “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, really,” the older brother replied, “Don’t worry about that.”

“You should sleep. You’re… You were tired. Verrry tired. You should sleep…”

“You should too. It won’t do you good to lose sleep like that...”

“I - I’m not…” he didn’t want to lie to him - he didn’t want to worry him, either. “I can’t sleep.”

The rough voice came to him kindly: “Can I stay awake with you, then?”

Emmet nodded with a bit of difficulty. Ingo’s fingertips were rough and calloused on the back of his hand. Suddenly it felt like he was a teen again, and Ingo was their uncle (must have been the beard...), half dozing back off and grumbling but still listening to the night together.

The thought made his heart clench in guilt, and he held his brother’s hand a little tighter to get rid of his musings.

The older twin held his gaze on him for a moment more, swinging their arms slightly. Then his clear eyes turned curiously to look around the room, to the glimpses of furniture the poor lighting showed off through silhouettes and angles reflecting vague sources of cold light in a sort of fuzzy way.

“I don’t… Think, I fell asleep here,” he noted absentmindedly

“You didn’t,” his brother explained: “You were on the couch. I made you wait. I had to change the sheets. They were dusty. I’m sorry.”

His piercing stare returned on the face mirroring his, words soft with puzzlement: “For what?”

“Making you wait. But the sheets were dusty. You couldn’t…” Emmet played with his lined nails for a second or two, tracing them with the thumbs of both his hands. “You couldn’t sleep on that.”

Just for that? Oh, but it was no reason to be sorry...

“You didn’t have to fuss about something that small for me,” Ingo reprimanded him without bite, kindly, though it sounded more like a reassurance than anything else: “It wouldn’t have been a problem…”

“But they were dusty.” his twin insisted. He made it sound like it was an awfully important thing, that they were dusty. That Ingo could have never slept on them because they were dusty, like that would have been an insult to him.

He blew a huff through barely parted lips, like a complaint; Emmet gave an unamused stubborn hum in return.

They were playing with one another’s hands now - tracing and caressing fingers, tickling lightly the skin folding and creasing between index and thumb, circling knuckles, running along the lines carved along their palms, along thin scars, along what remained of the mending left by medical stitches, along thin crusts of punctures pierced open by teeth.

Ingo looked around the dimly lit bedroom.

“This is… My room?” he asked.

His brother nodded.

“You carried me here?”

Now he shook his head. He lifted his gaze a little, to direct the older twin’s attention to the dragon slumbering with deep breaths on the bed’s headrest: “Haxorus did.”

The razor sharp mandibles at the side of the beast’s head felt like smooth bone when he ran a hand over them. Haxorus grumbled lightly, shifting in his sleep so that his scaly head would bump against the pale knuckles; Gurdurr held a little tighter onto him with his own strong fists.

Ingo looked at him with a sweet sort of melancholic awe: “He used to be an egg,” he muttered.

Emmet wheezed a chuckle: “He did,” he nodded. “We saw him hatch.”

“A great honor,” his brother whispered. His neck strained a little trying to get a better look at the Pokémon held by draconic limbs: “And who’s that…? Tim… Con… Gur…”

“Gurdurr.”

Ingo snorted a bit, a stunted, sleepy laugh escaping him: “Could you say that again, please?” he asked  while failing to contain his amusement.

Emmet repeated, rolling his Rs as much as he could: “Gurrr-durrr.”

His brother’s hiccuping giggles were music to his ears.

So he pointed behind himself, to the dark blue and reddish amalgamate of rocks laying on a pile of literal toxic garbage: “And over there,” he said, and he stressed the letter as far as he could again, “There’s Bol-dorrre.”

Ingo laughed softly, hiding his mouth behind tthe back of his hand, muffling his voice as if he was afraid he was being unpolite when his younger brother so clearly was putting every ounce of his phonetic ability to vibrate the trilling consonant just to amuse him as much as possible.

“That’s the little one,” he remembered, “That’s him… And the big- the large one there - she is… Ah, I know it, I know it…Bo, bo… Odor...?”

“Garrr-bo-dorrr,” Emmet nodded, making him chuckle a little more. His thumb stroked his brother’s metacarpal bones through his skin while his chest jumped and trembled with mirth, and a sense of elation like he though he had never felt it before seized him right before adding: “She eats trash.”

“Oh!” at that his twin shook his head against the pillow, still giggly yet now murmuring with slight worry: “Oh, that cannot be good for her…”

“No, it’s fine - it helps her poison,” he was reassured. “And she eats normal things, too.”

“That’s a relief…”

His free hand dug into short, dense fur; with a quiet whirr similar to a purr, the enormous mole at his side shifted a little, removing metal claws to showcase the soft unprotected belly, immediately seized by vicious sleepy scritches.

Ingo watched her kick a little in her sleep as he tried to recall her name: “Drill… Excadrill,” he attempted, turning to Emmet to check if he was right. When his brother nodded he shifted his attention onto the purplish flames barely crackling in the dark, their master in deep slumber: “Chandelure…” he murmured reverently, overwhelmed for just a moment by her beauty.

Something with an exoskeleton rustled a moment as if adjusting itself, making him turn again. He squinted at the indistinct mass, recognizing a pair of bulbous eyes: “That’s - Crust, I think… Crustle... Ah - oh dear,” and now he covered his own eyes, embarassed: “He’s naked.”

Emmet raised a palm to contain the laugh leaping out of his mouth like a playful Tympole, but he could not keep it from spilling all over the covers in a shower of irregular pearls.

“No!” he hiccuped out, trying to direct his focus to the metal sheen above the rock bug: “No, he’s covered, see!”

His brother peeked through his fingers: “Not much…” he lamented, though his tone was delighted as he listened to the stunted chuckles still falling off of equally pale lips. The iron carapace attracted his attention, and he tried his hand at remembering the name attached to the fearsome mandibles glinting dimly in the dark: “That’s… Something about heat, that’s the one who eats her, right?…”

“Yup,” his twin nodded. He took in a breath to regain composure: “She’s Durant.”

“Durant, Durant… A bug,” Ingo noted. His finger rose all the way up to Emmet’s head, curling a strand of hair around itself and pulling lightly, to tease him - getting a silly grimace out of him: “You have an awful fondness for bugs. You have… A whole lot of them. Way too many, really... And they’re everywhere, all the time… In your pockets…”

“I do,” his brother admitted, “And they are.”

As if knowing they were the subject of the conversation at hand, a few weak squeaks arose from a yellow mass just behind Emmet, maybe vexed by a few bad dreams that dissipated once the crying bundle of static-y fuzz was wrapped in a warm palm.

He presented the quieted down pest to his brother: “You meant these?”

Ingo squinted to see the small insect in the dark: “Hmmm-hm, yes, that’s the one... It’s those - they are… Ah-” he clicked his tongue; his finger twitched a little to point behind the small heap, to the huge legs holding something between a lizard and a bird: “The big one’s called… Galvantula, I think. I can’t remember the... Hmmm...”

“Tiks?” Emmet helped.

His twin hummed and screwed his brow: “Tiks - tik, Jol? Tik? Is it Joltik?”

“Yup.”

He nodded, pensively: “We have so many of them… You have so many of them… They keep- they eat the, the… The lightbulbs.”

“Those are too big for them,” his brother replied. He very carefully placed the little soul-sucker on Ingo’s shoulder, picking another one to keep it company: “They like chewing cables though.”

“Ah, you’re right,” the older twin agreed. “They cost us a lot, don’t they.”

“Not anymore. They learned to behave.”

Ingo hummed approvingly as his shirt was nibbled slowly by little mandibles.

His brows furrowed now as he looked at the flying lizard gekkering in its sleep. He struggled to get something out of himself - a gaping hole in his memory swallowed the thin, almost snake-like head whole, leaving him only with a vague blunt noise - and he hated that.

“There’s...” he still tried, pointing at him: “There’s a hard sound in there.”

Emmet followed the clean line of his index: “That’s Archeops,” he filled in the blank for him.

That... Ingo furrowed his brows: “Not ‘chen’?”

“No,” his brother replied patiently, “Archeops. He used to be Archen, but he’s Archeops now.”

It sounded neither right nor wrong to him - though it was most certainly right, because it was Emmet who said that, and Emmet had not lost his memories. The uncertainty made him uneasy.

Now he was focused on a round mouth squashed on itself, fangs peeking through and slimy limbs sustaining the head, indiscernible from the rest of the neck and spine, upon which laid a long crest of sorts. It was huffing regularly in its sleep, eyes closed, with a slight gurgle like boiling water coming from the recesses of its throat. It was his brother’s, he believed.

And no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he felt like it was important to his twin, no matter how hard he screwed his face in thought, he could not for the life of him recall its name.

He detested that.

“Eelektross.” Emmet helped.

It could have been any other for as much as he knew.

“He is my ace,” his brother’s voice explained: “Like Chandelure is yours.”

Ingo nodded, apologizing softly for not being able to remember on his own. No matter - no matter, he did not want to worry anybody with a fould mood. His eyes fell on the complex metal creature hovering sleepily under the enormous electric lamprey, and he lightened up slightly as he gave a fond huff of recognition: “I know that one,” he said, pointing at it, “Its name is a bit silly - my brain makes that sound when I think… Kling-klang, kling-klang, kling-klang…”

That made Emmet snicker: “Does it?”

“Hm-hm,” he nodded as he repeated, overly amused with himself: “Klingkang, Klingklang, Klingklang…”

A long sigh filled Ingo’s chest and deflated him softly, and Emmet watched as that glowing semblance of happiness melted slowly off of his face, as his scarred thumb drew circles on the younger twin’s knuckles, almost mournful.

The distraction had not worked.

It- he was Emmet’s ace, and he had not remembered that. Had not known that. Not felt that - only barely, vaguely, that he had some kind of importance, but nothing more. Ingo should have remembered that. He should have. Just like he should have not needed Haxorus’ name to remember they had seen him hatch, or like he should have not needed any clues to figure out Joltik, or Durant, or Garbodor, or Gurdurr, or Boldore, or Archeops. It should have been easy. It should have been immediate. Instinctive. Like recognizing his own room, and the objects within it - another task he horribly failed at the more he took in his shadowy sorroundings.

“I don’t know enough…” he growled softly at himself. He sounded heartbroken.

His twin held Ingo’s palm a little tighter and brought it to his mouth, to press his lips on it.

“It’s fine,” he murmured against the bony phalanxes comfortingly, “You know a lot. It’s good. You’re doing good, trying to remember. It’s fine if it’s not all at once. It’s better. And you’re here. You’re right here. It’s fine.”

Ingo hummed. He wasn’t that sure of it.

But he remained quiet, stroking his brother’s index with his thumb. He felt the gentle grip tighten slightly and release, tighten slightly and release, to ease his thoughts. Ah - that’s where that quirk of his came from. He had not even noticed how he had squeezed the nervousness out of his little twin at first.

The back of his hand was kissed kindly again. It made the knot around his heart a little easier to digest, enough to think of somethinge else he wanted to remember in some way.

“Is it just us?” he asked quietly.

His brother hummed: “We live alone, yup.”

The silence was filled with the sleep-chatter of their Pokémon. It was comfortable, in a way; but not the point.

“And in our family?” Ingo continued. “Is it just us?”

Ah - of course, that’s what he meant, Emmet thought to himself, of course. He would word himself very specifically usually, to make sure Emmet had no trouble understanding what he meant - but he was so awfully tired, and he was ever so slightly careless when he was tired, so he would lose a little in the translation between thoughts and words, even though he never meant to be unnecessarily obscure or incomprehensible.

But, if this was about family, then he better get - sitting like this was fine, but not for this. He had to... Hold on--

“Hold on,” he murmured, placing his brother’s hand back down on the covers with a careful pat before untangling his own from it as he stood up: “Hold on, I need a chair. It’s not comfy like this. I’ll take a chair. Hold on.”

The older twin followed him with his gaze and immediately disagreed as he started dragging the swiveling chair closer: “Not that one - it’s dusty…”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“No - it’s dusty,” Ingo insisted (he made it sound like it was an awfully important thing, that it was dusty, that Emmet could have never sat on it because it was dusty, like that would have been an insult to him). “You’ll get dirty…”

“It’s fine. I’ll shake it off,” his brother just assured him. A fleeting thought made it out of his mouth before he could stop it: “I need to dust your room.”

“I can do that later…”

“No. I’ll do that. You need to rest.”

Ingo grumbled in displeasure; Emmet replied by blowing a raspberry at him.

He never lets me help, they both thought. One day he’ll collapse from fatigue and I’ll have to tuck him in to sleep so tight he won’t be able to get out of bed for a month.

A scratched palm reached out once the chair was close enough; fingers still healing from self-inflicted bites caught it tight.

“I’m here,” Emmet assured Ingo as he took his seat next to the pillow: “I’m here. You’re here. I’m here.”

His elbows slid across the pillowcase until his chin was resting upon it as well, snug and comfortable as he leaned his whole back forward. He smiled for a moment, a strange huff leaving him, like a need to cough out a sudden unexplained giddiness, and his grin just grew as he took in the same silly excitement in the slight curve of his brother’s frown. They struggled a second more still with that sudden feeling of complicity, like kids sneaking into one another’s hiding spot in secret - trying to get as comfortable as possible - and finally, finally, Emmet hummed and hawed and bit his lip a little, trying to figure out where to start.

In the end, he decided the best way to do this was chronologically - from oldest to youngest. Hopefully he would not forget anybody.

“We have an uncle,” he began: “Drayden. He’s a gym leader, Dragon type.”

“The one in Opelucid city? Like Skyla said?” his twin interrupted him briefly.

“Yup. And we have a cousin, and a cousin-in-law too. They have two children. Half-siblings. We grew up with them.”

“We did?”

“Yup. The oldest is... uh... eight?” yes, that seemed right. “Eight years younger than us.”

His brother seemed very surprised at that: “We are that much younger than our cousin? Than our uncle’s-?”

“Yup, yup! He had our cousin early. Verrry early. And we were born... I think late. Not sure. But we have younger cousins too. The half-siblings. We’re not proper cousins, but we call them that and they call us that back. The older one is Marshal and the younger one is Iris. They’re both verrry strong. We should battle them again these days, if we can. It would be fun. They’re verrry serious in their battles. Iris was born when we were sixteen.”

“Ah... Then we--” Ingo’s eyes widened suddenly. He gasped quietly at an unspoken realization, and tried propping himself up on one arm as he whispered, leaning a little closer to Emmet, white irises breaking through the darkness with a sort of excited glimmer emphasizing their clarity: “Did we get to hold her? When she was a baby?”

Emmet popped his mouth: “Yup.”

“And how was she?”

“Like a little prune.”

His brother’s awe cracked a little when he snorted: “That’s not nice!”

“It’s the truth. She yelled a lot, so you would yell with her and she would stop. And then you’d stop and she’d start all over again. It was terrible.” and he pushed his nose against the older twin’s, making his head fall back on the pillow while he stared into his pupils with eyes enormous to the point where his expression was comical: “Terrrible.”

Their cackles caused quite the quiet commotion around the twelve sleeping bodies curled up with them, making them all turn and whine and hiss and grumble in a concert of varied calls, and the two men fumbled to reach out their hands and shut each other up, pressing palms to their amused mouths.

Fortunately, none of their beloved beasts awoke.

Emmet kept laughing softly for a moment more, a little stunted, in short bursts, and one of his eyes squinted as it was caught in a square of blueish light peeking through the blinds, another one missing the other eye just barely. He wheezed a little - he had a wheezy laugh, breathy and intermittent, and Ingo instead was prone to long snorts that rattled his throat and face, and in a way it was something they complemented each other in, one of many other little things.

It was a comforting thing to know. To remember.

Like having a family.

“And that’s all of them?” he pressed on. “All our relatives?”

“Yup. For us. Iris and Marshal, they have other cousins too, I think. Proper cousins. Not sorta cousins like us.”

“But they’re not our cousins as well, right?”

“No, not ours. We’ve never met them.”

“That’s a shame.”

His twin hummed in agreement. From what Marshal had vaguely explained a few years ago, the older seemed very serious about battling as well, and the younger was very eager to surpass him. A multi battle... Twins against brothers. All four, very serious. That would have been fun. Verrry fun. The idea curled nicely in his mind like a strand of hair tucked behind the ear.

“Do we have parents?”

Emmet hushed for a moment.

“They’re alive, probably.” he answered quietly.

Ingo understood, as he always did.

“They’re dead to us.”

“Yes.”

Neither were going to talk about this again. Judging by tone alone, there was no need for it.

“Was it our uncle? Who raised us?” he asked instead.

“No. But we lived with him.” a tug at his heart. “He’s a good man.”

Ingo’s hand slipped in his hair, and it felt so very real. He felt it scratch gently at his scalp, soon joined by its mismatched twin with a little difficulty, as the arm had to snake rather awkwardly out from underneath his body; Emmet let him play with his head, let him sway it in his hold and pull it a little closer to his own, until his brother’s beard was almost in his eyes while he pressed his mouth to his forehead. Despite the foreign sensation it felt comforting, it felt real. It felt good and heavy on his shoulders when those scarred arms wrapped around them. He closed his eyes as he embraced him back and soaked into the everything around him, the warmth, the texture, the weight. He smelled like nothing and held him tight enough not to hurt. The phantoms of bruises his brother had sunk in his back when they had first seen each other pulsed dully and sang, reassuringly, that all of it was alright.

“I’m sorry.” Ingo murmured against his skin.

It froze his blood solid.

Like icicles injected in his veins.

“That this… That all of this happened.” he heard him again. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for it to happen. I swear. I’m sorry. I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Emmet held him as tight as he could.

“It’s fine. You’re here.” that’s what matters, he wanted to say, but something made it so that he couldn’t bring the words to leave his mouth. So he just repeated it: “You’re here,” he said, as his fingers dug gently into his brother’s hair, comfortingly, “You’re here. I’m here. You’re here. You’re here. It’s fine. You’re here.”

But it didn’t help: “I’m sorry…”

“You’re here. It’s fine. I know. I know. You’re here. You’re here. You’re with me. We’re here. You’re here.”

“I didn’t mean to forget…” you, he didn’t manage to breathe out. “I didn’t want…”

“I know you didn’t. You wouldn’t. I know. It’s fine-” a horrid doubt came to him - why was he apologizing? Why would Ingo apologize? There was no way for him to have cause his own amnesia and disappearance like that, so why? Was this really happening. Was this real. “Ingo - you’re here. It’s fine. You’re here. You’re here. We’re here. You’re here. You’re here. With me. You’re here with me. We’re here. You’re here. You’re here. You’re home. You’re here. You’re here with me. With me. You’re here. You’re here.”

Maybe if he said it enough times it would come true.

Ingo could not cry, but he tried. He tried as he held tight onto his brother’s back, like a child, as he felt Emmet kiss the side of his head and comb through his hair to assure both of them of something he could not vocalize.

“I love you a lot,” he sobbed for the both of them.

His twin tightened the hold around his head and laid the bridge of his nose on his temple. He did not say anything: his neck was tied in a knot; that horrible question spiraled further on its own.

“I love you a lot,” Ingo sobbed again. “I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Emmet must have cried too hard the evening before, because he had no more tears in his eyes to shed.

His brother’s voice was muffled: “I’m sorry…”

He kissed his cheek in complete silence. I love you a lot too.

This was too good.

Ingo was there.

Ingo was in his arms.

Ingo was home again.

This was too good to be true.

He was going to wake up at any moment, wasn’t he? He was going to get up and fall off of bed, he was going to go out and talk about how happy he was that his brother was back only to be met with concerned stares and reminders that there were no news regarding his twin’s whereabouts – no, reminders that they had found Ingo’s body, just his body, just his lifeless body, and he was going to be put on medication so that he wouldn’t kill himself directly or through a slow decline into some kind of addiction, because a dream so good could have only come as a misguided attempt at comforting after something indescribably horrid  - he must have drunk, must have eaten something, consumed something, to have such a dream, or such a hallucination, he must have, he must have, and now it was making him spiral into the delusion that Ingo was there, that he had changed the sheets for nobody, that he had not been talking to thin air, that he was not pathetically hunched over his brother’s bed imagining to hug him like a madman – they must have already put him on medication, they must have done that a month ago, when they found the body, and yesterday he thought he didn’t need it anymore, that he was fine, and he didn’t take it, and now look at him, like this… Serves him right, serves him right, serves him right - he needs it, he needs the medicine, he needs it, he needs it, he doesn’t want to be like this, he doesn’t want to be like this, he wants to live, even if it hurts, he wants to like, he doesn’t want to be like this, he doesn’t want to curl up in the idea that his brother is there and solid and real and warm and breathing and sobbing and holding him and telling him he loves him a lot if it means he’ll drown in it and destroy himself in it – Ingo would hate that, Ingo would blame himself, he would be devastated, he would cry, he cannot give Ingo this grief, not when he’s dead, not now that he’s supposed to be sleeping peacefully for as long as he wants without any pesky schedule waking him up early every morning, he shouldn’t have to get up just to haunt his brother to make him function, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he should sleep, he should be let sleep, he’s so tired… Life is so tiring, he should sleep… He should be allowed to sleep… Ingo is asleep… Forever, forever, he’s asleep… He should not worry him… He should not worry him… The medication, now, he needs it, he needs his medication - Ingo should be allowed to sleep… To sleep…

Emmet tried to stand, to pry himself away from the hold of warm arms that tightened ever so slightly when he tried to leave (it was not real, no matter how solid it felt, no matter how much he wanted to melt into it), shaking so much he could barely move.

“I need to go,” he muttered, struggling to get the words out of  his mouth. He needed his medication. Now. “I need to – get… Get ready. For- for work.”

“You said it was early,” Ingo murmured, worried, scared, holding him.

The hand squeezing his shoulder to calm his uncontrollable shivering felt real. It felt heavy, it felt comforting. He could not fall for it, he needed his medication, he needed to get himself back on track: “It’s- not- I- I need to-”

But Ingo – the hallucination, it insisted: “What time is it?”

Through some miracle, he managed to get his Xtrans to his face. It was barely 3:45. One hour and forty-five minutes.

He still had an hour and forty-five minutes.

“It’s early,” his - not his brother, said, and he- it insisted, reassuring, gentle, terrified of having done something wrong, of being alone, “It’s still early… It’s still early - Emmet, sit down, it’s early, you’re tired… It’s useless getting ready right now, you’ll have time later…”

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

He had to go. He had to. He had to. Before he drowned. His throat felt dry as he tried his best to think and hack out something that made sense.

“Wash… Face…”

Now he was in the bathroom.

His head hurt and his eyes were burning.

He had promised to go back once he was done.

He squeezed his eyelids shut and managed to cry just a little bit more.

His shaking hands struggled to open the cabinet, searched feverishly through whatever was in there. It should have rattled if it had the pills in it, right? It should have - this? No, no, no, bandaids, bandaids, tape, this...? He knocked something over and cursed at himself. This one - this one rattled, it must have been this one. He unscrewed the lid and blindly dumped as many capsules in his hand as possible; then he stopped.

No. Moderation. Safety first and foremost. Safety through moderation.

He counted the pills as he dropped them back into their container, as if the slow and repetitive motion coupled with his own shaking monotone could have helped steady his nerves, until he had only one still in his hand. Just one. Just one would have worked fine.

Most of the water he slammed down with it ended up splashed all over his face. It didn’t feel unpleasant. Even his shaking seemed to be slowing down just a little bit. Maybe the medicine was working already.

“Emmet,” called the voice from Ingo’s bedroom.

Emmet should have ignored it, should have waited for it to melt away with the chemical aftertaste. But he walked back anyways, exhausted; he sat back on that dusty chair, fell back in those arms that could never be real. He could allow himself this, he thought to himself, leaning into his brother’s hold, just this once... Just one sweet dream. Just one. Safety in moderation. Just one, and then he would have gone back to having lost his twin. Just one nice, sweet dream.

Ingo (if this was him) kissed his forehead. It was soft. It was so soft...

“Try to sleep a little more,” Emmet heard him murmur, almost with a tinge of concern: “It’s still early...”

He held onto that body that shouldn’t have felt as solid as it did.

“I will... Be, off. At work. The whole day,” he stumbled on his words, struggling as he chastised himself a little for warning a dream that he would have never had again anyways. His head felt heavy and light at the same time. “I will be back... Late. At night. Don’t wait up for me. Ok? You need to sleep well. Regularly. ‘s important. El... Elesa will come. At noon, to bring groceries.”

“Elesa?” the voice swam in his ears.

He nodded a little: “Our friend. Dear friend. Dearest. Like... A sister. Sweetheart. Verrry pretty. Verrry pretty... Verrry... She has... We gave her keys. So she won’t.... Phone. Or bother you. You need... To sleep. Skeep- sleep. It’s early. It’s... Go... Go to sleep. You need that.”

His face was sunked back into the crook of a neck: “You need that too...”

“Hm. Hm. Yes. I will... I will...” he should have gone to his own room. Distancing and all. But he felt so sluggish. So tired... Just one dream... Just one... “Can I... Can I stay here? With you?”

The hold seemed to tighten ever so slightly.

If Ingo said anything past that, Emmet wouldn’t have known. The single sleeping pill had him breathing deeply, calmly, wrapped tightly in his brother’s very real hug, in a dusty nest of clean sheets and their tangled Pokémon.

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Manga Review — I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 1 (Manga)

A New Look on a Compelling and Innovative Series

A manga adaptation of one of the best and queerest Yuri light novels I have ever seen, what is not to love! As a massive proponent of the light novels, I eagerly followed I'm in Love with the Villainess began serialization in Comic Yuri Hime last year. I am thrilled to get my hands on the first English volume, and now that it is finally out (digitally at the time of writing), I am equally delighted to read over the start of Rae and Claire's journey once again. Getting to see my favorite isekai protagonist and her bratty noble crush in full illustrations is terrific. However, it does not make for a completely flawless work.

I'm in Love with the Villainess follows Rei Ohashi, an avid otome gamer who dies and is reincarnated as Rae Taylor in her favorite game, "Revolution." Rather than chase any of the game's handsome bachelors, all students at the Royal Academy in the European-inspired fantasy world, Rae heads straight for her favorite character, the game's villainess! Rae begins to relentlessly tease the bratty and elitist Claire, much to the latter's frustration. Soon a rivalry forms between the two girls, but despite Claire's taunts and coldness, Rae is determined to stay by her side and protect her.

The increased focus provided to Claire and Rae's early relationship will be noticeable to light novel readers. While Inori's writing focuses mainly on world-building in the first several chapters, the manga makes the wise choice to condense much of this information for the sake of reading. Blocks of exposition work poorly in the manga compared to prose. However, establishing a setting is not completely thrown out the window. There are several small conversations and explanations of key aspects of the world. After quickly setting the story, the characters are left with room to explore.

Claire and Rae are the most enjoyable part of this manga. Rae is eager and doting, with a touch of masochistic. On the other hand, Claire is more arrogant, often looking down on peasants like Rae, and is continuously infuriated by her affection. A hilarious rivalry starts to spring up between the two, with Claire pranking or mocking Rae and then getting outraged when she revels in the attention and teases Claire by expressing her undying affection.

These interactions also further the story. They establish the dynamic between our two heroines and add more detail to the political situation and tensions between the commoners and nobility, the series’ main plotline. Interestingly, while Claire may believe commoners inferior, she also sees it as her responsibility to protect and instruct them in her very elitist way. Noticeably none of the torments she subjects Rea could ever cause permanent harm or damage. It is a fascinating insight into this character's mental state, and even in the first volume seeing her start to change and become more aware slowly is fascinating.

Much of the rivalry is comedy and often plays out as such. However, some readers may find it slightly off-putting and understandably see the dynamic as Rae sexually harassing Claire. I strongly encourage you to give this series a chance. This book will undoubtedly be the worst volume of an incredible series. Once I'm in Love with the Villainess breaks into its stride of exploring queer and socioeconomic issues, some point in the next volume based on reading the serialized chapters, I promise it will become a quick favorite. If you know you may not be able to overlook its immediate faults during the wait, consider holding off on the mage until after the second book is out and get them together.

Much of the previously mentioned content is the same or strongly similar to the light novels, perhaps a touch more emphasis on Claire's early hostilities; however, there are some significant points unique to the manga to consider. For one, Aonoshimo's artwork is fantastic! The characters and backgrounds are distinct, with only slight adjustments for the more comedic or dramatic stylistic choices. No matter the panel's tone, though, it is always easy to read without oversimplification. Aonoshimo also relies on very standard square or rectangle panels during most of the manga, but occasionally produces more dynamic boundaries and layouts for action and service scenes. Lastly, all the characters are on full display. It suddenly becomes a lot easier for light novel readers to picture their favorite moments. It is a lovely treat for returning readers as the visuals aid the characters, allowing us to clearly see Rod as the strong-willed if slightly aloof prince and understand how Maximillion Pegasus-cosplayer Thane is the most unpopular character in the fictional otome game when they are displayed visually.

There are some other vital factors to consider when reading the manga. For one, every character's personality was dialed up a few points, with Rae being a touch more physically affectionate and masochistic and Claire more easily exacerbated. However, the manga and the English translation takes many quirks and exaggerates them further, reducing the series’ performance. For example, while Claire's actions show the complicated relationship to commoners described above, her dialogue contains a surprising amount of vitriol and vulgarity that stands out notably.

Additionally, while Rod is usually the perfect if slightly detached prince acting as the occasional voice of reason in early chapters, his dialogue here appears laughable indifferent and meanspirited. As I'm in Love with the Villainess is one of a very few series that I follow the monthly serializations of in magazines, I was surprised to see this dialogue, as it did not stand out to me in the Japanese version (admittedly, the manga did overblow everyone's personality to some extent for comedic effect). I feel it changes the characters for the worse — do not get me wrong here, calls for "literal translation" are as unfavorable as they are uninformed. Still, the work feels careless at times.

Finally, there is the service. While the first volume contains virtually no romantic caresses or sweeping panels of scenery we associate with Yuri, there is a fair amount of salacious content. Of course, there are Rae's desperate and overblown expressions of admiration for Claire and her slight case of masochism. However, towards the end of the volume, Aonoshimo shows some skin. In one scene, Rae helps Claire get dressed and very openly admires her body, accompanied by some close-up panels of her back, stomach, and butt. There is also a very exposed bathing scene, although light covers the most explicate bits. It is obviously garish, though it tonally fits with Inori and Aonoshimo's more comedic manga interpritation and even includes some wholesome interactions with Claire and Rae alongside the sexualized comedy. Reader's millage will vary here, but I enjoyed it.

This first outing of Aonoshimo's I'm in Love with the Villainess manga adaptation is very likely to be the weakest entry in a phenomenal series to follow. The manga does a fantastic job of bringing the original light novels to life in a new visual format. The artwork is excellent, and the story condensed with a slightly different focus that maintains the feel of the original while providing manga audiences with entertainment that does not feel constrained or lacking. However, the gradual pacing of the plot and the main characters' relationship means that the volume leaves off before showcasing the meat of the series and most of its best features. There is a little bit of the stumble out of the gate, and both the publisher and the manga will likely have to course correct in future volumes or else risk destroying the development and voice of the series remarkable characters. I still recommend the series, but unless you are a diehard fan of the original like you, you might wait a year or so until we have the second volume and can enjoy a more complete vision of Inori's intricate and groundbreaking story.

Ratings: Story – 8 Characters – 7 Art – 9 LGBTQ – 9 Sexual Content – 6 Final – 8

Check out I'm in Love with the Villainess (Manga) Vol. 1 today: https://amzn.to/3wTSJ9R

Thanks to Joshua Hardy, Courtney Williams, Peter Adrian Behravesh, and the rest of the team at Seven Seas for their hard work.

Help support future Yuri news and reviews, and get access to exclusive content by subscribing to the YuriMother Patreon

[eluxcastar]

A poly relationship with Chess and Horn.

FEATURES: chess belle, horn skuld

CW: none

WC: 630

NOTES: I had planned to write something for Urd after chapter 105 but inspiration struck and now we're here. The amount of times this draft got deleted made me want to cry ( ；∀；)

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 Chess seems like her love language would be physical touch. She loves to cuddle with you and play with your hair, stroke your cheek or your forehead. Whatever gives her an excuse to touch you as her way of showing you affection.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 On the other hand Horn has what she would think of as a more sophisticated taste. She does still enjoy physical touch but she's far more adept at expressing herself in words. A lot of the time, she would combine the two (mostly because of how she also caters to Chess) and find a way to touch you that calms and relaxes you.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 The two are certainly a match but do their best to make sure you never feel like a third wheel. Group cuddles are rather common though Chess probably only curls up to sleep with you because she thinks Horn would steal the blanket or try to take up all the space.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 Chess enjoys playing with and styling your hair purely for fun, not so much to keep. She doesn't put much care into it because she expects to take it all back our before you're done and is only doing it for a bonding experience.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 Horn on the other hand does it seriously. If she finds you're struggling with what you want to do with it she'll offer to help. If she just wants to see how a cute hair style looks on you, she'll offer to do it.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 Admittedly Horn does have to baby the both of you sometimes as Chess can be a little immature and drag you down with her. You may be lovers but that does not mean you're above a scolding if you act childishly.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 Horn is prone to unconsciously coddling you a little as she tends to let her particularly serious side go when she settles. She certainly relaxes most around you and Chess but frankly does so whenever one of her superiors (especially Crowley Eusford) isn't around.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 She doesn't dislike her job by any means but does notice it makes her a little stuffy as she tries to maintain an air of professionalism in her work which in turn tends to reflect on her personality.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 Chess is no less carefree than ever and frequently roll around on the floor alone with you because that's where you usually sit. Most of the time it's to express something and can mean anything from annoyance with how Horn acts when working to overexcitement she gets to spend time off her duties.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 The thing they share is a likeness for your blood though they express that in different ways. For Horn it's a rather romantic gesture as she considers it yet another sign off her love for you both. She's less prone to acting on it as opposed to Chess however.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 They're both somewhat clingy in their own ways. Horn is rather protective and always wants to make sure you're safe, but Chess just wants to be near the two of you as much as possible. One will simply ask where you plan to go and advise you on ways to get there while the other will invite herself to come with you.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 A lot of the time Horn is the one to handle issues that arise. It could be anything, really. Chess can complain about someone that bothered her and as long as it isn't someone above them in rank, Horn will disappear to make them go away. She'd do the same for you, especially if she found out you got hurt because of them or even by them.

⊹ ִֶָ𓂅 She may not act like it all the time, but she does care a lot, even if you never find out about the ways she shows it.

[clair-void-ance]

If Only She Knew

Pairing: Cedric the Sorcerer X Wormwood! Reader

Word Count: Roughly 1,516 words

Warnings: None; just yearning and fluff

Notes: Gif, photo, poem, and characters are not mine; only the story is mine! The poem is “If only She Knew” by Kiara Wilson and, honestly, I think it fit pretty well for the story :) The idea was one I found on @merlins-mushrooms​ blog that focused on the reader being Cedric’s familiar instead of Wormwood and them being able to switch between their animal and human form. I had a little bit of time and wanted to write, so I decided why not? It seems more like headcanons than a story but what can you do lmao. Hope you guys enjoy, feedback is always appreciated!

Growing up as an animal-based shape shifter, life had been both difficult and easy going for you. The magical gift you had to change into any animal at will provided you with opportunities and freedom not many people ever got to possess. Especially when it came to sneaking around and getting away with things

What made it difficult though, is that you had immense difficulty finding a job that suited you. Although you had attended Hexley Hall to learn to control and gain your magical abilities, it ended up being something you just didn't want the responsibility of doing.  

Something that you did like about attending there though, was someone who had grown to be quite dear to you over the years: Cedric.

Cedric and you had started off pretty rocky, given you different backgrounds and his stifling parents, but you eventually learned to create a happy medium. After the whole fiasco with his older sister and his falling out with Roland, Cedric ended up not having many people to fully rely on. In fact, he had no one to rely on. That is, until he met you.

You two would work on spells together, duel against each other, rant about your problems to one another, and even began providing physical affection to each other. One form of which, was when you would shift into a stark black cat and curl up in his arms underneath you guys’ favorite tree outside the school grounds.

For Cedric though, his favorite form for you was the raven you would transform into when wanting some alone time or freedom. After all, one of the few things that you adored above all things was your independence. He thought you looked adorable and, after an embarrassing incident that you have sworn him into secrecy about, he dubbed your new nickname “Wormwood.”

When you both began to creep closer to your graduation date though, your time together became thinner and more tense. When your studies started to wrap up, it became clear that you both had to pick your career soon. To Cedric, that choice was easy. His father had been Roland I’s Royal Sorcerer, and it was only natural that he took his place when the king retired. For you though, choosing a career that would define the rest if your life caused you so much stress that even Greylock had noticed. Which said a lot lmao But, like always, Cedric was there to ease your troubles. Since you both wanted to stay together, but there was no need for a second royal sorcerer, Cedric offered the idea that you become his familiar. 

Which…..wasn't actually a bad idea. In fact, it offered every bit of freedom, fun, and intellectual interest that you had desired in a would-be dream job. 

After crushing Cedric in a bone shattering hug, you quickly made your way to the school’s office and began the preparation of registering as a familiar. lmao, we’re just gonna act like it works that way cause I have no idea what else to do

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

Moving to the castle had been an easier transition than you had anticipated, but you assumed that was more your doing than Cedric’s given the fact that people seemed to greet him with more suspicion than warmth. 

An unexpected advancement though, was when you were told that you both had to share sleeping quarters. Not that it really mattered that much; you and Cedric had slept near each other before when bunking and traveling at Hexley Hall, and this time would be no different. 

At least....to you it would. The fact that you had grown up to be rather beautiful made you sleeping in the same quarters rather awkward for Cedric. And though he could hide his affection relatively well, he still slipped up here and there and was caught throwing you yearning glances throughout the day. 

(Cedric was just glad that you had separate beds, cause he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it if you slept less than ten feet away from him.)

Dynamic wise, you both worked together with so much ease it seemed as though you shared a collective mind. Which, in a way, you did. The only downside to knowing each other so well though, was the fact that you were adopting one another’s personality traits. Cedric, of course, had little downsides, but you were finding yourself becoming a tad more awkward then you remember originally being. But that just made you even more cuter in Cedric’s eyes. Which didn’t help his repressed love for you that he had harbored for the last fifteenish years he had known you.

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

It wasn't until Sofia joined the castle and started to warm up to Cedric that he let it slip that he had the most embarrassing crush on you though. Sofia, of course, thought that this was the most adorable thing in the whole world and made it her life’s mission to help you both get together before it was too late. 

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

After sending you away on ‘work-related’ jobs, Cedric and Sofia began to brainstorm the best possible ways to reveal his feelings and have them reciprocated. This ended with Cedric bringing up the idea of doing it through one of your more favorable interests: Poetry.

When you guys were still young and spent most of your time underneath the great Elm tree at Hexley Hall, you two had jokingly picked up the hobby of writing mushy and cringe inducing poetry. Which meant that his admission of feelings would be even more meaningful and heartfelt. That would definitely aid him in his and Sofia’s plans.

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

While he began writing his love poem to you, Sofia began to set up the location in which he would proclaim his love. With the help of a few animal companions, Sofia had successfully set up a romantic setting in a secluded area of the palace gardens when she saw Cedric leading you down the pathway towards a singular bench.

You were wearing a deep purple pantsuit and, for a minute, Sofia realized that you complemented eachother surprisingly well.

After quickly hiding behind a bush, she got as close as she could without being found.

Grasping both of your hands in his as he stood in front of your seated form, Cedric began the start of confession speech.

“(y/n), to say that you’ve had a tremendous impact on my life would be a tragically large misconception. Unlike everyone else in my life, you have stuck in my corner through thick and thin and have remained, through it all, my closest companion and friend.”

At this point, he began to nervously shift around and cast his eyes down to his polished black shoes. 

“The thing is though, that my feelings as of late have changed. And, to help convey them….I sort of….w-wrote you a poem.”

You let out a snort to this, but looked at him tenderly as if to say “continue.”

Coughing into his fist, Cedric pointed his chin upwards as he sat to face you and started to recite his hastily written poem.

“She has her own special way

Of turning around my terrible day.

She makes all the bad things go away

The second that she says hey.

And when I look into her eyes,

I see pure beauty with no disguise.

Just a glance at her makes my heartbeat rise.

I know for a fact that these feelings aren't lies.

If only she knew

How much my love for her grew,

Maybe, just maybe, we could start something new,

And then I'd never feel blue.

And if beauty were inches, she'd go on for miles.

I'd better catch her before I go out of style.

I'm going to let my heart be my dial

So I can tell her what I've been feeling for a while.”

After finishing, Cedric nervously looked up at you to see what reaction you would show to what he had just revealed. Gazing at your eyes, he finally noticed the rim of tears that surrounded the lower part of your eyes and began to panic.

“Oh no, was that too much? Did...did I just ruin everything? Merlin’s Mushrooms! This always happens,” his tender look deflated into one of distress  as he put his head in his hands and quickly turned away from you. It wasn’t until he heard what, at first, sounded like crying that he hesitantly gazed up at you. Analyzing your facial features, he noticed that your face was not scrunched up in disgust, but rather into one of joy and laughter. You let out an airy giggle and reached to cradle his cheeks in your palms. 

“Oh Ceddy, that was the mushiest and most cringe inducing poem you’ve written yet,” you said with a smile.

“I’m just glad that this one is about me.”

“Does that mea-” 

It was at that point that you connected both of your lips and started to slowly initiate a deep and affectionate kiss. Sofia could be heard squealing behind one of the bushes across from you guys’ bench and that only made you giggle softly against Cedric’s slightly chapped lips. Which made the bumbling sorcerer swoon and lightly bring you into a hug,

Needless to say, that situation led to you both getting real familiar with each other. Only, this time, it lead to one of the most fulfilling chapters of both of your lives.

[foursideharmony]

The Cat, The Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 1)

Summary: In the wake of the events of Putting Others First, Roman is desperate to feel like the hero, even if for just an afternoon. He invites the core Sides on an adventure in the Imagination, patterned after one of the great works of children's literature that features heroes and villains. But stories in the Imagination can take on a life of their own, and this one seems bent on pushing Roman to be the villain... 

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: None so far

Word Count: 1463

Read on AO3: here

“I thought I was your hero.”

Roman’s own words echoed hollowly in his memory. The fact was that the…the occurrence with Deceit—Janus—had just been the culmination of a long, slow crisis of purpose for the prince. It wasn’t just the wedding vs. callback dilemma; it had been going on for months. Thomas’s cringing recollection of past phases he had gone through had gotten him wondering whether his current life path would eventually be added to that pile. There had been the encounter with the old friend who didn’t seem to think YouTube was a proper career. Before that had been the dispute with Logan over whether developing his artistic career was even valuable for its own sake, or just a way to keep the lights on and the fridge stocked. In fact…

It seemed to Roman that the period of misgivings had actually begun when Deceit was introduced to Thomas in the first place. Roman himself had inadvertently drawn the connection between acting and deception, and for all Logan’s reassurances to the contrary, a seed of doubt remained.

If lying was wrong, and acting was a form of lying, and Roman was the linchpin of Thomas’s acting abilities…did that make Roman the bad guy all along?

“I thought I was your hero.”

Was that why Thomas seemed to be hitting so many blocks when it came to his passions? Had Roman tainted his own function?

What did it even mean to be a hero?

It had been so simple when they were young. A hero was someone who helped others, preferably by doing flashy, impressive things. Little Thomas had loved the idea of being a hero, and Roman—just Creativity, back then—had dutifully provided him with a portfolio of daydreams. In the fantasies Roman constructed, Thomas could be a firefighter, charging into a burning building in order to rescue a puppy. Or he could be a sheriff in the Old West, rounding up bandits and cattle rustlers. Or he could be a superhero, foiling bank robberies and catching crashing airplanes. But his favorite kind of hero to be was the fairytale prince with a magic sword, defeating wicked witches and saving fair maidens from dragons. He had sent his Creativity to tap that well so many times that the Side himself took on the form of the prince.

As Thomas grew, his ideas about heroism became more complicated, the focus of his imagination shifted, and Roman’s job changed drastically, to cover his Center’s artistic ambitions (and in time, his romantic ones). He hadn’t minded for the longest time, because Patton had been there to handle the new complexities. If Roman’s understanding of right and wrong was a floodlight sweeping across an open field, then Patton’s was a fog lamp, cutting through the gray haze of moral ambiguity. Roman had always been perfectly content to follow Patton’s lead, knowing that the father figure would never steer them wrong.

But now…Patton was sharing control of the fog lamp with Janus, whom Roman had always understood to be one of the greatest villains of Thomas’s mind. Janus embodied dishonesty, selfishness, temptation to evil—exactly the traits a true hero should reject. The gray haze was where he thrived the most; how could they possibly trust him to help guide Thomas through it?

Roman just wanted to understand.

“I thought I was your hero.”

And until he could understand, he just wanted a break from it all. A day where he could just follow his bliss without worrying that he was either playing into evil’s hands, or pushing Thomas to the breaking point. A day where he could just be the hero, and know that he was the hero, and that he wasn’t about to be sucker-punched by all these nuances.

A day like the old days.

He wanted—he needed—a simple adventure, one where good and evil were obvious, and he was the leader of the good guys, and they were able to beat the bad guys with a certain amount of peril and excitement but no actual doubt that they could do it and that it was the right thing to do. And he needed…he needed his fellow Sides (his fellow light Sides) to be involved, so that they would see him as the hero. He needed that. He could set it all up in advance and take them through it, smooth as cream. And they would all have a great time and the other three would lavish praise on him for treating them to something so beautiful.

And as long as he was revisiting Thomas’s childhood understanding of the world, why not go all the way and model his adventure on a story Thomas had loved in childhood? Not a Disney one, for a change…something a bit more intentionally meaningful than that.

He knew just the thing.

Roman set aside his current project and marched himself into the Imagination, intent on his mission.

*****

Hours later, the prince burst into the common area, practically vibrating with anticipation. Four heads swiveled to notice him. He took in the scene in an instant: Logan, standing at an easel with a large whiteboard propped upon it, bearing the heading “WORK/LIFE BALANCE” and a number of bullet points scrawled in three colors of dry-erase marker; Patton and Janus (ugh) sitting on the sofa nearby, engaged in relaxed discussion with the Logical Side and each other; Virgil at the other end of the sofa, headphones clamped over his ears, keeping a wary eye on the proceedings across the room while simultaneously scrolling through something on his phone.

Roman faltered, uncertain of how to begin.

Janus sighed loudly through his teeth—and it was a sigh, not exactly a serpentine hiss—and proclaimed “Mercy me, look at the time.” (There was no clock within his line of sight.) “We’ve been at this for so much longer than I expected while making hardly any progress. I’d best be on my way so we can pick it up again later once our heads have cleared.”

“Aw, Janus, you don’t have to go just because Roman’s here,” said Patton.

“Perhaps not, but I prefer to,” Janus said, shooting Roman a look before spinning on his heel and exiting the room. He assiduously swerved around Roman on the lower steps as he passed, making no physical contact.

“For the record,” Logan said, dismissing the whiteboard and easel, “we have actually made excellent progress in our discussion. I suspect that Janus was engaging in his trademark falsehoods.”

Roman squirmed internally a little. So did that mean…Janus didn’t prefer to leave? Then why—

“So!” Patton said, shifting the room back toward a chipper mood. “What’s going on, kiddo?”

Roman found his voice. “I would like to invite you three…on a quest! Well, more of an adventure than a quest, if you want to get technical. Please come! The story is all set up and we just have to run through it!”

Logan frowned slightly as he often did when considering new information. “Approximately how long do you expect it to take?”

“Hardly any time at all,” Roman stated with absolute confidence. “It has this sort of time…warp…thingie, built in. We go into the Imagination, have the adventure, and come back out at the moment just after we left.” No one replied, so he forged ahead. “And it should be totally safe! A little scary or sad in certain parts, maybe but I can personally guarantee a 100% happy ending.”

“A happy ending sounds pretty good,” said Patton.

“My principal objection has been eliminated as well,” Logan agreed.

Virgil heaved to his feet. “Sure, why not. Got nothing else to do tonight.”

Roman felt his heart swell with pride and affection. It was working! This was going to be amazing! “This means a lot to me, guys. Really. Come on, then! I can't wait to show you!”

He led them upstairs and to his room, where the doorway to the Imagination had been transformed for the occasion. It was always an ornate double door, made of dark-stained hardwood and covered with carvings of fantastic creatures, but now instead of being flush with the wall, it was part of a tall cabinet, a couple of feet deep and smelling faintly of cedar and camphor.

Roman took hold of the door handles and paused theatrically, looking over his should. “Do not be alarmed by what you see inside.” He threw the doors wide, revealing an assortment of fur coats.

“What is this,” Virgil scoffed playfully, “a wardr...wait a sec.” His eyes widened. “Wardrobe full of fur coats...time warp thingie...dude. Are you taking us to Narnia?”

Roman nodded, beaming. “I'm taking you to Narnia.”

[ohwhatamessiam]

Self Control - Chapter 10

Summary: Robert and you finish that talk. Chris gets a chat as well. How will you two move forward? 

Pairing: Professor!Chris Evans X TA!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Language as usual. A lot of freaking feelings, maybe some tears.

A/N: Hi everyone! I know, it’s been 9 months and I suck, but here’s finally an update to that cliffhanger! There’s only 3 more chapters left in Self Control, so we’re really in it now. A huge thank you for all you guy’s patience, and an enormous thank you to @fangirlisms-22. I have no clue when the next chapter will be up, so I’m going to ask y’all to be patient again. I tried to tag everyone, but some blogs have deactivated, changed urls, or won’t let me tag them. Let me know if you need me to change your url on my list. Here’s the Spotify playlist for the entire fic.

I love feedback, so send me your thoughts, feelings, wishes, etc!

Tags are open for this story, so send me an ask here to be added to it or my permanent list!

Self Control | Masterlist

“My what?” you answer, trying to keep your features from giving anything away. “Wha- what are you talking about Robert?”

“It’s been brought to my attention that your professional relationship may have crossed over into something more personal.” His brows rise as he watches you, waiting for you to help him understand. Clearly, he’s not sure how to address this situation. And the panic shooting through your whole body tries to throw you into admitting. Luckily, your logic takes over as you clutch your notebook tightly between your fingers and put on an earnest face.

“I mean, yes. We’ve become friends over the semester. We’ve spent time outside of class together. He’s helped me with my writing.” And a lot more but you can’t say that. Not until you know exactly what Robert knows.

“A friendly relationship, even a mentor/mentoree relationship is absolutely fine. But there’s been a rumor passed along that you two are past that. That you’ve become involved in an… another way.”

You don’t answer him this time. He’s only heard rumors, but who told him those rumors? And who started those rumors? Was it your guy’s class after that awful, awkward moment on Tuesday, or had someone seen you two?

“Look, if anything has happened between you two, I don’t blame you. Chris is a loveable, caring, handsome man. But if you two have a physical or romantic relationship, I need to know. I can’t protect either of your positions here if I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you myself. I need you to tell me what’s going on between you two.”

You weigh your options for a moment, dropping your focus to the edge of your notebook, picking at the frayed edge of it. If someone saw you two, there’s no use in lying. Keeping your job by being honest makes sense, and that way neither of you get hurt. But the precedent for TAs and professors having public relationships was almost nonexistent. And normally in these situations, one of you had to lose your job.

“And if I have this wrong, tell me (Y/N),” Robert continues. “If Chris has pressured you, or forced himself on you, this is a safe space. I can help you. I’d really like it if you’d let me help you.”

You take a deep breath and settle on your path. A life without Chris doesn’t feel like it would be a life at all. You have to protect both of you.

“No no, Robert. Nothing like that has happened. Chris is nothing but a gentleman.” You look up at him and visibly see his relief. “But I, I’ve flirted with him a couple times. I knew it was wrong. He’s such a nice guy and spending so much time around him has made me like him a lot.”

“That’s completely understandable,” he nods. Good. He’s buying it.

“Chris never really responded to me. He’s never compromised his professional position. I was the one who fucked up, and I’m so sorry I did.”

“It’s okay. Flirtation, although unprofessional, is not against school rules. And coming clean to me means you know that you can’t go any further.”

“I’m fully aware. I’d hoped that no one would find out since it hasn’t affected our working relationship at all, but that was naive of me. I understand if you have to pull me from his class.”

“(Y/N),” Robert sighs, “if I had to pull every teacher or grad student that flirted with each other from classes in this department, most of the English faculty wouldn’t have jobs.” The comforting smirk he gives you helps your heart rate slow. “As long as nothing else transpires after this conversation, you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”

Your heart rate stops beating in your ears, but you can’t stop your mind from reeling. If only Robert actually knew how many wrongs you two had committed.

You nod as he lets out a deep sigh and leans back into his chair. “Good,” he gives you an easy grin. “Now back to how we’re getting your story published.”

You leave Robert’s office 20 minutes later, a list of edit suggestions and recommended publications in your bag. And your head is a mess.

No matter how easy it had been to convince Robert that there was nothing going on between you and Chris, it still clawed at the back of your mind. He’d said it was a rumor, but who passes rumors onto Department Chairs? We certainly didn’t share any students with Robert. Chris and I worked with mostly first or second year students, and Robert almost exclusively taught higher level capstone classes or graduate level seminars.

So then he must have heard it from inside the department. Another TA? Elizabeth had been drunk that night, but she may have remembered what she’d seen. But you knew that didn’t feel right in your gut. She’d pretty much encouraged the affair, she wouldn’t rat.

Or could it be another professor? The chances were higher that they’d seen you with him at the office.

But something else nagged at you. Your intuition told you that whoever it was, they were closer to one of you than just a coworker.

As you step out the front doors and onto the tall stairs, the gray sky nearly blinds you in its fluorescence. Your fingers remain knotted tightly around your bag as you squint to see the cement.

“(Y/N)!” a voice calls, friendly and familiar from somewhere close by.

It’s Sebastian in a dark blue blazer, and his somehow brighter than the sky blue eyes are intently watching you.

“Sebastian,” you smirk, and try not to get caught on the way his scruff softens his face.

“Where are you walking?” he asks, his pace falling in line with yours.

“To my car, my day’s over,” you say as he continues down the sidewalk with you.

“Good, I’ll walk with you,” he grins. “So how has your writing been going? I know Robert never stops gushing about how excited he is to have you here.”

“It’s going, but barely.”

“Your first year of grad can be difficult, but I’m sure you’re doing great.” You try not to stare at Sebastian in the late overcast afternoon, the soft yet stark lighting making his eyes seem crystal-like. His scruff makes him even more handsome, giving him a slight edge to his charming playboy grin. “Chris has been pretty helpful, hasn’t he?”

“More than I expected.” If only he knew how helpful he actually was.

His eyes watch you as a sly smile turns his charm into cockiness, “Your extracurricular time together must be quite beneficial?”

You stop in your tracks. Does he now?

Your mind immediately flashing to the exchange you two had in the hallway that day after you and Chris fucked in the supply closet? The way he winked.

He knew.

Sebastian keeps walking for another couple steps before he realizes you’re not with him, “(Y/N)?”

You grab his arm and yank him off the sidewalk. The closest building to your path is made of old grey stones, and has a corner that juts out to cover an emergency exit. You push Sebastian against the wall, your eyes blazing.

“What are you talking about?”

Sebastian raises his hands defensively, but his eyes are playful. “Ah, I’m not saying anything!” A shit eating grin tells you he’s lying.

“What do you know?”

“I know Chris has been pretty unavailable in recent weekends. And I’ve read a few of his new pages. They’re quite good.”

You glare at him. None of that confirms that you two are together. None of that proves anything at all. Did you just blow this with your paranoia?

“Cut the bullshit,” you whisper as you poke him in the chest, hoping he was just playing games with you.

He drops his hands and sighs, “He always writes better when he’s happy between a set of thighs.”

“Why do you think I’m the one sleeping with him?”

“Because I know Chris, I know how he looked at you at the Department party. All those puppy eyes and the badly concealed jealousy when I flirted with you. It was clear he wasn’t going to let me anywhere near you because he wasn’t giving up on you two.”

You step back, your eyes closing in concentration. Had Chris really been set on being with you all that time ago? And had Sebastian really been as interested as Elizabeth had guessed? While there was something nice about the idea that Chris knew how he felt about you even then, it didn’t stop that anger from boiling inside you at Sebastian’s statement that Chris wouldn’t let him get close to you.

“I-, I’m not something either of you could lay claim to. Only I decide who gets to be with me.”

“Hey- hey, I get it. You’re in charge of your own body, I just meant that Chris tried to squash my interest in you. It might have just been him looking out for you then. But I think it’s clear now that he’s not just hung up on the sex. He actually likes you.”

“I know he likes me. But our relationship is private. It’s no one’s business but our own.”

“I know that,” he nods, his hands sinking into his pockets, his shoulders hunching up. “And he’s my best friend, I’m not trying to violate his personal life.”

“So you didn’t tell Robert about us?”

“Shit, Robert knows?”

“So that’s a no?”

“No, God no,” he shook his head immediately, his dark hair bouncing, “I would never. Have you told Chris?”

We shuffled back to the sidewalk together, adding another foot of space between us, now that I’d just thrown him against a wall.

“Not yet. And Robert doesn’t really know anything. He called it a ‘rumor’, and I talked him out of thinking the rumor was anything serious.”

“Rumor feels like something Robert would use when talking about students.”

“You might be right.”

We reach the parking lot as he turns around to look at me. He cocks his head to the side, a smug smirk wrinkling up his nose.

“I usually am.”

2 missed calls from (Y/N) pop up on Chris’s phone as he pushes out from his desk, his laptop folded in his hands. No messages appear.

His stomach growls, encouraging him to finish packing his things to go. He’ll call you back on his way home.

He tucks his things into his bag and throws it over his shoulder before he flicks off the lights. The lock engages behind him as he hesitantly slips his phone into his pocket. The rest of the office doors are closed, and only a crack of light bleeds out from under one the doors opposite Chris’s own office.

Letitia, the grad student that teaches freshman Composition with Elizabeth, has that office. Chris thought he’d only spoken with her once at the faculty dinner last year. And he was pretty sure she hadn’t been in attendance this year. But he’d been dealing with enough shit in his own life, he might have missed her.

He moved towards the department entrance, his mind already wondering why you’d been calling him. And if it was important, you’d text him or leave a message, right?

Chris’s feet bounce down the wooden stairs, the creaks of age bidding him a good night. As he makes it to the front door, he notices a figure leaning on the stones outside the door.

He pushes through carefully to find Robert on the other side, his phone pressed to his ear. The setting sun had just barely managed to escape the dense clouds for the evening, turning his cream colored shirt into a soft peach shade.

“Susan, all of that sounds lovely, but we actually have to get on a plane to get there-” the moment Robert notices Chris his voice lowers. “I’ll be home soon, we’ll figure it out then.” Chris gives him a sympathetic smirk and continues down the concrete stairs.

Footfall follows him as Robert calls out, “Hey Chris.”

He stops at the bottom steps, looking over his shoulder, “Robert.”

“Let’s talk while we walk.”

Once their steps fall in line, the men head down the sidewalk. The rest of the campus is quiet around them.

“You’re going out of town for Thanksgiving, right?” Chris asks Robert, thinking about the phone conversation he’d just heard.

“Yes, Illinois,” Robert pauses as he watches Chris, his eyes narrowing. “And what are you and Jennifer doing for the holiday?”

“Oh uh, nothing this year.” Chris’s cheeks show a slight tint of red. “I thought you knew-”

“I do. I was just hoping that you two had worked it out already.”

“No, we haven’t. And I don’t know if we will.”

“Are you going to spend the holiday with (Y/N)?”

Chris’s breath catches in his throat, panic seizing his heart. He tries to pretend this isn’t happening, “No. Why would you ask that?”

“Oh, there’s just been some rumors about you two going around.”

“What rumors?” Chris’s heels scuff against the cement as he slows down.

“You know, that you two are physically involved,” the look Robert gives him is completely suspicious.

“We-, we’re not.”

“That’s what she said when I asked her.” Chris’s feet nearly stop. (Y/N)’s calls had to be about this. “She told me it was just a misplaced flirtation on her part and that nothing more was happening.”

“She’s right,” Chris says, but his face almost betrays him. His eyes look distant, hurt, as he tries to hold Robert’s gaze, his hands tucked in his pockets. Robert’s wariness disappears as he watches him, replaced with a deeper concern, whether it’s for Chris or (Y/N) is unclear. “We get along really well, and have grown closer than I have to any other TA. But nothing’s going on.”

Chris drops his gaze to ground, remembering how he told (Y/N) that he’s resign if her job ever was ever on the line.

“I’m happy you two like each other. I think it’s been a beneficial time for both of you,” Robert answers. “And if your relationship becomes more, that’s fine in the future, when she’s not your TA. If you’re not her teacher or her supervisor, I can protect you two. But this isn’t the time for it.”

“I understand that Robert,” Chris nods. The men step into the parking lot.

“Good, because I’m choosing to believe you two right now. But I know you Chris, I know you’re going through some shit right now. But sleeping with your TA isn’t going to fix your marriage, or your pain. And (Y/N) doesn’t deserve that either.”

Robert unlocks his car as Chris opens his front door, watching Robert walk away.

Robert turns on his heels, walking backwards, and adds, “But if somehow the board finds out that something has happened, and this isn’t just a rumor I can talk them out of. I’m not going to protect you, or your job.”

As Robert disappears into his vehicle, Chris sinks down into his front seat, his keys hanging in his hand. He was right, (Y/N) deserved better than being treated like a secret affair. Which is why he was trying to get a divorce. But Jennifer was still being resistant. She wanted to meet in person to discuss the divorce papers. She wanted to see him this weekend to talk. And (Y/N) didn’t deserve to have to wait around for him to be fully available either.

Sure, classes would end in a month, but how long with the divorce proceedings go on if Jennifer fought? Would she drag (Y/N) up to the school board? Or in court? No matter how much he loves you, he knows this isn’t the relationship you deserve.

Chris finally made himself move, sitting in his car wouldn’t fix any of his problems.

On his way home, (Y/N) called again. He let it ring.

Chris calls you back around 10 pm. Much later than you expected.

You answer the phone immediately, “Chris, hi-”

“We need to talk.” Your heart drops. You reach out for the wall, your body needing support. His voice is clear and serious, and it feels heavy, like his words are breaking as they hit your skin. “Robert talk-”

“So you know?” you cut him off.

“I do.” Your fear eases, no longer squeezing your chest.

“I told him nothing has happened. We should be okay.” You want to be relieved, but your mind won’t let yourself feel that yet.

“I know. But Robert knows me. He knows I care about you, hell, he practically confirmed that he knows about us. But he’s giving us the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s good Chris. We’ll be okay.” You shut your eyes, praying this was the end of this conversation. You’d be more careful moving forward. And once the semester was over and Jennifer signed the papers, you two could be open.

“It’s great that he’s not going to report anything, but we can’t keep sneaking around. Not while you’re my TA. Now that he knows, he’ll be keeping an eye on us.”

“Okay, so we’ll just see each other at our apartments.”

“No, (Y/N). We need to slow down. Put some distance between us.”

You grow quiet. You’re on the ground now, somehow. You feel like you’re not even in your body. Your heart isn’t in your body anymore either. It’s lying on the floor in front of you, bleeding out on your carpet. Your eyes grow hot as water builds behind your lids.

“But I-” your voice cracks, “I love you.”

“I love you too, but that doesn’t change our situation. We have to cool off for a while. It’ll be safer that way. Less rumors, less at stake.”

“Chris.” It comes out as a whimper. Less at stake. Less at stake for yours jobs maybe, but not for your sanity. How would you see him in class, in the office, and not look at him like he was your entire heart? How could you pretend that you were just friends?

He whispers, “I know.”

Your tears run hot against your cheeks. They pelt your chest, burning like alcohol on an open wound.

“Goodnight,” he manages. The line disconnects.

You’re left on your floor, your phone in your hands, and your heart broken in front of you.

Tags: @goosedanvers @irishdancr24 @lostboyinneverland @suz-123 @funlizzie02 @void-imaginations @cryingovershipsthatneversailed @breezykpop @jcc04220 @nys30 @jonsnowisnotdeadthough @guera31 @wickedcitywitch @thelondondreamer5 @patzammit @talannalew  @lilypalmer1987 @supperunnatural20 @evanstanfanatic @lucinapomona @r5rocks101 @dolphinpink310 @bojabee @youtheheckisbucky @thefridgeismybestie @ssweet-empowerment @sophiealiice @lostxsea

[aroyalpaininthecass]

God I just…I love Kaworu Nagisa. I wrote out my ideas discussing a lot of the ideas around his character and Shinji I had while reading the manga and watching the anime - so huge spoilers for both below. This is just me trying to explain the crazy nonsense that is Kaworu Nagisa to myself, trying to answer my own questions about the intricacies of what in the world is happening here, and it got longer the more I tried to figure it out.

Kaworu Nagisa is complex.

It’s incredibly easy to love anime!Kaworu - he’s kind and self-sacrificing if a little mysterious, and comes to Shinji in the time when he needs someone the most, and Shinji takes to him like a duck to water. But manga!Kaworu is a very different character, but I love him all the same, for the different perspective he brings to the story, and what he teaches Shinji because of it.

The river that runs through the story is, essentially, the society’s problems are based on the fact that everyone is so conscious of their relationships and expectations that they can no longer be honest about what they need for fear of hurting one another. The direct symbol I see of this is the use of the AT Field, which is described as “the light of the soul” and “a sacred province inviolatable to anyone”. The AT Field is used to deflect physical attacks from the pilots - which I believe is also a metaphor used to represent the way we defend our fragile hearts against others’ expectations and desires of us that we may not agree with, to keep ourselves from getting hurt.

But enter Kaworu - the immortal in a mortal’s body, with none of the fears that are conditioned into a mortal. His self is not finite, at least, not permanently so, and while he is destructible, he’s not limited to the same plane of existence we are. Because of this, he does not experience fear the way we do.

At worst this results in childish, rude behavior that runs roughshod over others with no consideration of their feelings. At best, he can understand what should be emotionally charged situations with clear and unbiased pragmatism. This allows him to freely and candidly address (however clumsily) problematic issues that even the beholder struggles to acknowledge, usually insecurities they won’t even admit they have to themselves. He brings these issues right out into the open and feels absolutely no shame, much to the chagrin of others.

He’s doesn’t think about the consequences of his actions because he has never had to. But, he does make solid progress in learning, however small. For instance, the example of his introduction to Shinji/the starving kitten. As an immortal being, those limits I spoke about earlier don’t allow him to value life the same way the Lilim do, and sees the action of killing the suffering cat as merciful. At the end of he and Shinji’s interaction during their final battle, Kaworu pressures Shinji into killing him and cites this example to convince him to do so. He acknowledges that life is a precious thing to the mortal Lilim, and by doing so he is able to convince Shinji that what he is doing has a meaning of love, and not one of hate, as is usually tied to the action of extinguishing a life.

He doesn’t have fear, but he is aware of the limits of his conditions, both for his position with Seele and his now mortal existence. So, he just casually plays along because he actually seems to enjoy the assignment, reporting on the emotions he observes from other people around him, though he focuses on Shinji (it never explains why Shinji is his assignment, however, has anyone figured this out?).

As far as Kaworu’s emotions go, very little else affects him besides Shinji. He is rife with petty jealousy towards Rei when Shinji expresses his concern for her (though he doesn’t seem to like her much in general…), and is full and straight-out begging for Shinji’s emotional intimacy toward the end. He isn’t afraid of failure, death, the burden of the future - because none of those things are permanent/applicable to him. What is so important about this little mortal nothing-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things-Lilim that it gives the God pause?

As we learn from the Twisted Night chapter, he channels Rei’s feelings for Shinji through him - they are never named specifically as love, or if it was implied, what kind of love it was - and for how Kaworu described it, it sounded more like grief, given how he said it felt “sickly” and he was crying at the time. Therefore, I have a hard time believing he is channeling Rei’s feelings from that instance as he would not have learned his possessive appreciation/fondness from that that he displays - moreover, he shows interest in Shinji far before this instance as well.

I think it really may be that Kaworu understands Shinji far better than he lets on. He comes to understand Shinji as an example of the human condition I described, of putting on a good outward persona for the sake of fitting in and gaining acceptance from others.He may be fascinated by this race that wants what they are most afraid of, and Shinji is the prime example. I think he is eventually taken with how pure Shinji’s base desire is, which turns into his devotion. 

I want to say that manga Kaworu definitely experiences a desire for romantic love with Shinji, as he expresses his desire for emotional intimacy with Shinji as well as physical attraction, due to his CPR stunt where he got a little carried away, as he likely didn’t know how else to deal with the first time he could feel such things. Anime Kaworu however, I think has a consummate love for Shinji. This is due to the fact he suggested they sleep together (passion, come on guys he knows what he was asking, with that tone of voice? pls), listens to Shinji and in genuinely concerned with his feelings when he vents (intimacy), and when he sacrifices his race for the Lilim based on Shinji’s actions? (commitment).Through the whole series, they never label his feelings at all - but I say, if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck…must be a duck. Right?

After finishing the story I was thinking about what his role in the grand story was. I mean, after his exit, he doesn’t really get addressed much anymore. He is last featured in a collage of other memories, a picture of their conversation on the beach. Kaworu was grasping at his last straws trying to get Shinji’s attention. As it was in the context of remembering all that had gone before to come to his final decision, I wonder if we are supposed to take this as a suggestion that he regrets his decision not to let him in?

His final decision has to do with the realization that he’ll take humanity the way it is, rather than his idealized version, because even though it is hurtful and problematic, it helps everyone retain their individuality and that the pleasure is worth the pain. So, maybe he wishes he could have accepted Kaworu then, because now he’s willing to accept the pain that might come with any change to their relationship in the future.

Shinji has always cared what other people think of him, and has always been mindful to be as polite as possible, to make good grades to appease his family, and stays quiet and out of the way (his iconic earbuds) so as not to offend. He has applied these social constructs to fit in and be loved by others, friends and family alike. But they have failed. Each time, either he gets completely used or rejected by others that are either selfish or are afraid to be hurt themselves.

To Shinji, Kaworu is taller, slightly older/more mature-looking, handsome, though marked by coloring oddities that indicate he’s otherworldly. Personality-wise, he cares very little about what others besides Shinji think about him. When he gets emotional though, he doesn’t mind his P’s and Q’s - he does and says exactly how he feels right away, even if he offends. Again, he’s never needed to care about anyone else so he doesn’t have these manners - but that makes him raw, pure, genuine, and honest to a fault.

I think these are all qualities Shinji is attracted to - it’s easy to fall for someone  when they are everything you wish you could be. But doing so makes him that much more aware of his insecurities, because he doesn’t think he can attain these qualities for himself. He’s never been able to stick up for himself before. He doesn’t feel worthy of Kaworu when he can’t even respect himself. Kaworu’s insensitive, unaware behavior is a double-edged sword as well, and usually the combo of the two PLUS the human condition mentioned before keeps him from responding to Kaworu, despite his hounding efforts.

For this reason, it is important to Shinji’s development as much as the plot that Kaworu leave him, as the Mentor is wont to do. (Hero with 1000 Faces anyone?). Through Kaworu, he learns who he wants to be. If his relationship with Kaworu remains as it is, instead of actually achieving the personal growth, Kaworu becomes a crutch instead.

There is some credence to the idea that Kaworu is the embodiment of unconditional love - the only thing that keeps me from agreeing completely is that, he expresses frustration when he cannot have what he desires, and also because he expresses jealousy when Shinji doesn’t return his attention/expresses interest or concern for someone else. These are a mark of selfish desires, which present a condition. In my personal belief, I don’t think we see the proof of that kind of label because their time together is cut short immediately after that - we do not know whether Kaworu would have given up completely after that, or if he’d continue to love Shinji even if he can no longer hope for any requisition. As we don’t have the answer, we may not be able to know.

If I have gotten something completely and utterly wrong, or didn’t address something, or maybe if you think I don’t know some really extremely important detail, as you can see I am a total nerd for this character and I would totally love to hear your opinion/ interpretation! the story is pretty thick and unclear where this character is concerned and I am always interested in hearing more. Thanks for reading my behemoth of a fangirling session!!

[backyardbookworm]

Gift of the Goddesses

      Trickery was co-written by Jaymin Eve and Jane Washington and is the first installment of their new Curse of the Gods series. The storyline features one female protagonist, Willa Knight, who was selected by her village to serve the sols, higher beings, in their main city of Blesswood. Upon arriving, she has the misfortune of being assigned to tend to the Abcurse brothers, an infamous group of rabble-rousers at school in Blesswood. The five boys each possess a different gift from the gods and they are divided into two sets; the twins, Coen and Rome, have powers over pain and strength and then the triplets, Aros, Yael, and Siret, have gifts of seduction, persuasion, and trickery, respectively. They use their gifts to get each other and Willa in, and out, of all sorts of shenanigans including stealing from the gods. During their adventures Willa is struck by a god bolt which shatters her soul and sends it to pieces which then connect with the five brothers. This unexpected connection gives Willa a few secret abilities but also physically binds her to the brothers so that she cannot be more than a certain distance away from them at any given time. The supernatural connection that she has with the boys, in addition to her tenacity, vivacity, and never-say-die attitude, bring them close together and the brothers adopt her into their unusual family. Together the six of them cause trouble at school, protect their world from chaos, and above all look after each other. I honestly didn’t think that I would like this book very much before starting, the hearts on the chapter headings and the premise of a poor girl catering to five men definitely didn’t appeal to me; however, I was pleasantly surprised by the intelligence and humor in the book and ended up absolutely loving it.

      To be honest, I was initially put-off by the dynamic between Willa and the Abcurse brothers. For example, Willa works as the boys’ servant and they take advantage of her lower status and often  goad her to get her trouble, though they never let her get in too deep before bailing her out. They also tend to manhandle her, picking her up and pulling her around. I understand that the rationale behind their behavior is that she is typically too clumsy to walk on her own, but it sill seemed a little condescending and manipulative to me. There were a couple of encouraging behaviors that made up for the other negative ones. Although the brothers tend to pick on Willa and jostle her around they also take really great care of her and protect her from the negative treatment usually given those with her position. Even more importantly, despite the Abcurses strong influence over her life, Willa is still able to be a strong, independent individual. Once the boy’s get her into Topia she is the one who has the ingenuity and wherewithal to steal from the gods. And at one point when Willa is kidnaped and unable to reach the brothers for help she uses her creativity and intelligence to escape from a cell that was magically sealed. Honestly, all of the main characters are very well written and have their own strengths and personalities that make them endearing and identifiable as individuals, which is difficult in a book with so many characters, especially when five of them are brothers.

      That being said there was one other aspect of Willa’s relationship with the Abcurse brothers that did bother me more. Willa has a strong connection with all of the brothers but isn’t connected with any of them romantically. That doesn’t mean to say that there aren’t romantic or sexual moments between them. Willa kisses or is kissed by a few of the boys throughout the book and is she is naked or practically naked in several scenes. Considering the fact that one of the brothers’ power is seduction, the intermittent sexual and moments throughout the book are certainly not surprising. The frustrating part is that nothing substantial ever happened and that Willa never forms feelings for one brother over the others. It seemed like there was lot of sexual tension and nowhere for it to go, it was exhausting. By the end of the book, the boys make a pact that none of them would become romantically or sexually involved with Willa which, while respectable, did nothing to encourage me that there might be a more fulfilling romance in the future books.

      There was really only one critique that I have for the book and that would be regarding the publishing. The font was unusual and the type size was very small which made the book difficult to read, especially at night, even with wearing my contacts or glasses. I noticed that Eve and Washington are self-publishing this series which is highly commendable but I think might be affecting their choices stylistically. In addition, they are intending to list all five books this year, which is amazing and makes me so grateful as an eager reader; however the second book was supposed to be released in April but as of today, April 12th, they have still not listed a release date. I am a huge fan of self-publishing and being one’s own advocate but I am sensing that it might be causing some problems for Eve and Washington that may have been eased if they were working with a publishing house.

      Overall, I really loved the book. I enjoyed the characters and the story idea but most of all I loved the humor. The interactions between the characters and the wacky thoughts and behaviors that they have kept me laughing out loud like a maniac throughout the whole book. It can be very difficult to convey humor through the written word but somehow Eve and Washington manage in a way that seems effortless and adds so much to the story. I would definitely recommend this book to YA fiction lovers with the warning that if you enjoy it as much as I did, you’ll be wasting all of your time on Amazon checking to see if the next book is out yet.  

[its-pronounced-quoassoint]

Power Rangers AU-Chapter 2

Pairings: romantic Logicality, Prinxiety, Demus, Remile

This Chapter features: Trans!Logan, Logan centric story line, Logan being a gay disaster for Patton, and Virgil flirting(??)

This Chapter Warnings: mild violence, food mention, panic attack mention, use of deadname, sympathetic Remus 

Credit for this AU goes to @when-day-met-the-knight (specifically this post). 

If you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic please let me know in reply!

First Next

Chapter 2-Blue

Logan was baffled as to how none of his other friends had picked up on the fact that Roman and Remus were the newest Power Rangers. The two were constantly leaving their friends the second aliens appeared, only for the Green and Red Rangers to appear in battle. Both seemed constantly distracted by news about the Dragon Witch. Whenever a battle was over, Remus and Roman reappeared, most of the time with messy hair and some bruising, one time Remus actually had to limp back to their friends. All of this is without even mentioning how the two react when the topic of the Green and Red Rangers comes up. 

Logan took a mental note of the twins' bizzarre behavior when the Rangers were brought up in conversation. 

A few days after the new Rangers first appeared Logan, Roman, and a few other friends had decided to meet up at the local grocery store to buy and eat snacks. It didn't take long for the group to bring up the Green and Red Rangers and took even less time for Roman to start completely shutting down. While their friends theorized as to who the Rangers might be, Logan observed Roman as he shut his mouth, blushed a deep red, and left. Only to return twenty minutes later.

Next, Logan noticed that whenever the Green Ranger specifically was brought up, Remus had to interject every few minutes with some form of crude compliment. This behavior wouldn't be too outlandish for Remus, but the compliments began to overlap with compliments that Remus only gave himself. 

Lastly, Logan realized that whenever Roman was asked about the Green Ranger he scoffed, much like he does when someone compares him to Remus.  While Remus, whenever the subject of the Red Ranger is brought up, crosses his arms, huffs, and falls quiet. Much like he does when someone compliments Roman and not him. 

The two were so overwhelmingly obvious about their identities as the Red and Green Rangers that Logan had to wonder if he was the only slightly intelligent person in their town. 

When Logan came to the conclusion about his friend, Roman, and friend-by-association, Remus, he accepted it, and decided not to ask. Considering neither of them could keep thier mouths shut-one of the few things the twins had in common-their reasons for not telling the whole world must be important. --- Since school had closed Logan was several times dragged from his home by overly eager friends. This day, Roman had grabbed Logan from his content atmosphere and pulled him into hanging out downtown. Logan and Roman were walking around for a few minutes while Roman chatted about The Prom yet again.

"You wanna get some ice cream from Twisters?" Roman asked. 

"At eleven in the morning?" Logan asked. 

"C'mon it's like nintey degrees!" Roman groaned.

"Roman it’s barely 70 degrees right now and-“

“Too late! I’m already buying!” Roman took a turn into the Twisters parking lot and walked up to the shop. 

“If you were going to buy one no matter what I said, why even ask?” Logan asked.

"It's courteous to at least ask." Roman explained, opening the door for Logan to walk into the ice cream shop.  

"Not if you completely disregard what the person's answer is going to be. At that point it's more courteous to not ask." Logan argued.

"Shush-shut up." Roman shushed him by shoving a hand at Logan's face. 

"How many times do I have to remind you about personal space Roman?"

"Logan shut it!" Roman whisper-yelled. 

"Why?" Logan asked. 

"Patton!” Roman whispered a half explination. He quickly went to stand in the small line, clearly trying to hide himself. 

"What?" Logan attempted to peer around his friend for a look, but was halted by Roman. "Is Patton here?"

"Definitely." Roman nodded curtly. "Don't look!"

Logan rolled his eyes and looked anyway. Roman was right. Patton Valentine sat in a small booth, typing on a laptop, and occasionally taking a spoonful of ice cream. Logan felt his face heat up drastically and he moved to hide himself in the line like Roman. 

Patton Valentine. There was something about this boy that made Logan so confused. Upon first meeting him, Logan got the impression that he was just another bright and ditzy person who would eventually escape Logan’s memories as high school finished.

Within a week that prediction was thrown out of the metaphorical window. In sixth grade Logan had deemed Patton to be his most threatening rival. A rival in what, Logan didn't know, but he was a threat nonethless and Logan had to learn everything about Patton to prepare himself for the moment he turned on Logan. 

After spending months, as Roman would call it, 'obsessing' over Patton, he realized the strong feeling he was acting on was not a competitive passion. Instead, it was a deeply developed feeling of adoration and affection. Feelings are so overrated. Logan found himself thinking as he put his hands to his face to try and stop the rush of blood that turned his skin pink. 

It was their turn to order and Roman asked the girl at the counter for a chocolate brownie double. Logan asked for a vanilla scoop with jelly on top and the two stood, waiting for their ice cream. 

"You're face is so red." Roman snorted a little and laughed. 

"Shut it." Logan mumbled, continuing to hide his face farther into his hands. "It was your idea for us to get ice cream."

"Well, I didn't know that the most popular person in the school was gonna be here." Roman seethed. "Do you really think I would have brought us here if I knew ‘Patton-I-have-5-million-subscribers-on-YouTube-Valentine’ was gonna be here!”

"Roman! Logan!" 

Logan lifted his head to see who had called their names, though he knew who it was. 

Patton was giddily waving at the two, smiling bright. Oh god that smile, Logan's brain betrayed him and quickly tried to clear his head. 

"H-hey Patton." Roman squeaked, returning the wave.  

"You two wanna sit with me?" Patton asked. 

Logan and Roman turned to each other, both exchanging a silent conversation before Roman answered. 

"Yeah sure!" 

Patton gave the two an even brighter smile and Logan felt the world sway a little. Logan and Roman were given their ice cream and went over to sit with Patton. Logan took careful glances at Patton and noticed a few things. His hair wasn’t typically so curly and his shoes weren't the regular red Vans. They were a neon light blue and reminiscent of Converse high-tops, but had a different logo. Why Patton Valentine was wearing off-brand Converse, Logan had no idea. 

"So, what were you working on?" Roman asked. At least Roman can talk. 

“Oh! Well my sister Megan works here so I get discounts on ice cream and there's free Wi-Fi. So, I figured I would get some editing done on my next video." Patton explained.

It was quiet for a beat before Logan figured he should say something to make himself less awkward.

“Um, your shoes look new.” Logan started quietly. 

“Oh yeah!” Patton brightened up and showed them off to the two. “They’re my new favorite shoes! My mom got 'em for me. She’s so sweet.”

“They look nice on you.” Logan sputtered out.

“Aww, thanks Lo! I think they look pretty snazzy.” Patton giggled. “Look, this is the best part.” 

Patton stood up and walked down the isle of the shop, Then turned and briskly walked back the way he came. Suddenly he popped back on his heels and rolled by the table with a smile.  

Heelys. He's wearing heelys. Logan thought, confounded by his own mind. Why is him wearing heelys so cute?

"You've got heelys!" Roman cheered. 

"Sure do!" Patton giggled, rolling back to their table and and sitting down.  

This doesn't make sense. They're probably the most inconvienent, childish form of footwear. Yet when he wears them, I can't think of a single reason as to why he shouldn't. Logan felt his face flush yet again as a small smile betrayed his otherwise stoic face. 

"I think I used to have a pair of-"

BOOM

Screaming and sounds of destruction sounded from across the street and everyone turned to see a breach open on the other side of the road. Minions from the Dragon Witch came flooding from the breach and began attacking everything in sight.  

"Oh gosh." Logan heard Patton whisper. "Oh no, no, no." The boy continued to trail off. 

"I-I-" Roman started. He looked at his friends helplessly before shouting out. 

"Everyone run!"

The shocked crowd followed Roman's call and proceeded to race out the back of the shop and run away. Logan looked to Patton, who seemed frozen to his seat, and sent him a pleading look. Patton looked from Logan to the monsters, then back to Logan before shakily standing up and reaching for Logan's hand. At any other time Logan would have been startled by the physical contact and, because it was Patton, could have melted into a mess of blushing and stuttering. 

However, given the situation, he instead pulled Patton along with the crowd and brought them out of the shop. 

"Are you okay?" Logan asked as they continued to run.

"Yeah, I think I'm okay, just um, just shock." Patton offered. 

Logan could tell there was something more, but decided not to press. Instead he focused on running for his life. They continued the run before Logan abruptly stopped. Causing Patton to quickly stop as well so he wouldn’t run into him.

"Roman!" Logan realized. "Roman, we're not with Roman."

"Where'd he go? I thought he was running with us!" Patton looked around, panicked.

"I-I have to go find him." Logan told Patton.

"Okay let's go-"

"No, Patton, you should keep going. I can find him on my own." Logan stated, already turning to leave.

"Logan I'm-"

"Get to safety please!" Logan dropped Patton's hand and started running. 

Patton stood staring at Logan, mystified, but did as Logan told him and ran with the crowd to a safe place.

Logan raced back to the shop in search of Roman. When he didn't find him he ran back out of the shop and around the back, only to find Roman standing there, clearly annoyed, looking around nervously. Logan was about to call out to him, but was cut off when Remus ran into the alleyway looking more deshelved than usual.

"Where have you been!?" Roman asked.

"You're not the only one with friends Roman!" Remus retorted.

"You took forever." Roman scoffed.

"You don't have to wait for me!" Remus sneered.

"And go in alone! I don't wanna get killed."

"Oh get over it!" Remus rolled his eyes dramatically and turned to the green band on his wrist. "Green Ranger, activate!!"

Roman waved his arms exasperatedly before turning to his own bracelet. "Red Ranger, activate!!"

Logan watched as the two became shrowded in bright light before revealing themselves to be their respective Rangers. The two hopped into battle and Logan watched, bewildered, yet satisfied. His theory was correct and he just watched his proof run off to fight monsters.

Logan watched the fight unfold. The Black Ranger cut down minion after minion with ease, instructing the other two occasionally. Roman used his sword to bring his enemies to dust and yell at Remus to follow some 'plan'. Remus apparently wasn't following any plan, but still got the job done by smacking monsters with his spiked mace. The minions' numbers seemed to be dwindling, until the breach closed completely and all minions were destroyed. Logan thought the three would fall back and change back out of their Ranger armor, but instead they stood there. Waiting. Then Logan saw it, a clouded black figure appeared on top of the building.

"Prince Virgilius!" Roman addressed the figure.

"Sup Red!" This 'Prince Virgilius' nodded.

Remus snickered, but stopped abruptly when Roman gave him a look.

"You can't keep doing this!" Roman told him.

"You’re so formal Red. Maybe you should lighten up a bit. Don’t be such a copy-paste protagonist! " Virgilius groaned, leaning back.

"You are really formal." Remus agreed. 

"Remus-I-just-ah," Roman stuttered a response. "Shut up!" 

Eloquient as ever. Logan thought.

Suddenly Virgilius disappeared and reappeared next to Roman, making him scream and jump back. 

"Is that like your one trick. Popping up like a creepy villain?!" 

"It still gets you so, yeah." Virgilius shurgged and disappeared yet again. 

"Can't you take any of this seriously?!" Roman yelled to nothing. 

"I mean I could." Virgilius yelled back from a top the ice cream shop. The three Rangers turned. "But you just look so cute when you're mad."

"You can't see my face." Roman pointed out. 

"Can we just get on with it please?” The Black Ranger shouted tearing away their attention. 

“Yeah seriously, the flirting never gets us anywhere.” Remus stated, annoyance dripping from his voice.

He chucked the mace at Virgilius who disappeared before it could hit him. 

"Ugh." Remus growled at the area his mace had missed. 

Logan watched as the weapon disappated into green light, only to reappear back in Remus's hand. The three closed together and began looking around for the prince, but no one was found. 

"Fan out a little." Roman told the other two. 

The Black and Green Rangers nodded and the three split off. Each taking wary steps in different directions, guards up. Logan looked around as well, the hairs on his arms standing up. 

A bright flash caught his attention and Logan saw a purple fireball headed straight for Roman. Logan ran from his hiding place and called for Roman to run. The Red Ranger looked his way and Logan tackled his friend to the ground, both of them barely missing the fire ball. 

"Logan what are you doing!" Roman shoved Logan away. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"I just saved your life you ungrateful-" Logan suddenly felt something clasp around his wrist. He looked down. 

A bracelet. A simple, fine chain that was glowing brighter by the second. 

“Logan!” Roman gasped. “I need you to yell ‘Blue Ranger, activate!’. Now! Do it now!

“I-uh-okay. Um, Blue Ranger, activate!!” Logan let out the words and looked at Roman pleadingly.

Logan was then enveloped by the light and left in a blank world. Armor began covering his body and a blue lance shimmered into existence in front of him. Logan felt his body react before his mind, and he grabbed the lance. 

The world came back into view. Logan was standing tall as Roman looked at him excitedly. Logan turned around to see the Green and Black Rangers also staring at him. 

He didn’t know what it was, but Logan felt a sense of completeness rush through him. He looked around, a little unsure of what to do, but the other Rangers joined him, standing by his side, ready to defeat the prince.

“Oh come on!! Seriously?!” Prince Virgilius exclaimed in frustration. “Gods help me. How many more of you are there?!”

Logan looked at the other Rangers, waiting a response.

“Our numbers are growing Virgilius! Yours will only dwindle from here! Give up now!” Roman pointed his sword at the enemy.

“Wow.” Virgilius sighed. “I don’t like you.” 

“The feeling is mutual.” Roman nodded. “Remus, now!”

Remus chucked his mace at the Prince yet again, only for him to disappear. The Rangers closed ranks yet again, standing back to back, at the ready. Suddenly Virgilius appeared a while away and shot a fireball right at the Black Ranger. Logan swung his lance, stopping the fireball before it could hit the other Ranger.

"Welcome to the team." The Black Ranger told him.

---

Logan was on his way home, and reviewing the information he had been told earlier.

Mr. Sanders-or Thomas as Logan was told to call him-was the Black Ranger. He had been Logan’s guidance counsellor all through high school. Thomas had told Logan about Prince Virgilius and how had been the general of the Dragon Witch’s army for the past few years and proved himself to be as dangerous as the Dragon Witch herself. 

Logan was supposed to go back to Thomas’s house tomorrow with Roman and learn more about the morphers and their power. Thomas didn’t want to overwhelm Logan with all of Ranger history, so he sent Logan home.

Logan examined the bracelet that was now wrapped around his wrist. The material it was made of swirled randomly like a kaleidoscope. Logan could stare at it all day, trying to find a pattern. 

As he approached his house Logan took a deep breath, ready for what was about to come.

“Maddie!” The voice of his little sister called out from the door. “Maddie come on! Lauren’s trying to make dinner and Mama's on FaceTime!”

“I’m coming Nora.” Logan replied.

He walked up to the house and into the kitchen where it looked like his sister was preparing food. 

“Maddie, I swear Lauren’s gonna poison us again if you don’t get over there.”

“Hey!” Lauren protested. “I’m a good cook.”

“Not as good as Maddie though.” Nora said as she passed by.

“Is that Maddie?” The voice is Logan’s mother came from an iPad that was set up in FaceTime. “How’s my favorite daughter?”

“I’m good Mama.” Logan told her. 

She couldn’t see it, but Logan’s expression immediately fell as he turned away. With his mom’s job constantly moving her from hotel to hotel, it became easier to avoid coming out to her.

“You know, we’re right here.” Lauren pointed out to her mom.

“Well you’re also the biggest thorns in my side at the moment.” Mama sighed. “Now do what your sister says so she can make dinner.”

Lauren groaned but turned to Logan expectantly.

“Can you just dry off that pan? I’ll make chicken soup and bread.” Logan sighed.

“Sounds great Madds.” Nora called from the couch

“Oh I wish I was there.” Mama sighed. 

“We know Mama.” Lauren told her.

“I’m gonna have to turn this thing off and head to bed, but you kids stay safe okay. I heard there was an attack earlier today. I’m just happy none of you got hurt.” Logan’s mom began shuffling papers near her.

“Mama, you don’t have to worry.” Nora yelled from the couch. “The Rangers are here to protect us you know!”

“Well thanks for that.” Mama rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I’m about three hours ahead of you so I’ve really gotta go. Get home earlier Maddie, maybe I’ll actually be able to talk to you!”

“You got it Mama.” Logan smiled at her, and waved goodbye.

She cut the call and Logan turned to his sisters. 

“You’re never gonna tell Mama are you Lo?” Lauren asked sadly, not facing him. “You know she’d be okay with it.”

“Lauren I haven't had the proper chance. I also must point out we don't actually know if she will be okay with me being transgender.”

“If she doesn’t accept you then we’re running away from here. You’re getting into a fancy college and becoming some sort of millionaire.” Lauren finally faced him. “Logan, we’ve got you.”

“I know Laurie. It’s just not the right time.” Logan sighed. 

“Alright. That’s okay, I don’t wanna pressure you. I mean it I really don’t. It’s just, she’s gonna start asking questions when she gets home. I don’t want you to go through another panic attack because you aren’t wearing a binder in front of Mama.”

“Lauren.” Nora chastised from the couch. “Would you lay off him.”

“I-I’m sorry Logan. I just-well you-oh-you know what I’m trying to say! I don’t want you to go through that again. I mean you’ve been doing so well this year and it’s the year Mama’s been around the least.” 

“Lauren, I know what you’re trying to say.” Logan sighed. “I’ll be okay. I know I can go to you if I get overwhelmed when she gets home.”

Lauren nodded and went back to drying off the recently washed pan.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound insensitive Lo. I really didn't." Lauren started again. "But you know you can't keep this up much longer. She's gonna find out and it's better that it came from you."

"I'm aware."

"Lauren would you just drop it!" Nora called from the couch.

"Okay. I-I," Lauren sighed. "okay. I'm sorry."

"It's natural for you to be worried Lauren, don't feel bad." Logan tried to reassure her.

"Just know when to stop." Nora chided.

It fell quiet after that.

taglist:

@tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors

@maddarc

@pheonix-inside-reblogs

@thisismysanderssidesblog

@almost-all-my-ships-are-gay

@mostpeopleannoyme

@the-smol-est