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differenceonlyyoucanmake · 3 years

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12 Dancing Princesses Thoughts/ Headcanons/ Assorted Stuff that Came to Me in a Dream

I’m kind of tired, so this may be incomplete. I wanted to put it out there, though. My dreams have mostly been from Courtney’s perspective, not an omniscient one. Because of this, there may be some gaps.

Ashlyn:

- Deserved so much better

- It actually makes me upset. I woke up from one of my 12dp dreams in TEARS because she deserved so much better.

- After Isabella passed, Ashlyn took on the role of being a maternal presence to her sisters. She did this extremely well, but it’s also heartbreaking how she pushed herself to grow up.

- Randolph was not a capable father during the lowest periods of his grief, and Ashlyn definitely had to compensate for this.

- Randolph... could have been kinder to her, especially after the queen died. He couldn’t look Ashlyn in the eyes. She reminded him too much of his late wife.

- Isabella wanted Ashlyn to inherit her belongings and position, but Randolph had his own favorites (I promise I don’t think he was an evil person, but he could have done better).

- I think Ashlyn would identify as bisexual.

- She knew several instruments, but was most attached to the flute. Her most treasured memories involved Isabella giving her flute lessons.

- She was expected to be the mature one all the time, so she repressed a lot of her own frustrations in favor of caring for others.

- She was closest to Blair and Courtney.

- She was a little soft spoken, and one of the most “ladylike”; Ashlyn was one of the sisters who struggled least with Rowena’s lessons.

- The younger sisters had a hard time remembering that she was a person capable of all sorts of feelings. They expected parental behavior from her, and got really confused when she expressed negative emotions.

- Some of the sisters assumed Ashlyn didn’t care for sweets, because she would offer hers to the others whenever they got any. In reality, she thought this was kind behavior. She showed sacrifice in several, seemingly inconsequential, ways.

- Despite seeming so mature, she always felt as if she stopped growing up after her mother passed.

- As the sisters grew up, Ashlyn really struggled with finding her purpose. She didn’t get the power her mother promised her. She put her own ideas and prospects aside to care for her sisters. She ended up floating from kingdom to kingdom, with varying success in several different courts. She eventually came to live with the other eldest sisters.

- Despite being (in my view) cheated out of her kingdom, Ashlyn seldom expressed frustration or resentment. She adopted the attitude of a retired noble early in life, spending a lot of time on composing music and serene hobbies.

Blair

- horse.... horses..... sleeping in the stables...... with the horses

- I’m kidding! Mostly!

- Blair was bold and opinionated. She also loved witty conversation and comedy.

- What else did she love? Horses.

- She would sneak out all the time to ride.

- Her favorite horse was black and very tall.

- She was closest to Ashlyn and Courtney.

- Blair was sick in childhood.

- Though the older sisters were known for being more refined and elegant, Blair pushed this notion plenty.

- She loved adventure.

- All of the sisters missed the golden pavilion, but Blair struggled with this a lot.

- She didn’t have as many problems with Randolph, but sometimes she would CAUSE problems on purpose (mostly defending Ashlyn and calling out his favoritism).

- She turned her own estate later in life into a close replica of the pavilion. The grounds were massive.

- She was intelligent, but struggled with many academic tasks. If she needed to read something that was challenging, she would often hand it to Courtney for help. She would only have motivation to read if it was about subjects she loved.

- This is ironic, because she later came to be a published writer. I believe these were short works, similar to pamphlets.

- Blair enjoyed throwing and attending large balls and gatherings. She was still chasing the thrill of the magical visits she’d make with her sisters.

- Blair was considered extremely beautiful, and drew admirers wherever she went. She accumulated many pieces of ruby jewelry this way.

- She also liked wearing capes and cloaks.

Courtney

- Generally shy, Courtney made an exception when she stood up for Ashlyn.

- Courtney longed to travel, and books provided her with a form of escapism until she was able to.

- She had a health scare after the events of the movie, and this somehow tarnished her standing in society??

- She wasn’t straight, probably a lesbian.

- She was well read on political matters and the history of their kingdom, and would often be the first one to noticed Randolph’s incompetence in certain areas.

- She was a young teen when she first started rewriting her father’s treaties in her spare time. She learned after the first time not to bring her drafts to him.

- When Ashlyn and Blair left home, she grew closer with Fallon. Both had a streak of wanderlust, and gravitated towards the romantic.

- Courtney published poetry under a pseudonym starting at a young age. This probably helped her somewhat. As she grew up, her poems grew in notoriety, and many debated who their true writer was. A significant portion focused on love between women and feeling trapped.

- I think she had been to Apollonia (Antonio’s kingdom in Island Princess) several times, and knew both Luciana and Antonio from an early age. I think this was the case for many of the older sisters.

- After their mother died, the girls traveled less, and met less new people. Courtney was bothered by this.

- She was generally thought of as calm and quiet, but she felt emotions deeply ( even if she didn’t always express them).

Delia

- Athletic and spunky

- Delia enjoyed more structured sports.

- She was prone to sunburns.

- Delia was enamored with the sun and light. She would hang prisms next to her windows to watch the light refract.

- She was closest with her twin, Edeline. They enjoyed playing croquet together and (though it was usually harmless) gossiping.

- Delia had a temper. She would deal with guilt afterwards if she lashed out at someone.

- Her emotional regulation issues came to light after her mother died.

- Delia dealt with a lot of guilt in general. She didn’t feel as put-together as her older sisters, or as carefree as the younger ones. She felt guilty for not fitting in, and expressed feeling like an inconvenience to those around her.

- Outsiders thought she was dim-witted, and she internalized this.

- Delia often had a problem of interrupting people or speaking loudly, so it was advised that she stay quiet when visitors came. This really hurt her self esteem, since she was always happy to make new friends.

- Rowena had offended her when she was a young girl, and Delia never forgot this.

- Delia liked birds, and hummingbirds fascinated her.

- She had to learn to accept herself later in life.

- She discovered people who appreciated her for who she was, and finally left her inhibitions behind.

- After that, she became known for her charisma and charm.

Edeline:

- Edeline shared a lot of interests with her twin, such as sports and outdoor activities.

- She enjoyed making others laugh.

- Once Genevieve married Derek, Edeline took it as her cue to BULLY that poor man.

- Seriously, it probably warded off suitors for her other sisters.

- It was usually in good fun, though.

- Edeline disliked rules and structure.

- She was closest with Delia.

- She often stood up for her twin.

- Edeline had a good ear for gossip, and had her own methods of fact checking stories she’d heard.

- Something happened with her at Genevieve’s wedding?? Maybe she broke something??

- Edeline traveled some, but found her way back home eventually.

- She DESPISED Rowena. None of the sisters liked her, but Edeline couldn’t stand her from the beginning.

- Edeline would have loved to know about the concept of roast humor.

- She liked to have sleepover-like setups in their bedroom. She would build forts and encourage the others to come tell ghost stories. When the memories of her mother came to her, she felt the need to DO something, even if the action wasn’t necessarily related.

- She became known for her humor.

Fallon

- Fallon was pretty much independent, until she and Courtney bonded.

- Fallon always wanted pets, and was jealous that only Genevieve was allowed to have one (besides....bugs and the horses, who were kept outside).

- She would try to befriend wild animals, and nursed some injured animals back to health.

- I don’t think Fallon was straight.

- Fallon was sensitive, and had a hard time dealing with Rowena’s harsh treatment.

- Fallon had nightmares, and would often go to her older sisters for comfort.

- She enjoyed the company of others. She would spend time with servants and other people considered to be below her station.

- Fallon played the harp.

- She loved the softer aspects of life.

- She devoted time to charitable causes.

- I just know that she did that classic princess trope of posing as a commoner. That’s such a her thing to do.

- She gained a reputation for being eccentrically kind. She had a large family of animals, who she took EXCELLENT care of.

Genevieve

- You may have noticed that the older sisters were generally closer with each other. Well, Genevieve wasn’t, and she made it that way.

- She.... liked to act like she was in charge. She often undermined Ashlyn’s efforts.

- She was Randolph’s favorite.

- Genevieve got along better with the younger sisters, especially Lacey.

- She probably did have leadership skills, but a lot of them came from acting like she did.

- Like I’ve implied above, she got a lot of power after she married, instead of Ashlyn.

- Derek wasn’t a bad person, but he was a COBBLER. How did she get more political power by marrying a COBBLER?

- She butted heads with Blair and Courtney quite often after the events of the movie.

- Basically, she had Main Character Disease dsfghjk

- She traveled less than the other older sisters.

- Admittedly, she wasn’t a poor leader.

- I have a feeling she adopted a lot of children later in life.

- She and Derek had a pretty long transitional period after they married, meaning they spent more time really figuring out who they were as a couple rather than jumping into their duties right away.

- Genevieve kind of symbolized the cutoff for the sisters who had lots of solid memories about their mother and those who didn’t.

- She was one of the best dancers out of the sisters.

- She was brave and self-assured.

- She knew what she wanted, and she would get it.

- After Twyla, she got some other cats. They were mostly orange and/or long haired.

- She never quite shook her habit of being late.

Hadley

- Hadley was closest to their twin, Isla.

- As Hadley grew up, they became more comfortable being gender nonconforming. They may have been trans, but I don’t remember.

- Hadley enjoyed fencing.

- Stilts were Hadley’s first love, and led to appreciation for other daring activities.

- Hadley also loved the ocean. Many of their adventures involved being at sea. They spent years sailing longside their twin on a ship Genevieve gifted them.

- Rumors swirled that they were a pirate. Though these weren’t true, Hadley didn’t mind.

- Hadley was energetic and intuitive.

- Hadley was an athletic risk-taker. They enjoyed acrobatics and other feats of the human body.

- Hadley became known for their adventurous exploits and fencing prowess.

- Though Hadley initially idolized Genevieve, she eventually sided with Ashlyn and the other older sisters once she learned the whole story.

- Hadley stayed with the older sisters after whatever scary thing happened with Courtney.

- Hadley mentored people, and may have been a teacher.

- She really missed the times when all of their sisters got along.

- There were rumors that Hadley was affiliated with darker forces, when in reality Hadley was one of the most well-adjusted.

Isla

- Isla was closest to Hadley.

- Isla liked adventure, but she was less daring than Hadley.

- Isla stayed our of most business involving the older sisters, preferring to spend time with her twin.

- She loved swimming.

- Isla had a collection of maps.

- She was known for being easy going.

- She sometimes had to bring Hadley down from an idea that seemed too dangerous.

- Isla was the voice of reason in some situations.

- She never lost her passion for dance, and learned new styles through their travels.

- Isla had pet birds.

- She was admired for her grace and acrobatic talent.

- Isla enjoyed circus-like acts.

- She was more bothered by the pirate rumors than Hadley.

- Isla enjoyed researching magic, and trying to find a way back to the magic pavilion.

- Isla was non-confrontational.

- She tried many forms of artistic expression, from writing to painting.

- Isla was loyal to Hadley, and would be there for her twin no matter what.

Janessa

- Janessa maintained her love of insects.

- Since they were so young when it happened, none of the triplets remember details of the magic pavilion. If their sisters weren’t there to confirm their memories, they would have thought it was a dream.

- Janessa grew up to be very interested in science.

- Janessa found the proper way to care for insects, and took pride in how well she did it.

- She was prone to worrying.

- She often lamented the fact that she was so young when they visited the pavilion.

- Janessa was considered obedient and passive.

- Janessa heard how much she looked like her mother (though not as much as Ashlyn). She had mixed feelings about this, because she couldn’t really remember what her mother looked like.

- Janessa was closest to Kathleen.

- She became close with Edeline and Delia when she got older.

- Janessa knew she wasn’t Randolph’s favorite, and took this personally. She tried, especially in her youth, to gain his approval.

- She also knew that Genevieve preferred Lacey, even though all the triplets looked up to Genevieve.

- Janessa balanced her love for science with her royal duties, and used what power she had to provide exposure and resources to research institutes.

Kathleen

- Kathleen was creative and unconventional.

- She was closest with Janessa, and became close with Isla later in life.

- Kathleen was known for her paintings.

- She started out painting things like landscapes, then moved into less traditional subjects.

- Her royal portraits were renowned in particular. They captured royalty doing activities that were important to them, or in significant fantasy settings.

- She painted portraits of her siblings and father. These became their favorites. She captured: a relaxed Ashlyn writing music, Blair on horseback in mid-air, Courtney in her library, Delia in the sunlight, Edeline in a fantastical outdoor scene, Fallon with her animals, Genevieve dancing, Hadley fencing, Isla swimming, Janessa surrounded by flying insects in the sky, and Lacey at work.

- Though she tried many times, Kathleen was not satisfied with her attempts of painting her mother. She felt like she was simply copying pre-existing portraits.

- The only painting of her mother she was somewhat pleased with was one of Queen Isabella walking away, her back to the viewer as she walked into a golden pavilion.

- Kathleen tried to paint the magic pavilion, and these painting had a fuzzy, dream-like quality.

- Her art gained a significant following.

Lacey

- She was Randolph’s second favorite.

-Lacey was unshakably loyal to Genevieve. She didn’t understand why the older sisters were upset about her being given power and land.

- Lacey struggled with illness as a child. She was inspired by the healing water at the pavilion to study medicine.

- Lacey struggled with muscle strength and coordination well into adulthood.

- Despite this, she continued dancing.

- She looked very similar to Randolph’s relatives.

- She felt the need to defend Genevieve, and would often challenge her older sisters because of this.

- Although Ashlyn never challenged her, Lacey harbored resentment towards her. She blamed Ashlyn for the fact that Genevieve’s approval wasn’t universal.

- Lacey was interested in scientifically based medicine, as well as magical remedies.

- Lacey was always closest with Genevieve, and lived with her for a long time.

- Lacey idolized Genevieve and Derek’s relationship, often heralding it as the pinnacle of romance.

- She searched for a way back to the magical world, believing it contained the key to eternal youth and immortality.

- Lacey didn’t care for travel as much as some of her sisters, but she usually enjoyed when she did leave her own kingdom.

- She grew up to be Genevieve’s closest adviser, and an accomplished healer.

Canon Noncompliant Things

- The sisters left the pavilion by dancing in birth order. Although Derek did leave by dancing with Genevieve, they weren’t responsible for leaving in the first place. Once again, Ashlyn doesn’t get the credit she deserves dfghjk

- Genevieve had an actual wedding, not whatever that was that was shown at the end of the movie. It was smaller than a lot of royal weddings (because Derek didn’t have many connections or people to invite), but it was a serious affair.

#long post #barbie and the 12 dancing princesses #barbie movie #barbie movies #barbie and the twelve dancing princesses #Barbie in the Twelve dancing princesses

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Elizbeth Debicki - Reunion Revenge

A/N - I love Elizabeth with everything I am, I'm sure I've said this before. I don't know why there aren't more fics about her. As always, I do not know Elizabeth, nor do I claim to: this is a work of fiction and wholly my own. I mean no disrespect to any of the careers mentioned at some point in this, just bear with. This is a set at a high school reunion, but I went to a private secondary school in England, so my experience is obviously not everyone else's. Reader has a twin brother, have fun with that. I also based this on a Tumblr post I saw, and thought that would be a swell concept to work into a Liz piece of writing: ‘never understood the whole showing up at your high school reunion revenge fantasy cause, like, really? high school?? I don’t want anyone from that time in my life to have any idea where I am or what I’m doing. do not perceive me I am dead to you and you are dead to me.' 8k.

Warnings - a little angsty, mentions of bullying, smoking, mentions of homophobia and slurs, wlw explicit smut, fingering, sex toys (strap-on), bathroom wall sex in a semi-public place, the whole shebang (literally). 18+

Summary - At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises.

AT THIS CURRENT POINT IN TIME, you would more than happily murder your brother for roping you into this. And for convincing Liz to come along, which is somehow worse than your own enforced attendance, as though your presence will make any difference to the people who made the seven ‘best’ years of your life a pure living hell.

Your brother did have your back through it all, and considering that he was supposed to be the best one to succeed, he needs you there for some moral support after his career took an unfortunate nosedive that everyone is undoubtedly going to be gawking over.

You never understood the whole ‘showing up at your secondary school reunion revenge fantasy,’ but that’s mostly just because they don’t deserve to know who you are anymore. They broke you continually, and you’re past it now: the only thing that could take you back to that mindset is being back in that great hall with the gossiping busybodies. It’s not your fault that you were a closeted gay for so many years. Well, that’s another cause of concern. Notorious homophobes, and you’re bringing your wife.

“Come on, honey, we have to go inside.” Liz tells you, her long fingers curling around yours affectionately.

She has a point. You’ve been in the car park for ten minutes now, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Her continual lavishes of kisses to your neck seem to be the only redeeming factor of your procrastination.

“Hmm, kiss me first.” you say.

She doesn’t disappoint, curling your hair behind your ear—wearing special diamond earrings she got you on your second anniversary—and catches your chin tenderly between her polished forefinger and thumb, tilting your face up to meet hers, her lips slanting over yours, melding together perfectly.

She’s the only good thing about this situation, about any situation: the only reason your brother was able to bribe you to come. Your main qualm about today is that you don’t want anyone from that period of your life to have any idea where you are or what you’re doing. You’ve been dead to them for years, and they to you. You don’t want them to perceive you whatsoever. But maybe, with Elizabeth on your arm and a brilliant career under your belt—everything you ever wanted—you can reap revenge. No one is in touch with you, so your arrival will be such a surprise, not that you exactly care about that, having blocked out and repressed a whole lot of that time period. You wouldn’t be able to even do this without Elizabeth, though.

“Liz,” you moan when she nibbles on your lower lip in that signature way she does. “We can stay here, we don’t have to go in.”

You shift your hand over the centre console to rub over her clothed thigh, your grip more than a little suggestive, prying further up…

“No baby,” she coos, “later, I promise. We’ll be late.”

You grumble, but only momentarily. She has a point, and a thing about being on time to everything. So you load out of the car, Liz coming around to the drivers side where she offers you her hand. She’s more chivalrous than any guy you ever pretended to date, an absolute gem of a person. You don’t even get jittery on the short walk inside, not with her thumb caressing your hand, your legs brushing together.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, at first, no one even turns to look at you, though relief floods your system, Liz bending down to kiss your forehead in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God, y/n, I’ve been here twenty minutes! Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy,” you say to your overzealous brother who is suddenly hounding you, attaching to your side.

He bristles, visibly shaking off his discomfort, before he’s linking his arm through yours and is tugging you along, out from beneath the wooden balcony, tugging you away from the shadows.

The hall is the exact same as it was both when you came and left the school, oak panelling everywhere, great glass windows stretching to the ceiling with sills too high for anyone to climb onto, a stained glass shrine above the stage. Put-me-up tables are littered around, sheathed with white cloths and ribbons with your school emblem on them, decorated with drink dispensers, mugs, wine glasses and cheap biscuits. The whole… scene brings back that awful sense of dread you got when forced to sit here, in tacky red woollen chairs, frayed and bobbled, that itched your legs, every Monday and Friday for assembly. It’s a beautiful room, truly, with a reinforced floor beneath the original boards, slightly splintering beneath your low heels, and you know every nook and cranny, every escape route, but the bad memories tarnish the space.

Liz, darling as she is, senses your discomfort, and creates small talk with your brother as you’re steered between groups of people you scarcely recognise until you reach the apex of the room, where his old friends stand, hunched over in ill-fitting suits, brooding over their brandy, no doubt complaining about their dead end jobs and lack of girlfriends.

“Hey buddy…” one of them says, trailing off once he hears a woman's voice, his eyes darting up—first to Elizabeth, then down to you. “Your sister and your girlfriend? Dude, she’s hot.”

“Isn’t she just?” Liz teases, a malicious smirk creeping onto her lips.

You haven’t even noticed, but some subconscious part of you has tucked your joined hands behind you, covered by Liz’s long, flowing dress.

“How you doing, wait, I know, don’t tell me…”

“y/n.” you snap. “Fine, thanks.”

“Well that’s good, good, isn’t it? I was just gonna call you mini y/l/n—”

“Don’t, that isn’t my name anymore.”

His eyes dart down to your left hand not held by Elizabeth’s slender fingers, instantly noting the glistening silver princess-cut ring nestled above a platinum wedding band.

“Married? Nice. No wonder the guy didn’t come,” another one chimes. You’re not entirely sure what he means, though it’s undoubtedly a dig at the fact Elizabeth is far hotter than you are.

Your brother is slowly growing angrier and angrier, the cords of thick muscle in his shoulders tensing, his nostrils flaring, his thinned eyes conversing with Elizabeth’s blues over the top of your ducked head.

“Yes, well,” you play along, and desperately look to your brother to continue the conversation.

“What are you all doing for work now?”

Everyone gives a boring answer: salesman, accountant, finishing up law school, working in an office, with one trainee chef in the mix. These men have all just done what the school or their parents expected and wanted them to do, no one has any ambition. No wonder you were always the odd one out.

“What about you?” the chef asks your brother.

“Oh, I’m on a sabbatical at the moment,” he replies sheepishly, eyes suddenly training on the floor before turning quickly, fixing on you. “My sister’s done really well for herself.”

Their surprise is palpable, seeping off them, dripping onto the floor via the loose threads of their cheap blazers.

“Yeah, I’m a translator for political and legal proceedings, you know, with cabinet ministers from all over the world, those who speak the languages I do, at least.” you answer pridefully. Your talents always were overlooked when you were at school, apart from by one special teacher, whom you haven’t actually seen yet.

“She’s marvellous, really,” Liz says, and you can’t help but feel a hint of guilt from neglecting her for so long, so you squeeze her hand a little tighter, and rub your thumb over her wedding ring. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. What do you want?”

“Red wine would be lovely. Unless you want me to drive home?”

She pecks your lips, “Of course not, enjoy yourself. You want anything, mate?” she turns to your brother.

“I’m good, thanks.” He mock-salutes.

“Don’t be long,” you warn her, swinging your hands out from their cover with a sudden flush of courage, and detaching them.

She looks down at you curiously, but her smile quirks into a smirk the second you pinch her hip and lean up on your tiptoes, capturing her pretty pink lips with yours, swallowing the small surprised gasp that escapes her. You can feel eyes on you all over the room, the situation genuinely feeling as though everyone besides your brother is staring upon you with disgust as her lithe arms wrap around your body, her one hand straying lower than you were prepared for, arching into her chest as she nibbles your lip again, your one hand cupping her flushing cheek.

A moment later, she’s releasing her hold and strutting away, all eyes then glued to the sensual sway of her hips, her long legs carrying her across the room faster than they thought possible. Then again, being 6-foot-3 as a beautiful woman is quite the surprise to people, they all expect her to be garish, uncoordinated, and though she’s clumsy at times, she’s certainly better at general levels of human functionality than you are.

“Dude, stop staring at my wife’s ass.” you hiss to the first man. If only they were worth your bother or time, you might have remembered their dreary names.

He splutters for a moment, bringing a ring-less left hand up to loosen his lilac tie. “Wife? What the fuck? How are you married to a woman before we are!”

What a mystery.

“You gay or something?” the trainee lawyer chimes in again.

“You got a problem with that?” your brother accuses, puffing up his chest pompously.

“Well, no… just surprised.”

“Astonished.” another pipes up.

“Isn’t that a big word.”

You showed the tell tale signs of being a lesbian for years, the popular girls all pretended you were preying on them in the changing room, calling you a d*ke for years until you reached the point of just changing in the bathroom to stop yourself from snapping at them. They must’ve always had a hunch, and why ever they thought Liz was your brother's girlfriend is beyond you. Men truly are more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yes, I’m gay. Yes, Elizabeth is my wife. I didn’t realise this would be earth shattering information.” You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, erected like a great old Church steeple, and shutter them for a moment, gathering your bearings. “I’m going to find Liz, little man. Told you I shouldn't have come.”

“Don’t call me little man!”

“I’m ten minutes older than you, I’ll call you what I like.” you tease, sticking your tongue out childishly, receiving a sarcastic sneer from your brother. Right now, all you want is Liz. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you all again, but then we’d all be liars. Goodbye.”

They gawk in a greatly uncouth and infantile manner as you stride away, pep in your step as you approach your stunning wife, wrapping your arm around her stomach as she waits for her tea—English Breakfast, naturally—to cool down.

“Hey beautiful,” you greet.

“Hey, you. What happened?” she asks, instantly noting the sallow bags that have swiftly formed beneath your eyes.

“They were being arseholes, c’mon, let’s just stand in the corner until it’s socially acceptable to leave this hellhole.”

“We can go now if you’re uncomfortable, baby.”

Ever the forward, sympathetically thinking wife.

“No, no. I came here, I’d better make it worth my while.”

She tangles her fingers with yours, “Okay darling. Say the word, we leave.”

There aren’t words for how safe you feel thanks to Elizabeth, even just with this fractional amount of contact from her. She’s the answer to all your prayers and more, the thing in life you'll never deserve. Her love for you is endless, her affections infinite, and every day, you fall more and more in love with her, especially when she’s as kind as she is now.

It barely takes five minutes, the two of you hugging, kissing, leaning against a broad oak pillar, half shadowed, for someone to approach. One of the girls you despised, costume jewellery on her wrists, a self aggrandised smirk painted onto her fake lips. Martha? Mabel? Maddie?

“I heard you were here,” she starts, placing her tackily manicured hand onto her hip, “it’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Great, thanks.” you say blandly, keeping your attention on Elizabeth’s hand entwined with yours.

“This is your… friend? Why did you bring a friend to this?”

She laughs mirthlessly, such a fake sound—like this cow's boobs—it makes your primal instincts flare. Elizabeth holds you impossibly closer, her arm around your waist tightening as you seek solace in her.

“y/n and I are married, thank you. I don’t appreciate the homophobic, disrespectful insinuations.”

She stifles another laugh, “You’re punching above your weight a bit aren’t you, y/n.”

“Don’t rise to it,” Liz headily murmurs in your ear, sending pleasant, calming vibrations throughout your whole body.

You gulp down as much air as you can, curling tighter into Liz, before saying what you thought all those years ago, “I’d rather be ‘punching’ and married to a woman I love rather than be a Goddamn trophy wife going nowhere, leeching off daddy’s money. People like you will never change. I’m happy, and I have a good feeling that’s more than the likes of you and your sad old minions can say.”

“Sweetheart, come on.” Liz whispers, and her hold on you increases until it begins to pinch, not that you mind, and then she’s thankfully tugging you away.

You barely make it out the door, Liz leaning down to kiss you heartily, passionately, before people are clamouring over you, what’s-her-faces friends, people you used to be in fair acquaintance with, all speaking together, their voices overlapping in what you can only believe to be expressions of acceptance.

“Um, thank you, I’ll just be back in a moment.” you say to those who bother to listen. Next thing, you’re darting out the way you came, tugging Liz down the great stone steps in front of the behemoth building, and then are leaning against the old wall, almost crumbling with rubble on the exterior at least, not as well preserved as the inside.

She joins you not a moment later, ferreting around the pockets in her skirt for the spare cigarette and lighter she slipped in earlier. Liz doesn’t condone your smoking in any way whatsoever, and in fact she’s the main reason that you quit, but she knows that when your anxiety is high during times like these, one can’t hurt. She always comes prepared.

She is definitely the most consistent, reliable thing in your life by a long shot. Naturally, you two have your fair share of ups and downs, and on the occasion you get your periods at the same time, you’re a complete dichotomy of furious fights and condoling cuddles, while the rest of the time you find yourselves in sheer throes of passion. You may be a dependable couple bound to stay together forever, but that doesn’t mean that the flame of lust once born there has even momentarily flickered: it’s why you work so well. Men are awful in bed, from both of your experiences. Only a woman truly knows how to please another woman. And in the many ways that Liz is a home-body and sticks to the safe side of things, sex is not one of those areas, and you frequently wind up in another one of her barmy—though blissfully pleasurable—experiments. Her daring never goes amiss, and you can’t help but pray that she has something up her sleeve (besides the cigarette) to dull the ache of the day, and also the growing desire pooling between your legs upon seeing have such a naturally demanding power, and looking so Goddamn stunning in her maxi dress. And the lip nibble, God—

“Before you ask, I’m not shagging you out here.” she says, lighting your cigarette with steady hands.

You inhale the smoke, allowing it to form dark halos around your head once you puff it out through pursed lips, hoping it obscures your sheepish smile and averted eyes from Liz’s view.

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Yes you were. You forget how well I know you.”

You shoot her a sardonic smile and take another deep drag, the bitter taste pouring into your senses, filling your lungs, calming your mind before you let it go with one long, shaky breath. The smoke has a way of revealing the air, making an artistry of its swirls and flow, something you’ve always been able to appreciate. Ever the wise one, Liz just sees the poison it’s creating within your body, and will do anything to make you stop.

The sick, intrusive thought that you might be disappointing her by this simple act alone rises a cough to your throat with the next puff, but in reality she looks so nonchalant, her eyes closed, a simple smile playing on her perfect lips as she revels in the moment, in your presence, her pinky finger looped just over yours against the crumbling brick wall. Nonetheless, the uneasiness is enough for you to stub the cigarette out under your shoe before it’s even half-way smoked.

“Baby, you okay?” she asks sympathetically, turning to face you so that her shoulder is pressed to the wall, her spare arm flying around to brush against your upper arm, thumb caressing the flesh there through your clothes.

“Yeah, course. Can we stay out here a bit, though?”

You expect her to wholeheartedly agree, because you could tell by the subtle sensing of her limber body and the sudden snap attitude she had that she was just as uncomfortable in there as you were, perhaps more so. Her reflexes may as well be yours with how used you are to them. That’s exactly how you know that she’s going to refuse your request by the almost imperceptible crest of her nails into your supple skin.

“Your brother texted, he asked you to come back in: people won’t stop badgering him about you.” She pauses, but upon hearing you huff, hurriedly leaps back in. “I mean of course we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, this is about you, not your brother…”

But it is about your brother. You agreed to come here today to be of help to him. And besides, Elizabeth has almost as much loyalty to your brother as she does to you, the two of them having been friends before he introduced you to her. That certainly didn’t have the outcome he was expecting, but you’ve all remained close nonetheless. Mentally, you give yourself a shakedown. How could you be so selfish? Today isn’t about you, not really. Sure you’d like to make peace with your past and your old tormentors one last time before leaving and never seeing them again, but the main reason is support.

“No, you’re right,” you say after a long moment of lamentation.

“That’s a first,” Liz snorts.

You smack her playfully, “Watch it, you.”

“Hey, who’s the pillow princess around here?”

Your cheeks instantly flush. “That was one time.”

“More like five,” she umms and ahhs, but grasps your hand a little tighter regardless.

It’s a fair comment on her part: Liz does wield the majority of the power in the relationship, and is definitely more of a top that you are, but you ensure that you pleasure her just as much as she does you, it’s only fair. Apart from those few times you decided to try something new… you got tired of that pretty quickly, though, since you couldn’t go too long without tasting her while you were in bed. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms you receive, your desire for her is never quite quelled. Frankly, you hope it never is.

“Stop thinking about fucking me, babe,” she scolds, and pulls you up fully standing from your temporary reprieve against the wall. “Later, I promise. Not here.”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks at the fact she so easily deciphers your filthy thoughts, but then again, she always has. She leads you back inside, and all but hands you over to your brother, practically jumping with impatience at the door to the hall.

“Thank God you’re b—” he cuts himself off, moving closer to you, imperiously sniffing your clothes. “Did you smoke again?” You nod. “Fucking hell, well, there’s another conversation topic, we’ll talk about this later. Can you believe this lot didn’t know you were gay? What morons…”

“Hey, I’m not that obviously gay, am I?”

The dead silence that envelops you gives you the answer you weren’t too keen on receiving in the first place.

“But!” Liz helpfully adds in her most cheery tone. “If you hadn’t been so obviously gay, I probably never would’ve asked you out.”

She beams even as you roll our eyes, “So endearing, babe.”

“Hurry up, this lot are arseholes.”

“I know.” you deadpan. He sends you a snarky smile.

Following him through the small clans of people meandering and congregating amongst themselves, all with some sort of beverage in their hands, you feel your hand grow clammy in Liz’s. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to run away with itself or whirr on for too long, though, before you’re pulled into a group of people—all three of you—and are all welcomed with enthused hugs and professions of well wishes.

“Oh how are you? You look so well, I hope you’ve been doing good!”

Well, you think, if they cared enough they’d have contacted you. Half of them are your brothers Facebook friends and he’s often posting pictures of you hanging out, or childhood throwbacks, and tagging you in them in plain view. Thankfully, your page is private, and Elizabeth doesn’t even have social media. She’s smart.

You engage in conversation—well, they do, you just listen and hum when you’re supposed to, making surprised faces at the right parts—about one classmate who couldn’t be here because she married a mobster and isn’t allowed to discuss her lifestyle. She isn't. She got pregnant straight out of school and is going through her second divorce: your brother saw her recently. Who are you to deny them gossip when you really couldn’t care less?

In minutes they seem to have exhausted all possible fascinating subject matters, or at least make it appear that way as they turn all eyes on you.

“So, y/n, we hear you have a girlfriend!”

Not again.

“Wife; this is Liz.”

“How are you.” she says, more by way of greeting than having any regard for them.

“Oh my God,” one woman clamours, “are you Australian? My boyfriend is Australian! Maybe you know him?”

Liz’s face breaks into a wide smile, the first one of the event. Who cares that it’s at the expense of another person's intelligence, or lack thereof? You and your brother struggle to stifle your own laughter as you loll your head against his broad shoulder, too.

“Australia is more than seven and a half million square kilometres. In context, the UK is only two-forty-two thousand. We have a population of 25 million. I’d be more likely to meet the queen and the president.” she quips. Ever the fount of useless knowledge; as are you both.

“Oh,” says the woman, casting a sheepish gaze away.

“But, um, yeah, I am Australian.”

“You’re tall,” another blatantly observes, “you look Dutch.”

“Polish-Irish. Not far off.” she says again, fixing a smile of nonchalance.

People turn to you for something to say. You have nothing: nothing to say to these awful sycophants, so you’re half relieved and half angered further when your name is called from somewhere behind you.

“y/n y/l/n!”

Great, another bellend. Star of the football team. You settle yourself after a sudden wave of dizziness from spinning on your heel to see just who was calling you, and you’re not particularly surprised, but not glad either, when he’s excited to join the dull circle.

“Actually,” you correct, “it’s y/n Debicki.”

Silence cools around the circle. What, have these people been living under rocks for the past God knows how many years?

“Oh, why?” he asks.

“I got married and took my wife’s name.” you grit out just barely, balancing from foot to foot, the wooden floor creaking around you. Some more wine would be really good right about now, but instead you just settle for an intoxicating peck from Liz’s lips, the chiffon of her skirt shifting again to reveal your held hands and glistening wedding rings.

“Oh!”

The silence is agony. Why can’t the ground just swallow you up already? Your brother's getting angry, his fist clenching, picking at his nails, while everyone else in the group is exchanging anxious eye contact. Liz and her insanely long legs could probably give you a leg-up to one of the immensely tall windows as a quicker, though slightly more problematic escape route…

“By the way, that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah,” someone adds, you can’t be bothered to look who. “We totally accept it.”

“It’s like you’re not even gay, but straight, and normal. N—not that being gay isn’t normal, just that we don’t see you any differently.”

“You’re the same y/n you always were.” one smiles at last.

Your brother is going to lose it in three… two… one…

“Oh yeah? The y/n that you all relentlessly picked on and victimised for years? The same y/n who was forced to hide her identity and everything she wanted to be for years just because you back-thinking bastards didn’t want a lesbian in the class?” he shouts, flailing his arms madly about, hissing one of the broad, tree trunk pillars in the process. He doesn’t flinch. Turning to you, he starts in a softer voice, “I never should’ve asked you to come here, I’m so sorry y/n, I was so selfish to bring you back to this hellhole. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to come with these dipshits tossing around! And Liz, you don’t deserve this either. Please, do us all a favour, and take y/n home, never bringing her back here. You were right all these years, sweet, it’s the place nightmares are born. And you scummy lot should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

His breath is ragged once he’s done with his rant, his forehead glistening with sweat, his knuckles white with tension.

“Liz, could you get him some water, please?” you whisper into her ear.

She nods affirmatively, and breaks from your grasp, steering your hunched, tense, seething brother in the direction of the drinks table.

“Thanks, I guess,” you begin, kicking your heels into the splintering oak floor, your wine long forgotten, “like, for the acceptance and stuff. But I’ve always been this way, he’s right. It’s not some earth shattering revelation, I was just too shy to come out because you all tossed slurs around like it was okay.” You take a deep breath, and in that time, Liz has returned and stuck herself to your side, your brother happily alone in the corner with a cold glass of water as you cast a glance over your shoulder. You comb your fingers through Elizabeth’s coiffed blonde hair to relieve some anxiety, and are further reassured when she presses her lips to your earlobe, glistening with the diamonds she gifted you. “Besides, this shouldn’t be a thing you have to zealously profess to accept, it should be just as normal as one of you walking in with your heterosexual partner.” As some of them have done, and no one’s batted an eyelid.

A din of agreement sounds out from them, but you know they’re all more than a little meek after being scolded like schoolchildren by your big scary brother. He’s a teddy bear, really, but when he flips, he flips.

When you arise no cohesive response from anyone, you rest your head on Liz’s shoulder, and ask, “Did you see that article on the BBC yesterday morning?”

You have no idea what article you’re on about, but one leaps in with something about climate change, and one about a rise in violent crime in the area. Thank God you don’t live there anymore.

“I forgot about that one!” you gasp with feigned surprise.

Liz looks down on you warmly, chuckling at the mischievous glint in your eye. She knows exactly what you’re up to. But after today, you can walk away from this place, despite the stunning old architecture of the gorgeous building, the beautiful panelling on the walls and the window you spent so many hours gazing at while daydreaming wistfully through assemblies and exams, never to return. Frankly, after this shit show, you’d have it no other way. The teachers will be arriving soon, and in the hopes you see your favourite old teacher, Mrs Alleman, you decide it can’t hurt just to stick around a little bit longer, even if you don’t listen to anyone's conversation. It’s not like they want to involve you.

Before you know it, ten dreary minutes have passed, and as each second slips by, you’re losing the will to live. Even these people are bored to death by the sound of their own voices, unsurprisingly. You’ve just busied yourself the whole time by playing with Liz’s long, slender fingers and her glistening silver ring. She’s becoming more and more antsy, though, so you’re unsurprised when she moves to stand away, speaking only when there’s a brief intermission of silence.

“I’m heading to the loo, honey. Which way is it?” she asks politely.

“Out the door we came, but on the other side of the corridor is a closed door, down that corridor it’s the fourth on the right, up a couple of stairs.”

Her eyes widen, “This place is a maze.”

“I know,” you chuckle, and lean up to peck her lips. “They’re the staff ones, down a cohorted route in a forbidden corridor so we wouldn’t use them.”

“You,” she shakes her head, bending down to kiss you again from her standing position, though she does practically double down, and has to press a hand to her chest to prevent her dress from falling, “are so randomly knowledgeable.” It’s really more of an awkward stowed away memory, but you take it anyway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she draws away, she catches your lip in her teeth. Again. If it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, you’d be after her like a bullet, but, well… So you just sit there, counting the minutes, the seconds until she returns and you’re able to make a quick exit, barely making an agreeable sound or two when someone deigns to involve you in the deathly boring conversation they’re having about the FTSE or something, but she doesn’t return. It’s only after five minutes—you meticulously checked your watch—that you realise she’s probably gotten lost, your heart fluttering into your throat.

“I think Liz is lost, I’m gonna go find her,” you say, not that anyone exactly notes your absence or offers you as much as a nod, so you stand and stroll away, not caring about your knocked over glass as you stalk out of the great hall, breaking into a slight jog as soon as the doors are closed behind you.

You could swear you catch your brother winking across the room as they close, but you can’t be sure, not with how crazy you are after Liz did that thing she does every single time she instigates sex. You’ve been together for more than four marvellous years, and yet it still brings fire into your veins, butterflies into your stomach, and lust into your mind.

She’s not in the foyer, or down the ostentatious portrait corridor, so you burst into the pristine white and purple bathroom, only to find Liz leant against the wall, a slight bulge in her dress.

“God, I was wondering if you’d ever get the message, I’ve been waiting for ages.” she huffs, slamming her mouth onto yours impatiently.

You gasp, winding your arms around her neck, not complaining in the slightest when you hear the door lock and you’re lifted high against the wall. Your hand flies down on instinct, and you’re not disappointed when your hand wraps around something long, hard and thick.

The squeak of surprise that leaves your lips only spurs Liz on more. “You wore the strap.”

“I went and fetched it from the car, thought we could have some fun, make this worth your while.”

“I love you so much.” you breathe, no time for courtesy.

Crashing your lips down onto hers, you lick filthily into her mouth, your tongue skimming her teeth, but your control barely lasts a moment before she’s overpowering you, nipping at your lip as she busies herself otherwise with gaining access to your throbbing, drenched core.

“Liz…” you moan. When she skims her fingers over the lace edge of your panties.

“So wet already baby,” she taunts, her breath hot on your ear, “have I done all this? Such a dirty girl…”

Her voice holds a gravelly quality, down to lust you’d wager. Her accent becomes so much more pronounced during times of passion, too. Her voice alone sends another wave of wetness gushing through you, soaking Liz’s fingertips as she slides them under your panties and into your folds.

“Oh poor helpless baby,” she croons, biting down on your neck harshly. “I don’t even need to use lube today, do I?”

You can’t respond, can’t even try to. She’s so intoxicating you could cry. All that’d come out is senseless babble. You can barely muster a breath with her gaze of such intensity burning into your fucked-out face. In all fairness, she doesn’t usually have to, since she makes you gush with a single glance, but the sensual jibe does make you a little embarrassed.

You can’t think straight when she plunges a single, long digit deep within your velvety walls, stroking at a torturous pace.

“F— fuck, faster, please.” you stammer.

“Only because my baby asked so nicely.”

Her hand begins to move faster against you, the rustle of clothes nothing compared to the sounds of your wetness. She adds another digit daringly, and pumps within you faster, her technique impeccable. If she’s not careful, you’ll be falling apart around her fingers in little more than a moment. Over the years she’s learnt how to bring you to mind-shattering climax embarrassingly quickly.

“Lizzie…” you moan when she hits that special spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes.

Quick thinking as ever, she clamps one elegant hand over your mouth, her pale fingers digging into your cheeks, the metal of her rings cool against your lips. You can’t help yourself, your tongue darting out to lick the band of her wedding ring, skilfully wrapping your wet muscle around her. She can never resist when you do that, and her own knees begin to buckle, but her pace speeds up.

“Baby, I’m close,” you hiss against her hand, words muffled.

Your shoulder presses painfully into a ridge of the wall, but you can’t care, not when her wrist is flicking so quickly, yet somehow each thrust is deeper and more pleasurable than the last, the pads of her fingers catching all the right places within our quivering walls, continually hitting that spot. The heel of her palm keeps hitting your clit with a voracious intensity, needing to bring you toppling over the edge.

You come unravelled with a cry of her name, your legs unable to even partially hold yourself up as she settles you down gently on the floor, forcing you to lean heavily against the countertop. Stars and fireworks erupt to create images of Liz behind your eyelids, in the front of your brain. And the noise you made… After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall knows what you’re up to, and somehow, that only fuels your need for Liz further.

“How do you get hotter every time you do that?” she husks.

Purple glittery potpourri on the window-sill prickles at your upper arm as you shuffle backwards, reaching out to Elizabeth with grabby hands. Her petite chest heaves with heavy breaths, her hair sticking up a little in cute blonde spikes.

“You wanna sit, babe?” you ask breathlessly.

Your own vision is a bit blurred from riding on cloud nine just moments ago, your juices running down your legs, glistening in the harsh bathroom light.

“You’ve always got a seat with me.” You wink, and wet your lips with your tongue. “Come sit.”

She chuckles at you, instead moving to kneel between your open legs on the edge of the counter, hovering over you

“Wait until we get home,” she teases, pressing the cold rings on her hand to your inner thigh, “I don’t trust myself, I’ll never leave if I sit now.”

Her lips lace with yours filthily, and you find yourself unable to stop your legs reflexively bolting out to wrap around her hips again, hand coming up to cup her cheek and neck with a bruising hold. Her hips rock against yours, and with your core already opened and revealed to her, all it takes is a slight fidget and a particularly harsh rut of her pelvis, and the priapic extension of Elizabeth—attached, thankfully, by a harness—is buried to the hilt within you. Your gasp is silent, your mouth opening in an inaudible ‘o’, a soundless plea for more. She’s prepped you well as always, and sought to open you up fully, which means that only a moment later you’re tapping her shoulder to signal for her to move.

The bulbous tip of the toy gains your attention rather swiftly as it grazes that heartily stimulated spot that Liz was so focussed on just minutes earlier. Her hips move with such grace even in such an ungainly act, her years of dance training aiding her elegance. God, she’s just so perfect in every way.

“Fuck, baby, I think I’m close—” she murmurs in your ear.

She begins to suck hickeys into your jawline, rendering you utterly speechless at the onslaught of pleasure you’re receiving all at once. Your boobs are bouncing as she pounds into you harder on the counter, the base of the strap now hitting your clit.

“Me too,” you eventually garner to choke out.

Your own pleasure can wait, take a damn backseat, because sweat is beading on Liz’s forehead as she wrecks her knees to fuck you more furiously, delivering you all of the pleasure you could ever want. But Elizabeth? She deserves it far more than you do after everything she’s done for you today.

She bites her lip, probably to keep a moan down the same way you are by biting your tongue, and she proceeds to hook her willowy arms around the crooks of your knees, thus tugging your legs up onto her shoulder, allowing her to hit an even deeper angle than before.

You can’t help the obscene whimper that escapes you, shrill and so pleasured, “Baby, keep— ohmygod please!”

Your head falls back against the hard porcelain rim of the sink, knocking some sense into you. This is your chance, while her eyes are still closed and the veins and ridges of the fake plastic cock are driving deep inside you, squeezed by your clenching walls. Slipping your own arm down her body and between the two of you, you find your way beneath the strap and onto her throbbing pearl.

“Shit!” she squeaks upon the first spark of contact, her body temporarily seizing, but she falls back into her previous pace within moments.

You rub circles on her voraciously, suddenly darting up to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss as a cry threatens to spill from her lips. But then you feel it coming, and your entire body tenses in anticipation, your eyes flying wide open to watch heaven crash right before your eyes.

First, her shoulders tense, followed by her eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbone without her even being aware, then her legs try to involuntarily clench around your hand, her clit throbbing with anticipation as you speed up your movements. Her knees go next, then her arms, and she’s unable to hold herself up, but her hips don’t stop once. That’s when it happens.

“y/n, y/n, y/n.” she repeats like it’s her prayer of salvation.

Every muscle in her body quivers, her lips parting, her nose scrunching. Her teeth then catch your lip in the kiss you’re mixed up in, and her hips still. It doesn’t matter, since you’ve reached your own climax just from watching her fall apart at your very own mercy, your own legs falling from her shoulders, open wide on the counter as you chant her name in as quiet a whisper as you can muster.

Heavy breathing resonates through the small room, the stifling air now reeking of sex.

“C’mere,” you coax.

The counter is cold beneath you, the sink uncomfortable as you lie down flat, but when Liz crawls feebly into your arms, it matters a whole lot less. The comfort she provides is, and always has been, incomparable. Ethereal is the only way to describe her this way, too, blonde hair ruffled as she curls into your side, burying her nose into your shoulder, her arm slung over your waist.

“Do you think you got your revenge, babe?” she asks in a quiet voice, husky, laced with sex.

“Definitely. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.”

“Probably more than what most of those has-beens have got in years.”

You meet her twinkling eyes, and dissolve into a fit of giggles together, gripping her even tighter. It always was a secret fantasy of yours to do something like this, but you never imagined you’d be here nearly a decade later, fucking your wife in the staff bathroom. That’s just… beyond, but so hot.

“Ready to blow this place?”

“More than,” you answer, “but safety first.”

She gazes up at you, pouts and grumbles, but slips off you and into the left hand stall anyway, while you take the right. Once she emerges, the strap is safely stowed away in a discreet bag—one you purchased specifically should a chance like this ever arise since you’re not fans of handbags—and she turns the tap on. You wash your hands in a contented silence, and fix each other's clothes and hair the same way, until you’re at least half way presentable (though still more than mildly dishevelled) in order to just escape to the car and then hope at long merciful last.

“Should we text your brother?”

“I’ll do it when we reach the car,” you tell her, taking her hand as you unfasten the lock and pelt out into the corridor. “Wait, one minute.”

She watches you peculiarly as you pull out perfume from your pocket, spritzing it around the room, before re-entering fully and cranking the window open. At least this way the scent of sex is partially masked.

“Ever the resourceful one,” she chuckles, following your lead down the corridor, her long legs bounding beside you.

Your giggles carry around the high ceilinged building, bumping and bouncing off every wall so it seems, and once you're out into the foyer, she ensures to kiss you loudly, bending down to meet your height, just to test if your kisses have the same effect.

You don’t get to test that, however, before an all too familiar voice snaps you out of your trance, and suddenly, you’re fifteen and being told off for late homework again.

“y/n!”

You scurry to hide Liz behind you, as if that’s of any use whatsoever, and almost melt into tears when you see Mrs Alleman.

“Oh dear, how good to see you.” she professes, and before you quite know what to do with yourself, she’s standing right in front of you, wearing the same stylishly sensible shoes she always did.

“And you, Miss.”

“Who’s this?”

Glee forces a wide smile onto your face, standing aside to allow Elizabeth’s full beauty to be appreciated.

“This is my wife, Elizabeth,” you say, the proudest thing you’ve said all evening. “This is Mrs Alleman, my language teacher. She taught me everything I know.”

“Oh stop it,” she plays coy, but is gasping and gawking joyously beneath it. “Mr Smith owes me a tenner now. I predicted you’d come here with a female partner of some sort, he said you’d just come as an out and proud lesbian but single.”

Your jaw drops, and you can see Elizabeth’s chest rattling a little with swallowed laughter.

“I’m sorry, what? You had a bet on me being gay?”

“Oh yes, it first started when you were in year eleven and so helplessly queer, we couldn’t help but keep placing bets on how long you’d stay in the closet.” She places a gentle hand on your upper arm, noting the evident flush about you, and turns towards Liz. “Anyway, hi Elizabeth. You treat our girl well, she was a great student.”

“Always, Ma’am.” Liz answers dutifully, squeezing your hand even tighter in a silent promise. “She’s the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me, and I’m glad she had an influence like you among all that lot of bogans.”

Mrs Alleman is impressed, you can tell since she’s wearing that same delighted expression she did when you told her you got into your top choice university with the results you aimed for, thanks to her teaching. “Tall, out, and Aussie? She really does have it all. And as much as I’d like to argue, you’re totally right, that year was a damn nuisance.”

“Somehow, no one has matured since we left?” you comment with feigned shock.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” It didn’t surprise you either. They were a fat lot of use, the whole lot of them. At least you and your brother were able to do good on your promise to get away from them all. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, I work in translation for the home office and cabinet ministers.” Though your statement doesn’t hold as much pride as the one about Elizabeth being your wife did.

Her eyes grow wide, “That’s brilliant! I know you always wanted to do something like that.”

“I did, and I actually enjoy it.”

Mrs Alleman’s face softens, “I hoped you would. But promise me you’ll never become a teacher.”

You loose a chuckle, saying, “Never,” before stilling to a beat of easy silence.

“I love those earrings, by the way.”

“Oh!” You twist them subconsciously. “Anniversary present.”

“Y’know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get inside and make a speech,” she grumbles. “Drop me an email, I’d love to catch up and properly see how you’re doing. Bring this tall drink of water if you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

“I’d really like that Miss, thank you.” you say, flushing a little.

Mrs Alleman was always one for affection, so you’re not entirely surprised when she approaches you with wide arms, her court shoes muffled on the foyer carpet. You accept the hug, and you’re surprised when Liz does the same. You say your goodbyes, agree to meet again, and let Elizabeth lead you back to the car, your fingers woven together.

“Was that worth being dragged out of the house for?” Liz asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps shoving that strap down my throat will make it a little more worthwhile,” you say with a smirk.

“I heard that!” Mrs Alleman shouts from the top of the stone steps, gazing at you disapprovingly despite the laughs tumbling from her.

You cling to Liz, pressing your lips into a thin line when you feel your phone buzz, your brother's name popping up on the screen.

‘Everyone knows what you were doing. Don’t come back.’

‘We weren’t planning on it,’ you type back. Not now you’ve reaped your revenge, at least. You shut your phone after adding to the message, ‘Drinks at ours tonight.’

These people from your past are insignificant, Liz is your future and your forever.

#night manager jed #elizabeth debicki #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki avatars #vita & virginia #elizabeth debicki imagine #elizabeth debicki fanfic #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #elizabeth debicki x you #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #wlw imagine

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everything-laito · 3 years

Text

damn the brain be out here going BRRRRRR here’s the Laito and Cordelia Analysis (with a little bit of Karl sprinkled in) Part III

wow my fingers are freezing but my brain sure isn't!

aaaanyways, iiiiiit’s trauma time!!! Am I a productive member of society by writing these analyses? No. Do I gain anything by writing them? Kinda, my brain gets exercised and they’re fun to research for. But if you haven’t read the first part or the second part for some reason (I recommend reading them in order), there they are.

Once again, trigger warnings still apply; mainly about trauma, isolation, etc

I’m gonna talk about the trauma and effects it had on Laito and to attempt to extrapolate why he is the way he is. I have a lot of examples I want to go over and stuff to talk about, so I think the trauma part is going to be split between two (or maybe three) parts. I also have a little bit to say about Karlheinz.

As always, big ass rant under the cut!

Section 6: Neuroplasticity and Trauma

Oh???? More science vernacular??? You BET! Ok, neuroplasticity. I know I’ve talked about it on this blog. But, I seriously doubt that there is a madlad who has read all of my analyses (speaking of which, I should update the master list lmao) and I don’t expect anyone to do that LOL! Anyways, this neurological concept is the ability of neurons to adapt to certain circumstances or stimuli by creating new neurological pathways (through synapses). This basically relates to memory and learning. It’s why we don’t stay the same person as we grow and develop. It’s responsible from mindset changes to response to traumatic events. It plays a huge part in trauma, which is why “repressed memories” occur as well.

Trauma, taken from Psychology Today, is defined as:

...the experience of severe psychological distress following any terrible or life-threatening event. Sufferers may develop emotional disturbances such as extreme anxiety, anger, sadness, survivor’s guilt, or PTSD.

It’s a basic definition. And although I’d assume people would know what trauma is already, but knowing the lexical definition of something can be good to know before going into it.

Obviously, Laito has trauma, there’s literally no refuting that. But, the point I’m getting at, is the reason why he is the way he is today is because of neuroplasticity. As previously stated, we are going to assume the DL vampire brain works similarly or the same as a human brain. So, because of the stress put upon the brain (Cordelia’s actions and Laito’s general upbringing in a stress filled household), Laito’s brain was rewired (neuroplasticity). This section doesn’t really have much new information, but I wanted to give a baseline since there’s many people who don’t know what neuroplasticity is.

Laito’s definitely different than what he was as a kid. He still kind of had his smarts, and might have been but as we’ve deducted from the first part of this series, he might have been groomed. On top of that, the brain is easily moldable when you’re a child (which is why grooming makes sense for Laito’s case), and continues to snip brain cells off and form new connections.

Section 7: Little intermission about Karlheinz

I know I haven’t really talked about Karlheinz yet. So this will be the section that I do it in. I know this part is about Laito’s trauma, but it’s so hard to not just weave other characters into it. Nothing is stand-alone, which is why it was so hard for me to plan this out. I was debating about saving this for another analysis, but I feel like it fits.

I referenced this in Part II, Section 5 of this analysis series. Basically, Karlheinz throws Laito into the dungeon and locks him up. Not Karlheinz personally, but he ordered someone to do it. We don’t explicitly know why, but there’s several implications. A huge one is that it was part of Karlheinz’ experiment. Before Dark Fate, I was like “wait, so did Karl find out about Laito/Cordelia? And got like jealous or was like ‘nah this shit fucked up no thanks’?” I was really scratching my head on that. But in Dark Fate, you find that Karlheinz knew about Cordelia and Laito, and even really wanted it to happen. Which is all sorts of fucked up. This really put Laito in for a loop. Here’s a scene from Dark Fate:

Laito: That woman always, always believed in Karlheinz. Laito: She believed he married her because he loved her, wanted her. That’s why she was sure that one day... he will give his love only to her. Laito: But she was tricked. She wasn’t loved from the start... Laito: -And I’m a victim of this unbelievable mistake... That’s how it is. Laito: I was treated as a vent for her feelings. Yui: ...Laito-kun... Laito: I’m sure he knew that something like this will happen... He is a god after all... Laito: I was hoping that... He just overlooked it up until now... Laito: But... I was naive. Laito: I was only planned a scapegoat.

God, when I played this, that just freaking struck me to my core. That’s so awful. Ironically... Karlheinz probably has some high level of emotional intelligence. I don’t believe he could be labeled as a sociopath, considering he has this high level understanding of pathos. He’s not god in a sense that he controls everyone individually himself. He’s so good at manipulation that he basically creates fate itself (whether you believe in it or not). He’s generally intelligent and cunning, and it also just helps with the fact that he’s immortal and can time travel. He knows cause and effect by now, and I believe Lost Eden said something about how he’s done so many different “timelines.”

The definition of a god in a philosophical sense can be broken down into three words: omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. More wicked cool jargon! Yay! Here’s what they mean for extra clarification:

Omniscient: All knowing Omnipresent: All seeing Omnipotent: All doing

Sure Karlheinz doesn’t absolutely know everything, nor can see everything, and he definitely has limits to his power, but he has gained knowledge through living for so many years and time traveling; he has familiars which add to the whole “all seeing” part; and he has a lot of power. So basically, in the most semi-”realistic” sense, it would definitely be the closest being to any kind of god.

Karlheinz is probably the reason why Laito himself has such contempt towards religion, and the existence of a god in general. Sure, the boys are like “that shit’s made up by humans” in general, but it would make sense for Laito himself to have that specific hatred. It makes sense that these vampires would be like “oh that’s made up by humans” when they’ve been around forever and have seen multiple religions come and go. (I’m mainly talking about in DL’s lore case, not starting a religious argument; please don’t take it as such––just to clarify)

Section 8: Isolation

Originally, the previous part was going to be about Laito’s isolation being locked up. However, I went off the rails and it turned into that little intermission. This is going to be a shorter section, but I still wanted to talk about, and it will weave into the next section.

There is no implications about how long Laito was locked up (and tortured) in the dungeon. There’s also no implications about why he was tortured. But torture and isolation puts such stress on the brain that there’s definitely going to be some kind of outcome if persisting for a good period of time. So let’s take a look at what that does to a person.

Once again, taking this with a grain of salt. I imagine vampires don’t need to rely on social interaction as much as humans do, considering they live forever. But we don’t know. However, throwing Laito into a state of isolation implies that it would be some type of torture or harsh punishment for a vampire, which therefore implies that social interaction is a necessity for emotional function. It’s just sound, inductive logic.

So now, as for isolation, I’m using this article as reference. It’s a pretty interesting one to read. Here’s another extensive article as well. Basically isolation can cause:

Depression/anxiety

Immune system deficiencies (basically more likely to get physically ill)

Sleep cycle changes (if put underground or with limited natural light)

Hallucinations

Paranoia

Issues with processing information and more susceptible to persuasion/manipulation

We have no clue if Laito’s experience fits all of these. Also, the second one can be crossed out because vampires in DL can’t get physically sick in the way we can. Also, unsure about the sleep cycle stuff considering they are used to being in the dark. Hallucinations and paranoia can’t be crossed off nor proven.

Being isolated physically and mentally exhausts the mind, which is why it’s also a way of torture. Laito implies that he was tortured with physical devices, but regardless, it’s still stress on the mind. This type of stress definitely goes along with what was mentioned with neuroplasticity and trauma, which also supports the last bullet point: issues processing information and being more susceptible to persuasion/manipulation. Take this flashback from Maniac Prologue in HDB that I used in Part II section 5 (but here’s even more context):

Laito: ーー Let me go!! Let me out of here! Butler: I can’t, young lord. We’ve received strict orders from your father. I am deeply sorry, but please stay put for a while. Laito: What’s the point in having me chained up in here!? Butler: ーーI am very sorry. Laito: Hahahaha…You stupid old man! Do you think that this will make repent!? How foolish! That demon! Has his brain finally rotten from spending too much time with humans!? ー Cordelia appears Cordelia: ー Oh? Laito: …!? Have you come to save me? Cordelia: Oh dear. Ufufu…I’m sorry Laito, that isn’t it. Laito: Eh? Richter: ー Why are you here? Laito: …That’s my line. Cordelia: Okay, okay. No fighting! More importantly, Richter…Come here. Laito: …!? Cordelia: Nnn…Hey, Laito. You are a good boy. Laito: …!! Cordelia: Right, Laito? Laito: Yeah, that’s right. I’m…I’m a good boy after all. ーー Besides, I’m the type of person who only get more aroused from this kind of thing.

Although I also use this to support the whole Stockholm syndrome point, this could also be supported with the trauma isolation also holds. His mind is being re-molded into the facade he holds. Also, note the whole “do you think this will make me repent?!” part. Just a very interesting thing. The word “repent” implies that there’s something to feel guilty about or the person knows that what they’ve done is bad. It just goes to show that Laito has some part of guilt or moral compass still in tact.

You can also argue that this scene was when Laito just got locked up, or he’s been here for a while. Either way, he could have also been socially isolated before this too, just hanging around Cordelia like it’s implied when he was a child. Remember the whole not being in bed 9/10 times when he was a child? Yeah, controlled social isolation. We also rarely see Laito with other characters in his flashbacks. I don’t believe we see him with his brothers in any of his flashbacks from what I can recall; he’s usually with Cordelia. Just implies (to me) that he’s around her a lot. And being locked up is also a more extreme case of that, which would mold the brain even more.

I know that was a LOT to process and read. I sure hope this still is cohesive for you all. I’m pretty bad at organizing this kind of stuff; it’s a bit difficult since it all just goes together. Which, kudos on the writers of DL, because that’s just good writing. I was going to put something about gaslighting in this part, but that might be too long, so I’m going to make that a separate part or include it in the next part.

If you have any questions, feel free to just put it in the inbox. I’m planning on making the last part of this series answering all the Laito/Cordelia questions I’ve received, or just general questions pertaining to this analysis in general, whether it be tangential questions or clarifying questions.

Hope you all are still enjoying this ride as much as I am! -Corn

#analysis #diabolik lovers analysis #diabolik lovers #dialovers #dialover #laito sakamaki #sakamaki laito #raito sakamaki #sakamaki raito

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years

Text

Sanders Swap AU

So, I’ve heard tale of a new AU circulating in this fandom. Basically, it’s an AU where the Sides swap jobs and powers with the other sides.

Here’s my take on who’d get what (this isn’t even a theory, just what I hope happens)

First off, it’s the same characters with the canon-verse history. However, Thomas decides that if they all swapped jobs and powers for a day, they might understand each other more and stop arguing 24/7

This may have been Emile Picani’s idea. I’ll figure it out (the sides need to go to Emile’s therapy sessions).

So!

Janus is Morality

-And he’s having fun with it

-”Why pursuing a false sense of morality is more detrimental than taking a singular self-care day: A 256 Slide Presentation”

-He only starts not liking it when he realizes how much responsibility Pat is really under

-He doesn’t know the answers to everything! He can’t deal with all of these emotions! HE ISN’T READY TO BE A FATHER

-It’s really easy to forget that Patton’s job is also dealing with all of Thomas’s emotions. Patton has practice at repressing everything, but it’s all hitting Jan like a truck

-There will be angst.

-Also now he has to kind of take care of all the light sides, including Virgil. So, more angst!

-Reactions Of The Other Sides

Roman: How Dare You Stand Where He Stood

Virgil: Nope. Nopity nope. NOPE.

Logan: It probably isn’t the mature, logical thing to do to laugh at Janus struggling with the FamILY. But he technically isn’t Logic at the moment, and it is kind of funny.

Of course, when Janus starts really struggling, that all stops.

Remus: Jan has to pretend to be the boring one! This is fun to watch!

Patton: He knows what it must be like for Janus at the moment. Trying to help him.

Patton is Dark Creativity

-Patton’s going through a crisis of conscience at the moment, so turning him into a dark side has Angst Potential

-He’s determined to fail at his job. Unfortunately, he’s quite good at the religious guilt part of Remus’s job.

-I think he’d like conjuring stuff though

-He’d try to conjure kittens, but since Remus’s powers work the way they do he’d conjure the ugliest sphinx cats you’ve ever seen in your life

-But Patton’s allergies are better around hairless cats! So he keeps the cats even after the drama is over and learns to love them

-He has no idea what to do with a morning-star or deodorant. Deodorant tastes like deodorant to him, and he doesn’t get why Remus eats it.

-Is this entire AU an excuse to have Dark Creativity be the one to say, “Language!”? Maybe so.

-Reactions Of The Other Sides:

Roman + Virgil: They already have complicated feelings about both him and the dark sides. This is just a calzone of weird.

Logan: Not that much has changed, in his opinion.

Remus: The guy who thinks babies come from fucking STORKS is him?? NO.

Janus: So many thoughts and none of them intelligible. More like a long, drawn out scream.

Remus is Logic

-However much of a shitshow you think it’s going to be....it’s worse

-He goes full mad scientist. He eats his glasses. He knows the science of so many things he was curious about.

-He can justify anything with “It’s for science!”

“Why did you release goats into the living room?” “FOR SCIENCE!”

“Why did you draw all of these dorks on the ceiling??” “FOR SCIENCE!”

“WHY IS THE HOUSE ON FIRE???” “FOR SCIENCE!”

-Remus is Logic now, baby. And the world will burn.

-Reactions Of The Other Sides:

Roman: Logan’s cool! Remus most definitely isn’t! He has no right to wear that tie.

Virgil: Terrified? He shouldn’t be in charge of anything!

Logan: Please. Could someone please get him to stop. THAT IS NOT PROPER LAB SAFETY-

Patton: Welp. That’s disturbing. Time to pretend this isn’t happening.

Janus: Entertained beyond belief.

Logan is Anxiety

-Existential dread o’clock! Ever considered the true size of the universe when compared to you? Logan is the feeling of terror you get when you look at the sky and realize just how little it cares about you.

-Logan is a better Anxiety than Anxiety, because instead of being emo he’s informed (and potentially emo, since the concept of an emo Logan is quite a concept)

-And people listen to him more. He doesn’t even use the demon voice option. People just pay attention to him when he’s like this. God, no wonder Virgil acts the way he does!

-No but emo Logan consider it

-Him having to go back to being Logic after this would certainly do things to his character arc

-He still can never get into Evanescence, though.

-Reactions Of The Other Sides:

Virgil: Why is he better at his job than the actual Anxiety? Is he even important to Thomas?

Remus: Likes Logan’s new aesthetic very much

Patton: Is happy that Logan seems happy, but knows that they’ll have to change back eventually. Worrying about all of his kiddos, honestly.

Janus: Was the first one to be hit with the Existential Dread. Freaks out.

Roman: Thank the gods that he isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to go back

Virgil is Creativity

-He hates everything about this.

-The imagination is confusing, Thomas’s hopes and dreams are worryingly fragile, and he is constantly suppressing the urge to sing Disney songs.

-The only thing he likes is the sword. The sword is awesome.

-Conjuring feels weird, like sticking your hand in a magician’s hat full of scorpions to do a trick. But he manages to conjure the darkest eye-shadow known to man, so there’s that.

-He wants out of this little experiment ASAP. He may not be the villain any more, but that doesn’t mean he was born to play hero.

Reactions Of The Other Sides:

Roman: Why is he so bad at this?? Thomas is going to need a creativity!

Logan: Worried that he’ll accidentally destroy all of Thomas’s hopes and dreams.

Remus: He prefers this to his insufferable brother, so

Patton: Swords are sharp DON’T STAB PEOPLE

Janus: He could have conjured a million dollars and given it all to his former best friend, but no. He went for the eye-shadow.

Roman is Deceit

-At first, he loathes it with every fiber of his being. Now he can’t even pretend to be a hero?

-But lying is just good storytelling, and he hasn’t been able to spin words like this in ages

-Plus, he gets to sing villain songs for once

-And he does love the shape-shifting. For once, he doesn’t have to be Roman Sanders, and it’s the best thing in the world

-After a while, he hasn’t looked like himself in the mirror for days. It’s much easier to tell you’re not the evil twin when you don’t resemble him at all.

-He isn’t going back.

-Reactions Of The Others:

Virgil: Oblivious to the danger at hand, but would scream if he knew because he can’t be creativity forever.

Logan: Conflicted as heck. He knows that they both have to go back to their old jobs, but it’s harder to say it with conviction when Roman is encouraging him to stay.

Remus: Ugh. His brother is the one who gets Jan’s job? Typical.

Patton: Roman doesn’t seem okay. Why is everyone in his family not okay

Janus: AfraidTM

Just my thoughts!

Now I have 39 fics to write

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blindbatalex · 3 years

Note

Is it greedy to ask for two in your ask thingy ?? A little combo of 7 & 8 with a side order of whatever pair you feel like writing ?

send me the way you said ily prompts!

not greedy at all -- carraville & “as a thank you” and “as an apology” set in this office au

“Look at the bright side. This is probably the universe looking out for you and saving you from heartbreak,” his officemate says, swivelling in his chair, mouth practically at his ears in a Cheshire cat-like grin.

What would happen if Jamie set fire to his desk? Would he go to jail? He would get fired certainly, but then maybe he could still make it to the pub in time for the kick-off so it wouldn’t be all that bad. And any judge with a smidge of good sense ought to accept there are extenuating circumstances in play here—for one, Jamie had to come into the office due to a last minute, urgent client request on the day L.iverpool play in the C.hampions League final, an hour before kick-off, and that in itself is enough to justify arson.

“Look, are you planning to get any work done today or not?” he huffs.

Gary has been at it since Jamie first stepped foot into the office some ten minutes ago. All ‘isn’t it a wonderful Sunday to be alive, James’ and ‘that attitude is not very professional now, is it, James’. He is being driven by pettiness and envy clearly, as he usually is—the bunch of tossers he calls his team didn’t even make it to Big Vase finals—but Jamie is also at his breaking point. Even in their job with no concept of a work/life balance making someone work through a C.hampions League final has to count as a war crime, and on top of that he has to deal with this?

And besides—Gary is-

He has been looking at Jamie, watching Jamie, for the past ten minutes, and Jamie does not like being the centre of his laser focus. It makes him feel naked even while wearing a suit.

“Alright,” he declares now, and worse his smile looks- why does it look positively fond of all things now? “I’ve had my fun.”

“Oh you did now, did you?”

Gary leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling before his eyes find Jamie’s again.

“You are very lucky to be co-managing this team with such a wonderful and thoughtful person-”

“I’m sorry, is there a third manager on this project I don’t know?”

Gary laughs at that and Jamie dearly misses the days he had his own office before the firm came at them with this renovation crap and forced him into this shared, temporary office with Gary.

“You should get going if you are going to make kick-off.”

Now it’s Jamie’s turn to laugh, although—unlike Gary who is having the time of his life—Jamie’s laughter is bitter and hollow, like the wind blowing through a graveyard perhaps. A graveyard of his hopes and dreams.

“And send an email to the boss on the way saying I quit? I considered it.”

Gary studies him, savouring the moment. It may be the euphoria of Jamie’s fate or the black-tee-and-jeans look but he does seem like a…different person almost to his weekday self. Is this what he is always like on the weekends, may God help those poor souls that call him his friend? They really ought to get started with the updates to the deck if they want to be out of here before 10pm.

“Jamie. Your team is playing in the C.hampions League final. Go get drunk with your mates. I will cover for you—you cannot be expected to work today.”

Jamie blinks.

Gary has a heart? Or perhaps he has been possessed? Or more likely this is all an elaborate prank, stringing Jamie along just to have one final, massive laugh at his expense. It doesn’t look like he is joking, though. Huh.

“You mean it?”

Jamie ought to say ‘I couldn’t do that to you’ and ‘you’d be here until midnight,’ but it’s the C.hampions League final and his team is there and every cell in his body is screaming at him to drop everything and run without even waiting for confirmation, his heart already hammering in his chest.

Gary nods.

“Oh, I love you,” Jamie says halfway around Gary’s desk to throw him in a hug before he knows what he is doing.

Gary flinches back; his eyebrows are halfway up his forehead with alarm by the time Jamie has remembered himself and stopped.

Shit.

They stare at each other very awkwardly for a second, before Jamie starts unbuttoning his shirt. Gary’s alarm, initially increased tenfold, gives way to an exasperated ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’, when the motion reveals a Liverpool jersey underneath.

Jamie stops with a foot out the door, guilt he has so desperately wanted to repress nibbling at his insides.

“Are you sure you will be alright managing the team?”

Gary will be here until late without Jamie to shoulder half the work. Jamie could come back after the game but, sobriety has played no part in his plans for the rest of the day, nor does this building, ideally.

“Go.”

That’s all Jamie needs really. He won’t ask a third time.

But he does poke his head in after he’s stepped out. Gary looks up at him from his computer.

“I did mean it, you know,” Jamie says and adds very quickly, “I love you,” and then he turns around and leaves just as Gary’s left eye starts to twitch.

Why should Gary get to have all the fun at Jamie’s expense today, after all?

(L.iverpool lose. When Jamie makes his way back to the office at 8.30pm, devastated and now sober, he finds a pastry box on his desk, and in it, a chocolate éclair. “There is Pad Thai in the fridge if you haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Gary says, not looking up from his screen. He doesn’t bring up the game, and Jamie thinks-)

(Does it matter what Jamie thinks, when they have at least another two hours of work to do, and the company has a policy against office romances?)

#carraville #CLEARLY i am not projecting AT ALL #tbt to that one friday where at 11pm we got a request #that took us ALL WEEKEND to complete hshshsh #my fave part tho is i was low key drunk #bc it was 11pm on a friday #so i messaged my boss and was like bro you need to deal w/ this bc i cannot in this state hahahah #anyway pls do send me more prompts!#Anonymous

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big-bad-ulf · 4 years

Text

Untethered || Ulfric & Luce

Location: Dell’s Tavern

Timing: Before the last full moon

Tagging: @big-bad-ulf and @divineluce

Content: Family death mentions, thoughts/discussion of self-harming behaviors, alcohol abuse

Description: Ulfric and Luce lower their guard after a night of drinking and have a more successful heart-to-heart about their respective losses. If swearing loyalty to each other’s revenge plots can be considered a ‘success’

Grabbing the next round of beers from the bar, Luce walked back to the high top table she and Ulf were sitting at in the corner of Dell’s. The noise of the tavern was a comforting sound to her-- the roar of sports games playing on the screens in lieu of a band playing music. Balancing the two large steins of beer in her hands, Luce slid one across the table to Ulf and took her seat across from him. Lifting the large glass up in his direction, she gave him a slightly unsteady grin She’d matched him drink for drink which would have been fine… if he wasn’t a beast of a man. In a literal sense. Werewolf metabolism had to do something for processing alcohol. Whereas she was decidedly neither of those things. Taking a long drink from her glass, she nodded a bit more emphatically than she normally would, “When you’re right, you’re right. This German stuff is pretty fucking good.” Setting the glass back down, she idly pressed the back of her forearm against the glass, pressing one of her bruises to the cold surface.

Walking into Dell's this time had felt disconcerting, the place familiar yet slightly foreign after his prolonged absence. While both Bennets and Layla had resided under his roof Ulfric had always needed to be on watch, always needed a clear head. Now that threat was gone and there was no one waiting up for him, so he was free to unwind, the buzz of activity and alcohol keeping him from dwelling for too long on how that change in situation came to pass. "Those American light beers have no taste, they practically go down like water." Ulfric insisted as he took a long drink from the stein Luce place in front of him, repeating the argument he'd made several times throughout the night with increasing conviction as the beverages kicked in. "That's new, since I saw you last," He mentioned, casting a glance down at the bruised arm she pressed against the glass, the observation that he'd usually keep to himself finding its way out past his lowered inhibitions. "Did sword training get a little hands on?" He continued, providing a half-hearted out as an apology for stepping slightly over the line they'd drawn regarding talking about each other's personal bullshit. "I wouldn't have thought that would be allowed. Doesn't it defeat the purpose of, well, swords?"

“Yeah, yeah, American beer sucks, Budlight is basically pisswater, Coors may as well be La Croix of beer.” Luce said before drinking deeply from her mug, letting the cold carbonation rush down her throat. The bar around her was just a little fuzzy at the edges, which was just how she wanted it. Made things easier, to see it through a filter like this. And there was no better filter than a beer or four. Glancing down at her bruised forearm, as though she didn’t realize what he was talking about, Luce shrugged. Adam had fucked her up. Granted, she knew he’d been holding back-- Hunter strength and all that jazz. If he had wanted to, he could have broken her arm, broken her ribs without even trying. But, even with the pulled punches, she was still sore and bruised all over. Which was exactly what she wanted. “Nah, me and a dude beat the shit out of each other in the woods.” She said, the truth slipping out easily over the rim of her stein. “No swords involved, otherwise I probably would be really fucked up.” She said with a laugh. Training swords, even synthetic training blades, were still weapons. Still dangerous. Still very capable of knocking out teeth and breaking bone. It was a good fucking thing they’d stuck to hand to hand.

“Yes, it’s all fun and games until someone gets stabbed, I suppose.” Ulfric tried to match her laugh, to restore the bubble of alcohol-infused levity that had previously surrounded them, but it was a little strangled and forced. Somehow he seemed to have crossed the threshold between contentedly tipsy and sad, wallowing drunk, creeping over the line between the two without realizing it. Though in fairness to himself, with the way his vision was slightly blurring it would’ve been difficult to see it. “That sounds like the sort of thing I would do, the woods part, especially,” The werewolf conceded, he could hardly just her for brawling, but it just didn’t fit her style. With her powers, as he understood them, no one should’ve been able get near her, at least without risking a fiery retaliation. Which meant something was wrong, or she’d let herself get hurt, which was even more wrong. “I don’t get why you let this guy touch you without inflicting severe burn damage to his balls. It just doesn’t seem like you, Luce.” He found himself voicing his thoughts aloud, before sighing and running an agitated hand through his hair once he realized what he has said, how he’d skirted their rules again. “Faen, sorry… I know I promised, but it’s not funny for me to see or think about you being in pain.”

“I dunno, a good stabbing makes it all the more fun.” Luce said with a wry grin, not noticing the forced tone that her boss’ voice had taken on. With another large gulp of beer, she looked at her stein for a moment-- fuck, how was it already half empty? Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Luce focused on her boss as the world began to tip pleasantly from side to side. Or maybe her head was wobbling? Uncertain. “It was a good time.” She replied, though the smile that had remained on her face slipped slightly as Ulfric spoke again. A lump formed in the back of her throat at his words and she stared at the rim of her glass for a moment. The thought of her being in pain? It… fuck, it sounded melodramatic even in her head but… ever since Bea had died, her life had been nothing but fucking pain. The worst kind of pain. The pain of the soul, the pain of losing someone who she had spent much of her life relying on. It was the sort of pain that came with agonizing numbness that she would do anything to get rid of. Including fighting Adam in the woods. For a brief moment, Luce contemplated telling Ulfric to fuck off. To mind his own business, that she had this under control. But did she? Was any of this “under control?” Swallowing, Luce looked at him, “Sometimes hurting feels better than not feeling at all. It helps to feel a different kind of pain.” One I deserve.

Ulfric had fully expected a rebuff, so when Luce didn’t dodge the question he was thrown off-kilter. The sensation reminded him of when his parents had first been teaching him how to track and he’d misjudged his footing, expecting solid ground but suddenly finding himself falling. As it was then, this was unknown territory he found himself in, and he’d be wise to tread carefully. But both ‘wisdom’ and ‘caution’ were concepts that had become unappealing and difficult to comprehend several drinks ago. “If you truly felt nothing underneath all this, you wouldn’t have to work so hard to cover it up.” He countered bluntly instead. “And what is that work getting you? Bottle things up and the best-case scenario is they stay trapped that way, and things stay the way they are.” He took a long swig of his beer and contemplated the container it came in as he spoke, as if some deep truth lay within it. “More likely they spill out when you don’t want them to, or explode, and you’ve got a predisposition towards the more fiery outcome.” The image of the cup of coffee boiling over in her hand flashed through his mind, an inopportune and involuntary manifestation of the power she kept inside. He could relate to that, even if he didn’t understand the nuances of how her magic worked. “It… can help to let whatever you’re feeling flow through you on your own terms,” he found himself offering her the advice he’d often given less experienced werewolves intent on repressing their more primal impulses. “Though I’d expect yours would be different to mine.” She couldn’t rely on the moon to help her through releasing whatever negative energies were eating her up inside, but she could rely on his support, if she wanted it.

Taking another long drink from her glass, Luce mulled over his words. Part of her wanted to lash out at him-- what did he know about her pain? What did he know about how she felt? How could he even think to understand what she was going though? But, that was just the thing, she realized. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what was happening. All he knew was that she’d been… fucked up. Had been acting out, hadn’t been showing up to work, or had been throwing herself into things harder than she should have. All he knew was that she was spiralling. Fuck. Letting out a sigh, she set the glass down, the alcohol and mixed emotions churning in her stomach. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to make her burdens his. She didn’t want to show this side of weakness to him. But, another side of Luce wanted to tell him everything. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could do this. How much longer could she hold onto the burden of her sister’s death, the responsibility of her resurrection, the fear and self-doubt that threatened to bring her to her knees. “I…” Luce took in a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, it might.” She said, digging her fingers into her arm, pressing hard into the floral designs etched into her skin. “Someone killed my sister. Bea.” Saying the words out loud, it felt just like it had the night she’d told Remmy what had happened. A tidal wave of emotion, guilt, sadness, anger, but most of all pain-- it all rushed over her. Luce gripped her fingers tighter, her shoulders tensing. “They were hunting Nell, but Bea… sacrificed herself. Saved her.” And she’d done nothing.

Luce’s confession brought Ulfric back to that night outside the trailer when Ari had returned to finally speak the words out loud and make them real; My sister is dead. His stomach plummeted, and he was briefly overcome by the impulse to find some kind of blanket to wrap her up in like he had the young wolf, despite how pointless that was when she could generate her own warmth. “What is it about sisters and self-sacrifice?” He found himself mumbling into his hands, leaning forward with his elbows braced against the table under the weight of the news. He hadn’t meant to say that, but a confession of his own in return for hers seemed fair. “Ariana’s sister is dead too, for similarly noble, bullshit reasons.” And his own sister was dead for completely arbitrary, bullshit reasons but that was beside the point. “Not that I’m trying to pit your grief against mine. Yours would kick mine’s sorry ass.” He explained. “I just want you to know I have some experience to back me up when I say that I’m sure… Bea was a good person, and the last she would want is to see any of her sisters hurt. Inflict that pain on the world if you need to. Throw something, light something on fire, tell me to get fucked in some creative way,” He suggested, searching for human substitutes for the innate mechanism of releasing pent up negativity that he’d been born with. Luckily, he was fairly certain he could smooth over anything she did short of burning the whole bar down with a sizable tip. “We can even go out back and I’ll let you get a few swings in. I doubt I’d feel it much right now, anyway. Just don’t direct this back on yourself, energy can’t escape a closed circuit like that.”

“Sisters. We’ll fight and bicker like hell, but someone comes for one of us… We’ll go to the ends of the earth to hunt them down.” Luce said quietly, her finger tracing one of the flower petals on her arm, staring at one of the snakes nestled among the flowers. Her mother. Her father. Neither of them knew. They were half a world away, none the wiser to what had happened to their favorite daughter. None the wiser to what their remaining daughters were sacrificing to bring her back. At Ulfric’s next words, Luce felt her stomach lurch. Ariana’s sister-- “Celeste?” She asked, aghast, staring at him. No. No, no, no. She hadn’t messaged the other woman, hadn’t heard from her in weeks. She thought maybe she’d read the signs wrong, that she’d just been a little too pushy, that Celeste was ghosting her. It had happened for. Plenty of women had done it to her. She had never thought that she was dead. “Fuck. Fuck.” Luce said her voice cracking as her jaw clenched. “I… I’m sorry.” She said thickly, sucking in a deep breath to try and keep from crying. Waving a hand, Luce lifted her glass and drained the rest of the beer from the stein. “Don’t. Don’t say that. I’ve already tried that. Tried to kill some monsters. Killed a couple. Scared a few people. Burned down the woods. Didn’t matter. It all just felt… like shit. Nothing helped. Nothing’s helped.” Luce whispered, staring down at the tabletop, unable to meet his eyes.

Despite his dampened senses, it was obvious to Ulfric that Luce was close to tears, but he managed to keep from commenting on it despite his lowered impulse control. As close as they were, she’d never broken down in front of him, and he didn’t want to scare or shame her into restraining her emotions again by acknowledging it. “Alright, I get it, nothing’s helped.” He eventually accepted her response, rising from the booth to head toward the bar. When he sank back into his seat a few minutes later with freshly refilled steins he sighed and picked up where he left off. “Time’s supposed to, right? Let’s just pass the time then.” He nudged the glass towards her and raised his own in a tentative toast. “To sisters?”

When the man stood up to get more drinks, Luce buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking slightly as she held back tears. Bea. Celeste. What the fuck. What the fuck. Why were the women around her dying? Who else would be next? And there was nothing that she could do for Celeste. Or for Ariana. Ariana-- fuck. She was just a kid. 18, but a kid. And she’d just lost her sister. Christ. Rubbing her face, Luce did her best to school her expression back to one of relative calm. The pain was still clear on her face, but the increased swaying of the room around them helped ease it away. “To sisters… avenging sisters.” She said, tapping her glass against his before drinking deeply, letting the alcohol wash over her. If she drank enough, maybe then she could just… forget this fresh, brutal news. “You… You said time’s supposed to help.” Luce said, echoing his words, her words running together as she stared at him with bleary eyes. “Did it? When you, when you lost your siblings. Did time help?”

“Did what?” Ulfric asked, her words becoming harder to decipher as they blurred together. “Oh, ...right.” He continued, recognition coming over him slowly. He was surprised she’d remembered. He only mentioned them in passing to explain why he didn’t get many visitors. ‘I’m the middle child of five, but my two older siblings are busy taking care of the family business back home, and the younger ones passed away a long time ago.’ An ocean of time, bigger than the ocean he’d crossed to get where he was now. Had it helped? “It helped somewhat,” He answered softly, after another steadying mouthful of ale. “Not as much as vengeance,” He added honestly, before reclining back into his chair to survey the bustling bar around them. “But I doubt you’ll find much of that at Dell’s. Time and company will have to do for now.”

“Somewhat.” Luce nodded, taking another large gulp of beer. The bar was spinning around her, her emotions hanging by a thread. But, she kept them at bay as best she could. She focused on Ulfric, focused on his words. On the fact that he knew her pain. He’d felt the fresh sting of losing siblings at one time, even if it had been years ago. But… Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Luce glanced around at Dell’s. No one was around, no one near at least. And it was loud enough that no one would be able to tell who’d said anything, even if they had werewolf ears like Ulf. “Not here in Dell’s. But, vengeance…” She let out a dry chuckle. “Sisters. You don’t fuck with them.” She said, her eyes dull as she leaned back into her chair. Her hand tapped against the top of their table, small sparks of blue flame drifting from her fingertips. “Sisters, they’ll chase you to hell and back again.”

At Luce’s glance around the room, Ulfric vaguely remembered that he wasn't supposed to talk of things like vengeance around mundane company. He generally tried to keep from alluding to things he’d done in the past at all, but he found at that moment the only person whose judgment he feared was hers, and that didn’t come. The acceptance he felt instead was like another layer of intoxication. None of the bar patrons seemed to be listening to them, likely because many of them had come to the bar with the goal of forgetting the things they’d seen and heard that they couldn’t or didn’t want to explain and weren’t looking to add to their burdens. Still, for her sake, he leaned in closer and kept his voice low as he nodded “Sisters can be formidable creatures.” The flames that sparked from her hand were uncomfortably warm in such close proximity to his, but he didn’t back away from them. “I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of one on the path to retribution.” He searched her eyes for some hint of what she was thinking, planning before deciding it didn’t matter. He already knew if she asked for his help with this he’d agree, details be damned. He wouldn’t be able to back down from the chance to help another sister, to do it better this time. “I’d stand by your side though,” The werewolf assured her, doing his best to keep her steady in his vision, to imprint the promise in his mind even after his sobriety returned. “If you needed me to.”

Locking eyes with Ulfric, Luce watched the way he leaned in. “Yeah. Yeah, they can be.” She said, smothering the flames with her palm, choking the blue flames out. She could feel the heat against her palm, but like all fire, it didn't burn. A part of her wondered what it would feel like, to burn like that. But, it never happened. The flames didn’t bite against her skin, they never went against her. At his words, she took another long sip of beer as she mulled over his offer. “Thanks, Ulf. But… I’ve got it covered.” She said, a smile curling on her lips, cold and cruel. “The motherfucker who did this, he’s going to wish he’d never even thought about coming after my family.” August. She’d held him in her hands, threatened to melt the skin from his face, had come so close to killing him… Next time, she wouldn’t hold back. Next time, he would know just how badly he’d fucked up by setting that hunter on her family. Luce let out a long sigh, she looked at him. “Same goes for you. With… Ariana’s situation. If you need help, if she needs help-- just say the word. I’ll do whatever I can to help. No one should lose a sister.” No one should feel the pain she did.

“I don’t doubt it, on both counts,” Ulfric told her, picking up on the determination in her tone, but not the iciness that might have given him pause if he had a clearer head. “You’ve got a deal.” He tapped his knuckles against her shoulder lightly in lieu of shaking her hand that had only recently stopped sparking, before tipping his glass to her and drinking deep to seal the new arrangement. Sinking bonelessly back into his seat he hummed, mulling over their conversation and the unexpected turns it had taken. “Hmm, all this talk of revenge makes me feel…” He searched his addled brain for a way to describe the sense of unfulfilled emptiness that had settled into his gut. “Hungry. Buffalo wings? Yes, buffalo wings.” He asked and answered his own question without pausing for breath, certain that was the solution. “I’m buying.”

#chatzy #luce #untethered #wickedswriting

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noldorinwa · 4 years

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Chocolate Box Letter

Dear Chocolate Box writer,

Thank you for checking this out, and sorry about the delay!

Here are a bunch of fandom and pairing-specific likes and prompts. All my requests are for fic, and I’m open to all ratings. I’m very excited for just about anything I might receive for any of these pairings, and so long as you stick to something related to my general likes, feel free to follow specific prompts as much or as little as you wish, depending on where inspiration takes you!

I’m lunavagant on AO3.

General Likes

Worldbuilding

Casefic

Banter and humor

Canon divergence

Emotional vulnerability / repressed feelings / pining

Character study

Codependency

Characters being possessive or jealous

Loyalty

Hurt/comfort

Open endings / hopeful endings

Enemies to lovers / friends (especially childhood friends) to lovers

Smut specific likes: frottage; penetration; clothed sex; begging; orgasm delay/denial; emotional sex; power dynamics; overstimulation; fingering; oral sex

DNWs

Unrequested death of requested characters

Unrequested tragic endings

Unrequested gender headcanons

Pregnancy

A/B/O

Bi Richie or Bi Eddie for IT

DISCWORLD

There isn't enough Discworld fic in the world, and I would be ecstatic to read just about anything for any combination of characters, really. Some that I am especially fond of but haven't nominated are Sybil, Nobby, William de Worde, Moist, Adora Belle, Polly Perks, and Maladict.

Anything from a plotty fic to something humorous and dialogue-heavy would be the best thing ever. Footnotes are more than welcome if inspiration strikes.

Angua von Uberwald & Samuel Vimes

I would give just about anything for Sam and Angua buddy cop adventures in Ankh-Morpork and beyond. These cynical bastards are two of the characters in the Watch books that most closely resemble each other personality-wise, and anything involving them interacting would be a delight.

Casefic of any kind, even just a snippet of an ongoing investigation, or everyday Watch shenanigans.

I really enjoyed Angua and Sam's cameos in Monstrous Regiment, and would love to see more of something of that kind - either set during/post MR canon or in a different setting altogether.

Any and all interactions with William or Moist especially would be amazing. Especially with both of them being aware that there is a werewolf in the Watch, and both of them very much Not knowing that the werewolf is Angua.

Havelock Vetinari & Samuel Vimes

(The tag doesn’t require it, but I’m all for making their relationship shippy – either explicitly or implicitly by hinting at suppressed feelings.)

Feel free to integrate these prompts with the Sam & Angua ones if you're inspired to.

Pre-series: Sam ends up saving Vetinari’s life much earlier than canon – back when he’s been just recently promoted to Captain of the Watch, and Vetinari is still consolidating his power as Patrician. For all that he's still having to work to make himself heard and respected, young Vetinari probably privately enjoys Sam's irreverence more than he lets on. How does their relationship evolve from there?

Amnesia fic in which Vetinari has a magic-related accident of some kind (or maybe it's a failed assassination attempt) and ends up forgetting the past five or so years. Maybe he wakes up to Sam sitting by the bed and immediately calls Sam “Captain” instead of Commander?

Casefic, again! Bickering over case reports! Vetinari messing with Sam by sending people like government inspectors over to the Watch whenever Sam does something annoying (for that matter, what IS the story behind Vetinari sending over A.E. Pessimal? I am Dying to know). Discussions on the need for a free press in Ankh-Morpork, in light of the fact that A) Sam considers William to be a public menace but unfortunately B) Vetinari finds Sam's exasperation hilarious.

Time travelling shenanigans inspired by Night Watch. Memories, glimpses of parallel realities, Young Sam and Young Havelock interacting. I am also 100% here for Young Vetinari/Sam!Keel.

Any combination of the above ideas, or something new entirely that fits my general likes would be great!

IT (MOVIES)

Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Fandom specific DNWs: Bi Richie; Bi Eddie; Kidfic; Nicknames that aren’t movie canon

Eddie lives! He just does, because I said so. Angst and temporary character death are more than fine, though.

I’m here for it all, to be honest, from frantic we-almost-died sex back at the hotel in Derry, to Richie and Eddie attempting to get back to their lives and staying “just friends”, and failing spectacularly.

Infidelity, angsty misunderstandings, and messy attempts at dealing with your marriage when you're gay and in love with your male best friend are all concepts that are right up my alley with these two.

Maybe Richie manages to push Eddie out of the way just in time while fighting It in the sewers, and gets injured himself. How does Eddie act with their positions reversed?

I have the biggest soft spot for the two of them as teens, and I would love any exploration of their relationship then.

Finding excuses to get in each other’s space – sitting close together on the couch, or at the movies, in the hammock, sleeping in the same bed. Richie teasing Eddie constantly just to have an excuse to touch him. Eddie constantly nagging Richie to have an excuse to do the same.

Sleepovers! Pretending to be asleep to ‘accidentally’ cuddle up to one another. Cuddling turning into something else.

Banter turning into flirting and both of them insisting it’s all a big joke until it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore, but never taking the final step for fear of being wrong or rejected. Richie dealing with internalized guilt over wanting to touch his best friend in ways he’s not supposed to want.

Richie crushing on Eddie and being terrified of being found out, but unable to bring himself to stop making jokes, or taking every chance to be as close to Eddie as possible. Richie struggling with himself over his desire to be physically close to Eddie – he would never do anything, so surely he’s allowed this? But then again if Eddie knew about the way Richie feels he wouldn’t want Richie to touch him at all.

Eddie crushing on Richie and not even realizing it until he doesn’t have Richie’s attention directly on him for more than one minute, then getting restless, or insanely jealous in case Richie is directing said attention elsewhere.

All kinds of awkward but earnest teen explorations of sexuality would be delightful.

If you’re inspired to write smut, I vastly prefer Richie bottoming and/or being generally submissive in bed. Eddie, on the other hand, probably gets a rush from finding out that Richie likes being told what to do. I also believe that it’s much more likely for Richie to be the one to freak out about (or during!) sex. For all that he’s just as repressed, Eddie is also a stubborn bastard, and once he’s concluded that he wants to sleep with Richie he would be a man on a mission.

KNIVES OUT

Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale

I watched this movie by myself and only distantly registered the fact that I found the idea of these two appealing. Then I watched it again with my friend and about halfway through she went, "you know what, I ship this," and I realised that she was right.

Someone in a different letter referred to this ship as Marta accidentally collecting a pet sociopath, and that's so on point I'm going to quote it.

Angry sex, power dynamics, enemies to lovers, the possibilities are endless. Ransom deserves to be pushed around a bit and he’d be into it way more than he’d like to openly admit.

Canon divergence in which Ransom is still a total dick but not the killer. Maybe Marta really did accidentally kill Harlan. Maybe it was somebody else. Basically I'd just like to see more of the reluctant partnership they struck during the movie, with both of them finding each other's moral compasses (or lack thereof) an absolute pain in the ass.

Post-canon, Ransom gets out of jail and finds that the family is still plotting to take Marta down, and if they can't do that through legal means, well. They'll just have to get creative. Either he decides to side with her for reasons unclear even to him, or they are thrown together by the circumstances and have no choice but to collaborate and lean on each other if they want to survive. Ransom insisting that he's only trying to keep Marta alive because he plans on getting money out of her somehow, even when it becomes clear that there's something else at play.

Banter, fights, bickering and insulting each other while working together surprisingly – and annoyingly – well. Ransom surprising Marta by making the right choice at a critical moment, and then immediately going back to being an asshole. Marta fighting dirty and Ransom being into it.

Thank you for reading this, and have fun!

#chocolate box 2020 #choc box 2020 #mine

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lostinthewinterwood · 3 years

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Id Pro Quo 2021

Hey there!

It seems we share some aspects of id, my friend, so let the letter go forward :3

(also, if anyone is curious—would be delighted at art treats, though I haven’t requested any art)

Here’s the order of things:

- DNWs

- Likes

- Tags I may or may not have requested that would go great with anything (as additions, not instead of requested tags, lol)

- Mother of Learning

- Revolutionary Arc

- Original Work

General DNW

non-con/dub-con;

explicit sexual content;

incest (incl. adoptive/chosen family);

a/b/o;

mpreg;

non-canonical permanent major character death;

complete downer endings;

hurt no comfort;

heavy angst;

on-page deliberate self-harm*;

on-page suicide;

gore;

graphic physical trauma;

character bashing;

cringe comedy;

fic-as-writer-soapbox;

fic that’s all about real-world bigotries or real-world politics;

canon-typical 2020;

unrequested full-setting AUs;

marginalized identities as focus of fic;

unrequested romance as the main plot.

*I don’t include things like, say, punching a wall in a fit of emotion under this. However, something like cutting would not be appreciated.

General Likes

– I really like plotty fics

– Secret identity and disguise shenanigans, the more layers to them and more absurdity the better.

– Casual genderfuckery - guys in skirts and girls in suits, and nobody cares. Not necessarily any deep rumination on gender, just comfort in playing with it.

– Time travel and time loops are always fun

– A focus on family and/or friendship, especially characters realizing they��re not nearly as alone as they think they are, and just generally characters who like each other and enjoy spending time together

– Found family; families of choice

– Character studies

– Worldbuilding

– Canon-divergence AUs and missing scenes; things set pre- or post-canon; wriggling into canon and poking at it to see what it spits back at you, if that description makes any sense at all.

Tags that go great with literally any of these (unless contradicted by DNWs) as optional additions, if appropriate:

after worst day of A’s life A pretends to fall asleep on B to get tenderness without having to talk

all the diaspora feelings

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Alternate Universe - Daemons

Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale

Alternate Universe - High Fantasy

Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic

Alternate Universe - Regency-Inspired Fantasy

Alternate Universe - Space Setting with Magic

Alternate Universe - Traveling Circus/Carnival

Badass in Distress

Ballroom Dancing

Bonding over music

Catching injured character as they faint or lose balance

Character A lost character B's trust; trying desperately to get it back

Character confesses traumatic events to sympathetic friend

Character Ignores Their Trauma; Their Friends Try to Help After They Can No Longer Deny It

Character is rescued and comforted

Character tries to hide their problems but friends are determined to help

Character who isn't used to being protected gets protected

character(s) get the therapy they so desperately need

Characters That Don't Like Each Other Nonetheless Find Comfort In Parallel Traumas

characters undercover as whatever seems interesting to you

characters understand each other so well they barely need to speak in times of crisis

Class Differences

Coming to terms with the permanent effects of significant injuries

Conversations In Liminal Spaces On The Border Of One World And Another

Conversations in Mundane Liminal Spaces

Cuddling & Snuggling

Drawing & Painting

Emotionally Repressed Characters Have to Work Through Having Emotions

Families - Found Family

Finding Someone Sleeping and Putting a Blanket or Coat Over Them

Fire-forged Friends

Forgiveness

Gratuitous descriptions of hugging

Gratuitous Descriptions of Winter

Grooming - hair brushing

Hair Braiding

Hair Stuff - A is unexpectedly very good at styling hair; styles B's ornately; B wears it all day

Hair Stuff - A looks up how to do fancy hairstyles so they can do B's hair

Hair Stuff - character cuts another character's hair

Hair Washing

A has baggage; doesn’t trust others & (less obviously) doesn’t trust themself/has guilt

Holding Hands

Hurt/Comfort - Character Doesn't Expect Tenderness But Gets It Anyway

Hurt/Comfort - comfort after a nightmare

Hurt/Comfort - comfort focusing on little hurt because the big hurt is massive and unapproachable

Hurt/Comfort - Loneliness

The Inexplicable Peace That Comes from Stargazing

Intelligent Characters Enthusing Over Learning New Things (Especially From Each Other)

Learning a New Language

Learning to Dance

Loneliness

Platonic Life Partners

Protectiveness - Character A drapes their jacket over B's shoulders

Protectiveness - Character being protected isn't used to being cared about

A rescues B from trouble B knowingly walked into (B thought they could handle it on their own)

Scars - Exchanging stories about scars

Scenery Porn

Snow and Ice

Teamwork

that fic genre w/ long lowercase title (&parenthetical) that’s sexy moody multilayered & complicated

Thing character has built a large chunk of their life around comes to an end; finding a new path

Touch-Starved Character gets their hair stroked & gets other kind gentle touches & cuddles

two people really want Found Family but are too emotionally stunted to admit it

Uncovering a major secret by gradually putting the pieces together

Worldbuilding

Worldbuilding - Magic Spells & Rituals

Young character(s) solving problems in surprisingly mature ways considering their age(s)

Mother of Learning - nobody103

- Solo: Kirielle Kazinski (Mother of Learning - nobody103)

- Kirielle Kazinski & Zorian Kazinski (Mother of Learning - nobody103)

- Mother of Learning - Controller Kirielle Kazinski

- Mother of Learning - Deaf Kirielle Kazinski

- Mother of Learning - Time Looper Kirielle Kazinski

fandom-specific dnw: romantic and/or sexual Zach/Zorian; physical parental abuse within the Kazinski family; significant exaggeration of canonical emotional neglect/abuse/general family dysfunction; explicit permanent erasure of time traveler characters in your fic who weren't erased in canon

Look, I just love Kirielle a lot, okay. And there are two basic concepts that will not leave my brain when it comes to her, so I’ve requested both here—if not this exchange, when else? Also, they’d definitely work great together, if you feel so inclined.

Anyway, concept 1—time traveler Kirielle. I think it would be really interesting to explore how she dealt with all of it—she’s nine, not fifteen, so she’d be growing up while looking like a child, and she’d have to trick her way around people a lot more to get them to take her seriously. It would be different, also, depending on if she were a hanger-on or the Controller; ironically she’d probably have more support in her learning and growing if she were a hanger-on, since there’d be at least one other person looping with her then. She’d also look like a lot less of a threat to anyone looking for those—physically, she’s nine years old, no matter how long she lives, and children are a lot less threatening than teenagers.

As for concept 2—I really should’ve mentioned this in my sign-up, but it slipped my mind at the time—I really, really don’t want to see fics that infantilize disabled characters—if Kiri’s deaf, she’s still gonna be herself, you know? Not exactly self-sufficient or anything, she is nine after all, but not a helpless little kid who can’t do anything on her own either. And please don’t cure her—magic (or mundane) adaptive tech is fine, but please no outright cure.

That being said, I’m using “deaf” here in the looser sense, so do what you will with that piece of knowledge.

Anyway. I’m fascinated by this idea, I think, because it would both fundamentally change Kirielle’s circumstances and be a big opportunity for worldbuilding—all we really know about disability in Eldemar is that modern disability theory is not a thing which is familiar to giant spiders or to fifteen-year-old boys. But like—if she’s deaf, then that means that she can’t be the perfect little girl Cikan quite clearly wants her to be; I’d be very surprised if they didn’t raise her oral, didn’t try to hide her disability or at least make it as invisible as possible to everyone else. And I’d imagine that there isn’t much of a Deaf community in Cirin of all places—maybe that makes her want to go to Cyoria even more, find a community there, learn a sign language so she can communicate in a way that’s easier for her.

Actually, I think it really would be interesting to combine these two—I know I already said they go great together, but like, it would just give her more time to find a community and a language and what it means to be a Deaf merchant family’s daughter in Eldemar, when you aren’t restricted to a tiny little village with parents who care too much about appearances.

Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88 (fanfic)

- Solo: Pansy Parkinson | Pandora Parkinson (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Solo: Arcturus Rigel "Archie" Black (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Solo: Adriana "Addy" Potter (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Arcturus Rigel "Archie" Black/Hermione Granger (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Francesca Lam/Aldon Rosier (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Harriet Potter | Rigel Black & Pansy Parkinson (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Hannah Abbott/Blaise Zabini (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Ginny Weasley & Ron Weasley (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Caelum Lestrange & Pansy Parkinson (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- Caelum Lestrange & Harriet Potter | Rigel Black (Revolutionary Arc - kitsunerei88)

- can't go back to school because you're critical to putting your country back together post-civil-war

- Characters That Don't Like Each Other Nonetheless Find Comfort In Parallel Traumas

- dissonance of normal college life and the secret civil war you fought overseas as a teenager

- finally getting a chance to sit down and process all the things you had to do to maintain your cover

- Fix-it - Last-minute rescue for character who died in canon before they die

- going back to school after fighting a yearlong civil war against the new dictator of your country

- going home after the war (but you can't go home again)

- Post-canon - characters slowly recover from trauma caused by canon

- A was too young to remember the war but every adult they know was involved in it

- we both have massive trust issues; it seems like we’re the only reasonable people in the world

- World-weary broken people find comfort and understanding in each other

Don’t have any fandom-specific dnws here.

For Rev Arc, what I’m looking for is essentially consequences and fallout; canon is nice! Canon is very nice! But we don’t see a whole lot of what happens afterwards—all these kids who came of age during the war, who have to or can’t go back to school, who have to live with the world that exists after. The new generation, who are in a lot of ways more akin in circumstance to canon HP’s characters than Rev Arc or RBC characters ever were. There was a war; the war’s been won. What now?

If you happened to be looking at the fix-it tag, I didn’t have any canonically dead characters in my requests, but I was definitely thinking of Draco when I requested it—you wouldn’t even really need to change much else, I don’t think, since he’s injured badly enough by the time Harry and Leo show up to put him out of commission for the rest of the war. Also, I formatted Pansy’s tag the way I did because I was thinking of her reconciling herself after it all, if that makes sense.

Original Work

Mentor angle

- Male Student Mage Disguised as a Girl & His Older Female Mentor

- Abused Child Grows To Trust New Authority Figures/Guardians

- Bonding over music

- Catching injured character as they faint or lose balance

- Character Discovers a Horrible Political Secret

- Character who isn't used to being protected gets protected

- Drawing & Painting

- Families - Found Family

- Finding Someone Sleeping and Putting a Blanket or Coat Over Them

- Gratuitous Descriptions of Winter

- Grooming - hair brushing

- Hair Braiding

- Hurt/Comfort - Character A discovers Character B's biggest secret

- Hurt/Comfort - Character expects to be punished but is comforted instead

- The Inexplicable Peace That Comes from Stargazing

- Learning to Dance

- A rescues B from trouble B knowingly walked into (B thought they could handle it on their own)

- song of the lioness style gender disguise plot

- teaching moments while rescues are taking place

- Thing character has built a large chunk of their life around comes to an end; finding a new path

- Uncovering a major secret by gradually putting the pieces together

Gen angle

- Male Student Mage Disguised as a Girl & Male Student Warrior

- Male Student Mage Disguised as a Girl & Female Student Warrior Disguised as a Boy

- Male Student Mage Disguised as a Girl & Female Fellow Student Mage

- Character tries to hide their problems but friends are determined to help

- characters understand each other so well they barely need to speak in times of crisis

- Epic Friendship Slowburn

- Finding Someone Sleeping and Putting a Blanket or Coat Over Them

- Fire-forged Friends

- Found Family - characters come to unspoken acknowledgement that that's what they are

- going back to school after fighting a yearlong civil war against the new dictator of your country

- Hair Stuff - A is unexpectedly very good at styling hair; styles B's ornately; B wears it all day

- A has baggage; doesn’t trust others & (less obviously) doesn’t trust themself/has guilt

- Hurt/Comfort - Being comforted by someone character distrusts

- Hurt/Comfort - Character A discovers Character B's biggest secret

- Hurt/Comfort - Character overuses magic/powers/etc. to protect a loved one

- I would do anything to save you from yourself (including physically fight you if it comes to it)

- Intelligent Characters Enthusing Over Learning New Things (Especially From Each Other)

- Learning a New Language

- A rescues B from trouble B knowingly walked into (B thought they could handle it on their own)

- song of the lioness style gender disguise plot

- Uncovering a major secret by gradually putting the pieces together

- Villain undercover as a good guy; grows to care about good guys leading to heel-face turn

- X tells Y the (outlandish) truth; Y thinks it’s a joke until something proves X’s truthfulness

Ship angle

- Male Student Mage Disguised as a Girl/Male Student Warrior

- Male Student Mage Disguised as a Girl/Female Student Warrior Disguised as a Boy

- Male Student Mage Disguised as a Girl/Female Fellow Student Mage

- A Admires B's Fighting Skills

- all the diaspora feelings

- Ballroom Dancing

- Character sees color for the first time upon meeting soulmate; it's a highly inconvenient time

- Characters Didn't Realise The Relationship Was Secret; They Thought It Was Obvious

- characters understand each other so well they barely need to speak in times of crisis

- Fake Dating Leads to Feelings Despite Characters' Best Attempts

- Hair Stuff - A is unexpectedly very good at styling hair; styles B's ornately; B wears it all day

- Hurt/Comfort - Character A discovers Character B's biggest secret

- I would do anything to save you from yourself (including physically fight you if it comes to it)

- Intelligent Characters Enthusing Over Learning New Things (Especially From Each Other)

- Language of Flowers

- A rescues B from trouble B knowingly walked into (B thought they could handle it on their own)

- song of the lioness style gender disguise plot

- Soulmates - Scars appear on each other's skin

- Soulmates- Name on the wrist is not the one character goes by

- Uncovering a major secret by gradually putting the pieces together

- Undercover - Masquerade Party

- Villain undercover as a good guy; grows to care about good guys leading to heel-face turn

- X tells Y the (outlandish) truth; Y thinks it’s a joke until something proves X’s truthfulness

fandom-specific dnw: age gaps in ships of more than 3 or so years when one character is underage; predatory manipulation between characters in the relationship in service of the relationship; transphobia directed at cisgender characters; crossdressing as fetish. I’d also rather not see any kind of serious relationship with at least one character disguising their gender pre-reveal of that disguise–flirting, starting to date a little is okay but if it’s going further please have them reveal it. Please don’t play into the idea of gender-disguised character as “trap”. If actual trans characters are present, then some transphobia isn’t a hard dnw—my gift in Heart Attack didn’t bother me at all.

also dnw characters requested as gender-disguised to be written as trans or to be written as absolutely loathing their disguise. other characters are fair game. if writing trans characters, dnw them to be explicitly nondysphoric (but not addressing it is fine).

So, uh, I’m sure you can see the… theme in all these requests. For these ones especially, the freeforms aren’t the really iddy part; I just picked the ones I liked best and thought I suited the relationships best. It’s the ship tags that are the iddy part.

Look, I fell in love with Song of the Lioness as a kid, then I grew up and realized there was a tragic dearth of gender-flipped versions, and now I’m fishing for them in exchanges.

So give me this boy and the people in his life! Tell me a story—what is this world, that this is necessary? How does he handle various aspects of it? Or just let them go on an adventure or have a nice quiet day tbh, those would both be rad too.

#exchange letters #id pro quo #requested: fic #requested: revolutionary arc #requested: mother of learning #requested: original work

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neospacenerds · 6 years

Text

Notes on AU!Roman

Reversed Background

Almost everything about Roman’s home planet is explained in this post, though I've come up with a few amendments since them. Mainly regarding the name which is now KXT-49. But here are some additional notes.

- His family has weird hair and eye colors because at some point they volunteered as test subjects for cosmetic gene modification to make some extra money. It’s one of the many things that people can do on these corporation owned planets to earn extra cash.

- Was discovered to be an abnormally fast learner from a really early age, but that didn’t amount to anything seeing as hello, their lives are still pretty much corporate collateral.

- Access to reading materials is very sparse on his planet and internet access was limited, so anything he could read he would tear through repeatedly. He never attended an official school. Like most of the kids on the planet, the only education they got was from teachers from a voluntary organization coming over to give them lessons, which is how his sister-in-law Clairesse got involved in his life.

- Clairesse played a big role in cultivating his interest in learning, especially in science and math. Her being able to come and go from the planet as she wished allowed her to bring back lots of reading materials and learning aids that helped him immensely.

- His big break came when he got intergalactic attention for discovering a huge flaw in a prominent scientific theory that basically changed the foundations of modern science (I often joke that it’s Einsteins theory of relativity but I might actually have to research on this one)

- That’s basically how he earned a full scholarship to NEMI under the Technological & Systems and Support majors from one of the biggest names in R&D in the galaxy (possibly Nabaal, we’ll have to see when i start developing my concepts for the AU!Hyperion Collective).

- He’s got a very simple goal; make cutting edge breakthroughs in tech development that’ll earn him enough money to buy his family out of indentured labor.

- Naturally he’s practically guaranteed to end up in for Alpha in this universe, primarily because he doesn't have the glaring personality flaws his canon self possesses.

Personality

- My basis for his personality was basically what Roman would be like if he didn’t turn out to be so very jaded and cynical about everything. AU! Roman is intelligent, but more importantly he’s obviously constantly curious and isn’t reserved about it. He know’s he’s smarter than most but he doesn't rub that in everyone else faces. He’s not at all reserved when it comes to asking questions, and when he really hooks on to a topic those questions can get rapid fire and intense as all hell.

- He has an almost scary desire to improve himself and is always working on something. Doesn't matter if he’s reading, doing homework, learning some new skill or going ham in the workshop, it’s as if he constantly needs to be working somehow. A lot of that compulsion probably comes from the fact that he thinks he missed out on so much time to do so much while he was just a farm boy on his home planet. Now he feels that he needs to make up for that, not to mention the fact that his family’s basically relying on him to get them out of hell. No pressure.

- You know that one Hamilton song? Why do you write like you’re running out of time? That’s him. Part of him feels like this whole experience is a dream from which he might wake up from at any time, which is why he’s got to make the best use of it while he can.

- One thing he retains about his canon personality is how organized he is. In addition he’s very frugal and doesn't waste anything. Does everything to maximum effectiveness, which might come off as OCD a lot of the time.

- He’s definitely a lot more genuine. Oh yes he’s got no qualms about being open about his feelings. One might say he really took after his mother on this one. It might take awhile for him to ease into it though, since back home he’s very used to repressing his emotions just to make things easier on those around him. But once he gets used to the idea that he’s in an environment where he doesn't have to do that, oh boy are we going to have a fun time.

- I feel like he would also retain some of his manipulative edge. Not a lot of it, just enough to show that he’s self-aware about his motivations. He knows he’s there for a purpose and that’s to get rich. Anything that brings him a step closer to that goal, he’ll do in a heartbeat. Contrary to his canon self, he’d probably be very contentious about making friendly relationships, especially with others who could prove useful in the future. He especially would target individuals that’re well off, which I think at some point will lead to him befriending the wrong people (ie. AU!Aoife, if my ideas for her pan out, nudge nudge wink wink). Realizing where his morals stand in comparison to his ambitions is probably going to become a definitive struggle for him.

- He is very shrewd when it comes to making money and takes up any opportunity he can find. He will do a lot of things for money, even if they border on morally gray or take advantage of legal loopholes. Though he probably wouldn’t commit a crime. I’ve actually envisioned him plotting some sort of scam type scheme with Day to steal from the rich and give to the poor (himself) which might be a whole episode i’ll write about later.

- He tries not to lie, though he can and will twist/omit the truth. He definitely feels guilt about his ulterior motives but tells himself it's all for a good cause.

- He’s probably going to start as someone who avoids conflict and takes insults rather than fighting back since I imagine that’s the kind of treatment he’s endured back on his home planet. He’s also diplomatic rather than confrontational in nature. However he’s probably going to develop with time from being calculatingly passive to actually being able to stand up for himself. There’ll come a breaking point where someone pushes him a little too far and he snaps, giving rise to him easing into the iconic sassmaster9000 that he was meant to be.

- He might fight some people, though he’d probably since he's a scrawny farm boy with minimal combat training.

- I feel like he keeps trying to do ridiculous experimental stuff going out of his way to try to break the law of physics. Everyone else is just like Roman stop why can’t you give us regular exosuit upgrades like everyone else and he’s just like NORMAL ISN’T GOING TO MAKE ME RICH. He especially wants to build a portable temporal flux device ie. mini time travel machine. Imagine someone being able to zip about through time like tracer.

- He really likes animals. REALLY likes them. I swear he will befriend any animal in existence.

Family

- His family structure is essentially the same as canon, two half brothers, father, mother. Only difference being that his mom’s actually still alive in this one.

- His brother’s mother, Elizabeth was the sister of his mother, Victoria. She fell ill and died, leaving Victoria to take care of her young nephews. Somewhere along the line Frederick and Victoria fell in love and they got married and tada, Roman was born.

- Roman has a lot of respect for his parents, both of whom are ridiculously hardworking. They tried their best to keep the children away from hard work for as long as they could so it wouldn’t stunt their growth or affect their health, but it took a heavy toll on them. Frederick’s health has been poor over the past few years, and while Victoria’s determination to raise her children has prevented her from falling into the same pit of despair she did in canon, she can get really emotionally unstable, hysterical and is always stressed about making ends meet.

- Roman got a lot of his diplomatic personality from dealing with his mother who overreacts to things a lot. It’s an unspoken rule in their household that he’s pretty much the only one who really knows how to handle her when she’s like that.

- His oldest brother Alexander follows closely in their father’s footsteps. He is happily married to Clairesse and they're about to have their first child. Roman is really to Clairesse, She’s practically the sister she never had and they act like they’ve been siblings forever.

- His brother Caesar is the troublemaker in the family. To everyone’s dismay he’s constantly getting into trouble gambling, drinking and being an unscrupulous womanizer. He's been chased out of the house with a broom more times than anyone can count. He constantly tries to mooch money off his younger brother, and though Roman never gives him any he sneaks food out so Caesar doesn't go hungry. It feels a lot like he’s the older brother whenever he as to give Caesar a lecture about not being a fucking dumbass.

#I realized I never posted my character notes #ReverseAU #JEEZUZ THAT WAS LONG #AU!Roman

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rockscanfly · 7 years

Note

Concept: the little eel faces on Kaldur's hands change their expression depending on his mood

Being a good archer means having a good eye for detail, and Artemis has never been anything but excellent.

So it’s understandably galling when she realizes, three years into their friendship, that Kaldur’s tattoos are more than they seem.

They’re at the annual League Winter Solstice Party when she first notices, snatching his wrist as he’s about to hand Harper (on a short break from his fruitless quest to find whoever-the-fuck, Speedy, the first Roy Harper) a glass of mulled wine.

“Why are your tattoos happy,” she slurs, squinting through the pleasant buzz of alcohol. The Watchtower falls under international rules when it comes to alcohol–everyone eighteen and over is legal, and like any self-respecting American teen, she’s taking advantage while she can.

“Can they be happy? Harper, hey, Roy,” she says, and shoves Kaldur’s hand in Roy’s face. She gestures to the smiling eels that adorn Kaldur’s hands. “Am I drunk? Why are his hand snakes so, so smiley?”

Roy hmm’s, faking intrigue while shooting Kaldur an amused look. He probably thought Artemis didn’t see it, which she totally did, because detail, but she chooses not to mention it. Because, well, answers.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Blondie,” Roy says, smirking. “Does someone need a glass of water, kiddo?”

“Fuck your water,” Artemis murmurs, dropping Kaldur’s wrist. She steals the mulled wine first, downing it in one gulp to prove a point.

Roy throws his hands up in mock defeat. “Careful, Kal,” he jokes, “Looks like we got a badass over here.”

Kaldur smiles, warm with amusement at their antics. “A badass who I sincerely hope doesn’t think that a hangover will be getting her out of training tomorrow,” he teases gently, eyes dancing.

It’s a look that she doesn’t get to see on him often, Artemis realizes with a pang. Suddenly nostalgic, she throws her arms around the both of them, drawing them together.

“We should dance,” she asserts firmly, gesturing drunkenly with one heel-clad foot at the impromptu dance floor. Zattanna and Rocket are already up there, swaying drunkenly to Nat King Cole. “C’mon.”

She manages to pull the two of them to the floor, all three rocking gently in awkward tandem before Wally comes and pulls her away for a dance of their own–Kaldur I can understand, but don’t tell me you’re leaving me for Harper of all people, babe–and as she’s pulled away she sees Roy throw Kaldur’s arms over his shoulders as he leads the other man in a drunken waltz.

As Wally spins her around the room–he’s had three times the number of drinks as her, at least, but speedster metabolisms and so on–she catches a glimpse of Kaldur’s face tucked over Roy’s shoulder, blush flushing his high cheeks bones. She can see the little eels, too, grinning, where they rest on the strong muscles of Roy’s neck.

Well I’ll be damned, she thinks, and resolves to tease the two of them with this story when they finally get their shit together.

Its two years and a hundred leagues under the ocean later, and no one’s shit is together, least of all Kaldur’s.

Then again, Artemis thinks ruefully, exhausted, watching helplessly while he trembles apart next to her on their shared bed, caught in yet another nightmare, what could you expect?

Gritting her teeth, Artemis grabs her own wrist, restraining herself from touching him. The last time she tried that, tried shaking him awake by the shoulder, it didn’t go well.

The bruises from being flung against the wall hurt, yeah, but not as much as his face did when he woke up and realized what he’d done, or the way he shied from contact with her for a whole week afterward. She’s touch-starved enough as it is, down here, away from Wally and his fever-hot body, his Speedster warm hands. She doesn’t need Kaldur’s guilt driving him even further away than the distance he already kept.

Sighing, Artemis forces herself up, out of the bed, and pads around to Kaldur’s front. Kneeling, she tries calling his name, hoping that will wake him from sleep. “Kaldur,” she says softly, voice too rough and too gravelly in her own ears. “Kaldur, wake up, it’s okay, you’re here.”

He twitches wildly, hands coming up to cover his mouth, muffling a hoarse scream. She thinks, exasperated, that it’s just like him to silence his own pain, even in dreams.

Her eyes flick to his hands, and she notices the eels are snarling, twisting and writhing in agony. Small shocks of electricity leap from finger to finger, and she backs further away.

“Kaldur, Kaldur, wake up,” she hisses, desperate. His face is a snarl of misery, brow drawn tight. “Kaldur—” she yells, and his eyes snap open, wide and terrified.

He sits up instantly, chest heaving, gills flapping in dry air. “Tula, Tula–epanélthei, na epanélthei, parakaloúme na érthei píso–Artemis–”

“–Is dead,” Artemis says quickly. She’s too familiar with the shadow’s to believe that there aren’t at least seven bugs hidden in this room of their quarters alone. “You killed her, you avenged Tula. Its okay, Kaldur, I’m here. You’re home.”

Kaldur looks up at her, shaking his head, clearing the clouds. He straightens, shoulders going firm and tight in a way she hates. “Of course,” he says, breathe slowing. “Thank you, Tigress.”

She grabs one of his hands in hers, pulling him in for an embrace. This, the need to comfort him, is one of the only things she doesn’t have to fake down here, and she treasures the cool press of his skin to her own. “Anytime, Kaldur’ahm,” she says, and it’s one of the only things she’s said in a month that wasn’t a lie.

—-

By the time the Invasion is over Artemis considers herself an expert in Kaldur speak. The secret, she will later divulge to Zattanna, who drunkenly asks her just how the hell she always seems to know what’s really going on in their stoic friend’s head, is to look at his hands.

Two weeks after Wally’s death and the expulsion of those bastards from her planet, it’s this little known fact–that the faces of his eels will always reveal the emotions that Kaldur himself buries under ten metric tons of emotionally repressive rock–that tips her off to the fact that Kaldur is not okay.

They–meaning herself, M’gann, and Conner, who are at the moment the only members of the original team who are really coping with what’s happened–have gathered the original team together for a beach day. Like old times, M’gann says, as she lays a plate of snicker doodles–Wally’s favorite, Artemis remembers with a hollow pang–on the picnic table.

As therapy days go, it isn’t bad, but it’s also isn’t great.

“Come on, fishsticks,” Artemis shouts across the net to Kaldur. It’s him and M’gann against herself and Conner. Dick sits on the side, ostensibly playing ref but in reality brooding over a strawberry margarita. “Spike it! I dare ya!”

Kaldur smiles at her, challenging, and does exactly that. Conner, as expected, manages to dive low, catching the ball with a fist. It goes soaring, high, high, before an invisible force catches it and drives it back into the sand on their side of the net.

“Hey!” Artemis shouts, pointing at M’gann. “Blatant cheating!”

M’gann grins, eyes fading to their normal color from their tell-tale glow. She turns to Dick. “What does the ref say?”

Dick, the brooding idiot, looks up from trying to find the meaning of life in his margarita. “Umm. No foul?” He says uncertainly, guilt written across his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Artemis mutters, and trudges through the thick sand to Dick’s spot underneath the umbrella. “Okay, break time. Let’s get in the water, bird boy,” she says, pulling him out into the sun.

Dick hisses, pulling non-committaly against her grip. “I thought cats hated water,” he gripes, and she can’t help but grin. It’s a stupid joke, yeah, but it’s also the first one he’s made all day.

“Tigers actually love water,” Connor interjects, pulling his shirt over his head. Casually, he wrests Dick from Artemis’s grasp, holding him over his head and walking calmly over to the sea. M’gann floats sedately after them, shifting her cloths from a shirt and shorts to a one piece.

“Traitors!” Dick yells, laughing despite himself, wriggling pointlessly. “Ruffians! Kaldur, help!”

“This is a battle you must fight alone, my friend,” Kaldur says solemnly, sitting down in the sand to watch the chaos.

Artemis settles beside him, watching as M’gann and Connor pull their struggling friend into the water. The scene quickly devolves into a splash fight–a fight in which Dick, who lacks both super strength and the ability to psychically create walls of water, is hilariously outmatched in.

“Why don’t you join them?” Artemis questions, not unkindly. “You’d kick all of our asses in a water war.”

Kaldur sighs, crossing his hands over his chest. Her eyes flick down to the eels, noting with a sinking stomach that, despite his relaxed demeanor, their expressions are twisted in anxiety and, she thinks, sorrow.

She looks back up as he prepares to speak, something sour building in her throat as she sees that none of these feelings are portrayed on his own face.

“I feel that would be unfair,” he says with a gentle smile.

Artemis frowns. The smile manages to reach his eyes. Anyone who didn’t know about the eels would buy this, hook line and sinker, and she hates how good he has gotten at acting.

“They would love to have you,” she prods, gesturing. “I’m sure Dick would appreciate the backup.”

Kaldur’s smile tightens, but doesn’t drop. “I am sure he will be fine,” he says, evasive.

Artemis frowns. “The point of this whole thing is for us to have fun together,” she says, standing. She leans down, reaching for his hand. The eel’s expression twists tighter, though Kaldur’s smile remains the same. “C’mon,” she wheedles. “Join us.”

Kaldur flinches away, finally allowing the smile to drop. He goes blank, showing nothing. “It would not be a good idea,” he says, firm. “But thank you.”

It’s not until later, when she overhears an argument between Black Canary and Aquaman, that she learns that Kaldur has been exiled from Atlantis and is no longer welcome in any ocean.

—

“You’re an idiot,” she tells Roy Harper, while they sit on a roof top and watch the sunset behind Star City’s horizon.

“What’s new,” he grumbles, throwing back the last slug of his beer. It’s the only one he’ll have tonight, responsible adult that he is now. She thanks the universe every day that Lian has him as a father.

Now if only he’d be as good a boyfriend to her best friend as he’s been a father to her neice, she could rest easily.

“Seriously though,” Artemis gripes, poking him in the side with her own beer. It’s her third, because she doesn’t have a kid to look after, and it is a Friday. She dodges his half-hearted swipe at her head, grinning. “Why don’t you go for it? He’s been in love with you for years.”

Roy sighs, lying back on the warm concrete, legs kicking in the open air. “It’s not that simple.”

Artemis kicks his shin. “Yeah, it is.”

Roy props himself up on his elbows, squinting at her in the fading sunlight. Small lines crinkle in the corner of his eyes, signs of age brought on early from a life hard lived, and she kicks him harder. “Fucking ow,” he gripes. “Look, it’s not–It’s not about what Kaldur feels. He doesn’t want it.”

Artemis scoffs. “The fuck gave you that idea?”

“Do you know anything about Atlantis?” Roy snaps. “Like, at all?”

“I know his tattoos smile whenever you’re around,” she snaps back. “That doesn’t happen for just anyone, asshole.”

“Not about Kaldur, you doof, about Atlantis. In general.”

“Not really,” Artemis shrugs. “I know they exiled him for a while, like, a couple years ago. And that Garth got the exile repealed. I know about Purists. What else is there?”

Roy sighs, curling his body back up to look her in the eyes. His gaze is tired, and she suddenly feels a little bad for disrupting what was probably one of the only relaxing moments he’s had in days, at least.

“Atlantis isn’t the greatest, when it comes to people like you and me,” Roy says, blunt. “We both know Kaldur’s as queer as a three dollar bill, same as, like, half the fucking team. Atlantean culture? Not so cool with that. Kaldur’s gotten better, but he still has issues.”

“Atlantis is homophobic?” Artemis repeats, honestly shocked. “But Garth, and Tula, and La’gann—“

“—Don’t know,” Roy finishes for her. “He’s not exactly vocal about it. How do you even know?”

“From the way he looks at you,” Artemis replies, something cold settling in her stomach. “And back in twenty-fourteen, at that Solstice party. His tattoos gave it away, more than anything, the way they grinned while you were dancing with him.”

“You’re annoyingly observant, you know that?” Roy grumbles, thumbing the label off his beer bottle. “Look, you’re probably one of the only people in the whole League who has noticed either of those things. And Kaldur—he’s gotten a lot better, than he used to be. He doesn’t hate himself like he used too. Can’t, considering who his friends are. But I don’t know if he’ll ever be in a place where he wants to act on this…thing, we’ve got.”

“What about you?” Artemis presses, nudging her foot gently against Roy’s own. She looks over her shoulder, eyes widening briefly. Carefully, she raises her voice ever-so-slightly. “How about you, Roy? Do you want a relationship with Kaldur?”

Roy scoffs, eyes fixed on the horizon, the setting sun. He doesn’t notice Artemis’s distraction, and raises his volume automatically to match her own. “Of course I do. I’ve been in love with him for years. If I thought for a second he’d go for it—“ Roy finishes with a shrug. “You’d never get me off of him.”

Artemis grins over her shoulder, feet kicking against the roof’s ledge in glee. “That’s great,” she says, cat’s grin curling her lips, smug. “Kaldur? What do you think?”

Roy curses, twisting.

Kaldur stands on the roof, six-pack clenched in one webbed hand, the other covering his gaping mouth. He’s blushing furiously, and the eels on his hands have half-moon grins.

“I—“ he stammers, and Artemis jumps up, taking the six pack easily from his shocked grip.

“It looks like the two of you have a lot to talk about,” she says smugly, and saunters back down the fire escape.

The next day, during the weekly League Council meeting, she can’t help but notice, detail oriented as she is, that the eels are still grinning.

#kaldur #artemis crock #seaarrow #spitfire #young justice #koy #roy harper #mine

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castlehead · 7 years

Text

[BENEATH THE PLYMOUTH. chapter nine, conclusion]

I. Can’t life end again, before the sun Goes down over the hills like a parasol? Life polluting our heads with questions That don’t know their own answers …

Then why give it us? the private said. I mean,

Armies kill and are killed for these, and ya En’ up with what monstrous

Bleakness stripes in blood; that is your prize. With flagging limbs I speak my Rage at the enemy. My True Veteran Rage, Which is my food and drink, I cross the

Battlefield and I singlefile my bros And doesn’t this matrix of bootstring Done up on you quicker now if We get incoming fighter jets? You are Meanwhile living it up like a damn Yossarian with them foolish virgins The new recruits till I

Send again for u to drive another imbalance right Weepwoop weepwoop weepwoop

Tried and true are the men to get killed first After all, nothing like

Deaths of honorable men To stew up the lesser rage of cowards for to deal In lamenting them, as if it were for fun, sportiness,

Oratory, red and blue lights! crack Open a cold one with the boys! magnifico! raises

Chalice to those sent to a Rightful place in the heavens, those Weak mounds or plots now, some Severed from life by the single nip Of severe pill intake after the war

You’re too fucking good for a life of Seizures take this xanax instead.

. . . . . . . . .

What am I doing I am here, I am atop a mountain, lets call it, Am breathing full for the first time, In my headspace I persist An effluvium; while a desperate gush’f a need For sanctuary tells me I am far from Ahead of turning this damfool twilight In my head away from its Croaking doubts, and guilts, Can barely.

This Twilight, What have I left to examine of you? I say Sagely to the private, do all that you did, as well Upon / A separate, spent drift, perspective, etc.,

While the wolfish / Folk don caps Of what they wrongly think they

Are. This could be a story about why I wanted to kill myself Or it could be about whatever I want to make it about, Hopefully something, something less dramatic. Well. I hope you like it. I worked very hard on it. It Makes me want to weep to think of it, and yet I must, I want to tell you all of what it means to make a difference Atop a mountain, I see you there, my love, Please, please love me, there is not much I can say Except, love me. All this daft World. All of its haunting Contradictions, nifty spools out of sense I cause

Rounding the corner, get them, chase them, Go deep into the forest, up the climate. Up, Up

Have you found, the little that speech can give you back is width enough for a heart in grief to corrode Or two? Sleep, sleep, dear one. I have ye, ye is much obliged to nurture me myself, but unlike I you, u dont have to me, For I nurture myself well enough already. This someone else in this house of mirrors you keep talking about, quaking With unfed genius, and whom is monster, monster, knocks upon the head, to heel up This phantasm, intimidate it backwards a little, scorn its brunt, then deftly reconnoiter With it later back at the chasm’s lost wrinkle there where not one minute of time is spent not laughing about the situation. A light could swiftly get penetrant the brains of the unfed genius, the wreck, The wry one, the lost thing betokening all worlds’ wishing that human vanity hath brayed like a horse for, and Prayed, prayed for, to congeal as even the protozoa of a spark at the top of a mountain; to let hope congeal in plenty as the blizzard Of the century to garnish the summit.

You have the prototype, but it is a him, and he is to love what love had always needed to Be! We mold and mold what we want the world to be, mold it out of a wish Or three,

. . . . . . . . .

II. Each interesting temperament says hello to me, Before fleeing from me,

They pass and pass like they meant something once but won’t tell Anymore, as I wait to be given back what has been once robbed, still

Hell. What’s the difference really? Been once asking me for the last Of its energies, itself will change, always change. So it goes with The whims of opinion, as to what sits well in one’s stomach,

Or if not that at most just rumbles hungrily there, or gets one’s noticing Depreciating, or not. Anything wld lead me to an answer I’d get besotted of,

Ornate reasons for expression are my thing. Showy excuses for my skewed bind called my life.

That rattle here and there around the point I try to make a success As the voltage is turned on I mark my last of humanity goodbye,

As I remember ur indolence / I so forget my Thoughts, feelings, guilts, shames.

And it is mostly all the same. Watch me empty buckets of sorrow! My eyes. My continual essence is such a pain in the ass. I prefer Additional things in the mix, more than mere sadness. But Our relative experience, though relative, would try to deny Us that even, wouldn’t it? That all could simplify into an urge For relief, something that goes against the little voice That says, These are more than just

Words. But I want them to mean something, really, I really do; want them to bring you places, string You along on their meanings, bobbing and chafing:

Even by faith there being a verbal string to the argument Makes an argument. Reason’s transcendent like That and can make for bitchin’ metaphysical

Recognizingz. What. Something crucial loafs In my empty canister called body. So sue me. It, that is, What I am, doesn’t do anything there but magically

Stays aloof without disappearing: this buried thing: well I Daze myself off into space and meet you there, like, In space: and anyway waiting too long would

Be a rightful hazard for my personality to squeal about In being aloof. I have no ridiculous thing to write But instead forth go into magnifying what is said

Already like a patient requiring ibuprofen by exaggerating The pain that is still pain. More fun is this, this getting Shot with a gun-syringe of aenesthetics: they

Say “Ready for time out” when they do it: You wake up later feeling licked

Like, like a trainwreck, vibrating in freezing AC cold.

Yet if the headache’s needed, then, getting It treated should squelch the purpose. Leave my maladies There, you kno, safe in the trinketbox. Leave me traumatically

Unaided. Like until I hanker badly for an answer myself That I try and remember to give after the longest Period of time possible. So if I can’t,

I want. Feel so stifled. What is important to you: Making sense but making sense new: making poetic Thinking a type of poetry in itself: it works after all:

Let’s ask that question: if I am ambient in my relative Nature, or if the vibe is something more jagged, Which is already something wavy and ambient, An eccentric trick of the mind to woozle itself Into angles of self and pithy creation would Eventually present itself; but do not do it. Yu will not remember how for the life of you. It will just be a picture you see of what you want. Such ignorance

Fascinates one into playing, like, by their own rules, starting To play with concepts. I want to stick to one but Don’t even have one. Strange taste

In my mouth there is. So much there is of self That committing to one thing, even per page, is Backwards, bawdy, bluntly reasonable tho

Past its secure, random prints the weird entry Glamorizes, then makes a thing: I went to those to Mean something, like, went to the words, I mean:

What of it: this is going to be something I Hopefully do not regret, that my large, shiny being notices as Light through the window, getting reflected on by the closing

Door of a car: don’t doom me to just that though: I am a searcher: I’m trying really hard: doe a deer, Blabla: I have the right wrinkles for to

Explain my argument sideways: planecrash: Runtish reason, bleed me out of you into a body My own, hopefully: fuck my answers

For everything: I don’t care about the bad choices. The, that is, horrible reasoning, is not, is a Way, a new one, to work my way

Through poetic thought: my elbows hurt for example: My back does: a weird taste in my mouth: righteous Diligence, give me some rapport with

These words, craft em like gems that are squeezxed And tormented to life, force it, force it to live, I need This living thing in me to express its repressed

Stuff so long repelled: don’t do me like A normal, hoggish perspective on the matchlit Cave we squander through: through and through,

I impress upon myself impressive gonging shouts, Right?: or do I never mention the invisibleness of What I speak of, you know, outside of just then.

. . . . . . . . .

Despite my own personal dilemmas, I have An element unknown by this practice,

Settled in decisive waves of calendar And rotation, space and juxtaposing,

Retracted stuff and statements left bled till Steam lost. I have these unknowavles

Without constraint as things my diction nails To the wall of the page. But I have

Dilemmas, things I create for to Be baffled by them, scorn, growls,

Soggy mittens in wintertime. Nothing Counterintuitive, I always say, gets past me.

I allow those confusions room in my material Cell, breathe out flowering my spent

Petals to a floor of verbiage. OK. What can I say ?? Though ?? Really,

That the cricketsong is unbelievable, The night drinks up that thick

Music; that everything now is considerable, And I decently understand; and that

Everything, even what I do not know, Is important. So as to this,

III. Constantly, barely on a cuticle Would reality seem to stand for us;

You are not so fine, so tenuous as your situation, which is reality, And which offers up zero places for you to trip and fall into the sky.

Regretfully at that would the whole of reality disappear, as Soon as there were not these gravitational beings humans are, To classify and disseminate reality, which is in other words not What you think it is but what you will never see it as and more,

More than just a pretty thang, due to a sounding sunlight, due to, To say, an obstreperous daygloss over the city; but is in the worlds Behind admitting a lack of a name for this non-language, which Although remarkably loud on the still, static eaves, seems [yes] To have come overnight with the junipers. But the sense of sight,

The sense of sight simply was not auditory. And other things, Were fine, were fine as cuticle. Now, as for the problem of sight,– It was already a completely different sensory-experience, one I watched at once go wither off many roofs like flakes, go silent By the weeping mud round their walls overtook by river, but This not immediately. A sourceless jangling like of jewelry first:

Shattering out-seeming a white sun: a wake of these fragile things. Like paint-chips. Saw something, somehow ornamenting rays,– Wither from my grasping. For back then I’d left the peanut Gallery as per usual, my focus on imagination’s latest fare,

As I walked away from my cute little fucking friends or whoever. They went off none wiser, lolling their tongues At stonyfaced adults, so

I chose pursuing possible phenomena: I sense-guessed some Strange thing off there to my side, and in my sight alone:

It was as light, yet if light had A sound, a fastidious muttering to,

To complement its urging bright, and Brilliantine crisp form, giving

Marker in particular, as I noticed more, those looser, tattered Parts of sun and chidden dun. So as, in physicality or Whatever manifesting this gets called, to make

It sound its shifting throughout all degrees, cajoling and Maneuvering almost as if it had feet tapping steps to take.

I was 10, and though I kept awhile that booming stepping light In thickspun places for my mind to go and mend an ear for, And. Back me to that spot, so that itself the unilateral instant

Of perception would not dim, well so it dimmed, And I forgot the noise;

Cotton fills between my ears at the thought, to the point I you know like wouldn’t barely hear a foghorn; then Aggravation past recalling. I can’t now even know if

Anything is absent. That’s how bad it is. Events, E’en if they’d been in paint, certain ones’re more Past recalling than the bluntest detail

Of whatever I’d kept warm enough of it all, by The fire of possible to picture, there, you Know: in the mind’s eye. More important to Remember the erasure electrodes could feed Than the one they could stifle with a ball-gag.

That raged-out delight in your eye could Seed in you and with enough

Of this obscure hallucinogen consumed, zoom the pneumatic Parturitions what had been waiting to canter out out in hot Speech straight from braincavity, for

The benefit of your local Shaman: Into the brushy groins thus go

The Cocky British Adventurers, searching for the fountain Of youth, or at least some village where they can get high. The voodoo dey is pay to see, like, to cure incontinence;

Don’t tell! By the barrel in transport go things to forgetting; A given day, from spore to spore remits; direction is avoided Like a bad thing so we all go back to where it growed from

In the states. More than inner leagues of a breastbone, This is a serious matter. Or rooms we might Could spend all day a-lounge

Upon our rucksacks waiting for inherited luck To be what haunts us, that to crumble, buckle, Quick to breathe, then nothing,–would not so Succeed: spirit pulls us from the fingers of spirit With grand tweezerpairs,

But: what of the dangerous chemical overlapping, could that not Melt any elated feeling straight between its own two hands Lifting it, fruiting out the cracks, from that elation, once again, Which: are nay pieces of the will to dry up the anima/animus For good: like British testicles in the Rainforest its, your Very hands do not, refuse to

Let you handle, now, because, you Know, it will burn for awhile if even it, whatever is Controlling the nefarious block between

Whatever happiness of a sort and their significant Person: birthed into that happy flesh, that skin, That thing that will remind one, you, of the fabulous,

Unshed lair at the foot of the mean, corrosive stairs, Pregnant with mercy for the steps of light on it only.

Listen: go by that so as to seize new life: if wholly for more Artful-slung ascents, wax the temples of yr head And go under, and send accents of voltage, Pole to pole to pole.

WE ALL OF US are of what WE were,

Which cannot gather ‘mustard’ nor In mustering it up should you go without A sort of wheeling will: well: no soul should be Without a healing will: it which fights between Your lungs and what your heart insists

Was, has been there before: they, uh Will know they are observed And know not to do so There now; this too

Comes as natural As all these, as ventricle. There’s An aqueduct to tamper with.

Mine and mine through it–all the overwhelming shit of it all, For stuff yours. Just, don’t

Besiege, sweat and Sweat to illness; or make it yours; or do you and I,

Walking down the dirt road with our selves styled right in front Of us at the edge of madness–meanwhile, the road is at the edge Of the psychiatric hospital–pursue towards our to us so-so Talismans, like the reveille to break ‘us all’ into morning,

With an empiric dournesss and a poetic somberness like dirty rocks? Nay hope to find for this or that eclogue, a meaning punctual, as

We clean them like pissed Jockys, Answering only for the gold but in a

Locked eye–or interminable, breathless moment. These could Be spied by some among

Us less romantic as the crummy afterburners Of a godhead: but to us and others like ourselves not morsel at all, But at the very head

Of the war, and us the blood-mud of a battered theatre, rocketing For battlefield-next; to capture a frantic vibe or two

As might well make us frantic? To display The snack and succor of our wellbeing again, that is; Perhaps in a happiness the other there, at least

–Amongst these mossy graves: where yours, my, and Our ideologies get bestowed on, stoic although out of order, us, Again. Like some gift cherishing its other one,

We blind to our own cherishing. We tempted to hunker into place

On the flat of a large rock: and still we worry of A frightening mishearing of the argot from the first

To spell you out as tending to follow your arbitrary wisps again, Dodging the spitting of these asps forlorn by the same proxy Sense walks out to let fill for it too, whom try and try in fidgets To tell you realistically: you is, uh

Mercurial to sell your snappy deathtraps To the others sitting hunching In the back of the light, awaiting the unveiling Of The Random Vision: it all, and it will, flies back at you, The one elated: from their dark shelters it comes To make that noise you knew only light to. Then, as the speech

Of one given so much to dreams that it were a Sickness the mind ingratiated unto the Rest gives up the ghost and calls itself the same thing

Given to these corruptible seconds you’d happened to get The high beams on at the correct angle of phrasing-light, and Especially since it was not found, and by it I mean, this

Especial species, while scoping out out of greed for an exotic Metaphysical animal rustling softly somewhere dangerous along The curtain, made entirely of infinities: you

Waited for to steal the show, but, then, kabamm, And we lose it: our salutary mistresses

Delayed the minstrelsy, time melted, weak shooting At a fenced-in target: as we themselves blast

All motors, play chicken with feelings fine as cuticle: the Cheering to get mutuality in a busted zipper halfway Down the coat: I sleep in a cot: don’t feel sorry: for you:

Our someplace mistakes beautifully without any Communication’s dotage, without interest, In it for the art: usher us along this rock a bit, And all to stomp down the feeling.

The freckled derelict impetuous parts Our molded forming spits panoply to graciously, as Our freeze of eye at each other, and with that a dolor of collar And crimp at the shoulder, and hands to arms clasping Tenderness to the hilarious sound of trombones:

To filtered, moribund animosity all is as spiritual adiposity, and to The spine’s own place in hurting is there a weakest when true

Hue. Trickling Minuses down each disc, doth it, doth it doth it, and Bring you to the tomb the tomb, tomb, tomb.

Happiness focused atom-wise to blathering lambs’ limbs’ Context pillowy gets us confuséd fledged from right to left

And then to do, uh, do so is Yet the where where is someplace stronger, smaller. Right eh ?? The speech, argot, recommends its woes Like fashionable trinkets at a gas station. And decides

Us to go down the drain like toiletflush these untimely Dissimilars, once posh, now as but the gourmand’s Misery. Before the game, he ate a bunch of hotdogs,

Came to the eating contest for a snack. Yet which is of tidings Is that being flatlined on nonbeing like a medley of thrown

Sounds through to the end of the roll of the last toilet -paper in the WholeWORLDEver. Crates us as off

We go like in a box to nice otherness, while Seconds remind us of the ghost

In the moon we forgot to call mightily and we are Now stuck in this bricklump desuetude.

In the very moon our trembling lips lie about knowing it Afar, and I care not how long the line spits landscape; Don’t; or does perhaps. I want to speak visions Of colors. And now for another

Thing: this is different because it leaves up to discussion The rather ornamental debacle. Dry squalor.

Heated up desertions of eye. Fickle hold, o hold. Broken record you is. Well: my army had Nothing with it come to much

But a father what that grabbed the attitude off The collar of the young punk with spots on’is faythe. Like golly.

Repetition you let us pay for your drinks And get stabbed like Marlowe in the eye. Shiver, Species. For it is what we tell you do.

Collective unconscious needs dramamine stash, before All civilization hurls into the closest bucket and- -Frightens the children. Pellucid is the sky’s heart. He’ll know what to do and, uh, what forgive.

Something cold in this heart. Heal me, heart. Respond A bit too soon to the call. Discuss politics. Fuck you. And be Young Joyce uncomprehending at the

Christmas table with Old Dante Muckering up the gaffe of talking blunt about

The PRIME MINISTER Bad gaffe made the more.–

I took a thousand stout men and made them soldiers. Still the question was not solved: do we or do we not Exist: I founded lackeys like the Prime Mover I is. I am, Tell me, young lamb, [eyecontact] I am like

Roses sweet-smelling yes. I have an ankle that is a chip off

The shoulder and there is so much you’d never suspect through The blinds: you are blind to much: anything but old rinds I give

You to see. Of cataclysmic woe, Is uncouth to say it comes, betimes Betimes.

I natty up the RansomStash of money, think I hurl in some other dimensionanony

Rubbled out of zeitgeist. Like what’s left of what Was once important. MAKE EVERYTHING EXPLODE Says the mind, to the maker, and dirigible the static Plane being’s on or is not on. I have a backache. A good part of the poem is that you do not

Know who the referent ‘I’ is. Wonder retracting statements From itself is and remains the wonder of those statements It did not pursue, nor highlight.

That’s what I tell yeh. My GOD who how he did it ?? Till next horn’s blowing.

The new fodder’s here.

I look at my watch all pithy. I want to talk about something

Different, Now:

IV. These moving things, in

Front of my memory are in front there, as if they could be In front: preparing to be remembered. As like water floating On air, an air once obvious lightness, now heavy but only as Waged by its distinction plashing down weightless;

A rose fighting God for a crumb. What I thought mine,

The diviningrod for the gold that is as it is, while The dappled glinting hurlings-out of sun its Buried symbolism: the rod was looking Surly and sad at me

With its inanimate, punk-poker countenance, asking an Arresting conference between myself and all What is in the coming-trough of that

Empty ray my sun begins behind, waiting For the lordly entropy unkind bids for power Wreak of all over the mystified Others’ whispered Commissions to blesséd rekindlings of an ease For suns as mine, and for them

Eagerer plumbs the problem into the general, poetic Selfhood you and I equate to the choral bastion For all the body politic to get unto itself

A final haunt for meetings with those in the field; First, get me to the shallow symbol quicker, for The more is, within, that is

Our fighting, unfound parts, found Out to their believing-to-be-seen, awkward, Aggrandizing root, the more is seen Human all our trickling signs;

As, for example, the professor nodding Dipping glasses from eyes might say

Profoundly, You have me breach into your sociopathy: Behind these displayed tears eyes mutely Carry over bucket by bucket

Past the lids, then Closed goes your roving imagination To the many grunted teachings, wanders to

The place affect and displeasure dwell In commune much as the sun and moon Are. You contrive and contrive Despite a lack of closure. Evil

Grunts; then, the old magician steps upon his Own tricky sidewalk, back broken, spine Flailing out of the flesh like

Sides of things intentionally prized, for Being many-sided, being peripheral, being thus The clamp-down on upon the rift between a Self and self, the murderous wage, a drifting Buoyed survival technique, culminating In the petty boutique where make fancy our

Designer desires. Manically let you grin, let you-

-And find me there and bitterly beneath your skin, Interred, an errant bug clutched by the teeth Of cells, entirely made of mature dismay

At this rattling feature or that, a singing twitch Ersatz dissolves in simply prudery, although the Match is boundless once uncovered to its Eloquent extremes, its funny bets

Atop a covered wagon on the turnpike to Work, ensuing gases here and there, plucking Marred hairs and ingrown nails from the More similar decripitudes of life, yet leaving still

The undone pyre of waxing-worship to Intend itself beyond, beyond a folly, and beyond An enigmatic coach a breed of stag gallops With, like a friend, a friend or fiend,

A whipping to the nakedness our traveling, A scorching of impassioned earthen to What’s the sillier darkness of conceit, deceit, Received by amplifying weeping, or By entrancing the metaphoric tides an Element-electric wouldn’t send

To the chop-house. Let whom lay beneath The tarpaulin conceive this second poem with Next day’s wrathful heat to incubate

Idea, idea of shrouded modern people Messing with themselves with chemical And flirty doctrines flirting on the bilious; We are about what sadly is not serious.

And you, cheap gourmand, upon his food And slaughtering by the minute every truth His 'times’ replayed like plays in college football

Or, which multiplied disheartening with Kids; which antiquated meme and vine impelled To the furnace, and were meant to be an irony Without a foreground, or just merely funny Will, in time, call all of itself lamed

By richer generations whom do not tie severely The knot so early, nor that one of frame-of-mind,

Nor vicious as the adding of more poem to This poem, this tape, this wrong, this blare,

This carousel, could our analyses of flickering face Be less human than the rest. Dispassionate tools.

. . . . .

To jealous the color of every real ordinary. Mass composites are what the want want To be: load up my carriage, run faces by me For the right one to win

Me over, roam grim sealingwax doubles Like they were the robotic asswipe Your linear ability commands to howitzer The shit out of. I want

To destroy all the air. Then of course, would fain destroy This feigned couscous, by words Jellied in the fridge next to the words, and which gets Warmed up, connotes feelings words alive Trumpet menagerie by menagerie. Flown out of itself

The memory wants back to mentioning, Dries off on the water: the weight of all of this Wants to invite God and the rose To brunch, you know, just to talk

About maybe focusing instead on the sad Memory, unsaid. Split like atom

The discontented flash of thundering. The only thing deeper is unwanted

By you, though you think you do, but no, you Do not, do not know what you

Want from these tears the Result of a brief squabble that should Have been rightly emptied into

The Well Of Lidded Impactfulnation, I mean, man, imaginpainshun. The sidewalk entered a flaccidity unbefore Seen, saturated by these decked freckles of Unbelievable, haunting rain as

The city burned just to get some light On this one page in shadow or Night merely spilled,

Rotting, all over this oops And contracted by the mean tacklers Of bulls. Then revert to those gutted, realize

The pen is dusty and empty, the tears A stupid fragility that makes broke the back Of a mountain not included in

The latest Jake Gyllenhaal deluxe set Of withered, weathered - - sexual frustration In the form of abstract painting full of themselves That is, mainly stuffed with their own selves, Which, pretty much, is everybody you Just had fight with, like, what

They are like, since we’re filled with Ourselves or at worst another fills or is filled By us, which is dangerous especially For emotional bohemians on the klutzy radar Muttering germs of new shit In the corner, like, the

Corner of the crooning voice you can’t place, Can’t raise, faze, amaze, or daze; What ridiculous fun it is to chop the world in half, Leaving only robotic faces tunefully chosen In essence. Maybe you lose the song But it comes back early once That nifty ‘copsiren simulator’ busts Everyone fleeing from the party, and an Avalanche of high folk pour out

Like tears of once what was, unto lids, The resultant dripping, squeezed into their lighted Aspect, performing light again

On the random Chair of Life where drunk poet sit, Whispering saturated sidewalks, eating couscous

By themself, since everyone of us has turned Into a wax rendition of the invisible, and by this Needle of a difference doth split the chained

Opines of unhealable hunger’s dust Where the bulls we fear once were, are not At present.

Dance, dance, ludicrous, failing mind, for nigh you won’t again So mourn, you, rebel from the rest of yourself and die,

Remove in revving happiness up what hath Embraced you, baffled, from two steps away.

It is the corner’s voice. It is the coroner’s voice, bespeaking Valuable Soul, but sans shirt, shoe

. . . . . . .

truly keep me in your bad massacred heart that lunges against your ribcage like it’s selling something it’s like an animal against you you know

find out what lingers between you and beats and stales there and planetary in the dust without a friend but the one you pay for

without an anchor you live your life to listen for some kinetic power somewhere there

unduly and lacking but what you have pawed at for so long now you have

it so live to stir people do such well this man is a tired broken thing wearing an old tattered coat he is grimacing against the bitter cold and

of his way of writing he is sure that he is without an echo back to himself peacefully he lights a fire beneath his fragrant ass he is of the metronome of fart and feeling in feeling

it is in the basics you reach for the flower in my lungs through my throat you have an ascertaining of body in your body

you wild as fire wrinkle orange and yellow separately of it you are the fire of beauty of both

you stick to listening to what’s between the chambers of desire your mind goes crazy and gets stuck in yet

without feelings without the hope of feelings you still feel you are the argot of feelings you want to waste your life trying to fix me I want to taste my life in your ice cream’d hands I want to desire the reality behind things a bit

I want to hire another human to attend to my morals and come upon a spree of finite conclusions for me

our register of voice makes enough of that for the two of us to hear it however low

to wander throughout and divide the equation we would have solved using another’s breathy brain

tell me I am true for what I think of that is that I am untrue tell me my own wrinkles of fire again despoil meaning from the craning of my neck to look upwards at a sky filled with myself filled with the clouds of myself and it makes

me go away into the feelings try me with those feelings and keep my hunch cracked like the tar across the road reality follows

driven by those high and fruitful voices…

#poetry #poem #powtry #pome #depth as predicament #the sad truth of it all

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whalefairyfandom12 · 7 years

Text

Lie To Make Me Like You

Summary:

“Phil Lester.” Dan supplied. “He’s my plus one.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two of them suggestively. “Oh? How long have you two been together?”

Dan blanched. “Sorry, we’re not...actually--”

“A little over seven years, isn’t it Dan?” his mum piped up cheerfully. “I remember the first time you stayed over at Phil’s. You still haven’t stopped talking about him.”

“Maybe the next Howell wedding will be yours,” Mae teased, flicking the end of his tie.

Dan shot a look towards Phil, panic rising. Enough awkward socializing had made them fairly fluent in speaking through eye contact and minute gestures, and as their eyes met Phil smiled lightly as if to say ‘I’m okay with it if you are.’ Dan, being the incompetent, horribly introverted idiot he was, latched onto the idea and ran with it.“Yeah,” he said, laughing in a way that he hopes comes off more as fond and less what the fuck did I just get myself into. “Maybe.”

Notes: This was written for alittledizzy as part of Fandom Trumps Hate using the following prompt:

-Someone assuming Dan and Phil are a couple who doesn't recognize them and Dan and Phil letting them assume that and enjoying being able to act like a couple.

I had a lot of fun writing this and getting to work with you; thank you so much for bidding on my writing and I really hope you enjoy it :))

Word Count: 2302

For the most part Dan tried to keep his personal and business lives separate. He wasn’t very close with most of his family, and enough encounters with viewers who didn’t quite grasp the concept of boundaries only served to reinforce this decision. Aside from his immediate family he rarely saw the rest of the Howell Clan, and so it was a bit of a surprise to receive an invitation to his cousin Mae and Charlie’s wedding.

He vaguely remembered Mae--a precocious eight year old with a habit of pulling his hair, and the smiling woman on the front of the card bore a passing resemblance. To be perfectly honest he’d forgotten she existed; he didn’t think they’d spoken since they were children and he’d never heard of Charlie. His mum had wanted him to go, though, so naturally he’d forced Phil to come and suffer with him. While Phil might have had reservations about taking Dan to the Lester family gatherings, he had no such qualms about taking him to the Howells.

His parents loved Phil, and even Adrian had a grudging respect for the man. Besides, Phil was better at tying ties, remembering general wedding etiquette, and covering Dan’s social ineptitude so there was that, too. The wedding ceremony had been quite long, but the food had more than made up for it. Dan had finished dinner feeling so full he felt a little like throwing up, but based on the heaping pile of food on Phil’s plate it didn’t look like the feeling was mutual.

“It looks like you took half the dessert table,” he noted, taking a bite of the cake--some sort of lemon with vanilla frosting.

Phil made a satisfied noise, popping another biscuit in his mouth. “It’s not my fault, I’m a growing boy.”

“You’re pushing thirty.”

He smiled sweetly. “You should keep a better eye on your cereal, then.”

Dan noticed absently that Phil’s tie was the same shade of blue as his eyes. “I gave up a long time ago. I did try, but somebody kept stealing it.”

Phil tried to straighten his features into the picture of casual concern, but the glimmer in his eyes betrayed him. “Hmm. Maybe you should try hiding it in a smarter place.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Or maybe I should find a new roommate.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he agreed. Someone tugged on the back of his hair, and he turned to find Mae standing behind him, beaming. It was good to know some things never changed. “Congratulations,” he said, the sentiment echoed by the rest of the people at the table. Charlie wrapped his arms around Mae’s waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. She smiled, resting a hand on his cheek.

"I don’t think we’ve met,” Charlie said, eyes warm and brown.

“Dan, Adrian, Donna, Steve, and…” Mae trailed, off, making a face and gesturing at Phil. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met either.”

“Phil Lester.” Dan supplied. “He’s my plus one.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two of them suggestively. “Oh? How long have you two been together?”

Dan blanched. “Sorry, we’re not...actually--”

“A little over seven years, isn’t it Dan?” his mum piped up cheerfully. “I remember the first time you stayed over at Phil’s. You still haven’t stopped talking about him.”

“Maybe the next Howell wedding will be yours,” Mae teased, flicking the end of his tie.

Dan shot a look towards Phil, panic rising. You didn’t live together for half a decade as openly bisexual men without some rumors circulating, and that wasn’t counting the speculation online. But while he and Phil weren’t strangers to people assuming they were in a relationship, this was the first time it had been shoved unavoidably in front of them.

Enough awkward socializing had made them fairly fluent in speaking through eye contact and minute gestures, and as their eyes met Phil smiled lightly as if to say ‘I’m okay with it if you are.’ Dan, being the incompetent, horribly introverted idiot he was, latched onto the idea and ran with it.

“Yeah,” he said, laughing in a way that he hopes comes off more as fond and less what the fuck did I just get myself into. “Maybe.”

He startled at Phil’s hand, the other man’s fingers curling around his reassuringly. It helped quell the impending anxiety by about five percent. “We don’t want to rush things,” Phil said smoothly.

Mae snorted. “You’ve waited seven years. That’s way longer than Charlie and I did.”

He shrugged. Dan had no idea how he was able to keep his calm so convincingly. “Neither of us would mind getting married someday, but our relationship has never been confined by things like that.” Phil’s gaze drifted back towards Dan, soft and gentle. They might be in danger of overdoing it,now. “Our--our bond has never been that simple. All I know is Dan is the most important person in my life, and I don’t think I could ever sum up all that means in one label.”

His mum cooed, patting Phil’s cheek affectionately while Adrian mimed gagging from across the table. Mae was saying something else, but everything had faded into white noise. Dan found his eyes locking with Phil’s again, and he ducked his head, neck flaming crimson.

Because the thing was, cheesiness aside, Phil sort of had a point.

“I think you might’ve stolen the show for cutest couple,” Mae said.

Charlie feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his heart. “Is it too soon to ask for a divorce?”

“You never made an official announcement, but we always knew,” Donna said serenely, patting Phil’s free hand. “I’m just so glad you finally feel like you can tell us.”

“What she means is you’re about as subtle as a fucking train inside of Buckingham Palace,” Adrian grumbled.

A laugh escaped Dan, Phil’s brow furrowing in bemused amusement from beside him. “Nice analogy,” he said dryly, pushing down any lingering guilt from his mum’s statement. Sometimes he envied Phil’s relationship with Martyn; the two had always seemed close while his and Adrian’s relationship had been more turbulent. It was getting better now that they weren’t forced to live together, but they still had a long way to go.

“How did you two meet?” Charlie asked.

For some reason, explaining that he’d basically stalked Phil until they’d become friends tended to concern people. “Work,” Dan said. Technically it wasn’t a complete lie, but it was a far cry from the whole truth. Before the inevitable question of what he did for work could be asked, he tugged on Phil’s hand and dragged him towards the dance floor. “Sorry,” he said. “They're playing our song, but we’ll be back.” Needless to say, they didn’t have a song, but Phil smiled anyway and followed his lead.

“I didn't know Justin Bieber was our song,” the other man said once they'd reached the center of the floor, stepping closer and resting his free hand on the small of Dan’s back.

“What else would it be?” Dan could sense his family's eyes boring into the back of his head, but he kept his focus trained on Phil. “Just pretend we’re back at the Brits.”

“I’ll try not to step on your toes this time.” Phil led him backwards into an awkward makeshift shuffle, eyes trained on his feet in concentration.

“You did beat me at Dance Evolution. Maybe it’s a sign you're getting over your clumsiness.” As if on cue, Phil’s elbow collided with the couple beside them.

Phil cringed. “Sorry!”

Dan snorted. “If we weren't dancing that'd be worthy of a slow clap. After all, this is you we’re talking about.”

“Alright Mr. ‘Fell Up An Escalator,”

“Thanks for reminding me. Way to reopen the repressed, aching wounds on my heart.”

It's not often Phil makes barbed comebacks, but whenever he does there's a sparkle in his eyes that's otherwise absent. “What heart?”

Dan stepped on the man’s foot a little too hard to pass off as an accident. “If only your subscribers could see you now, they'd know what a black cloud you are.”

“A black cloud?”

“Everyone thinks you're the sun, but we both know the truth.”

“Huh. That's strange, I could've sworn I saw multiple gif sets on Tumblr of you calling me the sun.”

Dan grumbled, slumping against Phil in defeat. “I changed my mind.”

“At least I'm not darker than your soul. That's impossible.” At Dan’s glare Phil widened his eyes slightly, blinking up at him with a bright smile. Despite their (many) years of living together, Dan was still weak to Phil’s puppy dog eyes and the they both knew it.

“I'm breaking up with you,” Dan said, pushing him away in an exaggerated movement as the song drew to a close. “I thought what we had was real, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Not that I don't like being dumped, but do you want to continue this conversation outside?” Phil asked. “It's getting a little hot in here.”

Dan grimaced, pushing his own sweaty fringe further off his forehead. “Good idea.” His hand found Phil’s again, the two weaving their way through the crowd and past the doors outside. He collapsed on one of the benches, Phil sitting beside him. The garden was almost empty, and the few people that were outside were talking in hushed tones.

“It's a lot quieter outside,” Phil said softly. “Mae did a lovely job with the decorations.” Dan made a noise of agreement, the lanterns lining the path casting everything in a rosy glow.

A couple are sitting on the bench across from them, heads bowed together and giggling quietly. It strikes Dan that their position is almost identical to theirs. “It's funny.”

Phil started, head tilting to face his. “Sorry?”

“Mum thought we were a couple all this time, but she never told me. And it's not just her, Dad and Adrian thought the same thing.”

Phil shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Martin asked me if we needed to have a ‘special talk’ after meeting you.”

Dan smiled slightly, picking at a loose thread on his tie. The next question bursts out before he can stop it. “Does it bother you that everyone thinks we’re dating?”

“Not really, no. Does it bother you?” The implications behind the question were loaded, and Dan knew they were both thinking of 2012. But things had changed since then, and he'd come a long ways as a person.

“No.” Dan said quietly, stomach twisting into knots as he pressed forwards. Something had been nagging him all night, but he was almost afraid to ask. “But...do you wonder if maybe they have a point?”

“It's not like much would change,” Phil pointed out. “If we started dating.” He ducked his head, almost shy, and Dan wondered if he was just as nervous. “I’d still steal your cereal, leave my contacts on top of the sink, and leave every cupboard open,”

“And I’d still yell at you for forgetting.”

“And I’ll still knock on the wall and tell you to be quiet when you're awake at three in the morning.”

“As long as you still make me a cup of tea when that happens I guess I’ll survive.”

Phil eyes were bright, and something warm began to unfurl. “Only if I can pick the next anime.”

Dan sighed, shaking his head. “You drive a hard bargain, Phil Lester.” He wondered when they'd started talking in ‘wills’ instead of ‘would’ves.’

“So is that a yes?”

“You haven't asked me anything yet,” Dan said, fighting the rising smile.

Phil took a deep breath, eyes meeting Dan’s resolutely. “We could try it, if you want.”

“Dating?” Phil nodded. “Does this mean I can change my Facebook status from ‘it’s complicated’ to ‘in a relationship?’”

Phil rolled his eyes, punching him lightly in the arm. “If you're not careful you'll have to change it back to ‘single.’”

“You love me too much.” As soon as the words left Dan’s mouth he froze. He hadn't meant the ‘l’ word to slip out so soon, (or easily,) but Phil didn't look phased.

“I do.”

Dan smiled, the feeling almost as warm as Phil’s body beside his. “I love you too. So does that make this our one and a half minute anniversary?”

“I think you’re right. Happy one and a half minute anniversary,” Phil said. Dan laughed, resting his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“You too.”

“I still get to pick the next anime,” Phil said seriously. “We made a deal.”

Dan sighed. “I guess I’ll trust your judgement just this once, but you’d better not let me down.”

“Will you dump me if I do?”

He considered this for a moment. “Depends on what anime it is.”

Phil laughed, shaking his head. “You’re the worst.”

They sat in a companionable silence for the next few breaths, music and laughter drifting through the open door outside. Before meeting Phil, Dan had never thought it would be possible to fully relax and feel comfortable sitting in silence with another person. Phil was always proving him wrong, though, and Dan wouldn’t have it any other way.

“How long have you two been together?” The couple across from them had finally separated, and the woman was regarding them curiously.

Dan glanced down at his phone. “Three minutes and fifteen seconds.” He stifled a laugh at the surprised look on her face, turning to look at Phil instead.

“Come on,” Phil said, pulling Dan to his feet. “I’m hungry.”

“You're always hungry.” Dan rolled his eyes good naturedly, though he happily followed his boyfriend back inside. For once the crowds didn't feel suffocating, Phil’s hand warm and grounding in his.

#lie to make me like you #ltmmly #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #fanfiction #phan au #phanfiction au #fandom trumps hate #fth

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