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steddieas-shegoes · 3 months

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it's not ever what it looks like

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is saying you're sorry'

rated m | 3,299 words | cw: language, implied sexual content | tags: angst with a happy ending, arguing, established relationship, hurt/comfort, rock star eddie munson, teacher steve harrington, modern au, steve thinks eddie is cheating on him but HE ISN'T I PROMISE, marriage proposal

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It wasn't the first time Steve woke up to pictures and articles about Eddie being seen with some model or actor, but it was the first time he'd actually been worried.

Eddie had been distant lately. Usually, when he was on tour, he'd call Steve on his lunch break and text him when he got off of work, and he'd try to Facetime him after his show if it wasn't in a different time zone.

But for the past week or so, he had excuses. They sounded legitimate until one of the afternoons he said the band was caught up in an interview so he couldn't call and Jeff called him ten minutes later to ask where Eddie was. Even with that, Steve hadn't assumed he was cheating.

Steve figured maybe Eddie was just tired or his social battery had run out. Those kinds of things happened before occasionally.

But not daily for over a week.

He was barely even responding to texts, and the ones he did respond to were hours later and hardly adding to any conversation.

And now this article.

There was a picture of Eddie standing with his arm around some guy who was taller than him, both of them laughing, looking at each other like...well. Steve knew that look because it'd only ever been pointed at him, but now he was seeing it pointed at just some guy.

The headline read EDDIE MUNSON GIVING UP HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART FOR SUPERMODEL SUPERSTAR?

Steve decided the only way through this was to read the entire article. At least then he could probably convince himself they were wrong.

Except the article went on to explain how Eddie hadn't brough Steve to any shows yet this tour, and how he'd been flirting more with the crowd after the show instead of just during it, how he was seen at two bars over the last week when he usually doesn't go out after shows.

It went on to say that these pictures were taken shortly after they'd been seen sneaking away from a group of people they'd been hanging out with and that they seemed very close for the entire night. The article said the guy was a male lingerie model who made it big posing for Gucci last year. He'd just landed his first film role as a supporting actor and was looking to land a lead role soon.

Steve hated him. And he was getting a terrible feeling in his gut about what was going on.

He had 26 unread texts, most of them from Robin, Dustin, and Gareth.

All of them had said mostly the same things:

I can't get ahold of Eddie.

He wouldn't do this.

Something else is going on.

Call me when you can.

The last one was Gareth, and it's not that he and Gareth weren't close, but they never talked on the phone.

He tried not to think about he didn't have a single message or missed call from Eddie.

Steve called Gareth.

"Steve. Shit, I'm glad you called."

"What's going on?"

Gareth sighed. "Ed's kinda losing it. But before you call him-"

"Why would I call him? Shouldn't he be the one to call me? If he wants to be with some supermodel, he should probably be the one to break up with me, right?" Steve could feel tears gathering in his eyes, stinging the back of his throat. "I'm not sure why I have to be the one to hurt and do the breaking up."

"Steve-"

"Is there something you needed Gareth? Or were you just trying to defend your friend?"

"There's nothing to defend! I swear-"

"Yeah. Well. Tell him to call me if he wants to explain anything, I guess."

Steve hung up just before a sob ripped from his throat.

He never had to worry about Eddie being a famous rock star, spending 6-7 months of the year gone, meeting all kinds of flashy celebrities. Eddie loved him so much, he never had any doubt that he'd always be his first choice.

Until now.

It was a shitty feeling and he had to be at work in less than an hour.

No time to wallow.

He sent a quick text to Robin to let her know he was okay, but needed to focus on getting through work, then shut off his phone.

"Is everything okay?" the art teacher, Mrs. Phineas, asked him on their lunch break. "You seem out of it today."

"Just a migraine," Steve gave a half-smile, hoped it was enough to convince her to leave him alone. He still hadn't turned on his phone, and at this point, he didn't really want to.

She tilted her head to the side. "When are you off to see your man?"

"Don't know," he shrugged, ignoring the tug in his stomach, the sudden weight in his chest.

"Ah," she said, turning back to her soup. "Something happened."

"Nothing happened!"

"You look two seconds away from crying," she gave him a deadpan look. "Did he hurt you?"

Mrs. Phineas was a little older than Wayne, close to retirement, and had been his closest friend from the moment he started teaching at this school nearly six years ago. He'd told her everything about Eddie, their relationship, his hopes of Eddie taking a longer break after this tour so they could have some time just the two of them, maybe make a real plan for their future.

Steve nodded once.

Her hand covered his and she squeezed his fingers in her own. "I may not know him half as well as I know you, but I know that boy loves you. You two will get through this, whatever it is."

"I dunno if we will," Steve whispered, scared to speak louder and risk the tears falling. He'd been doing so well today.

She patted his hand and went back to eating, saying nothing else about it.

His students had caught on early that he wasn't quite his usual self, and the group of second graders had been on their best behavior because of it. As the dismissal bell rang and he started calling for bus riders to line up, someone walked through his door.

Eddie walked through his door.

He bit back the anger, knowing his students loved Eddie and wouldn't know he was here for any reason other than to say hello.

"Mr. Munson!" A few of them yelled as most of them ran up to him instead of getting in the line Steve asked them to.

"Hi kiddos!" Eddie was faking it, but luckily the students couldn't tell. "Sorry, but you guys have to listen to Mr. H right now. I promise I will come say hi again tomorrow."

The students grumbled about it and Steve took in his appearance.

He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept the night before, his hair was in a messy bun instead of perfectly arranged to fall on his shoulders, and he was wearing Steve's hoodie that had suspiciously gone missing the last time he'd been home.

The fact that Steve's first thought was how badly he wanted to pull him into a hug was not a good sign.

He checked names off the list as they filtered out the door and then called the car riders to line up. He went through the list and made sure everyone made it into the hall where they'd be called when their parent pulled up before turning back to Eddie.

He closed his door and made his way to his desk, ignoring the way Eddie awkwardly stood by one of the student desks in the front.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked, signing off of his work email and organizing tomorrow's lesson plan.

"I needed to explain-"

"Right."

"That article wasn't supposed to come out yet."

Steve's jaw dropped. So he wasn't going to deny it, he was just gonna act like it was the media's fault for releasing it before he could talk to Steve.

"Yeah. So you decided to come break up with me in person because you got caught cheating instead of doing it over the phone right before the article hit online. Got it."

Steve was not going to cry about this. Not in front of Eddie.

He was going to go home, shower, try to eat something, and then he was going to cry for the next 10 hours.

"No, Steve, you don't understand."

"You're right, I don't. I don't understand how you could throw away a 10 year relationship for a model who doesn't even know your middle name. I don't understand how you can fly all the way here and interrupt my day at my job to try to explain to me why you were so cozy with a guy who doesn't even know that you like your hot chocolate with Bailey's instead of regular milk. I really don't understand how you couldn't even bother to text or call me one single time since the article to even try to explain anything." Steve wiped his eyes furiously, angry that his tears were betraying him. "I don't understand why you would expect me to care for reasons."

Eddie wordlessly picked Steve's phone up off the desk and powered it on. He set it down in front of Steve and waited.

Texts and calls and emails came through all at once, hundreds of notifications lighting up his screen.

Many of them from Eddie himself.

"Go ahead. Open them," Eddie didn't sound mad, he just sounded resigned.

So Steve read through the texts, many of them different renditions of 'please Steve, call me' and 'I love you sweetheart I'm sorry.' Not promising.

But then he started playing the voicemails.

"Stevie, it's really not what it looks like. It's never what it looks like. You know that. Please call me as soon as you can. I love you."

"I can explain everything if you call me back. I promise you it isn't anything more than a business thing. Everyone in the band can tell you. I swear. Just. Please."

"I'm getting on a flight to you now. I'm gonna keep trying to call you even when I land. I need you to know what's going on."

"Just landed. I'm on my way to you. The guys are a little pissed, but you're more important than the show tonight. I'm not doing my own thing until I know you understand."

Steve looked up at him, tears still falling down his face.

"Well?" He asked, broken.

"His name is Wyatt. He's trying to make it in the acting world and he was pretty much told he was the top choice for playing lead in a movie that's in early stages of development," Eddie spoke quickly.

"Great for him."

"It's actually great for all of us. The movie is a biopic of Corroded Coffin. He's expected to play me."

At any other time, Steve would be proud, he'd be jumping up and down at this chance for them, and he'd be kissing Eddie without a care in the world.

But he still saw that picture and that article, and no matter how much "business" was going on, it was pretty clear that wasn't all that was going on.

"So you thought sleeping with him would help him get into the role? Or did you just wanna get into him?" Steve bit back.

"The article was wrong! The picture was just really conveniently timed! You know the media are vultures, Stevie. How many times have they written about us breaking up? How many times have they said Gareth and I have secretly been married for the last two years? How many times have they tried to post shitty things about your relationship before me to prove that you can't possibly be queer?" Eddie pulled Steve to his feet and cupped his face in his hands. "I've been spending the last two weeks talking with him and the producer and the guys to see what might work best for production. They want us involved in as much of the writing and filming part as possible. And he had time in his schedule to come to a show last night, so we all took him out after so he could get a taste of what it's like for us. He's really excited for the role and all of us are really excited for the movie."

Steve felt stupid. Well, maybe not stupid. His feelings were valid and he wasn't dramatic about what he'd seen.

But he did feel a little shitty about doubting Eddie.

Eddie, who had literally flown across the country to explain in person so that there was no way Steve could misunderstand him. Eddie, who once Doordashed him soup from his favorite restaurant when he was sick even though he was in Europe. Eddie, who sent letters to the kids in his class once a month to talk about how important music is and following your dreams. Eddie, who loved him for ten years and wouldn't have let anyone get in the way of what they'd built.

Steve fell against Eddie, buried his face in his neck and his hands in his shirt. Eddie's arms wrapped around him, his voice saying something against his shoulder. Steve couldn’t hear him, but he didn’t think he needed to.

He just needed to feel him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said against his neck. Tears soaked the hoodie under him, and Steve could feel tears against his own button down. “I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Eddie shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone until the article hit, but I was still gonna call you and warn you but I didn’t and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. This is part of the whole lifestyle. I should be used to it,” Steve shuddered as Eddie’s hand scratched at his scalp. “I should’ve reacted better.”

“We both didn’t treat this the way we should’ve.”

Steve snorted, nodded as he found the spot Eddie had tattooed on his neck a couple years earlier. He pressed his lips over the tattoo of his lip print.

“You flew across the country over this,” Steve pulled away and looked at Eddie, vision blurred from crying. “Just to make things okay.”

“I needed you to know. I needed to hold you. I needed to have you in front of me. And I wanted to celebrate the fact that we’re getting a movie about our lives,” Eddie smirked. “I wonder who will play you. Someone with a nice ass is a must. Their hair will have to defy gravity. Don’t know if they’ll find anyone with that smile, though.”

“Me? Why would they need anyone to play me?” Steve played with the string of the hoodie. “That might be kinda boring.”

“How would they make a movie about me and not include you? You’re the reason I ever made it past Hawkins, sweet thing,” Eddie leaned in to kiss his bottom lip. “Maybe they’ll just cast you. No one else could pull it off.”

“Eds-“ Steve blushed. “Wait. Okay, I trust you, but what were you doing in the picture?”

Eddie laughed. “He had just finished telling me about his boyfriend who lives in Italy. He’s apparently just a regular guy in finance who has no interest in the whole fame thing. Sound familiar?”

“Sounds like you two have a lot in common.”

“The picture was me asking if we could crash at their home in Italy next summer on our honeymoon,” Eddie said casually.

Steve froze. “Honeymoon?”

“I’m open to other places, but you still haven’t been to Italy and I know how much you wanted to see Rome and Florence,” Eddie was smirking.

That bastard.

“You are ridiculous, you know that? I’m over here planning how I’ll survive a breakup with you and you fly across the country to propose with a honeymoon planned before I’ve even said yes! You know how crazy that sounds, right?” Steve shook his head. “You’re lucky I love you. You’re lucky I’m not interested in big romantic gestures.”

“Damn. Hold on, let me make a call,” Eddie reached into his pocket for his phone.

“What?”

“I gotta cancel the big romantic gesture,” Eddie explained as he typed furiously on his phone.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It was a whole thing. Robin was involved. There may have been 500 flowers ordered. I think it’s too late to cancel the singing telegram though.”

“I genuinely can’t tell if you’re being serious,” Steve wouldn’t be surprised if at least some of that was true.

“Oh, I’m serious. The ring was being set on the bed in the middle of a heart made of rose petals. I didn’t half-ass a fucking thing, angel.”

Steve pulled his phone out of his hands and set it on his desk. “Don’t cancel anything. I changed my mind. I am very much into big romantic gestures when it’s you doing them.”

“It was a team effort. I mean, I had to move it all up unexpectedly, but this was all gonna happen next month when I came home." Eddie pulled Steve into a long kiss, tongue tracing his lips. He pulled away to rest their foreheads together. "I'm not doing this just because of what happened, but I need you to know you're it for me. You've stuck by me through failing senior year, through being broke trying to book gigs all over the midwest, through the stress of our first album being released and the unexpected overnight fame, every album and tour since then, every time I've had to miss things that matter to you because of the band, all of it. You love me anyway. I don't always deserve it, but I'm grateful."

Steve's lips pressed against Eddie's again. "I love the life we have. I love you."

"I'm not asking you without the ring. I made so many plans. Robin will murder me in my sleep if I don't go through with them," Eddie laughed. "So can we get out of your classroom before I do something inappropriate and get you fired?"

"I mean," Steve glanced at the clock. "Technically all the students should be gone. We could lock the door..."

"Steven Harrington! How dare you suggest I fuck you over your desk in a school! I can't believe you would tell me to unbutton your jeans," he said as he unbuttoned his jeans. "And get on my knees." He got on his knees. "And suck you until you can't stand anymore."

"Eddie!" Steve chuckled, shoving his hand in Eddie's hair. "We should at least lock the door."

"So you're not saying no?"

"Why would I say no?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Eddie got back up and ran to the door, flipping the lock and turning back to Steve with flushed cheeks. "This is like, maybe three of my biggest fantasies in one, so I may actually come in my pants."

"You're ridiculous."

"Baby boy, my hand is my only friend on tour, you know that. How can I possibly hold myself back when I've got your dick in my mouth?" Eddie dropped to his knees again, looking up at Steve with something close to reverence.

"It's not in your mouth yet," Steve smirked as he tugged his waistband down enough to free his cock.

"Oh, I missed you," Eddie said directly to Steve's hard cock. "Steve, I want you to fuck my mouth until I pass out."

"I'm not doing that."

"Okay, well I'll settle for until I have to tap out."

"Fine. But it's not gonna be long for me," Steve shook his head. "Missed you, too."

"The sooner the better, sweetheart."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is saying you're sorry #angst with a happy ending #established relationship #hurt/comfort #rock star eddie munson #teacher steve harrington #arguing #modern au #marriage proposals

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smokeybrandreviews · 6 months

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I Knew You Were Trouble

Hip Hop is a desert right now and i blame Drake. I have no love for Wheelchair Jimmy and i have been nothing but vocal about that since the dude dropped. Seriously, i remembered hearing Best I Ever Was and thinking to myself, "Really? This is the guy now?" Drake, for me, has never been the innovator. He's never been "That Guy" to me. Dude does nothing great, just well. And, in time, even that became suspect. With all the whispers of ghost writers and OVO literally being just a stable for him to steal from, Drake became even less of a legitimate artist to me. I'm not going to get into the personal sh*t that i just don't care for, mostly the pedo vibes dude gives off, but keep this strictly to his brand, absolutely poisoning the culture. About a month ago, i spoke on how pedestrian For All the Dogs turned out and i got next to no push back, even from the staunchest of Drake fans among my circle. That sh*t was a sub-par effort. So when Scary Hours 3 dropped a few weeks later, with six songs Champagne Pedo had written after the initial release of what most consider his worst album, i just scoffed. This motherf*cker just released paid DLC to push a mediocre record, into the realm of pedestrian, and people were not feeling that sh*t at all. It was surreal to witness because, for once in soft ass, Wheelchair Jimmy's career, people were seeing him for how i always saw him: A Try-Hard cornball, pretending to be someone he wasn't built to be. And that energy gave way to an entire generation of halfwit rappers who don't believe in Hip Hop, who don't believe in the art of the rhyme, and it's left the genre decimated. They're playing f*cking country songs of my hip hop/RnB stations, it's so bad.

Drake was never as good as his peers. Never. Wayne is batter than he is. So was Nicki, Cole, and Kendrick. When you think of the "big names" of his era, when you stack him up against those other contenders, he falls short in every aspect. Drake is the weakest of the "Goats". He's the LeBron of that conversation. He has stats and that's about it. When you look back on those who came before, they are known for something. Big was a storyteller, Pac was a lyricist. Jay had that freestyle and Em was all about the battle. Nas was the teacher and Andre was the artist. Anyone you throw into the conversation as being the greatest, was the epitome of the best at some aspect of rap. What does Drake do that is actually great? What does he do for rap, which you can point to and say, "no one can get him on that?" Not a f*cking thing. Drake is, and always has been, adequate. He's the Taylor Swift of rap. His image, the content of his songs, the way he's constantly crying about women; That's Taylor's formula. Of course he has tons of sales. Of course he has a litany of prepubescent fans. Of course the children love this cats sound, they're children. How many grown ass people are checking for Taylor's juvenile ass songs? I ask the same of Drake. Even the sh*tty Soundcloud rappers have moved on from those nonsense songs. Lil Yachty is a great example of that. He followed Drake's path but, unlike Aubrey, legitimately didn't give a sh*t about the damage he did, until; he did. Lil Boat didn't give a sh*t about anyone's approval and just did what he did because it was fun. And then he grew up. And then he matured. He understood that, at the ripe old age of twenty-six, he was the elder statesmen of his era and treated that sh*t as such. His sound evolved and his music stopped sucking knob. Drake, in direct contrast, is making the same f*cking record he's made since he came into the goddamn game and these youngsters coming up after him, are doing the same sh*t! Drake made it acceptable to suck, long into your career and the entire genre is hurting because of it.

The best thing to come out of the Hip Hop in the last three or four years, is f*cking Ice Spice. Isis Naija Gaston is out here getting double-billing with Nicki Minaj, on the title track for one of the largest film releases, ever. Ice Spice has come out and said she rhymes for idiots. The way she raps, is supposed to be simple, it's supposed to be pedestrian, so it's as accessible to as many people as possible. As a grown ass man who grew up on Nas, Outkast, and Eminem, this sh*t is disgusting to me. Raps has always been about delivering knowledge, in a way that is both clever and musical. At it's core, Hip Hop is the exorcism of out cultural demons, put to a beat, and Ice Spice basically said, "Nah, I'm cooning out here for dollars." She basically just said "White kids buy Jordans, too" and that's the effect Drake has had on the entire industry. Whether i like it or not, Drake was the biggest thing in rap for close to a decade, and he did it by selling those Js to all the white kids who would buy them. That's the Taylor Swift Method and he executed that sh*t to a tee. I touched on this a while ago but the only album that had any semblance of a creative flair he's released, Take Care, was a whole ass Weeknd album that got left behind when man figured out signing to OVO was a scam. Drake took that and dropped the best sh*t he's ever made, and it wasn't even his sound. It wasn't even his record. It's that disrespect to the genre, that haphazard approach to making music, which has permeated throughout the genre and Aubrey f*cking Graham is to blame for that sh*t.

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smokeybrand · 6 months

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I Knew You Were Trouble

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echo-of-sounds · 3 years

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i don’t know

Okay, I don’t know where else to put this, so you can ignore it if you want, but I just need to get some thoughts, feelings, and anxieties out before I breakdown because of them. This’ll probably get long. And I’ll probably cry from frustration while writing this.

Two summers ago, when I was 21, my therapist said it was a possibility that I had Asperger's, mainly because of the social and cognitive symptoms. I have a horrible time understanding abstract information. In school, I cold never do a project unless I had concrete details. I just couldn’t grasp what they were asking of me. Teachers would narrow it down a bit, but it never helped. I need a clear outline. I legitimately could not do it otherwise. I froze and panicked and ended up nearly failing projects because of the lack of concrete direction.

I have a hard time understanding, what should be, simple sentences. I ask people to reword what they said or explain it in more depth. Some do. Some get angry and accuse me of not paying proper attention. I completely am. But I genuinely cannot make sense of their words and feel left out because they refuse to repeat themselves. It’s so frustrating. I loose track of the conversation, stop contributing, then they get angry again because I’m not responding to them.

My memory pertaining to certain things, is beyond amazing. I can recite the seating arrangements from all of my high school class. That was five years ago. But outside of that, it’s terrible (I know ADHD plays a role in this too). I always focus on the smaller details even if they weren’t important. I focused so much on them, I failed to see the larger picture. This also impacted so much of my schoolwork.

When I talk, I have no inflection. My voice is low and I often mumble. So many people have gotten angry at me for it. Then when I try to speak louder, to the point I’m genuinely strain myself and feel like I’m yelling, they still say I’m too quite. So I give up talking.

I had to go to speech therapy when I was younger (around 5 and 6 years old) because I still had trouble learning how to speak. My mom said I wouldn’t properly pronounce anything, use words wrong, and ‘babble’ a lot.

I’m so fucking clumsy. I bruise myself regularly because I just run into everything, even though they’ve been in the same place for years. I hit my hands off of things, nearly run into walls, and kick things often.

And my sensitivities are off the charts. It’s honestly ridiculous (I know ADHD also plays a role in this, but sometimes I feel like it’s much more than that). People tell me to stop being a picky eater when the smell of fish makes me want to vomit and feeling beans in my mouth is just plain wrong. The only smell I can tolerate is vanilla. Anything else and I want to cry. Clothing is horrible. I’m so rarely comfortable. And noises are the worst. My dad says it’s quite, but I can hear the Tv, the Tv in the other room, the sink running, that beeping, the AC going, someone clicking, the sizzling on the stove, and it’s all too much.

When I was younger, I used to have temper tantrums. A lot. They were bad. I’d hit myself, scratch myself with pens, and bang my head off the floor. I barely remember them, but I do remember it being more than just a ‘temper tantrum.’ The world was just too much and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I had a meltdown.

The severe self-harm eventually stopped, but the meltdown’s still happen to this day. My mom tries to get me to talk about it so she can help. But I can’t even explain why it happened half the time. It just did.

I’ve had so few close friends throughout my life. The ones I do make, don’t last. It’s hard for me to keep them as a friend. They don’t do anything wrong or bad. I just can never keep that connection. I barely interact with people. Even when they’re around, I just don’t talk. I abhor looking people in the eyes. It makes me uncomfortable and I don’t even know why! People get angry at me. They think I’m ignoring them when I’m not. I’m just not looking directly at them.

Communicating my feelings and expressing empathy is something I just cannot do. So I fake it. I feel worse about not feeling bad about someone’s trouble than I do actually feeling bad for them (I don’t know if that makes sense). I fake it so I don’t sound rude. I don’t want them to be angry at me.

I’d get in trouble at school when I did something ‘wrong,’ but I didn’t understand what I did wrong. I still don’t to some point. Teachers just told me I broke a rule and was in trouble. When I would ask why, they said I should be able to know that by myself. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I thought about it.

I have a morning routine. I do it daily. If it ever gets interrupted, stopped, or I can’t complete it for whatever reason, my entire day is off. I try to continue normally, but I can’t focus. I just now my morning was messed up and I spend the rest of the day obsessing over it. It doesn’t go away until the next day when I can complete it properly.

I’ve always had hyperfocuses. ADHD affects this. I know. Some come and go, like a certain video game will consume my life or I’m suddenly preoccupied with writing poems for a week. But those go away. All my life, I’ve loved reading and learning about dinosaurs/megafauna/evolution, plants, and psychology. They’re easy for me to learn about. I retain so much information without trying. I never had to study for my psych. exams. Never. And I always aced them. I just obsessed about the subject and they remained in my memory so well.

As for stimming, I’ve done a lot of different things throughout my life, but I was always told to stop, told they were annoying, or questioned about them. So I stopped doing each one because I was scared people would get angry with me. Because some have.

I used to rub my fingers together. It kept my hands busy, but it also helped me focus and relieved some anxious energy. I didn’t know why. It just made me feel better. I’d be on the computer, using the mouse with my right hand, rubbing my fingers together with my left. My dad questioned why I did it. I didn’t have an answer so I did it less. I did it in school, while taking a test, and the teacher told me to stop because it was disruptive. I eventually stopped doing it all together because people would constantly make me feel bad for it.

I also used to babble. It was one of the reasons I was sent to speech therapy. Instead of helping me learn how to talk properly, because I did need help with that, the workers there just forced me to stop babbling/humming/repeating a word because it wasn’t proper behavior for the situation I was in.

Though I don’t babble anymore, as that was basically forced out of my behavior, I still hum and repeat lines (whether from a Tv show or a book) to myself, sometimes for days at a time. I also move my head and neck around and twist my wrists while I’m focusing on something. Half the time, I don’t realize I’m doing it. It takes another person to point it out.

My therapists said it was a possibility that I had Asperger’s. My psychiatrist said she didn’t believe so because I was able to connect with her. She felt I didn’t ‘align’ with the social troubles. I can talk to her, share feelings, look her in the eye, smile ate jokes (though sometimes I fake smile- I see another person smile so I match it), and I don’t have trouble going off topic and rambling about specific subjects.

I said okay at the time. She’s a smart woman and I trust her. But ever since, it’s been on my mind. I’ve always felt different. I don’t mean that in like ‘I’m special’ kind of way. I mean it like, ‘There’s something wrong with me and I don’t understand what it is. I don’t understand why others can do X while that takes me longer/more effort to understand. I genuinely felt ostracized. But I just accepted it.’

I don’t know how to bring it up to my mom and/or dad. I know my mom will be supportive, but I’m scared about other people. My younger brother makes jokes about autism. My siblings, dad, and stepmom don’t do anything. It pisses me off to no end. I’ve yelled and sworn at him for what he says. But he keeps doing it. My other siblings say it’s just a joke and I need to relax, but I can’t. They aren’t jokes. They’re rude, ableist, and most of them are making fun of things I do. He, nor none of family, just don’t that because I keep them hidden.

And I don’t know how to bring it back up to my psychiatrist. I feel connected to many of the symptoms and like it explains so much of my life, especially when I was young, but I don’t know how to explain all my thoughts on the subject. When she asks me a question, I often freeze and undercut my own troubles and downplay it. I’ve been obsessing over this the past few months. It’s partly why my depression got bad for a time. I don’t know it I’m making a mountain out of a mole or if I should actually seek professional help to help me, especially since I’ve applied for disability benefits because my mental health has been so bad the past couple of years.

Anyway, I’m done my ranting. Thanks for listening if you did. And I’m open to advice. I’ve just felt so stuck recently and I feel like it’ll only get worse.

#neurodivergent #autism support #autistic spectrum #mental health #personal?#it's definitely personal #personal rant #ignore my rambling #tw ableism

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ptersparkers · 4 years

Text

who is harley maybank?

summary: harley maybank, born harley summers, finds her quiet life in a small californian town turned upside down when she realizes she has two long lost older brothers. as told from the perspective of harley.

warnings: typos, probably.

notes: this is a side project. i was messing around with ideas for season two and then thought....what if we got to know more about jj’s backstory and what if i wrote about it? this won’t necessarily follow the obx tmieline -- i’m borrowing characters but that’s pretty much it. jj’s 18 in this story. he will make an appearance.

this is a limited series.

WHO IS HARLEY MAYBANK?

WHO IS JESSE MAYBANK?

Harley Maybank never quite fit in just right.

Some might’ve said she was a carefree spirit who jumped from person to person, yearning to experience a life different than her own. Some might’ve said she was too reckless and wore her heart on her sleeve, ready for it to be broken over and over again before she learned how to rebuild herself.

It always caught her off guard to know that people her age wanted to settle down in the small town they grew up in, never having the desire to explore beyond the city lines. Harley always felt like she was living her life on the edge of her seat, constantly pulling herself back from the cliff’s edge before jumping too quickly. Perhaps that was what made people so drawn to Harley; her effervescent personality combined with the motivation to leave the quiet town that never satisfied her hunger for knowledge.

People were quick to make judgements about people who knew the future they wanted and Harley was no exception. She was young, perhaps too young, to know what she wanted out of life but the first step in discovering what that is was leaving the town of Mill Valley, California, and exploring different corners of the world before deciding which life for her. Harley was reckless with her feelings, pushing her heart to the limit and latching onto the feeling of the light on her face so she could taste the freedom of leaving.

The residents of Mill Valley would argue everyone who grew up there knew each other by first and last name, and knew everyone in town. From kindergarten to the local community college, the tight knit community prided themselves in being sheltered in their safe haven that never seemed to welcome nor encourage locals to leave. In summary, everybody knew each other.

But nobody, including Harley, really knew who she was.

Up until a month ago, Harley was born to a single mother and never knew who her biological father was. She could always tell she was the odd one out as it didn’t take her long to realize her friends had a matching set of parents and Harley could feel the distance between her life and everyone else’s when she’d come to arrive at sleepovers with only her mother in tow.

Marisol Summers was strong-willed, willing to sacrifice her livelihood for Harley without thinking twice. The woman raised Harley with nothing but her wits and morals, teaching the young girl about independence and that womanhood is whatever she wanted it to be. The small suburban town that never seemed to be home was home when Harley and Marisol were together, laughing at television ads and watching films late into the night.

From a young age, young Harley had a future brighter than anyone who grew up in Mill Valley. She was always eager to step off of the curb despite her mother’s warnings and color the white walls of her elementary school’s classroom, much to the dismay of her teachers. Marisol could recall all of the parent-teacher meetings but always stood by Harley’s eagerness to be challenged intellectually.

The teenage girl never felt like she had a core group of friends she could rely on to embark on late night adventures of spontaneous trips to the beach. She was a free-floater, drifting between people, befriending anyone who’d befriend her. Harley wasn’t afraid to strike up a conversation with strangers in the supermarket checkout line or help lost tourists who were passing through. The girl was a light in the darkest tunnel and everyone could see it. Everyone except for Harley.

The rambunctious teenager sought more from life than meek conversations with people she’d never dream of being around. Her passions and interests were vast and numerous, unlike her peers who seemed interested in marijuana and alcohol. Harley’s love for life exceeded her love for the town she grew up in, which would always be part of her, but not who she would grow to be.

But her world was turned upside down when her mother sat her down when she came home from school one afternoon. Marisol, with an expression Harley couldn’t quite make out, asked her to sit on the stool of the kitchen’s island and to not interrupt as she spoke.

“You have a brother,” Marisol spoke, finally. She fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist and avoided Harley’s gaze. “He called me about a month ago.”

“You have a son?” Harley asked in confusion. Marisol shook her head.

“No,” she said quickly. “Your biological father, Luke, and I met on that island in North Carolina about a year before I had you.” Harley nodded, already having known this about Marisol. “You know how I was back then. Young, careless, not ready to have a child.” Marisol cupped Harley’s cheek in her hand. “But happy you came nonetheless.

“What I didn’t know was he had a son when he was much younger,” she explained. “Seventeen, or so. The mother left him and took their son to Sweden where he was raised until moving to New York a while ago. She passed away recently and the details are hazy, but his name’s Jesse and he’d like to get to know you.”

Harley sat in silence for what seemed like a century, processing the influx of information that surprised her to no end. Her entire life was built around the closeness of family, despite having only her mother and a few aunts, uncles, and grandparents from her mother’s side she didn’t see very often. The prospect of getting to know a side of her family, her father’s side, after being in the dark for sixteen years was both exciting and horrifying.

Beads of sweat decorated her forehead and she wiped them away hastily. Her jacket felt too heavy and she took it off, setting it aside haphazardly on the counter. Marisol looked at her daughter with an unreadable expression, which made Harley uneasy.

“I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to,” she said. “But from what I could tell, he sounds legitimate. Told me about the Outer Banks and everything I could remember seventeen years ago.”

“Do you know anything more about this ‘Jesse’ guy?” Harley asked.

“He was born in North Carolina before moving to Sweden when he was two years old,” she explained. “He lived there before moving to England for college, then New York for work. From what I can tell, he’s pretty established with his own venture capitalist firm in the States. I did some digging after he called me and he’s pretty legitimate.”

“Jeez,” Harley said. “How old is this guy?”

“In his thirties,” said Marisol. “The reason why he knows we exist is because of a friend of his mother’s who kept tabs on your father up until his mother’s death.”

“Sweden, huh?” Harley asked rhetorically. “He sounds like he lived a pretty good life.”

Marisol chuckled. “Yeah, but I can only imagine how hard it fell when he realized he had a younger sister.”

Harley was quiet. The sound of the clock ticking was apparent and signified how long she’d been thinking about her family, the side she never knew, and all the things she would’ve said to her father if she knew who he was. What would he be like? Was he still alive? Does he have his own family now, and if so, what were they like? Were they still living in the Outer Banks?

“It’s kind of scary, isn’t it?” Harley asked.

“A little,” Marisol confessed. “I was a bit skeptical at first but he explained his knowledge of the Outer Banks and, honey, he sounded desperate for him to believe me.”

“Do you?”

“I’m sure of it. I don’t think he’d oppose a DNA test either.”

“Do you think I should talk to him?”

“Only if you want,” Marisol said. She handed Harley a piece of scrap paper with a phone number on it. “That’s his number, Harls. Jesse said to give him a call, day or night, and to take your time.”

“But you admit that everything about this sounds weird, right?” Harley asked. Marisol nodded slowly.

“Oh, definitely,” she said. “It’s weird if a random guy calls you and says he wants to get to know your sixteen-year-old daughter, but I did some digging on my own and was able to connect with Grace, someone who knows my family and Jesse’s.”

“And?”

“And what he said checked out,” she explained. “Apparently, Grace kept tabs on Luke after Jesse’s mother left him, and there are more details about financial compensation that I can’t wrap my head around, but she found out about you when you were young.”

“This Grace person isn’t messing around, is she?”

“From what I know, Jesse comes from an important family in Sweden, the Nystroms. His mother was heir to a Swedish textiles company and it was scandalous news when she ran away to North Carolina to be with Luke.” Marisol stood momentarily to reach for a glass of water before sitting down once again.

“And Grace?”

“I spoke with her too,” Marisol replied. “I got to know her because I wanted to know this wasn’t a scam.”

“Imagine that,” Harley mumbled, rolling her eyes.

“Grace is from another prominent family in Sweden and has been family-friends with the Nystroms since the dawn of their business partnership, I think,” said Marisol. “From what I understand, the Nystroms had asked Grace’s family to keep tabs on Luke as a favor, which is why Grace found out about you.”

“Why didn’t they want to reach out to us?” Harley asked, heart dropping.

“You know how the rich are,” Marisol replied with a pitiful laugh. “It wouldn’t look good for their image if people knew the heir to a multibillion-dollar company eloped with a small town American to North Carolina. Truthfully, I don’t think there’s much either of them could’ve done.” Marisol paused to collect her thoughts before speaking. “I spent so much time looking for Luke and trying to put the pieces together with no luck and then Grace calls me to tell me Luke’s last name is Maybank.”

Maybank.

For sixteen years, Harley had known the truth about her father and Marisol’s escapades that transitioned her from a careless post-undergraduate student to a responsible mother. Their bond was held together by the fundamental truth regarding the mystery about who her biological father was, and for the longest time, Harley felt incomplete not knowing her last name. As far as she knew, she was Harley Summers from California. But her biological name was Harley Maybank.

Her mind was racing and she couldn’t seem to focus on one thing or another. Her name, the only aspect about her that she knew was her identity, wasn’t what she thought it was. The surname carried a burden on her shoulders; she had longed to know her biological father’s side of the family and spent the majority of her life fantasizing about the first words she would hear him say. But Harley never seriously thought that she’d ever know who she was or where she came from and the notion that her mother spoke to Harley’s biological brother was making her mind race as if a speeding car couldn’t stop for a red light.

“Maybank,” Harley muttered. “That’s a little weird.”

“Isn’t it?” Marisol asked. Harley let out a confused laugh.

“I mean, I’ve gone by Harley Summers my entire life and I didn’t think I’d ever learn my father’s last name. It’s a little comforting and horrifying at the same time.”

“I bet,” Marisol replied. “I mean, I’ve had a month to think about this. I genuinely thought it was a scam or a prank call until Jesse was able to send documents about Luke’s whereabouts until the night I met him.”

“Wow,” Harley said, widening her eyes. “Grace and her family kept that much information?”

“I suppose it was important,” Marisol said with a shrug. “Grace didn’t say, but I’m almost positive the Nystroms paid Luke for his silence. Jesse’s mother spent two years in North Carolina and it’s hard to keep who you are a secret for that long.”

“Still,” Harley said, sighing dramatically, “In my lifetime, I never thought I’d be wrapped up in a conspiracy.”

“I’m pretty sure Grace was hinting at the fact that the Nystroms would’ve been scared if the public knew about your existence too,” Marisol added. “While you probably wouldn’t have inherited their fortune since you’re not technically related to the family, I can only imagine how Jesse would’ve behaved if he knew he had a sister. But what do I know, right?”

“Mom,” Harley said, looking at the older woman. “You’ve always been perceptive and I learned a long time ago that you’re never wrong.” Marisol laughed. “I’m being totally serious. I can’t really wrap my head around this either.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Marisol reassured. “Jesse’s an adult and has an established life already. You’re young and barely off to college. I wouldn’t want you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or jeopardize your future. But if it makes you feel better, I trust Jesse. We’ve gotten to know each other through phone calls and emails for the past month.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Harley said cautiously. Marisol's eyes softened and she reached out to cup Harley’s cheek.

“My baby’s growing up,” she said lovingly. “It’s weird to think I was telling you bedtime stories not too long ago.”

“Yeah,” Harley replied softly, “those days seem easier in hindsight, doesn’t it?” Marisol nodded and Harley stood from her seat. “Is it okay if I go to my room? I just want to digest this for a while.”

“Of course,” said Marisol. She pointed at the slip of paper with Jesse’s phone number written on it. “Here’s Jesse’s number in case you feel like calling him but don’t feel like you have to if you don’t want to, okay?”

“Okay,” Harley said, giving Marisol a quick hug before retreating to her bedroom.

For three weeks, Harley debated on telling her closest friends about her dilemma and what to do next, but she knew none of them would offer valuable advice nor give her the courage to do what she thought was right. On the third Friday of the month of March, when the weather was warmer than the previous day, Harley took note of the colorful leaves on the trees surrounding her apartment complex and reflected on the idea that the seasons would always change and so would she, but not if she waited for something to happen. Wordlessly, she marched into her bedroom, noticing her mother had yet to come home, and dialed the phone number that sat on her desk untouched, hearing a deep voice answer the phone.

“Hello?”

***

i included my obx taglist because jj will make an appearance.

***

taglist:

@jellyfishbeansontoast @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @simpingforrudypankowonly @hi-my-name-is-riley @antoheartit @runway-to-my-aid @kayleypaige2233 @jroseron @mahleeyuh @decap-quadrant @deviouscharitos @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @wasabiwitteks @waywardbabie @parkerpetertingle @cheshirecat107 @ballerinafairyprincess @underratedmisfit @gardengirl-18 @letsgofullkook @thankfulfortimmy @voguesir @madzleigh01 @suhoey @yeslifeofateen @spn-marvel-nerd @outerbongs @cleverandwitty @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @scottish-sim @lonely--witch @thin-spiration-for-me @britnicole11 @Jessica-1120 @ilovejjmaybank @goodgodimaweirdperson @beckester @louiesfineline @jamielinnsmith @asmallhobbitruinedmylife @whosxthat @ollyoxenfrees @thesadestsadperson @saphira1412 @leilanixx @serpent-baby @a-daydreamers-day @sofianunes10 @sleep-i-ness @shxwarmq @fandomngirl @nightxshadex201 @eternalqueensworld @shreckluver7 @fourfearsofdivergent @stfukie @lauren-sun13 @brithedemonspawn @pogue-h @mfmaddyperez @sspidermanss @outerbankslove @bxbyyyjocelyn @jjsbxtch @rudethchalamet @srirachibi @shawnssongs @shoppingcarthappiness @calumbroutledge @jayjaymaebank @goldenhanna @harrysbbby @copper-boom @void-maybank @rudys-pankow @x-lulu @serrendipiity @storiesbymads @danicarosaline @allie-mcginn @thistreasurehunter @k-k0129 @annedub @urlocalbrochure @freeshavocadoooo @Katiaw2 @ceestlaviemylove @wicked-laugh @kamcrazy123 @myrandom-fandomlife @clio-muse-of-histories @yeehaw87 @manip-maker-blog @rudypankow-whore @iichydobrik @jjtheangel @httpstarkey @peqchyharts @myhead-myuniverse @normatural @vindictive-hearts @Spycemilk @loveylangdon @mybrainiswhack @judayyyw @midnightmagicmusingsmain @jjsmaybitch @little-ms-awkward @obxmxybxnk @5am-cigarette @xinsonyax @gabbismith5 @heyitsmeimdead @fullpanicmode @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @o-b-x @iamaunicorn4704 @jj-maybabe @jjmaybangme @newhopenessie @the0uterbanks @llvinlavidaloca @ponyboys-sunsets @angvelics @lilpeekabooze @thatbloodymuggle @couldyouspeaklouder @apoguecalledjj @collectiveuniverses @starkeymarkey @goldenharryvol6 @teenwaywardasgardian @milamaybank @merchantjjreply @lustgardn @curlybrownhairedboys @booksandshish @ilymarkchan @ihatemyself21 @bailspogue @deathcompass @alternativehp @keepingupwiththepogues @kylosleftbuttcheek @stargazingstarkey @rafescameron @katrynec @ilovejjmaybank @teamnick @jjaybank @kiarascarreras @sunwardsss @fandomtravels @honeybunchcalum @ughitslizzy @sleepyhollands @adanielle8 @jeyramarie @paradigmax @whoseblogsthis @sweetlysilent @outerbanksbro @i-mmunity @extratragic @jjbaby @jj-bxby @jjmaybanksbaby @drewswannabegirl @letsgotothehop @sugarcoatedcalum @wiensrsoldier @serious-killer @karleeluv @jj-baebank @secretmoonphantom @outerbankslut @obxsummer @poguesrforlife @broken-jj @sortagaysortahigh @erraaxh @haharudy @kimxft @rubjeffo @hannahrisacher @family-buisnes @king-ronnoc @sexytholland @28cnn @maraseavey @jurassicjosie @bolaurel @perfektionsmakel @masintahin @everyonesababe @rudysmaybank @koufaxx @broken-jj @catieiscute2001 @blueflame2778 @rudths @reconcilereid @anonymous0writer @secretlyablueunicorn @outerbankspogue @starlightstarkey @bolditalicwriter @pcterparxer @olsenholic @rottencoregirl @writingwieny @psg-for-life @hollandlovely @poguesinablanket @figure-pogue @kiarasmaybank @xloue @bellaguarneri @localfangirlx @perfect-ginger-maniac @truulovee @just-a-bitchybisexual @littlelillylollipop @pankowrudeth @jjandreidsgirl @caringparker @obx-saltlife @eternalangst @poguelifesurfshop@poguestyleskye @haute-shawn @hmspxgue @molsypops @niccsal @curlypunk @sleeplessreader12 @itsmederyn @thecurlsofgod @allielozoya @b-groovyyy @blindedbyyourgrace17 @kt219567 @french-fries-bouquet @overly-b @hanistarsxx @thebookisbtr @wilddheartt @alytavzla @punkladymoes @hmspogueobx @brightcosmos @an-untamed-rose @addictofsupernatural @mediocrearistophanes @buckethatseason @laconic-eunoia @agentstarkid @sunflower-beauty @spideyvibez @meaganjm @yourstrulyzerotwo @r0s3mm @floretsoleil @flowersinvegas @unknown-user84 @jooorrdd @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @unfortunatekiwitrash @celestialmaybank @kayleea122 @mynmuses @trashmouthpogues @natalie-kate-98 @maraudersandco @millssssonline @vaswn @lindysti @casper17 @babyybesson @itsagurl @everyonesababe @kaitieskidmore1 @aesthetic-lyssa @crispywolftreeflower @yesp0ny @broken-jj @beth-winchester21 @diverdcwn @cozyshawn @pcterparxer @comphersjost @bbygrlsyd @lovelynerdytraveler @obbx-tings @m-a-d-e-l-i-n-e-e @curlybrownhairedboys @jjshands @rachelfizzyhizzy @outsider-at-hogwarts @Magcongirl52 @drewsstarkey @chocolaeth @damnobx @hoeforshows @lemur46 @honestlywtfisgoingon @beth-winchester21 @bruhjustdont @iknowwhatihavefound-blog @jillianwritesstories @sleepyhollands @etherealtony @sofianunes10 @slytherinquill @invocacao-dos-unicornios @coloradogirl07 @no-shxt-sherl @maybankobx @jjmaybankg @itsallblueblackwhereimfrom @hookedinto-fictionalworlds @jjbanks @that-one-weird-fangirl2020 @rewindlr @beautyandthebleh @kenziemcnicol @dirtyskittlewater @luvbabyjade @p0gues4l @sunfl0w3rvol6 @theloveofpeterparker @ebonyyyy-e @niagaratears @alilybush @julesclues @aleeciamackenzie @outrbanxs @trinnwazheree @fangirlika @hotel-colson @talksoprettyjjx @106sami @ohbabycal @takisss @spam-to-follow @toloveortobeinlove @alexis-marrt022 @lovingonshawn @drw0301bieber @diverrdown @finelinebitch @amortiff @velvetxvignette @emptycanvasposts @kcxxlove @its-fun-to-fantasize-4 @thedemonsimpofcamphalfblood @Sugarglohss @strawberrydonkey @heavenlymama @cxrlyrxe @thotbutpurple @ibookofstars @kayladownunder @jjaybank @cyrrusmreadings @omigodbeckylookatherbutt @obx-imagines-07 @lussuria-zephyr @yeahilljustgo @morganoddwalker @junisfics @trash-can-kristin @hippyexplosions @June549.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow #obx #outer banks #my writing #anywayyyyyyyyy #entertain my oc thx

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icecoldflames · 3 years

Text

Home Is Where The Heart Is (Sanders Sides)

Based off of WandaVision (this AU is in a world that isn’t quite the mind palace and isn’t quite the real world. There are no spoilers for the actual WandaVision show and I don’t think you need to have watched the show in order to read this)

Past Romantic Logicality

Warnings: Patton is dead, angst, Remus’ dirty jokes

*Sigh* This fic has taken me what feels like ages to write. I wrote most of it all in one go but I just couldn’t manage to write the second half. And so it stayed in my drafts for months. But it’s finally finished!

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, @jessibbb. I saw your post while I was writing the beginning! I’m pretty shocked we both chose the same ship for this AU.

Anyways, enjoy!

***

Roman didn’t realise anything was wrong until he woke up one morning and the mind palace was empty and quiet. No one was in the kitchen making breakfast and no one was on the sofa.

For the past couple of weeks, Roman had been non-stop working on a screenplay that he had had in his mind for at least two years. He was afraid his motivation would suddenly slump so he had been spending more and more time in his own room, writing away.

Roman quietly began making himself a fried egg, trying to wrack his brain to figure out what happened to everybody. Did they all go on a trip somewhere? Without him? Maybe they didn't want to disturb him when he was in his writing groove.

As Roman sat down at the kitchen table, he only just recalled Virgil telling the rest of the sides that he was going to try to help Logan after what happened to Patton...

Had Roman seen Virgil since then? Roman honestly couldn’t remember. But then Roman remembered scarfing down his supper one day and Janus telling them that he was worried about Logan and Virgil.

As for Roman’s twin brother, Remus wasn’t really one to tell the other sides their plans.

Roman ate the rest of his fried egg in silence, trying to piece together the last few weeks. By the end of it, Roman had a broad idea of what he had missed. Logan had locked himself in his room after what happened with Patton. And Virgil, who had been worried for him, went in a couple days later. Then, Janus, worried for the both of them, went in next.

In both events, Virgil and Janus had gone into Logan’s room and not returned, at least as far as Roman knew.

Roman tried to ignore the feeling that something was wrong and wrote another couple of pages of his screenplay. But the silence of the mind palace nagged at the back of his mind so much that he decided to take a break at 11:30.

He feared that he would spiral into a writer’s block because of this. But he was more worried for his friends who walked into Logan’s room and hadn’t come out. He missed the domesticity of the mind palace. Virgil was always one for night time snacks. And Janus always came to the large bay window in the afternoon when the sun was the strongest.

Roman stood in front of Logan’s door and hesitantly knocked. “Lo?” He asked. “Are the others in there with you? Are you okay?” Roman knocked again on the door to no answer. He contemplated coming back to the door later that night but Roman slowly laid his hand on the doorknob. It twisted open.

Roman slowly pushed the door open. At first glance, the room looked normal, if not a little messy. But Roman could see a breathing lump in the bed that resembled Logan’s sleeping position—sleeping on his back, like a log.

But, at a closer look, the doorway looked to have some kind of shimmery film over it. It reminded Roman of when he would create worlds inside his own room to explore. His door was always there, no matter the world, and that silvery film would be across his doorway. All Roman would have to do is step through that silvery barrier and he’d be back in the mind palace, right in front of his doorway.

Roman frowned and brought his face up close to Logan’s door, his nose almost passing through the barrier. As far as he knew, he was the only side who could create worlds from his imagination. He was creativity, after all.

Roman straightened up. Maybe Logan somehow got the powers to create worlds and he and the others were lost and couldn’t find their way back. It was the only possibility Roman could think of. He closed his eyes and stepped through Logan’s door.

When Roman opened his eyes, he was in a hallway that resembled the one in the mind palace that held each side’s rooms. But, when Roman looked closer he found family pictures on the wall.

Roman was taken aback as he noticed these pictures were all of Logan and Patton in different places—at the park having a picnic, laying on the beach, in the library, at a Build-a-Bear.

None of the places were familiar. They didn't even live near a Build-a-Bear.

Roman slowly inspected each photograph. He halted at the last photo in the hallway. Logan and Patton standing behind two pearly-teethed children.

“That’s little Arthur and Connie.”

Roman spun around and legitimately pinched himself at the sight of Patton in front of him. His smile was uncannily large and he looked real...lifelike. Roman resisted the urge to tackle him into a bearhug.

What had Logan done?

“Uh, I’m Roman,” Roman extended a hand. Surely this was just some kind of fake Patton. Something like a ghost.

But Patton shook Roman’s hand happily. He was as solid as Roman himself. “Nice to meet you, I’m Patton.” Patton didn’t look the least bit confused as to how Roman got inside this weird house.

Roman swallowed. “Um, excuse me,” he managed to say. “I-I have to go. Sorry.” He turned to find the first window he saw, the hallway window. It was tiny but Roman pried it open and wiggled through. He could feel the sweat bead down the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he said again and ran as far away as he could.

Roman ran a hand through his hair as he ran through an unfamiliar town. He past familiar faces on the way. Joan going into the grocery store. Tayln on the bench talking to Jamal. Valerie and Terrence buying samosas from the man on the side of the street they always passed when going on their runs. Roman could see people in a nearby cafe and in an office, drinking their coffees and clicking at their computers. Everyone seemed completely unconcerned.

Everyone here must be created by Logan, Roman rationalised. Roman could often create people in his own worlds too, solid ones like the occasional royal for his story, but they required incredible mental strength and they all took a toll on him because he was the one who had to control their every move.

Creating all these people and controlling them all? Roman had been creating worlds since he was a child and he still could only create and control seven people, max.

Creating and controlling an entire city? It was impossible. How had Logan done it then? Roman couldn’t wrap his head around everything.

He passed a gas station and almost did a double take. Virgil was blowing bubble gum behind the counter.

Roman raced inside the gas station and the bell tinkled above.

“What pump?” Virgil asked boredly, not looking up from his phone.

“Virgil! It’s me, Roman!” Roman exclaimed, running up to the desk, out of breath. “Where have you been? What has happened to Logan?”

Virgil blew an especially large bubble before looking up at Roman. “Look, man, I’m just a minimum wage worker. Just choose what you want to buy and I’ll ring you up.”

“No, that’s not—”

“You want to rob the joint?” Virgil opened the cash and turned to look back at his phone. “Go ahead, I don’t care.”

Roman leaned over the desk. “Your phone isn’t even on! Virgil, what is wrong with you? You’ve got to help me! I think Logan is stuck in this world he accidentally made!” Roman placed a hand on Virgil’s forearm.

As if waking up from a bad nightmare, Virgil jolted like he was electrocuted and he blinked rapidly. His breathing became erratic. “You have to help us, Roman.” Virgil’s voice was hoarse and pained. His eyes were wild. “It’s Logan! You have to stop him!”

“What do you mean ‘it’s Logan’?” Roman asked, shaking Virgil a little by the shoulders. “I know he created this world. Have you seen Patton? And they have children?”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply but, as if someone grabbed him by the neck, he gasped for air. Roman stepped back, scared. What was happening? Virgil blinked a couple more times. He rolled his eyes and blew a large pink bubble. “So, what is it that you’d like to buy?”

Roman looked at Virgil incredulously. “What the hell,” he muttered, waving a hand in front of Virgil’s face.

“Dude, if you aren’t going to buy anything, just leave. Go annoy some other random minimum wage worker,” Virgil said dryly, looking back at his phone.

Roman put a hand on Virgil’s shoulders again and the other side jolted again. “Ro! He knows you’re here. You have to go,” he gasped in a strained voice. His face changed and he popped another bubble. “I won’t hesitate to call the cops,” Virgil said, leaning sourly on the counter.

Roman sprinted out of the gas station as fast as he could. He stood in the middle of the empty street and desperately looked for a hiding spot. His eyes saw the large brick building of the library. Probably not the best place to hide; Logan could be in there for all he knew.

Roman ran inside the building next to it, a squat little one room schoolhouse. When he came inside, the wooden desks were completely empty except for the teachers desk which held...

“Janus!” Roman exclaimed, fast-walking down the aisles of tiny desks to the larger desk where Janus was sitting, a grin plastered on his face.

“Hello,” Janus greeted, almost robotically. “Are you here to sign up your child for school?”

Roman reached out to touch Janus’ shoulder, to break whatever hold Logan had on him, but paused inches from the yellow cloth. It seemed that Logan could detect when people were no longer under his control. Example: Virgil.

But Roman needed somebody else’s help. As much as he boasted about being the knight in shining armour and being able to, single-handedly, save damsels in distress, Logan was an actual person who was going through tough emotions—not a figment of Roman’s imagination.

He stood in front of Janus’ still body, staring into his blank stare. Was it worth trying to get Janus on his side? He’d always have to be near the side so Logan wouldn’t try to control him again.

“I didn’t know Mr. Stick Up His Ass had a sense of humour. Putting Janus in the role of a school teacher?” Remus snort-laughed. “I need to hang out with him more after he’s through with his crisis.”

“Remus?” Roman exclaimed, spinning around and seeing his brother leaning against the large bookshelf. “Wha—How?”

Remus spun his moustache around his finger. “Thought this world might be fun. Instead, I get a dead side returned, a brother who’s too stuck in his own world to realise anyone’s missing, and a side who is too love-stricken that he manages to create an entire world.”

“But how are you not under Logan’s control?” Roman said, turning his attention away from Janus and to his twin brother.

Remus frowned and placed a hand to his heard. “I’m offended, Ro, I’m also creativity. Whatever you can do, I can do.”

Roman paused, thinking this through. Remus did have a point. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple of weeks, in this world’s time. We’re as stuck in Logan’s world as a wet booger on a finger.”

“And you haven’t tried to talk to Logan?” Roman asked, exasperatedly.

“Who do you think I am? A therapist or something? I’m just a fun guy who eats fungi.” Remus blew a raspberry.

Roman wiped off Remus’ spit from his own face and began dragging his brother out the door. “Two is better than one. C’mon, we need to help Logan. He’s grieving.”

“Isn’t time the answer to everything?” Remus asked, shaking free of Roman’s grip. “Just leave him be. He’ll eventually figure his stuff out.”

“And how long will that be? A month? A year? No, Remus, we need to help Logan. He’s created a fake Patton, that isn’t healthy.”

“Well I think that Logan is getting through this in his own way,” Remus said. “We shouldn’t try to push him too much. Who knows what he’ll do? He could create a Godzilla for all I know.”

“We need to go speak with Logan,” Roman stated.

“We?” Remus repeated.

“Fine. I’ll speak with Logan. You can just be there for moral support,” Roman said with a sigh. He felt stronger with his brother next to him and maybe he could get through to Logan by himself.

***

Logan’s house was painted a bright blue and had kids toys littered around the yard. The flowers around looked almost fake. Neighbours around the cul-de-sac smiled and waved from their porches.

“Logan looks happy here. What if we just left him in this alternate world?” Remus’ voice was quiet and surprisingly serious as they climbed the couple of stairs to Logan’s doorstep.

Roman turned to Remus, mouth agape. “Are you kidding me? Logan has created an entire town with kids and a husband who is actually dead. You don’t see a problem with Logan living in a lie? Besides, we’re stuck here too. Or have you forgotten?”

Remus leaned against the house and dug his hands into his pockets. “I dunno. But I just think reality will catch up with him soon enough. Anyways, he can’t keep up this charade forever. And living here isn’t too bad. There are no repercussions to anything I do.” Remus grinned toothily and was inches away from knocking on the door.

The door swung open itself. “Hello! Is there anything I can do for you?” Patton asked, looking down at Roman and Remus curiously.

“Is your…erm…husband home?” Roman asked, suddenly uncomfortable. He didn’t like seeing Patton alive again. It made him miss the old side who used any opportunity to make cookies.

“He is! He’s making supper now for us and the kiddos—”

“What do you want, Roman?” Logan’s voice came from behind Patton. His voice seemed strong and concise which was nothing different. But when Patton moved over a little to make space for Logan, Roman noticed a clear tiredness behind his facade.

“I want to speak with you…privately,” Roman replied, glancing over at Logan. Whether or not Patton was fully under Logan’s control, Roman wasn’t sure he wanted to openly talk about Patton’s death in front of Patton.

“I want whatever you’ve made for supper,” Remus interrupted loudly, elbowing his way around Patton and Logan, disappearing down a hallway.

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply.

“Do you know those guys?” Patton asked quietly, his eyebrows drawn down in confusion. “Are they friends from your time at uni?”

Uproarious laughter came from, presumably, the kitchen. “Patton, can you go check on the kids and make sure Remus isn’t teaching them anything inappropriate?” Logan nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” He made his way down the hallway, glancing back only once.

As soon as Patton was out of view, Logan grabbed viciously at Roman’s shirt sleeve and began dragging him across the living room. “You’re lucky I can’t control you,” Logan muttered through gritted teeth. They made their way to a closed door which banged open as soon as Logan flicked his wrist.

Logan pushed Roman down onto the bed. He crossed his arms. “You have five minutes to talk to me and then I’m going to kick you and Remus out and will not be allowing you two back in.”

The entire monologue Roman had been planning out in his head on his way here completely evaporated. Whatever he had been planning to say was logical and coherent. But now that he was facing Logan, he couldn’t remember anything. His eyes found a picture to the left of Logan’s furrowed brow.

It was a glossy photo of Patton in Disney World, a Mickey hat on his head, and laughing into the camera. Another event that never actually happened.

But Roman’s eyes were drawn to it. His words came out before he could stop them. “I miss him. He always knew what to say to us to make us feel better.” Roman couldn’t count how many times Patton had helped him get over a break-up or through an especially rough writer's block.

Logan’s strained face softened, following Roman’s gaze to the photograph. He took the frame off the wall and stared at it. When he looked back up at Roman, his face was even stonier than before. “Then you understand why I have to do this.”

“Logan…I…I know what you’re going through. We all do. Patton was our missing puzzle piece. With him gone, it does feel empty. But we can’t change what’s already happened,” Roman tried, gently pulling the photo of Patton out of Logan’s grip.

“You don’t know anything about what I’m feeling,” Logan grimaced and yanked the photo back. “And I’m perfectly content in this alternate universe I’ve created. It was going great before you arrived.”

“Logan, I’m worried for you. Virgil and Janus and I are worried for you. Remus probably is as well. Patton wouldn’t want you to be like this. He’d want you to come back with us.”

“Don’t you dare speak for Patton,” Logan growled, jabbing a finger in Roman’s face. “And if Patton can’t come back, I’m not coming back.”

“Is that the kind of life you want to live forever?” Remus’ voice came from the doorway. Even Roman was surprised to see his brother. Logan whirled around. “To live with a man who has died with children who don’t exist? To be constantly feeding them memories about their fake life and then feeling left out as they talk about them because you can’t give yourself those same happy memories?” Remus’ voice was like a viper and his words were much more intense than what Roman had been planning.

Yet the words actually seemed to get through to Logan. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he quietly placed the framed photo back up on the wall, meticulously straightening it.

Logan’s next words came out soft and broken, staring at Patton’s photo, pointedly avoiding Roman or Remus’ gaze. “I can’t just go back and forget about him.”

“We aren’t asking you to forget about him, Lo,” Roman begged. “We would never ask you to do that. In fact, once we all get back, we should keep his memory alive.”

“Figuratively alive, of course,” Remus interjected, a slight smirk on his face.

Roman silenced Remus with a glare. You aren’t helping. “Do you remember how Patton always knew our hot chocolate orders by heart during movie night?” Roman asked. “Extra marshmallows for me, milk in Virgil’s, piping hot and whipped cream in Janus’—“

“—Mine with some marshmallows and filled to the brim with,” Remus tried and failed to hold in his laughter, “cream.”

“I’d have plain and Patton would have extra everything,” Logan reminisced with a smile.

“Remember when I accidentally spread some kind of sickness with my…prank…and Patton, even though he was also sick, made the time to help all of us?” Remus poked a toy on the floor with the tip of his shoe.

“He always gave the best gifts too,” Logan continued, a nostalgic smile on his face. “I still use my antler pencil when organizing everyone’s calendar.”

“I love the deodorants he gave me!” Remus exclaimed.

“Logan,” Roman began in a gentle voice, meeting the other side’s eyes. “Why don’t we all head home and sit around the couch, telling each other our memories of Patton?” He began to stand up and gently laid a hand on Logan’s forearm. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Logan’s arm flexed under Roman’s grip. Uh oh. “What’s that saying?” Logan said slowly, his voice growing icy. “Home is where the heart is?” He jerked his arm away from Roman and pushed him backward onto the bed. “I can’t go home. There is no home anymore because he has my heart.” Logan’s voice broke and his legs collapsed underneath him. Roman and Remus barely made it to soften his fall.

“Patton is dead,” Logan managed to choke out, hiding his eyes with his hands. Roman squeezed Logan into a hug. Remus began to awkwardly pat his back. “This is the only place where I feel anything worthwhile. Without Patton…I’m…I feel like a robot. Like an empty shell of myself.”

“Logan?” Patton’s voice was small and all three of the sides whipped their heads around to see Patton standing outside of the doorway. His eyes were wide and his hands were shoved in his pockets. “What did you mean when you said that I’m dead?”

“Patton, I—I can explain,” Logan instantly stood up from the floor and wiped his eyes, taking his glasses off to clean them in his shirt. He then took a step towards Patton, an arm outstretched.

But Patton stepped away from Logan’s hand, fear clearly written on his face. “What’s happening? While you were inside here, it’s like the world froze. Even Connie and Arthur. When I ventured outside, I saw two other men running towards our house, telling me that I had to talk some sense into you, Logan, and that I was dead.” Patton paused and Roman saw that his hands were shaking. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. Am I dead?”

“Patton,” Logan started, glancing behind him at Roman and Remus. “I—I’ve not been entirely honest with you. Actually, I’ve been completely lying to you.” Logan gently took Patton’s face into his hands and when Patton re-opened his eyes, Roman had a sense that Patton knew. He knew everything.

“After…after you died, I couldn’t handle it. I stayed in bed for days on end, not doing anything but think of you and cry. I hardly slept. I don’t know how long this went on for until, one day, I woke up, and I walked down this street where you, Connie and Arthur were playing outside. When the three of you saw me, all of your eyes lit up and began exclaiming, ‘dad’s home! Dad’s home!’”

A tear ran down Logan’s cheek and he frantically rubbed it away. “It was like my perfect fantasy. You were alive and well and we had a beautiful family. As time went on, I remembered conversations I had with Roman and began creating an entire city around us, with people, businesses, and schools. I started giving you and the kids memories of trips we didn’t take, things we didn’t do.

“It was exhausting but I was actually happy. I was laughing and, even though it wasn’t real, I was living. You taught me happiness. I feel like I’ll never feel it again” His words hung thick in the air.

“Pat,” Logan said, this time too many tears on his cheeks for him to wipe away. “I don’t want to go back home if it means leaving you. I can’t do it again. I’m not strong enough.”

Patton brought Logan in for a hug and quickly kissed his nose. “You are strong enough. You, Logan, are one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. And you can and will leave. You’re destined for great things out there, Logan Sanders. And I will be forever proud of you. Promise me you’ll try to live life to its fullest, to stop and smell the roses, to be happy once again. Maybe it’ll hurt less as time goes on, maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll smile when my name is mentioned after a few years, or maybe it’ll still leave your chest aching and your eyes stinging. I can’t promise you it won’t be hard once you leave, but you have to promise me you’ll try to be okay.”

Patton’s lip quirked up. “Besides, think about it, because you conjured me up, I’ll always be a part of you once you leave.” Patton placed a hand over Logan’s heart. “I’ll always be inside of you.”

Remus snickered and Roman elbowed him in the gut.

“I promise,” Logan said, either not hearing Remus or deciding to ignore him. “I’ll try for your sake.”

Patton smiled and hugged Logan one last time. “Come, the kids are all ready for bed. How about one last goodnight?”

Logan seemed to want to reject the idea but bit his tongue. He nodded curtly and glanced at Patton, “one last bedtime story?”

Patton smiled and nodded as well. The two of them began to walk down the hall, their arms around each other’s waists.

Once Roman could hear voices in a nearby room, he began to sit up from the bed that he had slowly made his way to once Patton appeared. “I can’t believe you,” he muttered to Remus. “You have to turn everything into a dirty joke, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Remus said, fluttering his eyelashes. “Besides,” he said, shaking his head, “everything turned out alright, didn’t it?”

Roman sighed as they made their way outside to give Patton and Logan some privacy. “I suppose it did. And…you did good back there, Remus.” Roman awkwardly rubbed his neck. “Thank you.”

Remus’ eyebrows shot up in surprise but, before he could say anything, Virgil and Janus came barrelling towards them.

“Roman!” Virgil exclaimed, “you did it!”

Roman shrugged his shoulders and glanced at his twin brother. “Honestly? It was a team effort. Remus was the one to get through to him at first.”

“Really?” Virgil asked while Janus just smiled a little over at Remus.

Roman nodded and then asked, “are you two alright?” He couldn’t imagine what being under Logan’s “spell” was like. He didn’t think he’d ever ask. He was glad everyone else in the town was completely imaginary or copies of other people in the real world.

“A little drowsy, to be completely honest with you,” Janus replied with a half-smile.

“That was not my experience,” Virgil grumbled, arms crossed. “It was like I was in a constant battle. ‘Walk,’ Logan’s voice would tell me. ‘No,’ I would tell him back. Back and forth and back and forth.”

The four sides went silent as the door to Logan and Patton’s house opened. Patton and Logan exchanged one last word with one another before they kissed and Patton closed the door shut. Logan jogged down to where Roman and the others stood.

“It’s time to go home,” Logan said, trying to sound brave but his wobbly voice gave him away.

Logan made a flourish with his hands and an opened door appeared in front of all of them. “I think this might be the first and last time I create a world,” he said. “My hypothesis is that I was going through such a great deal of grief that I touched into a power that all of us have but only Roman and Remus have access to it easily and on a larger scale.”

Roman smiled and placed a comforting hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Let’s all sit on the couch together. We can watch a movie and talk about our memories with Patton.”

“I think I have a bunch of photos in a box under my bed and pinned around my room,” Virgil added in. “You could make a scrapbook.”

Logan took in a deep, steadying, breath. He turned around to look at the blue house behind him before saying, “I’d like that. And, um, if you guys want, I can prepare everyone some hot chocolate.”

And, with that, Logan stepped through the door.

#sanders sides #wandavision #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #logicality #roman sanders #logicality fanfiction #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders

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therectoress · 3 years

Note

yennaia + gamer au

This was supposed to be three sentences and definitely not crack but I just had to... sksjsjssksjjs.

Yennaia prompt: Gamer AU.

LINK TO ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN IN THE REPLIES.

Word count: 1.8k+ Pairing: Yennaia. Rating: T.

Tissaia really had no idea why she was doing this. Perhaps to appease Rita. Perhaps because her addiction to nicotine had worsened over the course of one year of a bloody Continent-wide pandemic and she was loath to use her credit card every time she needed a new pack of cigarettes. Perhaps she was going through a midlife crisis to cope with the fact that being the Chancellor of Aretuza College was already stressful enough without half the generations there trying to fool her subordinates into thinking cardboard replicas or even mannequins counted as attendance or simply because the rest of the Board of Governors (Stregobor) couldn't differentiate between what could be said through an email and what required her to clean her entire house so the background of her call was pristine.

Her controller vibrated in her hands, (Why, for the love of the Gods, couldn't that setting be turned off?) her knuckles turning white from gripping it so strongly. "Oh, for fu- heaven's sake." There, she had been ambushed. Again. A funny and wholly unexpected thing happened, though, one of the users turned on her companions, offing the lot of them with clean headshots the brunette definitely couldn't pull off in the span of twenty seconds.

"Uhh..." What does one say when your virtual saviour just betrayed her entire party on a whim and was being cursed at obnoxiously loudly and vulgarly for it?

Yennefer ignored Sabrina calling her names that absolutely applied to her and her hormonal reaction to a lovely blue-eyed MILF the likes of which she had only seen in her dreams. "No thanks needed, love. I was getting tired of seeing you frown like someone had keyed your car every time you got killed. A pretty thing like you should only have cause to smile." Oh, Gods, now she sounded like a creepy old man that lived in his mum's basement. Great. Good job. Her Social Studies major was an absolute hit. Fuck her life. Fuck Oxenfurt College. And fuck Sabrina's witch-like cackling while she was at it. "Name’s Yennefer." She choked out miserably.

Tissaia scowled at her laptop. Hackers. Amazing. This was the best day of her new normal life. "Mind telling me how you broke through the most expensive antivirus in the Continent, dear? Because now I really need a refund." Now she also needed to contact Aretuza’s IT team on a Saturday night, because she was not about to mess any further with these blasphemous machines, thank you very much.

Wait, what? "That wasn't me... You left your camera on." The woman legitimately squealed at that, her oversized jumper sliding down her left shoulder and exposing just a glimpse of her collarbone as she pinned up her hair into a bun with... were those pens fashioned as swords? Oh, bugger, this was so not the time to get turned on! "Are you alright?" Mercifully Sabrina, Renfri and Phillipa were already accosting someone else, else she was sure the brunette would've completely lost it, more than she already was doing, anyways. "Hello?" No answer.

Tissaia was fishing for her boots when she started ranting, “Oh, don’t you worry! I’m fine! Just dandy! This is exactly how I wanted my life to go.” She motioned with her hand to the space around her. “I wished for nothing more than dealing with complete morons from nine to six, five days a week, whilst trying to make sure my sanity doesn't desert me.” Biting her lower lip for a moment she began checking that the ends of the laces were the same length when she pulled them up. “Running right after to my local grocery store to buy more instant meals that are probably going to give me cancer in five years if the bullshit articles my mother keeps sending me-”

Yennefer had told herself she wasn’t going to allow this wasn’t going to get any creepier than her misguided comment but she still had a gift code for that nice liquor store which conveniently had retailers popping up every six blocks everywhere for the last few months, especially in Thanned isle, only Gods knew why. “This bloody succubus of a twat that is my best friend has been forcing me to constantly use this cursed game by changing the password for my email and then Aretuza’s server and then-” Bingo. One text to Philippa and they had her IP address, with a mortified Triss already calling Jaskier since she was the only one that had managed to get a decent scholarship at that posh college.

This was her future wife who was about to jump from a bridge from the looks of her and they just had to do humanity a great service by saving her from herself and from sobriety.

“Can you believe that tosser? I am a lesbian! I spent my teenage years clad in flannel until my girlfriends staged an intervention kind of lesbian! Yes, Vilgefortz, I will sue you for harassment in the workplace and I will blacklist you. No, Vilgefortz, I don’t want to break quarantine to go on a date with you and I definitely do not want your disgusting cologne anywhere near my-” Tissaia’s head shot up, her doorbell was ringing and she pinched the bridge of her nose, reaching for a new, disposable, mask.

“You stay right there.” She threatened the girl, who had the most beautiful violet… Perhaps she really ought to let Coral get her a therapist. It rang again. “Gods-damn-it.” She thought.

Her plan was going marvellously. She would only have to sleep with a knife under her pillow for a few weeks for blackmailing Sabrina (Who honestly hadn’t the slightest talent to pass off plagiarism as a sudden stroke of genius in her final project without her aid.) into going along with this. The blonde was lighting the candles around the monitor without trying to burn her hair off and had given away her best bottle of cheap but still good wine for the cause. Thanks to Renfri and her frankly psychotic, owl obsessed, girlfriend she already knew what she would be replacing her trauma-ridden last name with! Splendid!

The brunette shut the door on Jaskier’s face after taking the brown paper bag from his hands, spraying the bottle of vodka inside it with so much disinfectant that it dripped down onto her carpet. Taking off her gloves and disposing of them, she grabbed a knife from the counter and ignoring the annoying blue light that came from the kitchen table, “Oh, shit. You’re soulmates. I’ll tell the rest of the girls we’re all fucked.” Tissaia cut off the upper part of the glass in one smooth hit, like Calanthe had taught her when the then teacher could still be considered fun by her groups of friends.

“Shut up, tiddybug!” She heard Yennefer sing-song.

Feeling like being crass the blue-eyed woman took a rather large swing directly from the bottle. Sitting back down, she sighed. Yennefer took a dignified sip from her wine; she could do balanced when her significant other to-be needed to let loose. “Did you like the bottle? It has good reviews from… wait a minute… apparently several alcoholics who don’t know what a budget is.”

Tissaia’s face paled. “I thought you weren’t a hacker.” The woman muttered. She didn’t fancy getting kidnapped and… No, no, no. Fucking Rita. What was the cost of moving, again? If she slept four hours less a day and split her cleaning time in two she could probably trade this house for Stregobor's in-

“I am not!” Yennefer cried. Bloody hell. “You just mentioned that you worked at Aretuza and-” Sabrina had probably started a group call and Phillipa was indeed hacking into her computer to save her arse. The Redanian was currently writing a script for her to follow. “Your username in the game is your surname. My friends and I tried to get into that school a few years back and I do remember that the Chancellor is a woman and that her last name is de Vries.” Her username wasn’t her last name, it was actually something that suggested she was an Ice Queen of the highest order. Queen Elsa from the movie Frozen would be intimidated kind of Ice Queen.

“Everyone is aware the highest-ranking members of the faculty live in chalets near the castle, pardon, the building.” True. According to Triss, that was a part of their contract that if unfulfilled prohibited them from working there ever again. To Yennefer that seemed borderline cruel, forcing them to be available at all hours like circus animals for juniors that didn’t deserve their spots.

“My best friend is a student there and she knows which one is your home because she wants to eventually be a teacher.” Partially true. Until that day came, Triss, like any rational individual, avoided the Chapter’s Village like the plague lingered inside, and wouldn’t be caught dead there unless she had to stop Sabrina from doing something stupid because of the anarchist phase she was going through. Jaskier was an acquaintance of hers of sorts because Triss had tutored his boyfriend Geralt in Biology and being daddy’s boy, he knew which one was Tissaia’s house because he had almost gotten expelled like fifteen times.

“I honestly just wanted to do something nice for you, you sounded like you needed it and… I know quarantine hasn’t been lifted once in Temeria since it all started.” Philippa wrote then that she would probably make for a decent actor without flashing her breasts to the audience every five minutes. She pursed her lips and replied in the mock post-it note to fuck off.

“I… I… Thank you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed- I’m sorry, darling.” Her pale cheeks flushed at the term of endearment that slipped her tongue and Tissaia bowed down her head, red-painted nails caressing the glass bottle almost reverently. “Say, why don’t you tell me what your email address is and I send you my mobile via chat? The explosions in the background aren’t that, uhm, comforting to listen to when I’d much rather be hearing your voice.” Should she have looked up she would have seen the smile that threatened to split Yennefer’s face. “Only if you want to, of course! I- what am I even saying? Never mi-”

“No! Wait!” She placated. Sabrina squeezed her shoulder as she went to retrieve her phone charger, offering her a genuine smile. “I’d love to.”

“Okay.” Said Tissaia, an awed sound leaving her throat when blue finally meet with lilac. Gods, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Rita could have whichever bottle, all the liquor she wanted from the school’s cellar for indirectly enabling this.

Was one week a proper enough courting period to then buy the engagement ring? Or should she just have Philippa get her the best, costliest one from that jewellery eshop they all liked through some minor fraud that would take her like half an hour at most, today? “Good.” Yennefer de Vries had such a nice ring to it.

#yennaia #tissaia de vries #post: ask #ship: yennaia #writing*#sityiatwru*

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magaprima · 3 years

Text

PART 2 EPISODE 8 EPISODE ANALYSIS 2/?

“What does it mean, Ms Wardwell?” The fact that Sabrina just always presumes her teacher will have all the answers makes me laugh, because it shows what an impression Lilith has successfully made on her. Like, when in doubt, go to ‘Ms Wardwell’. Like this is a really obscure fucking thing they found in the mines, but Sabrina has no doubt that her apparent teacher will have all the answers. And she does.

“This implies that you’re some kind of Herald of Hell”

I love the fact that Lilith is huh, it seems to be this, when she knows perfectly well that it is, because the Dark Lord himself has told her that he intended Sabrina to be her Herald of Hell, and Lilith lost a bet in trying to take the position for herself. And you actually see Lilith’s eyes flash at the image, because it’s visual confirmation that yep, he really does fucking intend it to happen, and always had done. I mean the mosaic confirms he’s had plans for Sabrina long before he let Lilith in on them, which would, rightfully, piss her off.

Also the way Lilith describes the apocalypse in a ‘well duh’ way when Sabrina asks. Like ‘the earth in flames, the tribes of human and witchkind, enslaved by the hordes of Hell, with the Dark Lord presiding over it all’. She’s just like ‘what other definition of an apocalypse would there be?’. But it’s so revealing that Lilith has known all along what the Dark Lord’s attitude was, not only to humanity, but to his witches too; he intends to enslave the very people who worship and serve him, rather than rewarding them, which is usually how this sort of thing is supposed to work. But I think it’s interesting that when Lilith is Queen she doesn’t have any apocalypse plans and no more let’s Hell go beyond it’s boundaries than Sabrina does. Lucifer goes on about the balance in Part 3 in order to convince Sabrina to take the crown, but Lilith is someone is shown to actively care more about the balance than him or anyone else in Hell. Lilith wants to rule, not destroy, and that’s a very important difference.

Nick, however isn’t so convinced, and is all ‘what makes you such an expert?’, and I love that we cut to the Adam Creature while Lilith replies, because he serves as a visual reminder that Lilith is an expert because she comes from Hell herself, but it also sort of implies Lilith really wants to fucking smack Nick at that point for his attitude. The temptation to kill them both in that flicker of a moment.

Also she says she studied with Nostradamus, and I do wonder if that’s that ‘truth hidden in a lie’ and if Lilith did indeed hang out with Nostradamus, as we’ve seen she’s someone who can blur the lines between the mortal and infernal realms when she wants to, and considering her own origins it’s not beyond the realms of possibility for her to have been hanging out with someone who was skilled in prophecies. Lilith has been shown to be someone well-read and intelligent, and also has foresight; how better to get ahead of everyone than to learn how to read prophecies? But also, saying this means she’s telling them how old ‘Mary Wardwell’ is. He lived in the 1500s which means she’s meant to be a couple of centuries older than the Aunts (Her age is also another confirmation that the reason Dezmelda, who is only a 100 years old than the aunts and a 100 years younger at least than Lilith!Mary’s fake age, has aged so much because she left the coven and the Dark Lord, and became a hedge witch).

“The end times is usually preceded by the gates of Hell opening”

Usually preceded. Usually. How many end times have you seen Lilith? How many have there been that we don’t know about? I think this is why later on she’s like ‘I don’t care if the world ends; I’ll survive either way’, because she’s been through them enough times, and she also knows they either fail to happen or they don’t last long. Maybe it’s like ‘oh Lucifer wants an apocalypse. Must be Tuesday’ kind of vibe.

“Why me?” “You’re special, aren’t you?”

Oh the implied bitterness in this line. Like, it has been implied constantly to Lilith by both circumstance and the Dark Lord himself that Sabrina is unique, important, special, and she is clearly so fucking tired of it. Like yes you’re special, I had to come here and pretend to be a high school teacher and raise a bunch of dead witches because it was so important you sign a book. I had to stay at a high school to keep you doing what you’re meant to be doing because you’re so special. Adam had to be killed and I forced to eat him to teach me a lesson about how special you are and how my focus should be all on you. I am being pushed aside entirely because you’re just so fucking special.

“Half-witch, half-mortal, representing the two tribes to be tyrannised”

Lilith was so close here to blowing the whole thing wide open about the real reason Sabrina is so important and why she exists in the first place. Like yes, she is half-mortal, which means she represents one ‘tribe’, and since she signed the book she is ‘half-witch’ representing that side too, but what she actually is, blood-wise, is half-Lucifer. Like she’s half hell-celestial, and I think that’s what the real key part of bringing about the apocalypse was. I mean, she’s probably not the first half-mortal witch to be born, just the first where they actually got married. And it would be easier enough to make such a thing happen, so why would that be so powerful to bring about the apocalypse...no it has to be something more. She’s half mortal and half hell. Lilith was so close. But she had no reason to think ‘hang on I think you’re Lucifer’s kid’.

But oh god when Sabrina says ‘this would explain my new powers’, the way Lilith is just like ‘I’m sorry what?’ and blinks innocently but with such fucking tension when she asks ‘new powers?’, and you can tell she’s already imagining a dozen things, like what the fuck has the Dark Lord decided to gift you with now, and will it effect me?

‘Resurrection, healing, control over the weather, I’m not sure I can be killed’

Lilith nods at all of these like fan-fucking-tastic, just giving you huge ass powers the rest of us have to work at gradually, fine, absolutely fine, and then it’s the last one she’s like ‘oh marvellous. Can’t even fucking go ahead with my plan now, can I?’ and she tries to hide it so much but her tension and irritation is so palpable...except to Sabrina who is apparently too focused on her own problems to notice how annoyed Lilith is, and how much she is currently recalibrating her original plan at hyper speed,

What Lilith says; How fascinating What she means: Well isn’t that spit on your neck kick in the crotch fantastic?

She does manage to recover pretty quickly though.

" it would seem that the Herald of Hell would have to wield a certain amount of power”

But oh god the way she says this, it’s like ‘yes, I accept you would need some powers to be the Herald (powers I already have, but never mind) but he did not need to go so fucking overboard with it’. Like, Lilith is just getting knock after Sabrina-related knock from the Dark Lord and she just looks like she’s on her last nerve over it. She’s kept calm and accepting for four months but now she is just so fucking done.

“No way am I doing it”

I wish Lilith had realised her answer was right there. She could have teamed up with Sabrina there and then, been honest and done a pair-up against the Dark Lord and stopped so much from happening, but as I said on another post, Lilith is as much a victim of society as any other woman in being subconsciously taught to treat other women as a threat rather than an ally, and her desire to punish the Dark Lord seems to outweigh, at the moment, her desire to team up with Sabrina and stop the prophecy. And at this point she does still think she’s in with a chance of getting her crown, so she’s not yet so willing to go completely against him.

Also, you can tell she loves how much that a legitimate answer to Sabrina’s query is one that also helps her; you need the powers to be the herald, if you don’t want to be the herald, rid yourself of the powers. Which conveniently means Lilith can have her killed as planned. But she barely holds back at a smile at how everything just came together so neatly and so quickly. Like, ah problem raised, problem tackled, back on schedule. I mean she literally smiles through her words as she says ‘rendering you essentially mortal’, because someone essentially mortal is going to be so much easier for the Adam Creature to deal with. Lilith is back in Confidence Town at that point....and then Nick irritates her with his questions again. She really does look at him like ‘why are you even here?’.

But I do love her come back like ‘erm, excuse me’ when she says “don’t you mean half of who she is?” which I think she takes extra joy in saying because Sabrina is always saying how important her mortal side his, how important her mortal friends are and Lilith knows first hand how difficult it was to get her to leave that behind in any capacity, so she’s like ‘well can’t say a witch is all she is when she goes on about the mortal stuff’. Also, I think it’s interesting that she says this and then in the next episode she says of herself ‘not only a witch’, as it’s another parallel between her and Sabrina, that neither of them are ‘just’ a witch, they’re both something more complicated.

I also love that Lilith doesn’t say anything else until not only has Nick left the room, but closed the door behind him too. She had literally no interest in dealing with him; things go much more smoothly with her manipulations when it’s just her and Sabrina. As it does the moment he leaves, when she’s able to go back into full-on concerned teacher vibe and be all ‘you must keep me abreast won’t you?’ and then adds, ‘and do look into the mandrake spell, it could be just the ticket’ in such a bright way, like don’t like Nick’s negative vibes effect your decision. After all, I have all the answers don’t I, I’m older, more experienced and I’m saying the mandrake spell could be a good thing. Ignore mr-storms-out.

And then her whole smiling expression immediately falls the moment Sabrina leaves the room. We get back to genuine Lilith. And what’s the first thing she does? Calls Adam to get things back on track. And as she calls for him, she is rubbing her fingers over the enchanted engagement ring she gave to Adam 2.0, she rubs her fingertips over it the way you do when you’re thinking about someone the jewellery is connected to. Like a widow remembering her lost husband, and it just reminds her that the entire reason she’s doing this, the reasons she created the Creature, the reason she’s attacking Sabrina, is all an attempt to avenge Adam 2.0′s murder.

Her whole instructions of ‘follow her. discreetly. and once she’s vulnerable and alone; kill her’ is given so psychotically though, with this soft, almost gentle voice, and this equally gentle smile, as if she’s telling someone to prepare a birthday surprise, but instead it’s a murder. Also, the fact she says ‘once she’s vulnerable’, shows how well Lilith knows Sabrina. She knows that no matter what Nick says, the girl’s desire to not be a pawn and to stop the apocalypse and not be ‘evil’ means she will do the mandrake spell and will make herself vulnerable. Lilith knows exactly what Sabrina is planning to do.

But the way Lilith’s eyes flicker away after she gives the instruction, the flicker of thought of something else. Perhaps briefly wondering whether this will succeed before the Dark Lord notices, perhaps acknowledging that this won’t bring Adam 2.0 back, perhaps wondering if it’s going to be a satisfying as she hopes.

But oh my god the way she stretches out her hand over the candle, feeling the pain of the heat on her fingertips, perhaps in an attempt to feel something, to distract herself from the emotional pain she feels over Adam 2.0 (physical pain would be much easier for her to deal with, after all) and then argh her face is so sad. Lilith is so fucking sad. She even looks like there might be a few tears. She is still in the major throes of grief, she is still so upset about Adam 2.0 and we’re being told, by this shot and her expression, that everything she is doing right now, for good or for bad, is a product of that grief.

I will at some point do a full visual analysis of that moment because fucking ow.

#episode stuff

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rainbhrts94writes · 3 years

Text

Tephra 03

Hello! Here’s the next thrilling instalment, hope you enjoy the banter as much as I do! :)

POV: Taehyung Warnings: None this chapter Word Count: 2.7K Rating: PG

Master List

Tephra 03

Namjoon had been acting weird, and not his usual weird, weirder than normal weird. Since he had started looking for that girl from the landslide, Joon had become hard to get ahold of, or when Taehyung had managed to find his brother, he always had somewhere to be. Taehyung hadn’t thought anything of it, though, until he caught sight of his brother breaking the curfew, not once, not twice, but three times. Sure, he wasn’t exactly abiding by it either, but for Joon not to follow the rules, something had to be going on, so Taehyung did what any good brother would do. He followed him.

It was that awful time of year where it was cold when you woke up and warm as classes let out for training. He never knew how to dress, but Taehyung had always hated being hot, so tonight he was wildly underdressed for the weather. As wonderful as his trusty flip flops were, it was moments like this where he wished he had inherited fire magic instead.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Taehyung kept up with Namjoon as he headed towards the training grounds. After-hours training, specifically unsupervised after-hours training, was one of the worst rules you could break; anyone who was caught was expelled. This had to be important for Namjoon to be risking expulsion.

Taehyung watched curiously as his brother knocked on the large wooden doors to the grounds; he didn’t get to see much, though, immediately encased in stone in his hiding spot. He had been caught.

“You are literally the least conspicuous person I’ve ever met.” A voice poked fun at Joon.

“I’m not sure I follow.” He could hear the confusion in his brother’s voice.

“Gods, you’re just lucky he cares about you enough to follow you instead of telling a teacher.” The voice sighed, clearly exasperated as the earth shifted beneath him.

“Oh.” When Namjoon turned around, he looked stunned, and it took everything for Taehyung not to laugh.

“Hi, Hyung.” He smiled. “Hello, Hyung’s friend.” he recognized her from the landslide. At least Namjoon found who he was looking for. What were they both doing out past curfew, though?

“YN, you can call me YN.” She introduced herself. “I believe we’ve met before, briefly.”

“The landslide,” Taehyung confirmed with the shake of his head and a smile. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

“All part of the job.” She bowed slightly and shifted, so her badge hit the light. That explained why she hadn’t been in any of the classes. Though Taehyung was still confused, what was Joon doing out past curfew?

“Friendship isn't supposed to be considered a job.” Namjoon finally piped up.

“It is if you’re going to get yourself followed here every other night.” YN laughed, “Technically, it is still my job, though, friends or not.”

“So, uh, as comfortable as I am. Is there a protocol for this situation? Am I in trouble? Do I pretend I didn’t see anything? Can I come in for snacks? Do you even have snacks?” Taehyung asked the now bickering pair.

“I, crap, give me a second.” Without waiting for an answer, YN jogged back into the training grounds shutting the door behind her.

“I didn’t peg you as the illegal activities sort of guy.” Taehyung poked fun at his brother.

“I can have fun too.” Namjoon countered, looking a little peeved. “What about you? You had to be out past the curfew to have noticed me, let alone follow me here.”

“See, I AM the illegal activities sort of guy. I was just sitting on the roof admiring the sky when I noticed my plucky older brother wandering somewhere he shouldn’t be wandering.” Taehyung enjoyed watching his brother bristle.

“Taehyung, you are a member of the Atlas royal family now. How many times do you have to be told there are rules we have to follow.” Namjoon’s words were staccato, even though his eyes didn’t match the harshness of his tone.

“Technically, I’m only legally royal. The minute they find out if our younger sister can use magic or not, I’m immediately less important.” Taehyung tried to shrug, but his shoulders got caught on the rock surrounding him.

“Just because you're last in line for the throne does not mean negative actions on your part don’t affect the family.” Namjoon sighed.

“I’m not so sure about that; I’m not related to the royal family by blood.” he relaxed against the cool stone. “I’m sure they’d just disown me and move on. Reese would take my place in line with her legitimate magic and all that. I could write to my mom, maybe find my sister?”

“You make it sound like you’ve planned this out?” Namjoon questioned, now obviously warry.

“Not in an, ‘I’m going to do something illegal and get kicked out of school and the family,’ kind of way. I’ve always prepared myself for the possibility that I’d be removed from succession if someone questioned my lineage enough, though.” Taehyung said honestly.

“Just because you’re not related to us by blood doesn’t mean you’d be so willingly discarded,” Namjoon spoke, clearly trying to reassure his brother. “Besides, father had your old estate searched for any remains years ago. They never found anything; what makes you think your sister made it out alive?”

“They never found anything.” Taehyung’s voice grew serious. “That whole estate collapsed and was burned to the ground. They found my dad; why wouldn’t they have found her?”

“I don’t know Tae; I wouldn't get your hopes up about that. Even if she was alive, wouldn’t she have tried to find you by now? Or at the very least, your mom?” Namjoon tried to sympathize.

“What if she can’t?”

Before his brother could answer him, the stone surrounding Taehyung disappeared, and the large wooden doors swung open.

“Okay, you’re clear. He says you can come in.” YN skipped over towards the two of them. “There’s some ground rules though, before you do.”

---

Taehyung had never been one for rules, but technically by following these rules, he was breaking some pretty major ones. So he let it go. The entire situation was odd; not only were there a few hundred people from families just like his, the Academy was willingly training these people against the law. It was badass. If Taehyung had any shot at finding his sister, he could start here.

Yoongi had explained when he was brought in that this needed to be kept under wraps. None of the instructors from Atlas knew about what was happening when the bells rang, and it needed to stay that way. Joon had basically signed his life away to the Min family by agreeing to keep all of this a secret, so Taehyung followed suit. He was distantly related to Yoongi after all; maybe if his life came crashing down around him in the future, this interaction would win him favor and refuge in the Adiyan Empire. That’s where his dad was from, so he had always wanted to visit.

“Hello, Earth to Taehyung.” YN’s hand waving in front of his face snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“There he is.” She snickered before continuing. “Does this all make sense? Do you have any questions?”

“I’ve always got questions,” Taehyung responded with his favorite boxy smile.

“Do you have questions we can answer?” Yoongi sighed as he leaned back in his chair.

“Probably not.” Taehyung shrugged as he drummed his fingers on the desk.

“Okay then, you can come by whenever you want, or never. It doesn’t matter as long as you don’t get caught by professor Rittenhouse.” YN spoke plainly. “I’m on nighttime guard duty for a week at a time, once every month, but I frequent the grounds during the day when I’m off duty if you ever need me.”

“How is that off duty?” Namjoon asked the question Taehyung had been thinking.

“If I see something stupid, I can get someone else to deal with it.” YN chuckled. “I’m more of what you’d call reserve forces.”

“Still have no idea how making rounds during the day is considered off duty, but maybe I'm not understanding something right.” Taehyung joked.

“He’s got a mouth on him, doesn’t he?” YN smirked as she deferred to Yoongi.

“Runs in the family.” Yoongi mentioned nonchalantly.

“What? Is everyone at this table related to each other?” Namjoon smoothed the wrinkles out of his forehead. “You should find a better joke.”

“Nah, I kind of like it.” YN continued, poking at Joon’s arm.

“Of course you do.” Namjoon rolled his eyes.

“All that aside, you’re free to join us on training days.” Yoongi offered. “They rotate through instructors from Adyia, Cordelia, and the Arribellian Alliance. So we get a pretty interesting training regiment.”

“Do you spar with each other?” Taehyung wondered aloud.

“We do, unlike the other classes here, we’re a healthy mix of people from all nations. So we work with what we’ve got.” YN stated proudly. “You may come to find that the style of magic students here use differs greatly from what you see in your field training and exercises, though.”

“Sounds like fun; when can I start?” Taehyung sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“We start in about twenty minutes. This one here was coming early to spar with YN.” Yoongi pointed to Namjoon.

“Before you even ask, YN is part of the Academy’s night watch and Head Mistress Cecilia’s personal retinue. She is plenty skilled in non-magic based combat arts.” Namjoon boasted.

“So she can teach me how to use a sword,” Taehyung asked in excitement.

“I could, but that’s definitely the face of someone who shouldn’t have a sword.” YN laughed out loud as she answered his question.

“But I’ve always wanted to use a sword. If not a sword, what about a lance? Or something stealthy like assassin knives.” Taehyung’s voice grew with his enthusiasm.

“Again, yes, but also no.” YN’s eyes crinkled as she smiled.

“I’m more concerned about your choice in weaponry.” Namjoon sighed, shaking his head.

“Eh, they’re pretty standard choices.” YN shrugged. “I’m just glad he didn’t ask about a broad sword. Those things are heavy, and I’d hate to be the one to break the news to string bean over there.”

“Hey!” Taehyung shot out of his seat. “I’m perfectly capable of lifting a broadsword! I can manipulate metal, too you know.”

“Oho, big man on campus.” YN straightened herself and gestured towards the door. “Let's see what you got then.”

“I’m not getting trained tonight, am I?” Namjoon whispered to nobody in particular.

“Nope.” Yoongi shrugged and followed the pair out into the ground to join the other students. “Should’ve thought of that before you got her all riled up.”

“I didn’t rile anyone up!” Namjoon argued.

“No, but you brought dumb to dumber, so it’s sort of your fault.” Yoongi smiled to himself “Do you wanna train or talk?”

“Train, I want to train!” Namjoon spoke as he ran after Yoongi.

—-

It’s not that Taeyhyung thought they had been lying, just that he didn’t expect the training courses to be so different. He’d been exposed to magic at a young age, and had the privilege of learning from a private instructor for most of his life. Sure he wasn’t the best, but he didn’t expect to be this covered in dirt, let alone panting after one day of new exercises.

“You ready to tap out?” YN asked from across the field.

“Never!” Taehyung smiled, straightening himself and preparing for another round of attacks.

Once the ground started flying his way he threw up a shield, hoping to deflect a majority of debris. The problem Taehyung had always had with the style of magic taught to most earth mage’s was it was way too defense heavy. Sure you could take a beating, but unless you were fighting against another earth mage it was difficult to take an offensive position once you began defending.

“I keep telling you, you’ve got to redirect, not deflect.” YN spoke beside him and Taehyung felt his soul leave his body.

“How did you get that close that fast?” Taehyung asked, bewildered.

“I made a tunnel.” YN shrugged and took a stance in front of him. “Now, stand like this.”

“Isn’t that a water mage stance?” Tae asked.

“Good eye.” YN only paused briefly before continuing. “Water mages have exceptional offensive and defensive capabilities.”

“You’re sure that’s not just because it’s easier to see through water than it is earth?” Taehyung asked.

“That may be a part of it, but not all of it. Watch Nik.” YN pointed at the tall, dark haired male working with the other earth mages. “When you use water magic, it’s about fluidity. Part of that is being able to take the momentum of your assailant’s attack and use it against them. Taehyung watched carefully as YN mimicked Nik’s movements, it was almost as if they were dancing. Not shy he joined in, carefully matching YN step for step.

“That’s good, just like that.” YN encouraged. “Watch your hands though, they look like limp noodles and that’s not gonna redirect anything.”

“You don’t know that.” Taehyung stood up, placing his hands on his hips.

“I do, but if you don’t believe me we can have you try for yourself.” YN smiled and took a few steps back.

“You know, I’m starting to think you’re the reason they tell people who smile like I did earlier that they can’t have swords.” Taehyung snickered as he took the new stance.

“Perceptive.”

Taehyung didn’t have time to respond before YN started with another round of projectiles. Her control over the earth was astoundingly good, so he had been surprised when YN had mentioned she wasn’t very good with metal based magics. He’d never met someone who could move the earth that efficiently who couldn't at least utilize metal magic. Something was very weird about YN, but he couldn't put his finger on it, not that she left him much time to think about it now.

The first few flying rocks were deflected, mostly out of habit, until Taehyung remembered what the point of this exercise was. Redirect. Switching his feet he moved into an unfamiliar position and did his best to remember the new movements.

It was messy at first, and the few stones that made it through stung as they bit into his uncovered arms. Eventually though, one of them moved right. Sort of, the projectile spun around Taeyhung like it was caught in some sort of orbit, before careening off to the side in the opposite direction of his target.

“You need to relax! Use your momentum!” YN called as she sent another round of rocks.

Taehyung took a deep breath and let the tension in his shoulders leave with the exhale. When he opened his eyes the projectile YN sent was nearly there. He was sure it wasn’t graceful looking, but despite the awkwardness of his movements, when his hand made contact with the earth he spun it around and launched it back in her direction. Even though YN caught it without hesitation, Taehyung couldn’t help the elation that bubbled up and out of him.

“Yes! That was it, wasn't it?!”

“It was,” YN smiled at him proudly and gave him a thumbs up.

“Again, let’s do it again!” Tae took his stance matching YN.

The longer the exercise went on the larger the flying rocks got. Taehyung was enjoying the challenge YN provided, and when he knocked her down he whooped.

“Nice shot!” YN laughed as she rolled onto her stomach. “You’re fast.”

“Of course I am.” Taehyung wiggled his eyebrows at her and gave her a boxy smile.

“You two are having too much fun.” Namjoon commented as he and Yoongi walked over.

“No such thing.” YN smiled up at Joon as he offered her a hand.

Taehyung watched the pair, the tiniest pangs of jealousy bouncing around in his ribcage. That made no sense though, he’d only just met this girl, why would he be upset?

“YN!” Taehyung called to get her attention. “Can I help you with your metal magic?”

She blinked at him in disbelief, “You can try.” She answered.

“I like a good challenge.” Taehyung expressed as he jogged over to join the other three.

“You may be in over your head.” Yoongi grimaced.

“You don’t have any earth mages here right?” Taehyung asked, knowing the answer. “Maybe I can help fill the gap?”

#tephra 03 #BTS au #bts fantasy au #bts reader insert #bts taehyung #bts yoongi #bts namjoon

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darlinrogue · 3 years

Note

Having played hockey for years, Kenny is certainly agile. Having wrestled for years, Kenny, again, is certainly agile—quick and light on his feet. Dancing, however, is something else entirely. Similar to ice skating, but much more precise. Similar to wrestling, but you’re probably not supposed to hurt your partner. But Page had asked him for a dance, and how could Kenny say ‘no?’ “Real romantic, cowboy.” One of his hands intertwining with Page’s, the other at his shoulder. “You lead, then.”

Slow Dancing

|| Adam and Kenny // @ofgrief

The phone screen blurred. A flick of his finger sent text bubbles flying. The group chat brimmed with messages and notifications he wasn’t ever going to read. Adam opened the settings. His thumb hovered over the ‘leave group’ button, scrawled in red text. Instead, he closed the app and opened Spotify. He chose a playlist labelled ‘relaxing.’ Softer country music, more folksy shit, some slower Led Zeppelin. A lot of Bruce Springsteen sounding sad. The work of slower tempos that wouldn’t grate on his nerves. Made an unfamiliar space more his own.

Adam hooked his leg up on the bar stool spindle. He rubbed his hand over his jaw and dragged his fingernails through the beard stubble. The nice lady who did hair and make-up trimmed it for him today. The ice shifted in his drink, two fingers of whiskey. Week-to-week the bars changed. The scenery shifted with the ever traveling road shows of AEW. Some constants remained like the cheap chairs, the bland decor, the warm lights. Every bar had a different style of glass, some taller, some thinner, some clear, and some clouded. After hours, the bar was always the quietest spot as wrestlers escaped the halls for hotels and the production crew packed-up shop. Most important, no one Adam was avoiding ever came to the bar. It was a guaranteed retreat. At least in Jacksonville he could drive home tomorrow morning. Cuddle his dogs and be a homebody for a week. Silence the group chat, put his head phones in, and run until he didn’t know where he was anymore.

The holidays were a brief respite and a greater blessing. Adam returned to his childhood home as a jaded man seeking shelter from the shit storm just off his family property. He drank eggnog with his mom and helped her set up the Christmas tree. Caught-up with his sister and went riding with in the nipping cold of late-December. Shared the traditional whiskey shot with his father by the kitchen sink. Distant relatives filtered by for dinner. Cousins that patted Adam on the back and told him they saw him on TV. Grandparents that just didn’t get why Adam stopped being a teacher, even years later. Grandma made pies for Christmas morning and Adam’s mom got him cool cowboy themed pajamas. For a second Adam forgot about what waited outside the front gate. Then he arrived in Jacksonville, New Year’s Day, and it all came around.

The door opened and Adam glanced over his shoulder. Kenny peaked around the corner, his hair fallen over his shoulders. When he spotted Adam, he smiled, teeth flashing. Kenny walked into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, hey, there you are Pizz!” Kenny greeted, he snapped his fingers rhythmically as he jaunted over to Adam. Kenny slid onto the bar stool and his eyes darted over the room. Kenny wiggled his hips, the leather creaking, as he situated himself in his seat. There was an easy grace to his movements but a tight tension in his shoulders. “Been looking all over for you.”

Sweat stains darkened the fabric across Kenny’s chest and arms. His hair was damp but drying, curls fluffed and unruly. The match earlier left his cheeks flushed from exertion. Kenny sighed as he leaned back against the chair, face tilting to the ceiling and eyes fluttering closed. Adam bet that was the first time he’d sat down all day. Trapped in a ring with Rey Fenix, Pentagon, and PAC, Adam counted it lucky Kenny stumbled-out with all his attached pieces.

“You good?” Adam asked, he tapped the volume down on his phone so the melodramatic singing dropped to a low purr. ‘Drive me—crazy’ “You guys had a good match out there tonight.”

“Yeah, we did, a great start to the year if you ask me,” Kenny said. He looked at Adam and he grinned again. Something flipped in Adam’s stomach. “Can’t ever complain about a mark in the win column, especially against PAC. I feel good, like I’m getting my feet under me.”

To emphasize his improving condition, Kenny shook-out his arms and shoulders. A jitter that extended all the way to his fingers. He interlaced his hands and stretched-out his shoulders with an arch of his back. He settled his grip on the counter edge. Kenny chewed on his lip and there wasn't anything playful in his eyes.

“You know, it would’ve been nice, if you came and joined us, after?” Kenny admitted. “Matt, Nick, Cody, myself, we all would’ve loved to celebrate with you. You know, like a family. None of us thought AEW would last to the New Year, this was a big deal, a big night. Something we couldn’t have done without you.”

Adam breathed a laugh, shaking his head. He sought the last bit of comfort he could wring from his glass. “You know, I’m just, trying to get some space. Get my shit sorted-out before I hand it all to you guys. I just don’t think— I just didn’t think it’d be a good idea to go down to the ring.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Kenny said, and Adam doubted it. Because the next thing he said was, “Matt and Nick miss you. I miss you.”

“Yeah, I— I know,” Adam said. He investigated his glass, the intricate pattern of cut crystal and how the light played between the facets. The pale press of his white, scarred knuckles. He attempted to make new friends, to branch-out, hadn’t worked-out too hot. Adam’s glorious single’s run, hadn’t worked-out too hot either. Hell, next week he even had a match with Kenny. So, evidently his bold proclamation that he was leaving the Elite, was not heard. Maybe he hadn’t been loud enough. “Like, I said, I just, need some time.”

“That’s fine, but, Adam? We’re here for you. We’ll always be here for you,” Kenny said.

Adam’s eyes snapped-up to meet Kenny’s gaze. The sound of his name so foreign in Kenny’s mouth. The Bucks called him ‘Hangman’ and the comms ‘Adam Page.’ Kenny favored ‘Page’ or ‘Pizz,’for some reason. The only time Adam heard just his name was when he talked to his mom. Those two syllables, in Kenny’s mouth, set a fire in Adam’s chest. It was a spell. Kenny could ask for literally anything and Adam would say ‘yes.’ A totally unfair advantage. Kenny left Adam helpless and weak; But Adam let Kenny hold all the cards.

Kenny, unaware of his power, patted Adam’s thigh. His palm rested against Adam’s jean and his nails worked against the fabric. Adam heard his pulse in his throat. “So, whenever you’re ready to come back? We’ll be here, waiting. Don’t think we’re just going to forget about you, or that you’re not welcome. The Elite, us, we’re something special, and it’s always going to mean something. Yeah, we can fight and have our disagreements, but that’s okay. We will always come back together.”

Adam grinned, the corner of his mouth curling. “You have been feeling better, lately, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I have,” Kenny breathed with a laugh. He patted Adam’s thigh and knee once more before retracting his hand. “I took those first few losses really hard, I’ll admit that, but I’m back! I got my feet underneath me and I’m ready for the new year. I felt it tonight, Kenny Omega, is back, and I think the crowd felt it too. They were a live wire tonight, oh, I could feel it in my toes. Did you see it?”

“You uh, definitely seemed, happier?” Adam managed.

Kenny nodded and smiled approvingly. This Kenny, with his easy grins and ‘Power of Friendship’ speeches was a helluva a lot better than whatever the hell was going on in October. A few months ago he was barely functional. His voice muted and dulled over the phone. Adam wasn’t going to pretend that their way-too-late at night phone calls had anything to do with Kenny’s improvement. Kenny just needed someone to vent to that wasn’t Michael Nakazawa or a Young Buck. So, that left Adam. Adam also wasn’t going to pretend that his willingness to stay-up way past his bedtime wasn’t an act of pure devotion. Any excuse to talk to Kenny. Any excuse to have something special with Kenny.

Even when Adam knew he shouldn’t be talking to the Elite —for their collective good— Adam made an exception for Kenny. What puzzled Adam the most though was Kenny’s willingness to listen back. To hear-out Adam’s side of the story and all his twisted anxieties and fears. About the more wretched parts of Adam he couldn’t even tell his mom about.

For Kenny to hear about the worst aspects of his past and personality, and decide to keep talking to him— that part confused Adam.

“So, uh, about next week, I saw on the graphic we have a match?” Adam interjected. “Against Private Party? When did that happen?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Kenny asked, his brow furrowed and creased but it melted off in a heartbeat. He shrugged, “Yeah, TK booked it for us. We got two wins, and in a young company like ours? That’s pretty notable.”

“They’re shitty wins, Kenny,” Adam pointed-out.

Mox and Pac did not qualify as a tag-team. They worked like two Rottweilers shoved in a sack together and then told to get along. All Kenny and Adam had to do was stand back and watch the duo implode. Kip Sabian and Shawn Spears were a mess, in the worst ways. Of course those two flimsy wins, was before Adam factored in their two losses. Both against legitimate tag-teams that knocked Kenny and Adam down a peg. Kenny and Adam may’ve been in the same stable for close to four years, but it’d been that long since Adam shared a corner with him. It absolutely showed too. Adam had watched the tapes back and he bet Kenny didn’t appreciate the bruises from his so called partner.

“But wins, nonetheless,” Kenny retorted. He bunted his knuckles against Adam’s shoulder. “Shitty wins count. We take those.”

“Private Party is a real tag-team,” Adam said, but he shrugged, nonchalant. Smacked the back of his hand against his palm on each word for emphasis. “But I guess I can whoop their asses.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kenny said.“Yeah, Private Party beat the Bucks. They’re good, but not that good, I think we can do it.”

“Mhmm, you have a lot of faith in me,” Adam grunted. He placed his glass down and leaned against the counter. Regarding Kenny with a quick sweep of his eyes.

“Of course, I do, I told you, we got something special, I can feel it.” Kenny smoothed the word feel as long as it would go.

The music changed on Adam’s phone and his mind drifted from Kenny. Kenny launched, undeterred, into theorizing strategy. An Orville Peck song, with gentle string, a soft melody, singing about nostalgia and dreams. Adam grinned to himself, medicated just enough to consider something dangerous. For a guy lovesick with Kenny Omega these thoughts were perilous. It’d been a year now and Adam had sat on his hands like an idiot, pinning away. Hell with it, it was a bad idea but following bad ideas through was his modus operandi these days. Adam hummed low in his throat, cutting Kenny off as he waxed about Mark Quinn’s right leg.

“Dance with me,” Adam murmured, voice soft, barely a whisper. Like his throat was trying to strangle the words before he uttered them. Not at all the gruff confidence he had hoped to seduce Kenny with.

Adam pushed-off the bar stool and offered his hand. He grinned, bashful, feeling as awkward as he had when he was at Junior prom. This wasn’t weird, right? They’d done weirder, this was fine. More than fine when Kenny took Adam’s hand and Adam felt the press of Kenny’s callouses against his.

“Real romantic, cowboy.” Kenny breathed and the last of Adam’s confidence melted. Cowboy, that was new, and Adam liked it. He really liked how Kenny said it. “You lead, then.”

Adam laughed and ducked his chin to his chest. With his free hand he turned the music up on his phone. There was lightning at his finger tips as he ran his palm over Kenny’s hip. Kenny put his hand on Adam’s shoulder and grinned obnoxiously as he obviously felt-up Adam’s bicep. A couple inches between their chests and warmth flushed Adam’s throat. Adam whispered ‘okay,’ and his heart thudded. Kenny had to hear it. Feel Adam’s pulse in their joined hands. Terrible, stupid, perfect idea— when Kenny rejected him for being a lovesick fool it wasn’t going to be so great.

“It’s just some team building.” Adam preempted and placated Kenny. With his hand on Kenny’s hip he nudged the other man to sway with him. Nothing but a little stutter step. “You know, so we’re ready for next week.”

“Ah, yeah, team building,” Kenny chuckled. Adam met his eyes, and swallowed hard. Their noses a hair’s breadth apart. Adam wished he had brushed his teeth so his breath didn’t smell like alcohol. “You slow dance with all your partners?”

“Yeah, actually, Jason and I learned to waltz when we first started tagging,” Adam admitted. Kenny gapped at him. Clearly his question had been rhetorical and now Adam regretted bringing it up. “I mean, for the foot work and all that, it was just a good way to get in sync, you know?”

“Right,” Kenny said, and Adam wondered if his lack of enthusiasm meant something.

Two high fliers like Jason Blade and Adam Page needed immaculate tandem offense. It was a process, to get used to each other’s rhythms. To know when the other had taken too much damage and needed that blind tag. When to slow down, or speed-up, as the match dragged on. It worked, they got used to each other’s rhythms. Eventually they didn’t need the waltz at all, it was just a crutch. Adam had only suggested it as a joke but it did wonders for their footwork. Less so for their teamwork as they quibbled over who would lead.

(Adam eventually got the role because he was better at it than Jason).

Adam lifted his arm and after a second to process, Kenny twirled underneath. Adam pulled Kenny back as Kenny stepped in. A little too much momentum and Kenny stumbled into Adam’s chest. The heel of Kenny’s loafer drove between the two delicate bones on Adam’s big and second toe. If this was skee-ball then Kenny just scored the 100 points. Adam cussed and hissed, jerking away from Kenny. He rubbed the top of his boot over his calf to diminish the pain.

Kenny hissed between his teeth, “Yep, that was my bad. Sorry. You good?”

Adam kicked and shook his leg to return feelings to his toes. “So, was that payback?”

“Maybe,” Kenny teased. “Can we try again though?”

Kenny’s grin was rueful as Adam returned to him. He placed his hand back in Adam’s offered palm. Despite his sore foot, Adam was eager to have Kenny back in his arms. To feel the firm strength of his hip and lat underneath his hand. Back to their awkward little shuffle step and this time, Kenny pulled Adam closer. Chest-to-chest, Kenny rested his chin in the crook of Adam’s shoulder. His nose brushed against the wisps of Adam hair. A soft whisper of Kenny’s breath against Adam’s throat. Adam tried not to stiffen, as if his tension would scare Kenny away. Tried to find Kenny’s heartbeat, his rhythm, but when he did he couldn’t bring himself to fall in lock step. Wondered why he had to follow at all.

Except, Kenny had asked Adam to lead.

Adam experimented and lifted his arm again. This time Kenny unfurled and laughed each step of the way as he twirled underneath. Adam guided Kenny back to him, chuckling as their grip changed and Kenny’s hand flattened against his chest. The song ended without flourish. Gunmetal blue, the details of Kenny’s iris, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Shirts rucked, hands joined, and the slight huff of their breath in tandem. The playlist rolled to the next song. Adam and Kenny broke, then stepped away together. Hands lifting to rub at the back of their necks in mirrored gestures. Adam had an apology at the tip of his tongue.

“That was nice, Page,” Kenny said, his voice soft “We should definitely do it again sometime but—”

“You have to go?” Adam guessed.

“Yeah, Cody, the Bucks, and I are going out for a late-dinner,” Kenny admitted. His fingers twisted with the front of his shirt. “I won’t— I won’t ask you to come. I know how you feel, but I wanted you to know we were going out, and that if you wanted to join us? We’ll always save you a seat.”

Adam nodded, his thumb hooking in his belt loop. He licked his lips and studied the floor. “Thanks, Kenny, I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later,” Kenny said. He walked backwards to the door, chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Do you think— Can we meet early, like a couple days before the match, it’s in Mississippi, right? Maybe we can fly down early, get in the gym, and just, you know, work on stuff? Private Party is a real tag-team, we gotta be ready.”

Adam hesitated, thinking of the phone calls he’d have to make to get his flight changed. Packing early, a couple days less home. Finding someone to take care of his dogs while he was gone. The logistics crowded the forefront of his brain and yet all the back latched-onto was Kenny. His hopeful, shy blue eyes, and his little half smile. It was such a terrible idea, this was going to be beyond inconvenient but, two days with just Kenny, working-out, figuring out this tag-team they were evidently doing, and—

Shit.

“Yeah,” Adam managed, “We can do that.”

“Alright! I’ll see you in Mississippi, then, cowboy,” Kenny cackled. He backed-up and rested his hand on the door handle. He pointed at Adam. “Text you details later. Just you wait until we break-out some tandem offense on Private Party, it’ll all be worth it. Catch ya’ later, Pizz.”

The door closed behind Kenny and in his absence, Adam sighed. He worked his hand over his jaw and wondered if he was going grey early. Somehow, someway, Kenny had slipped the rug out from underneath him and made them a tag-team. Adam had agreed to tag with Kenny versus Mox and PAC because they both needed it, but this had become something more. Something Adam was not prepared for. It was a commitment but also an opportunity.

If they were doing this, Adam realized, he had to commit. He couldn’t half-ass a tag-team with Kenny Fucking Omega. Even if he felt like this was a terrible idea that was going to screw them both sideways. Not now, not even soon, but in a few months, maybe a year, when all of this unraveled and Adam slipped in a pool of his own blood.

“The point BJ, is that when the moment presented itself to him, he did grab it with an iron grip.”

Years of practice, months in the gym, days spent at Jimmy Valiant’s training camp, drilling counters, perfecting the snap of his hips as Adam flipped into a high bridge. Pressing onto his tip-toes, all his weight leveraged down on a bigger opponent. Adam Pearce had two inches and forty pounds on Adam. One opening was all Adam needed, though. The shock in the room on the three count had been palpable. The audience’s collectively gasped and it was a pure adrenaline shot to Adam’s veins. Shock erupted into open cheers. Adam on his knees, grinning with pride and surprise, like he wasn’t even sure he had won. BJ ruffled his hair fondly. He was not supposed to win this match but he did. Jimmy Jacobs, the entire crowd, the commentators, they didn’t believe in Adam Page, but Adam did. Back then that was enough to pull out a miracle.

“He did put a vice around it, BJ! And he won the match!”

Adam Pearce popped Adam Page’s confidence like a balloon. Pearce’s right palm smashed across Adam’s cheek so hard he tasted it. Adam won the match, he won the battle; But Jimmy Jacobs point was clear: he did not win the war. And Adam was at war. This was a no-holds barred beatdown and he was on the curb. Blood in his hair, eyes shot, and fingers shaking. The Bucks at his throat. Kenny with his back to a ledge, grinning at him with unrestrained excitement about a match next week. Next week, against Private Party, a real tag-team. Not the shitty ‘teams’ they had been fighting. Not a fight he could check into for the sake of Kenny or the peace.

“It doesn’t matter, because that was the test you failed.”

Pearce’s finger jabbed into Adam’s face. He went cross eyed trying to look at it. Felt and suppressed the tremble in his bottom lip. When Adam was a little kid he watched wrestling on the TV and felt a bone deep need. A wrestling ring was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had to get in that ring. Nothing else mattered, and for a time the trampoline in the backyard would do, but that ring called to him. He wanted to feel the give under his step, the flex of the ropes. Smell the sweat and blood that’d seeped into the mats over decades, decades of history, legacy, and war. A written history Adam longed to inscribe his name into. When Adam was a child he didn’t care about belts or titles, if he just got into a wrestling ring, got to stand in one, he’d be happy.

It was a simple, unambitious dream, but for a kid from rural Virginia is was his dream. Well, he got in one, and it was like a drug, he had to do it again, and again, and again, and he got good at it. So good that he won more matches than he lost. He had to feel the thrum of a crowd in his ears. Test himself on an opponent, stretch the limits of his ability. Once, Adam had thought to himself, while running the the apron to a moonsault, pushing off his leading leg, his back arched, and his heart grazing the ceiling, ‘I wish I was actually this strong.’

That the confidence of Adam Page, professional wrestler, The Hangman, carried over into his day-to-day. That the power of his chops translated to an unflinching voice when he spoke. That the technique of his flip was as impressive as his social prowess. Adam never second guessed himself before a suplex but he did in everything else. It shocked him he had the spine to ever even get in a ring in the first place, to go to Japan, to enter the G1, to join an upstart company like AEW, or to even go outside.

An opportunity was presenting itself to Adam Page. Kenny Omega, the best bout machine and a great visionary, already saw it. Adam saw it too and he suspected its appearance was not accidental, not a luck of the draw. He wanted to call Kenny and tell him to cancel the match. His stomach twisted with the thought. This was a bad, bad idea, to step down a twisting path that he couldn’t see the end of. Going back to tag-teams, tagging with the leader of the group he was trying to leave, and the man he’d been totally lovesick with for over a year. Adam hesitated, his hand hovering over his phone.

“At some point, the both of you will have seen everything there is to see. Have been able to do everything there is to do, and when the moment presents itself, you won’t hesitate to reach for it. Because you already know that you grabbed it before it presented itself. Time will do that for you.”

Adam’s hand flattened against the bar counter, pinned like a taxidermy bug to the board. He grabbed it when he rolled Adam Pearce through to the bridge. He grabbed it when Matt offered a spot in the Bullet Club. When he hung Chris Sabine and became the Hangman. He grabbed it when he snatched the title from Jay White and held it above his head like it could be his. He grabbed it when he won the battle royale. When he rode a horse to a ring that belonged to a legend to whom he would serve as a footnote. Most of the time, it slipped his fingers, because his grip was slick with sweat, and he was a young man, lacking time. But Adam had never missed, never hesitated, and if he was going to do this—

If he was going to walk into next week, take that match with Kenny and fight Private Party. He was going to commit.

No more half-assed bullshit. No more ducking away and avoiding a future he dreaded. They were going to do this and it was going to suck, and the effort was probably going to kill him. It’d probably would mean that by the end Kenny hated him. And that would also suck, but Adam wasn’t going to spend his whole life pinning for something he could never have. Not when there was something he could have and it was gold around his waist. An accomplished career that he could die happy with. The Bucks patting his shoulders and arms, telling him he did great, they’re proud.

It was going to suck, it was going to kill him but at least he got to pick his poison.

#ofgrief #‘The Hangman’ || Adam: IC #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse

2 notes · View notes

tuuliivanovas · 4 years

Text

I have a giant list of reylo headcanons (Tros spoilers)

This really got out of hand: it turned into 6 pages. oh dear.

Hope some people like this because it was very helpful for me and dealing with my grief.

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Ben does not like Tatooine. Like at all. He stays there with her because Rey seems to like it. He wants to leave but is a little afraid to bring it up.

Rey is comfortable on desert planets. She adapts very easily to Tatooine. She doesn’t know why she stays there is nothing truly keeping on the planet. She has a family, Ben is her family the past has been laid to rest, but she is afraid to leave the familiar. She likes the stars, maybe that's why she stays.

Leaving is a topic they avoid like the plague. There is a slight passive-aggressiveness about it because angst, but they get sad and get over it quickly.

Ben freezes most nights, he's big and generates a lot of heat. Rey legitimately does not understand it. He jokes about giving all of his warmth to her.

(more under the cut, they may turn into short story idea)

They like to cuddle a lot. Both of them are touch starved babies.

Ben is a city boy.

Rey is not a city girl.

Rey gets claustrophobic in large groups of people.

Ben tries to make jokes to make Rey feel comfortable. Rey thinks they’re stupid but laughs anyway.

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Ben wants to start cooking again like he did when he was a kid.

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Rey likes watching him do things. She likes watching his hands work.

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Rey lets her hair grow and Ben braids it. This one was a shock to Rey. Ben tells stories about his mother getting ready for parties and how he helped put braids in her hair.

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Ben wants to explore his Alderaanian heritage. When he and Rey travel he looks for anything he can.

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Both of them realize that even though they are a dyad and have known each other for quite some time and have seen each other's memories. They don't really know each other. They haven’t talked about their pasts, like the little things. They haven't talked about what they like and dislike. Things that don't seem to matter, but do when you think about it. So they sometimes stay up late and just talk.

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Both of them remember being dead. The nightmares aren’t fun.

Ben cries a lot. There are a lot of unresolved issues in his head.

Ben suffers from chronic pain after his fall.

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Luke tried to visit once, but that didn’t go over well. Ben didn’t come back for a few hours and Rey wants to help but doesn’t know how. She knew the family drama goes deep, Ben has talked about it. She has just never seen it. With Leia, it's a little easier, but still very stiff and awkward.

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Ben has some severe abandonment issues. They have one nasty fight about Exogol. Talking about that place takes time and Rey tells him about all the Jedi coming to help her. Ben is jealous and angry. He was tossed into a pit, had several broken bones and he climbed out of there with the only determination of getting back to Rey. When she said Anakin spoke to her jealousy turned to rage. He is upset that the Jedi had more faith in a Palpatine than the last Skywalker. Rey is heartbroken her, own struggle with her lineage is a sore subject. They don’t speak to each other for days until Leia helps them heal the rift. Ben is so incredibly sorry by the end of it. He opens up about how he only had a memory of his father to help him turn. Nothing real, just something in his head. He tells her that she is the hero of this story.

Rey says fuck the Jedi at this point.

They really don’t fight after that.

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Ben, even with all of his Jedi teachings, has to relearn how to use the force. He asks Rey to be his teacher. He is so used to his anger and passion being his source of power, but after his nap in purgatory, something changed. (pretty much zuko needing a new source for his firebending lol)

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He loves Rey’s lightsaber. It's just so her. The yellow is perfect for her, bright and warm. He is very proud.

Rey asks him if he would ever build a new lightsaber. He doesn’t know if he could. He eventually builds one and the blade comes out a dark purple.

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They go on adventures and find information in old ruins. Rey gets interested in the old republic. Ben is a nerd so research a lot for her. They learn about two very curious characters named Bastila and Revan (Because I love them)

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Rey misses her friends a lot. Ben encourages her to go visit them. Rey asks if he will come and he gently says “No. They don't want to see me.” Rey doesn't want to leave him alone. He reminds her that he is always here. Rey goes and visits her friends and start coming up with a plan to introduce Ben.

The ship lands at the base the resistance is located Rey starts walking out Ben following but he stops. Rey concerned reads him tells him to wait on the ship. She leaves and comes back with Chewie. Ben is petrified as the Wookie approaches him. Ben is a big guy, but Chewie is taller. Ben looks up at him. Chewie still views him as the boy he carried around on his shoulders a long time ago. Two furry arms wrap around Ben and he feels like a child again and breaks down. Rey has tears in her eyes at the display and quietly departs to prepare her friends for what will likely be a very long day.

Rose reaches out first. Makes him work the first moment he gets there. Her reason is that he is tall and can reach things she can’t. It's a little awkward at first but once Ben learns that Rose bit Hux he falls in love.

Rose’s heart warms when she hears Ben talk about Rey. She has heard stories about Kylo Ren and the boy in front of her aint him.

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{This section has stuff dealing with pregnancy, if that topic triggers you please skip this section}

Rey confesses that she wants a family. Ben knows that. She explains that she means children. Rey also goes on to explain her fears of being a mother. Ben understands her fears. He really never thought that he would ever be a father so the idea of having his own kids is terrifying and exciting. He won't make the same mistakes...he hopes. Ben asks her if they should start really trying, Rey says no and if it happens it happens.

Six months after their conversation Rey gets pregnant. They are overjoyed.

They started thinking that they should settle somewhere permanently and stop moving around the galaxy so much. They often live in isolation.

The choice was made for them when Rey got sick about 2 months in. Ben made the executive decision to have her around her friends. The former resistance had better medical facilities than the sparsely populated planet they were living on.

Rey has a rough pregnancy and is in and out of the care of doctors.

Ben is a nervous wreck and this is truly when Finn and Poe lighten up on him.

Even though Rey has gotten healthier, being able to eat properly over the time she has been with the resistance and Ben, the damage to her body from years of starvation and dehydration has already been done. She is thoroughly humbled and hit with the reality that she is human.

Ben feels helpless and useless, but Rey tells him that he is exactly where he needs to be. With her making sure is happy comfortable and loved.

The birth was just as hard as everything else. During the labor, it was not funny, but after the fact, Ben joked about how she caused a small earthquake.

They have twins named Jaina and Jacen.

Ben cries as soon as holds his children. He is so proud of Rey.

He is crying. Rey is crying. Everybody is crying.

The entire gang loves the babies.

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More Domestic/ Headcanons

Ben has a sweet tooth. Its something he has passed to Rey. When ever they are in a marketplace he picks up something for them to share.

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Ben sees Rey’s drawings and loves them. He wants to learn from her. He’s not very good at drawing but likes spending time with her and watching. Ben shows Rey calligraphy and she wants to learn from him too.

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Lounging in a bath has become a guilty pleasure for Rey. Freshers were a huge luxury for Rey when she left Jakku and baths in large tubs, taking up huge amounts of water will always make her feel a little guilty but it doesn't last long when Ben starts pampering her.

Ben likes to wash her hair. It's a long and very loving process and Rey teases him and returns the favor and takes care of him.

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They eventually make their home on Naboo at Varykino after they have their babies. The estate was gifted to them by the Naberrie Family. Ben was uncomfortable and tried to not accept it. His cousins were adamant and said it was his inheritance from his grandmother and a gift to the last Jedi in honor of the Jedi that was happiest here.

The estate was so big. The twins would love it. A home that would last forever.

Rey wants to share what she has learned of the force, the dark and the light. Ben agrees, there are lonely kids out there that need to know that their feelings aren’t bad and that they have a hand to hold when they need it. Rey wants her children to be surrounded by friends as they grow. They start their school knowing things will be different.

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They love to spar, its the only they have any real challenge. Ben is not as rigid as Kylo Ren. Rey notices that his moves are free and flow like a dance. Rey gives him a good challenge with her saberstaff. Ben admits its taking time getting used to not having the crossguard. Rey modified her staff to be detachable and likes to practice dual-wielding with her sabers. Their children and students love to watch them. They draw a crowd every time with a clash of purple and gold.

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When their school is fully operational and their children just getting into their teens Ben asks her if they should get married. Rey says that they technically are. They made a promise and sealed it with a kiss and they have kids so every box has been checked. Ben knows that but he says that maybe the should make it official with a ceremony with their friends and family with them. Rey says yes.

Jaina helps her mom pick her dress. The dress is not white, but layers and layers of sheer panels of gold and light green elegantly draped on her like the sculptures at Varykino. Ben wears a soft black tunic with matching pants and an elaborately embroidered blue cloak. (He lives to push the boundaries of fashion and it wouldn't be reylo without them looking like Hades and Persephone).

The ceremony was full of love, happiness, and hope. I like the idea of them dancing. Then Ben dancing with Jaina and Rey dancing with Jacen. It's cute and just a perfect happily ever after.

[Quick note I am not good with describing clothes so for visual reference for those that want it, look up the costumes for Magnificent Century for the aesthetic and the level extra that is Ben’s cloak and the whimsy that is Rey's dress.]

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And that's all the post-tros headcanons that I can think of at the moment. It kind of turned into a bulleted list of a fix-it fic with my dream happy ending. I'm playing around with my reylo baby headcanons and what will happen to them because...drama. I also am thinking of writing Dark Rey and Jedi Ben solo Au headcanons as well as Dark reylo headcanons if school grants me the time 😌

#reylo #My personal headcanon tag #reylo baby

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mxadrian779 · 3 years

Text

On the bright side, I woke up with a realisation that ended over a decade of embarrassment. However, this led to another way of bitter memories of the abuse I've endured in my school system. I don't consider myself a person who holds grudges, but this...all of this is something I'll never be able to let go. It's fucked me up too much.

Warning: increasingly f-word laden diary and rant.

Some highlights:

- Years of UTIs stemming from my second-grade teacher not calling for an aide to take me to the restroom (I was wheelchair-bound with a broken leg), and a doctor who kept fucking up my antibiotic dosage just enough to have the infection flaring up so he could keep billing us. Oh, bonus: my teeth are still fucking yellow from that shit.

- My middle school tried to expel me for legitimately no reason besides, what, they didn't want to have to handle a mainstream disabled student? My mother had to get a fucking lawyer to fight them and keep me in that school.

- Middle school is the only time I ever had trouble on my record. My campus had various hills and inclines that were difficult to push my wheelchair over. One time a student offered to help me over one of the hills on the way to PE. Some time after, during assembly, the ESE asshole comes in front of everyone to serve me with a referral for accepting the student's help. I was mortified--and still am. A kid in a wheelchair who was always a good student given a referral for letting a kid push the wheelchair for two minutes?

- Middle school: most of my classes didn't have an accessible table for me, so I had to rely on leaning my book against the desk in order to write. I remember one time, a teacher suddenly pulled the desk out from under me, causing all of my books and papers to fall on the floor. She didn't do anything; a student helped me and picked up my stuff for me. For the life of me, I have no idea what possessed my teacher to do that...or why I still considered her one of my favourites.

- Same teacher: I had her class after lunch, which involved traversing the hilly campus. There was always a writing activity first thing when we came in, but my hands were shaking from having just done the wheelchair and I couldn't write straight. Naturally, what happened? I got in trouble for that.

- Same teacher also pointed out my weight. I remember pushing the wheelchair beside her, the class moving from one building to another, and she asked me if I was ever self-conscious about my fat arms (I remember her jiggling her arm for emphasis). I've made sure to have my arms covered up ever since that day. You don't do that to a kid.

- High school was okay the first couple of years, I guess, except for the part where most of my classes had horrible arrangements for me. If I needed a separate table, it was always stuck somewhere in the back of the room. One class had the table perpendicular to the back wall*; another (maybe two) had it AGAINST the wall so I was never naturally facing the teacher. One science class had the table against the side wall near the door (but in line with the teacher, at least, and in front of the class); another science class had me essentially sharing my teacher's desk.(*Here's where the woke-up-and-ended-a-decade-of-embarrassment comes in: for years I've been carrying around the embarrassment of having raised my hand when some guest asked if anyone had had cancer (I thought the question was if we /knew/ someone...). I woke up remembering, of course I raised my hand. I was in the back of the fucking room and couldn't fucking hear!)

- High school: my algebra teacher was a dick. I wanted to like her. I try to like everyone. But she insisted on not wanting to be a decent teacher. She was a mumbler (even after I finally spoke up for myself and had her move my desk to the front). She would speak mostly with her back to us. She would write on the board in bright, not easily legible ink and smaller handwriting. And she would write shit on the far side of the board where the sunlight was reflecting. At least once I tried to address these problems with her, and she changed for all of a day. Naturally, my grades began to slip because I didn't understand the material. She gave me my walking papers before I could go on record as failing her class.The school pulled me out of her class and stuck me in study hall for the rest of the semester. I'll come back to this in a bit.

- High school renovates their buildings. Nice, shiny new shit and a thick carpet I couldn't fucking push myself over. It was...it was a low point, a very low point. I'd been independent my entire life, and I prided myself on that. I suddenly found myself not even able to get myself to the fucking bathroom because I wasn't able to push over the carpet. I suddenly had no independence, and it was crushing. I suddenly needed an aide. At first they assigned someone with orthopedic problems (go fucking figure). I actually knew her since elementary school, and I liked her, but she couldn't physically give me the help I needed. I was assigned another aide (and a sub during her lunch hour), a lazy one. I was late to at least one class almost every day. There have been times I missed my class altogether because she never picked me up (remember that I was 100% dependent on her). I missed the bus home several times because of her. One of the missed classes was my very last one, which apparently threw a party (now that I write this, I vaguely remember her saying that she was there and had cake).

- Which brings me to the secondary aide, who was thankfully just a couple of minutes a day because one of my classes intersected with the other's lunch hour. He was a piece of work. He was an abusive fucker. I would often be at the edge of tears by the time he got me to my class. He would make fun of me, call me a loser, tell me people hated me and I have no friends. He would stop pushing me at times (at a spot outside with no carpeting) and force me to push myself the rest of the way until we reached carpeting again (to summarise the issues with this, my wrists were somewhat damaged from trying to do the wheelchair in the first place, and at the time my wheelchair asshole had fucked with my axles and rims so that, even on hard surfaces, I was physically unable to do the wheelchair).

- Same time: lunch was another happy fuckeroni. The seating of the new cafeteria was not wheelchair-accessible. The seats were attached to the foldable tables and there was no way a kid in a wheelchair could sit with the student populace. I had to sit at a separate table, set closer to the kitchen than the students. I had to beg for chairs for possible friends (ha ha), and I got ONE chair which was then no longer set out when they saw no one ever used it (OF COURSE NO ONE EVER FUCKING USED IT. WHO'S GOING TO USE ONE CHAIR AWAY FROM THE REST OF THE STUDENT BODY?!?). The table was not always even there; it was only rolled out when I came, and several times I had to wait until someone got it and [hopefully] cleaned it off.

- By the way, I had to take *two* senior years in this school because of how badly they fucked up my classes. They found out, hey, you're missing a couple of classes that we either removed you from* or never gave you! Which meant another year of abuse and depression and loneliness.(*Being ESE and using a "special" bus somehow meant I always had to leave my classes earlier than mainstream students--always. All years, all schools, I got out early. I remember I was an asshole in my elementary school play because I didn't know the fucking words because I had to leave that class early every day and never had the play practice. Anyway, leaving early meant missing a good portion of my class, anywhere from fifteen minutes to, yes, half a fucking hour. Which meant I wasn't able to get the proper education. In the first senior year, they gave me American History at the end of the day. I pleaded with the office for a change--actually, for them to let me have my full fucking class without needing to be pulled out early. What did they do? "Fuck you; we'll pull you out of that class and put you in study hall." So what happened? They found out I never had that required class and I couldn't fucking graduate so I was rolled over to another fucking year!! Morons.

In addition to needing American History, I still needed that algebra class. Of course, what teacher was I automatically assigned? The mumbles-and-writes-in-orange-marker-against-the-sunlight one. I only lasted the first class; went right up and asked her to sign permission to release me from the class, and she was all too happy to do so. I was then put into a class where students worked on various online classes. Halfway through, they shoved an American History online crash course on me, just a couple months before graduation.

The second senior year worked out halfway, anyway. I got to finish my certification in a vocational program. That half of the day was the only good part.Except for the part where I only got ten minutes for lunch because of how the voc schedule intersected with the lunch slots at school. Fun fucking times.

Sometimes I get wistful nostalgia for the "good ol' days"...then I remember all this bullshit. I had always planned to get my school ring but I couldn't afford it ten years ago. The older I get and the more the memories wear on me...the less I want the ring or anything to do with my high school.

#blah #rant #ableism #dear diary #abuse #elementary school #middle school #high school #archive

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hetacon · 5 years

Text

I Have Worth Now

Word Count: 1,504

Pairings: Logicality, implied Platonic/Paternal Analogical, implied Platonic/Paternal Moxiety

Warning: Stress, mental breakdown, crying, Logan curses once, kissing (Lemme know if I need to note anything else)

Note: Before we get started, Logan is a little out of character but I promise it is for a legitimate reason. I will explain my creative interpretation of this decision at the end, promise. I still tried to keep to his character the best I could. Anyways, enjoy!

______________________________

“What does your schedule look like this year, Patton?” Logan asked, eyeing over his own school schedule before looking up.

Patton, his best friend since middle school, smiled and showed Logan the piece of paper with all of his classes on it. Logan scanned over it and nodded.

“I’m curious as to why you chose creative writing,” Logan mentioned.

“Oh! Well, I just like getting my feelings out on to paper you know? It helps make sure I’m not cooped up with everything tucked away,” Patton explained before looking over Logan’s schedule that was put in front of him. He made a face. “Are you going to be ok with all of those AP classes?”

“Of course. I’ve handled them before and so I think that I can handle these now,” Logan chuckled a little. Patton thought for a moment before beaming and hugging Logan.

“Ok, I trust you! Let me know if you need help with anything! I might not know about calculus but I can give you a break anytime you need it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan nodded. “I’ll be fine though.”

That ended up being massively untrue. It was senior year, and while many of the advanced classes that Logan had taken in previous years were manageable, this year took a drastic turn. Patton didn’t even notice until Logan wasn’t spending time with him anymore. It had been weeks since they had a decent conversation more than greetings and formalities. And Patton was sick of it. So after school a month in or so, he went to Logan’s house to talk to him.

As usual, Patton was let in without question and was told that Logan was in his room. Patton found Logan doubled down on studying, reading his AP economics textbook. He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes before looking at the page again.

“Logan?”

The aforementioned’s eyes immediately flicked over to Patton and he could almost sense relief from the look.

“Is something wrong, Patton?” he asked, giving a genuine look of concern. Patton only shook his head.

“That depends on how you’re doing right now really..”

“I’m alright, thank you. Just preparing for a test tomorrow.”

“We haven’t spoken for weeks, I’m worried about you and whether or not you’re handling this alright,” Patton said, going over to the desk in the corner of Logan’s room. He sat down on the floor in front of Logan, placing his hand on the latter’s knee. “Logan, why do you do this?”

This was only met with a look of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you take all of these classes? You don’t need them, you’ve already met all of your requirements for college. Yet, you’re still taking AP classes in things that won’t affect anything if you took regular courses.”

Logan looked down at him, thinking for a moment. “I don’t have time for this Patton, I need to study,” he replied curtly before turning to his book again.

Patton frowned and grabbed it, snapping it closed. “You are not avoiding this. We are going to talk about this, it’s important, Lo,” he huffed.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I miss you and you barely talk to me now!”

“I need to focus on schoolwork for impressing colleges. It’s our senior year, Patton. Grades are important.”

“To who?”

“To me.”

“Why?”

“I..”

Silence.

Patton looked to Logan, expression softening. He took a hold of Logan’s hands. “Lo, why?”

Nothing and then-

“What do I have if not my intelligence?”

“... What?” Patton asked, looking up to him with a sad realization.

“There’s nothing to me if I’m not intelligent or making use of it.”

“Do you really think that that’s all there is to you?” Patton asked, trying not to tear up. Logan only nodded and Patton held his hands tighter. “Oh Logan...”

Logan couldn’t bring himself to meet Patton’s eyes.

“You’re a wonderful, funny person. Your intelligence is not all that makes you Logan, it shouldn’t need to be the key trait either!”

“I don’t want to take them..”

Patton looked to him for an explanation, letting Logan just talk.

“I don’t want any of these classes. I never have. School is so stressful but I only am worth..” Logan started.

He paused, took a deep breath, and then rephrased. “I only feel like I’m worth something if I take all them. Everyone expects it of me. My parents expect me to be a fucking NASA scientist or a doctor or anything prestigious! I.. I don’t want to...” he admitted. “Patton please don’t make me, god don’t make me,” he whispered, tears starting to run down his cheeks. He let out a loud sob and Patton was quick to hug him close.

With a little coaxing, Patton got them to Logan’s bed, lying down as Logan cried into his shirt. Patton stroked his hair and let him cry it out. Logan was inconsolable for an hour. Patton just made sure he didn’t move from his hold on Logan, letting him know that he was there the entire time. Logan went silent afterwards as he just buried his face into Patton’s chest.

“You’re taking 7 classes and an extra course after school, right?”

Logan nodded.

“Are your last two classes APs?”

Another nod.

“Can you do me a really big favor and consider dropping them if you don’t need them? And then coming with me to creative writing during 6th?”

“I understand dropping classes but why the second request?”

“I have something I want to see. I think it could be good for you.”

“Alright, I can see. I’ve wanted to drop them since school started, I’ve felt obligated to keep them. Promised myself I wouldn’t give up on a class and chicken out.”

“How come, Lo?”

“Because that shows I’m not... I’m not able to push through and pass the classes..”

“I actually think it would be really smart of you to drop them rather than keep them. Logan, I know you liked learning when you were little but clearly something has made you hate it. If you keep pushing yourself, you’ll hate every single day for the rest of your life because you put people’s image of how intelligent you are over your own mental health and your feelings. I promise that you’ll feel better after the guilt passes ok? And if you don’t, I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” Patton smiled.

Logan looked to him and got up, going to the door.

“Where are you going?” Patton asked him.

Logan turned to him from the open door. “To tell my parents what classes I’m dropping.”

Patton couldn’t help but beam.

Logan actually dropped them with no resistance and decided to drop the extra class too. After that, Patton had the creative writing teacher make an assessment of Logan’s writing and Logan found it extremely therapeutic. It was too late to join the class but the teacher was more than generous to let Logan sit next to Patton in the back and let him write whatever he felt like.

Surprisingly, Logan took a gap year with Patton and became an author to the surprise of everyone, resulting in a lot of guilt for Logan. He realized, however, that Patton was the only person, he learned, that he actually wanted to be worthy of.

After finishing up a draft for the night, Logan went over to Patton resting on the couch and wrapped his arms tightly around his husband’s waist, pulling him into his lap.

Patton couldn’t help but laugh a little as he hugged back just as tight, feeling Logan relax at that. “Hi, Loggybear~” he hummed happily.

Logan raised his head and kissed Patton gently. Patton giggled more.

“I love you, you know,” Logan told him, smiling back.

“I love you too!”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Intervening before I went insane.”

Patton huffed. “You wouldn’t have gone insane and you know it.”

Logan gently kissed his lips again and Patton returned it happily, wrapping his arms around Logan’s neck.

“I would have and you seem to understand me better than I know myself. I would’ve hated my life if you hadn’t told me to stop striving for everyone else’s expectations of me. But because of you, I have a fulfilling job, a wonderful husband, and the best son I could ask for,” he smiled, kissing Patton again before breaking away. “You did all that, honey, not me.”

“Awwww, Loggybear!” Patton beamed, hugging Logan tighter, peppering his face with kisses. Logan returned the ones that landed on his lips and stroked Patton’s cheek, closing his eyes.

“I feel like I have worth now, Patton.”

______________________________

Hey guys! So as always, I’d love to hear what you guys thought of this! Feel free to leave me comments, I always appreciate it! Anyways, as I promised, I have an explanation for Logan’s OOC behaviors in this drabble. I’ve just started my senior year of high school and it’s been alright. However, out of the 5 classes I am taking, 4 of them are AP courses. I originally had 6 classes. The one I dropped was also another AP. So out of 6 classes, 5 were APs. I dropped the 6th class after the first day because I am already so overwhelmed by this year in general.

Recently I’ve realized that the one thing that I am only ever consistently praised for is how intelligent I am. I have received this compliment ever since elementary school and I always try to do my best. However, with my parents having such a view of who I am as a person, I only ever feel like they care about whether or not I take advanced classes and pass them. This has caused me to take on courses that I honestly don’t wish to and while I have always done really well in them, it takes a lot out of me. I am constantly stressed, I often don’t get as much sleep as I need to due to all the work, and I am just generally struggling. Along with dealing with some personal issues regarding my parents, it’s been hard to manage ever since going into high school.

That’s why I wrote Logan the way I did in this drabble. I know he is a tad OOC but that was a conscientious choice on my part. While as a side, he is the physical embodiment of logic, human AUs are different. Humans have emotions. Very complex, underlying, and confusing emotions. So it is not difficult to say that Logan would obviously be a little less guilty about having emotions in this type of world as he is not a part of Thomas but his own person. He’s known to be the most intelligent one and while in the series, he takes pride in it as it’s his job, the idea of this drabble was to draw an emphasis on just how this small bit of praise on how intelligent I am has caused me to struggle with seeing myself as anything besides my intelligence. Everything I have done in school is a result of this and I have heightened anxiety about missing anything when it comes to academics: due dates, days of school, and even extra credit assignments. I want to be an artist for a living and yet I feel that by wanting that, I’m disappointing people by wasting my intelligence.

Overall, this is just my way of saying that writing Logan in such a way was meant to help me come to terms with taking it easy on myself by dropping a class and wanting to have a creatively focused career rather than an intellectually focused one. It was meant to be therapeutic but regardless, I do hope you like it. And again, feel free to comment! I love you guys, thanks for reading!

#sanders sides #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #parental moxiety #parental analogical #stan writing

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falcongumba · 4 years

Text

Lesley Mok

Photo by Luke Marantz

Lesley Mok is an immensely creative drummer, percussionist and composer who works in a wide variety of collaborative ensembles as well as writing music for her own projects. She is also part of Polyfold Musical Arts Collective, a really wonderful group of musicians who have been curating a concert series for musicians to present new works of music as well as running a small record label that already has a sizable catalog.

I’ve only known Lesley for a couple of years, but we have played together a few times in informal sessions and I always admired her original drumming and her strong voice as a composer.

In this discussion we talked about her entire trajectory as a musician as well as some of her upcoming projects and plans.

JT: You’ve told me before that you are originally from the Bay Area but I’m a bit curious about your family’s background. Where are your parents from? What did they do?

LM: Neither of my parents are creative professionals, though I'd consider both of them creative people. I'm a first-generation American, and like many immigrants at the time, both of them had an intense desire to climb the social ladder and make it for themselves in the United States. I think uprooting one's life and moving to an unfamiliar place takes a different kind of creativity--figuring out which bus to take, what to eat, how to communicate...they're cultural challenges that require creative thinking.

JT: And, were they the first ones to steer you into getting music lessons? Or was that something that you wanted on your own?

LM: My mom forced me to take piano lessons, but drum lessons were something I asked for.

JT: Before we get onto the drums. I read on your bio that you also played the flute, correct?

LM: Yes! In my elementary and middle school concert bands.

JT: I imagine studying flute and piano was likely helpful, no? You write a lot of music now.

LM: Definitely - it gave me a good sense of tonal harmony, or at least what it sounded like and how it might move. It wasn't until recently that I started writing music, but taking lessons at a young age gave me a lot to work from. It's like learning a language at a young age..you can't really forget it.

JT: That’s amazing! So how did you arrive at the drums originally?

LM: I don't really remember, to be honest, but I took lessons for a few years before joining the middle school jazz band. I would invite friends over to work on songs we learned in school. I was terrified of soloing and I remember wanting to work on trading 4’s so I wouldn’t embarrass myself during rehearsal.

JT: And was it already pretty geared toward a jazz thing? Or were you playing other kinds of music?

LM: I was drawn to jazz from the beginning - it always felt like the music I wanted to play. I wanted to be in a backing band for a singer - my favorite records were with Ella, Billie Holiday, and Nancy Wilson.

JT: What kind of form did that listening take?

LM: One of the first drummers I met, Scott Lowrie, introduced me to a bunch of records like Sonny Rollins Quartet, Sarah Vaughan with Basie, Miles Davis’ First Quintet...He would point out certain things that captured him, like how swinging Philly Joe’s ride cymbal was, or the vibrato in Sarah’s voice, or how relaxed Paul Chamber’s beat was. He would sing along to the drum solos and try to figure out what sticking Philly Joe would more likely play. He introduced to me a listening culture that made me more interested in the music.

JT: What was the transition to Berklee like?

LM: I had started to meet a bunch of other high school musicians in my junior year of high school through programs like the Stanford Jazz Workshop. Everyone could really play, and it inspired me to know that people my age were already so committed to music. I remember Cory Cox and Caili O’Doherty were mentors at the program at the time, and just hearing them play encouraged me to apply to music school.

JT: That’s cool because that's kind of a common thread for a lot of people that I know from the Bay Area. There were all these music camps, and a lot of people went and even if a lot of them didn't end up playing music professionally, they still would end up playing an instrument pretty well and having a really strong appreciation for music.

LM: Yeah, I studied with Akira Tana at the time and I remember he even recommended that I not go to music school; he was like “you should check out these other things”.

I think a lot of my hesitation about going to music school didn't have to do with music itself but how to make a living in music. At that time, coming from a more traditionally minded family, music wasn’t a legitimate practice or career. It wasn’t until college when I built up more confidence and commitment to music.

JT: I remember you telling me that you had a pretty good experience at Berklee.

LM: The first two years at Berklee were a little unstructured and I was sort of confused about how to move forward. I felt lucky to play in a few ensembles that I really enjoyed, including Jason Palmer’s ensemble (my first foray into odd meters and original music) and Ralph Peterson’s Art Blakey ensemble, but I didn’t have high enough ratings to get into some other ensembles. (Those of you who are familiar with Berklee’s rating system can maybe empathize!). I felt a bit discouraged with navigating what felt like a bureaucratic system.

In my third year, I applied to this program called the Berklee Global Jazz Institute, led by Danilo Perez and Marco Pignataro. I didn't get in my first time around, but then I think it was in my sixth semester or something I auditioned again and got in. That program was really significant for me.

Global gave me some clarity in my practice and I was able to prioritize my learning. It was also during this time when I started to think about bigger questions, not just how to play the drums and music, but you know...how to play music in a culturally and socially informed way.

JT: And what were some of the breakthroughs? Was there a teacher that was particularly empowering? Or was it just the benefit of being in the program?

LM: The program itself was very empowering, but Danilo, Terri Lynne Carrington and Ben Street were the three teachers that really influenced me. Bob Gullotti was also enormously influential as a teacher. We would work on playing Bird heads around the drums. He was so thorough with the way he thought about dynamics, articulation, and tambor, and if he didn’t feel like you played the essence of the melody, he would ask you to work on the same thing for the following week. I hadn’t thought much about drumming outside of a rhythmic and linguistic context up until that point so those lessons were super transformative. Bob would play every Monday night at the Fringe--I remember hearing him take a solo on sticks on a ballad at like 40bpm, and being like, “Holy shit, I want to be able to do that.” Bob passed away just last year--he was a completely dedicated teacher and I will always treasure our time together.

JT: When did you move to NY?

LM: I moved in September of 2017.

JT: Okay. And did you move because you felt that New York was a center for this music? Or was there another reason?

LM: There was never much doubt in my mind about moving to New York after school. I travelled between Boston and New York pretty often while I was in school to take lessons or see shows, so after I finished my final year at Berklee I moved here.

JT: There's usually all these logistical and life challenges moving here the first year. How did that affect you? Were you able to get to music right away? Or was there an adjustment period?

LM: It was a tremendous life change. I applied for a bunch of jobs the first week I moved here, and ended up working at a small entertainment law firm for about four months..that's how long I lasted! (Haha) It was super gruesome and I was pretty miserable. I was in the office for nine hours a day, and would head to my studio every day at 6pm and practice until 10pm or so. I would plan sessions on weekends or weeknights after work. Oddly enough, I think I practiced the most when I had that job just because I knew I had to structure my time really well.

It was an emotionally tough time, but it really made me question what was important to me. I think I was scared of what it meant to be a working musician but after working at the law firm, I knew it wasn't something I could do--my body and mind just rejected it. After I quit my job I felt like I had control over my own time and free will, and it was then that I really started pursuing music more fearlessly.

JT: Yeah, I feel like there’s a huge character building that happens in that first year and then the following years almost get easier by contrast or something.

LM: I’m definitely less stressed out than I was that first year. There are always challenges and self-doubt, but I feel like I can return to familiar rooms in my mind and trust that I’ll overcome the moment.

That said, I still worry all the time if my music’s any good, if anyone resonates with it, and if other people like playing with me, etc. (Haha)

JT: And in those first couple of years were you already able to find some people to play with or did it take some time?

LM: I was playing with a lot of really great musicians, but the more I questioned my own artistic values, the more I was able to also find a community of people I resonated with emotionally and artistically. I also moved to Bushwick in November 2018 and started playing with people with completely different value systems. To be honest, I couldn’t relate at first. I heard Weasel Walter for the first time and remember thinking how weird and overwhelmed and intrigued I felt. There’s a record he’s on with Mary Halvorson and Peter Evans, and there are long stretches of time where he doesn’t play anything I can identify as a sound from the drum set. Hearing him along with other musicians like Brandon Lopez and Matteo Liberatore made me think consciously about all the musical choices I can make in any given moment. My first year living in Bushwick felt like everything I had known and felt about music was flipped upside down. I had to learn to engage with creative music beyond the ride cymbal being the main timbral focus...beyond jazz.

JT: I remember you telling me that you didn't start writing your own compositions right away.

LM: Yeah, I didn't really start writing until the end of 2018 with my band The Living Collection. It's funny to think that my first foray into writing was for a large chamber-like ensemble because I feel like I still have huge gaps in my knowledge of harmony and traditional compositional methods.

But it's something that also I think freed me from thinking I had to do a certain thing or compose in a certain way. I learned so much through trial and error...I'd have the flute in one octave and then have bass clarinet in another octave only to realize that the flute was barely audible. I had random mistakes in my chart, or very inconvenient ways of writing things, or literally impossible parts to play, so it was really trial by fire. But I think I learned through having a supportive group of friends for a band who would share their thoughts with me, and criticisms as well.

youtube

JT: I think I listened to everything there is currently available from that band. The music is really beautiful. I was wondering what is your concept for the music of the group?

LM: I think it's changed a lot. Some of the first compositions we played had many independent, moving parts. I was drawing a lot of inspiration from Henry Threadgill at that time. I was writing entirely notated music at one point, after listening to more contemporary classical composers like [Helmut] Lachenmann. Recently I’ve been thinking more about the idea of musical democracy and non-hierarchical ways of playing, improvisation being a vehicle for these social-cultural processes involved: spirituality, community-as-oneness, and communal joy. I hope to establish a context in which everyone can participate in music as a necessary ritualistic function.

JT: That brings me to the work that you've been doing with Polyfold Musical Arts Collective. How did it come about and how did you all start fleshing out these ideas?

LM: Well, I'm the newest member of Polyfold. The collective originally started in Detroit and consisted of 20-something musicians. It took on a new shape when a few of its members moved to Brooklyn in 2017, so the current membership includes myself, Yuma Uesaka, Alex Levine, and Ben Rolston. The idea is basically to expand opportunities for improvisers to create original music. That usually takes the form of a monthly concert series, something we call Polyfold Presents, but we’ve also put together these “Sunday Salons,” informal workshops where people can bring their music or share ideas they’re exploring. The idea comes from something Geri Allen used to do with her students. We recently have been working on our record label...your record was actually the first we put out in awhile! So thank you for all your work on that.

*Lesley adds: (Juanma’s band was originally scheduled to perform at the April concert series, but when COVID hit, we commissioned him along with the other artists that we scheduled to perform, to perform a creative work of any kind. He ended up recording four full-length compositions remotely with his band. It was so well recorded and the process was so representative of the moment that we decided to put it out on the label. Check it out - ‘Folklore’ by Juanma Trujillo.)

JT: How, would you describe the role that you have in the collective?

LM: It's hard to say, the structure and the nature of the organization has changed over time, our roles kind of shift as we go. I just worked on writing the last grant. Trying to put into words what exactly is it we do and making sure we're holding ourselves accountable for those things.

JT: Has being part of this initiative been rewarding in a way that you didn't expect? Has it helped you see things in a different way?

LM: Yeah, for sure. It’s made me realize how important and powerful organizing is for the improvised music community and how we all sort of depend on each other.

JT: Yeah, I think I wanted to get your input on that because I’ve been kind of pleasantly surprised to see that you guys as a group of artists who are already playing together and are good friends are also welcoming people from outside your circle. In my time living here I can confidently say that this is somewhat rare.

LM: Yeah..I hope it becomes less rare. I've met some people that have really made it feel like home here.

I think it’s hard to feel a sense of community in a place like New York, where artists-entrepreneurs are constantly up against so many things. It seems like everyone’s competing for the same opportunities.

I think community building starts on a personal level...who you hang out with or talk to, who’s in your band, what kind of bills you’re curating if you’re a bandleader. All of these things are part of what makes a community. The 501c3 is just a status.

JT: So we’ve talked about your main projects, but I can also see that you're doing quite a bit of one off gigs with people just improvising. How has that been helpful in your development?

LM: I often feel like there's a lot of pressure to play written music or to present something really polished, which I also enjoy, but it’s nice to get to know someone intimately without the pressure of following a specific musical format. It’s really invigorating getting to know their musical perspective in an open space and forming a connection.

Depending on the improvisational context, I sometimes feel that there’s nothing I wish to contribute on the drum set. It’s encouraged me to work on different techniques that might produce different sounds and timbres and to search for percussion instruments that might give me a broader range of expression. My dream is to build a drum cage like the one in that iconic photo with Roscoe Mitchell!

vimeo

JT: Are there any of the other projects that you have that you would like to talk about or mention any other experiences that have been meaningful to you recently?

LM: I recently spent two weeks in Newton, MA with my good friends Maya and Akiva. We had no agenda other than to play music if we felt like it. It was one of the more intimate and spiritually fulfilling experiences I’ve had in awhile. The music felt like an extension of our cooking together, our swims in the lake, our humming. I listened back to some of the recordings we made a few days ago...it feels both personal and non-precious. It reminds me of these words by Nicole Mitchell--

“If you practice your connection to the stars enough, you can go anytime you please. The Dogon mastered it, but the shoebox architects sold kids on rap videos over stargazing. Doesn’t matter how much pollution, or how many ceilings or drones are flying above, the stars are there. I promise. No wonder Lightin’ Hopkins, Jeff Parker, Jimi Hendrix and all the bluesmen made their own vessel guitars to communicate here. And ever better, I’m tellin’ you, there are no consequences, no punishments and no side effects except joy and more strength. Can you imagine? I’m thinking, maybe we can build a bridge from pain to hope and insight and take all our families there.”

JT: Thank you Lesley!

LM: Yeah, thanks so much for doing this.

You can learn more about Lesley on her website: https://www.lesleymok.com/

Lesley has all her releases available on: https://lesleymok.bandcamp.com/

#lesley mok #drums #The living collection #Polyfold #composer #interview #jazz

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ranwing · 4 years

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Kadam Fic: Learning To Fly (18/?)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 18/?

Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen

One AO3

A/N - I'd like to both thank and apologize to all of my readers for the long delay in getting this chapter completed. I'd unfortunately been delayed by both a bout of writer's block and having surgery last month which set my plans to write back considerably. Thank you all for the wonderful comments and words of encouragement! I'm grateful to all of you for sticking with me.

Morning arrived with its usual clarion from Kurt’s cell phone alarm ringing at six, rousing him from sleep and reminding him that he had day filled with activities to get through awaiting him. Pushing off the sheets that had gotten wrapped about him during the night, Kurt sat at the edge of his bed and gave his body a long stretch to work out the sleep stiffness before getting to his feet.

With the semester starting to wind down, the students at NYADA were being put through the meat grinder by their instructors. Freshmen might have had the assumption that after all the work done on their spring musical that the professors might take it a bit easier on the upper classmen, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The more that he and his classmates manage to prove themselves, the more their teachers demanded. Kurt figured that by the time he graduated, Madam Tibideaux would expect him to be able to climb to the top of Mount Everest while singing an aria from Rigoletto in full voice the whole way up.

Well, this was what he signed up for, he reminded himself with a self-administered mental slap upside the head. And if he didn’t dawdle too much, he had enough time to go for a run and burn off some of the cake that he and the Apples had gorged on the night before. That would leave him just enough time to shower before his morning classes. But first things first…

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling as he studied the map pinned over his desk, seeing the wave of blue pins stretching across the image of the United States. Each marked a city where Adam had performed; cities where his play had met with critical regard and where his reputation as an actor continued to grow. Kurt no longer looked at that map with dread, facing it as a reminder of just how long it would before Adam was returned to him. Now it was a confirmation of just how much his lover had been able to accomplish.

With only one lone red pin left, it was also a reminder that Adam would be home right around the time that Kurt was finishing his finals. The feeling of disassociation was being replaced by one of happy anticipation and now they both had plans for their shared future to look forward to.

Butcher’s Bill had just wrapped up its run in Seattle and Kurt had happily marked the occasion with a triumphant blue push pin. Now a solitary red pin marked the final city of the national tour and if they hadn’t run into any delays, Adam would be leaving Seattle for San Diego by midday. That would allow Kurt to exchange that last red pin for a green one, signaling that the tour was nearing its conclusion.

It felt oddly thrilling that he could now legitimately count down the days without being overwhelmed by their sheer number. That his perspective has shifted from only being able to see how long he would be apart from Adam to actively anticipating the day of their reunion. He could look at his calendar now and actually see the day that Adam would be returning to New York, just over four weeks away.

There was a lot that still needed to be ironed out for them. They didn’t have an apartment so finding a place to live was going to be first on their agenda. Kurt could stay in the dorms through the summer if necessary, and he would be spending a few weeks at Garrison during the festival. If he had to leave the dorms for some reason, he knew that could spend a few days at a hostel until he and Adam got an apartment lined up. After all, that’s what he did when he first arrived in New York with nothing more than his suitcases and his dreams. It hadn’t been so bad, and it would be a lot cheaper than a hotel until they got settled.

He was more concerned for Adam, who would be effectively homeless after the tour ended. If they didn’t have something lined up by the time Adam returned to New York, Kurt knew that Adam had friends with sofas that he could crash on until they signed a lease, and he also could room at a hostel for a few days if needed.

Still, finding a place would have to be a priority for them. They were in this together and would see it through.

For all his tendencies to try to control and micromanage every detail, he had his greatest successes when he threw caution to the wind. Whether it was his impromptu audition, challenging Rachel to Midnight Madness or letting himself accept the flirtatious overtures from a handsome Englishman, each time he’d let his carefully crafted defenses fall he’d been rewarded beyond anything he could have hoped for.

He would have faith that he and Adam would get their practical affairs sorted out relatively quickly. Kurt didn’t care if he and Adam found themselves living in another closet-sized apartment for a year or had to leave the neighborhood where he’d felt so at home in. He just wanted for them to be together.

After tying on his running shoes, Kurt plugged in his headphones and trotted downstairs to get in the exercise that his body very much was craving. By the time he returned a bit over an hour later, Kurt was feeling much refreshed with his head cleared of the usual morning cobwebs. He stopped by his room to grab his robe and toiletries and walked down the hall to the communal showers.

A half hour later found him in the dorm break room, reading through some notes he had jotted down for his stage movement class and eating his yogurt when he spotted one of Madam Tibideaux’s assistants enter the lounge and look about. This wasn’t unusual when the Dean wanted to catch a residential student before classes started, though he did feel a trace of concern when she approached him.

“Good morning Kurt,” she greeted pleasantly. “Sorry to disturb your breakfast, but the Dean would like for you to stop by her office this morning after your lesson with Professor Collins. There’s something that she needs to discuss with you.”

No, that didn’t sound good, Kurt thought though for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything that he might have done to warrant a call to the office. All of his classes were going well, and he’d been getting nothing more than positive feedback from Madam Tibideaux during his last few sessions with her.

“Is there something wrong?” he couldn’t help from asking. This wasn’t something he needed at this moment.

The assistant just smiled, clearly aware that most students naturally assumed that being summoned to the office didn’t mean anything good. “No, not at all,” she assured him. “The Dean has a guest coming in and she wants you to join them. It’s one of NYADA’s big sponsors and she likes to show off her favored talents.”

Kurt nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he wasn’t going to be called out on the carpet over something. But being invited to meet a sponsor could mean something serious for his career prospects and he needed to make a good impression. That meant a quick touch up to his post run grooming and a change of clothes to something a bit more polished.

His morning session with Professor Collins went well, the genial teacher putting him through his paces as he showed off the greater flexibility he’d been developing in his voice. He was smiling when he left the studio, his teacher’s praise raising his spirits and putting him in a good mind to meet this sponsor. If Madam Tibideaux wanted him there, he should be confident that it was something that he was up to.

Kurt paused at the bathroom, checking his appearance one last time before heading to the dean’s office. Madam Tibideaux’s assistant was seated at her desk outside and smiled and Kurt’s approach. “You’re just in time,” she greeted, rising from her chair to greet him. “Let me just poke my head inside to make sure they’re ready for you.”

Kurt smiled and nodded, waiting patiently for her to get permission for him to enter the office. He took the opportunity to smooth out any imaginary wrinkles on his shirt before he was granted admittance. He thanked Madam Tibideaux’s assistant politely as she ushered him in and closed the door behind him before facing his teacher.

“Good morning, Madam,” he greeted politely. “I hope that I’m not late.”

The Dean placed down the cup of tea she’d been daintily sipping from and offered him an encouraging smile. “Not at all, Mr. Hummel,” she assured him. “You’re right on time. How was your session with Professor Collins?”

Kurt couldn’t resist smiling. “It went well,” he insisted confidently. “I’m feeling much more confidence in transitioning through my entire range.”

“Excellent,” Madam Tibideaux said, looking quite pleased at his pronouncement. “I’m looking forward to testing that in our next lesson.

The person seated in the chair with it’s back to the office door turned in her seat and Kurt felt his breath seize at the sight of her cap of short red hair and a wryly arched eyebrow raised. June Dolloway looked him up and down as she had at the gala, her thin lips drawing into a smile that appeared far too predatory for comfort.

“Mr. Hummel,” she greeted, more than a trace of challenge in her voice as she held up a slender hand to him.

Kurt quickly forced himself to rally, pasting a pleasant if bland expression on his face and reaching out to gently shake the older woman’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he claimed as sincerely as he could manage.

She just snorted, clearly not believing him. “No one is pleased to see me,” she admitted with a sharp grin, picking up her teacup. “But they act like they are because I have an obscene amount of money and I like to throw it at what suits my whims. That makes everyone polite.”

Kurt couldn’t help from admiring her honesty and lack of caring that she was more feared than admired. There was something refreshing about that kind of clear-eyed perspective. That didn’t mean that he was dropping his guard at all around her, because he suspected that she would happily eat him alive if he gave her the least opportunity.

“Have a seat, Mr. Hummel,” Madam Tibideaux offered, clearly set in her role of mediator. “Mrs. Dolloway wanted to meet you again. She was quite taken with your performance.”

Kurt smiled blandly as he settled into the offered chair. He remembered her comments at their first meeting and while they might have been compliments technically, he didn’t miss the insults that were barely hidden in her words. But he trusted Madam Tibideaux not to steer him into a situation that he would end up regretting.

Mrs. Dolloway’s expression was schooled into a neutral pleasantness, but Kurt could tell that she was watching and testing him. To see if her comments that could easily be interrupted as affronts got a response. Kurt was determined not to let her win this little meeting.

“I always do like to keep an eye on performers that interest me,” Mrs. Dolloway reminded him, the barest hint of threat in her tone. “I found you to be very intriguing. You have a unique presence on stage and I’m sure that you know how unusual your voice is.”

Kurt allowed himself to smile. “I’ve been told that once or twice,” he confirmed a bit ironically.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully at how he didn’t seem intimidated by her. “I find it utter fascinating to see someone who doesn’t seem to fit neatly in a conventional mold manage to play those parts so well. Normally they’re so focused on showing how unique they are that they make themselves unemployable.”

The warning in her tone was unmistakable and Kurt already knew exactly how to counter it. “Maybe. But I also feel that being so unique lets me stand out from everyone else,” he insisted confidently. “A countertenor whose range can cover traditional tenor roles is going to be remembered. And some composers and directors will get a chance to take advantage of what I’m able to do that others can’t.”

Mrs. Dolloway’s expression lightened a bit, as if pleased that he wasn’t cowed by her demeanor. Madam Tibideaux nodded in approval at her student and added, “One of the things that we’ve been working on is developing Mr. Hummel’s singular talents while still making him as marketable as possible. I think that going by his success in Les Misérables and his performances at the Garrison festival, we’re on the right track.”

“I haven’t been to Garrison in years,” Mrs. Dolloway mused. “Is that old coot, Tillman, still running things?”

Kurt managed not to laugh, thinking that Mrs. Dolloway should be the last person in the world to call someone old. “Yes, he’s still directing,” he confirmed. “We’re doing ‘A Midsummer Nights Dream’ and ‘Troilus and Cresida’ this season.”

Mrs. Dolloway looked at him pointedly. “And what were you cast as?” she asked pointedly, her tone clearly issuing a challenge.

Kurt smiled proudly. “Well, last season I played Don John which was really exciting as it was my first summer with the festival. This year I’m Puck and Patroclus,” he stated confidently. “I’m rather looking forward to doing another nice dramatic death and putting my stage combat to practical use.”

The sponsor seemed almost impressed. “Well, there certainly does seem to be a lot more to you than pretty hair and a flashy wardrobe,” she granted, a trifle reluctantly in Kurt’s opinion. “I suppose that you’re wondering why I wanted to meet you today.”

“The question did cross my mind,” Kurt answered back, allowing a bit of fight coming out in his voice. He wasn’t inclined to give an inch, no matter how influential Mrs. Dolloway could be.

She just smiled, amused by his show of spirit. “I mentioned a showcase that I’m organizing when we met at the gala,” she reminded him.

Kurt nodded, indicating that he’d remembered. “When I didn’t hear anything, I just thought you’d changed your mind about me participating,” he said blandly, making it clear that he hadn’t been bothered by being omitted.

If Mrs. Dolloway was offended by his lack of interest in her connections, she didn’t show it. “Well, to be honest, I was vacillating between inviting you or not,” she admitted without a trace of shame.

Kurt managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Of course, she did.

“The showcase is scheduled next week to benefit scheduled for next week to support the Lexington Home for Retired Performers. It’s an old age home for film and stage actors,” she explained, her tone becoming more matter of fact. “I’d scheduled a number of top students from various theater programs to perform, but one of the Julliard seniors flacked out on me. Something about a nervous breakdown…”

Kurt couldn’t help from arching a brow in response.

Mrs. Dolloway looked at him pointedly. “So now I have a hole in our performance schedule that I need to fill,” she huffed. “I was thinking ‘why not give that high voiced kid a shot’.”

Kurt didn’t respond immediately, not quite sure how he wanted to take her invitation. It was hardly worded in a flattering way and while he wasn’t offended that he wasn’t among her first choices for the benefit, he wasn’t sure if the performer who dropped out really did have some kind of breakdown or if he just wanted to get away from this difficult patron.

He mentally sighed, wishing that he could beg off with rehearsals or work for the festival, but she would be able to ferret out pretty quickly what his rehearsal schedule was. Being caught in a lie would just reflect badly on him.

“This can be an interesting opportunity,” Madam Tibideaux advised, seeing his reluctance. “Many of the residents of the home were quite renowned performers in their day. You can learn a great deal by speaking with them.

“And the home really is a great asset to our community. Sadly, it’s not uncommon for actors to be left with little financial support as they age. This facility allows them a safe and dignified place during their golden years.”

Kurt didn’t doubt her, and it sounded like the exact sort of charity that he would want to support. It was indeed a worthy cause and might just be worth the effort of dealing with Mrs. Dolloway for one day.

He looked to the older woman, who was watching him with a cool, calculating stare. “I’d be happy to help,” he claimed, smiling with all the charm he could muster. “It does sound like a wonderful cause.”

Mrs. Dolloway genuinely seemed surprised that he agreed to the invitation and Kurt rather enjoyed putting her back on her expensive heels a bit. He didn’t get as far as he has by letting small minded fools stand in his way. Even if he gained nothing personally, he would be pleased to help the elderly actors have a comfortable retirement.

She finally nodded, looking a little impressed despite herself. “Good,” she granted with no trace of reluctance in her voice, and Kurt couldn’t help from thinking that he just won this little confrontation. “I’ll let Carmen know the details. I’m fairly certain that you’ll be able to come up with two numbers that would be appropriate for the occasion.”

“I will,” he assured her self-assuredly. He was already making a mental list of potential material.

“Then I will see you next week.”

Mrs. Dolloway turned back to Madam Tibideaux and placed her teacup on the desk. “Carmen, it’s been a pleasure, as always.”

When the Dean began to push her chair back to get up, Mrs. Dolloway raised her hand to stop her. “Oh, don’t bother… I can show myself out,” she insisted blandly. She turned one last look to Kurt and nodded in his direction before walking out and closing the door behind her.

Once she had left the room, Kurt allowed himself a sigh of relief and couldn’t help from wondering just what he was letting himself in for. His teacher seemed just as relieved to have her troublesome visitor leave and turned a satisfied smile to him.

“I know that she’s a bit of a character,” Madam Tibideaux granted. “But she really can be an excellent sponsor. She’s helped launch a number of careers and she’s been a tremendous financial support for our school.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Kurt insisted. “But I get the feeling that her favor can be a double-edged sword.”

Madam Tibideaux chuckled at his clear-eyed view of the matter. “I’m not going to disagree with you,” she confided. “The ones who often run our profession are the wealthy. Whether they invest in productions or patronize the ballet and opera, performers have to decide for themselves how to navigate their influence. I know this is difficult, but I think that you would gain a lot more from this experience than Mrs. Dolloway will get in bragging rights since you’ve already technically been discovered.”

Kurt knew that his teacher was taking pleasure in that respect and wouldn’t begrudge her the honors. “I just want to make sure that I perform at a level where I won’t stand out in a negative way,” he said. “It’s rather on short notice.”

“Mr. Hummel, in all the months that I’ve known you I’ve never seen you fail to rise to the occasion.If I might offer my suggestions,” she proposed with a reassuring smile, earning an enthusiastic nod from her student. “For this crowd, I would stick to something classic. Using a song from the era that many of the home’s residents were active would be well received. There are certainly enough songs that take advantage of your natural range and your unique vocal qualities.”

That made a lot of sense, Kurt thought. And he suspected that Mrs. Dolloway’s tastes would lean towards the classical. He could work with that.

“I would also like to offer some advice,” Madam Tibideaux said carefully, and Kurt looked up at his teacher intently because he trusted her judgment.

“I know that June Dolloway can be difficult to deal with, and you shouldn’t feel obligated to accept her as a sponsor just because you agreed to perform at the benefit. Even if she offers,” the dean advised. “She does have a certain amount of influence. She built up a substantial bit of wealth from her various marriages and she has a lot of connections in the business, though how seriously she can be taken seriously is open to debate.”

“Then why is she one of NYADA’s biggest donors?” Kurt asked curiously. “If she’s that out there?”

The Dean offered him a confiding smile. “Because she is willing to help support our school financially. It’s sometimes worth it for me to humor her if it opens up her checkbook, but I know what I can and should expect from her. I always warn my students who catch her eye to be very cautious in how they deal with her. Yes, she can open a lot of doors for you. But she also can be very fickle, and I’ve seen her drop proteges as abruptly as she picks them up.”

Kurt nodded in understanding, recognizing that he would need to manage this opportunity with the same care that he did the options that Coach Sylvester presented. If he could gain Mrs. Dolloway’s respect, he might be able to take advantage of her connections while not putting himself in her debt. He knew that he had enough challenges in his path without having his career controlled by someone who looked down on him in any way.

He met up with Rachel and their friends for lunch, needing their support and feedback. “I want to do this,” Kurt insisted over pizza. “It’s a really good cause, but I really don’t want anything to do with that Dolloway woman. I think that I’d just be setting myself up for trouble.”

Rachel reached out and grasped his hand in solidarity. “I think you could handle her,” she claimed, having seen her friend outsmart and manipulate people to his own ends many times before.

“Kurt, you always could just do the show and call it quits,” Analisa reminded her friend. “There’s no law that says just because you’ve agreed to perform one time that you owe her anything more. Just take advantage of getting seen a bit more.”

Kurt nodded but insisted, “I just don’t want to make any enemy of her. I get the feeling that she can really go out of her way to screw me over if I offend her in some way.”

Jamie took a big bite of his pepperoni and mushroom slice and chewed thoughtfully. “She reminds of a director I had at arts camp when I was a kid. It was obvious to everyone that she had her favorites and would go to the ends of the earth for you. Until you weren’t one of her favorites anymore. Then you might as well not exist.”

“Is everyone in our industry crazy?” Katya asked. “I mean, it would be nice just perform and not have to deal with people in charge with attitudes like that.”

“I feel like it’s some kind of test,” Kurt bemoaned. “Like Mrs. Dolloway is setting me up to fail.”

“So, don’t fail,” Rachal said logically, as if it were truly that simple. “Kurt, you don’t need us to tell you how good you are. Just treat this as a chance to perform and do what you know you can do. You don’t owe her anything more than that.”

Kurt looked to his group, yet again grateful that he’d managed to find such a wonderful collection of supportive friends.

Analisa looked to her favorite duet partner and offered a bright smile. “Mind if we tag along for moral support?” she asked.

Mrs. Dolloway hadn’t mentioned anything about him bringing guests, but Kurt didn’t see the harm. He’d feel a lot better having a few friendly faces in the audience.

“I’d love you guys to be there,” he said. “I’m not going to hoard the chance to mingle and network.”

Kayta reached out to pinch his cheek. “So generous,” she praised.

Kurt playfully swatted her hand away, earning a round of laughter from his friends. Relieved that he wouldn’t be facing Mrs. Dolloway without some reinforcements at his back, he looked thankfully at his friends.

“I really appreciate this, guys,” he said sincerely. “But let’s dig in… this pizza isn’t going to eat itself.”

* * *

Adam looked at the theater marquee, feeling both a great sense of pride and a tremendous wash of relief. Their final opening for the national tour was just a few short days away. After this, it would be a countdown until they all were able to return home.

He hadn’t quite known what to expect from this job, but it had been both tremendously fulfilling and harder than he could have ever imagined. Still, despite how painful as his separation from Kurt had been, he honestly wouldn’t trade the experience he’d gained. He was learning a great deal more about himself as an actor and Adam knew that the connections he’d made and the regard he’d earned would serve him well in the future.

He walked over to the stage door, greeting the security guard pleasantly before being admitted and directed towards the dressing rooms. This was probably the largest venue that they’d performed in to date and with the relatively small cast, he’d only be sharing the dressing room with Niall. The racks with their costumes were already in place, the costumes wrapped neatly in plastic to protect them during the shipping process.

It would be nice to have the extra space and a bit of relative privacy, Adam considered as he set down his makeup kit and began to organize the dressing table to his liking. He pulled out a folder containing the photos that he would want to have close at hand. Some of them were getting a little battered from their months long journey around the country but were all the more precious to him as a result. There were his parents, who had never failed to support his aspirations and one with his big sister posing with a shaggy rescue pony. He had a photo of his Apples, taken as their last get together before he left on the tour and most importantly, one of his Kurt to be placed in a spot of honor so that Adam could see him at all times.

Adam smiled and couldn’t resist tracing the outline of Kurt’s features with his fingertip. He missed his lovely boy so much and couldn’t wait to see him again. So much had happened for the both of them and he was eager to see his young man having grown into the potential that Adam knew that Kurt possessed from the start. He had always known that Kurt was an exceptional being, both as a performer and as a man and now it appeared that the rest of the world was starting to catch on as well. He was looking forward to seeing how Kurt was handling the real recognition of his worth.

These final weeks of Butcher’s Bill was setting Adam on the course for his career and he knew that Kurt was likewise taking concrete steps towards his own. All of this was worthwhile, Adam told himself. They had so much to look forward to and Adam was never more confident that they would be facing their future together.

He had a few hours before their director would be arriving for their afternoon run-through. That should leave him a bit of time to relax and maybe do a bit of sightseeing with his friends. Now that the end of the road was clearly within sight, he found his normal optimism and good spirits returning in full.

Making one last check that he had everything that he needed, he stepped out of the theater into the bright sunlight. The anxiety that he’d felt for so long was finally easing and he looked forward to the challenges that these final weeks of the tour would present. For once, he felt more than ready.

* * *

“You look fantastic,” Rachel assured him as Kurt checked the lay of his tie for what was likely the nineteenth time in her estimation. She gently took his hands and forced them down to halt his fussing.

“Are you sure?” he asked, checking his outfit once again to make sure that the creases on his designer slacks were pressed straight and his shoes were polished to a gleaming finish. Rather than giving into his first instinct to wear one of his more conservative outfits, he’d decided to go with something that was truer to his personality. The bold herringbone pattern of his dress pants tailored to fit the line of his body perfectly and drew attention to his best assets while the button-down shirt had just enough stretch that he could wear it tight enough to take advantage of his shoulders. His hair had been freshly cut and styled, the sides neat and the top combed into a tall crest.

“It’s fine,” she promised with a warm smile. “You’re not nervous, are you? This kind of performance is right up your alley.”

Kurt sighed, knowing that he was being silly. Maybe his choice of material was a little ambitious, but he was confident in his abilities to handle it.

He knew what the issue was, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Mrs. Dolloway’s opinion of him still rankled. He didn’t know if she was actually homophobic or just enjoyed needling people where they might be vulnerable, but he was really put off by her attitude. If it hadn’t been for the cause that this showcase would be benefiting and Madam Tibideaux’s show of support, he didn’t know if it was worthwhile to put himself through this.

There were eight students performing, and he was one of three representing NYADA. Most of the others were from Julliard, and he could certainly admire their talents. These were students primarily focused on classical technique, with a good number of them on track for professional opera or recording artist careers. He was suddenly quite grateful for Madam Tibideaux insisting on him focusing on classical technique in his own development. He should be able to hold his own with a group like this.

He also couldn’t argue that Mrs. Dolloway wasn’t throwing a lot of money at this event. She’d rented out the Studio 54 theater space, setting it up like a nightclub venue with tables and seats arranged about the stage. There was plenty of room for the various guests and donors attending, but tables situated closest to the stage were dedicated to the residents of the actor’s home. The elderly performers had turned out in their best clothing, apparently eager for the outing and looking forward to seeing what the younger generation had to offer.

Kurt’s own friends were seated towards the back, and he was grateful for their presence. He hadn’t expected to find so many good friends at NYADA but felt very privileged to have done so. Between his classmates and the Apples, he had a solid base of support in New York. That his relationships didn’t boil down to nothing but rivals that would cheerfully kneecap him any chance they got had come as a deep relief for him.

Deep inside, Kurt felt a bit of a thrill that he would be standing on a Broadway stage, even if it wasn’t an actual Broadway production. Not that it looked much like a proper theater, but he knew the names of the famous actors who’d performed in that venue. Knowing that his small contribution to the history of this newer theater filled him with a sense of pride.

Rachel leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, careful not to get any lipstick on him. “I’m going to go join the others,” she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “I’ll see you when you’re done.”

He nodded and offered his friend a thankful smile. “Rachel… thanks for coming today.”

She just grinned back. “Did you ever think that I would miss this?” she chuckled. “Break a leg!”

Left alone, Kurt moved to join the other performers, grateful that for once he didn’t feel completely out of his element. The two NYADA students were performers that he’d become very familiar with over the past months, having worked them during their run of Les Miserables. He wasn’t at all surprised that Mrs. Dolloway had invited Brett Sosa, given that he had the classic good looks and honey-smooth tenor that would appeal to a broad audience. He was a bit surprised that she’d invited the young woman who’d played Cosette rather than the more dynamic singers for Eponine and Fantine. But Abigail Thomas was gifted with one of the most gorgeous soprano voices that Kurt head ever heard, and he knew that she would make the audience very pleased.

He greeted them cheerfully, glad to have some familiar faces in the group. “I was wondering who Mrs. Dolloway would wrangle from NYADA,” he said confidingly. “I should have figured that you two would be her top picks.”

Brett gave him a warm pat on the back. “Good to see you, Kurt,” he greeted happily. “We were wondering ourselves since she was being so damned closed mouthed about things.

Abigail nodded in agreement. “I’m trying to figure out why I’m here since everyone knows she never sponsors women,” she complained lightly with a knowing smirk. “She likes to go after men who remind her of one of her husbands.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing. “I wonder which of them I remind her of,” he mused amusedly. “Because he must have really pissed her off at some point.”

Brett chuckled in response. “Madam Tibideaux did warn me that she was a character,” he advised. “But she can open doors and if she can get me in front of the right people, it might be worth it. I’ve been hitting auditions and I really need to nail down some work after graduation.”

“Me too,” Abigail sighed. “You’re lucky, Kurt. You probably aren’t facing the same kind of pressure just yet.”

No, he wasn’t, Kurt acknowledged to himself. But he had his own pressure to deal with. It didn’t pass his notice that, yet again, he was the least conventional performer in the room. Even so, he wasn’t going to allow that to bother him. He was looking forward to showing off his mettle against the kind of tenors and baritones that they audience expected to see and the song he’d chosen for the occasion would make the most of his full range as a singer.

Maybe it was petty and even a bit counterproductive, but he was looking forward to seeing Mrs. Dolloway’s self-satisfied smirk vanish when she realized that he wasn’t going to crumble in front of her. He wasn’t just going to match what the other students were able to do; he was going to be the best on that stage.

Mrs. Dolloway swept into the backstage area, dressed in a pale grey Chanel suit and Kurt judged that the jewelry she was sporting that looked like it could probably cover all the students’ rent for the next three years. She looked over the group and offered a smile that held nothing in the way of genuine warmth. Like all the interactions that Kurt had with her up until this point, her expression was predatory and slightly contemptuous of everyone she came across. He couldn’t help from wondering if she actually liked any of the prospects that she sponsored, of if she just enjoyed jerking their chains as she dangled prospects and possibilities before them.

“I’m so glad to see you all,” she greeted benignly, if not with any great sincerity. “Before we get started, I wanted to thank you for supporting this very worthy cause. We’ve got a good-sized crowd and I’ve got them well primed for you. I certainly hope that that you all perform at the level I’ve come to expect from students of your caliber.”

None of the students missed the threat in her carefully chosen words, that whatever support they might hope for with this patron would evaporate if they didn’t perform at their best. Of what they could expect if their best was judged not good enough.

A few of the students looked genuinely nervous and Kurt suspected that at least a few of them sincerely wanted to gain Mrs. Dolloway’s support for their careers. He felt himself smile a little bit, relaxing when he realized that he honestly didn’t much care if the arrogant woman liked him at all. He just wanted to perform well for his audience, especially the elderly actors who deserved to have a pleasant afternoon. And for his friends who were so supportive of him. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

From their position offstage, he could hear Mrs. Dolloway greeting her audience and Kurt tuned her out. He didn’t care much about whatever spiel she pulled out of her finely dressed ass. He was sure that she would be able to coax some decent funds for the retirement home and his only purpose there was to perform to the best of his ability. Then he could hopefully put June Dolloway in his rear-view mirror.

One by one, the students were called out onto the stage and Kurt allowed himself to enjoy their performances. Mrs. Dolloway might be a total pill, but she did seem to have a real eye and ear for talent. Every one of the students she’d invited to perform were, to an individual, exceptional. He never had a problem admiring the talents of others and he felt rather privileged to be counted in a group like this.

There didn’t seem to be any set pattern to how they were called up, and he knew that he’d better be prepared at an instant’s notice. He’d done his warmups and just focused on keeping his vocal cords loosened and lubricated. Swishing some lukewarm water in his mouth before swallowing, he mentally ran through his performance notes, wanting to give his best effort.

Brett had just completed an absolutely stunning rendition of “Almost Like Being In Love” to great applause from their appreciate audience when Mrs. Dolloway stepped onto the stage, applauding him with a smile. Once the audience settled, she turned to them with a teasing smile.

“Well, now I think it’s time for something a little different,” she pronounced. “NYADA certainly has been generous with the talent we have this afternoon, so let me present Mr. Kurt Hummel.”

She looked to the stage wings and gave Kurt an appraising look, as if daring him to back out but he just smiled serenely. Not even taking a second to check his outfit one last time, Kurt stepped onto the stage and nodded his thanks to the prickly patron. Mrs. Dolloway just smiled and nodded a challenge to him before allowing him the stage.

Kurt turned his focus to the audience and the band began to play the opening strains to his first number. He wondered if anyone watching him would be surprised at his choice because this song had the potential to be a total train wreak if the melody got away from him at any point.

There was a gentle rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat, and his voice rose out gently to match it. “Like the beat, beat beat of the tom tom,” he sang gently, each word falling neatly onto the percussion. “When the jungle shadows fall.”

His voice shifted octave just slightly, slipping into the next level of his range with smooth effortlessness, the words trailing elegantly. “Like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock as it stands against the wall.”

The octave shifted again, and Kurt’s voice rose to meet it. “Like the drip, drip drip of the raindrops, when the summer shower is through,” he sang smoothly, his voice adjusting to the quick change from higher to low notes without any breaks. “So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you…”

The heartbeat rhythm was replaced by a warm jazzy tone and Kurt’s voice slipped easily into the new cadence. “Night and day, you are the one,” he sang passionately, allowing a faraway smile to touch his features as he thought about the man who was inspiring him. “Only you, beneath the moon and under the sun. Whether near to me or far… It’s no matter darling, where you are. I think of you…”

Kurt knew that technically had had it. His voice agilely danced through the various octaves and key changes without any hint of struggle. The song made use of nearly his entire range and required him to be able to bounce from octave to octave without hesitation or interruption.

But he was no mere technician. The warmth in his voice and the soul powering the words was what would set him apart. The singer was a man deeply, passionately in love and Kurt certainly had enough of those feelings to lend appropriate authenticity to his performance.

“Night and day,” he crooned, allowing all his feelings for Adam come out in his voice. “Day and night. Why is it so? This longing for you follows me wherever I go. In the roaring traffic’s boom. In the silence of my lonely room, I think of you.”

This separation had been one of the hardest things he’d endured, but his feelings for Adam had only grown. If absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder, then his heart was nearly overflowing with love for his absent partner. He could only express it now in his voice.

“Night and day. Night and day!” The key changed and Kurt voice rose elegantly as he slid into his upper range. “Under the hide of me. There’s an oh! Such a hungry yearning burning inside of me.”

He moved across the stage, doing a soft weave step that worked nicely with the flow of the music, letting himself get lost in the music and emotion. His voice slipped easily into his lower register, coiling like a spring.

“And its torment won’t be through, till you let me spend my life making love…” Kurt’s voice shot up to his upper register and he held the note for a long, dramatic second before letting it fall back into his middle range. “To you! Day and night! Night and day!”

He finished with a vocal flourish and couldn’t help from smiling when the audience applauded enthusiastically. Kurt thought that he’d sounded quite good but getting that kind of feedback from an artistically educated and appreciative audience… it would never get old.

Through the lights, he could see his audience. Mostly the seniors seated at the tables who seemed especially enthusiastic. One in particular caught his eye; a petite dumpling of a woman with short grey hair and grinning widely as she applauded. He smiled at her, nodding his thanks.

As for Mrs. Dolloway, standing in the wings… Kurt didn’t bother to look for her reaction, because it didn’t matter to him if she liked his performance or not. The band was already cuing up the music for his next number and he had an audience to focus on.

He was glad that he’d selected an upbeat number for his second performance, using songs from the same songwriter to tie his act together. He’d already proven that he was a singer. Now he could let them see just how much of a showman he could be.

He smiled beatifically looking out to the audience, using the older woman he’d spotted as a focus. “When the little blue bird who has never said a word, starts to sing, ‘Spring, spring’,” he trilled gently, letting his voice float on the music. “When the little blue bell in the bottom of the dell, starts to ring, ‘Ting, ting’.”

He did a little bit of dancing, moving across the stage as he sang. “When the little blue clock in the middle of his work, sings a song to the moon up above.” Kurt allowed a bit more power to come out in his voice but kept it carefully under control. “It is nature that's all, simply telling us to fall in love…”

He allowed a short pause to build up anticipation before continuing softly. “And that's why birds do it, bees do it,” he crooned delicately. “Even educated fleas do it. Let's do it! let's fall in love.”

Love might be the subject of ninety nine percent of songs written, he’d considered, but he didn’t know of many songs that so perfectly expressed the joy of discovering love. That one wasn’t above that heady emotion when sense could be tossed aside in favor of just feeling. Sometimes it would strike like a lightning bolt, but other times it came on more gradually. Like sinking into a perfectly warm bath. He’d been fortunate to have discovered love in both ways but having that moment when you truly fell was some of the most wondrous, terrifying moments of his life.

“In Spain, the best upper sets do it,” he confided playfully. “Lithuanians and Letts do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love.”

Kurt saw the plump little woman nodding approvingly, watching with the others seated at her table. An elegantly handsome black man leaned over to whisper something in her ear, his eyes focused on Kurt with the other man just watched with a slightly dazed smile on his face.

“Some Argentines without means, do it,” Kurt lilted, letting the best qualities of his voice shine. He knew that his voice was distinctive, and he wasn’t going to hide that fact no matter what Mrs. Dolloway thought. “People say in Boston even beans do it. Let’s do it! Let’s fall in love!”

Kurt had enough dance training under his belt that even though he hadn’t enough time to plan his choreography in advance, he could improvise and have it look thought out. He turned on one foot and danced across the stage as he sang, using the jazz technique that Ms. July had beaten into him and used the movement to accent his vocals. He could see the approval of the audience as they clapped in time to the music and cheered him on.

He gave a final spin, coming to stop in front of the older woman’s table and offered her and her friends a charming smile. “The world admits bears in pits do it,” he sang, letting more power come into his voice and giving the woman a sly smile and a little shimmy of his shoulders, causing her to giggle in response. “Even Pekingeses at the Ritz do it. Let’s do it! Let’s fall in love.

“The royal set sans regret did it, and they considered it fun. Marie Antoinette did it, with or with about Napoleon!” Kurt confided to his audience, glad that they were enjoying the bawdy nonsense. “Parliament pleasure bent did it. Mam’selles every time they’re short of rent did it.

“Let’s do it,” he belted, winding up for the conclusion and letting his voice soar. “Let’s fall in love!”

It might not have been the same thrill that he got from performing Les Misérables, but the audience was applauding and cheering, and Kurt couldn’t be more pleased. He gave a brief bow and waved to the crowd before stepping off stage.

Mrs. Dolloway was giving him an odd, appraising look but didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him right away. She stepped out to introduce the next performer and Kurt took the opportunity to make a quick escape.

He stopped by Abigail and Brett, the three of them quietly congratulating one another for their fine performances before Kurt made his way to where they audience was seated. Taking care not to draw attention to himself and detract from the young woman singing a glorious aria, he stealthily made his way to the table at the back where his friends were seated. They were all smiles and while they couldn’t immediately express what they thought without disturbing others seated around them, Kurt knew that he had done what he’d set out to do.

Rachel smiled at him warmly, her dark eyes clearly communicating how well she thought he’d done and reached out to grasp his hand. He returned the loving squeeze and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder while they watched the remaining performers.

Once all the students were finished, Mrs. Dolloway took the stage again bask in the admiration of the audience, nodding her thanks at their applause. With practiced graciousness, she thanked all the performers and sponsors of the retirement home, urging everyone to stay for the reception. The house lights came on to illuminate the room and the band began to play a pleasant jazz set so that everyone could mingle and talk.

Now that the hard part was over, Kurt turned to his friends with a satisfied smile. “Thanks for being here, guys,” he said sincerely. “It was really reassuring, knowing that you were out here.”

Analisa got up to hug her favorite duet partner about his shoulders. “Don’t be silly,” she admonished playfully. “Did you really think we would miss it? We’re all in this together.”

Jamie clapped Kurt on the arm fondly. “Why don’t we go see what kind of food they’ve got,” he suggested.

Kurt smiled and nodded, offering his arms to both Analisa and Rachel, while Jamie happily escorted Katya. There was an open bar which provided Kurt with a very well-deserved glass of white wine while waiters circulated through the crowd with trays of finger foods. Taking a fried nibble that turned out to be brie and fig preserves, Kurt mentally prepared himself to do the whole meet and greet thing. While he’d much rather hang out with his friends and enjoy the free food, he knew that it would be stupid to waste the opportunity to network on June Dolloway’s dime. Especially if he could share the wealth with his friends.

After making the rounds, accepting compliments on his performance and pocketing a few business cards from some professionals who wanted to keep Kurt on their radar, he decided that he now had full right to relax and enjoy the party. A plate of munchies and Kurt was happy to sit at a convenient table with his friends to talk. They didn’t often have the chance to enjoy outings like this and he certainly wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity.

“I could use another drink,” he pronounced after finishing off his first glass of wine. “Can I get anyone anything?”

“No, we’re good,” Jamie assured him.

Kurt got up from his seat and took his empty glass with him to head towards the bar. He’d already planned to cut himself off after two glasses of wine, knowing that this was not the kind of setting where getting sloppy would be appreciated. The crowd was a bit thick and he carefully waded his way through but couldn’t avoid being collided by someone who’d been nudged into his path. Kurt quickly caught her, helping her find her balance again.

“I’m so sorry!” the woman exclaimed, alarmed as the glass she held sloshed a bit. “Did I get anything on you?”

Even in the less than ideal light, Kurt could see that his outfit was free of liquid stains. “No, it’s fine,” he assured her, offering a smile.

She inhaled a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness! I would have hated to ruin your outfit after that wonderful performance you just gave us,” she admitted with a smile.

Kurt quickly recognized her as the older woman that he’d focused on during his performance and realized that she was even more adorable than he’d originally perceived from the stage. With her round face and neat cap of grey hair, she looked like she would be perfectly at home baking cookies for a score of grandchildren.

That was until he caught the mischievous glint in her eyes behind her glasses. That indicated less an inclination towards baking and a nature more inclined to being the source of trouble wherever she went.

“At least this gives me the chance to thank you,” she said with a warm smile. “You were absolutely wonderful.”

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling back. “Thank you very much,” he answered sincerely. I’m so happy that you enjoyed it.”

“Well, it’s such a pleasure to meet you in person,” she said sweetly. “I’m Maggie.”

Kurt took her hand and shook it gently, amazing at how soft her skin was over joints that were clearly showing signs of advanced arthritis. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maggie. I’m Kurt.”

The handsome black man that Maggie had been seated with hurried over, trailed by another man with a perpetually dazed smile on his face. “Maggie, here you are,” he exclaimed, a hint or reprimand in his voice. “We were looking all over for you.”

“Oh hush… I was just talking to my new friend here,” Maggie explained. “This is Kurt and he just saved me from being knocked to the floor.”

She sighed happily. “It’ been so long since I’ve had a handsome young man to take care of me,” she teased with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Despite how she overstated his rescue of her, Kurt couldn’t help from smiling back, flattered by her compliment.

“Oh, come on,” the handsome black man reprimanded playfully. “My grandson visited just last week. He did your hair for you!”

Maggie blushed and laughed, hand-waving away her friend’s protestations. She turned a teasing smile to Kurt. “Don’t listen to him,” she insisted, patting his hand. “He always tries to spoil my fun.”

She looked to her friend and explained, “This is that lovely young man that we saw in Les Misérables. Remember?”

The man’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. “I should have remembered that,” he said ruefully. “A voice like that, you don’t forget too quickly.

“I’m Andy and this here is Marty,” he introduced, shaking Kurt’s hand warmly. “It’s so nice to meet such a talented young man.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said sincerely. “I wasn’t sure if anyone here saw our show.”

Andy couldn’t help from laughing loudly at that bit of absurdity. “Son, I don’t think there’s anyone in this room that didn’t see that show,” he insisted with a broad smile that looked far too sexy on a man his age. “It was a nice surprise to see some of the performers from it here today.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing at their antics. “Madam Tibideaux told me a bit about your retirement home and I couldn’t resist wanting to help,” he said with a smile. “It sounds like a really nice place.”

Andy nodded, taking a sip of his drink that appeared to be scotch and water. “It is,” he assured the younger man. “Especially when you consider that all of the residents have a lot of shared life and career experiences. Gives us plenty to talk about.”

Maggie nodded in agreement. “They have a lot of activities for old actors like us. We get to see most of the new Broadway shows, and we go to a lot of school and local productions,” she explained. “There was no way that we would miss that one.”

Her smile turned a bit mischievous as she appraised him. “I recognized you the instant you came on the stage.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing a bit. “I’m flattered,” he said sincerely.

“It’s a lot of fun, watching all you youngsters,” Andy complimented. “Reminds me of our glory days. I probably wasn’t much older than you when I made my big debut.”

“Oh hush, Andy,” Maggie reprimanded playfully. “He doesn’t want to hear our old stories. And we’re being so rude, taking him away from his friends like this.”

“It’s okay,” Kurt promised with a chuckle. He glanced over at the table where his friends were seated and caught Rachel’s questioning gesture at what was keeping him. He nodded his head towards his current companions and Rachel smiled knowingly, rolling her eyes playfully. “I see them all the time at school.”

Before he could say anything more, he saw Mrs. Dolloway approaching them. Her face was set in a smile, but Kurt could easily see that it was just a front for the guests. The look in her pale eyes was positively steely and whatever hope he had of finishing the day without an uncomfortable confrontation with her was totally extinguished.

“I hate to rush away,” he said was honest regret, because he would much rather hear their stories about the old days than deal with the unpredictable sponsor. “But I see Mrs. Dolloway and it look like she wants to speak with me.”

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Kurt,” Andy said graciously, offering another brilliant smile. “You were excellent today and we’re all looking forward to seeing more from you.”

Maggie leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for rescuing me,” she said sincerely. “I hope that we see more of you soon.”

He smiled back, giving her hand a fond squeeze. “It was wonderful to meet you,” he said graciously before turning to face the difficult sponsor. He was mentally steeling himself when he jumped in surprise because someone just pinched his ass. He turned in shock to see Maggie strolling away with her friends to find new entertainments but not without turning a mischievous smile in his direction and giving him a quick wave. Almost before he had a chance to mentally regroup, he was faced with his biggest challenge of the day.

“Well, Mr. Hummel,” Mrs.Dolloway pronounced with obviously false sweetness. “That performance was certainly not what I would have expected from you.”

Kurt let himself smile, detecting the bare trace of hard-won respect in her tone. “I’m pleased that I was able to surpass your expectations,” he allowed himself to respond with carefully politeness.

Her mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Well, it certainly wasn’t anything I would have expected,” she granted. “And I’ve gotten some decent feedback from some of our donors on your performance.”

Kurt had the feeling that getting an actual compliment from this woman would be like trying to extract state secrets from James Bond. Nor did he think that it would be worth the effort. He knew how well he’d done and didn’t need the confirmation from someone that evidently didn’t respect him.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he granted with a smile, pouring on the sugar. “Especially since it’s going to benefit the retirement home residents.”

Something seemed to soften in Mrs. Dolloway’s eyes at his disinterest in trying to reap glory for his own benefit. He would have every right to be proud of what he’d brought to that stage but had the grace to recognize that this day wasn’t about him in the end. It was about those lovely old actors getting support and respect from a younger generation.

She quickly regained her mental equilibrium, pasting a tolerant expression on her face as if trying to reason with an unruly child. Gazing at him appraisingly, she stated “I have other performance opportunities over the next few weeks that might interest you. Perhaps we could set up a time to discuss the options.”

Kurt’s eyebrow arched in surprise at the offer. He would have thought that he would be the last person she would invite back to another of her showcases.

Trying to look apologetic and not sure if he was being totally convincing, Kurt gave a regretful sigh. “I wish that I could,” he said with as much sincerity as he could force into his voice without sounding saccharine. “But we’re getting to the end of the semester and I’ve got all my finals and critiques to get through. Then right after that, I start rehearsals for the Garrison festival and that will tie me up all summer. I’m afraid that I’m just not going to have any free time to take on any more committments.”

At least not any where Mrs. Dolloway was concerned, he said to himself with an internal smirk.

His excuse was plausible enough given the time of the year and not something that she could actually protest since he still had two years of school to go. “I suppose that your semester is winding down,” she granted with a huff. “And I doubt that Carmen would be forgiving if I distracted you from your studies.”

Kurt nodded, glad that she was buying it. To be honest, if he really wanted to, he probably could have found time to manage another showcase. He’d become very adept at juggling an overloaded schedule, but Mrs. Dolloway made it difficult for him to justify putting himself out in any way.

Still, she didn’t appear to be trying to be deliberately awful at the moment and he was glad to have helped support the retirement home. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make nice to the old harridan.

“Maybe once school starts again,” he offered, wanting to end this on a positive note so that he at least didn’t have to worry about an enemy. While it would be idiotic for Mrs. Dolloway to try to hamstring his prospects, it would be equally stupid on his part to antagonize her unnecessarily.

“Especially if your showcase benefits a cause like this,” he added with genuine sincerity. “I was very happy to give my support today. Anything for old folks or animals… I’m pretty much a sucker for those.”

That got a genuine laugh from the cantankerous woman, and Kurt thought that just maybe he might get out of this with his professional reputation intact.

Mrs. Dolloway offered a brief nod, accepting both his refusal and the offered olive branch with a lot more grace that he would have expected. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind if the opportunity comes up,” she assured him with a sharp-toothed grin. “Even if it doesn’t, I’ll be keeping my eye on you. I’m curious enough to see how you develop going forward. You’re an interesting young man, Mr. Hummel.”

There was just enough warning in her tone to imply that she was being entirely truthful, and Kurt knew well enough not to poke a snarling cat with a stick. He reached out to take her hand, as if to shake it, but surprised her by pressing a feather-light kiss to her thin fingers.

“I’ll try to keep surprising you,” he assured her, offering a bit of a saucy wink that got another laugh from Mrs. Dolloway. She shook her head bemusedly as she walked off to find someone else to torture.

Walking back to his friends, Kurt allowed himself a sigh of relief at having managed to escape what could have been a very painful entanglement. He knew that he had handled things as well as he possibly could have managed and all things considered, it hadn’t been a terrible way to spend an afternoon. He got to offer support to a worthy cause, performed well before and appreciative audience and apparently had managed to avoid being mauled by a difficult patron.

All in all, he was rather pleased with himself. And he’d have some interesting stories to tell Adam when he returned home.

* * *

At one point, having a day off meant that Adam could rest. Being on the road and performing on tour was draining and he knew that if he intended to survive with his sanity intact, that he needed to take the opportunity to relax when presented with it. Certainly, he and his friends did sightseeing and took advantage of the various cities that they performed in. He was glad to have the opportunity to see so much of the country that he had made his home in.

But this day off would allow little time for decompressing or taking a long nap to recharge. Not when he had just a few weeks left of work and no flat to return to. He wanted to review the listings and narrow down some options before asking Kurt to take time from his studies to see them in person. Adam knew that Kurt would have his finals soon and had precious little time to go looking at apartments when he should be focused on his studies.

While staying in their old neighborhood would have been ideal for Kurt, as he could walk to school when the weather permitted and they were familiar with the area, he knew that they should also branch out a bit. Being closer to the theater district might work out and put him closer to work and auditions. And while he had a very nice chuck of his pay stashed in the bank, he knew that it needed to last until Butcher’s Bill started up in New York. Something that they could afford would be critical.

Adam had lived in New York long enough to know that the real estate market was cutthroat and apartments that seemed ideally suited to their needs would vanish from the market in an instant. It was frustrating to compile a list of prospects, only to have them snapped up before he could ask Kurt to see them in person.

Niall watched his increasing vexation with amusement, rolling his eyes as Adam ranted at another possible flat was rented before they could even check the apartment out.

“Mate, why are you driving yourself barmy like this?” he asked, watching from his bed as Adam was reviewing yet another group of listings.

Adam turned an irritated look to his friend. “Because NYADA isn’t going to let me move into Kurt’s dorm room when we get back to New York,” he snapped, aggravated by the lack of progress in finding himself a home. “I’m not fancying being homeless.”

Niall shook his head in amusement. “Just call an agent,” he suggested, as if the solution was so plainly obvious and Adam was three kinds of idiot for not noticing it sooner. “Let them do all the leg work. Just tell them when you’ll need your place by.”

Adam looked at the other Englishman, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of that sooner. Exasperated with his own stubbornness, he did a quick internet search and found an agent had very positive reviews from past clients. Speaking to her, he learned that her fee was paid by the landlords after the lease was signed, as they were saved time and work by having their prospective tenants cleared by someone else and Adam explained what he and Kurt were looking for.

A one bedroom at least, so that he and Kurt would have some wiggle room and not be living in one another’s pockets the whole time. Two bedrooms would be even better, letting one room stand as a study/guest room but he knew that would probably be out of their budgets. A decent kitchen with a dishwasher. They didn’t mind a walk up, but if the flat was more than three stories up they were prefer a building with a lift. He explained that while he wouldn’t be back in New York to sign the lease for a few weeks, they could put a deposit down to secure the flat until he returned.

She expressed confidence that she’d be able to find something for him that would be available when he returned to New York and that it would be no problem for Kurt to see the apartments in his stead. Within three days, Adam had a group of listings to review. He picked out the ones that he thought suited best and forwarded them to Kurt to look over.

“The Chelsea apartment is awfully expensive,” Kurt mused on their afternoon call. “And it’s pretty far from the subway.”

“I was thinking that myself,” Adam said regretfully. It was the largest of the flats they were considering and ticked off most of the boxes, but it was at the high end of their budget. Being comfortable didn’t matter much if they were left starving in order to cover the rent. “We can cross that one off our list. What about the one in Hell’s Kitchen? I know it’s a walk-up, but it’s only the second floor. And it’s a few blocks from the subway and the bus going downtown.”

The agent had been especially pleased to find that apartment and it would become available right around the time Adam was finishing in California. Newly renovated and in an area that she assured him had plenty of good restaurants and shopping and was very friendly to same-sex couples, it sounded like a fine place for Adam to land in.

Kurt took a moment and looked over the listing. “I like this one,” he decided. “I won’t be able to walk to school, but it shouldn’t take me too long to get there. And there’s a laundromat right down the block, so we won’t have to go too far for clean underwear.”

“And it’s not at all far from the theater district,” Adam noted. “It’s only one bedroom, but I think that it’ll be large enough for us to be comfortable. Maybe look at this one and two flats in the West Village.”

“Sounds good,” Kurt agreed. “I’ll make arrangements to see them and we’ll make a final choice. That is, if you trust me.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing at the absurd nothing. “Of course I do, love,” he assured Kurt lovingly. “I have no doubt that you’ll pick the right home for us.”

Kurt fell silent for a moment and Adam couldn’t help from prodding, “Sweetheart?”

“It’s okay,” Kurt assured him. “It’s just… it feels like you’ve been away for so long. This just makes you coming home real.”

Adam smiled at the longing in his lover’s voice. He’d missed Kurt so badly the past few months and finding a new flat was the confirmation that their time apart was coming to an end.

“And this will be our place,” he reminded Kurt. “Not one of us moving into a space where the other had already set down roots. We’ll make it our home, together.”

He heard Kurt sniffle over the line and wished that he could be there to take his beautiful lad into his arms. Just a few short weeks, he told himself.

“I can’t wait,” Kurt insisted. “I just want to hold you and never let go.”

Hearing Kurt’s longing expressed so plainly caused Adam’s heart to tighten within his chest. They’d survived this trial and very soon would be reaping the rewards for everything that they’d gone through.

It would only be a few more weeks, he told himself.

* * *

Kurt looked about the empty apartment, glad that he’d brought Rachel along for both company and to offer an unbiased opinion. After sleeping in a dorm room, however comfortable, Kurt was desperate for some real privacy and his own shower. While Adam trusted him to make a good choice that suited both of them, Kurt worried that he’d take whatever apartment he was shown first. Having one of his closest friends who knew his tastes so well would help him to make a more reasoned decision.

He'd already decided that one of the West Village apartments might be a contender, having enough space for them to live in comfortably. The other was too small despite technically being a one bedroom and the bathroom was sorely out of date despite the high rent the landlord was requesting. Climbing up the steps to an old pre-war brownstone on the west side, he hoped that this apartment might suit them better.

“The apartment gets a lot of good natural light,” the broker, Monica, explained as she guided them around. “The windows are new and will muffle out a lot of the street noise.”

Kurt nodded as he checked out the kitchen that had clearly been recently renovated. While like most kitchens in New York apartments it was on the small side, there was more space than in Adam’s old place and he was confident that both he and Adam could be cooking together without tripping over one another. It had more than enough cabinet and counter space for their needs and all the appliances were brand new, including the coveted dishwasher.

The living area was decent sized, and Kurt thought that they could fit in an actual dining table that could accommodate more than just the two of them, as well as a sofa and loveseat so they could entertain guests. He loved the exposed brick wall and the honey-warm hardwood floors, listening to his shoes clicking as he walked through the place.

“Does the fireplace work?” Rachel asked, eyeing the space in the brick wall and the small mantle accenting it enviously. Kurt didn’t blame her, as he was already envisioning hanging up their stockings during the winter holidays and setting up an elegantly decorated tree or curling up on the floor together in front of a roaring fire.

Monica shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she clarified. “The shaft is sealed off. But you can put in an electric log heater. I have one in my own place and it gives the feel of having a real fire. It’s also a lot safer.”

Kurt nodded absently, making a note of that to relay to Adam. A functioning fireplace was on neither of their “must have” lists and it certainly wouldn’t be something that would remove this apartment from consideration. They could still have romantic evenings together, even if their fire was electrical. Having a fireplace, even a non-functional one was a definite bonus.

The bathroom had also undergone recent renovations, with a cleanly tiled shower that looked like he and Adam could share if they didn’t mind being in very close quarters he noted with a pleased smirk. There was a linen closet right opposite the bathroom, giving them additional storage space. And the bedroom…

Kurt took measure of the size, seeing that they could easily fit in a large bed and a dresser for each of them. A peek in the closet confirmed that there was enough space so that they wouldn’t be fighting over every square inch. The room had been painted recently a pale beige that invited him to imagine their pictures on the wall and white blinds on the windows that would give the space a refined but homey feel.

He thought back to the day that he and Rachel first saw the Bushwick loft and that instant that they both realized that they could make that big empty space a home. That they were able to look past the bare walls and cheerless interior and see where they could build their lives in New York. The other apartments he’d been looking at were nice, but this was the first apartment where Kurt could actually see himself and Adam living.

If he gave the word, Adam would go along with his opinion. They would pay the deposit and sign the lease as soon as Adam was back in New York. Adam could get moved in and start setting up while Kurt was finishing his classes for the year. It was a huge responsibility that his partner had placed on his shoulders and Kurt didn’t wand to make the wrong choice. He took a few pictures on his phone to send to Adam so they could discuss their options.

Letting Monica know that he and Adam would think about things and let her know which apartment they’d choose, he and Rachel walked down the stairs and out into the lively neighborhood that surrounded the pretty ivy-covered building. The street was tree-lined and surprisingly quiet despite being the middle of a weekday. Just down the block was an appealing looking coffee shop and several interesting bars and restaurants.

It was the kind of area that he could see them building a life together. He could pick at the negatives, such as having to commute to school and not living close by their friends. But those were minor complaints when he could envision their lives there. Both of them had been flying on their own for too long, learning what the strength of their wings were capable of. Now it was time to build a nest of their own.

“So, what do you think?” Rachel asked as they explored the neighborhood around the building a bit. “You’ve got a lot of nice restaurants around here.”

Kurt took in the lively atmosphere, liking the feel of the area. He appreciated how the building was down a side street and insulated from the worst of the city noise, but a quick walk would get them to all of the amenities. The Clinton Gardens were just a few short blocks away, giving them a bit of green space to enjoy during the nice weather. Walking east would take them right into the heart of the theater district. It was as if this neighborhood were all but designed for their needs.

“I think I like it here,” he pronounced, allowing himself to smile. He spotted a bakery that the real estate agent had recommended and grasped Rachel’s hand. “Come on… I owe you a treat after all your help today. Then we’ll do a test drive to see how long it takes the bus to get me to school.”

They returned to Kurt’s dorm room forty minutes later with a box of assorted cookies to share. “Well, that wasn’t bad,” Rachel decided as she sat down on Kurt’s bed. “It’s a lot easier than coming from Bushwick.”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be okay,” Kurt agreed, sitting down at his desk chair and opening the box. “I hope you know that you’re taking most of these home… Ms. July will decapitate me if she sees me eating these.”

Still, the threat of bodily harm from his dance instructor didn’t stop him from picking out a large cookie studded liberally with chucks of chocolate.

Rachel laughed, picking out a carrot cake cookie for herself. “I’m sure that between Artie and Santana, I won’t have too much trouble finding anyone to take these off my hands,” she said good naturedly. After taking a bite of her snack, she looked to her best friend.

“You look like you’re thinking awfully hard,” she prodded gently, knowing that her friend had a huge decision to make.

“I am,” Kurt admitted. “I just don’t want to make the wrong choice.”

She nodded and nibbled at her cookie. “I don’t think you can really make a bad choice,” she pointed out. “All of the apartments were nice.”

“I was a little torn between the last one we saw and the one in the Village,” Kurt admitted. “But I really like the one in Hell’s Kitchen. Even if it is farther away from school. I think that the quality of life we can have there would be worth the commute.”

She nodded in agreement. “I knew that one was your favorite. From the moment you stepped through the door,” she advised thoughtfully. “So, you’ll take it?”

Kurt considered their options again, mentally weighing out the pros and cons of each place before nodding. “I’ll call Adam and talk it over, but I think that one is it.”

Rachel smiled at her friend. “I’m glad,” she admitted. “And we all can’t wait to throw you two a housewarming party. Don’t forget to tell us when you move in. You’ve got plenty of friends to help move things.”

That was a fact that Kurt was absolutely certain of. Between the group from Lima based out in Bushwick, the Apples and the group he’d found in NYADA, he and Adam wouldn’t be alone to break their backs moving furniture. Promising beer and pizza, they would have plenty of willing helpers.

That evening, he and Adam reviewed their options and made their final choice. Adam would be contacting their agent in the morning and would transfer the deposit to secure their new home. After speaking with his lover for what seemed like hours, Kurt rolled over in bed, clutching a pillow to him.

Only a few more weeks, he told himself.

* * *

The final performance of Butcher’s Bill went off splendidly, with the entire cast giving everything they had for that performance. Standing on stage and accepting the ovation of the audience filled Adam with a tremendous sense of pride. It had been a tremendous challenge, being on the road for so long and then performing to the best of his ability every night but he had succeeded beyond anything he could have hoped to accomplish.

Of course, his time with Butcher’s Bill wasn’t done just yet, with runs in London and New York to look forward to. But he would have time to rest, recalibrate and focus on getting his life in New York sorted out again.

The cast and crew celebrated their accomplishment late into the night. There was much in the way of congratulations and commiserations, not to mention numerous celebratory toasts. Adam awoke in his shared hotel room with Niall snoring nosily in the next bed and his own head feeling like it wasn’t quite attached to his neck.

Packing his bags for the final time felt odd in a manner that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was, of course, delighted to be going home and could not wait to see Kurt. But after zipping up his suitcase, he felt a little lost as bereft. The pressure of his job was over for the time being, and he wasn’t quite sure what awaited him. He’d managed to find something of a routine that had kept him sane over the past few months and now would have to develop a new one going forward.

There would certainly be enough for him to do, he considered. Reconnecting with Kurt was first and foremost on his list, and there was their new flat to set up. He had his internship with the Garrison festival that would keep him busy over the summer, as well as allow him more time to spend with Kurt while they worked. He’d find a small job to keep the bills paid and himself busy until rehearsals started for their London run.

But for now… it was the malaise that came with the end of a production. The down that came after the incredible high of performing before an appreciative audience every night and doing what he’d spent his life training to do. Having the production end, even for just a few months, took a lot of the steam right out of him. It was a vastly different from his past experience with school productions and festivals. This felt much larger… more intense.

It was something that he would have to become accustomed to, Adam told himself as he checked about the hotel room to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything. His life would be a cycle of shows beginning and ending. Of hard work and downtime when he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. But for his first true foray into the world of being a professional actor, he was well satisfied with what he and his castmates had accomplished.

Niall pulled him into a tight embrace as they left the last cast luncheon where they’d celebrated having survived the experience. Adam found himself clinging back to the man who’d become such a close friend over the past few months.

“Now don’t forget,” Niall warned with a grin. “Cynth and I are claiming first rights for a couple’s night out once you’re settled in your place. No trying to wriggle out of that.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing. “I won’t,” he assured his friend. “Kurt will have my guts for garters if I tried to bail on you.”

The other Englishman gave Adam another squeeze, as if reluctant to let him go. “Take care of yourself, you silly tosser. Safe travels,” he urged.

“You too, mate,” Adam returned, blinking away the tears that he swore weren’t there just a second ago. “Give Cynthia a hug for me.”

Adam was grateful to have made such a good friend on this tour, and that the whole case got along so well. It would have made for a miserable experience to live that closely with a group that he didn’t get along with for an extended period. Not that he expected that he would always bond so closely with castmates, and Adam had worked with actors that he didn’t like on a personal level, but the pressures of a tour magnified the dynamics of any cast. He was indeed fortunate to have his first experience be such a positive one.

The flight back to New York was uneventful, but as the miles of American landscape passed beneath him, Adam felt his excitement begin to swell. He watched out the plane window as mountains and grasslands passed by, speeding past cities and long stretches of road that etched their way through the landscapes. He would never cease to be amazed at just how big this country was, or how varied it was. He was wise enough to recognize what a treat he’d had, getting a chance to see more of the country than most people who’d lived their wholes lives there had.

He felt himself smiling as the pilot announced their approach to Newark Airport, knowing that it would only be a little bit longer before he was home. Or at least, in the hotel room that he’d reserved until their lease was signed and he could get into their new flat. When the jets wheels finally touched onto solid ground, he knew that he’d finally made it.

It seemed to take forever for his bags to appear on the carousal, but he soon enough had them in hand and was walking to the arrivals area. It would be just a short train ride into Manhattan, and hopefully into Kurt’s waiting arms.

After stepping through the last set of doors that let him out into the greeting area, he looked for the sign that would direct him to the train when he heard a familiar voice call out, “Adam!”

Adam looked at the crowd gathered to greet the arriving passengers and sat him standing at the front, waving to get his attention. What the hell..?

He hurried over and dropped the handle for his suitcase, catching up Kurt in a tight hug and not caring who was around to see them. Adam’s senses were suddenly flooded with all the familiar characteristics that he knew so well from Kurt and had missed so much these past months. The feel of his body, the scent of his skin and the cologne that he favored, the slight hitch in his breathing that sometimes happened when he was overcome with emotion.

Home wasn’t New York or their little flat. Home was Kurt.

He was finally home, and he never wanted to leave again.

* * *

Kurt's solos: "Night and Day" and "Let's Fall In Love" - Cole Porter

#kadam #kurt hummel #adam crawford #rachel berry #carmen tibideaux #june dolloway #original characters #cannon? what fucking cannon?#not blaine or klaine friendly

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