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joeytime · 3 months

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Maxiel Hogwarts Au...

If you asked Max what he thought of Hogwarts, he would likely make a joke about pigs and insult their quidditch teams.

He isn't sure it's smart to do that now, in the middle of the Hogwarts' grand hall, completely surrounded by Hogwarts' students and staff. He isn't sure he could escape even if he had his broom.

"Wow, you really hate Hogwarts." The dreaded hat says atop his hair.

Shut up! Max thinks furiously at it. Get out of my head!

Everyone stares intensely at Max, not daring to breathe while the fate of the member of the national quidditch team is being decided. Even the teachers are at the edge of their seats, other than Dumbledore, he seems to know where Max will inevitably end up.

"Little quidditch champion. Everyone is expecting" The hat says, as if it's life of forever moving from head to head to call one of four words is somehow a greater destiny than Max's.

It's not. Max knows he will go on to succeed in life, and win as many quidditch championships as he wants and then retire on an island in The Maldives with a butt load of cash while the hat is left in a dusty room, waiting for it's yearly use. Max wants to reach to rip it up but it would not be wise to do so in front of Dumbledore himself. His hands stay in his lap, frown etched on his face.

"Impatient. Immature." Max's fingers twitch slightly. There is only so much backtalk one can take from a hat.

"Violent and uncaring, wherever will I put you?" Max doesn't agree with that description, he cares plenty, about winning that is.

"Foolish. Foolish boy." It doesn't hurt, Max has heard those words plenty of times.

Max sulks.

It's a beat of silence before the suspense reaches its climax. "Hufflepuff! " The hat hollers, not bothering to consult Max on it's decision. Which is very rude and impolite.

The entire room erupts into chaos, screams of "What! " and "No way! No way!" echo throughout the hall.

Max can't help but agree, he thought he might end up in Gryffindor or Slytherin, maybe Ravenclaw if he was super unlucky. But Hufflepuff? His father was going to disown him. The media are going to have a field day. Well they were going to already, regardless of which house Max was put in.

Dumbledore moves to pull the hat off of Max, the treacherous thing whispers one last time: "Things will make sense in time. Be patient. Do not mope."

Max doesn't mope. Verstappens can't mope, so he doesn't.

Dumbledore gently guides a slightly speechless Max to the Hufflepuff table, pushing him into the seat before winking and walking off.

Max wants to burn down this school.

Cheers erupt from the Hufflepuff table, hands coming to pat him on the back and fawn over him.

The other tables seem miserable at the prospect of losing out on a quidditch champion.

"Oh my god! Hi! Hi! Oh my god! It's you!" A boy excitedly chatters to his left, other students crowd around him and Max suddenly finds that he can't breathe. It's like he's small again, after being knocked off his broom by an overly excited big kid. He had fallen to the ground, too exhausted and overwhelmed to get back up.

His father had been mad, really mad. He hadn't slept well again after that.

"Guys! Guys! He doesn't look so good. " Whoever that is, is definitely right, Max can hardly breathe, he tries to use the breathing technique his father taught him after his first match, control his breathing. It doesn't work, it only causes the panic and urgency in his veins to surge. It did work, it's purpose was to put him on guard, not calm down.

He curls into himself, hands around his ears to protect from the deafening sound of crowds cheering. His bubble of personal space is of course pried and poked at. Fans never had any self awareness when it came to these matters and his father never did have sympathy for personal space.

Hands are pried away from him, he can hear outraged screeching at the action. His own quidditch team's screams when he was 6 years old and pulled away to join the older kids. They thought it wasn't fair that a small boy climbed the ranks faster than they did.

"Hey! Hey! Everyone back up right now!" The entire opposing team bombarding him in an attempt to stop him. The referee's reprimand that fell on deaf ears.

The people at his sides are replaced and gentle hands hold him back up, out of the ball he curled himself into.

Max doesn't dare look up, too afraid at the thought of seeing his father's judgemental look.

"Hey, are you okay? " Max turns his head, soft, gentle, warm eyes, concerned. Jos was never concerned, he was the uncaring one! Not Max!

"I'm fine. " A repeated response, practiced again and again every time he came home to his mother.

The teen with the soft eyes gestures for another boy to sit on Max's other side. The boy opposite Max looks on in concern.

"Hello. I'm Daniel Riccardo, I'm a prefect of Hufflepuff, it's nice to meet you." The gentle boy says, eyes still filled with concern.

"Max Verstappen. " Max manages to choke out.

"The boy on your left is Yuki Tsunoda and that's Lando Norris." Daniel gestures to the boy sitting opposite Max, who waves shyly.

The ruckus Max's sorting caused calms down and everyone settles down to listen to Dumbledore's welcome back speech which luckily does not mention Max.

Max feels strange between Riccardo and Tsunoda, like dread wrapped in false cotton. Norris also peers at him from time to time, creep.

They're sent back to their dorms. Max tells Riccardo that he can get there on his own but the older boy frowns and insists that he takes Max. Max thinks his father would be disappointed at his complacency but he doesn't have the strength to fight it.

Riccardo leads him to the kitchen, Max wants to snap some insult about him being a goody two shoes and how this is none of his business. He holds his tongue.

Riccardo gestures to a specific barrel, looking more worn out than the ones around it. He taps a certain beat, perhaps it's a secret code. That's childish, Max decides, they are not children playing in a fort.

The barrel swings open.

Max grimaces at the small tunnel.

"Here, you try tapping it." Riccardo puts Max's hand to the barrel.

Max repeats the rhythm perfectly. Memory exercises were part of his training.

Once Riccardo is satisfied, he points at the tunnel, almost as if he wants Max to crawl through it.

Max scrunches his nose, seriously? The older boy points more urgently and Max relents, shoving himself through the tunnel.

Well, not shoving, he's not really big, a fact his father loathed, putting him on diets with large sums of proteins and even attempting to use transfiguration spells before it was put to a stop by his mother.

Max wished his mother had not stopped his father. Maybe he would have an excuse not to join this god forsaken house.

It's an agonizing 5 second crawl before he pops out the other end right in front of Lando Norris, the boy before.

Daniel appears behind him, putting a hand on Max's shoulder.

"So Max, this is the Hufflepuff house. You know Yuki and Lando. That's Oscar, Nico and Valtteri." Riccardo urges the boys to come forward.

"It's Verstappen. " Max declares, Riccardo quirks an eyebrow and the rest of the boys look equally confused.

"Hi! I'm Lando! I'm like a huge fan, do you mind signing this for me? " The boy's yellow robes are somehow orange.

Max's PR training kicks in and he smiles one of those sickly sweet smiles that his father loves to wipe off his face before ordering him to smile again. His posture straightens and he reaches a hand around the younger boy's shoulders, patting him on his back once, twice. Just like he rehearsed.

"Sure! " His tone is so obviously a faux sweet as he reaches to retrieve the black marker from his back pocket. The boy has stars in his eyes and Max feels guilty, he always does. He's a fraud.

He signs the hat from his national team, the one he left behind.

He wishes he didn't.

"Hey, are you okay Max? " Riccardo asks, looking weird again.

"I'm doing great, how are you? " His PR trainer said asking back these questions were endearing, cute. Max's father had mocked him for that act, his trainer had been fired after that.

"How about I bring you to your room? Would you like that?" Riccardo asks, Max smiles again, nodding.

"Sure." Norris waves enthusiastically as Riccardo leads him out of the common room and into his private room.

"Are you alright? Max?"

"Call me Verstappen."

"Verstappen. Are you alright?"

"You can go, Riccardo. "

"... Call if you need anything."

When the prefect leaves, Max wants nothing but to burst into tears. He flops onto the bed.

The next day he drags himself out of bed. Even if classes don't start till 9 and the sun hasn't risen yet.

Jos expected him to continue his strict training regime. He was almost tempted to skip it and lie to his father but he thought he better not after his humiliating sorting from yesterday.

Now, alone, Max can see the Hufflepuff room properly. It's... It's all gentle lighting, none of the bright fluorescent lights his room had. The chairs looked comfy and the many plants lazing around the common room tempts him to join them.

Perhaps that would be a better fate, turning into a plant to live the rest of his life in the common room. His hand lingers on his wand, mind on a spell his professor taught him when he was just 9. He didn't.

When he had crawled out of the Hufflepuff room, fully dressed, broom in hand, the sun was just peaking from the horizon.

The halls are empty, some portraits mutter as he walks by. His father's portraits never moved, other than those instructed to. For example, a painter that never stopped moving his brush or a surfer never to take a break from the sea.

Making his way to the Hogwarts field, he stretched, slow and patient. His bones crack from the exhausting day he had before.

The field is decent sized, not as big as the one he played in during national championships, bigger than the one his father made him run laps around till he fainted.

He glides through the air easily, flying comes easily to him. If he were to be given his own time and freedom he thinks he would likely still be a top player in the school leagues.

It's better that he was hurled up though. Better to have reached the top by sheer force of his father's training.

He thinks about his national team, he's a reserve, too young to play officially but the team has him in some practices and he attends smaller competitions for them. Max suspects it's more about having a claim on Max when he comes of age.

He's 15, he still has 3 years to choose which team he wants to go to. By then, he will make his own choice. He will not do whatever pleases his father anymore.

The golden snitch twinkles near the end of the field. Max pretends not to see it.

It is fun, sometimes, tricking the golden snitch, allowing it a false sense of security. Like a tiger cub playing with a cricket.

His father would get mad at him if he did it for too long, he was upset his son couldn't catch it at once. Which Max could, he just didn't see the fun of it.

The fluttering golden ball is in his hands before it can even think of escaping.

Max briefly wonders if the snitch can possibly think, he lets it flutter away, repeating his game once again.

In the golden light of the sun and shaded path of the clouds, the wind whizzes past his ears, he falls into the familiar rhythm of flying, sometimes he makes his own obstacle courses, weaving through imaginary hoops.

By the time the sun reveals itself fully to watch Max fly, he realizes that a crowd has gathered around under him, star-struck Hogwarts students watching, mouths open and everything.

He flushes slightly, he may have had many adoring fans due to his membership in the national team and young age but come on! These were his peers.

Max lowers down, checking his watch to see that it is indeed 8.30am and he has to run if he wants to get to class not drenched in sweat.

He waves slightly to the crowd, zipping to the house dorm even though he's probably breaking several school rules.

He knocks the tune and enters quickly, still high from the adrenaline of flying.

He climbs out of the tunnel only to come face to face with Daniel Riccardo, his face stern and stony.

"Verstappen! You can't just sneak out like that!" Daniel's expression softens when he sees Max.

Max knows he feels pity even if Riccardo knows nothing about his life.

"I of course did not sneak out, I left my room and went to the field." Max doesn't think early hour training counts as sneaking out, going to parties in the dead of the night is sneaking out.

"Max, we were worried. I went into your room and you weren't there. Thought you'd been kidnapped by the other houses to play quidditch for them or something... "

Max considers this briefly, Riccardo knocking on his door gleefully, freezing when he doesn't get an answer. Did his blood pressure spike? Did he throw Max's door open in desperation only to find the room empty?

Max grimaces.

"I went to go training... Sorry..." Max stands awkwardly, hands by his side like a child being punished by a parent.

Riccardo sighs. Max wants to cry.

"Please forgive me, I'm of course sorry, I will do anything!" Max cringes inside, begging with someone other than his father is a foreign concept.

Riccardo has a cheeky smile on his face, Max is almost scared.

"I'll forgive you... Only if you call me Daniel!"

Max groans inwardly, well he's also partly relieved but Daniel doesn't need to know that.

"What will it be Max? Will you call me the d word? Or will you suffer in my never ending spite! "Daniel's grin grows.

" Fine. "

" Fine, who? "

"Fine. Daniel."

Max flushes, weird.

Daniel looks elated.

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an-angels-fury · 4 months

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You're the Most Beautiful Boy

Yeah, the first time I finish a fanfic in my life (well, I don't even know if this counts as a fanfic anyway - a oneshot maybe??? - but anyway...) and, surprisingly, is about Caspeter!!!

Ngl, I'm quite happy with the final result.

Also, just to be clear, this is supposed to be read as Peter's POV (it's basically all about him being traumatized and emotionally fucked up and, because of that, thinking he's unworthy of love and Caspian just being there to prove him otherwise).

The fic's title is taken out from the song of same name by The Irrepressibles (this one and "Two Men in Love" are so fucking beautiful and have such strong Caspeter Vibes in a way I can't even express 🥹😍).

Anyway, good reading 🫶

P.S.: A friendly reminder that English isn't my first language, so pls give me a break.

(Inspired by this post )

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Reasons to not kiss him:

1. You weren't raised to love tender.

You are capable of love. You know how to be kind. You've doubted many things about yourself, but your unshakable devotion to those you love has never been one of them. But when you live in a world gripped by war, where you know that everything you hold dear can be ripped away from you at any moment in the blink of an eye; where blood, death, and the crying of ghosts from the past haunt your worst nightmares, you learn to hold on to the little lives around you.

You still remember almost doubling over in despair at the sight of your half-dead brother on the battlefield, blood dripping from his lips and his fragile breathing faltering; you remember seeing him come back to life and hold his small body in your shaking arms, hugging him to your chest as if your heartbeat depended on it. You still remember scolding him for his disobedience with your voice breaking, feeling the trails of tears burning your cheeks and blurring your vision because you almost lost him. You almost lost him.

You are the oldest brother. You are the High King. Protecting your family and your kingdom is your responsibility, your duty. To love is to protect what gives meaning to your existence, even if the price is your own life. This is how you love: you surrender completely to the uncertainty of fate, because the light that shines in your heart burns brighter than the fear pulsing through your veins.

You are capable of love. You know how to be kind. You never doubted that. It's the way you love that terrifies you on your most restless nights - intensely, fervently, always fighting and holding on so tight that your teeth grind and your knuckles turn white. Your love is like the Sun: welcoming, radiant. But, above all, consuming. And you're afraid that your love will scare him - someone who never knew love at all - as much as it scares you.

2. When he’s around all you do is tremble. When he’s around you want to get on your knees. Look how much power he has over you. It's dangerous.

There are a million reasons why you convince yourself that you truly hate him. You recite this list in your mind like a sacred mantra to never forget.

You hate the indignation in the prince's voice every time he insists on going against or disagreeing with your decisions. You hate the boy's immaturity in dealing with his own emotions. You hate his gall in pointing the sword at your throat while you blame him for the tragedy you both brought upon yourselves and your people. You hate him for wanting to steal your throne and crown - symbols whose weight you never asked to carry. You hate him because he is an insecure, confused, and angry boy who is constantly trying to prove himself fit and worthy to take on the title of king. You hate him because... he's exactly like you.

You also hate the way those dark eyes meet your blue ones, like night meets day, and penetrate the cracks of your invisible armor as if it were nothing but air. You hate the blush that takes over your face every time you quickly look to the side and notice the sparkle of fascination and idolatry in the prince's eyes, always admiring you from afar, in silence. You hate how, every day you spend by his side, your heart races at the sound of his voice, your body weakens at the touch of his hand, and the words formed in your mouth dissolve into the air like smoke. You can still feel the heat of fire on your tongue.

You hate him for the effect he has on you - and he doesn't even have a clue.

3. He's too good at forgiving and you're too good at violence.

You despise violence. You despise everything that is connected to the idea. But sometimes violence seems like the only thing you're really good at. It's a curse.

All books that narrate stories about the Golden Age of Narnia have always emphasized how skilled and unbeatable the High King was on the battlefield; how your war cry was powerful enough to make the mountains shake and the spirits of your soldiers rise to the heavens. But none of them made mention of the horrors that haunted you, even when you were already surrounded by the safety of the walls of your castle, your beloved home.

All those memories, so vivid in your dreams that they leave you thrashing in bed and waking up voiceless, your skin pale and cold with sweat and the tremors taking over every inch of your body. The screams of your men begging for help and suffering in pure agony. The dirt from your nails and the blood of your enemies that still runs hot and sticky down your fingers no matter how many times you wash your hands. No matter how many times you run away from war, it will always find you. You already know her and even greet her like an old friend. You already feel her presence - the famous shiver down your spine - before she even has a chance to knock on your door. She found a home in you. It's part of who you are.

His tanned skin, once smooth and delicate in the sunlight, already showed the first battle marks, small cuts on his beautiful face and calluses around his fingers. He was just beginning to understand the price of holding a life in his hands. You fear that this burden will be too heavy for him to carry and that, sooner or later, his shoulders will give in to the exhaustion caused by the pain of his actions. You learned to pick yourself up and rebuild yourself again, piece by piece. You learned to hide the pain with a smile. You always held on, not because you believed you were brave enough or strong enough, but because you believed it was the right thing to do. For your family. For your people. For your home.

“But what about him?” You ask yourself when you turn your back to the man on his knees beside you and face the young prince, giving him your sword, offering him the chance to kill the uncle who left him an orphan and who, years later, tried to destroy him and usurp his throne. You see the coldness in those brown eyes as they stare back at you, as well as the flicker of doubt that lies within, and you quickly look away when he takes the weapon.

"But what about him?" The question keeps echoing in your head, until it is silenced by the angry scream that escapes the prince's throat. In one agile movement, he throws the blade towards the ground and orders the defeated tyrant to leave with his life. You watch carefully the way the boy gets up and walks away from his uncle with slow, heavy steps, his chin raised and his eyes shining with unshed tears. The feeling of relief takes over your heart for a moment and, without even realizing it, your dry lips open into a simple line, similar to the shadow of a smile.

This is the moment you realize who the real man in front of you is. That's the king you're fighting for. Whatever challenges the future will bring him, he'll face them the same way he did today: with justice, dignity, mercy and, above all, kindness. He is good and forgiving and you love him for it. But you would never admit that out loud, least of all to yourself.

4. You know what they say about monsters. You know what happens to the boys who love them. Are you going to do that to him?

"You're not a monster" Your siblings whisper in your ears after another night in which you drag yourself out of nightmares, suffocated by your own crying and clenched fists, with your nails pressed so hard against your palms to the point of oozing blood. For a moment, you surrender to the sweet sound of the voices you love most in the world and allow them to caress you like feathers, calming the inner bitterness that torments you and does not allow you to rest.

Maybe you're not a monster, but you know well their wicked schemes and the treacherous way they act. You know them because you carry them with you every day. They are there, sinking teeth into your neck and claws into your wrists, making you spit and drown in your own blood. You still feel the craving caused by the bitter taste of bile that burns the roof of your mouth like acid. You still feel the shiver caused by the nauseating sensation of the demon's snake tongue hissing in your ear, exposing all your weaknesses and reminding you of all your crimes.

They want to break you and destroy the railings that imprison them. They want to crush your bones and make you suffer slowly and painfully until you have no choice but to bend to their will. They want you to set them free. But you refuse. You never give in.

You can scream to the void at the top of your lungs until your knees give in from exhaustion. You can punch a stone wall over and over again until your knuckles are black and throbbing. You can even lie on the floor in a huge ball of pain and anguish and pull at your blond hair as you try to get rid of the red-hot steel chains wrapped around your lungs that prevent you from breathing properly.

And that's why you do everything you can to push him away. The thought of your monsters tearing and corrupting his spirit from the inside out, forcing him to see the image of who you truly are, is too much for you to bear. You would never forgive yourself for seeing that light die and knowing that you were responsible for such horror.

No, you're not a monster. You carry them inside you and hear their angry and accusatory words every night, but you will never allow them to turn you into something you're not. Never.

5. Your hands don’t know how to be gentle. Think about the last beautiful thing that shattered in your palms. The fresh rosebuds crumbling between your fingers like a bruise. You wolf-boy, you war machine. You wouldn’t know how to hold something magic and not destroy it.

Once upon a time, a large and majestic golden-maned lion named you "Wolf's Bane". But the truth is that no ruin you brought to any creature would ever compare to the ruin you carry within yourself. There was no reason to be proud of being a weapon in God's hands. There was no reason to boast about the lethality of your sword. There was nothing glorious about war.

You are not a god, nor a king, nor a man, much less a boy. You are a nameless being, a freak of nature, dressed in a skin that does not belong to you. Whatever is inside your chest burns and twists like red-hot iron. You are a burning hurricane with the face of an angel and the scars of an old man who has lived hundreds, thousands of lives. You brought happiness and love during your reign, but you also left a trail of destruction in your wake. And you know that he would go through the path of darkness just to hold your hand and keep you company amid the rubble of the Hell you carry inside, even though he knows that it would condemn him forever, simply because he loves you. He loves you and you know it and it tortures you.

One touch of your lips would be enough to turn the flowers growing in your loved one's soul into ashes and you would witness the delicate petals decomposing in your hands. How could you destroy something so beautiful and live the rest of your life without hating yourself for it?

6. If you hurt him it might kill you.

"You won't hurt him. You won't break his heart."

It is a solemn oath that you are fully committed to keeping. You will not allow your selfishness to speak louder, no matter how tempting it may be. You are better than this. A love like this could only end in disaster, and you are already too tired, too damaged, too fed up with fighting the inevitable. Deceiving him with a false promise only to abandon him immediately with the intention of never seeing him again would be cruel, if not sadistic. It would be like sticking a dagger into his heart as you stood there, just watching the life vanish from his eyes like mist into the void. Another crime to be added to your pile of rubble.

"You won't do that. You won't break his heart. Unless you want to die."

7. If you hurt him you might kill yourself.

He doesn't really know you. He doesn't and you convince yourself it's better this way. If only he knew all the thoughts that go through your head every time you look at him. All the things you think about doing with him when you two are alone... you'd never have the courage to face him again.

If you could open your chest and rip out all those feelings you know you shouldn't feel just so you could have a minute of peace and silence, you would have done it a long time ago. Maybe then you would finally be able to form some coherent thought related to any other subject or anyone other than him.

You need to 'unlearn' this love, before you hurt him beyond repair and are unable to forgive yourself. He's lost too much too, you remember. He has suffered enough and he doesn't deserve this. You don't deserve him. Since when does a sinner with sinful desires deserve good things?

8. You are very bad at rehabilitation. This is one addiction you’d fail to give up. He's going to ruin you for all other kisses and all other boys and you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to forget his name.

You always knew that this love story could never come true. You may be proud, reckless, careless, but you are no fool.

You remember the ball at the castle after the Narnians won the battle of Beruna. You remember seeing centaurs and fauns dancing, nymphs singing, laughing dwarves and talking animals enjoying the food and drinks served. You also remember smiling when you saw your siblings having fun and enjoying every moment of that night as if there was no tomorrow and reveling in their happiness. There was life and music and dance and explosions of light and color and every detail was a delight to the heart and soul. But when your eyes meet the prince - now crowned king - dressed in his ceremonial robe, letting himself be carried away by the festive atmosphere and exuding the purest joy, everything around him seems to fade in comparison. He looks majestic.

For a quick moment, the new king's eyes meet yours in the crowd and you swear you feel your heart skip a beat and your breathing falter. In another life, you would walk up to him and ask him to dance. In another life, he would hold your hand and place a chaste kiss on your fingers. He would laugh adorably at the blush growing on your cheeks and you, infected by the sweetness present in that voice, would laugh back. And when you both least realized it, you would kiss him and whisper your vows of love against the warmth of his lips like a believer whispers his prayers to a saint and, suddenly, you would feel stronger, more courageous and free. And when you opened your eyes, he would still be there, smiling, and there he would remain for the rest of your lives.

But that will never happen. One day, the king will find his perfect match, his queen - or perhaps king - and nothing else will matter. He will be happy and he will be able to love without fear, and you... you will spend the rest of your life trying to move on, but without ever really leaving your place. You cannot love him as he wants to be, as he deserves to be. You can't do it because your heart already belongs to something so much bigger than yourself. But you're also unable to forget him.

Either way, he was never yours to lose.

9. You still aren't sure he isn't a dream.

He's too good to be true. Sometimes you find yourself pinching your arm just to make sure he's real and not another one of your many fervent delusions.

Before you leave, you try to hold on to all the times you closed your eyes and found yourself surrounded by those strong arms, feeling the magical touch of his hands illuminating all the cold and dark spots of your soul. All the times you dreamed of running your fingers through that long, black hair, getting lost in those soft, wavy locks that fall down the back of his neck in the form of a beautiful waterfall. All the times you woke up panting after imagining yourself tasting that mouth and delighting in the sweet nectar of those rose lips.

Yes, you promise to record every detail of him like a man in love memorizing the lines of a poem. You will dream so much about him and the story you both could have written that maybe - maybe - the higher force that governs the universe will hear your cry and take notice of your suffering, making your dearest wish come true. And everyone around you will sigh in a mixture of delight and envy when they see you together, because none of them had ever witnessed a purer and truer love like yours until then.

10. If you kiss him, you might wake up.

The hard truth is that you don't want to leave. You didn't wait for this moment for so long only for it to end so soon.

You are not ready to leave him. You're not ready to say goodbye. But what other choice do you have? You may be a king, but even you don't have the power to control the stars, turn back the clock or stop the sun from setting. Destiny is an intangible and indomitable mystery and trying to change this fact is a battle doomed to failure.

However, no matter how aware you are about the way things work, fear remains. You're afraid you won't kiss him and spend the rest of your days cursing yourself for missing the chance of a lifetime. But you're also afraid to kiss him and, the moment you open your eyes, you'll find yourself in the solitude of your room in England, realizing that he never really existed and everything that made him who he was was just an illusion created by your mind as a way to escape the cold reality that was your life.

Yes, you want to protect him from yourself. But the hard truth is that you also want to spare your battered and patched heart the pain of breaking again, as it has happened so many times before. The harsh truth is that you are much more fragile and sensitive than you wish you were.

"You love him" Your melancholic heart weeps.

"Yes, I do" You mourn "And that's why I must let him go"

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Reasons to kiss him:

1. Because he's beautiful.

Oh God, he is so beautiful. His face, his arms and hands and feet make up a masterpiece so luminous and divine that it would make the greatest artist in the universe prostrate himself on the floor in tears. He is the most beautiful boy you have ever seen with your own eyes, both inside and out.

Every little thing about him enchants you and steals your breath away, even the ones that others would consider too insignificant to even bother paying attention to: like the way a wild lock of his hair fall delicately in front of his eye and you have to hold back the urge to approach and use your hand to pull it away and place it behind his ear. Or the dimple that appears on the left side of his mouth every time he smiles or laughs. Or the way he turns up his nose and bite his lower lip when he's lost in thought or in a deep state of concentration.

And of course, there was his innocent, childlike excitement as he shared the story behind every constellation he was able to find in the sky. You always believed that the night suited him well, similar to a black veil decorated with moon and silver, as if his very being had been conceived by the stars that fascinate him so much and call him by his name.

Yes, he is absolutely beautiful. And you, just a mere mortal, wonder how long you'll still be strong and intelligent enough before you let yourself be seduced by the sound of that velvety voice and those eyes that seem to analyze you attentively as if you were some kind of enigma to be deciphered. It's like he's able to see some beauty inside you that you yourself could never see. Or that maybe you have just forgotten.

2. Because he asked.

You never expected that, on your last night, he would notice your absence in the middle of the party and see you retreating to the privacy of your chambers, just wishing you could fall into a deep, empty sleep where you could forget about the coming of tomorrow for some hours. You never expected that he would abandon his own moment of glory just to run after you and ask if you were okay. You never expected that his hand entwined with yours would be enough to tear down all the barriers you had built around you and leave you completely defenseless, with nowhere to hide. However, the most unexpected of all was when the new king, in a shy gesture, gently lifted your chin with his fingertips so that your eyes met his - those dark, adoring eyes that seemed to strip away every inch of your body - and said in a playful and, at the same time, challenging tone:

"Kiss me"

You're not sure if that was a request or an order, but what does it matter? The only thing you know is that his touch burns your cheeks and it feels so, so good and those eyes are now focused on your lips and the two of you remain where you are for what feels like ages and this silent torture is slowly killing you two.

You're still scared. It's fear that paralyzes you and leaves you stagnant. Afraid of this all being a dream, fear of ruining him, fear of God despising you for your dirty and sinful soul, but mostly, fear of suffering and knowing that you brought it all upon yourself.

But he wants the same thing as you and he has expressed that desire right there in front of you - the desire that you have worked so hard to bury in the depths of your heart. Would it be so bad to let it speak louder just once in your life?

3. Because he preceded "Please" with "I'm not afraid of you".

He presses his forehead against yours and whispers your name in an exasperated voice and you can feel all the yearning, all the desire and all the devotion and you don't understand how you can stay standing after that. You finally decide to break your silence:

"I don't want to hurt you"

You don't try to appear strong, you don't want to pretend anymore. So you do the only thing you are capable of doing now: you just tell the truth.

You can feel the warmth of his breath caressing your lips when he tells you:

"I'm not afraid of you"

And then, he gets closer to your face until your mouths are just a few millimeters apart.

“Please” He is practically begging this time and you want so badly to give in, you want so badly to end his agony and just let him in. So you finally come to conclusion that if this is the only chance you have to truly love him, even if just for one night, then you will take it like your life depends on it. And that's exactly what you do: you close your eyes and kiss him.

He tastes like honey and wine and sweet surrender and, for once, you know it's real and not just another dream. You drink and savor and breathe this moment and he responds with the same intensity.

He touches you as if you were a treasure. You are the Sun and you are magnificent to him, not because of your title, your power or the legendary aura that the idealization of your figure carries. You are magnificent because you are human just like him and the simple fact of your existence is a miracle in itself. He draws a map of the sky on your skin and transforms all your scars and imperfections into the constellations he adores so much. From then on, all you want most is to show him the way you see him, how he makes you shine.

So you take him to your bed and between kisses and whispers and prayers and messy sheets, you love him. You love him, again and again and again. And when the flame that consumes you burns out and you both let yourselves being taken by the wave of calm that falls upon the room, you hug him and press the palm of your hand against his chest, paying attention to the song that his heart sings. At that moment, he covers your hand with his and smiles.

"Take care of it. Take it and carry it in your heart. It's yours."

I'm yours.

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nebula-lad · 2 months

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Dancers in the Rotunda

Hello, happy February Fanfest Day! For this year's @jatpfebfanfest, my giftee is... @lyxchen! I hope you like the fic and art I made, and I hope anyone else who reads this enjoys it at well.

Read it on ao3

“Willie, I know you like breaking the rules, but this feels a bit much…” Alex says quietly, worried he’ll get caught if he’s too loud.

Willie had decided to invite Alex to another hangout (definitely not a date, why would Willie want to go on a date with him) to boost their spirits amidst all the chaos of Caleb possessing Nick and the boys being almost-but-not-quite-alive. But he’d failed to mention that they were once again breaking into a museum, but this time in the dead of night, making Alex feel like he was accidentally going to rob the place, and be caught by James Bond or some crazy character like that.

Willie’s chuckle brings Alex out of his thoughts. “Relax, Hotdog. It’s not like anyone can tell us what to do. Not here, anyway.” He grins, grabbing Alex’s hand and pulling him along.

The two ghosts stop their wandering in the hall of artworks made by 19th century artists. They look around in awe at the art, fascinated by the glimpse of the distant past they were given. Alex finds himself drawn to a particular painting, lost in the scene as he stares at the ballet dancers within it.

“‘Dancers in the Rotunda at the Paris Opéra’?” Willie asks, reading the plaque next to the painting, then standing next to Alex. “I didn’t know you were into Degas.” He smiles, playfully knocking into him.

Alex huffs out a laugh. “Didn’t know that’s who this was by. I just felt drawn to it. Like I was in the scene for a bit.”

He nods. “What about it draws you in?”

“The dancers.” He explains. “I want to be with them. When I was younger I wanted to be a ballet dancer, and I read up on everything I could about the subject. I used up my allowance before saving for my drums to pay for records of The Nutcracker and Swan Lake and all those famous ballets so I could memorize them and their stories. I wanted to be that so bad…”

“But… you ended up in a rock band filled with rebels instead?”

Alex sighs quietly. “Yeah. My mother and father… They didn’t appreciate my passion for feminine stuff like that to say the least, and wouldn’t let me get lessons. But what I did have access to was music class at school and very determined friends.” He chuckles. “I became a rebel by proxy.”

“Nah, there’s no ‘by proxy’ with that sort of stuff.” Willie laughs as well, then looks at the painting quietly for a moment. “I’m sure you’d be a great ballet dancer, by the way. You’d look stunning up on stage.”

“I- What?” He looks over at the ghost by his side, only to find a soft smile and a genuine shine in his eyes.

“I said you’d look stunning.” He says casually, looking over at Alex. “I’ve never been to a ballet, but I’d go to one if you were in it.”

Alex stares at Willie in shock, trying to figure out if this whole situation is a dream. He never imagined being flirted with by a guy about his childish dream of being a dancer. All the times he’s admitted this to others, it had been met with teasing or denying. Not flirting, and definitely not flirting from a very cute guy who’s also a dancer (even if the dancing was maybe against his will).

Willie watches the light blush form on Alex’s face as he processes the compliment with an amused smile, and goes back to looking at the painting. Now that Alex has told his story, Willie sees the painting in a new light. He can imagine one of the dancers being Alex, golden hair glowing softly in the dimly lit studio as he practices his twirls and leaps and all those ballet moves that had strange French names Willie could barely pronounce. It seemed like a thing that was made for Alex, like playing the drums or wearing pink or being cute and funny and just the greatest. He looks back at the boy in question and smiles softly again. Maybe now…? “Hey, Hotdog-?”

Alex shushes him quickly, and in the silence he hears the footsteps of the night guard coming over to their hallway. Alex’s eyes widen in a panic, adrenaline coursing through him as he grabs the other ghost’s hand and pulls them towards a small alcove, hidden from the view of the guard. He takes a minute to catch his breath, then looks at Willie to find that he’s staring at him with the ever-present shine of amusement in his eyes, and maybe the shine of something else glistening there too.

Alex glances around his face, taking in all of his features as the guard's footsteps get closer and louder, or maybe that’s his phantom heartbeat getting loud as his gaze settles on Willie’s lips for a moment before looking back at his eyes. Willie’s hand that’s not gripping Alex’s own settles on the shoulder of his pink sweatshirt, feeling the other’s hand lightly touch his cheek.

Next thing Willie knows, Alex leans forward and softly pecks his lips. It’s only a moment, but it’s enough to steal both their breaths away. Their phantom heartbeats grow louder once again as they let go of the other’s hand and pull each other into a much more passionate kiss.

Alex feels euphoric. Not only has tossing his anxiety away led to something good this time (instead of, y’know, death), but he’s now kissing his crush and the prettiest guy he’s ever seen, and this guy is kissing him back. He definitely feels like he’s dreaming now, with Willie clutching his sweatshirt hood to try and pull him impossibly closer and his hands running through Willie’s hair.

Eventually, though, Alex comes up for air he doesn’t necessarily need but doesn’t want to go without, and the two boys knock their foreheads together, sounds of breathing filling the silence. They look into the other’s eyes for a minute before Willie lets out a soft laugh. “I think the guard’s gone.”

It’s quiet again before they both burst out laughing, realizing the ridiculousness of this whole situation.

“Oh my gosh, we kissed for so long the guard’s gone.”

“Dude, you hid us away from a lifer that can’t see us.”

“I did? My anxiety really got the better of me…”

“It led to better things, though.” Willie grins at the other ghost.

Alex flushes, and covers his face with his hands to hide it. “Willie…” He whines, realizing that that whole thing really did happen. His eyes widen. “Oh gosh, wait, was that ok? Like, were you ok with that? It’s ok if you weren’t-“

Willie cuts him off with a soft peck and smiles. “It’s totally ok, Alex. I promise.”

Alex nods the tiniest bit, then after a beat throws his arms around Willie in a tight, comforting hug. Willie lets out a surprised noise, then grins and hugs him back.

They stay like this for who knows how long, neither wanting to let go until they had to. Alex lets go first, and sighs quietly. “Um, I should go. The guys are probably worried about me, and I’m sure you have things to do. So…”

Willie blinks. Oh, right, he works at a club of ghosts run by the worst guy ever. He doesn’t get to spend all his time with his- uh… “Can I call you my boyfriend?” He blurts out, not even thinking about the sentence before it’s out in the open. He feels his face flush now.

Luckily, Alex laughs a bit. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” He says, giving his now boyfriend a warm smile.

Said boyfriend grins, and gives him another peck. “Alright, go. Your band probably misses you.”

Alex nods and poofs out of the 19th century wing of the art museum, leaving Willie alone with the 200 year old paintings of landscapes, people, and a particular one that holds a trope of ballerinas practicing for their latest show. He looks at the painting once more, and smiles softly. “Catch you later, Hotdog.” He whispers before poofing out as well.

~~~

When Alex suddenly appears in the middle of the garage, Reggie lets out a sigh of relief as Luke angrily pouts on his couch. “Holy crap, there you are! We were worried about you!” Reggie says, hugging his friend.

”Woah, was I really gone for that long?” Alex asks, patting Reggie’s shoulder as he looks to Luke.

”Yes.” Luke grumbles. “You left in the middle of movie night, without telling us, and then showed back up after the movie ended! We were in the middle of Jurassic Park!”

”Luke, dude, we’ve seen Jurassic Park a billion times, no thanks to you. It’s not like I was missing anything in the movie.” He sighs. “I’m sorry for not saying something, though. I just thought you guys would make fun of me…”

”Why would we do that? We’re your friends!” Reggie frowns up at him.

”Yeah, like you haven’t done it before.”

”Where did you go?” Luke asks.

Alex frowns slightly, trying to figure out how to explain what happened. As he thinks, he feels his cheeks flush and he looks down at the floor to hide it. “I… I went on a date with Willie.” He mumbles.

Luke goes slack-jawed as Reggie squeals with delight. “You ditched movie night to be with him?!” Luke stands up, bouncing around from either annoyance or joy, Alex couldn’t tell.

”It’s a completely valid reason to ditch!” Reggie says. “Besides, you’d probably ditch if you had the chance to go hang out with Julie. You’re no better than Alex is.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but he quickly closes it, knowing the bassist is right. Reggie then turns to Alex again, an excited smile on his face. “So, do we get the deets? Did you guys scream in a museum again?”

”Uhhh…” The drummer squeaks, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Well, we did go to a museum again, but no screaming. We talked about the paintings and what we liked and…” Alex trails off, his face flushing red again. “I might’ve kissed him.” He mutters under his breath.

The two boys cheer like they just got their best gig yet. “Finally! Alex, we’re so happy for you.” Luke grins, going over and jumping up to try and wrap his arm around the taller boy’s shoulder, with Reggie nodding along.

”Thanks guys.” Alex smiles a bit, feeling a bit embarrassed still but also relieved that his friends were excited for him.

Reggie gasps. “We should go tell Julie, and Ray and Carlos! They’ll be super happy for you too!”

”Ah, maybe we should wait until it isn’t, like, two in the morning to go and tell them.” He suggests.

”Ohh… Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Luke chuckles. “We should still celebrate. Alex, what do you wanna do?”

The drummer thinks for a minute. “Well, it sounds like I owe you guys a movie. We could watch whatever you guys want to choose.”

”Nope, no no no.” Reggie interjects. “This is your celebration, you get to choose. That’s the rule.”

”Oh.” He mumbles. He didn’t usually choose the movies the three of them would watch. It wasn’t like he didn’t have favorites, he definitely did. He was just worried that the guys wouldn’t like what he chose, or that they’d just make fun of his taste. But… if letting go of his anxiety can lead to a date with his crush and getting to call his crush his boyfriend, then he could choose a movie he loves and not worry about what his friends think. “Let’s watch The Princess Bride, then.” Alex says.

After agreeing, the three boys sit down on Luke’s couch while Reggie turns the movie on. Alex pretends not to notice when his band mates get highly invested and find that they can’t peel their eyes off the screen. He also pretends not to notice the next morning when Julie comes into the garage, telling the three of them to wake up, that Luke replies with ‘as you wish’. He also notices a certain long-haired skater boy come into the garage during band practice, but this time he doesn’t pretend not to. He instead decides to make it everyone’s problem as he poofs over and kisses his boyfriend, thanking him for the night before.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp 2024 feb fan fest #willex #alex mercer #willie jatp #my writing #my art #uhhh this is my first fic ever so sorry if it's too ooc #also this is my fifth attempt at posting this so sorry it's a bit late #anyways hope y'all enjoy!

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mrsdulac · 8 months

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I’m sick of the drama about feminine Louis. They’re not trying to protect Louis at all, they’re just mad that for once a black man is being portrayed as soft and now they want to gatekeep the fics. But notice how when the reverse happens these blogs have NOTHING to say. Transparent ass bitches. I’m gonna write some loustat mpreg with bottom louis especially for these haters. Black fandom can’t have anything for themselves bc of people like this.

I’m not disagreeing anon. If anything, I support you.

#mpreg isn’t really my jam but i still support you #bc at this point that is what it sounds like #and i do agree that there are no problems when lestat’s flamboyance is interpreted as femininity #but any attempts to do that with louis and suddenly it’s political #it’s tiring and boring and I’m sick of it too #and ik i sound like a broken record but just block these people #bc they’re just spouting nonsense at the end of the day #and they run around engaging with things they know they won’t lie (bottom!louis or loustat mpreg with a barefoot pregnant louis at home)#so they can complain like these types of domestic fics aren’t popular as hell #go to any ship with two white men and I guarantee you’ll see fics like this all over #but there’s no problems with these types of fics apparently #but of course when black fans want a peace of that pie it’s ‘holding up gender roles’ or ‘it’s homophobic’ and whatever #it’s bullshit if you ask me #so yeah…just block em 💞#they’re not worth the effort or emotion love #and their opinions on these things mean jack shit #write what you want to read!#fanfic is for you

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shikai-the-storyteller · 1 year

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I’m desperately trying to be optimistic about things, but I’m genuinely so fricked up over Luckity. c!/k!Quackity finally found someone who loved him back, someone who loved him just as much, but because both he and Luzu FRICKIN SUCK at communication, we’re stuck in this awful situation where they both still care about each other, but it isn’t enough to stop them from enacting revenge that will likely end up with one, or both, of them dead.

#i talk #karmaland talk #I literally want to shake both k!Luzu and k!Quackity and be like ''WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!''#''ARE YOU INSANE????''#I mean yes clearly they're both insane but what the frick #you could've at LEAST been insane together #but noooo somebody had to trauma-project onto Quackity and have a breakdown #and someone [Quackity] had to mess around with every single guy on the server instead of even attempting to have a productive conversation #They work well together because they're both insane and they're both idiots #I saw a Real Frickin Grim Luckity comic earlier today #and it stuck in my head so much I had to write a fanfic blip about it #and I just opened up my notes to review the Rubeg3tta fic I'm writing #and I got jumpscared by that blip so much #I don't like writing stuff quite that dark. this is one of those ''well this is definitely staying in the drafts'' moments #but quite frankly I'm not even sure if I want it in the ''drafts'' PERIOD #I'm not a big fan of dark stuff like that I don't want grim things give me happy endings #or if they're bittersweet; give me endings that are at least satisfying

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topaz-eyes · 1 year

Text

Text:

my name is John,

my partner’s Roy,

and helping you

we do enjoy--

so when you call,

the flames we fight;

we jolt a heart,

we save a life.

(screencap from s3e9, Inheritance Tax)

#topaz writes fic #emergency!#roy desoto #johnny gage #we save a life #fan poetry #i lik the bred-emergency edition #i don't even know #i may be a little enamored of this format #it was only a matter of time #yeah i cheated with the slant rhyme but it still counts #edit to add my attempt at a gif

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faerie-goth · 2 years

Text

Love Bites

It was a day that started like any other - woke up with a batcat purring in my ear, had a quick breakfast with Sherry and Rio, Lynt failing to fight off slumber yet again and nearly face-planting into his porridge, then off to class. All pretty par for the course in the magical realm, or at least, that’s how my days had typically gone since the day the universe saw fit to randomly chew me up and spit me out in freaking Narnia. My normally cool and collected boyfriend causing problems? Not so much.

***

“Oi. Studying by yourself, I see?”

My thoughts were interrupted by one Guy Avari, known pain in my ass. I glared up at him from my textbook, eyes threatening to bore a hole through his big stupid head. Is heat vision a thing in this realm? No, probably should not even attempt that on a prince, as irritating as he may be.

“I was with Sherry and Aquia for a while, but they both had things to do.” As inconspicuously as I can, I spread out my things in an attempt to make the table look as uninviting as possible. Too bad, no room for you. Go bother someone else.

He attempts to place a hand on my arm, something I’ve learned to dodge after dealing with both him and Fenn for quite some time now. I scowl in return. Why are all the men here so handsy? Welp, time to go hide in the music room.

He huffs under his breath. “Come with me,” he demands rather than asking, once again reaching for me.

“No thanks, I’m perfectly fine in the library,” I deflect, swatting the offending hand away.

Crimson eyes meet crimson, as he glares right back in an attempt to bend me to his will.

“You will belong to Avari,” he hisses.

“I am not a thing to be owned, Guy!” I prod his chest with my finger. “And certainly not by the likes of you!”

He shifts, clearly uncomfortable with the presence of someone behind me.

“Threatening students again, I see?” Toa remarks, clearly unamused. The blue haired prince quickly swoops in to stand a respectful distance behind me, but just barely. If I leaned back far enough, I’d probably bump into his warm…er, cool, broad chest. Not a good time, brain!

The library was blessedly empty, with most of the higher ranking students in class. The two princes were known for their spats, and although they never got physical, well, they definitely kept life interesting.

“Tch. Just offering her some private tutoring in my chambers,” Guy remarks unapologetically.

Really? Is that what you’re calling it now? More like borderline sexual harassment.

“Hmpf. You made no mention of going there to study,” Toa points out. His hand strokes his chin as he casts a suspicious gaze at the other man. I quickly make to gather my things, eternally grateful to Toa for saving my hide. Again.

“What are you really after, Avari?” Toa was in full-blown ice prince mode now.

“Tch. None of your damn business.” He glances between the two of us, clearly contemplating how much trouble he’d be in for using his more forbidden talents in front of Toa, of all people.

Toa obviously picked up on this quickly, because in a moment he had a firm hand on my shoulder, gently nudging me on. “Come now, we’ll review what you learned in class over some tea.”

***

I was engulfed by a strong pair of arms practically the moment the door to the music room clicked shut. Toa could be needy at times, but he preferred to save any sort of physical affection for behind closed doors, particularly because we had not quite made our relationship public. It wasn’t that we were unsure of our feelings for one another, but that we had a mutual dread of the teasing and invasive, inappropriate, indecent questions we’d likely receive from a handful of gossips, friend and foe alike, but especially Fenn. The man had a way for knowing precisely how best to get under your skin, and had an absolute field day with it. Besides, sneaking around was fun; at least for now.

When I didn’t immediately respond to his unspoken request for attention, he moved to rest his chin on my shoulder, deviously ghosting his lips over my neck as his hands crept down towards my hips and underneath my blouse. I inclined my neck to give him better access, but was not anticipating…

"Mmhmm...Toa, if you keep doing that you're gonna leave a mark," I warned.

“Ah….ack! Toa, what are you doing?” I questioned as he continued his pursuit, all intentions of studying clearly forgotten.

“Mmm...I need...you.” He panted between rough mouthed kisses, slowly maneuvering us to the couch that was at the center of the room. How we didn’t manage to trip over something with how intent he was on making a snack of my neck was beyond me. Without his usual grace, he flopped onto the furniture, then pulled me onto his lap to continue his pursuit.

He shot me a pointed look before proceeding to affix himself to my neck like a freaking lamprey.

“Fuck! Toaaaa!” I winced. “Are you trying to out us or something?”

He pulls back, smirking like the Cheshire cat, then rubs soft circles with his thumb over what I assume to be a pretty large hickey. “That’ll teach Avari to keep his hands off what does not belong to him.”

I glared right back, although it was incredibly hard to stay mad at him while I was still straddling the man, that devilish look on his face, those long navy blue lashes that kissed his cheeks like a butterfly with each blink of his eyes….Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous?

“Toa…” I start in a warning tone. “You do know there’s no way you’re getting this past Sherry, right? Not to mention that once Letty knows, Fenn knows.”

The blue haired man waves his hand nonchalantly. “Once they know, you can be properly protected from Guy and Fenn. They’ll be annoying for a while but…no, wait, Fenn is always annoying, and Guy is...”

“The bane of your existence?” I grin, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Okay, but you owe me for this. I would have preferred to tell my friends on my own terms and deal with the chaos later, not everything all at once.”

“Okay, I know the two of you are…involved? But…gwrrr…okay, technically you’re already in Toa’s private room. This is going to take some getting used to.”

“Urk!”

Knight chooses now, of all times to enter the music room with the tea trolley. Thankfully he is only pushing it rather than handling something fragile, because if he had, it would likely be in pieces on the floor.

***

I shook my head, setting my tray down in the spot next to her. “Nope. Had some trouble with Guy in the library earlier. Toa had me hide out with him in the music room for a bit to evade him and blow off some steam.”

As usual, Rio had insisted on the usual gang having dinner together, so I made my way to the dining hall after my intensive makeout study session with Toa. Lynt was nearly sleeping in his soup, while a frantic Tino attempted to arouse him enough to get some food in him. Sherry was animatedly telling Rio about a magical accident that had befallen some poor unfortunate soul in her potions class earlier, while Rio was absolutely shoveling bread and some sort of roast meat into his mouth.

“There you are!” Sherry exclaimed. “I was beginning to worry about you. Tough lesson?”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” The Invidian princess shot me a knowing look, her golden eyes twinkling with mirth.

I sputtered. “It’s Toa. We had some tea and cookies, and he reviewed a couple things with me. Nothing happened.”

She giggled. “Are you sure about that, Lysandra?”

Rio, dear sweet clueless Rio, suddenly looks up from his meal to form a rather delicate question. “Say Lys, did you get bit by a mosquito or something today? You have a big red mark on your neck.”

“Uh…mate…” Thoma, bless him, attempts to put an end to this awkward conversation, but it’s too late.

“Not unless mosquitoes are six feet tall and have blue hair,” Sherry says through a fit of laughter as she pulls a tell-tale strand of blue hair from my collar. “Rio! That’s a hickey!”

“A what now?”

Poor Rio. Poor me. My face must be on fire by now. Tino blushes just as furiously, but refuses to comment on the situation.

“A love bite, Rio! Surely you must know what that is?”

Lynt chooses now, of all times to look up. “Lysandra has a paramour?” *Yawn* “Mmh. Well, as long as you’re happy together.”

“Lys is courting someone?” Rio asks with a confused look on his face. “But when would she even find the time? If she isn’t with us, you’re usually holed up with Toa in the music room, aren’t you?”

“Ah. So that’s why he’s been in such a good mood lately,” Lynt remarks, smiling softly. “You’re good for him.”

“Wait…so you and Toa?” Rio finally gets it. “But that mark…Toa’s the prim and proper sort. I can’t imagine him doing that sort of thing.”

“Ahhh, but that’s love for ya,” Thoma reassures him. “Toa must be absolutely smitten.”

I sigh in defeat. There’s no getting out of this one. “He caught Guy harassing me in the library. Toa’s a bit…”

“Possessive?” Sherry is positively beaming.

I grimace, absentmindedly covering the mark with my palm. “I was going to say territorial, but that works too. Especially when it comes to Guy.”

“Those two do get on like a fox in a henhouse,” Rio murmurs in agreement. “I’m glad it’s Toa though. I would be awfully fretful if you were stepping out with some lad who might not treat you right.”

“I for one am eager to hear about what he’s like when you’re alone together,” Sherry gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Drinks in my room with Letty later?”

#court of darkness #toa qelsum #fan fic writing #guy avari #sherry invidia #honestly this was my first attempt at writing in a while #pls dont be too harsh on me #yoshi writes stuff #left the ending open for a potential follow up

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