#{ He was a child soldier and a science experiment along with the rest of the characters on this blog. }

[stevie-petey]

episode two: the weirdo on maple street

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp. “Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your review sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

Summary: you use your limited psych knowledge to help a bald girl, you force jonathan to accept $20 and he's later an ass to you, steve doesn't know what a "missing" poster looks like, and it's really hard being a single mother to now four kids.

Rating: general, but there's cursing as usual and steve being... well, steve - but hes still season 1 steve so give him some time

Warnings: cursing, fem!reader, use of y/n, and there's more angst in this chapter with some fighting between reader and jonathan, so fair warning.

Words: 10.1k (the longest thing ive ever written)

Before you swing in: i'm almost done with chapter 4, so here's a sweet treat as i cram for exams lmao. some housekeeping: should i do a tag list ? i got a few questions about it, so pls let me know soldiers. also, i feel the need to clarify that i adore nancy but for plot reasons - reader and her don't really get along (but they def will later, trust me). season 1 nancy and steve are just so silly. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this loooong chapter. the rest definitely aren't as lengthy due to plot, but wow. i amazed myself. carry on !

-

Your jeans drip onto the Wheeler’s carpet, and you’ve definitely left a wet imprint on the couch cushion beneath you. The other boys are dripping as well, but all their attention is on the girl in front of them. 

After finding her in the woods, your motherly instincts kicked in, immediately removing your coat to place on her and gently ushering her to your bike and demanding that the boys go back to Mike’s. Your mom is home, so your house was out of the question, and it’s always been easy sneaking into the Wheeler’s, anyways. 

Once you all had made it back, you guided the girl onto the couch and sat next to her. You refuse to let her go too far from you, having no idea where she came from or why, but regardless you know she’s too young for any of it to have been good. 

Which leads you to now: wearily watching the boys stare at the girl as if she’s some science experiment, asking her a million questions a second.

Bless them and their little prepubescent minds. 

Lucas reaches out to touch her, and before you can nudge him away, Mike slaps at his hand. “Stop it! You’re freaking her out!”

“She’s freaking me out!” Lucas retaliates, which honestly? That’s fair. The girl hasn’t said anything yet, even after your multiple attempts to get her to do so. No matter how much you try, you can’t coax a response out of her. 

“I bet she’s deaf.” Your brother offers, suddenly clapping his hands to scare her, making both you and her flinch. “Not deaf…”

You roll your eyes at him. “Guys, she’s probably just really scared right now. We should give her some space,” you look at both Lucas and Dustin, “and time,” now you look at Mike. The three boys deflate a bit. 

“She’s probably cold,” Mike says after a moment of silence, and you nod at his suggestion. Seeing your agreement, he walks over to a basket of clothes and takes out some pajamas.

While Mike is away, thunder rumbles and the girl jumps, unconsciously getting closer to you. You wrap an arm around her reassuringly, making note that she doesn’t like loud noises. If anything, she’s showing more and more signs of trauma response, which makes you uneasy. You remember Hopper saying something about Will being in danger. What are the odds that this little girl was running from something as well?

“Here, these are clean.” Mike’s return breaks you from your thoughts, and you take the clothes from him and stand up. You thank him, then offer your hand to the girl. She looks at you uncertainly. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “Let’s go get you dressed in some warm clothes. I’m right here, sweetheart.” 

“She’s super nice.” Dustin says, trying to help.

Lucas adds, “Yeah, you can trust her.” 

“She’s alright.” Is all Mike offers.

You give them all an appreciative smile, even if Mike is being a bit of an ass, and then you feel a small, cold hand wrap around yours. The girl stands up, looking around shyly, and you lead her to the bathroom. When you go to close the door, she stops you.

Mike has followed, seeing the interaction. “You don’t want it closed?”

Her voice is quiet, solemn. “No,”

You and Mike look at each other, and he voices what you’re thinking. “So you can speak.”

He looks excited about this new information, and you shove his head out of the doorway. She needs to get dressed. “We’ll leave the door cracked, okay?”

She nods at you, and you stand guard outside the door. It’s not that you don’t trust the boys, but Mike has only known her for ten minutes and he’s already been nicer to her than you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. The only other person he’s this soft spoken to is Will, so you’re protective of her. 

You can hear the boys discussing tonight’s events from the living area while the girl gets dressed. They sound scared, and a part of you can’t blame them. While you’re fairly certain that the girl isn’t dangerous, it’s still a creepy situation. Once again, Hopper’s new theory surrounding Will floats through your mind. This all can’t be some coincidence. 

Sighing, you approach the boys and catch a bit of the conversation. 

“Our houses become Alcatraz.” You hear Lucas saying, and you figure they’ve finally pieced together that there’s no way any of you can tell anyone about the girl. None of you were supposed to be out tonight. As much as you know you should tell an adult, you also need to be able to help Jonathan with finding Will. If your mom locks the house down, you’re doomed. 

“Lucas is right,” the boys turn to you. “We can’t go to anyone about this just yet, but I also don’t think it’s a good idea to hide her. She’s been through something terrible, it’s obvious. Tonight, I say she gets some rest. We can figure out what to do later.” 

Mike nods, for once agreeing wholeheartedly with you. “She’ll sleep here tonight-”

Dustin’s eyes widen in horror, “You’re letting a girl-”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, motioning for Mike to continue.

“Thanks, Y/N. In the morning, she sneaks around my house, goes to the front door and rings my doorbell. My mom will answer and know exactly what to do. She’ll send her back to Pennhurst,”

They think she’s from Pennhurst? You think, but don’t verbalize it.

“Or wherever she comes from. We’ll be totally in the clear! And tomorrow night, we go back out, and this time we find Will.”

You gotta hand it to Mike Wheeler, he may be a pain in the ass, but he’s a smart pain in the ass. The plan is pretty sound, so long as he follows through with it. However, it’s him following through with it that leaves you a bit unsure. 

He looks at you for approval, and you hesitantly nod. “It’s a pretty good plan, Wheeler. So long as you stick to it.” 

Lucas and Dustin nod along with you, there’s an unspoken sense of doubt that Mike will actually be able to turn the girl over to his mom. Then she walks out, dressed now in some of Nancy’s old clothes. She draws into herself when you all turn to her, shy. You walk over and offer your hand again, which she accepts. 

“Mike, go find her something to sleep on. Dustin, we gotta go soon before mom notices we’re gone.”

Both boys comply, with Mike searching for a sleeping bag and Dustin packing up his stuff. You crouch down next to the girl, so that you’re face to face, and give her a warm smile. “It was lovely meeting you. My name is Y/N, I hope Mike over there doesn’t give you a hard time tonight.” 

Mike flips you off, having heard you. “If he’s annoying,” you lean in close to her now, whispering in her ear. “You have my permission to pinch him.”

The girl giggles, finally relaxing a bit, and you warm with pride. She’ll be okay, she seems like a very resilient girl and you’ll oddly miss her. 

The two other boys are waiting for you upstairs. You all wish Mrs. Wheeler a good night and head out. Thankfully the rain has now stopped, so the bike ride home isn’t bad. You stop at Lucas’ turn to make sure he gets home safely before finally arriving at your place. As Dustin begins pedaling into your driveway, you don’t follow. 

“I’m going to go see Jonathan, he didn’t answer my calls earlier and I just…”

Dustin waves at you, not even bothering to turn around. “Yeah yeah, go see your boyfriend. If mom asks, you’re asleep.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me after I offered to cover for you?”

Your brother gives you a pointed look, and you know he’s right. “Touché.” 

Dustin goes to leave, but you quickly grab at his jacket. “Before I forget, swear to me that you’ll keep me updated if anything weird happens, okay?”

He nods at you, knowing better than to argue, and gives you a mock salute as he heads inside. 

The living room light is on when you arrive at the Byers home, despite the late hour, but you aren’t surprised. You knock on the door and wait. When no one comes, you knock again, a bit louder this time. After another few moments, the door swings open. 

Jonathan has a finger over his lips in a shushing manner, motioning to Joyce who is passed out on the couch. You nod, letting him know you understand. The two of you go to his room and when he closes the door, you finally get a good look at him. He looks worse than he did earlier, the bags under his eyes have somehow gotten darker. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot. 

“You’re soaked.” Jonathan says. 

“Yeah,” he doesn’t want to talk about it yet, so you play along. “Got caught in the rain. Are some of my spare clothes still in your bottom drawer?”

He nods at you, going over and grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants for you. You accept them gratefully and excuse yourself to the bathroom to change. Your bones are cold, the rain seemingly having penetrated the layers of your skin. In the mirror you see that your own eyes are bloodshot; you don’t look much better than Jonathan, really.

When you return Jonathan is sitting on his bed, so you join him. It’s silent between you, all you can hear is his breathing. You stare straight ahead, so does he, and you wait. You’ve only seen Jonathan like this a handful of times, where the stress and anxiety becomes too much for him. He shuts down, draws into himself, and all you can do is wait for him to return to you; he always does. 

“Mom got a call tonight.” Jonathan’s voice is hoarse, and he looks frail. You wonder if he ever did end up making the spaghetti you prepared for him.

“Who was it?”

He swallows heavily, taking a moment to respond. “She said it was Will.”

“Will?” You look at him now, searching for any signs on his face, his voice lacks emotion. By the way he stares blankly ahead, as if he’s not really present with you right now, you know that it hadn’t been Will on the other end. 

“She started freaking out, going ballistic,” his voice cracks a bit, so you take a chance and reach for his hand. He lets you take it, giving you a squeeze, before continuing. “She was screaming, begging whoever it was to give Will back.” 

Jonathan pauses again. You don’t say anything, because no words will help. He’s never been the type for comforting words, anyways. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t him. Lightning struck and our phone got charred. It wasn’t Will.”

Now it’s your turn to squeeze Jonathan’s hand. He doesn’t deserve any of this. None of the Byers do. Out of the entire town, they’re the family who deserves the most that life can give. Will, too good. Jonathan, too selfless. Joyce, too loving. They’re the best damn people you know. 

“I tried calming her down, but she was hysterical. She’s only asleep right now because she worked herself up too much and passed out. I’m worried she-'' Jonathan shakes his head, as if ashamed by his own words. “I’m worried she’s going crazy, Y/N.”

He’s quiet again, but you can tell he’s about to break. His knee is now bouncing up and down and his breathing has become slightly ragged. Everything from today has been building up, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. You’re also worried about Joyce, a part of you skeptical to believe her, but the little girl you found tonight in the rain? Something was definitely weird about Will’s disappearance, but you’re hesitant to tell Jonathan just yet. For all you know, she could’ve simply been a girl who got lost and will be returned to her family tomorrow. 

You don’t want to worry Jonathan any more than you need to.

“I should’ve been there for him. I shouldn’t have taken that shift.” He gasps out, and like a dam the tears begin to fall. You’re quick to pull him into a hug and he crumbles into you. His body shakes with violent sobs and he clutches at you as if afraid you’ll leave.

“You can’t blame yourself.” You whisper, stroking a hand through his hair. He cries even harder, the force of it almost enough to knock you over, so you situate yourself so that you’re fully on the bed, laying against his pillows, with Jonathan crying into your chest beside you. 

“He’s g-gone.”

“We’ll find him, I promise.” Your own tears threaten to come out, but you force them down. You have to be here for him, he needs you. The only other time Jonathan has so openly cried was when Lonnie left years ago. He’s been holding everything in since then, all those years of looking after his family, taking care of his brother, getting harassed by assholes like Tommy Hagan. 

Neither of you say anything else, and you know that Jonathan needs to let it all out. You soothe him as best as you can, running a hand through his hair, stroking his back, reassuring him over and over again that none of this is his fault until your own voice becomes hoarse. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but sometime during the night Jonathan finally falls asleep, and you follow shortly after him. 

— 

Sunlight streams through Jonathan’s spare bed sheet that he’s pinned over his window, serving as a makeshift curtain, waking you up. You stretch, careful not to wake the boy beside you, and crawl out of the bed. You’re antsy, already knowing that today will be another long day. After grabbing some clothes from your designated drawer and getting dressed, you head into the kitchen and start making a quick breakfast. Just as you’re finishing up, Jonathan comes out of his room, dressed and ready for the day.

Neither of you say anything about the night prior, instead silently working around each other in the kitchen with years of practiced ease. He hands you the salt shaker right when you need it, you grab the pieces of toast that he popped into the toaster, the two of you never once get in each other’s way. You get deja vu, remembering all the times you’ve slept over with Dustin, you and Jonathan making the boys breakfast while they slept in. 

The only indication that last night really happened is a forehead kiss from Jonathan, his lips soft against your head. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the touchy one, so it’s always a nice surprise when he initiates the touch, and his forehead kisses were a welcome rarity. 

When the plates have been made, Joyce gets up from the couch and stumbles over to the table. You quickly help her sit down, and for the first time since Will’s disappearance you’re able to really look at her. She looks like Jonathan, only worse. The bags under her eyes are darker, her hair is more matted, and you believe she’s still wearing the same shirt you saw her in the night that Will went missing. 

“All right, mom. Breakfast is ready.” Jonathan tries to place her plate on the table, but Joyce stops him, worried about the poster of Will. 

Jonathan gives you a look and you run over to the table, grabbing the poster so that he can set the plate down. 

Joyce gives you a tired smile, “Thank you, Y/N, but I can’t eat.”

“I just need you to eat, mom.” 

“Jonathan’s right, Mrs. Byers. You need to eat, we gotta keep your strength up.” You feel like you’re talking to a child, but in a way, you suppose you are. 

The woman lights a cigarette instead, and faintly you wonder how many she’s had within the last 48 hours; you’ll need to wash your clothes when you get home. She begins to ask Jonathan to go to Xerox to make as many copies of Will’s poster as possible. You sit down in front of her, silently eating, knowing there’s no place for you in this conversation. 

It’s not that the Byers are ashamed that they have little money, but you know it’s rude to listen in. They make do with what they have, and Jonathan has never felt embarrassed with you knowing it. 

“I don’t want you to go alone,” Joyce says, causing you to speak up. 

“I’ll go with him and help hang them up, it’s no problem.” 

Jonathan turns to you. “You have that chem test, remember? I’m not letting you miss that.” 

“Shit…” you bury your face into your hands. You completely forgot about that after finding the little girl last night and dealing with Jonathan. You’ve heard about how impossible the chem exams were, and science has never been your best subject. That was Dustin’s thing, your thing was more humanities. 

“You’re the smartest person I know, you’ll ace the exam,” Jonathan reassures you before turning to his mom. “And I’ll handle the posters, it’s okay.” 

Joyce has been lost in thought during your conversation with her son, only beginning to speak again when she’s asked how many copies will be efficient. Once she starts speaking again, it’s almost like she’s physically unable to stop. She begins to ramble, finally exposing the crumbling woman that you’ve only heard about, now understanding Jonathan’s fears for her. 

“Mom-”

“If we… ten cents-”

“Mom!” Jonathan raises his voice a bit, now grabbing at his mother’s hand. “You can’t get like this, okay?”

The look on Joyce’s face kills you. She looks so lost, ashamed of her behavior, and you cast your head down; this is a private matter. Joyce profusely apologizes to him and all Jonathan can do is gently reassure her that it’s okay. All of this is okay. 

Their tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the front door, revealing Hopper on the other side. His presence makes you uneasy, so you stay in the kitchen and begin to clean up with Jonathan while Joyce attacks him with questions. 

“A little bit of trust here, alright? We’ve been searching all night.” You hear the cop say. Your hand clenches the sponge, rubbing a bit harder at the plate you’re cleaning. If they’ve been searching all night, why are they here now?

“Went all the way to Cartersville.” Ever since Will disappeared, you’ve been building a wall of hope within you that he’ll be found safe and sound. However, with every passing day, with every new situation that occurs, you can feel a piece of the wall collapse. You can feel it now; the search party went all the way to Cartersville.

“And?” Joyce asks. 

“Nothing.” The cry that Joyce lets out causes you to drop the plate you’ve been cleaning, shattering on the floor. You curse, immediately bending down to pick up the pieces. Luckily it didn’t shatter into a million bits, but you still feel horrible for breaking one of their dishes. 

Jonathan bends down as well to help, and the commotion catches Hopper’s attention. He sees you scrambling to clean up the mess and sighs with annoyance. “Does she live here or something?” 

You and Jonathan look at each other, a slight smile on your faces, and only respond to Hopper with a synchronized shrug. You basically do live at the Byers’ at this point, you have been for years now. It was the same for Jonathan: if you weren’t at his house, he was at yours. 

Joyce wipes some of her tears away. “Y/N is family, she’s here to help.” 

Hopper ignores this, instead bringing up the phone call from the night before. Joyce leads him over to the phone, and you join them once you’ve collected the remaining pieces of broken glass. When you see the phone, you can’t help but gasp. Jonathan’s words from last night are accurate, the phone is charred. 

“Storm barbecued this pretty good.” Hopper says.

Joyce waves her arms out, disbelieving. “The storm? You’re saying that that’s not… weird?”

“No, it’s weird.” Hopper begins, but you cut him off. 

“It’s really weird.”

He glares at you. You mumble a quick sorry and back away a bit while Jonathan asks if the call can be traced. Hopper focuses back on the situation at hand, informing him that it isn’t possible and then questions if Joyce even heard Will in the first place. The question makes you cringe, knowing it’ll only make Joyce more agitated and hurt.

“Flo said you just heard some breathing.” 

It’s the way he phrases the question, the way he emphasizes the word “just”, that bothers you. This woman has just lost her kid, what kind of mother wouldn’t know her own child’s breathing?

“Even if it was ‘just’ some breathing, I’d know it was my brother. Will is her son, she’d know better than anyone.” You find yourself saying. The words weren’t meant to leave your mouth, but the appreciative look Joyce casts your way outweighs the fear from Hopper’s glare. 

“It was him. It was Will, and he was scared. Then something-”

“It was probably just a prank call,” Hopper tries to reason with her, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You respect the guy, you do, but could he at least attempt to listen to Joyce?

You excuse yourself before you say anything else, heading back into the kitchen to collect the two posters you and Jonathan made. While the others talk, you grab his things and pack his bag for him. You know he’ll probably skip school today to get the copies done in time, maybe keep an eye on his mom, so you make a mental note to inform him later that you’ll help with putting the fliers up the second you’re done with the exam. He needs someone there for him. 

When you’ve grabbed the last of Jonathan’s things, Lonnie’s name is mentioned. You freeze, standing right outside the hall from them, only a wall between you. If Lonnie is somehow involved in this, you’ll kill him yourself. He was always cruel to Will, even when you were around to witness it. You hate him more than anything in this damn world. 

“It’s been long enough, I’m having him checked out.” Hopper declares, storming out of the house. 

You count to three in your head, and the second you get to three, Jonathan is following after Hopper. You knew he would, hating his father the most out of everyone who has had the displeasure of meeting him. You follow behind him, heading outside to talk to the Chief. 

“Hey, Hopper. Let me go.” 

Hopper takes a drag from his cigarette, facing the two of you. “I’m sorry?”

“To Lonnie’s,” Jonathan says, looking at you for backup.

You do your best to try. “If Will’s there, that means he probably ran away. Cops will scare the poor boy, he’ll think he’s in trouble.”

“And he’ll hide. He’s good at hiding.” Jonathan finishes for you. 

Hopper stares at you both, inhaling more smoke from his cigarette and blowing it in your direction with a curious look in his eyes. “You two are sickening to be near, you know that?”

You and Jonathan share an annoyed look. A kid is missing, and you still have to clarify that you aren’t together? “It’s not like that,” Jonathan says.

“Sure, you know cops are good at detecting lies,” Hopper approaches him now, grabbing his shoulders. For a brief second you’re afraid he’ll hurt him. “And we’re also good at finding, okay? Stay here with your mom. She needs you.” 

Hopper punches at Jonathan’s shoulder before facing you. “And you,” you brace for whatever he’s about to say, knowing you probably aren’t his favorite person at the moment. He points at Jonathan, “He needs you.”

His words hang in the air several minutes after he’s gone. You glance at Jonathan, but he doesn’t meet your eye and instead he goes back inside. You sigh, following after him because it’s what you do. Hopper’s right, he needs you. 

Jonathan’s in the living room, speaking softly to his mom when you enter. You don’t disturb them but rather snatch Jonathan’s keys from the counter and wait for him by the door. Like Joyce said, Xerox opens in about thirty minutes and you have a chem exam to take. If you leave now, you’ll be able to make the copies with him and be back in time before school.

The ride to Xerox is tense, you know Jonathan is upset that he’s been sidelined by Hopper. You also know that he’s torn between wanting to help his mom and staying out of his house as much as possible. If it weren’t for your god damn chem test you’d offer to skip and hide out at your place, but you can’t. Jonathan wouldn’t let you risk your future for him (even though you would, in a heartbeat, a million times over). 

The man at Xerox gives Jonathan a look of pity, clearly recognizing Will’s picture on the poster. It’s your favorite photo of him, smiling with all his teeth and happy as can be. From what you’ve heard, the whole town has been conducting search parties for him. Jonathan ignores the look and asks for the 200 copies to be made. 

It’s just you and him in the store as you wait for the prints to be done. The guy said it’d be about a ten minute wait so you wander around the store. Jonathan clearly is in a no talking mood, so you occupy yourself with whatever you find. You wish you’d brought your backpack to Jonathan’s last night so you could at least study a bit while waiting, but you didn’t. It’d be a miracle if you pass this exam. 

Jonathan wanders around as well, so you give a quick look around and find the employee. He’s standing over the printer when you approach. “I’d like to pay for the copies, please.”

“You can pay after they’re done-”

“No, I can’t let him see,” you point over to Jonathan, who is now looking at some stationary. “Please, just let me pay now so he can yell at me later.” 

The guy gives you a shrug, clearly not getting paid enough to care. “Okay, it’ll be $20. Just leave the money on the counter over there, the prints should be done soon.” 

You nod and do as you’re told, leaving the $20 bill on the counter while Jonathan isn’t looking. He can kill you later, right now you want to make up for not being able to help with hanging them up. There’s literally hundreds to get through, he can’t do that all alone. 

When the posters are done and Jonathan collects them, you wish the worker a good day and then wrap your arms around him and use all your strength to drag your friend into the car. He doesn't fight back at first, too confused by your actions, and you’re almost out the door before he sees the man pocket the money and wave at you. The dots connect in his head and Jonathan begins to fight against you. 

“Y/N, let me pay-”

“Nope. Not happening!”

“We both know I’m stronger-”

“Debatable, honestly, seeing as how we’re almost to your car.”

“Let go!” He tugs harshly as his arm, which you’ve got a secure hold on, causing you to stumble a bit. 

You plant your feet more firmly against the ground and use all your weight to pull the boy forward. You’re a few feet away from the car, just one more solid pull should do the trick. “Stop fighting this, Byers. I’ve already paid-”

“Which you shouldn’t have!”

“Keep fighting and drop all the posters, I dare you.”

Jonathan looks down at the posters in his spare hand, realizing that you’re right. If he doesn’t give in soon, they’ll topple over. He lets out an agitated groan, throwing his head back, and then marches over to the car to unlock it and fling himself into the driver’s seat. “Just get in.” 

You do a small victory dance and hop in the car.

“I hate you.” 

“You love me.” 

He hesitates only for a moment. “God, I hate that I do.” 

You smile, buckling your seatbelt. Jonathan pulls out of the parking lot and begins the drive to school. He’s less tense this time, at least. The small little wrestling match between the two of you seemingly did some good, then. 

When you pull up to school, you once again apologize to Jonathan for being unable to help. He waves you off, understanding. 

“It’s okay, I promise. I can’t have you failing out of high school because of me.”

You roll your eyes. “One test won’t make me become a high school dropout, Jonathan.”

He ruffles your hair, which you slap him for. “You can join me after, okay? Good luck, bug.” 

“Fine, but I’m taking some posters with me so I can hang up on my way to my locker.” 

“Deal.”

You run to your locker, flinging it open and letting out a sigh of relief when you spot your chem cards. Honestly, you really should’ve prepared better for your little sleepover at the Byers. You glance at the watch on your wrist, noting that you have roughly fifteen minutes to memorize all the elements in the periodic table as well as some chemistry definitions. 

Just peachy. 

You tie your hair up so you can focus better and grab the note cards. If you review the cards as you walk to class, you can save at least three minutes of studying time. You tuck the few remaining posters of Will under your arm and begin to head to your class, getting absorbed in all the elements and words. As you’re skimming a card about protein being K, you run into Nancy and Barb, who also seem to have the same idea as you.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Nancy greets you, Barb waving to you as well. 

They’re being nice, so you try to make conversation. “Studying for Kaminsky’s test?”

They nod at you and Nancy sighs, “Yeah, his exams are the worst.”

You laugh a bit, for once on the same page as her. “I know. I spent last night at Jonathan’s, I completely forgot about the test until this morning. I’m screwed.”

Barb raises her eyebrows at you while Nancy suddenly looks sad. “Oh, I’m sorry about Will. I know you and him are close.” 

“Yeah, it must be hard taking care of Jonathan right now.” Barb voices. 

You give them both an awkward smile. “Thanks, I guess? It’s just, there’s still hope, so…” 

The three of you stand there as your voice trails off. It’s painfully awkward. While you’ve known Nancy since you were 12, and at some point you even called her a close friend of yours, the second you entered high school she became distant. You never blamed her for it, people simply grow up and grow apart. Now you only ever interact with her if it concerns the boys. 

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp.

“Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your cheat sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

His friends laugh, but Steve has a bit of heart to look guilty, so you count that as something. His shame doesn’t last long though and the goofy and sweet boy who made sure you were okay after almost hitting you with his car is gone. 

Steve plays off the situation as if it were nothing. “Let me make it up to you, Henderson. I know you’re probably stressed out of your mind dealing with boyfriend troubles because of Bill-”

“His name is Will,” you grit out, remembering now why you dislike Steve so much. Everything was about impressing his friends, and while you can sympathize with him, it doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole. 

“Right, Will. Anyways, I was just about to inform Nance over here that my dad has left town on a conference and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, ya know, she doesn’t trust him.” 

“Good call,” Tommy says, and you glare at him. 

Steve carries on. “So, are you guys in?”

“In for what?” Nancy asks. 

“No parents, a big house?” Carol says, as if Nancy is a giant idiot.

You feel bad for her being treated so poorly by her boyfriend’s friends, so you lean in and whisper, “A party, Nancy.” Then you look at Steve. “And no, I’ll pass.” 

Steve pouts. “Can’t leave loverboy alone for a couple hours?”

You scoff, shoving the poster against his chest, using more force than probably necessary, but the satisfying grunt he lets out pleases you. “If I didn’t know you I’d say you sound jealous. Unfortunately, I do know you, and that’s exactly why I’m not interested.”

“Meow,” says Carol as she and Tommy laugh. 

You ignore her and push past the group to get to class. You’ve wasted enough time, you have to study. Steve lets you, hurt by your words, but tries to play it off, instead focusing his attention on Jonathan up ahead hanging up some posters. You both see him at the same time and as you start to approach him, you hear Steve and his group mock him. 

“God, that’s depressing.” Steve says, and you’ve never wanted to hit a man more than you do right now. 

You glance at Nancy, trying to convey your disappointment in her. She’s a nice girl, she shouldn’t be with an idiot like Harrington. Who the hell makes fun of a guy with a missing brother? Nancy doesn’t meet your eye, which pleases you. She should feel guilty. 

As you near Jonathan, Nancy calls after you to wait up. You listen, mostly because you’re surprised she even followed, and together you walk up to him. “Hey, bee. I thought you’d be long gone by now.” 

Jonathan looks up at your voice, surprised when he sees Nancy next to you. He gives you a look that you conclude is a what is she doing here? look and you can only shrug as if to say I have no clue how I ended up in this situation. 

Nancy doesn’t see this exchange. “Hey,”

“Hey,” Jonathan responds, still confused. 

Nancy looks at you uncertainly, but you refuse to leave. Screw your exam, if she even considers voicing her boyfriend’s opinions to Jonathan then you’ll personally see that she fails alongside you. “I just… I wanted to say, you know… I’m sorry, about everything.” 

Oh, she’s being nice. You’re still unimpressed, but Jonathan motions to you to stop staring her down, so you reluctantly listen. 

“Everyone’s thinking about you.”

You all turn towards Steve and his group, who are clearly listening in, and you snort at her words. “Right, obviously.” 

“Y/N.” Jonathan warns. 

“Sorry.” 

“It sucks.” Nancy continues, and you have to give her some credit. You’re being a blatant bitch, but she’s still trying. You feel a bit bad now, which honestly makes you dislike her a bit more. Damn morals. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s a smart kid.” 

The bell rings, ending Nancy’s little monologue. “I have to go, chemistry test. Y/N, want to walk together?” 

She really makes it impossible to be a bitch to her. “Sure, just give me a second.”

You lean close to Jonathan and lower your voice. “Good luck with your dad, bee.” 

“How did you know I’d go-”

“Because of course you would. Now go, give him hell for me, will ya?”

Jonathan nods, relieved you aren’t pushing the topic. You know that Lonnie is a sore topic for him, for the entire Byers family, really. You only knew Lonnie for a year or so before Joyce left him, but you’ll never forget his spiteful words and the bruises that Jonathan tried to hide from you. He needs to do this alone, father and son. 

You see Nancy watching, and just to spite her you kiss Jonathan’s cheek, relishing in the fact that she looks away, and you wish him luck once again before following her to class. 

The test isn’t as bad as you’d feared, and the rest of the day goes by with relative ease. You don’t see much of Steve and his group and you’re thankful for that. Nancy also keeps her distance, no longer attempting to be all buddy buddy with you. A part of you feels bad about that, because honestly the thought of someone thinking you hate them makes you feel physically ill, but as long as Nancy is with someone like Steve, there’s not much you can do about that. 

After school you stop by all of Jonathan’s classes and collect the work he’s missed over the last few days; he has enough to worry about, so you figured you could help do some assignments for him. It’s nothing unusual, truth to be told. There was a time you were out for two weeks straight due to the flu one year and Jonathan did every one of your assignments, so it’s about time you returned the favor. 

Once you have what you need, you hang up the remaining flyers in your bag and begin your journey to work. You’ve used up all of your sick days helping the Byers, and while Mrs. Waters has insisted on letting you have more time off, you figured the distraction would be good for you. Jonathan will want some space after confronting his dad, and as much as you hated Lonnie, something told you he had nothing to do with Will. 

Just when your shift is almost done, your coworker, this young kid named Alex who you’re honestly surprised can legally work, informs you that your mom is on the phone and wants to speak with you. You stack the remaining books in your hands and thank him, walking over to pick up the call.

“Hey, mom. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetie! I was just calling to tell ya that Dusty is at the Wheeler’s tonight for dinner, so my plan for ribs won’t work without him. I was wondering if darling Johnny could feed you tonight? I know the two of you have that little sneaky food game.” 

Your posture, once slumped over and uninterested, now straightens out. Why the hell is Dustin having dinner at the Wheeler’s? They never do that. “Uh, sure mom that won’t be an issue.”

Your mom lets out a sigh of relief. “Bless that Jonathan! I’ve always liked him…”

Your mom may be the biggest Jonathan supporter you’ve ever met. “Yeah, he’s your favorite. I know,” you shift a bit to catch Alex’s attention, mouthing to him that you need to leave work early. “Hey, did Dustin by chance say how long he’ll be at the Wheeler’s? I can swing by and pick him up after my shift.” 

“Oh, I think he’s staying the night there. He mentioned something about Mike not finishing his part of their little science project?”

They’re calling the little girl a science project now? Boys are so typical. “Oh, I see. Well, I gotta get back to work, mom. I’ll be home late tonight.”

Your mom wishes you goodbye and warns you not to be out too late. You hum, already trying to figure out the quickest route to the Wheeler’s house. You can’t say you’re surprised that Mike didn’t follow the plan, but you also can’t say you were prepared for this either. 

Alex comes back with your boss and you quickly make up a lie about not feeling well. Mrs. Waters gives you a pitying look and tells you to go. You’re incredibly grateful for her, she’s like a grandmother to you and has always been so kind. 

You quickly bike to Mike’s house, going over a grand speech in your head for the boys. Logistically speaking, you’re not sure if they can even harbor the little girl in his basement. Would it be kidnapping? Could kids even kidnap other kids? You aren’t sure and you definitely aren’t willing to find out. 

You arrive at the house just as Nancy and Barb are pulling out of the driveway, presumably to Steve’s grand house party. They wave at you awkwardly and you don’t have it in you to wave back. You park your bike next to their doorstep and knock on the door. 

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wheeler asks after opening the door. 

“Oh, I was just wondering if I could hang out with the boys tonight? Jonathan’s busy and I promised Dustin I’d help with their campaign.”

Mrs. Wheeler cocks her head at you. “But I thought there was a special assembly at the school for Will? Nancy and Barb just left for it.” 

You feel your blood boil a bit. There was no assembly for Will at your school, and it was really damn low of Nancy to use his disappearance as a cover story for her stupid party. She’s known Will since he was practically a baby. You have no idea how someone could be so unaffected by a missing child, let alone one who has been at your house every damn weekend for years now. 

“Oh, that!” You force yourself to remain calm; there isn’t time to snitch on Nancy, Mrs. Wheeler would only have more questions for you. “Yeah, I’m, uh, skipping it. Jonathan doesn’t want to go, so after he’s back from his errands I’m heading over to his place to, you know, comfort him?” 

The woman stares at you for a second, trying to determine if there are any lies to your words. You’ve never been the best liar, but being the oldest Henderson child has unfortunately prepared you for being quick on your feet when needed. 

“Well, come on then. They boys just went downstairs, and if you can please remind them to bring the plate of food back up here I’d really appreciate it.”

You thank Mrs. Wheeler and let yourself in. Her words have all but solidified your suspicions: Mike kept the girl. 

When you descend the basement steps, it’s almost comical how the kids scramble to hide the girl like little cockroaches. They run around and Dustin screams something about covering her before the poor girl is being manhandled into a sheet as Mike screams at Lucas and Dustin to calm down. 

“Guys! It’s just me! Jesus!” You shout, shoving past Mike to rush over to the girl and free her from the sheets. She looks more frightened than usual, but at least she’s alive. 

“God, why am I always the one you push?”

You shush Mike, smoothing back the girl’s hair and offering her a reassuring smile. “Remember me, sweetheart?”

The girl nods and softly says, “Y/N.”

“Very good. I’m going to scream at my brother real quick, so why don’t you cover your ears for me so you don’t get too frightened?” 

“Wait, what-”

The minute her ears are covered, you turn to Dustin and begin screaming. “Are you brain dead and not understand the words ‘tell me if anything weird happens’ or do you simply lack the appropriate empathy needed for a concerned sister?”

Dustin ducks his head in shame. “Y/N, look-”

“No! I’m all for helping you guys with your adventures and whatever, but Will went missing and then she appears and Mike,” you turn to him and he hides behind a frightened Lucas. “You said you’d stick to your plan. Now tell me, did you?”

Mike shakes his head, his eyes wide. Dustin looks no better as he cowers behind the others. Lucas simply shrugs, knowing that this would happen. You never, ever, yell at the boys; the few times you have in the past, all hell had broken loose. 

“Y/N-”

“Zip it, Henderson. I’m so pissed off at you right now and if you want to make it to thirteen I suggest you keep quiet.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you guys catch me up on what you’ve so sweetly kept hidden from me.” It’s worded as a question, but the boys know better than to deny you. 

You sit on the ground so that you’re next to the girl and then motion for the three boys in front of you to start speaking. They look at Mike, giving him a nudge, and he hesitantly steps forward to begin speaking. “Her name is El.”

The girl, El, looks up at you and smiles. You return the smile and knock your shoulder against hers in a playful manner. “Nice to meet you, can I ask what El is short for?”

“Eleven,” she says, and you want to question the name further but the look on Mike’s face stops you. Now is not the time, you guess. 

“El, she’s… different.” Mike continues, looking around nervously. He’s acting as if someone could break in any second and snipe you guys, and a part of you doesn’t doubt it can happen. “She has these powers, like, mind control powers.”

You snort, unable to stop yourself. El looks at you, looking unoffended, seemingly expecting this reaction. However, Mike groans at you. “Y/N, this is serious. She-she knows about Will.”

At this, your smile fades and you feel an overwhelming sense of hope take over you. You find your arms wrapping around El before you can control yourself and you give her a tight hug. She stiffens in your arms and you immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, I just… sorry.”

She laughs a bit, softly saying that it’s okay. 

“Do you really know Will? Where he is?” You ask, almost too scared to say the words out loud. If she’s telling the truth… you shake your head in an attempt to dispel any false hope. You don’t know this girl, she could be lying. 

Before El can say anything else, Mike speaks for her. “She does, but there’s bad men out there who want to hurt her. I think they’re after Will, too.” 

You freeze. “Bad men?”

“Yes, this is why we didn’t want to tell you!”

“I wanted to tell her,” Lucas says, which causes Mike to glare at him.

You wave your arms at the two boys, breaking up their fight. “Mike, what do you mean by bad men? Honey,” you look at El, “did someone hurt you? Are you in danger? Should I call the police?”

“No!” All three boys shout at once. 

You look at them, at the genuine fear in their eyes, and sigh, “Okay, if you can give me a good reason not to call the cops, I won’t.”

“Did you not hear the part about El having powers?” Dustin asks. 

“Gee, Dustin. You’re right! It’s like her having powers is totally believable and reassuring to the situation at hand!”

“I can show you,” El speaks up. 

You all face her now. “You can?” 

She nods at you, getting up and grabbing your backpack that you threw on the ground when you walked in. She rustles through it while you and the boys look at one another. After a few seconds, El grabs one of your comic books and places it on the table. She looks at you and tilts her head, indicating for you to sit down next to her; you do as you’re told.

El straightens out your comic and then closes her eyes, going completely still. The air around you shifts and you can practically feel the static electricity encasing you; the hair on your arms stand up. The pages of the comic begin to flick up, fluttering as if someone is thumbing through them in rapid succession. You watch as the Spidey panels flash before your eyes, the pages flying faster and faster until it becomes almost frightening to be near. Then, once it gets to its last page, the comic flies up into the air and hovers for a few seconds, right in front of your face. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, your eyes wide. 

Just as quickly as it began, the comic drops back onto the table. You look up at El and see that her nose is now bleeding, which rips you back to reality. The chair scrapes against the ground as you get up to help her, dabbing at the blood with a tissue that had been laying on the table. 

“Do you believe us now?” Mike asks, a smug look on his face. 

You gently wipe away the remaining blood from El’s face, looking her in the eye and directing your words to her. “I’m listening, sweetheart. What can you do to help us find Will?” 

El smiles, pleased to have earned your trust, and you get the feeling that this little girl is the most powerful thing in all of Hawkins, maybe even the world. At her request, Mike places his DnD board on the table and arranges the pieces for El to use. She sits down and closes her eyes once more.

Lucas gives you a doubtful look. “What’s the weirdo doing?”

You flick his head, not enjoying the name calling. Honestly, you thought you raised these boys better than that. 

El seems to accomplish whatever she was doing and picks up the wizard piece, murmuring, “Will.” 

You feel your heart stop. Will always insisted on being the wizard whenever they played the game. He was Will the Wise, forever and always. El couldn’t have simply guessed that, and you know it’s her-

“Superpowers,” Dustin finishes your thought for you. The two of you exchange a glance and you notice the slight glee in his eyes. Under different circumstances, you’d also find this all pretty cool. 

Mike sits next to El and begins to ask some questions about where she last saw Will. She gives him a look that you can’t quite decipher before swiping her arm across the table and spilling the pieces onto the floor. She then flips the board over, having it now face upside down, and places Will’s piece back down. 

You knit your brows together, trying to follow along. El’s movements are methodical and carefully planned, being unable to find the right words due to her poor speech, and you try to piece together the information you’ve been given. 

“I don’t understand,” Mike says, being extra gentle with El. You’ve never seen him so soft spoken before and you’re grateful at least one of the boys doesn’t view her as some monster. Which reminds you that you need to have a conversation with Dustin about respecting women, but for now you’ll hold off.

“Hiding.” says El. 

He’s good at hiding, Jonathan’s words echo in your head. 

“Will is hiding?” 

El nods, now looking more nervous. You can tell that Mike is getting closer to information that she doesn’t want him near, which finally causes you to ask the question that’s been heavily on your mind. “From the bad men?”

Now El gives a slight shake of the head, and Mike presses on. “Then from who?”

Without saying anything, El places a second piece onto the board right in front of Will’s. It’s a piece you’re unfamiliar with, with two snake-like heads that loom over the small wizard piece. Whatever it is, you know it isn’t good judging the way Mike, Dustin, and Lucas look at each other in fear.

You turn to Dustin and whisper, “What’s that piece?”

Your brother puts his hands behind his head and sighs deeply, a new resigned look on his face. He looks as if he’s just aged thirty years, which you find a bit dramatic. “It’s the Demogorgon.”

“The Demo-what?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t remember anything about it.

Mike looks at you and for once his voice holds no annoyance when he says, “There’s a lot we still have to catch you up on.”

– 

Your head is spinning as you bike to Jonathan’s with all the new information you’ve just received. Demogorgons, magical vortexes, kids with damn superpowers. It’s all a lot for you to take in, and while you fully believe that El is something entirely different from a normal little girl, how can you be sure that it’s connected to Will? While his disappearance still confuses you, it’s illogical to jump to supernatural conclusions. 

Dustin had begged you to let him spend the night at Mikes in order to keep talking to El, and you only agreed because you figured you’d be at Jonathan’s again tonight anyways. He’s been MIA all day and you’re worried as usual, but you made him and Mike swear to you that they’d stay put in the house. At least this way they’re in one place, so if they screw around they’ll be easier to find. 

When you arrive at the Byers home you notice that Jonathan’s car isn’t in the driveway, which only confuses you further. Where the hell is he? You gave him all day to deal with Lonnie and cool off, trusting that he wouldn’t do anything stupid for twelve hours, and yet… 

You fear he’s done something stupid. 

You don’t have time to think too much about Jonathan’s absence because a frantic Joyce runs out the door screaming. She runs straight past you and into her car, and the house begins to light up like a Christmas tree. You can hear The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go, a song that Will once had on repeat for three weeks straight, and you can feel the same static electricity in the air that you felt when El used her powers in front of you. 

Joyce suddenly gets out of the car and spots you, pointing towards her house. “You see that too?”

You swallow. “Yeah,”

She nods, as if your confirmation is all she needs to determine her sanity, and then marches inside. You stand in the yard, motionless. You’re terrified, and after learning about El tonight, you don’t have it in you to discover any other supernatural beings in Hawkins at the moment. Sighing, you follow after the woman because Jonathan isn’t home and someone needs to talk her down from whatever panic attack the flashing lights have inevitably caused. 

“Mrs. Byers-” 

“Y/N, you can’t tell me there isn’t something,” Joyce waves her hands in front of her face, almost grasping at the air, “weird about all of this. That was Will’s song, the lights were flashing in Will’s room, something came out of Will’s wall-”

“Something came out of his wall?”

“Yes! I’m not… I promise I’m not crazy, okay? You saw it, please tell me you saw it.”

You bite your lip, now thinking about El. You swore to Mike you wouldn’t tell anyone about her, and honestly you’re not sure that you should tell Joyce about her right now. You’re still unsure if El is being honest with you, and you can’t just give the woman false hope for her son. It’d kill you if you were wrong about El. But seeing the lights, hearing the music, the thing in the wall… There’s something that she’s not telling you. 

“Mrs. Byers… I’m not quite sure what I saw, but we just had a bad storm and it could be faulty wiring.” 

Joyce slumps her shoulders, frustrated that you aren’t conspiring with her. You just… you can’t. Not yet. Not before you figure out what the hell El is doing in Hawkins. You refuse to worsen Joyce’s already chronic anxiety and paranoia; Jonathan would never forgive you if you fed into her delusions, but it kills you to lie to her. 

“Look, I do think that something is weird about this entire situation, “ Joyce’s face lights up, but you’re quick to add, “however, there’s no proof. You, I mean-Mrs. Byers, you’ve seen things in the past. You’re stressed, and anxious, and all the other synonyms.” 

The woman lets a few tears drop from her eyes, now embarrassed. “Maybe you’re right. I-I’m sorry, honey. I just-”

You grab her hand. “I know,”

Her smile is brittle, a ghost of the once beautiful smile she’d give you, and your heart breaks for her. 

After your conversation, Joyce excuses herself to her room. She looks even more exhausted than before, so you leave her alone and hole yourself up in Jonathan’s room. 

You glance at your watch and note the late hour; you’re starting to worry now. Jonathan didn’t mention anything besides Lonnie and the posters, so you don’t know what else he could be doing so late. He wouldn’t go searching for Will without you. 

You wake up to Jonathan returning an hour or so later, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting for him. 

“Y/N?” His voice is gruff and surprised. 

You groan and rub your eyes. “Turn the light off, bee.”

He doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

The tone of his voice wakes you up a bit, making you sit up and look at him more clearly. His shoulders are tense, his eyes are hiding something, and his overall demeanor is hard to read. “I had something to tell you, but is everything okay?”

“You couldn't have waited until tomorrow? Y/N, this is my house, just… just get out.”

“I’m sorry?” You’re confused by his behavior, now starting to become a bit defensive and hurt by his dismissal. 

“You can’t just let yourself in whenever you please.” Jonathan puts his camera on his desk, still refusing to meet your eyes.

“Jonathan, we literally have always let ourselves into each other’s houses whenever we please.” 

He rolls his eyes at you and rips off his jacket, throwing it at you. “Get out!”

You catch the jacket before it hits you in the face. “What the hell, Jonathan!” 

“Listen, I get that you think you’re a part of the family, but you’re not. You’ve been here for days now, it’s getting old.” 

His words cut through you and leave vicious wounds against your skin. He doesn’t mean that, he can’t mean that. You and him were family. He’s never, ever insinuated anything less. He wouldn’t dare. Your Jonathan would never act like this to you, and the only time he’s ever been this cruel to you was when he accidentally dropped Lonnie’s last beer in the fridge and was too embarrassed and ashamed to ask for help; he’d shown up with bruises later that night.

Then it hits you. He did something, something that makes him feel guilty; he keeps glancing at his camera. You soften your voice, “Bee, what did you do?”

He whips around, now yelling. “Nothing! Just get the hell out of my house! It’s getting pathetic!” 

You swallow back the angry tears that build in your throat. Fine. Whatever. Let him be a raging bitch after everything you’ve done for him these last few days. 

“Fine, I will.” Grabbing your backpack you snatch the assignments you were supposed to give Jonathan and slam them against his chest. “Here’s all your fucking assignments, by the way.” 

He seems to come back to himself, blinking away the anger and shame. “Bug…”

“You don’t get to call me that.” And with that, you don’t spare Jonathan another glance. 

– 

When you get home, the house is eerily quiet. Dustin is at Mike’s and your mom leaves you a note saying that she’s spending the night at your aunt’s. Great. Looks like it’s just you and Mews tonight then. 

After everything that’s happened tonight, you never found time to eat dinner, and your stomach is loudly growling. You drop your stuff in your room and then reheat some leftovers, feeling like a pathetic child. You know that Jonathan didn’t mean what he said, but the words had come too easily to him to have just been a way to dodge his guilt. There had been some truth to them. Maybe you were pathetic for always fretting over him.

Dinner is quiet tonight. 

You wait for the phone to ring, for Jonathan to call you and apologize, but the call never comes. 

You’ve never felt so alone before.

-

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[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

OK so yep turtle child. I seem to have fallen back into all my old artistic phases once again, Tmnt included in that roster.

I get a brain worm sometimes, it sits and annoys me and wont go away because of course I cant be inspired to draw normal things. Oh well, this is Mucha (pronounced Moo-kah) named after a painter from the art nouveau period. He is the son of our favorite leader in blue, Leo. YES ok wait before anyone gets me, no oc shipping made him. He and his cousin's were made through the art of ✨science✨

Lets say in the bay movies (because those have a soft spot in my heart I'm so sorry I know theyr kinda ugly-) some baddie gets the blood samples from the brothers and instead of trying to make a pandemic (havnt watched the movies in forever forgive me) they try recreating the experiment to try and create super soldiers (overused plot line dontworryaboutit) they mix the mutation agent with four turtles they have on standby, along with the DNA of each brother. Welp mutation happens but before they can get too far the boys swoop in thinking it was some sort of beep bop and rock steady situation. They discover the four recently mutated infant turtles and the rest goes from there.

sorta like the last Ronin but no sads, and before you know it the baby turtles have favorites and now they are sorta parent big brothers. As they get older and the babies grow they lean into the fatherly aspect. Or something.

Now this is the baby who gravitated toward Leo and he to him, and has Leo as a top roll model in his life. Sure all the boys help raise the new set, but again the kids all have favorites. Naturally. (I will mess with this later, but for now this is the wobbly idea) Well Mucha has Leo the stern when leading, silly when the weight is off his shoulders, overly bossy and slightly controlling Leo. Leo who would die for his family but can be cruel and very blunt. Who is also really young in his own right. Being the top role model for a child. Well they have a relationship were Mucha adores him, wants to be like him. But can never seem to live up to his expectations, tries so hard to impress him. He has a loving father figure who teaches him but also tries to helicopter him so much. Control so much, who is blunt when frustrated or angry. This kid is terrified of disappointing him, but wants deep within himself to impress his father his OWN way. Being Mucha not little Leo. He falls where Leo did when chosen as leader, under pressure without his parent even realizing it.

Leo does love him, but as we have seen he is a control freak. So his child naturally rebels, snapping and arguing with him when he's having a bad day. Not wanting to listen to him, because Leo wont listen to MUCHA. As Mucha gets older their relationship becomes strained.

K well I'm stuck in this now. This was mostly a thought post, read a thing about Leo wanting so badly to be a parent. Started wondering how it would go, will continue to work on this. Probably. The reason Mucha's art is so angsty is because that's where the pen went. Hes actually not that bad, usually.

OH well the second, white turtle. He gets his own post later :D

[rwbyangst12]

You guys know the fanfic by SilverQueen Dreaming of Sunshine. The main character is Shikako Nara, Shikamaru's twin sister, it's a very well written fanfiction that gives depth to filler arcs and side characters.

It's a common fanfic trope that she's unkillable and very experimental with her seals and a running gag in the gardenverse fandom is that she is either a god, and eldritch being or when she "dies" she reincarnated into different fandoms like Star Wars, GoT, or anime and other shows and books.

(Shikamaru also has an OC younger brother born after the Chunin Exams named Kinokawa "Kino" Nara)

What I'm trying to get at is imagine Shikako and Shikamaru "die" and reincarnated in Little Witch Academia as Atsuko "Akko" Kagari and Atsushi "Atsu(or whatever nickname that fits)" Kagari before the series begins. The SI for Shikako dies around the early 2000s - 2010s or early - mid 90s and LWA came out in early/mid 2010s (2013). The pair of twins go to see a magic show(Shiny Chariots) and realise their chakra had been stolen.

They begin to research everything they can and find out about Luna Nova, Jennifer, Witches and magic, and Blytonbury and make plans to go their while they both experiment and study/train in different things. Since Luna Nova is an all girls school and Appleton is an all boys school so when they both arrive they part ways after figuring out a way to establish contact via bird messaging since no chakra means no summoning, mental link/genjutsu, instant travel and unless magically powered they can't use electronics in Luna Nova.

Shikamaru meets the Appleton boys and years of diplomacy, heir training, and being a shinobi while studying the science of this new world (because if he went into politics on earth I would be terrified for the poor boy) is getting along well with both Frank and Andrew but not the kid who challenged Amanda to a duel.

At Luna Nova Shikako is experimenting with everything she sees that the snake coming up to her is a fake and spots Sucy, she still asks Lotte for a ride to the school because Callista is late, But instead of it being ignorance that gets them stuck in the Arcturus forest it's pure curiosity on the school's defenses and to see if Arcturus is anything like the Nara forest or the Forest of Death in Konoha. She just straight up pours salt into the leyline while flying taking Lotte and Sucy with her.

When "Akko" meets Diana and Amanda she's instantly reminded of Ino and Naruto respectively. Diana for her appearance (platinum blonde hair, pale skin, blue eyes and being a talented healer and heiress to an important family) Amanda for the way she acted originally (the pranks and mischief while needing parental attention)

I haven't decided how the rest of the story goes and imagining the twins saying very traumatising thins about their upbringings (because they are both still child soldiers) and everyone being horrified and about to call CPS and when asked about why they're so desperate to find Shiny Chariot they explain how she stole they're Chak-Magic and how they can't go home because of it leading other people to think the two got kicked out of their home because they were powerless.

When the dance happens and it's time for the Luna Nova girls to mix in with the Appleton boys they (the RGB teams) think they see Akko who cut her hair short and is wearing a suit until they remember she's in detention for blowing up the lab (I chose this instead of the extra class because I thought it would make more sense because she does need to talk to her brother) and he's just laughing his ass off when he asks where his sister is and is going "only a lab!? I've seen her blow up an entire building"(I've seen her blow up entire cities and reshape maps)

He goes into shock and gets homesick when he sees Diana because Ino was his second sister, another twin or a triplet. Ino is only a few hours younger than Shikamaru and Shikako, the twins are September 22 and Ino was September 23, they grew up together and their families have been tied together for generations along with Chouji. She has a similar air to her that Ino had when they were kids, he finds out she's an heiress to an important family, and that she is really a good person in spite of first impressions that really just wants to do well by people and is quite talented for her age. The appearance is uncanny to him from hair, to skin, to eye colour (except Diana looks less Asian, not being racist just realistic because the elemental countries are all based off of Asian countries)

I still haven't decided how the rest of the story goes but how do you like the prompt.

[star-farer]

litany of time

Summary: In which a clone-child reacquaints with the mundane of science and loss. AU: A Protostar in Plastoid Taglist: @kybercrystals94, @fionas-frenzy

Iterative. Repetitious. Redundant.

Synonyms for Omega’s days on Tantiss.

Tech taught her those words, when she’d asked him what ‘tedious’ meant.

The tap forever drips, drop, by, drop. It drips when she wakens, drips when she sleeps.

Drips when she dreams of joy and warmth and laughter and home.

She gets up just before Emerie walks in, adjusting her goggles as she all but presses her nose into her holopad. Her sister looks up and catches her gaze, nodding.

“Good morning, Omega.”

“Good morning, Om’ika. Slept well?”

“Good morning, Dr. Karr.” She bends to pull out her box from underneath her rack. Follows Emerie out wordlessly.

The tap still drips as she steps out.

It reminds her of Kamino, of Tipoca City, this place she has come to reside in. She is prisoner and assistant, just as she had been in her youth, when she was even smaller.

After she had been wrenched from her brothers’ grasps, barely a toddler, barely old enough to understand what she was losing. Before the Republic had been malformed into an Empire, before she had tracked them down and reunited at last.

Nala Se’s little clone assistant. Nala Se’s little clone prisoner.

Nala Se’s successful experiment.

The halls are winding, Clone Commandos and TK Troopers litter every turn, droids follow after the scientists like loyal pets.

There’s not a Kaminoan in sight.

A mouse droid whizzes past her ankle.

She follows after Emerie, like a loyal pet, like a programmed droid herself.

Crosshair walks past her, eyes downcast, expression weary, trudging along with the rest of the prisoners with similar slumps in their shoulders. They are guarded, their wrists are bound, and not for the first time Omega wishes to catch his eye and ask him what is being done to them.

It is a futile wish. He will squeeze her fingers, he will narrow his eyes, he will shake his head. “It’s better you don’t know,” he will whisper with a smile so sad it will make her cry. So she bites her lip and keeps her head down and follows his example: refusing to meet his gaze.

Emerie takes her to her lab, where Omega holds the tray as the scientist collects samples of blood from the unconscious clones on their beds. Even in this state, even when they are meant to be resting, distress and discomfort is wrought along their features.

She tries not to think of how much they remind her of Cody, or of Echo, or of Rex. Of men who each hold a piece of her heart.

They are her brothers, these clones. Brave men, soldiers. A beating heart within each of their chests that sings to the tune of Vode An.

And she feels like such a traitor, to stand beside her sister as aide in a monster’s vile schemes.

Was this how Echo felt, trapped and abused, his assistance filtered from him like drawing blood, helpless to do anything save lie still and watch as his enemy profited and his brothers fell?

Will she ever be rid of the stains that now grime her hands?

She wonders this as she climbs onto a bed herself, as she holds one hand out, palm down, for her own blood to be collected. Wonders if the red filling the vial somehow counteracts, somehow makes up for her sins.

Emerie hands her the tray, and she turns before her scientist of a sister can command her to her doom.

She walks out of the lab, down the halls to the lift, presses a button that takes her further into the heart of Mount Tantiss. Steps out, down halls, to stand before her doom herself, two Commandos standing guard on either side of the door.

They are clones as well, aren’t they? She’ll recognize the build of a clone anywhere, even in her sleep, even blind.

Yet these are so silent, so stern, so droid-like, even in the way they consider her from behind glowing blue visors. There’s something off about them, distinctly so.

Perhaps it is merely their inhibitor chips?

One presses a button, and she steps into the chamber, pausing to be scanned as the door slides shut behind her. Blue slices through her, leaves her blinking dark laser-lines from the black of her eyelids. She steps into the laboratory and catches the gaze of her doom.

Tranquil, resigned, distant.

Nala Se waves her over, taking the tray from her. She pulls out Omega’s sample with a practiced languidness, she places the sample in the machine just to be sure.

And as the Kaminoan discards her blood, Omega knows her sins will never be absolved. Not until she finds a way out of here. Not until she saves the men trapped in this hell.

She is provided with a meal — nerf nuggets, she recognizes, and she nearly laughs at the bitter reminder of Cid’s treachery. She swallows her hysteria, like she always has, and walks away to the kennels.

Scoops up the food for the lurca’s, but Batcher refuses to eat, unsurprisingly. She slips in a few of her nuggets — she’d been growing tired of them anyways — and smiles encouragingly, even as the hound snarls and skirts away.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise,” she whispers into the cage. But she knows better than to expect faith and trust so early on, so she heaves a sigh as she gets to her feet. Leaves Batcher to her own devices, though she tosses a smile over her shoulder just as she does so.

It’s late now, and she feels it in the stiffness of her muscles, the lethargy in her bones. Still, she slips to a corridor she knows she shouldn’t traverse. Still, she dodges Troopers and scientists alike until she crouches beside a familiar grate.

Her breath catches when the rack inside the cell is empty. Looking around with wide eyes, certain she will not be caught, she dares to call softly into the cell. “Buir?”

“Omega.”

Relief floods her as his face appears, only inches away from hers. The door separates them, but they slip their fingers through the grate to hold on nevertheless. She sags against the door, a smile pulling her lips, and she sees how his eyes crease in the corners at the sight of her.

Warm. Kind.

“Right on time,” he chuckles, and she delights in the familiar rasp of his voice, “As usual.”

She shrugs, too fatigued to do anything but grin, her heart heavy within her. She traces with her eyes the pieces of his face she can see through the grate, fitting them like a puzzle in her mind, searing them in her memory.

If she searches, slowly, carefully, she can see them in his features. It’s a little difficult, a little confusing, but when she finds them, his brothers, her buire, it’s worth all the perusing.

There! In the glint of his eye. It’s Tech, clever and quick.

There! In the tick of his mouth. It’s Wrecker, loud and laughing.

There! In the furrow between his eyebrows. It’s Hunter, steady and firm.

And there is Crosshair, her Buir, amidst it all. Wholly himself, yet fragments of the people they love. He looks a little older, a little more worn, a little more tired.

But it’s still him who smiles at her like she’s worth something. It’s still him who laughs at the sight of her as if joy fills him at her wretched presence. It’s still him who reaches past the awkward slots in the grate to caress her face like he truly loves her.

“Cyare,” he rumbles softly, “Have you eaten?”

She presses her cheek against his fingertips, relishing the gentle touch. “M’not hungry.”

He clucks his tongue, and she feels like she is once again a child who has spilled paint all over herself. His frown is equally disappointed.

“That doesn’t matter. You need to eat.”

Scowling is an option. As is throwing a tantrum. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have the energy for either, and she presses her lips into a thin line.

“I’ll eat when I get back.”

“Then you’d better get back soon.” She doesn’t even remember closing her eyes until they snap open to see his quiet insistence. “You look like you need a long nap.”

A long nap would be nice. But so would burrowing in his arms, crying against his shoulder, escaping this damned facility and going back home.

None of that is happening anytime soon. What did sleep compare to?

She nods, despite the tempest in her heart. She smiles, if only for his sake, if only to see him smile back. She nearly breaks when he kisses his fingers and places them on her cheek, when he whispers, “Ni kartayli gar darasuum, ner kar’ta.”

But she stows her tears away, stuffs the sobs down her throat, bites back the scream at the tip of her tongue. She flees for her quarters, unwilling for him to see the pain color her face, yet hesitant to leave him so early.

He is all she truly has here. He holds a piece of her heart, just like his brothers do.

She re-enters her room, and the tap still drips. She prepares for bed, prepares to sleep, pulls out a tool she’d snuck up her sleeve to scratch a new tally on the wall near her window.

The tap still drips.

She sits back down on the bed, feet dangling, pulls her box onto her lap. Opens it and bites into a nugget, pulling out the top tray to reveal a make-shift tooka she had been making with straw for the lurca hounds’. She’s made tooka dolls before, when she worked under Nala Se and had been bone-deep in loneliness. She likes to think it’s a skill, like Hunter twirling his vibroblade.

She holds the doll in her hands, tracing the face with a finger. She repeats the names of those she hides in her heart, tells this cobbled-together tooka her greatest, dearest secrets.

“Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech.” Those she met first, those she loved first.

“Cody, Echo, Rex.” Those she discovered after, those she loves as dearly.

“Emerie.” Does she deserve a place on her list of loves? Does she deserve to be called vod?

The tap drips, it reminds her of a chrono, tedious.

Tech told her the meaning of ‘tedious’ once.

“Omega.”

Do you deserve a place on your list of loves, traitor-child? Do you deserve to be called vod, ad, or cyare?

And as she replaces the doll, the tray, the box, as she lays back down on the stiff rack and catches the serene face of the moon, as she drifts into a dream of joy and warmth and laughter and home:

The tap—

Still—

Drips.

[freedxm-fighters]

there’s a gentle hand placed atop Hazen’s head— Kazu having plopped down next to him on the floor. Her hand very softly ruffles his hair before returning to her own lap, “this place is boring as all hell… want to go get ice cream?”

☪ — Gaze is casted downwards towards his hands, fingers mindlessly playing with the untied strings of his hi-tops (or rather they were tied until he started grabbing them), clearly lost in the thoughts he had floating through his mind at the moment. Where were his friends? Where were his parents? Why did everyone suddenly disappear without a single word? Were they tired of him? Did they leave because of him? Because of the way his eldest sister tormented them all without any sort of remorse or hesitation? Is that why he was left to wander around on his own? It was just all one big mess. A mess that he couldn't wrap his head around, but perhaps that was because of his own trauma that he suffered from? After all, he got the worst of it out of everyone that he knew.

☪ — He furrows his brows as he continues to think, being completely unaware of the other's presence within the room until he feels a hand placed upon his head, finally breaking him free from his thoughts. Head lifting ever so slightly as he turns his head in the direction of Kazu's voice, a soft smile taking over his features when he hears the proposal she offers forward. In truth, he couldn't remember the last time he was able to do something as normal as going for ice cream. All he's ever really known was war and violence.

☪ — "We can get ice cream here?" His question is genuine when he asks, almost like it was something he didn't expect to hear. "If it isn't too much trouble, I'd love to go with you to get some." He does sound rather excited when continuing to speak, much different from his usually soft and calm tone of voice — something that people often forgot he was due to how serious he always had to be. He places his hands on the floor to steady himself as he starts to get up, taking a few moments before he was finally standing (albeit he was stepping on his shoelaces) with a smile on his face. Hand reaching outward towards the woman, fingers grasping at the air a few times as he waited to take her hand into his.

[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

Buck & Doe (10)

Summary: Natasha attempts to take down Dreykov, who is mind controlling Black Widows. In her quest she recruits Y/N, a former Black Widow turned science experiment. Bucky and Natasha share a history in the Red Room but his life might be intertwined with more than one Widow. The closer they get to taking down Dreykov, the more secrets come to light.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of struggling to conceive

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Not Beta’d

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 10

Tony was the only Avenger not preparing to head out. HYDRA's involvement in the death of his parents forced him to stay behind. His need for revenge had dwindled overtime; a result of a pretty nasty fight with his current super-soldier teammates, but his anxiety had increased. He could no longer afford to be reckless, not when he had Pepper. Instead, Tony retreated to the lab.

“Going somewhere?”

“Hopefully Venice, Cipriani. That is if Pepper ever calls me back.” Tony glanced up from his cardboard box filled with materials briefly to respond to the voice, Steve.

With raised eyebrows the blonde took a few steps further into the lab. “Trouble in paradise?”

“She’s just busy. You know it takes a lot to run a company?”

The corner of Steve’s lips curled upwards. “I think a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist might have mentioned it once or twice.”

Tony’s right palm rested over the arc reactor implanted in his chest. “You flatter me, Rogers. You know, if you weren’t about to head out on a mission I just might have tried to sweep you away to Venice with me.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave the honeymooning to Pepper.”

“Hm, your loss.” Tony continued to busy himself with the tools in front of him. “Was there something you needed or did you come all this way to make sure I wasn’t planning on tagging along?”

With a nod towards the door Steve had just walked though Y/N entered.

“Jane’s earpiece needs to be set. I figured no better person to make sure everything is synced up than the guy who made it.”

The earpiece wasn’t complicated to work. Sure there had been a few Stark tweaks to them but nothing any of the other Avengers couldn’t figure out. Steve knew Tony had been itching to be useful but for some reason he wasn’t. Rather than prying, Steve offered Tony a simple task hoping he’d bite the bait.

One look at Steve and Tony knew what the super-soldier was doing. He would take the bait and hope Steve knew he was grateful but he wouldn’t say it. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

“I suppose Venice can wait if the Avengers need my help.”

Clapping a hand on Tony’s shoulder Steve thanked him before exiting the lab leaving Y/N and Tony alone.

“Bring it here.” Tony called out while pulling a bunch of metal utensils from a drawer. At the sight of the earpiece in an outstretched hand Tony frowned. “Don't hand it to me. Leave it on the table.”

An awkward smile graced Y/N’s lips at the odd remark but she decided to let it go. Her thoughts were on a more interesting topic.

“So, Pepper,” Y/N asked, jumping up on the lab table beside Tony’s workspace. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Side eyeing the woman making a mess of the lab table he replied. “Wife.”

Tony could practically hear the gears turning in Y/N’s head. He knew he was about to be bombarded with a million questions much like a child does when curious.

“You’re not really going to Venice, are you?”

Keeping his eyes trained on the earpiece below him Tony grunted. “What makes you think that?”

Without missing a beat Y/N slapped her hand on the box beside her. The rattling of metals and glass in the box rattled loud enough for Tony to meet her eyes.

“For someone going to spend time with their wife you sure have a lot of work packed.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Tony glared. Y/N failed to waiver from Tony’s glare catching him by surprise. Between her typically timid nature and being a child running around the tower, Tony had almost forgotten the woman before him was a Widow. Sighing, Tony gave in. “I’m going downstairs to tinker on my suit.”

A moment of silence passed before Y/N started kicking her feet against the lab table. “Is she the reason you’re not going with us?”

Glancing up from the earpiece Tony sighed again. “Yes.” After a pause he seemed to have changed his mind. “I mean no. She’s not forcing me to stay behind if that’s what you’re asking.”

Eyeing the metal tweezers pointed at her, Y/N brushed his hand away. She hadn’t missed the way Tony’s eyes softened when his eyes met hers, a look of desire. Nor had she missed the defensive tone and change of answer. He was hiding something but she had yet to figure it out. 

“You’re doing it for her.” Y/N whispered. 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Unlike Steve, he knew Y/N would pry into his personal life and figure it out. He had been surrounded by Natasha long enough to know that. He knew Y/N had been trained to do the same. He also knew Natasha was a steel trap with secrets. Another thing he knew had been ingrained in Y/N through the Red Room; however, unlike Natasha, unfortunately, Tony knew Y/N could relate.

Hanging his head Tony gave in. “We’re trying for a baby.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her right hand absentmindedly reaching up to rest over her vacant womb.

Lost in thought, Tony began to word vomit. “My dad wasn’t around much but when he was he was hard on me. I hated the guy. For the longest time I was afraid of being my father, and maybe a part of me still is. Bar- HYDRA, killed my parents. I want to defeat HYDRA but I want a family too and in order to be a father, I need to be here. To be a better father than my old man was to me. I can’t abandon Pepper and my future child.”

Y/N’s left hand squeezed Tony’s left trembling hand. “You’ll make a great father Tony. You’ll see.”

Thankfully the cool air provided Bucky with a reason to wear his black leather gloves without drawing attention to himself. The brunette’s metal hand clasped in the child’s right as they strolled towards the library. His flesh hand constantly fidgeted with the black backpack on his shoulders. He hoped if they were caught he could play off the Winter Soldier seeking to return home bit long enough for Y/N to shift and change into the adult clothes he carried with him. If he brought the adult Y/N with him into HYDRA’s base they wouldn’t buy the bit if she went with him willingly and if he had to carry her or fight, they would definitely draw attention to themselves.

Despite the Avengers lurking in the city at different points along their path to the library the super-soldier couldn’t help but be alert. His eyes glared at everyone from under the brim of his black baseball cap.

“I got eyes on them.” A feminine voice called into his earpiece.

Grunting in acknowledgement, Bucky bit his chapped lip and glanced over his shoulder.

“Great. Barton and I will head towards the library now.” Steve replied.

Scanning the large crowd, the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck raised. Something was off. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched despite the Avengers keeping their eyes on them.

“Look ‘Key!” Y/N called out tugging Bucky across the street. “Kitty!” Y/N squealed, eyeing the white cat in the pet store window.

Bucky frowned. “It’s just a cat.” 

“Can we get it?”

A scoff left the super-soldier in disbelief.

“Barnes, get the kid back on track.” A voice interrupted in his ear.

Silently cursing, Bucky gently pulled the little girl’s hand in hopes to avoid a scene. “Remember what we talked about earlier? No distractions.”

Frowning, the girl pulled Bucky’s hand again. “But can we get her after?”

“I’ll get you whatever you want.” The smile that spread across the child’s face nearly blinded Bucky, it was so bright. “After the mission.”

Almost in a hurry now, Y/N began pulling Bucky through the crowd.

“Slow down, will ya.” Bucky called out, squeezing her hand as to not lose her.

“Got everything under control?” Clint joked reminiscing about his own children.

A huff left Bucky as the child was back at his side. He wasn’t too fond of the idea of walking with a child through large crowds. He didn’t like it on a normal day and he certainly didn’t like it while heading towards a HYDRA base. Anything could happen.

“Buck?”

Choosing to ignore any more distractions he pulled Y/N closer continuing to glare at the people surrounding them. The people now staring at them. Bucky pulled his cap further down his face hoping the civilians wouldn’t recognize the Winter Soldier. 

“Bucky!”

Swinging around to scold the child once more his voice caught in his throat. Y/N lurched forward fisting his red henley. A very naked adult Y/N. Cursing under his breath he tried to shrug his jacket off. He regretted buckling the front of the backpack across his chest. Y/N’s body blocking the buckle.

“Barnes, you have to get out of there now. You’re drawing too much attention.” Natasha warned.

Forgetting the jacket Bucky wrapped his arms around Y/N pulling her closer. His large forearms  concealed her exposed form as he carried her through the crowd. Feeling the warmth of her breath tickle his neck Bucky’s eyes scanned their surroundings for the quickest exit. As if on autopilot, his long legs carried them down the closest empty alley. Maybe it was muscle memory from saving Steve in alleys in the 40’s but he knew he could protect her there. Bucky let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the red brick wall at the other end of the alley. He would only have to guard one end.

It wasn’t until Bucky reached the mouth of the alley that felt her tremble against his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or the cold air but he knew the solution: clothes. Gently leaning Y/N against the wall at the other end of the alley, he attempted to step away, his head held high to give her some privacy. Y/N refused to let go.

“Jane, you hav’ to let go. I hav’ to take the bag off. You’re gonna freeze.”

A moment passed with no movement between the two. 

“You’re safe here.” Bucky whispered, lifting his flesh hand to brush the back of her head.

Again, silence. Bucky’s earpiece was quiet. The city life could still be heard from the other end of the alley but the loudest sound was their beating hearts. Bucky wasn’t sure whose heart would give out first, his from adrenaline or hers from embarrassment.

“What happened?” Steve broke the silence.

Tilting his head up at the sky Bucky replied. “I don't know. It wasn’t me; she held my left hand.”

With Bucky’s head facing the sky, Y/N ran her shaky hands along the super-soldier’s chest. Bucky could feel her trembling hands failing to open the buckle but ignored it tilting his head further back.

“Jane?” Bruce suggested.

He knew they couldn’t see them but he shook his head anyway. He knew something was off earlier but it hadn’t been Y/N.

Finally releasing the buckle Y/N was quick to plant her hands on Bucky’s shoulders and shove the straps off his broad shoulders. Though expected, the thump of the bag hitting the ground made them both jump.

“Everybody take five.” Natasha interrupted. “We’ll regroup in ten.”

While grateful for the distraction with conversation, Bucky was thankful for the clicks of the earpieces on the other end. He had more pressing matters to deal with. Reaching up to turn his own earpiece off he cleared his throat. “I’m gonna turn around now.”

Feeling her nod against his chest still at loss for words, Bucky took a small step back before turning on his heel. Watching Bucky’s back retreat closer to the mouth of the alley Y/N scrambled towards the bag for her clothes. Her eyes never left the super-soldier.

Bucky planted his booted feet at the beginning of the alley, his massive arms strained against his sleeves as his arms folded across his broad chest. He debated rolling his sleeves up, letting his arm intimidate people alone but decided against it. It would draw more stares their way.

Most figures passed by without so much as a glance in Bucky’s direction. He wasn’t sure but Bucky guessed Y/N was nearly finished based on the less rapid movement as opposed to minutes ago. Just as Bucky reached up to turn his earpiece on, the hairs on the back of his neck raised for the second time that day. Scanning the crowd once more, his eyes landed on a hooded figure walking towards him.

“This alley’s occupied.” Bucky called out.

The figure kept coming.

“Hey.” He growled out while snatching the person by the shoulder.

“James.” The voice was muffled beneath the hood but Bucky heard it clear as day. Without releasing the shoulder of the figure Bucky reached up pulling the hood off. His face paled, eyes widened, and his mouth became dry. A ghost reemerged to haunt him. 

“Becca?”

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@nelly-belly @small-death-and-codeine @amberritonicole @hallecarey1 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @val-writesstuff @rhiamaymay @lilhoodhippie

[anthrogothic]

Body/Prision

~Well, this is the first fic I've posted (not that I've written many). Maybe I found it interesting to explore the emotional and psychological side of the clones and, of course, Echo. Besides, of course, other little things. Hope you like it. 🥺 (and sorry for any mistake as this fic was originally written in brazilian portuguese).

Second part heeeeree

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader (in this chapter only Hunter and Wrecker appear for now)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Body insecurity and bullying.

You were always a woman of science. Curious, persistent and genius. As a child, you loved growing plants and watching animals. Sometimes experimented with changing the color of flowers in jars with colorful products or hatching small eggs of birds and reptiles in small boxes bathed in light and heated cloths. You once set fire to his parents Aldeeranian Silk curtains, after pointing a magnifying glass in front of the sunlight streaming through the windows.

No wonder you was one of the top students at Naboo's Faculty of Science when was older. After all, you were one of the few females in your class. Being constantly the victim of offensive comments and jokes, mainly because of baggy clothes that didn't mark your body, adopted after years of harassment for your sharp curves. Your glasses and voluminous hair didn't do much for the "jokes" to stop. Withdrawn in any group of popular and partying colleagues, you had nothing but to study with your few fellow “nerds”.

As a result, you soon got your first job in the field. Standing out so much that you was invited to participate in the cloning processes on Kamino a few times, even creating a certain professional relationship with Nala Se, the chief scientist.

You weren't a fan of cloning, even though it was incredible, you found it somewhat unethical in relation to the impact on the lives of Jango Fett clones. They weren't just battle products or numbers to you, but Human Beings with as many rights as anyone else. That they should have autonomy over their lives. But work is not always 100% pleasant, as much as it is something you love as long as you understand being human.

With your occasional visits to Kamino, you ended up having the sympathy of the clones, precisely for treating them like ordinary people, with different names and personalities despite the identical DNA and their fateful serial numbers.

You even ate with them in the cafeteria instead of the staff room and played with them in your free time and some would sneak men's uniforms for you, who were too bothered by the looks and teasing you received in your tight women's uniform.

One day, during a typical meal with your friends, a tone of laughter and nasty comments made you take your attention off your plate.

You poked your clone friend in the shoulder on your right.

"What is happening?"

He, without even looking up, snorted a laugh and spoke before taking the meal to his mouth:

"So you don't know the subject of the moment? There is a new squad among us. Weird… but they haven't suffered a single casualty on the field so far."

You raised an eyebrow, craning your neck a few times in an attempt to see something.

"I was not informed of this. I have not been assigned to inspect newly graduated soldiers for some time. But why the laughter and so much whispering?"

Deep in your brain, the bitter memory of your college days was pulled.

Your friend gave you an incredulous look, gesturing to find the right words to avoid any reprimand from you:

"They… well… are technically defective. Very different from us. No wonder they nicknamed them The Bad Batch."

He stifled a laugh. Soon getting punched in the arm accompanied by a scowl from you.

"Okay, okay. Forgive me, clone rights advocate."

His irony was clear, making you roll your eyes and get up, heading towards the counter where they left the used dishes. After thanking the wrinkled green lady who served the meal, you turned in the direction of leaving the cafeteria, but a sharp impact on your face and chest propels you back, followed by a lot of pain and strong hands gripping your elbows.

"Hey! Are you okay?"

A familiar, but deeper and stronger voice resonated in your ears, making you open your eyes faster than you normally would, as you bring your hand to your forehead and in the background thanking the Maker for wearing contact lenses instead of glasses today . It took you a while to map the face of the man in front of you. His long dark hair fell to his shoulders, his red bandana letting out a few shorter strands across his forehead, his almond-shaped eyes looking a little worried, and finally, a tattoo that covered the entire left part of his face.

He was familiar…but at the same time very different from the other clones. Even the armor, grey and red. Definitely seeing a different face in that cafeteria was a bit intriguing.

"I think you broke her, Hunter!"

A loud, husky voice came from behind you, making you turn your back to the tattooed man, just to behold the huge soldier who covered your entire field of vision.

He was huge, broad and with perfectly shaped muscles. Gradually, your eyes traveled from his abdomen, across his broad chest to his face. This one had no hair. He had a blind eye, with a huge scar running from there to the ear. The clone's good eye looked you up and down, literally.

"I'm fine… sorry… I-"

You were shocked by the image of both men. Could it be they who your friend had spoken of?

You can barely complete your sentence when interrupted by a clone next to you.

"Well well. The scientist and her laboratory freaks. How comical..."

He didn't even stop to stare at you, being followed by two other clones who clearly enjoyed the bad joke.

The men beside you clenched their fists and the bigger one growled, taking long, heavy strides in front of you, until he was stopped by the tattooed-faced clone, who practically jumped in front of him, bracing a hand on his chest.

"Forget it, Wrecker. It's not worth it… and we can't take another warning for assault in the cafeteria."

The taller one nodded a few seconds later, clearly disappointed not to get his hands on his attacker.

With slow steps, you approached them, curious and also irritated by the other clone's words.

"Idiots."

You huffed, crossing your arms over your voluminous breasts.

"You are the new squad the others are talking about, aren't you?"

There was a certain wonder in your voice now.

"Force Clone 99, doctor!"

The two said in chorus, with clear pride in their words and saluting.

"The rest of the team is going through the assessment upstairs. Miraculously we both got through!"

Said the taller clone, with humor in his voice, pulling a smirk from the tattooed clone.

You smiled, even more in awe of them. They were beautiful, unique and not "sloppy".

"Nice to meet you Hunter and… Wrecker, isn't it? My name is Y/N, I work in the lab."

The two looked at each other, minimally polite treatment to the clones was a little rare around here.

"We've heard about you. Won't you give me a warning? For… bumping into you?"

Hunter was a little suspicious, moving closer to you, watching your forehead. Looking for any evidence of injury.

"Oh no, of course not. It was an accident. I also barely looked where I was going."

You tried to be as gentle as possible, despite your brow and nose bothering you, already realizing that it couldn't be too easy for them to get along with each other. You continued:

"Trust me, I know what it's like to be bothered all the time by little jokes and to have people pick on me out of simple dislike. I'm not like the rest of the employees."

Wrecker approached you, already with a content expression on his face.

"There is! I liked her! At least someone here doesn't hate us!"

The clone pulled you into a hug, pressing his side with yours. You blushed a little, as physical contact was never common with you.

Hunter continued with a suspicious expression and his arms now crossed, making him even more imposing, just taking the look off your face, when the communicator you carried in your pocket beeped.

Brought out of your reverie by Wrecker's tight embrace and Hunter's form, you picked up your communicator to read the newly arrived messages.

"Uh… I need to go. Nala Se never give me a break. See you later guys. Hope to meet the rest of you!"

You headed towards the exit, leaving a sympathetic smile as you left the clones. They were still there, trying to absorb how kind you, a scientist, were to them.

[greensaplinggrace]

14 for the grishaverse asks?

Anon: 14

---

(Grishaverse Ask Game!)

Do you have any specific headcanons about any characters?: oh boy DO I EVER. Especially for the SaB characters.

The Darkling is transgender, Alina uses she/they pronouns, Mal is a trans man, and they're all bisexual

Young Grisha in the Little Palace often ask what the Darkling's age is and he always answers with a different and outrageous number, saying anywhere from 6000 to 10. Everyone thinks he's just joking until they don't anymore

The Darkling makes little shadow creatures with his powers for the kids. The first time he tries it he makes a figure that's just a bit too scary and accidentally scares a kid. He panics when the kid starts crying.

Young Grisha in the Little Palace use their powers innocently all the time and learn to love that part of themselves, David making little toys for his friends and Zoya tossing other kids into leaf piles with her wind and Genya playing dress up. The Darkling and Alina create constellations together with their powers using darkness and little points of light.

A Mal that stays in the Little Palace instantly bonds with the Grisha children there because he knows what it's like to alone and feel isolated. He endears himself to Aleksander by constantly playing with the children, though it takes him some time to get used to being around them

A Mal that stays in the Little Palace would absolutely get involved in Grisha physical combat lessons

Fedyor and Ivan were very obvious about their relationship at first but thought that they were effectively keeping it hidden from everyone. Nina still makes fun of them to this day

Nina would always be running about and playing spy. Poking around in other people's things and investigating stuff

The Darkling has a lot of self loathing when it comes to Luda and how she died, and more specifically about how much he thinks she'd hate him now, knowing what he's become

Grisha in the Palace trust the Darkling enough to know his shadows aren't dangerous to them, but they really play it up to outsiders as a way to protect both the Darkling and themselves

The Darkling is a Science Dad (tm)

The Darkling works really hard to dismantle the dozens of pranks the younger Grisha set up around the Palace, but sometimes when they're targeted at someone particularly horrendous he'll look the other way

Mal and the Darkling would bond over war table talk and the Darkling would totally be floored by Mal's intelligence

The Darkling stops being scary to the Grisha basically as soon as he acts really soft towards a kid for the first time, but the Grisha in the Palace keep up appearances for the sake of his reputation cause they know how important it is to him

Alina learned to ride horses when she was very young, and it took a lot of painstaking effort and money but she soldiered through. Now she adores horseback riding and takes every chance she can get to do so

Baghra didn't ever really accept the Darkling as trans, and only started using the correct pronouns after years of stubborn refusal. The process of her using his new name was slow and excruciating, and she still doesn't acknowledge that her child is actually a man if asked directly

Mal finding out he was trans was an abrupt process, but he had a very hard time socially adjusting as well. Alina helped him a lot in that time, even working hard to convince Ana Kuya to get different clothes for him. Alina worked through a lot of extra chores and schemes to make it as easy as possible for him

Alina likes to make little suns in the rooms she's in to make them brighter, and it's now a comfort thing for her as well as Mal. Whenever he enters a room he feels strange without her light there to help him see

The Darkling's relationship with Luda was queerplatonic. She was asexual and aromantic, and they were partners. The Darkling loved her but never got the chance to tell her because of his own insecurities. He regrets it to this day

Alina and Mal used to lead baby ducks back to their mommy ducks whenever they got lost in the nearby pond

The Darkling used to be very fond of animals when he was younger, but that softness was brutally drained from him by Baghra and the rest of the world quite quickly

Mal has Opinions on the treatment of pets and animals and will absolutely give you a three hour long lecture on how to take care of your dog

Alina beats Aleksander in a horse race and he's still a sore loser about it to this day

Mal fell off of a horse once when he was younger and still has some lingering trauma around riding

Alina, Mal, and the Darkling all suffer from heavy PTSD and help each other through it often. Alina and Mal reconnect when they meet again through talking about the things they've been through, helping each other through nightmares and kissing each other's scars. Guiding each other through panic attacks and other trauma responses

Alina was especially affected by the Druskelle attack on her carriage and her near death experience, along with the slaughter of her cartographer friends in the fold and Mal's near death. She still feels guilty about what happened to her unit and has to work through it quite often. Mal and the Darkling both help

[originalwinnercheesecake]

Chain of Iron theories: the adopted baby

Here is another hot discussion topic in the fandom. CC has hinted that their will be a special baby, and that they will need to be adopted. So Questions, who is giving a baby up and why? I am assuming that this is a Shadowhunter baby. I cannot see either Hypatia Vex or Kellington who party, operate a secret saloon, and take pleasure in seducing interesting artistic individuals deciding to devote themselves to parenthood. Woosley Scott is set to show up, but their is no way he wants to adopt. Every other downworlder has appeared in the future and never made reference to having raised a baby. So which shadowhunters in this series of so many parents, children, and would be couples are looking to adopt? We know that shadowhunters adoption program isn’t perfect; Ariadne being adopted by an elderly white couple who know nothing about Indian culture and Tatiana somehow being allowed to adopt Grace despite the fact that she is aggressive, clearly insane, and famously unable to care for the one child she gave birth to. But I want to hold on to hope that whoever this little baby is their story will end happily with being given a nice home and family. My Theories

Anna and Ariadne  adopt Eugenia’s baby. (retracted)

  This was my original theory. In COG2 we learnt that Eugenia temporarily left home because of some scandal no one really wants to talk about. It apparently involved her and some guy being caught in a “compromising position” after which said guy could have saved things by asking to marry her but did not? ??? This led many people to believe she and this guy had been immanent and that she might now be pregnant., but unable to raise the baby on her own. So she would give it up for adoption. Eugenia’s older sister Barbara had an understanding with a very nice gentleman named Oliver and kept trying to get Oliver to purpose. I wondered if maybe a reason Barbara was in such a rush to marry is she was hoping for her and Oliver to adopt Eugenia’s baby and pass them off as theirs. Now that both Barbara and Oliver are sadly deceased Eugenia would need to look into finding new  parents to take he unborn child. Well spoilers relating to Eugenia state that despite having different interests and hobbies, she and Anna get along well. She also is set to become friends with Ariadne. Ariadne who really wanted to be a mom. So I thought that if Eugenia was pregnant and looking to give her child up for adoption then maybe she would ask Anna and Ariadne to adopt her baby. That had the potential to be sweet.

  But we have gotten more information now, and surprise surprise, people jumped the gun to quick on what happened with Eugenia. While we still do not know what the scandal was, it is hinted to have been way less extreme/serious than premarital intimacy, and she is very unlikely to be pregnant. I am now hoping that her ex got into a fight with some other guy, she stepped in to hit the other guy with a parasol, and her ex got embarrassed about having to be saved by her and broke up with her. Something that shows the guy was a real loser.

Elias puts Baby Carstairs up for adoption

  In COG2 we got a huge surprise that Sona was pregnant with her third child, unexpected as the family tree only lists her and Elias as having two children. Well actually actually the Carstairs family line is tree has parts of it that “Were lost to time”. So something clearly happened. Jem was clearly hiding something.

   This pregnancy was clearly unplanned and does present some worry’s. For starters Sona is well past the age where it easier/safest for women to give have children. She was already starting to have a difficult time with it during COG2 when she finally confessed to Cordelia that she was about 3 months along. This means that she will be about 7 months along (almost ready to give birth) when we pick up again in COI. Well in the early chapter read Alastair said that his mother has been put on Bed rest with her husband staying by her side and silent brothers monitoring her. This does not sound good. Several people have theorized that even with the brothers help, she will not make it through childbirth. Now lets talk about the babies father Elias Carstairs. Elias Carstairs is even older than his wife. He spent his youth traveling the world (I read a tweet that said he has even gone between dimensions before) leading special expeditions and hunting rare and powerful demons. This sounds grand, but it was a grueling life that left him physically and emotionally scared. Tragically the Clave does not recognize mental health as a need, so they do not provide any kind of therapy or treatment for those who become traumatized. Like many poor soldiers throughout American history Elias was there for the Clave when they needed his help but it that help was not reciprocated at the end. The only comfort he found was at the bottom of the bottle. It took Elias until he was already in his 40′s to start a family, and he has struggled with being able to take care of himself enough to act as a father to the two children he and Sona have already raised. Elias is 63. He is sad and tired, and struggling to keep a handle on his sobriety. This child was unplanned. I have read tweets that show he is at least trying to support Sona, but CC reveals he is questioning if or if not he can really do this a third time. If Sona dies there is no way Elias can raise this child himself. I won’t fault him if he makes that choice, it might be the most loving thing he can do.

   Who would adopt the little guy. Well the most common theory is that Alastair and Thomas would become his new dads. Now the family tree does suggest that both Alastair and Thomas are dads in the future. It also doesn’t list the names of either of their spouses (I am guessing neither had wives) so their is nothing to suggest that they do not live together raising a group of adopted children. Given the way the Cave feels about homosexual parents that could also be why Jem “lost” the records. I will not deny Thomstair becoming adopted parents is plausible, but I am not completely sure that baby Carstaris is who they will adopt. Babies are hard, they are a lot of work, and I am not convinced either Alastair or Thomas will be up to it. Look at Alastair. He is not exactly in a good place at the start of COI, and whenever fans ask CC if Alastair will make any friends she always reply that he won’t until he learns how to speak nicely to people and to be there for them when they need him. Honestly that is a thing he struggles with. He obviously loves Cordelia, but he totally pulled an  Queen Elsa on her where he shut the door and shut her out for roughly 7 years of their lives, leaving her as alone as Anna was. He claims to have loved Charles but the pair spend most of COG arguing because Alastair wants Charles to spend all his time with him and Charles is struggling to balance his promotion, his public reputation, and Alastair (Important I am not saying it was wrong for Alastair to be upset about Charles engagements or to break up with him. I am just saying it seems like Charles did try to see Alastair as much as he could, and Alastair trying to pin all his emotional needs on one person, who already had so much going on, was unfair). On Thomas side well lets just say he has a lot of mixed up and complicated feeling of his own he needs to work out before he will be able to be in a healthy relationship let alone raise a child.

  If Thomstair aren’t able to take care of Baby Carstairs I bet I know a long time married, long time Carstairs loving couple, who would be happy to take the little guy in and have enough resources, experience, and love to give him a great life. Hey in the future Tessa says she has kept watch over three families: the Herondales, the Carstairs, and the Blackthorns. The Herondales and the Blackthorns are her and Will’s grandchildren. If she were watching the Carstairs because they were once her friends wouldn’t she also watch out for the Fairchilds and Lightwoods?

Blackthorn Babies with Mundane and Shadowhunter mommies and daddies

  (Okay this is one will involve some hopping around and several references to the family tree, so stay with me people, stay with me.) We aleady know Jem made some changes to this line. Lucie is not 12, she is 16. Tatiana is probably not going to live another 15 years. Also the tree said that Jesse dies 59, yet he actually died at 17. But future wife Lucie wants to resurrect him... which is highly illegal and should she be successful she will probably face terrible repercussions. Jesse also might not be able to live as a shadowhunter after being brought back. So even if we don’t want it, for the sake of this theory lets assume that upon Jesse’s resurrection both he and Lucie are banished and become a mundane pianist and writer. Let’s assume they also get married and have children. In order for the TDA Blackthorns to be shadowhunters at least one of Jucie’s kids would have to become a shadowhunter and move to the shadow world. I feel like Luce and Jesse would be willing to let their kids go in that case. That was all Jesse wanted growing up and Lucie is Will’s daughter. The children would just need someone they could stay with.

  Now lets hop to the Lightwood family line. According to the tree Christopher and Grace get married (Grace is also listed as a Cartwright so was her adoption overturned and she rejoined her bio family?) and continue the Lightwood line down to TMI. Grace and Christopher are set up to bond  (over science) and many fans are willing to believe that they are an endgame ship. But fans are also doubting that they are the ancestors of the TMI lightwoods.  For one thing Christopher is heavily coded to be asexual; and Grace herself seems to have a very.... twisted and warped view of physical acts. So now lets say Grace is somehow saved from punishment over Jesse’s resurrection or because of her past trauma is given a lighter sentence. Lets say Gracetopher really do get married. if they got married they probably will apt out of having children; at least biological children.

   Christopher has a younger brother , Alexander Lightwood, who seems like a much more likely candidate to continue his family line. Alex has been noted to have those dark blue eyes that while once a Herondale trait later become a Lightwood trait. He shares a first name one of TMI’s most prominent characters, and that is just about the only way baby Alex could have relevance to the story given that he is way to young to help out in the war. If Alexander Lightwood the first is one who carried on the Lightwood line why are his descendants listed under his brother and sister in laws names?

   Well way back before the CC launched TLH I remember her posting a tweet that said Grace could become an ancestor of either the Herondale or the Blackthorn line. This upset a lot of people who thought that it meant that Grace may have a baby with either James or Jesse. (No, just NO!!!) But what if instead of Grace having a baby with Jesse, She and Christopher adopt one of Jesse and Lucie’s babies so that that baby could be raised as a shadowhunter? I could see Grace and Christopher doing do: they each love one of the respective parents and are set get to know the other. The only good thing about Tatiana adopting Grace was she got Jesse as a brother. Should she ever recover from having Tatiana as an adoptive mother I could see her becoming very critical of other adoptions and refusing to allow Jesse’s children to potentially end up like she did. I am in love with a head cannon I have that Christopher will become a science professor at the academy. If Lucie and Jesse have to leave the shadow world, and they have to give up their children then I want to imagine that child living in Malec’s future academy suit with Shadowhunter mommy and daddy Gracetopher while they secretly get gifts and send letters to their mundane mommy and daddy Juice. (It is the least CC can do for the pain reading about that potential exile would cause me.)

[goddessofroyalty]

I keep forgetting to post it - here’s some more of the Remake-following ‘Cloud is the Remnants carrier’ fic.

General beginning warning that this is from Hojo’s POV and therefore any character assessment given by him is likely completely wrong.

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg, Hojo’s fucked up science

So maybe the terrorists were stronger than Hojo originally anticipated.

Never mind.

They were in his lab in the middle of Shinra Tower. No matter how competent they are there is no hope for them to escape. No, they will be overpowered and a use found for their bodies if they are not summarily executed.

“Looks like your models got it wrong!” the alpha of the three says. Hojo can appreciate that he’s certainly a fine specimen of the designation – big and strong and full of the bravado to back it up. But lacking the intellect to truly realize his predicament, a common weakness among his designation.

“Yes – un unknown variable, perhaps.” Hojo will acknowledge that while the alpha has foolishly missed the entirety of his position, in the immediate he is correct. Hojo miscalculated their combined strength – he won’t make that mistake twice. “Well, no matter. Reinforcements will soon arrive.”

“But will they get here in time to save you from me?” the SOLDIER-clad member of the trio says. He’s got the eyes for it but his scent is clearly omegan. There’s never been an omega in SOLDIER, certainly not one that has such strong mako-blue in their eyes. Hojo would know if there had been – they would have made an interesting specimen with other uses than just battle fodder.  

There’s something about him through that tugs at Hojo’s memory.

“My, are you a SOLDIER?” Hojo asks, more to see if the omega will reveal more information than genuine curiosity, while he follows the string in his mind to where he knows the omega from.

There’s a moment of doubt in the omega’s face and with that expression Hojo remembers. The meek little infantryman who then managed to put a wrench in Hojo’s plans. Who managed to destroy some of Hojo’s best work.

“Yeah,” the omega says, face set. It’s interesting to see how strong the glow in his eyes is. Those genetics apparently not having merely taken root in his womb but spread to the rest of his body as well. It’s amazing to see how he has been adapted as a result of it – given the facsimile of a SOLIDER’s body to be a more suited vessel.

“No, not quite. Oh now I recall.” The test tubes had been empty when Hojo had returned for the birth. Fair was hunted down and killed but they hadn’t found the omega. Hojo had assumed Fair had either abandoned him or stashed him somewhere intended to go back. Hojo had assumed the omega was now dead and the experiment another frustrating failure of recreating Sephiroth.

“My memory was mistaken. My boy, you weren’t a SOLDIER.” No, he was never going to be a SOLDIER. His body had rejected the treatments, had rejected the cells.

Apparently the answer all along had been in his designation. Had been in his womb. His body wouldn’t take it to save itself but to save the children it was carrying it would.

“Where are they?” There had been nothing in the readings over the months to indicate a miscarriage. And omegas so struggle to kill what is borne from their wombs no matter how monstrous it may be.

He doubts they perished when the plate got dropped – there would surely be more grief in the omega’s eyes.

The Turks had mentioned a trade for a child when they brought in the Ancient. Perhaps there is more to that story that they were keeping hidden for now – plotting away to their own ends as they do.

The day was certainly turning out to be an interesting one. One with many potential rebirths back on the table.

Hojo will tell the reinforcements not to harm the omega ‘SOLDIER’ among the terrorists. Even if he cannot get the location of the previous three out of him there is value to be had. An answer to the question of how much his body had taken on to carry that precious life. A chance for even more to be born into the world.

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Fallout Of Darkness -- A Half-Decent Sum-Up Of The Pre-War Timeline

If you follow my RP tumblr, @thevalicemultiverse, you may have seen this before (barring a few edits I made just now) -- I wrote this up as background for putting Fallout of Darkness into play over there as an RP verse. It’s as good a write-up as I currently have for Alice and particularly Victor’s lives before the bombs fell, so might as well bring it over here for more general consumption! Enjoy!

---

Alice Liddell shares most of her backstory with her Londerland Bloodlines counterpart: she’s born in 1984, loses her family to Bumby’s obsession with her sister, hallucinates her way through the horrors of Rutledge and Houndsditch with Wonderland serving as a horrific psychological dreamscape for her to get her sanity back under her, realizes Bumby’s behind all her pain and is a child trafficker, kills him, moves to Los Angeles for a fresh start, and gets illegally Embraced by Malkavian Fish and ends up errand girl to Prince Sebastian LaCroix. In this reality, though, she lives through something much closer to the standard Bloodlines plot (albeit filtered through the “all tech is at least kinda 50s sci-fi” lens of Fallout) – including saving Heather Poe instead of Victor, and finding nothing in the Giovanni basement except regular old zombies. She pushes through all the bullshit of Camarilla vs Anarchs vs Kuei-Jin vs Sabbat, convinces Heather to leave when it transpires she’s being really badly affected by Alice’s Malkavian blood (to the point of luring a guy to the haven and then locking him in the bathroom for Alice to eat), and eventually chooses the independent life, killing Ming-Xiao, letting LaCroix blow up with his tower, and flipping off the Anarchs when they try to recruit her. She flees Los Angeles completely shortly thereafter, and spends most of the rest of the next seventy-odd years on the move around America, avoiding possible reprisals from the Camarilla and watching the world go to hell in a handbasket with resources running out and the war for the last great oil pipeline. She finds shelter in Boston in October 2077, and is sleeping away the day in a presumed-safe building when the bombs drop. While she’s luckily buried in a sunlight-blocking pile of rubble, she’s also staked by a falling beam. . .and remains so for the next two centuries. . .

Victor Van Dort, on the other hand, is born in 2050, to Nell and William Van Dort of Burtonsville. William is in the fish business, and moves his family to the USA when Victor is still just a baby to seek new opportunities. What he and his wife and son get is the New Plague, forcing them to stay in Massachusetts due to quarantine measures. Despite this, William still manages to become a fish cannery mogul, making millions off his automated factories. Victor himself grows up almost entirely confined to the house and gardens, cared for and taught by a variety of robots until he was fourteen and it was deemed safe enough for him to attend a normal high school. The gardens taught him to love nature, but his caretakers taught him to love science and technology – while still a hobbyist lepidopterist, Victor is much more a tinkerer and technician in this world. Having to help fix the family’s Protectron driver, Mayhew, when he falls apart almost right in front of you will do that to a boy! He’s just more comfortable with machines than people – a fact that doesn’t make him popular in school.

In his senior year of high school, Victor is pushed to date Victoria Everglot by his parents, seeing her family’s noble history (some relative way-back-when in England was a Grand Duke) as a good way to improve their own social standings. Victor goes along with it after realizing he likes Victoria herself a fair bit, and the two soon become boyfriend and girlfriend. A few months into the relationship, though, Victor comes across a gravely-injured Emily Merrimack-Cartwell in the park, the victim of an elopement that turned out to be an excuse to rob and murder her. Victor is able to rush her to the hospital in time, and the two become friends in the aftermath. Victoria, noticing that they seem to have a growing attraction, decides she doesn’t want Victor to feel obligated to continue dating her if he’d prefer to be with Emily and actually encourages them to go to prom together. They agree after confirming she’s okay with that, and that she won’t be missing out herself. They start out having a good time together, but midway through Victoria goes to the ladies’ room and doesn’t return. Victor and Emily, concerned, go looking for her and find her being menaced by none other than Emily’s ex Barkis – apparently not satisfied with what he got off Emily, he’s now trying to rob and possibly kidnap Victoria. Victor and Emily take him down and get him carted off to jail, to Victoria’s eternal gratitude. The experience bind them all together as a trio, and – coupled with the discovery that Victoria and Emily feel much the same about each other as they do about Victor – they decide to just all date each other and see where the chips fall.

And then the draft comes and Victor is yanked into military service. He ends up a combat engineer in the Engineer Corps, and is assigned to the 2nd Battalion, 108th Infantry Regiment, aka “Fox Company.” While he makes some friends in fellow soldiers Nate Howard and Sam “Bonejangles” Thatcher, Victor loathes his experiences as a soldier, especially as his unit is protecting the Alaskan Pipeline on the Alaska border and watching as the US annexes Canada. Things come to a head when his commanding officer tries to get him to shoot two Canadian kids who were throwing rocks at their camp – an enraged Victor shoots the officer instead, then gets wrapped up in a sudden enemy attack on said camp (a small company of Chinese infiltrators in stealth suits -- one accidentally decloaked in his surprise over Victor killing his target), spiriting the kids to safety before managing to save the rest of his company via fast fixing of their defenses and rigging up some explosive power armor. The chaos makes it impossible for the upper brass to know for sure Victor killed the officer (though they’re deeply suspicious), and the fact that everyone else is calling him a hero (plus his father being willing to pay good money for his son’s safe return) leads to him going home for good. Having married Victoria while on leave earlier, they take in Emily as a “live-in friend and help around the house” (wink wink), and the three move to the little community of Sanctuary Hills. They have a good couple of years there, culminating in the birth of Victor and Victoria’s son Shaun. Victor, despite his worries about the resource shortages, the war with China, and his own government possibly looking for a way to silence him whenever he makes his opinions about same known, starts thinking that maybe things can be all right for him and his family at least. . .

And then, on October 23rd, 2077, the bombs hit. Victor and his family get to Vault 111 just in time, and are processed and cyronically frozen as per the experiment. However, things go bad with a security staff revolt, and the frozen family is left easy pickings for some mysterious scientists to come in, shoot Victoria, and kidnap Shaun right before Victor’s horrified eyes. When he is revived again, he finds that the life support failed for the rest of the residents (including Emily, whose pod partially thawed her and left her half-rotted), leaving him the sole survivor – apart from his missing son. He escapes the vault and returns to what’s left of Sanctuary Hills, vowing to find Shaun.

Finding Shaun turns out to be more difficult than imagined – the world above is a dangerous place, and Victor is ill-prepared to deal with it. Fortunately, he makes some friends right off the bat – his old Mr. Handy Codsworth; a German Shepherd waiting for him at the local Red Rocket, who is later revealed to be named Dogmeat; and Preston Garvey, last of the Commonwealth Minutemen, whom Victor saves from raiders at the Museum of Freedom in Concord while looking for other signs of life. Victor welcomes Preston and his settlers to live in Sanctuary, and joins up with Preston’s efforts to revive the Minutemen and make it a force for good in the wasteland (being named General by Preston in the process, a move that baffles him and his 2 Charisma). Helping settlers leads him down to Diamond City, where he was told by slightly-psychic Mama Murphy he could find some help. He befriends reporter Piper Wright there, and ends up getting her help to find her missing friend detective Nick Valentine when it transpires he – and with him, Victor’s best hope for finding Shaun – has vanished.

And during their adventures to track down Nick’s precise location, they come across a raider base, are attacked by a raider who yanks a bloody stick out of a pile of rubble – and are introduced to Alice when she bursts from the rubble and sucks the guy dry. Alice hastily informs them that she’s not a threat to them (she was just thirsty after, you know, two centuries of being staked), and they end up trusting her enough to take down the rest of the raiders with her. Victor does his best to explain what’s happened to her, and she does her best to explain her vampiric nature to him. Feeling bad for her, and like he’s finally found a kindred spirit in all this (uh, no pun intended), he invites her to travel with him, switching to a night time schedule to accommodate her. . .at least, until they go to a certain quarry mined by Dunwich Borers to clear out the raiders there. . .

[slippinmickeys]

Circle

This was for the #XFSmut2020 exchange. I had the lovely @kyouryokusenshi whose prompt was: “Post MSIV pregnancy sex. Scully’s hormones are raging and everything is tender.”

To look at her, curled up on her side in their bed, you couldn’t tell she was pregnant.

Hair fanned out on the pillow like it had been styled by a beauty team; curled about her on a wave of titian silk, her face soft, but composed -- stately in her age, but still beautiful.

He moved a hand lightly under the covers and ran it over the swell of her stomach, felt the firmness push back at him. A baby swam inside; cells dividing, constructing and nurturing, half him, half her. It felt like even more of a miracle this time though they’d done it once before. He adopted the same credo he had the last time, with William: best not to question it.

They had a firm due date. It was easy to calculate -- the vibrating psychosis of Little Judy leaving an indelible mark on not just their psyche, but their calendar, too. He remembered back to that night. Lying with her in his arms, Scully wondering aloud if he could and would find someone new to start a family with. Like he could just go to a market and select a bride. Here, this one.

Somebody else? Didn’t she know that wasn’t possible? He hadn’t been able to see anyone but her since she’d clipped into his basement office and blinded him with science.

She sniffed slowly to awareness beside him, eyelids fluttering open as she moved to put her own hand on top of his.

“‘Morning,” she rasped.

“Hey,” he said.

The morning sun shot bands of light through the shades and over the floor of the bedroom, creeping incrementally closer toward their bed as it rose.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he leaned over and kissed her, once, twice. Breathing in the sleepy musk of her breath, the smell of hair that had soaked in a jasmine bubble bath the night before and dried on a feather pillow. He couldn’t get enough of her. Not for 25 years, not for 25 more.

“Mm,” Scully hummed as he fell back against his own pillow, and she reached out with a foot to burrow it under his calf.

She had told him only the night before how much she was enjoying this stage of pregnancy - past that miserable first stage and well on into the second trimester. How the last time she’d been so miserable missing him that even the little joyful things -- getting that first sonogram picture, feeling the first flutterings of movement -- were lost in the haze of her grief. How now she was enjoying them twofold, three. Once for herself, once for him, and once for William, who was still out in the world, connected to them by the tethers of biology and shared jeopardy.

He felt her pull her foot out from under him and then started running just her toes gently up the skin of his leg, and he cocked his eyebrows at her in question. She cocked hers right back. Right, he thought. This stage of pregnancy also came with the full flush of hormones, as likely to turn her amorous as they were to make her say “I’m turning food into a person, you get to fold laundry.”

His crotch leapt to attention. ...Leapt wasn’t the right word, he thought. Things didn’t much leap anymore, but they rose admirably to duty whenever called upon, and that was something considering this day and his age.

“Agent Scully, are you coming on to me?” his voice rumbled in the quiet of the room.

She nodded solemnly.

The nights were for passionate, sometimes desperate coupling in the dark --  but mornings were for slow, languorous bouts of lovemaking that they’d been denied so much in their lives together. This morning felt no different, the acreage of their bed laid out for exploration of each other, in the sluggish time before that first cup of coffee. He rolled toward her, nosing her cheek before darting out a tongue to taste her lips.

How strange to imagine his world with her still in it; that short, cheerful physicist with her herringbone suit and extended hand; she’d looked like a co-ed. He’d planned to launch her into the stratosphere, had known her game, with her little notes — she’d been a spy but too much of an ingenue to know it, and seven years later he’d slept with the enemy and fallen irreversibly in love with her. Or was it the other way around?

She climbed onto him deliberately, without haste, the camisole she’d slept in pulled off somewhere between his nostalgia and her lips.

“Where are you?” she asked breathily, the dew of her mons coming to rest on his thigh.

“With you,” he said, running a lazy hand up her side, grazing the side of her breast with fingertips. He was always with her, even if she wasn’t around, his internal radar tuned to her frequency like a NOAA buoy pinging in the dark.

She breathed out deeply, her hot breath ruffling the wiry hairs on his chest. A solid third of them were grey now, as were those in his beard, and he liked to think he’d earned them in the field, chasing mutants and monsters, but the bare truth of it was, he’d gotten them while pining for her like Pyramus, held at bay by a wall of his own making. The last few years without her had been tough.

At times he could see that Scully wasn’t yet used to this more thoughtful Mulder, and occasionally braced herself for his abrupt departure, his inevitable decline into a dog on a scent, falling into the habit of sisphysian search. But instead he would stand there, remain quiet and true, and she would ease back into him with her renewed faith.

She reached down and grabbed both his hands, lacing her fingers through his, and then raised his arms up and over his head. Her mouth was even with his and she took sipping kisses at them, the arc of her belly brushing against his torso.  

Her curves were rounder now, more carnose than sharp, lending her an air of lushness that made his cock ache. He would take her any way he could get her, but this gravid Scully was of Nanaya, Eostre, Hedone. A fertility sculpture come to life.

She slowly ground her sex into his thigh and he chased her mouth with his own as she pulled back a few teasing inches. He longed to hold her, touch her, but he let her take the lead and slowly, so slowly, she relaxed her grip on his hands and inched down his body, the hard points of her nipples just grazing the skin of his chest as she moved lower and lower.

She shifted until her mouth was hovering over the tent of his boxers, and she flicked her eyes to his and gave him a slow, lascivious grin. He suddenly felt short of breath. She worked her fingers into the waist of his underwear and he tilted up his hips to help her pull them off.

The anticipation of her hot little mouth lowering itself onto his cock was almost more exquisite than the act itself. But then, oh then her tongue was swirling around him and the heat and the slick and the pull of her mouth was, as always, a revelation.

This woman, this woman who would shoot him to save him, who would tell off bosses and brothers and fish him out of the Atlantic. He liked to remind her that she’d been held in contempt of Congress for him, like some 70’s era Post reporter, and she’d mimic driving a snow cat and he would get quiet with the brass-tasting memory of fear. They were foxhole soldiers, brothers-in-arms, each willing to hug the grenade while telling the other to run. Their love was a devotion, a decades-long experiment in tolerance and gravity. It was the only supernatural thing he’d never once doubted.

She hummed happily around the length of him, and Mulder sank boneless into the bed, moving one hand gently into her hair, not pulling or pushing, just needing to touch her. She had one hand cupping the base of him, and her mouth slid over him like a silken sheath. He had never wanted to ask her how she’d honed her blowjob prowess, but she was an artist of the genre, a true master, a Catholic schoolgirl fantasy come to life.

Just in time to save his reputation, she let him slide out of her mouth and crawled back up the length of him, settling tightly into his side, her tongue finding the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

With a low growl he raised himself to his elbows and canted himself on top of her, situating himself between her legs, their child resting between them in the cradle of her hips. He ran a hand along her belly reverently before gliding straight home, eliciting a breathy sigh from her lips.

Her head sunk back into the pillows, the rumpled cotton framing her face which was a mask of carnal harmony, her look one of both pleasure and pain, the sock and buskin of sexual euphoria.

He rocked into her slowly but firmly, the blunt head of his penis bumping into her sensitive cervix at the apex of every thrust. God, how was he to survive this? She was humming under him, rocking her hips forward slightly with his every thrust, her ample breasts bouncing, keeping time.

He thought back to their first sexual encounter, that heady feeling of discovery; shucking off her apple green sweater and uncovering a sex bomb underneath. She’d been wanton, just a season or two past quarter life and thrumming with sexual energy. The pent up longing; seven years of such a desperate love that when they came together, it had been practically atomic.

Now, their bodies knew each other, clicked into place with ease and comfort. No less passion, but more than enough love. He flashed on an old Harry Chapin song: and the years keep on rollin’ by.

He grabbed her leg and pulled it higher and he sunk into her flesh almost more than he could bear, her pregnant flexibility wreaking havoc with his restraint.

He felt more than heard her moan, a quiet rumbling in the base of her throat and he knew that she was close. He pressed his middle finger into her mouth and she sucked it with enthusiasm, and once again he feared he might not be able to hold out long enough for her to come. With a wet pop, he pulled his hand from her mouth and reached in between them, brushing the nub at the top of her sex with his slicked finger. She jolted under him.

“More,” she whispered.

He gave her as much as he could. He always had.

When she came apart beneath him, it was purling, languid, a roll like thunder. He rode out the crest with her and then let himself release, and it felt like every promise he’d ever made to her and a few he hadn’t.

He collapsed next to her, careful to avoid putting weight on their growing child.

“How is it that we just keep getting better at this?” he asked, his face half buried in the covers, his voice muffled.

She smiled at him, a little sweat beading on the top of her lip. The cockcrow light had panned up their bed, and a slant of it shone on her hair like aurora. “Years of practice, I suspect,” she said, her brow arching at him, reflecting a sliver of light. Then her face got a small surprised look, and she reached for him. “Give me your hand,” she said.

She took his hand and pressed it to her belly, and he felt it roll softly under him, like a golf ball under the skin. He felt tears spring to his eyes.

Peace and wonder fell over him in equal measure and they lay there together, not moving as morning turned to afternoon, settling into the horse latitudes of their life.

[crawgluvr4]

ao3

moira o’ deorain does not believe in God.

during the preparation for her confirmation they browse a book of saints, as a class. her teacher lists the common ones for girls and for boys, talks about their meaning and significance. she is told, again, about accepting the holy spirit, how important this step is in life as a follower of Christ. the final initiation into the fold.

“choosing a name is no simple matter,” her teacher says. “reach out to the saint you feel will guide you best, as when you take their name you take their protection into yourself, too. you may pray to them or to God for guidance as you begin your life as a mature member of the church.”

her best friend picks anastasia, laughs about how it reminds her of the singer. moira feels some jealousy at the ease which she plucks it from the book, the way it settles in among her other names. 

nothing has fit for her yet. she prays, and gets no response.

a day before the deadline for choosing she picks st. jude. her friends find it funny, her mother finds it weird, and her teacher doesn’t have the time to talk her out of it. her aunt’s hand on her shoulder during the mass is tighter than it need be. 

she doesn’t remember what her baptism was like, remembers the novelty of her first confession and communion outweighed any holiness a child could feel. here she is old enough to understand, old enough to take to heart the words drilled into her beforehand. she recites her lines perfectly; the bishop stumbles over her name. she feels no holy spirit, no growth nor acceptance, and when she cries and prays to the patron saint of lost causes, he leaves her in the dark.

she lost her faith at twelve years old, she will say. gained faith in science and never looked back. she slowly forgets the apostle’s creed, and the lord’s prayer.

--

moira does quizzes online to find what circle of hell she will be sent to, and keeps getting heresy. she turns off the power to the little red light with a cross in it her father reveres so much. she reads dawkins and hitchens and mocks her friends when they pray along at school. she smugly keeps her mouth shut when the teachers recite the morning prayers, and cuts out the cross stitched into her uniforms. 

she is called into the headmistress’ office when her mother agrees to let her drop religion as a subject, and is asked: “how can someone so young lose their faith?” 

when religion is being taught, she sits apart from the other girls, although she is much too used to that. the teacher mentions humanism, and one of the other girls asks, “is that what moira is?” and they titter. she frowns and corrects them - she is an atheist. the girls don’t even hear her.

she passes a graveyard, and her hands burn.

--

she gets a degree in genetics at trinity college and thinks idly on the irony, if only to herself. her aunt gifts her a rosary for her 21st birthday, and she drops it in a box and leaves it in her childhood wardrobe when she leaves home. she studies medicine and puts her faith in science and observable truth, qualifies as a geneticist and writes increasingly risky papers on gene editing. her experiments become more wild; her peers become more enraged.

when she is cast out of her profession, gabriel reyes welcomes her into his.

“we can help each other,” he says. “not like you have much choice if you want to keep your research.”

she is sceptical. “apparently my research is unethical. i have received condemnation from your organization directly. why would you help me?”

reyes smiles. he wears a chain around his neck with a small silver cross and he gives up drinking for lent. “I don’t work for overwatch.”

--

moira doesn’t get on well with angela in the lab, but finds her fascinating outside of it. there is a divide between them she revels in, likes it when angela seems annoyed when moira flirts with her. likes it even more when it works and they find themselves in a closet somewhere on the swiss base, before a mission, hurriedly redressing to make it back to their stations in time.

angela never mentions faith, but she does mention God a lot in those closets.

when moira rests over her experiments, the way she folds her hands is like a prayer. when someone in angela’s care dies, and she hears, moira finds herself making the sign of the cross more often than she cares to admit.

there is some level of blasphemy to what she does. she tests on anyone willing, animals, herself. always so close to the secret of creation, but she settles for changing what she can. she changes bodies as she sees fit, allows them to become what they want instead of what God designed. when reyes asks her to make him a better soldier, she obliges and works tirelessly to give him a body he can mould for himself.

it fails, of course, as she is not divine. her creations are as flawed as she is, and God judges her unworthy. as overwatch breaks down, so does reyes.

she takes communion at his funeral, and flees switzerland for talon.

--

reaper keeps her at arms length, only ever approaching her when ordered to by doomfist. she, in turn, can only stabilize him, knowing there is no cure for her arrogance. she is nearly fifty and she takes an online quiz and gets sent to the seventh circle for violence against God.

when her mother dies, she gets the rosary in the mail. she keeps it in the bottom drawer of her desk in oasis, and it burns a hole there, asking her why she no longer prays to God for help. she uses jude as an alias when she needs to. there is a heaviness to it.

sometimes she will go home, back to dublin, and go to the church where her family used to pray, where she stood for communion and confirmation and where she lost her faith. the people will chat to her kindly, ask after her family and friends without truly knowing who she has become. 

moira does not believe in God. but she carries with her the time that she did.

[thefinalexperiment]

The Final Experiment Chapter 26: The Winter Soldier’s Child

Peter Parker x OC

A/N: Hello! It's me! After almost a year, here's a new bit to this series lol. Enjoy! (Also if you are fluent in Russian, I apologize for anything incorrect, Google Translate is my only resource)

I will no longer be linking things on new part posts due to dumblr and the link censoring, and just to be safe from any potential image post censoring, I will also not be including covers on my stories. All previous parts can be found in my masterlist, in my bio!

---

        On the jet, I sat as far away from Bucky as possible. I was still mad at him, even though the logical side of me knew I just needed time. He kept looking at me, and it was starting to get irritating, but I tried not to lash out. I couldn't wait for the jet to land. We hadn't yet been debriefed so I'd have to wait for that too, but I was itching to get out into the field. Peter gave me an adorable grin and I smiled back, trying to shake the impending sense of doom. It’s not like I had a sixth sense or anything, but sometimes, I would figure things out subconsciously, and it would take my brain a while to catch up with a realization or to put it into words. Other times it was just a normal dose of anxiety, like any other agent might get when going on a mission so soon in a distracted mindset like this. I probably shouldn’t be going for that matter, but oh well.

        Peter caught my eye again, and smiled encouragingly. I nodded in return. He was easy to read right now. His body language was clear: slightly nervous, wanting to impress me, wanting to impress Nat and Bucky, and wanting to impress Tony. He obviously hadn’t done many missions with the team yet, and he wanted to make sure he did well in their eyes. With me, I could sense that it was less about showing off, and more about him making sure I understood what he was capable of. After all, I had never seen the full extent of his powers.

        The jet shakily began to lower. It must have been an issue with the cold, Northern Russian wind. From what I could see out the window, the sky was dark with large clouds. It seemed we might have an issue with weather… The jet touched down, and everyone gathered close for the debrief. There hadn’t been time for one before we left, so Steve and Tony were going to quickly give us the rundown before we went to investigate.

        “So what is the deal with this place?” I finally asked, breaking the odd, silent tension that had lingered since we left. It was like everyone was worried about Bucky and I being in the same, small space for so long.

        Nat reached over and pulled up the files on the holo-table for everyone to see.

        “This was a base for a Russian chapter of HYDRA,” Steve explained. “We aren’t sure if it’s still active, or when it was abandoned if not, but Tony’s sensors picked up some concerning data.”

        He nodded to Tony, who pulled up more data and some schematics and took over in explaining.

        “These guys have got some naughty stuff in the basement. Whether they wanted it to or not, something they’ve got going on down there is waking up. We’re here to find out what it is.”

        “Okay,” I said, mulling it over, “But why send us? SHIELD’s teams could’ve done a simple sweep. What’s different here?”

        “Slow down, smarty pants,” Tony chided good naturedly. “I’m getting to that… The sensors indicate the potential for an Avengers-level threat. These anomalies appear to be experiments of some kind, could be people, other life forms… or just some reawakening science projects. Whatever it is, it’s awake, alive, and raring to go.”

        “Has everybody without screen access gotten a good look at the schematics?” Steve asked.

        Those of us nodded.

        “Alright then. Nat, you and Kaitlynn head for the security headquarters, try to hack their system and give us eyes on their compound surveillance. Wanda, I want you, Pietro, and Peter with Tony, Thor, and I down on the detention level. If any of these experiments happen to get out of control, we’ll need your abilities to keep them in check. Bruce, hang back with Clint, Sam, and Bucky while they sweep for strays. Once the anomalies are under control, I want Tony and you for scientific assessment. If worst comes to worst, keep the Hulk on standby. Everybody clear?”

        At our affirmations, Steve nodded, then he and Tony led the way out.

        The base looked pretty typical, from my experience with HYDRA facilities: a large, gray, metal-and-cement compound, built into the surrounding landscape to disguise it. The doors were mechanical slabs of stone. Some quick work from Tony set gears in motion, and the doors slowly ground open.

        Natasha and I slipped inside, like a pair of shadows, splitting off from the main muscle group. In this moment, it was easy to see that we shared DNA. Some behaviors are learned, some are ingrained in your very nature. The way the both of us moved in our stealth modes was eerily similar.

        I led the way to the surveillance room, Nat covering my six. We both were silent, like invisible spectres, but the rest of the compound remained noiseless too. It was almost unsettling. I got the feeling this place was abandoned, and had been for some time now. So what had triggered Tony’s sensors?

        The door to the room was already open when we arrived, just a crack. With a small motion of my head, I pointed this out to Natasha. She nodded and took up a place on one side of the door. I took the other.

        Silently, she counted off.

        One… Two… Three.

        I kicked the door open, keeping my pistol up. Natasha was close behind. The two of us swept the room, relaxing when nothing turned up. Nat closed the door, holstering her gun. I followed suit.

        “We’re into the surveillance room,” she said. “Starting to scan for intel now.”

        I booted up the computers. They were old, but that didn’t make them any easier to crack. Nat and I sat side by side on the old, creaky chairs, going through lines of code until the old, black-and-white camera footage appeared on the monitors. We now had eyes on the team. Natasha let them all know, and upon their confirmation, I began to dig through the encrypted files stored away in the computer’s archives. Nat tossed a flashdrive to me, which I plugged in and began to transfer the files onto.

        “There’s a lot of video archives,” I muttered to her. “And more than a few of them are marked Zimniy Soldat i Rebenok.”

        Winter Soldier… and child.

        That bad feeling I’d had earlier was beginning to make sense now. I was dreading this mission because I’d been here before.

        Natasha and I looked at each other for a moment, then she sighed.

        “Well, I’ve never been here before… and Bucky didn’t mention it, so he must not remember.”

        “Or he does and he’s just hiding it again,” I muttered.

        Nat gave me a sharp, almost motherly look, and I relented.

        “Okay, okay… comm him and let him know what we found.”

        “Or you could,” she said.

        I clenched my jaw, really not in the mood for this, but I turned my earpiece on. Instead of only addressing Bucky, however, I spoke to the whole team.

        “Guys, we’ve got archive footage of the Winter Soldier…”

        Natasha watched me with an expectant look, but I said nothing else, so she rolled her eyes and spoke, “Winter Soldier and child,” she clarified.

        The others were silent for a moment, before Tony finally spoke up.

        “Alright, download everything, and we’ll debrief it together back at the base. How’s the detention level looking from up there? We’re nearing the location.”

        “We’ve got three cameras dark,” Nat said, typing commands into the computer.

        “But,” I interjected, flowing right along with her train of thought, “The ones that are operative are showing a few science kit type looking things… I’m not seeing any signs of life. Tony, you might want to go first, let FRIDAY scan for signs of radiation and whatnot.”

        “You got it, kid,” he said. “Steve, Thor, you hang back with the rest of the kiddos.”

        The sound of silence settled over the comms, the whole team waiting.

        At long last, Tony’s voice sounded out once more.

        “We’re clean on harmful radiation. Negative on major life signs.”

        “Does that mean minor life signs aren’t off the table?” I heard Pietro sass.

        “Yes, Speedy, that’s what it means,” Tony replied, in that infuriating yet endearing sarcastic tone of his. “Sam, bring Banner down here. Clint, contact SHIELD to have a cleanup crew sent here.”

        “Copy that,” Clint said.

        I sighed and sat back in the chair, glancing at Nat.

        “Well, so much for an Avengers-level threat,” I joked.

        “But not for nothing,” she replied, motioning to the flash drive.

        I looked down at the little stick, turning it over in my hands.

        “There’s probably a good reason he doesn’t want you remembering this, you know,” she said softly. “You know I won’t try to stop you. I actually think you have a right to know what happened… But you need to be prepared for what you might see.”

        Considering her words, I slowly nodded.

        “Okay.”

        I felt like I should say more, but for once, I had no words. Luckily, I didn’t need to fill the silence, because Natasha stood and powered down the computers, no doubt leaving them for the SHIELD team to comb through.

        “Come on, kid,” she said. “Let’s meet up with the others.”

---

A/N: So... dun dun dun! What do you think is on the flashdrive? Be sure to let me know in the comments!

Series Tags: @shamvictoria11 @mla02 @fanficcrapforme @goodbyefornow123 @thebookisbtr @what-inspirational-name

Everything Tags: @coconutknees @hollymac79

[taendrils]

the heartbeat challenge | 1

― ❝things never work in your favour when you run out of fucks to give, and right when you do heaven seems to throw the seed of evil right into your arms, or more precisely on the corridor to your college dorm. you swore an oath to hate the XY population, blood and pinkies and everything- but namjoon, the shy brunet helping you with your sister’s wedding has always been a man of science- and he seems to love testing just how much he can make you tick.❞

• pairing: namjoon/female reader  • genre: fluff, comedy, a college rom-com, semi-wedding planner a.u • warnings: slow burn, swearing, mentions of sexism and unhealthy dynamics in literature • wordcount: 16k words

a/n: this fic contains satire interpretation of a ‘man-hating’ oc. oh and a very cute namjoon. also this is my longest fic/series thing up to date. cheers and let’s enjoy.

“And a toast to the young couple!”

The people sprawled across the joined tables cheered, the sound of champagne glasses clinking and the sound of friends laughing in delight pleasant to your ears. Few things in life could beat the sensation of hearing nothing but sounds of happiness around, and you took it all in–letting your head fall back and closing your eyes, barely keeping yourself from raising your arms in the air. Between the winter midterms and the inter-semestrial break filled with nothing but volunteer work where you’d encounter children screaming on schedule and coming home to find your love interest–a.k.a the latest lesson chapters all spread out on the kitchen table–at last, you could say that you felt relaxed. One moment ready for the history books where this sort of happiness surrounded you, and one you deserved for sure.

Maybe you deserved it because the earrings you had been wearing for the past five hours insisted on pulling your entire earlobe off or at least fight for their custody, and some part of your knee still stung as a reminder to never rush with blades on your legs again. Especially at eight in the morning when a hyper Yuna who resembled the children you interacted with more than enough swayed into your room like a fairy of adult representatives–clipboard in hand and face lacking any concern. She resembled her corporate supervisors down to the hem of her tailored coat, ready to check every item that met the standards from her list and glare at anything else that didn’t. For her, it sounded like the perfect plan.

For you? Not so much.

She started out with your room, sending daggers to the dust on your nightstand before shifting her eyes to you. Or what was supposed to be you, hidden between three pairs of pants and a nest of messy hair, suitcase left open in the carpet’s middle and the rest of the clothes thrown out at random. A fallen soldier with hopes as high as the sky, but nowhere near ready to get struck with by the chains of femininity and requirement to socialize.

You know, like she didn’t tell you about her engagement party a whopping two days ago, as you were in combat to recover the countless days of sleep that you lost this semester in like, eight hours.

At first, living a quarter of your life with sleep deprivation, you thought you were imagining things, or you made unintentional contact with the spirit world in your attempts at meditation and regaining the self you lost as the years of education progressed. But no, here she was, diamond sparkling in artificial light like a laser pointed towards a jail sentence, focused on you. You didn’t dare to open your eyes, fear tap dancing as it travelled in slow motions across your spine at the chance that said light could hit you right in the pupil.

Spineless as you were, you allowed her to drag you along to whatever beauty rituals were going on in the household, passing a tray of cookies that you could blame on Minho’s choices for sure. Maybe the date too, with his impatience and competitive streak coming together to create the best party in the shortest time. To be honest, you had no idea about any of their whereabouts.  And hours later, between passive-aggressive calls, Hyoyeon arguing with staff as she watched last night’s MMA match, and a bright-eyed Minho swatching tissues to figure out the best colour coordination, you found yourself at a much bigger location, with everything that you dreaded next to you.

Namely, men.

Sure, you enjoyed making people happy and an enjoying an easygoing atmosphere; you were a firm believer (or someone who strived to be) in a life without worries, and thus every moment spent smiling brought you a hair closer to your goal. But men were... well. You’d leave that for them to explain.

Now, confronting the statement, people might think that you suffered from an attention-starving syndrome. Did you? Perhaps. The possibility was out there, far away, like your toleration for the male sex, but a self-grasp told you that your hate did not arise out of being ignored. Not that you were Miss Popularity ever or had friends more than you could count on your toes all high school. One could say, you did well enough to float in the middle of the spectrum–you were not demonized for not appealing to them, but neither did you get a confession or even guys from your parallel classes sliding into your Facebook messages using the classic ‘sup’. Oh, the tragedy of missing so much in life.

In fact, if you take time to think about it, that’s been your signature in most of your endeavours. Existing in the middle of any crowd. From a family standpoint, you weren’t able to shine like your sisters–Yuna being a signed model, recognised for her kindness and charming personality and Hyoyeon resembling the movie-version of a female badass–a no-nonsense boxing trainer. Each of them challenged the norms in their own way, subverting femininity or straight up refusing to conform to it and then... there was you.

That Feminist. Loud and a little annoying. Struggling with both.

The fact that they had settled and formed their own lives and routines while you skated on dry land through college didn’t help either. When you hung out with them, the reminder made you cower a little, fold yourself back into the shell you developed in your younger years from the lack of stability you experienced. You heard a lot about their boyfriends too– fiance and boyfriend, and from what you collected Minho seemed nice enough for a model, not to mention Hyoyeon’s doctor boyfriend, and you learnt to put up with them. Somehow.

However, you weren’t familiar with the faces to your right at the linear table, making it impossible to prevent having your mouth glued shut the entire time the photographer told each of you to smile and blinding you with the lights. Because here was the thing.

You had a blank face. A resting bitch face, like some said, or a woman not smiling face, as you liked to call it. You wanted to express your excitement, you really did, but the thought that your sister would soon be trapped close to forever in a relationship that could only be broken off if she gave her car, or worse–her TV screen held onto the corners of your mouth just like those damn earrings. Hence why, instead of expressing unfiltered joy over Yuna’s engagement, this time official, ring and fancy place rented, you looked like the personification of a rocking chair. Giving occasional nods as if you absorbed all information regarding next week’s weather.

Shame on them for dolling you up like this, hair parted, pretty braids tight on your scalp and orange dress making you look like a fairy. A fairy protecting the pumpkins and other agricultural crops, puffy sleeves moving like waves with your every movement and pleated fabric brushing over smooth thighs. Thighs you gave your blood, sweat and tears to.

Did you deserve to sit next to a man, all beautiful like this? What wrong have you done?

Since you were a child, you gained knowledge about the prices one had to pay to achieve happiness, and to restore the balance, with the peaceful music in the background and smiles in harmony to match it to your left, red wine you had been eyeing all evening on the other side, came the existence of the man. A tall gentleman with hair gel that spread to his brain, and whose arms were too big to stay by his sides, hence why he was taking up all the space on the table and separating you from your one true love. What was left to do, you pouted, interact with him and get into a potential discussion of how you can correct flabby arms, or risk your joints by stretching all across the table so you’d snatch the other one?

Not in the mood for a gym discussion in a trying time, you got up and used the remaining flexibility skills you had to bend across three welcoming faces. The liquid was so close now, its proximity tempting you and charming you into a trance. You wanted to experience this intimate moment, and to assure no one would pay attention to it– having you adverting your eyes to the table parallel to yours... making contact with your greatest enemies.

Your sister, with Minho and his mother who lit up at the sight of you. “Here she is, our youngest!”

She was a nice woman, short perm smoothing over the ends of her cheekbones. A figure that stood up to her son’s forearm, gentle and caring. As a general rule, you loved being in her presence, but you were already sensing the wrinkles forming as your eyes almost screwed shut with how hard you tried to raise the corners of your mouth. Not like you minded one bit, only one part of you wishing to avoid witnessing the impending disaster of interacting with her at social events.

Getting back into a normal position, you let your hand drop off the bottle, fingers longing for the coldness and bowed right as she averted her gaze to the chair you had been sitting on, then to the unknown guest. “And this must be your date?”

Your eyes widened, reaching to touch her only to have your hands freeze midway. “Oh, no, no way–I don’t have a date.”

“How come? Look at you, you’ve filled out so well,” she smiled as she squeezed the extra weight on your hips. To admit, the praise added a few points to your self-esteem meter, but it was no match to the aggravation you experienced in her presence because she had to ask about the other set of chromosomes at each meeting. It was part of the old lady gossip: asking about graduation, when you will get a job, oh and also if you’re not married by twenty-two when are you picking up a man so they can open another question folder. The one branded with a guaranteed approval stamp, none other than ‘when will you have grandkids’.

Insistent question marks to follow it soon after despite you not being related.

“I came to celebrate these two. I’m not looking for one right now,” you said, hoping your tone sounded polite in the least bit. Being accustomed to old ladies, who made up in curiosity for all they lost in height was a full-time job you never stopped learning from.

“Are you staying celibate? Waiting to save yourself for ‘the one’?” she inquired further. Here we go.

“Yeah, course she is.” Minho puffed, letting out a laugh. “For the One Lord Jesus Christ, you mean.”

“Amen. I will find my way, I’m sure,” you took a step back, attempting to return to your chair.“This family needed a cat lady anyway. You guys will be beautiful at 35 and all that, and I’ll be having my wrinkles illuminated by the laptop screen.”

“Coding?” Yuna supplied.

You took it as one of the instances to use your fake smile.“That’s plan A. If it fails, I’ll resort to the worse: write fanfiction in various locations.” Plan B was always ‘Embarrass yourself to the point they don’t talk to you out of their own will’. And get money.

“Oh, come on–”

“I could be in your basement and you won’t know it because Arnold Augustine the Third keeps wailing from the milk temperature.” you leaned your head forward, mimicking the way you sat while you typed on the keyboard, “Clickety clickety clickety clack, clickety clickety clack clack.”

“There is no way I would name our kid that.”

You pursed your lips. “Well, tell your fiance here who made me create an Instagram page to ‘keep the name’.”

His mother stood there with a tight-lipped mouth, the kind of expression others had when you weren’t close enough for them to get the joke, giving back the same forced politeness you gave a minute ago.“I can always introduce you to somebody, child.”

Minho tapped the beautiful girl four seats from you, whispering to her as she passed him the wine, and sometimes you envied him and Yuna for being so in-sync because the next second she was holding out a glass to you as he poured away the bottle’s contents. The drink matched the shade of her velvet floor-length gown, you noted, and if you thought you resembled a fairy of autumn, she was the season’s goddess.

“She’s enjoying herself enough, trust me,” her fiancé added as she passed you the glass. “I think we should check on uncle as well, don’t you love?”

Releasing a breath you’ve been holding for the entire meeting, you sat down, finally pouring the entire glass in your throat in one go, pose relaxing soon after. However, something bothered you–the feeling from this morning still lingered on your legs, little droplets of blood making your knee itch until you found a chair corner to relieve the sensation. Your knee moved farther, knocking into something solid. More accurate description provided, knocked into a muscled thigh fighting to rip out of a blue suit.

“Don’t have a date, huh?” the man grinned as he rubbed his leg against yours. Interpreting your gesture as romantic, movie flirting? Oh God. “Youngho, I’m a bodybuilder.”

A tab opened in your head to search for the profession: male thot job #1.

“Oh no, no no. No, thank you. I am here for the wine,” you explained, “I have a boyfriend.”

Yes, the wine. And the side piece was mango chicken.

“A lady shouldn’t drink so much. It’s not good for you,” he gave you a gentle smile, and you laced yours with the gentlest of ironies as you replied.

“A gentleman shouldn’t give unsolicited advice to strangers.”

He turned back to his plate, and you added another face to the history of guys who disappointed you on the first meeting, struggling to make space on your brain’s list.

Starting with your first crush, a basketball player who acted so nice with you and even pretended to know half the math you did to get close to you and work together. The joy was he seemed quicker to make fun of you for your moustache to his friends whenever they questioned your closeness. Second one, same field but a smaller ball to throw around, as sweet as they come, got bored with your dynamic when he met another girl who liked trap and Rammstein. The third one didn’t even know you existed–not that you were doing much to attract his attention either as you spent half your time staring at his hands and vintage shoes.

Then you considered the what ifs. If you wracked your brain enough, you could still remember the second date you went to at seventeen, eyes holding onto the remaining flicker of hope. Immersed into the memory, you recalled the way your pompadour partner, beer in hand, gave a detailed explanation not of your beauty, but of how much he hated communism and ‘feminazis’. After that, you lost count of the large-shouldered figures passing your life and focused your curiosity on said feminazis. Cool girls that, like you, realized long ago how the key to feminism didn’t have to do with hating men but happened to support the cause.

Attention syndromes aside, you didn’t lack ‘experience’ either. Didn’t even know what people considered experience. You kissed a lot of boys in truth or dares when you were fourteen (and man did you think you were doing something). Also, you were good at faking interest for dares when all you wanted to do was kiss them. Who would have thought you’d end up with a profound dread for the male sex? A good portion of the population who interacted with guys over sixteen, it clicked to you. After your discovery, you wished you could form a society made up of girls that were unfortunate enough to be attracted to those they hated. Yes, we exist, you wanted to say.

A capital flaw that turned you off beyond belief (not that they ever turned you on in the fun way beyond your bedroom and in the outside world) was their lack of dependability, besides opening their mouth. Your high school best friend, Yoongi, you remembered him as one of the most kind-hearted people that you knew. You could have almost said him alone showing this much humanity had been enough to clean the stains of his gender’s reputation, and yet. There’d always been that one little detail that proved to you that Yoongi was indeed a man.

Case in point: the one time in senior year in which you needed a photocopy for your album that required you to search half a town for. It went well, except for the fact that between seven bus stations you still weren’t sure whether they had the machine for it. And Yoongi being a few steps away from the store couldn’t bother to ask about it on the premise of ‘being sick’. Also, who could forget your high school sweetheart, Jungkook, your athlete deskmate who called a lovesick you for the first time during a presentation to ask you whether you’d join his clan in Dragon City.

Spoiler: they didn’t do photocopies there. But at least you contributed to the pay of bus drivers as you succumbed to breeding dragons ready for war.

The realisation came in at a much later time. Although the crushes came and fleeted and you had a greater chance than others at being smitten from the first three conversations with anyone, there was a territory you hadn’t adventured into. No longer did you bother to explain the heavier reasons, the tear-jerkers and mood ruiners. At the time you’d choose to go with the simple alternative.

You had never cared for a man, and you never planned to.

The standards raised. You became mature; you hated men. And nothing could have convinced you otherwise.

At least the free booze on table five distracted you from it.

So, about The Feminist.

The roots of this reputations had been foreign to you since you didn’t talk to many people outside of your dorm or classes. Even while volunteering, you kept it with the three friends you went there with, not making an effort to be social more than that. On the occasion, you’d act out to pull the laughs out of your friends and didn’t bother to scan the people watching, therefore it became a mystery to you how your first impression switched between a clown and the aluminium tinfoil hat.

You had your fair shares of conversations with frat boys in your freshman year when you were a small bundle of hate. Even then, as you expressed your opinions they twisted your words, mocked you as you kept to politeness while conversing. ‘I thought you didn’t like men’, they’d say with a smug face, carrying on with expressions which made you sneer. From the other side, your tinfoil sons and daughters, you heard about your supposed plans to go to Law School only to get into the government and implement liberalism and laws to limit their rights.

Well, they had the spirit but messed it up at the end. Not wrong but not true either. Sounded like another back-up plan in case it went wrong with computers. You ended up being a famous case in the ethics classes you took before you decided on coding, all gritted teeth and ready to eat guys who substituted a personality with monotonous voices and wearing glasses. Despite the events which to this day made you more reluctant to express yourself, you still frequented some classes related to the humanities field: you remained in gender studies and literature.

One of which you were currently sitting in, on the edge for the last hour due to today’s theme of discussing novels of experience. Ten minutes left and your wings would be free, with no hint of annoyance or anger for the entire day. An achievement uncommon for a lesson requiring creativity and freedom of belief, which you loved expressing but avoided hearing.

Creativity had its perks and downsides. One of them was that everyone was allowed to manifest it in one way or another, which left space for questionable fiction not only to be created but to be discussed and theorized over in academic circles. Such example you didn’t want to experience again had been the latest reading assignment, one of the choices for today’s topic. Most of your classmates who chose to present had ventured into other choices, letting you live and catering to your neurons. Until you heard the incantation.

“Based on a definitory experience in 1929, the book which puts to light the tragic heroine bearing the same name explores the idea of retrospection, of relieving a love whose absence leaves the individual…”

Leaves them blessed that they didn’t read such bullshit. You rolled your eyes, remembering the read you got through during winter break, the slowest 120 pages of your life. A tint of sadness seeped through the anger building in your loins, threatening to overflow. The rest of the emotions you learned in high school psychology came to you in their order. Starting with the disgust you felt at the author’s description of the young girl which were both infantilizing and barbaric, marking her bright presence and sense of spirituality as below him. The little fucking intellectual who sat and beat his dick to how he was the sole individual on Earth capable of self-reflection.

In the beginning, the first state to follow had been surprise. Surprise that no one thought to leave that man in a ditch after a drunk night and use his manuscript as toilet paper. With your eyes closing the night you read, in its steps happiness followed, now that it was over and you could go sleep and never check it again.

Lastly, fear. You understood and if you had to name a positive about the story would be the accurate portrayal of subjectivity, of how one would misinterpret based on their thought process and obsession with another person. Fiction had the qualms of exploring said concepts but to you, the way people related and discussed them based on reality’s moral system mattered most. You feared that people would take this toxic relationship and call it a love story and you feared the backlash following your disagreement.

“The subjective perspective of the events makes the impossible love even more painful for the protagonist as he is forced to separate from the young girl, ‘woman and child’, who ends up succumbing to his infatuation and wishes to give herself completely to him with the symbols of spirituality around them bearing as witnesses. A powerful interior conflict can be observed…”

The impossible love. Romeo and Juliet were shaking in their boots at the love of an unempathetic protagonist and a girl too young to know what love meant. You’d think the asshole had an interior conflict since he was stepping over any moral compass known to man.

“…, this way, an authentic and vulnerable experience is captured by the author. It is a story of irremediability, of a consuming love which young people aspire to experience and live for.”

Breathe through your nose, lips pursed to even out your inhales. Once again, the mere mention affected you more than it should’ve, and your mouth won the race over your self-control.

“I disagree.” You didn’t wait for the professor to call your name. Not anymore.“It makes no sense to brand the book as a love story or something a teenager should strive for because of the male character’s actions and his view of her throughout the story. A novel of experience? Certainly. The subjectivity and the protagonists’ reflective notes throughout the narrations guarantee it.”

“Well–” your classmate cut in, but you gave no sign of stopping.

“But she is described as ugly and barbaric, below him despite her high education and extensive poetry knowledge and changed from virgin to whore as she gives into him. These thoughts do not disappear even after he ‘falls in love’ and starts to feel whole next to her because of his supposed superiority. This is not a tragedy, separating them was mandatory to protect her.”

You let your head drop, pursing your lips as you waited for the counter argument. At the silence,  the professor took to watching you, pondering over the answer.“I think you should reflect on the mentality of the 30s. During that time, it could’ve been considered as such.”

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t stop the slight tremor of your tone and the voice that raised another octave. “Are we still living in the 30s? Why are we perpetuating the same mentality, why are we letting it slip with this excuse?”

The professor’s gaze alternated between you and the clock pointing towards the end of the class, “We should leave this discussion for the next time.”

The whispers increased. From behind you, a girl spoke. “Here she goes again with this extreme stuff. I swear, I’m a feminist too but she is exaggerating.”

You were familiar with the type. The one to laugh at your jokes and watch with undivided attention whenever you wanted to lighten up the mood by making a fool of yourself. Several times you heard them laugh at jokes made at the expense of women, several times you were shut down when you stood against it, the moment you call it out you get called a sensitive extremist.

And it wasn’t always bad since men’s voices were an echo chamber to you or radio noise at best, yet the women. The pressure put on women like you by other women suffocated you, settling over your windpipe no matter what you replied. Those were the most frequent case when it came to the rising of your doubts. Chest heavy, you chose not to retaliate, storming out as soon as you collected your things, hoping that time alone would help you solve the issue within yourself.

“Hey, wait–” you snapped your head to the sound, wild eyes contrasting the touch of calamity in his. “I–”

The guy got out of class, hurrying after you. Even a buffoon would see the correlation.“Has the professor said anything?”

He paused in his tracks, taken off guard by the question. “No, that's not it. I wanted to tell you–”

Emotions weren’t your best feature, and you had a few arguments with them here and there. They would threaten you, you’d fight back, they’d reach for cat videos or a thing you did ten years ago and you’d shut up. And isolate.

Which was what you were planning to do right now, if not for Beanie Boy over there testing–wait. You’re sure you’ve seen this guy outside of literature.

“You're in my gender studies class, aren't you?” you pushed, remembering the denim jacket and beanie from a row in front of you, a classic colour combination. Besides that, who could forget the impression he left from the first day, starting off his speech with: I'm tired of his story, It's time I listen to hers. Girls cooing, an unusual image present in your lectures and a few giggling over the shy gestures following. That you remembered.

The tangled letters of his name stayed foreign to you, more concerned with paying attention and learning, and so did his motif to look for you. From what you gathered, he was a unique individual, popular for his Instagram outfit shots and scenery captures. An apparent style whose amalgam of characteristics you didn't recall seeing in recent lectures.

You tilted your head, hand falling to your hip. “Do you want the notes, is that it?”

His mouth gaped, dimples growing to see the light. “Oh, thank you for offering–”

“Then it’s settled. Come to the dorms on Floor One by Thursday, I’ll be there then,” you said with the solemnity and suspicion of a drug dealer, quick to turn around and walk away. More than ever at this hour needed the space to calm your nerves and collect yourself enough so you could pay attention to the next classes.

Still, were you so cheap now that you’d hand out your notes to anyone now to get rid of them? Information is the way to life, and yet you traded it just to get away from it.

Classic.

Five days later fate found you in yet another tricky situation. For as long as you’d live in the campus dorms, you were to never experience peace or any tranquillity. Be it you were cursed or stamped with bad luck at birth, the fact had been internalized long ago, along with your animosity for the object you have lost once again. There was no other way. You pressed the door’s handle, tempted to give up and bang your head against it so you had a way out of this situation.

At least you weren’t completely hopeless.

Once pulled out of said thoughts, you felt around for the phone in your jeans, battling with the sleeves of your fur coat to retrieve it so you could dial Yujin, “Hey, any chance you’re around? I lost the key again and I can’t face Mrs. Choi for the third time this month. Can you please go instead of me?”

Past desires loomed over you once again as you registered your roommate’s words: she didn’t think you’d be home this early, so she locked the door till she returned from the library. Your schedule followed: meet up with your girlfriends and revise the material for next week’s finals as you ranted on the side, but you didn’t have access to it. Duh.

A possibility that not everything is out to get you manifested as you heard steps on the hallway, and you took it as your saving grace… until you checked who it was. A perfect candidate for directing your frustrations to. The Man of the Hour. The most recent addition to your database, who said nothing about the missing material. You were friends on Facebook, for fuck’s sake, did he not care enough to ask for your room number? Did he have other resources to access your personal information, you questioned, frantic in your thoughts which made you turn around, determined to find the answers.

You marched up to him, cutting off his chances at avoidance. “You!”

He pointed to himself, mouth agape.

“You made me wait for so long, and you didn’t show up,” you chastised, wincing a little at how your neck cracked when you stared up at him. “I even organised my papers for you.”  

A hand came up to scratch at his own.“Uhh, I appreciate it… but I-I’m not here for that.”

“So, guess it’s for another time? How long will this take?”

Your patience was running thin more with each meeting, though you remained careful in front of the man. Given your current moods and schedule, you didn’t have the chance to rage about education- and a part of you didn’t want to either. The more you saw him, the more you took your time to observe him, along with his gestures, both of which made you reconsider your opinion of him. Such as no matter how tall and imposing he was, he never looked you in the eye.

Not to mention how you were locked outside your room so you stood no chance to even touch said cellulose, thus you had close to no right to be angry.

“I... This is my room. I moved to 113 at the beginning of the semester.” His gaze once again, drifted elsewhere, studying the hall and reverted back to your shoulders, to the soft curve of your jaw.

“Did I not see you before? Ever?”Were you that absent and disconnected from your surroundings?

“Well, uh… you must’ve seen a lot of these.” He bent to touch the ground before getting on his tiptoes to raise his arm as high as he could, and an image of huge beige coats and white sneakers popped into your mind. The assumptions you made led you to the face your roommate told you about, Kim Seokjin, a pure aphrodisiac senior from art history. You mistook Beanie Boy for him, you thought, coming back at the right time to watch the former grin bashfully at his joke. He surely caught you smiling, for he continues his newfound rambling. “Yeah, Hoseok says he won’t get down in the club with Vincent Van Gogh, so I switched on the coats. Sorry for confusing you.”

“So that’s what he’s been doing instead of practising at 5 AM,” you said, shivering as you remembered the way his steps brought more complaints in your sophomore year than the last generation combined. “You get used to the sound after a while. It worked wonders during exam season, I didn’t fall asleep one night.”

“It’s the same thing, he just has more audience now.”

You chuckled, police sirens going off in your head at the realisation that you were enjoying this, a little too much. With suspicion creeping up behind you and a sense of urgency to cleanse yourself through group conversation, the need to end the conversation throbbed in your veins. “Well, thanks for that. See you!”

You felt bad for leaving like that, but a complaint appointment and anxiety generated from the possibility that he will ask you to bring them now were already keeping you locked towards your destination: the lounge.

“I heard there was an emergency,” you sat down on the couch as you bid hello to the group of girls, books, notes and flashcards scattered on the table and their laps. You recognised them as the girls from your floor, a few doors away from you, with whom you spent a good majority of your time at the beginning of freshman year before drifting apart, each focused on your own majors and forming groups there. Besides Sojung, your close friend you plopped next to, you’d see them on occasion and spend your time with them pretending to study and trying out nearby cafes.

“Yes, we ran here as soon as we heard about your struggle,” she said, expression serious as she petted your head. Not long after, her grin grew in time with yours diminishing, satisfied at how she stole your joke out in the open like this. Despite your opposite attitudes, Sojung’s deadpan humour was never far from your dramatic one and many times she was quick to outwit you. She already knew about the events at the party, having them narrated in an incoherent string of texts, followed by the conclusion that you were in need of pleasant company.

“You mean girl,” you pouted, “and to think I came all the way here to support you.”

The girl rolled her eyes, going back to her study material, forehead crease a little too obvious, and you welcomed the challenge to make her laugh.

“These exams shouldn’t exist. They’re stressing you out too much,” you complained, wishing you could do more when the light bulb flickered in your head. “I’ll change my major. I’ll get my diploma in being a wall so I can protect every girl from these assholes. See what they do then.” Catching a glimpse of the corners of her mouth rising, you pondered the occupation: not a bad idea at all if you considered it.

“This is hell. Don’t you have things to revise too, girl?” Seungyeon, the criminology major and girl you wish you could be, said. Serious yet sociable, a go-getter with elevated thoughts said at the right time, she was as close to a college model you had.

“It’s a few brackets and logic commands. Not a lot to grasp. Either it works, or it doesn’t.” If you had lived in a world of your own wishful thinking and didn’t stress out over these two months in advance, yes. Studying and trying out the material at midnight became incorporated into your routine, allowing yourself a two-day break every week. In spite of it, you were glad you didn’t have to memorize entire textbooks and that your field allowed for skill practice, adding the literature classes you partook in to exercise your creativity and widen your perspectives.

“Plus, I’m here to listen to any of you who needs help, since my girl here has other plans,” you said, tone honey-like as you encouraged your proposal. You were aware at that not many of them were bold enough to ask for help first due to fear of inconveniencing others, making you cautious in approaching the subject and with enough luck catching some friends. You didn’t know Seungyeon that well on a personal level, but you were striving towards having more people as ambitious as her, what was a little sugar coating? And as expected, she grinned at you, getting up to hand you her portfolio, all written in cursive black ink.

“Can you quiz me on these terms?” You nodded, brows furrowing at the thesaurus language.

Close to thirty minutes later, coat discarded and your head spinning from the new information, your hand froze on the foiled page as your phone started buzzing in your back pocket.“Pits of hell, main demon speaking.”

“Please stop doing this whenever you’re answering me in public.”

“There’s a price to pay if you’re making me participate in a phone call.” you smiled, delighted by Yuna’s whiny tone, already picturing her desperate eye roll. “No, it’s ok. Keep going.”

“I talked to the receptionist and he said they can rent us the place March 30th. Some TV broadcast will host a reality series there from the fifth onward.”

Blood drained from your face.“T-that’s. In two months,” you stammered, shoulders already slumped at different heights from the stress building and slapping each bone at varying times. “Why not April first so you can say psych? Please…”

“Minho thought it’d be funny too. He has a spring collection in Portugal on the third.”

“What kind of thing is he modelling on your wedding week? Lord.”

“Tuxes.”

“Forget I asked,” you said through your teeth as your nails dug into the cover of Sojung’s manual, threatening to fold the piece and rip its remains. “And you want me to do what? Mhm… A few errands, right, close family wedding. Thank fuck for that at least. Sure, I don’t have anything else. Yes, I’m serious. Love you. Ok bye.”

Shifting your eyes to the group, you stared each of them in their pupil with solemnity as your body slumped on the couch till it met the criteria of a shapeless blob. “I’m doomed,” a sigh left your lips as your hand travelled to meet Sojung’s, craving physical affection in this time of need. Might as well get it from a pretty girl. “Here’s my end, cheers. Please raise a drink in my memory next time you go out.”

The girl cooed at your dramatics and squeezed your hand, reaching to caress your cheek and pull your head to her shoulder. She was not the one with words, but she never minded offering you physical comfort to remind of her support. Your eyes closed by themselves, wishing to drape yourself over her long legs and hide your face in her neck, a place where no responsibility could haunt you as you were hidden by her styled hair and comforting arms. In your crisis, you thanked heaven for women’s existence and for your luck to be surrounded by so many of them before you continued.

“She wants me to help with the wedding and I-I don’t know anything about this shit. I’m not good at the whole aesthetic thing.”

And a little part of your heart broke, the truth of your statement ringing in your ears. Although you learnt how to be confident in your abilities as you grew out of teenage years, you still had more to go through until you were comfortable with the unknown. Enthusiastic willingness existed, but it wasn’t always enough, and it hurt to be aware of it once again, having your stomach throb from the fear of disappointing or ruining things with your input.

“But you have style,” the girl added. “I love those tennis skirts you wear.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know about colour coordination, or materials, hell I don’t even know what a chiffon is...”

“Then why offer to do this?”

“Cause she’s busy you know,” you peeked at the biology book in her lap (the one you threatened to snap mere moments ago), thinking about how great it would be to exist as a paramecium.“She has a career and all while I’m here considering majoring in being a wall. And I don’t want her to carry such a burden alone.”

“You have time to learn. And if not, I know someone who can help with that. Namjoon is amazing with these things. I’ll talk to him, okay?”

“Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-“

A part of your brain lit up in recognition, but you ignored it, not bothering to look-  too busy wallowing in your misery to be bothered with chats.

Sojung moved, making your head snap off her shoulder and have you grasp your surroundings–to be specific, their new addition to it: Beanie Boy from Gender Studies, sat on the folding chair with a stack of books in his lap. “Namjoon, you’re here, I have to ask–”

Time ticked as gears turned into your brain, throwing the information in every angle until you processed it. You nodded, mouth agape, thinking what you should put inside a conditional command to make this situation look better, hopeful as you were. It ended up something like this:

if (disasterhappens) { pleasedont(); }

Squeezed between the timeline of a Data Structures course and the unforgiving cold, you stepped out of the bus the same pace as Namjoon, whose name you picked after your last encounter. In your classroom, he’d often remain quiet, thus your conscience didn’t feel too bad about making an excuse for your pea-sized memory. Faces were easy to memorize, but God forbid, hold on to a name and your brain threatened explosion. This time, true to his word, he ditched the coat, going for a padded jacket.

It worried you the slightest, as it had him open to the attacks of the weather, but you kept it to yourself.

“What are we doing?”

“They got most of the stuff done, so I don’t have to bother with calligraphers and shit to send out invitations or find photographers, we picked the dress three months ago... it should be easy.” You flicked open the cover of your pocketbook, proud of the doodles you managed between the tasks. “I have to rent the tablecloths, organise the seating positions, order the flowers, argue with the guy at the venue, other useless stuff, then- oh! Get the cake- that���s her taking pity on me for sure.”

“Do you have any specifics? If not, we can work something out. I know what women like.”

You squinted in suspicion, tone rich with all the certainty you had the ability to muster. “I bet you do.“

His eyes widened, “No, I didn’t mean it like that-”

Keeping your mouth shut for the first time in your life, you stood to realise he was helping you; he didn’t look like he signed the petition to buy you a tinfoil hat. By law, you were obliged to restrain the second nature which leaned towards hostility- for men. The notion made you sigh, wishing for a way to tell him it was fine without it becoming weird or turning into a race for apologising. “Either way, I have no escape. Might as well drag someone to hell with me.”

Namjoon said nothing, stirring and adding salt to the soup of guilt you were harbouring for the last minute which boiled in your gut and threatened to overflow.

“Schedule comes as planned: be back at the station by 4 to take the 4:03 bus. That’s a 15-minute ride till we get to Yuna’s house where we’ll drop these, and from there it’s a 30-minute walk to the building.” With that, you sprung into action.

“You got this figured out, huh?” his voice rang with a tint of impress you picked up on.

Your lips pursed to suppress a smile as your pace slowed, “I mean, of course I do.” It was little before you changed your mind, thoughts running wild between your responsibilities and morals because of them battling out. The whirlwind made you move with more speed, your words almost matching the fastness of your legs.

“Thanks for coming with me and stuff. This will be a piece of cake, but still.” you shrugged, a little awkward to be running errands with a guy at 3:15 PM like one of those middle-aged couples. Hence why you resorted to Conversation 101, mastering it in time to deal with such an unfamiliar situation. Truth be told, your wished for a method to express your gratefulness now that he doubled it by he was accompanying you in the time between classes, a holy period marked by relaxation– not picking out from thirty shades of silk red.

However, by itself, the ‘thanks’ had remained stuck in your throat, in need of an extra push to make it sound nonchalant instead of a word of relief which decreased the anxiety blood levels.

He didn’t seem to mind. Namjoon walked behind you without struggle due to your bulldozer walk, eyes fixed on his steps and hands in his pockets. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I’m happy to help.” You turned your head to look back at him, a pursed smile lingering on your features making you repeat the action every five seconds. Turn, stare, square up with your facial muscles.

“You must really want those notes, huh? Is the class that important?” you joked as the two of you approached the store, hand reaching out to open the door with Namjoon trailing close.

“Well, I-” Namjoon paused, startled when your feet came to a halt at the doorstep, body spinning to make eye contact with him. The grip you had on the door handle twitched as you watched him come closer and closer, releasing right as he was about to step inside. In a perfect impersonation of an ostrich, his head pulled back as the door closed in seeming slow motion, reminding you of how much of a bad fanfiction your life was every time you went outside.

His widened eyes bordering on mania met yours through the glass, breaths living him as if he was trying to deflate and disappear from you as soon as possible. You gasped and bowed your head, moving to open the door, tugging it towards you with no result before his hand enveloped the handle, yanking it open. The force sent you aiming towards the pavement before strong fingers gripped your forearm and pulled you straight.

Straight into him.

Your mouth gaped, arms flying out to his biceps to push him away from you and save yourself out of this situation–that’s what you were planning. Instead, you froze, fingers still gripping the muscles because, despite the accident, you were touching him. A man.

The best part was that Namjoon seemed as frozen as you felt, his gaze busy tracing every feature, never leaving your face. Your heartbeat became more erratic by the second as embarrassment crept upon your cheeks, but you were not the bitch without prior experience to trainwrecks like this- after all, you made codes. Thus, you laughed and tightened your grip, slowly shaking him before the pace increased. “We have to be very precise! Do you understand me? This is for a far greater cause, we need to pay attention to every shade and detail, point blank-”

“Period. I wouldn’t have been here if I didn’t know,” the words come out gentle as he tilts his head, fingers trailing forward to pet your shoulder before distancing himself. He gave a curt nod, signalling for you to move, and if this was any other time you would’ve protested, you took it as an opening to flee.

“Yes, of course,” you mutter as you walk through the variety of fabrics. Yeet. The notes app on your phone came in handy now, as you had an excuse to focus on anything but him. Most of the instructions were clear, silk fabric, ask for the rented option because buying requires to iron them and none of you knew how to use a household object like that, stick to the theme and pick-

“Apple red?” you said out loud to the cloned shelves adorning the entire store, each inclined in a different way for aesthetic purposes, or to make your life difficult. “She’s so pretentious. What even is that, they all look like fucking red.”

“Couldn’t a professional do this?” Namjoon inquires from beside you, scrutinizing the interior design before settling on a banner painted on the wall. “Live laugh love. Very suburban.”

“Dunno, maybe this way they thought they could get away with spending less money. Not like they’re lacking any, goddamn family-oriented capitalists.” you rambled, being used to inserting dramatic lines in your speech with your girlfriends. Nevertheless, this territory had boundaries on pending left to be established. From your knowledge, guys weren’t used to interacting with language innovationists, so you had to sweeten the deal a little to avoid feelings of inferiority. “They could’ve counted on me finding a hero since men and all are sooo good with details.”

You sighed. Way to go, sarcasm.

Namjoon only chuckled, continuing to study the store’s organisation system. “I’ll go look for what we need, and we’ll get back in 10 minutes to compare. Hope that’s okay.” He dashed by you, your brows furrowing before realising it was time to roll, stomping away to browse through foldings.

After forgoing the opportunity to give up halfway, you returned to him with six different shades, raising each hand to present it to him, starting with the first option at hand, a deeper shade of red.“I think I found it. How’s this?”

Namjoon licked his lips.“Uh, well, it looks a little-”

“A little what? It’s red.” you pointed with your head as if it was obvious before lifting the others up. “All of these are red.”

“That is wine red,” he explained as he scratched the back of his neck. “We should pay more attention to details if we want to do a good job.”

Your left eye twitched. Namjoon had been kind to you (human standards, not male ones) in the time you spent together. Guaranteed, his timing was off during most of your meetings and in objective standards, he did nothing wrong, but your conscience didn’t enjoy subtle reprimanding. In fact, she felt threatened, ready to have you bring out the big guns. You had some logic and attention to detail too in any state of tiredness; it was a matter of whether it wanted to be exercised.

Despite your lack of knowledge in colour theory,  blamed on your monochromatic wardrobe, at first sight, it looked like apple to you! Yet, determination rose in your chest and now the world shed new light upon your sight- you would pick the best goddamn apple colour in this store.

He did nothing wrong. Still, you weren’t at fault either because your competitiveness flared over the most useless reasons.

“Huh, seems like I’ve been eating the wrong apples.” You wanted to drop the fabric onto the floor for dramatic effect, yet your common sense stopped you, too worried about the workers that would have to clean up after the two of you. “How about this one?”

“That’s burgundy.”

“How do you even know those?”

“My mother has that hair colour… Every lady over forty in our neighbourhood uses that.” Chin tucked, he looked down at his pile to avoid your gaze. “I think this is more accurate.”

You inspected the piece with the attention of a fine painter, ready to create your own Starry Night with tablecloths and future flowers.

“Looks like candy. That apple’s full of chemicals. Yuna only likes organic, farm stuff,” you chirped out of pure pettiness, and Namjoon must have sensed it, because his pose turned frigid, glare with raised eyebrows aimed like an arrow towards you. “I’m sure this one is right-”

“That’s crimson,” his voice interjected. “There’s no way this is good for a wedding unless we’re talking the Red one.”

Both of your tones grew sassier and the man you sassed at the end of your course morphed into a reflection of yourself. Nice but ready to cut if you’d open your mouth in the next three seconds. Bad for both of your sakes, you had no qualms about passing whatever limit because you were the tear in the system–for fuck’s sake, you made the system. “Lucky for me, I have no idea what that is. I don’t watch hipster shows.”

Let out a sound similar to a laugh meant to be suppressed yet it escaped anyway. “That’s the farthest thing possible from hipster.”

“Fine, I’m not supposed to care about those anyway.”

A passive-aggressive smile. “Yes, we should go back to our task and try to solve the problem.”

Another one. “There’s no problem, I’ll look for more and then we’ll go on our way.”

“Of course,” Padded boy retaliated before sitting in front of another shelf. “This?”

“It’s blinding my eyes. It’s not gonna match. She also wants freesias, let’s just find something similar,” you said as you dug through the packages on the bottom shelves. “Ha, how about this?”

“It... “ He tilted his head, letting out a deep exhale, “it looks good.”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” You clutched the fabric to your chest, ecstatic to leave colour combination to the experts and never return again.

With crossed arms and hostility radiating off him, Namjoon, the image of attention to detail, looked as if he was about to launch into a rant about nihilism and why shit like this shouldn’t matter at your smallest gesture. You mastered the same fixed stare, as your friends told you several times and you focused on the floral details at the empty cashier’s spot, scared of what might happen if each of you directed it towards the other.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Both your heads snapped to a man in overalls, flower crown resting on top of his head and grin beaming on his features- until he saw the both of you glaring at him, “Oh. I apologise for the delay.”

You broke out of your trance, gesturing at the packaged cloth. “We’d like to rent uh… ten of these.”

The man returned with your fulfilled request and you hurried to get a hold after swiping on Minho’s smiley-face covered credit card. You gave an awkward smile which you hoped he saw before switching to Namjoon, who was a bit difficult to interact with due to the messy way you were holding the items.

“I’ll hold them myself. Help me out with the door,” you muttered from under the mountain of fabric, feeling a little self-conscious of being this authoritative in a fabrics store.“If you want to.”

“It won’t move. Hold on.” From outside, he clutched the handle and pulled it back with his entire body, leaning half-suspended in the air. His leg, like a whip from God, stretched out over the pavement in pointé position to reach the other door and fight to push it as you squeezed through the minimal space.

Ignoring Namjoon still stretched out trying to open doors for you, you checked your hand watch, the image making you gasp.“Oh no! It’s 4:10 p.m.” You turned to him, eyes wild and devoid of any humanity as he got into standing position at last.

“We had to be at the bus station at 4! The next bus is in 6 minutes and it’s going to take us 15 minutes to get there and I can’t afford a taxi.” You sprinted with the most speed, but after an entire fifteen seconds on the clock your feet planted on the ground, hands on your knees and throat constricting as you struggled for air.

“Why do I never do cardio I-” you panted to no one in particular as Namjoon’s figure passed you, increasing the distance with controlled steps. “Oh fuck. Hold on. Wait!”

Your body did its best to maintain your equilibrium as you chased after him, tablecloths in hand.“How on Earth are you moving this fast-”

With a gaze at his wit’s end, he waited till you advanced to him before snatching the packed items from you and digging through his back pocket to get his wallet out. “Hold this and pay,” he said as he intertwined his arm with yours, hitting the acceleration button full force without warning, “There’s no time for little legs.”

Once again, your heart joined the marathon.“Hey–wait! Wait, I didn’t plan a sprint in this, my hair’s going to be ruined!” The wind’s presence smacked you at once too, even air attacking as you tried and failed to keep up with his pace. Thus, all left to do was whine about it. “Move slower! My hair, I–I can’t let people know I’m ugly–hey!”

“Spill.”

“Quite interesting that you assumed I’d have anything to complain about when I never did it in my life.”

Sojung quirked her eyebrow, pausing her scrolling to turn her head and judge you properly, to which you pursed your lips- fighting hard to not burst into laughter and blow your cover.

With the aid of a motivational discourse about the balance between studying and having fun (the most you can have in said weather), you managed to bribe her into watching a movie as long as you made the sweet tea and let her pick. A problematic duo, Sojung and these choices, since she had a torturing streak going against your brain cells, but you followed her rules, ready to rumble by immersing yourself into whatever character you deemed the dumbest. Now, warm cup in hand, there you stood, squeezed to her side due to the bed’s size, looking like her disciple, or at least a very starry-eyed novice.

How else were you supposed to be, as you were cuddling with an objective image of temptation under the blankets, bare feet ducking under hers to steal her warmth? A woman who radiated daintiness without effort, the tips of her hair still wavy from Saturday’s party enough to create the aura of an Aphrodite of Science who pulled you in, who charmed you into wanting to feed her grapes and braid her hair.

“You haven’t talked about it in days. I’m worried,” she stated as if you broke our friendship code by avoiding the wedding topic, which you thought you were doing a pretty good job on. Yesterday you even stuck to the manners code while convincing the photographer not to reschedule, reminding him with the required politeness of who he was dealing with. Your sister didn’t like to flaunt her status and neither did you with yours (whether you had one was arguable), yet you never minded reminding people who she was in case she got too humble.“You’re not like that.”

“Fine, don't look at me like this- there’s a reason why I should’ve said no. I made a fool out of myself.” your friend nodded, giving you the gesture for ‘go-ahead, confess your sins’. “So we got to the store, I walked first right, cause you know how I move, and I opened the door and you know I’m not an animal so I wanted to hold the door open for him but-”

“But he’s a man.”

“Yeah and I can’t-” you closed your mouth, opting for indecipherable gestures with your free hand, “fraternize with the enemy, for lack of a better word. And I almost hit him with the door.”

With a temporary interest, you watched as the beginning credits for whatever movie Sojung picked. This way you could postpone the pain a little. Deep breaths.

“I didn't know how he is with these things, I- we argued a lot. Over tablecloths.”

“Of course. Like me and Mino when we had to do that project together. The cells we had to analyze looked like cones to me but he insisted they're joints.”

You laughed, a full sound that came with you shaking your head, “The bar is on the fucking ground, God.”

“Mhm, but I'm sure Namjoon wasn't like that. He's very immaculate and detail-oriented with his work, not thinking about joints,” she emphasised on the last words. “He’s an alright guy. A little passive-aggressive sometimes but he'll get over it.”

“Yeah, he’s-” you sputtered, an adequate definition of Namjoon still foreign to you. Good would raise suspicions, not bad would have Sojung urge you into detailing. “Bearable.”

She gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. “Right. And his Insta shots are cute. You should follow him.”

You sighed, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your phone and obey her request. After a search lasting less than a few minutes, you caught sight of familiar fashion popping into your recommended. You clicked on the profile, pictures of animals and outfits for the day welcoming you, his trademark coats fitting perfect with his long legs.

Compared to the rest of his feed, his fifth picture was a close-up one, with him sitting on the ground, a deer on each of his side. At the display taken from a Disney picturesque, there it was: guilt drowning you again, this time sour edition. Why were you like this.

Granted, despite your differences and mutual pettiness, he tried to be patient for as long as he could-bless his heart- while you started out colder and less optimistic than usual and let your attitude get the best of you. Grumpiness was not a trait of yours, it was by chance you let it take the wheel again as you pressed the follow button. Bold of you to think he’d notice with his 1.3k mark, coming from the girl with 70 followers and three pics of you smiling.

Cuddled up to your friend, you settled on forgoing this matter, focusing on the movie and hoping the guilt soup would simmer down. Later swearing as your insides turned to mush, you buried your head in the pillow, groaning as you re-imagined the scene with the male lead trespassing for the girl- risking fines for plucking the rose and jumping back the same gate with no effort. A hundred other similar scene to this one came back to you, and yet your reaction was impossible to control- half-way between an eye roll and batting your eyelashes, brain alternating between commands. Old, young, there were reasons cliches were cliches, and the public's feelings were what made them popular from the start.

This love was the exact movie love which would never be possible in real life, where the oh-so-young hero gave roses and heart attacks to an innocent girl having no prior experience with motorcycles. Thus, you didn’t bother to fight against indulging a little in whatever trope the movie was displaying. It mixed the leather jacket and typical bad boy vehicles with a retro type of romance.

“Why do you always insist on this kind of movies?” you asked, pleading with your girl to cease these activities but also hinting to her you wouldn't mind another one. Especially for this week, a time where love and capitalism went one on one. Valentine’s day was a sensitive topic for you, anti-capitalist and all, but you were aware of the loneliness some friends of your experienced. Hence why ever since you were a freshman, you bought envelopes and red paper, brought your trusted heart stapler and got to work. You had close to no criteria for your choices: close friends, people you had pleasant interactions with, girls under stressful situations. Random people on hallways who made you smile and later got a letter with a lollipop and your attempts at a cursive: ‘Someone’s thinking of you! Please buy chocolate on sale this year!’

“Wanted to get us in the mood.” She winked at you as her hand found yours under the blanket, laptop propped on her legs, “It’s fun seeing you squirm.”

“Come on, men in real life are not like that. There’s not one dude out there who will be this attentive to you, and if he does he's gonna get you in debt. You'll have to bail him out of jail.”

Sojung shrugged, yellow turtleneck brushing adorably against her chin. You didn’t know what offended you more: her silence or how cute she looked without even trying - making it impossible to stay fake-mad at her.

“My judgement’s been rotten, but if I said one fair thing in this world is that one.” An accusing finger was pointed at her, “You should agree. I haven’t seen you talk to any of the guys in your classes outside of school.”

Sojung took one long glance at you, taking her time to answer. “I guess I’m too busy right now.”

Your brows furrowed, “Yeah… college’s a bitch. But this time it’s doing you something good, right?”

“Eh. Another one?” she asked, seconds away from your definite yes.

After two more hours of cringing and containing your cooing, you remembered today’s goals: find Namjoon and consult him about the next weeks’ schedules, establish a proper plan. Of minimal interaction, if possible- in which both of you secured efficiency and less trivial arguing. You shook your head, finding the thought’s beginning ridiculous- going to his room, seeing him to tell him you didn’t want to see him.

Wasn’t a complete truth either.

Sense of responsibility and need for order aside, this was a bad idea. You didn’t check in with him, part hesitation part not having his number and being too awkward to write to him on Facebook (you were friends, you checked). Yet, you stood at his door, fist hanging in the air.

Three raps, a deep breath to calm your nerves- what nerves? Why would you experience that? You could do this. You knocked on doors before, thank God.

With newfound confidence, you smacked said door with all you had, positive that Namjoon would hear and you’d have no way out of it then. Bag on your shoulder, you fiddled with the letter hidden behind your back, hoping the glue dried enough not to move the heart from its middle. Earlier today, as you were bracing yourself for your mission, you saw Hoseok heading for practice. It eased you a bit, doing this in front of Namjoon alone.

The door opened and your mouth curled to the sound of it rattling from its hinges, “Hi, are you busy?”

Namjoon, in all of his bear pyjamas and bedhead glory, eyes round and wide stared at you with uncertainty. “I’m… not doing much. You can come in.”

“Were you sleeping? Sorry I didn’t say anything, I don’t have your number and-”

“No, no, we can solve that. I-” he paused, seeming to struggle, “That’s how I sit when I don’t study or go outside.”

Following after him, you watched as he sat back on his bed, same lotus position and brought his legs closer together to make space for you. Soon, he must have realized his mistake, tips of his ears turning red as his gaze moved back to you. “I mean! You can sit in Hobi’s bed. I’ll-” He rolled out of his bed, crouching next to his roommate’s bed so he was next to you, “yeah.”

“I don’t want to take away too much of your time-”

“I don’t mind.” He licked his lips, head dropping down, “Well, not that much. Please continue.”

You bent to show him what you’ve been working on- a logical scheme to ensure productivity without spending too long on a destination, tying together similar events. One which you ended up doodling on for illustration, marking the points where you might have trouble later and the way to approach them. “This is the battle plan. Minimum effort, maximum fun. I fucking hope.”

“Cute,” Namjoon said, a close-mouthed smile on, and you were right in the radius to get a glimpse at the true depth of his dimple. Oh. You pouted, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form a coherent thought at his words. You were not cute. “I mean the sketch.” 

Chest deflated, you pursed your lips at the geometric owl you drew, not pausing to catch the amused glint in his eyes or how his grin was growing. “Ok, first destination. So I searched for Google reviews, right, and the guy at the venue is a total asshole.”

“What’s the plan then?”

You breathed out, “I was… I was hoping that you can help with this one. I, err, struggle with being diplomatic around guys.”

He nodded, signature dimple popping out again.“Sometimes.”

Your mouth gaped in mock offense before you caught his gaze again. You cursed under your breath, looking down at your chest in indignation then switching to his desk chair. It resembled the one in the lounge to the point it was suspicious–making you squint at the offensive object, recalling the image of Namjoon last sat on when he was pulled into this mess.

“…And I’d appreciate you giving me some tips maybe, on how to deal with the guy. I’m desperate.” The option of going there and listing everything you and your family wanted without a compromise was tempting, but there were several warning bells pointing towards the opposite result.

“To begin, don’t judge his colour combination outfits.” He chuckled, lifting your mood a little. “Be assertive, but don’t make him feel out of control. Bring your demands in as suggestions.”

“Look intimidating but polite,” he said softly. “You already have half the part down.”

You puffed, “I breathed.”

“Doesn’t matter if the situation seems bad, don’t bend down to whatever he may tell.” He extended his palm towards you, and you gave him the sheet. “You think he stands a chance against these?”

“I was planning on that, but-” But it was difficult for you to do these without becoming snappy, without attempting to have the fucker trip with the power of your glare. Your voice died down in your throat as you stared at the bullet point tasks again.

Check in, talk about catering options and suggest food for their catering team to serve, confirm the guest list and the number of hours spent. Return a month later to assign the seats and assist the decoration process in case there was any need for changes. All that came as an obstacle was the man. The little devil impersonator you head so much about on hidden google reviews.

If you lost your cool it meant sabotaging one of the most important tasks of the entire scheme, which would guarantee a disaster in case you messed up. Here you were, with a possibility of rivalling Cinderella and getting expensive shoes stuck on stairs, only you’d lose the entire place instead of the shoe. It wasn’t like you could hold a wedding under your local drawbridge either-why did Yuna leave this on you? Why not pick Hyoyeon or Minho? Was this the time for you to develop a diplomatic streak?

Namjoon interrupted your impending existential crisis, “I’m free this weekend.”

Using the rational side of your brain, you submitted to his request, crossing off your earlier decisions. No interaction my ass, you thought. “Fine. I’ll pick you up on Sunday.”

As he meant to return your plan, you got up. “Actually, that is for you. And also this.” You pulled out the blue envelope, heart left intact to seal it.

“Oh?”

A rush of panic hit your gut from how he was looking at you, expecting you to go on. Did he want you to spell it out? God, no, you–“…found it at the door.”

As he got a hold of it, he let out a fake gasp; yet you weren’t so sure about the excitement which came across real, urging you to check the letter again for things you might have missed.

“Woah, it's right in the middle! Very sharp with the details,” the man tilted his head, not giving you any time to breathe. Like he was testing your reaction.

You tried to keep any tint of emotions at bay despite your body naturally adopting a more confident pose at the praise.“Mhm, agreed.”

“This is very thoughtful. I should thank the person when I see them. Even though it came four days earlier,” he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah-”

“Must have messed up the date.”

“Hey!” You paused, mouth closing shut. “Who cares? They made an effort.”

“You’re right, I’ll make sure to let them know.” He nodded with solemnity. “Was that it?” he asked and ended up mimicking your previous gesture, not meaning to come out like that.

“Uh, I have to go anyways.” You laughed to try and mask how startled you were. “I’ll… see you in a few days. Have a good one?”

I’ll try, he wanted to say, but instead he nodded, following you to the exit.

After you found the most bizarre way to ask for his number again, he meant to return to studying, thoughts of his appearance forgotten now that you left. He didn’t do much else since he woke up, neither he could say he expected anything to happen today, and he was long accommodated to the sturdiness of his chair to be bothered by sitting there for hours.

Settling on his usual space, he placed the papers you gave him under his stationery, focusing to remember the line he remained at. Though, it was no easy task, the little heart and doodles pulling on his attention and disregarding his work ethic. Damn them.

Before he registered his actions, Namjoon grabbed the papers again, taking in every piece of information laid on the battle notes he started out with. One thing that stood out to him was the contrast between your big personality, which appeared effortless to him, and your writing. He sort of expected messier handwriting taking up space on the sheet, similar to the way you acted each day.

Meeting you didn’t happen often, but he was neither blind nor deaf, he heard the degree of familiarity you used in speech even with teachers, had seen you in passing comforting people from the same dorm. He felt like a witness to some of your antics by the vividness Sojung described them with, complaining that kids at the volunteering centre would spend more time with you, attacking you with kisses to as you screeched and swore revenge.

Your writing was smaller and much more organized, taking up half the A5 paper you gave him. He didn’t know why he was even thinking about this, or why he felt like he found something new about you through it. Next came the letter, which contained a heart-shaped lollipop and a note attached to it, this time written in cursive but bearing the same letter size.

He chuckled as he read. Chocolate on sale. Ha, he bought that February second.

Some of the regrets for your experience together washed away as he spent more time re-reading, an impulse having him reach towards his stationery and take the scissors, cutting your schedule plan in half. You, in particular, were not the main cause for said emotions, he knew that much. Often he had a hard time telling people no, wishing to help as much as he could even if it came at his expense and a disappointed look from his friends who pleaded with him to listen, to stop caring so much about other people’s situations and turn his attention to him. Be selfish, take a break, practice self-care or whatever he wanted to call it, they told him. Look at you for once.

He still struggled with that. This time, like many others, his conscience was telling him he’s doing the right thing, but there was a slight change. Something pleasant stirring up in his loins, a level of contentment with his decision to accept. He could at last witness you rip that fucker to shreds.

The anatomy book was still open, but for the time being, he had no motivation to continue studying. He wanted to prevent losing your indications too, so he put the paper inside the book before closing it, only image available being the freesia you drew next to the first circle. No more information for now, he thought. After all, he could research plenty in his surroundings for the current chapter.

The cardiovascular system.

Based on your poor approximations, it had been more than a week since your last encounter with Namjoon, and a part of you wanted to scream because you had kept a lot of secrets in during this time. There was no date from when you began classifying your life as before and after Namjoon, but as the timeline stretched out you started talking to him more and more. To the point where you’d have inner monologues about it and whether you were doing the right thing, like the case in point.

You forgot about yourself on several occasions, swimming in special mathematics and the burden of college life which nearly drowned your optimism alongside that of your friends’. Yet, to your surprise, at least twice a day you’d find a lifeboat to lean onto which came in a package with a hose to swallow the water. Weird metaphors aside, in other words, you and Namjoon started texting a few days after he gave you his number and you managed to deliver the notes. And not just one phrase here and there, but multiple messages that had you debating food choices, new courses and the density of your literature teacher.

It turned into a habit, checking your notifications between classes because of him. Those close to you knew you preferred real-life communication to texting and made efforts to hang out as much as possible, so your phone hardly buzzed most of the time.

With the exception of him, of course. You discovered hidden opinions with the help of your flair for complaining and progressed on the stages of your friendship enough to be comfortable with the idea of him helping you. Well, calling it a friendship could’ve been a stretch, but development is development. Difficulties still arose in the eye contact department, but you discovered he opens up far more when he didn’t have to face you. Were you scary like that? He even followed you back on Instagram before liking all of your pictures, it mustn’t be the case.

Though, you couldn’t be the one to talk, because you ended up seeing him in passing once and got an existential crisis from waving at him, unsure whether you were at the stage for it or not yet. Ready to duck into a bush and never speak again, your eyes widened as you spotted him waving back and smiling, pointing at you to whoever he was with. Even bigger was the shock coming from him walking towards you and striking a conversation, asking you about your studies and the week you had. He was the same as always, shy grin on and ears listening with diligence as you fumbled for words and gaped like a fish at his interest in your well-being.

It was hard to hate him. There, you said it. Hard to despise a person of his type when all he did was-

Ping!

Driven by habit alone, you wet your lips as you unlocked your phone, thankful for the distraction of the thoughts causing you to be distracted in the first place.

[beanie boy] 8:50 a.m: you know, if that photographer keeps being an asshole, i got this friend that can replace him real quick [beanie boy] 8:50 a.m: his style is a little more middle-aged art teacher than mine, so it might be hard to accept him but he’s great [beanie boy] 8:51 a.m: promise?

The corner of your mouth curled, recalling the recent discussions of the guy throwing a fit because Yuna wanted a shot near the lake outside of the ceremonies, followed by one at the central park and how she went on to pay his fuel to shut him up. You didn’t even realise the lecture was close to finishing, and from what you heard, Thursdays around this time they’d let him go a few minutes early. According to calculations, he must’ve been texting you right as he got out of class.

[you] 8:52 a.m: you have ties in the photographer industry? [you] 8:52 a.m: is tht why you know so much colour theory…,, Damn

Where did he have ties though, it occurred to you. What was his major? During the time you spent talking, you felt like you knew a lot of trivial information about Namjoon that most of his classmates didn’t, but the origins of his passions stayed foreign to you. The notes app in your head updated with the urge to find out about it.

[beanie boy] 8:54 a.m: i held his light in the art museum as he was developing pics. We bonded then

You furrowed your brows, thoughts that Namjoon might have more titles around the campus except for the one you gave him foreign to your conscience. To this photography guy, he was light Boy, who helped him through hard times- was it his thing? Help random people, make them feel special and then never meet with them again?

[beanie boy] 8:54 a.m: his art is also weirdly motivational. Idk what it is about dog paws and noses that moves me to tears but it’s very helpful when i have a hard time [beanie boy] 8:55 a.m: are we on for today?

[you] 8:58 a.m: yes i hope so

He told you he didn’t have plans for the upcoming week starting today, and the venue devil reserved your discussion for the same days. Still, a part of you grew anxious from his lack of reply and agreement as you moved to the next class. Scurrying for your phone, you began typing again.

[you] 9:09 a.m: i mean, it’s ok if we don't Do it now. [you] 9:10 a.m: there’s still time. Idc

You put your trust in one man and look what happened. He hated you. He wanted to ditch you-

[beanie boy] 9:14 a.m: what? yes i want us to go today [beanie boy] 9:15 a.m: for the record, i ignored a ppt presentation to answer this [beanie boy] 9:15 a.m: and ouch, that’s cold. you really hurt me this time. [beanie boy is typing…]

[beanie boy] 9:19 a.m: maybe you can make it up to me with some tea later?

Your breath hitched as you read the notification on your phone. Too dangerous out there to open it.

[beanie boy] 9:19 a.m: heard it’s good for the soul

Yeah, the fucking soul alright. Glad he was preoccupied with his as he was toying with yours. Half pettiness half need to pay attention to your surroundings, you put your phone back in your pocket, ready to concentrate on your lecture.

Immersed in the new information and ways to solve presented to you, you forgot about your feelings regarding the matter and came back more energized and ready to take on the day. The day in which--oh no.

[you] 11:23 a.m: we’ll see about that [you] 11:25 a.m: meet me in front of the art building in three hours?

You didn’t mean to come out mysterious or cold, but now that it was done you were starting to embrace it, showing how much of a layered person you were. Bet photo guy didn’t keep him on his toes like this.

Bet photo man didn’t have to wait in front of a building looking like a sheep lost from the herd, no shepherd in sight to calm your nerves. Its new-age design and uneven blocks brought all the space for doubt to slither into your heart, no answer from Namjoon as of yet. You were hoping for the best, self-esteem steeling itself for you to erase the idea of him ditching you.

A hand fell to your shoulder, his face leaning into your range of sight and you let out the breath you were holding. “Hey, sorry I’m late. The professor wouldn’t let me go.”

You didn’t bother to turn to him, pout ever present as you rubbed your shoulder to get a bit of warmth. The wind was ruthless. “Wouldn’t want to keep such an artefact from discovery. Bet they had a lot to say.”

He still hadn’t let go of you, fingers instead tightening on your shoulder and bringing you closer to him, continuing to rub your grey jacket. You took a peek at him and he paused, cheeks puffed before he burst into laughter, making you look at him in wonder.

As he came back from it, his grin was still present, wide and shiny and rivalling the sun. The kind of expression that’s overwhelming, that makes your eyes crinkle and your mind foggy. It’s merciless in the way it lets the feeling seep through, surrounds with the sensation of allowing your defences to drop. It pulls you in and caresses your thoughts into melting, urging you to enjoy the moment. An endearment which is too familiar to you, but which had never risen from your essence and left drops of warmth and honeysuckle in its path.

Then, as an offence against your well-being, he said, ‘I’m glad you think so’, pulling you out of your daze.

You shook your head. This couldn’t be happening.

“Are we taking the bus this time too?” he said as he resumed to his usual distance.

“Uhh… that’s the plan.”

“Great! Let’s go!” he raised his eyebrows, challenging you with his power walk once again. The chances of you wearing the crown for the fastest walk were slim now that you had met Namjoon.

You didn’t even register the walk to the station, too preoccupied in trying to keep up with him and answer his questions about the guy at the venue as he was blurting out random ‘what an asshole’s. Paying for the ticket and squeezing between a swarm of people came as a blur as well until you were forced into Namjoon’s personal space, close enough to smell the wavering scent of his fabric softener. His gaze turned to you, face getting closer and making your eyes widen.

Namjoon opened his mouth to apologise, but you cut him off by reaching out and plugging one of the earbuds he removed to hear you back into his ear. With that, you turned around so your back was facing him, letting out a deep breath to even your heart rate. You didn’t remember crowded places having such an effect on you, though you supposed crowding anxiety developed at any age.

“How do you feel?”

“Focused,” you said. “I’m estimating the chance I’ll fail this.”

“Failure will never overtake you if your determination to succeed is strong enough.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Namjoon seemed to switch back to his shy persona, avoiding your gaze before his head snapped back to meet your eyes. “Just something to remember. Quotes like that usually calm my thoughts.”

It did make you calmer, just because you imagined Namjoon with his own suburban quote room. Maybe he was the type to read the quotes and meditate after, do a little yoga? Stretch those long legs and kicking other planets while he was at it? “Oh… thank you? Do you read them often?”

He nodded as he brought his cap down, bravery vanishing as the both of you entered the venue.

You grasped the modern twist that brought so many people in, that created a ballroom atmosphere even with the ordinary white curtains closed shut. Lines bloomed from the root of a crystal chandelier and served to separate the rose tones in pleasant shapes. Near their end, they were pulled from their seams and moulded to create another rose-gold halo, which reflected the light of the diamonds and poured right onto the glass-like floor. The thought that you’d be spending at least a day uninterrupted here was thrilling–it made you hide your hands behind your back, intertwine your fingers so you wouldn’t slip and touch.

If the place lured you into letting loose, the three-piece tailored to fit his frame posed a tightness to the chest area of the man waiting in the corner encouraged everything but. He surged forward with power stance and introduced himself to both of you, reaching out to shake Namjoon’s hand. You quirked an eyebrow as you exchanged names, sharing a confused look with him. Following his gestures, you studied both of their reactions with a careful eye as they shook hands, comforted by Namjoon’s lost gaze. At last, he moved to you, and you gripped with the biggest force your noodle arms could handle.

“Our pleasure.”

“We have provided a full course dinner with traditional dessert and listed our vegetarian options in the e-mail we sent. Our in-house catering accepts suggestions up to 10 days before the due date. You can only choose to switch a meal with another one that is available on our list.”

He led the two of you on a tour of the place, explaining the back door exits and pointing to the emergency pans plastered on the main hall. Alright. Positivity. It wasn’t so bad, Breast Man over there might’ve stored some sense of organization and compassion in those gigantic tits–

“The team will be available from the start of your appointment and continue till the end of the day. Anything after midnight will have to be covered by your service or paid for a fee.”

Your face fell.

“I–I don’t understand, if we paid for the entire day then how do they need to pay again?”

He beamed. “Nothing has been covered for the 31st.” Caught you without a reply and continued,

“The only thing ensured from one to seven a.m are the accommodations for the guests coming from abroad which will take place at our partners from Novotel.”

For fuck’s sake, were you about to argue with this asshole over the hours in a day?

“We reserve a full day of preparations, and it is recommended you visit during the week for a check. The rest, in case you want to you can reserve a date to establish the final changes to the menu, decoration, and other services that our team has covered.”

How you wished for the chandelier to drop down and split the earth so you’d never have to face this man again.

Despite the circumstances being turned against you and your temporary fluster, you tried to collect your thoughts enough to formulate an answer. In the corner of your eye, you saw Namjoon tensing. “Of course. I have some right now Regarding the main-course. Swipe the vegetables for carrot puree and add caramel soy sauce. And we’d like–”

And then the head gears that caught up to you made you notice how he was doing nothing but stroll around like a pompous poodle, not paying any attention to you. Did he insist on meeting so he could stay here and attempt to intimidate you? Very funny, how you’ll show him–

The suggestions. Right.

Or not.

“We provide–”

“Sir, with all due respect–” The rest of your cognitive functions not responsible for speech lounged to watch another episode of your embarrassment. “Having a set schedule for the guests is impractical since each plane has its own set-off time. Leaving them with no place to stay for possible hours on end is impolite, and I… I think that it’s not an image your business strives to have…” Your confidence was leaving you like your last hope, but by his face you were making some points. Namjoon remained quiet next to you, nodding on occasion and making little sounds to support your words. Being a beginner in the art of scamming, neither of you could find a strong enough argument for all of his schemes, but you remained tough, defending Yuna’s choices in front of this food and muscle growth connoisseur.

Annoyed from your end and sure to have picked on your guard dog behaviours, tight suit ended up noting the food changes and finalised the details for your next meeting, part of him left unsatisfied, from the way he was watching you and Namjoon. Maybe it was the chest. Then, as if struck with a revelation that will make his horns show at last, he smirked down at you.

“Business aside, it’s a little early to get married, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, body stiffening as you processed his words. You were doing your best, but the feeling was already weighing upon your chest at the mention of doubt regarding the couple. This guy. “Sure, a little early for me to–”

Without a word, you felt Namjoon’s pinky lock with yours before gripping your entire hand and enclosing it in its own. You stopped in your tracks, struggling to think of something else. “to… make a decision, but for them, it’s not. They love each other a lot. They’ll be so happy to be married.” You nodded to yourself, 100% sure of what you were saying as you squeezed Namjoon’s hand unconsciously.

With that, you got out of the situation in one piece, arrangement still intact but with a neon purple bruise to your ego. Devil man made you promise you’d call and schedule another meeting, this time with the staff for decoration as he seemed to milk the last seconds of his scammer persona.

As he was all jittery, you waited for him to release his grip, but, to your surprise, you found yourself pulled further from the building.

“I apologise,” Namjoon whispered, his hand hanging onto your open one.

“Huh?”

“That guy, ugh–he’s very good at making people lose their temper. That was ridiculous.” He puffed, at the limit of frustration and something you couldn’t decipher.“I didn’t know what to say or if you wanted me to say anything. I don’t know, I guess–I didn’t want to discredit you. Not in front of him. Not e-”

He switched to your still intertwined fingers and watched as the tips of your fingers dragged against his. You let them drop back to your sides as you watched his, curling around his denim pocket. You never looked at him, too focused on trying to pick each line running through your head to notice him getting lost in the distance between your hands.

“Namjoon?”

The words died on the tip of his tongue. “Mmm?”

“How was I?”

“Uh…You were fine, got a little carried away at the end. But that’s–we need to talk about–”

You shushed him, a rush of motivation hitting you. Blame it on sparkly eyes, your lack of care for yourself, the moon, Mercury in Retrograde. You were thirsty, and you were going to do something about it. Or that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Forget it. Let’s go get that tea.”

a/n: and part 1 done! feedback means the world to me and i’ve been working on this for like two months so pleathe tell me ur thoughts! peace! its gonna get spicier in the next parts but we had 2 establish some ground...ehehe ;) thx to miss liana @yuengi for being the sexiest wife n beta possibol.!!!

[kenshi-vakarian7]

Kira Ryder for the OC asks. Number 72 if you dont wanna answer all of them

This took a very long time, but I FINALLY completed this @alyssalenko !  Thank you for your patience. =)

---

1 - What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

She doesn’t have a nickname. Though there was that one and only time Luke called her ‘Ra Ra’ for no reason other than shits and giggles (and he was also tipsy). She put a stop to it right away by threatening to show his then-girlfriend pictures of him as a baby.

2 -  What is the color of your OC’s eyes/hair/skin?

Blue, dark brown, and pale peach.

3- How tall is your OC?

5'7''

4 - What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC?

Her blue eyes, and her full lips.

5 - What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

She likes to wear her blue and black leather jacket and jeans most days.  Some days, she'll wear a cute shirt.  If it calls for it, she accessorize with earrings, necklaces, and the black scarf her mother gave her for her 18th birthday.  On special nights, she's more dressy and likes to wear a nice blouse and mini skirt.

6 - What is one word you would use to describe your OC’s appearances?

Brave

7 - Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar?

She has a scar on her right hip.  She got it from her time in the Alliance when she got too close to a batarian pirate while trying to help fight against a colony raid. Thankfully, it didn't go deep enough, but it did not heal right, hence the scar.

8 - How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like?

She sounds just as she does in the game, just with a little more twinge of confidence (especially since I usually pick the logical/professional response options with her).

9 - What does your OC’s bedroom look like?  His/her living area?

On the Tempest, the room is bigger than she's used to, though she loves the panorama view of space.  Aside from a couple of personal items, she's pretty much kept the room as it was when she first boarded. The only thing she wished she had was a freakin' private bathroom!  Like, seriously, all that room and no bathroom?! Laaaaame...

10 - What does your OC keep in a special drawer?

Her old Alliance dog tags.  It was the only thing she managed to keep from her days in the Alliance.

11 - What is your OC’s relationship with his/her mother?  

She adores her mother and appreciates all the little things she's done for her and her brother over the years.  They rarely fought and she likes to think she inherited her mother's compassion.

12 - What is your OC’s relationship with his/her father?

As a little girl, she adored her father and considered him her hero.  She was close to him and wanted to be in the military just like he was once she was all grown up.  Their relationship changed when she was a teenager as he became more distant and more strict.  They fought a lot before she and her brother were sent to boarding school.  After that, there was nothing but tension between them.  After her mother died however, her father started to open up a bit more and their relationship before to slowly heal.  They were still healing their relationship when he died not long after they arrived in Andromeda.  These days, Kira tries to focus on the good memories.

She likes to think that she inherited her father’s bravery… and perhaps his stubborness.

13 - How many siblings does your OC and what is his/her relationship with them?

She has one brother, her twin Luke. Despite the fact that he could occasionally be a little annoying with his humor, they are in fact best friends who tell each other almost everything.

14 - Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life?

She actually doesn't have one… but at the very least, Drack has become more like a grandfather figure to her.  She fondly calls him 'Gramps.'

15 - What was your OC’s childhood like?

Aside from growing up on a space station and having a father who was a little bit strict, her childhood was actually pretty normal.  She had friends, went to school, went on family vacations, etc.

16 - What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory? Why and how as that impacted him/her?

There really isn’t another that was strong per se, but the ones that do stick to her were all the times she and her family would go on vacation to various places on Earth.  Her favorite trip was the time they went to Norway and saw the Northern Lights.  It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her lifetime.  She hopes to see something similar in Andromeda someday in order to re-experience that moment once more.

17 - What is your OC’s imagination like?

She normally imagines what the future would be like, like her career and even her romantic life.  She's not big on weddings, but does like to imagine herself in her dream wedding gown.

18 - How many times did your OC move as a child?  Which area was his/her favorite?

She spent the majority of her life on the Citadel, where she was born. Occasionally, she and her family would travel between there, the Sierras, Brazil (where her mother was born), and Arcturus Station where she and Luke attended the station's academy/Alliance Junior program (their version of high school). She really loves going to the Sierras more so for the view.

19 - What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them?

She doesn't mind children, and figured that it didn't matter in the end whether or not she became a mother.  If it happens, it happens.

20 - What kind of mother/father would your OC be?

She'd like to think that she is as nurturing as a mother, and less strict than her father.

21 - Who are your OC’s closest relatives?

She adored her grandparents on both sides. otherwise, she wasn't really close with any of her aunts, uncles, or cousins.

22 - Who is/are your OC’s closest friend(s)?

Back in the Milky Way, her closest friend was Solana Vakarian, who was one of the few to stick by her till the end after the Ryder reputation got tarnished from her father’s AI experiments.

In Andromeda, she would become close to Vetra, who becomes like a sister to her, and Drack, who she fondly calls 'Gramps.'

23 - Who are the people your OC surrounds him/herself with?

Definitely her family and close friends.

24 - Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates?

Aside from those like the Archon, Kira really disliked Addison when she first met her. She could get her lack of trust in her since she was practically an unknown, but it really didn't sit well when she mentioned her 'goddamn father' while Kira was still reeling from his very recent death. The whole situation with Spender didn't help either, though once Addison stepped up, they started to get along a little better, at least professionally. Kira did appreciate the fact that Addison asked her how Luke was doing after everything he went through, but they otherwise didn't talk much unless it was about initiative business.

25 - If your OC has a soulmate, who is it?

A certain shady bastard from Kadara. 😋

26 - Why does your OC and his/her soulmate work so well together?

They relate to the fact that they're both leaders with big responsibilities (hers being more public of course).  But one key thing is the fact that they treat the other like they are normal.  Obviously it's more apparent in her case, but it's something he appreciates as well.  In other words, they see and treat each other like normal human beings rather than an enigma/very-well connected smuggler.

Also, the sex is great!  XD

27 - What are some things your OC admires about his/her soulmate?

She admires his practicality, resourcefulness (even if they came from shady dealings), and his ability to surprise her every now and then (except the High Noon mission of course - that’s one type of surprise she prefers not to experience again).  She does envy the fact that he can work anonymously.

28 - How did your OC and his/her soulmate meet?

Evfra had them meet at Kralla's Song involving a mission to find one of his men.  They were business partners at first, but the more time they spent together, the more they became infatuated with each other.  One thing led to another, and as they say, the rest is history.

29 - What is your OC’s level of education?

She has a high school diploma, and went straight to a military career after that. She considered her options of a college education after the whole thing with her career went belly-up.

30 - Did your OC participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they?

She mostly was involved in junior military programs while at the academy.  She also enjoyings rock climbing.

31 - What is your OC’s opinion of school?  What kind of student was s/he?

Kira knows education is important, but like many kids growing up, she'd rather stay home all day and have fun.  She was an above-average student; never on the honor roll, but did well enough.

32 - What subjects did your OC excel at?

History and science.

33 - What subjects interested your OC?

Since she was young, Kira was always interested in military history. It helped give her insight on what life was like as a soldier, and perhaps what she could expect in our own career despite how 'results may vary.’

34 - What is your OC’s dream job and/or current profession?

Dream job: a military career, which she was able to get before her family reputation was tarnished and she was discharged.

Current profession: The Andromeda Initiative's Human Pathfinder.

In the future, she becomes an arbitrator.

35 - How is your OC working towards his/her dream job and/or achieved his/her current profession?

She attended her academy’s programs to get a head-start in her military career, which was her dream job.

As the Human Pathfinder, she was forced into the role after her father’s death and she did the best she could with it.

Becoming an Arbitrator included a very long story involving a near all-out war between the Milky Way species and Angarans living on Kadara.  In the end, while negotiating a peace treaty, the angarans wouldn’t accept anyone from the Milky Way to serve the role except Kira.  Kira accepted the responsibility because not only would it finally give her an exit from her role as Pathfinder, but she finally found a means of staying on Kadara (and Reyes) for good.  Her experience as Pathfinder would prove invaluable in her new job.

36 - What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession?

She knows she's making a big difference, especially after a very rough beginning for the entire initiative. That, at the very least, fulfills her, though after a couple of years, she'll grow tired of her profession.

37 - What is your OC’s biggest dream?

It’s quite simple… A decent house with a great view, surrounded by at least two to four cats, and equipped with a mini bar.

Before that, it was joining the military and making a difference, which she got to do for a little while. At least as Pathfinder, she did get to fully make a difference as she always dreamed about.

38- How does your OC react to and handle stress?

She works very well under stress, which she knows is essential in leadership roles. She believes her father prepared her to handle stress since she was young.

39- How does your OC handle anger?

She's very good about clamping it down in public. However, if she's desperate enough, she'll march to her room, smother her face into a pillow, and then scream into it at the top of her lungs.

40- How does your OC handle grief?

She usually handles it privately and is usually very good at compartmentalizing her emotions.  Only very occasionally she loses control, and she really hates those moments.

41- What is your OC’s greatest fear?

Having everyone she loves die before her, leaving her completely alone.

42 - What makes your OC happy?

Trying new things.

43- What kind of sense of humor does your OC have?

She occasionally shows some dry sarcasm.  Every once in a while, she channels her brother’s humor, more so to someone who gives her an attitude for no reason… though she never lets Luke know that in order for him to keep his precious pride. =P

44- What are some things that greatly upset your OC?

The suffering of others, especially if she couldn’t save them.

45- What are some things that annoy your OC?

Entitled people, gatekeeping, and her brother’s humor (but only when she’s in a very bad mood).

46- If your OC has them, what are some regrets s/he has?

She had a friend she met on the Citadel named Jex who was also… a friend with benefits.  Things were fine between them for a year and Jex proved to be a very supportive friend during that time since this was all going on while her mother was ill.  However, at some point, Jex developed feelings for Kira and, one day, confessed to her.  Initially, Kira rejected him because the last thing she wanted was to get hurt again after her last serious relationship ended badly.

Not long after, Kira went to Earth to say goodbye to her mother, who was on the brink of death.  Her mother’s last words to her were, ‘Fall in love, at least once.’  Those words weighed heavy on Kira and soon, she came to realize that she couldn't be afraid to love anymore.  She decided to open her heart to Jex, sending him a message to meet up once she arrived on the Citadel… which was attacked by Sovereign while she was traveling.  Jex would die during that battle, but Kira wouldn’t find out until a few days later.

Holding back, letting herself be afraid, and not telling Jex how she felt are the things she would always regret.

47- How easily does your OC forgive?

It depends on the circumstances. She’s pretty good at detecting whether or not someone’s apology is genuine. Her gut instincts also help in these kinds of situations.

In general, Kira will forgive you depending on how sincere you are.

48- What are some of your OC’s vices?

Indulging in a little too much chocolate, having sex for stress relief, and (very, very rarely) drinking.

49- If your OC experienced trauma, what was it?

She never experienced trauma that affected her until she arrived in Andromeda. The first was when she was suffocating on Habitat 7, while adding the fact that her father sacrificed his life for hers.  She developed a fear of suffocation because of it.

The second was discovering what the kett had done to the salarians on the Archon's Ship as well as making the choice to leave Pathfinder Raeka behind. That affected her more profoundly than SAM having to revive her later in the mission.

50- What secrets does your OC have?

She doesn’t really have any huge secrets, just little insignificant stuff. There is one little secret that her brother Luke knows about - and will absolutely murder him over - if he ever said one word about it to anyone in Andromeda.  

The secret? 

That embarrassing moment from one summer, while camping with friends on Earth at the start of their adulthood, when she lost her bikini top while swimming in the lake… and didn’t realize she lost until all of her friends (and her brother…) got a *ahem* view.

51- What are some of your OC’s morals?

Her morals are pretty basic; be compassionate, understanding, and shoot people between the eyes if they try to kill you and your friends.

52- What are some of your OC’s motivations?

Simply, she wants to make a difference in making the universe a better place.

53- What is the health of your OC?

Physically, she's very healthy and in top shape.  

Considering everything she's been through, she's okay mentally, though the occasional nightmares plague her from time to time.

54- Does your OC think with his/her head or heart?

Her head, 98% of the time.

55- What are your OC’s thoughts on death?  

To her, death is an inevitability that will come sooner or later, which is why she needed to make the most of her life. The only thing that she hopes for is to not die alone and/or painfully.

56 - What are some of your OC’s strengths?

Her bravery, leadership skills, and maintaining calm and morale during stressful situations.

57- What are some of your OC’s weaknesses?

Hiding her personal feelings, even from those she’s close to.  Also chocolate.

58- How does your OC take criticism?

She’s fine with them as long as they’re constructive.  If they’re insulting, she brushes them off and moves on.  It’s not worth seething over.

59- What does your OC think of him/herself?

She likes to think of herself as responsible and braver than most.  She does worry about the morale of others under her leadership and how they perceive her.

60- If your OC could change one thing about him/herself, what would it be?

To open a little bit of her vulnerable side so that she could show others that, she too, is just human.

61- What is the general impression your OC gives other people?

Mature and brave, but still very young and learning about the universe around her.

62- How emotionally/mentally vulnerable is your OC with other people?

She's very private about her emotions and vulnerability. As a matter of fact, she'd rather not show them off at all if she can help it, even around those she is closest to.

63- How does your OC display love?

She shows rather than tells through her actions.

64- What are some habits your OC has picked up?

Hiding away when upset, and overindulging on chocolate when stressed.

65- What is your OC’s favorite drink?

Whiskey and coffee.  No, not at the same time!

66- What is your OC’s favorite foods?

Chocolate, sushi, and strawberries.

67- What is your OC’s favorite sweet?

Chocolate!

68- What is your OC’s favorite season?

Autumn

69- What is your OC’s favorite kind of weather?

Weather that is just cool enough for her to wear a sweater.  Autumn is her ideal season.

70- What is your OC’s favorite book?

She doesn’t have a particular favorite book, but her favorite genre is mystery thriller.

71- What is your OC’s favorite movie and/or TV show?

She doesn’t have a particular favorite, but she does enjoy action films and comedy shows.

72- What is your OC’s favorite kind music (and song if there is one)?

Modern synthetic music that she could dance to in a nightclub.

73- What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment?

Nightclub dancing, concerts, and movies.

74- What is your OC’s favorite color?

Blue

75- What is your OC’s favorite scent?

Honeydew.

76- What is your OC’s favorite animal?

Cats 🐱

77- What is your OC’s favorite sound?

The crackling sound of an open fire.

78- What is your OC’s favorite time of day?

Definitely late evening. She feels most alive around this time.

79- What is your OC’s favorite kind of ice cream?

Chocolate fudge brownie.

80- What is your OC’s favorite dinosaur?

She personally finds the Saurolophus to be strangely adorable.