#I feel like people make this argument about course: oblivion but we see the real crew at the end of the episode

[thresholdbb]

Do you ever think about how we don't see any of the regular crew in Living Witness? How we don't actually know what happened with Voyager, the Vaskans, and the Kyrians?

[sockablock]

(TW for panic attacks and discussions about trauma)

— — —

The thing is, Beau's friends are shit fighters.

To be clear—she's not saying that they're bad at fighting, gods know Veth's a force of nature with her crossbow and all of the spell-slingers can kill with a word—it's just that when it comes to fighting, actual fighting, that down-and-dirty fist-on-flesh shit, her friends suck. Most of 'em just run, or they’d sweet-talk a surrender, or go back to slinging spells.

Beau would never admit she misses the Soul, but at least those people knew how to block. At least Dairon would make her work for it, wouldn't tell her to please, gods, Beau, stop punching me, I give!

Fjord's better these days, but not good enough.

Which is why, on their third morning back in Nicodranas, when Beau opens the door to see Yasha looking restless, she knows exactly what's up.

"Should I get my staff?"

Yasha shrugs. She usually does.

"I'll grab it. Down in five."

Beau considers grabbing some toast too, but she remembers how antsy Yasha seemed and figures she should try to avoid puking in Marion’s yard.

Yasha is stretching when she gets there. The gate swings behind her with a gentle clunk, and she kicks her shoes off, curls her toes in the grass. The sun is barely broken above rooftops and towers, and the first chime of church bells ring out overhead.

Beau yawns a little, but it’s just for flavor. Mind games. She’s not actually sleepy.

“We do not have to—” 

She quickly waves her hand. “It’ll wake me up. You know, get the blood pumping.”

Yasha smiles a little at that. It’s always such a small one, but it’s getting to be familiar.

“I got up early. I couldn’t sleep. Er...sorry.”

Beau doubles her effort to be dismissive. “Don’t apologize to me, Yasha. C’mon. You think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to?”

This seems to be a winning argument. Yasha nods, like she can’t imagine Beau doing anything she doesn’t want.

Maybe it’s the crisp ocean breeze, maybe it’s the way they circle each other in the yard. Maybe it’s the fresh brush of gauze on her fists.

Beau wants to win.

She dives in, pulls low, uses her quick movement to catch Yasha off-guard and get in as closely as she can. Yasha’s tall, broad, strong as an ox, and even holding back, she could wind Beau with a punch. She presses even closer, limiting Yasha’s motions, sweeps out a leg and cuts up when Yasha moves. The two of them duck and weave and push, neither allowing the other an inch, fists flying, blows being blocked and sweat beginning to pour down their backs. Beau lands a hit that leaves Yasha grunting, then stumbles when a wild haymaker knocks her back. It’s clear that Yasha was never taught any form, just scraped it all together by surviving on the moors and her chaotic movement, high endurance, and reckless confidence just make her deadlier.

Beau tries to close in again, but a lucky kick forces her a pace too far. Her knuckles are bruising in that numb, seething way, and so she darts to the side, grabs her staff, vaults up and then arcs her foot to Yasha’s face—

The dance starts again, this time hardwood hitting forearms and on anyone else, Beau might even feel guilty about it. But Yasha barely seems to register the thwack, her teeth bared in a sideways grin, her eyes hard and excited and alive. Beau’s probably wearing the same expression. She hears herself laughing, and knows that she is. Up-swing, down-swing, slide left, throw a punch, block one, dart back, duck and then—

Yasha’s fist catches her right in the gut, sends Beau lurching flat into the dirt. She chokes her own breath, coughs up dust, barely gets an elbow up with Yasha leaning over her, blotting out the sun, raising Beau’s staff for a finishing strike—

Halts.

It’s like watching a tower fall. Yasha staggers back. She drops the staff. She lifts her hands and stares at her palms and Beau hears a mangled breath. Her knees give. She collapses on herself.

Beau scrambles up, aching limbs forgotten.

“Yasha?” she says. “Yasha? Are you—is—what’s wrong?”

Yasha sucks in more air, but that just seems to make things worse. Her shoulders tremble and her lungs sound ragged.

“Aw, shit,” says Beau, “I mean—fuck—uh—”

She half-runs, half-crawls, ‘til she’s at Yasha’s side. She wants to put her hand on Yasha’s arm, thinks better of it, panics a little more. She wishes she were Jester. She wishes she were Cad. They’d know what to do, they’d be better at this than her, anyone, hell, Marius would be better at this than her—

But it’s her, and everyone’s still in the house, so she shakes her head and stamps the fear down. 

“Yasha, I...aw, fuck, I’m—I’m here, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong—” clearly something is wrong, idiot, “—I mean, um, you’re safe here, okay? It’ll be alright. I’m here, and I’ll stay if that’s what you want, okay? I won’t go anywhere, if you don’t want. Uh...can you shake your head if you want me to go? Is that...possible, can you—”

A frantic shake.

“Oh good, okay, thank fuck, then I’m here. I’m right here, Yash. I’m not going anywhere.” She tries to pitch her voice calm, takes deep, long breaths, and continues to murmur as reassuringly as she can until after...seconds? Minutes? Yasha’s trembling slows. 

There’s a pause. Yasha inhales and lets it go. It’s shaky, but apparently good enough because finally, eventually, she turns and looks back at Beau.

“I’m...okay. I am okay.”

Beau sinks back into the grass. Then she lies down. “Oh, cool. I’m, uh, glad.”

“I’m so—”

She holds up a hand. “Nope. C’mon.” She pats the ground beside her.

“Er...what?”

She pats it again, emphatic. “Lie down. C’mon. I think we’ve earned a break.”

She stares up at the sky while Yasha shifts around, and eventually there’s a gentle thud as she lies down. Seagulls cry in the distance and clouds drift slowly past their heads.

Beau swears, but mentally. A private thing.

“So, uh...do we...want to talk about it, or...?”

Yasha is quiet for a moment. That’s not surprising. Then:

“It...reminded me of when I killed you.”

“What? Oh—” 

“Almost killed you,” Yasha amended. “Both times.”

“Right,” says Beau. “That’s...right.”

She thinks about saying—almost. You only almost killed me, so really it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. And you kill people all the time anyway, right?

She blinks. “Wait, you kill people all the time, Yasha. Is it always that bad? Shit, does it always...does it always make you feel like this? Only...I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...break like that...”

She regrets the words immediately. Stupid, Beau, that’s a stupid thing to say. 

But Yasha answers the question earnestly. “It’s usually different,” she says to the sky. “It usually...doesn’t matter. Er...no, not that it doesn’t matter, it just...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Beau sighs. “No, I...sort of get it. Man, that might be fucked up. Of us.”

Yasha shrugs, which rustles the grass. “It’s how it has always been for me. That is just what life is like.”

“I’m sure Jester would disagree.”

“Jester is...nice. I am not. I...have hurt a lot of people. And not just people who were fighting me, or trying to hurt me, but people who were innocent, who did not need not to be hurt, people who care about me, and, and people who I...”

She trails off. Beau can’t see her face, but right now, selfishly, she is glad for it. She feels anger bubbling up in her stomach.

“You were being controlled,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t do it. Someone made you do it.”

“But...part of that...part of it was still me. Since...since you all freed me, I...I remember parts of it. I remember doing it. Those were my hands.” 

Beau can practically hear Yasha’s fist tighten. She definitely feels it when Yasha hits the ground.

“If I was better, or if I was stronger, if I had broken free faster, none of that would have happened, I could have stopped him sooner—”

This time, Beau doesn’t hold back. They’re lying down, so it’s incredibly awkward, but the first thing she can think of is to grab Yasha’s hand.

She sits up, and waves it over Yasha’s face.

“But you didn’t,” she says, then falters, then wants to smack herself. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is...” Then she stops. “No, you know what? Fuck it. You didn’t break out faster. And that’s because it was a miracle you managed it in the first place. Yasha, you were being controlled by a devil. You were being controlled by the Chained Oblivion. The fact that you were even a person the first time we met—and you were a person, you were funny, you charged me money to, to, well, you charged me five gold, remember that?”

Yasha blinks. Her wrist is slack in Beau’s grip.

“I...do, yes, I remember that.”

“Right. The fact that you were a person then meant that they couldn’t keep their claws in you. Because you were strong. You were better. Better than everything they tried to make you. You kept breaking free.”

Yasha does not try to squirm away, only stays there.

“But...I needed help every time that I did escape. I never managed it on my own. First it was...it was Kord, and then you all—”

“Of course!” Beau throws her other arm into the air. “Who the fuck could do it on their own?! All that means is that when you had a chance, the second you had a chance, you were outta there. In your heart, you knew what was right. You knew it, and held onto it, even when I’m sure it would’ve been so easy to stay there, to stay in that hell and just go through the motions and lose yourself in...in grief, and loss and...and all that. But you didn’t. And now look at you.”

She cracks a goofy smile, all desperation to make what she’s trying to say heard.

“You’re an angel, Yasha. Remember?”

Yasha slowly sits up too. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, black turning white, with little blades of grass.

Beau is made painfully aware of the fact that she’s still holding Yasha’s hand. She lets go. Then she swears again, and hopes that Yasha doesn’t think it’s because of anything s—

“I am, aren’t I?”

Her gaze shoots up and Yasha's wearing a goofy smile too. Small, a bit nervous, but real and warm.

It’s getting to be familiar.

Beau snorts. She snorts so loud that it might dislodge something in her chest. She hits Yasha gently on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t, uh, don’t let it go to your head.”

She can see Yasha nodding in the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, after a brief battle over whether or not to bring it up, “I don’t...I don’t...for the record, I’m not mad about you stabbing me. Or whatever.”

Yasha looks stricken, and Beau regrets it instantly. “Shit, should I not have reminded you of—”

“No,” Yasha sighs, and her face softens. “No. I am...glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Should we, like...go to a cleric about this?” Beau asks. “Is this going to be something that happens in, like...fights? Because if it does, it might put you in danger. Also, it’s...it probably sucks for you. Right?”

Fjord would probably have something to say about the way she’s handling this conversation. He’s not here now.

“I...don’t know,” Yasha says eventually. “It hasn’t happened before. It was only...just now. And...just with you. It...hurting you reminded me of being controlled. It...brought me back to all the times that my mind was not my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“No,” says Yasha. Beau looks up, surprised by the weight in her words. “If I am not allowed to be sorry to you, you cannot be sorry to me.”

“Ah,” says Beau. She feels a grin pulling. “In that case...I’m not sorry.”

Yasha nods, like this is sacred, and Beau can’t help but snort again. 

“C’mon,” she says. “We can...work this shit out later. Or start to. With a cleric if you want, or not, if you don’t. But I just got my ass kicked, and I’m thirsty. What do you say to some drinks? I think there’s juice. Do you like juice?”

She stands up, and sticks out a hand. 

Yasha takes it.

“Okay. I like juice.”

— — — 

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[serpenteve]

The argument I see most often by Malinas/Darkling antis is “but he killed people!” Honey, do you understand how war works? They don’t exactly talk it through. Or “he committed mass genocide!” Like, did we read the same books? Because I think you are confusing the Darkling with Voldemort. Yes, he thinks otkazats’ya are beneath Grisha, but his war is not against them. He wanted to rule Ravka. All of it. He doesn’t persecute them they way they clearly have Grisha. If Alina actually got a hold of her ish and accepted her responsibilities, accepted she was Grisha and their problems were her problems, too, instead of being stuck into this self-denial and Mal obsession, maybe she could come up with solutions. Then, I’d condemn the Darkling. But since none of these ever happened and Alina chose to ignore her country’s need for her(and Leigh made her lose her powers because apparently women in power are bad, it’s better if you’re weak, because your insecure crush finds you beautiful when you can barely walk, and what else was she supposed to do without any powers anyway?) I’ll maybe not support, but totally understand his motives, however monstrous his ways ended up being. Because, in the end, he was the only hope the Grisha had left. Give me a good alternative and I’ll take it immediately.

And another thing I don’t get. Leigh created the Grisha as a concept. They weren’t pre existing lore such as, let’s say, vampires, which already have established rules and even they get sob stories in literature and somehow given redemption. However, from the first books, she treats Grisha as if they are indeed dangerous and hard to understand and kind of barbaric, not because they misuse their powers, but because they have powers in the first place. Alina was punished for reaching the peak of her abilities. Are we not (in real life) encouraged to fight to fulfil our potential? Is being lost in oblivion and abandoning a great future, because we want the comfortable choice, good? And I have to wonder; the Grisha are Leigh’s people. She created them, came up with the rules of their existence, put hard labour into making their world an interesting story to tell. Had everyone pitched against them until they have to hide for survival, even in neutral areas like Kerch. Then, why the hell, does she hate their whole concept so? Why does she condemn their efforts to be good soldiers, good at what they do, good Grisha, while otkazats’ya soldiers are praised for the same(Ivan was evil for being a good Heartrender and a loyal soldier to an Army that basically kept him alive, but Mal was an excellent tracker and was trusted by his friends and superiors and we have to love him for that). Why does she punish them for fulfilling their destiny, a destiny she laid out? Even JKR (who I don’t like for obvious reasons) created the wizarding world and it was obvious she was on the side of her gifted creations all throughout her books. At this point, I just think that Leigh basing the Darkling off of her toxic ex blinds her and distorts the narrative in her mind and you don’t get to have a personal vendetta against a character you created (which is totally understandable, but a character is not a real person). So it just makes it look like Leigh’s personal resentment toward a fictional character makes her cling to a childish character she views as the saviour, offering a simple and comfortable choice she wished she had(basically treating Alina as a self-insert). Maybe I’m overstepping, but that was honestly the vibe I got. I like Leigh, don’t get me wrong, but stop making the same mistakes Frankenstein did and love your goddamn creatures.

There's a number of problems with the moral landscape of the Gregverse:

She made the Grisha a persecuted group but then treated the Darkling like Voldemort when he was more Magneto

She set up all this lore about how the Grisha have no safe place (the Fjerdans burn them as witches, the Shu Han experiment on them, the Kerch used them as slaves) but the plot doesn't focus on Grisha liberation, it focuses on Alina killing the Darkling as if that would solve the problem

Her heroes are not compelling. She set up a noble-intentioned but unhinged antagonist, but her heroes don't match his energy nor do they even have the same noble intentions. They just want to kill him and get the plot over with so they can go back to chilling in their dachas

Alina is framed as being "evil" and "power hungry" when she literally does nothing to prove it

Alina's status as a Grisha is never fully integrated into her identity or her arc. She was Grisha for like 3 weeks, killed the Darkling, and then she was back to being a muggle. There was literally no character payoff to her discovering her powers.

The Grisha get called "unnatural" and their powers implied to be an abomination by superstitious Ravkans...............but that's exactly how the narrative treats them as well

Overall, I just feel like the implications are gross. The leader of a persecuted minority group gets demonized for using violent methods when peaceful ones haven't worked out. And of course, the people crying for more peaceful methods are themselves not part of this minority (or worse, part of the monarchy) but feel they need to dictate how the minority should demand better treatment. Alina is paired with a partner who spends the majority of the trilogy resenting her status as part of this minority and demanding that she go back to the way she was and in the end, that's exactly what happens.

[voidsentprinces]

Every bit of Shadowbringers is the Scions it corresponds with.

Amh Araeng Prt 1 is very Alisaie. Mirroring her decision in A Realm Reborn, Alisaie wanders off to the outskirts of civilization. Choosing to observe the powers of the world and figure out a way to stop coming tragedies. We’re introduced to the threat and aggressively fight against it but in mirror the loss of Ga Bu and Louisoix. Alisaie loses someone dear to her by Tempering. Louisoix became a Primal and Ga Bu was tempered by Titan. (Though honestly I wish Alisaie would stop losing people dear to her cause after Requiem for Heroes it feels like the story likes to kick her while she’s down at this point)

Kholusia Prt 1 is very Alphinaud. There is a semblance civilization, a rule of law in the area, there is even a function in which the society works. Mirroring Alphinaud remaining well within spitting distance and very much in the middle of the comings and goings. He uses his diplomatic maturity, which once was made for personal gain with clever wit and scheme. He has learned from the Crystal Brave betrayal, corruption of Ishgards, the result of those who choose might means right and what it results in from his time in Ala Mhigo, Hingashi, and Doma respectively. Applying himself to better comes to grips with the peoples plight. Upon seeing how Eulmore treats those chosen but then thrown away and then coming face to face with Vauthry. Rather than turning a blind eye and just being, “That’s just how it is.” as he was with the Monetarists and Refugees of Ul’dah. He pushes back against the system, damn the consequences, leaving an easily position to effect the politics of Eulmore and even gets a bullseye placed on the back of his head.

Lakeland is very much the Crystal Exarch’s Domain. It is the place of mystery, where life heavily clings on and every time we venture out to it. We come into conflict with either Eulmore or the Sineaters, Vauthry is controlling. It is in Lakeland, we fight through the Holminster Switch. Come face to face with our first Lightwarden and see where there was once furtile farm land, peace, and people. Now chaos reigns and an apocalyptic wave of disaster has struck. Mirror the world, G’raha had woken up to after the Eighth Umbral Calamity. This is where our foot hold is. Where we first bring night back to the First and his plan for saving the Source is put in motion. There is also a sense of myth about the place, Bismarck, a fae being in this shard slumbers in the Lake aptly named the Source. And it is only by bringing together to allies we made that we allowed to travel to the Tempest when he is spirited away. Just as G’raha gathered allies and people to himself to build the Crystarium.

Il Mheg is Urianger’s realm and reflects the game, he has agreed to play with the Warrior of Light at the behest of the Exarch. It is full of beings, who make deals out of innocent furvor at the determent of all who are around them. Pixies trick travels and fellow fae a like. The Nou Mou live to serve mortal kind just as Urianger serves the realm as a whole, no matter what light history might cast him in. And the Amaro dream of comrades lost, wishing to feel the comfort the adventurers and merchants they once wandered with. Grieving in their own way just as Urianger did after Moenbryda’s passing. Il Mheg is the land of faeries, it is steeped in myth and legend just as Urianger always had his nose in a book. Titania lays at the center of the realm. Once the pinnacle of the fae, forever corrupted by the Lightwarden’s energy. A horrific mirror of what should happen is G’raha’s plan should fail and the paragon of heroism, his friend: The Warrior of Light. Could also become a monster wearing the skin of a kingly figure should his mask slip. Yet when we enter his abode in the middle of Il Mheg, the Waking Sands/Rising Stones music plays. Reminding us of home and the Scions, he calls family and he welcomes us as he ever did, cryptically.

“Unto a hero weary of heroes, a heroes wends [their] way...”

Rak’tika is Y’shtola of course. She has turned away from her light magics of conjury to the dark magics of thaumaturge. The great boughs rise up and block out the sun light of the Great Wood. Reflecting the living style of her mentor: Master Matoya. A person who prefers their solitude, away from the dealings of the world, but with great knowledge to progress the plot forward. Thancred and Y’shtola get into an argument on how each other has changed. The two of them stood side by side after the Bloody Banquet and were both flung into Aetherstream by her Flow spell. While Y’shtola adapted to her blindness and halfened life force. Thancred had to push against the constrains of no longer having access to his aether and briefly losing sight in one eye. His last moments were the thought of protecting Minfilia. Only to wake up in Dravania and find out that Minfilia is no more. Y’shtola rejects Master Matoya and Thancred’s choice of solitude. Making friends with the Night’s Blessed. Even though, she knows she might have to leave them behind all too soon. She becomes a pinnacle of the Night’s Blessed community. While Thancred wanders hither and tither unfocused with Ryne at his side. Slipping easily into her role as a Scion, she researches the clues left behind by the Ronka Empire and makes allies with a civilization who has also closed themselves off from the world. Y’shtola is the first one to recognize the faults in G’raha’s plan and is immediately suspicious of the Exarch’s intentions. We see Y’shtola never truly changed however as when it comes time to get the item that will save the world and protect her friends. She readily uses Flow once more. Damn the consequences. Her sacrifice for the greater good is, as always, her charge which she never hesitates to grant. She even bonds with Runar seeing him as a little brother despite his obvious want for something more, just as she has a sister back in Gridania with whom she has a friendly relationship with. Just as Y’shtola’s connection to Matoya opened up the path to Azys Lla. Her run in with Emet-Selch opens up the path to learn of the Ancients and Amaurot and the true nature of Hydaelyn and Zodiark.

Amh Araeng Prt 2 is Thancred. Its tedious, its nearly empty, full of the smallest hopes. Each challenge is made to be tougher than it should be and despite us being able to compliment Thancred when finding a Voebrite coin. He shrugs it off as he is wont to do at this point. We get Ryne’s inner turmoil deepening. Thancred comes face to face with another individual wallowing in their own grief for those he loss and suddenly after coming face-to-face with Ran’jit again. Thancred throws away his misgivings and brings Ryne into the fold as shoe horned and bad written as possible. So lets just skip this area and never talk of it ever again okay? Cause the story never really does save for the Fatebreaker Eden section

Kholusia Prt 2 is Ardbert’s story or what it once was. We gather our group together and besiege Eulmore only for the villain to escape our grasps. But we triumph in liberating Eulmore from Vauthry’s tyranny for a moment. Alphinaud gets his heroic speech, Alisaie gets to combat the threats of the Lightwardens, Y’shtola and Urianger work together to make a massive Talos, Thancred and Ryne keeping tabs on Vauthry and Mt. Gulg. We meet face to face with G’raha. For all intents and purposes our Cylva. A person with a schism coming to a head. We come together as a team for the first time since coming to the First and each shows their worth in their connections to the realm. Mirroring Ardbert’s journey, we are faced with multiple seemingly insurmontible odds and come out on top. Vauthry’s Sineater Guard fall, he himself becomes the last one. The night returns to the First. And. We. Fail. We fail due to the machinations of Ascians just as Ardbert’s group did. The Warrior of Light is brought low by the combined aetheric energies of all Lightwardens. G’raha’s plan fails when Emet-Selch appears and leaves us for dead. Sure the enemy was vanquished, Vauthry and Ran’jit for us, Loghrif and Mitron for Ardbert’s group, but the First still falls to a Flood of Light as the eternal day returns and we are left on the cusp of despair. For all our triumphs. For all the schemes. For all the fighting. We fail. And just as Ardbert learns to protect his world with the aid of the Word of the Mother. The Warrior of Light only survives due to the aid of Ryne. An Oracle of Light who has come into her own and not died on the battlefield. We wander the Crystarium afterwards listening to the tales of the people and what they think of the Exarch. Then immediately find our courage to plunge into the depths. Ardbert giving us the strength to move forward, that he didn’t have when he met Elidibus. No more desperation. Just courage in the face of oblivion.

The Tempest is Emet-Selch. We are bridged there by the mythical Bismarck and find a dwindling but prospering Sahagin alternative. Living and getting by the ruins of those who stood before. The one part of the world far, far, far way from the light of the First. From the people and things, he used to care for. We find he made a city out of nostalgia and even the ghosts become almost too real. He is at the depths of his grief in a world, he cannot forget and will not forsake. It is here, the one clinging to the past the most falls to those who look to the future they yet have. He covets the Exarch’s use of rift travel because he knows if he can harness it, he has a chance to go back and save EVERYONE! But, he can’t and he won’t. He can no longer go home and knowing Elidibus’s memory and personality has been slipping since he left Zodiark’s breast. He asks us:

“Remember us...remember that we once lived.”

The Crystal Tower is Elidibus. It is the shining beacon of hope, he wished to become as Emissary. From the day, he chose to become the heart of Zodiark. To every motion to move for or against his breathren. The Allaghan Empire’s greatest achievement. But ruled by an Emperor whose death dropped him into Nihilism. Conquest was nothing but ashes in the mouth of Xande and he wish to consume the Source in Void. Elidibus wishes the return of Zodiark. For it is his duty, there is no solace in memories he can no longer recall. A being frozen in time just as Amon had the Crystal Tower’s previous inhabitence. Telling us repeatedly that no matter what our Echo shows us of his past. It will not avail us to his present. So he takes on the image of the Warrior of Light, playing pretend at the role of the hero having possessed Ardbert’s body before. He speeds up the Heroes Journey. Has us actively fight against our own memories and in the end, his own brother reappears amidst the clash to grant the last Unsundered Peace in his fall. G’raha sealing away his essence in the Crystal Tower to become part of the beacon of hope and light. Though perhaps in his final moments, his true duty was that he was waiting for someone to return to him. Someone he looked up to in his younger years. A shadow in his memories he has clung to and taken into being the example off in their absence.

“The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with another beautiful day. But you are not here to see it.”

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track thirteen

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Sean died in January, and it was cold. That much Grayson remembered. The funeral was fuzzy apart from a few very vivid memories, including one of sitting outside on a bench, the wind cutting through his slacks and freezing his legs. His arms were so cold he couldn’t even feel the wind on them through the numbness, seeing that his suit jacket was wrapped around Cameron’s shoulders. He’d borrowed one of his dad’s ties - it was a tacky pattern but subtle in color. Sean had worn it to the twin’s 8th grade night for football when he’d walked them proudly across the field with the biggest smile on his face. He shivered. But it was still better than being inside, looking at the casket that had his dad but not his dad inside. 

That suit was gone. He hadn’t been able to look at it after that day, so he’d donated it, despite his mother’s qualms that he may need a nice suit again someday. 

That day was coming much quicker than he expected, and that’s how he found himself in the back of a department store sifting through racks of jackets. But there was one bright spot in the scenario, and she was looking through ties on a table to his left. 

Indy held one up with a soft smile, the most she’d been able to offer him in the last day.

“She liked blue.”

Grayson could only nod, the knot in his throat stealing his voice. He took the tie, running his thumb over the silky fabric. They were quiet as they went through and found him a few suit options to try on. Indy had to hold them up high so nothing dragged the ground as they headed to the fitting rooms. 

She sat in a hard plastic chair outside, crossing her legs and fighting her emotions. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. After all, there was no reference, no textbook on the expected emotions of preparing for a funeral of a 15 year old with your ex. If he even was an ex. They’d woken up that morning in bed together after all, with his warm breath on her back, arm around her, hand tucked under her rib cage like it used to be. 

And she felt warm. And safe. And guilty. 

How could she have a flicker of happiness in a world without Bekah? How could she be grateful, or glad that Grayson was just two doors down fiddling with suit buttons when her being gone was the reason he was there? 

It was a blessing, the hold he still seemed to have on her. Because as soon as he walked out her mind went blank for a moment, only able to process him, and his broad shoulders and strong arms that she could still see under his jacket. 

“This is the best of the three. What do you think?” 

It took her a minute to find her words. “Yeah, it looks nice. Very… funeraly.”

Grayson looked in the mirror. “Funeraly. Well, that’s the idea I guess. Works for me.”

He disappeared again, coming back out in his nice pants and crewneck. He looked good, but the look of worry in his eyes made Indy uneasy. She didn’t like when people worried about her. 

“Let’s go find you a dress.” 

She’d been dreading that part. She wasn’t much of a dress girl most the time, but she wanted to look her best for Bekah. She deserved that. So with a sigh she led Grayson across the store to the women’s section, looking for anything black she could find. 

He was patient, offering his hand out to hold any of the options she found to try.  She only found three that didn’t look like they were meant for a night out, and Grayson took the spot in the plastic chair while she tried them on. They all fit, but her favorite was the long sleeved number she’d found - tight enough to be flattering, and long enough to be modest and warm, with a long metal zipper that she couldn’t quite get all the way up on her back.

She reached and stretched as far as she could before she huffed in defeat, unsure of whether she should ask him for help. Was that weird? Or was she just making it weird. 

After another moment of contemplation, she stepped out in it, stomach fluttering against her will when she saw Grayson look up and catch his breath. 

“Can you…” She moved her hair out of the way, revealing her back. He stopped breathing for a second, chair clanging against the wall as he rushed to stand up.

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

He moved behind her quickly, finger delicate against her spine as he moved to the zipper. It sat right below her bra clasp, and he recognized it as the one with a bent hook, a casualty of the dryer that he’d accidentally put it in back in November. He realized he was taking too long and zipped it up quickly, patting it lightly at the top to let her know he was done. 

He met her eyes in the mirror, and realized she’d been watching him the whole time. 

“Do you think this will be warm enough?”

“We’ll probably be inside most the time, so it should be okay.”

She nodded at him, disappearing back into the dressing room and taking a few deep breaths. Nothing felt real for some reason, and it took all her effort to settle herself, keep herself in the moment she didn’t want to be in. She stripped out of the dress quickly and slid it back on the hanger. It wasn’t worth the argument when Grayson held his hand out for it when they headed towards the counter. With her inability to work shifts her bank account was grateful for his that seemed to always be overflowing. Surely a $50 dress wouldn’t break the bank, but she still thanked him when he swiped his card. 

They walked into the parking lot in silence, and she climbed into the truck when Grayson pulled the door open for her. He sat the bags in the backseat once he climbed in, starting it up and cranking the heat up. The air was still cold, cold enough for Indy to shove her hands under her thighs in a bid to keep them warm. Grayson frowned and grabbed his jacket from the back, passing it to her. 

“Thanks,” she said, laying it over her lap and smoothing out the wrinkles. She was rigid in her seat, especially when Gray reached his hand over to the back of hers so he could back out of the parking space. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath till both his hands were back on his side of the console.

She hated it. Hated feeling like he was watching, waiting for her to fall apart at any given moment. But she loved it too, because if he was there to look at her with pity it meant he was there. Her mind was exhausted with the constant battle of trying to put a word to her emotions, to guide them into whatever box they were supposed to be in. 

To Grayson, it just looked like she was numb. Her eyes were trained on the New Jersey roads every time he glanced over to her, either out the windshield or through the passenger window. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to know what she was feeling, wanted to grovel on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he held his tongue and continued down the road, 10 under the speed limit just to buy a few more extra minutes with her close enough to reach. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they got to the house. If she wanted to go upstairs, to avoid him until the funeral, he’d understand. He’d let her, even if it hurt. He deserved that. He’d sit at the bottom of the stairs and wait, and listen, and hope she didn’t need him but also hope she did. 

The two played their own games of tug-o-war, parallel to each other until they made it to the house. Ethan was on the porch with Gizmo’s cage in his hands, holding it up and talking to her as they walked in.

“See Giz? It’s too fucking cold out here.”

“Brrr,” Gizmo squawked. 

“Yeah, fuckin brrr. So you gotta stop screaming to come outside before Ma loses her mind.” 

“You sure you aren’t the one losing your mind?” Grayson asked with a smirk aimed towards his brother. 

“Outside!” Gizmo yelled and Ethan clenched his fists. 

“Did you all find outfits?” Ethan asked to distract himself, looking at Grayson’s empty hands. 

“Shit, yeah I left them in the truck though. I’ll grab em Dee, go get warm.” 

Indy nodded and walked inside slowly, taking her shoes off and sitting them neatly by the door. She walked to the living room, sitting down carefully on the couch with her eyes trained on the woods. Even the squirrels seemed to be grieving, moving slow through the grass at the tree line. She watched them anyways, envied their oblivion of all the tragedy of the world as Grayson hung up their clothes in the coat closet and watched her from the foyer. 

Her shoulders were slumped forward, and it pained him to see her literally curled in on herself in a way that he hadn’t seen before. He ran through a million different things he could say, but none of them seemed good enough. There were never words for times like these, and he knew that. Sometimes, it was better to just sit in silence. So he gave it to her for a few minutes longer, disappearing to the other room where his conversation wouldn’t be overheard. 

When he reappeared, Indy was watching a robin, feathers bright red against the dreary gray of the sky outside by the bird feeder. He stepped into her gaze, offering her a soft smile.

“C’mon. Let’s get you some warm clothes and get outta here for a little while, hmm?”

“Where are we going?” Her tone was flat, and it made his chest feel tight.

“You’ll see. Just trust me.”

Those words hung heavy in Indiana’s mind as she followed him upstairs, let him pass her an old pair of boots that were too big for her and his thickest jacket to fight off the cold snap that seemed to follow the warm air that had brought the thunderstorms. 

Just trust me

She did. Or at least, she wanted to, and she willfully climbed back into the passenger seat of the truck, let him drive them down the road on the route that was familiar now. They made it all the way to the tiny homes without seeing another car. Indy felt like the universe was sad with her somehow, and she was grateful for it. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing someone smile as if the world was still the same happy place it used to be. 

She blindly followed Grayson until she realized they were going around the house instead of inside of it.

“Where are we going?” She asked again. Her voice echoed off the trees.

He simply held out his hand. She took it without question, ignoring the tirade of contradicting emotions it stirred in her gut. He still had his callous where his pinky met his palm, but it was softer than usual against her skin. 

They walked through the trees slowly until they reached the cliff that Indy recognized from the first time she’d been out to Jersey. It felt like lifetimes ago that she’d been there, but the water still flowed and she still clung to Grayson’s arm the closer they got to the edge.

“Come sit over here,” he coaxed, leading her towards the middle and helping her sit down slowly. Once she was settled he sat down beside her, ignoring the cold that seeped through his pants from the ground below him. He could see his breath in front of him, but he kept his eyes on the water running far below his feet. 

“Gray.”

He tried to ignore the way his heart sung - she said his name better than anyone.

“Why are we here?” She asked. 

He was quiet for a moment, and he picked at his fingernails before he spoke.

“I used to come out here a lot when I was younger and got overwhelmed. I don’t like being around people when I need to feel something, you know? Well, I can only be around certain people anyways.” 

The fact that Indy seemed to be one of those people wasn’t lost on her as she listened to him.

“I just thought coming out here might help.”

“Me or you?”

“What?”

“Is it supposed to help me or you?”

“I was hoping both,” Grayson said.

To his surprise, Indy chuckled under her breath and shook her head.

“Well, I’m fine. I’ve done this before after all. Should be pretty good at having people I love die on me by now.” 

Grayson couldn’t find the words for a response, and his cheeks flushed from her tone. She’d never been so short with him before, and he felt embarrassed to think that somehow he’d be the one who could help her when it seemed no one else could. But he swallowed hard and looked over to her. 

“I’m not fine. And you knew her longer than I did. And I know something about losing people too. That doesn’t mean it ever gets any easier.”

Something in his words seemed to pull her out of her defensiveness, and she took in a shaky breath, eyes brimmed with tears. 

“Sorry.”

“S’okay. You can have a redo, if you want,” he teased, bumping her shoulder gently just to see her try to smile. 

“I know you get it, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Nobody knows how to do this Dee. No one knows how to lose a 15 year old that was supposed to be here for a lot longer than she was,” Grayson said, clearing his throat when it tightened. Indy sniffled and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. She was quiet for a moment and they listened to the wind rustle the trees until she spoke again.

“Her mom wants me to write her eulogy.”

“Fuck, Indy.”

“I’ve never done one before. Charlie did mom’s.” 

“Do you want to do it?”

“I want her to have one,” Indy sighed, picking at the grass. “A good one though. Not the one that the preacher does where they pretend like they knew her when they really didn’t.”

Grayson reached for her hand and waited for her to look up at him.

“Maybe Charlie can help. I called her, when we got back to the house. She’s flying out tomorrow.”

Indy froze, then turned so quickly that Grayson put a hand on her hip to keep her steady on the cliff’s edge. 

“Really? She’s coming?”

Grayson nodded. “I know that things are… hard, with us right now. And I know that things are always better for me when Ethan is around so I figured it couldn’t hurt. I think her flight comes in at -”

Before he could finish Indy threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped her up as best he could without pulling her over the edge, scooting them back slightly to keep her safe as he held her as tightly as he could through all their layers. 

“Thank you,” she whispered over the trees. She couldn’t find any other words to express what it meant to her, so she left it at that and breathed him in in secret while he held her. He turned his head to press a kiss to her temple but stopped himself, squeezing her tighter instead before they untangled.

She pondered her next question for a moment, then decided she truly had nothing left to lose.

“Can we stay out here tonight? At the house.” 

Grayson paused for a minute, stopping himself from immediately saying yes, reminding himself not to take advantage.

“You wanna stay at the tiny house?”

She nodded, fingers going back to the grass, and she kicked her legs so the heels of her boots bounced slightly off the rocks. 

“The funeral is tomorrow. I need to write the eulogy, and I don’t want a bunch of people around while I do that.” 

Silence hung heavy until he gained the confidence to ask. 

“Am I… one of the people that can be around?”

For the first time in a long time, Indy smiled. 

“Did you think I was gonna kick you out of your house?”

Grayson chuckled and shook his head.

“I mean you did break my heart, so it would be fair though.”

He froze.

Indy laughed so hard it bounced off the trees, made a few birds take off on the other side of the water.

“I’m fucking kidding,” she said, nudging his shoulder so he’d let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus fuck Indy, don’t do that! Too soon!” He huffed, but he was laughing too, heart light as he saw the first glimpse of the girl he’d fallen in love with since he’d gotten home. It was easier to breathe with her around, even in spite of everything else going on. He looked at her, tried to take her in, but he stopped short with a frown when she tried to hide a shiver.

“You’re cold.”

“Just a little,” she mused. 

“Ma is making dinner, we’ll go home, eat, pack some stuff then come back out here.” Indy only nodded and let him help her to her feet. She held onto his arm until they were off the cliff, and after that too. Over top of his jacket, she traced 333 on his bicep, eyes on his tattoo that was barely visible under his growing hair. She wondered if he’d gotten any more while he was in LA.

She wondered a lot about what he’d done while he was in LA, whether she wanted to or not. But she wanted to know if he’d been up every night thinking about her. If he’d cried in the shower as many times as she did. 

She wondered if he’d hurt. 

And she wondered how much she would hurt when he decided it was time to go back. Her mind was screaming as she clung to him, wary that she wasn’t keeping him at an arm's length like she had swore she would. 

Her heart drowned it out, singing quietly deep within her at the familiar firmness of his muscles under her hand, the warmth of him beside her. 

She’d take whatever hell was sure to follow with open arms if it meant she could be back in his, even for a little while. 

Grayson played Cudi on the way back to Lisa’s and tried to hide his smile when he heard Indy singing along quietly beside him. He used the time to think of his pitch to Ethan, his plan for how they could split time on each coast, or even manage most of it from offices in New York. It wasn’t his top priority - that was getting Indy through the funeral. But he couldn’t hold off for long.

The house was warm when they arrived in more ways than one - cozy and filled with the smell of spaghetti that had Indy’s mouth watering for the first time in days. Grayson breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her fill her bowl, happy to see her appetite had returned. 

Still, when they sat around the table, Ethan and Lisa were cautious to start a conversation, worried they’d say something that could trigger the wrong emotions. After listening to the scrapes of forks against porcelain for too many minutes, Indy cleared her throat. 

“I think we should do something a little different tonight. Something to help everyone’s spirits.”

Everyone breathed.

“Yeah?” Grayson said.

“I say we eat on the couch and watch Emperor’s New Groove in true Bekah fashion,” she proposed, standing with her bowl. No one questioned her - they simply followed into the living room with their dinner in hand.

They laughed at all the right times during the movie, and the world was okay for just a minute. Indy still ached deep within herself, guilt punctuating each smile she let creep up, but she fought it like she’d learned to after Nicole had died. 

Grayson was asleep before Kuzco made it back to the castle, exhaustion catching up with him quickly. He was heavy against Indy when he leaned onto her, one arm going over her waist. She felt Ethan’s eyes on the two of them but she ignored it until he came closer, speaking in a whisper.

“Charlie’s flight gets in around 7, I’ll go get her so you all have time to get some sleep,” he offered.

“Thanks E. And thanks for coming with him.”

“Of course. And hey, anything you need Inds. Literally anything, just tell me. We’re all here for you.” 

She bit her lip and looked down at Grayson.

“Is he okay?” She asked. 

Ethan gave her a small smile. 

“This is gonna sound fucked up, considering what we're all doing tomorrow, but… this is the best I’ve seen him since we left actually. I mean, he feels like shit for not being here for, well for either of you. He just wants to take care of you as best he can.”

“He’s always been pretty good at doing that,” she murmured, brushing some of Grayson’s hair back from his forehead. He stirred, curling up closer to her. 

“Get some sleep Indy. Love yah,” Ethan said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the top of the head. 

She sat with Grayson for a bit longer, let him rest until her arm went fully numb and she knew she’d fall asleep with him unless she got up. 

She coaxed him up and made him give her the keys, let him climb in the passenger seat as she packed up a bag of pajamas and their clothes for the morning. He was asleep against the window by the time she got back in the cab, and she was happy to let him sleep. She figured he’d be happy to climb into bed when they got to the tiny homes, but he shook himself awake on the walk inside, cranking the heat up once they cleared the threshold.

“I’m okay bub, you can sleep.”

“You’re not gonna sleep?” He said instead of conceding.

“I need to write the eulogy.” 

His eyes saddened in understanding, and then he was rummaging through the bag for the paper he knew she’d packed. He sat it down on the small table and then returned to the kitchen. 

Indy watched him as he pulled two mugs down from the cabinets, the clay ones with tiny “I” and “G”’s stamped into the speckled surface. They’d found them at the craft fair they’d stumbled across back in November and picked them up, but Indy realized it was the first time they’d used them as Grayson made them a cup each. 

“Gray.”

“What do you need,” he asked quietly. 

“Um… space, I think. Just so I can think clearly for a little bit. It’s not anything you did, I promise, it’s jus-”

“Dee, you don’t have to explain. It’s okay. I’ll be upstairs. Take your time, okay?”

She nodded and took the cup he offered with a grateful smile, turning to the table to work. 

As much as it went against every instinct in his body, he left her sitting there and moved up the stairs to the loft. Even without the coffee that he downed, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Especially not when he heard Indy’s pen clicking against the table, followed by her sniffles that seemed to amplify in the high ceilings. 

He stared at the slats of wood and tapped his fingers against each other as he fought to stay still, give her the space she asked for. He was sure it was just part of the process, and he didn’t want to interrupt her. It could have been minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, but when her sniffles turned to sobs, he didn’t have the willpower anymore. 

She heard him coming down the stairs and broke down even further, burying her face in her hands. 

“Hey, baby hey it’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered. “Take a break.”

She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn’t want to. But the need for comfort was too strong, and she broke. She stood from the table and walked over towards the small bench seat. Grayson sat first and she didn’t hesitate to climb into his lap. She buried her face in his neck and let the misery have her, let her body shake with the force of her pain and let him absorb it too. She let him hold her, let him love her the way she always thought he had. And it felt good there in his arms. The world was lighter with him there to split the weight. She knew it would crush her when he was gone, but she didn’t care. She wanted to believe Ethan’s words, that Grayson was better there with her, and it was just enough to make her feel like maybe she wasn’t a terrible person for giving in. 

Indy fell asleep in Grayson’s arms. He didn’t care whether the eulogy was finished or not - he picked her up and moved slowly across the room, carrying her up the stairs carefully. She woke up just enough to grab for his hand, a silent invitation that he was happy to take. He climbed into bed beside her, let her curl up into him as he set an alarm he didn’t want to wake up for. They slept peacefully despite it all.

The next morning felt like a dream in the worst way. Nothing seemed to really be happening as they woke up and got dressed in black. Grayson looked good in his suit, but that was about the only thing Indiana noticed. He helped zip her dress and put her eulogy in his jacket pocket. 

“You ready?” He asked as she fixed the lapels on his jacket.

“No,” she sighed, but she walked out the door anyway. He drove to the house as the sun rose over the Jersey hills. They were quiet, and Indy watched the trees go by, watched the world spin as if nothing was different that day. It made her angry, the same way it had the morning of Nicole’s funeral. But she’d learned that day that the world had no consideration for anyone, no matter what you gave her. So she swallowed it down and kept herself as numb as she could until they pulled into Lisa’s driveway and she remembered where Ethan had gone that morning. 

“She’s here,” Indy said, her voice strained. It was the most emotion Grayson had seen out of her that morning, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. But he didn’t get a chance to ask, because Indy was throwing her door open and bolting for the house. 

She found what she was looking for in the living room.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the couch in a black dress, and as soon as she saw Indiana she was on her feet, rushing down the hallway.

Indy was sobbing before she reached her, but Charlie caught her and wrapped her up in the hug that only she could give, and Grayson watched as his girl went to pieces. Charlie held strong like big sisters do, shushing Indiana and coaxing her over to the couch, helping her sit down as she cried into her shoulder. 

“You’re okay, hey, you’re alright. Breathe,” she said, but her eyes were on Grayson.

“She’s gone,” Indy blubbered, and Charlie winced at the pain in her voice.

“I know. I know.”

Grayson stood with useless hands in his pockets and tears in the corner of his eyes. He hoped that giving Indy her sister, even just for the day, was enough to help more than he could on his own. When her tears finally stopped, it seemed his plan had worked, even if it was only marginally. She ate a muffin that Lisa had made, and made everyone coffee just the way they liked it to keep her mind and hands busy as everyone got ready to go. She didn’t bother with makeup. It wouldn’t survive the day, that she was sure of. Lisa hovered, made sure everyone had enough to eat before they climbed into the SUV. She waved goodbye from the porch as they pulled away, the funeral home in the GPS. 

It was a somber drive. No one even tried for conversation. Charlie sat in the backseat with Indy, privy to the fact that Grayson glanced back at her every few minutes to check in. Each time she was staring out the window again, chewing her cheek. 

Indy didn’t know whether the ride was long or short. She didn’t know much of anything other than she felt like she was going to be sick as they parked. Cold air rushed in as Grayson opened her door and helped her down.

“You okay?” He asked, just for her.

She nodded, but they both knew it was a lie. 

They passed car after car in the parking lot - almost every space was filled it seemed. Somewhere in her mind, Indy hadn’t processed how many people probably knew Bekah. How many people cared. 

Still, she felt alone in the world when she walked inside of the building. The carpet was dark, with swirling patterns of gold and roses. The entryway felt gold, but the parlor to the left was colder. It was marked with a sign. 

Bekah Andrea Newcomb. 2pm.

Indiana couldn’t breathe. She reached to her left, finding Grayson where she knew he would be, holding onto his arm like she had in the hospital room.

“We can wait as long as you need Indy. There’s no rush to go in there.” 

Her voice failed her and she only nodded. Grayson didn’t move an inch until she did a few minutes later, gathering the strength to step inside. It was fragrant, both in the way an unpleasant place is and in the way a floral shop was. There were enough bouquet arrangements around to fill a house. It was overwhelming, but not so much that Indy didn’t notice the photos. She couldn’t look at them - she’d go to her knees if she let herself even process a single one. So she kept her eyes forward as they walked to the opening of the door on the right.

There was a wide middle aisle, lined with pews on either side full of people.

At the end was Bekah. 

Even from afar, she looked cold inside her casket. Indy’s mouth tasted like metal as she forced herself to walk forward. Grayson walked tall beside her, but she could hear him sniffling above her. The Newcomb’s were beside their daughter, and they offered sympathetic smiles as they noticed the pair headed down the aisle. Luckily, they didn’t say anything - they simply stepped away to give them privacy as they made their way towards the casket. 

Indy held her breath as she got closer, eyes blurry as she looked down into the casket, her hands finding the cold wood when she reached it.

“Oh,” she whispered. Grayson coughed out a sob, wrapping his arm around Indy’s waist and turning his face into her hair. 

Bekah looked like herself, but didn’t. Her hands were folded neatly over her stomach, above her hoodie pockets. It took a moment for Indy to realize what she was wearing. A purple hoodie, her favorite leggings and her thunderbolt headscarf.

Her lungs tightened. 

“No, no that’s not right. It’s not right,” she whispered, shaking her head as her hands fluttered above Bekah. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Grayson asked.

“Her hoodie, she wanted her blue hoodie, that’s the one she asked for, that’s what we told her they were gonna find her in. She needs her hoodie, Gray she needs her hoodie, get her hoodie.” She couldn’t get a breath through her throat as she choked on her words, looking to Grayson for help. His face was twisted up in pain as he guided her away from the casket. 

“It’s okay Indy, it’s okay,” he cried.

“She needs her hoodie,” she sobbed, holding onto his lapel to keep him close to her and to hide her face. All he could do was hold her and cry. No one looked at them and he was grateful as he led her back out of the room, back to where Ethan and Charlie were waiting. It took her a few minutes to catch her breath, even with Charlie’s hand on her shoulder. The eldest Cross put herself between her sister and Grayson, her protective instincts taking over. Grayson couldn’t be angry. He’d step aside happily if it helped Indy. 

Her sister seemed to help to calm her down enough to catch her breath after a few minutes. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what happened in there,” she whispered eventually, looking over Charlie’s shoulder to find Grayson’s eyes.

“Hey, no apologies today Dee. It’s okay.”

She tried to believe him, tried to accept that it was okay. Something about the sincerity in his voice made her trust him. 

“I wanna go look at the pictures,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes and standing up to smooth out her dress. “Get some new images in my head.”

Grayson stepped closer to her, offering her his arm as they headed back to the parlor. Things were calmer as they started to look at all the frames. Grayson smiled at the first picture he saw of Bekah with hair, her afro tall and proud as she stood with a small soccer trophy and a smile so big it closed her eyes. 

“She taught me how to do twists once,” Indy smiled, leaning her cheek on Grayson’s bicep. “I sucked at it I’m pretty sure but it was better than nothing.”

“I’ve never seen her with hair before.”

“It made her so sad to lose it every time. She always said it was the worst part.”

“My dad hated losing his. Can’t imagine.”

“Oh my god, look at this one,” Indy smiled, moving to the next frame on the table. It was Bekah in the pool as a toddler, with round pink sunglasses and a purple floaty, with her dad behind her, pushing her along it seemed.

“She always told me she hated water.”

“She did.”

Indy turned to see Martina behind her. Her eyes were puffy but she had a small smile on her face.

“When she was four she fell off a pool float with her cousin, almost drowned. Ever since then she never even put a toe in,” she explained. She stepped up next to Indy, putting an arm around her shoulder. 

“Thank you for coming. It means the world to us that you’re here, and that you’re speaking later.”

Grayson realized quickly he wasn’t part of the conversation, and he excused himself with a reassuring look to Indy. Charlie was still where she’d started out in the entryway, eyes darting around nervously. It was obvious she was uncomfortable, and whether it was because she didn’t like funerals or didn’t know anyone, he wasn’t sure. Either way she hid it well when Indy needed her, but she didn’t bother with the facade when Grayson approached. 

“She okay?” was his greeting.

“She’s talking to Mrs. Newcomb. She seems alright, considering.”

“Considering,” Charlie laughed dryly. “Yeah, she’s been through hell and back. But you know that.”

It stung, even though it was deserved.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Well. In my experience what you meant to do doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you did.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad you’re here, but I’m scared to see what happens when you leave her again.”

“Charlie, I’m not gonna le-”

Suddenly, Charlie stiffened, eyes trained over his shoulder on something outside the front doors that made him cut his explanation short. 

“Fuck,” she hissed.

“What? What is it?” Panic rose in Grayson’s throat as he followed her gaze. 

There was a man in a navy blue suit walking through the parking lot. It wasn’t someone Grayson recognized, but nonetheless the hair on the back of his neck stood up. On instinct, he side stepped in front of Charlie, blocking her from the door.

“Who is that?”

“Our fucking dad.”

“What?“ Grayson whirled. “How the fuck did he even know about this?”

“I told him I was coming into town, he asked why, so I told him. Jesus, I didn’t think he was gonna show up! Indy’s gonna freak if she sees him, she can’t see him.”

“Don’t move,” he said, darting out of the entryway to peek into the viewing room. Indy was towards the front, talking to some of Bekah’s relatives it seemed. He caught sight of Ethan and moved to him quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to make it seem as casual as he could.

“Keep Indy busy and whatever you do, don’t let her go outside.” 

Thankfully, Ethan didn’t ask for an explanation, and he simply started to move towards the front of the room as Grayson exited out the back, just in time to get to the front door before Kenneth made it in.

To his surprise, Charlie was right beside him when the heavy wooden door closed behind them.

He was shorter than Grayson expected. It was obvious his hair had once been blonde, but it was gray now, badly managed with box dye that he could still see remnants of by his ears. 

Charlie’s breathing sped up and Grayson took a step closer to her, just barely in front of her.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Kenneth, who stopped short at the bottom of the three brick-layed stairs. 

His eyes were blue when he looked up. They skipped over Grayson’s broad frame to Charlie and softened just a fraction. 

“Char.”

She stiffened, and Grayson held his ground. 

“Sir, this is a funeral. A funeral I don’t believe you were invited to.”

Kenneth’s eyes went cold the way a father’s do when they’re threatened, and he fixed them on Grayson. Gray enjoyed the fact that he had to crane his neck to see him.

“And who exactly might you be?” Kenneth spat.

“I could ask you the same question sir.”

“The fuck are you, a funeral bouncer?”

Grayson flexed his knuckles.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call me. Either way, you aren’t welcome here and you need to go.”

“Look, I’m here to see my daughter, alright? Now get out of my way.” 

“I can’t do that.”

Kenneth narrowed his eyes as it clicked.

“Ahhh. So you’re the boyfriend then.”

Grayson stayed quiet, but his stomach turned at the smirk that creeped across the man’s face.

“Get out of my way, boy.” 

“I can’t do that,” Grayson repeated himself and set his feet.

Kenneth moved up another step, but he stopped, eyes on Grayson’s elbow where a hand had appeared. 

Charlie.

“What’s her name?”

Kenneth laughed. It was an ugly sound.

“Are you kidding me Charlie? You think I don’t know your sister’s name? Give me a fucking break.”

Grayson saw the tears brim in Charlie’s eyes, and he clenched his fists.

“No. I’m talking about the 15 year old whose funeral you’re using for your own personal gain. What’s her name?”

Kenneth didn’t have an answer. Charlie stepped in front of Grayson, standing toe to toe with her father as she took a deep breath. 

“Leave. You aren’t welcome here. You aren’t welcome anywhere near my sister, or me for that matter.”

“Charlie.”

“What type of piece of shit do you have to be to show up when your daughter is hurting like this? Hmm?”

“I just knew she’d be here-”

“You also know her address, Dad. You chose here because you want her weak, you want her to need you and she doesn’t. Get out. Leave. I’m not playing this game anymore.”

“Charlie c’mon.” Grayson could see the panic in Kenneth’s eyes as he realized what his eldest was really saying. 

“Indiana has always been so much smarter than me. And I should have listened to her when she told me to not give you the time of day.” She shook her head, a few tears slipping past her eyelashes, taking mascara with them.

“Charlie, you’re all I have left.”

“Yeah, and you did that to yourself. Now, I have a funeral to get to, and if you try to follow me I’ll let him beat you into the ground like you deserve.”

With that, she turned and walked back through the doors.

Grayson stared at the broken man for a moment longer, and then he turned to follow her. She was sitting in one of the big chairs by the table by the window, hands shaking slightly as she brushed her hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, you okay?” He squatted down beside her to get to her eye level. He saw Indy in the way her lips shook while she breathed, trying to pull it together. 

“Do you want me to call Dev?”

She shook her head with a dry laugh.

“No, he’s already worried enough about me. I’m okay. Thank you for that, by the way. Pretty sure he would have just walked right past me if you weren’t out there. I shouldn’t have even told him about this.”

“You didn’t know he was gonna show up. I’m just glad he didn’t make it inside,” Grayson sighed, eyes flickering over to make sure Indy couldn’t see them. Charlie knew what he was looking for. 

“Well, you’re the hero of the day Dolan. I’m sure deflecting the dead beat father counts for some brownie points in winning her over,” she said. 

Grayson’s brows furrowed when he looked at her. He reached to the table and pulled a tissue for her to wipe her mascara with before he spoke.

“I wasn’t gonna tell her. No need to stress her out more than she already is, you know?”

Charlie looked at him for a moment, her head cocking to the right just barely, and she smiled just barely.

“Yeah. Right,” she agreed. 

“I’m gonna go find her, but come get me if you need me okay?”

She nodded, smiling when he patted her knee and moved back into the parlor. Ethan was walking around with Indy, looking at all the floral arrangements that had been sent. Grayson slotted himself beside her.

“Are the blue ones different flowers though? Like what makes them purple?” Ethan asked.

“They’re all hydrangeas. I think it has something to do with the soil, that’s what makes them different colors.”

“Acid. The soil has to be acidic, Ma always adds stuff to get the blue ones at the house,” Grayson chimed in, subtly relieving Ethan of his duties. Indy relaxed when she felt him next to her.

“The blue ones are my favorite,” she hummed, rubbing a petal between her thumb and finger. 

“Noted,” Grayson said. “Let’s get you some water, it’s almost 2.”

She didn’t protest, nerves buzzing with dread as she realized it was almost time for her to speak in front of so many people. 

“You have my speech right?”

He patted his chest pocket where he’d tucked it that morning.

“You’ve got this. I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”

She nodded, following him to the small kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge.

Time flew, and before she knew it everyone was seated in the parlor as quiet music played and the service began. There was a preacher who spoke, read some scripture. Indy could only hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Grayson’s hand anchored her, squeezing hers just barely. He traced over knuckles with his finger. B-R-E-A-T-H-E.

She tried, but her lungs felt tight when the preacher gave her the cue. She stood and smoothed out her dress, took the paper from Grayson. It quivered in the air as she carried it to the podium. There were too many eyes on her, too many red and bloodshot from tears already shed. 

She looked at Grayson. He only nodded at her, a silent reassurance. She smoothed the paper out on the wood, inhaled through her nose, and spoke.

“Hi. For anyone who doesn’t know me, my name is Indiana Cross, and I was a friend of Bekah’s. I’ve never done one of these before, and to be completely honest with you, I’m not really sure how to do one of these. So, I thought about what Bekah would do when I asked her a question - she’d tell me we were living in the 21st century, and that I should ‘just google it’. So that’s what I did. But it wasn’t helpful, because eulogies aren’t designed to be told about 15 year olds. Because 15 year olds are supposed to turn 16, and get their driver’s license and go to prom and grow up to be 17, and so on. So, I don’t think any of us know how to do this -” she waved around the room with a broken exhale - “but that’s okay.”

“I’m the type of person who believes that there are reasons for a lot of things in life, but I’m struggling, like I’m sure many of you are today, to understand what the reason for Bekah being taken from us so soon is. Maybe it’s beyond our understanding. Maybe it’s the cruelty of the universe. All I know is, it isn’t fair, and it isn’t going to make sense to me for a very long time. But all we can do is work to remember Bekah for the light that she was, and will continue to be. So, I’m going to share a few stories about Bekah, and the people that loved her. 

She could hear the sniffles, both her own amplified in the mic, and those from the crowd. She locked eyes with Grayson, who was sitting in the third row. He only nodded his head, willing all of his strength up to her somehow.

“I first met Bekah in a place where you generally don’t want to meet someone. The hospital. But, as anyone could guess, Bekah made a hospital seem like the best place to be simply by being there herself. We played pranks on the nurses, and then got said nurses in on our team and ganged up on the other ones. We ran the halls on good days, we cuddled up and watched movies on bad days. We snuck extra pudding and ice cream from the kitchen once when she was thirteen and got caught, and let me just say, I think that girl could have talked her way out of any trouble she ever got herself in. But the most important thing about that first hospital stay with Bekah was what she told me when I met her. She looked me right in the eyes and she said ‘don’t treat me like I’m sick and I won’t act like it’. I had never met a kid with so much strength and bravery in my life. But that’s what we did, and by god did she keep that energy until the very end. 

“Bekah went into remission 3 times. And when I found out she was back for this next time, I figured it would be just like her past rounds. She would beat it, because she’s Bekah, and she always beats it. I don’t know where her strength comes from, but I know some of it is from her parents. But in all honesty, I think she was just a special person with something special in her. She was kind, and loving and strong and hilarious and witty and smart and beautiful and special. I would give up just about anything to get to see her grow up, to see the woman she would have become if - if she’d been given just a little bit more t-time.”

Indy’s voice began to falter, her breath hitching in her throat on the way out. She grabbed onto the podium, her notes blurry with tears. Grayson twitched in his pew, moving to stand up, to go to her. She saw him and moved her hand to the top of the wood, tapping her fingers subtly. Somehow, he knew what she meant. Wait.

“But I can find some peace in knowing how Bekah’s last days went, and I hope I can share some of that with you. She wasn’t scared to die. She went peacefully, and I don’t have a single doubt that she’s up in heaven watching us right now, probably making fun of me and also thanking me for not telling you all some of the stories of things we got up to. So to end it, I’ll quote a lyric from one of her favorite people, who she claimed would ‘totally be her boyfriend if he knew she had cancer’, Harry Styles. He says “remember everything will be alright. We can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here.” For now, Bekah is far away. And that’s a hard reality, for all of us, because she deserved more time here. But I know we’ll see her again someday, and I’m going to hold onto that until this starts to make a bit more sense, if it ever does. So, I love you Beks. Always have, always will. And I’ll see you again someday. Promise.”

Her voice cracked at the end as she stepped back from the microphone, fingers numb and cheeks hot and stiff from the salt of her tears. Grayson stood as she walked back down the center aisle to him, reached out to take her hand and help her to her seat. With the pressure gone and everyone’s eyes elsewhere, she crumpled into his chest, grabbing onto the lapel of his suit jacket as the sobs began to break free.

“Shhh, you’re okay. You did so good,” he whispered just for her, his own tears disappearing into her hair. Charlie ran a hand along her back to soothe her as the preacher returned to the podium to speak again. She didn’t hear much of what he said. Everyone cried as the service moved on, sounds of rustled tissue boxes and quiet sobs behind fists made the soundtrack to the show no one wanted to see. 

Everything moved too quickly, and suddenly everyone was lining up to pass by and give their final goodbyes. Indy clung to Grayson’s hand as Ethan and Charlie excused themselves out of respect. 

Indy blinked away her tears to get one more look at Bekah when it was her turn. Grayson reached to adjust her head scarf, and Indy rubbed her hand, willing herself to pretend it was warm. 

Grayson was a pallbearer, eyes red and puffy as he carried her much too light casket to the back of the hearse. It gave Indy comfort, knowing she was safe with him.

She held it together on the walk to the car, head held high the way Bekah would want it to be, and she noticed Charlie scurry to take the front seat, forcing Grayson into the back with her. She was grateful for it, especially when she slid into the middle seat so she could sit next to him as they joined the procession. 

Indy watched the trees, and Grayson watched her.

The cemetery was beautiful as they drove through it. Plenty of trees that Indy knew would be beautiful in the warmer months. It gave her some peace to know that she would rest in such a lovely place, even though she knew she wasn’t really there. She hoped it would give people a place to remember her fondly, to talk to her. She herself had never really cared for cemeteries, but she stood tall anyways and went through the motions. She watched Grayson carry the casket to the pedestal, took the rose that they gave her off of the casket spray and said her goodbyes quietly. 

The sun shone brightly above them, but it began to drizzle right as she was about to climb into the car. A sun shower, she supposed.

Her tears mixed with the droplets that fell. 

“Hey Beks,” she smiled, an odd sense of peace flowing over her as she stood there for a moment to soak it in before she climbed into the car. 

Ethan drove them back to Jersey, and Indy laid her head on Grayson’s shoulder the whole two hours it took to get there. 

When they got back, it was obvious what Lisa had been doing to keep herself busy. There was a casserole in the oven, both a vegan and non-vegan option, with fresh salad and bread she’d baked herself. 

“I know it’s not really dinner time yet, I just figured you guys might be hungry when you got back, and I didn’t have much else to do,” Lisa explained with a sheepish smile. Grayson just smiled at her and kissed her temple.

“Thanks Ma. You’re the best. Dee, you want something to change into?”

“Sure. My stuff is out at the house though,” she reminded him.

“I’ll find you something,” he said before he disappeared upstairs.

“The house? You all stayed out at the tiny homes last night?” Charlie asked quietly. Indy bristled, ready to defend herself. 

“I needed to write the eulogy, I needed somewhere quiet, and it’s nice out there. I just needed somewhere nice for the night, not my place.”

Charlie was smiling.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” she said. Indy balked, unsure that she’d heard her sister correctly. She resisted the urge to quote some of the explitivies Charlie had called Grayson when she first found out he’d left for LA during their phone call.

“You’re not saying it’s a bad thing…” Indy confirmed, waiting.

“All I’m saying is… maybe I was wrong. He’s a good guy. Just be careful, okay? Can’t see you like that again, especially with all this going on too.”

Indy was blushing, but she nodded. 

“Here, try these. Might fit if you roll them and tie em’ real tight.” Gray came down the stairs with a pair of black sweatpants and an old wrestling sweatshirt. She took them gratefully, moving into the bathroom to change. She felt free once her dress was gone, like she’d pulled some of the weight of the day off with the fabric. The sweats were still too big, but she didn’t mind. 

Outside the door and down the hallway, Ethan had pulled his brother aside.

“You need to be here.” 

Grayson waited for him to continue.

“I was fucking wrong. I got my priorities fucked, and I put that on you, and I’m sorry. I know the businesses are out in LA, and I don’t think we can really change that right now, but we’ll figure it out. I can fly out here when we need to, and you can come out when you have to.”

Indy heard voices down the hall. 

“Flights are cheaper on Thursdays usually, we could always plan for that.”

It hurt worse somehow, for it to be in Grayson’s voice. 

It was Tuesday.

She disappeared quietly down the hall in the other direction, her stomach turning. 

It was what she knew would happen. It was the pain she’d told herself would be worth letting herself be with him, just for a few more days. 

The pain in her gut had other ideas. The smell of the food from the kitchen made her nauseous when she reentered, and she gave Lisa a sympathetic smile. The angel in the whole ordeal, the last thing she wanted was to hurt her.

“Hey Li, I’m not feeling too good. I think I’m gonna lay down upstairs for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Of course, of course it’s okay. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you, and thank you for cooking. You guys go ahead and eat if you get hungry, I’m probably good for tonight.”

“Okay sweetie, get some rest.”

Indy managed to get upstairs undetected, and she found herself in Grayson’s room out of habit. She didn’t know what else to do, so she climbed under the covers and let her tears fall. She felt stupid, and unwanted, and sad. She’d let her heart get trampled again, all for a few days of comfort. 

She felt pathetic. 

Grayson’s feet thudded up the stairs only a few minutes later. She buried her face in the covers like a child, made her breathing even and slow. 

He creaked the door open quietly, feet pausing before he came over to her. 

She felt his hand on her hair, smoothing it back, and then his lips on her temple. 

“I love you,” he whispered, and then he was gone. 

Indy’s heart jumped to her throat, and her eyes shot open when she heard the door latch. 

Her mind ran circles around itself as she laid there, staring at the ceiling wrapped in the blankets that smelled like him. 

Did he love her? And if he did, did it matter?

It was times like that she wished more than anything that her mom was there. The closest thing she had was Charlie, who she suddenly felt guilty for leaving downstairs. But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t reappear so soon. So she sat, and she spiraled and rationalized and tried to make sense of her world that had fallen apart around her so quickly. 

Downstairs, Grayson’s mind was wandering. His stomach led him, as it often did, but the greater part of him wanted to be upstairs in bed instead of at the kitchen table. But he couldn’t deny his mom’s cooking, especially after a hard day. So he sat at the table, glad that Charlie was no longer staring daggers into him from across the table. He gave Indy an hour or so to sleep before he went to check on her again, surprised to see her awake, perched on the edge of the bed.

“Hey you,” he smiled. “You ready to go?”

She looked up quickly. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she looked nervous.

“Go?”

“To the house. All our stuff is out there, and I figured Charlie could stay in here tonight.”

“Yeah. Yeah, the house would be good.”

He held his hand out for her and she took it, let him lead her out to the truck, down the roads to the houses. 

“You still tired?” Grayson asked once he’d kicked his boots off.

She thought of laying with him and nodded, walking up to the loft so he would follow. 

He laid down beside her, let her curl up to him like she always had. It was peaceful, with the quiet hum of the furnace and the woods outside. The sun had set on their drive, and the dim lights from the kitchen made everything a warm yellow. 

Indy took a deep breath and moved her hand under Grayson’s hoodie to find his skin. 

Y-O-U-C-A-N-G-O

Grayson was quiet for a moment.

“What?”

She traced it again, slower, but she didn’t get to finish. He sat up in the middle of it, turning to her with concern all over his face.

“You want me to go?”

She stared at the ceiling.

“Want isn’t really the right word. But you can go.”

His heartbeat picked up, and he moved into her eye line.

“What does that mean.”

“I really appreciate you being here. I do. But I’m gonna be okay. You don’t have to stay here just because I’m sad. You don’t have to stay for me.”

A punch to the gut would have hurt him less. 

“Indy. Indy, look at me.”

She turned and found his eyes, and to her surprise, his were watery.

“You’re my only reason to stay. I want to stay.”

“Stop. Just stop, I heard you earlier, you don’t have to pretend like you want to be here.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Indy sat up on her elbows.

“Flights are cheap on Thursdays,” she said. Grayson’s heart dropped for a moment, and then the pieces came into place. 

“Indy. Baby, that wasn’t what you think it was.”

“Then what was it Grayson, please enlighten me.” 

Grayson took her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

“That was Ethan and I trying to figure out how I can stay here. How I can stay here with you. Because I want to be here. I want to be with you, I always have. Ever since I met you I knew I was meant to be wherever you are. I never should have left, it was the dumbest shit I ever did. And I didn’t want to bring all this up, because I know emotions are fucked right now, with Beks and everything. But I want to be here with you, or I want you with me, or I want whatever it takes for us to be okay and together. If that’s something you still want.”

Her head was spinning. 

“You still want me?”

He nodded. 

“Never stopped.” 

Indy took in her first deep breath in days.

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while. Grayson opened and closed his mouth a few times, thinking better of his words before he spoke them. 

“It’s okay if you don’t know tonight. There’s too much going on right now, I don’t expect you to know how you feel about it right now,” he finally said, voice too loud in his excitement and nerves.

“Yeah. I need time to… think.”

“Yeah! Yeah, no that’s good. I want you to take your time with it, of course. And I can give you as much space as you need, you know, like, um, I can go sleep on the couch. If you want.”

Despite everything, Indy laughed.

“You don’t even fit on the couch.”

“I could make it work,” he said sheepishly.

“You’re fine. Just go to sleep, and I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

There was an excitement in his voice that she hadn’t heard in a long time - it snuck through even as he tried to hide it.

“Okay. Sounds good. Well, uh… goodnight.”

“Goodnight Gray.”

They stared at each other for a minute, unsure of what to do with all the new emotions that had come to light.

“We should probably lay down, if we’re gonna sleep,” Indy said.

“Right, yeah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said again, watching him awkwardly pull back the covers and climb in fully clothed. She wanted to laugh at how awkward it was, as if they hadn’t been in each other’s arms every night since he’d been back. He kept his back to her, and she knew with her mind buzzing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

She pulled her laptop out of the bag by the bed, fired up her hotspot and started to scroll through her feeds, passing mindless time and keeping herself busy until Grayson began to snore, rolling to his stomach. It was a sweet sound, and she couldn’t help but to reach over and move his covers up, her fingers brushing over his arm.

He stirred under her touch, grunting a bit as he half woke up, sitting up just enough to pull the yellow hoodie over his head and toss it off the bed.

“Whatcha doing,” he mumbled, reaching a blind hand out until he found skin, fingers landing on her leg under the covers. Indy smiled and moved her hand away from her keyboard, scratched lightly up and down his back, over his tattoo as a thought crossed her mind. 

“Just emails. Almost done.”

“You okay?” He asked, voice muffled by the pillow. 

“I’m okay. Sleep.”

“M’kay.”

He was snoring again momentarily, and once she was sure he was out she claimed her hand back, clicking quietly until she got to what she was looking for. 

Her email from UCLA. 

She scrolled down to the bottom, looked at the two links she had stared at so many times since it had arrived in her inbox.

Accept. Decline.

She moved her mouse and clicked once, and then she closed her laptop, put it on the nightstand and cuddled under the covers. Grayson huffed at her movements, reaching for her in the dark. She let him pull her closer, relishing in the feeling of being with him for another night.

[rpmemesbyarat]

DISNEY'S "GARGOYLES" SEASON 2 QUOTES RP MEME

Why do you read that stuff?

I like a man who brings me weapons.

Nice wake up call.

We won't have to find them. They'll find us.

Revenge, as they say, is a sucker's game.

I'll settle for tearing this jerk IN HALF!

Want to see me use both hands?

That's no way to treat a lady!

That was no lady.

Thanks for saving my bacon before it got fried.

Look, just promise you'll call if there's trouble.

Go ahead, try something!

I'd love to do that again!

That wasn't a tranquilizer dart.

It was loaded with a mutagenic formula!

You don't know anything about her!

Why are you stomping on my friend here?

I was particularly proud of my death scene.

You never let me drive.

The important thing is, you're alive.

Are you sure this is a good idea?

Something's not right here.

Then you leave us no choice!

How are we supposed to find them?

Please, I beg you, be quiet.

This isn't a good idea.

I'm best qualified to go.

My memories are clouded.

Why should I trust you?

If you can't trust me, then trust your heart.

Why do you fight me, my love?

We are destined to be together for all eternity.

I will choose who I love!

Now we'll see what this creature looks like up close.

Why stare at marks on a page when you can rent the video?

Well, I can't read and I don't think I'm missing anything.

Harrier jets! They can take off and land like helicopters. When your life's this exciting, who needs books?

Are you all right?

I had a little trouble.

This beach isn't safe after dark.

Do you need a doctor?

Come on in. I've got a fire going.

There's little I can offer in return, except my thanks.

You understand, I don't get any real pleasure from this. Well you've got courage, beastie. I'll give you that.

Funny, something about your voice made me think you were a soldier, once.

You were there.

I'm old, but I'm not that old.

I'm glad you came back.

I'm afraid I can't stay, but I think I left something on the terrace this morning.

Have you come across a large canister?

The name sounded phony.

I do know him, but he's not a friend!

A magic book?

They're worthless. No magic at all.

The written word is all that stands between memory and oblivion.

Without books as our anchors, we are cast adrift, neither teaching nor learning.

Books are lighthouses erected in the dark sea of time.

Is this how you welcome all your guests?

They have a sense of humor. You have none.

Yeah, I know, you're as relieved I am that everything's back to normal.

Wouldn't it be great to be a shapeshifter?

Well, let's just get this over with, shall we?

How can I be of service, hmm?

Out with it. I haven't got all night.

I'm sure you'll fit right in.

What is it you really want?

This just might be fun after all.

I thought everyone knew this.

Shapeshifters, elves, fairies, you mean they're real?

You mean, you thought I was ugly?

I want you to get rid of the humans. ALL of them.

Does this look like Aladdin's lamp? I have limits, after all.

Humans love a battle hearty.

I'll never get the hang of jumping off rooftops.

I'll always be there to catch you.

Do it, and you win your freedom.

It will be my pleasure. But afterwards, I'm going to need a very long nap.

There. You're free.

The sun, it's glorious! I never thought that it could feel so good.

I'm sorry about the bomb. But it proves how dangerous this case is.

When someone messes with your partner, you're supposed to do something about it.

You still haven't learned that crime doesn't pay.

A trade?

Let's just say, I don't trust you with it.

So, now you know my weakness.

Only you would regard love as a weakness.

A momentary lapse, I assure you.

Halloween! Tonight is the night!

Come on. I've wanted to stroll down a city street with you for a long time.

Marry me.

Are you serious?

We're genetically compatible, highly intelligent, and have the same goals.

You could've been hurt. I should've been with you.

Oh-well, spilt milk. Let's move on to plan B.

Don't listen to him. It's a trick! He couldn't tell the truth if his life depended on it!

Even if what you say is true, why should I help her?

Because you know what it means to lose some you love.

Not a good night for you.

You can't believe anything he says.

If someone like him can love, perhaps there is some hope for this world.

Take this as token of my love.

Upon this I pledge my heart to you forever.

Why do you need all this?

I wanted it, so I took it.

It's so unlike you to attack first.

I simply invited you here to talk.

Our past encounters have not inspired me to trust you.

It's crazy to even consider going!

I'm not interested in reminiscing!

Have you no respect for anything?

Believe me, I know exactly how you feel.

I will never be like you!

I do not wish to hurt you.

I do not wish to be you!

What am I to do?

Do nothing.

Do not worry.

Live in the moment.

Attend the petty angers and jealousies that fill your heart.

Fortify yourself with love and trust.

Fulfill the vows of love you make, for they can surely save you.

Time travel's funny that way.

Get away from me, you sentimental fool.

It's a pretty good likeness.

You know more than you're letting on.

T'was your handiwork.

very life is precious.

Take care not to become what you fight against.

Vengeance begets only a further cycle of more vengeance.

Do you want vengeance or a solution?

This is bigger than either of us has ever faced.

We'll have to work together to stop her.

Truce?

You are the cause of all this.

Humans will learn to respect you.

I would rather they fear me.

What are you doing to help?

That's one way to settle an argument.

I thought I'd rid myself of you long ago

You've forgotten about me.

You're too late. You can't save them. No one can!

I'm not here for them. I'm here for you.

I want it over between us!

I wear this as a reminder of your treachery.

Let's not start that again. You blame me, I blame you. Aren't you tired of talking about it?

I'm not here to talk.

Killing me will gain you nothing but your own death.

Death is never the answer. Life is.

I'm just so tired

Your thirst for vengeance has only created more sorrow.

I offer you one last opportunity for forgiveness and mercy.

I merely offer a sample of what you planned for me.

You have learned nothing.

I will still have my revenge!

What do we do with them?

You come in handy now and then.

I'm quite glad the plan worked.

I'm no hero, I just do my job, and my job for tonight is over.

All I want to do is hit the sack.

Why would you want to hit a sack?

How long was I out?

Even shadows must be true to their shade.

We don't need to wait for sunset.

Is it supposed to hurt that much?

Just get on with it.

Recognize the woman?

She seemed familiar, but I just couldn't place her.

You're getting real good at bypassing alarms

Don't give me credit.

It was too easy!

Maybe misery loves company.

If you're human, then you're subject to human laws.

Either way I win!

I fear no human!

There are forces at war within me.

I will return some day, if I can.

You sound like every human employee I ever fired!

Crush all of them together and you couldn't squeeze one iota of personal integrity from the lot!

No excuses, creature!

Learn to take responsibility for your own actions! And STOP whining!

Oh, I am trembling in my chair.

You believe I am not responsible. Yet I remain your prisoner?

Who said you're not responsible?

It doesn't matter that you were tricked, you know now that your actions inflicted grievous damage. Do you take responsibility for them or not?

Well, what are you going to do?

You seem distracted, having second thoughts?

We'll celebrate over breakfast.

No more excuses. I accept full responsibility for my actions. I was wrong.

Integrity is never easy. It's a daily struggle, a costly struggle.

I know I owe you a great debt for the mistake I made a year ago.

If the text wasn't new to me, it was at least worth revisiting.

All I know is I'm about to be wiped out!

It doesn't have to be that way.

I can break these chains. But only you can get me past the bars.

Automatons know nothing of betrayal or honor. They know only what they're programmed to know.

Only living beings possess the ability to change, and make new choices.

You've given me much to consider.

We are friends.

I'd rather not have your death on my conscience

You'll never reach the bridge!

You have two minutes until impact, one minute before I detonate.

I don't want any innocents hurt!

If it goes down, I'm going down with it.

I knew you wouldn't let me down.

Yes, well, you have that effect on people.

I built this company for you!

I'd probably give it to you, if you'd just stand up and ask me for it honestly!

Asking for it wouldn't be any fun at all.

'Fun' is still more important to you than honor. I can't understand that.

Well, maybe you'll have better luck relating to the next generation.

You should've heard him laugh.

Made my hair stand on end, if I had any.

Surely you know I am not in the habit of playing childish pranks or laughing maniacally in the dark.

Do you even know how to laugh maniacally?

Don't tempt me.

Typical. You do and do and do for them, and what happens? They twist the knife in you!

I think I've created a monster.

Have you ever considered the bounties of genetic engineering?

Or maybe cybernetics is more your style?

Save the horror show for Halloween.

I'm sure tired of taking punishment, and I'd love to be able to give some back

That's the source of the trouble.

I hope you not planning to eat your catch.

Now that I'm in charge, I'm not taking any more of your cracks!

You're barely our species!

I'm in charge, here!

I find him very attractive.

Well, that's sicker than usual.

I'm a partner in a freak show!

I should'a figured it was crazy to stick with this crew

And if you play it smart, there'll be plenty of lettuce for everyone!

I should get my own cable TV show.

Oh, me and my big mouth.

It is the cure! It has to be!

Of course it's the cure! You must trust me!

It was you all along! I trusted you!

You turned me into a monster and I defended you!

I'm sorry it had to turn out this way.

You always overplay your hand

Tell me something' Why me?

You're old, and getting older.

I thought you might even appreciate the opportunity.

Growing old terrifies you, doesn't it?

Nothing terrifies me, because nothing is beyond my ability to change.

True immortality isn't about living forever, man; it's about what you do with the time you have.

When all your scheming's done, what will be your legacy

You're still alive! It's a miracle!

Boy, the city sure is different when it snows.

Not a bad life, all things considered.

There is a cure. There must be!

You can't keep me in here forever!

I'll get out! Do you hear? I'll get out!

About time you came back.

Why did you kidnap me? What do you want of me?

See, it wasn't as hard as you made it sound.

Ah, you wish to be immortal.

If the procedure is successful, I'll release you.

This is just a sculpture's model. The real thing is life sized, and lifelike.

What's in this for you?

Service is its own reward.

I wouldn't even know where to start looking.

You may as well be of some use to me.

Open this cage, and I'll show you how 'useless' I am.

It's hard to top that.

What you seek demands a heavy price.

Death and old age have their price as well. And it's too expensive for me.

Without your sword, you're helpless.

Swordless? Maybe. Helpless? NEVER!

What you choose to do with your life is your own affair, as long as it's got nothing to do with me.

You're just full of surprises.

No, let him go. He's earned it.

I wish it hadn't turned out this way.

I was so close to finding out if the legend was true. Now there's no one to test it on.

Throw down your weapon!

Is this a whole city of fools and lawless ruffians?

I'm the law here, pal!

You are a guardian, like myself.

I will submit to your law.

You are learning.

It will take some time.

Prepare to do battle!

I have no fight with you.

What is this, merit badge test night?

Oh well, better make sure it's an uneven fight.

The weak are to be protected, not exploited.

Aaah, who died and made you king?

If you don't know anything, why were you shooting at us?

Do I really need an excuse to have a good time in my own home?

They say a man's home is his castle, and what fun would a castle be without a dungeon?

If it gets any more saccharine in there, I'm going to put a finger down my throat.

I'd sure like to know how you got here, but I'm programmed to shoot first and ask questions later.

I demand a favor.

Death is always pointless. That is the point.

I demand reparation! My son was cruelly and unfairly taken from me!

Death is the ultimate fairness. Rich and poor, young and old - all are equal in death.

Our planet cannot support so many lives at once.

I apologize for any trouble I caused in my efforts to reclaim it.

It seems I'm out of practice dealing directly with mortals.

It seems I am unaccustomed to dealing with a god

We have all gained rare enlightenment this night

Mmmm, what a peculiar sight.

Now, that's odd.

Do you often go wandering about at night, young lady?

My dear, are you saying you don't remember your own name?

I can't seem to remember anything. I feel lucky I know how to talk.

How did I end up in the middle of the Pacific?

I guess I could use a ride

I thought you looked familiar. We've met before.

Do you know what a scroll is?

Get your claws off me!

You might want to reconsider your request.

We're gonna die!

I will not let anything harm you.

You win. I'll behave.

I cannot believe you pulled the trigger on me.

Just shut up and land.

I just don't remember! I'm not even sure I want to remember!

I understand your words, I simply do not believe them.

You have been long expected.

This trough is filled with acid. In about ten minutes its going to do a very nasty job on that soil carving, not to mention your rugged good looks.

It's my first real stab at clichéd villainy. How am I doing?

How are you doing this? No machine can hold me!

I should sue you for trademark infringement.

I've always considered myself a trickster at heart.

History cannot be changed.

You will not win!

What are you going to do? Bite my kneecaps off?

I know from experience the transforming power of a child's love.

The future is not written yet.

I have a sunny disposition and I'm always kind to animals

I've always respected you as a fellow inmate

He's a fool, but he may be useful.

I can work with that!

Now, now! That's your friends' genetic make-up you're insulting.

You are master now?

I should've known. But why this subterfuge?

Hey, I live for subterfuge!

I do not want escape, I want vengeance!

There's no such thing as "a little" vengeance.

No catches. No tricks. No strings.

So, things have come full circle.

You know how I feel about you, right?

[goatbi]

Vampiric

It's common knowledge across the Soul Society that your zanpakuto has an effect on you. Be it physical or mental, it's a part of you, and it effects how you live.

Hitsugaya and Rukia are two good examples, both being very cold to the touch, while Hitsugaya has ice scales down his back, along the edges of his cheekbones. Rukia has nothing physical yet, but she swears that it's going to happen as soon as she reaches bankai.

Sometimes you zanpakuto tells you those things.

Momo is burning hot to the touch, fever-like. Matsumoto seems to always have dry skin, no matter how much lotion she uses. Kurotsuchi has weird neck spikes that he switches on if he wants to hide or not ever other season.

You zanpakuto changes you as you learn more about it, as your bond grows, in many many ways.

Yumichika knows this, and knows it well. He's come to live in the burning hunger in the pit of his stomach as he goes about his life, that no food can really fill. Ruri'iro Kujaku hungers with him, and Yumichika smothers it down, pretends that he's fine, pretends the feathers are the only connection between him and his zanpakuto, and starves.

He's starving and he knows it.

It's not a pretty way to go out.

It's why he attacks Hisagi, that's why, he says it to himself again and again, that's the only reason. It's been so long since he's fed, and Yumichika is so hungry.

He's okay afterwards, he tells himself, and keeps moving forwards after the single bought of delicious spiritual energy that he so desperately requires. Yumichika keeps going, and pretends his stomach doesn't hurt even more now that he's fed once, that he's okay.

Ikkaku comments that he looks kind of tired one day, and Yumichika panics. Ikkaku apologies, of course, but he just thinks it's because Yumichika's vain, but that's not it.

Because Yumichika is. He's so tired, and he's just so hungry, it doesn't matter.

He goes to the world of the living alone a week later. Hollows have spiritual energy, not much in comparison to soul reapers, and it's bitter and burning, but it's something, and Yumichika doesn't want to starve anymore. Not until Ikkaku comes looking for him, which won't happen for at least three days. Ikkaku's gonna look for him, but won't think about the World of the Living until then.

So he hunts. Ruri'iro Kujaku purrs in the back of his mind, praises him and apologies all in the same breath, because despite their arguing, his zanpakuto understands why Yumichika hides. His hunger is so ugly, and Ruri'iro Kujaku is just as vain as Yumichika is.

Hollows fall to his vines and Yumichika gorges himself, and is so busy with it that he doesn't notice the Arrancar until far too late.

When he wakes up again, Yumichika isn't hungry. It's strange, but that leaves him able to focus on other, more important things, like that fact that it's night, that he's locked in white stone, and hidden away. His zanpakuto is gone, and Ruri'iro Kujaku growls in the back of his mind.

He's the only company Yumichika gets for awhile. He doesn't know how long, not completely sure, but he's hungry again, both ways that his body is, he's starving once more, and it's so tiring, it's exhausting to continue.

Aizen just smiles at him from the door, and Yumichika would spit if he didn't have his mind, if he wasn't still somewhat worried about how he looked in that moment.

This is how he learns Aizen's spiritual energy is immense, and oh so delicious. He hates being fed like this, but he's not hungry, he's kept full like a stuffed peacock and Yumichika begins to fall into it, fall behind Aizen, because no one hear questions the cannibalism esc feedings, because they're all hollows, they don't care, and Yumichika is just so hungry, even when he's not, because it's been so long since he's been able to eat this much this often, and he knows it's bad and that he has places to be, people that care for him, but Aizen keeps him fed.

Aizen keeps him fed and full until he doesn't, until Yumichika's locked away again and starving, he doesn't know how long, just knows Ruri'iro Kujaku is pissed and cawing out in his mind, and Yumichika's too far gone to care anymore, and he mimics it, mimics the noise laying on the floor of his cell as he starves again, staring with hazy eyes out the barred window. He's so hungry.

He doesn't know when the door opens. He just knows it is, knows and he crawls. It's ugly, and dirty but Ruri'iro Kujaku purrs and calls him to continue, louder and louder as Yumichika gets closer and closer, and he knows he's close, he can feel his zanpakuto vibrating, and his hands closes around the hilt and-

Shikai comes, unbidden, no call. He doesn't know why, but it's fine, he's so hungry, and the little Arrancar fall to his vines in seconds, the little ones he leaves drained, and probably close to death, and he stumbles along, because Aizen kept him fed up with his own energy, and it's not enough.

The little ones keep falling as he stumbles towards an energy he recognizes but can't place, he's too hungry to know, not until his vines wrap around someone already fighting, dragging them close to him, and Yumichika is basically eating the flowers off the vines as they bloom, and Ikkakus's voice comes slamming through his haze of hunger.

"What the fuck?"

Yumichika's eyes dart towards him, wide and terrified, and the vines go off, leaving flowers floating in the air around him, an Yumichika is so hungry, but he's staring down Ikkaku and the captain behind him, staring them down because they know now, don't they, and he's almost hungry enough not to care, but Ikkaku's looking at his vines, and Ruri'iro Kujaku wraps them up into a blade again for him, and Yumichika blinks at them, so so hungry still, but so so afraid that it doesn't matter.

"Yumichika?" Ikkaku's voice is almost quiet, but it's Ikkaku, and he's not really quiet. He's just... shocked. Not yelling for once, and Yumichika stares at him, shaking, and closes his eyes. He doesn't make a noise, doesn't say anything, but lets himself fall to his knees in front of the three, because he knows that Yachiru is clinging to Kenpachi's back as she does, and god they all smell so good, but Yumichika can't, not right now, not when it would be deliberate, instead of starving induced.

Ikkaku's arms are around him, Yumichika knows, but he just leans into it, leans into what might be the last comfort from his friend that he will ever get, and slips off into oblivion. The hunger burns, even in the dark.

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

The ceiling of Squad Four is bright white, a clean bleached white that Yumichika stares at in the middle of the day. He does not move, for he feels there is no reason. Ruri'iro Kujaku is silent in his mind, and it's a comfort and a burden at once, because it means the peacock has no comfort to give.

Ikkaku is outside. Yumichika closes his eyes, wants to pretend to sleep so that Ikkaku won't come in, won't see him. The hunger hurts again, but Yumichika ignores it. He's hungry, but he's trying to get used to it again, because he's never doing that again. Ruri'iro Kujaku gives no argument, just silence, and Yumichika hates it, because they both know it's a death sentence, but Yumichika thinks he deserves it.

"He's awake, but probably still tired. We haven't gotten him to... eat... this entire time." Lieutenant Isane is kind around the word, but it still burns in his soul, and Yumichika opens his eyes gain, since there's no use hiding now that she's given him away.

Ikkaku opens the door, and Yumichika does not, cannot, look at him, just keeps staring at that ceiling, and lets the hunger burn. Ikkaku has always smelled of spice and burning, and Yumichika has always wanted to know what he tastes like, but he won't. He can't.

A chair scratches against the floor as Ikkaku sits next to him, and Yumichika does not sigh, but he feels like it, feels the breath in him sit heavy, because he's so tired and so hungry.

"Why did you lie?"

It's a quiet question, as quiet as Ikkaku can be, and Yumichika closes his eyes again, squints them shut as tight as he can, and he knows it's an ugly expression, but he doesn't care anymore. Ikkaku has already seen him at his ugliest. It doesn't matter anymore.

Ruri'iro Kujaku purrs in the back of his mind, an attempted comfort, and Yumichika doesn't snap at him, no matter how he feels he wants to.

"Because I was afraid." It's the only answer that Yumichika can give.

"Of what?" Ikkaku's voice shakes, and Yumichika can feel the anger behind it. He doesn't open his eyes, ignore the tears leaking out the corners of his eyes.

"Of the Captain kicking me out of the Squad. Of the Soul Society hating me for what I am... Of being unable, rather than unwilling, to eat... Of you hating me." His voice gets quiet on the last one, and he turns his head away, because he's so sure it's going to happen, he's so sure of the anger, and hatred and-

"Bull fucking shit."

Yumichika turns, eyes wide, betrayed. Who is Ikkaku to tell him his own fears, how can he- and Yumichika pauses, because Ikkaku's teary-eyed too.

"You kept my secret, I would have kept yours. In a heart beat. Besides, if you're kicked out, I go with you, no matter what. It's been the two of us together this entire time, and you've been literally killing yourself to hide it from me because you're scared that that's gonna change?"

Yumichika pushes himself up, ignored the vertigo and the lurch in his stomach. "It's squad eleven, Ikkaku, I've heard what they say about kido users, about people with kido zanpakuto's, what cowards we are, that we can't even fight right. I know what they say, and no one says anything to stop it, or defend it. I starve because I know I will be shunned for existing like I do because of Ruri'iro Kujaku."

If Ikkaku's shocked at the real name of his zanpakuto, he doesn't show it, because he's too angry-worried. "So you decided to just die off? I know you, that's not a pretty way to go, and that's not the way that you've told me you want to go out."

"What else am I supposed to do in the face of that much hatred?" Yumichika asks, shaking and upset, but never at Ikkaku. He's upset at himself, as always, because he doubted Ikkaku, and now that's going to drive them apart, because Ikkaku hates being doubted.

"Turn to me! I'm not gonna just up and leave you, Yumi, not even now." And Yumichika looks up, must look socked, because Ikkaku huffs, and shakes his head. "Even now. You're my best friend, and I'm not gonna fucking abandon you because you zanpakuto is what it is. That's not gonna change, and I'd be stupid to when you keep my secrets."

Yumichika stares for a moment, before he slings his legs off the side of the bed, and collapses into Ikkaku's arms, shaking and so tired and hungry, but Ikkaku's there, he should have been since the beginning, and Ikkaku wraps him up in his arms and ignores the soft sobbing. Yumichika is not a pretty crier, and Ikkaku knows better by now.

Eventually, they have to separate, eventually Yumichika has to sit back in bed, because the hunger-vertigo hurts now, and he's too dehydrated to cry anymore. He knows he's ugly right now, face red and puffy and snotty, but Ikkaku doesn't comment on it, just smiles at him, and Yumichika smiles back, and wraps himself up in the blanket as Unahana comes in, eyes soft.

"I suppose that you're finally convinced?"

Yumichika knows what the captain means, but it's still terrifying, but he looks to Ikkaku, who doesn't blink, and Ruri'iro Kujaku purrs behind his ears, and Yumichika nods slowly, because the hunger hurts as it always has, and he's so tired of pain.

His zanpakuto sits in his lap when he does it, whispers the activation, watches the vines live and curl around him, but one, which reaches out and wraps up Unahana's arm, and leeches. She raises an eyebrow at him, and Yumichika shrugs.

"I figure... Get some now to get me out of here, then get some from my Captain... always wanted to know what he tastes like, and it seems like this might be my last chance before I'm forced to change squads, so... hopefully..."

Ikkaku says nothing but narrows his eyes at him, and Unahana smiles her kind smile at him.

They don't explode, because Yumichika does not want to hurt, but the flowers fall, and the vine pulls away when his lap is full of them, and reforms into a blade, and Yumichika picks up the flowers carefully, and eats.

She's like mint, but strong, far too strong, almost burning. It feels right, for her, and Yumichika eats almost too quickly, but refuses to allow the shame to replace the hunger. He's still hungry, but it's secondary now.

"How often do you need to eat?" She asks, and Yumichika hums, turns the question inwards, and Ruri'iro Kujaku answers for him.

"Once a week should be alright. This isn't like a normal hunger. I could even stretch it to once a month. I'm... rather used to the hunger."

Unahana nods, but something in her eyes tells him he's not going to get to push it.

She lets him go an hour later, and Yumichika walks out with Ikkaku at his side, and he feels small and too big at the same time, expects stares but doesn't get any, and he's waiting for the hammer to fall, before Ikkaku sighs.

"We didn't tell anyone." Yumichika looks over, and Ikkaku doesn't look to him, leading him out towards the barracks, towards Kenpachi's room. "Figured that should be your choice."

He nods slightly, and Ikkaku pushes open the door, doesn't bother to knock, just calls into the room, and Yumichika follows, tired and still hungry, but worried. Scared.

But Yachiru jumps on him, clings for a moment, and Yumichika hugs her tight back, because she doesn't know how to express the worry of losing someone, and Yumichika does what he can for her in that moment, before turning to face the captain, settled at his table.

His bells are out, scattered in front of him, and Yachiru bounces back over to help him put them back into his hair. Yumichika takes a breath, and moves over to sit in front of him, and stares him down, prepared to lose his life.

But Kenpachi just huffs, glares at him and goes "Don't die cause you're starving yourself, dumbass."

Yumichika bristles a bit at that, but accepts it. It's a correct statement, something understandable, and then Kenpachi tilts his head to let Yachiru fix a bell, and stares Yumichika down.

"When you gotta eat?"

He doesn't pretend it doesn't shock him, lets his eyes widen a bit, before looking towards Ikkaku nervously, letting the answer tumble out without thinking. He's hungry still, of course, but it's managable, and he can pretend-

"Unahana gave him some earlier, but he's stupid and didn't take enough I think." Ikkaku says, and Yumichika glares at him, before Yachiru bounces back across the table to smack him on the forehead.

"That's dumb! You gotta eat, you know!" And Yumichika stares at her, before Kenpachi leans forwards.

"Take what you need, and then you and I are gonna have a talk."

Yumichika's terrified of what that means, but he feels the order in his soul, and thus sighs.

Kenpachi tastes like burning and fire and spice, and Yumichika closes his eyes as he chews carefully on the flowers in his lap, the stabbing hunger pains ebbing away as he munches on the flowers, and Kenpachi leans back.

"So once a week, huh?"

"Doesn't have to be you." Yumichika mumbles around a flower. "But yeah..."

"And you hid it because?"

Yumichika fixes him with a look. "Captain, you're not deaf or stupid. You know how this Squad feels about kido."

Kenpachi blinks at him, then grins, because it's sass, and it's coming back, and Yumichika knows that's a good thing in their eyes. "Well, they say shit they can come talk to me. You're strong as hell without using your actual shikai, so what's the problem with you getting stronger?"

He has to give the captain that, so he doesn't reply, just looks back down to his flowers in his lap, and lets himself hope. Because he's not being kicked out. He's not being shamed, and he's not going to be so hungry all the time.

Ikkaku settles at his side, leaning against him, nudges his arm to keep munching on the flowers, that have always been so pretty, but now Yumichika can appreciate the beauty of them.

"So. How does that sword of yours work?" Kenpachi asks, and Yachiru grins at him, and Yumichika pops another flower in his mouth, and starts to explain, as the hunger finally ebbs away completely.

[jungcity]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥. | ii

word count: 7k

“Meet me at midnight

in the forest of

my dreams.

We’ll make a fire

and count the stars

that shimmer above

the trees.”

“How do I politely ask my boss that I want to slap him over the head with a chair?”

Those words were the first thing that came out of your mouth the moment you stepped inside the kitchen of your small apartment. You saw your sister propped comfortably on one of the chairs while munching her dinner. She ran down a scrutinizing look over you, her eyes painted with the words ‘I told you so’.

Rolling your eyes at her, you slumped too hard in one of the chairs, causing your butt to hurt from the contact. She chuckled loudly from the silent ‘ouch’ you exhaled before she gulped down a glass of water.

“What did he do this time?��� Yuqi asked, wiping her mouth off the excess water.

Her question brought you back to the incident earlier. How Jaehyun gripped your arms trying to squeeze an answer from you. The pain left a numbing pain on your skin, reminding you to be extra cautious around him for your own sake. The man, just like what Soojin said, is not one to mess with. But you felt utterly coward reminiscing the way you cowered under him. He is your boss, yes, but he is still a man. He is just a man; flesh and blood just like you. “Earth to you, sis?” Yuqi snapped her fingers in front of your face, making you blink your way back to reality. You debated telling your sister of what happened. But you remember that behind her 5’0” height sleeps a volcano that you wouldn't want to wake.

“Nothing happened. He was just, you know, being extra jerk today.” You frowned.

“You don’t have to tolerate his attitude. You can always quit,” Yuqi commented, pulling a chair towards you and sitting on it, concern written on her face.

You slid off your three-inches high heels while laughing at her. Quitting after a week of work wasn’t in your list of priorities right now. You still have to endure your contract which lasts for a year, before you could quit or renew it— that is if he doesn’t get angry enough to let you stay in his company. And you still have tons of debts to pay and a future to secure; you wouldn’t want your sister to suffer just because you were being whiny.

“You know that’s not possible. We need money to stay alive,” you reminded her. She sighed in frustration, trying to open up the topic of her working so she could help provide for you both. You half listened to her sentiments while munching your dinner of ham and egg.

“I don’t understand why won’t you let me help,” Yuqi sighed.

You looked at her as she slumped further into her own seat. “I know you want to help. I couldn’t let you because of your condition. I wouldn’t stand idly as you risk your health doing jobs that I could do myself.”

“I am not as frail as you would like to paint me.” She sounded irritated, conviction clear in her voice. Of course you knew that. You are only refusing to test her strength when it’s clear that one simple job could harm her.

“And you’re not as strong as you believed to be,” you retaliated, challenging her to say something by looking at her intently. She sighed and let her hands fly above her head, defeat clear in her action.

“Alright. You win. I won’t talk about this again.”

“And I won’t let you even if you try to.” You chuckled, lifting the heavy atmosphere that’s coaxing from your discussion.

“You are annoying.” Your sister chuckled back. That was when you knew that you had won the argument again.

You stood up, gathering all the dirty utensils in the kitchen to wash in the sink. Yuqi offered to wash the plates, but you declined and told her to study instead.

“There’s something I wanna tell you, though,” she voiced behind you. You turned around to face her while wiping your hands with the apron wrapped around your waist. She nibbled on her bottom lip, the mannerism she always does whenever she feels uncomfortable to talk about something.

“I… I wanna try and join the archery team in our school,” she stated, refusing to look. Knowing Yuqi, she would always say tons of explanations to convince you about it, so you patiently waited while leaning onto the sink.

“I really wanna join… but I want to inform you first. Since, you know, my condition…”

Archery is the one sport she could do. It doesn’t really require heavy trainings and that could also help with her stamina.

“Just promise me that you’ll take care and discipline yourself,” you pointed out while raising your finger.

Her head snapped at you, eyes twinkling by the silent yes between your lines. You nodded at her, confirming that you indeed would let her join the sport. Her squeal pierced your ears as she jumped in happiness and hugged you.

“You’re the best!”

She peppered your face with little kisses, making you laugh and jokingly shrug her off of you. She kissed you one last time before dashing to her room with a stupid grin painted on her face. Going back to cleaning the dishes, you shook your head by your sister's silliness.

Teenagers are the hardest stones of the world, and you hope you were doing a great job taking care of one.

The day was beyond exhausting and you barely made it to your bed after washing your body and face in the bathroom. Your limbs felt heavy and your eyes were almost closing as you trudged the small distance from the bathroom to your mattress. The pain in your arm throbbing as you lay comfortable on the sheets. There wasn’t any bruises when you looked at it in the small mirror, but it was painful nonetheless. You wonder just how much strength Jaehyun emitted since you didn’t feel the pain earlier.

After you left the room, he didn’t call you back for anything again. Chaelin left not five minutes after you bolted out of the room. Regarding your boss, he departed his office earlier than the usual time. He was clearly pissed; with his narrowed brows almost crashing against each other paired with his usual scowl. As expected, he said absolutely nothing to you. Not even a sorry. Not even a glance.

Who are you kidding? Of course he was not apologetic. The heavens would open up and the angels would sing once a man like him admits his wrong. Men like him has a pride as fragile as a china vase. But deep in your heart, you expected him to at least say something to you, because you were hurt from his own doing.

Maybe it was bad idea to work for him, maybe it was a mistake that you didn’t listen to your best friend’s and sister’s warning. But what could you possibly do? What choices do you have left? Nothing. You have to endure him or else your sister would suffer. Besides, the company offers a great source of income, you really just have to live through the asshole CEO that comes with the package.

In spite of that, maybe you could exchange work to your co-workers on the lower floors. Surely, there is someone who would be willing to take the job. Jung Jaehyun is a pleasant view to look at, not until he talks and say something that would degrade and bury your confidence six feet under. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

You exhaled by the thought of talking to your boss about your plan of exchanging works with his other employees. You know it is unprofessional, but could he blame you when he literally went on and tried to crush your bones, scaring the wits out of you? He couldn’t be that heartless and emotionless not to feel your discomfort, right?

Assuring yourself that you could successfully execute the plan tomorrow, you drifted into oblivion mere seconds after closing your eyes.

The bad day seemed to stretch up to your dreams. Your mind is in a haze of blurry images; bodies and faces alike. But you feel your own limbs, standing in the crowd of people waltzing in a slow jazz music at the center of the hall.

You tried to look around; seeing different faces contorted like smudges of oil paint. It made your head hurt. The whole place made you dizzy. From its grand and shiny chandeliers to bodies full of iridescent jewels. It feels as if you were back in the past, but having no knowledge of where in history you were into. Eighteenth century? Nineteenth? You have no idea, yet it almost feels as though you were in the right place.

You stepped your foot forward, feeling the hard and slightly heavy shoes attached to your soles. That was when it occured to you that you were wearing the same elaborative gown as every woman in the festivity; with a corset wrapping your body, making it harder for you to breath. The feeling of your hair in a tight and fancy bun against your scalp and the dragging sensation of cosmetics on your face felt utterly real that you started to question yourself whether everything was only a dream, for you felt like living in the moment.

A servant halted in front of you, breaking your reverie. His one hand carried a tray of various drinks.

“Mademoiselle,” he greeted, slightly bowing his head. You reluctantly took a glass containing of red liquid. The servant smiled before continuing on his task.

The elders warned not to eat or drink anything in your dreams, for it is an offer by the devil and a sign that they could take your soul from your body. Looking down at the glass, you could almost perceive your own silhouette against the red surface— making everything more sinisterly eccentric.

“My lady.”

A voice rang from behind you. You turned on your heels to face the owner of the masculine voice, almost losing your balance as you saw that familiar eyes piercing on your own.

“Jaehyun?”

You were beyond certain that he was your boss. With his raven black hair standing bright against his pale skin, and the same cherry lips paired with his dark brown irises; there was no doubt he is Jung Jaehyun. The only difference is his hair, that is much longer than what you remember. But all about him— from his voice to his aura— is Jung Jaehyun.

Have you been thinking about him too much that his memory clung in your mind and into your dreams?

“Pardon me, my lady, but who is Je—?”

He was having difficulties pronouncing his own name. It was obvious by the way his brows were knitted together with his tongue stuck in his mouth. You realized that the name ‘Jaehyun’ was too modernized for a place like this; convincing you that the Jaehyun you know and the man in front of you might have the same face but they are not the same person.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

There was an unusual glint painted in his orbs as he looked at you; so different from his passionless eyes in real life. You tried to tell yourself that all of this is just a dream. But the first time your mind opened the door towards this fantasy, everything felt strangely veridical.

“It’s quite alright, my lady.” He smiled.

Jaehyun was a pleasant art to look at even with his scowl and narrowed brows. Yet his smiling face left no words in the dictionary to be used as a description to how dashing and comely he looked like with his pearly white teeth and luscious lips perfectly contrasting each other. And if only you could take a picture of it with your brain and print it out once you wake up just to taunt him tomorrow, you would. But the image would exist only in your mind and would solely be yours to keep.

“…can I finally have the pleasure to dance with you, ma chérie?”

You blinked. He offered you his hand, still too pale even in your dreams. Deep in your heart, Jaehyun feels too familiar that there was a slight pang of pain throbbing in the arteries of your heart as you stared at him. He whispered the last words like you share some kind of secret you didn’t want the world to know.

“What’s… your name again?” You asked.

His brows shot up to his hairline, clearly surprised by your question. “I see that you have consumed too much liquor tonight, my lady,” he chuckled.

He chuckled and you would lie if you would say that it wasn't the most pleasant sound you have heard in your whole life. It was deep, like it came from the depths of the ocean. You and Jaehyun were close to being strangers— but as you look at him with the eyes that you know were only a part of your imagination, you wished to bottle up the sound and replay it for the rest of your life.

He showed you his triumphant smile when you took his hand. Guiding you towards the throng of dancing bodies, he leaned closer, his lips so near you could feel his breath fanning your cheeks. “I am—”

“Y/N!”

You jolted awake, clutching your chest tightly as you stare at your younger sister with widened eyes.

“What on earth?” You breathed.

She smiled cheekily at you, “Breakfast’s ready.”

She hummed her way out of your room, giving you a look that tells you she knows you were dreaming about Jaehyun. You grabbed one of the pillows and attempted to throw it at her, sending her dashing to the kitchen with her laugh echoing through the whole house.

You stared at the window, noticing the rays of the sun slowly creeping in inside your room, leaving golden colors to everything that it touches. They say you would forget ninety-percent of your dream once you wake up, but that was not in your case. Your dream was so vivid you could draw Jaehyun’s smiling face if you wanted to.

The cold floors bit your soles as you stood up from the bed, washing away the last bit of sleep remaining in your system. You tied your hair into a messy bun and walked towards the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

You debated telling Yuqi about the dream, but you shrugged the thoughts off the same moment it occured to you. There was no point telling her about it. She would certainly tease you once you tell her about Jaehyun’s occurrence in it.

“I’ll be late tonight,” Yuqi started as you both settled down on your chairs. You nod your head at her since you have been through the reason why she would come home late.

“Please, take care.” You eyed her intently.

You were still a bit reluctant to let her join the archery team. But your sister is on her last stage of being a teenager and you wouldn’t want her to miss the things she wants to enjoy. You wouldn’t wish to take away the life she wants to explore; the one you didn’t had the chance to experience when your mother died in the peak of your teenage life.

“I will, mom.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, but promising to take care of herself nonetheless.

—

“Sir, would you like to eat some breakfast?” You asked your boss.

It took you a lot of courage to walk in his office and pretend like nothing happened yesterday; because let us be real, he was still your boss and you were still his secretary.

He was sitting on his throne, rummaging through the files stacked up on his table with his usual scowl. Instead of answering you right away, he pretended not hearing you for two-minutes straight— making you stand there like a puppy waiting for his owner to give his orders. You soothed yourself despite the temper starting to boil inside you.

“Sir, would you like to eat some break… fast…?” Your last words barely came out of your mouth as he suddenly looked at you with his ice-cold gaze. It was so chilling that it locked you down on your spot like a zombie shot by the ice-peashooter in a game. Then there you were again, slowly cowering in his gaze like an animal trapped in a pen.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he commanded. And you wonder just how much power this man has that his words could literally pull you down on your knees, right there and there. With your heart on your throat, you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his.

Suddenly and without any warning, your mind went running back to the dream that you had; Jaehyun asking you for a dance while smiling at you. Today, his face was still beautiful, but there was nothing friendly in it as he looked at you— only danger and mischief.

“Does your arm hurt?”

Yes, fucker. It still does hurt, thank you. You would’ve said the words if it wasn’t for the fact that you still need a job and you couldn’t afford sleeping in the streets for the next month. So you lied instead. “No, Sir.”

He pushed his chair away from his table, silently stretching his shoulders and craning his neck as he stood up. He then, pulled a small bottle out of his pocket and laid it on the table. “Take this and get out.”

He didn’t give you a chance to say something for he walked straight to the meeting room— not bothering to glance at you. You blinked a few times before taking the small bottle and left the office.

You opened your hands. A small smile crept up on your lips as you stared at the bottle of ointment for body aches laid in your palms.

Maybe Jaehyun wasn’t that heartless after all.

—

Apparently, lunch is the only time you and Soojin could mingle together. Today, the lunch was surely meaty because of her stories and chitchats. You haven’t told her about the incident that occurred yesterday, for you didn’t want any drama attached to your name. Soojin is a reliable friend, but she’s the type of person who could drop a bomb in a group people, so you decided to be quiet about the matter.

“Oh! Before I forgot, Yuta sent me a message yesterday. He’s coming home to visit!” She cheered while scrolling through her phone.

The name brought you too many memories in an instant that you almost choke on your drinks. Soojin eyed you sheepishly before handing you a glass of water.

She laughed while patting your back and saying, “Relax, Y/N. It’s just Yuta!”

You nudged her ribs before quoting the air, “He’s not ‘just’ Yuta, y’know.”

You and Soojin were both friends with Yuta when you were in your freshman years. The three of you shared some memories that you wouldn’t trade for the world. You cried and laughed with each other— until you and Yuta became a ‘thing’.

It wasn’t hard to love Yuta; he was simply the best that you could ask for a guy. With his wise mind and smart mouth, gentleman antics and protectiveness, he captured you like a little dragonfly between his fingertips. Your relationship tied a rope so tight it couldn’t be loosened. Not until you saw her with a girl; him shoving his mouth down her throat you were certain he was trying to reach her liver.

He was your first love and your first heartbreak; your first in almost everything. And it had hurt you to think that you were just his another ‘first time’. But you have moved on, because you couldn’t love a boy who made you feel that your all wasn’t enough.

“It’s been years since we last saw him. I wonder what does he look like right now?” Soojin asked you. Her chin propped on her hand.

You shrugged, obviously ignoring her question since you didn’t feel comfortable talking about your cheater ex-boyfriend. Yuta went back to his home country when you finished college, pursuing whatever dreams he had in his mind. You have no idea what could possibly be the reason of his return. You severed all communications that you had with him. So he probably didn’t know about your mother unless Soojin told him. Nevertheless, you didn’t receive any consolation from him.

Going back to the 28th floor of Jung’s Fiscals, your mind couldn’t get off the possibility of seeing Yuta again— after so many years. Not that you were scared, but you know to yourself that he took a slice of your heart when it broke into millions of pieces because of him. But you were much capable to guard your feelings now than you did back in college. You just hoped that the bars you have put around your heart were well secured so no one would slip inside.

The rest of the day, you spent checking emails and schedules of your boss. He departed his office when he ate lunch (you have no idea where), returning an hour later and never came out again. It was past six p.m. when your mind tinged of an idea. Suddenly, you wanted to draw Jaehyun’s smiling face. You grabbed the sketchbook that you always carry along with your mechanical pencil. Uncomfortable as you were because of the dream, his face never left your mind— begging you to keep it in your memories. And there was only one way to do so: drawing.

You started with a circle, giving it a 3D interface to easily draw the parts of the face. The brightness of the image in your mind gave you goosebumps. His smile, his dimples, and his eyes were so detailed you could truly print it out if possible. After thirty-minutes of fast sketching his face, the canvas could no longer deny that it was Jung Jaehyun. The only missing details were his long hair and his clothes. You started to sketch his hair when Mother Nature called on you. So you left the sketchpad splayed on your table— which became your huge mistake of the day.

After you have relieved yourself, you went back to your table— to see Jung Jaehyun holding your sketchpad with his lips pressed in a tight line. Disappointment clear on his face.

You bit your lower lip— cursing the fact that both of you were the only person in the whole floor. It made every step of your heels echo against the silence. You calmed your raging heartbeat, convincing yourself that you didn’t do anything wrong; you drew him smiling and that was that. Nothing offensive or whatsoever. But you knew something about your sketch had vexed him.

“You drew this?” He asked, running his pointer finger along the rough surface of the paper.

“Yes, Sir.”

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You hated the silence, more than anything— because it amplified the sound of your boss ripping the page off your sketchbook. You have never expected him to praise your work, but you also didn’t think that he would ruin it. That made everything much worse. Yes, it was only a thirty-minute worth of sketch, but you made it nonetheless. Nobody has the right to rip it in front of you.

He crumpled the paper with one hand, letting it drop on his feet while looking at you with his stupid, emotionless gaze. You remembered the small ointment he gave you earlier, and the way you even allowed yourself to think that maybe he wasn’t that heartless as some other people might think. Yet here he was, shattering your hopes and proving you wrong.

“How could you be so hateful?”

You were certain you said it in muted tones, but it echoed off the whole floor— slapping you the fact that you indeed said it to your boss. Aloud. But the asshole didn’t even flinch. He only raised his brow, obviously saying that you have no right to ask him the question. You were too vexed to care about his feelings because he obviously did not care about yours when he ripped your work.

“You know what? I’m done! I couldn't work for someone like you anymore!” You trudged the distance between the both of you, closing your sketchbook and collecting your things. He didn’t stop you. You were certain he hated you as much as you hated him and that he also wanted to get rid of you.

“Does that mean you’re resigning?” He asked.

You would lose your mind, literally. You have no idea how could someone be so devoid of emotions as Jung Jaehyun. His voice doesn’t even have a sliver of feeling. You stopped bagging your things and looked at him— truly looked at him. The distance between you only one step away you could perfectly see the outline of his dark brown eyes— reflecting your face.

“Yes! I’m quitting this job!” You told him. Your pointer finger digging in on his chest by every word.

He caught your wrist and pinned you down with a glint of amusement dancing in his orbs— a warm smirk spreading across his lips. “So feisty.”

You blinked at him. His smirk spreading wider by your stoned reaction. In that moment, the only thing you wanted to do was smack his smug face off his head.

“You cannot resign,” he simply declared, not letting you go.

“And why not?” You tried to wiggle your wrist free from his grasp, but he only pulled you closer.

“I forbid it.”

You couldn’t believe him. Of course he was going to forbid it. He knows no one would beg to be his secretary once you quit and tell the whole world how awful Jung’s Fiscals’ CEO truly is.

“Listen—” You were interrupted by the loud vibration of your phone inside your bag. But your boss didn’t let go of your hand even if you tried to release yourself again. You were left with no choice but use your free hand to grab the phone inside.

“Hello?” you greeted.

Jaehyun made it clear that he wouldn’t give you the privacy that you deserved, so you glanced at him sideways while waiting for the other line to answer.

“Good evening. Is this Miss Y/N?”

“Yeah… how may I help you?”

“This is Sacred Heart’s Hospital. We are calling to inform you that your sister, Yuqi, is currently in the emergency room—”

You lost your balance, sending your phone crashing on the ground. Jaehyun was quick to catch you, his brows in its usual knitted state. Both of you didn’t say anything and you have no idea whether he heard the news or not. You regained yourself and tried to collect your stuff with shaking hands. The whole world seems to shrink, making your head dizzy and sending your heart to run a mile.

What happened? Your mind kept repeating the question. Sweat started to form in your forehead as you think about the worst answers. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if something terrible happened to you sister.

Quickly, you ran for the elevator— some of your belongings clattering on the floor. You picked them up as fast as you could, nearly tripping on your toes.

“I’ll give you a lift.” Your boss declared, stopping the elevator doors with his arm. It opened free, allowing Jung Jaehyun to step inside.

You couldn’t construct a word, not even a syllable to tell him to fuck off and that you don’t need his help would come out of your mouth. But you have guessed he saw the irritation in your face that he answered it with his same scowl.

“If you ride a bus from here to that hospital, it’d take you half an hour. The risk you wouldn’t want to make now that your sister could be dying.” So he really did hear the call.

The veracity of his opinion made the hairs on your skin crawl. He was not wrong, but you still hated him. You detested the possibility of your sister dying on a hospital bed right now and you didn’t need him to hit you with that on the face.

Riding a bus is a risk you don’t want to take, but you didn’t like the idea of Jaehyun helping you either. The matter at hand doesn’t require you to prioritize your pride— so even with a heavy heart, you let Jaehyun guide you towards the parking lot. All eyes were on you as you walked through the lounge. Soojin looked at you with concern printed on her face, you gave her a curt nod to tell her you wete fine. Even when you were sweating waterfall.

He parked right in front of you, waiting for you to hop in. You glanced around, suddenly reluctant to enter his car. Aston Martin— you have seen it in magazines. One of the most expensive cars existing today. The windshield went down, revealing Jaehyun with his one brow shot up to his hairline. Left with no choice but to give up and ride his car, you shrugged and hopped in.

The fifteen-minute ride to the hospital gave you a lot of anxiety. Sitting in his luxurious car made you irrelevant and small again. You were not one to envy the success of other people, but looking at him swerving the steering wheel and push buttons inside the vehicle made you realize that Jaehyun was indeed meant for the elite kind of life. He was sitting there, nonpareil. And that was a bit unfair to you. You were almost the same age, but your worlds were poles apart from each other— with him in the north, and you in the south. You wonder where did you go wrong that all you have experienced in this lifetime were hardships and misfortunes.

Tears pricked your eyes, the envy and the restlessness about your sister’s situation mixing together. But you refused to be weak in front of him. You would get through this, because that was what all you have ever known— getting through everything in life.

You gave Jaehyun no time to say anything for you dashed outside his car towards the emergency room once you reached the hospital. With your heart beating against your throat, you grabbed the nearest nurse by the arm to inquire about your sister.

“How is Yuqi? Yuqi L/N? I’m– I’m her sister! Y/N Y/L/N!” You thump your chest, wishing the nurse would understand your wobbling words.

Before he could answer, a doctor emerged from the emergency room. You quickly ran, frantically bombarding her questions.

“Yuqi L/N? She had a severe asthma attack earlier. The nurses from her university couldn’t risk the odds that’s why they sent her here. Her breathing has calmed down now. But we still need to monitor her situation for she looked like in so much pain earlier.”

You let your body lean on the white walls of the hospital, trying to refocus your mind and handle all your emotions. You were so close to breaking down, and you were surely on your wit’s end— a thread of the thinnest yarn barely keeping you intact. The doctor tapped your shoulders before she walked away.

Almost an hour had passed when they decided to transfer Yuqi into a private room. You quickly followed, helping the nurse make the bed and such. Yuqi’s already awake, looking at you apologetically. You nodded at her with tear stained cheeks. And only when the nurses left you alone you allowed yourself to seat on of the chairs, clasping your sister’s hand between yours.

“I’m sorry…” she croaked.

You silenced her, “Sssh. You shouldn’t cry. It’s not good for you.”

“How could I not cry? Here I am! Being the useless person again! I hate myself!” She pounded the sheets while crying. You continued to shushed her with comforting words.

“Don’t say that! It’s not your fault.” Your voice broke, and all the emotions swallowed you whole.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” she repeated, voice barely audible from all the crying.

“Sssh. It’s okay— I got this,” you reassured her.

Yuqi cried for five-minutes more, while you stroke her hair and tell her all the soothing words that she needed to hear. And then she fell asleep of exhaustion, tears leaving stain on her cheeks. You softly wiped it away with your handkerchief.

Looking around the room, you have taken notice of the empty bedside table. You have to go home and fetch some clothes, buy food and fruits for Yuqi and file a leave. But first, you resonated to calling Soojin. It was past eight p.m.. You were certain she was already on her way home.

“Hello? Y/N? Thank God you called! How are you? Are you okay? I saw you leaving with Mr. Jung. He didn’t hurt you, right? Tell me he didn’t!” she bombarded. You would have laughed if you weren’t in an unfortunate situation right now.

“I… I’m alright. I called to ask you a favor— I hope you won’t mind.” You sniffed.

“Of course I won’t! Tell me what is it? Do I need to call the police?”

“No, silly. I need you to come here, at Sacred Heart’s Hospital—”

She gasped, “What happened to you?!”

“Calm down. I’m quite alright. It’s Yuqi. I need you to look for her. I need to fetch some clothes and buy food. I’ll explain it once you get here.”

“Alright, Y/N. Wait for me!”

“Thanks, Soo. Take care.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket, running a hand through your hair while looking at Yuqi. She looks so peaceful yet weak, her lips barely having any tint on it. And you couldn’t help but blame yourself for what happened to her. I shouldn’t have let you join that team, you whispered— biting your lower lip to stop your tears from falling again.

You decided to rest your head on the sheets while waiting for your friend. Twenty-minutes later, the door creaked opened and you saw Soojin trying her best not to make a sound. She was early, maybe because she was already halfway when you called. You swiftly stood up. She boxed you with a tight hug as soon as she reached you.

“Is she okay?” She asked when you both pulled away.

You nodded at her while sniffing. “It’s my fault. I let her join the archery team.” You pitied yourself for being so careless.

But Soojin only shook her head at you, reaching for your hand. “None of it was your fault, Y/N. I’m sure you only wanted her to enjoy.”

“Still—”

She held up her hand, “Sssh. You have other things to worry about.”

You looked at her with knitted brows then she rolled her eyes at you.

“I saw Mr. Jung outside the hospital. Seems like he’s waiting for you.” Soojin wiggled her brows then.

Your palm automatically slapped on your forehead, remembering that you indeed went to the hospital with your boss. You completely forgot about him because of your anxiousness. Without a word, you departed Yuqi’s room and ran towards the exit— towards Jung Jaehyun.

Cool breeze greeted you outside, making you feel sticky from the sweat and tears your body excreted. The hospital provided cemented tables with chairs around them. You didn’t expect to see him waiting since it’s been almost an hour. But there he was— sitting on the farthest bench the lights could barely reach. A blunt was lit between his fingers, smoke coming out of his mouth while he scrolls through his phone.

You sat beside him, fanning the smoke away from you. There was silence but after a few minutes, he finally gazed at you. He didn’t say anything, just offered you the blunt.

“I don’t smoke. You shouldn't, too. It’s bad for the health.”

“Remind me that once I’ve had enough fucks to give.” He sipped on his blunt, blowing yet another eye-stinging smoke.

You ignored him. There was no point dwelling in the words that left his mouth.

“Why did you wait?” You asked instead.

“I thought you’d ask me about your salary.”

You didn’t say anything because he wasn't wrong. The idea, indeed, has already crossed your mind. But it seems embarrassing to ask about it. You were working on a prestigious company. Paperworks are needed for you to file any advanced salary and loans.

Jaehyun suddenly shifted on his seat, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a card. “Here. Use that for the bills.”

If you were not devastated beyond reckoning right now, you would have dropped dead to see a black card being offered to you.

“I don’t want your pity,” you snapped. Maybe it was your ego that was doing the talk, but you refused to receive any help from him.

Jaehyun deadpanned, “Hate to burst your bubble but your eyes tells me you absolutely do, chérie.”

Chérie.

You have heard of it, as clear as a crystal. Shivers ran down your spine, remembering your dream from earlier. It couldn't be possible. The accent and his voice sounded the same it creeped you out of your wits. You felt your heart somersaulting inside your chest, you were afraid you would lose your breath. But you tried to remain laid back, not letting Jaehyun witness that the monicker he called you rocked your world upside down.

“Is that… Is that your way to recompense?” You asked instead. Suddenly appreciating the grass underneath your feet. Noticing that your throat went dry, you gulped.

“You should know that I don't do that shit.”

You knew it. Jaehyun had no plan to acquit himself of what he did. There was silence again. You ran out of words to say to him. The dream and your reality slowly coaxing in your mind you thought you would go insane.

“Thank you, for going with me here.” You breathed at last.

He only nodded at you, placing his card back in his wallet before standing up and walking away— keys swirling on his finger. You let out a breath as you watched his back gets smaller and smaller.

Chérie. God, what is wrong with me?

—

Jaehyun absolutely has no idea what had got to him to offer you a ride to the hospital. Now that he thought about it, the idea was so unusual of him it made him slightly mad. Not only that, he even gave you a small body pain ointment. Chaelin gave him a lot of shit after the incident in the office, telling him he wasn’t being careful blah blah. And then she had forced the ointment into his hand, threatening him to give it to you.

He was sitting on his couch for twenty-minutes now— scolding himself because of showing a little decency towards a creature he vowed to hate with all the fibers in his being.

Humans. Weak and sinful humans. He breathed the words. Filling his glass of hard liquor and drinking all the contents in one gulp.

He reached for his pocket, digging the crumpled paper inside. Seeing your sketch enraged the living hell out of him, he was surprised he didn’t burn it with his own hands. It was so stupid of him to pick it up and pocket it as fast as he could when you were losing your shit because of your sister earlier.

Now as he stared at the paper again, he still couldn’t help but be furious. The edges of the sketch were rough, but the details were there— screaming at him. He couldn’t stop himself to remember the days when smiling was easy and laughing was effortless.

How many years has it been since he last felt his lips stretch into a genuine smile? Of course, a hundred fucking years ago— he whispered as an answer to his own question. He has no idea what came into your mind that you have decided to draw him smiling— but it infuriated him to the point that he almost fired you.

He reached for the locket on his other pocket again. It became a ritual; him staring at her face on a little locket every night since she died. She was still smiling— her hair flowing freely while a flower crown sit atop her head. Jaehyun clearly remembers the moment like a water on a fresh river.

They were both seated on the grass, with only the moon providing them the light. Then the girl offered his lap for Jaehyun to rest his head. The lake did its best to make everything more romantic by reflecting the moon onto its surface.

Beside her and onto her lap were the only places Jaehyun wanted to be forever. But he knew, in the hardest way, that forever only exist in him— not on the people around him, and especially not on her.

But he hopes— his stone-hard, ice-cold heart hopes that the saints could hear him every time he begged them to take care of her. Because yes, he was a sinner— but he still whispers her name like a prayer.

His world still revolved around her. His heart still beats for the same girl with eyes as blue as the ocean and hair as black as his own soul. The girl who loved painting so much she even gave colors into Jaehyun’s life with her delicate hands.

He ran a hand through his face, feeling that his world is collapsing again and again.

“Aurora, come back to me.”

—

You came back at the hospital after an hour and a half, the shame washing over you the moment you saw Soojin sprawled on the sofa while snoring. It was almost midnight yet she still needs to go home and wake up early tomorrow. You looked up at the ceiling while biting your lip, fighting the urge to cry again. You have no one but her. But only if you could split your body in half to do all things that needs to be done, you absolutely would. Just so you would never have to burden others with your own problems again.

You quietly walked towards her, leaning then shaking her lightly.

She stirred, quickly standing up when she realized it’s you and fixed her hair. “You’re back,” she groggily said.

You nodded at her. “I’m sorry if I had kept you waiting.”

“Oh no. It’s okay, Y/N.” She smiled at you. “The doctor arrived here twenty-minutes ago, checking on Yuqi. She said they still need to monitor her breathing. Hopefully, she could go home in two days.”

You nodded, glancing at you sister. Seeing her in a hospital bed made your heart hurt. It reminded you of the time when your mother was in the same situation, fighting for her life.

“Oh, I need to go home now. Just call me whenever you need me, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Soo. I owe you one.”

You hugged each other. But before you forgot, you grabbed your wallet inside your bag and handed a bill to Soojin. She looked at you, bewildered.

“For your fare, take it.”

“No! I couldn’t possibly take that, Y/N—”

You pushed the money on her palms, shaking your head at her with a thin-lipped smile. “Please, Soo. I won’t be able to sit still if you won’t take this.”

She sighed, finally taking the money. “Take care, okay? Don’t burden yourself too much. You couldn’t possibly control everything that’d happen, Y/N.”

You nodded at her, and then you shared one last hug before she departed the room.

Feeling that your bones couldn’t hold your body any longer, you decided to lay on the same sofa. It was still warm, giving you a little comfort in the cold room. You turned sideways, looking at your sister. Even though Soojin reminded you not to take everything as your fault, you still couldn’t help but blame yourself. No matter how you see the situation, your carelessness still stood as the main reason of why your sister is lying sick on the hospital bed right now.

You remember your mother when she was in the same situation— looking so frail and almost dead. And you, crying your heart out— begging the gods not to take your mother away but you already know that it was impossible. The sickness had spread in every cell of her body already, coating all of her strength and not making room for any improvements. Prayers couldn’t even help when the line had gone straight, the sound it made telling you that your mother had finally given up.

You felt warm tears slide down your nose and on your cheeks, making your eyes sting. Wiping the tears away, you shifted on the sofa and tried to close your eyes to sleep— the tears and the exhaustion delivering you into oblivion.

A lake. That was what you first noticed as you realized that you’re dreaming again.

The moon was on its full glory, white light reflecting in the silent waters of the lake. Unlike from your previous dream of noise and smudged faces, you couldn’t seem to hear the chatters of people or see any instruments tonight. You were completely alone.

But not until a voice spoke from nowhere.

“Aurora…”

You couldn’t name the voice. It sounded like it came from heaven, from the earth, from sundry places. Yet it fondled your heart with a familiar ache— like the name was your own. You tried to step your foot forward, your gown billowing because of the wind. The grass tickled your soles, making you realize that you were indeed barefoot.

The voices never halted as you sauntered up towards the lake. It proceeded with calling the same name. You kneeled on the grass, leaning forward to see your reflection in the water. Thanking the moonlight  for mirroring your face clear enough for you to see. But it wasn’t yours, the face, yet your body and soul belongs to you.

Your hair seemed too black, and your face smaller. And your eyes— the color thrilled you. They were blue, as the ocean itself. A flower crown sit atop your head. You were breathtakingly flawless.

“Aurora…”

You immediately looked around. The voice, no more coming from various people— but to only one. You saw no trace of any living bodies as you roamed your eyes around your surroundings. But the voice still lingered in the air, saying the same name over and over again.

“Aurora… come back to me.”

It was becoming too familiar now— with its deep and raspy tone. You closed your eyes. Jaehyun couldn’t really seem to leave you alone even in your dreams.

masterlist.

[daisukissed]

part two of my animal crossing series

❧ pairing: todoroki shouto x gn!reader

❧ synopsis: in which your hatred towards the island's hearthrob melts into something warmer

❧ genre: headcanons, fluff

❧ warnings: cursing

- he was the talk of the town when he first came

- girls and boys were flocking in front of the residence services just to take a glimpse at him

- which annoyed you SO much cause you're trying to pay loans here

- not getting squeezed into oblivion as you try to reach the front door of the building

- it's a godsend that there were actually no signs of people inside, much thanks to bakugou's fiery personality

- so you opened the door, the cold air-conditioned room welcoming you and immediately took a look at the infamous boy that got the whole island down to their knees for him

- and,,, ,, oh wow,,, okay,,,, you kinda get the hype now,,,,,

- B U T

- just because he has a pretty face doesn't mean that he could go and make your life harder than it is

- so it's safe to say that your first impression on todoroki isn't that great </3

- which is kinda unfair to him cause it's not his fault that he's born with a good looking face!!!!

- but that's besides the point

- anyways, it's as if all of the gods above knew of your slight disdain towards the red and white haired boy, choosing to test your limits by putting you in this situation

- this situation where you're forcefully paired up with the said boy, having to share a hefty amount of your precious time with him

- cause being the island's representative and all, bakugou just had to assign you to this project on improving the island's ratings

- and of course, who could be more perfect in assisting you other than his secretary, todoroki shouto?

- "okay, you know what!!! maybe he isn't as bad as you think!!!! maybe you'll get along with him!!!!!!" you thought to yourself

- wrong.

- "todoroki-san, could you help me sort this part out?"

- "??????? ???? you can't do something this easy?"

- "todoroki-san, what do you think of this one i did?"

- "it's downright bad, honestly."

- Hlj$//&Jssl&2&/&:!2@/

- you hate him. you truly, absolutely, utterly despise him.

- funny thing is, he doesn't even know that he's doing these things to you

- bb's just honest and blunt to the core

- but you don't know that and thinks he's doing it purposely instead

- so you pay back by pulling these subtle and childish pranks

- like putting a plastic cockroach on his desk somewhere

- or ruining his coffee with handfuls of salt

- which all failed btw, you should've known this emotionless bitch would drink salted coffee like it's a normal thing smh

- somewhere along the lines of your messy interactions and one-sided hatred, you find yourself paying more and more attention to him

- like how he always plays with his fringes when bored

- or how he would always stifle this cute chuckle whenever you complain about your failed pranks

- and what!!!! noooOoo!! you're definitely not going soft for this guy wdym!!

- you definitely are

- anyways, this led to you realizing that he's actually stressed 24/7??????

- which isn't much of a surprise cause you'd be too if your boss is bakugou

- but what you don't get is why he wouldn't quit this job when there's better jobs out there outside this secluded island

- so you ask

- and he starts telling you all these details about his life like his father's high standards, the dreadful abuse, and his relationship with his mom and siblings

- "living here is much more better than staying at that house, even if it means i'll have to work day and night everyday."

- fuck!!! who's chopping the damn onions here!!!!!

- your thoughts on todoroki shifted considerably that day and so did your feelings as well

- and by that i mean the irresistible urge to burden and trouble his already chaotic life

- petty insults and arguments turned into toned down talks, stink eyes and pouts into silent respect

- you were already loosening up to him without even noticing

- it was on a fine sunday when the aloof boy seemed to be exceptionally stressed, even more so than usual

- his under eye circles were dark, his patience thin and hair disheveled, his skin pale and gray

- he kinda looked like someone who would offer you drugs in a dark alleyway ngl

- of course, you can't just let your beloved partner lose his goddamn mind over some paperworks, can't you?

- cause who will be doing all the work if he falls sick or takes a leave? definitely not you!

- you'd rather leave this island than work on this humongous project alone

- so you're totally not doing this because you were worried for him or something pfffttt

- grabbing an arm to pull him from the seat he was stuck to for days, you guide him to the outside world, the warm sunlight immediately greeting the both of you

- "y/n?? what are we doing, we got work to-"

- "i'm not working with someone who can't even think straight. we're taking the day off."

- bakugou's at the back FUMING at the disappearance of you two rn

- you start walking down the grassy field with todoroki by your side, making your way to the vast sea of blues

- the smell of wide ocean air and strong breeze hit you upon arriving at the beach, small grains of sands lying beneath your feet

- todoroki's all like: ??????? why are we at the beach????

- and you're like: to fish???? duh, we're here to relax????????

- wrong again.

- hours passed as you spent the time reeling fishes by fishes, the young boy doing the same.

- the sun had set by now, dyeing the once blue sky a beautiful orange, streaks of pink accompanying it

- "y/n it's getting late now, we should go"

- "no no no no no, i swear i'll catch something good this time"

- ..............

- "y/n that's your 33rd sea bass"

- you let out a frustrated scream as you released the slimy fish, lips pulling into a sulky frown

- "i fucking hate this day."

- standing up from the pier you were previously sitting on, you turned towards the tall boy, an unsatisfied feeling overcoming you

- and that's when you saw it.

- a gentle and kind smile. one so warm that it made you think twice if what you're seeing is in fact, real. one that made you wish would never fade away.

- todoroki shouto actually smiled

- your plan of de-stressing failed when you decided to try out fishing but the moment you saw his smile, you felt it was all worth it.

𓏲ָ✞aglist: @softkatsuki @italicization @xiorrawrites @meep-meepity @rizamendoza808 @yikes-buddy @spooky-madison @babayaga67 @raspberryhaterade @creatorofstars @starlight-oracle

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Unhelpful ~ S.E.

A/n: Tried not to get too triggering with this for my own sake, so I hope it still delivered the characters

Request: “...Could you do a book on Samuel Emerson, Where her mother hate Samuel, and doesn't want her to see him but Y/N meets him when he does his Shakespearean plays, and he walks with him until her mother sees him with Y/N and there is a really big argument with her mum, and Samuel's dad joins in and then it doesn't help at all.” by @disneyqueenpixar63 (for some reason it won’t let me tag you, so I’ll just message it to you when I’m done)

Word Count: 1700+

MASTERLIST

Love was hard enough without life and difficult parents getting involved. It was hard enough when you had to struggle for food and to keep your place in your home, let alone trying to fit some sort of romance in the spare moments there were between the panic and sleepless nights worrying and handling the pressure of a dad that was more a burden than anything.

It was hard enough to live with a mother who could never approve of your even if you were perfect, let alone trying to get her to approve of a boy as well. It showed when Y/n brought her boyfriend Samuel home. He'd needed a moment away from home and Y/n had been confident her place would have been better. Her mother had quickly dashed that idea by running Sam out and spending hours and hours after he was gone screaming at Y/n for anything she could think of. It didn't matter that Y/n and Sam weren't having sex, or that they'd been sitting int he living room and in plain sight and just talking and obviously not up to anything questionable at all. Y/n had made the decision to give her heart to Samuel Emerson, so her mother disapproved and she was having absolutely none of it.

That, of course, didn't stop them from seeing each other. They'd avoided Sam's dad knowing about Y/n thus far and were keeping it that way. They wanted their parents part of their relationship as little as possible - especially after Y/n's mom's reaction.

So they were apart at nights, unless they snuck out to meet in secret, which was rare and only in dire circumstances when one absolutely had enough and needed the other. Most of the time they met when Sam was performing. It was where they had first met, so it felt fittingly poetic to do so again and again when they were supposed to be banned from doing it at all. Y/n was in a similar situation that Sam was in, except her mother wasn't addicted to alcohol but men. Thankfully the men came with money, but not enough to keep them fed, so Y/n spent time doing small jobs like mowing lawns and babysitting and dog walking. It was a celebration when she'd turned 15 and had been able to get a job at the car wash. All these things helped her to stay out of her house as much as possible and earn money to pay for food and even save some. Her mom handled the rent at the very least.

After Y/n got off her shift, Sam was wrapping up his performances as the sun began to set and the traffic died down and it was therefore useless to perform. There was no crowd. So, he waited for Y/n and then they'd walk home together. Or, as far home as they could get without being seen. Sam had gotten used to taking an alternate path as not to pass by Y/n's house. They'd at first found it amusing that he had walked past her house on his way home every single day without even knowing the other existed, but now it was just annoying and inconvenient and another thing on a long list of things that had been ruined for them by their parents.

Today, Y/n was having a rough day. She was more relieved than usual to end her day, but only because it meant seeing Sam again. That short walk was most of their interaction, though if Sam could pull off taking a break from performing when it was Y/n's break they would often take lunch together as well. Recently they hadn't been able to pull that off and they'd had to rush home a lot because Y/n's mom was needy and Sam's dad was irritable. Tonight though, they took their time.

They defied their parents the best way they could: despite everything, they allowed themselves to be happy. They walked and they held hands and they enjoyed the cool night air and they just talked and nothing could stop them.

Perhaps that was why Sam missed his turn. Maybe that's why he got too far, walking too long with his girlfriend without realizing where he was and just letting his feet take him down the path both his mind and heart wanted to take. The path that he had taken for years, memorizing as a second nature. The path that would give him more time with Y/n, which is what he wanted more than anything.

The walk ended abruptly when Y/n's mother saw the pair walking up to the hose, smiling and holding hands. She wasn't just impossible to get approval from - she was also bitter. She was the kind of woman who saw other people being happy where she was miserable and refused to tolerate it. Usually she just had to walk away. Today, she could lash out.

"Y/n." The world of light shattered for Y/n when she heard her mother's voice. Any good feeling she had withered and weeds of terror grew in their place.

Slowly the young girl looked over to the woman who had birthed her, and Sam watched with a terrible feeling in his chest as Y/n's face drained of color and her hand clung to his like if she let go, she would be pulled into oblivion still kicking. He wanted to make that smile come back to her face but... he knew first hand that lashing out at a nasty parent only got worse results. So he stayed quiet and vowed to make it up to her tomorrow. Perhaps he'd go a bit longer and perform her favorite poem so she could hear it.

That was tomorrow though. Tonight was already bad, and it had only just begun.

"Mom." She swallowed, blinking as she tried to orient herself. "Hello."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Hello?" There was a threat to her voice that made Sam seize. The teenagers clung to each other, unsure how to undo this disaster. "I told you, Y/n. I TOLD YOU-" She began to approach them, shoving a finger in Y/n's chest so hard that Y/n had to take a step back, wincing from pain. The girl's free hand rose to rub the spot. "What did I tell you?"

Y/n looked at Sam for answers and then saw the boy breaking down. She saw the fear that had been taught to him by situations just like this with a much more dangerous man involved. She saw his fear and helplessness and she felt herself switch from cowering to protective. She stepped forward, drawing the attention to her and away from Sam. "You told me not to see Sam. Why? You never told me why."

"Because he's a boy," Her mother spit. It obviously wasn't the real reason, but as Y/n's mother had been trained to hate men after a life of being only abused by them, it wasn't far from one of the truths she believed at least.

"Sam is different," Y/n insisted. When her mother went to talk, she spoke louder. "He's different! And I know I'm young and it probably won't last because nothing ever does with our stupid species, but he's a good boy and he likes me and I like him and I think I've denied myself of things I want long enough. He makes me happy, and why would I stop that? Just because in the future we might break up?"

The older woman considered that. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Y/n demanded. "Failure?"

"Precisely," the woman responded firmly.

Y/n rolled her eyes. That was not the correct response. Her mother got visibly agitated, but Y/n wasn't done yet. "Well it's not a guaranteed failure, and if you stop me from that then you also stop me from possible success. I'm allowed to make my own mistakes."

The woman scoffed. "Oh, so now you know everything? PLEASE forgive me for trying to guide and love and protect you." Her eyes drifted to Sam and then light with an emotion that Y/n didn't like. "Look at how much he's changed you already. Look at you acting all big and tough and putting on a show for a little boy who can't even defend you. Look at him cower! He's pathetic!"

Their voices had elevated enough that lights had begun turning on. In the distant Y/n heard Sam whimper and it was just enough to draw her attention to what was behind her mother's shoulder.

A man who was unmistakably Mr. Emerson. And from the sway in his path as he walked, he was intoxicated. Y/n made herself bigger as best she could, shielding both adults from the boy who had migrated behind her at this point.

"You talking about my son?" His voice was low and gruff and already aggressive.

"Dad-" Sam began, but he was cut off by Y/n's mother.

"What if I am?" She sneered. "I can't believe this boy you raised is such a coward. Aren't you ashamed of yourself for raising such a wimp? What kind of man raises such a child, who can't even stand up for a girl he's stupid enough to stay with even though I've told her not to be around him. He's okay with the action but not the consequences. He'll never be a man like that."

Sam's dad did not seem pleased by that. "You want to blame me for how he turned out?" He scoffed. "Parents can only do so much. Not my fault if he can't speak up. Though with the likes of you, you're not worth his time and effort."

Very soon, it escalated. Soon it became too much and Y/n turned to Sam and pulled him after her, running off into the darkness.

Tonight they'd be together. On the streets perhaps, but neither could go back to those houses where more arguments would ensue. If they came back tomorrow instead, they wouldn't have to deal with the anger. Their parents would have calmed and after the argument, Y/n's mom might have even moved on and lost interest and let Y/n make her mistakes or whatever. Things would be different tomorrow. Different than tonight.

It was worth sleeping on the streets for one night, so they did. Wrapped in each other's arms, it was far less than it would have been int heir houses, or alone. They could be okay with this. After all, it wasn't anything new. Just another day, another problem. One of many they would handle together.

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: Can you really try your hand at being a pop act with a name like “Severed Heads”? Despite a background in experimental, underground industrial music, these Australians made a pretty serviceable go at it. Find out more by watching the video or reading the full transcript below the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! For today’s installment, I’ll be looking at Rotund For Success, first released in 1989 by the Australian electronic act, the Severed Heads. If you’re familiar with the Severed Heads, you might be aware that some people consider them to be an industrial band. But, as is often the case with such labels, it’s one that the artists themselves would reject--not to mention many listeners and fans, in turn. I, for one, have heard them described as the industrial version of “elevator music,” and while I find that hard to imagine, I can sort of see it. Wherever you might fall on this issue, there are certainly strong elements of both synth-pop and dance music in much of the Severed Heads catalogue--as on one of their best known tracks, “Hot With Fleas.”

Music: “Hot With Fleas”

First released on their 1987 LP Bad Mood Guy, “Hot With Fleas” won some club play in its own time and remains one of the best known Severed Heads tracks. Structurally, it’s a fairly typical Severed Heads composition, combining sample-heavy experimental percussion grooves with a slight hint of a playful melody. Despite its danceability, “Hot With Fleas” also betrays the group’s love for the vile and repulsive, chiefly in its imagery of being infested with itchy parasites. The sense of disgust, combined with the heavy, clattering percussion, together make the strongest case for an interpretation of the music as a part of the industrial tradition. But whatever we choose to call this style, the Severed Heads would take an increasingly pop approach on Rotund For Success--without losing all of those more subversive themes.

Music: “All Saints’ Day”

“All Saints’ Day” served as the album’s opening track as well as its second single. All Saints’ Day is, of course, a feast associated with historical observation of Halloween, which might serve to make the track come across as a little bit “spooky.” The use of squealing or screeching samples here may be an extension of that theme as well. Perhaps the most noticeable difference between “Hot With Fleas” and “All Saints’ Day” is that the latter is much more melody-centered; where “Hot With Fleas” was content to have its melodic hook either buried in the mix, stuttered into oblivion, or both, “All Saints’ Day” feels more like a pop song that happens to have an out-there percussion track. In addition to some fairly clean and pretty synth work, “All Saints’ Day” also seems to take a step back from some of the more perturbed lyricism from earlier in the Severed Heads catalogue, focusing on an individual who seems to struggle with issues of faith. The narrator feels unable to see themselves in the lives of the saints, but also asserts, in the song’s powerful refrain, that they are “willing to believe,” and strive for greatness nonetheless. While not preoccupied with “filth” as “Hot With Fleas” was, there’s still a sort of sinister undercurrent to “All Saints’ Day”: does it imply that the narrator’s faith is an impediment in their life, something that holds them back or prevents them from feeling confident? Religious faith is also the main theme of the album’s best-known single, “Greater Reward.”

Music: “Greater Reward”

Both in its actual chart performance, as well as in structure and style, “Greater Reward” is the closest thing to a pop hit that you’ll find on Rotund For Success. While it has a broad similarity to “All Saints’ Day,” it’s a bit like “All Saints’ Day” with all of its knobs turned up: brighter synth, more toylike percussion, and an enthralling, soaring refrain. “Greater Reward” feels captivatingly confident, almost swaggering--a real feat for Severed Heads vocalist Tom Ellard, whose distinctively thin or frail voice might be compared to that of Neil Tennant, of Pet Shop Boys fame. Another thing that “Greater Reward” seems to have escalated compared to “All Saints’ Day” is its lyrical subtext. Where “All Saints’ Day” portrays a struggling believer, the narrator of “Greater Reward” is perhaps a little too confident in their belief--so zealous that they seem to shun the earthly pleasures of love in favour of the titular “Greater Reward” of the afterlife. It’s easy to see how this track more clearly portrays religion as a net negative, even in the face of its simperingly cheerful melody. The track “First Steps” tackles the theme of religion in a more oblique manner.

Music: “First Steps”

The title of “First Steps” obviously implies the first attempts of a child to start walking, and the song’s remarkably slow, plodding pace also evokes the idea of a hesitant and clumsy attempt at something. It’s tempting to interpret the lyrics of the song as being things that might be told to children when they’re very young, particularly the refrain, “if you tell lies, an angel dies.” This line seems to give a third independent critique of religion: not only can it confuse those who want to do good, and cause people to neglect happiness during the one life they know they have, but it also plays a role in the indoctrination of young children, with this lyric portraying a spectral punishment that awaits wrongdoers. But the real reason people shouldn’t lie is that it harms other people here on Earth...right? In another “fairy tale” turn, the narrator suggests visiting “somebody where love is money,” only to conclude that “you can’t pay yourself, to fill yourself with desire for someone.” Perhaps this is a maxim or cliche, in some other universe. And perhaps it’s true--at some point, no matter what age we are, we have to learn that love isn’t a commodity, but rather a feeling, that can only be freely given. While I’ve emphasized the religious themes on this album a lot, not all tracks on Rotund For Success seem preoccupied with it. Take, for example, “Big Car.”

Music: “Big Car”

With the longest runtime of anything on the album, even without including a separate two-minute track that precedes it simply named “Big Car Intro,” “Big Car” certainly feels like something of a centerpiece for the album. It begins the second side of the LP, and it was released as a single, though to significantly less success than the others. Starting off with a frightful crash of breaking glass, “Big Car” is quick to introduce us to the Severed Heads’ hallmark hypnotic rhythm, and its plaintive, slightly nervous melody. The narrator of “Big Car” addresses someone who has perhaps done them wrong in the past, asking them to visit, and promising them that “never an unkind word need be said, about [their] life overhead.” If “Greater Reward” projected confidence, then “Big Car” suggests fragility, with a narrator who seems to be putting on a happy face to disguise their desperation. A more pop-minded listener might read this as a tale of a lover who’s been cheated on, crawling back to the person who betrayed them. But at the same time, there’s nothing that really suggests that this song is about a romantic relationship between the two. I think a lot of Severed Heads tracks fall into this musical “uncanny valley,” with elements of pop as well as more underground or experimental music, and perhaps to some extent what we choose to interpret in their work has more to do with us listeners than the Severed Heads. At any rate, though it may have some synth-pop DNA, “Big Car” is far from a typical pop song, with its meandering, mostly instrumental structure.

While earlier Severed Heads albums often featured grotesque and gruesome imagery, the cover of Rotund For Success eschews that in favour of an almost pithy or banal design, dominated by a large, floating pumpkin. While an argument could be made linking the pumpkin emblem with the theme of “All Saints’ Day,'' I'm inclined to interpret it as something created to be aggressively and offensively meaningless, like a corporate logo that’s been focus-groupped into a semiotic void. The album’s title perhaps also suggests a meaningless slogan for some useless product, with the word “success” serving as a stand-in for anything and everything that the consumer might desire. Much as the Severed Heads’ earlier work centered the grotesque, musically, lyrically, and visually, the move towards a cheekily trite cover and title mirror the way this album took their sound into a more subtly mocking direction. Overall, *Rotund For Success* is an album that snubs the gory details in favour of making a more abstract commentary, and I think the surface-level prettiness that this album offers makes it an enticing first look at an act with a very complex legacy.

While the Severed Heads enjoyed a perhaps surprising amount of mainstream acclaim with Rotund For Success, as well as a remix of their earlier track “Dead Eyes Opened" at around this same time, they would soon fade back into the obscurity that one generally expects of grotesque and experimental music. Their follow-up LP, the more guitar-curious Cuisine (With Piscatorial), failed to reach the same levels of crossover interest, and it would become their final release on Nettwerk Records before being dropped by the label.

Music: “Estrogen”

My favourite track from Rotund For Success is the enigmatic “LFM.” What does “LFM” stand for? Well, I’m really not sure, but the lyrics of this track suggest that we ought to feel “the power and the glory” of it. Given the religious themes of “All Saints’ Day” and “Greater Reward,” it seems possible that “LFM” is something to put one’s faith in even if we don’t understand it. But whatever it is, this track’s outro is positively sublime, with what sounds like a chorus of chirping birds to play us out. It’s rare that you hear such a nature-inspired sound in industrial music, but it really works well here, and reminds me a bit of Gary Numan’s “Engineers.” That’s all for today--thanks for listening!

Music: “LFM”

[player-1]

Anyone who’s been in the TMA fandom (or those who understand the bare minimum of the story) know damn well that whatever was going on with Michael D. Stortion and Gabriel/Worker-of-Clay was not just a simple Avatar/Entity partnership. No, in the twisted timeline of the Spiral itself, the Armageddon arms-race pales in comparison to the romantic tragedy subplot those two had long before Jon and Martin were in the picture.

(This is also going to be a long one, and with some MAG 101 spoilers, so buckle on in...)

Here’s what I mean:

Gabriel (or in this case, Gabe) works with Neil Lagorio (Web aligned special-effects dude) in the mid 1900′s on their first movie The Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Unfortunately for him, Gabe quits in 1972 just as the movie was released. 

Not much is known of this time after 1972 up until the dreaded sculpting class in 2004. Speculation-wise, Gabriel might have been corrupted by the Flesh during his movie-making times or earlier before he came into contact with the Spiral.

Reasons: -The Spiral connects with the unraveling of reality, question one’s sanity and eventually “spiraling” into insanity. -The Flesh, in its literal sense, connects to the fear of people or animals being killed for meat; even the appearance of flesh/bone being twisted, bent, or butchered. But it can also connect on a emotional level, such as being viewed weaker than others, mostly relating to a person’s body image. That’s also the reason why the nature of his death is completely unlike the Spiral simply letting him fade out of reality. -Gabriel displays more Flesh-like qualities in his appearance and work up until the end of MAG 126. He doesn’t want people to judge him by appearance alone (even if his entire body is made up of clay) but he makes up for it with his unassuming personality and amazing talent. In a literal sense, he wants to mold himself into the kind of person that gets praised for his clay-making abilities, not just from his creations alone.  

[Enter Ｔｈｅ　Ｄｉｓｔｏｒｔｉｏｎ: Stage Left] Of course, while there’s no evidence on how, when or why the Distortion would target him specifically, but there is one thing. Compared to all the other Spiral avatars and fear-aligned creatures, they all used to be humans in the past. The Spiral by nature is to cast aside their humanity and submit to the nature of insanity. But since most of the Spiral avatars either faded out of existence or just refused to do anything ritual-wise, how was it supposed to create a new world if all they ever do is destroy? It adopts an artist, of course. There’s nothing more chaotic than the struggles of a budding sculptor such as himself. But while that may be a convincing argument for the Spiral to get Gabriel to join the Dark Side, there could be more to convince him that it’s worth following the unknowable being of delusions. Long story short, there was no reason for Gabriel to judge himself so poorly if he knew how to reshape the world to how he sees fit. it would convince him that, like the archangel he’s named after, he could show the world the coming future; twisting the laws of reality so that there’s no room to judge how something should be right or wrong, imaginary or real.  As if they were said from the Lord himself, Gabriel heard the Distortion’s tell him about a new world and finally found inspiration in them.

Then comes the sculpting class.  It’s worth noting that, even with the angel symbolism for Michael and Gabriel, it could be implied that Gabriel is also a goody-two-shoes Christian boy who regularly attends church, as evidence of Michael having knowledge about Mass in MAG 20, assisting the Flesh in driving Father Edwin to cannibalism (so the Flesh and Spiral have an interesting partnership, huh?).  Besides that, this is where Gabriel takes the spotlight. From Deborah’s point of view, he was a strange little man from the beginning; eyes always jutted out of his face, appearing right in someone’s personal space and disappearing just as fast, and of course, his works of clay. (Also a random headcanon just because: Gabriel may be afraid of water, either because his entire body being made of clay, and since you need water to help shape the material, he does not want to get it melded into his own flesh. Could also be the reason why he has short and greasy hair, cause he would practically melt into a puddle if he was unfortunate enough to get wet.) And apart from Deborah and her friends’ growing discomfort over Gabriel in general, he’s just vibing in the back of the class, trying to make a shape for the unknowable form of the Distortion. And the second Deborah inadvertently gives him a break from his artist’s block, he quite literally takes control of the class; switching over the biweekly schedule it was before into every week, and even manipulating the space of the classroom to further support his artistic needs. 

“Ray told us the lesson was ‘faces.’ I put my hand up to say that sculpting faces was probably a bit advanced for where we were in the course, but he shook his head, and said that we were… a lot more talented than we thought. He said the key was that faces were twisted. All faces were twisted on the inside, and all you had to do was reach into the deepest part of yourself and put that twisted on the outside of the clay, and as soon as you can scream you’ll have your own face staring back at you.”  (MAG 126)

This is also the key to the Spiral itself. With Gabriel’s assistance, he will be able to let the spiral to insanity move in reverse, create the physical manifestation of that fear instead of letting it collapse and destroy itself. And in that lesson as well, Gabriel finally creates a fitting image of the Distortion...A door, the physical entrance to insanity itself.

Then comes the final stretch in Sannikov Land, the nonexistent island that was said to exist between the years 2009 and 2011. And as Michael D. Stortion explains in MAG 101, was the perfect place for their ritual, The Great Twisting. After everything Gabriel had done to appease his good “friend”, The Distortion seemed extremely invested in the Worker of Clay at that point. Nevermind the fact that its telling Jon how its identity was stolen away from Michael Shelley by merging with the Distortion, but there’s more to this origin story.

“Michael was protective of the frail old woman he believed her to be. So… so delicate, so forgetful, yet gently wise. He cared for her. He trusted her. And she fed him to me. She made him to destroy our transcendence. And she did not hesitate.” “And it was me they sought to stop. Me and the others of It-Is-Not-What-It-Is. Our Great Twisting. The-Worker-of-Clay had laboured for decades on that contorted, impossible edifice of doors… and stairs… and falsehoods… and smiles. A thousand staring morsels stood, and not one of them believed themselves sane to look upon it. And in the centre, the door that would open to all the places that were never there, was me.“ “Perhaps I should have realised what was happening; seen those two lonely figures approaching me, but I cannot tell you the existential joys of truly… becoming. Of an entireness finally crossing the threshold into your self. So ecstatic was my completeness, I did not even hear my own door creak open.“ “Even sharper than the joy of becoming is the agony of being opened and remade. To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place. To become Michael. And to do so at such a crucial point in our Twisting, in our becoming, well of course it destroyed it. The impossible altar collapsed. The-Worker-of-Clay tore out his veins to dissolve himself in crimson mud. The others of us were cast to all the places that aren’t; some have still not found their way out again...My very existence tied to my pointlessness. Wearing my failure as the very fabric of my being. Reduced once again to feeding on the unsuspecting and confused. That is who I am.“ (MAG 101)

Even if all of this was to explain how the Distortion became the being it is in the series, it’s easy to see how overjoyed it was during the ritual. All that the Spiral ever did was bring the sense of unreality and paranoia unto people for ages, only breaking down the mind until they eventually spiral into oblivion. It wanted to be something, it wanted to make something twisted and nonsensical from the world, to shape the world itself to the nature of insanity. And after all that time, no matter how many avatars it had in its control, Gabriel was the only one who began creating the ritual. Even if it was for an ulterior motive, The Distortion was pretty giddy as Gabriel worked for years on end to create the meaning of insanity; to create something that the Distortion saw as the perfect vessel for itself. And even as it was explaining it, with all these feelings of joy and ecstasy and very human thoughts and emotions, this was before it was forced to become Michael. So much for not being bound by human nature, huh? But it’s pretty ironic that, as the embodiment of delusions, insanity and lies, it never considered the idea of having an avatar that could make something out of that chaos. Even if the Distortion was explaining how Michael-not-Michael Shelley came into being, it also can be interpreted as Michael just yearning for his best Avatar so far.  So instead of “I’m going to tell you my entire backstory.”, it’s more like “I’m going to tell you how a nosy old woman and her idiotic assistant ruined my chances to be with my Avatar of the Decade who may or may not be my boyfriend.”

In conclusion, Gabriel AKA The Worker of Clay AKA Igor with an art degree became the Hands of the Spiral because the nonbinary embodiment of delusion (who is also a door) gave a miserable struggling artist a shot of self-confidence (and a shot out of the Flesh’s control), eventually becoming its #1 Boyfriend Avatar of all time, and is the only person that would make the “hates gender and existence itself” Distortion yearn for years after his tragic death.

Takes notes people, this is what peak performance looks like.

[rapperkookz]

broadcasted | jhs | fluff, slight angst

summary: after a fight with your boyfriend, you suck up your pride and try to apologize to him, if only he would stop giving you the silent treatment.

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 2.6k ________________________________________________

Your POV

It took a lot to get your boyfriend angry. Understandably so, he was the embodiment of sunshine, an angel sent from heaven above. You know when he called your name, all looks of love and kindness in his eyes gone, did you fuck up badly.

In your defense, it wasn’t your fault. You both went to a university where money meant status, so when a friend of yours had the audacity to look down upon Hoseok because of his lack of wealth in comparison to the two of you, long story short: you went batshit ruthless. 

You could recall the situation vividly, the memory only two days ago and still a fresh wound causing a strain in your relationship with Hoseok.

~

“Why do you keep checking your phone? Hoseok hasn’t texted you back yet?”

You nodded, a pout playing on your lips as you rested your head on your palm, “He has a big exam for his philosophy class that he was worrying about, I wonder how it went.”

“I guess he has to study hard huh? Sucks to actually have to work just so he can survive after university.” Your friend quipped backhandedly. You furrowed your eyebrows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying y/n. We have trust funds and inheritance from our families, even if we fail all our classes, we’re already set for life. Hoseok has to actually study and work hard to keep his scholarship here and somehow get a good paying job after we graduate. I don’t know why you’re dating him of all people in his friend group.” 

“Why are you saying him like he’s less than us? I never thought I deserved better than Hoseok, Yoo Jeongyeon. Take it back right now.” You said offended. Jeongyeon only shrugged, “I mean, he is less than us y/n. He won’t amount to anything close to what we will end up doing in the future.”

“Hoseok may not come from our background, but at least his family isn’t full of cheaters and filthy tax evaders, you ignorant bitch.” You practically snarled at your so-called friend, “And who are you to talk to me about my relationship and who I date? You can’t even keep a boyfriend for more than a month, why huh? Cheating runs in your blood?”

At this point, the crowd of students around your table were giving the two of you looks, whispering no doubt about your argument. Family matters were a sensitive topic for everyone, especially those of you with a high-ranking lineage. Anything said can be used as an attack and can ruin reputation with a snap of a finger. Jeongyeon looked around embarrassed, unsure of what to say in response to your words. She scoffed after a few seconds, “You’re right. My family is full of cheaters, but in the end you probably will do the same once you realize that Hoseok isn’t good enough for you. Let’s be real, he’s only using you for your money-”

You couldn’t help yourself at this point, immediately reaching forward and taking a fistful of her hair, the girl yelping in surprise. You were beyond angry at this point, your blood boiling. You tugged harshly, “Take it back, you have no fucking right to-”

“y/n stop!” Your boyfriend said shocked as he and one of his friends, Namjoon, came into view, quickly separating the two of you. “Jeongyeon, are you okay?”

“Don’t fucking talk to her Hoseok, she’s a two-headed snake, that bitch-”

“I’ll fucking sue you, y/n!”

“Do it! Talk to my fucking lawyer. Can’t promise you’ll get what you want since your family’s dealing with your father’s sexual assault lawsuit, right?” You said with a mean smirk, unphased as Jeongyeon’s eyes started to water. Hoseok gripped your hand, “that’s enough, y/n.”

You were still fuming as Hoseok pulled you away from the scene, telling Namjoon that he would catch up with him later, as Hoseok led you to his car so that you two could talk without ears listening in. “Seok, why did you stop me? Jeongyeon was talking shit and badmouthing you right to my face-”

“That doesn’t give you the permission to pull her hair out, y/n.” He said staring at the dashboard, trying to collect his thoughts. You couldn’t believe his lack of anger, why wasn’t he as mad as you?

“She fucking said you didn’t deserve me and that you wouldn’t amount to anything close to us after graduation, the fucking audacity-”

“She’s right,” He said cutting you off, much to your surprise, “I don’t deserve you and I probably won’t succeed as much as you would, the fact that you’re angry about it means you’re embarrassed. How did you manage to date me for this long if you were ashamed of our different wealth classes?”

“What?” You said in disbelief, “Jung Hoseok do you even know what you’re saying right now? I’m not ashamed or embarrassed of you! Our different backgrounds don’t mean anything to me at all—what, why are you angry at me? It was Jeongyeon who fucking started it!”

“You didn’t have to roast the living shit out of her because she insulted me. I thought you would have been the bigger person and that you don’t bring family matters into arguments. I’m just disappointed that I had to see you act like that.” He said pinching the bridge of his nose. You called his name, shocked at the emotionless gaze he gave you, one you’ve never seen before. You scoffed, opening the passenger door, “I can’t believe you’re mad at me right now. I’ll see you later, I’ll ask my chauffeur to drive me home.”

~

And that’s how you ended up here. It’s been two days since you’ve seen each other besides passing the grounds at university, both of you quickly averting eyes after a glance at the latter. You didn’t regret what you did or said to Jeongyeon, considering you were only defending your boyfriend and your relationship. Still, you couldn’t help but at least feel guilty towards Hoseok, and towards his disappointment in you. He wasn’t a fighter, peace and fairness was in his nature, so to see you get physical like that, you suppose he had every right to feel the way he did.

You tried calling and apologizing to him hours after the altercation, but were met with missed calls and messages left on read. Not going to lie, you were hurt, but he did nothing wrong, it was all on you to self reflect and bridge your relationship.

“Have you tried buying him dinner? What about that steakhouse we love?” Jimin asked as you sat with him and Yoongi in the eldest’s studio. You scoffed and threw your Apple pencil at the boy. “I’m not going to buy his forgiveness with money, Park. He’s not materialistic like you.”

“Maybe not, but he has rich taste like the rest of us. I know your boyfriend like the back of my hand y/n, I am his roommate after all.” Jimin said. You rolled your eyes, Jimin was how you and Hoseok met in the first place. You and the boy met as children, your parents being business partners—and by now, in-laws since your elder brother and his sister were married last year in order to merge companies and raise stock prices.

“Don’t listen to him, y/n.” Yoongi chuckled lightly hitting the back of Jimin’s head. “Hoseok’s just been thinking, he’s not actually mad at you. It’s just a bit hard for him to comprehend since he’s never been in a situation like this before.”

“I told him, Yoongi. I don’t care about his status or how wealthy his family is, I just care about...him.” You sulked, feeling frustrated with yourself. Yoongi gave you a sympathetic smile, “Don’t take this the wrong way y/n, we all know you don’t think of Hoseok any different like the rest of us. But he gets insecure and inferior, you don’t get any shit because you’re the one with a higher economic status. Hoseok gets the short end of the stick in situations like this. Now c’mon, we’re airing in three minutes.”

Yoongi was the dj for the most popular podcast on campus. Students from all majors listened in because of his impeccable music taste, blunt personality, and charming voice. You and the other boys in their friend group guest-starred often, Yoongi only letting his close friends join in on his fun every Thursday afternoon.

“So he’s mentioned me at least?” You whined at the two, the boys chuckling and conspiring amongst themselves much to your oblivion. You were starting to go crazy, missing Hoseok so much and craving to at least hear his voice.

---

“Huh? Yoongi hyung’s airing already? Isn’t it a bit early?” Jungkook said turning up the volume of the speaker as he, Namjoon, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok lounged around Seokjin’s living room.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Taehyung nodded in curiousity, “Aren’t Jimin-ie and y/n guests today?”

Hoseok nodded, of course he missed you like crazy too, but it was endearing to him whenever he read your texts of apology and listening to the guys tell their encounters with you over the past two days, making cute excuses to try and get him to notice you. “Just talk to y/n already, dumbass.” Seokjin remarked from the side. “You’re not doing either of you any good by ignoring ‘em, y/n apologized already too.”

“I know, I just think y/n’s cute when they’re pouty.” Hoseok grinned fondly.

“Hm? Wait everyone shut up-”

“Jimin please, tell Seok-ie that I’m sorry and that I’m self reflecting! I feel like I’m suffocating and Hoseok’s my air, I can’t breathe without him! Why are you two laughing—oh my God the light is on, are we live right now?! Min Yoongi I’m going to fucking kill you-”

“Alright everybody welcome to your weekly dose of D2, I’m DJ Suga as you all know, and we have two special guests today, my dear friends Jimin and y/n-ow! Stop hitting me!”

“Oooh,” Jungkook snickered as the four boys started teasing Hoseok, an embarrassed blush on your boyfriend’s cheeks at your accidental live confession.

--

“And that’s it for today’s podcast, my favorite fuckers. We’re closing off today with Missing You by BtoB because y/n misses Hoseok. Make up already please, I think I embarrassed y/n enough for a lifetime-”

“I will never forget you did this to me,”

“See you next time on D2 everyone! Have a good night, don’t max out your bank accounts, and remember, I’m single.” Jimin said flirtatiously as Yoongi cut off the mics and started playing the song. God you feel like you aged ten years after this thirty minute podcast, you had no doubt that Hoseok heard your confession, you were pretty sure everyone heard your confession. There wasn’t a single student you knew of that didn’t listen in to Yoongi’s podcast every week.

“I did you a favor y/n, c’mon. There’s no way Hoseok would keep ignoring you after that.” Yoongi said lightheartedly. You grimaced at him, running your hands through your hair in stress. Swiftly, Jimin grabbed your phone and bag, “You’re coming with us to Seokjin hyung’s, in-law. No backing out because I have your stuff, time to face your boyfriend.”

You tried retaliating but were urged to follow them to Yoongi’s car anyway, your desire to see your boyfriend trumping your humiliation. The ride from Yoongi’s studio to Seokjin’s hotel flew by, your mind coming up with all kinds of scenarios and preparing for the worst as you walked towards Seokjin’s hotel room.

“Ah here’s our favorite DJ,” Seokjin said excitedly as the three of you entered. “Gotta say, this week’s podcast was one of your best ones Yoongi.”

You shot the eldest a look, glancing at the rest of the bodies that were dispersed in the living room. Immediately you met eyes with your boyfriend, body freezing as you stuttered and excused yourself to the bathroom.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Jimin snickered as he patted Hoseok on the back, the boy grinning as he walked in the direction you went off. Seokjin crossed his arms, “Just don’t fuck in my bathroom, please—actually, if you do, just let me fucking know so I can get the cleaners to disinfect that place.”

“If I hear one thud from the bathroom, I’m blasting some cursed Wii music, I hope you know that hyung!” Jungkook yelled.

You splashed your face, hoping the cold water would bring down your body temperature and rid your flushed cheeks. You flinched as a knock sounded on the door, “y/n, can I come in?”

“I-uh yeah, it’s unlocked.” You said shyly as Hoseok entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You refused to meet his gaze, eyes downcast on the marble flooring as he put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door. You didn’t need to look at him to know he looked incredibly attractive right now. “I’m your air, huh baby?”

You cringed, bringing your hands up to cover your face. Hoseok let out a laugh, his voice sweet and melodic to your ears, your stomach doing somersaults at his mere presence. The boy gently took your hands, revealing your face to him, “I’m sorry for ignoring you baby,”

“Why are you saying sorry?” You muttered finally gathering the courage to look him in the eyes, “I was the one that disappointed you Seok,”

“I know you did all that to defend us, y/n. I don’t blame you for lashing out at Jeongyeon,” He said softly as he cupped one of your cheeks, instantly nuzzling into his warm palm. “Thank you baby,”

You pouted and wrapped your arms around his waist as he pulled you in for a hug. You felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders as he buried his face in your hair. God how you missed his scent. “I know I said it all in my texts Seok-ie, but I hope you do know that I’m so happy to be yours. I mean it when I say that I don’t give a fuck about your status and that I’m not at all ashamed to be dating you.”

“I know, y/n.” He said pressing a kiss to your crown, “I can’t help but get insecure sometimes because you really are too good for me-”

“shut up,” You denied tilting your head up to peck his lips. “I am not, if anything it’s the other way around. I can’t believe you really didn’t text me for two days, I was going crazy over here.”

“I was too,” He retorted rubbing your sides, “I was going to text you yesterday, but you were just so cute being all pouty, I wanted to drag it out a little longer.”

“Evil,” You scoffed lightly punching his chest. He only laughed and squeezed you tighter, “I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” You mumbled relaxing in his embrace. “We should probably go back out there or else the guys will probably think we’re fucking in Seokjin’s bathroom.”

“I mean, Seokjin hyung gave us the okay, baby.” He smirked winking at you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t help the slight churn of heat that shot through your body, “I am not having sex in Seokjin’s hotel bathroom.”

“You’re no fun,” Hoseok said, this time his turn to pout. You lightly slapped his mouth, “Why do it here when we have a perfectly empty king-sized bed at my apartment?” 

He chuckled, snaking a hand down to squeeze your ass as you both exited the bathroom and rejoined the guys in the living room. The six looked at your interlocked hands and gave you claps of approval. “Can’t believe it took Yoongi hyung publicly outting y/n for you both to make up,”

“Yeah, can you breathe now, y/n?” Taehyung smirked at you as he agreed with Namjoon. You raised your fist to threaten Taehyung, cursing at him. The boys only laughed, Hoseok bringing your hands up to kiss the backside of your palm.

“You are so welcome, you fuckers.” ______________________________________________

a/n I got this idea after rewatching heirs and just mmmm i love hoseok goodnight.

7-11-20

[guigz1-coldwar]

'Small love, big hate': a one-shot (+18)

"Small love, big hate"

Plot Summary : Yirina Grigoriev & Sonya Kuzmin are hating each other for obscures reasons but there's something that no even them expected to happen......

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +2700

Warning : NSFW content !

Tribute for @clxudtea for Sonya Kuzmin character

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

They couldn't know why & how all of that happened.....

No one in the Perseus Collective couldn't even explain how two of Perseus best operatives started to hate each other for real : did that start when the two met each other years ago during an Perseus meeting ? Was it because of one of their operations has gone to shit ? Was it because of something very personal ? If some people pointed that the two started their rivalry at the whole beginning when they both met, others thinks that it was involving someone in an romantic way. Nonetheless, if no one knows of the true motives of their hatred between each other, there were nothing that could help the two to maybe reconcile.

Grigoriev was in the Perseus Collective since she was four years old, raised by Perseus himself during all her life since her parents died in an strange american attack on the village she was living, her parents dying during that event but in reality, she never actually believe in his fight but for her, staying in the group is an occasion to save & protect the innocents from the group evil-doings. She stayed true to her own goals and she hate all of those who is harming innocents.

Sonya Kuzmin was an whole different case to talk about. The famous Vikhor 'Stitch' Kuzmin is in fact their brother and were brought inside the Perseus Collective when they have celebrated their 18th birthday and it was the same year where they & Grigoriev have met in person and to be honest, the two were both mixed about each other, intrigued by the other before their hatred start to slowly born over the years and for them, they couldn't explain the real reason : a love triangle with another Perseus operative......Freya 'Wraith' Helvig, a type of relation that was in fact forbidden in the Collective.

To begin with, Freya was in an relationship with Grigoriev but in the first years following the meeting of Yirina Grigoriev & Sonya Kuzmin, something bring Freya to start an love relationship with Sonya while she was still with Grigoriev and the discovery of that by her launched their hatred that was still on these days. Today, Grigoriev & Kuzmin came back from an Perseus operation in the Ural Mountains and when the two entered each other in the locker room of the base they come back, everyone knew that they couldn't stay in the same room of the two, knowing that it could cause an fight that never actually happened or another big argument that could last hours between them. Everyone left the room, leaving only Yirina & Sonya in it. Both were turned around, not facing each other.

"What are you thinking now, Sonya ?" Yirina decided to launch an very ordinary discussion with Sonya, not even thinking about the hatred the two got, as she was removing the bloodied bulletproof vest off her, it was the blood of someone else, of course.

"Thinking of your mom !" Sonya replied, scoffing about the death of Yirina's parents in an funny way, having their hands on face, looking at the mirror that was inside their locker and seeing the traces of blood of an soviet soldier she killed with an shotgun in the head.....literally.

"Ah, very funny." Yirina said in an very annoyed voice, hearing that little not funny joke almost everyday from Sonya themselves. "I heard that from you everyday, maybe start to change." She added, suggesting an friendly advice to them as she was cleaning the blood on her face too. "I don't know, maybe thinking or doing someone else instead of talking about my mom."

"Oh, you maybe want me to say something about your father or one of your friends ?" Sonya proposed as they were looking at an small pool of an soldier's blood on their neck....to say that this mission was like an slaughter....blood were almost everywhere on their clothes..."No, I still prefer your mom."

"Well, I can say that you don't like to change." Yirina spoke but even if she was clearly saying it to Sonya, her voice was like saying to herself. In fact, she was trying to change herself as for now, she was trying to put her old relationship with Freya aside....she was trying to but always something to bring it back to the frontline.

"You still want to know what I'm really thinking right now ?" Sonya asked as they were starting to remove slowly their jacket, finding them in an very nice-looking short that Yirina couldn't see as they both put an rule if the two were in the same room to change themselves : we don't look at each other. "Right now, I'm thinking of having Freya's fingers in me....fucking me into oblivion." They said, proudly and thinking of that make thel touch their neck in excitation with their right hand, they were trying to provoke Yirina to the maximum.

"Wish I could say the same." Yirina whispered, loud enough to make Sonya hear her who was smiling about it, they really managed to stole Yirina's girlfriend like that and it was like an big success to them. "I'm pretty sure that you're fucking happy to have stolen Freya from me." She exclaimed, not even sounding angrier like usual.

"Oh yeah !" They breathed, laughing about it as they were removing their pants slowly, still in trying to provoke Yirina to make the first move as Perseus was clear about it : one fight between them and they were removed from the Perseus operations for an big while : Yirina couldn't be able to save innocents and Sonya....to have fun into killing. "I still have her groans from the last time in my head." They added, their fingers slowly going down before they got focused back on undressing themselves

"Good for you, then." Yirina said like that, causing Sonya to be a little bit surprised in them as they thought that Yirina would be angered about it as each time Freya was mentioned, the anger was taking over their argument at almost on the verge on fighting but now, Yirina was like she wasn't giving an damn anymore, making Sonya a little bit disturbed.

"I'm surprised that....you're not angry." Sonya exclaimed, stopping themselves in their moves and trying to have an look on Yirina with their mirror, seeing her also stopped and doing nothing except for looking inside her personal locker

"Maybe I'm the one who's liking change here." Yirina grinned as she was holding the door of her locker, not making an simple move and just looking inside of it : a photo of herself....just her with an smile.

"Oh, fuck off !" Sonya chuckled in an funny tone and to say, they were again surprised to have laugh to Yirina and that Yirina wasn't either angry or annoyed by them and then, as they were retaking back their moves to undress themselves, Yirina decided by herself to break the only rule the two established in here : not look at each other. She closed her locker's door, watching at Sonya, seeing them with nothing covering the top on their back and discovering some scars on Sonya's back. Her, she was still dressed in her clothes, just wearing her shirt, her pants & shoes

"Who did this to you ?" Yirina asked, leaning herself on the locker's door that she closed, looking Sonya's back

"Are you watching me ?" Sonya questioned, sounding troubled in their voice, knowing that Yirina was watching them and they could see that with the mirror. "I thought that we put an rule between us remember ?" They said, wanting to make her put her eyes away but that wasn't working at all as they could start to see Yirina, coming slowly to get next to Sonya, leaning at a least 1 meter from them.

"Tell me, who did this ?" Yirina questioned them again in an curious and low voice, wanting to know how they were able to have those scars on their back

"Well...." Sonya started, putting their right hand on their locker's door, they were quite stressed to talk about what they got in the back and to say, they were going to talk about this to the person they were like hating....their nemesis. "A son of a bitch in the CIA....called Russell Adler, he did this to me." They decided to reply, biting their lips and finally looking at Yirina's face, curious of her reaction and they could see an grieving face. "Remember what happened in 1968 at Rebirth Island ?" Yirina nodded to them, knowing the story of what happened there : the Nova-6, an mysterious guy killing the man who created the gas and the CIA attack on the island. "I've got captured with 'Stitch' by Adler's men and to make him talk, they whipped me in front of him but he didn't crack, causing Adler to make him lose an eye and me....to have those for the rest of my life."

"Shit, that guy...." Yirina started before stopping herself in her words, looking away and wondering how it was possible to torture someone like this : she was never an big fan of torture and she hated it except if the person tortured was someone who harmed her friends. "Is this because of this event that you're like that ?" Yirina suggested, making sure that Sonya know what she was talking about : always rude to those close to them.

"Yeah, it kinda help me to feel better." Sonya responded, looking at Yirina with an great face, meaning all of their words to her and to be honest, they didn't expect Yirina to smile about it....an reaction that was starting to get strange to Sonya : why's Yirina is getting suddenly friendly with me ? She thought that to themselves, thinking that Yirina was like playing an mind game with them. "Okay, Yirina, what's your plan with me ?" They told her, having suddenly enough as they closed the door almost brutally and Yirina didn't even flinch for an second, turning themselves to her.....and unwillingly, revealing their breasts to her, who started to blush at seeing them.

"I want to know.....why you blushed when I was on top of you during that mission ?" This was an question that Yirina was asking to herself since the end of the mission they just got : she remember to have seen Sonya literally blush after she threw herself on them to avoid them to get killed by an enemy grenade. She remember it well as Sonya smiled about it before launching an usual insult to Yirina, asking her to 'get the fuck off me !' "Are you having something on me ?"

"No....I thought that it was Freya that did this !" Sonya replied but their voice was cracking, signifying that they were lying and Yirina could see that.

"Seriously ?" Yirina raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she slowly start to get closer to Sonya who couldn't know where to go....the mask were like falling right now, the rude side of Sonya wasn't making an appearance to repulse Yirina at all. "You did smiled at me for 10 seconds, blushing heavily before you asked me politely to fuck off." She added as she was very closer to Sonya who started to blush again before Yirina looked at her locker. "So, tell me, is Sonya Kuzmin in love with someone else than Freya Helvig ?" She then put her hand on Sonya's locker door before Sonya put their hand on Yirina's arm gently

"Wait !" They said, looking & sounding nervous as Yirina was wondering what they were going to tell her, staying very cool about all of this. "Okay, I'm hating you so much that....I realized that there were something." They revealed, causing Yirina to smile slightly about it before she decided to move very closer to Sonya, getting her arms on their shoulders. "I'm hating you in an lovely way, Yirina."

"Then, show me !" Yirina ordered as she decided to close her eyes, awaiting for something....until Sonya who couldn't make an simple step back from what they just said and where they were, finally acted and move closer to get their lips on Yirina's ones, kissing the person she was liking to hate....love & hate in the same place....in that kiss. Sonya who was now feeling wanted the kiss to stop but then, they realized that it was better to continue and even to reinforce it. They put their arms around Yirina's waist, kissing her passionately as Yirina could discover the non-rude personality of her enemy....Sonya Kuzmin.

"Happy now ?" Sonya asked as the two broke the kiss but staying in each other arms, Yirina was still smiling and for the first time for her, she just saw Sonya smiling at her, not an second of angriness.

"Did I say we were finished ?" Yirina asked back before she moved to kiss Sonya's neck, giving them an pleasure that they were never able to have with Freya herself, something that Yirina was never able to give to Greya, she was giving it to Sonya themselves. As the two were up, Sonya start to slowly move towards the bench that was separating the locker room in two, laying down on it and feeling the cold feeling of the bench in her back while having Yirina on top of them, holding their arms. "You want to go already to the next step ?" Yirina smirked at them, not believing at all of the situation.

"Oh, fuck you and fuck me !" Sonya ordered to her, finding back their rude attitude but they weren't looking troubled by Yirina's smile and before she started to remove her own shirt, Sonya discovering that Yirina wasn't wearing an bra at all below it and to say, Yirina's breast was so much nice to look at...more better than Freya's ones. "Please, Yirina, I need your fingers in.....fuck....put them in me." They pleaded as Yirina has started to slowly kiss Sonya's own breasts, moaning almost loudly in the room as they were overtaken by Yirina's skills on that type of activity.

"Ask me again." Yirina said in a low voice, concentrated on kissing Sonya's breast before making kisses by going down Sonya's body until stopping at their scrotch.

"Oh, you redhead bitch, kiss me....fuck me like you're hating me to the bones !" Sonya told her, pleading again and sounding almost crying in their voices, still with their rude attitude that Yirina, in fact, started to love so much when the two kissed, a sort of big affection between the two. There were still hate in here but also an sort of weird love that came in.

"See, that's my Sonya Kuzmin." Yirina breathed and giving an big grin to Sonya before she decided to take their hands to get them up with her, having an urge to get somewhere else for that kind of activity. "Let's go fuck in the showers, shall we ?" She proposed, taking an bit of an rude attitude and Sonya nodded with an big smile.

"Following your lead." Sonya whispered as they were taken away by Yirina, still holding their hands and we could say that the two wanted to get quickly into the action and making some hate sex in the showers knowing that they will not get disturbed by anyone since no one wanted to see them going into another argument.

What they were doing, it wasn't in fact entirely love, they were still hating in each other but more in an lovely way now that the two kissed. It was maybe so damn weird to kiss your enemy, the one you're hating the most but in the case of Yirina & Sonya, it was getting so much different as they were both having sex in the showers. The two could finally discover the other in a closer way, literally fucking in their workplace and to say, it was making them so good ! Both were able to release themselves, staying true to their convictions with Sonya giving some insults as she was groaning from Yirina's licking and kissing and Yirina was now liking that by an lot, it became a way to say 'I'm loving you while hating you !'. Frankly, the two didn't expect this to happen but now, the only thing they could do now was to enjoy their moments, knowing that it wasn't going to be the last one they're doing this. Now, they knew that each time they will be seen together by the others, they would be alone and could have sex without been disturbed......

It was in fact an love & hate relationship that was just born !

[forasecondtherewedwon]

21st Century Friction

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 10,817 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 6: Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Peter needs an arts credit to graduate, but he didn't mean to pick the course that even the English majors avoid! Luckily, he has the help of Michelle Jones, the tutor Tony hired for him. Unluckily, she just overheard him insulting her entire academic discipline. They're not breaking off the arrangement―Peter's determined to do well in this stupid English course to keep his average up and Michelle won't let his bad attitude stand in the way of a cheque from Tony Stark.

With one tempestuous meeting down, they only have two semesters and twenty-five books to go.

Peter’s in big trouble―huge―and Mr. Stark did tell him that if he’s ever in trouble he should ask for help, so he calls, looking for help, and gets nobody, so he calls again and gets Happy, who hangs up once Peter makes him understand that, no, this isn’t about somebody trying to kick his Spidey-suit ass but about him trying to pick a new class (Happy’s next to some freaky machine at the time and it makes the cell reception wonky), but who finally listens all the way to the end on the seventeenth time Peter manages to get through to him without having his call dropped, and then Mr. Stark is told about it and though Peter isn’t immediately apprised of the solution to his own problem for some reason, he’s informed that cash has been flashed and that the solution will, inevitably, be attained.

Until then, Peter begins the first week of his third year of college and shows up to the labs and lectures of every class on his schedule, including English 1034: 21st Century Literature from A to Z.

AGUALUSA, José Eduardo ― A General Theory of Oblivion

“A tutor?” Peter hisses into his phone, pacing the tight corridor of the library’s fourth-floor stacks. “How is his solution to get me a tutor? I don’t need a tutor! I’m smart, Happy, remember? What did I want instead? Well, I don’t know! I have to keep all my core classes for my major, but maybe he could’ve made them give me credit for taking something online from another college? I’m not screwing up my schedule for English lit. I don’t even know why I gotta take this! I know how to read, you know? I’m just―”

Oh sure, he heard the other person enter the aisle, but he assumed it was to grab a book, so the noise of annoyance that leaves his mouth when his phone is snatched from his hand and his call ended is absolutely genuine.

“’Sup,” says the person, who’s a woman his age, who’s handing his phone back with a lazy gesture, who’s apparently entirely cool, casual, and unapologetic about unceremoniously hanging up on Happy for him. “You gotta take English lit because it sounds as though your vocabulary needs it and, hi, I’m Michelle. Your tutor.”

She mumbles an indelicate string of words after that as she turns and walks away from him out of the stacks and Peter picks up ‘entitled asshole’ even though he isn’t trying to listen, just follow her and set this thing straight.

“Uh, no, you’re not,” he assures her, alarmed when the place he’s trailing her to turns out to be a table where her stuff is waiting―open notebook, two different coloured pens, a copy of the syllabus for English 1034. No, no, no!

“Well, I can’t guarantee you’ll actually learn anything since you seem to have a combination of a pretty thick skull and an overinflated ego, but I’ll hold up my end of the deal. Let me guess, Business major?”

“Bio,” Peter grits out, grasping the back of the chair intended for him as this Michelle person slides neatly into hers, like the library’s her living room because she lives here. Fine. He’s happy for it to stay that way. He has access to all the books he needs in the sciences library on the other side of campus.

“Well, my condolences to the parts of your brain which, in most people, would produce non-literal comprehension and creative thought. But I’m sure you know the names for those, don’t you, Science Guy? Ok, quit making that face and let’s go over your syllabus.”

She doesn’t look up the entire time she speaks and Peter has never heard a person sound so pretentious in real life.

“Are you kidding me? No. Even if I wanted or needed to be tutored, it wouldn’t be by you. You grabbed my phone out of my hand!”

“Yeah,” Michelle agrees, meeting his eye with something firm in her own, “and you were talking on it in one of the library’s Quiet Zones. I’m not here to give you a lesson on Comparative Ignorance.”

“What makes you think you can just do that?” Peter demands. He feels sort of ridiculous and like he’s simultaneously taking the argument a step too far and a step not-far-enough; he’s not usually like this, but then, other people aren’t usually like that.

“The fact that I was paid in advance.”

She nods towards the chair and Peter doesn’t know why he does it, but he sits, still mad.

“Stark paid you to tutor me,” he states.

“Boy, are you struggling with the concept of exchanging currency for services too? Maybe there’s a basic Econ class you could still get into.”

“Why you?”

“Why you?” Michelle counters. “Why can’t smarty-pants, Stark-patroned Peter Parker just suck it up and get through a single English credit? Seriously, why not, since you seem to think it’s just reading and therefore easy. Why not just bribe the college to hand you the credit? You want me to tell you where the Financial Office is? I could show you because, ok, about me now, I’m here on scholarship because I couldn’t find a benevolent billionaire to smooth my path for me.” She straightens up in her chair, eyes practically volcanic with heat. “And here’s another why me for you: because I love what I study, I think literature has worth and beauty, and, oh right, I have the highest grade point average in the entire School of Arts and Humanities.”

Peter’s so floored for a minute that he forgets why he’s angry.

“It wouldn’t be right,” he finally says, trying to at least regain the moral high ground after her offhand suggestion of bribery. “Buying a credit. It wouldn’t be right.”

“So… instead you demean the entire discipline, like that’s going to help you.”

He scoffs.

“It’d help me more than you would.”

“Helping you is why I’m here.”

“You sound thrilled about it.”

“Hard not to be when I have the honour of tutoring the Spider-Man,” she says, matching his sarcasm.

Ugh, he hates that she brought that up. By his third year, he’s become less of a novelty in the halls―these days, people get more excited about a sighting of the local gopher who lives in a hole near the Astronomy building―and having it thrown in his face like this is even more uncomfortable than requests for selfies. Or the few mortifying pleas for his autograph. They’re locked in a mutually-irritated glare, which Peter breaks with a groan and a roll of his eyes.

“I didn’t want to be in this class,” he admits.

“And yet the online course selection process is so very hard to fuck up. Thus, you did in fact choose this class. Unless… does Tony Stark pick your classes for you?”

Peter ignores that. He can’t both fume and be cooperative enough to get her help, which he’s starting to think he might need. Maybe she can give him some kind of insider English department knowledge that will rid him of English 1034.

“It is an interesting choice,” Michelle continues carefully. Is she smirking at him? He can’t quite tell.

“I didn’t read the description.”

“What did you expect ‘20th Century Literature from A to Z’ to be?”

She’s mocking him, but Peter feels like his mistake in taking this particular class is an easy one to make. He has plenty of reasons to back him up.

“It’s a first-year level English course, it’s non-essay, and ‘A to Z’ made it sound like an overview,” he lists confidently.

“In case you don’t already know or suspect this, nobody who’s actually in the English program takes it.”

Michelle’s tone is extraordinarily smug.

“I thought you guys loved to read,” Peter says accusingly, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“Not a novel every week for two semesters! Dude, you picked a course with twenty-six required texts. ‘A to Z’ is for the alphabetical order of the authors’ last names.”

“I know that now,” he grumbles, eyeing the booklist Michelle has neatly aligned next to the syllabus on their study table. “And now all the other full-year non-essay English classes are full, so I can’t drop this one because there’s nothing to pick up in its place.”

“That’s an insanely stupid mistake.”

“Noted.”

“Ok, if you’re ready to move on, what were your thoughts on Agualusa?”

“You still want to tutor me?”

She looks at him like he’s truly the uncomprehending, unimaginative Bio-dunce she described.

“There are few things I want less than I want this. The only possible enjoyment here is getting to meet one of the unsuspecting idiots who signed up for that class, and even that doesn’t cancel out the way you belittled my area of study and those who study it. So.” Michelle extends a hand and, when Peter realizes what she wants, accepts his panic-purchased copy of A General Theory of Oblivion. “Time to prove you can read.”

BEATTY, Paul ― The Sellout

“I see you found the place,” Michelle greets without looking up from what she’s reading (which is the book for his course).

Peter attempts to glance around without being obvious about it.

“It’s the same table we sat at last time,” he says, mostly certain.

“I know.” She looks up. “I just thought you might get lost in unfamiliar territory. Had you ever been in here before last week?”

He laughs bitterly as he slings his backpack off and lets it slam into the leg of the table, making Michelle frown.

“Yeah, I had.” Once. When he toured the college with May before applying to undergrad. “Don’t be so gatekeeper-y. These books aren’t just for English majors.”

“Oh, so you avail yourself of them often for pleasure reading? Sorry, sorry,” she adds quickly and something inside Peter eases at the hope of an apology, “I forgot I was talking to the guy who signed up for the most reading-heavy class the English department offers. Of course you must love to read.”

“I just want to get my mandatory arts credit to graduate.”

The motive should be obvious, Peter thinks, but maybe she’ll take pity on him because he’s offering an explanation.

“You’ve already successfully postponed it your first two years. Why not push it to next year when you can take a lighter class?”

“There are a lot of required fourth-year courses for my major. I don’t have room for anything that isn’t impor―”

He cuts himself off, but Michelle looks pissed. What? It’s the truth! If he thought English was more important than Biology, he would’ve studied English!

“You’re trying to get me to wait for an easier class and you told me I shouldn’t assume English was easy,” he accuses.

“It’s not! I didn’t say an easier class, I said a lighter one. You know, with fewer books to read. English ten-thirty-four is an easy class.”

“Yeah right!”

“Really, Peter?” He’s startled to hear his name leave her mouth. “Exactly how deep were you expecting the analysis to go when you only spend a week on each book? That’s a Monday and Wednesday course, right? So you’re only actually discussing the book for three hours. A bunch of your assigned texts are over four hundred pages, which means covering around one hundred and thirty-three pages every hour of discussion, or a little over two pages every minute. And that’s just content. If you were actually digging into any of these books, you’d discuss themes, historical context of the subject matter, intertextual influence…”

“You’re pretty good at math,” he says wryly. “I bet you could have majored in that instead.”

“I could’ve majored in anything, but I chose a subject that actually has a soul.”

“It’s cute that you’re so noble about it,” Peter says, feeling like an honest-to-Thor asshole because he’s never disparaged anyone or anything by calling them or it ‘cute’ before, “considering the current arrangement.”

She gives him a harsh look before finally asking, “What do you mean?”

“You’re studying something so intellectual and culturally important or whatever and looking down at people in Business and the sciences. Lots of us love what we’re majoring in and some of us are in it for a career with a good salary. I’m just worried you’re being a bit of a hypocrite. How superior can you feel when you’re peddling your English-major wisdom for a paycheque from Tony Stark?”

Michelle can’t really murder him―his reflexes are too fast, his body too durable, and the most dangerous thing she appears to have at her disposal is a blue ballpoint pen―but she kinda looks like she might give it a try. Ok, so undercutting her integrity in a vengeful rant was probably beneath him. She was being such a snob though!

Finally, her expression relaxes and she uncaps her pen (Peter flinches), poising it over the page where, last week, she composed him a strong set of notes as they attempted a rocky discussion of the book.

“How much did you get read?”

CHOI, Mary H.K. ― Permanent Record

Peter sits and nods at Michelle when she looks up.

“We’re past the add/drop date,” he announces. “Guess I’m officially in English ten-thirty-four for the rest of the year.”

“And when you graduate, it’ll be right there on your transcript, smuggled through in between the important courses. Even if you can’t hack it and fail the class,” she concludes with a small, scornful smile.

“As far as I know, you’re being paid too much to let me fail.”

It feels like a gross powerplay the second he’s said it. If they’re really going to do this, he needs to start taking the meanspirited way that she roots against him in stride. Does he think about finding a different tutor every time she makes a sly comment like that? Sure, but he’s stubborn enough about maintaining a strong average to recognize the value of learning from the best student in the program.

“So…” he says after a minute, watching Michelle flip through his book to find where he’s marked the passages examined in class. “We never really agreed to it out loud, but I guess this is our standing place and time to do this?”

“Yeah, there’s a clipboard where you sign up to reserve a specific table. I put our names down for every Thursday for the rest of the year.”

“Really?”

“No, numbskull,” Michelle informs him lightly. “You can’t reserve a table, only the study rooms. I knew you didn’t know how the library worked.”

“How ‘bout, instead of that, we talk about the demands of fame.”

“Oh? Are you trying to open up to me?” She taps the end of her pen hard and fast against the table as though to emphasize this is something she doesn’t have time for.

“No. I did my assigned reading.”

He reaches out and grabs his book, dragging it back across the table.

DAY, Kate Hope ― If, Then

“I kept waiting for it to get good. Why didn’t it get good?” he asks, spinning the book on their table, then trapping it under his palm.

“Patience, spider-brain,” Michelle instructs. “It is good. It’s suspenseful and subtle and atmospheric and it’s no wonder those things went right over your head. Weren’t you at least interested in Ginny? She’s a surgeon.”

“So?”

“So, you’re in Biology. Don’t you want to be a doctor or something?”

“I don’t know yet,” Peter says with a shrug. Man, is she going to start bugging him about figuring out his career path? He has May for that. “Do you know what you want to be?”

“A tutor,” she responds flatly.

He’d smile if they were friends because she’s apparently hilarious.

“It takes some time to build if the part you’re most interested in is the sci-fi stuff,” Michelle concedes. “Did you read it to the end?”

“I didn’t have time. I had to start the next book early because I have a big lab assignment next week.” He sighs and lets his head fall into his hand just thinking about it.

She frowns and looks down, so he can only assume she disapproves of his priorities or his poor time management or something.

But then she mumbles, “You should try audiobooks.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, because that’s actually a great idea. He can listen on his way to campus in the mornings and he won’t have to carry the book on the days he doesn’t have that class. It’ll mean buying an audio copy of everything he already purchased, but he’ll still use the hard copies most of the time, and it’s not like Mr. Stark’s going to begrudge him another hundred bucks. Plus, almost all of the books for this course are novels, so it won’t even feel like doing homework!

In the midst of excitedly thinking over how much time he’ll have if he takes her advice, he glances at Michelle. She’s ignoring him.

ENDICOTT, Marina ― Good to a Fault

It’s the first week of October and Peter thinks he has the hang of this being-an-English-student thing. He read-slash-listened-to the whole book this week and even though the next two weeks’ novels are a couple of the longest in the entire course, he’s undaunted. When he gets to the library and finds Michelle―the classes they have right before this tutoring session end at the same time, but she always beats him here―he brags about being totally on top of his reading. She’s possibly starting to smile at him when he says, “I’m getting good at this. You want any tips?”

“God, Peter!” she blurts. “This is the third year of my major! Try to have some fucking respect!”

He holds up his hands placatingly. Once his books are out, Peter starts watching her and notices a syllabus at her elbow that isn’t for English 1034. Aggressively highlighted in green is tomorrow’s date and ‘MIDTERM.’ His don’t start for another week. He never consciously realized that Humanities students had midterm stress too. Michelle must be taking more than one English class right now, plus whatever else fills up her schedule. Jeeze, that’s a lot of reading, and she’s reading enough of his books to help him on top of doing her own shit. Peter winces and keeps his mouth shut until she’s ready to begin.

FLYNN, Gillian ― Gone Girl

They’re in the thick of midterms and having a particularly grouchy (on both sides) tutoring session.

“Quit writing a bunch of nothing,” Michelle criticizes, like that’s somehow useful feedback.

“I’m getting to my point!” Peter complains.

“They’re long answer questions, not essays. You won’t get any pity marks for filler like you do in a Bio exam.”

“They don’t give marks for filler in Bio exams!”

“Well then where did you learn to answer questions like this?” she snaps. “Do you want to start this one over or try another one?”

They glare at each other for several sluggish moments.

“I’ll start over,” Peter decides, meeting her challenging look with his own.

“Fine.”

This time, Michelle not only passes him the question she came up with but also rips a piece of paper out of her notebook, tears it into thirds, and hands him one of those as well.

“One-sided,” she instructs.

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Be concise.”

“If you took your own advice, I’d be able to write in silence right now instead of being distracted by the sound of you talking!”

In what seems like a blink as Peter looks up from his paper and tightly-gripped pencil in confusion, Michelle has her bag packed and shoves back from the table.

“Help me study!” he yells after her in desperation.

“Earn it with something more than money,” she calls back, flipping him off over her shoulder.

GO, Justin ― The Steady Running of the Hour

Groveling wouldn’t be well-received, Peter thinks. Instead, he brings Michelle an iced coffee as an apology for being a dick last week when he was freaking out over midterms. They’re experiencing a final flare of summer weather and it seems like a practical offering as well as a symbolic gesture. Unfortunately, the man at the front desk makes Peter toss the coffee before he’s allowed in because of a No Food and Drink policy. He feels really awkward about it and distinctly emptyhanded when he approaches Michelle at their usual table.

When it’s clear that she’s not focused on anything else, Peter spills the story and does end up saying, “I’m sorry” out loud. She likes one of those things enough to smile at him―not a big one, but not a sarcastic one either―and he exhales in relief.

“I really appreciate that you’re doing this,” he adds during a lull when they’re looking over the notes he made in class, trying to decipher his professor’s analysis of a certain passage.

He studies Michelle’s downturned face until she looks up and meets his eye.

“When do you get your midterm results?”

“Not for a couple of weeks. The prof doesn’t seem like he’s in any rush.”

“Are you worried about how you did?” she asks, propping her chin up with her fist. It makes her mouth slope into a playful pout and he follows the line of it with his eye for a second.

“Kinda.”

Michelle shakes her head.

“You shouldn’t be. You’re working hard. I know you passed.”

It’s the first session that they don’t fight. Feels good.

HAM, Rosalie ― The Dressmaker

“Holy shit,” he breathes when Michelle enters. “What is that?”

The day has finally come that he beats her to the library, which is the first shock, but this is an entirely separate and far less expected thing.

“It’s Halloween,” she states. As though it’s no big deal that she just walked in here wearing a silky-looking, floor-length, emerald green gown. Well, he assumes it’s a gown and not a skirt that sits really high on her waist, but he can’t see the entire thing; she’s wearing a cropped hoodie over top. The juxtaposition makes him grin.

“Where did you get that?”

“I made it.” Just as Peter’s mouth is dropping open, she huffs a laugh and says, “Of course I didn’t. It was my grandma’s. The style’s not totally right, but I thought the colour was a pretty good match.”

“Right,” he agrees as she swishes over and sits, cautiously smoothing the dress as she does so. “Because you’re obviously supposed to be…”

Michelle rolls her eyes as she takes the opportunity for illuminating him.

“Cecilia Tallis. From Atonement,” she prompts. “Keira Knightley played her.”

“Oh, ok, yeah. I think I saw part of that one time when my aunt May was watching it.”

“It was a book first,” Michelle teasingly informs him.

“I know you’ll be amazed to hear that I haven’t read it.”

“So amazed.”

“You look good in green,” Peter throws out there while she’s still looking at him.

“Don’t be weird about it, Parker.”

He totally sees her smiling to herself when they turn to their books and wonders if they’re friends yet.

ISRAEL, Lee ― Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Nope, nope, nope, they’re definitely not friends yet! After their revision session last week, Peter thought more about his and Michelle’s potential friendship, then started to feel weird about the fact that he’s paying her―or that Mr. Stark is, on his behalf. It’s been rare lately that both he and Mr. Stark aren’t busy at the same time, but with Peter’s midterms over and a new month beginning, Tony worked out a time for them to speak in person. Peter might have got rambling a little under the heady influence of his mentor’s full attention and maybe some things came across incorrectly. It wasn’t a meeting though, and he definitely didn’t know that decisions were being made!

“I thought you were finding this helpful!” Michelle says.

“I am,” he insists. “I left Mr. Stark a message. I’m gonna set it straight!”

“Oh, like you set it straight over the weekend? He fired me as your tutor!”

“I didn’t know he was doing that!”

“What did you say to him?” she demands.

Fuck, this is going to be embarrassing to say face-to-face. Peter glances at their table―where they didn’t sit down, due to this accidental termination―and feels himself get all overheated and shifty.

“That I felt weird about paying you.”

“Because English is so worthless you should be able to learn about it for free? Yeah, I guess you could’ve made the internet your tutor, but it’s a full two months too late for that!”

“Dammit!” Peter says, frustrated. “No! Because I thought maybe you and I were friends now because it seemed like maybe we were and I’d definitely like us to be friends, but I didn’t want you to feel obligated to be nice to me as a friend or anything more than a tutor just because you’re being paid. Do you want to be friends with me?” he summarizes bluntly.

“Yes.”

He frowns in confusion.

“Really?”

Michelle’s eyes dart to the side, then zip back to his face.

“…Isn’t that what you want? I think that’s literally what you just told me you want.”

“And the money thing?”

“Yeah, you’re definitely going to fix that as soon as we’re done today. My time and expertise are valuable as hell and I’m super willing to take Tony Stark’s money.” She gives him a weird look. “My friendship is not for sale.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to assume―”

“I mean, I don’t know how people make friends over there in Biology, but―”

“Ok, that’s far enough,” he says, laughing when she smirks to admit she was kidding.

“I guess you better start calling me MJ too,” she says, taking her usual seat.

“If I had any extra names you didn’t know, I’d totally let you use one in exchange.”

She shrugs easily and picks up this week’s novel when he places it on the table within her reach.

“Speaking of people using other names…” MJ says as she taps the cover. “Ready to talk about a famous forger?”

“Smooth transition.”

“Thanks… pal?”

“No,” Peter says to ‘pal,’ making a face.

“No,” she agrees. “I’ll just have to remember that we’re friends now without a new name to remind me.”

“You’re officially my meanest friend,” he jokes.

MJ snorts.

“Peter, with all the time we’re spending together this year, I’m gonna be your best friend.”

JOHNSON, Adam ― Fortune Smiles

“Seventy-three!” Peter cries out when he strides into the library that Thursday. Desk Man shoots him a look and Peter mouths, “Sorry.” But if that guy’s annoyance with Peter is on the rise, so is the strength of his friendship with MJ.

“Seventy-three?” she repeats excitedly, then pauses, seemingly waiting for him to say more.

He understands. For her, getting a 73 on an English exam would probably be a blow to her average and something she’d struggle to course correct from on the final. He’d feel the same about receiving that grade in one of the classes that make up his major. But for his first college English exam? A discipline that’s forcing him to learn a completely different type of material and regurgitate that knowledge on an exam that’s neither practical nor multiple choice? It’s huge. He beams to let MJ know he hasn’t come to complain about her ineffective tutoring. Totally the opposite.

“That’s great,” MJ says. She rises from her chair because Peter’s too hyper―even a full day after getting his mark―to sit down yet.

“Yeah?”

“I told you you’d do fine,” she reminds him.

Then she goes to shove his arm and Peter misinterprets it, pulling her in to finish what he thought was the beginning of a hug. Just as he’s realizing and loosening his arms from around her, MJ’s hands come up and squeeze his back once, ending in a few reassuring pats. They break out of it, holding each other at arm’s length and she gives him a firm nod in conclusion. Peter laughs awkwardly. After that, they re-establish their usual rhythm.

“So, the first short story collection on your booklist,” she says as she sits. Rather than taking his regular spot across from her, he drags the chair around the circular table so they’re side by side. MJ watches him without protest.

“These are the first short stories I’ve read,” he tells her.

“What did you think?”

“I like it. It’s nice how it breaks the book into chunks. Makes it seem shorter maybe?”

“Definitely.”

Weirdly, their opinions about the book and what his prof wants him to learn from it continue to closely align. Of course, they don’t get through everything because, after about 15 minutes, MJ asks if he brought his midterm with him. He yanks it free of his backpack and they spend the rest of their time going over it. With a 73, Peter expects a lot of the review to be criticism (of the constructive variety) and notes on what he should’ve done better or different. Instead, it’s MJ gasping (quietly but happily) every time she finds a place where he mentioned something they went over together. He watches her eyes scan over where he described If, Then as ‘suspenseful, subtle, and atmospheric’ before going further into his comparison between that novel and Gone Girl. She catches his eye, her expressions changing like a shuffling card deck. Peter sees impressed come up, then pleased, then a third, unfamiliar thing that’s gone when MJ flips his exam to the next page.

KOCH, Herman ― The Dinner

“How is this book so horrific and so good?” Peter asks wonderingly.

They were going over his class notes until the notes referred to a page number of the novel. When he couldn’t remember what happened there, they looked it up. It was just supposed to be a refresher, but it turned into them reading nine pages―waiting for each other before flipping when their reading speeds raced, constantly slipping out of and regaining first place.

“It’s giving me rage-hunger,” MJ said.

“Rage-hunger?”

“Yeah, you know, when you’re incensed about something to the point that you start getting really hungry? Happens to me at protests.”

“Listen,” Peter says, dropping his voice to a compelling whisper. “I have pretzels.”

“Here?”

He nods.

“Do we risk it?”

“Yes,” she insists.

While she keeps watch, glancing around, Peter grasps the edge of the pretzel bag in his backpack. His expression feels pretty constipated as he struggles to open the bag soundlessly, but it’s worth the effort when he feels it give. Furtively, they sneak pretzels from his bag―balanced between their legs under the table―up to their mouths, attempting to chew as silently as possible and speaking in a soft slur with pretzels distending their cheeks.

LINK, Kelly ― Get in Trouble

Yeah, so, after being caught with mouths full of pretzels, they’re slightly afraid to immediately return to the library. Instead of meeting there on Thursday to go over all of Peter’s notes at once, he and MJ snatch time all week long. It’s another collection of short stories this week, so they go over the first one before he even attends his Monday English 1034 lecture, meaning he’s super prepared to participate for once, after running his thoughts by his tutor in advance. The next time, they do story number two, plus his class notes, then continue meeting when they can.

Peter hesitates before asking if she still wants to get together at their regular hour on Thursday. What if she feels like she’s given him enough of her time this week? What if she made other plans? But when he does ask, she’s surprised that he ever considered them not having their scheduled session. He’s not entirely sure why he was so scared she’d say no. That was silly. Although they both acknowledged that they’re friends, he thinks they’re finally starting to act like it.

So they meet on Thursday. And then they meet on Friday too. They say it’s for tutoring and keep Peter’s copy of Get in Trouble between them on the table of the student community centre, but they don’t open it. MJ trades him a bite of her pizza slice for some of his fries. He laughs hard when she gets ketchup on her lip, then swallows the sound down as she licks it off.

“Did I get it?”

“Um, yeah,” Peter replies, stupefied.

MOYES, Jojo ― Me Before You

“Well,” he says, retyping his notes to add MJ’s insights, “here’s another one where I can count watching a movie as part of studying.” Peter keeps typing for a minute, but she doesn’t respond, so while his eyes remain on the screen he asks, “Are you judging me? I promise I’m still going to read the rest of the book.”

Finished, he looks over to see MJ staring intently at the open novel. Peter concentrates on the book first―she’s right near the end―then on his friend’s face. Is she…?

“Are you crying?” he asks softly, leaning towards her.

He thought she might hide her reaction, but she raises her head and sniffs as tears pour down her cheeks. She’s so naked with emotion that Peter shudders.

“Maybe,” she says, making them both laugh, hers a bubbling noise from the wetness in her throat. “But ignore this. I said I wouldn’t spoil the ending for you.”

“Obviously, nothing dramatic happens,” Peter sarcastically infers. “You cry all the time. I have zero reason to think it has anything to do with Me Before You.”

Smiling, she finally wipes the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan.

“I still have a little bit left to read.”

“Borrow it,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can listen to the audiobook for a while, or you can just keep it overnight and we’ll hang out tomorrow and I’ll get it back from you. Unless you think you’d need longer.”

MJ rolls her eyes at him.

“Please. I eat Jojo Moyeses for breakfast. I’ll probably finish it during the break in my next class.”

“So, you wouldn’t even need it overnight then,” he says, trying to be sly. She lets out a laugh.

“You want to read it so badly, don’t you?”

“Maybe I just don’t like lending out my books.”

“Liar. I bet you’re going to read the rest all in one sitting.” MJ smirks and stands the book on the table like both she and it are taunting him. “Don’t you need to prioritize your other courses, Peter? What about Biology?”

“Offer revoked,” he tells her, making to take the book back. She doesn’t let him, holding it up and away from him.

“Are you going to spend all night reading for pleasure instead of doing your science homework? Shame on you, Peter. What about your future?”

He stands too quickly in his attempt to grab the book, startling MJ, who rocks back in her chair a little too far. But it can’t tip faster than his reflexes can react; Peter instinctively grabs her around the waist and pulls her against him as the chair topples and the paperback hits the ground with a soft thump. They haven’t been this close since they hugged after his midterm results. He opens and closes his mouth without saying anything, fingers shifting against MJ’s back as she gets her balance. Seems to take her longer than it should, but he won’t let go before she’s ready. Which’ll be any second now, he’s sure. She’s flushed, eyes roaming his face. Probably about to tell him she can stand all on her fucking own.

Any second now.

NG, Celeste ― Everything I Never Told You

It’s the second week in December and their final tutoring session of the semester. Exams start tomorrow, though the one for English 1034 isn’t until the 21st. Peter should be psyched―after this exam, he’s halfway done the course―and yet his shoulders carry some heaviness into the library, along with big, wet snowflakes. He perks up at the sight of MJ, then grows subdued just as fast. They’ve become the kind of friends who meet during the week, always at school, usually with at least the pretense of studying. She’s never been to the apartment he shares with three roommates; he has no idea where she lives. Their most secure connection is a list of 26 books and after today’s session, 14 of those will already be behind them. Theoretically, they’re committed to spending another semester together (unless the world ends via hostile alien takeover, or Mr. Stark fires MJ again and she agrees to it for some reason). What happens after that?

Peter doesn’t like the way winter break looks like a preview for the end of the school year in April. He’s sure that’ll come up quick after the new year because second semester always feels shorter than first. Will they be close enough by then to make plans for hanging out over the summer? He knows MJ’s from here, but not if she’ll be around. And what about next year? He won’t be studying English. Are they gonna see each other on campus or both be too busy with their final year of undergrad―keeping up grades and searching for their first job opportunities right out of college? And then? Will one or both of them move away for work or grad school, or just to find a cheaper place to live while they’re starting out? Seriously, they could be faint memories to each other in under five years.

He's weighed down with all of this as he flops into his seat at their table.

“Do you think you’re ready?” MJ asks just before she glances up.

“What?” Peter replies, devastated.

“For your exam.” She meets his eye and her expression collapses inward a little as she assesses his mood. “What’s wrong?”

He looks at her face. It’s easy to admit to himself that her eyes are more trusting than they used to be when they stared back into his, and he has to allow that she’s more trusting too. Same with him. They’ve smoothed each other out, rounded off each other’s bluntest angles. Peter has no desire for them to ever have another shouting match like they did during the early weeks of this arrangement. In fact, his ideal dynamic for them would be the complete opposite.

“I guess I’m… worried.”

“We should get together next week.”

“That would be great,” he tells her with eager relief.

Wow, what would they do? Grab lunch? Dinner? Hot chocolates and ice skating at Rockefeller Center? A movie at his place? All of his roommates have early or no exams (lucky bastards) and plans to head home for the holidays right after, leaving him alone in the apartment.

“This is a late exam,” MJ says, doublechecking the date in her planner, which includes all of his deadlines (in red ink) alongside hers (in blue), “but the library’s open practically every day but Christmas.”

Oh. She means get together here. Of course. He didn’t really make it clear that the exam isn’t what he’s worried about, or at least it’s not the main thing.

“Well,” Peter says, “consistency.”

“What’s up with you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes are him, apparently not satisfied since he does still sound kinda bereft.

Retrieving his novel and his laptop, he says, “Nothing,” and thinks, I was just wishing we were more than friends.

OZEKI, Ruth ― A Tale for the Time Being

They hang out once before his exam, when MJ helps Peter with prep, and once after, when he’s getting a jump on his reading for semester two. The second time, totally by accident, she meets May.

MJ’s at his apartment for the first time and the two out of three of his roommates who’ve already returned are being loud enough that Peter can’t forget their existence the way he wants to (just for right now) and ignore everything in the world that isn’t his tutor/friend/person he’s been pining for every spare second since they’ve been apart. Two weeks is too long. They’re finally taking an honest crack at the novel he’s been assigned for next week, the first week back at school, when there’s a knock at the door, followed by cheerful hollering from his roommates. Peter knows who it is even before he rises and sheepishly lets his aunt hand him everything he forgot at home when he packed; his roommates love May.

Though he told MJ she didn’t have to get up, she’s suddenly next to him at the door―he’s startled to feel her briefly lean against him―then being pulled into a hug by his aunt. When she leaves for a minute to go to the washroom, May drags Peter away from his roommates.

“Who was that?” she wonders, face lighting up with curiosity and premature excitement.

He feels himself turn red and itches at his cheek like he can scratch the flush out.

“Just a friend.”

His aunt raises her eyebrows doubtfully.

PALAHNIUK, Chuck ― Choke

After spending last Thursday giving A Tale for the Time Being the attention they should’ve the week before, they’re back on schedule with a new book. Sort of back on schedule. They start off discussing the novel, but when Peter runs one of his prof’s assertions about it past Google, he finds out Choke has a movie version. He and MJ glance at each other. Yeah, why not? It’s only their second week back on campus and they don’t have their full studying stamina back yet. They trek down to the film library in the basement to see if they have a copy.

Soon, they’re wearing bulky borrowed headphones, hunkered down at the corner computer in the viewing lab that’s kept in the dark, watching a film about a sex addict. They’re awkward at first, or maybe it’s just Peter, but eventually he relaxes, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. MJ shifts around next to him. She kicks her shoes off and brings her feet up off the floor. They’re tightly side by side to watch the same computer screen, so when she crosses her legs, her knee lands on his thigh. Peter stares at it for a minute in the screen’s glow, missing the movie. He lays his palm on top of the rough, cool denim, and MJ turns her head to see what’s up. Immediately, he moves to withdraw his hand from her knee, but she pats the back of it, giving him permission.

Heart thumping, Peter eases the headphones off one ear. The room’s completely quiet, apart from the way MJ exhales heavily through her nose as she settles into position for the rest of the film. He swallows. He should tell her, right now.

“Hey, MJ…” he starts.

But she doesn’t look, doesn’t turn. Can’t hear anything outside those fucking headphones. Weirdly, she does glance at him a few minutes later, unprompted. She reaches out and pauses the movie. He lifts his headphones off when she does, eyes drawn to how they mess up her hair.

“Did you say something?” MJ asks.

Now, now, now, Peter tells himself.

“Uh, no.” He gives her a tight smile and unpauses Choke.

QUICK, Matthew ― The Good Luck of Right Now

“You have other friends, right?” Peter wonders aloud as MJ reads over the short responses he’s composed for an online participation thing that his prof made worth a truly stupid 4% of his grade.

“A couple.”

She says it straight, unembarrassed. He understands her well enough to know she has no interest in tricking people into believing she’s more social or at all inclined towards networking. Those people, whoever they are, were lucky to have her let them in. Abruptly, Peter realizes he’s probably being counted among them. He grins to himself.

“Plus, like, class friends.”

“Sure,” he agrees.

He does the same thing―always attempts to figure out who seems nice so he can try to be paired with them for group projects or have someone to sit with if they have another class together in the future.

“Any other kind of friends?” Peter asks tentatively. MJ quits reading his laptop screen and side-eyes him. “Like a… like maybe a boyfriend?”

It’s probably a no. It has to be a no. Even with the length of time it took for them to talk about their personal lives, she would’ve mentioned a boyfriend by now. Wouldn’t she?

“I… a boyfriend? No, I… Why would I have…? Do you?”

Well, this is a surprise. He expected her to either answer straightforwardly or question if he ever listens to what she says. But she’s oddly flustered and inarticulate. And blushing, Peter notices, though she won’t let him hold her gaze.

“No,” he says, settling for the single syllable that’ll do the job.

MJ sort of nods, then directs his attention to the screen.

“Just a question, but has anyone ever taught you how to use basic punctuation? Jesus, Parker.”

As much as that comment’s much more in character, every one of his senses screams, ‘MISDIRECTION!’

ROWELL, Rainbow ― Fangirl

“Say nothing,” MJ instructs when they run into each other in front of the library, coming from opposite directions.

About what? Peter wants to ask, but he doesn’t say even that much because the look on her face is intense and because the wind is icy, slicing their faces with snow that’s more like sharp daggers. He bounds up the stairs next to her and straight inside when she jerks the door open with her mittened hand. All the way upstairs and to their table, he keeps wary eyes on her. He only looks away for a minute to set his backpack down and shrug out of his outer layers; the library’s kept almost stiflingly warm and dry. They pile their wet outerwear on one of the extra chairs, then MJ glares at him before he can sit. He stares back, baffled.

“Nothing,” she reminds him, and unzips her hoodie.

Does he look silly with the way his jaw drops? He can’t even care. She’s wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt.

“I―”

“No words. No sounds of any kind.”

So Peter grins in silence and retrieves the usual studying accessories from his backpack. Eventually, MJ groans out her admission.

“I forgot to do laundry.”

He continues to say nothing about the shirt, even when he is permitted to speak so they can discuss his reading. What he wants to say isn’t something she’d like―that he’s deduced from the laundry comment that this is an old shirt, not a recent buy. Meaning she’s had it since who knows how long before she ever met him. Meaning she’s a fan.

SENNA, Danzy ― New People

“How are you liking the course?” MJ asks him out of the blue. She’s tracing the curving shapes and purple letters on the cover of this week’s book with her fingertip.

Peter laughs.

“My prof’s never even asked us that.”

“That’s because profs don’t want honest answers. Only in essays, and even then, you have to pad them with all the shit the prof said in class in order to stroke their ego into giving you a good mark.”

“Cynical.”

She smiles dryly.

“Thank you. But really, how are you finding it?” She looks nervous about how he might answer.

“A lot of work,” he says honestly, “but it also feels like less work than my other courses.”

“Because it’s a fluff discipline compared to Biology?”

“Stop it, no, because you’re helping me. It feels like something I’m doing for fun.”

“Who are you?” MJ shakes her head, wearing a smug smile. “If the you from September could see you now. Oh, actually, that reminds me. Put your number in.”

She hands him the new phone she mentioned she’d be getting last weekend.

“What did you have me saved as in your old one?” he asks, adding his number to a new contact page. MJ takes the phone back before he can input his name.

“Oh, you don’t want to know.” He’s fairly certain she’s joking.

“Did it contain the word ‘dickhead’?”

She shrugs and slouches in her chair, phone held low and close. She finishes entering his information out of his line of sight.

“You’ll never know.”

Maybe not, Peter thinks, when MJ gets up a while later to refill her water bottle, but he can at least check what she has him under now. She left her phone out on the table, screen up, so he texts her an innocuous ‘testing, testing’ and watches for the new message to pop up.

Evidently, he’s in her phone as his normal name. His name, plus a heart. His real one’s suddenly beating very fast.

THIEN, Madeleine ― Do Not Say We Have Nothing

It’s almost Valentine’s Day and their college’s week-long study week, two compelling reasons for Peter to tell Michelle Jones―tutor, friend, precariously deepening crush―how he feels about her.

Before their tutoring session, he psyches himself up in the bathroom mirror, until other people walk in and he has to pretend to be coughing. He doesn’t really feel ready and their time together ends up being sort of a flurry anyway because part of the library’s being painted and there are fewer tables. With a ton of people on the cusp of more exams and big assignments due before the break, it takes Peter and MJ a while to find a table. Even after that, the paint smell gradually fills the air, forcing them to stop early.

God, and he didn’t say anything!

“We should meet up later,” he asserts firmly, at the same moment MJ says, “Try again tonight?”

“Yeah,” they say together.

Peter grins and she smiles back before quickly ducking her head. He bites his lip, restraining himself from catching her chin with his fingers and tilting it up.

“Ok then,” he says. “Ok. The library’ll probably still stink, so… my apartment?”

“Or my place,” MJ offers, slightly wide-eyed.

“Oh, yeah. That would be, that’d be good.”

“You can walk back with me, if you don’t mind waiting for my class.”

He doesn’t, and they do that, and as MJ’s unlocking the door to her apartment, he finds out two things: that she has a roommate and that her roommate’s staying the night at her boyfriend’s. Whatever, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be romantic or anything. They’re discussing art and politics during China’s calamitous Cultural Revolution. There’s no way MJ would even be thinking about… but then she leads him to the couch instead of the kitchen table. And she sits down next to him, letting their thighs touch. And his breathing just isn’t steady for the hangout that goes two hours before they even think to check the time. So many times, he has the feeling they’re one brush of their legs, one bump of their shoulders, one tuck of her hair with his fingers away from something more, but every chance seems to come and go while the tension stays.

Eventually, Peter gathers his stuff and lingers with her in the open doorway of her apartment. She’s leaning into the frame, smiling at him as he says a bunch of nothing, just to make the night last longer. He takes a breath. Ok, he’s gonna do it. He’ll tell her.

The next second, MJ’s pressing her mouth to his. Then, while he’s still dazed from the kiss, she pushes him out the door and says, “Um, see you after study week, Peter.”

URQUHART, Jane ― The Night Stages

What’s this mean? Peter wants to ask her, right after the kiss and for the whole study break. Except he’s in the city, doing Spidey-patrol and finishing the nearly-500 pages of Do Not Say We Have Nothing, and she’s in New Orleans, building affordable housing with a charity. When he texts her because he can’t resist asking how she is and what she’s working on that day, she always gets back to him, but there’s nothing flirtatious in her words, nothing to assure him she shares his preoccupation over the kiss. So startling, so make-the-hair-stand-up-on-the-back-of-his-neck. And it was supposed to make everything clear, when one of them made a move (in his head over the weeks before it happened, it was him), not confuse the hell out of him.

It's awkward when they meet on campus on Monday. Neither of them goes in for a hug and they carry on a stilted conversation about how each of their breaks went, Peter twisting his fingers around in his sleeves. At least they didn’t postpone this until Thursday. He senses that they’re both thankful for the length of this week’s novel and how many times it guarantees they’ll meet (their productivity per session definitely took a nosedive when they became friends). He assumes the relief comes from wanting to push past this awkward stage by getting used to each other again. Then, when they meet in the library the next day, MJ picks a different table. Actually, a completely different floor. It’s basically dead, no other students or staff in sight, and, with his face flushed with desire and anticipation, she braces a hand on his thigh, leans in, and kisses him for the second time.

On Wednesday, it’s the same spot (but later because Peter has an evening lab) and he initiates, hand on the back of her neck as they kiss slow and deep, never even unpacking their bags.

Thursday, they meet at their old table, like normal, and do some actual work. But that night, he walks MJ home and tries to give her a goodbye kiss that turns into them making out with her pressed up against the closed door of her apartment.

They agree, on Friday morning, that Peter really needs to devote some concentration to this novel, so they study at his place that evening. Because all of his roommates are home, they’re camped out in his room, on his bed, but with his door wide open. The most they attempt is holding hands, anxiously separating when one of his buddies pokes a head in to ask if Peter’s seen his phone charger.

By Saturday, at her apartment, they abandon pretenses, though they haven’t exactly said in words what it is they’re doing without those pretenses. Are they friends who kiss? Are they dating? Is MJ his girlfriend? None of that is as pressing as pulling her onto his lap and kissing her until they’re tired and she checks her phone to see that it’s almost two in the morning. Reluctantly, MJ climbs off his lap and Peter watches her disappear into her bedroom. He strips off his jeans and falls asleep on her couch wrapped in a blanket and his school hoodie.

The next morning, they look over his notes because he’s here and they might as well. Their socked feet overlap beneath her kitchen table. She refills his glass of orange juice before he notices it’s almost empty.

VÁSQUEZ, Juan Gabriel ― The Sound of Things Falling

He’s in love with her. It’s the beginning of March, the air has quit biting, MJ’s blushing when he uses his high school Spanish to correctly pronounce the characters’ names, and he’s in love with her.

WALKER, Karen Thompson ― The Dreamers

Peter falls asleep at her place again. This time, MJ’s tucked into him when he wakes up. Gradually, he drags up a fuzzy memory of her padding into the living room during the night, putting him on alert until she nudged him over to make room on the couch. Her roommate’s home. They don’t care, don’t flinch apart when she walks into the room. He hangs around most of Saturday, only leaving because he really needs to do some work on his other courses. MJ kisses him when he goes, gently stroking his earlobe with her thumb.

X ― N/A

“No X?” she checks. “Are you sure?”

“It’s on the syllabus,” Peter points out, pulling MJ’s feet across his thighs as he eats an apple. They found an alternate study spot that allows food.

“Yeah, I know, I have the copy from the beginning of the year, but I figured your prof would update it to add something.”

“I think he told us one time that he was going to,” he says, trying to remember exactly. “Now, he says he was always planning on leaving this week free for us to ask questions in class before the exam.”

“But there are still two full weeks of classes before exams,” MJ says skeptically. “If this break was intentional, he’d do it the last week of classes instead.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I know there are two weeks left, but I don’t know what else to say. No X.”

“Semi-related,” she prefaces, giving him a serious look that makes Peter pay attention, “is it ok with you if I consider you my boyfriend?”

He laughs until he realizes she looks genuinely unsure of what his answer will be.

“Please.”

Peter holds his apple out of the way when MJ wiggles forward to hug him.

YAZDANIAN, Showey ― Loopholes

“You wanna go somewhere with me?” MJ asks.

Peter knows she’s been watching him rearrange the digital copy of his notes―simplifying and streamlining so they’ll be easy to study from between now and the date of his final exam. It’s very comforting, her undemanding gaze, and he feels himself emotionally stretching into it, like a cat. He loves to be near her. His girlfriend.

“Yes,” he says. “I mean, where?”

She laughs gently at him and props her elbow on the table, right next to his.

“The English Department scheduled a year-end trip to see a play.”

“That sounds very… high schoolish,” he decides, grinning.

“Hey, some of us aren’t too up our own asses to understand the thrill of a field trip. Maybe in Biology―”

“Ugh,” Peter groans jokingly at her relentless, unserious digs at his chosen discipline.

“―you’ve lost your sense of childlike wonder.”

“But I might be able to get it back if I go to this play? What’s the play?”

“Romeo and Juliet,” she mumbles.

“You want to see that? It’s depressing and, and overdramatic,” he states, though he’s never seen it performed, and definitely never read the play.

“I don’t really care about seeing the play,” MJ says as she gives him a meaningful look.

“Oh. Aw.” He smiles at the thought that she just wants to spend time with him. “Do I have to sign up or something?”

“I… might have already signed you up.” Peter raises his eyebrows at her and it’s enough to push her to continue. “It’s supposed to be an internal thing, just English majors, but the turnout for anything with any significant cultural value’s always really low―” MJ rolls her eyes. “―especially right at the end of the year, when people are starting to focus on exams, even though it’s a great opportunity to see a high-quality production with cheap student-group-discount tickets. Anyway, I talked to the prof because he knows me from teaching me last year and asked if you could come because you are taking an English class even if you’re not majoring.”

“He agreed?”

She nods.

“As I suspected, there were a bunch of tickets left over because they always reserve too many. They’re great seats.”

“Why are you trying to convince me to come?” Peter teases. “Apparently, I already signed up.”

Despite the dozens of times they’ve met this year, comprising probably a hundred hours, and the affectionate admissions, and the kissing that’s been driving him insane for more, this is their first date date. He’s excited to be at the theatre because he’s never gone before, and he purposely didn’t tell Mr. Stark about this so he wouldn’t try to pay for it; Peter bought his own ticket. They’re deep into the second part of the play, intermission behind them, and before things can get gruesome on stage with the stars meeting their violent ends, he leans in so close to MJ that his nose brushes her ear.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispers.

She turns her head, smile clamped together by the way she’s biting her bottom lip. There’s joy in her eyes that makes his heart drop and flip and soar back up, too high, into his throat. He’s still looking at her when she turns her face back to the performance.

“Also, I love you,” Peter says, almost choking on his heart.

Swiftly, he kisses her cheek and settles back into his seat, but MJ tugs the hand that’s been entwined with hers since they sat down. She leans across the armrest between their seats and he’s happy to move the rest of the way. Something hot courses through him when she not only kisses him more roughly than he anticipated but grabs the tie he wore with his button-up, blazer, and good jeans. When she releases him with a smirk and a pat on his chest, Peter practically collapses back into place, stunned.

“Oh,” MJ adds, glancing at him again in a quick flick, “I love you too.”

ZOBOI, Ibi ― Pride

There are three stacks of books on the surprisingly nice hardwood floor of MJ’s bedroom. It’s small compared to the size of his sense of accomplishment for seeing this demanding course through to the end. Although this is the first time Peter’s assembled all 25 books at once, they aren’t organized alphabetically; there’s a pile each for books he remembers well, those he wants to reread sections of, and ones where, logically, he knows he read them, and yet he can barely recall the plot. He feels pretty goddamn good about the fact that, out of 25, only 2 made the third pile. Actually, one’s unaccounted for, because it’s the last book on his syllabus and it’s currently dangling from his hand while he takes a break from reading it.

“Hey,” he hisses at MJ.

Lying on her back on her soft, thick rug while she studies for one of her exams, his girlfriend angles her head to look at Peter, hanging over the side of her bed.

“What?”

He grins.

“Nothing. Just wanted to say, ‘hey.’” He’s so used to her rolling her eyes. “How’s the floor?”

“Not bad.”

“You wanna come up here?”

MJ eyes him suspiciously.

“I need to study,” she reminds him. “Everything I know about your books got mixed up with everything I’m supposed to know about my books and I’m still mentally untangling.”

Peter keeps staring down at her, trying to make his eyes wide and pleading. It takes her seconds to give in. She groans as she starts to sit up, appearing to lead with her knees and elbows as she rearranges her limbs, collapsing and unfolding like a portable lawn chair. MJ steps gingerly over his book stacks, then he’s grabbing her waist and pulling her to the bed, where she flops down beside him. Her head’s facing the wrong way though, so Peter shuffles around, getting her socks out of his face. They take turns sighing tiredly―the extreme burdens of another year of lectures over and another round of exams about to begin―then Peter tilts his forehead to touch hers.

“Happy you’re almost at the end?” MJ asks softly.

“Yeah, but I also kinda wish I could take another English class next year. I think I actually did better in Bio this year because I got to take a break from it with something that was totally different. Does that sound possible?”

“Mhmm.”

She lets her eyes close―probably resting them after concentrating for so long.

“I’ll miss reading this much.”

“And?”

With her eyes shut, only her eyebrows prompt him to go on.

“And I’ll miss talking about what I read with you,” he says.

“Maybe you don’t need to worry about that,” she suggests.

“Why not?”

MJ smiles.

“Because I’ve been working on a new list of books I think you’ll like since October. We can meet in the library and talk about them.”

“Every week?” Peter checks. “What about Biology?”

“If you have time,” she clarifies.

“No, I mean I’ve spent a year studying English lit, learning about your discipline.” With a grin, he trails his fingers down MJ’s throat, stopping at the neck of her long-sleeved shirt. “So, I was just wondering, if you’d be interested in studying Biology.”

He kisses her neck where he stroked, then up beneath her jaw, making MJ laugh until she gasps instead, gripping his hair.

“I don’t think we should wait for September.”

“Well, you’re still the tutor for another week,” Peter reminds her. “I’ll follow your lead.”

[numberonepapermaker32]

Quarantine Day#3: The Fault in Our Stars Book Review

So, yesterday was Day #2 of the covid-19 quarantine and I spent my day pretty much like this: Buffyverse wikia, reddit, Gilmore Girls, yoga, sleep. Today, I finally finished reading The Fault in Our Stars. I kept it on my to-read list for too long a time, and now I finally see its genius. Here’s the review with spoilers!!

While Hazel fell in love ''the way you fall asleep, slowly, and then all at once,'' I fell in love immediately and all at once. This is, by far, the best book I've read in a long long time. Yeah, I've read some good books. Some greats books, even some excellent books. But this? It is a masterpiece that surpasses time and age. So far, I've read only one book by John Green. I loved it, but I loved it mostly for his wonderful writing, while the topic was so-so. Here, I adored it all. It may seem how one cannot really go wrong with such a strong theme as teenagers dying from cancer, but that's simply not true. This book could've been a cliche, really. But it's not. The simplicity of the language and the depth of meaning make it wonderful. We know from page one the story can only end badly, in the death of our main characters. What I didn't see was Augustus dying before Hazel. Tricky, John Green. Very tricky. And sneaky. It made my cry for the last couple of chapters. Everything that is described, it is done so in such a simple yet profound manner, you can feel the joy and the pain of everyone involved. You can feel Hazel's happiness in everything involving their trip to Amsterdam, her tenderness toward Augustus when he smiles, and Augustus's devotion toward Hazel when he so much as listens to her speak. Then there's the humor, oh the humor... It's excellent, thought-provoking and just brilliant. This book stays with you the way all great writing does - you want to read it again and again, at times you want to burn it to hell because it made you blubber and question everything, but really you just want to re-live it all over again. I'll share some favorite quotes now and leave myself in silence for a while after this unique experience. “Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.” “I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it-or my observation of it—is temporary?” “My name is Hazel. Augustus Waters was the great star-crossed love of my life.” “There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.” “But it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he has Cassius note, ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves.” “Without pain, how could we know joy?′ This is an old argument in the field of thinking about suffering and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.” “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.” “I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way, it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space.” “I’m a grenade,” I said again. “I just want to stay away from people and read books and think.” “There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this will have been for naught.” “Oh, I wouldn’t mind, Hazel Grace. It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.” “You have a choice in this world, I believe, about how to tell sad stories, and we made the funny choice.” “Our fearlessness shall be our secret weapon.” “All your attempts to save yourself from me will fail.” “I will not tell you our love story, because—like all real love stories—it will die with us, as it should.” “You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.” “Only now that I loved a grenade did I understand the foolishness of trying to save others from my own impending fragmentation: I couldn’t unlove Augustus Waters. And I didn’t want to.”