#and also whose period just started again. six days after it ended. again.

[fortjester]

nothing even happened!!!

[writer-in-theory]

State of Grace (Spencer Reid x Reader)

summary: after several bad breakups in a row, reader decides to stop looking for love. reader never saw spencer coming. series summary: a series of oneshots to celebrate the release of red (taylor's version). 19 songs, 19 fics. pairing: spencer reid x reader category: fluff, some angst but happy ending warnings: mentions of past cheating, mentions of past unhealthy relationships, language word count: 6.8k a/n: Here it is, the first part of Loving Him Was Red. I've decided to post these at midnight a day early because I want to get the last one posted before the actual album is released. It's obviously not midnight this time, but I’m so excited to share this with everyone. While it’s not a true series, this is definitely the largest fic project I’ve ever done and I’m so proud of it. Not to mention it gives me an excuse to listen to Red on repeat from now until November 12th 👀

series masterlist masterlist send me a request!

“Love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right..."

After forty-five minutes of staring at your computer screen, all you knew was that whoever said writing was easy clearly wasn’t a writer. If it were easy, then the final novel in your series would have been published two years ago instead of sitting half-written in your drafts folder.

Sometimes you wished your first book never became popular. While it had been your childhood dream to become published, now you actually had to finish out the series. The first book had originally been written six years ago, back when the world hadn’t screwed you over yet—no, before love ever screwed you over. That was the problem, wasn’t it? The same scene refused to be written, the pivotal moment that your readers had been waiting for after two novels. The first two novels followed the budding friendship between the two main characters, and the third was meant to bring them together romantically. After six years of nothing but bitter heartbreak, your fingers refused to type out a happy ending for the main couple.

It started with your first partner as an adult. You’d given everything you had to them thinking they’d be your first love but turns out they were under the impression it was just a fling. Tossed away like a used napkin, you thought maybe you should’ve gotten the hint right then that you weren’t meant for love.

Instead, you’d moved on to someone else who did seem to want a relationship with you. They just also wanted a relationship with another person behind your back. That had been the worst; a complete betrayal from someone you were sure you could trust. That same trust wouldn’t come easily next time, you told yourself.

Until it did, and you were making the same mistakes yet again with a new person. He’d seemed nice enough; always doting on you and making sure you had everything you needed to be happy. For the first few weeks, you assumed you’d finally found the one. Prince Charming had found you and he was whisking you away to your well-deserved happy ending. Then his behavior turned sour. It started small at first; little moments of jealousy when you talked about your friends or wouldn’t update him on where you were during the day. It turned dark so slowly that you hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. It took months to recover from him.

After all of those failures, it was easy to throw out the idea of a happy ending. Maybe love was a game you were destined to lose, and maybe such endings were only meant for fiction and that was okay. You could handle that; if only you could actually fucking write the fictional happy ending.

Instead, you stood from the office chair—twisting to elicit the satisfying popping sounds from your back—and walked downstairs to staff the bookstore. The store was one of your favorite places to be. It was run by an older woman whose family had owned it for generations. She’d needed to find someone to help her run the store as it grew hard for her to stand for long periods of time. When you worked up the courage to leave your possessive ex, you’d been desperate for a place to stay. Susan offered you the apartment above the store if you would work for a lower wage. Considering how expensive rent could be in D.C., there was no way that deal could be passed up. Two years later, you’d come to view the tiny bookstore as another branch of home.

“Good morning, Susan,” you greeted as you bounded down the stairs, rubbing the exhaustion and frustration from your eyes so you could focus on the store. Staying up late most nights to write wasn’t suitable for your physical health but the guilt of not trying to write would’ve been worse.

“Morning, Y/N. How’s the writing coming?” she asked from her seat behind the counter. The amused smile on her face let you know that she absolutely knew how the writing was coming, she just wanted to hear you say it.

“Same as yesterday. What’s my first job?”

“We got a new shipment of books today. Could you be a dear and shelve them?”

“I’m on it,” you agreed, sliding the heavy boxes out from behind the counter so you could easily access the books. Shelving was a more physically exhausting—but thankfully mind-numbing—task. It was easy to slip out of focus, daydreaming about ways you could get past the writer’s block. That made it even easier to miss when he asked you a question.

You only noticed the customer was there when you took a step back to make sure the shelf looked neat enough, nearly jumping out of your skin when the taller man’s form appeared in the corner of your vision. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you. What can I help you with?” you asked, immediately switching into your customer service voice.

Considering how popular chain bookstores were becoming now, it wasn’t too often there were actually many visitors to the shop. He was a new visitor, that much you knew for sure. A face like that would be easy to remember. He dressed a little like a college professor might, but the gun at his belt signaled to you that he was very much not a professor. Whoever he was, you were envious of the way his hair could look so good when there was clearly no attempt to control the curls.

Oddly enough, the man also looked nervous in a way you wouldn’t have expected from someone who looked like him. Someone with as pretty features as he had deserved to have all the confidence in the world. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I was asking if you’d read that before.” His hand pointed loosely at the book held in your hands.

Well, now that was a fun question. “Moondust by Y/N L/N,” you read the front cover aloud, swiping your hand lightly over it to brush away the nonexistent dust. “I have. A few times, actually, probably more than I should’ve.” It wasn’t a lie. When the book was first published, you absolutely had to re-read it when a hard copy was sent to you. When it reached every important milestone, you’d pulled out your edition and immersed yourself in the story once again.

The man’s eyebrows lifted a little and it just wasn’t fair that someone could look that adorable so early in the morning. “You liked it then?”

A part of you knew the easiest course of action would be to put yourself out of your misery and admit to being the author. Still, no one had asked you directly about the book before and something was telling you not to admit it. This man surely wouldn’t want to talk to you so openly about the book if he knew you were the person who created it. You’d always been careful about who you told about your writing; it took weeks for anyone close in your life to actually know you’d published your first book. So, you decided the best course of action was to dig a deeper hole for yourself. It wasn’t lying, per se, and technically withholding information that wasn’t asked for wasn’t a crime. “I think it’s a good read. I might be biased though, I see a lot of myself in the main protagonist.” Maybe that’s because the main protagonist was heavily influenced by you.

“I’ll try it then,” he concluded, plucking one of the books off of your newly-stocked shelf.

The way people held books said a lot about them. This man held it between both of his hands, fingers lightly gripping it as though the book were a prized possession that needed to be treated with care. He was book smart, pun unintended, and likely spent more time in school reading books than making friends. This was someone you saw as a kindred spirit; a lover of books, devouring the pages to soak up all of the emotions and knowledge from the inked words. “I needed a new book to read on the jet.”

“Oh, you’re traveling? Somewhere warm, I hope,” you replied as you walked with him up to the front counter. Susan was more than capable of checking him out, but you wanted to keep talking to this book lover who had chosen to love your words.

“It’s for work. I don’t know where we’re going yet,” he admitted.

“Huh, well a little spontaneity is good for the soul. So, what kind of agent are you?”

If you thought his previous look was adorable, then you didn’t know how to describe the look of surprise and—dare you say it, wonder—that spread over his face. “How did you...?”

“We live in D.C. and you travel for work but you don’t know where you’re going until you actually get there. It’s also an ungodly hour in the morning that no one is willingly awake for unless your job requires it. Sounds like a government agent to me,” you explained, shrugging your shoulders. “Also the gun at your belt is kind of a dead giveaway. Not that I was looking at your belt! I just, um...you talk now.” Smooth. Suddenly, attempting to write those final few chapters seemed way more desirable than being here. Your face felt like it was on fire, you could only imagine how red it had gotten.

The man laughed, and you’d gladly suffer through that embarrassment again if you got to see that smile. Luckily, he decided to spare you by not commenting on your last statement. “I’m an agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the FBI,” the man explained, “we create psychological profiles for serial killers.”

“Well, Mister FBI Agent, can I see the badge?” Honestly, it was just the best way you could think of asking for his name without sounding strange. It worked though because soon he was fishing it out of his bag and handing it to you. Dr. Spencer Reid, huh? “So should I call you Agent Reid or Doctor Reid? Ooh, how about Doctor Agent Spencer Reid? Gotta get both titles in there, they’re both impressive.”

“You can call me Spencer,” he answered if a little sheepishly. Hopefully, you weren’t scaring him too bad, you wanted to hear what this guy thought of your book (and that was definitely the only reason you wanted to see him again). “What do I call you?”

“Y/N/N,” you introduced, wondering briefly if he’d make the connection between your nickname and the full name printed on the cover of the book in his hands. “Okay, you’re all set. Definitely come back and let me know what you think of it.”

“I will,” Spencer promised, tucking the book away into his bag, “Thank you, Y/N/N.”

“Anytime.”

Almost a week later, you told yourself that Spencer never planned on actually coming back to the bookshop. That was okay; after all, what did one cute guy’s opinion really matter to you? You let yourself forget about Spencer Reid, throwing all of yourself into your books. During the day you would work at the bookshop or spend time with friends, and you spent most nights sitting up at your desk with a candle burning away, hoping new words would show up on your screen. They never did, or even worse the words would be typed up but angrily erased when they didn’t come out perfectly right.

Regardless, you couldn’t help the smile that washed over your face when his figure finally stepped into the shop the following Thursday morning.

“Hey, long time no see, Doctor Agent Reid,” you greeted, tossing him a teasing wink and setting down the stack of books you were shelving. “Didn’t think it would take you that long to finish.”

“I finished it on the walk to the office,” Spencer admitted, and you told yourself to file that one away for later because how could a person actually read that fast?

“So, what’d you think?”

“It’s one of the best novels I’ve read in a while,” he told you, and good reviews would never cease to make your heart flutter. You only felt a little guilty that Spencer didn’t know he was talking to the author, but told yourself it was okay because he was complimenting the novel. “The symbolism of the apple tree was so well done, and I didn’t expect the ending. I had to read the sequel too.”

“Yeah?” You fought the wide grin threatening to pull at your lips, trying to keep it schooled into something much more reasonable for a fan of a book. “The second just as good as the first?”

“It was better. I loved the dynamic between the families in Moondust, but it was brilliant to have Starlight focus on building the friendship between Riley and Kendall. It’s such an optimistic and realistic view of love and relationships that I never expected. I admire Riley for the positive way she views the world despite everything that happened to her family.” If only you could hear Spencer talk like this forever. He gestured excitedly with his hands, his entire face lighting up as he spoke about the book. You wondered if he was always this passionate when it came to reading or if it was exclusive to your novels.

Still, you couldn’t help the next words that left your mouth. “I’m not sure it’s a realistic view of love, but it’s definitely optimistic. I think the term I’d use is blind optimism.”

“That’s what makes it so realistic. Kendall went his entire life focused on working to help support his parents. He was so focused on survival that he never once considered the ability to love anyone as wholly as he did Riley,” Spencer continued, “there was no reason for Riley to think he would love her, but she still continued to believe in him.”

“She was desperate for love, she was so willing to be with literally anyone as long as they took her away from her family home. It’s no surprise she started falling for her friend, and she’s damn lucky that he’d fallen for her too. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life. It’s beautiful to read, but foolish girls who are desperate to be loved don’t get the guy. At least not the kind of guy that they actually want.”

“You said you related to the main protagonist,” Spencer point out and damn him for remembering a random conversation with a stranger.

“Are you saying I’m foolish?” you returned, crossing your arms over your chest even though there was no real anger in your words.

“No, but you’re saying that,” Spencer countered, and maybe he was right but there was no way you’d admit it.

“Touche. So tell me, Dr. Reid, how does an FBI agent keep such a positive outlook on life? You must see some awful things.”

“I also see beautiful things. Parents reuniting with their missing children, couples finding their way back to each other after horrific trauma. They’re all able to love again, arguably even stronger than before.” It was a beautiful way to look at the world and you couldn’t help but admire Spencer for continuing to have that view. He seemed a little nervous then, fingers fidgeting as he asked, “Do you want to get coffee with me sometime?”

Where did that come from? “What?”

“I can’t be late for work, but I want to prove you wrong about Riley. She’s not desperate, she believes in the goodness of the world and that’s not foolish,” Spencer explained quickly, “I have so many more thoughts about the series and I could talk about it for hours.”

“I’d love to get coffee with you then, Spencer,” you agreed, proud that you were the one causing that bashful smile on his face. He handed you a little business card with the seal of the FBI on it and, oh, why did it affect you so much that you had his phone number? “I’ll call you?”

“Please. I want to hear more about what you think of the series, especially since there’s going to be a third installment. I have my own predictions on what’s going to happen, I want to know how you think Kendall and Riley will end up.”

“Oh, you and me both,” you murmured, but luckily Spencer must not have heard you. So you spoke a little louder, “Absolutely. I can’t wait to read about how they finally come to terms with their feelings for each other, especially considering how different their lives are.”

“I have a feeling we’ll be waiting for a while. It’s been two years and three months since the last book was published, I wonder when the author plans on publishing the last one.”

“She’s working on it, okay?” you shot back, face flushing as you had to remind yourself that you didn’t actually want Spencer to know it was you. Not now that you were in so deep. How could you possibly explain that to him now? “I mean, we’ve been waiting for so long now, it’ll feel even better when we finally get to see how it all ends. She’s probably doing it on purpose or something.”

“You’re probably right, Y/N/N,” Spencer laughed, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Be safe at work,” you returned the goodbye, only letting out a groan and letting your head fall against the front counter when he left the building.

“Now that was just sad, dear.” Oh, of course, Susan had heard everything. You turned your head to see the old woman coming out of the backroom, sitting down in her rocking chair behind the counter. “Why haven’t you told the poor man?”

“I don’t know.” That was the truth of it, right? “He asked me a week ago if I’d read Moondust and I didn’t want to brag and say ‘oh yeah, I’ll do you one better I wrote it’, you know? But now it’s way too late to fix it.”

“It’s never too late to fix it, Y/N,” the older woman told you. Her voice was a little shaky but soothing, her words bolstered by decades of experience that you didn’t have yet. She was right, of course, but that didn’t mean you were happy about it.

“He’s just so nice,” you continued to try to make excuses, slipping away from the counter so you could sit on some old boxes, facing Susan and completely invested in the conversation. “I want to keep talking to him. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”

“Oh, you like him, don’t you?”

“What? No, where’d you get that idea?” It was completely ridiculous. You’d just met Spencer a week ago, there was absolutely no way that you liked him. He was a nice guy who happened to like your books. He had an interesting viewpoint and you wanted to hear more about it, that was all. “No, I’m getting coffee with him to talk about the book. That’s it.”

“Okay, Y/N. All I ask is that you don’t miss out on something good because you refused to open the door for it.”

Coffee with Spencer was a wonderful thing. It became a part of your weekly routine, as much as it could be at least, considering he was often out of D.C. for work. Whenever he was home, though, he’d make it a point to call you and set up a time to grab a coffee and talk. It was never texting with him; Spencer said that he preferred calling because it felt more personal to hear the other person’s voice. You had to agree with him, mostly because you liked hearing him talk.

At first, your coffee dates were strictly book talk. You two would debate the intricate details of the novels, anything from the differing sibling relationships in both families to if Kendall was really the type of person to drive a blue car. Eventually, the conversation drifted to your own lives. You got to hear all about the family-like dynamic of Spencer’s team at work. You heard about how Hotch and Rossi were like father figures to him, how JJ and Derek were his best friends but if he ever needed cheering up he’d always go to Penelope because she was like pure sunlight. You told him all about your own friends and about how you came to work at the bookstore.

After a few weeks, you opened up about your own relationship failures. “...which is why I’m taking a break from all relationships,” you finished, chest heaving as you tried to reign in the nervous breaths. Not many people knew everything about your love life, but Spencer did now. He didn’t try to apologize like so many people typically did. It was just further proof that he had his own struggles; he understood that useless apologies didn’t help.

“You’ll find your Kendall, Y/N/N, I promise,” was all Spencer told you, and you really wanted to believe him.

One day Spencer opened up to you, too. He told you about his mother, and his father, even a mentor named Gideon who had left right after Spencer went through something traumatic. He told you all about how people had a tendency to leave once he started caring about them, how he had a constant fear of finding another goodbye letter waiting for him. You didn’t apologize either, instead telling him that you promised never to say goodbye through a letter.

You didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly your coffee dates with Spencer became your favorite time of the week. You’d look forward to it all week and miss it when he was away on a case. It was a friendship you never expected but you were so glad that it happened.

It was a friendship that was good for your writing, too. Suddenly, you were sitting at your desk every night with the motivation to finish Riley and Kendall’s story. Your hands flew across the keyboard for hours and this time you didn’t want to erase most of it. You told yourself it was because of Spencer’s faith in people, but when the story was finally over it was clear that wasn’t the entire truth.

It wasn’t the whole truth because suddenly Kendall twitched his nose when he was thinking about something and drank coffee with way too much sugar. Riley had always been optimistic about the world, but now she believed that two people with broken hearts could put each other back together to create a beautiful mosaic out of their broken pieces. When Kendall finally admitted he’d fallen for Riley, you told yourself you absolutely did not imagine Spencer’s lips speaking those words instead.

Because there was absolutely no way you could love Spencer Reid. Every time you allowed you allowed yourself to take the risk, you ended up burned worse than before. Every person you’d ever loved had once started like Spencer; sweet, funny, and seemingly perfect for you.

That wasn’t necessarily true though, was it? No one was quite like Spencer. He was funny in a completely unexpected way; he just said jokes so nonchalantly. They were brilliant jokes that took you a minute to get, but once you understood you practically howled with laughter. Spencer wasn’t sickly sweet like honeysuckle but rather it was understated. He didn’t try to prove how sweet he was to you, he was genuinely himself all the time and you began to wonder how you hadn’t noticed the difference between him and your exes before. Your exes made cases for why they deserved you, tried to overcompensate to mask their cruelties, and Spencer didn’t need to say a single word to make you want him. All you knew was that you wanted to take the risk with him because Spencer wasn’t playing a game against you, he was playing with you.

So when the announcement of your third book finally came, you planned to tell him everything. You sat up all night writing in the inside cover of a copy, spilling out everything you didn’t have the courage to say out loud. It wasn’t fair that Spencer—who treated every book like it was something to be treasured—was constantly afraid of inked words meant just for him. It wasn’t right that everyone he ever cared about chose the very thing he loved most as their way to say goodbye. When you decided to tell him, you wanted to make him love written words again. You wanted him to have a letter meant just for him that wouldn’t break his heart.

When it was time for you to get coffee with Spencer again, you shoved the book in your bag and took off, body buzzing with an energy you hadn’t had in six years. Of course, things never quite went the way you wanted them to, did they?

“Did you hear the news?” Spencer asked excitedly when he saw you, not even waiting for you to answer before continuing. “L/N finally finished Sunlight. Authors typically wait at least six months between the announcement and release date, but L/N is releasing it next week anyway. Did you know she lives in D.C. too? She’s doing a book signing, we have to go together. ”

“I don’t know, Spence. I think I’m busy that day.”

“I didn’t tell you what day it was,” Spencer called you out. You should’ve known better than to try to outsmart the FBI profiler. “What’s actually wrong?”

“What if she’s not what you’re expecting her to be like?” The question clearly caught Spencer off guard. His eyes narrowed as he considered it, hand gripping a little tighter around the coffee cup it was ensnaring.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll always have the stories, and I got to meet you because of them.” It wasn’t often Spencer was vulnerable with people, you’d been able to deduce that much in the first few conversations you’d had. So when his features softened and he looked at you like you were something to cherish, you knew to pay attention to the moment. “I don’t have many people I care about outside of my team. I’ll always be thankful to Y/N L/N for writing the books that led me to you.”

The book in your bag felt like a leaden weight trying to drag you under the earth. How could you possibly tell him you’d been lying to him for several weeks, months even, when he’d just opened up like that to you? So, you left the book forgotten in your bag and said, “Okay, let’s go to the book signing. I work mornings, but I’ll meet you there.”

And when the time finally came you stood in the backroom of the bookstore that wasn’t yours, more nervous over Spencer than your book. You’d made a mistake. All too soon, you knew what it felt like to wield the knife instead of being the back it was buried in. Spencer deserved better than finding out like this, but how could you tell him before when he’d been so excited to share today with you?

“It’s gonna be great. People’ve been waiting for this book for years, they’re gonna love it,” your editor promised as you nervously paced the small room. It wasn’t the book you were anxious for though. If it meant Spencer would understand why you didn’t tell him, then you’d let this book tank. You just didn’t want to lose a friend, not this friend. He’d made art out of your broken heart and this time you were the one sabotaging it, scribbling in black paint over the restoration he’d made.

Your phone rang three minutes before it was time. You didn’t even need to look at who was calling to know whose voice you would hear when you answered. “Hello?”

“Y/N, where are you? You’re going to miss it.” You could hear the small crowd talking in the background of his side of the call the same way you could faintly hear it from the backroom you were hiding out in.

“Oh, um, I’m running a little late,” you lied, because if he had to find out today then you wanted to tell him when you could see his face. “Go on without me, I’ll catch up. I’ll be there, I promise.”

Those three minutes passed too quickly. Before you knew it, your editor was out there giving their speech and introducing you. Then, you were stepping out onto the main floor of the bookstore to see a small crowd gathered in front of the table your team had set up. Right in front with a terrifyingly blank expression was Spencer. You’d watched as his usually expressive face switched from shock, to hurt, to anger, and finally, to that cold stare you never wanted to see him wear again.

“Hi everyone, thank you so much for being here,” you greeted, trying to smile through the ache blossoming in your chest. “I’ll keep this short so you can all get back to your day, I just wanted to let you all know how much I appreciate your support. This series never would’ve gotten finished without all of you. I am so incredibly excited for you to read the ending to Riley and Kendall’s story.”

The actual signing went quickly. You got to meet fans of your book and it filled you with so much joy to see them excited about what you’d written. Pictures were taken, hugs were given until eventually, the only person who was left was Spencer.

“Was this fun for you?” he asked, and you were sure it was impossible for his voice to sound so cold. You’d taken someone with so much positivity and belief in people and had crushed his heart.

“Spencer, please,” you tried, standing up from the table and walking around front to stand in front of him. “I wanted to tell you, I really did.”

“No you didn’t, otherwise you would have.” He wasn’t even looking at you. That was the worst part of it; seeing the hurt wash over his expression and knowing you made him feel like this. Knowing that he was so disgusted, so hurt, that he couldn’t even look at you.

“Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you. We just started talking about the book and I didn’t know how to tell you after. I’m sorry.”

“I’m so stupid,” he spat, tearing his fingers through his hair and messing it up more than it normally was. He was a genius and he always knew it before. You hated yourself for making him feel otherwise. “I opened up to you, I told you things I haven’t even told my team, and you were playing your little game the whole time.”

“Spencer, please, I wasn’t playing a game, you have to believe me!” The tears were obscuring your vision now. “I tried to tell you so many times but I just couldn’t. I thought-” A shuddering breath interrupted your words, making you take a moment to collect yourself. “I thought if you knew who I was then you wouldn’t have a reason to talk to me anymore. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“You already did, Y/N.” The tone he used was enough to signal what you already knew: this was it, the end of everything you were hoping would last. There was only one thing left that you had, one more thing you couldn’t leave unsaid between you two.

You pulled out the book you’d written in a week ago, holding it out for him to take. “Please, just...I wanted to give this to you last week. I hope it explains everything.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Spencer snapped, but still he grabbed the book and didn’t snuff out what little hope you had left. Just like that though, he was walking away and you weren’t sure if this was the last time you would ever see Spencer Reid.

Dear Spencer,

To Spencer Reid

Dr. Reid,

Spencer,

Surprise! That wasn’t funny, I’m sorry.

I don’t really know where to start, so I guess it only makes sense to go back to that first day at the bookstore. That day, I started to give up on Sunlight. I’d been up all night trying to write and I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to read about these characters that I’d lost faith in. Then you showed up and asked what I thought about Moondust, and I...I didn’t want you to see me as the washed-up cynical author I was feeling like that day.

Then you came back and loved the book like I once had. Your face literally lit up while you were talking about Riley and Kendall. I wasn’t looking for an ego boost, I was trying to figure out how you still had so much belief in love, in people, in the universe. You were a marvel and I had to figure you out, but I couldn’t do that as Y/N L/N. I didn’t want you to think of me any differently, I just wanted to be the girl from the bookstore.

I never saw you coming, Spencer.

You came around and it was like all of the armor I’d built around myself just fell away. Suddenly I wanted to believe in the world again and you’re to blame for that. At first, I was mad. I had finally found a way to protect myself from a world that only aimed at the most vulnerable parts of me, but you changed that. You changed me and I’ll never forgive you for it. You reminded me of why I originally wrote Moonlight, of why I recognized so much of myself in Riley. You’re the only reason this story got finished, and I finally understand why.

You once told me I would find my Kendall, but I think he was there with me all along. He was going on coffee dates and making me want to try again with love. You’re my Kendall, and that scares the hell out of me. I want to try again with you, though, if you’ll have me.

- Y/N

It wasn’t easy to move on from Spencer Reid. You gave it your best effort but after two weeks all you had to show for it was your old life. The life you had once been content with, but now all you saw was where he could have fit into it. There wasn’t even a novel to distract yourself with because you’d finished your series. All you had was work and the few friends who hadn’t noticed how down you were. Was there any chance of recovery from this?

There had to be. You’d faced heartbreak before, so often you considered yourself somewhat of an expert in it. This was just another losing game, but you could come back. You knew how to pick yourself up off the ground, shake off what dirt you could, and walk away with minimal scarring. Happy endings truly were just meant for fiction, but that was okay. You knew that before and you could relearn it now.

One day, everything would feel okay again. You wouldn’t wonder what Spencer was doing, or if he’d read your note, or even if he would ever want to see you again. For now, you did—you wondered about it constantly—but this wasn’t permanent.

So you worked all day and went back up to your apartment at night. You got back into a routine that didn’t include Spencer.

Until two weeks and three days had passed. It was only fitting that you were working at the bookstore when you saw him again. Spencer was dressed nicely as always; that familiar purple scarf wrapped loosely around his neck and hand gripping the strap of his bag tightly. You didn’t say anything, how could you? It felt more like a mirage than real life; like you would blink and Spencer would be gone.

“You’re unbelievable.” Spencer echoed the last words he said to you, but this time there was no bite to them, no malice. The words were softly spoken, hanging in the air between you.

“You came back.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” Spencer glanced around, seemingly pleased with the lack of people around, before adding, “Can we talk?”

“Please,” you answered in kind, wrapping your arms around yourself like that might protect you from whatever he had to say. Even though he was here, that didn’t mean you’d get the ending you wanted. You hated the tension clinging to you now, the awkwardness hanging in the air between you and Spencer where it had never been before.

“I read the note.” Spencer paused, just looking at you and you wondered what he was searching for. He must have found it, whatever it was, because he kept going. “I wish you would’ve told me.”

Your shoulders slumped of their own accord. Of course, it was silly to expect anything else. Your entire friendship had been based on a lie from the beginning, what else could you expect but for him to still be upset? “I know I should’ve. If I could go back, I would’ve told you right from the start that I wrote those books. I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

“Not that,” Spencer clarified, and it only took moments for your confusion to morph into heated cheeks and shaking hands.

“Oh.” Your voice was small, barely sounding through the aisleway. “I didn’t really know for sure until I was editing Sunlight.”

“It’s a beautiful story,” Spencer spoke, seemingly switching the conversation away from your confession, “two people who were previously broken finding a home in each other. I loved the hopeful ending, them finding home in each other again after everything they put each other through.”

Where was he going with this? Your breaths were coming faster now, your heart racing in time with the thoughts flying through your head. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Being with you is like coming home.” The words stole your breath away, leaving you gasping for air. He was closer to you now, your back pressed to the bookshelf behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his hand fidgeting with the strap of his bag, betraying his nervousness.

“Spencer,” you tried, but what could you possibly say to that? You’d dreamed of someone sweeping you off your feet like this, but now you were here and were paralyzed by all of the emotions swelling in you. Never once did you imagine you would get his forgiveness.

“I never saw you coming either, Y/N,” he continued. “These past two weeks were impossible without you there to talk to. You were always more than the girl from the bookstore to me.”

You were a writer, words were your expertise. No matter the situation, you always had the right words to say. Spencer took them though, through all of your words out the window and leaving you absolutely breathless and hopelessly in love with him.

“Can I kiss you?” You didn’t even know you’d said those words until Spencer was surging forward, hand steadying your face as his lips pressed to yours. It was sweet in a way you weren’t expecting. Your exes had all kissed you like they were trying to take; you were used to bruised lips and stinging skin from where they’d gripped you. Spencer’s touch was soft, reminding you of the way he’d held your book. He held you like you were meant to be treasured, and you held him the same way because you knew he was used to being taken from too. You didn’t want to take, you wanted him to know how much you cared about him through gentle hands in his hair and a soft press of your lips to his.

“Do you want to get some coffee with me?” Spencer asked when you pulled away.

You laughed, nodding and hugging him once before returning some space back to him. It was such a simple request after all you’d been through, but you couldn’t imagine anything else coming from him. “I’ll go wherever you want to, Spencer. I’m not losing you again.”

“I don’t plan on letting you go,” he answered and he had to know those words sent your stomach fluttering.

It wasn’t perfect. You knew eventually you’d have to come to terms with the scars your exes left on you, along with whatever scars Spencer still carried with him, but that would come with time. For now, it was just you and Spencer making art from your imperfect pieces. You couldn’t help but think that this was peace. Walking down the sidewalk with Spencer’s hand occasionally brushing yours, you knew love with Spencer wasn’t a game to lose; it was a state of grace.

SERIES TAGLIST

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @alexlovescriminalminds @reidsbookclub @givemeth @fightingdragonswithreid @eurydice-but-gay @girloncorneliastreet @silverhetdanes @just-a-human-witha-pen

[cdroloisms]

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like. 

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not. 

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs. 

Dream leaves.

 It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore. 

 None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature. 

 Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs. 

 “I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.” 

 Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?” 

 “If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?” 

 Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.” 

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information. 

 Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns. 

 “From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.” 

 Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

 “He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.” 

 “He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.” 

 Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern. 

 “Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?” 

 Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense. 

 “Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

 ---

 Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream. 

 “Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff. 

 “Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.” 

 “O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him. 

 “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod. 

 “There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.” 

 Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place. 

 “We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.” 

 “Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?” 

 Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.” 

 “Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?” 

 Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

 “He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.” 

 Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?” 

 Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table. 

 “You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut. 

 “The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

 “But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?” 

 “He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.” 

 “But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

 “There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.” 

 Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh. 

 “I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.” 

 ---

 They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

 (She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange. 

 “Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back. 

 “You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?” 

 Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

 They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. 

 “You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head. 

 “Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him. 

 “...these are going to take so long to clean out.” 

 To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

 They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

 “Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “ 

 He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes. 

 “You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

 She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done. 

 “The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.” 

 Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.” 

 Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.” 

 Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

 “Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

 “-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.” 

 “When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.” 

 “We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.” 

 “Alright, then. Here’s the plan.” 

 ---

 It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis. 

 “Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.” 

 “Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin. 

 “Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back. 

 “You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider. 

 ���Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier. 

 “You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.” 

 Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?” 

 Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now. 

 Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass. 

 (Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

 She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later. 

 “I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened? 

 Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.” 

 “I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.” 

 “Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat. 

 “Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

 On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped. 

 “Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

 “He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light. 

 “Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

 “I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?” 

 “You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them. 

 “We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.” 

 They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava. 

 “Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him. 

 “Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident. 

 “You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs. 

 “Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.” 

 Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

 “Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

 Oh fuck.

 “Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.” 

 As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor. 

 Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?” 

 She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava. 

 “There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

 A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

 “You there, Dream?” 

 She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

 “Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath. 

 “Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

 “Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.” 

 “I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

 “And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-” 

 “They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

 “And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.” 

 “You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.” 

 “Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-” 

 “I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.” 

 “Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-” 

 “Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?” 

 Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.” 

 “You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.” 

 “Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye. 

 “Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

 “Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

 “Niki, give us some fire res please?” 

 She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.” 

 She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep. 

 “Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend. 

 But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

[hansoulo]

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

hi

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver.  “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

 “Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of  strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.  

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting.  “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

[gildedmuse]

Hey, everyone.

So recently I've (predictably) very not well. Actually, whenever I don't post for long periods, just assume my body is trying to kill me. But I've gotten messages from three people asking if I. Okay, which is super sweet. I am actually trying to work on the next All Hearts, a really long ZoLaw post and two request fics, but mixing chronic kidney pain and capitalist society's mandate to work 40+ hours is not recommended.

But to prove I'm okay and still me, here is some Shanks antics with him being a total slut while Mihawk and Beckman just roll their eyes and go along with it. [Shout out to @jhaernyl who not only listens to me ramble about this stuff, but actively encourages it]. I also have many thoughts on the latest episodes and so many screenshots it's embarrassing. Hopefully, when I'm in less pain, I'll get around to actually posting those. Otherwise I just look like an insane person who literally takes by the second frame shots every time Zoro is on screen.

.... What is that? I look like that anyway? Fair.

Shanks Is A Bad Influence

It feels like Buggy and Shanks split up after Roger's death (the crew was told to, and they are the only ones who went to his execution) and I find it impossible to think Shanks didn't immediately set out and find a crew; like, pirating is the only thing this kid knows in life. This means two things:

He set out from East Blue. Also, he seemed at ease and familiar with the East so it's possible he spent like a year there getting everything together. Maybe he even played around in the other blues for a while before heading back to the Grand Line. I say this because his crew is from all over so either he found and recruited them in the Grand Line or visited various blues. Either way, I'm gonna say it took him about two years before getting a 'proper' start. In that case, he would have started out properly at the age of 17 and we know One Piece likes it's parallels.

That still puts Shanks at 17 to Benn Beckmen's 28. How the fuck did Shanks manage that? I'd call it grave robbing, but let's face it, the little tyke probably got up to some actual robbing of graves as well.

My point being everytime Shanks teases Mihawk about keeping this 19 year old kid on his personal island, mostly shirtless, Benn Beckmen just lifts an eyebrow.

Excuse me, captain, who had prefected the 'opps still don't have my sea legs' trip-and-fall into their first mates lap by the age of 17?

Shanks: Beckmen, you caught me! *Shamelessly nuzzles up* Thank goodness! I could be a devil's fruit user after all and - Ahh!

Benn: *Drops Shanks straight over the side of the ship into the water*

Shanks: *Sputtering* What what that!?

Benn: Checking to see if you had eaten a devil's fruit on us, Capatin.

Benn: You didn't.

Smart ass. But he can't resist Shanks forever. Shanks will wear him down eventually.

Next time Mihawk tracks him down for another match - because you know he gets bored way quicker than he'll ever admit and Shanks is at least amusing a challenge - Shanks makes a big deal out of how Mihawk follows him around, "accidentally" revealing they slept together, sighing about how it's so hard to resist him.

Benn Beckmen is just leaning against the side of the ship, sipping his booze.

Shanks: -and I can't stay for hours like last time!!

Mihawk: Are you quite done?

Shanks: *whispering* Does Benn look jealous?

Mihawk: He looks bored. Much like I am. Is this some strange attempt to get out of my challenge, Akagami?

Shanks: What? No, come on I told you I was game. But, hey, could you do me a favor? Maybe like try and kiss me or something? Like take a swing like your going to hit me but then stop shot and grab me by the waist instead.

Mihawk: .... Trickery is beneath you. Besides, you're absolute rubbish at it.

Shanks: Oh, come on, I would totally help you get laid if you asked!

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* I want a proper match afterwards.

Mihawk: *In a forced, monotone voice* After this I will take you to my lair and have my way with you, Akagami.

Mihawk: ... My lair? Really?

Shanks: *Holding up cue card with quickly scribbled line* What? That is how you talk.

Mihawk: I can't believe I wasted precious hours of light tracking you to this atrociously rural port.

Shanks: See? Now, read the next one.

Benn: Captain? If this is going to take all night, I am going to go join the rest of the men in the tavern.

Shanks: Huh? Wait! Benn! What if Miha really stabs me this time!?

Benn: *Salutes Shanks with his bottle* Sounds like that is his plan captain. Have a good 'challenge'.

Shanks: What? No... *Reaching out hand, like he might die if Benn leaves, looking completely devastated* Not even a little jealous...

Mihawk: You couldn't have thought that pantomime would actually work.

Shanks: Benny, don't leave me.... *Turns to Mihawk, immediately brightening* Oh, well, there's always tomorrow. Hey, Miha, guess whose free all night and horny as a pirate in the calm belt?

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* Very well.

Mihawk might as well get something for the trip he made. Although, he's reconsidering if the sex was actually worth the trouble after he ends up listening to Shanks worry half the night that Benn is shacking up with someone else (after a couple hours of rough and raw fucking, admittedly).

Is it the hat? He likes his captain's hat. Miha, you think his captain's hat is sexy, don't you?

Mihawk: It's utterly ridiculous.

Shanks: ....

Shanks: ....

Shanks: *Smile* Ahh, Miha, I knew you liked the hat!

Shanks: What do you old Northerns find sexy?

Mihawk: I am only four years older than you.

Mihawk: And silence.

Trying to convince Mihawk to go spy on Beckman for him. Shanks doesn't actually care if he does sleep with someone else, it's more that Beckman didn't immediately turn angry and jealous like Buggy would have that has him paranoid.

Mihawk is going to fuck this annoying red head again just to shut him up.

Mihawk: Maybe he doesn't like red haired boys who don't know when to be quiet?

The next morning Shanks is pacing among his poor crew that's gotten stuck listening to Shanks obsess about Beckman again. IS IT REALLY THE HAIR!?

It's not even a matter of Shanks's age (or obvious immaturity). I mean, Beckman got on board and stayed, didn't he? Beckman just enjoys watching Shanks try so hard to get his attention. Like Benn's attention isn't constantly on Shanks. He had to when his captain is always one step away from disaster.

He only left him with Mihawk because it was clear Dracule is not a real danger to Beckman's captain.

Except maybe insulting him to death. But Beckman is pretty sure Shanks can handle it. He's met Buggy. He's suspects Shanks LIKES it if anything.

It gets to the point where when they dock somewhere and see Mihawk waiting, or come back to the ship and spot his familiar silhouette, most of the crew goes off somewhere for another drink (sometimes the newer kids will stay to watch such an awesome fight, everyone else is like... Look, you'll have plenty of opportunities later. This is not a one off.)

Benn just takes a look around, nods to Mihawk (a silent signal for, "he's all yours, do with him as you please, if anything happens to him I will track you down and make sure your last few hours on this blue world are as painful as humanly possible") and heads off.

Oh, it's just the Hawk boy.

That's fine then.

Benn use to be a sailor on a trade ship between the North, East, West and Grand Line. He's seen it all.

They called him The Gun Slinger BEFORE he joined Shanks's crew and became a pirate.

So this young, broke ass kid from the streets of some near artic northern island trying to pass himself off as a Lower North rich type has a thing for his captain? Not really enough to keep Beckman up at night, no matter how good at swords he's supposed to be

Besides, he's pretty sure for the kid to keep tracking down Shanks, he must be bored out of his skull. He's not going to do anything to endanger their captain.

Not if Shanks is the only thing he can find to keep him entertained.

One day, Mihawk is going to be waiting on the dock when a bunch of Red Haired pirates are stumbling home, laughing and chattering amongst themselves (Shanks's crew always seems to be in a good mood). One of them will catch sight if Mihawk and walk by with a smile, patting him on the shoulder.

The captain's occupied. Seems likely he'll be 'occupied' for a good while, too.

Mihawk won't smile, but he will think "So you finally warmed him up to you, Akagami?" and snort lightly.

Poor Benn, though. Mihawk could never imagine being with someone so much younger than him. Shanks is only four years his junior and already it strains Mihawk to put up with his occasional moments of "youthful whimsy" (aka being an annoying, immature child)

"A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair"

Mihawk just putting that on his Not To Do List.

That lasted until Roronoa.

(Mihawk just looking at Zoro knowing this is bad news.)

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

*Cross out, scribbles*

*Hands back to Benn*

Do Not Do:

- A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair a silly hat, who is overly dramatic and in any way, shape or form related to Gol D Rogers.

Ace: Hey what's up?

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

Go ahead, Benn, laugh it up. Mihawk is aware he has a type. Young, pretty, and utterly insane.

After that night where Shanks was otherwise 'occupied', it's over six months before Mihawk sees his friend his rival again. He is, as expected, far too smug and proud looking.

Shanks: Oh, Miha, so sorry you came all this way, I'm-

Benn: Well, I'm off, captain.

Shanks: What!? But we, you, I... Benn, hessoeexyarentyouworriedforyourcaptain?

Benn: *patting Mihawk on the shoulder* Have fun with him. Don't forget to return him by noon tomorrow, we have a schedule. Oh, but if you can babysit him for at least four hours? That would be great.

Shanks: BABYSIT!?

Mihawk: I suppose I can be troubled to do so.

Shanks: TROUBLED!?

Benn: Thanks, Hawkeyes. I owe you.

Shanks: *Fake tears clinging to his lashes* You two are so mean!

No, don't feel bad for him. Shanks is just trying to guilt the two of them into bed at the same time, and they both know it.

Thanks no thanks, they're not into that. But Shanks can be pretty cute when he's trying so hard (Benn) and at least he's not as boring as everything else in this world (Mihawk) so they allow him to keep up the act

Shanks: *looking at Zoro's wanted poster over Mihawk's shoulder* But I feel like you'd gladly go to bed with him and his captain if he asked. That doesn't seem fair to me. You'd never go that far with me and Benn.

Mihawk: *Eyes Benn*

Mihawk: *DEAD. ONLY.*

Mihawk: I have my reasons.

They can and do agree on plenty of things, including reciprocally not being that attracted to each other.

Shanks: Sounds fake to me

Shanks: But guys!

Shanks: This isn't about you

He's gonna need you guys to drop the egos and focus on what HE wants. I.E., being in the middle of two sexy Northern men.

Honestly, so mean to poor Shanks!

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

omg I love your work very much! You write really great and it's a pleasure to read you. I have a small request, if it's possible. I've never read this before so why write a one-shot (or series?) with a reader pregnant with chishiya ? (pleassse) With this news, it becomes extremely protective with the reader. Thank you so much !!

Yeah sure! Here you go! ❤

Trying My Best | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

{Main Masterlist}

Character(s): Chishiya (ft. Ann, OC)

Summary: You tell Chishiya that you’re pregnant and his change in behaviour from the news is hard not to notice

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, murder, swearing, graphic violence (guns), heavy angst, vomiting, panicking, blood

Word Count: 3.3k

*reader is female

Chishiya gif credit

“Chishiya, I think I’m pregnant.”

The statement hit the young man like a thousand knives. He stood up on the roof of the hotel, the moon reflecting off his glowing skin. You stared at his side profile, waiting for his reaction to the news, but he merely sighed and tucked a piece of his bleached hair behind his ears. “How do you know?”

“I’ve been throwing up a lot, without even feeling nauseated at first. It just suddenly hits and I have to run to the bathroom,” you began listing your symptoms to back your claim. “I also have been a lot more tired, going to bed super early and waking up super late. As well as my period hasn’t come yet, and it’s been a week since it was due.”

You still kept your eyes on Chishiya, trying to figure out how he was feeling. His emotions hardly ever come through his body language. He seemed too calm for your liking, but you couldn’t exactly tell because you weren’t able to see his eyes.

“It is mine?” he asked, turning to you with a serious expression. Your eyes widened in shock. “Whose else would it be Chishiya?” you exclaimed, shoving his shoulder in disbelief.

Chishiya smirked and looked away from you again. “Just making sure.”

“Do you want to keep it?”

The question took Chishiya off guard. “That’s not my choice to make,” he said.

“Yeah but if it were?” you pressed, sliding along the railing until your sides were touching. Chishiya went quiet for a few minutes, thinking about his answer. “I would hate to bring a baby into this world if I’m being totally honest,” he started. “But it’s not like we have a choice.”

You nodded and laid your head on his shoulder, feeling safe and sound against his warmth and scent. He laid his cheek on top of your head and sighed heavily.

“What are we going to do Chishiya? We’re too young to be parents, let alone in a world like this.” You felt your eyes start to water but tried your best to hold in your cries. You were terrified. Not only would you have to go through nine months of pregnancy, you would also have to play games in order to keep your visa valid.

“Hey,” you heard Chishiya say. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll push through this together. And I’ll make sure I’m here with you every step of the way.”

His words made you smile sadly, and droop your head down into your hands. You cried softly as Chishiya rubbed your back in a comforting manner.

It would be tough, impossible even. But the both of you had each other, and that’s all you needed to push through.

***********

Ever since that evening on the roof with Chishiya when you told him about the baby, he had acted strangely since.

He had lost his cocky and smug personality, being replaced by a cautious and anxious type of behaviour. You began to feel worried about him, because it was so out of character.

It didn’t go unnoticed by other members of The Beach either. Although you hadn’t told anyone else about the news (wanting to keep it between you and Chishiya), you found yourself being confronted by a lot of people asking if Chishiya was okay.

Ann mentioned that during a meeting he rushed out suddenly, not even stopping to say where he was going or why. You reassured her that he was fine, and that the stress of the games may have just started getting to his head a bit.

It was like you were suddenly dating a whole different person. There wasn’t a moment where he wasn’t by your side, always asking if you needed anything or that you were okay. He’d refuse to let you do the smallest of things, liking lifting heavy objects or even dancing in the crowd at night. There were times you would have to reason with him and remind him that you weren’t helpless, and you were basically only a few weeks pregnant, and he was acting like you were eight months. He always shrugged it off though and argued back that he just felt overwhelmed, so he wanted to try his best to be the best partner he could be during the stressful time.

But when push came to shove and you had to participate in games to renew your visa, Chishiya always insisted that he went with you. Even if you said no and tried to convince him that you would be fine, he refused to listen. You didn’t have a chance when trying to reason with his stubbornness.

*************

You had decided to participate in a game a few days earlier than when your visa would expire so you wouldn’t have the stress of having to rush to one on the night it expired. As well as you had been feeling okay for the past few hours and you didn’t want to lose the opportunity of clearing a game when you were at your best instead of being forced to play one on one of your worse days.

When you told Chishiya your plan, you ended up having a small argument. Chishiya thought it was unreasonable for you to put yourself in danger when it could be prevented, as well as he felt anxious due to you not being able to perform to the best of your ability because you were holding your child.

But after you both calmed down after realizing that arguing would get you nowhere, you both decided to go to the game that night, as long as Chishiya was able to come with you.

The game was simple enough. It was a six of clubs. Each player had to find an area of the building to stay put in no more than groups of three. You were able to move around these small areas, but once the game started and you were inside one, you were not permitted to leave your area. There were four seekers, each with a different animal mask on their heads. Each area in the building also represented one of the seeker’s animals. The goal was to kill the seeker that had the animal corresponding to your area. So the players would have to create a way to lure the seeker’s to their position, but if they lure the wrong one, they would have to hide until they left.

To clear the game, players would have to kill all four of the seekers. But if they failed to do so in the time limit, flames would emerge from the ground of all areas, killing all the remaining players.

In the registration room, Chishiya kept a firm grip on your arm, making you stay close to him. There were two tables, one holding the usual phones for the players, but the other was covered with a variety of hand-held weapons, scattered across the top of it.

Chishiya strolled over to the weapon table and scanned the dangerous objects. He reached to a moderately sized blade and felt it in his hand before turning to you and holding it out, wanting you to take it.

“Here, you have this one. If we happen to get separated and you come across one of the seekers, give them a short jab to the throat with this. I have my taser to defend me.”

“We won’t get separated, we have designated areas.”

Chishiya looked directly in your eyes and sighed, placing a hand on your head. “You know what I mean.”

You hung your head low. He was meaning if he was to die. “Don’t you dare die on me now Chishiya. If you do anything reckless, you bet your stupid ass I will make sure you survive this game just so I can kill you later.”

Chishiya chuckled at your threat, allowing you to see his shiny teeth in a smile. He knew that if there would be a point that you were in any kind of potential danger, he would throw himself in front of you. His life wasn’t worth as much as yours or his child’s, to him at least.

Around ten minutes later, you both sat in a dark room that had a large painting of a wedge-tailed eagle across one of the walls. You both already assumed that was the seeker you were trying to attract. You came up with the plan to wait a short while before starting to attract the eagle’s attention, because then other people may have already killed their seeker, making it less of a chance for a different animal to come find you.

You both sat in silence on the uncomfortable couch that had springs and stuffing pouring out of it. It was the only piece of furniture in the room, so there wasn’t really anywhere else to wait.

You groaned as a short stab of pain shot through your lower abdomen, making Chishiya snap his head to you and place a soft hand over your arm that held your stomach area. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You waved your hand in front of you. “It’s fine, just a cramp.”

Chishiya sighed in relief and rubbed your back soothingly. You swore you could hear his heartbeat through his chest, thumping against his ribcage rapidly. He was terrified, but he sure knew how to hide it from you.

You both sat in silent together, your head leaning against Chishiya’s chest as he stroked your head softly, trying to keep your nerves down. “How are we going to keep this up Chishiya?” you asked out of the blue. Chishiya hummed in acknowledgement. “I don’t know, we’ll just take one step at a time.”

The situation was overwhelming for you. With the mix of the fear of dying, your stomach cramps, Chishiya’s comforting voice and the eerie atmosphere, you couldn’t help but feel tears of stress start developing in your eyes. Before you could even get the chance to wipe them away, a sudden sob erupted from your throat, making you cover your mouth and push your face further into Chishiya’s chest.

“Aw no, don’t cry,” Chishiya cooed, wrapping his arms around your torso and holding you close. “We’re going to be fine. Trust me,” Chishiya pulled back and held your teary face in his palms. “As long as I’m here, nothing’s going to hurt you.”

You smiled at his promise, leaning into his touch on your cheek, making his face glow slightly pink.

As you and Chishiya stayed huddled close together and spoke in whispered tones, you froze as you began to hear a small noise just outside the door of the room.

Chishiya didn’t seem to hear it, and he kept talking. “Shh!” you said, cutting him off. He frowned at you and followed your gaze to the large, grey door that stood opposite to your position on the couch.

Silence filled the air as you both tried hard to listen. The tension in the room was making you almost suffocate.

“I think there’s someone outside.” you stated, standing up from your position and slowly beginning to shuffle along the floor towards the door. But Chishiya rushed after you and pulled you back before your hand could touch the door handle.

“What are you doing?!” he whisper-yelled, turning you towards him by moving your shoulders. You blinked at him, confused. “What do you mean? We need to kill it!”

“But we don’t know if it’s the eagle or not. It’s better if we hide until we’re sure it’s the one we have to kill.”

“We haven’t got time! We have less than five minutes to finish the game, so the chance of the eagle being the only one left is quite likely.”

“You don’t know that. And we aren’t even sure whether they carry weapons or not. It’s too high of a risk, and I’m not letting you put yourself in danger like that, especially when you’re pregnant with our child.”

“For fucks sake Chishiya! I’m not defenseless!”

Your yells became louder and louder with each argumentative statement, which eventually gave away your position to the seeker that stood just outside the door.

Just as you were about to rip away from Chishiya’s grip on your shoulder when you heard the large door creak open. You both turned around abruptly at the sound and laid on your eyes on a tall figure with an eagle mask covering his face. In his hand he held a small machine gun, making Chishiya’s stomach drop at the sight of it.

“Y/N!”

He grabbed your shoulders once again as you stood there in shock, not being able to move. Chishiya yelled as he pulled you roughly further into the room towards another small door that led to a closet. A few rounds of bullets shot around the room, illuminating the small space for a few short milliseconds and making the both of you develop a piercing ringing noise in your ears.

Chishiya pulled you against him as you struggled, pushing you against the wall with him in front of you, shielding you from the seeker. As he did so, he ripped the small closet door open beside you and shoved you inside, panicking and trying to get you to safety as soon as possible.

You fell to the floor of the closet, a small groan leaving your mouth as you hit the ground harshly. You were about to stand up again to push yourself out to help Chishiya, but he kicked you down before you had the chance. Your eyes landed on his, filled with frustration, but they softened as they saw the waterfalls cascading down his face.

“Please,” he choked out, putting the door behind him so the seeker can’t shoot him from the back. “For once in your life just listen to me and stay in here. Please don’t come out.”

That’s all he said before he stepped around the closet door and slammed it shut. The absolute fear and sadness on his face was burnt into your mind. You had never seen Chishiya hold such dreadful emotion on his features. It made you feel awfully guilty for picking a fight with him.

You finally came to your senses, the ringing in your ears faded and the gunshots just outside the door made your head spin. You sobbed and covered your ears with your hands, trying to block out the sounds. Your stomach churned and groaned, and you suddenly felt the urge to throw up.

You lunged forward from your sitting position on the floor and emptied the contents of your stomach on the tiled ground, coughing and gagging on the putrid smell and taste of it in your mouth.

“Fuck,” you mumbled out, rubbing your eyes to clear the tears dripping from them.

Something shifted in the pocket of your jeans, making you turn your head and place a hand over the object. Reaching in, you hissed as a sharp blade slightly cut your finger. You pulled it out gently and held it in front of you.

It was the blade Chishiya gave you at the start of the game.

“I can’t abandon him. My last words to him can’t be an argument,” you rasped out, putting a hand to your chest to recover your breathing. “I’m not going to let him die. He can’t escape being a father that easily.”

Slowly you lifted yourself up onto your feet, using the shelves in the closet as leverage. You shuffled towards the door, holding your blade out in front of you, ready to attack if you needed. You weren’t thinking straight, at that moment you didn’t even think about the fact that the seeker had a gun, all you could think about was Chishiya.

You slowly pressed down on the door handle, opening it carefully in case the seeker was still in the room. It was back to it’s darkness, making your heart drop lower.

You stepped out around the door. It was eerily quiet, making you become anxious. Something must have happened. It wouldn’t be this quiet if Chishiya and the seeker were still fighting.

A sudden wet feeling on your foot broke you from your thoughts and you glanced down to see a dark liquid seeping into your shoe. You leaned down to look at it more closely, noticing how a strong metallic smell filled your nostrils as you did so.

It was blood, but whose blood was it?

Your breathing began to quicken as you started panicking. It was a large puddle, there was no way Chishiya would survive if he got injured that badly.

“Chishiya!” you yelled out, hearing nothing but your own echo answering you. You held no care for being heard by the potentially still alive seeker at that moment. All you wanted was to find Chishiya.

“Chishiya, please!” You lifted your feet and rushed to the grey door where the seeker originally came from. It was slightly ajar and a light from the hallway outside was shining through into the room.

You pushed through the door, almost tripping over in the process. Further up the hall, two people laid on the ground. One was on their back with no movement while the other was leant up against the wall clutching their shoulder.

The injured one wore a white hoodie, making you immediately recognize them as your partner.

“Oh my god, Chishiya.” you whispered as you approached him, eyes locking on the large blood stain on his white hoodie. “Y/N, I told you to stay in the room,” he groaned out.

You placed a hand against his that held his wound, trying to keep pressure on it to lessen the bleeding. “I couldn’t. I wasn’t going to let you die that easy.”

He smiled up at you, a pained expression on his face as he hissed and whimpered at the pain of his wound. “They got me in the shoulder, but that was it.”

“You should be fine. If we get back to The Beach and get Ann to remove the bullet, it’ll heal fine.”

He knew you didn’t really know that. You were trying to reassure yourself that he would live. But either way, he wasn’t planning on dying on you anytime soon.

You looked away from him, glancing over at the figure lying on the ground motionless. The eagle mask was still lazily placed on their face. Chishiya probably didn’t want to remove it out of respect for the individual.

“How’d you kill them?” you asked, locking eyes with him once again.

“A few shocks around the ears to knock them out. But I didn’t take any sharp blades with me so I had to get creative,” he explained, nodding over towards a small slab of metal that laid a few metres away. “After a few hits with that to their head, they were gone.”

You cringed at the thought, but you appreciated Chishiya having the bravery to do that.

You felt a soft hand pressing itself against your stomach, rubbing the spot up and down. “Are they okay?”

A smile spread across your face. “I think so. They didn’t help much by making me throw up in the closet,” you laughed, making Chishiya grin.

“Causing mum trouble already.”

A happy tune being played from each of your pockets caught your attention.

“Game Clear. Congratulations.”

The reality suddenly hit you. You were alive and so was Chishiya. And although you would have to go through many more traumatic and harsh events such as the one you had just experienced, you would at least be there for each other, whether the outcome was bad or not.

“Come on. Let’s go home,” Chishiya groaned, using his good arm to push himself up. You helped him by lifting him by his shoulders.

You were alive today, and that’s all that mattered. You would worry about tomorrow when it comes round to it.

[antiporn-activist]

The Children of Pornhub

Why does Canada allow this company to profit off videos of exploitation and assault?

By Nicholas Kristof, Opinion Columnist, Dec. 4, 2020, New York Times

This article contains descriptions of sexual assault. It’s also really long.

Pornhub prides itself on being the cheery, winking face of naughty, the website that buys a billboard in Times Square and provides snow plows to clear Boston streets. It donates to organizations fighting for racial equality and offers steamy content free to get people through Covid-19 shutdowns.

Yet there’s another side of the company: Its site is infested with rape videos. It monetizes child rapes, revenge pornography, spy cam videos of women showering, racist and misogynist content, and footage of women being asphyxiated in plastic bags. A search for “girls under18” (no space) or “14yo” leads in each case to more than 100,000 videos. Most aren’t of children being assaulted, but too many are.

After a 15-year-old girl went missing in Florida, her mother found her on Pornhub — in 58 sex videos. Sexual assaults on a 14-year-old California girl were posted on Pornhub and were reported to the authorities not by the company but by a classmate who saw the videos. In each case, offenders were arrested for the assaults, but Pornhub escaped responsibility for sharing the videos and profiting from them.

Pornhub is like YouTube in that it allows members of the public to post their own videos. A great majority of the 6.8 million new videos posted on the site each year probably involve consenting adults, but many depict child abuse and nonconsensual violence. Because it’s impossible to be sure whether a youth in a video is 14 or 18, neither Pornhub nor anyone else has a clear idea of how much content is illegal.

Unlike YouTube, Pornhub allows these videos to be downloaded directly from its website. So even if a rape video is removed at the request of the authorities, it may already be too late: The video lives on as it is shared with others or uploaded again and again.

“Pornhub became my trafficker,” a woman named Cali told me. She says she was adopted in the United States from China and then trafficked by her adoptive family and forced to appear in pornographic videos beginning when she was 9. Some videos of her being abused ended up on Pornhub and regularly reappear there, she said.

“I’m still getting sold, even though I’m five years out of that life,” Cali said. Now 23, she is studying in a university and hoping to become a lawyer — but those old videos hang over her.

“I may never be able to get away from this,” she said. “I may be 40 with eight kids, and people are still masturbating to my photos.”

“You type ‘Young Asian’ and you can probably find me,” she added.

Actually, maybe not. Pornhub recently was offering 26,000 videos in response to that search. That doesn’t count videos that show up under “related searches” that Pornhub suggests, including “young tiny teen,” “extra small petite teen,” “tiny Asian teen” or just “young girl.” Nor does it necessarily count videos on a Pornhub channel called “exploited teen Asia.”

I came across many videos on Pornhub that were recordings of assaults on unconscious women and girls. The rapists would open the eyelids of the victims and touch their eyeballs to show that they were nonresponsive.

Pornhub profited this fall from a video of a naked woman being tortured by a gang of men in China. It is monetizing video compilations with titles like “Screaming Teen,” “Degraded Teen” and “Extreme Choking.” Look at a choking video and it may suggest also searching for “She Can’t Breathe.”

It should be possible to be sex positive and Pornhub negative.

Pornhub declined to make executives available on the record, but it provided a statement. “Pornhub is unequivocally committed to combating child sexual abuse material, and has instituted a comprehensive, industry-leading trust and safety policy to identify and eradicate illegal material from our community,” it said. Pornhub added that any assertion that the company allows child videos on the site “is irresponsible and flagrantly untrue.”

II.

At 14, Serena K. Fleites was an A student in Bakersfield, Calif., who had never made out with a boy. But in the eighth grade she developed a crush on a boy a year older, and he asked her to take a naked video of herself. She sent it to him, and this changed her life.

He asked for another, then another; she was nervous but flattered. “That’s when I started getting strange looks in school,” she remembered. He had shared the videos with other boys, and someone posted them on Pornhub.

Fleites’s world imploded. It’s tough enough to be 14 without having your classmates entertain themselves by looking at you naked, and then mocking you as a slut. “People were texting me, if I didn’t send them a video, they were going to send them to my mom,” she said.

The boy was suspended, but Fleites began skipping class because she couldn’t bear the shame. Her mother persuaded Pornhub to remove the videos, and Fleites switched schools. But rumors reached the new school, and soon the videos were uploaded again to Pornhub and other websites.

Fleites quarreled with her mother and began cutting herself. Then one day she went to the medicine cabinet and took every antidepressant pill she could find.

Three days later, she woke up in the hospital, frustrated to be still alive. Next she hanged herself in the bathroom; her little sister found her, and medics revived her.

As Fleites spiraled downward, a friend introduced her to meth and opioids, and she became addicted to both. She dropped out of school and became homeless.

At 16, she advertised on Craigslist and began selling naked photos and videos of herself. It was a way to make a bit of money, and maybe also a way to punish herself. She thought, “I’m not worth anything any more because everybody has already seen my body,” she told me.

Those videos also ended up on Pornhub. Fleites would ask that they be removed. They usually would be, she says — but then would be uploaded again. One naked video of her at 14 had 400,000 views, she says, leaving her afraid to apply for fast-food jobs for fear that someone would recognize her.

So today Fleites, 19, off drugs for a year but unemployed and traumatized, is living in her car in Bakersfield, along with three dogs that have proved more loyal and loving than the human species. She dreams of becoming a vet technician but isn’t sure how to get there. “It’s kind of hard to go to school when you’re living in a car with dogs,” she said.

“I was dumb,” she acknowledged, noting that she had never imagined that the videos could be shared online. “It was one small thing that a teenager does, and it’s crazy how it turns into something so much bigger.

“A whole life can be changed because of one little mistake.”

III.

The problem goes far beyond one company. Indeed, a rival of Pornhub, XVideos, which arguably has even fewer scruples, may attract more visitors. Depictions of child abuse also appear on mainstream sites like Twitter, Reddit and Facebook. And Google supports the business models of companies that thrive on child molestation.

Google returns 920 million videos on a search for “young porn.” Top hits include a video of a naked “very young teen” engaging in sex acts on XVideo along with a video on Pornhub whose title is unprintable here.

I asked the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children to compile the number of images, videos and other content related to child sexual exploitation reported to it each year. In 2015, it received reports of 6.5 million videos or other files; in 2017, 20.6 million; and in 2019, 69.2 million.

Facebook removed 12.4 million images related to child exploitation in a three-month period this year. Twitter closed 264,000 accounts in six months last year for engaging in sexual exploitation of children. By contrast, Pornhub notes that the Internet Watch Foundation, an England-based nonprofit that combats child sexual abuse imagery, reported only 118 instances of child sexual abuse imagery on its site over almost three years, seemingly a negligible figure. “Eliminating illegal content is an ongoing battle for every modern content platform, and we are committed to remaining at the forefront,” Pornhub said in its statement.

The Internet Watch Foundation couldn’t explain why its figure for Pornhub is so low. Perhaps it’s because people on Pornhub are inured to the material and unlikely to report it. But if you know what to look for, it’s possible to find hundreds of apparent child sexual abuse videos on Pornhub in 30 minutes. Pornhub has recently offered playlists with names including “less than 18,” “the best collection of young boys” and “under- - age.”

Congress and successive presidents have done almost nothing as this problem has grown. The tech world that made it possible has been mostly passive, in a defensive crouch. But pioneering reporting in 2019 by my Times colleagues has prodded Congress to begin debating competing strategies to address child exploitation.

Concerns about Pornhub are bubbling up. A petition to shut the site down has received 2.1 million signatures. Senator Ben Sasse, a Nebraska Republican, called on the Justice Department to investigate Pornhub. PayPal cut off services for the company, and credit card companies have been asked to do the same. An organization called Traffickinghub, led by an activist named Laila Mickelwait, documents abuses and calls for the site to be shut down. Twenty members of Canada’s Parliament have called on their government to crack down on Pornhub, which is effectively based in Montreal.

“They made money off my pain and suffering,” an 18-year-old woman named Taylor told me. A boyfriend secretly made a video of her performing a sex act when she was 14, and it ended up on Pornhub, the police confirmed. “I went to school the next day and everybody was looking at their phones and me as I walked down the hall,” she added, weeping as she spoke. “They were laughing.”

Taylor said she has twice attempted suicide because of the humiliation and trauma. Like others quoted here, she agreed to tell her story and help document it because she thought it might help other girls avoid suffering as she did.

IV.

Pornhub is owned by Mindgeek, a private pornography conglomerate with more than 100 websites, production companies and brands. Its sites include Redtube, Youporn, XTube, SpankWire, ExtremeTube, Men.com, My Dirty Hobby, Thumbzilla, PornMD, Brazzers and GayTube. There are other major players in porn outside the Mindgeek umbrella, most notably XHamster and XVideos, but Mindgeek is a porn titan. If it operated in another industry, the Justice Department could be discussing an antitrust case against it.

Pornhub and Mindgeek also stand out because of their influence. One study this year by a digital marketing company concluded that Pornhub was the technology company with the third greatest-impact on society in the 21st century, after Facebook and Google but ahead of Microsoft, Apple and Amazon.

Nominally based in Luxembourg for tax reasons, Mindgeek is a private company run from Montreal. It does not disclose who owns it, but it is led by Feras Antoon and David Tassillo, both Canadians, who declined to be interviewed.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau of Canada calls himself a feminist and has been proud of his government’s efforts to empower women worldwide. So a question for Trudeau and all Canadians: Why does Canada host a company that inflicts rape videos on the world?

Mindgeek’s moderators are charged with filtering out videos of children, but its business model profits from sex videos starring young people.

“The goal for a content moderator is to let as much content as possible go through,” a former Mindgeek employee told me. He said he believed that the top executives weren’t evil but were focused above all on maximizing revenue.

While Pornhub would not tell me how many moderators it employs, I interviewed one who said that there are about 80 worldwide who work on Mindgeek sites (by comparison, Facebook told me it has 15,000 moderators). With 1.36 million new hours of video uploaded a year to Pornhub, that means that each moderator would have to review hundreds of hours of content each week.

The moderators fast forward through videos, but it’s often difficult to assess whether a person is 14 or 18, or whether torture is real or fake. Most of the underage content involves teenagers, the moderator I spoke with said, but some comes from spy cams in toilets or changing rooms and shows children only 8 to 12.

“The job in itself is soul-destroying,” the moderator said.

Pornhub appears to be increasingly alarmed about civil or criminal liability. Lawyers are circling, and nine women sued the company in federal court after spy cam videos surfaced on Pornhub. The videos were shot in a locker room at Limestone College in South Carolina and showed women showering and changing clothes.

Executives of Pornhub appear in the past to have assumed that they enjoyed immunity under Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, which protects internet platforms on which members of the public post content. But in 2018 Congress limited Section 230 so that it may not be enough to shield the company, leading Mindgeek to behave better.

It has doubled the number of moderators in the last couple of years, the moderator told me, and this year Pornhub began voluntarily reporting illegal material to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. After previously dragging its feet in removing videos of children and nonconsensual content, Pornhub now is responding more rapidly.

It has also compiled a list of banned content. I obtained a copy of this list, and it purports to bar videos with terms or themes like “rape,” “preteen,” “pedophilia” and “bestiality” (it helpfully clarifies that this “includes eels, fish, octopus, insects”). Diapers are OK “if no scatophilia.” Mutilation depends on context but “cannot depict severing parts of the body.”

So while it is now no longer possible to search on Pornhub in English using terms like “underage” or “rape,” the company hasn’t tried hard to eliminate such videos. A member called “13yoboyteen” is allowed to post videos. A search for “r*pe,” turns up 1,901 videos. “Girl with braces” turns up 1,913 videos and suggests also trying “exxxtra small teens.” A search for “13yo” generates 155,000 videos. To be clear, most aren’t of 13-year-olds, but the fact that they’re promoted with that language seems to reflect an effort to attract pedophiles.

Moreover, some videos seem at odds with the list of banned content. “Runaway Girl Gets Ultimatum, Anal or the Streets” is the title of one Pornhub video. Another user posts videos documenting sex with teenage girls as they weep, protest and cry out in pain.

While Pornhub is becoming more careful about videos of potentially litigious Americans, it remains cavalier about overseas victims. One Indonesian video is titled “Junior High School Girl After Class” and shows what appears to be a young teenager having sex. A Chinese sex video, just taken down, was labeled: “Beautiful High School Girl Is Tricked by Classmates and Taken to the Top of a Building Where She Is Insulted and Raped.”

“They’re making money off the worst moment in my life, off my body,” a Colombian teenager who asked to be called Xela, a nickname, told me. Two American men paid her when she was 16 for a sexual encounter that they filmed and then posted on Pornhub. She was one of several Pornhub survivors who told me they had thought of or attempted suicide.

In the last few days as I was completing this article, two new videos of prepubescent girls being assaulted were posted, along with a sex video of a 15-year-old girl who was suicidal after it went online. I don’t see how good-faith moderators could approve any of these videos.

V.

“It’s always going to be online,” Nicole, a British woman who has had naked videos of herself posted and reposted on Pornhub, told me. “That’s my big fear of having kids, them seeing this.”

That’s a recurring theme among survivors: An assault eventually ends, but Pornhub renders the suffering interminable.

Naked videos of Nicole at 15 were posted on Pornhub. Now 19, she has been trying for two years to get them removed.

“Why do videos of me from when I was 15 years old and blackmailed, which is child porn, continuously [get] uploaded?” Nicole protested plaintively to Pornhub last year, in a message. “You really need a better system. … I tried to kill myself multiple times after finding myself reuploaded on your website.”

Nicole’s lawyer, Dani Pinter, says there are still at least three naked videos of Nicole at age 15 or 16 on Pornhub that they are trying to get removed.

“It’s never going to end,” Nicole said. “They’re getting so much money from our trauma.”

Pornhub has introduced software that supposedly can “fingerprint” rape videos and prevent them from being uploaded again. But Vice showed how this technology is easily circumvented on Pornhub.

One Pornhub scandal involved the Girls Do Porn production company, which recruited young women for clothed modeling gigs and then pushed them to perform in sex videos, claiming that the videos would be sold only as DVDs in other countries and would never go online. Reassured that no one would ever know, some of the women agreed — and then were shattered when the footage was aggressively marketed on Pornhub.

Girls Do Porn was prosecuted for sex trafficking and shut down. But those videos continue to surface and resurface on Pornhub; last time I checked, videos of six victims of Girls Do Porn were on Pornhub, which continues to profit from them.

One of the Girls Do Porn women I saw on Pornhub is now dead. She was murdered at 20, allegedly by an angry ex-boyfriend who is about to go on trial. I’m not disclosing her name because she should be remembered as a vibrant college athlete, and not for a sex video that represented her most mortifying moment.

VI.

So what’s the solution?

I had expected the survivors to want to shut down Pornhub and send its executives to prison. Some did, but others were more nuanced. Lydia, now 20, was trafficked as a child and had many rape videos posted on the site. “My stomach hurts all the time” from the tension, she told me, but she doesn’t want to come across as hostile to porn itself.

“I don’t want people to hear ‘No porn!’” Lydia told me. “It’s more like, ‘Stop hurting kids.’”

Susan Padron told me that she had assumed that pornography was consensual, until a boyfriend filmed her in a sex act when she was 15 and posted it on Pornhub. She has struggled since and believes that only people who have confirmed their identities should be allowed to post videos.

Jessica Shumway, who was trafficked and had a customer post a sex video on Pornhub, agrees: “They need to figure out who’s underage in the videos and that there’s consent from everybody in it.”

I asked Leo, 18, who had videos of himself posted on Pornhub when he was 14, what he suggested.

“That’s tough,” he said. “My solution would be to leave porn to professional production companies,” because they require proof of age and consent.

Right now, those companies can’t compete with mostly free sites like Pornhub and XVideos.

“Pornhub has already destroyed the business model for pay sites,” said Stoya, an adult film actress and writer. She, too, thinks all platforms — from YouTube to Pornhub — should require proof of consent to upload videos of private individuals.

Columnists are supposed to offer answers, but I struggle with solutions. If Pornhub curated videos more rigorously, the most offensive material might just move to the dark web or to websites in less regulated countries. Yet at least they would then not be normalized on a mainstream site.

More pressure and less impunity would help. We’re already seeing that limiting Section 230 immunity leads to better self-policing.

And call me a prude, but I don’t see why search engines, banks or credit card companies should bolster a company that monetizes sexual assaults on children or unconscious women. If PayPal can suspend cooperation with Pornhub, so can American Express, Mastercard and Visa.

I don’t see any neat solution. But aside from limiting immunity so that companies are incentivized to behave better, here are three steps that would help: 1.) Allow only verified users to post videos. 2.) Prohibit downloads. 3.) Increase moderation.

These measures wouldn’t kill porn or much bother consumers of it; YouTube thrives without downloads. Siri Dahl, a prominent porn star who does business with Pornhub, told me that my three proposals are “insanely reasonable.”

The world has often been oblivious to child sexual abuse, from the Catholic Church to the Boy Scouts. Too late, we prosecute individuals like Jeffrey Epstein or R. Kelly. But we should also stand up to corporations that systematically exploit children. With Pornhub, we have Jeffrey Epstein times 1,000.

[chelsie-fan-55]



‘Oldies are doing well’ Phyllis Logan hails older generations as Downton helps BritsDOWNTON Abbey star Phyllis Logan says it was “fabulous” to be reunited with the cast and production crew to shoot a second film due out early next year. The sequel follows on from the events of the first film released two years ago, which was set in 1927 with Robert and Cora Crawley, the Earl and Countess of Grantham, receiving a visit from King George V and Queen Mary during a royal tour of Yorkshire. Filming of the second film, which sees Dominic West, Hugh Dancy and Laura Haddock join original stars including Dame Maggie Smith, Hugh Bonneville, Michelle Dockery and Elizabeth McGovern, started at Highclere Castle in Hampshire in April and finished in June. Phyllis, 65, who has portrayed Downton housekeeper Mrs Hughes in all six series of the original ITV drama and reprised the role for both films, said: “It was fabulous to be reunited with the cast again, we had such a lovely time, but it was over far too quickly. “During the six seasons that we did (for TV) we usually started filming in the February and finished in the autumn, so we had a good six months of each other, and now it is curtailed into a matter of weeks, so it was done a bit too quickly but we had a great time. “There is lots of nice, really fun stuff in it, I must say and some lovely star turns.” Phyllis, who is also the narrator of fly-on-the-wall TV show The Highland Vets, which starts its fourth series on Channel 5 tomorrow (MON) night, believes period dramas like Bridgerton and Downton have provided much-needed escapism during the past 18 months of the Covid-19 pandemic. She says: “With the likes of Downton Abbey it looks so magnificent, the costumes are magnificent and the mores of the time are different where you don’t air-kiss and have to be suited and booted, and straight-laced, well certainly outwardly.. who knows what they got up to behind closed doors. “But we try to show some of this too and the public just can’t get enough of this type of costume drama. “Everyone has been bingeing or re-bingeing on their favourite shows just to give them a sense of normality. “If you can watch Bridgerton, if you can watch Downton Abbey, or your favourite comedy show, you think the world is ok now, or get a sense that life is continuing in a fashion.” Downton has also led the way in using older actors in prominent roles at a time when TV and film has been criticised for being ageist. Phyllis says: “It’s been fabulous and long may this continue. With Dame Maggie (Smith), Dame Penelope (Wilton), myself and Jim Carter, the oldies are doing well.” Her husband Kevin McNally, who is also 65, is best known for portraying Joshamee Gibbs in all five Pirates of the Caribbean films but joined the cast of Downton for its second series on ITV as Horace Bryant. Phyllis says: “It was nice to have my husband in Downton as well but it was very peculiar the way it happened. “He was on set at one point and said I have just been offered this job and I said ‘oh, what is it?’ And he said Downton Abbey, and I said ‘very funny, what’s the job?’ And he said Downton Abbey and I said ‘oh come on, I haven’t got time, I’ve got to go back on set’. And he was being serious. “They did not even tell me they were going to offer it to him and I thought they should have run it past me first, surely.” She adds: “And it ended up with most of the scenes we were involved in being together, which was unusual. “In normal circumstances as he was playing a posh person and I was playing the housekeeper as usual, I thought our paths would never cross but the way the storyline worked we were always together. “So sometimes we got picked up in a car together to bring us to the castle and it felt like ‘bring your husband to work day’, so I thought ‘what is going on?’” Phyllis, who also starred as Lady Jane Felsham in Lovejoy with Ian McShane for eight years, met Kevin, who portrayed Bernard Ingham in The Crown last year, when they co-starred in mini-series Love and Reason in 1994. Since then they had only appeared together in short films and an episode of comedy show Rab C Nesbitt until their joint stint in Downton, but Phyllis says she would be happy to work together again in the future. And Kevin’s help was vital when it came to recording the narration for The Highland Vets, which follows the vets, nurses and receptionists at DS McGregor & Partners veterinary practice in Thurso, Caithness, as they treat animals in the remote northern tip of the UK mainland. After recording the first couple of episodes of series one in a studio in London’s Soho, Phyllis has been forced to do her narrations since the first lockdown in March last year from the study of her home in west London. She says: “Kevin was my sound engineer for the Highland Vets. They sent all this equipment and I was so useless at using it that Kevin was thankfully around and on hand to be my sound engineer.” The fourth series of the Highland Vets, which contains seven hour-long episodes, starts with the vets treating a young Common seal spotted struggling on a beach by a walker. She adds: “I haven’t done many narrations. I enjoy this one because it is such a lovely programme, there is always something different cropping up, so it is a pleasure to do it.” As a result of the repeated lockdowns for the pandemic she has yet to travel up to Caithness to meet the staff at the vets. But Prince Charles did pay them a visit during a two-day tour of Scotland, where he is known as the Duke of Rothesay, at the end of last month (JULY). Unfortunately the TV cameras were not there at the time but wearing a kilt, he was welcomed by senior vet and director Guy Gordon, who introduced him to his team, including Katie Reiss, 22, who had only started work a few days earlier. Ms Reiss said: “It’s an unorthodox start to work! We spoke about my training at Edinburgh University and chatted about how the vets have been really helpful integrating me into work. “He (Charles) said to stick at it and not lose hope because I have wanted to be a vet since I was a wee kid.” Guy says: “We felt honoured that Prince Charles was keen to visit our veterinary practice to meet the staff and learn about what we do. “He stayed with us for about 45 minutes chatting about aspects of our work with genuine interest and insight. “The light drizzle didn’t dampen this special occasion nor cause him to hurry, he took time to engage with everyone. “So they have the royal seal of approval.” She adds she loves getting to see The Highland Vets before anyone else to do its narration. “There are a few sad bits that do not go to plan but it is so heartfelt.. and the fact that they are in that location which is absolutely spectacular, that they all love it, they love their lives, their jobs, their workmates, their animals. “It’s just beautiful and lovely and life-affirming stuff, even when things go wrong.” Phyllis also stars in a film, The Last Bus, with Timothy Spall which they shot two years ago but has just been released. It tells the story of an old man whose wife has just died using his free bus pass to travel to the other end of the UK, where they originally lived, with her ashes in a small suitcase. She will also be seen in the second series of BBC drama Guilt, which is due to air later this year. *The new series of The Highland Vet starts tomorrow at 9pm on 5Select. Source: Sunday Express

[mctwcsty]

What Do I Do?

@sxtanshepherd​​ paged Meredith Grey

Hello?

Hi, is he in the lab?

What?

I know this is Derek Shepherd’s phone, who is this? Who is this? Who is this.

Hello.

     SIX MONTHS. Six months had passed already since Derek had left for D.C. to run the brain mapping project for the President. Six months of running their life and home alone in Seattle. Of taking the kids to school every other morning, picking them up every other night, the rest of them thankfully handled by Lynn, the nanny Meredith had found to help her out with them. Because her husband was off to Washington to take his career to the next level while she had stayed put in Seattle with their kids, which was her choice and she had taken responsibility for it. She still ran her department, alongside Bailey, and she was still working on her research. She was doing it all. She was exhausted, running on little sleep and a lot of caffeine, but she was doing it.

     She was doing it all until a small detail added in, a change of scenery she had not seen coming. A unplanned turn of events that made doing it all by herself a little less possible: she was pregnant. And the best part was, she had just found out. Right in the middle of a surgery, a feeling that had taken her breath away, a pressure in her lower back and a movement. Thing was, she recognized it because she had felt it before. What she did not understand was how was it possible. And then she had the resident close and rushed out, straight to OB, all the while calculating when her last period was, the days and the weeks adding up leaving her running her way up to OB and throwing herself in the nearest room with a monitor, self-examining herself until the OB came in and shut the door, offering to help. 24 weeks. She had not been showing, she still was not. Her stomach was flat, the way the baby was located left her bumpless, even though she had been pregnant before. Those cases happened, it was not out of the ordinary, and the baby was healthy. She was 24 weeks pregnant and practically a single-mother of two, soon three children, her husband was across the states and they barely managed to talk here and there because of their irregular schedules and they were going to have another baby.

     She had sat by the phone that night, after putting the kids down to bed, staring at her phone screen, unable to pick it up. She could feel it now, she could feel the baby moving inside of her. It was moving, it had a heartbeat, it had arms and legs and fingers and toes, ears, eyes, a mouth and a nose, hell it even had hair at that point and she was freaking out. And Derek was not there. She was all alone. She knew she had to pick up that phone and call him, but she could not bring herself to do it. She did not want to tell him they were going to have another baby over the phone? And yet she had to. She forced herself and picked up that phone, tapped on his contact and rang his cell. She leaned back in the couch and waited, hearing the ringtone incessantly ringing, her stomach in knots, just hoping he would pick up. They rarely caught each other, he often called while she was in surgery and she often called when he was in the lab and away from his phone. But the ringing stopped, he picked up. Or at least someone did.

“Hello?”   “Hi, is he in the lab?”   “What?”   “I know this is Derek Shepherd’s phone, who is this?” “Who is this? Who is this.” “Hello.”

Well if you keep answering his phone, at least you could have the decency  to tell me who the hell you are. Where the hell is my husband?

     EIGHT MONTHS. 34 weeks, to be more precise. At least from her calculations since their last sexual encounter, which was about their last actual general encounter - the day before he had left for D.C. - he had never returned to Seattle since, and the measurements of the foetus from her last ultrasound, she measured at about 34 weeks. Exactly ten weeks since that phone call. Not a day went by that she did not think or analyze that phone call, especially because the rare times Derek and her managed to reach other on the phone, he never said anything about it, about any woman answering his phone. She had not told anyone about it, not even Alex. Because saying it out loud made it real, and the truth was, she could not bare for it to be. The idea that she had become the woman who wonders if that woman on the phone was the woman who had been screwing her husband, she could not be that woman. She could not have gone from the woman screwing the married guy, to the woman whose husband is screwing another woman. Not after everything, not after spending literally the past eight months handling everything alone and keeping the boat afloat, and growing that husband’s child in her belly.

     She was sitting in the attending’s lounge, the empty lounge with the big couch where she had come to rest her feet as they were killing her. It had been about four weeks now since she had started showing, and she had been telling everyone that Derek knew, but the truth was, he had no idea. He did not know she was pregnant yet. Over two months and she had not told him. Because the rare times where they had managed to actually get a hold of each other on the phone, she had let the kids speak to him because they missed him terribly, and then he was either rushing back to the lab or was off to some meeting with the President. He did not even know she was pregnant, because he was halfway across their world, busy making his career count while she was back home, keeping it all together, alone. And he was not even seeing it. 

     But Zola had almost spilled it once over a call, thankfully she had caught it in time and spared an awkward way for Derek to find out, and selfishly she did not want him to know until she felt it was the right moment to have the conversation... the whole conversation. She knew she had to tell him. And so she had decided to do it. After all, she was only a few weeks away from her due date. It sure had flew by way quicker than any pregnancy usually would, especially with everything she had going on, but also because she had only just found out and half the pregnancy was done, it would certainly be a shock for him, but she knew he loved their kids and she was convinced he would be excited, deep down. It would be a shock, but he would be excited. At least she convinced herself of that as she picked up the phone and called him on his cell, then brought the phone to her ear, repeating herself those words again and again and again as the tone rang a while. She was sure she would fall on his voicemail and was about to hang up, but the line picked up. 

“Hello?”

     That voice again. It literally sent chills up her spine because she knew. That was not some secretary, or some random woman finding a lost phone and picking it up. This was not a coincidence or an accident. It had been two months, and she still answered his phone. And all Meredith could think about was the fact that she never answered her husband’s phone, at least not until they were actually married and it had happened on rare occasions. She felt the blood in her veins turning to ice and like something was wrapping tightly around her body, suffocating her. She managed to swallow through her tightened throat and speak up. “Well if you keep answering his phone, at least you could have the decency to tell me who the hell you are.” She snapped, pausing a moment before adding, “Where the hell is my husband?”

     The woman hung up. Again. Meredith’s hand fell on the couch and she stared straight ahead, her heart dropping in her chest. It felt like her whole world had just collapsed around her. Shattering, into billions of pieces. Ten weeks of tossing so many questions around her mind, but every time shutting them out because no, Derek would not do that. The he loves me and he loves our family and we’ve been through too much for this to happen - she had told herself it all. But the woman answered his phone again, and hung up, again. 

     The next day, she had called Alex and within ten minutes he ended up at her front door. She told him Derek did not know about the pregnancy, told him about that previous phone call, and then the one from the previous night. Convinced him not to hunt Derek down for her in a trip to D.C. or to give him hell in any type of way. She tried to ring Derek’s phone again throughout the day, every time winding up on his voicemail, until she stopped calling. Maggie and Callie both tried to convince her that he could not be cheating, while at the same time understanding the way she felt. Callie offered to go find him in D.C. but Meredith turned the offer down. She did not want any of them to contact him. She had made the decision to stop contacting him, that he would have to contact her, and she made all of them swear to not try to call him, to respect her request and to above all not tell him about the pregnancy. 

     And within the next 24 hours, what Meredith thought were simply Braxton Hicks turned out to be pre-term labor. Thankfully she had been in the hospital when it started and Alex had forced her to get checked out, and her water had broke on the OB table. Everything else from that point forward went extremely fast, she was dilated at three and within two hours was fully dilated and ready to push, so grateful that she would not need C-section because that had been hell the first time, and the last thing she needed on top of everything was a post-partum C-section recovery. The baby was born within the next ten minutes, a little girl, and Meredith ordered Alex to go with her to the NICU and to not leave her side, as well as ordered everybody not to call Derek, or she would kill them. Literally. 

     The baby stayed a week in the NICU, but was thankfully perfectly healthy and Alex had kept her in a few extra days just to be sure, also hoping that Meredith might change her mind in the mean time and give Derek a call. But she was strong-headed and when she made a decision, she made it firmly. The worst part was, Derek had not even called once since that day. Not once. Meredith was done. She was done trying to keep their family together, done doing everything to make him still be the good guy when he did not have the decency to at least show her enough respect to call her back. She was done. She was exhausted, heartbroken, she felt like dying literally, but she was done. She would not be her mother, this would not destroy her.

     And so when she made it home, Alex having insisted on taking her home himself, Amelia and Maggie waiting for her with Zola and Bailey and a Welcome Home! banner that the kids had made, just stepping into the house had paralyzed her. It was a house, but it was no longer home. She did not feel home anymore in that house. She was suffocating. Being around the house that Derek had built them for their family, it was suffocating. 

     Ever since coming home, actually ever since that first phone call, there was only one person she could not get out of her mind. And for those ten weeks she had desperately tried to toss away, as all the questions and interrogations spinning around in her mind. But that night, after that phone call, she could not get her out of her head. And standing in that house, it was all she could think about. And so while Amelia was off to the bathroom, Maggie putting Zola and Bailey down for the night, Alex had ran out to get them dinner, Meredith stole Amelia’s phone that she had left on the low table in the living room and entered her password that she secretly knew, and she searched for a specific contact, and a specific address. 

     Came night time, Meredith had ordered everyone to leave her be for the night, said she needed her space and to figure things out alone. Alex had promised to be at her door at 7 sharp for breakfast and to take the kids to school and daycare, Maggie promising to come by to help out with the baby and Amelia offering to help if Meredith needed it. The minute they were all gone and she found herself alone at the house, she went to her room while the baby napped in the bassinet, pulled out a bag and filled it with some of her clothes, then she quietly went into Zola’s room and grabbed some of her clothes, then some of Bailey’s, grabbed diapers and bottles from the kitchen counter. Thankfully the diaper bag was freshly packed so she had everything she needed for the baby in there. She packed all their stuff within twenty minutes, and as she found herself standing in the middle of the living room, seeing all the packed up bags, she felt like she could breathe a little better. She nodded to herself and pulled what was left of energy in her, called a cab and then went to wake the kids. She left them in their PJs and just threw a coat over them, put their shoes on, got the baby in the carseat and got them all outside. She stopped at the door and turned around to take one last look at the house, feeling completely numb as she shut all the lights, then turned back around and headed out of the house, closing the door behind her and locking it. She then slid the key out of her keyset and left it under the mat on the front porch, and turned around just in time for the cab to pull in the drive way.

     Meredith got to the airport and bought three tickets for herself and the two oldest kids, and within the next hour they were off on a plane to Los Angeles. Sitting in that plane alone with her two oldest kids and a newborn in her arms was not quite what Meredith had expected her life to turn into, but it was. “Are you traveling alone with all of them?” Some old woman had asked on the plane, to which Meredith had forced a smile and nodded in response. Planes. She hated planes. She would panic the whole flight through. But with a newborn and two kids, there was no way she would sit them in a car for a 18+ hour drive, or a 35+ hour train ride even less so. And she just had to go, she had to do it. She summoned whatever force might be up there to make sure they all got to destination safely and finally breathed again when they landed in LA. She was lucky she had good kids, they had done amazing the whole flight through, had slept it right through, even the baby who had only fed once shortly before landing, which meant she would be good for a while and it was perfect timing. They all got off the plane and Meredith got the help of a man that worked at the airport, helping her getting her things together and even escorted her to a cab. She gave him a good tip and insisted when he refused, thanking him before hopping in the cab and giving them the address. 

     As they pulled in front of the address she had taken from Amelia’s phone, Meredith felt her heart beating so fast in her chest. She paid the cab driver and got all the kids out of the cab, then picked up their stuff. The man was kind enough to help bring the bags up the stairs to the door for her, and she offered him an extra tip that he refused, then watched as he drove away before turning to face the door. Bailey half-asleep in her arms, Zola tiredly leaning against her, her arms wrapped around her legs, the carseat at her feet, next to their bags. Swallowing thickly, Meredith leaned forward and knocked on the door. It was the middle of the night, half past 1AM, surely she would wake her up, but she had nowhere else to go. And so she stood there and waited until the door opened, feeling her heart dropping in her chest with relief when it did and her eyes locked with Addison.

     “He did it again,” she breathed out exhaustedly, her shoulders sinking, the last bit of strength she had going into holding Bailey in her arms and keeping him from falling - or was it him that kept her from falling. “I’m you,” she shrugged. “He’s found another me.” She gulped thickly. “We weren’t supposed to run or walk out on each other, we were supposed to love each other even when we hated each other and to take care of each other when we were old and senile, it was supposed to be forever. It was the post-it. We were supposed to be it but we’re not, I’m not.” She shrugged helplessly. “We were supposed to do this together and he left me to do it all alone, and I don’t know what to do. But you know what to do, so I need you to tell me.” She paused, staring at Addison as she breathed out so desperately, “What do I do?”

[adonis-koo]

ghostin him

Summary: Life is nothing more than dull colors for you, your world shattered and laying in the shards of what once was rather than focusing on what is. That is until you meet Kim Namjoon, who is immediately taken by you without realizing you’re a girl with a whole lot of baggage, through tears and many sleepless nights you’re faced with a choice of hanging on with bleeding hands, or accepting what is, and letting go.

‘What did you do?’

‘I ruined everything. I kissed her and she looked at me like I was a ghost.’

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader, Taehyung/reader

Word Count: 26k

Genre: hurt and comfort, angst with a happy ending, whew this one is gonna hurt y’all, bakery!AU, one sided pining, unrequited feelings, some more angst, Jungkook just really loves his Noona, Namjoon is a mess, but so is MC,

Warning: this fic deals with major character death, mourning and suicidal thoughts, please read with caution!

Note: whew, I’m not gonna lie guys this is a pretty heavy fic! I poured a lot of sad feelings into this as just a way to vent out my sadness! I’d also like to mention I am fine lmao! I often get bouts of sadness and all of it went into this so I hope you enjoy! Last but not least a big big big thank you to @tiny-onecx​​ for beta reading this when it was a giant mess and helping me turn it into the bittersweet story it is today! <3

“Baby, come on, wake up,” His deep, dulcet voice quietly called out, a whine escaping you as you flopped onto your stomach, your face buried. Large hands grabbing your waist as his fingertips dragged against the open skin, “C’mon, you missed your alarm clock.” You felt his nose rub against your neck, hair tickling your skin and his body was so warm. 

Rolling over you groaned as you glanced at the man who laid beside you, Taehyung’s smile lit up like the sun as he let his fingers gently brush over the skin of your face, “Morning.” 

Adoration filled your whole chest, butterflies swarming in your stomach with giddy happiness you couldn’t ever adequately describe as a shy smile tugged on your lips, “Morning.” His fingers dragging down to your lips, thumbing the soft subtle lower lip. His forehead pressing against yours as he smiled once more, “Come on baby, let’s get up.” 

“Get up.” 

“Y/n, you’re gonna be late for work, what the hell!?” 

Your eyes cracked open as you groaned, your roommate Jimin was already dressed and had probably already eaten breakfast as he sighed, frowning at your somewhat confused figure as your head snapped to the other side of the bed. It was like a sucker punch in the gut, seeing the other side of the bed empty. Tears already threatened to spill, the butterflies in your stomach were gone, his deep voice along with it as you realized Taehyung, the man you had woken up with was just a cruel dream, “I’ll be up in a minute.” You muttered, covering your face with your pillow as you choked back a crack in your voice. 

You could feel Jimin’s presence stay in the room at the sound of your muffled sob, refusing to show your face from your pillow as you curled up away from him. You didn’t want to talk about it, he knew it, but it still hurt to watch you. Even after a year it was like time had stopped, would it ever heal? Your door quietly shut after a minute as you pressed your face into your pillow to quiet your sobs, hugging it close and praying maybe if you tried hard enough you’d fall back asleep where you’d be with Taehyung again. 

It didn’t matter how much sleep you got, your body was permanently lethargic and tired, getting out of bed every day was always a difficult task. Tears stained your face as you grabbed your phone, sniffling as you muttered, “Shit.” You dropped your phone into your lap as you pressed your hands to your face. You were late. Again. Your boss had been understanding the first six months, but now? Not so much. 

You got up, hurriedly wiping your face as you sniffled once more, fumbling with your clothes as you changed. Tying up your hair as you grabbed your phone before hurrying out the door, Jimin long gone for work so at the very least he wasn’t going to nag you for being late. It didn’t matter what you did, you tried everything, a new hobby, crafts, drawing, baking, nothing worked. Nothing filled the void in you. You could find Taehyung in everything you did, always. 

Straightening yourself out you opened the door to the cafe you worked in. The only thing that made you feel better was working, filling your life with nothing but endless busy work to keep your thoughts off of him. It worked until you got off shift and rinse repeat. That was all your life had become now. 

It used to be filled with vivid hues and rose colored glasses with Taehyung, he found beauty in everything and he showered you in all of it, he taught you optimism and love in a way you never thought you could feel it. You had gotten so used to his presence you didn’t even realize how much you radiate happiness when he was with you. Now your life is a bleak endless void; work, cry, sleep. 

It’s all the energy you had to do anymore, what was the point in doing anything else? You’d never get to experience life in the beautiful eyes of Taehyung again. You sucked a sharp breath of air in as a voice called out, “Hey! There you are Noona.” Like a blessing from above your coworker called out with a big bunny-like smile. 

“Thank’s Jungkook.” He hadn’t even said anything but you couldn’t help but give a weak smile in compensation for him not ratting you out to your boss who luckily wasn’t in today. He knew what happened, but he rarely ever brings it up, perhaps sensing you were still grieving and would prefer to keep your mind off it. 

But you knew you couldn’t fool anyone, your smile always seemed sadder these days, Jungkook more than anyone could sense it. Rounding the counter you set your bag down as he asked softly, “Are you good?” That was all he ever asked, an open invitation that if you ever wanted to talk about it he’d be more than happy to listen. Many people in your life were like this, bless all of them. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You mumbled, refusing to look at him as you dug through your things, pretending as if you were looking for something when you genuinely couldn’t look at him, few words could cause you to burst into a faucet of tears and you refused to cry at work. 

If you turned around to look up at Jungkook’s stupid, soft, doe like eyes that were always so understanding you’d surely start crying. You didn’t have to look at your coworker to know he was frowning but said no more, just like always. 

You didn’t mean to push all of your friends away, but you simply needed time alone, by yourself to get through this. If ever. Some days you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get over it, if you’d ever love someone the way you loved Taehyung again. Pulling the apron on you pushed all of your sad thoughts to the back of your head and got to work. 

Work was your happy place, as happy as it could be at least. You could pretend, just for a little while. That everything was okay, “Hey, where did the flour go?” Yoongi came out of the back complaining as he glared at Jungkook, “You closed last night.” His eyes narrowed into daggers at the younger boy who impishly smiled in response, 

“Hyung it’s where it always is, didn’t you check the top shelf? It should be there.” Jungkook insisted as he followed Yoongi to the back who was grumbling, said-baker not liking his ingredients misplaced. You felt a small smile tug on your lips as you watched them bicker as the door to the back shut. 

Turning away you walked up to the register where a customer had been scanning over the menu before ordering. Fixing coffee, getting a croissant, it was quaint work but something about it made you feel happy. Reminded you of simpler times. 

The bell against the door rang as you popped up from your crouched position, setting the plate and coffee on the counter as you called out the customer's name before going back up to the register, carefully watching the man whose eyes met with yours suddenly smack right into a table. 

You winced a little as he grunted in pain, rubbing his thigh that hit the hard edge of the table, his face looking oddly red as he rubbed his neck, unable to hold your stare for a even a short period of time as he awkwardly coughed, frantically looking over the menu, “Uh, you can take your time sir.” You raised an eyebrow as you glanced away, why was he making this feel so awkward? 

“O-okay, thank you.” He offered a sincere yet somewhat odd smile, your eyes immediately flickering to the pretty dimples that poked into his cheeks before he quickly looked back up at the menu as you turned around to wipe down the counters that had gotten crumbs all over it. Presumably from Jungkook eating yesterday's leftover pastries that didn’t sell. 

Casually you glanced at the stranger, sure you had a few new people every day but generally the cafe only had regulars come in or people that stopped in a few times a week. It was a trendy little place and was close to the city’s college campus making it a hot spot for friends to study at. 

“You don’t look like you’ve been here before.” You commented causing him to jump, his eyes flicking to your figure before immediately back to the menu. 

“I uh- Probably because I haven’t,” He gave an awkward smile as he closed his eyes, without even fully realizing it you felt your lips tug into a tiny smile as he began to relax a little at your observation, “My friend constantly talks about how amazing the pastries here are so I figured I’d come by and try them, just the smell is making my mouth water.” 

Letting your arms rest against the counter you hummed, “You should try the coco cream cupcakes if you like chocolate oh! Or the sugar glazed puff pastries if you want something light and low on the sweetness.” Sugar glazed pastries were your favorite, Yoongi would always let you take leftovers home if they didn’t all sell that day. You always loved sharing them with-

“Alright! I’ll have two of the sugar glazed pastries then! Oh, can I get an americano to go with it?” He asked, seemingly confident in your choice of sweets or maybe just a little overwhelmed at how much was crammed onto the small menu. 

To be fair Yoongi was always whipping out new recipes and they always tasted delicious, he eventually had to keep some limited edition due to the limited space on the menu and sometimes he’d put up seasonal sweets as well. Your favorite was never pumpkin spice but nutmeg and cider cinnamon rolls, it tasted like october. October would be coming around again soon, it was hard to believe it would be a year soon…

“Of course.” You coughed out, hands fumbling somewhat as you tried to keep your mind from sinking into a place where it would not return if you let it, “Name?” 

“U-uh what?” He asked, looking somewhat sheepish and caught off guard as you glanced up from the register, tilting your head at the sight of his flushed face and eyes that kept jumping between you and the menu over ahead as if to appear like he wasn’t staring at you.

“For the order…” You replied somewhat hesitantly, a frown on your face as he suddenly laughed, looking mildly relieved as he rubbed the back of his neck. Still refusing to meet your gaze as if he seemed a little embarrassed.

“O-oh right. Namjoon.” He offered a weak smile as you wrote it down on his cup. Ringing him up you gave him his receipt before working on his americano. Jungkook just then opened the door to the back, the front of his black shirt completely covered in flour and his face looked as if he just sucked on a lemon. 

“...Do I wanna ask?” You frowned though you felt your lips threatening to tug into a smile at his exasperated expression, turning to face the register as he mumbled something about accidentally putting the flour in the pantry. Setting the sugar glazed pastry neatly on a plate before placing the plate and drink on the counter calling Namjoon’s name who appeared to be typing very passionately on his phone before glancing up. 

“Thank you- ah…” He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to your shirt before he smiled brightly at you, “Y/n.” Your name tag was a little crooked today, making it stick out from your clothes in an annoying way but you couldn’t be bothered to adjust it. 

You gave a small nod as you turned around, glancing at Jungkook who seemed to watch both you and the man- Namjoon like a hawk as you asked, “What?” 

“Nothing.” He shrugged but it definitely did not look like nothing, before you could interrogate the younger boy he was already taking a customer's order. Sighing, you shook your head before you began working on the next order. 

The day went by quickly as always, the only thing that stuck out was when Namjoon left, waving at you before accidentally smacking against a chair that had been left unpushed by a table, causing him to stumble. You weren’t sure why but something just seemed….

“He likes you.” 

Your head whipped back over to Jungkook who was finished the last of cleaning before taking off as if his shift ended an hour earlier than yours. You couldn’t help but scoff as you rolled your eyes. 

“I’m being serious Noona!” Jungkook frowned, waving his hand to the door where Namjoon had long since left, “He kept smiling like an idiot while glancing over at you working.” You crossed your arms as you tilted your head.

“You were watching him eat?” You raised a brow, Jungkook’s face flushing somewhat as he glanced away, mumbling a no despite knowing for a fact he definitely was, “He’s just a customer Jungkook.” You dismissed him making a cute pout tug on his lips. You...you couldn’t even think about someone liking you. 

It wasn’t possible. Not right now at least. Jungkook sighed, his lips still tugged into a pout and those dumb doe eyes of his always getting the better of you as you scowled looking away, he was so stubborn when he wanted to be, “You might not be ready to move on Noona but that doesn’t mean other people can see that.” 

Your jaw clenched and your eyes glared against the counter, refusing to look at him as he sighed, “Bye Noona, see you friday.” You mumbled a goodbye as you sighed, closing your eyes as you rubbed your forehead. Just keep breathing. 

“Awh don’t cry baby,” Your cheeks squished and lips peppered against your face as you sniffled, trying your best not to cry at the sad scene in the movie but failing as a small whimper escaped your lips, “You’re so cute.” 

You shoved him causing laughter to erupt from his lips as you scowled while sniffling, “Tae shut up!” He gave you a playful nip on the neck as he hauled you into his lap, pressing little kisses against your head as he wrapped his arms around you. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll always be here to wipe those tears away.” He thumbed a tear against your cheek before his hands suddenly grabbed at your waist, a squeal leaving your lips as he ruthlessly tickled you, giggles escaping you as he pushed you down against the bed, “There’s that pretty smile.” He cooed, that playful boxy grin of his on his face as you squirmed beneath him, tears pricking in your eyes at how hard you were laughing. 

Now your eyes were blurring out of sadness, funny how you took those moments for granted when you still had him. Your fingers traced the image of his face on your phone, it was a dumb selfie you had took one morning together when you were half asleep. 

What you’d give to be with him again, have him beside you in bed telling you to get off your phone while whining to hold you. You could almost picture him beside you, his hair in a multitude of colors but your favorite was always that stupid blueberry dye he had insisted was indigo. 

His hands would be cupping your face, your hand gently grabbing your cheek as you closed your eyes. He’d always thumb your bottom lip before letting his pads delicately trace up your cheekbone. Opening your eyes the bed was still empty, the hand on your face was not his, but your own. 

Tears began to pool in your eyes as you rolled onto your back, closing your eyes as you felt a wet tear roll down. Sniffling as you sat up, you couldn’t be here alone tonight. Not surrounded by everything, wearing his old hoodie he’d always give you when you were cold, surrounded by memories of what could have been. What was supposed to be. 

Fumbling you stood up, ignoring all the pictures framed of your smiling figure hugging the love of your life. Covering your mouth to keep yourself from sobbing, Jimin would have to be up early tomorrow and you didn’t want him to feel obligated to deal with you. Putting on your shoes you sniffled as you wiped your cheeks. 

How late was it? Two in the morning? Maybe even three, you could never truly sleep anymore, not when you weren’t in his arms, not when every moment you breathed the ache filled you. Your feet took you to the only place opened this late; the convenient store. During nights when you didn’t have to work the next day Taehyung loved taking you here when you had a stressful day. 

Always rambling about how nothing could cheer you up like a nice hot bowl of ramen. You couldn’t help but smile at the irony as the tears dripped down your cheeks. Wiping them as you entered the store. The cashier looked bored, headphones in and reading a magazine not even acknowledging your presence as you walked to where the ramen was held. 

What you didn’t expect to do was ram into what felt like a brick, “Ah!” You stumbled as the man quickly grabbed you by the arms to keep you steady, taking a moment to steady yourself you glanced up only to feel your lips part, “Namjoon?” 

“Y/n?” Namjoon hurriedly let you go, looking at you in somewhat disbelief as you flusteredly rubbed your eyes, realizing they were still wet with tears, “Are...are you okay?” He asked somewhat hesitantly as you turned away from him, tears flooding your eyes as your shoulders bobbed. 

“Y-yeah.” You sniffled, trying to keep your breathing under control, “I’m okay.” You forced it out as you covered your mouth. Rubbing your eyes once more as you hesitantly took a peep at him, his expression said it all. Truthfully, anyone who had seen you like this always gave you that same expression. Pity. His brows pressed together and lips parted but frowning slightly, “I’m fine!” You forced a smile as another tear trickled down your face, turning away from him again you let out a soft sob as you closed your eyes. 

“...Maybe we should get some ramen and sit down?” Namjoon offered while rubbing his neck, “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”

....

Glancing down at your cup of steaming warm ramen you sniffled, refusing to look up at the somewhat skittish man who seemed genuinely worried for you. 

‘Come on baby, eat up, it’ll make you feel better’

Tears already blurred your eyes again as you closed them, letting out a soft sob, lips trembling as you chopsticks shook, slurping on your noodles as you suppressed your cries. The warm broth making you realize how hungry you were as you swallowed. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon offered, his expression sad, unsure of how to help you or even if he could, but it seemed he wasn’t leaving anytime soon as he began eating his own noodles. 

You stayed silent as tears dripped down your face, clenching your cup with a death grasp as you forced the noodles into your mouth, closing your eyes as you savored them. Unable to even speak as you shook your head. You couldn’t talk about it...it was too soon. Even coming up on a year and it was still too soon. 

You felt pathetic living like this, you were crying in front of a stranger while eating cup noodles at a gas station at three in the morning. Where would you be if Taehyung was still here? At home, asleep in his arms. Closing your eyes you let the tears slide down your face as you surrendered to the hurt you had been drowning in the moment your life was turned upside down.

For the first time, you were grateful to have company, even if you didn’t speak a word to Namjoon he made one sided conversation, rambling about how he had stayed up too late studying for an exam and how he was hungry but didn’t have anything at his dorm. 

“I’ve been trying to keep my Bonsai tree alive but...gardening is kind of hard to learn,” Namjoon continued rambling on, confessing as he looked a little embarrassed, awkwardly leaning his seat as he mustered a weak smile while looking down at his cup. 

His voice was...soothing to listen to admittedly. Namjoon was oddly poetic in the most unexpected way, he told you he loved philosophy and going to the art museum in his free time. He seemed to be able to find anything to talk about even if you weren’t receptive, but oddly enough he didn’t seem bothered by it. 

You were curled up, your knees against your chest and hood burying your face as you listened to him intently, your eyes undoubtedly bloodshot but you had stopped crying a good ten minutes ago, sniffling as he sighed, “But from what I’ve read basically if it doesn’t vibe with the dirt it just dies.” 

The snort that escape you made his eyes shoot up to look at you, a giggle breaking out on your lips as you stared at your noodles which had become lukewarm, sniffling a little as a tiny smile tugged on your lips, shaking your head as you mumbled, “That’s not exactly how gardening works. You wanna make sure the soil is good quality and damp, dry soil kills plants fast when they transfer pots, you also need to make sure the roots aren’t overgrown when you transfer it to a bigger pot.” 

“Oh? I didn’t take you for a plant expert.” Namjoon quipped playfully, that pretty dimpled smile on his lips, obviously happy to get a not just a smile but also a laugh from you. 

You glanced at him for a moment, your lips quirking a little as you raised a brow, shaking your head as you smiled back at your cup again, “I consider myself a bit of dirt viber.” You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you as Namjoon joined in. After a moment you paused as you exhaled softly, your smile eventually melting off your face as you meekly glanced at your cup. 

“I should get home...work in the morning.” You mumbled as you glanced at your phone, it was already 3:30 in the morning and you needed to be up by seven...the latest if you didn’t want to be late again. 

Namjoon nodded understandingly, giving you one last smile when you left. Once again alone, yet for the first time in what felt like a long time, your mind lingered on those pretty dimples. 

“You look tired Noona.” You glared at Jungkook who was sucking on a lollipop, giving you a bratty smile as he tried to ruffle your hair only to earn a slap in return, a pout forming on his lip, “Did you think about what I asked?” 

Bless the little brats heart, Jungkook was genuinely trying to get you out there again but you had become a shell. You didn’t want to go to parties, you didn’t want to go to the park, you didn’t even want to get groceries anymore. You just wanted to lay in bed for a very long time. 

“I’m not interested in going out Jungkook.” You glanced at him tiredly, truthfully you had a good excuse, you were running on three hours of sleep and caffeine could only carry you so far for eight hours, rubbing your eyes you sighed as he whined with a groan. 

“You always say that!” Jungkook pouted, much to your surprise Yoongi had shown himself out from his cave as he pushed the door open, a fresh platter of sugar glazed pastries on rack as Jungkook huffed, “Just this once, please?” 

“Jungkook,” Yoongi warned as he glanced at the younger boy, taking a glance at you as he frowned, setting down the platter he picked up a pastry as he handed it to you. 

Glancing down at the fresh baked soft flaky treat you sighed, “Is this what’s my life come too?” Both boys glanced at you as you stared at the pastry, “Pity pastries and being dragged to parties?” 

You shoved the sweet treat into your mouth as you chomped down on the soft doughy material, the sweet crisp sugar glaze was crunchy against the soft warm dough of the pastry. “Well hey, if you don’t appreciate my pastries...” Yoongi tried to snatch the half eaten treat from you but you hurriedly shoved it into your mouth as you glared him down. 

The door suddenly jingled, catching all of your attention only to see the bright smile of only the most genuine and sweet person you had ever met, much to your surprise a more bashful person was being dragged behind him, “Hey Y/n! Kook, Yoongi!” Hoseok waved happily as he bounced up to the counter, Namjoon rubbing his neck as he gave you a somewhat sheepish smile before hurriedly looking at the menu. 

“Lemme get a caramel macchiato with a carrot cake bomb and...oh! Are those fresh sugar glazed pastries…!” Hoseok’s eyes practically sparkled as Yoongi cleared his throat, ears looking somewhat pink. 

“Fresh out of the oven…” He mumbled causing Jungkook to snort- as if he was any better around guys or girls for that matter. You found it all amusing as you already began working on the macchiato. 

“And Namjoon?” You turned to glance at him as he perked at the sound of his name, he glanced up at the menu as he hummed. 

“Could I try the mystic mountain tea? It sounds really good…Oh, with a chocolate stuffed croissant.” Namjoon answered as Jungkook rang them up, Hoseok’s attention was solely on Yoongi and you could tell he was excited by the way his voice became all fluttery. Yoongi rarely ever left the back room where all the baking was done. 

“It is,” Your back was turned from Namjoon as you spoke, “It’s made with mint, pine needles and chamomile but we use cane sugar with it to give it a nice sweet flavor. It’s one of my favorites.” You smiled as you turned to face him, setting down the macchiato as you grabbed another cup. Namjoon’s smile seemed automatic, his somewhat slouched figure before straightening and it seemed as if he didn’t even realize it. 

“Oh so you like gardening and tea?” He playfully quipped, rolling your eyes you turned to face the brewer again as you felt a smile tug on your lips, “You seem like a woman of many weird talents.” 

Pouring the hot water into the cup you set it down as you glanced over your shoulder, “Says the one that’s struggling to keep his Bonsai tree alive.” 

“Hey!” Namjoon’s brows pressed together and his dimples popped out making you laugh, “It’s not my fault it’s petty and sensitive to literally everything.” You waved a dismissive hand as you walked to the door to the back, intending to get the jar of tea leaves that somehow made their way back there, “Keep telling yourself that.”

Your figure disappeared as Jungkook tilted his head, a mischievous smile on his lips as he hummed, glancing between the door and Namjoon’s lopsided smile as he commented, “You know, that’s the first I think I’ve seen her smile in the past two months.” 

Namjoon glanced at him as he frowned, “What...do you mean?” He asked carefully, his thoughts going back to last night, your eyes bloodshot and tears staining your cheeks, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. But a part of him was worried at the way you seemed so melancholy. He could see it in your eyes with every interaction he had. They always seemed so sad. Namjoon was happy, grateful even though he had gotten a few glimpses at what your smile looked like happy, bright, beautiful even… 

Jungkook shrugged, not answering as you reappeared, opening the door with tea leave jar in hand as you scooped the leaves up into a metal steeper, “Alright this should be done in a few minutes.” Jungkook had meanwhile set out their pastries but it seemed like Hoseok had Yoongi trapped, his ears were pink and he looked ready to crawl back into his little hole once more. 

“So you’re coming tonight, right Yoongi?” Hoseok flashed a bright charming smile at the brooding male who shifted away from him, “It’ll be a lot of fun, Jungkook is going.” To which Jungkook enthusiastically nodded. 

“...I need to go check on my pastry puffs.” Yoongi mumbled, his cheeks bright pink as he hurried back into the kitchen as you snorted, an amused smile tugging on your lips as the doors rocked back and forth. 

Hoseok’s lips tugging into a pout as he sighed, “Do you think he hates me?” He shoved the pastry into his mouth as he glanced at his plate depressively. 

“Uh no, he’s just a panicked gay,” Jungkook clacked his tongue, “I wouldn’t take it personal. If I can’t get miss broody here to go I’ll make sure he does.” Jungkook wrapped an arm around you as you glared at him, making a cheeky smile tug on his lips. 

“You won’t go Y/n?” Hoseok shot you puppy eyes as you sighed. Hoseok was a regular at the cafe and chummy with just about everyone, if he was a sim character you just knew for a fact he’d be a friend to the world trait to a T. 

He had been coming here for the past month straight which made you wonder if Hoseok was the one who recommended Namjoon come here. 

You shook your head, offering a weak, tired smile as you shrugged, “Not my cup of tea. Speaking of.” You whirled around, pulling the steeper out of the cup before dropping in three sugar cubes before popping on the lid, “Here you go.” You handed it over to Namjoon who looked excited to try, something subtle yet innocent in his expression as he poked his straw through and gave it a sip. 

“You were right! No wonder it’s your favorite, it’s delicious.” Namjoon complimented, something about his sincere tone of voice, or maybe it was those stupid dimples of his. Whatever it was your lips tugged into a smile and yet, you felt...bashful? Lowering your gaze a little as you rubbed the back of your neck. 

“You should try the lavender dream next time if you really like tea, it’s another good one.” You offered meekly, suddenly feeling a little timid under his gaze as you fumbled with your apron. A sudden well of feelings dowsing you. Insecurity, guilt, shame. Why did you feel so bashful in front of Namjoon...how could you when...When Taehyung…

It felt like a stab in your heart as you inhaled sharply, “I-I should go check stock real quick for pastries.” You mumbled, leaving all three boys dumbfound. Entering the back you grabbed your head as you felt your hands tremble. 

Guilt

Guilt

Guilt 

Guilt 

How could you betray Taehyung like this?

You shouldn’t feel this way.

You don’t deserve to.

Taehyung would’ve never done this to you.

How could you do this to him?

Your heart was beating frantically as your hands trembled as tears began to trickle down your face, “Hey, hey, hey.” Yoongi’s voice felt far away as your breathing became quick, thoughts racing and your hands shaking. 

Unworthy

Unworthy

Unworthy

How dare you ever think about replacing Taehyung. 

“Yoongi said you had a panic attack.”

You felt like a child being scolded, wrapped in three different blankets and four pillows surrounding you while you sat on the couch in front of Jimin who frowned in disappointment. Of course he was disappointed. 

“It wasn’t that bad…” You mumbled, glancing down as you tugged the blanket around you further making Jimin sigh, sitting down next to you as he pulled you close.

“Why do you always lie?” He asked quietly as you curled against him, letting your head rest against his shoulder, the kdrama you both had been watching long forgotten. When you woke up you were home, comfortable and warm. And for a half a second, you thought maybe it was Taehyung who you were laying against. Much to your heartache it was Jimin when you opened your eyes.

You had been expecting this conversation for the past hour, and lo and behold, here you were, “It’s easier.” You mumbled, eyes beginning to blur as you scoffed a bitter smile, “I’m so pathetic, I can’t even face my own feelings. It’s just easier to keep it to myself.” 

Jimin’s grip tightened around you and even though you couldn't see him you knew he was frowning, “But that isn’t healthy Y/n, you know it just as well as I do. I worry about you, everyone does. You aren’t a burden to anyone. It hurts watching you go through this alone when we all want is to help.” 

And here it was the tears dripping down your cheeks as you shook your head, a weak sob escaping your lips as you mumbled, “If I talk about it, that means I have to accept he’s gone.” You choked out, “And I can’t do that Jimin. I can’t.” You sobbed as you glanced up at him, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded, “I can’t.” Almost a whole year and you were still in denial just as much as you were when you first got the phone call. 

You were still just as devastated as you sobbed into his shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around you as he stroked your hair. It seemed like everyone had moved on by now. Taehyung was just a name in the past. A ghost you couldn’t let go of. Jimin was the bridge between you both, he was the reason you had met Taehyung at all, this man was like a brother to him. But even the pain for him had lessened with time. 

“I miss him too Y/n. I do. But you’re going to have to let him go,” You rapidly shook your head, your breath becoming uneven as sobs escaped you, tears staining his shirt as he murmured gently, “Taehyung wouldn’t want you to be like this.” Tears couldn’t stop pouring from your eyes, you knew he was right. But you couldn’t let him go, not yet. Just a little longer. Just a little longer. 

Taehyung was a ghost and you were desperately clinging to every remnant you had left of him. This man was the love of your life, your soulmate, you needed him. You needed him. How were you supposed to move on with your life when you had to live with the knowledge of what could’ve been. Your body violently trembled as you drown yourself in tears next to Jimin who was always so strong. 

The only time you ever saw him lose it was when you bursted into the hallway in the hospital, his eyes were bloodshot and all it took was one exchanged look before a dam was released in his eyes. Maybe he had numbed himself to the pain, it was difficult to tell. Jimin let his nose bury into your hair as he inhaled softly, tenderly stroking your hair in the same way Taehyung always would in these moments. 

‘Baby, hey…Shhh…Come on don’t cry. What’s going on?” You shook your head rapidly as you tugged away from Taehyung’s grip, his hands keeping you in place and his face twisted into worry before he cupped your cheeks, “Sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead against yours. 

“i-I-It’s stupid…” You whimpered as you closed your eyes, shaking your head as he pressed a kiss against your nose encouragingly, sucking in a harsh breath you sobbed out, “I-I overheard your conversation with Hyuna.” 

Taehyung immediately frowned as he sighed softly, his thumbs soothingly rubbing your cheeks as he mumbled, “Baby don’t listen to her. She’s just a jealous old ex.” 

“She’s right.” You laughed bitterly as you refused to look at him, “I don’t deserve to be with somebody like you-”

“Hey.” Taehyung’s voice was stern, his hands making you look at him as he pressed his forehead back against yours as he mumbled, “Don’t you ever say that about yourself, okay? I love you Y/n, you’re my girl okay? I would never take anyone else over you.” You closed your eyes as your lips trembled, his lips soothingly pressing against yours as his thumbs stroked your cheekbones. 

It was a gentle kiss, your favorite as you complied, chasing his lips as he tried to pull back, making him chuckle against your mouth as he pressed multiple little kisses on your lips before breaking away making you whine with a sniffle, “Come on baby, let’s go get you some noodles, I’m sure it’ll make you feel better.” He gave you a warm smile as he brushed your tears away. 

Smiling you giggled a little as you wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging him tight as you mumbled, “What would I ever do without you?”

“Crash and burn probably.” Taehyung joked with that adorable boxy smile of his as you smacked his arm, leaning on your tiptoes as you puckered your lips. Tutting he leaned down pressing one more chaste kiss on your lips.

Crash and burn, you wanted to laugh, he wasn’t wrong. He never was. 

Jimin had eventually gotten you to calm down, a cup of hot chocolate in your hands and your legs over his lap, still curled close, but enough away to keep your grip on your warm drink, “How has work been, hm?” Jimin asked, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face as you sighed. 

Shrugging a little you sipped the sweet liquid as you mumbled, “Same as always. Met one of Hoseok’s friends recently, he seems...interesting.” You rubbed your forehead, trying not to think about what happened earlier that day. 

“Oh? Well it’s good you’re making new friends. Maybe he’ll be good for you.” Jimin smiled, patting your head as you tried to swat it, “Friends always come into your life when you need them the most.” 

You didn’t comment on that, choosing to drink your hot chocolate as you glanced at the TV. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. You didn’t know, but you needed to be careful around Namjoon. If anything you knew that as sure as day.

You kept mainly in your thoughts the rest of the evening but Jimin kept you company the whole time, stroking your hair calmly while watching kdramas together. For the first time, you fell asleep easier tonight then you had in the last eight months.

——

You sharply inhaled as you clenched your fists, you were going to do this…! You could do this. You glanced up at the art museum in determination before stepping up the stone stairs towards the entrance doors. It was crowded today and usually you liked shying away from large crowds. But he never cared, always tugging you along with encouragement and laughter, somehow, he always made it so much fun.

Today a Degas exhibit was in town, the one Taehyung had been so excited about seeing, you still vividly remembered his bouncing figure as he shoved the flyer in your face. Your hands trembled as you opened the door. You wanted to see it today, for him. Clutching the Polaroid camera in hand tightly as your fingers traced against its smooth surface. He loved using this damn thing every chance he got.

He’d take at least a dozen photos of all the art pieces, even going as far as to shove the camera in your hands to pose in that dumb artsy way he always did. You felt the distinct smile tug on your lips imaging that brown burette on his head and those dark raven locks. Boxy smile reflecting back at you as he grabbed your hand tugging you along while spouting off random knowledge about whatever you were looking at. 

You paused for a second, looking beside you as you felt a well in your throat at the sight of the crowd instead of your someone beside you. Closing your eyes you swallowed thickly as you forced yourself to breathe, trying to compose yourself.

With determination you walked up to the counter, purchasing a ticket to the exhibit before making your way down the massive lobby, artwork displayed on either sides of the walls and your shoes echoing against the smooth glossy floor. The exhibit was packed as expected but you stopped at each painting, letting your eyes draw over the dreamy muted yet colorful painting. 

The Dancer On Pointe was the one Taehyung was looking forward to the most. Ignoring the ‘No Pictures’ sign you lifted up the polaroid camera, clicking it as the photo began to develop. Giving the photo a wave you smiled as you glanced at it. This was perfect. 

Putting the camera and photo into your bag you made your way through the exhibit.

You looked at every painting intensively, hoping maybe the lense of your old lover would bless your vision and you’d be able to see it in the way he once showed you every single time. But to no avail, paintings were just paint, colors were just pigment. The magic was no longer there. Sighing you turned away from the paintings displayed beautifully, intending to leave before you smacked into someone, “Ah!” 

“Oh I’m sorry!” The voice which had become all too familiar grabbed ahold of you to steady you as you glanced up to meet the eyes of Kim Namjoon, round specs  between you and his gaze as he pushed them up against his nose, lips parting before twisting into a brilliant smile, “Y/n! Sorry I didn’t see you there!” 

“O-oh...Hey.” You stepped away from him awkwardly, your gaze lowering as you tugged on a strand of hair, your heart beating faster but you could hardly tell if it was from anxiety or something else. You had been…you didn’t want to say you had been avoiding Namjoon but, he made you feel weird. In a way you weren’t sure you liked and you couldn’t even fully describe it. 

“I didn’t know you liked going to the art museum! It’s nice seeing you here, I’ve missed you at work-” Namjoon suddenly coughed, immediately glancing away as he fumbled, “Not-uh- not miss, miss you but...you know…” He looked awkward and his eyes widened as he refused to look at you as if you’d turn him to stone if he did. 

You snorted, unable to keep the smile off your face as you replied lowly, “No I get it, just bad timing,” Or you purposely scrambled into the back leaving Jungkook on his own everytime you caught sight of Namjoon opening the cafe door, “But uh, I’m...not actually a fan of going here.” You shrugged as you glanced down at your feet. 

“Oh?” He tilted his head in curiosity, “Then...can I ask why you’re here? Or did you just wanna bump into me?” There was something...light -playful- in Namjoon’s voice as he flashed those dimples at you. 

You kept your expression reserved this time making his smile dim a little as you glanced back at the painting, “I just came...for someone who couldn’t…” Your expression casted more gloomy this time as you wrapped your arms around yourself, looking back at Namjoon who seemed somewhat confused at your cryptic words, “I’ve never been a big art person.” You offered a weak smile. 

“Well,” Namjoon hummed, giving you a small smile in return, “I hope that someone was able to enjoy your visit for them.” Your heart clenched as you glanced at his shoes, timberlands that blurred in your vision as you gave a bittersweet smile. 

“Yeah…” You nodded as you glanced up at Namjoon, a frown immediately on his face at your glassy eyes and sad smile as you nodded, “He did.” You hadn’t even said his name and yet sadness had swept through your whole body like an ache you’d never cure. The longing you had for your soulmate who was gone, who you’d never wake up beside, who would never hold your hand again, who’s smile you’d never see as he pointed out all of his favorite paintings. 

But Taehyung would be proud of you, wouldn’t he? Perhaps, if there was an afterlife, he would be an angel that was smiling while looking down upon you. 

“Y/n…” You felt your lurch in your throat, as if it felt physically difficult to speak as Namjoon called your name softly, tufts of warm brown hair falling against his eyebrows as he asked with sincerity, “Do you wanna get lunch together? I know a great artisan cafe nearby.” 

It was silent between you both for what felt like an eternity in nothing but a short second as you glanced back at the painting, and for a brief moment your eyes caught onto a sight of raven shaggy hair and an oversized brown cardigan. It looked all too familiar and your heart fluttered for just a brief moment until he turned around, not the face of your lover, but a stranger who embraced his girlfriend with a laugh. 

Sighing, you turned to face Namjoon as you offered a weak smile, “No thank you, I actually have somewhere I’m supposed to be.” You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, rather you chose to step aside and brush past him, feeling a melancholy gaze against your back but you refused to turn around. 

Not when your heart ached and you felt so tired. 

Stopping by the quaint little flowershop you had picked out a small bouquet of tiger lilies, his favorite, he used to love decorating the apartment to the brim with them, walking out of the shop you took a shaky breath of the cool air. 

The evening sky was brilliant, Taehyung often remarked it was like God personally painted the sky every evening, always different from the previous day but just as beautiful in it’s own right. Your feet felt heavy on the pavement as you sighed, stopping at the arched gateway, glancing to your right where the sunset was shielded by the silhouettes of willow tree’s that gently swayed in a slow dance with the wind. 

Stepping through you weave your way around the grassy corridors of walkways before you were near the middle of the cemetery, pausing in front of the gravestone where wilted flowers laid and dirt from the lawn mower had sputtered up against. 

Kneeling down you gently wiped off the stone as your fingers gently traced the name of your lover, “I went to the art museum today,” Your eyes were already blurry as you smiled endearingly at Taehyung’s name printed on the stone, setting down the blossom of tiger lilies as you crossed your legs, “To go see that Degas exhibit we had made plans to see last Autumn. Ha…” You let out a short laugh as tears trickled down your face, “Do you remember when we got the catalogue in the mail? You knocked over your mug of coffee and it stained over half the pages,” You tried to keep your voice steady as a sob escaped you, rubbing your eyes as you gave a broken laugh, “You freaked out about it  because it was hard to make out the dates but I told you to calm down and looked up the dates on the website.” 

You wiped your face with your arms as you opened your bag up, grabbing the polaroid as more tears immediately dripped down your cheeks, “Here! Don’t you like it?” You asked as you set down the photo with the flowers, smiling despite the tears that welled in your eyes, “I know it’s your favorite, you wouldn’t stop gushing about it when you first saw the exhibit advertisement.” 

It was quiet for a moment as you lowered your gaze, a whimper escaping you at the expected silence, tears dripping down your chin and splattering onto your hand as you sobbed, “Please come back.” 

Your breath was trembling and desperate as you grabbed the gravestone, pressing your forehead against it as you tried to vividly imagine it was your lovers warm skin as your tears dampened the stone, “Please come back to me Taehyung. Don’t leave me alone. Please.” 

Alone, you cried in the cemetery where your lover would permanently stay asleep.

“Just think about it Noona!” Jungkook whined as he grabbed your arm making you sigh as you turned to face him, “It’s a camping trip! We’ll be in nature, maybe you’ll feel better! I get worried about you sometimes.” 

That wasn’t fair! 

You crossed your arms as you sighed again, looking away from him as you felt guilty, not wanting to worry anyone but, you just needed time to yourself. You didn’t know when it would go away, if ever, but you just wanted to be by yourself. Alone were you could mourn in peace, where your heart could ache and tears could fill your eyes with zero shame. 

Everyday that you spent ever since had become more and more painful. The ache became that much harder to deal, “Jungkook...you know I don’t like camping…” You mumbled as you turned away from him, rearranging some of the tea canisters to look busy. 

“But you love gardening!” Jungkook whined again, fluttering beside you with those sweet doe eyes of his that always seemed to get you. 

“There’ll be a log cabin,” Yoongi added as he appeared from the kitchen, setting down a fresh platter of bakery goods, “So it really isn’t camping, unless you’re gonna be Jungkook and set up a tent anyways.”

Jungkook flailed his hands as he glared at his elder, “What’s the point in calling it a camping trip if we aren’t going to camp?” Always the stubborn and hardheaded person he was, Jungkook insisted on his words as he crossed his arms with that pouty expression of his. 

“Nobody called it a camping trip except you.” Yoongi turned to face him deadpan, Jungkook’s lips parted several times before defeatingly closing them as Yoongi snorted, “Yeah, exactly. Anyways, you should go. Shop is going to be closed anyways since Bang is going out of town to visit his parents. Unless you really wanna sulk in your apartment all week…” He shrugged as you sharply inhaled. 

“I’ll think about it…” Jungkook immediately jumped, wrapping his arms around you as he smushed you against him making you squirm, “Thank you Noona! You’ll camp with me right?” He bounced in excitement as you pushed him away from you. Jungkook always had a lack of boundaries especially when he got excited. 

“No.” You replied promptly as you turned around making him cross his arms with a humph, “Be happy I’m at least considering, you ungrateful brat.” To which Jungkook smiled cheekily. Sighing you leaned against the counter top with a hum. Maybe this would be good for you. You knew if Taehyung was here he’d be thrilled to go, immediately begging you to go with him and even saying he refused to go without you. You could never deprive him of something he loved and enjoyed. 

Maybe...just maybe…

The doors just as always at twelve thirty rang as you all glanced up to see the embodiment of the sun wave and his moon beside him who was always more reserved, “Hey! You guys are going on the trip up to the cabin right?” Hoseok bounced up to the register as he set his hands up on it and leaned forward. 

“Yes and we’re camping!” Jungkook wrapped an arm around your neck, squeezing it causing you to gag as you jammed your elbow into his stomach causing him to grunt before whining. 

“No we are not!” You whipped around as you glared at him, your lips tugging into a pout of your own as you glared at the younger boy who stubbornly crossed his arms once more. 

“Oh you’re going Y/n?” Hoseok clapped his hands in excitement as you glanced at the two men, instinctively lowering your gaze a little when you felt Namjoon’s eyes on you. They seemed sadder than normal. 

Which wasn’t normal at all. Namjoon was- he always smiled, so why didn’t he today when your eyes met his? 

“I might,” You admitted reluctantly, “I need to think it over.” Was he still thinking about your rejection at the art museum? Or your cryptic and weird words? Did he assume you were just a sad freak. A part of you desperately wondered why you didn’t see those sweet dimples today. 

“Well don’t take too long,” Hoseok winked playfully as he grinned brightly, “We’re leaving Friday and we sure could use the company. Right Namjoon?” He elbowed the quiet man a little causing him to jolt before harshly glaring at Hoseok who seemed like a little boy who had a secret he was dying to tell. 

Namjoon glanced back at you as he mustered a weak smile, but you could see in his eyes they weren’t glowing like they were before, “Of course we’d like you to come. But don’t feel pressured.” You nodded as you glanced back at the counter top. Unable to bear his gaze anymore. Trying not to overthink why he seemed so melancholy today. 

Or perhaps he was always like this and your head had just played tricks on you? No...No you could remember Namjoon’s smile as clear as day, it was bright and lovely, his eyes glowed not like the sun- not burning and harsh- but like the moon, soft and almost nostalgic as if he lived every moment of his life with gratitude and peace. 

So what happened? The only thing you could recall was what had previously happened. But surely he wasn’t upset about that? After all, he shouldn’t want to deal with a heartbroken girl who only knew how to cry. 

Unless....No…”Well I better go get more chocolate bombs for the holder.” You mumbled as you turned around, pushing the door to the back open as you shoved your thoughts to the back of your head. You wouldn’t let your mind go there.

----

You couldn’t help but feel like this was a mistake, no matter how crisp and fresh the air was, the lake view was gorgeous and reflection off the water made it look like diamonds trickled against its surface. The car ride was over four hours and you were grateful to be on your feet with all the greenery. 

You were definitely tired, not used to being around people so long outside of work after the past year. Feeling semi lethargic you let out a yawn as you rubbed your eyes, “Aren’t you excited Noona?” Jungkook curled his fists, his nose scrunched up like a bunny as he grinned like a child, “I told you it would be pretty here!”

You were tired, definitely, but you mustered a smile, a small one as you replied, “Yeah...it is.” You glanced back out over the lake before fixing your bag over your shoulder. Like Jungkook said, this would be good for you...hopefully...The cabin was fairly big and everyone, even you helped pitched in the rent for it for the next two days. Jimin was excited for you, telling you to try and enjoy yourself and if all else failed he’d come and pick you up. 

You would certainly try your best to not let that happen though, of course Jimin would be willing to drive eight hours for you on a work day. Everyone was still outside, you could hear shouts and laughter, water splashing as you stepped inside the cabin. 

It was warm and cozy, buried in neutrals and warm colors, blankets piled on the couch that sat in front of the fireplace. Walking around you examined each room before smiling a little, choosing the one that had a lake view, Taehyung would certainly love it. Pulling the polaroid camera out of your bag you lifted it up before taking a photo of the window. You’d make sure to bring it to show him when you came back home. 

“I didn’t take you for polaroids.” 

You jumped as your gaze snapped to the person who seemed to become all too familiar with you the past month now. Pulling the photograph out of the dispenser you gave it a little wave as silence sat between you both, “I’m not.” You mumbled as you carefully set the camera back in your bag, your thumbs edging the sharp stiff ends of the photo. 

“Y/n,” You didn’t look up at him despite his voice sounding soft, feet gently padding against the floor and he was surely right behind you now, Namjoon’s voice soft, maybe even a little sad as he murmured, “Why do you always seem so sad when I ask?”

Letting your fingers trace against the photocard you let a small melancholy smile tug on your lips, “Because,” Your eyes blurred a little and your throat felt tight as you mumbled, “These things I do, going to art museums, taking polaroids, I do them because,” You turned to face Namjoon as a tear slid down your cheek, “He loved it. Even if I never did. I do it for him..” 

Namjoon’s expression had hardened a little, he seemed lost, maybe even angry, maybe he was tired of constantly seeing tears in your eyes, he bowed his head a little, eyes seeming somewhat broody as he muttered, “I see…I’ll leave you to it, I guess…” 

You weren’t sure why your heart clenched at the way his face seemed so forlorn, broody as he turned on his heels. Your throat squeezing and his name never reached your lips like you instinctively wanted too. 

You thought that, maybe when he left you’d feel better, more at peace. But that broody expression haunted you as you sat up in the window seal loft, letting your knee’s curl against your chest as a dull ache came from your heart. 

This ache was different, it wasn’t like the one you had anytime you thought of your soulmate. This was...different. New. Like something was wilted but still had a chance. Your chest felt heavy and your mind was telling you to go after Namjoon, to get him to smile and clear up whatever misunderstanding there was. You didn’t understand either, truthfully, what did you say to make him look like that? 

You had opened yourself up and told him a little and he...he acted gloomy, as if life was sucked from his body. You didn’t understand but...but you’d like too...Watching everyone splash and muffled screams from the window you let your head press against the glass as you sighed. Closing your eyes, even in the crowdest places you always felt so lonely. 

-----

 It was a full moon out tonight, glossy and incandescent to anything you had ever seen. Oftentimes when you felt lonely Taehyung used to always tell you, ‘Just look at the moon whenever you feel lonely. Someone at that exact moment is looking at it as well. You’re never truly alone’

It always made you feel better, even now. Someone was probably looking at this same moon as you right now and you couldn’t help but wonder. What were they thinking? Was there a reason they were admiring such a beautiful sight as the sky? Carefully you slipped on your shoes, curling the cardigan around your body as you opened the main door of the cabin before walking outside. 

Grassing brushing softly against your feet and crickets cooed with the rustle of trees and cool air, it was a little humid out but not hot enough to make you want to shed your cozy layer. Walking down the path you glanced up at the sky were the stars speckled across the deep midnight blue horizon. 

You paused on your walk when you noticed a little wooden bridge, it wasn’t the cute sight itself but the person who stood on it, “Namjoon?” You called out softly to the man who was leaning over the railing, observing the moon that sat in the painted sky. He jolted before whipping around as you approached slowly. 

“Y/n…?” He seemed surprised, of course he was, it was only two in the morning after all. You were supposed to be the only one out here right here, trying to clear your head, let go of what your heart didn’t want too. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself you stepped onto the bridge as you murmured softly, “May I join you?” It was hard making out his facial expressions in the moonlight, but you thought maybe you saw hesitation on his face for a brief moment. 

“Of course,” Even in the dark you could spot those pretty dimples, leaning back against the railing he hummed, “You’re always a pleasant company to have.” For some reason, his words took you off guard. They seemed...sincere, yet, distant perhaps? They seemed odd given the last time you had spoken. 

You let your arms rest against the railing beside him, crickets sounding and the water gently lapped, even in the dark though the moonlight reflected against the water making it sparkle with assorted gems. It was quiet between you both yet the pressure in your chest swelled, the sudden need to apologize for earlier today. You weren’t sure why it felt imperative to do so. Or as if it was even necessary. 

“I’m sorry if I said something wrong earlier-” “I’m sorry about what I said earlier-” 

It seemed you were not the only one to have an apology on your mind. Both you and Namjoon had bursted at the same time before pausing, tripping over one anothers words before you stopped altogether. Glancing at him briefly before you both began to laugh softly. 

“I’m sorry- uh you can go first!” You squeaked, glancing away from him as you looked back out over the water, letting your body lean against the old wooden grooves that scraped lightly against your skin. 

Namjoon was silent for a moment before he replied, somewhat quiet, maybe even shy? “Well…” He drawled, “I just...wanted to apologize about earlier. My words were unnecessary and I shouldn’t have asked you such a personal question. You have every right to feel the way you do and it wasn’t my place to ask something like that.” 

It was silent for another moment before you let your eyes flit to Namjoon’s figure, you could make out the silhouette of his face which seemed almost forlorn, in deep thought as he looked out over the moon, “Oh…” You mumbled, as you glanced back at your hands, fingers tracing the dry harsh groove of the wooden railing, “Well...I just wanted to say I’m sorry for…” You paused for a moment, what were you apologising for? “...being me I guess.” 

You didn’t mean for it to sound depressing, but you supposed it was the truth, you felt like you had become nothing but a shell of a person since what had happened. Like you had become closed off, difficult to get to know, moody, temperamental. It was no wonder Namjoon was so fed up with your constant switch in behavior, “I know I’m...me...but...thank you for tolerating it. It’s nice having someone outside of my friends to talk to.” 

“Don’t apologize for that.” Your gaze jumped to Namjoon, a little startled at how stern his voice was, you couldn’t necessarily see him but you could feel his sharp, judgmental gaze on your figure, “I’m sure you have your reasons. And truthfully, like I said. I just… had clouded judgment,” Namjoon murmured cryptically, “I let my emotions get in the way when I talked to you earlier today. I’m more than happy to be your friend Y/n! You aren’t a burden or something I’m just tolerating, I talk to you because I like you.” 

You felt better but....something still felt withered inside you...you mustered a smile as you shrugged, “I guess so...I know I’m not always responsive sometimes...but...if we’re okay then let’s not talk about what happened anymore! What are you doing out here so late?” You didn’t want to dwell on what happened, it made you feel icky and gross inside even after clearing things up with Namjoon, you still didn’t understand why it wouldn’t go away. 

Namjoon laughed a little as he shrugged, “To think, I’ve always been a bit of a moon child honestly. Looking up at the sky always helps me clear my head. I should be asking you what you’re doing out this late.”

You rubbed the back of your neck bashfully as you shrugged, “I couldn’t sleep tonight, I like going out on walks, get out of my room, my head.” You glanced down at the rippling water, a frown on your face as you held in a sigh. Truthfully, you couldn’t sleep because Namjoon’s expression kept playing in your head. The way he seemed so distant and cold earlier, it bothered you to no end yet you didn’t understand why.

So you came out here to look at the moon in the open, feel the warm air on your skin and maybe you’d find whatever you were looking for. It seemed, what you had been looking for was Namjoon, and of course there he was, on this bridge. You didn’t know what this meant or what to take away from it. But you were happy you found him regardless.

“I can understand that,” Namjoon chuckled softly, his expression soft as he glanced up at the night sky, gaze still somewhat muted compared to before but...it still seemed sad, maybe the kind of sad where you just accept a situation for what it was, “Well, at least the moon brought us together.” 

His gaze met yours as you mirrored his smile, a little bashful as you rubbed your cheek, looking out over the rippling water as you mumbled, “I guess it did…” Letting your chin rest against your arms as you stretched out your back. There was something… oddly comforting about Namjoon’s presence? You weren’t sure, but you liked it…

You really liked it.

“Have you ever considered that Plato was just on drugs the whole time he was writing?” You slurped on your noodles as you glanced up to meet Namjoon’s exasperated expression making you smile as you snorted. 

“Dualism?” 

“Drugs. Who the fuck thinks about the mind and body being seperated in like 11 AD?” You snorted again as Namjoon groaned, sinking into his seat. He had been trying to talk about his latest readings to you and you had been...not making fun of it! Just...making the conversation interesting, “No seriously, didn’t they burn women back then for just knowing how to read? It just seems so...primitive for philosophy to be introduced so early in time with all things considering back then….”

Namjoon rubbed his face as he sighed, unable to resist the smile that tugged on his lips as he clacked his tongue, “Alright fair enough, what do you suggest we talk about then if you refuse to talk philosophy.” 

You puckered your lips, holding your chopsticks animately as you replied, “We could talk about how corrupt the patriarchy was throughout time and how men used religion as a way to justify the oppression of women and slavery?” 

You snorted at the way Namjoon, for the first time in your friendship seemed speechless, perhaps impressed, or simply just stunned before he sighed with a shrug, “Alright fine, but first of all some women actually did have some say in different cultures. But it had a lot more to do with classism then gender. Take a look at the Spartans as examples.” 

You held up a finger as you replied, “Except the only reason women received burials was because they gave birth to Spartans? I mean A for effort I guess,” You rolled your eyes, “But that doesn’t change the fact that women were only honored for giving birth to men, still seems like a convoluted way of saying women weren’t worth even burials unless they were of some use to men.” 

Namjoon hummed as he rubbed his chin, “Fair point, really I think because-” 

“Well look who it is!”

Both you and Namjoon jumped at the sound of a chipper loud voice, your lips twisted into a mild frown at the sight of Jungkook and Hoseok’s shit eating grins, without invitation immediately plopping down in the booth, Jungkook sitting beside you and Hoseok mirroring him, “So what are you two doing on this fine day?” 

There was something in Jungkook’s tone that made you shift awkwardly, why did he sound like you both were up to something when you weren’t, rubbing the back of your neck you mumbled, somewhat reluctantly, “Well we were just having lunch…?” 

“Oh, you mean like-” Hoseok suddenly grunted in pain, Namjoon harshly elbowing him as he cut his eyes at his best friend. You glanced between the both of them, it seemed like they were having a conversation by only facial expressions before Namjoon spoke up, “We were just talking about the oppression of women through history. Thoughts?” 

Both Hoseok and Jungkook wrinkled their noses, never ones to get involved in these kinds of discussions no matter how true they may be. Rather than talk about that, it seemed they had come over to, what? Stir the pot?

“Nah,” Jungkook attempted to wrap an arm around your neck as you shoved him away, a grin on his face as he hummed, “I just haven’t seen Noona getting out as of late, it’s good to see you both together.” Now you were feeling weird. Rubbing the back of your neck you looked away from all of them, well aware of your expression becoming flatter by the moment. 

Namjoon was beginning to look apprehensive as well as he coughed, “Uh, well, we were just eating…?” He seemed somewhat sheepish and even if it was unsaid you could tell he was trying to make it clear this wasn’t a date...Right? You had paused mentally for a moment, but...this did kind of seem like a date…

No, friends could hang out! You nodded to yourself silently, Namjoon was a friend and you needed friends, and in order to make friends you had to hang out! And even so, it wasn’t like Namjoon was interested in you and...you...you....a lump in your throat formed as you pucker your lips on your cup. No you weren’t gonna go there. 

“Right…!” Hoseok gave a bright yet odd smile as him and Jungkook shared a laugh, as if they knew something you didn’t, “Well, we’ll just ah...let you two get back to it.” He winked as Jungkook wiggled a brow at you before they both got up. 

You felt confusion wash over you as you watched them both walk away, frowning a little as you sank back in your seat, “That was weird.” Were the first words that tumbled out of your lips. On one hand you wanted to ask why they were acting like that but...wasn’t it obvious…? 

Namjoon offered a weak smile as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah…” His reply was hardly a murmur though as he looked down at his pork bulgogi looking not nearly as hungry as he proclaimed he was twenty minutes ago. 

The rest of your lunch had become...stale...no matter how hard you or Namjoon tried the air of what had happened with Hoseok and Jungkook lingered and continued to pester the back of your head. What were they trying to insinuate? That it was a date? Because it wasn’t…! You weren’t…! You could feel frustration tug inside your subconscious but you didn’t understand why. 

Namjoon and you were currently walking on the sidewalk, namely back to your apartment which just so happened to be on the same path as one of Namjoon’s acqtuance’s house where he had promised he would help them study. The weather was nice today, the wind was blowing a cool breeze and the sun was warm on your skin. On harder days you often tried to sunbathe, to soak in it’s rays and feel it’s warmth. You had read somewhere that if you soaked up enough warmth that it would manifest into positivity.

Or maybe that was just something you made up to make yourself feel better? On dimmer days you like grounding yourself in your five senses, even if they seemed dull and void. Today was not a bad day though. Not for the weather and neither for you. In fact, it was perfect. The air was fresh and you could smell the lavender bushes on the sidewalk that had been planted waft with each blow of breeze. 

“I’m really sorry for what happened.” You opened your eyes as you paused, looking at Namjoon who walked beside you, his cheeks looked a little red and he wouldn’t meet your gaze as you tilted your head, unsure of what there was to be sorry for. His gaze flicked to yours, seeing your confusion before immediately following up, “About Hoseok and Jungkook...ah…” He gave a somewhat weak smile as he looked away, hesitation in his eyes, “It feels like they made things weird…”

“No..!” You immediately shook your head, not wanting to make him feel worse by admitting they really did make you feel odd, but you were positive that was your own self projection, after all you had that tendency with Namjoon since you first met… “It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize.” You offered a soft smile as you began to walk again, Namjoon following along said to you as you continued, “It was weird yeah, but, I mean we’re still friends so…” Pausing in front of the entrance of your apartment complex you shrugged as you smiled, “Don’t worry about it! They’re just being dumb. Anyways, i’ll see you later.” 

You offered one last smile before heading into your apartment, Namjoon deflating somewhat as he sighed, watching you walk away once again as he rubbed the back of his neck, kicking a small pebble that had surfaced from the pebble surface of the resident sign, “Yeah...friends…” 

Namjoon decided to not linger on your words, the more he thought about it the more it stung and he didn’t want to act like a kicked puppy, you didn’t owe him anything other then your friendship he just...He sighed as he began walking to his friends home, surely he’d give good advice. After all, Seokjin was highly popular with women. 

After arriving at his apartment Namjoon hadn’t intended on letting out as much as he did, but it was admittedly nice to unload all of his feelings without feeling obligated to hold back, if he told his best friend he knew Hoseok would only make things worse despite having good intentions. 

“So,” Seokjin plopped the sucker into his mouth, leaning back on the bed as his eyes glazed over the textbook, “You what…? Wanna bang her? What’s the deal?” 

“No!” Namjoon immediately objected before groaning as he sank back in his seat, unsure of how to explain, “I don’t just want to sleep with her…” He muttered, “I just...want to get to know her. But it feels like there's this…” He waved his hand around, “Invisible wall, like she doesn’t want me to get to know her. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to make her like this though…” He paused a moment, evaluating all of his past actions. Namjoon was positive he was a nice guy, you owed him nothing but, he had hoped maybe at least his behavior would explain why you were like this yet...He genuinely couldn’t think of anything. 

Well except maybe back last month at the cabin when he had gotten cold, the memory made him wince but...you had been even worse before then...So what was it…? Namjoon felt helpless as he glanced at his elder who shrugged loosely, pulling the sucker from his mouth as he replied, “Maybe it’s just her Namjoon. Regardless she doesn’t sound interested so you shouldn’t get your hopes up.” 

Namjoon paused, could it just be you…? He never actually thought about it before, always assuming he was the problem. Not that you were the problem but, “I just wish things weren’t so easy to become awkward between us.” He sighed as he flipped the page of his book. 

Seokjin eyed him curiously as he hummed, “Well what do you mean? Awkward how?” Seokjin didn’t consider himself a playboy like many would dub him but he had definitely gotten around enough to at least get an idea of how women worked emotionally, when to pursue and when to back off. 

Namjoon shrugged as he replied, “It’s just...weird...I can tell she starts overthinking and questioning. Like it’s difficult for her to even go out for just lunch with me. Awkward like, just the idea of being on a date with me makes her wanna bail...that kind of awkward…” He slumped in his seat, “Am I really that unlikeable?” 

Seokjin snorted, curving a brow at his friend who looked rather pathetic at the moment, “I think,” Tapping his lip Seokjin hummed, “She has some stuff she’s sorting out, and it’s not you. It’s just her, I’m sure if you asked her that, she’d say the same. If you haven’t been an ass to her in any way shape or form, it sounds like she’s just working through some stuff. Sucks but hey, you won’t know if you don’t ask…” 

Namjoon groaned, he knew Seokjin was right, if he’d just got the balls and asked you he was positive you’d give him an answer...well- doubt filled his mind, “I think her last boyfriend left her, or...maybe he hurt her? I don’t know.”

This perked Seokjin’s attention, straightening a little as he curved a brow, “Oh?” 

Rubbing his neck he shrugged as he weakly replied, “Yeah, she mentions some guy sometimes, whenever I ask about the things she does which she doesn’t enjoy. Like that polaroid she carries around, or she sometimes goes out to museums. I don’t know.” Jealousy oozed despite Namjoon knowing he had no right to feel jealous. 

Just the idea of someone hurting you deeply upset and angered him though, especially if it was to the point of you closing your heart to anyone else, Seokjin pressed his lips together, “Huh...that is kind of weird. Well…” Seokjin rose a brow as he emphasised his words while glaring Namjoon down, “Guess you’ll never know if you don’t ask.” Namjoon could only muster a groan. Asking you had to be the worst idea ever. 

----

“Come on! Noona it’ll be a fun way for you to get out!” You sighed in exasperation, looking away from Jungkook’s big puppy eyes that were just begging you to go with him, it was already hard enough to get yourself out of bed by noon today just to meet up with him for lunch let alone going to a party tonight. 

“Jungkook,” You pressed your lips together, trying to look at him only for him to whine as he shifted in his seat, the food court in the mall was packed today with life and energy, you had promised Jungkook you’d help him shop for more dressy clothes today as he was...attempting to pursue someone. Whoever that may be as he was too shy to say, “You know I’m not into parties…” 

“Just this once!” Jungkook begged as he laced his fingers together, sitting up in his seat with his lips jutted into a pitiful pout, “I’ll stay with you the whole time Noona! I think it’ll be fun! And if it isn’t we can go home the moment you say and- and I’ll buy you some kimbap and we can watch a movie of your choice!” 

He drove a hard bargain, you sighed as you sunk into your seat, crossing your arms in thought, you supposed...there couldn’t be any harm in going…? You pressed your lips together as you closed your eyes briefly, just thinking about this made you exhausted but you knew Jimin would be ecstatic if you had went out tonight, he had been encouraging you to get out more and….”Okay let’s say, I went to this party...who would be there?” 

Jungkook’s lips parted in excitement as you cut him off, “That I know.” 

His lips immediately snapped shut once more, as his eyes dropped to the table somewhat sheepishly, “Look, Noona...Think of it like this, it’s a great opportunity to meet new people! Hoseok and Namjoon will be there! You know them! And they know people you could meet too! I’ll be there for what it’s worse…” He gave a bright bunny smile as you looked away from him, “Hey! Don’t give me that look!” He cried out with another pout on his face. 

Taehyung and you both never enjoyed parties, he was a social butterfly sure but he always said he hated the taste of alcohol and besides, what was the point in going out when he could just stay in with you. It felt like a bitter prick against your heart at the bitter reminder. Right, you were gonna stay in tonight, maybe cry in the shower, wear that set of pajamas that used to match with his while watching a stupid romcom he loved. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Hey Y/n.” 

You closed your eyes as you put your hands on your face trying to cover the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “Sorry.” You sniffed as you felt both shame and embarrassment coil inside your body, all this time and you can hardly even think about him without crying still. It’s no wonder Jungkook probably doesn’t want to hang out with you. 

“Noona!” Jungkook cried out, “You have nothing to apologize for, look,” He fumbled somewhat frantically as he gathered up the trash of your left over food, “You don’t have to go, it was just a suggestion! I don’t want you to be sad though so let’s go over to the Gap and I want your opinion on these two shirts okay?” 

You sniffled as you rubbed your watery eyes, a snort escaping you as you replied, “The Gap has ugly clothing Jungkook.” To which he gasped in offense as you stood up with him. 

“First of all don’t judge until you see, second of all you have horrible taste Noona, no offense.” You rolled your eyes despite the tiny smile tugging on your lips as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Maybe, Jungkook was right, and after all…he said he’d take you home if you weren’t having fun...

This was an awful idea. There was no backing out of this idea once you expressed your interest to Jungkook and he dragged you from store to store because this outing was no longer about him as it was finding something new for you to wear, he had even insisted on paying for it himself. 

Jungkook was no longer in sight nor on your mind as he had been talking to Hoseok last you had seen him, who was cheerifully talking to him despite the shy look on his face. Of course he had gotten your permission, not wanting to leave you by yourself, just as he promised he wouldn’t. For as much of annoying brat as he was, he was also truly a sweetheart.

“Are you okay?” Your concern however, wasn’t on Jungkook right now given you were no longer downstairs as you paused and turned towards Namjoon who looked like he was having a mid life crisis despite being twenty four and at a frat party- but you supposed being younger than twenty one at something like this could cause that.

Namjoon’s eyes darted at the closed door and his mouth felt dry, opting to nod instead as you sat down on the bed. Truthfully you had made the pack to just stick to Jungkook tonight and let him do the talking but  it was by chance you bumped into Namjoon here who had also been dragged to this party by his friend- Seokjin who was apparently a frat brother at this fraternity.

It was loud and the whole place reeked of weed, whoever wasn’t locked in a haze was definitely drunk and it had been over all unpleasant. 

The one saving grace you had found was Namjoon, it was too loud downstairs and with Jungkook off with Hoseok you kept getting interrupted by other people asking for him. Finally asking if Namjoon would like to go upstairs where it would be more quiet. 

And here you were, “It’s nice up here.” You glanced around the semi clean room, “At least it smells like Axe.” Which wasn’t much better than marijuana but you’d take it.

Namjoon snorted as he plopped down on the bed, a humored smile on his lips as he replied, “Yeah it just smells like a middle school boys locker room.” He laid back against the bed as he stretched out, closing his eyes as he soaked in the atmosphere, today felt...different...he wasn’t sure how but, he liked it. 

You seemed happy today, or at least you looked happy. And you were smiling more at work. Namjoon really liked your smile, “Hey,” He hummed as he opened his eyes and glanced at your upright figure, “Why did you come tonight? I thought you didn’t like parties?” 

You gave a somewhat sheepish laugh as you shrugged, running a hand through your hair as you replied, “Ah well…” You seemed a little flustered as you glanced away from him- not wanting to admit that Jungkook had nearly cried from begging you to come because he really wanted you to at least try it just once, all in the name of getting yourself back out there, but the one leading motivate that he continuously brought up, was Namjoon, “Jungkook wanted someone to come with him. He gets worried about me occasionally.” You rolled your eyes briefly despite the small smile on your face, “Says he doesn’t want me to become a hermit.”

Namjoon’s expression softened a little, that was something else he never quite understood, were your friends just that caring…? It seemed a bit unnormal the way they always eyed you with concern despite you brushing them off, “It just shows he cares.” Namjoon offered a smile as you sighed, flopping down onto your back next to him as you glanced up at the ceiling. 

“I know,” You admitted as your smile slowly formed into a frown, your gaze hardened at the dirty ceiling as your brows pinched together, “I just…” You inhaled sharply, sounding somewhat frustrated as you sighed, “I just wish they’d treat me normal sometimes...you know? It’s nice knowing everyone supports me but…” You felt a bitter smile curl on your lips, “I can always see the pity, like I’m just a kicked puppy that needs a little love…They all mean well but…” 

“I can understand why you’d feel frustrated,” Namjoon spoke up, rolling over to face you, sincerity in his eyes as he spoke, “I wouldn’t want to be treated like that either. It’s hard being in a room full of people who all look at you like you’re broken when you aren’t.”

His words hit deeper then you wanted to admit, your throat suddenly feeling restricted as you glowered at the ceiling trying to blink back tears. Perhaps it was the realization that people do look at you like you're broken. Maybe you were, afterall, you weren’t the same anymore. You could barely hold a smile on your face anymore. 

You suffered long nights full of dreams of torment and tears in your waking hour to numbness and wondering why life was even worth living. You had debated on the fall from your window and you had even wondered about the knives in the kitchen drawers. You felt your lips twitch into a bitter smile as you laughed, feeling tears drip down as you replied, “I’d think the same if I were them. I don’t even blame them.” 

Namjoon sat up as he frowned, looking resentful at your words as you wiped your face, “Hey.” You sniffed a little as you sat up, wiping your tears on your sleeve, “You aren’t broken, people shouldn’t be so quick to judge.” 

“You’re just saying that because you're nice.” You scoffed as you glanced down at the bed, your eyes glaring despite the blur, you fought with yourself at night on why Namjoon was even friends with you, surely he just thought you needed help. Needed friends. Why did it hurt to think of it like that? It’s what you wanted, right? 

You squeaked in surprise at Namjoon’s large hands suddenly cupping your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes as you were taken back on how intense his stare was, anger evident on his face as his jaw clenched, “Don’t assume that. You aren’t broken and I don’t look at you like you need to be fixed okay?” His expression softened a little as he watched your eyes begin to blur again, your shoulders shaking as sniffled, trying your damnedest to not cry as you gritted your teeth. 

Defeatedly you closed your eyes as you let your tears fall, why couldn’t you stop crying? Why was everything so confusing and why did it all have to hurt? Namjoon let his thumb rub across your cheekbone, wiping away the tears that dripped down as you closed your eyes, “I don’t care what’s happened okay? I just want to help you be happy again.”

“I don’t deserve it,” You spat out as you choked on your tears, unable to even look at him, you felt so useless, worthless, all of the life left your body with Taehyung when he- your breath escaped you, catching yourself as you nearly choked on the influx of tears. It didn’t matter anymore, nothing mattered anymore. He was gone and he wasn’t coming back. 

Namjoon could feel his heart crumble with every tear that dropped down your face, his thumbs soothingly wiping every drop away, “Yes you do. Please, don’t say that about yourself.” Namjoon felt like a faucet and he couldn’t stop the overflow of emotions, unable to keep it to himself any longer when you were so obviously in pain. When you hated yourself for reasons unknown to him, “You will always be worth it to me, okay?” He pressed his forehead against yours, his smile pained as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut, “There will never be a day I don’t think that?” He said breathlessly, his eyes dulled and pained at your sobs, “Don’t cry love.” He spoke softly, closing his eyes, letting the warmth of your skin seep against his as he rubbed his thumbs over your cheeks. 

“I don’t know how. I-I’m sorry....” You mumbled as you sharply sniffled, trying to calm yourself down as your heart ached. You thought for sure you had gotten better, but it became apparent you were just trying to block Taehyung out, and you couldn’t do that. He didn’t deserve it. Taehyung absolutely did not deserve to be blocked out of your memory or forgotten. 

“Shhh.” Namjoon hummed soothingly, his nose rubbing against yours, his fingers tracing down your jawline, “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Your lips trembled at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin, you could feel the hesitation from him, just a ghost of brush from his lips as you sniffled before he fully pressed his lips against yours. 

The kiss was wet, not in a very pleasant way, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks as his lips began to tenderly stroke against yours, his hands so warm against your face as you sobbed against his mouth, parting your lips at the feeling of his soft lips that felt so right against yours. It was like intimacy and warmth you craved. 

The kiss which was gentle quickly turned more heated, your body immediately crawling closer to his as your lips parted for him, his tongue immediately pushing past to enter your mouth as dominance was immediately one, a soft moan escaped you as long fingers trailed down your face to your neck. Your body was lighting up at the memory of those long fingers wrapped around your throat, the heat of his body against yours. 

All the sleepless nights you spent together moaning in passion. Taehyung’s hands trailed down your waist, squeezing tight making you whimper as you crawled into his lap, seeking the comfort only he could bring as you let his tongue lap and force yours into submission in a sloppy wet kiss. 

The knock on the door immediately made you jolt, opening your eyes only to let out a yelp. This was not Taehyung- but Namjoon. You frantically fell out of his lap, all too aware of your shocked expression and tear stained face as you wiped your mouth...You just...kissed Namjoon...The twist of betrayal in your heart wouldn’t stop stabbing as the door opened. 

Namjoon’s lips had parted, looking somewhat frantic to apologize and explain himself when he saw how devastated your expression was, “Oh- uh sorry.” Seokjin looked somewhat sheepish to see the both of you, a girl peeping behind his shoulder looking somewhat embarrassed herself, “Were we um…?” 

“No!” You sharply replied, getting off the bed as you felt your hands violently tremble. You just...you just kissed...you imagined...you thought…“You didn’t.” You rushed past the both of them as you the music pounded into your head and it was like the lights became blurred but not from tears anymore. All of your senses were on overload as your mind sneered at you, you just kissed someone who wasn’t Taehyung, as if he didn’t exist, it didn’t matter whether or not you thought it was him. It wasn’t. It wasn’t Taehyung, how were you ever supposed to forgive yourself? 

“Y/n! Y/n!” 

You didn’t stop until you were suddenly yanked back, “Y/n please,” Namjoon looked at you pleading, “I’m sorry, I overstepped my boundaries and I shouldn’t-” 

“I don’t like you Namjoon.” Your heart was frantically beating out of your chest as tears began to blur in your eyes, shaking your head as you pulled from his grip, “This- it wouldn’t work. Don’t waste your time.” Your voice was ice cold despite the tears dripping down your face as you glared at him, the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable as you turned around. 

Your body in shock as you closed your eyes, letting the tears slide down your cheeks. Walking downstairs you bumped into the person you were just looking for. Jungkook had first smiled upon seeing you before his expression immediately became worried, “What happened?” He was by your side instantly. 

Sobbing you covered your ears, the music and lights too much as guilt ate you alive, “I wanna go home Jungkook.” You felt like a child as you wrapped your arms around yourself, Jungkook immediately wrapping an arm around you as he guided you out of the house. 

How could you ever function after this…? 

“Y/n please, we’re worried.” Jimin kneeled down in front of you as your body trembled, burying further into your blanket curled up on the couch as you shook your head. You couldn’t even speak about what happened without feeling the violent urge to throw up. 

How could you ever do that to Taehyung? What would he think? Closing your eyes you sobbed once more as you heard Jimin demand, “What happened? What do you mean she came downstairs crying?” 

Jungkook sat beside you and had refused to leave your house despite it being three in the morning, concern washed on his expression as he replied, “I don’t know! She and Namjoon went upstairs for a while and then she came back down crying and asked to come home. She wouldn’t talk the whole way home.” 

Just the sound of his name sickened you, your fists curling against the blanket. You couldn’t be angry at him, after all, you had enjoyed it. You craved it. You were the one who was disgusting. Jimin rested his hands on the couch as he looked at you with a frown, “Y/n…” His heart broke at the sight of your crumpled figure buried in blankets, “Did he take advantage of you? What happened?” 

“I imagined him…” You sobbed as you whispered, lips trembling at just the mental imagine in your head, looking up at them with tears welling as you confessed, “I kissed him and all I could see was Taehyung.” You buried back into the blankets as you sobbed, tears staining the warm cotton as you closed your eyes, “I miss him so fucking much. It hurts, it hurts to even breathe knowing he's dead. What’s the point in even being alive if he isn’t here with me? I’d do anything to be with him again. I can’t fucking do this anymore.” 

You curled up as you squeezed your eyes shut, confessing every single thought that had built in your head, “I can’t…!” You couldn’t even register who was hugging you or who was saying what anymore, it was all a blur.

You weren’t even sure when you fell asleep. 

Waking up your head was groggy and you groaned, when did you get in bed and... why was Jungkook here? Jungkook was curled up next to you, his breath in a soft rhythm as you sat up, rubbing your head as you began to recall the night before, your suddenly squeezing as you swallowed back the shame and guilt. 

Stupid

Stupid 

Stupid. 

You should’ve kept it to yourself- you were never supposed to say anything you said last night…”Hey…” You coiled away from Jungkook’s soft voice, deeper than normal as he had obviously just woke up, if he didn’t think you were a kicked puppy before he definitely does now, “Hey…:” His voice was considerably softer as he sat up, a frown on his lips as he spoke, “You don’t need to feel ashamed for last night Noona...it’s good to get that stuff out…” 

Pressing your hands against your face you felt absolutely mortified as you remembered in vivid detail what happened at the party, “I kissed Namjoon,” You whispered under your breath, “And all I could see was him.” You swallowed the thick knot that squeezed in your throat as you felt Jungkook comfortingly press his hand on your shoulder. 

“It’s a process Noona,” Jungkook felt his lips quiver a little, not liking seeing you in such despair, you often hid it well but overtones always lingered, it hurt seeing you like this, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” A soft knock on the door sounded through the room before it opened, Jimin poking his head in as his eyes turned sad at the way your body curled into itself. 

“How are you feeling?” Jimin sat on the edge of the bed as you snorted. 

“Like crap.” 

You could hear them both chuckle and you even felt your lips tug into a smile briefly before they quivered back into a frown, “God, I’m sorry guys…” You felt awful, you ruined both of their nights and probably their sleep, just to listen to you cry. 

They both were immediately objecting as you inhaled slowly, sinking into yourself as Jimin sighed as well, his gaze soft as he pressed his lips together, silence taking over the room before he slowly spoke, “Y/n...I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but...I think maybe, we should get you help…” You parted your lips, wanting to object but he continued, “You need help. Y/n,” His lips quivered a little, “I lost my best friend,” His eyes looked glossy as he forced a smile, “I can’t lose you too. Please, at least for a week, for me.” 

You lowered your gaze as you rubbed your face, maybe it would be for the best, you were beginning to see things that weren’t there, Taehyung was everywhere you looked, you could never escape the ghost of him no matter how hard you tried, “I…” You glanced at the sheets in resignation as you sighed, “Okay…” You mumbled, “I’ll give it a try.” 

Only because you didn’t want them to worry over you. 

----

Namjoon couldn’t say for sure what had happened, but he knew, deep down, he had fucked up. Running a hand through his hair he groaned as he paused at the shop in front of him. He knew seeing you now was a bad idea, you’d probably go to the back room and you wouldn’t want to talk to him. 

But he just…! He just needed to know why. Why couldn’t he be with you? He never meant to fall in love with you, but he loved your smile you rarely showed, or the way you’d give witty comments to every subject he’d try to be serious about. And for once, he loved being not serious. With you. Did he go too fast? Should he have waited? 

Namjoon almost didn’t want to go inside, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to handle the rejection, sometimes, it doesn’t matter how long you wait, some people are just not interested. But he was so sure you were, your eyes always seemed so bright and lit up when you laughed together, or how it would soften and you’d listen intently to his worries. He just needed to know…! 

Determined he opened the door to the shop where his lips immediately quirked into a frown. Jungkook had just finished serving a customer when their eyes met, a frown also on his lips as he looked away, “Jungkook…! Where is she?” Namjoon must have looked pathetic, his eyes pleading as he hurried to the counter where Jungkook shied away from him, straightening out some of the coffee canisters as he turned his back to Namjoon, “Hyung….I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He mumbled, somewhat meekly as he figidied. 

Namjoon pressed his hands against the counter as his gaze hardened, “Is she not here?” Of course you weren’t here, he should’ve known you’d take the day off to avoid him. If the need to speak to you wasn’t imperative before it certainly was now, “Jungkook please, I just need to know.” 

Jungkook pressed his lips together as he turned around, frowning as his big doe eyes searched his elder, unsure if you’d appreciate him spilling what had been going on. And truthfully it wasn’t his place either, Jungkook sighed as he spoke reluctantly, “It’s not you Hyung, it’s her...She knows that better than anyone. I won’t say anything because It’s not my story to tell...I’ll talk to her about it and if she says it’s okay I’ll let you know where she is. Okay?” 

Namjoon could feel his lips tremble a little before lowering his head in defeat, Jungkook’s expression was serious and if this was the best he could get then he’d just have to take it, Namjoon felt pathetic and desperate but he just needed to see you. To at least know you were okay. Your expression wasn’t just shocked at the party...you looked devastated. He didn’t understand and he wanted to, he needed to so badly. 

“Thanks Jungkook.” He muttered with a sigh as he rubbed the back of his head, his phone vibrated in his pocket for the fifth time, Seokjin had been blowing up his phone the whole morning, apologies and questions had been spammed and he supposed, he’d stop by the frat house and sulk. 

Jungkook offered an apologetic smile as Namjoon sighed, trudging out the door in defeat as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, the frat house was a short walk from the cafe and he had spent the majority of the time trying to gather his thoughts into something comprehensible for his friend to dissect. 

“You could’ve at least sent me a text!” Seokjin scolded as he opened his bedroom door letting Namjoon walk in, the bitter reminder of the same bed he had sat on not too long ago and let his emotions get the better of him. He couldn’t help himself though, he couldn’t stand watching you cry much less sob, and he had seen you in that state so many times. He just wanted to help, he wanted to make you feel better. 

Seokjin frowned as he paused from his scolding at the way Namjoon dejected collapsed on his bed, walking over he searched the man’s empty expression as he sighed, “What did you do?” 

“I ruined everything.” Namjoon sulked as he pressed his hands to his face, “I kissed her and she looked at me like I was a ghost. I asked Jungkook where she was but he won’t say anything.” 

Seokjin hummed as he sat on the edge of the bed next to his friend, “Maybe she just needs time to sort out her feelings. I talked about it before but it’s pretty apparent now that she obviously has a lot going on, Namjoon.” 

Namjoon knew that had to be the case, otherwise you’d already be apologizing when you didn’t even need too, right? You’d be trying to fix whatever that was last night, and hey, he’d rather have you as a friend then not at all. He loved talking to you, hearing your thoughts on life and the way you perceived the world. 

When you first began talking, your world seemed dim, as if you filtered the world in only shades of grey. But the more you spoke and the longer things went on, the more Namjoon noticed you opened up, color began to flood into your world again in soft tones and smiles. He adored it. 

“I just wish she’d let me help her.” Namjoon mumbled as he rubbed his eyes, “I hate seeing her cry, and I hate seeing her push me away, and it would be one thing if she didn’t like me, but you want to know the worst part Seokjin?” 

Hurt quivered in his veins as he sat up, glaring down at the ground as he felt a bitter smile twist on his lips, “I can tell she does, why else would she want to talk to me after everything that’s happened? So why won’t she let herself just…! It’s so frustarting!” 

Seokjin sighed, unable to help but feel a little bad for him, it was obvious somewhere down the line friendship and something more had become blurred, “I know man,” Seokjin consoled, “Just give it time. She’ll come around when she’s ready.

Three weeks. 

That’s how long Namjoon had spent sulking, lectures he once listened to eagerly had become background noise, flavors seemed less vibrant and nothing was the same without you. By the sixteenth day mark he had almost given up, feeling despondent, he had stopped by the shop a few times only for Jungkook to shake his head in apology. 

That was until today. Namjoon’s eyebrows shot up and his heartbeat felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, “Ah...well, we can go after I get off shift, if that’s okay?” Jungkook offered a small smile, happy to see his Hyung looking a little more upbeat then he had before. It was truly a sad sight not only seeing Namjoon but you look like kicked puppies the past few weeks. 

“Yes! Yeah that’ll work…! Jungkook, thank you so much, you- you have no idea how much this means to me…!” Namjoon fumbled over his words, his smile bright and lit up, excited to see you again even if it was to just apologize over and over again. 

Jungkook smiled a little as he shrugged, “I haven’t done anything, Noona is doing a lot better and she asked when I visited yesterday if you could come.”

Namjoon nodded taking in his information before pausing….visited? As in, at her house? He didn’t quite understand but regardless he was glad to hear you didn’t hate him, or at the very least you still wanted to talk to him. Namjoon would take almost anything you handed him now. Some may find it sad but he was desperate, for closure at least.

Sitting down on your bed you hummed, letting your fingers drag against the pages of the book you had been reading during quiet time for the past two weeks, Jimin and Jungkook visited you nearly every day for visitor hour but when you got the chance you’d try to read, like now. 

Perhaps you were just trying to calm your nerves, you had asked Jungkook yesterday if you could see Namjoon...the past month had been...long...filled with tears and exhausting nights. You hated group therapy and the nurses constantly battled you when it came to any sort of physical activities. But as the weeks went on you reluctantly began to open up more, particularly during your singular therapy sessions, which helped the most. 

‘Tell me Y/n, you said earlier that Taehyung was the most and loving man you ever met,’ you nodded at her words as she spoke, ‘And you have also said that you can’t allow yourself to fall in love because you’d of your fear of forgetting him.’

You looked at your lap as you didn’t comment, unable too, it felt good...to be able to just spill everything to someone who was listening objectively, your therapist wasn’t looking at you like a kicked puppy, her eyes weren’t dripping with pity, she simply was listening, ‘Yeah…’ you mumbled as you folded your hands together. 

“Have you ever considered that, if Taehyung is truly as lovely as you describe him to be, that he’d genuinely want you to move on? That he would always want you to be happy? If he’s as kind as you say. Acceptance is never easy Y/n, especially when you’re grieving the love of your life.” 

You hung your head as you felt your eyes water, a sniffle escaping you as she pushes the tissue box over to you as she gave a gentle smile, “But Taehyung would want you to be happy. I want us to target why you feel this guilt every time you try to open up to Namjoon,” She clicked her pen, “You’ve said in the past, you feel guilty because you feel as though Taehyung is judging you, but in reality Y/n, the only person who is judging you, is yourself. The only person who is stopping you from receiving this love, is you.” 

Grabbing a tissue you wiped your eyes as you sniffled while shaking your head, unable to speak no matter how much you wanted too as she continued, “These things you’re talking about are symptoms of depression, the guilt you feel is your superego saying you don’t deserve to be loved because you would be betraying someone who is no longer here. This doesn’t make your feelings invalid, but,” She clacked her tongue, “I’d like us to work together to rein in the superego and get back to the root of your consciousness. On your own time, I’d like you to have Namjoon pay a visit and talk with him, but in the moments of doubt, when you’re mind is telling you to pull away or that you don’t deserve something, I want you to consciously and actively tell yourself that it’s okay to love again. It’s okay to move on, it’s okay to let someone else in’

‘What if I’m not ready to face him?” You sniffled, somewhat horrified at the idea of seeing Namjoon again, how could you ever face him after something so embarrassing? 

‘You’ll never fully be ready to face someone Y/n,” She replied, ‘But the first step to letting go, in your case, is telling yourself, that it’s okay to be loved again. It’s okay that you’re exploring love again. The only way to accept your feelings and your loss is by moving on. Let yourself open up to Namjoon, tell him the reason your like this and it will make you feel a lot better.’

You weren’t sure if you were ready to see Namjoon but...you felt guilty, guilty for lashing out at him when he didn’t deserve anything and...your fist curled as you inhaled sharply ‘it’s okay to love again’ that’s what your therapist told you and told you to repeat to yourself anytime you were flooded with any feelings of guilt. 

Leaning against the wall your fingers dragged along the line of words, trying to read but your mind wouldn’t focus. Jungkook would be here soon with Namjoon, your roommate, a young eighteen year old girl was out in the dining area with her boyfriend right now. She had been emitted by her parents due to her depression but she told you the only time she felt excitement was at six o’clock every day, knowing he’d be here. 

Love really could heal, couldn’t it? 

The knock on your door made you jump, the nurse Kang Min Soo opened the door, she was the one who shuffled you from activity to activity during the day, offering a small smile she said, “You have visitors Y/n.” Straightened a little you nodded as she opened the door, your heart beating wildly in your chest as your eyes first met with Jungkook who offered a gentle smile, the taller figure of Namjoon behind him, eyes curiously searching his surroundings before meeting yours. 

Unable to hold his gaze you dropped it to your book, closing it as you set it on the bed, “Hey guys…” You mumbled, feeling a little shy as you shifted a little. 

“I know you wanted to talk,” Jungkook hummed, looking a little brighter today then he had within the past weeks, “So I’ll give you both a few minutes. Jimin should be here in about fifteen minutes.” You nodded, murmuring a thank you as he nodded, offering a smile to the both of you before he exited, shutting the door. 

It was quiet for a few seconds as you curled your knees into your chest, “...I’m really sorry…” You mumbled, feeling somewhat pathetic at being unable to even meet his gaze, Namjoon was still quiet and you weren’t sure if that was a good sign or not, “...I know I haven’t been the most transparent…” 

The bed shifted a little as you glanced up meekly to see Namjoon sit down a good distance from you, looking a little careful in his expression before he suddenly blurted out, “There’s another guy...isn’t there?” He looked sullied all of a sudden, casting his expression on the ground, “You don’t have to tell me. It’s obvious you’re in love with someone else.” 

“He’s dead.” 

Namjoon’s gaze up shot so fast he could hardly process your words, his lips parting as he searched your broken expression, eyes watering as you laughed a little, a smile tugging on your lips as you continued, “Namjoon- I loved him, so much.” You glanced up at him sincerely as the tears trickled down your cheeks, the smile looked so bright yet so sad as you sniffed, “He was my soulmate.” 

Closing your eyes you rubbed them as the wet substance stained your skin, “I’ll never forget that night. It was so stupid. Taehyung- he- he had worked overtime that day and got off shift late. Kept texting me saying how excited he was to get home and eat what I had made.” Your soft gaze became a fiery glare as you mumbled, “But by eleven he wasn’t home...and I waited...and waited...and then I began to get worried. It wasn’t until 11:30 that I got a call.” 

Squeezing your eyes shut you forced a laugh, “It was an accident, a stupid fucking accident. Neither made it. The car pulled out too soon without enough time for him to stop, the car ended up flipped and they rushed him to the hospital, by the time I got there they had to rush him into surgery.” 

It was quiet for a moment as tears streamed down your face, covering your sob with your mouth as you shook your head, “Three hours and I never even got to say goodbye. Jimin was against the wall in tears and I don’t even remember what the doctor told me. Just saw a glance of his body in the hospital bed before the door shut…. Sometimes I still wonder, if I had just told him to not worry about the extra hours, if he’d still be here. He would’ve listened, he’d do anything to make me happy…” Pressing your hands against your eyes you bit your lip to keep down the sob as you muttered, “But it doesn’t matter now, he’s gone…” Wiping your tears away you took a shaky breath, “I’ve been in denial, not wanting to accept reality for what it is. That he’s gone...that he’s...dead...that he isn’t coming back. When I kissed you,” You felt new tears already welling in your eyes as you lowered your head in shame, “You made me feel better, and I loved that feeling so much. But all I could imagine was him. It’s not your fault...you don’t deserve to be dragged along because of me.” 

“Hey…” You covered your face as you felt arms wrap around you pulling you into a hug, you couldn’t help but crave the warmth of Namjoon, his steady heartbeat of still being alive, did it make you a sinner to crave his touch? “I...I’m so sorry Y/n, I had no idea...that was what you were going through.” He squeezed his arms around you as you curled against him, too weak to try and fight what you wanted so badly, “But I’m not going to leave you just because of this.”

Covering your eyes you tried to stifle your sob, guilt eating away at you at the idea of leading Namjoon on, he deserved to be loved by someone who could give him their all. 

You couldn’t. 

“Don’t cry,” Namjoon’s lips coiled endearingly, those dimples poking out as he tenderly stroked a hand through your hair soothingly, “We’ll get through this, and we can go as slow as you want. But I’m not going to leave you. Not now, not ever. Okay?” 

He leaned down, pressing a kiss against your forehead as you closed your eyes, tears trickling down your face as you tried your best to push the toxic thoughts that invaded your mind away. Taehyung would want this, wouldn’t he? Right? Remembering what your therapist said you repeated the words mentally, it was okay to be loved again. It was okay to move on.

“Are you sure you really wanna try this?” You sniffed, rubbing the tears from your eyes as you looked up at him, lips quivering as you tried to smile, your mouth faltering as you choked out, “I’m a girl with a whole lot of baggage Namjoon.” 

Namjoon let his hands cup your cheeks, his thumbs pushing away the tears as he gave you a soft reassuring smile, “We’ll get past this, okay? You’ll always be worth the wait.” He closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, closing your eyes as you felt the small smile tug on your lips. 

Maybe...maybe you could get past this.

You had spent another two weeks at the mental institute before you had felt good enough to sign yourself out and try to pick up your life where you left off, the past month had been...interesting to say the least. Namjoon, much like Jungkook and Jimin, visited you every day. 

Some days were good...others were not so much...But if you learned anything in therapy was to take things a step at a time. Your therapist thought it was wonderful that you had developed feelings for Namjoon, even if it didn’t feel that way. But she had encouraged you saying that it was a sign your heart was ready to move on and heal. 

“I’m so glad you’re back Noona!”

Right now however, you were trying to push Jungkook’s large figure away from you, damn why does this kid have to be so strong? Jungkook was practically like a little boy, running around in excitement when he saw you were put back on your work schedule and has since hugged you for three minutes straight when you walked in, “Jungkook we saw each other Friday.” You complained. 

“Yeah but…! You were in ugly scrubs yesterday and your hair was really greasy,” Jungkook gave you a sheepish grin as you glared at him before pushing him away as he whined, “Besides! It’s your first day back at work!” He clapped his hands, “And you look a lot better! Not as tired anymore, did you sleep well?” 

You sighed as you finished tying your apron, unable to stop the small smile tugging on your lips, Jungkook used to be a lot more reserved in what questions he asked, but having since visited you every day it seems those barriers have long past melted, “Yes, I’ve been sleeping a lot better, but it’s probably because of the medicine I’ve been prescribed to help.” Your smile felt a little weak, but regardless, at least you were sleeping. 

And truthfully, you did feel somewhat, renewed. Like you were no longer strapped to a heavy weight and sinking to the bottom of the ocean. You weren’t sure how to describe it, but you felt lighter these days. Of course you wouldn’t deny how much your being still ached for the man you once loved. You still saw Taehyung in the colors that painted the walls, in the sea you always drove past on your way to work.

But everything seemed so far away now, as if the life you had with Taehyung was just a fuzzy dream. Sometimes late at night you wondered if it was real at all. Yesterday had been painful no doubt, when you arrived home the first thing you did was throw away all of Taehyung’s old clothes you had been keeping. Even his old favorite shirt you always wore to bed. Just the memory almost made your eyes well with tears but you contained yourself. 

Clothes were just clothes, and they wouldn’t make Taehyung come back, would they? 

“Well at least the medicine is helping Noona, sleep is sleep you can’t be picky.” Jungkook was buzzing in happiness before his eyes darted to the girl who was standing at the cash register ready to order, flitting over he began to take her order as you peered from behind. Snorting at the way she flirtatiously smiled and Jungkook fumbled, ears going red as he looked away and rang up her order.

You couldn’t help but smile as you began working on her flat white, “She likes you.” You stated as Jungkook leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as you began to laugh, watching the way his cheeks lit up like little tomatoes. 

“So!? I’m not interested in her.” He mumbled defensively as you clacked your tongue, shaking your head as you set her coffee down at the end of the counter. Of course cupid only liked playing in your love life. As if the universe heard your thoughts the doorbell chimed as your gaze shot up. Two all too familiar figures walked in, well the other bounced in excitement, “Hey guys! It’s good to see you back Y/n! How have you been?” Hoseok practically flew to the counter in excitement. Given his words you doubt he knew what you had been up too but you appreciated the sentiment regardless, offering a small smile as you shrugged, “Just needed a break to clear my head. I’m doing good. Word is you finally bagged someone.” 

Hoseok’s lips parted before he prominently closed them, his cheeks looking red before the door to the back suddenly opened, Yoongi looking around before Hoseok flailed a little, “What!? W-who told you that…?” You looked between them as you raised your brows, unable to keep the smile off your face. 

“Awh, gay is okay guys. You don’t have to be shy.” You could hear Jungkook trying to cover his snort as he turned away to grab the convenient tray of pastries from Yoongi who suddenly looked perturbed and embarrassed, his ears were red as he mumbled something before quickly pushing back into the back room. Hoseok puckering his lips before he caved, a bright smile on his lips as he leaned over, “Hey…you mind if I go back there?” You snorted as you waved your hand. 

“Knock yourself out. Just don’t cum all over the stove.” “Y/n!” “Sorry!” 

You laughed as Hoseok sped around the counter and bolted into the backroom as you shook your head. At least some things changed for the better over the month you had been gone. Shaking your head you hummed, “Someone looks like they’re in a good mood.” His words made your lips tug into a smile as you turned to face Namjoon who had been passively watching the whole situation unfold.

“You don’t know how long I’ve watched them pine for one another,” You replied, looking down as you wiped down the counter to try and keep your gaze from meeting his, it was weird, this warm burning sensation that tickled your insides, it almost felt like butterflies, “It’s nice to see them finally admit it. So are you just here to watch the gays or are you gonna order something?” You looked up, a weird half smile quirked on your lips and you probably looked stupid. 

Namjoon leaned down against the counter as he shrugged, a smile on his lips and those pretty dimples on display, “What should I get?” 

These feelings, constantly repeating to yourself that they were okay, it was all so new. It was hard not to get flustered at his innocent words as you turned to look at the menu before shrugging, “Well you like tea, what about Tropic Blossom? It’s main notes are orange blossom and hibiscus so it’s naturally sweet unless you want stevia in it?” You turned back to face him only to awkwardly look away, feeling your face begin to burn at the way he was looking at you. 

It wasn’t provocative or anything sensual, but his eyes were lit up in a warm glow and his lips were constantly curved upwards in a smile, “Sure, with a chocolate scone too! Hey do you think you could convince Yoongi to make blueberry scones?” 

You rang up Namjoon as you snorted, curving a brow with an amused look before replying, “You could’ve got one back in spring if you had just come with Hoseok earlier. He doesn’t take requests though so no.” 

“Not even for me? Come on, you could convince him.” Namjoon leaned in a little, his lips quirking into a smirk as he hummed, “Just once.” You turned away from him as you tried to ignore the way your face burned. Jungkook had a shit eating grin on his face as he minded his own business, or at least he pretended to as he began making the Tropic Blossom. 

“Just once Noona?” He couldn’t help himself as he gave you patronizing puppy eyes as you glared at him before he snickered, you shoved his shoulder though he hardly budged as you huffed. 

“I will, in the spring.” You clacked your tongue as you tried to control the smile that tugged on your lips as you leaned down as you pulled out the scone, placing it on the plate as you set up the napkin, “Until then you’re just gonna have to live with chocolate.” You stood up, looking up at his figure as you felt a smile tug on your lips once more as you handed him his plate.

“Can I take you somewhere tonight?” 

Your eyebrows shot up at his abrupt words, Jungkook set his tea down as he immediately spoke for you, “She’d love to- Ow!” You jammed your elbow into his rib as he squeaked, suddenly looking at you with sullied eyes like a kicked puppy as he trailed back to the register where a small line had formed.

Take you somewhere…? Like a date…? You weren’t sure if that’s what he meant but...you felt a little at war with yourself, you knew you should be excited but, “Only if you want to,” Namjoon could immediately sense the shift in your demeanor, offering a small smile, “Remember what I said? We can take this at your pace.” 

Well...he was right, you could always head home early if things took an odd turn or...the guilt had faded but you couldn’t help but feel like you were doing something wrong, mustering a smile you nodded, “It’s fine! I get off work at seven though…” 

“Perfect! It’s nothing special,” Namjoon’s smile brightened as he held his cup up, “I’ll see you after work then…” He tipped his drink to you as he gave it a sip, the doors to the backroom suddenly swinging up as you whirled around. 

“What did I say Hoseok?” You couldn’t help the amusement you felt at the sight of Hoseok’s ruffled hair and the suspicious bruises on his neck that were absolutely hickies, he sent you a semi embarrassed and unappreciative look as he replied, “Just get my sugar glaze pastry…”

You couldn’t stop the shit eating grin on your face as you and Jungkook exchanged looks before ringing him up, “And a cumin shot to go?” His glare was worth the joke. 

The rest of the day had come and gone, some hours slow and others fast, Jungkook and you would often go bug Yoongi when things were slow- well it was mainly Jungkook, but you were glad to be back. Things almost seemed...normal? 

Was this what life was really like before....you felt a small lump in your throat form. Before Taehyung? The ache in your heart was still there, but it was no longer the force that would always cause you to topple. Maybe this was the worst part of it all. 

The fact that the once beautiful life you had with Taehyung was over now. You felt a smile tug on your lips and your eyes gloss a little, but for the first time, it wasn’t out of sadness. But happiness, that at the very least, you had Taehyung in your life for as long as you did. Some things just weren’t meant to be. In this lifetime at least. 

Taking a deep breath you pulled yourself from your thoughts as you finished cleaning the counters, Jungkook had already finished taking out all the old pastries and Yoongi had finished cleaning up the back, “You ready to go Noona?” Jungkook called out as he untied his apron. 

“Yeah, gimme a second.” You called back as you tossed your rag into the sink, walking over to the coat rack as you untied your own apron. You glanced out the shop door to see a familiar figure standing out front waiting as you looked back down, suddenly feeling semi embarrassed. 

Jungkook and Yoongi were exchanging glances and you could tell on both of their faces they thought this was both endearing and hilarious, all it took was one glare from you to keep them both from spouting any kind of bullshit. 

Wrapping your jacket around yourself you snuggled up against the warm fabric that fought against the cold air as you walked outside, offering a meek smile to Namjoon who’s eyes lit up at the sight of you, “Hey…” You murmured, trying to calm your heart rate that spiked rapidly for no reason. 

Keeping his hands inside his coat pocket Namjoon greeted you with a brighter smile, “Hey, are you ready to go?” You gave a small nod as you began walking beside him. The sun setting and the air was getting colder at night these days, soon autumn would be here and color would flourish in all the trees. 

Warily, you couldn’t help but feel a small part of yourself that was…looking forward to autumn. It was always a welcomed time of year for you, when cinnamon was strong in the air and you could bake anything with apples in it. Bundling up next to a small campfire and the only time you could wear flannel without feeling self conscious. 

“Where are we going?” You asked softly as you glanced up at Namjoon who peered down at you with a small playful smile, as if he wasn’t going to answer, but he thought it was cute you’d ask regardless. 

“Somewhere.” Namjoon’s smile became bigger as he watched the pout quirk on your lips as you hummed, looking back out at the darkening sky, “It’s nothing special, just something I like doing when I have the next day off.” You tilted your head in curiosity as to where he was taking you. 

You only felt more confused when you stood at the gates of the park, turning to look at Namjoon as you felt a smile curl on your lips, unsure of what to make of this, “Not even a hint?” 

“Well,” Namjoon drawled, pressing his lips together briefly in thought before smiling once more, “We’ll be sitting down. I can’t say anything without giving it away.” 

Sitting down? There was a playground here, would you be sitting on the swings? You hadn’t done that in a long time, but much to your surprise Namjoon walked right past only for your eyes to set on a blanket that looked to already be spread out and a...telescope? Namjoon sat down as he gestured at you with a laugh, “What’s with that expression?” 

“Nothing!” You hurriedly replied, sitting down on the other side of the blanket, “I just…” You looked around before looking up at the sky, lips parting a little only to notice the dark sky blanketed with bright stars, “Didn’t expect this…” You murmured as your eyes darted from star to star, it was a clear night, perfect for stargazing, how long had it been since you even looked up? 

Had you truly forgotten the stars existed before this moment? 

Namjoon’s expression was warm as he gestured you over, “They look even better up close, you can see Pisces from here.” Leaning down you peeped through the lense as Namjoon guided the telescope as you let out a little gasp, “Oh! I think I see it!” You zoomed the lense out a little bit as you pressed your lips together, “Wait, I don’t think that’s it.” 

You had never been good with astronomy but...something about Namjoon laughing softly as you straightened up, something about the way he passionately pointed to each constellation, the way the deep midnight sky melted between the flicks of white that all seemed so...alive…

You really liked this.

You must’ve spent the whole night, looking at the stars laying down, talking about whatever came to mind, you couldn’t take your eyes off the sky for hardly a second. It truly was beautiful. 

“Hey, Y/n.” You hummed as Namjoon spoke up softly, “Do mind, if I ask...about him…” You stiffened a little, your dreamy gaze snapping to Namjoon, more awake now then you had been all evening. 

As if noticing the semi spooked expression Namjoon quickly added, “Only if you’re up to it...I’m sure it isn’t easy to talk about it...But I just…” He seemed a little self conscious as his eyes flickered back to the sky, “I just wanted to know about him, what he was like, what did you do together.” 

You felt a weak smile tug on your lips before closing your eyes, the night sky was no longer in your vision, but it was the warmth of your old home, the apartment you shared with Taehyung, his face which you hadn’t seen in so long was so clear, “He was…” You trailed off for a second before you felt your eyes water as a smile tugged on your lips, “Childish,” You laughed, memories of his pouty expression whenever you reprimanded him, “Playful definitely…” You sniffed as you wiped your eyes, the way he’d smirk and grab you by the waist, murmuring less than appropriate things in your ear, “God he was…” Opening your eyes you laughed again while shaking your head, “Everything I could’ve ever wanted. He made me see colors that don’t exist, noise became music, clouds weren’t just particles anymore,” Tears trickled down your face as you smiled, looking up at the stars, “He told me they were god’s canvas that he painted on every day. Taehyung, he saw beauty in everything.”

You paused as your smile slowly faded, closing your eyes as the pain washed over you, the dull ache in your heart returned as you rubbed your eyes of the tears you had shed, “It’s just…” You felt pathetic, still crying, still missing what once was, “Hard to believe it’s all over, y’know?” 

You felt fingers tug at your hair before gently combing through as you covered your mouth, trying to stifle down the sobs that bubbled in your throat, “He sounds like a one of a kind.” Namjoon offered a small smile as you turned to face him, rubbing the warm tears from your face as you felt a smile tug on your lips. 

“He was terrible! He’d start singing trot off tune and he always made such a fucking mess in the kitchen without cleaning it up!” Memories flashed by in your mind, flour all over the floor and Taehyung's voice low and raspy as he’d cough while trying to sing, the large boxy smile he’d give when you’d wake up to breakfast already made, “And he always left his clothes all over the floor because he never did laundry because he knew i’d do it for him if he waited long enough.” 

“Oh? And how bad were the road trips?” Namjoon’s lips were tugged in a soft smile, laying on his side to look at you as his fingers tangled against your roots. 

“Don’t even get me started,” You both laughed as continued, “Jazz was always a must and it was so boring to listen to for five hours straight and he always bought too many snacks! We went camping one time and...god!” You let out a breathy laugh, “Never again, we forgot to bring bug repellent in the middle of the most humid time of the year and apparently there was like this- retreat? For nudists at the campgrounds at the time and they kept coming over asking if we wanted to take LSD with them and it ended up raining the whole time!” 

Namjoon was snorting out a laugh, humored as he asked, “What did you guys do? I don’t think I can imagine my camping neighbors as nudists.” 

“We had rented out this shitty old camper van so we could keep all of our supplies in the back but, after a long day of being miserable and arguing half the time we packed up and intended on leaving,” You closed your eyes as your fingers traced against the soft blanket, “But when we were driving back we ended up taking a wrong turn and found a cliff side camping spot that was just gorgeous. So we ended up clearing out the back of the van and setting up a ton of blankets and pillows and we enjoyed the view.” 

You could still feel the hard car floorboard against your body with just a few blankets for comfort, curled up against Taehyung with his arms wrapped around you looked out over the valley, that awful weekend ended up being one of your favorite memories, “We turned off our phones, worked through our problems, shared laughs and ate those stupid hostess powdered donuts, and he said it. That first I love you.” 

Tears dripped down your face as you forced yourself to pause, you hated doing this to Namjoon, who obviously held back saying those same words, why was he even doing this to himself? He couldn’t have actually wanted to hear about him. You could see the way his heart always crumbled with every tear you cried, “I miss him so much. I’m sorry.” You whispered in overwhelm, memories you had forgotten resurfacing and you pressed your hands into your face. 

“Shhh,” You were pulled against Namjoon, his arms comfortingly wrapped around you as he held you close, “It’s okay to miss him.” 

-----

“I’m gonna hurt the roots if I just rip it out!” 

You curved a brow as you snorted, Namjoon looked utterly distressed as he attempted to repot his newest set of flowers, mums in shades of deep burnt orange and burgundy, perfect for autumn, “The roots are overgrown!” You argued, “We’re gonna have to cut them down to put less stress on the plants for the love of god just listen to me!” 

You pushed the powdered donut into your mouth before sitting down with him on the wooden picnic table, “Who’s the expert here?” 

“You.” Namjoon unenthusiastically hmphed as he rolled his eyes, but curiously peered down at your hands that pushed down through the soil, carefully extracting the small square of mums as you swallowed the large clump of donut, “Alright we gotta clip these before you can repot them, it’ll promote more growth and they won’t die as quick.” 

“It just seems…” Namjoon watched warily as you clipped the roots with zero hesitation, “...Counter intuitive. Isn’t this like ripping out their lungs?” 

You snorted again, turning to look at him as you pouted animatedly, “Awh you think plants feel? I mean if you wanna get that graphic it’s more like...shaving their lungs…” You watched Namjoon’s nose crinkle in dismay as you laughed, “Seriously though, they won’t get as much nourishment from the soil if you just keep this big ass clump. Root pruning is kind of essential when you’re repotting store bought plants.” 

“Alright but if my flowers die-” 

“Which they won't.” You handed him the pruners as you gave him a cheeky smile, “Well go on, they won’t trim themselves.” You grabbed the bag of mini donuts before plopping another into your mouth, as you inhaled sharply. It was such a beautiful day out, the sun was shining and clouds big and fluffy. 

It was the perfect day to be outside, which is why you were sitting on the picnic table that was one of many sitting outside behind your apartment building. Things with Namjoon have been...good...they’ve been great. It’s been nearly a month of consistently seeing one another, hanging out. 

The pain is still there but, it’s gradually faded with time, you still go see your therapist once a week to talk over things in hopes of not pouring too much out onto Namjoon who was always so patient and kind. You frequented the park at night with him to stargaze and planting and taking care of any greenery had become a thing with you both.

You weren’t sure what it was but, being able to be open and honest about your past relationship with Taehyung, being able to talk about your adventures together, the things you loved and annoyed you about him. Somehow having Namjoon earnestly listen to it all brought you closer to him. You felt safe with him, like he’d wipe your every tear away. 

You really didn’t deserve him. 

Your fists curled in frustration having not caught the words in your mind. Your therapist had been really getting on you as of late to try and redirect your thoughts to more positive affirmations anytime you mentally said you didn’t deserve him. Like...you deserved to have his kindness in your life. 

You could even step into the art museum now without much fear, only because Namjoon loved art and he often contemplated his love of philosophy alongside it. You really were thankful for him. But you couldn’t help but notice something lingering…something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“So I was thinking.” Namjoon hummed, his eyes purposely looking down at the soil that crumbled beneath his fingers as he pruned the roots carefully, “Why not attend that gala tonight? For Modernism?” 

You tilted your head as you shoved another donut in your mouth, “Gala?” Your voice was muffled as you chewed before swallowing, “I thought you said it was stupid because they should’ve chosen to represent Baroque?” He had done things like this in the past before, it would be one thing if you were an art person and he was doing it for you, but you weren’t. 

 Namjoon looked a little apprehensive as he shrugged, gaining your attention more as his eyes stayed on the mums, “Well...I know you both used to like doing...you know, things like that…” He mumbled, making your mouth fall open. Oh...oh no…! You were afraid of something like this happening. 

“Namjoon,” Your lips tugged into a pout, your voice gaining his attention as he peeked up a little, obviously embarrassed when he shouldn’t be, grabbing the plant from him tenderly you set it into the pot before grabbing his soil covered hands, his eyes anywhere but yours, “Those were things me and him liked to do Namjoon…” 

“I- I just…” Namjoon fumbled a little, “I know you miss doing those things so…” 

Your expression twisted sadly, had you said too much to him about Taehyung? You didn’t want Namjoon to feel insecure about your relationship...not that you were together but...things were obviously headed in that direction, weren’t they?

“I don’t miss doing those things Namjoon, I miss it because it was with him,” You watched the way he frowned, his shoulder’s slumping as he stared down at the table, “And you aren’t him. And I don’t want you to be him,” His gaze suddenly shot up to your expression that hardened, “Namjoon I don’t want to live in the past trying to make old memories new again when we already have something. I wanna create new memories that are just as happy,” You felt a little shy as you looked away, “With you, and with the things we like to do together. So don’t worry about it, let’s just stick with a plans to go to the park tonight, besides didn’t you say a meteor shower was happening,” 

You were casual in your words, trying to play off your heartfelt confession on not wanting him to compare himself to your old lover, that wasn’t the kind of relationship you wanted and it wouldn't be Namjoon if he did things the way Taehyung did. They were two very different men with similar hobbies but for vastly different reasons, but you’d always love them both. 

Wait…

“Draconids, but it’ll be a boring show. They say there’s only five meteors an hour” Namjoon smiled, his chin resting against his arm as he gave you a dopey smile making you laugh as you shook your head. His fingers playing with yours as you replied, “I’d rather be there then at a stuffy art gala.” 

“Noona! Hyung! Oh did we interrupt?” 

You clacked your tongue in annoyance as your hand, still intertwined with Namjoon’s dropped to table to see both Jungkook and Jimin waving, “No you didn’t, asshole!” You added as you yelled back, watching both Jimin and Jungkook belt out with laughter as a smile tugged on your lips. 

It was originally planned as just a lunch outside but you and Namjoon had made more plans on top of that. 

Jimin waved the bag of takeout he had gotten for everyone as they both sat down, grabbing the towel that was laid out Namjoon wiped his hands along yours as he groaned, “Ah I’m starving, why did it take you guys so long?” 

“No reason,” Jungkook hummed, sounding oddly...content…? Your furrowed your brows as you looked between them both, Jimin’s eyes immediately shooting down to the bag of food as he coughed loudly, “Here’s your kebabs you wanted.” 

You ignored whatever subtext was lingering in the air at the sight of you lamb kebabs, hands immediately sticking out with a smile, “Thank you!” When was the last time you had enjoyed food like this? 

You could feel the warm rays of sunshine on your face and the cool breeze that passed over your body occasionally, was this what it was like to feel again? It was hard to keep Namjoon’s bright gaze that looked more and more like love these days, the way he’d just stare at you with that small smile and those dimples of his. You supposed, these days, maybe you really could fall in love with someone else. 

And after all...that’s what Taehyung would want, wouldn’t it? Something continuously held you back though and...suddenly everything became so clear, you knew exactly what you needed to do. And you knew you didn’t need to do it alone. Watching Jungkook and Jimin bid their farewell after lunch your throat became dry as your heartbeat became faster. 

“Namjoon,” You asked before you convinced yourself maybe this wasn’t as good of an idea as you thought it was. 

He hummed, turning to face you, that bright smile on his lips again as he listened endearingly, somehow making it harder to speak and had the sun always been this hot? “...Would you mind going with me...to visit him?” 

Namjoon’s pupils widened a little and his lips parted as if not expecting those words, he sincerely took a moment to ponder them and you appreciated more then if had unwillingly said yes, after a moment he gave you another reassuring smile as he grabbed your hands, “Of course Y/n.” You felt relieved as you gave a small smile in return, you knew exactly what you needed to do. 

It wasn’t until the evening that you went to the flower shop, grabbing a small bouquet of tiger lilies before walking towards the cemetery, Namjoon doing a double take when you shyly grabbed his hand. Touches were innocent still, hand holding still new and it was admittedly welcomed. 

The sunset was vivid today and it seemed just like yesterday you had rejected Namjoon’s offer for lunch in turn to come here, had that really been three months ago? You looked up at his figure that was looking ahead as a smile tugged on your lips. 

The cemetery looked as it always did, serene, carefully walking in the passage ways and making sure to not step onto any graves you paused at the willow tree. Your heart still squeezed as you glanced down. 

Kim Taehyung 

1995 - 2018

‘For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream’

Sitting down you pulled out the rag you had packed, gently wiping off his gravestone as your eyes waters, a soft smile tugging on your lips as your fingers traced against the engraved name, “Oh there’s so many things I wish I could tell you Tae.” You murmured softly, closing your eyes as the tears slid down, the smile still on your face as you sat back, placing the flowers down as an arm comfortingly wrapped around you. 

Sniffing you wiped your eyes as you leaned against Namjoon, your head resting against his shoulder as you closed your eyes, “I’ve struggled for so long to let you go. To let myself be okay with letting you go.” You could imagine Taehyung’s face, his dark locks of hair covering his eyebrows and his soft smile, hands cupping your cheeks, “And I’ll always love you. But I know you wouldn’t want me to go on the way I had been…So I’ve come here to say goodbye I suppose.” 

There was an ache in your jaw and your heart throbbed with that familiar dull ache, Namjoon’s head laying on top of yours as he pressed a kiss against your hair, “You’ll always be with me, and I’ll always cherish the time I had with you. But it’s time that I let myself be happy again. I know you understand. So thank you for...everything. And leading me to the person I belong with now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the tears trickled down your cheeks, pressing into Namjoon’s shoulder, even despite your tears you felt, at peace? As if this was meant to be, accepting things for what they were, and that no, you weren’t completely over Taehyung, but this was a good start to letting him go fully. 

Namjoon wrapped his arms around you as you sniffled, scooting against him as you curled up against the warmth he radiated, “I promise I’ll take care of her,” He spoke softly, a gentle smile on his lips as he looked down at your curled up figure, knowing this couldn’t be easy for you to do, “I know we never met, but thank you for making her happy. And I’ll continue to do the same.” He pressed another kiss against your head as he rested his head a top of yours once more. 

Sniffles escaped you as the wind blew through the trees, a soft rustle being the only noise outside your tears as the willow tree swayed in contentment. And if you really wanted to reach, maybe this was Taehyung’s spirit giving his blessing.

For the first time, leaving the cemetery was like a breath of relief, it was as if you had learned to walk on your own for the first time in a very long time. The sun had already set and hand in hand with Namjoon you both walked to the park where you set out the blanket as the moon rose. 

“Thanks by the way,” You turned to face Namjoon in confusion as he offered a small shy smile, “For taking me to visit him today. I know it wasn’t easy to do.” Your heart felt like it was doing little backflips as you crawled out to snuggle up against him, for the first time, craving his touch against you. 

“Of course, but I’m ready to focus on us.” You still felt a little shy yourself but you wanted more than anything to get to know Namjoon, he knew everything there was to know about you by now in terms of your past relationship. There was an unquenchable inferno inside you that wanted to know everything you could about this man. 

Laying down curled up against him Namjoon let his fingers tenderly run against your hair as he whispered, “I’m okay with that.” Your heart for the first time felt content, warm and fuzzy, all the hurt and all the tears you had spent crying felt like just a distant memory in the arms of your lover now. 

Your eyes felt lost in the inky blue sky above the were speckles with stars that gleamed brightly, and there it was the first meteor that passed making you squeak in excitement, Namjoon smiled as he looked down at your expression that seemed so excited at the flashes of light that streaked across the sky. 

Glancing at the sky Namjoon was surprised at the next few meteors that passed, and a few more before they came in dozens and dozens and soon the whole sky was lit up in light and the stars the seemed so muted before looked like gems that danced across the sky, light blues mixed with deepers shades of indigo and the streaks of white painted across the sky as he whispered, “This only happens once every few hundred years, where hundreds appear in the sky.” 

Namjoon couldn’t look at the rare sight in the sky though, not when he could look at your eyes that reflected the whole sky in them, all the stars that surfed in your gaze and your lips open in awe at the sight and for the first time in his life, he understood what that saying meant. 

‘For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream’

Namjoon would never leave your side for a single second, he pledged to himself, you’d both get through this together and you’d build a strong relationship. And he’d cherish you just as much as Kim Taehyung did, he’d devote his whole life to you if needed.” 

“Namjoon,” Your eyes looked dreamy while you turned to face him, he seemed distant as he stared at you as you gave a bashful smile, for the first time able to say what you always felt, “I love you.” 

[unpopularwiththepopulace]

Michael Riedel vs Bernadette Peters – the Broadway Battle of 2003 and beyond

My previous piece gives a fairly comprehensive look at Bernadette and Gypsy through the ages; though there is at least one aspect of the 2003 revival that warrants further discussion:

Namely, Michael Riedel.

Today’s essay question then: “Riedel – gossip columnist extraordinaire, the “Butcher of Broadway”, spited male vindictive over not getting a lunch date with Bernadette Peters, or puppet-like mouthpiece of theatre’s shadowed elite? Discuss.”

It’s matter retrievable in print, or even kept alive in apocryphal memory throughout the theatre community to this day that Riedel was responsible for a campaign of unrelenting and caustic defamation against Bernadette as Rose in Gypsy around the 2003 season.

While “tabloids may [have been] sniping and the Internet chat rooms chirping”, when looking back at the minutiae, none were more vocal, prolific or influential in colouring early judgment than the “chief vulture [of] Mr. Riedel, who had written a string of vitriolic columns in which he said from the start that Ms. Peters was miscast”.

He continued to find other complaints and regularly attack her in print over an extended period of time.

Why? We’ll get there. There are a few theories to suggest. Firstly, how and what.

Primary to establish is that it perhaps would be foolish to expect anything else of Riedel.

Also an author and radio and TV show host, Riedel is best known as the “vituperative and compulsively readable” theatre columnist at The New York Post.

He’s a man who thrives on controversy, decrying: “Gossip is life!”

The man who says, “I’m a wimp when it comes to physical violence, but give me a keyboard and I’ll kill ya.”

“Inflicting pain, for him, is a jokey thing. ‘Michael has this cruel streak and a lack of empathy,’ says Susan Haskins, his close friend and co-host.”

And inflicting pain is what he did with Bernadette, in a saga that has become one of the most talked about and enduring moments of his career.

From the beginning, then.

Riedel started work at The Post in 1998.

His first words on Bernadette? “Oddly miscast in the Ethel Merman role,” in August of that year on Annie Get Your Gun. It was a sentiment he would carry across to his second mention six months later (“a seemingly odd choice to play the robust Annie Oakley”), and also across to the heart of his vitriolic coverage on her next Merman role in Gypsy.

 Negative coverage on Bernadette in Gypsy started in August 2002 when Riedel discussed the search for trying to find a new American producer for the show. It had initially been reported in late 2000 that a Gypsy revival with Bernadette was planned for London, before it was to transfer to Broadway. To begin with, Arthur Laurents was “eager to do Gypsy in London because it hadn't been seen in the West End since 1973”, and he “wanted to repeat [the] dreamlike triumph” he said Angela Lansbury’s production had been. But economic matters prevented this original plan, leaving the team looking for new producers in the US. Riedel suggested that Fran and Barry Wiessler step up as, “after all, they managed to sell the hell out of "Annie Get Your Gun," in which Peters…was also woefully miscast.”

He also quipped: “Industry joke: "Bernadette Peters in 'Gypsy'? Isn't she a little old to be playing Baby June?”, calling her “cutesy Peters” and again a “kewpie doll”.

Bernadette here seen side by side with the actual Baby June of the 2003 production – Kate Reinders.

Other publications to this point had discussed her “unusual” casting. Which was fairly self-evident. In contrast to being a surprising revelation that Bernadette Peters was not, in fact, Ethel Merman, this had been the intention from the start. Librettist Arthur “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

It was Riedel who was the first to shift the focus from the obvious point that she was ‘differently cast’, to instead attach the negative prefix and intone that she was actually ‘MIS’ cast. According to him then, she was unsuitable, and would be unable to “carry the show, dramatically or vocally”. All before she had so much as sung a note or donned a stitch of her costume.

So no, it wasn’t then “the perception, widely held within the theater industry,” as he presented it, “that Peters is woefully miscast as Mama Rose”.

It was Riedel’s perception. And he took it, and ran with it, along with whatever else he could throw into the mix to drag both her and the show down for the next two years.

 As to another indication of how one single columnist can influence opinion and warp wider perception, just look to Riedel’s assessment of the show’s first preview. It is typically known as Riedel’s forte to “[break] with Broadway convention, [where] he attends the first night of previews, and reports on the problems…before the critics have their say”. This gives him “clout” by way of mining “terrain that goes relatively uncovered elsewhere”, and it means subsequent journals are frequently looking to him from whom to take their lead – and quotes.

At Gypsy’s opening preview then, he reported visions of “Arthur Laurents [charging] up the aisle…on fire”, loudly and vocally expressing his dissatisfaction with the show as he then “read Fox [a producer] the riot act”. Despite the fact that this was “not true, according to Laurents,” the damage was already done, with the sentiment of trouble and tension being subsequently reprinted and distributed out to the public across many a regional paper.

News travels fast, bad news travels faster.

 And news can be created at an ample rate, when in possession of one’s own regular periodical column. This recurring domain allowed plentiful opportunity for attack on Bernadette and Gypsy, and Riedel “began devoting nearly every column to the subject,” which amounted to weekly or even more frequent references.

As the show progressed beyond its first preview, Riedel brought in the next aspects of his smear-campaign – assailing Bernadette for missing performances through illness and accusing Ben Brantley, who reviewed the show positively in The New York Times, of unfair favouritism and “hyperbolic spin”.

The issue is not that Bernadette was not in fact ill or missing performances. She was. She had a diagnosis at first of “a cold and vocal strain”, that then progressed more seriously to a “respiratory infection” the following week, and was “told by her doctors that she needs to rest”. So rest she did.

The issue is the way in which Riedel depicted the situation and her absences via hyperbole and “insinuating she was shirking” responsibility. He went further than continual, repeated mentions and cruel article titles like “wilted Rose”, or “sick Rose losing bloom”, or “beloved but - ahem-cough-cough-ahem - vocally challenged and miscast star”. He went as far as the sensationalist and degrading action of putting “Peters' face on the side of a milk carton, the kind of advertisement typically used to recover lost children,” and asking readers to look out for “bee-stung lips, [a] high-pitched voice, [and a] kewpie doll figure”, who “may be clutching a box of tissues and a love letter from Ben Brantley”.

It was quantified in May of 2003 after the show had officially opened, that “out of the 39 performances "Gypsy" has played so far, [Bernadette] has missed six – an absence rate of 15 percent.”

As an interesting comparison, it was reported in The Times in February 2002 that “‘The Producers' stars Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick have performed together only eight times in last 43 performances due to scheduling problems and health concerns,” – an absence rate of 81%.

Did Riedel have anything nearly as ardent to say about the main male stars of the previous season’s hit missing such a rate of performances? Of course not.

 Riedel arguably has a disproportionate rate for criticising female divas.

One need only heed his recommendations that certain women check into his illuminatingly named “Rosie's Rest Home for Broadway Divas.” Divos need not apply.

Not that he was unaware of this.

In 2004, Riedel would jovially lay out that “Liz Smith and I have developed a nice tag-team act: I bash fragile Broadway leading ladies who miss performances, and she rides to their rescue.”

Donna Murphy was the recipient of what he that year dubbed his “BERNADETTE PETERS ATTENDANCE AWARD”, when she began missing performances in “Wonderful Town”, due to “severe back and neck injuries and a series of colds and sinus infections”.

This speaks to his remarkably cavalier and joyful attitude with which he tears down shows and performers. “The more Mr. Riedel's work upsets people, the more he enjoys it.”

He knows he yields influence – it was recognised he had “eclipsed Ben Brantley as the single most discussed element in marketing meetings for Broadway shows” – and he delights in his capacity to lead shows to premature demises through his poison-tipped quill yielding.

When it was reported Gypsy would be closing earlier than had been planned, he made mention of “hop[ping] around on [its] grave” and debonairly applauding himself, “I suppose I can take some credit for bringing it down”.

 His premonition from the previous year’s Tony’s ceremony was both ominous and prescient, when he predicted the show’s failure to win any awards “could spell trouble at the box office”. He was right. It did. The 8.5 million dollar revival closed months before anticipated and failed to return a profit.

Multiple factors can be attributed to Gypsy’s poor success at the Tony’s, but it’s clear to say Riedel’s continual bashing leading up to the fated night throughout the voting period certainly didn’t help matters.

His suggestions to do with Bernadette’s performances were not helpful either.

After alleging Laurents as the director of the 1991 revival “practically beat a performance out of” Tyne Daly when she was struggling with the role, he proffers that to improve Bernadette’s success, “it may be time for [Laurents] to take up the switch and thrash one out of Peters”.

Great.

It was irresponsible and unrelenting commentary that did not go unnoticed.

His “ruthless heckling of beloved Broadway star Ms. Peters” was deemed in print “his most egregious stunt so far”.

Vividly, in person, Riedel was accosted at a party one night by Floria Lasky, the venerable showbiz lawyer, who “grab[bed] Riedel’s tie and jerk[ed] it, nooselike, scolding, ‘It was unfair, what you did to Bernadette’”.

Moreover, the wide-reaching influential hold Riedel occupied over the environment surrounding Gypsy was tangible in the fact his words spread beyond just average readers, and even unusually “started seeping into the reviews of New York's top critics”. Riedel himself, as the “chief vulture”, was indeed what Ben Brantley was referring to in his own New York Times review by stating how the production was “shadowed by vultures predicting disaster”.

Even more substantially, the “whole Peters-Riedel-Brantley episode” became its own enduring cultural reference – being converted into its very own “satiric cabaret piece, ‘Bernadette and the Butcher of Broadway’”. All three parties were featured, with Riedel characterised as the butcher, and it played Off-Broadway later in 2003 “to positive notices”.

 But penitent for his sins and begging for absolution Riedel was not. “Riedel saw nothing but a great story and a great time,” and for many years after, he would continue to hark back to the matter in self-referential (almost reverential) and flippant ways.

In 2008 as Patti LuPone won her Tony for her turn as Rose in the subsequent revival, Riedel couldn’t help but jibe, “Not to rip open an old wound, but I'd love to know if Bernadette Peters was watching”. (He neglects also to mention that “Mendes’s Gypsy was seen by 100,000 more people than saw Laurents’s and grossed $6 million more”.)

More jibes are to be found in 2012 as he reported on the auction after Arthur Laurents’ funeral, or even as recently in 2019, as he asked, “Remember the outcry that greeted Sam Mendes’ Brechtian “Gypsy,” with Bernadette Peters, in 2003?”

As with in 2004 where he points to the “pack of jackals who have been snarling” about Bernadette’s failures, this brings up the canny knack Riedel has of offloading his views to bigger and detached third party sources – thus absolving himself of personal centrality, and thus culpability.

If there was an outcry, HE was its loudest contributor. If there were snarling jackals, HE was their leader.

Maybe Riedel’s third person detached approach to referencing matters was intended to be a humorous stylistic quirk for those in the know. Or maybe it was his way of expressing some inner turmoil over the event.

In some rare display of morality and emotional authenticity, Riedel would at one point admit “I find it kind of sad and pathetic that the high point of my life supposedly has been about beating up on Bernadette Peters”.

Fortunately for him then, a degree of absolution was eventually achieved in 2018, where Riedel visited Bernadette at her opening night in Hello Dolly in 2018, with the intention of ending their “15-year feud”. He “got down on one knee at Sardi’s and extended his hand,” with Bernadette reportedly yelling “Take a picture!” while he held his deferential and obsequious position on the floor.

So if eventually this “feud” has some kind of circular resolution and Riedel was glad it was over, why on earth did it begin in the first place?

One notion is that it was simply another day on the job. Riedel is a man who sees Broadway as “a game for rich people”. Positioned as an “an industry that brought in $720.9 million in the 2002-2003 season”, it is “not a fragile business”, he remarked. As such, he “[could not] fathom the point of donning kid gloves” in covering it, and reasoned the business as a whole was robust enough to weather a few hard knocks. “Thus, Riedel can coolly view Bernadette Peters as fair game, as opposed to, say, a national treasure”.

More to the point, he was a man in search of words. During the season in question, Riedel was “one of just three New York newspaper columnists covering the stage” – a “throwback to a bygone era when…Broadway gossipmeisters…such as Walter Winchell and Dorothy Kilgallen ruled”. Now at the time, as the “last of a great tabloid tradition”, Riedel presided over not just one but two columns a week at The Post. As a result, he was in need of content. “One of the reasons I've become more opinionated is I just have more space to fill,” he admitted. Robert Simonson hypothesises in his book ‘On Broadway Men, Still Wear Hats’ that Riedel may have consequently picked “the thrashing of Bernadette” as his main target simply because “it was a slow news cycle”. Options for ‘titillating’ and durable content were scarce elsewhere that season.

And after all, if Riedel would later cite Bernadette in an article concerning the Top 10 Powerhouses of Broadway in 2004, saying even despite a few knocks or bad shows, “she’ll bounce back” – surely there was no real damage done.

If her career wouldn’t be toppled by his continual public defamation and haranguing, what was the harm?

Feelings? Who cares about feelings or Bernadette’s extremely complex and personal history with the show stretching back to when she was a teenager.

It was just part of the territory, there was nothing personal in it.

 Or was there?

Maybe there was something personal in Riedel’s campaign after all.

He makes a curious comment while discussing ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ in 2004. The then incoming star of the show, rapper P. Diddy, had invited Riedel to dinner, and he makes judgement that this was “a smart p.r. move”. Then he ponders, “you do have to wonder: If Bernadette Peters had broken bread with me this time last year, would her chorus boys have to be out there now working the TKTS line to keep "Gypsy" afloat?”

Might he be going as far to suggest that if Bernadette had indulged him in a meal, her show might not have suffered so, by way of him being more inclined to cover it with greater lenience?

It may seem that way, at least in considering how Riedel reviewed P. Diddy’s performance thus after their dinner: “Riedel pronounced himself impressed. ‘He could have forgotten his lines or had to be carried offstage. He didn’t do anything terrible, he didn’t do anything astonishing.’”

Seemingly all the rapper had to do was remember some words and remain physically onstage, and he sails through scot-free. That’s a rather different outcome, one could say, to being absolutely eviscerated for what became a Tony nominated effort at one of the appreciably hardest and most demanding musical theatre roles in existence.

Though perhaps it’s hard to tell if that was really his insinuation from just one isolated comment pertaining to lunch.

This argument might be fine, if it WAS the only isolated comment pertaining to wanting Bernadette to have lunch with him. But it isn’t. Riedel continues to make a further two references over protracted periods of time to the fact Bernadette hasn’t dined with him.

One begins to get the sense of him feeling desiring of or somewhat entitled to such a private lunch with the lady he’s verbally decimated for years, and a sense of bitter rejection that he hasn’t been granted one.

“If Tonya Pinkins doesn't win the Tony Award this year, I'll buy Bernadette Peters lunch,” he simpered, and later, “I invite Bernadette to be my guest for lunch at a restaurant of her choosing. She can reach me at The Post anytime she's hungry”.

The embittered columnist in this light takes on now the marred tinge of a small boy in the playground who doesn’t get to hold the hand of the girl he wants in front of his friends, so spends the next three years pushing her over in the sandpit in revenge.

Moreover, the last statement makes undeniable comment on Bernadette’s troubled relationship with food, body image and public eating.

So now not only so far has he insulted and mocked her physical appearance and played into all the usual trite shots calling her a “kewpie doll”; suggested Arthur Laurents violently hit her in order to elicit a better performance; continually publicly harassed her regarding a show that strikes close to the nerve with deep personal and psychological resonances due to her mother and childhood; but now he’s going for the low-blows of ridiculing her over her eating habits.

Flawless behaviour.

 Maybe it’s far-fetched to suggest a man would have such a fragile ego to run a multi-year public defamation campaign after so little as not getting his hypothesised fantasy of a personal lunch date. But then again, this was the man who “left Johns Hopkins University after his first year because of a broken heart.” (“I was in love with her; she wasn't in love with me,” he said.)

And also the man described as “an insomniac who pops the occasional Ambien,” living in a “small one-bedroom” that is “single-guy sloppy”, who has “been living alone since a four-year romance ended in 1996”.

The man whose own best friend called “cruel” and with a “lack of empathy”.

The man whose own sister answered that “well, yes,” he’s always been mean; and after being picked on as a kid for “being the small guy and the intellectual”, he grew dependent on using “his verbal ability to beat someone” and put himself in positions of defensive impenetrability.

See, writing Riedel-esque, vindictive and provocative conjecture is no especially challenging or cerebral task.

Riedel may well see his approach to ‘journalism’ or reporting as “all fun and games”.

But I for one am not laughing.

 One final aspect to address when considering Riedel’s reasoning for the depth of his coverage on Bernadette demands attention of how he gets his information. His own personal opinions and motivations aside, crucially he depends on insider providers for insider details. Perhaps somewhat alarmingly then, “leading Broadway producers themselves are among his sources”.

“Half of Broadway hates him. The other half leaks to him”, John Heilpern titled his 2012 Vanity Fair profile on Riedel.

As such, in frequently taking his lead from “theater folk, usually with an ax to grind”, Riedel acts as the mouthpiece to bring secretive backstage reports out front. High-up, influential characters are thus able to funnel their agendas into public view, while keeping their identities hidden.

Notably, it was raised in the above article that Riedel’s “merciless running story” regarding Bernadette in Gypsy “was fed by none other than its renowned librettist, Arthur Laurents—or, more precisely, by Laurents's lover”.

Contrary to the smiley picture below between members of the show’s creative team and it’s beloved star, it was no secret that Laurents did not like Mendes’ 2003 revival. Laurents told Riedel that “Sam did a terrible disservice to Bernadette and the play, and I wanted a Gypsy seen in New York that was good… You have to have musical theater in your bones, and Sam doesn't”. In fact, Laurents admitted the only reason his 2009 book ‘Mainly on Directing’ came into existence was because of how much he had to criticise about the show – it grew out of the extensive set of notes he gave Mendes.

Additionally, it was no secret that Laurents’ lover, Tom Hatcher, demonstrated both a desire and capacity to influence Arthur’s productions. As well as being the driving force for the 2009 Spanish-speaking reworking of West Side Story, Hatcher had intense investment in Gypsy specifically. Patti LuPone writes in her memoir, “From his deathbed, Tom had told Arthur, ‘You have to do Gypsy, and you have to do it with Patti’. It was one of his dying wishes”. Laurents himself, in corroboration of this, explained Tom’s reasoning – “he didn't want the Sam Mendes production to be New York's last memory of Gypsy”.

The allegation in Heilpern’s profile might be hard to prove from an outsider perspective. But given that neither were happy with Mendes’ production and both actively took steps to ensuring it would be superseded in memory, it is not completely implausible.

 Overarchingly, as much as Riedel’s writing may benefit FROM insider sources, it is said he does not write in benefit OF them. For instance, although friends with Scott Rudin in 2004, an animated (nay threatening) warning from Mr Rudin asking Riedel to “back off” from “slamming” his show, Caroline or Change, seemingly “had no impact”.

That’s not to cite total impartiality or exemption from personal connections and higher up influences colouring his reports of shows. Theatre publicist John Barlow would describe that sometimes “if you ask Michael to kill [one of his pieces], he will, if it’s someone with whom he does business”.

But it would be remiss not to mention that his influences and sources stretch beyond just the big wigs. Amongst his other informants too are the more lowly, overlooked folk like “the stagehands, the ushers, chorus kids, house managers, and press agents… the guys who build sets in the Bronx”. Basically, for anyone who’ll talk, Riedel will listen.

“Michael Riedel doesn't work for the producers or the publicists; he works for the reader,” one publicist said. “Sometimes we're glad of that, sometimes we're not-but at the end of the day, that's the reality.”

Sometimes he’s nice, sometimes he’s not – but the world goes round.

Through all that’s been explored, it should be stated how painful and injurious it must be for individual performers or shows to fall upon the unmitigated, maiming force of being on the wrong side of Riedel’s favour. The way he approached coverage on Bernadette is deplorable from an emotional and personal standpoint. Some would argue that it was too far and crossed a line and was most definitely unfair. Others would say it was justified. It’s hard not to sound petulant as the former, or heartless as the latter.

While his actions may indeed be abrasively wounding in isolated (often plentiful) cases, it’s unreasonable to say Riedel’s intentions would be to cripple the Broadway industry as a whole. There are those who purport that Riedel in fact “keeps Broadway alive with his controversies”. His words may not always be ‘nice’ but it’s difficult to argue they're not engaging.

Many are quick to criticize or react impassionedly to him and his columns; but few are quick to stop reading them. And Riedel “knows that the most important thing is being well read”.

Hence it is understandable why Riedel is appraised as “the columnist Broadway loves to hate”. Through his enthralling and stimulating bag of linguistic and dramatic tricks, Riedel knows how to keep the readers coming back. “He’s lively, and he makes the theater seem like an interesting place,” one producer did reason.

“There are times when no one's going to care about Broadway if you don't have a gossip angle that focuses on the backstage drama,” opined George Rush, the Daily News gossip columnist who was once Riedel's boss.

Perhaps it is logically and principally then, if somewhat cynically, a matter of believing “it's just business” and knowing how to “play the game”.

As Riedel himself would rationalise, “It’s all an act. You gotta have a gimmick, as they say in Gypsy.”

It may not be pleasant, but in a world increasingly dependent on sensationalistic and clickbait-driven engagement, it’s probably not going to change any time soon.

 Well then, if he can live with the toll of the position of moral tumult his column puts him in, so be it.

That he described his mind as being “constantly on the next deadline”, saying “I always think about the column”, and likening writing it to “standing under a windmill”, where “you dodge one blade, but there's always another one coming right behind it”, may be some indication that he can't. At least not wholly easily.

I’ll leave that to him to figure out. Off the record.

[shijiujun]

I’m trying to do a nice series compilation of danmeis to read in time for New Year’s maybe! Anyway also just a note that all the images I use are either from the official manhua, donghua, audio dramas OR official artwork as provided by official China bookstores when they do prints (and have obtained permission from artists on Lofter to use their artwork for merch/prints etc.)

- Part of Min’s ‘Why You Should Read’ Series -

Summary: 

Yu She (the one in black) and Zhong Wan (the one in green) were close friends for a short period of time when they were younger, but unfortunately their identities and positions placed them on opposite sides of the fight for the throne (for their parents’ generations). Yu She’s family supported the Second Prince and Zhong Wan was taken in by the Sixth Prince’s family when he was younger, but in the end it was the Second Prince who ended up getting to the throne, while the Sixth Prince was accused of treason and died somewhere far away at war after being captured. 

Zhong Wan’s only wish was to keep the Sixth Prince’s children - Xuan Rui and a pair of twins, Xuan Yu and Xuan Congxin - safe, and so he moves them to another province and asks the Emperor (the former Second Prince) to demote Xuan Rui’s status to prove that they are no threat to the Emperor, if only to stay alive for another day.

However, their days of hardship have only just begun in their new home, and Zhong Wan decides to namedrop Yu She, whose family is so powerful now, to make sure that other people will not bully his charges. He claims that Yu She loves him and that he was wooing Zhong Wan back in the days they knew each other so that officials and others would treat the children under his care better. A few years pass and Yu She doesn’t expose Zhong Wan. Zhong Wan thinks they can go on like this forever, until the Emperor asks Xuan Rui and the twins to head back to the palace for a visit.

Zhong Wan meets Yu She again, but the boy he knew, who was gentle, a stickler for rules and a proper, well-mannered person who always got embarrassed and irritated when Zhong Wan flirted with or teased him, has changed almost completely. Cue palace conspiracies again, brothers fighting for the throne, scheming consorts etc. XD

Read:

Novel (Online) | Novel (Print) - August 2020 | Novel Translations | Manhua | Audio Drama

Characters:

1.  钟宛 Zhong Wan - Also called Zhong Gui Yuan (归远) and his childhood nickname is 宝宝 (bao bao = baby), something he’s very embarrassed about. He’s a righteous but outgoing, sometimes flirtatious young man who lost his parents when he was very young, and then was taken in by the Sixth Prince and his wife, who married each other for political reasons and weren’t close until Zhong Wan turned up and got them to interact more with each other, helping them to fall in love, and that’s how he got three more siblings - Xuan Rui, Xuan Congxin and Xuan Yu. The prince and his wife doted on him a lot, but he was very aware always that he was not their son, and after the Sixth Prince was accused and died, he took it on himself to keep the other three children alive by any means possible.

He spent a month or so in jail after the Sixth Prince was accused of treason as interrogators attempted to torture him into speaking out against the Sixth Prince, but managed to keep silent. Yu She rescued him by paying an exorbitant bail for him (he wouldn’t know about this until later), and he stayed with Yu She for almost half a year until he ‘ran away’ to take care of his three siblings, so to speak.

He starts to fabricate stories about how Yu She likes him, and was wooing him, but they weren’t exactly fake entirely because he extrapolated from actual events (when he tried to tease/flirt with Yu She so he would let him go) that were actually pretty like flirtatious in nature (the both of them are entirely oblivious). 

His priority will always be the safety of the children, but when he returns to the Imperial City and realizes that Yu She has changed, he begins to plot to stay at his side, worried about him (and also to rediscover his feelings for Yu She).

Also has a weak body as he was poisoned when he was 15-16 by someone close to him, faints and gets sick frequently in the novel hahaha (I have a type).

2. 郁赦 Yu She - His courtesy name is Zi You (子宥), which Zhong Wang calls him by. He is the only son of Marquis Yu, and was study mates with Zhong Wan when they were younger. After his parents contributed to the downfall of the Sixth Prince (as they supported the Second Prince) and Zhong Wan ends up imprisoned, Yu She pays A LOT OF MONEY to get him out after Zhong Wan is basically put up for sale to anyone who wants him, to keep him safe from those who want to harm/humiliate him (because Zhong Wan is so handsome/beautiful as well). 

He was originally unable to handle Zhong Wan, who keeps teasing him and accusing him of liking him etc., and let Zhong Wan go when he plotted to leave him, understanding that he had a duty to keep the Sixth Prince’s children safe. In the years that Zhong Wan is away, he discovers a secret that causes him to engage in self-destructive behaviour (talking back to the Emperor, ingesting deadly poison etc.), and realizes that his parents are not who he thought they were. He becomes unpredictable, either doing dangerous things, or refusing to do normal things (instead of studying or reading for example, he spends most of his days reading published fanfiction about him and Zhong Wan).

When he first heard of the rumours about him and Zhong Wan, he descends into this spiral of doubt, wondering if what Zhong Wan fabricated was true and if it was his memory that was wrong. He falls sick thinking so hard about the time he spent with Zhong Wan before LMAO, before deciding that he does like Zhong Wan, but until Zhong Wan returned to the city, he never once thought of acting on it.

3. Xuan Rui, Xuan Congxin & Xuan Yu

Xuan Rui is the Sixth Prince’s oldest son and was old enough to be aware of what was going on when his parents died. He’s very timid, paranoid and easily swayed by others, while his younger siblings, six-year old twins Xuan Congxin (left below) and Xuan Yu (right below) were brought up entirely by Zhong Wan, and Congxin in particular is much more mature/steady in personality than her two older brothers, and also knows to always stand on Zhong Wan’s side.

4. Lin Si - Zhong Wan’s childhood friend who was also brought up by the Sixth Prince and his wife. He’s mute, and a bodyguard of sorts, helping Zhong Wan to gather information from the city while he’s away. After Zhong Wan left with the Sixth Prince’s children, Lin Si stays with the current 4th Prince, and also falls in love with him. It’s unrequited until he kisses the prince and then disappears, leaving the prince to look everywhere for him XD It’s hinted that they do end up together.

Other Things I Like in the Novel:

Zhong Wan’s childhood nickname is 宝宝 lmaooooo and Yu She threatens to torture Lin Si (like about to torture him), and Lin Si was like ‘what does he want to know that he would torture me for it’, then finds out that Yu She is about to hurt him to find out what Zhong Wan’s nickname and he’s like wtf??!!!

Yu She has this steward who was bullied by Zhong Wan a lot while he was staying there with them over that half a year, and is also the biggest Yu She/Zhong Wan shipper even though Zhong Wan was really the troublemaker then

When they find out who the person who poisoned Zhong Wan was, Congxin is the first person to step up for Zhong Wan, and turns against the person who poisoned him

Yu She keeps forcing Zhong Wan to read out their fanfiction novels aloud, much to Zhong Wan’s mortification, but after Zhong Wan realizes he likes Yu She for real, he starts being really forward with his want for him, and it is Yu She who gets embarrassed

Yu She is so embarrassed that he schedules days where Zhong Wan can/cannot touch him, and sets limits to the number of times he can kiss him etc. LMAOOOOO in the beginning of their relationship I frickin died

[queen-lucy-the-valiant]

I’ve been meaning to write this for a weeks and I finally did so yay. This is a somewhat analysis of the symbolism of the planning scene in Prince Caspian. I’m going off movie verse here because they changed so much I feel it’s not completely accurate to apply book details to the movie, although there are a few references that I feel could still be accurate in the movie verse.

To begin, let us lay our scene. They’re in the stone table room, the narnias are in a circle around the room, encompassing Peter, Caspain, and the stone table, which holds both Lucy and Trumpkin. Both Peter and Caspain stand a little bit away from the stone table. While Edmund and Susan are there, they’re both a part of the circle, sitting on stones directly across from each other. 

First off, their placement tells us a lot about their relationships with Aslan. Since the Stone Table is where Aslan died, it in some way represents him. At the very least it's an ancient object of religious significance and holds some kind of power, if only in the figurative sense. We know that in the book the Narnias hold the table in high regard and this is something that isn’t specifically touched on in the movie and there's no reason to change it, since that would diminish the importance of Aslan in the narnias' eyes. So that explains why the narnias are gathered on the tables. The smaller animals have climbed on other stones, presumably to put themselves on a more even playing ground with the humans and other creatures. So, as the highest, easily accessible stone in the room, the Stone Table would be a good choice for giving yourself more height. But if they do hold the table in that high of a regard or place some religious significance on it, then it would be basically blasphemous for them to sit on it when it was the place that the Lion died and rose again.

Moving on to the Pevensies and those that are also in the circle.

We’re shown a few times that Peter is having issues with his faith with Aslan during this trip to Narnia. First at the train station when he expresses his frustration at Aslan making them wait, and again when they first get the how and go into the room, when he says something like “I think we’re on our own this time.” So while there are practical reasons for Peter not being extremely close to or on the Stone Table, his standing a couple yards away from it does a good job at representing his distance from Aslan at this point in the movie. Later, when he’s contemplating his relationship with Aslan and wishing that he would give him proof, he’s sitting on the Stone Table, which up until that point, he hadn’t been near, let alone on. 

We don’t get much of Edmunds relationship with Aslan in this movie. He believes Lucy at the gorge, but that has to do more with his faith in Lucy than his faith that Aslan will be there. With this in mind, it would make more sense for him to be sitting next to Lucy during the meeting. She is after all the youngest and he already knows that the others are going to be patronizing to some degree if she should choose to give her opinion. So why isn’t he? Well it probably has to do with the fact that the reason Aslan died on that table was because of him, it was meant to be him on the table that night and Aslan took his place. It probably brings those memories closer to the surface and could potentially be triggering for him, since I think we can all agree that he had PTSD from his time with the witch. There's also potentially some awe for Aslan mixed in there, and respect, he might feel like it would be disrespectful to Aslan's sacrifice for him if he were to treat the place where he died like a chair.

We also don’t get much of Susan's relationship with Aslan in this movie. Like Peter, she wishes she could see him as easily as Lucy does, but she also only believes in him when he does something, like she tells Lucy when they’re sleeping by the fire, where Lucy's like “you believe me” and Susan says “well we got across the gorge didn’t we” or something like that. We also know that Susan's relationship with Narnia and Aslan is strained. She’s practical, she probably assumes that this trip to Narnia is probably going to end once they’ve fixed the problem, she’s not wrong of course, but I think that of the four of them she’s the only one who's thought about it at this point, since Peter and Edmund are probably focuses on how they’re going to defeat the telmarines and Lucy is living in the moment and enjoying being home again. So I think that Susan not sitting by Lucy on or near the table signifies that she’s distant from Aslan. 

Lucy is obvious, she’s sitting on the table because it’s the closest thing she has to Aslan at that moment and she has the most faith in Aslan.

Trumpkin is interesting to me because we know from the gorge scene that he doesn’t believe Aslan exists because he says “I’m not about to jump off a cliff after someone who doesn’t exist.” But before that, when they’re in the boat and Lucy says “how could Aslan have let this happen,” Trumpkin responds with “though he abandoned us when you lot left,” he partly sounds scornful, like how could you believe in a talking lion, but at the same time I think it indicates that he, on some level, believes in Aslan, even if it’s only to hate him. But even if he doesn’t believe in Aslan, based on the fact that he isn’t sitting next to Lucy on the table itself, but on one legs, I think that that indicates that he does have some respect for the significance of the table itself, and while he might not fully believe in Aslan, but this might indicate that he’s slowly moving towards believing in him.

We’re going to ignore Caspian because there is no reason for him to be on the table so yeah.

So where the characters are in relation to the table symbolizes their relationship to Aslan. That's the first layer of symbolism in this scene. The second is how much this scene represents and sets up the dynamics between our main six characters (the Pevensies, Caspain, and Trumpkin).

Starting with Peter and Caspian. This scene builds upon the tension that’s sort of set up when they first met, they don’t like each other. Peter probably thinks of Caspain and an immature kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing and Caspain probably thinks Peter is trying to take his place as leader of the narnias. Caspians only experience with kings is Miraz and Miraz is not a good example, he took the power and then he got rid of or tried to get rid of everyone that would get in the way of his keeping the power. Caspain probably thinks that Peter will do the same, since he doesn’t know any better. So he fights back against Peter and his ideas, which clearly annoys Peter, a) because he’s the high king and he's actually getting into that role again, plus he’s been dealing with not being listen to in England for the past year and he’s in Narnia now, he’s supposed to be listened to here but apparently not, and b) Caspain is the one that summoned him for help, he should be listening to him. 

Moving on to Peter and Edmund. This scene shows that Edmund is on Peter's side and has his back. This is shown before, when he jumps into the fight at the train station. But this scene backs it up and establishes Edmund as someone whose opinion Peter respects, because he doesn’t just echo what Peter says, he backs it up by using a logical reason for why they shouldn’t stay in defense mode, while Peter just pointed out that the How is a tomb not a fortress.

Peter and Susan. They’re fighting, and Susan is mad at Peter for some reason. This isn’t the first time this has come up in the movie, first it happened at the train station when Peter was going into a fight and then it happened again at the gorge when Peter appeared to take them out of the way. But this scene does indicate how serious it is, because she sides with Caspain over Peter and that is Not Good. Because they ruled together for 15 years, and they didn’t just rule together, they ruled together so well that the period when they ruled was known as the Golden Age. I’m not saying that they never disagreed on issues during that time, of course they did, but I doubt she ever did it in public and with someone she’d only known for less than a day. She shouldn’t trust Caspians opinion more than Peters, even if Caspain knows more about the current Narnia than Peter does, Peter definitely knows strategy better than Caspain, he definitely has more experience and Susan knows that.

Susan and Caspain. I can not express how much I hate the romance between Susan and Caspian in the movie, if you like it, that’s fine, it’s just really not my cup of tea and I think it’s a fairly useless addition to the story. That being said, this is the scene that establishes it. The movie makers use Susan taking Caspains side in this argument as a starting point for their later romance. 

  Finally Trumpkin and Lucy. I personally believe that Trumpkin sitting next to Lucy at the table is meant to indicate their friendship and such, because why else would he be there and that's really all I have to say about that.

And this isn’t part of the actual analysis because there's literally nothing concrete to back it up, but I like the idea of Lucy being someone whose opinion Peter values. I thought of this because of two particular points in the movie. The first being when they walk into the How for the first time and Lucy is the only pevensie on Peters right side and you know, right hand person and such. The second is that Lucy is the only other Pevensie actually in the circle during this scene, both Edmund and Susan are part of the circle and the only other people in the circle-besides Trumpkin and I’m ignoring him here-are Peter and Caspain, the two main leaders. So yeah there's that, do with it what you will

Thank you for reading this, I’m sorry if it’s long and complicated and possibly confusing with many run-on sentences, I’m reading Jane Austen right now and I tend to semi copy the writing style of whoever I’m reading at the moment.

@confessions-of-a-bookworm, @fandomblr, @czytling

[julemmaes]

Honey extra - The Sex Playlist + a little scene

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre roommates au

A/N: I posted part five on the same day acosf was released, so if you didn’t see it, go read it, cause it’s.. long and it took me years to finish and I saw it didn’t get the same attention the previous parts did, and yeah

fic masterlist

this takes place somewhere between part five and six

Elide was one of the few lucky girls whose period was never too bothersome. The pain was always very bearable and only lasted a few hours, and most of the time, it wasn't even a real pain, just a slight pressure in the lower abdomen. She could go about her day without having to stop every few minutes because of a cramp - unlike Aelin, who died every month as if someone was stabbing her in the guts.

She also didn't have a heavy flow, which she would always thank the gods for, if they existed. She couldn't understand how her friends could put up with such misfortune.

Not that they could do otherwise, of course, but she was always in awe when they told her about their period-catastrophes. She knew that if it were her turn to suffer like that every time, she would rip her uterus out of her belly.

And at that moment, lying in a fetal position on Lorcan's bed, she wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to keep from doing it herself before the cramping stopped. Because for some strange reason, her body had decided to turn against her this month.

The last two weeks had gone by in the blink of an eye, she and Lorcan had fucked on every surface in the house and between work and classes and studying, Elide had gotten very little sleep. Considering also that every time she lay down, her boyfriend would slip in behind her and she couldn't say no to herself, to that pleasure so exhaustive and ecstatic, it made her forget that her body needed rest.

It had taken Lorcan to remind her that they couldn't go on like this.

So when she'd found a bloodstain in her underwear the previous night, just before going to bed after her shift at the diner, she hadn't worried so much and had thought that they'd finally take a few days off and maybe her body would calm down.

Elide wasn't a fan of period sex and the few times she'd done it she'd been so grossed out that she'd risked barfing in the middle of it. It simply wasn't for her.

What she hadn't expected though, had been cramps so strong they had pulled her from sleep in the middle of the night. Elide had gotten up and gone to the bathroom because she'd started moving around too much and didn't want to wake up the boy sleeping blissfully next to her. She had started pacing the living room, trying to figure out what the fuck she was in such pain for.

When it felt like someone had stuck both hands in her uterus and was digging their nails into her ovaries, Elide had knelt on the floor by the couch, leaning forward with her fists pressed against her stomach.

Lorcan had found her in that position around half past four.

To say he'd been scared out of his wits would be an understatement.

He'd thrown himself to the floor beside her almost immediately, all traces of weariness gone the second he'd heard her whimper in pain and seen that Elide was biting her lower lip so hard it was drawing blood.

When they had established that it was just her cycle, Lorcan had taken her back to his bed and now they were both lying between the soft blankets she had given him.

They had both been puzzled by this new symptom. After all, Lorcan had never seen her suffer from her period in all the years they had lived together and neither of them had expected it to be any different this time.

Elide had had to joke that it was the fault of his huge cock that had literally stabbed her in the uterus, and Lorcan had apologised in earnest, looking at her with wide eyes and pulling away a little, as if he really felt guilty. She had burst out laughing and then pulled him to her again, taking one of his arms and putting it around her body so that his big hand covered her belly.

He'd started moving his fingers over her lower abdomen, applying pressure from time to time when she seemed to tense up due to a cramp. It helped, somehow, to have him there to massage her. To hold her to his chest as they cuddled.

Now, Elide kept her eyes closed, his head resting on top of hers as they both dozed. Or at least she thought so, because Lorcan spoke, his rough, low voice too close to her ear, "How do you feel?"

She sighed, pulling her knees up slightly. His legs immediately followed her, as if they couldn't bear to be away from her body. She smiled, "A little better." then yawned, "I guess it's the fact that I was already tired as it is, what with university and all."

Lorcan hummed behing her, "I see," then he moved, pulling away only briefly, "maybe we should take it slower, with everything I mean."

Elide nodded slowly. She turned her head towards him, still with her eyes closed, but pursed her lips forward, silently inviting him to kiss her. He chuckled, but a second later their mouths clashed in a simple peck on the lips.

The music playing from the speakers suddenly changed from the sweet melody of a love song to something quite different.

"Cause I eat up for a while, let me through. The shake, the screaming aloud, I'ma fool. In my face you shake, leaking everywhere."

Elide's eyes went wide, "Lorcan!" she let go a surprised chuckle, "What is this?" she turned to him fully and could finally see the satisfied smirk on his face.

"It's a playlist I made yesterday," he then lowered his voice an octave, looking at her lips, "For when we can take the time to think about music instead of jumping right into it," he murmured.

Elide swallowed, nodding slowly, continuing to listen to the song.

Definitely very different from what he normally provided her with.

"I like it," she continued, then draped her arms underneath his, resting her head against his chest as he pulled her close to him and lay on his back, making her lie completely on top of him, "our sex playlist." she smiled, playing with the ends of his hair.

Lorcan hummed again and Elide felt it throughout her whole body when he said, "I called it 'elide'."

She had to force herself to calm the hot spirits that that new information had triggered in her body, but she was glad to know that he wouldn't be able to use that playlist with other people, considering it bore her name.

"I like it even more now," she confessed under her breath.

His arms tightened around her back and then his hands began to rub her lower back, where he knew she was feeling the most pain. Elide fell silent, enjoying his warm hands on her skin, and only had time to thank him before sleep beckoned her again.

The playlists

01.02

1. The Fixer – Brent Morgan

2. Why iii Love The Moon – PHONY PPL

3. Couch Potato – Jakubi

4. Anyway – Noah Kahan

5. comethru – Jeremy Zucker

6. Why Not Me – Forrest.

7. Loving – Surfaces

8. always, i’ll care – Jeremy Zucker

9. Like Strangers Do – AJ Mitchell

10. Yellow Lights – Harry Hudson

11. Glue Myself Shut – Noah Kahan

12. Colour Me – Juke Ross  

13. Lovesong (The Way) – Charlie Burg

14. Lucky Love – Michael Seyer

15. Freak In Me – Mild Orange

elide

1. Skin – Rihanna

2. Do It For Me – Rosefield

3. Body Party – Ciara

4. When We – Tank

5. Rockstar – Rihanna

6. F***in Wit Me – Tank

7. On Top – Trey Songz

8. Acquainted – The Weeknd

9. Freaky – Gemaine

10. Make You Feel – Alina Baraz

11. First Fuck - 6LACK & Jhené Aiko

12. Young God - Halsey

13. How Many Times – DJ Khaled

14. Fuck You All The Time – Jeremih

18.02

1. I Don't Know Me Like You Do – Low Hum

2. I Don't Wanna Be Okay Without You – Charlie Burg

3. Why Can't I Have You – Gloria Laing

4. If I Go, I'm Goin – Gregory Alan Isakov

5. Let Me In – Skinny Living

6. Reason To Hate You – Rhys Lewis

7. Be Your Man – Rhys Lewis

8. Yours – Jake Scott

9. Loved Us More – Munn

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[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH30

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 30: Star Death Reality Show (XIII)

"This place between the back of the head and the neck is very dangerous, it's easy for you to cause a brain hernia and kill the person. I’m telling you, the correct way is to hold her carotid artery—the place on the side of the neck, and she’ll pass in a few seconds, safe and harmless," Dr. Lu, who had committed several occupational malpractices, prattled on.

Qi Leren tried to breathe: "She’s not dead, I controlled my strength."

Dr. Lu raised his head: "When did you learn this? How did you suddenly change your style and go straight to James Bond?"

Qi Leren looked helpless: "It was all forced out."

"Qianbei is very fierce, almost too much! So handsome!" Du Yue, the fanboy, wore the awestruck expression of a hopeless fan and looked at Qi Leren with stars in his eyes. "Can qianbei teach me? I also want to learn!"

"Well, let’s wait... let’s wait until the show is over," Qi Leren said. "Hurry up and find out if there’s anything important in this basement. Hurry up, Mark may come back soon."

The three men were busy again, especially Dr. Lu, who, like a hamster whose hidden melon seeds had been lost after the sawdust was changed, searched anxiously. He plunked his ass on the ground and looked into the gap under the bookcase, and pulled Du Yue to help when he was met with heavy objects that couldn’t be moved.

Qi Leren looked around the basement. It wasn’t like a private laboratory, but rather a utility room, with cabinets and bookcases everywhere and some metal barrels and strewn about tools in the corner. Qi Leren even saw homemade explosives… This former owner was good at playing around.

Since there were explosives, it wasn’t strange that there had been an explosion here, and the scope of the explosion wasn’t small, which had left the basement a mess, with huge blocks of stones around the collapsed passageway. Although it could be seen that someone had cleaned this passage that led to an unknown location, they still can't do anything about the heavy stones.

Had anyone entered this passage? Had He Yi entered the passage, or were He Yi and Mark both in it?

Considering that the audience voted to prove that Mark had knocked out Xue Jiahui, it seemed that Mark probably hadn’t entered it. With such a thought, the situation at that time was that Mark had tried to go against He Yi. He Yi discovered the passage in the attic, entered the basement, and discovered the explosives. He wanted to kill Mark with these, and accidentally discovered that there was a secret passage here, which he used to escape?

"Oh, come and look at this! Is this the legendary ID card?" With a loud shout, Dr. Lu held up a plastic card to show it to the others.

When Qi Leren took the card, he still couldn't understand the words on it, but the metal identification strip embedded in it made it distinct. The plastic casing was also tied with a rope, which seemed to be hung around his neck to prevent it from being lost.

"You can give it a try. Come on, let's go back to Jing Siyu’s house" Qi Leren was also excited.

The three people left Annie knocked out, quickly left the building, and headed for the temporarily unoccupied house of Jing Siyu.

In the basement of Jing Siyu's house, with a "di-" sound, the heavy metal door opened upwards, revealing the dark metal passage inside. The emergency lights along the bottom of the passage’s walls were on, and the miserable green light source made this corridor look like a ghostly hell.

Sure enough, there was electricity inside. But intelligent life on this planet had gone extinct, yet there was still a power supply in this underground place? It was incredible.

Qi Leren stuffed the ID card into his pocket: "Turn off the cameras."

He was worried that there would be some accidents that would make him have to use his skill cards. Although doing so would arouse the suspicion of the audience, it was better than direct exposure.

"I'll go in first and see. Wait here. I'll call you when I get to the other end," Qi Leren said cautiously.

"Be careful, if you’re injured, come back quickly. I’ll curse you to death if you don’t!" Dr. Lu said.

"Qianbei, you can do it! You’re the best!" Du Yue clenched his fists.

Qi Leren felt a little tired. Why were all his little friends so funny? Couldn’t he get better ones?

In the deep and otherworldly green light, Qi Leren took the first step. His footsteps were as light as a prowling cat, and he didn't make a sound. This disturbing color touched his nerves and made him feel that he was in constant danger.

One step, two steps... Qi Leren moved forward, and the uncertainty of stepping on a censor haunted Qi Leren at every moment, making him more alert. He believed in his intuition. He knew he could even accurately sense the threat of flying knives when he was blindfolded, as Chen Baiqi had already confirmed.

And this passage was not safe.

Just when he was thinking about it, his hunch came true!

[Rain-Day Laundry: At present, the remaining sensing times are 2/3.]

Dididididididi— The shrill alarm sounded! Even if the ID card had been used to open the door, Qi Leren, an illegal intruder, was still caught! The metal door behind him slammed shut, cutting off his escape route! Dr. Lu and Du Yue shouted at the door in alarm, and at the end of the metal corridor, dazzling laser beams were generated!

Qi Leren's pupils suddenly contracted. The knee-high red laser beam quickly rushed toward him from the end of the corridor! Qi Leren couldn’t think about it, he could only jump! The timing and height were just right, avoiding this laser beam perfectly. But this was not the end. More laser beams were coming from the end of the corridor!

Calm down, calm down, calm down... I can't fucking calm down! Qi Leren was extremely nervous. He made a save with the Save/Load Data, but he knew that S/L wasn’t a good solution for this situation! After he saved, he would be cut into pieces of meat by the laser beam. After his resurrection, he would still be standing in place, waiting for the next laser beam to cut him again!

Shit, it was a dead end! This C-rank task was poisonous!

Qi Leren, whose brain had gone blank, recalled watching the movie "Resident Evil" with his father when he was a child. The laser corridor that cut a group of special forces into meat had left a deep shadow on his childhood. He remembered that there was an escape hatch above the laser corridor in the movie.

Qi Leren suddenly looked up, and under the green lights, he saw a neat metal ceiling without any cracks.

All those movies are so deceptive... Qi Leren scolded mentally as the four laser beams scattered in front of him approached within five meters, and the alerts from his "Rain-Day Laundry" skill sounded one after another, directly entering the cooldown period. Qi Leren, who was under high tension, broke out again. He got up and ran towards the laser beam—Jump! Over the first laser beam! Roll forward on the spot! Second beam!

The height of the last two laser beams were very tricky, and there was no way to dodge! They were too low to lie flat, and it was too late to jump. Qi Leren, who had already rolled on the ground, couldn't avoid the oncoming pitfalls. Even at this critical juncture, he used the strength of his arms to prop up his body and did a backflip, with his waist folded into a perfect arc.

The two high and low red beams reflected their dazzling deadly light on the metal wall, and the scorching temperature seemed to cut his arm and lower back, leaving burn marks on his skin. But when Qi Leren landed, he discovered that the laser beams were gone, and he had escaped them!

In these five or six seconds, Qi Leren had made a 180 between life and death. If Chen Baiqi was here, she would be shocked. Qi Leren’s blank mind suddenly flashed such a sentence.

The exit was seven or eight meters ahead, and the door there was open. It seemed that the personnel who had set up this trap didn't think anyone could pass through it alive. But before Qi Leren could breathe a sigh of relief, the laser beam at the end of the corridor lit up again. At first, it was the first one, then the second one and the third one... They were woven over the same position, forming a laser net comparable to a fishing net! It was finer than the laser wall placed by the producers outside this village!

No wonder this laser corridor didn't need to have a closed door! Qi Leren couldn't help but admit defeat and decided to run away—Nonsense, his save point was behind him. If he didn't retreat, he would be barbecued by the laser net once in his present position, then resurrected at the save point behind him, and then be chopped up again!

This round was a disaster. He hoped the laser net would disappear after one use. S/L could only restore his body to the position and state where it was saved, but the material world around him wouldn’t be turned back to the state where it had been. Otherwise, it would be too fatalistic... But it was meaningless to complain about this at this time.

Qi Leren sighed, closed his eyes, and forced himself not to think about the pain of dying. The countdown for the save was eleven seconds, ten seconds, nine seconds...

The scorching temperature kissed him on the cheek, and before he could taste the pain carefully, he was resurrected at the save point, and the laser net that destroyed any living creatures in the corridor disappeared.

This time, Qi Leren started to rush forward without hesitation. Hurry up. He didn't know whether there would be a second group of laser nets at the end of the corridor. If there was one, he had to hurry before the laser nets formed, otherwise he would be trapped and would die here, and would die completely after the S/L skill’s three resurrections were consumed!

As he ran to the end of the corridor, less than two meters away from the exit, the first ray of the second laser net appeared, just at the height of his neck. The next moment, the second one, at the position of his knees, and then the next moment...

It was too late. Engaged in a 100-meter sprint, Qi Leren couldn't adjust his body posture and could only run into the laser beams—his head was separated.

The file was read for the second time.

This time, Qi Leren's reaction is faster than the last time. He must run faster than the last time, otherwise, when the beams at the end of the corridor appeared, he would definitely hit them head-on and make a clean break!

Faster, faster... Qi Leren's feet ran like they didn't touch the ground. Under this extreme test of life and death, he ran faster than he had in any training! Because this wasn’t training, it was a test of life and death.

Here we are, we'll be ready soon...

The red laser beams lit up amidst the continuous shrill alarm sound, and the running Qi Leren closed his eyes in despair. The moment before his death was short, but it was long. The laser cut his body, but his brain was still running. He tried his best to think about how to break this stand-off. Every ten seconds, a laser net would appear at the end of the laser corridor and move forward. This laser net didn’t appear only once, otherwise, he could easily use the S/L Data to escape.

Unless he could "break the shell", as Chen Baiqi had said, and break the limits of his body and enter another state, he was destined to draw the line on the end of his life here.

He could only see the glimmer of hope if he tried his best and gave it a go.

He didn't want to die here, no matter what. He still had too many words to say to Ning Zhou, to tell him of the love he had never dared to express and to let the words hidden in his heart overflow. Even if he died, he couldn't close his eyes peacefully.

He couldn’t let Ning Zhou be sad.

The file was read for the third time and final time.

Qi Leren cleared his brain and drove away all his distractions. His body forgot its exhaustion and weakness in the moment that he finished reading the file. His eyes looked directly at the gate leading to heaven ahead, and he rushed there like lightning.

He didn't think about whether it could be done or the consequences of failure. There was a firm belief that made his soul burn at this moment. Willpower poured energy beyond his limits into his limbs. He was as fast as a meteor. In this dark tunnel, the wind sprinted and rushed to the exit!

The first laser beam lit up, and in the next second, more laser lines would be woven into an impassable net at this position, and anyone who tried to cross this barrier would be cut into pieces. The second laser line lit up, but Qi Leren had already rushed to it, jumped up in this extreme sprint, and jumped between the two laser beams. The world was as silent as when he jumped from the boat and his head became submerged beneath the water.

In the moment when he fell heavily to the ground, the alarm came to an abrupt end. Qi Leren didn't realize that he had passed through the corridor. He pushed up from the ground, rolling and crawling, and looked behind him in a panic. The newly formed laser grid sensed that there was no intruder in the corridor and was automatically dissipated and he, who had already pulled off his seat belt, had escaped this nearly inescapable danger.

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[corvus--rex]

Another one that's been put down for a nap. I actually have the four planned chapters outlined, it just takes a particular head space to write. It's a 90's au, which means that there is period-typical homophobia involved. Our boys are musicians still in the town they grew up in. Note: they both smoke (I'm sorry), and there's a brief mention of underage sex (both are high school seniors).

@jilli-bean, this is more of the au my paragraph came from. I remembered you asked if I would tag you when I wrote more of it. Here it is so far!

~*~*~*~

~~*~~ present day – June, 1997 ~~*~~

“So, like, I guess he’s gay or whatever. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just, like, y’know?”

The voice belonged to a girl in a sundress talking to her two friends while walking by. Keith stayed where he was leaning against the side of the building and flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke in a sigh. Saying “there’s nothing wrong with that” was just the same as saying “no offense” and then being offensive. He’d lost patience for that phrase a long time ago. But even as done with it as he was, it was still better than getting kicked out of his last foster home three weeks before his eighteenth birthday after being outed by the family’s biological son.

The boys were the same age, and Keith’s foster brother Wyatt was upset at the time for Keith having better grades and, more importantly, attracting the attention of the girl Wyatt had a crush on. The ensuing fight over the girl led to Keith confessing his sexuality, and petty jealousy led to Wyatt telling his parents. His social worker was a godsend, and after a conversation with his best friend’s parents, Keith found himself moving in with them that night. The guest room became his permanently after that. He’d moved out into his own apartment with his best friend Lance McClain-Sandoval when he started college, but the McClain-Sandovals were one of the closest things to a real family he’d ever known. That first night felt like coming home for a second time, and the midnight conversation they had while lying on Lance’s bedroom floor would be forever burned into memory.

~~*~~ October, 1991 ~~*~~

They were supposed to be in bed already. The next day was a school day and both boys knew that Mariana would have their asses if she knew they were still up, but they didn’t care. Lance knew how bad Keith’s foster family was and had nearly crushed his mother in a hug when she got off the phone with Keith’s social worker. He had been the one to pick Keith up from his social worker’s office. And he’d been the one to drive to the Jacksons’ house with him to retrieve everything Keith had left behind. They found it all boxed up on the front step with a note reminding him that they just couldn’t have “someone like him” in their home and around their children. Keith, and Lance, took great pleasure in watching that note go up in flames in the fire pit in Lance’s backyard.

Keith had been fostered in the same large town of Arus for the last three years, and he and Lance had been friends since the first day Keith transferred to Arus High School only two months after the beginning of their freshman year. They had come out to each other in the summer after sophomore year, both relieved that they wouldn’t lose their best friend. They were even more relieved when Lance’s parents Mariana and Diego told the boys that they would love them both no matter what, and that it was no one’s business who they loved. Now it was only one month into their senior year and life was changing again.

“Tomorrow’s gonna suck,” Keith sighed.

“Yeah, it probably will. Wyatt’s an asshole and he’ll tell everyone. Probably starting with what’s-her-tits and blowing any chance he has with her,” Lance agreed.

Keith couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Michelle? Yeah, little fucker never had a chance with her to begin with. She’s been banging Chris Proctor all summer. Won’t shut the fuck up about it, even when she’s hitting on me.”

That made Lance roll to face his best friend. “Wait, seriously? I thought she hated him. Something about basketball players not being as good as football players.”

Keith rolled onto his side. “Yeah, that’s what I’d heard, but I guess she doesn’t hate his dick.”

Lance snorted, but when he saw how the strings of fairy lights lit Keith’s face and the sparkle of laughter in his deep violet eyes, his breath caught. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was a bad idea. It had been only hours since Keith was kicked out of the Jackson house, and this wasn’t some summer sleepover spent fantasizing about the future. The crush he’d been nursing for his best friend burst into full bloom, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Noticing the change, Keith’s brows furrowed. “Lance? What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, “You’re beautiful, y’know that? I’ve been wanting to tell you that for so long.”

Keith’s expression softened. Lance confessing to feeling something more than just being best friends made a warmth settle into his bones. He’d thought his own crush would go unrequited forever and had begun to adjust into the idea that they would remain best friends and nothing more. Lance had just given him hope, and he wasn’t going to let the moment pass.

“Yeah? So are you. I thought I wouldn’t ever get to say it. But if we’re confessing…”

Impulse overrode higher thought, and Lance found himself inches away Keith’s face before he realized what happened. “Can I?” he asked in a soft whisper.

“Whenever you want,” Keith answered just as quietly.

Their first kiss was soft, gentle. It carried the relief of finally knowing how the other felt, and the promise of exploring those feelings. It was hesitant, nervous. It felt as though they were both worried that it was nothing more than a dream and that they’d wake up sore from falling asleep on Lance’s bedroom floor. But the very physical sensation of touch – Lance’s fingers threaded through soft black hair, the light touch of his thumb across high cheekbones, Keith’s hand sliding up soft t-shirt fabric, gripping the lean, compact muscle – it reminded them that they were very much awake, and that their kiss was very much real. When they separated, Lance pulled them back down, Keith nuzzling into his neck.

“I never thought kissing my best friend was something I’d ever do,” Lance said, basking in the afterglow of their kiss and the feeling of Keith in his arms.

“Mm, maybe not, but what about a boyfriend?” Keith asked, delicate fingertips tracing patterns into the t-shirt he had been holding so desperately only moments before.

“Yeah, I could get used to that.”

~~*~~ present day – June, 1997 ~~*~~

Keith was so lost in the memory of his first kiss with Lance he didn’t notice he was no longer alone until there was an arm on his shoulder and the cigarette was gone from his hand. He startled, then realized it was Lance. Keith was well aware how much Lance loved his leather jacket rocker look. It went well with the core of his music taste – a little punk, a little grunge, a splash of metal, a healthy dose of rock. He didn’t look it, but Lance’s tastes ran pretty much the same; it was one of the things they became friends over. But as much as Lance loved Keith’s daily wardrobe, Keith loved Lance’s more casual outfits, almost always topped off with the denim jacket whose back panel he had painted with a dragon and phoenix before gifting it to his boyfriend for his 18th birthday.

“Fucking hell, don’t do that!” he hissed. “Also, excuse you, that was mine.”

Lance just laughed through the smoke. “What, you worried about germs? We do a lot more than just swap spit, babe.”

Keith heaved a sigh, shaking his head at his boyfriend. “Yeah. I know that, and you know that, but I don’t think all of Arus needs to know that.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve figured it out by now. I’m not exactly subtle, and almost the whole town knows about you after senior year of high school.”

“Fuck I still hate that asswipe. Ok, I’m done talking about him. You, me, Mario Kart, and the six-pack in the fridge.”

Lance crushed the cigarette butt under his sneaker. “Ooh, Mario Kart and pizza night. I still need to beat your ass at Rainbow Road.”

“Not gonna happen,” Keith threw over his shoulder as he walked away. He took off running when Lance gave chase, barely beating him to the truck.

As much as Keith’s true passions lay in art and music, he was also a skilled mechanic thanks to his foster father Carlos. He’d been with the Villalobos family for two years before a family emergency meant that they had to leave California for their parents’ native Mexico. If there was any other family that had felt like home, it was theirs. Carlos and Pilar treated him like one of their own children, and Keith got along with Daniela and Alejandro (Alex to his friends) like real siblings. They were back in California now, and he’d been able to reconnect with them and fill them in on what had happened with the Jacksons and how it had ended well despite them. After hearing about what had happened after they left, Carlos and Pilar had immediately called Lance’s parents, and now the two couples were good friends, the Villalobos slipping seamlessly back into Keith's life.

Keith had worked his way through college, and kept him working currently, thanks to the skills Carlos taught him. It was also those skills that got him his second most prized possession, the first being his his guitars. Keith had been working when the truck’s first and only owner brought it in on the back of a tow truck. He had bought it new, but the transmission on the ’94 Toyota Pickup blew out, and it wasn’t worth fixing. Keith said that it was a total waste of an otherwise solid pickup, and the owner told him that he could keep it if he promised to fully repair it. Six months of working on it in his spare time, and Keith had a rebuilt transmission and a fully working Garnet Red Pearl, extended cab Toyota Pickup.

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

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