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orodrethsgeek · 7 years ago

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So as you may have noticed, I’ve fallen a bit in love with my latest Hawke, Kellan, and the relationship he has with Orsino. As usual, @robotslenderman came up with a great idea to solve a problem I wasn’t even fully aware I had: namely, that in both my canon DA:2 playthrough and our Solas Stays! Sableverse AU, Kellan Hawke does not exist. (My DA:2 canon is Aidan Hawke; Sableverse DA:2 canon is robotslenderman’s Marian Hawke.)

Says Dusty: would it be possible for him to exist as another character?

And thus, DA:2 Companion!Kellan was born. Backstory, recruitment mission, companion quests, and fate following endgame below the cut.

Backstory:

Kellan was born in 9:06 Dragon, not long after his mother, Lady Ambrei Venturi, scandalized the nobility of Kirkwall by marrying a penniless artist from Markham named Anthony Whalen. The nobles received a second shock when Lady Ambrei’s father, Lord Venturi, upheld his daughter’s unconventional marriage and confirmed her and her future children as heirs to the Venturi name, title, and fortune (none more so than the other Venturis themselves, who expected Ambrei to be disinherited for the disgrace). A plethora of wild rumors soon filled Kirkwall, likely started by jealous relatives–Lady Ambrei and her commoner husband had never been legally married; Anthony Whalen was the bastard, half-human son of an elven prostitute; one or both of them were apostates hiding in plain sight. None of these rumors were ever substantiated, and for a while the young family was blissfully happy, even while lesser branches of the Venturis continued to scheme.

In 9:18 Dragon, Lady Ambrei gave birth to a second son, this one named Ethan. Two years later, tragedy struck. Lady Venturi disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Her body was later found, though her killer never was–but many looked to her uncle Alester, who began at once to petition the Viscount for the deed to the Venturi estate, along with various other holdings. He argued that his niece’s commoner paramour had neither a title nor any true claim to the Venturi name, and that her eldest child, a boy of fourteen, was too young to take up the role and privileges of Lord Venturi. He might well have won his suit, save for two apparent strokes of luck. The first was that Alester was himself found dead in his home late that year, assassinated by an Antivan Crow. (His children accused young Kellan Venturi of taking out the contract on his life, but few put any weight in the charge. Kellan was, as their father had himself argued, little more than a boy at the time.)

The second stroke of luck was that in 9:21 Dragon, Viscount Perrin Threnhold contended with the templar order for control of Kirkwall, and lost. The old Viscount was deposed and arrested, and the new Knight-Commander anointed a new ruler of the city: Marlowe Dumar, a previously minor nobleman who had himself married a commoner, and to whom Kellan could claim a distant relationship through his maternal grandmother. Though a naturally cautious and conciliatory man, Viscount Dumar put very little store by the inherent superiority of the nobility, or by rumors of the illegitimacy of Lady Ambrei’s marriage. Kellan petitioned for his rights to the estate, the family fortune, and the title of Lord Venturi to be upheld, and Viscount Dumar ruled in his favor. The one stipulation he made concerned the Venturi fortune. In deference of Kellan’s age, control of the family’s finances would be held in trust by his father, until Kellan reached his majority.

Despite this victory, things were not all well within the Venturi estate. Thrown into a deep depression by his wife’s death, Anthony showed no signs of recovering a year later. For the most part he kept himself locked in his bedroom, clinging to the last of Ambrei’s possessions and only occasionally remembering to take an interest in his sons or duties. Not long after Kellan won his case with the Viscount, he came home to find his father chatting animatedly to a portrait of his mother, apparently convinced it was truly her. Unsure of how to help his father but certain the slightest sign of weakness would set his relatives back on the warpath, the young Lord Venturi kept Anthony’s condition a closely guarded secret. Nor did he make any attempt to end the trusteeship of Venturi finances early, even when his father began making increasingly reckless monetary decisions. Instead, he turned to dabbling in various crimes to keep Venturi coffers full (smuggling, blackmail, and poison-making were just a few of Kellan’s favored exploits–always under various aliases, to avoid being traced back to him).

The one bright spot in the storm of tragedy and intrigue was Ethan. Kellan loved his brother fiercely, and was determined to raise him as normally as possible. He did his best to keep Ethan ignorant of his shadier enterprises and inclinations, though as Ethan grew older he did pick up on more than a few things Kellan would have preferred to keep him in the dark about. Ethan also proved to be a comfort to his father; something about the boy’s presence seemed to wake him from his fantasy world into something closer than reality.

In 9:24 Dragon, Kellan turned eighteen and finally assumed full control of the family fortune–which had, despite his best efforts, dwindled under his father’s dubious care. He told himself that was reason enough why he couldn’t give up his criminal pursuits, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. But it was also true that he enjoyed the thrill of a scheme well-done. So Lord Kellen Venturi kept his hand in the criminal game, and an eye out for any other advantage that came his way. He’d learned from a young age that it took power and guile and a certain amount of ruthlessness to survive, and he intended to do much more than that.

Recruitment:

In 9:31 Dragon, the Hawke siblings are hired to steal from a Venturi-owned warehouse and deliver the goods to someone named Cesario in a Lowtown safe-house. They’re promised a substantial reward if they prove successful, and the chance for future partnership opportunities. When they arrive at the warehouse itself, they find it not conventionally guarded at all–though there are a number of magical traps that either Hawke (if a mage) or Bethany must deactivate to proceed.

At the Lowtown safe-house, the Hawke siblings are eventually greeted by Kellan, who congratulates them on a job well-done and reveals that he’s the one who hired them to steal from one of his legitimate warehouses. He’s heard rumors about a Ferelden apostate with a solid reputation in Kirkwall’s criminal underworld, but he wanted to get the measure of them himself.

Regardless of whether Hawke or their sibling is the mage, Kellan then reveals this quest was essentially their audition, and they’ve passed. He’s looking for an apostate to tutor his brother Ethan, whose magic has recently manifested. If mage!Hawke/Bethany agrees, Kellan will become a recurring companion. He’ll also have a follow-up cutscene where he mentions that he’s heard Hawke is trying to get in on Bartrand’s Deep Roads expedition and that he’d be willing to help fund Hawke’s contribution for a share of the profits. He expresses some hesitation about going himself, but he’ll agree if pressed.

Rough Outline of Companion Quests:

Between Act I and Act II:

Regardless of whether or not Kellan is brought on the Deep Roads expedition, when Hawke returns at the end of Act I, it will be to find that Ethan’s magic was discovered and he’s been taken to the Circle. Kellan handles this badly, and there’s a brief cutscene in which Hawke will have the chance to talk with him about it. Depending on the level of friendship/rivalry he and Hawke have developed, he may confide that this isn’t over and that he won’t leave his brother in the Gallows forever. (In general, friendly Hawkes will be given more of a window into Kellan’s state of mind/plans; a rival Hawke will be kept in the dark.)

Act II:

Though he’s been able to establish a written correspondence with his brother during the three year time skip, he hasn’t yet been able to see him face-to-face. He’s finally gotten the Grand Cleric’s word that if he performs a laundry list of tasks for her/the Chantry, she’ll arrange for Kellan and Ethan to be able to meet. He asks Hawke for help with completing the tasks. (One of them possibly involves retrieving a shipment of stolen lyrium from a Darktown gang.) If Hawke agrees and the tasks are successfully completed, Kellan gets to visit his brother. Depending on how close he and Hawke are, he might invite Hawke to come meet Ethan with him, as well.

Following the completion of his personal quest, Kellan will offer to give Hawke what help he can in navigating the politics of the ruling class in Kirkwall.

If Kellan is brought into the Fade during Feynriel’s Act II quest, he might betray Hawke for the desire demon, who promises to heal his father’s broken mind and return Ethan to him. Afterwards, high friendship Hawkes will learn about Anthony’s breakdown following his wife’s death. Kellan will admit he’s worried about his father, who has been getting worse since Ethan was taken away. Hawkes with a high enough friendship have the opportunity to learn about this in a later cutscene if Kellan is not brought to the Fade/doesn’t betray Hawke.

Through ambient dialogue throughout Act II, it’s revealed that Kellan has also struck up a correspondence with the First Enchanter, who took a particular interest in Ethan’s progress as an apprentice because of how often Kellan attempted to get in touch with him when he was first taken to the Circle. As Act II progresses Kellan makes references to sending Ethan care packages, and also to covertly figuring out the First Enchanter’s favorite wine/treats/etc to send him gifts as well.

Between Act II and Act III:

Following the deaths of the Dumars, Kirkwall entered a period of de facto martial law, with Meredith all but seizing control of the city and refusing to allow a new Viscount to be appointed. Kellan, who had been reasonably close to his distant cousins, considered the position his by rights–Viscount is a hereditary title, and Kellan can trace his genealogy back to a Dumar great-grandmother. He will eventually ask Hawke to support his bid for the position, inviting them to attend a small gathering of nobles and show that he has the new Champion of Kirkwall’s support to shore up less certain nobles.

Orsino is also attending this party; high friendship Hawkes will have a chance to comment on how it seems Kellan has feelings for him. Kellan will initially deny it, but later admit that they’re right. Privately, he’ll confess to feeling conflicted about the whole situation; it’s not a politically smart move to get entangled with such a high profile mage when he’s aiming to become Viscount. As the conversation progresses, though, Kellan will resolve to keep pressing forward regardless, and to use his political power to make things better for Kirkwall mages. He won’t agree to confess his feelings to Orsino, however, even if Hawke presses him on it; he’ll say he wouldn’t want Orsino to think his support of the mage cause is contingent on Orsino sleeping with him. He’s seen too many templars take advantages of a mage’s limited ability to say no in recent years and he won’t join their number.

This prompts an optional subquest, where Hawke can choose to let Orsino know about Kellan’s feelings, so that it’s at least up to Orsino whether to pursue any sort of relationship or not. Orsino will be surprised, but admit that he’s occasionally thought Kellan’s feelings went a bit deeper than mere professional partnership. He won’t divulge to Hawke whether he shares Kellan’s feelings, but he will choose to seek Kellan out at the end of the cutscene. Kellan will later accuse Hawke of meddling, but admit that things turned out for the best.

Act III:

Kellan asks Hawke to help him compile evidence of the Chantry’s many misdeeds in Kirkwall over the last several years. He plans to use the evidence to appeal to the Divine to relieve the Gallows mages and restore Kirkwall’s civil governance. He will also mention contingency plans for getting Ethan out of the Gallows, though he doesn’t get into specifics even with high friendship Hawkes. Ambient dialogue will reveal how stressed he is over Ethan and Orsino in particular being in danger, but also his concern for the other mages in the Gallows as well. It’s clear that he’s adopted Orsino’s people as his own.

Anthony’s mental health finally takes its final plunge in Act III, and he ends up taking his life. Kellan is absolutely beside himself, blaming everyone from his long-dead great-uncle (for killing his mother and causing his father’s initial depression), to the templars who took Ethan away, and, privately, himself, for not being able to do more, for not watching him more closely. He swears that someone will pay for this and asks for Hawke’s help; regardless of Hawke’s response, he plans to go through with something ill-thought-out and drastic. Whatever Hawke’s response, Sebastian will approach them for help restraining Kellan and appealing to his better nature. If Hawke agrees, Sebastian lets them in on his plan; if not, he carries it out himself. Again, regardless, Kellan’s plans of revenge stop short when either Hawke and Sebastian or just Sebastian bring Orsino or Ethan to talk him out of it. (A Hawke who has agreed to help Sebastian will get to choose whether they should bring Orsino or Ethan; Sebastian acting alone will choose Orsino because he doesn’t think Ethan should have to see his brother this close to losing it.) Whichever one is chosen, Kellan will finally let himself be talked out of his plan.

Endgame:

During The Last Straw/Chantry boom cutscene, Kellan will protest if Hawke chooses to kill Anders. If Hawke persists regardless, Anders will tell Kellan it’s alright and ask him to focus on helping the Circle mages from this point on. Kellan will stand down, but will tell Hawke they made a mistake.

If Hawke chooses to side with the mages, Kellan will either suggest that they use Isabela’s knowledge of ships to quickly evacuate the Circle mages from the Gallows (if Isabela returned during the Act II Qunari crisis), or that they utilize the secret passage into the Gallows from Darktown to beat the templars back, bar the tower from within, and evacuate as many mages as possible through the tunnels. He, Orsino, and Ethan will all survive in a pro-mage scenario.

Kellan cannot be convinced to side with the templars, regardless of his friendship/rivalry status to Hawke. He will always choose to make a last stand with Orsino and the mages, giving Ethan and the other apprentices a chance to escape. He and Orsino will perish together in a pro-templar scenario.

DA:I:

If Kellan and Orsino survive the events of Dragon Age:2, they will appear in Skyhold once the next Divine has been chosen, present her with evidence of the Chantry’s and templars’ myriad crimes in Kirkwall, and demand reparations. They later settle in Wycome with their 30+ adopted mage babies, including Ethan.

And that’s pretty much a wrap! Feel free to also ask questions about Companion!Kellan if you have any :) also if you’ve read this whole thing, congrats and thank you XD

#c: kellan hawke #companion!kellan #Hawke #Hawke-as-companion #my ocs #my dragon age ocs #anybody catch my Shakespeare reference?#c: kellan

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jacobscustos · 2 years ago

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hi have some of my headcanons for the hacketteers! the list is gonna be kinda long so they're under the cut <3

laura is a cis woman and bisexual with a preference for women

she learned to shoot when she was young

the summer before the massacre her hair was in a pixie cut and since then she's been letting it grow out again

when she was really little she actually wanted to be a doctor, but her love of animals came soon after and she switched to veterinarian quickly

her horse girl phase never truly ended

max is a trans man and is straight (but he'd be willing to try dating a guy if he found one he really liked)

he spent a lot of his life adamantly refusing to swear and that occasionally comes back without him meaning for it to

he found that tiktok sound "bi wife energy" and laura has not known peace since

he was really shy before he started dating laura and she helped boost his confidence to make him the jokester he is today

after the massacre he discovers that he wasn't actually too upset by wearing laura's clothes. new hobby unlocked

abigail is a trans demigirl (she/they) and is sapphic (she chose the label for herself and doesn't want to be more specific than that, but her attraction isn't limited specifically to women)

their family was already very artistic and so that lent itself very well to their interest in sketching and drawing

she designed the tattoo on her arm herself

they have a very big love of shakespeare and their favorite work of his is, as cheesy as it is, romeo and juliet

she has a crush on emma too but didn't go for it because she wasn't aware that emma wasn't straight. had she known she would've put out signals

kaitlyn is a demigirl (she/they, accepts some neos) and is queer (she's previously identified as bisexual but feels queer fits her more)

she also learned to shoot at a young age but took to it more naturally than laura

they know how to play the guitar, the drums, and the trumpet

her favorite color is yellow and has been since she was little

they and jacob share a birthday and that's why they were friends as kids. it really is that easy when you're like 5 years old

nick is transmasc (he/they, will accept some neos) and is panromantic and demisexual

he was born in australia but his parents are american, and he lived in australia for the first 13 years of his life before his family moved back to the states

they always correct people when they refer to rugby as football (or they just say american football) and football as soccer

he really wants to get tattoos of his own, and his job at hackett's quarry was to help save up money to get his first

almost nobody ever actually saw them and dylan hanging out during the day but at night they were laughing it up and joking around like they were besties

emma is a cis woman and is bisexual with no preference

her mother is canadian and so she has dual citizenship

she actually started out wanting to create a gaming channel but changed her tune after she entered high school

she's very athletic and involved in her school's sports teams, as well as being part of student council, the model UN, and various small clubs

dylan was not the first person she's sprayed with pepper spray (on accident or otherwise) and he will not be the last

ryan is nonbinary (they/he) and is pansexual

they watched every episode of buzzfeed unsolved religiously and are a shaniac through and through

he actually watched some of emma's videos before meeting her at hackett's quarry

they have a really good eye and can catch almost anything that gets thrown at them

he does have feelings for dylan despite what he told laura, he was just intimidated by her in the moment

dylan is transmasc (he/him) and is gay and demisexual

he came out to his family at a really young age and his family was super cool and supportive

he's been making music since he was in middle school, but he's never shown anybody any of it

he's very unironically into riverdale and cites cole sprouse as jughead as one of his biggest transition goals

despite his massive fear of rejection, he is, alas, a major theater kid

jacob is a demiboy (he/him) and is bi (with a strong preference for women) and graysexual

he started doing sports as a way to assert his masculinity before he even realized that he wasn't a cis dude

he's eaten so many goddamn things past their expiration date and had food poisoning so many goddamn times

he had a crush on kaitlyn for most of his childhood, ironically until they kissed

he actually had crushes on pretty much everyone at hackett's quarry save for kaitlyn and (despite basically everyone at camp thinking he's the hottest counselor) ryan

#the quarry #supermassive games #quarry game #the quarry game #the quarry spoilers #quarry spoilers #laura kearney #max brinly #abigail blyg #kaitlyn ka #nick furcillo #emma mountebank #ryan erzahler #dylan lenivy #jacob custos #himbo.exe #gender/sexuality hcs are subject to change but i stand by the rest!

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odos-bucket · 3 years ago

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So I was reading @andillwriteyouatragedy‘s incredible Brand New Day where Bruce and Clark adopt a young Dick Grayson together, and was thinking about a sort of companion story where they take in Jason together too. Using that story as a rough reference, I’m gonna say they’ve been together for a decade or so here. Dick is somewhere in his late teens. I’m figuring Clark probably offers to tag along on Bruce’s annual trip to crime alley every year. Bruce always politely declines. It’s basically become a part of the day’s bleak tradition. Clark is surprised when for once his offer is accepted. Later on, if pressed, neither of them would be able to pinpoint what was different about that night that made Bruce decide that it might be okay to have some company for once. Clark probably feels weird about it at first. Even though he’d asked Bruce if he wanted company, and Bruce had said yes, which he never would have unless he’d absolutely meant it (and Clark knows that). It still feels a little like he’s intruding on something private, even sacred. Then of course they get there, and there’s nothing going on. Superman’s senses don’t pick up the slightest hint of disruption anywhere in the neighborhood. Maybe they start patrolling around it anyways, maybe they just wander for a couple of blocks. Sooner or later they overhear someone talking about how it’s this night every year that Batman comes calling. Local criminals have picked up on the fact that if they just keep their heads down for this one specific night they can pretty much avoid him. Bruce is all grumbly about it, and immediately goes into ~strategy mode~ like, “Okay, I’ll have to start coming here on different days, on an irregular schedule.” He immediately opens up a dozen different tabs in his brain with calendars, and crime statistics, and is thinking a mile a minute, because that’s what he does. He’s kind of agitated about needing to change something that’s been a ritual for so long (because Batman has OCD, fight me) and he’s annoyed at himself for being bothered by it. Absolutely none of this sudden inner turmoil is detectable in his expression or body language. But Clark knows Bruce, knows how he reacts to things, and that there’s no way he’s not annoyed right now. He says, “Sounds like tonight will be a bust if we stay here,” then when Bruce grunts in response, continues, “We could go back to the manor. Watch a movie.” Then after a pause. “Or we could patrol somewhere else.” A moment passes. When Bruce says, “Okay,” Clark isn’t sure which suggestion he’s agreeing to, but they start back towards the car. It’s not a long walk, but they aren’t moving particularly quickly. By the time they get back to the batmobile it only has one wheel.

Clark frowns as he walks closer, before being stopped in his tracks by a surprising sound. It’s a sound that he recognizes immediately, that he hears all too infrequently. Bruce is laughing. Clark’s mouth quirks into a half smile. He takes a few steps forward, thinking about just picking the whole thing up and flying it back home. Then from a few paces ahead he hears Bruce’s low, gravelly Batman voice say, “Hi there.” Once he’s tuned in to the idea of another presence nearby, it becomes obvious to his advanced senses that someone is lurking behind the car. “Shit,” a small voice says. Bruce takes a few steps closer. “Planning on finishing the job?” He gestures to their remaining wheel. Clark shifts until he can get the kid partially in his sight without the aid of x-ray vision. He’s small, and looks to be somewhere in his pre-teens. “I got no idea what you’re talking about,” he says quickly. “Oh really?” Bruce asks. The boy glares at him. “Nice tire iron,” Bruce continues. “Comes in handy.” “I bet it does.” No sooner than the words are out of Bruce’s mouth, the tool is colliding with his shin. The boy shoots out from behind the car, and down a nearby street. Clark starts toward Bruce, who quickly gestures for him to go after the kid instead. He catches up with him in less than a second. When his hand falls onto the kid’s shoulder he freezes, muscles tightening throughout his body, and heart rate speeding up rapidly. The fear response is so sudden and extreme that Clark finds himself pulling away as if he’s been burned. The anxiety around being feared is something he’s mostly left in his past, but there’s a deep rooted insecurity within him that it still prods at. The kid stumbles when he starts to run again, and by then Bruce has caught up. They hang back, but trail after the boy at a distance, until they reach a condemned building a few blocks away. “Should we go in?” Clark asks. “Probably where my tires are,” Bruce says, before climbing through an uncovered doorway. It isn’t hard to find him again. There aren’t too many heartbeats in the area to distinguish between. When Bruce opens the door to the dilapidated room, the boy’s pulse rate jumps through the roof. Nothing changes externally about him though, and Clark wonders whether or not Bruce can tell that he’s afraid of them. There’s the slightest vibration to his words when he speaks. “Okay, take your stupid tires already. I’m sorry, all right? Just leave me alone!” Bruce isn’t looking at his tires. He’s looking around the room, no doubt noticing the same things that Clark has, mold, water damage, a broken window. The place is freezing. Then in the corner there’s a cardboard box with some pasta and canned goods in it, a small stack of books, and a mattress on the floor. “Do you… live here?” Bruce asks. “Yeah. What of it?” Bruce takes a few more steps into the room. “Where are your parents, son?” Clark asks. “Mom’s dead. I dunno where Dad is; don’t really care, if I’m being honest. Now take your stuff and go already!” He’s holding the iron up again, wielding it in a manner that’s clearly meant to be threatening. Bruce plucks it out of his hands with relative ease, inspects it, then turns it around and hands it back. “Move your thumb up like this, and you’ll have a sturdier grip. And don’t stand with your legs so far apart, it’ll put you off balance.” He sighs. “What’s your name?” “… Jason.” He grabs the tire iron back, shuffling to adjust his grip and footing, keeping his stance defensive. Bruce looks around the place again. “You can’t stay here, Jason.” “Oh yeah? Says who? I can take care of myself! Been doing it for long enough.” Bruce glances up at Clark, who can see the wheels turning in his head, before looking back at Jason. “I’d really like the wheels of my car back,” he says carefully, then hurries to continue before Jason can interject. “Can I make you a deal? We’ll buy you dinner if you reattach the batmobile’s tires?”

There’s a fast food place a couple of blocks away that’s open 24 hours. Jason agrees to accompany them, but walks a few yards behind. The employees at the place aren’t at all phased by the appearance of the two vigilantes. Bruce inspects a suspicious stain on one of the walls, while Jason and Clark look at the menu posted above the counter. They order- Bruce gets two of what Jason asks for- then go outside to eat. Bruce is lost in thought as they exit the restaurant, wondering what it would take to bring free food trucks to the area. Jason’s halfway done with his meal by the time they sit down on the sidewalk. “Do you go to school around here?” Bruce asks, wanting to put together a fuller picture of the boy’s situation. Jason gets a distant look in his eyes in response to the question. He finishes chewing slowly, swallows, then shakes his head, clearing his throat before replying. “No. Not for a long time now.” He shrugs. “I got all I needed to out of it.” “You had some pretty advanced reading material back at your place for someone who didn’t finish middle school.” Bruce recalled seeing The Odyssey amongst his few possessions, as well as a couple of Shakespeare plays. Jason shrugs again. “Reading’s not that hard.” “Some people find it very difficult,” Clark says. “Some people are stupid.” Bruce cuts in before Clark can start on the gentle reprimand he can see him preparing. “Ever think that maybe you’re just smart?” Jason gives him a curious look, like that really wasn’t a possibility that he had considered before, then takes another bite, and stares off thoughtfully. “So, Homer,” Bruce prompts. Jason nods. “It’s a fun story. Odi-seuss is a dick though.” Bruce resists both the compulsion to correct his pronunciation of ‘Odysseus’, and Alfred’s voice in the back of his head urging him to tell the kid not to swear. “What makes you say that?” He asks instead. Jason looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Gee, I don’t know, maybe all the pillaging, and murdering he does throughout the entire book.” “Poem,” Bruce corrects. “What?” “The Odyssey is a poem.” “Wait, really?” Bruce hums an affirmative. “Huh… cool. But the point still stands.” “I’m inclined to agree with you. Have you ever read The Scarlet Pimpernel?” Jason shakes his head. “It’s been a personal favorite for a long time,” says Bruce. Clark shoots him an amused grin. “I’ll keep an eye out for anyone throwing out a copy,” Jason says. Bruce frowns. “You have a library around here.” The remark earns him an unamused snort. “It’s a Gotham library; people don’t go there to read books, they go there to buy, sell and/or ingest drugs, and they tend not to be too happy with anybody who’s lingering around while they’re doing it.” Bruce feels a pang, not for the first time that night. “Jason,” he starts, before realizing he isn’t sure what to say. Jason keeps angled to watch him expectantly as he rises to deposit his napkins and bag in a nearby trashcan. “We’d like to help you,” Clark says. “Yeah,” Jason scoffs. “Right. Just how do you plan on doing that? Because I’ve heard that before. I’ve done the whole foster care thing already, and I’m not about to go through it again.” “No,” Bruce is quick to agree. “But there are residential schools in the city. We could help you to get enrolled in one.” Jason seems taken aback by the offer. “…Why?” He asks slowly. “Well for one, because kids should be in school. You’d be provided with room and board for the duration of your time there, which would leave you with less to worry about.” He reaches out to pass Jason the second takeout bag. He’s still lingering at a distance from them. “At least think about it?” “No. I mean, like, why?” Bruce’s eyebrow raises, tugging at the material of his cowl. “What’s in this for you?” Jason continues. “Why do you even care?” “It’s our job,” Clark says. “You’re job is to beat up bad guys.” Clark smiles when Jason mimes punching someone, before saying, “Our job is to help people.” Jason purses his lips. “Don’t boarding schools cost money?” “Most of them offer scholarships,” Bruce says. “I have a few friends who are deans. I could make the necessary introductions to ensure you a place at one of their institutions.“ Jason’s arms are crossed high over his chest, and his expression is set like he’s deep in thought. “I don’t want to end up stuck somewhere where someone else is the boss of me.” “How about you at least come with us to check a couple of these places out,” Bruce suggests. “Just see how you feel about them. No commitment.” Jason’s nose scrunches up. “Where exactly are these places?” He asks. “It varies,” Bruce says. “All within the city.” They watch the boy chew on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Just to see,” he says eventually. Bruce nods. “I’m not getting into a car with you,” Jason adds. “We can take the bus,” Clark offers. Jason raises an eyebrow at that, and his mouth quirks almost into a smile. “Batman and Superman are gonna ride on Gotham’s shitty public transit?” “Why not?” Clark asks. “… Okay,” Jason says, still plainly unconvinced. “Let’s meet back here,” Bruce suggests. “Tomorrow?” Jason takes a minute, but eventually starts to nod. “Sure,” he says. “Why not.” They part ways after Clark disposes of his empty bag. The heroes return to their car.

While they’re driving back Clark says, “I know that look.” Bruce pauses to take stock of his own expression, and makes sure to neutralize anything on his face that might be out of the ordinary. Clark continues, unbothered by the lack of response. “It’s your ‘I’m already deeply emotionally invested in this kid’ look.” Bruce hums noncommittally. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” Clark adds. Bruce doesn’t either, but that’s par for the course at this point.

Part Two

#batman #superbat #superman #clark kent #bruce wayne #jason todd #dc comics #my writing #batfam #batfamily #dc #haven't shared any of my writing anywhere in a while but I'm desperately craving validation so here we are

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janeyseymour · 4 years ago

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Secret Santa

My wonderful friend Ay had an idea to do a white elephant with this bunch? I don’t really understand white elephant, so I changed it a bit, and uh... this was born. I hope you enjoy!

Every year since being reincarnated, the queens did a secret santa gift exchange. This year, they added the entire diner crew. Fluff ensues.

Christmas was coming, and as usual, Jane was in the Christmas spirit as much as anybody else.

“Every year, we do a secret santa exchange between the queens and I know for a fact the others wouldn’t mind if you and your family joined in on the fun!” the queen explained to her waitress friend.

“It honestly might be better that way,” Aragon let out a laugh. “We all end up finding out who our secret santa is before we exchange gifts anyway.”

“We’d love to do that!”

“Sounds great! So, we normally draw names, well... tonight. And then, on Christmas Eve we usually exchange gifts. Although, I’m sure we could do another night if you would rather celebrate Christmas Eve with just Lulu and Jim. You’re more than welcome to hang out with us that day too though! And oh, Becky, Dawn and Ogie will surely be around too right? Maybe even Cal? We’d be more than happy to have you all. Although, again, it really wouldn’t be offensive to us if-”

“Jane, you’re rambling.”

“Oh, dammit. Sorry,” the silver queen apologized.

“There’s really nothing to apologize for. We’d love to celebrate Christmas Eve with you, and I’m sure everyone would love to participate in the secret santa exchange!”

The group of thirteen gathered at the diner one night, ready to pick names out of a hat.

“Okay, the rule is, if you pick yourself, you have to redraw. We don’t need another situation like last year,” Jane laughed, giving a pointed look at the fourth queen. The previous year, Anna had picked herself and bought herself a new car- one she crashed and totalled approximately a week later.

“Oh god, don’t remind me Seymour,” the red queen groaned in embarrassment.

“Who’s first?” When no one made a move, the blonde looked towards the youngest one there. “Well Lu?”

The girl in pigtails stuck her hand in the bowl with all of the names and picked. Thankfully, she was excelling in her reading and knew how to read each and every person’s name there. She opened it up, not letting anybody see who she had, and grinned.

“You didn’t get yourself, right love?”

“Nope! I got the perfect person!” Jane. She had gotten her Aunt Janey.

The group continued to pick until everyone had someone. Nobody had gotten themselves, and everybody had kept it a secret.

“So the other rule is it has to fit in a plastic bag from the diner. That way, when everyone brings their presents over, it isn’t given away who had who based on the bag everyone carries in. “And yes, we learned this from previous years.”

Cathy laughed, fondly remembering the time she had figured out who had who based on the bags they all carried in and who ended up with the gift bags before they had even started opening presents.

“And one final thing, keep the name of the person you have in your hand. That’s the tag we use so we can’t identify others by their writing.” Kat let out a laugh, remembering she knew in previous years who her secret santa was based on handwriting alone.

And so, there they were on Christmas Eve, having eaten more than they had on Thanksgiving and laughing more than they ever had.

“Lu, are you excited for Santa to come?” Anne bounced the little one in her lap.

“I am! I hope Santa brings you guys everything you want too!” The girl beamed, always thinking of others. “Can we start our secret santa present thingy so I can go to bed so Santa can come?”

“I think that’s a great idea miss Lu!” Jenna beamed at her daughter. It was becoming a hassle to get her daughter to go to bed these days, so her wanting to go to bed was a welcomed change.

“So, how do you guys run this thing?” Becky looked towards Jane for guidance.

“Well, we usually all sit on the floor in a circle,” Jane began and gestured for everyone to move before continuing. “And since we all put our bags under the tree, why don’t we just all pass the bags out? Lulu can start since she’s the youngest, and then whoever her secret santa is can go next and so on. Who wants to play Santa this year?”

“Me!” Lulu’s hand shot up, and she was out of the second queen’s lap in an instant.

The little one had passed out everyone’s presents, and

“Go ahead little Lu,” Anne beamed, hoping that her younger friend would like her gift.

The girl opened her present with no hesitation, her mouth agape once she saw what was in the bag: a new apron with all of the queens’ assigned colors in stripes with the addition of a purple stripe. “Woah! This is amazing! Thank you secret santa! I love it!”

“Who do you think gave you the gift?” Jim questioned.

“I don’t know, but whoever did, thank you!” Lulu exclaimed, already having put the apron on proudly.

“Hun, the point of the game is to guess who gave you the gift,” Becky told her gently.

“Oh!” the girl laughed, a bit confused but happy to go along with the game. “I think... Lina!”

“Wasn’t me mija,” the first queen shrugged. “Guess again?”

“Aunt Janey?”

“Good guess love, but it wasn’t me either. One more guess,” the silver queen laughed.

“Annie?”

“Bingo!” The green queen exclaimed. Lulu immediately launched herself at the woman with space buns.

“Oh my gosh Annie, thank you so much! I love it!”

“I’m glad you like it! I worked pretty hard on it!” Nobody but Jane knew the truth in that statement. The second queen had caved and asked- no. begged- Jane to teach her how to sew in order to make this present.

“I love it! It has all of your colors from the show! But, what’s this purple here for?”

“Well, I figured, you might like to have your own color!”

(Lulu would claim her favorite color was purple for the rest of her life.)

“Okay Annie, it's your turn to open your present!”

“Wheels for my heelies? Bro! This could be anyone!”

“Look a little closer,” Becky stifled a laugh.

“What? Wait, turtles? This could only be from Dawn!”

“You caught me,” the waitress with glasses blushed.

(The silly queen would always make sure to put these wheels in when Dawn was around.)

“A new turtle pin!” Dawn grinned and happily attached it to her shirt. “Thank you to uh,” the waitress glanced at it and remembered all of the queens’ respected colors. “Catherine!”

“I think it’s safe to say everyone here has earned the right to call me Catalina, or even Lina,” the first wife said genuinely.

“Thank you Lina.” Dawn smiled at the nickname.

(That pin became her second favorite- right under the turtle pin that Ogie gave her as a wedding present.)

“These are beautiful.” The golden queen admired the beautiful earrings that she had received.

“Any guesses?”

“Jane?”

“It wasn’t me, and I really don’t know who it’s from,” the blonde said earnestly.

“Cathy?”

“Not from me.”

“Jenna?” The head waitress shook her head no.

“What the-”

“It’s from me,” the usually gruff cook said shyly as he raised his hand quietly.

“Thank you Cal.” Catherine went about taking her Christmas earrings out and putting her new ones in. “They’re beautiful.”

“I hope you like them.”

(Catherine wore them to a press junket. Cal noticed and smiled to himself. He was glad she liked them enough to wear on a red carpet. When the gold queen was asked about the beautiful earrings, she was happy to tell the world a close friend named Cal gave them to her.)

“A new apron? And a new spatula?” Cal looked confused. In reality, this could be from anyone. “Jenna?” the brunette made a ‘no’ gesture. “Jim?”

“Nope.”

“Look a little closer at the spatula,” Cathy spoke up. “ Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers” was engraved into it.

“Shakespeare?” Cal looked a bit bewildered.

“It means that if a cook can’t bear to eat his own food, he isn’t a very good cook, and we all know you’re one of the best around,” Cathy explained, a tint of red shading her face. “And I’ve noticed that your apron is stapled to keep it together. Figured you might like a new one.”

“I- Thanks Cath.” The man smiled one of the most genuine smiles any of his coworkers had ever seen. Jenna would be sure to tell Cathy how much that present had meant to him, because the lord knew that Cal wasn’t very good at expressing his feelings.

(It didn’t go unnoticed that the spatula was used exactly once before it hung in a shadowbox that the cook would touch for good luck every time he walked into the diner for the rest of his time working.)

“Bookmarks? This could quite literally be from anyone,” the writer laughed. “Who do I have left to choose from?” She surveyed the room before noticing that a certain mother wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Jenna?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know I needed new bookmarks?” She truly thought that only her fellow queens would pick up on the fact that she was using strange objects as bookmarks.

“I’ve seen the way you’ll use anything as a bookmark, but I’ve never seen you use a proper bookmark,” Jenna explained. “For crying out loud, I saw you use a soda can tab the other day.”

“I-” the sixth queen was truly stunned. And then, she got a closer look at the bookmarks. They were beautiful- all different shades of blue, but each had delicate details and accents with her fellow queens colors. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”

(She would go on to use these bookmarks for the rest of her days, alternating between the different bookmarks.)

“A new pie dish!” the baker exclaimed with glee. “Oh how wonderful! Thank you!”

“Who’s it from?” Jim questioned.

“It’s from-,” Jenna eyed up the pie dish for a long while before catching that on the side in small and crisp writing it read, “ all i wanna do is bake... all i do is sing... all i do is bake and sing” “-Thank you Kat.”

“You’re welcome,” the pink haired queen tried to say it casually. “Hope you like it.”

“I love it. And I love the reference to the musical.”

(Whenever she brought over pie to the queens from that day forward, she made sure to bake it in the pie dish that the fifth queen had gifted her.)

“A book on American history...?” Katherine grinned, knowing exactly who gave it to her. “Thank you Ogie.”

“I thought since you liked British history so much, you might like to read up on American history now that you live in the states,” Ogie offered. “If you don’t like it though, I can surely think of something else to get you.”

“That won’t be necessary. I love it. Thank you.”

(Kat would stay up late into the night reading about the fascinating history of the country she now resided in. Cathy would find her asleep the next morning with the book in her lap before leaving the room. She returned with the bookmark matched with her friend’s color and bookmark the page for her, but not before attaching a sticky note that read, “ I expect this to be returned to me when you wake up.” When Ogie was playing Paul Revere the next time, the fifth queen was in the front row watching her friend reenact her new favorite part of history.)

“Wow! This is beautiful! Almost an exact replica of the one the Paul Revere wears in my reenactments! Thank you!”

“Well, who do you think got it for you hun?” Dawn also admired the new coat her husband had just been given.

“I- I- I, Cleves?” he guessed. Surely, this was a rather expensive gift, and everyone knew that the red queen had money to spare.

“Nope, wasn’t me.”

“Becky?”

“You wish. I’m not going to encourage your-”

“That’s enough Becky. My daughter is in the room,” Jenna scolded her boisterous friend.

“She won’t encourage his what, Mama?” the little girl in the room stared up at her mother with wide eyes.

“Nothing to worry about hun. Just some adult stuff.” The baker hoped that would be enough. It seemed to work- the girl was back to asking Ogie who he thought gave him the coat.

“Jim?”

“I thought you might like to have it the next time you go on for Revere. That other guy’s coat is huge on you.”

“Thank you Jim!” The elf-man lunged to hug his friend.

“This tie is stunning Jane,” the lanky doctor said confidently.

“How’d you know it was me?” The silver queen was shocked. She didn’t think it was that obvious who she had. She certainly didn’t slip up and tell Jenna either.

“It’s silver.”

“Oh.” In all honesty, the blonde didn’t even realize she had bought a tie in the color that she had been assigned all those years ago. She was just drawn to it.

“Thank you.”

(Jim wore the tie to the second opening night for SiX on broadway many years later. Jane cried when she recognized the tie.)

“Aren’t you going to open your gift?” Cleves asked the third queen expectantly.

“Oh, I guess I just got so... wrapped up in watching everyone else open their gifts!” The punniest queen grinned.

“Just for that, you lose your turn. You go last,” Cleves retorted as she went to open her present.

“Well, I only know one woman who would buy me a designer athletic bag. Thank you Becky!” the red queen acknowledged the rowdy waitress.

“Yeah, yeah. Not a problem. I figured you might like to carry your things in it instead of that small little bag you have.”

“Thank you.”

(Anna of Cleves would use that bag until it ripped, and then she retired it so that she could keep it forever. Becky would be happy to buy her another bag when she needed it.)

“Cleves!” Becky gasped.

“What?”

“These shoes!”

“I’ve seen the shoes you guys wear while you’re waitressing. I read up on these shoes a lot. They’re supposedly really comfortable and they’re stunning. All leather.”

(Becky was more than happy to throw away the ratty pair of shoes she had been wearing since Jenna started working at Joe’s Diner all those years ago and replace them with the shoes Cleves had bought her. And when a new pair showed up at her house a few years later with a note that read: bitchin’ kicks! , well, Becky let out a full-on belly laugh.)

And that left Jane to open her present.

“Well, go on, open it hun,” Jenna encouraged her friend.

Jane was expecting some sort of artwork from the little girl who was no doubt her secret santa. What she wasn’t expecting was a handmade mug with the little girl’s thumbprints in the shape of a heart- under it reading “ Best Aunt”. At the sight of it, the blonde’s eyes welled with tears.

“Thank you Lulu,” she choked out.

“What is it?” Anne asked, curious as to what could elicit such a reaction from her costar.

“It’s a best aunt mug,” Jane whispered.

“Hey, I thought that was me! You little rascal!” both Anna and Becky exclaimed at the same time.

“D-do you like it Aunt Janey?” Lulu stood from her spot in her mother’s lap and resituated herself in the third queen’s, hugging her.

“I absolutely love it, and I love you. It’s perfect. Thank you so much honey.”

(Jane would never use another mug again, nor did she let anyone else in the house use it. It was her mug, and no one dared to touch it.)

After the gift exchange was over, the group settled in to watch a movie, more than happy to spend all of the time in the world together. The youngest member of the group hadn’t strayed from her surrogate aunt’s side, more than happy to snuggle into the warmth that the older woman radiated. It wasn’t long before she was snoring quietly in the arms of her favorite queen.

“You’re all more than welcome to stay the night if you want,” Catherine offered knowing how tired the bunch had become.

“As much as we’d love to,” Jim began before Jenna interrupted.

“It might be easier to have her just sleep here instead of trying to get her into the car and then into bed without her waking up.”

“That’s a fair point. But, all of the gifts are at our house babe.”

“Hey, it’s not a big deal if you guys stay, and it’s not a big deal if you don’t stay. We all know you’re all gonna end up here again in the morning anyway, so it’s totally up to you.” Anne waved a dismissive hand.

“We wouldn't want to impose,” Dawn muffled a yawn.

“We’ve got more than enough room between the living room and the basement, but it’s up to you,” Cathy mumbled, half asleep against Catherine.

“If you guys don’t mind,” Jenna smiled. The six queens all quickly reminded her that it was their idea. “Okay, so Santa’s presents are still at my house, so we’re gonna have to-”

“I’ll go with Jim and get it all together for you, don’t worry Jenna,” Ogie offered.

“I’ll go with them. They need a man to get this job done.” Cal stood and grabbed his coat, the other two men following suit.

“Alright girls, head to bed, Jenna and I can stay up for the boys.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Becky grumbled, picking herself up and heading towards the basement, pulling a half-asleep Dawn with her.

“Goodnight Janey,” the queens all stood and kissed the mother figure of the house on the cheek before retreating to their rooms.

“I better take Lu down-”

“You guys can stay in my room. I’m sure Annie won’t mind a bedmate for the night.”

“I can’t take your room from you.”

“You can. I insist. Lu isn’t going to sleep on one of the couches!”

“But it’s your room.”

“Okay, I do have that pullout in my room. I can sleep on there, and the three of you can have my bed.”

“I’m not taking your bed from you!”

“Well Lu surely isn’t sleeping on that pullout! Not the night before Santa’s coming!”

“Lu can stay with you then. Jim and I will take the couch.”

“But, you’re going to wake up sore.”

“So would you if you slept on it.”

“But you’re my guests.”

“We’re hardly guests at this point.”

“You don’t live here.”

“We might as well.”

“Just take my offer.”

“You’re sleeping in your own bed Seymour. Lu can stay with you, and Jim and I can take the pullout. That’s final,” the brunette turned on her mom voice.

“Damn Hunterson. No need to pull out the mom voice on me!”

“There is a need!”

“Okay, okay!” Jane laughed putting her hands up in mock surrender. “I suppose you win this round. Let’s get her to bed before the Santas arrive.”

The men arrived a while later, promising the two women who had stayed up that they could take care of setting out all the presents.

“Dawn and Becky are downstairs. There’s more than enough room for all of you to stay down there comfortably,” Jane informed them.

“Jane’s been kind enough to share her room with us for the night,” Jenna told her husband. “Lu’s gonna stay with her and we’re gonna stay on the pull-out. Hope that’s alright.”

Jim nodded before instructing the other men on where to put Lulu’s presents.

Although the two women had been told they were more than welcome to go to bed once Jim, Ogie, and Cal arrived back, they stayed and watched them diligently. Satisfied with the display that had the queens’ presents to each other (because of course they all got each other presents on top of their secret santa exchange) as well as the additional presents from the diner gang, everyone set out to bed.

Christmas Day had arrived, and at exactly 5:03 am, Jane Seymour was woken by a small child poking her cheek incessantly.

“Aunt Janey!” she whispered. “It’s Christmas. Do you think Santa came? Do you think Santa knowed I stayed here instead of at my own house?”

“Lu, it’s 5 in the morning. I don’t know if Santa came yet. Why don’t we give him a couple more hours to make sure he knows you’re here and not home?”

“This is like my home!” the little one whisper-shouted, melting the blonde’s heart.

“That’s so sweet of you to say hun. Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little bit though? It’s very early, and you know how your girls like their sleep.”

“Hmm,” Lulu thought this over for a second. “I guess you’re right. Good night Aunt Janey. Merry Christmas, and love you.”

“I love you too little Lu,” the blonde sighed as her surrogate niece snuggled into her side for a few more hours.

Opening presents was about as chaotic as anyone could guess in the house with thirteen people in it. After presents were done, Cal set out to make breakfast for everyone, muttering that if he couldn’t do that, what kind of cook would he be? It didn’t go unnoticed by the writer that he used his new spatula and apron as opposed to one of the spatulas in the queens’ house, the first and only time he ever used the kitchen tool.

“Hey Jenna?” Jane called from her place on the couch. The baker looked over at her friend inquisitively. “I have one more present for you.”

“What? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Well, maybe it’s not for you, per se. It’s for the little one inside of you.” The third queen stood and walked towards the Christmas tree before almost magically producing one last present from under it.

Jenna opened the present with care and glanced at it before bursting into tears.

A simple onesie that said “ Heart of Gold, Green, Silver, Red, Pink, and Blue” .

“We thought it might be nice to give you for the new baby. We already love him or her so much.”

(When Olivia Pomatter arrived in the world, it was the first onesie the Hunterson-Pomatter duo put their new daughter in. Jane cried.)

#six the musical #six musical #waitress the musical #waitress musical #jane seymour #jenna hunterson #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #waitress the musical fanfiction #waitress the musical fanfic

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gloves94 · 4 years ago

Text

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 18

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Violence! Blood!

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

"By far the most horrifying thing to happen at the World Cup was Saintday's make over," Pansy scoffed bitterly with a deep frown on her features.

Daphne who had been sitting in the same train compartment as Malfoy, Zabini and Parkinson lightly rolled her eyes. She had been growing sick and tired of Pansy's pessimistic attitude and the fact she seemed to criticize everything and everyone around her. She had no doubt the standards also applied to her behind her back.

"I liked it," Daphne said tossing a strand of hair over her shoulder vainly. "You're awfully picky and even you fancied it, didn't you Blaise?"

"Saintday might actually look decent now, but she's still as wicked as a doxy. You can see it in her eyes.” Zabini said lowering the copy of the Daily Prophet he was reading. The cover of it depicting the Dark Mark that had been casted over the Quidditch World Cup campgrounds. “Not that I mind,” He added slimily the edge of his lip turning up.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes, he simply kept a disinterested gaze focused on the blurring greens and blues outside of the window. Nel’s eyes, doxy like wouldn’t have been how he described them. Maybe he would’ve used the word intense, usually pregnant with a strong emotion be it rage, sadness, mischief and on rare occasions joy. Like when she took the first bite of a lemon tart or whenever Ireland scored back at the Quidditch World Cup.

“What do you think Draco?” Pansy who looked beyond irritated tossed the question at him. “Hm?” He asked after a moment suddenly caught off-guard.

“See, he didn’t even notice,” Satisfied by his disinterest in the topic. Pansy rolled her eyes towards her friend. “You know what they say. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” She said nastily. “Snelly Nelly might have a new wardrobe but she’s still a graceless, nameless clod. Even the Lestrange wouldn’t claim her.”

“Stars, Pansy, are you always so unbearable?” Daphne scoffed fully annoyed before standing up and leaving the compartment. Her attitude getting on the last of her nerves.

“What?” Pansy looked at her incredulously a confused look on her pug like face. “Was it something I said?”

Daphne shut the door behind her. Blaise nudged Malfoy who seemed completely out of tune with reality.

“Something on your mind?” The Egyptian boy asked his friend partly concerned but more in a nosey matter.

Xxxxx

‘Mr. Black, I really wish we could have had a more proper conversation when we met. I have a lot of questions and it seems like we have reached a miscommunication, so here I am, writing to you demanding asking for an explanation. Seeking answers to unanswered questions.

You claimed you ‘saved’ me from some very dark people. Who? Why? How did you find me? Why did you take me away from this ‘bad’ place? I don’t mean to preach about my miserable young life, but perhaps things would have been better this way. Maybe then I wouldn’t have grown up in a hellish orphanage where I was locked up in a dark room in isolation and starved for most of my life. Or adopted by a Pureblood fanatic who keeps me tied to a chair in a locked room.

Why did you steal my life?

Why didn’t you kill me?

Why did you take me?”

I hope this letter isn’t an inconvenience, but I really need answers.

E. Saintday.’

The compartment’s door opened and Nel raised her eyes from the parchment she was currently writing as she lay spread across the emerald green seat.

“Hey Daphne!” Tracey greeted with a chirp as their chamber mate slid into the compartment. Theodore seemed to sit up, run a hand through his hair and lower the book he was reading.

“Greengrass,” Nel acknowledged and lowered her feet when the girl took a seat on the same side as her. She didn’t ask why she had bothered to grace them with her presence much too preoccupied in sealing the letter she would give to Harry when she saw him.

“How are you Elowen?” She greeted politely. “I heard you got lost at the Quidditch match,” she said tucking her skirt under her legs as she took a seat. The girl raised her dark eyes and looked at Theo and Tracey who had probably shared his information with the blonde. Then down at the newspaper she was using to support her writing. The cover of the newspaper of course had the horrifying capture of the Death Mark moving in the front. The fanged skull that had a snake crawling and knotting in a silent scream. It was chilling.

“Are we not going to talk about it?” The girl asked sitting up.

An awkward silence filled the compartment at what the orphan was insinuating. Of course, she had heard the rumors before, of course she knew what kind of people most of the parents of her Slytherin peers were. Death Eaters. Loyal followers of You-Know-Who. People who idolized and worshipped the purity of Wizard blood, or so was what she had gathered from living with the Lestranges.

“All of you knew. Didn’t you?” She accused with a serious expression.

“Nel, I-I didn’t,” Tracey shook her head. “I was with my dad.” She said defensibly bringing a hand to her chest. Her eyes darted to Theodore who let out an exhausted sight. “I knew something was coming, but not- nothing like that,” he said darkly lowering his gaze in shame at the activities his father engaged in.

“Did you?” She analyzed Daphne’s face carefully for any sign of betrayal or evidence she was lying. “No. Dad said he wanted me home early and that’s that.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek processing their words. As far as she knew the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Not that she had ever heard any of them make any vulgar comments or focus on the blood status of other people.

“You don’t understand,” Theodore slammed his book shut quite dramatically and sat up. His nostrils lightly flaring as his expression turned into an angry one at his friend’s judgment. “I am not my father. I don’t subscribe to that agenda and you know that Elowen and I don’t care what you or anybody else thinks. I am not my father!” He snapped furiously his voice raising in the loud sentence.

The girls all looked a little struck by his anger. It seemed like a nerve had been struck.

“Theo,” Tracey reached out and placed a comforting arm on his shoulder. “We know,” She said quietly.

Just like Theodore didn’t know what happened to Elowen behind Wool’s closed doors or in La Maison de Lestrange she didn’t know what happened to him behind closed doors. All she knew was that his mother had tragically passed away when he was young.

“I understand,” Daphne spoke quietly, toying with her thumbs almost as in shame. “I do think things are easier if, well, bloods don’t mix, but things are far much worse with You-Know-Who around. Him coming back… It would be like a storm with no end. Not just for muggleborns, but for all of us.”

A sullen silence filled the room. The Slytherins looked down in shame, unsure how to continue. How to carry on a conversation that was much too painful and made them vulnerable to each other. The room felt suddenly void of any air. It was almost unbearable. Tracey eyed the small window of the compartment praying that the trolley lady would interrupt and just break the tension between the four.

“In other news-“ Nel butted thankfully and Daphne looked at her confused as she stood on the seat and waved her arms comically as she tried to find her balance. “I’ve got a secret,” She teased mischievously wiggling her eyebrows.

“What is it?” Tracey inquired suddenly sharing her mood for mischief. Relived that somebody had changed the gloomy topic.

“You have to guess,” She teased.

“It could literally be anything,” Theodore protested. “Don’t tell me you’re somehow related to Potter, Weazelbee or some painful sort of story like that.”

Nel smiled wickedly before opening her trunk and pulling out a piece of paper which she now kept hidden under her shirt. “Normally I wouldn’t do this,” She said shrugging casually. “But it’ll give us something else to dissect.”

It was true.

“I met a boy,” she said bringing a hand to her mouth to hide her growing smile.

“Pretty boy Diggory?” Theodore scoffed. “What!” Tracey exclaimed excitedly leaning on the edge of her seat. Daphne looked surprised at her revelation.

“Under love’s heavy burden do I sink,” She struck her chest dramatically as she quoted Shakespeare before collapsing on top of Daphne who lightly shrieked at the impact. She figured none of them would catch that reference. “Let’s keep this in the compartment shall we Daph?” She said directly to the blonde still with a smile on her face.

“Who?” All three leaned forward intrigued sounding more like a chorus of owls than their usual selves.

Nel sat up straight removing herself from Daphne’s lap and pulled out the animated photograph she had been hiding inside of her shirt. Both Tracey and Theodore squinted their eyes taking the picture in their hands looking at the square faced, thin stranger, with dreamy eyes and curly dark waves. They were about to ask who it was when Daphne beat them to it.

“Ellar Lestrange?” She gawped eyes wide at the reveal, being familiar with the older teen.

“Lestrange?” Tracey’s expression twisted to one of pure confusion.

“Isn’t he…” Theo tip toed around the subject. “Your adoptive brother?” A smile cracked on his face before her two friends began laughing obnoxiously. “He’s not my brother!” She snapped flustered before snatching the picture back into her safe keeping. He really wasn’t. She hoped that Cloelia wouldn’t notice she had swiped it from one of her frames.

“You’re in love with your brother!” Theodore laughed the loudest even clutching his stomach as he tossed his head back. “Merlin, that’s revolting Nel!” Tracey added also laughing.

“We are not related,” She stuck her tongue out.

It was true. Her an Ellar were not related by blood as far as she knew. The two looked nothing alike. They didn’t even share the same last name and Cloelia was far from being a motherly figure to her.

“Also, I’m not in love with him,” She rolled her eyes. She really just fancied the boy.

“Sure, you just happen to be carrying a picture of him.”

The three were laughing while Daphne remained extremely quiet. Of course, she was familiar with the young man’s name and infamous reputation.

“Does he fancy you back?” Daphne asked combing her hair in almost a nervous manner. “Well...” Saintday looked up appearing lost in thought for a moment.

Ellar was… odd. He was complicated. He was older. Maybe it was something that came with age. Somedays he’d be terribly rude, other’s he’d join her in the private study and tell her stories about his days in Beauxbaton and the two would sip some wine behind his mother’s back. He had kissed her hand that one time, he told her he liked her dresses. Sometimes she would catch him starring at her from across the table. However, in the last week- the last time she had seen him was at the Quidditch World Cup. She didn’t know if he had returned home or not. If he had, he hadn’t bothered with seeing or even setting her free from the binds that kept her tied up to the chair in her room for that hellish week.

“I don’t know,” She sighed suddenly sounding tired. “He’s a student at Beauxbaton so he’s going to be at Hogwarts for the year! Maybe, we’ll see,” She said coyly.

Daphne couldn’t sit idly by any longer. She had to say something. “Oh,” The blonde broke her silence. “You do not want a guy like Ellar Lestrange to like you,” she warned shaking her head slightly. “I have a cousin that worked with him at the French Ministry of Magic, she says he’s, well, unwell.”

All three turned to look at Daphne with a confused expression. What did that even mean.

“What I’m trying to say is he’s not the best company to keep around.”

Tracey and Theo looked at their crushing friend somewhat concerned. Nel on the other hand raspberried at Daphne’s warning.

“Please,” She half scoffed in a dismissive tone. “I live with the bloke. He’s not half bad.”

“Right,” Theo added biting his lower lip. “Because he’s your brother!” Tracey laughed loudly.

Elowen crossed her hands over her chest and sank into her seat casting her friends an irritated look. “Not my brother,” She grumbled under her breath.

Again, he really wasn’t.

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wo-wann-was-wer · 4 years ago

Text

WHAT I WAS THINKING: DARK SEASON 3 EDITION

EPISODE 1:

Who are these dudes with the harelip and what do they want

Why did she just take him to a cave and leave that’s kinda rude

So everything in this universe is just gonna be backwards. Love it

Ugh I’ve said this a million times but this show has such Fringe energy and I can’t wait to get a tattoo for this too

This is super freaking me out, i dont like that everyone’s in everyone else’s house.

Ooooh Katharina with glasses yes girl you better work.

I like Michael and this hat he’s rocking

Super into the fact that magnus and fransizka are involved in this universe too

There’s nothing cuter than sex before school. Ahhh the nostalgia

Ten bucks says that Hannah gets out of this bed and is pregnant

Fucking YEP

I am loving Martha in this Jonas journey

I know that all they did was flip the lens of the camera but my brain is breaking at this flipped Winden

Who the fuck is this random dude Martha is with

You know what he kind of looks like Jonas. I wonder if that's relevant or if I'm just grasping at straws

Bartosz looks like he's going to his first grade violin recital

I straight up just did not recognize Charlotte with makeup. She looks hot

There's got to be another person in that picture other than Ulrich because that's a lot of space to rip out for one person

okay hold up Woller looks so good and then when I saw that he was missing an arm I almost lost my fucking mind

Oh shit okay Hannah is living in Katharina's house.

Oh my God are Ulrich and Charlotte having an affair

Is it normal in Germany for kids to just walk into classes that aren't there’s and just sit down

follow up he has a clear noose mark on his neck

Aleksander looks so hot with this beard. universe B is the fucking glow up universe

It's weirding me out that the whole school is black and gray instead of light brown

The look of satisfaction on katharina's face

Wow honestly Louis just broke my heart with his facial expression when he realized his mom didn't know who he was

he looks so scared

Yes yes do it afffffffffair

Oh no you done got found out!!!

Oh the theme of the play here is red and set of gold

Fransizka looks so cute in this little outfit

Oh my God she's deaf!!!!

What the fuck. the fact that this actress can talk is blowing my mind

RIP to Regina a real queen

Peter's a fucking priest

All the fucking weird-ass freaky motherfucking trio is back

The dopplers have the same house That's cool

excuse me sir I think your child is broken

these guys are so creepy What the fuck

I definitely don't like the piano wire

oh this motherfucker is the one who gets lost

I feel like winden in this universe is just a little bit fancier

Well Charlotte and Ulrich just be fucking like crazy

Bartosz is the Jonas of this group and I love it

who was that??????

I cannot get over Aleksander in this beard

I like that things are opposite but they also have things that are different enough.

Like I'm so into the fact that they all went down into the bunker

who in the unholy fuck is that. who is that

Oh shit old Martha

What the fuck is this Tannhaus’ factory we're at

hold up Martha's in 1888

What the fuck. why is Jonas in 1888 and looking SO good

EPISODE 2:

casually sitting over your bed watching you sleep

he's look so good though

yo what the fuck everybody else is there too

Oh no things got really ugly at Mads’ wake

Not for nothing but Tronte is a dick

I kind of don't understand why Claudia would want Regina to live in such pain in this type of universe

Peter is such a good boy

lurking is the freaking national past time of this place

Oh shit we got some spin-off timeline stuff good

who is This is blind guy

I love Katharina so fucking much

I know what she's thinking and it's the same thing I'm thinking which is can I kill a child

why does this picture of Tronte make him look like Jimmy Smits

Katharina looks amazing in this jacket

Also I definitely did not just start yelling GO GET YOUR MAN KATHARINA

Regina just gets more and more badass as time goes on. Also all of the women of the tiedemann family are so fucking badass

I am so excited to watch this fucking relationship develop. they're both too cute

awwww he's using signs!

oh they're writing back and forth

DAMNIT PETER

I always feel like little Noah should do fuckboy sign offs when he leaves rooms because he's so smooth

yesterday Laurel said that this was back to the future but serious and just now Bartosz said it's not super easy to get nuclear fuel in 1888 and now I think that Laurel's right

I will never get over how good he looks JONAAAASSSSSSS

This guy feels like the OG inventor of sic mundus right

Katerina why are you even trying to check in at the front desk bitch Go and get your man

Is this Katarina's mom why does she just recognize that woman's name

everyone on the show is so talented.I spend the whole damn time being like oh my god the performances on the show and it's like yeah we know

Katerina get your man

I literally love them so much look at the look on her face She is a mama bear She is not going to let anybody take her man or her children and I love her

Not a huge fan of people who quote Shakespeare right before they kill other people or am I an enormous fan of people who use Shakespeare right before they kill other people

using a garotte to kill someone is ugly as fuck

I feel so bad for Jana

see this is one of the reasons why I'm like why would you bring Regina back to this world.

wowwwww TRONTE what's up dude

YO WHAT

Oh so how did Charlotte get back there but Elizabeth's still there too. didn't they switch places?

oh the head bump

Not excited for the mother daughter abuse stuff that's about to happen

I love these split sequences that they do at the end

anytime somebody stands and stairs for a lonely at a spot on the ground I assume to somebody died there

Oh shit that guy is a tannhausokkkk I see you

a religious images we love to see it.

This show is a whole series of pause that frame.

No I ruined something for myself!!!!

EPISODE 3

got to love those through and through Ariadne references

okay so Charlotte's great great grandfather has her watch?

who are these horrible traveler human beings

they look like less sexy Francis dolarhydes

I can't get over the fact that wollers missing an arm here I swear

we ARE the glitch BITCH

alternate universe Ulrich is a better person than standard Ulrich

what's this new like zoom-y thing they're doing

I was attracted to Magnus at this jump of the show but he looks better with dark hair

How did they not all die of fucking flu

eternally repeating deja vu

I looked at the production stills and I was like what the fuck is this hair do that Moritz has but he looks amazing

Also everyone on this show deserves an acting award

and Magnus is wearing a skeleton sweater

Hannah does that deep dive detective work any bitch knows the Nose doesn't lie

why doesn't anybody want to fuck wöller

omgggg eat the RICH

also he has that x tattoo on his hand that represents the no future thing

oh the light is rectangular and not circular ooooooh fancy

The show is also a lot of people catching each other's wrists as they walk away

I knew we couldn't trust this bitch

What did he give her

I love the parallels and characters behaviors between universe a and universe b

I want to know how Noah factored into all of this on this side

Martha has a type and her type is iconically Aryan

Oh Aleksander's back with that beard he's back

Hannah is such a snake

Omg that's her!!!!! I thought she was a trans actress.. hm. not super happy bout that :/

What is Helge talking about Ulrich did what??? omg

I would be like SIR DO WE NEED TO FIGHT STOP FOLLOWING ME

I stopped taking notes for the last half of that episode cuz I was really sucked in haha

EPISODE 4

FIRST OF ALL I'D LIKE TO GO ON RECORD THAT I DON'T CARE FOR THESE GENTLEMEN AT ALL

second of all why is this guy being like oh I took your name

why does he have Agnes's bracelet I don't like that

I don't like anything about this guy That's the end of the story

Also hold up a red hot second is Agnes dead cuz if so that's a hate crime

see what did I say

I knew that Hannah was going to get involved with Egon

from the second she walked in that office I was like that bitch has her eye on him and as she should he's handsome as fuck

Also he spoils her so much more than any other man she's ever been with AKA is Egon the only man she ever deserved

Is Hannah going to develop a heart cuz I'm not sure how I feel about that

Also what happens if Hannah gets pregnant

why is Ines a bitch I thought she was mad cool the beginning and now I feel fucking deceived

Also it's such a sweet gig that The kids who are playing kids can now play teenagers

poor Doris. Also he was shitty to her but he was far nicer than I would have been

Doris is so beautiful it's bullshit

older Magnus is so handsome

All I wanted was middle-aged Martha

bitch you have been having unprotected sex with him why do you think that pregnancy was not on the tabl

I'm like who's this guy in the church if it's not Noah I bet it's that little bitch

yeah I fucking knew it

Is this the dude that was married to Agnes I feel like this guy isn't real or something

I'm not surprised he let her go but I don't know why I'm not surprised. I feel like she's important to his timeline and I'm not sure why

look at these relationships forming between these sweet little bab

Hannah looks good in this red. Hannah looks good in all of these styles.

who is this child

I like that already as a child Bernd had his eye on Claudia as someone who was smart and had a ton of potential

I keep forgetting that I'm taking notes because I get so invested in episodes

Also I realize the zoomi thing which is going back and forth between the universes

Is Agnes Silja’s mom And if so with whom

he gave her Agnes’ bracelet that dope All right Tronte

Wow Claudia needs to back off her man

Claudia force him into a relationship with her

I fucking hate Hannah but sometimes she speaks so much sense

ooh I don't need anyone Yes girl that's true You don't need anyone You needing people was what made you act fucking crazy You don't need anybody

This was always my big problem with Hannah was that I initially identified with her because she was such a survivor but then she did such horrible reprehensible things I just couldn't let it go and I absolutely couldn't identify with her anymore

Oh here's my daddy Noah looking so good

I mean okay so I have been in this position before where I was cheating and then my man cheated on me and I was like how dare you but also you cannot be mad if your partner cheats on you when you cheated too. You both fucked up

Is Hannah going to have a redemption arc cuz that's a lot

Oh my God she's not going to get rid of this child is she

Oh my great God I cannot believe that she gave Helene that necklace.

I knew she was fucking connected to Katharina in the older generation I knew it

Louis and Lisa are a super cute couple and I know that they're not dating in real life but I think that they're very cute together

Oh everybody fucking

yeah they created the Apocalypse yeah

Oh no they have a child outside of worlds that's a mess How does that work so they had they gave birth to that ugly fuck

honestly I hate that he's their child for the most part just because he's ugly as fuck and neither of them are ugly as fuck so it makes me mad.

#episodes 1-4 #live reacts #dark season 3 #spoilers #spoilers dark season 3 #dark #dark network

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marypsue · 5 years ago

Text

house rule #3

So Darcy Lewis' new roommate might secretly be a supervillain. At least she always takes out the trash.

I timewarped in from 2012 to bring you this silly fic. Canon divergent(...ish? If anything contradicts canon pretend it's an AU) after Thor. I've never kept a timeline straight in my life and I don't intend to start now.

Happy New Year or whatever.

[on AO3]

...

Darcy goes back to school after New Mexico, and her roommate is gone.

Not, like, vanished by the government the way Darcy nearly was (thanks, Jane), probably, because apparently Melissa stopped and had a nice long chat with the landlady about why she was suddenly packing up and moving out mid-school-year. Oh, and took back the damage deposit that Darcy paid half of. Thanks, Melissa.

Darcy pays up for the damage deposit, goes back up to the apartment, puts on some angry music, and drafts an ad for a new roommate. She posts it online, then makes herself some noodles, eats them while watching Jenna Marbles videos on Youtube, and then goes to bed.

The next morning, there’s exactly one email response to her ad sitting in her inbox.

That’s how Darcy meets Lucy Walker.

Lucy’s an exchange student, over from England for a single semester. Her accent is as charmingly Mary Poppins-ish as her extremely convenient arrival. Darcy’s so relieved to have somebody to pick up the other half of the rent that she thinks she doesn’t even care if Lucy’s Single-White-Female-ing her right now. She says as much, and Lucy just gives her a good-naturedly baffled look before changing the subject to utilities.

Lucy’s good with Darcy’s 50/50 arrangement for utilities, isn’t horrified that Darcy doesn’t have cable and expects Lucy to pay for it if she absolutely can’t live without it (though she is horrified that Darcy doesn’t have an electric kettle, and by Darcy’s suggestion that she microwave the water for her tea), and seems satisfied with the smaller bedroom. She signs the lease before she leaves the viewing, and by the end of the week, she’s fully moved in.

The first night that Lucy stays at the apartment, Darcy orders in Thai and makes them both Long Island iced teas. It’s got tea in the name, she figures. The Brit will probably like it. Also maybe get drunk enough to let slip if she’s planning to wear Darcy’s skin like a suit.

But the alcohol barely seems to touch Lucy. If anything, she gets quieter, moodier. This was the opposite of what Darcy was going for, so she turns on some music to bring the mood back up.

“Oh, house rule number one,” she says, as she hits shuffle on her dance-pop playlist. “Stereo’s mine. I control the music. Unless you have, like, really good taste in music, and even then, ask first.”

Lucy smiles at her, slowly, over her novelty tiki mug of extremely powerful booze. “I find it better by far to beg forgiveness than ask permission. How will I know if I have, ‘like, really good taste in music’?”

“Oh, I’ll let you know,” Darcy says. “Here, gimme your iPod, let’s take a look.” She holds out a hand, wiggling her fingers. Lucy shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“I don’t…have one of those,” she says, warily, and Darcy draws her hand back.

“Yeah? No big. I almost didn’t either, after the government stole it.” She shakes her head. “What bands do you like?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with many American bands,” Lucy says, and Darcy beams.

“Even better! You’re a blank slate.”

“Yes, I certainly am that,” Lucy says, into her tiki mug, her eyebrows rising.

“Okay, cryptic,” Darcy says, and skips to Party Rock Anthem. “Hey, do you need more booze?”

Lucy, it turns out, is in the States studying business, though if the way she talks about her one Shakespeare-focused lit class is anything to go by, her true love is drama. She’s here because her older brother did the exchange program and got so much out of it, though so far she seems pretty unimpressed with the States.

“Well, I mean,” Darcy says. “We are barbarians who microwave our tea.”

Lucy laughs so hard at that that Darcy suspects she’s not as unaffected by the Long Island iced teas as she’d like to pretend.

…

Darcy ends up using the electric kettle almost as much as Lucy does. She doesn’t convert from coffee, though. Starbucks still owns her ass. She should really invest in shares.

Lucy makes herself incredibly easy to get along with. Sure, she takes forever in the bathroom every morning – probably making her hair do that thing it does, Darcy’s got no idea how she keeps it in place, she’s starting to suspect witchcraft - but she wakes up at hours that Darcy’s only ever seen from the other side, so it’s not really an issue. Lucy pulls long (and slightly odd) hours in the library, doesn’t bitch about Darcy’s music, always washes her dishes and takes out the trash and replaces the toilet paper roll. She doesn’t throw wild parties or steal Darcy’s jackets or leave clumps of hair in the shower or perishable food out on the counter for hours or invite her boyfriend to basically move in rent-free like some roommates Darcy could name.

But she also…doesn’t seem to have any…friends.

Lucy never brings anybody to the apartment, which is a point in her favour as far as Darcy’s concerned. But she also never talks about meeting anybody at the library or for coffee. She doesn’t have people over, but she also doesn’t go out. She’s not bad-looking - pretty, even, in a pointy kind of way, with those dark Snow White curls and pale skin and big sad-puppy green eyes – but as far as Darcy can tell, there’s no boyfriend in the picture, not even a long-distance one.

And she doesn’t call her family.

At first, Darcy thought it was a time zone thing, but after some of the things Lucy’s said in passing about her dad – well, it sounds like things between her and her family are kind of…strained. Darcy isn’t sure, but she thinks Lucy might actually be adopted. Maybe. Lucy seems to live for cryptic answers to straightforward questions.

Ordinarily, Darcy would consider all of this not her problem. But ordinarily, Darcy would also not be coming home after classes on a Friday to find her practically-perfect-in-every-way new roommate curled up on the couch hugging Darcy’s pug pillow to her chest and staring blankly at the wall. Lucy’s not crying, but her cheeks are suspiciously shiny.

She doesn’t seem to notice Darcy’s come in until Darcy says her name twice, and then she jumps up with a guilty expression, like Darcy’d just walked in and caught her jerkin’ it. Wanking? She is British, after all.

“Don’t mind me,” Lucy says, scrubbing a hand under each of her eyes in turn, an extremely bright and extremely fake smile settling over her face. “I was just heading back to the library – how was your class?”

“Not interesting enough to distract me into changing the subject?” Darcy says. “And don’t try to tell me you’re fine, because you’re obviously not. What gives?”

Lucy’s smile takes a turn for the embarrassed. “I’d really prefer not to discuss it.”

Darcy shrugs, dropping her satchel on the coffee table. “Sure. But – house rule number two. I’m like Dolly Parton. Nobody cries alone in my presence.”

Lucy rubs the sleeve of her dark blazer across her cheek. “Well, no one’s crying here,” she says.

“Yeah,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes as she unwinds her scarf from around her neck. “Anymore.”

“Really,” Lucy says, but her fake smile looks a little less fake. “Please don’t concern yourself. It’s not anything – not anything you can help.”

“Okay,” Darcy says, tossing her scarf over the hook by the door, her hat on top of it. “Wanna eat our feelings and make fun of ANTM highlights?”

Lucy gives her a blink that Darcy’s starting to recognize as her ‘I-don’t-get-that-pop-culture-reference-but-I-don’t-want-to-look-like-I-don’t-get-that-pop-culture-reference’ look.

“America’s Next Top Model?” Darcy says. “Tyra Banks? We were all rooting for you?” Lucy still looks blank, so Darcy grabs her satchel and pulls out her laptop. “Oh, this is happening. Reality television is everything that’s wrong with society today, which is what I love about it.”

She plops down on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table and her laptop on her knees. When she looks up, Lucy still hasn’t moved. Darcy pats the seat beside her. “C’mon, you’re not gonna be able to see anything from up there.”

Lucy does her best impression of a spooked horse ready to bolt, staring at the cushion next to Darcy like it’s a coiled viper.

“I should get to the library,” she says, half-heartedly. “Study…”

“No, what you should get is that pint of Cherry Garcia out of the fridge and bring it over here,” Darcy says. “Oh, and two spoons.”

…

Bad Reality TV Night quickly becomes an apartment tradition. If by ‘tradition’ you mean ‘whenever we feel like it’, which Darcy does.

They catch up on the highlights of the Bachelor, Jersey Shore, and Survivor, though Lucy also seems to like ANTM best. It’s a good excuse to spend time together that doesn’t involve chores or schoolwork. And Darcy’s never been one for standing on ceremony, but a good icebreaker is a good icebreaker.

Better than a taser, at least.

…

“What on earth is that smell?”

Darcy looks up from the choking clouds of smoke billowing out of the oven, waving an arm to try to waft it out of the way. Lucy’s standing in the doorway with her scarf pulled up over her mouth and nose and both of her eyebrows raised in a look that somehow manages to convey a whole range of emotions, from ‘disappointed and only a little surprised’ all the way to ‘looks into the camera like she’s on The Office’.

“Bread,” Darcy says, in the face of all the evidence. And then, with a last mournful glance into the depths of the oven, “Okay, the artist formerly known as bread. But, I put the fire out.”

“The oven was on fire?!” Lucy asks, her expression going straight to ‘alarmed’, and Darcy coughs into her hand.

“Key word was. Oh, and by the way, we need more baking soda.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You use it to smother oven fires? C’mon, even I knew that.”

Lucy pauses, her expression going carefully blank for a moment. “I don’t…bake at all. Never have.”

“What? Like you don’t even stress bake?”

Lucy’s expression stays blank. “It wasn’t something I was ever encouraged to learn.”

Darcy slams the oven door shut on the last few sad poofs of smoke, straightening up. Forget the aftermath of her bread. This is way more important. “You seriously don’t stress bake? What do you do when somebody makes you so mad you just wanna stab them?”

“Usually, I stab them,” Lucy says, in a voice so dry that Darcy honestly can’t tell if she’s joking.

“Okay,” Darcy says, with a shrug. “But you usually get way less arrested if you take it out on some dough instead.”

“Was that what you were trying to do here?” Lucy asks, waving a hand in front of her face like she can just shoo the smoke away. Funny, for a second it almost seems to be actually working, but then she snorks up a lungful and almost doubles over coughing.

“Oh yeah,” Darcy says. “Professor Doucheface was on his A game today, so I needed something to knead.”

Lucy looks slightly stunned, coming down from her coughing fit, but the ghost of a smile makes its way across her face. “I gather that ‘Professor Doucheface’ is not his given name.”

“Oh, it’s his given name all right. I gave it to him. At the beginning of the semester when he circlejerked about Machiavelli with these two fratbros in the front row for twenty minutes.” Darcy rolls her eyes. One of these days she’s going to figure out how to roll them right back so all you can see are the whites. It’s gonna look so badass. “It was all downhill from there.”

Lucy hums a little in the back of her throat. “Machiavelli made some interesting points.”

“Not you too.” Darcy tries to wave some of the smoke towards the open window. It very much does not work. “I keep forgetting you’re a business student. Is your whole degree just learning how to be an evil mastermind?”

Lucy taps a finger against her chin, thoughtfully. “…it rather is, now that I consider it. But I suppose there are worse things one could be.”

“No offense, but, like what.”

Lucy laughs at that, but it doesn’t escape Darcy’s notice that she doesn’t actually have an answer. Which is not actually surprising. Because seriously.

“All right,” Darcy says, peeking inside the oven and coughing when she gets a faceful of smoke. “I’m gonna clean this out, and then – we’re making chocolate chip cookies.”

…

Introducing Lucy to stress baking is probably the best idea Darcy’s ever had, ever. After the first couple of oven fires and garbage batches, there are always freshly-baked sweet treats around the apartment, and it constantly smells delicious. Darcy would worry about Lucy’s mental state if all that baking hadn’t led her to master the chocolate-chip-to-cookie ratio in all its ooey gooey goodness. She’s since moved on to cupcakes, and Darcy has high hopes for Lucy’s buttercream technique.

It’s a couple of weeks later that Darcy comes home and finds the kitchen full of racks upon racks of cookies and cupcakes both. She only pauses long enough to stuff a chocolate-chip cookie in her face before she asks, “Okay, is it your own Professor Doucheface, or something else?”

Lucy doesn’t answer right away, and doesn’t take her eyes off her dough.

After what feels like an entire ice age, she says, “I tried. To recreate a pastry that I remembered from home.” She shakes her head, a long, dark curl falling out of her messy braid. “And I couldn’t.”

Darcy chews on that for a moment as she chews on cookie. “You’re homesick?”

Lucy pauses, tucking the stray lock of hair behind one ear and smearing a white streak of flour along one Morticia Addams cheekbone. She flashes a rueful grin in Darcy’s direction, before going back to almost angrily kneading the ball of dough on the countertop in front of her. “You must think it’s silly. It was my choice to leave, after all, and yet here I am, wallowing.”

Darcy shrugs, leaning over to snag another cookie from the cooling rack. They’re still warm, the chocolate all melty and goopy inside. Heaven. “I dunno. Like, you’re halfway across the world all on your own.” She turns her full attention to separating a particularly sticky chocolate chip from her teeth before saying, “Mostly I’m just surprised because your home sounds like it sucks a fat one.”

Lucy gives a sharp, brittle laugh, and shoves the heels of both hands into the dough with surprising viciousness. She doesn’t talk for a long moment after that, just kneading and kneading and kneading until Darcy has to look away or risk getting hypnotized.

“I get it, though,” she says, ignoring the flat, disbelieving glance Lucy shoots in her direction. “I mean, the farthest I’ve ever been from home was New Mexico, and no offense to Jane or Puente Antigua, but that place sucked.” She demolishes the last bite of cookie, and licks the remnants of chocolate chip from her fingers. Hey, waste not, want not, right? “Although that was at least fifty percent the government’s fault. But! The other half was not having anybody to just hang out with. Jane’s great, don’t get me wrong, but can you say obsessive. Okay, and the internet connection made dialup look like the wave of the future, and you couldn’t get Starbucks without driving three hours, and -”

Lucy’s giving her a blank look. Darcy snags another cookie and waves it dismissively, barely managing to catch the top piece when it unexpectedly breaks in half in her hand. “Point is, we gotta get you out and meet some people. And I guess maybe some decent fish and chips.”

Lucy snorts dismissively at that, her hands rolling back into motion. That bread’s gonna be way overworked, but Darcy figures that’s one she’ll let Lucy figure out for herself.

“Also, it probably wouldn’t kill you to call your mom once in a while,” she says, chomping down on her cookie. How many is that now? Better question, does it matter. They’re best right out of the oven anyway. “I know shit’s weird with your dad and everything, but it sounds like your mom wouldn’t mind knowing you haven’t been eaten by a bald eagle or fallen off Mount Rushmore or whatever. And it sounds like your brother cares about you a lot. Even if he is a doofus.”

Lucy’s face cracks in a big, surprised, unamused grin, and she shakes her head, turning away with a soft huff of laughter.

“My brother cares about the person he wishes me to be,” she says at last, giving the dough another vicious shove.

“You don’t have to talk to him. Just let your mom know you’re not dead, she can pass it on.”

Lucy doesn’t look up from the dough. “I’m not certain it’s a good idea for me to try to contact my family.”

“Really? ‘cause I am,” Darcy says. “Are you worried about the long-distance charges? I know tuition’s higher for international students, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Lucy glares down the dough. “You have no idea what price I paid to be here.”

“I mean, I have some idea,” Darcy says. “You do give me your half of the rent every month.”

Lucy looks up, and then bursts out laughing.

“I like you, Darcy Lewis,” she says, once she’s got herself back under control. “Do you want to apply your flawlessly straightforward logic to every aspect of my life?”

Darcy shrugs. “Point me at the problem. I guarantee you that in twenty-four hours, either the problem’ll be gone, or you’ll have a way bigger, different problem to worry about instead.”

…

Lucy still demurs every time Darcy tries to invite her along any time she’s meeting friends, though. By the third or fourth time she makes up some bullshit excuse, Darcy’s starting to get fed up.

So she invites everybody over to the apartment instead.

Lucy comes back from the library somewhere between pizza and wine. She freezes in the doorway with one arm outstretched, overcoat and houndstooth scarf arrested halfway to the hook on the wall. A brief flicker of panic races across her face before she smooths her expression out, hanging up her coat and shaking out her hair.

“Darcy?” she calls, breaking into a broad smile when she catches Darcy’s eye. “Having a few friends over?”

“Yeah, come grab a glass of wine,” Darcy calls back from the living room. “We could use one more for Cards Against Humanity.”

“Cards against…” Lucy echoes, hovering in the entryway. Obviously she’s not going to take the initiative, so Darcy gets up and makes for the kitchen.

“Do they not have Cards Against Humanity in the UK?” Jared asks from the floor beside the coffee table, as Darcy pours out the dregs of a bottle of red into one of the only clean glasses. After a moment’s thought, she tops it off with white. Hey, that’s all rosé is, right?

“Yeah, and actually, what is the difference between the UK, England, and Britain?” Ayesha asks. “I’ve never been able to get it right.”

“Rude,” Darcy says, making her way back into the living room. Lucy’s still standing in the entryway, but her posture doesn’t look quite so stiff anymore, and her shoulders are creeping down from around her ears. Still, she looks awfully relieved when Darcy hands her the novelty plastic cactus-shaped cup of wine. “Nosy here is Ayesha, that’s Jared, strong and silent in the recliner is Vince, and half-passed-out-on-the-couch-already is Rachel. Guys, say hi to Lucy.”

“The practically perfect in every way?” Rachel asks, lifting her head from the hilarious pillow with a picture of a pug in a bedazzled tiara. Lucy’s cheekbones and the tips of her ears go brightly pink, but her grin is wicked.

“Ooh, Darcy. What have you been saying about me.” She takes a sip of her wine, makes a face at it, and then settles herself down on one of the cushions Darcy’s tossed around the coffee table, carefully arranging her pencil skirt. “How do you play this game, then?”

…

They add ‘Cards Against Humanity night’ to the roster of apartment traditions. Nobody really seems to mind that Lucy wins almost every time. Beating her is an interesting challenge. Like Rachel says, she makes them get creative.

…

They’re catching up on Big Brother highlights when Lucy asks Darcy, “Would you ever audition for one of these shows?”

Darcy snorts. “Thanks, but no thanks. You?”

Lucy narrows her eyes, smiling thoughtfully at the screen. “I think I could win one. The only thing would be convincing the producers I’d be interesting enough to watch.” She turns that grin on Darcy. “You have an advantage there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Darcy asks, crossing her arms with a good-natured glare.

Lucy flicks her eyes ceilingward with an expression of affected innocence. “Only that these shows seem to reward distinctive and outsized personalities.”

Darcy mentally translates that into English, then shrugs. “Hey, I’ve been accused of worse. I think.”

Lucy smiles, and says nothing.

“You’d need a gimmick,” Darcy says, watching one of the Big Brother girls hitting another with an inflatable palm tree. “Like…always referring to yourself in the third person, or insisting people call you ‘princess’, or something.”

Lucy’s smile goes a little tight around the edges, but she doesn’t comment.

“No. I don’t think I could stoop to that for any length of time,” she says, at last. “I suppose that’s another plan to cross off the list for once I complete my degree.”

“Do you know what you’re gonna do once you get outta here?” Darcy asks, with a glance over at Lucy. The inflatable palm tree fight got old fast.

Lucy doesn’t take her eyes from the laptop screen. “I thought I did.”

She really knows how to torpedo a mood, Darcy decides.

“Maybe I should audition for a reality show,” she says. “At least you know stuff about running a business. Probably. I mean, I don’t know, you could be failing out.”

Lucy huffs something that’s halfway to a laugh. “I assure you, I’m not failing out.”

“That’s what they all say,” Darcy says, reaching for a handful of popcorn.

Lucy glances in her direction, waiting until Darcy’s got her handful of popcorn before stealing the bowl and settling it into her lap. “What about that – Jane you worked for? Would she hire you back?”

Darcy snorts. Again. “Yeah, sure. If she couldn’t get anybody else.”

Lucy hums in the back of her throat. “Oh, never underestimate the power of being the only option. What were you doing for her, anyway?”

Darcy grimaces. “Making coffee, mostly. She’s an astrophysicist and I…am not.”

“Astrophysics?” Lucy asks, raising an eyebrow, a handful of popcorn apparently forgotten halfway to her mouth. “Now that sounds interesting.”

“Most of it went over my head,” Darcy says. “The wormhole stuff was pretty cool, though.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything, but her face is like a big flashing neon sign saying ‘tell me more’. Darcy’s not sure how much she’s actually allowed to say without a bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D. guys rolling up, smashing through all her windows, and whisking her off to some top-secret torture pit, though, so she just says, “Let’s just say science fiction didn’t get it totally wrong, for once.” She takes a sip of her coffee, staring Lucy down. “So what were you planning to do before whatever, and why aren’t you anymore?”

Lucy shakes her head. “Oh, no. Not if you get to leave me on that kind of a cliffhanger.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Okay. Guess we’re just gonna watch Big Brother, then.”

They watch Big Brother.

It’s about seven and a half minutes before Lucy says, slowly, “There is a…family business. My brother is the eldest, we always knew he would inherit, but -” She shakes her head again, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “He’s never had much of a head for business. I had assumed I’d be – taken on in a managerial capacity, but with the state of things between me and my family now…”

“See, I’ve never got that,” Darcy says. “Why not just let the person who’s actually good at the thing do the thing?”

“Our father is, unfortunately, something of a traditionalist,” Lucy says.

Darcy rolls her eyes.

“But perhaps it’s all for the best,” Lucy continues, darting a smile in Darcy’s direction. “I’m finding that this really is the land of opportunity. Even if you occasionally have to make your own.”

It’d be a little unfair to leave her hanging after that – even that much of a confession is a lot, coming from tight-lipped Lucy – so Darcy does end up telling her a little about New Mexico. Leaving out the bits about the Men in Black and the buff space aliens, of course.

Lucy’s a good listener – she makes all the right faces at all the right times, and asks relevant questions without interrupting. Darcy actually ends up telling her a little more than she strictly meant to. Although, to be fair to Lucy, Darcy usually ends up telling everybody a little more about everything than she strictly means to. One of these days, she’s gotta get herself a brain-to-mouth filter.

“It sounds as though you enjoyed yourself,” Lucy says, when Darcy finally runs herself out.

“I guess,” Darcy says. “I mean, it kinda stank at the time – literally, it’s hot in New Mexico and Jane’s trailer had the shittiest shower hookup. But it was also kinda an adventure.” She shrugs. “Except the parts where we all nearly died. Jane really needs to learn not to hijack vans to drive directly at tornados.”

Lucy leans forward, setting the popcorn bowl back on the coffee table. “Is Jane still researching these Einstein-Rosen bridges?”

“Think so. She wants to make her own, eventually, but it didn’t sound like that was gonna happen anytime soon. Sounded like she’d need her own nuclear reactor to get enough oomph behind it.”

Lucy nods consideringly. “Well, if she’s still working in that area, you might reach out and see if she needs an assistant.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. She’s got a couple articles published now. And funding. If she needs an assistant, she’s gonna pick somebody who knows the difference between a quark and a quasar.”

Lucy pouts dramatically at her. “Now, that doesn’t sound like the Darcy I know. Where’s that boundless confidence?”

“Taking a backseat to realism for five minutes? Like I said, I was the only applicant last time.”

“You only need an edge,” Lucy says, like it’s so super easy. “Make yourself stand out from the competition, demonstrate how you are the best candidate. You already have Jane’s confidence, that’s half the battle.” She winks at Darcy before adding, “Of course, you could always simply eliminate the other candidates, but I know your feelings on poison.”

“I’m never totally sure you’re joking when you talk about murder,” Darcy says.

“Because I’m not,” Lucy says, perfectly deadpan. “I am entirely sincere at all times.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna blame the accent.”

“What did you do when you applied the first time?” Lucy asks, going for another handful of popcorn and neatly sidestepping the conversation about her honestly worrying tendency to default to ‘when in doubt, stab them’. No wonder she likes Shakespeare.

“I just emailed Jane with the names and numbers of a bunch of my references,” Darcy says, going for her coffee again. “Like I said. Only applicant.”

The look Lucy gives her is probably the same look she gives to, like, baby animals that trip on their own tails. Like Darcy’s adorable, but only because she’s so pathetic.

“If there’s one thing you learn in business school,” she says, “it’s how to ace a job interview.”

“Excuse you,” Darcy says. “I interview great.”

Lucy says nothing, just looks Darcy up and down and then looks to her left with her eyebrows raised, like there’s a whole lot she could say but she’s politely restraining herself.

“Oh, what,” Darcy says, wiggling back further into the couch and re-crossing her arms. “Don’t give me that discreetly, Britishly rude shit. Spit it.”

A grin slowly sneaks its way across Lucy’s face, and she shakes her head with a laugh. “So forthright. And yet, so perceptive.”

“Well, you were broadcasting…pretty loud and clear,” Darcy points out.

“You’d be amazed what some people fail to pick up on,” Lucy says, half to herself.

“Whatever,” Darcy says. “Lay your wisdom on me, o business major. What’m I doing so obviously wrong?”

Lucy gives her a smile that only turns pitying a little at the end.

“Well, no one could doubt your confidence,” she says. “My only question is how you choose to channel it. I’m sure it’s admirable not to care about the impression one leaves upon others, but when one attempts to take on a new role, that impression is everything.”

Darcy waits, and when no more follows, shrugs.

“You don’t – ah – dress for success,” Lucy says, settling back on the couch with her back against the armrest, so she can look Darcy full in the face as she counts points off on her fingers. “You tend to treat punctuality as though it’s optional. Your forthrightness, while refreshing, could be seen to evidence a lack of tact or forethought – a tendency to charge in without thinking. Which, while a quality many seem to value in their leaders, is not in fact a strategy that frequently yields great success.”

“Unless you’re super buff and hot,” Darcy points out, thinking of Thor.

Lucy rolls her eyes, with a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. As your reality television proves quite handily, a great many rules have their exceptions if you are, as you say, ‘super buff and hot’.”

“Well, I’m already hot,” Darcy says. “So all I gotta do is hit the gym.”

Lucy gives her a flat, disbelieving look. Darcy makes direct eye contact, and flexes one arm, duckfacing before she leans over to kiss her nonexistent bicep.

She’s not sure which of them cracks up first, but she hopes it’s Lucy.

“Is that why you always dress like you’re just stopping in to the office to finish up the Johnson contract?” Darcy asks, when she gets her breath back. “Like, I know suits are required wearing for the business school, but you are allowed to wear, like, jeans or leggings or stuff on Saturdays.”

“I think it’s wise, to require a certain degree of presentation,” Lucy says, primly. “In many cases, the trappings of authority wield as much power as the authority itself. Others’ perception of you, of your legitimacy, is critical to exercising that authority.” She grins, wickedly. “Just ask Macbeth. Or any of the fools demanding your president’s birth video.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Please. Don’t remind me.” She very quickly seizes on the flaw in that logic, though. “But you’re not royalty - no, I know you’re not related to Queen Liz, don’t try that one on me again,” she adds, firmly, and Lucy rolls her eyes ceilingward with an innocent expression. “Or a president, or any other kind of leader of a country. You can get away with wearing jeans every once in a while, it’s not like nobody will ever take you seriously again.”

“So says the woman who wears nothing but jeans,” Lucy says, and then, her eyes crinkling up in a smile, “And has never once in her life been taken seriously.”

Darcy throws the pug pillow at her.

Lucy catches it with the ease of long practice, settling it behind her and making a big show of getting comfortable.

“Only a tiny fraction of a job interview – or, really, of any interaction - is its content. Like it or not, others draw conclusions from how you present yourself,” she says. “You want to present yourself in such a way that they draw the conclusions you wish them to draw.”

She looks at Darcy’s face, and sighs. “You need to learn to smize. But with your clothing, your body language, your choice of words. Smile without your mouth, speak without your words.”

Darcy blinks at her.

“Actually,” she says, “when you put it like that…that makes way more sense than just ‘you’re wearing that?’.”

Lucy gives her a broad, triumphant grin.

“Well,” she says. “If all it takes is a translation into Tyra Banks, there may be hope for you yet.”

Darcy looks around for something else to throw, but there’s nothing close to hand. Instead, she bobs her head in Lucy’s direction with a sarcastic glare. Lucy smiles back angelically.

“Don’t you ever get, like, tired of it, though?” Darcy asks, and Lucy’s smile suddenly goes blank behind the eyes. “I mean, always being on your best behaviour. Always overthinking what other people think of you -”

The smile drops off Lucy’s face so fast Darcy thinks it breaks the sound barrier. She could swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees in ten seconds.

Lucy glares at the laptop for a long, chilly moment before she turns a haughty, challenging look on Darcy. “I do not have the luxury of airing my dirty laundry for the world to see.”

“So you’re just gonna fake it, forever?” Darcy asks, feeling a little sideswiped. This conversation has taken a turn, and she’s not totally sure she likes the direction it’s going now. “That’s stupid.”

“You may try that flawless line of reasoning on my father,” Lucy says coldly.

Darcy shrugs. “I mean, if you’ll pay for my plane ticket. Or, like, call him, ever.”

“You have no idea what it’s been like, the kind of pressure -” Lucy starts, her voice low, her stare intense under lowered brows, but Darcy cuts her off.

“What, you think just because I don’t care what other people think about me, that I don’t notice it? Yeah, I know most people don’t absolutely love it when you just say whatever and never shut up. Total shocker.”

“All the more reason to have a care what face you present to the world.”

Suddenly, Darcy’s irritated, with Lucy, with Lucy’s whole Hamlet act, with the whole stupid world. “Oh, get over yourself. Like I’ve never tried. Do you really think I wouldn’t love to just always know what I’m doing wrong before I do it and be able to turn it off?”

Lucy’s expression softens, subtly, at that. “Believe me when I say I do understand. You’re far from the only one who’s unacceptable to the world the way they are.”

“Who gets to decide what’s ‘acceptable’, anyway? Because I feel like we should find them and like, gag them and toss them in a basement somewhere.” Darcy shakes her head. “I don’t want to pretend I’m something I’m not just to impress some randos. Sooner or later, they always find out I’m, well, me, and then I’ve wasted a bunch of time I could’ve spent watching cat videos. With people who actually like me.”

Darcy’s aware that Lucy’s watching her, very intently, and shrugs again, suddenly embarrassed by how much personal garbage she’s just spewed at a near-stranger. Darcy Lewis’ Lack of Filter strikes again.

“So like…yeah,” she concludes, lamely.

The smile Lucy gives her is a weak imitation of her usual confidence.

“An admirable philosophy, Polonius,” she says, sounding just a little too wistful for the sarcasm to really bite.

“Oh, fuck you,” Darcy sighs, flopping back against the arm of the couch with her arms akimbo, huffing a stray curl out of her face. “Sorry we can’t all be practically perfect in every way.”

There’s a moment of unbelievably glassy silence.

“I’m far from perfect,” Lucy says, quietly, at last.

“Sure,” Darcy says. “I just don’t know it, because I’ve never seen the ‘real’ you. Because you won’t chill out around anybody. And then you’ll get mad and resentful that I don’t get the ‘real’ you and it’ll all end in tears.” She bobs her head back up so she can look Lucy in the face. “Or, you could stop treating your life like it’s a job interview, follow my lead, and dump all your messy, complicated feelings on somebody you’ve known for like a month with no warning.”

Lucy’s face doesn’t change, and Darcy, unable to stop her face from saying words even under the best of circumstances, adds, “Y’know. Like we’re friends.”

The look Lucy gives her is entirely unreadable. Darcy gives it her best effort for maybe ten seconds anyway, then gives up trying.

“Just a suggestion,” she says, as Lucy rises from the couch.

“It’s been a long day,” Lucy says, avoiding eye contact. “And tomorrow will be as well. I’d best turn in.”

“Coward,” Darcy calls after her, as she starts down the hall. “Don’t be afraid of the overshare!”

She considers getting up and grabbing the pug pillow to throw at Lucy again, but decides it seems like too much effort.

…

The next morning, Darcy catches Lucy in the kitchen before she leaves for class, which is unusual. Still, Darcy Lewis has never been one to look the proverbial gift horse in its proverbial gift mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night,” she says, as she pours coffee into her cocoa puffs. “If I was outta line, or stepped over some boundaries…you know.”

Lucy blinks at the bowl of bobbing pale-brown cereal in dark-brown coffee, but says nothing, just passes Darcy the milk so she can add it to her creation.

“I apologise, as well,” she says, at last, with a brief, bright, not-entirely-convincing smile. “Some measure of what you said…touched a nerve.”

“I figured,” Darcy says. “It’s what I do best. Touch nerves, get jobs I’m not qualified for, make killer playlists.”

She meets Lucy’s eyes, and they share a smile.

“I’m not… I don’t share myself the way you do,” Lucy says, at last, turning to the cupboards for a spoon to stir her coffee. “I don’t believe I could, or that I’d wish to. But…”

She pauses to take a long sip of her coffee, the spoon still in it. “This past year, I’ve learned a few things about myself that I…am having difficulty coming to terms with. Things I’m afraid have not provoked a positive response from those I’ve chosen or been obliged to share with. I – it helps, to present myself carefully, to know I have some choice in how others perceive me. To have some measure of control.” Lucy gives the coffee another stir, staring into its spiral. “To be certain they aren’t seeing – certain aspects of myself that I’d prefer not to exist.”

“Wait,” Darcy says, trying to shuffle all of those pieces into order in her mind. “You’re insecure about your appearance?”

Over the top of her coffee mug, Lucy skewers her with a glare.

“Yeah, okay, fair. I guess it was a shitty thing to say anyway.”

Lucy turns her stare down into her coffee. “Perhaps this does make me a coward.”

“What? No way,” Darcy says. “It’s smart. Just, like, as a sometimes thing. Did you miss the part where I said if I could pretend to be a normal person, I would?”

“You shouldn’t,” Lucy says. “If you could, you wouldn’t be Darcy.”

Darcy bites her bottom lip.

“Thanks,” she says. “I think.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lucy says, smoothly, a mischievous smile starting to play around her lips. “Take it as a compliment.”

Darcy aims a kick in her direction, which misses by a mile, then settles down to eat her cereal experiment.

“Well, this is terrible,” she says, a few bites in.

“I honestly don’t know what you expected,” Lucy says.

…

Professor Doucheface isn’t at the front of the class one afternoon not long after that. The smiling woman who’s taken his place explains that he’s taken a leave of absence and will be back when he’s back, which might not be before the end of the semester.

Darcy cracks a bottle of wine as soon as she gets home and hauls Lucy out of her room to do a toast with her. And then do karaoke with her. She’s pretty sure Lucy’s big, smug grin is just her being happy for Darcy, but still. It’s nice to see her smile.

She sucks at karaoke, though. Doesn’t know any of the words.

…

When Jane turns up at the apartment, it’s Lucy who answers the door. Darcy’s in her room working very hard, thank you, on a presentation about the Euro crisis using ‘Call Me Maybe’ as a learning aid. So she can’t really be blamed if she doesn’t hear the first time Lucy knocks on her door. Or the second. Or the third.

When Darcy finally ventures forth on a quest for snackage, Jane and Lucy are both sitting in the living room, Jane holding forth about some science-y thing, complete with hand gestures, while Lucy looks fascinated and occasionally nods encouragingly. She’s either the best polite listener in the history of polite listeners, or she’s actually interested in this wormhole stuff.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were into astrophysics,” Darcy says, when Jane pauses for breath, and both Jane and Lucy turn to look at her with identical guilty expressions. Darcy can’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, you guys should see yourselves. You look like my mom’s dog when she shredded the cat’s catnip mouse. The cat loved it, though. She was trippin’ for hours.”

Now they’re both kind of looking blank. Jane shakes it off first. “I do actually need to talk to you, Darcy.”

“Hit me,” Darcy says, collapsing onto the couch beside her.

Jane doesn’t move, but her eyes dart in Lucy’s direction. “Do you want to go grab a coffee or something?”

“Ah,” Lucy says, looking from Jane to Darcy and back again. “I have plenty of studying to do. I’ll be in my room.” She pushes herself up from the armchair, smoothing down her skirt – a super cute A-line that Darcy would never wear but that totally works on somebody as tall and bony as Lucy. “Thank you, Dr. Foster, I found our conversation most…enlightening.”

“Oh, please, call me Jane,” Jane says, standing up herself and sticking out her right hand. Lucy blinks at it for half a second before taking it and giving it a very professional shake, with a brilliant smile. Darcy can’t help but notice that the height difference between them is hilarious. She always forgets how tiny Jane is. “Always a pleasure to meet young people with an actual interest in my field.” The look Jane gives Darcy is a little too fond to be a glare.

“Hey, I have an actual interest in your field,” Darcy argues. “I’m very interested in the easy science credits it bagged me.”

“ ‘Easy’ science credits?” Jane says, in mock disbelief, as Lucy heads down the hallway. “I seem to recall somebody saying she refused to die for six college credits…”

Lucy’s bedroom door shuts with a solid thunk, and Jane waits a couple of minutes before turning back to Darcy. Minutes? Probably seconds. Minutes are always longer than Darcy thinks. Or shorter, depending on the day and whether people are talking. “I know I only met her once, but I thought your roommate was…shorter. And less British.”

“Oh yeah. Melissa. She totally flaked on me while you and I were out playing X-Files in the desert,” Darcy says. “Lucy’s doing an exchange…thing. So what’s up?”

“Do you have something lined up for after graduation?” Jane asks.

“Depends. Do you still want to pay me in college credits?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “No. I actually have a budget now, thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D., but it’s been hell on wheels trying to get somebody cleared to come work for me. They want it to be all ‘need-to-know’. But they need to know!”

“What about Selvig?” Darcy asks. Her stomach chooses this unfortunate moment to remind her why she came out of her room in the first place, and she furiously thinks at it to be cool. She might have an actual job lined up if she plays her cards right, here. One where she can goof off for money and gorgeous men literally rain from the sky. No way she’s letting a little Oreo craving get between her and that.

Jane shakes her head. “There’s some mystery project the director’s apparently been courting him for. Even if he’d want to, he doesn’t have time to run around after me chasing storms.”

“Ooh, mystery project,” Darcy says. “That sounds prestigious. And expensive. D’you think he’s hiring?”

Jane gives her a flat look. “They won’t even tell me what it is. No way they’re letting you within a hundred feet of it.”

Darcy shrugs. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Just wanna know what my options are, in case I decide to play hardball.” She considers it a moment. Not so long ago, Darcy would’ve jumped – well, okay, not jumped, casually agreed to, nobody who’s built like Darcy does much jumping – at the opportunity. But not so long ago, Darcy had not had a business major for a roommate. Lucy’s taught her a thing or two about negotiating and knowing her worth. Pretty much all of which she’s throwing out the window right now, but hey, it’s the thought that counts. “How much can you pay me, anyway?”

Jane names a figure. Darcy chokes on her own spit.

“Do you need me to drop out and start now?” she asks, when she can breathe like a normal person again. “ ‘cause I can drop out and start now.”

Jane huffs a soft laugh. “Finish your degree. I’m sure I’ll burn through the last few S.H.I.E.L.D. lab techs who’re willing to put up with me, and the spot’ll be open for you to step into before you even take off the cap and gown.”

“How sure?” Darcy asks, because, well, she doesn’t want Lucy to have had to break her best job interview tips down into pieces of Tyra’s advice for nothing. “Do I get, like, something to sign? Anything in writing?”

Jane actually laughs this time. “Yes. That’s why I didn’t just call. Well, that and the possibility of wiretaps.” She reaches down by her feet for the brown canvas messenger bag Darcy hadn’t really paid much attention to. “There’s, uh, a formal offer…”

Her smile turns apologetic, and Darcy just has time to feel a wave of the ominouses build over her before Jane pulls out a stack of printer paper an inch and a half thick. “And, uh, a couple of non-disclosure agreements. Oh, and a background check. And another background check, except this one’s off the record, because it’s being done technically illegally by a defected Soviet spy.”

“You’re joking, right,” Darcy says.

Jane gives her a smile that’s half a wince, and a pen.

…

By the time Lucy pops back out of her room in search of dinner, Darcy’s wrist aches something fierce, to match the throb behind her eyes from all the tiny, tiny, extremely important print, and she’s pretty sure the index finger on her right hand is never going to be the same again. But none of that matters, because Darcy Lewis Has A Job.

“Right out of school!” she crows, shaking out her hand. “How about that, Mom? Oh, and, there’s science in poli-sci, so, like, it’s even using my major. Using half my major. Does that count?”

Lucy looks at her over the mug of tea she’s just poured herself. “For purposes of proving your parent wrong? Oh, absolutely.”

“What?” Darcy says, and then remembers Lucy’s life across the pond is a soap opera. “Oh, no, my mom just – she was worried. Poli-sci was my…third? Third major in two years. She really wanted me to make my mind up, or at least pick something that would guarantee I wouldn’t be moving back in with her after graduation. She’ll be so super proud.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything, just blows softly across the surface of her tea and kind of stares into the middle distance.

“You know what this calls for?” Darcy says, before the buzz can get any more killed. “Champagne. Lots of champagne.”

Lucy focuses back on her, quirking an eyebrow up with a hint of a smirk. “Job offer or not, you still can’t afford champagne.”

“Nope,” Darcy says, popping the ‘p’. “But I can afford fizzy wine, and I can’t tell the difference.”

…

“Gotta ask,” Darcy says, as they stand in the walk-in cooler, staring at the bottles of prosecco, “does your family really suck that much? Because I’m gonna feel like a real asshole for trying to make you phone your mom.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just studying the glass bottles on the shelf in front of her. Maybe it’s the coat (it’s a nice coat, really thick and heavy, as Darcy learned when she had to pick it up every time it fell off the hooks by the door), or the scarf, or maybe Lucy’s just naturally cold-blooded, but she hasn’t shivered yet. Darcy, on the other hand, wore a spring jacket and is regretting it.

“I wouldn’t say, ‘suck’,” Lucy says, at last, slowly.

“No, you’d say, like, ‘bollocks’ or something,” Darcy says, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Lucy’s face unfreezes, and she darts a bright grin in Darcy’s direction, though there’s still something sad around her eyes.

“I like you, Darcy,” she says. “But unfortunately, not everything is so simple as you like to think.”

Darcy shrugs, without taking her hands out of her pockets. “I dunno. Sometimes people just make things complicated for themselves.”

They spend another quiet moment studying the fizzy wine, before Darcy shakes out her hands with a puff of breath. “Okay, do you actually have an opinion on what we drink, or are you just trying to avoid talking to me? Because if it’s the second one, I’m picking the cheapest bottle and getting out of here. I’m freezing.”

“Oh,” Lucy says, like she forgot they were standing in a refrigerator, and then reaches up and grabs a bottle of prosecco that is pretty clearly not the cheapest bottle on the shelf. “Here. I’ll treat.”

Darcy watches her suspiciously. “I thought you were broke.”

“Not so broke that I’ll drink that barely-alcoholic swill you call fizzy wine, thank you,” Lucy says primly, and Darcy can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks,” she says, once they’re through the checkout and back out on the sidewalk, Lucy pressing the bag holding their prosecco into her hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Lucy gives her a smile that’s just a little unsettling. “I should be thanking you, Darcy. You’ve done more for me than you know.”

Darcy squirms internally under the attention. “We’re roommates. We do roommate stuff. Nothing special.”

Lucy bobs her head back and forth, like she doesn’t agree but she won’t come right out and object. “You opened your home to me. You’ve shown me hospitality above and beyond what was required of you. I won’t forget it.”

Darcy shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, don’t mention it. But if I’m ever in London and need a place to crash -”

Lucy’s smile is brilliant. “Oh, I expect that if you’re ever in London, you’ll look me up. I’ll take you out for fish and chips and we can tour the Tower.”

“Haunted murder prison. Sounds like a blast,” Darcy says. “You better take me on that giant Ferris wheel, too. I promise not to barf on anybody this time.”

Lucy blinks at her. “ ‘This time’?”

…

Exam season hits them both hard. Darcy spends a lot of time in the coffee shop, loading up on espressos in a desperate bid to keep herself awake after the string of all-nighters she’s pulled. Lucy practically moves into the library. Darcy doesn’t see her except in the apartment doorway, once, when she’s grabbing some books for class, and even then it’s only for long enough to say ‘hi’ and then ‘bye’ again.

Jane calls about a week and a half, maybe two weeks after Darcy signs the unbearable stack of documents. For one horrifying second, Darcy thinks the ex-Soviet spy turned up some dreadful, sordid thing in her family history and she’s not getting the job after all. But Jane doesn’t even mention the job. She barely even says hello. “Have you heard from Erik? I’ve been trying to get in touch, but he’s not answering his phone. Or his emails.”

“You did say he’s working on some top-secret classified mystery thing,” Darcy points out. “If I had to sign that many NDAs, I bet they’re taking no chances on him blabbing.”

“I know, it’s just – it’s not like him,” Jane says, and her worry’s a little bit contagious, even through the phone. “Wouldn’t he have warned somebody if he was going to have to go dark? Warned me?”

“Jane. C’mon,” Darcy says. “He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

“Darcy,” Jane says, shortly. “You were there when he told us about his friend.”

“Yeah, but S.H.I.E.L.D. did that,” Darcy counters. “The people who hired him. Who vanishes their own employees?”

“People like S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Jane says grimly. “Let me know if you hear from him, all right?”

“Well, if he’s not talking to you, the chances of him friending me on Facebook or whatever are pretty low.”

“Darcy,” Jane sighs, “just say, ‘Yes, Jane’.”

“Yes, Jane,” Darcy parrots into the phone.

…

It’s been almost another week, almost a week since the last time she saw Lucy. Darcy’s holed up in her favourite campus coffeeshop, nursing her fourth – fifth? – latte of the afternoon, when the TV silently playing old episodes of Friends cuts to a news break.

It’s a short clip, repeating over and over. Some dude who looks more like an extremely glam pop star in a ridiculous costume than anything, and at first, with the sound off, that’s what Darcy thinks it is. Some dude trying to get in on the Gaga-Katy Perry weird costume trend. Looks like he might be singing to a big crowd in an outdoor arena. He’s really givin’ it, if the face he’s making is anything to go by. Probably a high E or something. The blue spotlight they’ve got on him is not flattering.

It’s about time the weird costume trend took off for dudes, if you ask Darcy. If she has to see another candy-shaped bra, she’s gonna throw up in her mouth.

She’s turning back to her textbooks when something makes her look back up. Some nagging feeling in the back of her head, like there’s something she should be remembering. She’s seen a tacky horned helmet like that before. Somewhere.

The dude in the costume doesn’t really look like he’s singing anymore, either. The camera zooms shakily towards his face, and Darcy’s forced to admit that most pop stars don’t glower at their audiences quite so much. It’s a crappy, glitchy feed, and the moment the guy makes eye contact with the camera, it washes out in a haze of electric blue. But it’s still long enough for Darcy to get an eyeful of pale, pretty, and pointy.

She’s seen a face like that somewhere, too. Recently.

“Oh,” Darcy mutters into her latte, and finally settles on, “shit.”

…

“Hi, this is Dr. Jane Foster -”

“Jane?” Darcy tries not to yell into the phone. “Listen, I need to know how far you are into getting this bridge thing working -”

“I’m unable to come to the phone right now,” Jane’s voice continues, blithely, “but leave your name and number at the tone and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

“Dammit, Jane, are you screening your calls? That’s a new level of paranoia, even for you,” Darcy says, over the beep. “Come on! It’s me! It’s Darcy! Pick up!”

Jane does not pick up. All Darcy gets is a dirty look from everyone within earshot. Including the librarian.

“Is there something I can help you find?” she asks, pointedly. Obviously she’s just trying to embarrass Darcy into shutting up and going away, because she looks a little startled when Darcy hangs up her phone and pockets it, stomping up to the desk like a woman on a mission. Which she is.

“Yeah, actually, there is,” Darcy says, leaning heavily against the counter and making aggressive eye contact with the librarian. “I need everything you’ve got on Norse mythology.”

The librarian looks startled for a moment, before her expression turns professional again. She turns to her computer, taps a few keys on her keyboard, glancing briefly up at Darcy. “Okay, so all our translations of the Eddas are checked out right now, but there are a few interpretive texts available, and some articles -”

“Don’t you have, like, a ‘Norse Mythology for Dummies’?” Darcy asks, and the librarian gives her a look that clearly says she, the librarian, knows Darcy is going to fail whatever class this is for.

“Try the education library,” she says.

…

The education library is full of children’s books. Darcy would be insulted, except that she finds the exact book Selvig had brought back to show her and Jane, wedged on a shelf between a fat picture book on Greek mythology and the gold spine of Egyptology. Darcy pauses a moment to let a flood of fond memories pass over her – hey, any book that was shiny gold and had a big plastic gem stuck in the front cover was the coolest ever when you were, like, twelve – before pulling out the book on Norse mythology and finding herself a table. Thankfully, the furniture is all scaled for adult-sized people.

Darcy slams the book open, flipping past the sections on Yggdrasil and the nine realms, pausing briefly on the pages about Thor, before she finally finds what she was looking for. The illustration’s…weasellier-looking than she remembers, the face way pointier, but that is definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the helmet she’d just seen on TV.

Darcy shakes her head, turning her attention to the text that goes with the image. The book’s laid out more like an encyclopedia than a storybook, which is good, because right now Darcy just needs as much information as possible in as little time as possible.

She’s just about finished reading the section when her phone rings. It’s Jane, sounding almost frantic. “Darcy! What’s going on, are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Darcy says, and Jane lets out a sigh that’s one part relief, two parts frustration.

“Then what was the panicky phone message about?”

“Panicky? On what planet?”

“Darcy, you were already talking when the recording started, and you just kept yelling at me to pick up. I thought you were being abducted.”

Darcy thinks back to the phone call, and is forced to admit Jane has a point. “I’m okay,” she says. “Aside from the part where I might be sharing an apartment with a homicidal Norse god.”

Jane’s end of the line goes dead silent.

“Jane?” Darcy asks.

“No,” Jane says, and then, like she’s warming up, “No, the bridge still isn’t working, they couldn’t -”

“Jane,” Darcy repeats, interrupting before Jane can really get going. “Checked the news lately?”

She can almost hear Jane deflate through the phone.

“Why wouldn’t he have contacted me?” she says, in this terrible small voice that Darcy feels a wash of secondhand embarrassment just listening to. “If he could get through, why not -”

“Jane,” Darcy says, a third time. “Focus.”

Jane seems to remember she has an audience. She clears her throat, dropping the pitch of her voice. Darcy can picture her, easily, shutting her eyes and shaking her head as she pulls herself together. “What do you mean, sharing an apartment?”

“I mean, how much did you tell Lucy about generating Einstein-Rosen bridges?” Darcy says. “Also, how loud were we talking about Selvig’s big break?”

“Not – I mostly kept to the theory, you know I signed a few non-disclosures of my own – Darcy, what -”

“I’m just asking,” Darcy says, drumming her fingers against the little weaselly illustration. “Because from what I’ve been reading, people tend to just, like, tell Loki stuff if he asks while he’s shapeshifted into a woman.”

There’s another, longer pause.

“No,” Jane says, again.

Darcy nods, before remembering Jane can’t see her. “Kinda think so. I know I should’ve been worried when she turned up so conveniently after Melissa flaked, but I just thought she was gonna skin me and wear my face over her face or something like that.”

Jane pauses again before she speaks, but it doesn’t somehow sound so heavy. “Did I know how graphic your imagination was when I first hired you?”

“Only applicant, remember?” Darcy says. “Look, it all lines up. The family drama, the my brother spent some time here and he believes it did him a world of good, the accent, the way she keeps just disappearing at really weird times for hours or days at a time – I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen her in a classroom or with a textbook – and she doesn’t know anything about music. Or get cold like a normal person, and there’s something here about…frost giants? Also, one of his nicknames is ‘Sky-Walker’, and apparently, in like Norwegian, that ‘oh’ in his name should be an ‘oo’ -”

“Darcy,” Jane says, firmly. “Breathe.”

“I am totally breathing,” Darcy protests. “Look, after you offered me the job, she bought us a bottle of sparkling wine and thanked me really cryptically and I basically haven’t seen her since. And in that time, Selvig’s dropped off the map, and a supervillain calling himself Loki who could be her fraternal twin pops up and starts chewing German scenery in a helmet that looks exactly like the one in this book.” Darcy sits back in her chair, bouncing off the back. “Also, I told her about this professor who was a total pain in my ass, and like two weeks later he was on leave for ‘undisclosed reasons’ and he still hasn’t come back.”

“This…could all be a coincidence,” Jane says, lamely.

“Oh yeah. Same way that weird homeless guy you kept hitting with your car showing up inside that storm was all a coincidence,” Darcy says. “Oh, my god. I’ve been watching ANTM highlights with a supervillain.”

“Okay, stay calm,” Jane says, in a voice that does absolutely nothing to make Darcy feel any more calm. “Does she know you know?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t even put it together until, like, twenty minutes ago. God! I ate her chocolate-chip cookies!”

“Is she with you? Do you think you’re in any immediate danger?” Jane asks, being infuriatingly reasonable for somebody who was helpless with heartbreak not five minutes ago.

“No,” Darcy admits. “I don’t think so. Oh, shit!”

“What?” Jane gasps.

Darcy groans. “Left my taser at the apartment.”

…

Darcy stays late at the coffee shop, reluctant to go back to the apartment. Sure, she hasn’t seen Lucy in weeks and has no reason to think that’s going to suddenly change. And sure, nothing she’s read makes it sound like the god who might be her roommate can read minds. There’s no way, even if she did run into Lucy, that Lucy would be able to tell that Darcy knows.

Except for the part where she’s the literal god (goddess?) of lies and Darcy’s a mediocre actress at best. Yep. No way she’s gonna notice anything’s different. Or anything.

Fuck. Darcy is so, so screwed.

When the coffee shop closes and kicks her out, Darcy migrates to the library. When the library closes and kicks her out, Darcy complains very loudly that they aren’t staying open 24/7 for exam season. Her one-woman protest has absolutely no effect whatsoever.

Darcy stands on the sidewalk outside the library doors, shivering in the chilly night air, and wonders if one of her friends would let her crash at their place overnight. She considers it for a minute before realizing that just figuring out how to ask would probably end up making things even more complicated than they already are.

Finally, Darcy decides she’s cold enough, tired enough, and grumpy enough to take her chances heading back to the apartment. So what if Lucy’s there? So is her taser.

“Tased a Norse god once,” Darcy mutters, under her breath, as she slouches determinedly towards the bus depot, hoping they haven’t stopped running for the night as well. “Can do it again.”

By the time she gets back to the apartment, Darcy’s so wound up that she jumps involuntarily when she opens the door. But there’s nothing to freak out about. Lucy’s coat isn’t hanging on the hooks by the door, which is a sure sign that she’s still out. Darcy wonders, for half a second, where she is if the library’s closed, and then feels incredibly stupid.

“Supervillainy. Right,” she says, into the empty apartment, tossing her coat in the general direction of the hooks. She double-checks the lock on the apartment door, brushes her teeth and washes her face, and then very carefully locks herself in her bedroom. After a moment’s consideration, she wedges her deskchair under the handle, too.

It takes Darcy a very long time to fall asleep.

…

She’s woken at some ungodly hour by a crash that has her leaping up out of bed, half-convinced somebody’s trying to break down her door. It takes Darcy a moment to boot her brain up out of sleep mode and realise it was just the chair falling over.

…

It takes another panicked phone call from Jane before Darcy remembers she was supposed to check in when she got home last night. She only just manages to talk Jane down from calling in S.H.I.E.L.D., which might seem a little crazy at first blush, but makes a lot of sense if you think about it. Yeah, okay, so maybe Darcy’s been living with the Big Bad of the week, but she doesn’t actually know that for sure, and it’s not like she has any useful information about any nefarious plans, and said Big Bad hasn’t even been around lately, and – look, it just doesn’t seem like a good idea. Darcy’s keeping an eye on the news, and it looks like they’ve got it under control. They don’t need Jane and Darcy butting in. They’re handling it.

Plus, she really, really doesn’t want her iPod confiscated again.

Darcy’s been walking on eggshells all day, jumping at every little noise, before she finally decides she’s done. She’s over it. Either her roommate is a homicidal extraterrestrial, or she isn’t. Either she’s going to totally murder Darcy and wear her skin like a – okay, she’s overusing that one. Either she’s going to totally murder Darcy and use her skull as a drinking horn or whatever, or she isn’t. And either way, there’s not a whole lot Darcy can do about it. So worrying about it like this is pointless.

What would be less pointless would be finding out 1) whether Lucy really is secretly an evil alien god, and 2) if she is, what to do about it.

…

To: lucy

From: darcy

house rule #3: if ur a supervillian u have 2 tell me.

Read at 5:47 PM

…

It isn’t even a full day later that the Chitauri attack New York.

…

Darcy gets home from the library late, on purpose, though she doesn’t really expect to find Lucy there after the day’s top news stories. The apartment’s dark when she swings the door open, and gets darker when she slams the door behind her, blocking out the light from the hall.

Darcy slouches into the kitchen without turning on a light, throwing open the fridge instead. After staring blankly into its cold white glow for what feels like half an hour but is most likely less than five minutes, and still not having the secrets of the universe or of what she wants to eat revealed unto her, she shuts the door again and turns toward the hall and her bedroom.

“Darcy.”

Darcy is not too ashamed to admit that she screams like a little girl. She jumps backwards, fumbling for her taser, at the sound of a voice from the pitch-dark mouth of the hall.

The hall light blooms to life, revealing Lucy standing by the lightswitch. Under the circumstances, this is not actually a reassuring sight.

“Holy shit, you scared the pee out of me,” Darcy gasps, and Lucy’s eyes crinkle up at the corners in an apologetic smile. “Don’t lurk dramatically in the shadows like that, you’re gonna give somebody a heart attack.”

“I was waiting for you,” Lucy says, which is also not very reassuring, under the circumstances. Darcy’s questing fingers find her taser tucked into the pocket of her jacket, and close over it. “I wanted to talk.”

“You could’ve just texted me back,” Darcy points out.

“In person,” Lucy says.

“Great,” Darcy’s traitor mouth says. “Great, nothing about that sounds unnecessarily ominous, or anything.”

Lucy huffs a soft laugh, turning her face away from Darcy for a moment. Darcy can’t read her expression through the shadows the hall light casts over her eyes and the curtain of dark hair that falls in front of her face.

“I have the feeling,” she says, her eyes flicking in Darcy’s direction, bright even in shadow, “that you suspect I’m keeping something from you.”

“What?” Darcy laughs, nervously. “Why would you think that?”

“Possibly the fact that you’re right.” Lucy’s voice is wry, her mouth twisted in a smile, but all Darcy can see in her eyes is fear. “Darcy…I’ve lied to you.”

So this is happening. Darcy makes herself breathe at a normal human person rate. All things considered, she feels like she’s doing pretty good keeping her cool here. Like, sure, okay, she was totally chill around Thor, but she also never really got the vibe that he might stab her if she looked at him funny. And, as far as Darcy knows, he never actually has stabbed anybody for looking at him funny. So there’s that.

Lucy takes a deep breath, meeting Darcy’s eyes with an expression half steely resolve, half unspoken regret. “I’m not really a business student.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, her heart hammering in her throat, fingers curling tighter around the reassuring shape of the taser in her pocket. “I know.”

Lucy’s head snaps up, eyes going wide. “You know? But – I was so careful -”

Darcy makes a face. “Were you, though?”

Lucy – Loki? - looks away again, with a soft huff that’s almost a laugh. “No. I suppose I wasn’t.” There’s that strange wistfulness in her voice again as she says, “I did everything – everything – to try to impress my father, became everything he wanted, and it was never enough. I suppose…deep down, I wanted someone to see through the lie. To know. And not to care. Who – and what – I truly am.”

She turns back to Darcy, her smile wide and white and, for once, purely and genuinely happy.

“I’m a thespian,” she says.

Darcy blinks at her.

“Sorry, run that one by me again,” she says, sticking her pinkie into her ear and giving it a good wiggle.

Lucy’s still grinning ear to ear. “I’ve changed my major. You were right, Darcy. ‘To thine own self be true’. I’ve spent my life living for other people, but I have to live with the choices I make. It’s time I did something for myself.”

“So you’re…going into theatre,” Darcy says, slowly, still trying to catch up.

“Have gone into theatre,” Lucy says. “I changed my major after that night, when we talked. I’m in theatre arts now. I’m going to be an actress.”

“I,” Darcy says, and realizes that, for the first time in a very long time, she, Darcy Lewis, is at a loss for words. “Uh.”

Lucy’s expression doesn’t really change, but her jaw sets in trembling defiance. “You think I’m foolish.”

“What? No, I was just expecting something a little more mythological.”

Lucy frowns at her, Darcy’s perceived rejection apparently forgotten in confusion. “Sorry?”

“Nothing. Forget I said that.” Darcy blinks a few more times, and then manages, “Congratulations, though. You’re the most dramatic person I know, it’s a perfect fit.”

“Well, that’s still a more positive response than my father had when he learned of my intentions to drop business school,” Lucy says, her eyes shining, but some genuine humour in the quirk of her mouth. “Thank you. I don’t know if I’d’ve found the courage without you. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Wow,” Darcy says, suddenly feeling extremely guilty about suspecting her of being an alien supervillain. “Uh, thanks.”

Lucy’s smile falters, and she looks down at her feet. “Now, though, I suppose I shall have to break the news to my family. With the semester over, at least they can’t threaten to cut me off again.”

“Well,” Darcy manages, mentally shoving her thoughts off the rail they’d been on and onto a parallel set of tracks. “You already seem happier. If your family really cares about you, they’ll see that and be happy for you too.”

“My theatre final is a one-act stageplay,” Lucy says. “It’s tomorrow night at the campus theatre. I’d like for you to come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Darcy says.

…

The play is…all right. As plays go. It’s all about adults having Serious Conversations, which is so not Darcy’s scene. Give her elaborate costumes and musical numbers any day.

Lucy’s good, though. Especially compared to some of the other actors on the stage. She has a real talent, able to go from weepy to icy on a dime.

Darcy tells her as much after the curtain closes, when she brings a bundle of grocery-store chrysanthemums up to the stage in congratulations. Lucy’s smile practically glows. She’s totally in her element, and Darcy kind of feels like anybody’d be stupid to try to keep her away from the stage.

She goes with Lucy to the airport, when Lucy leaves a few days later. It’s kind of bittersweet, and Darcy can’t totally deny getting a little misty as they swap contact details outside of the lineup for international security.

“You better mail me a London Bridge keychain,” Darcy says, and Lucy laughs.

“Done.” She looks over towards the line winding slowly through the security checkpoint, then glances at the time on her phone, before turning back to Darcy. “Darcy, I need to thank you again.” She musters up a watery smile. “I know I was something of a handful. But you took me as I came, tried to make me feel welcome in an unfamiliar place, drew me out of myself, treated me as a friend… I won’t forget that. I won’t forget you.”

“Hey, I’m not going to forget you either,” Darcy says, with 100% unpasteurized honesty. “You definitely made my last semester interesting.” She pauses to give it 0.2 seconds of thought, and then decides, yeah. “It was fun.”

Lucy’s smile grows wider, more confident. “ ‘Interesting’ is certainly the word. But…yes. It was fun.”

She casts one more glance over at the security lineup, before she says, “You know, you’ll probably laugh. But for a short while there, I was afraid that you might be involved in the attack on New York.”

Darcy manages not to choke on her own spit, but it’s a near miss. “Say what?”

Lucy shrugs. “You’d always make these cryptic comments about aliens and how terribly the government treated you and whatnot, and then hastily change the subject if I pressed you. And you and your Dr. Foster were both so secretive about her work, but I knew it was in regards to wormholes to other galaxies – and that your Dr. Foster apparently regularly broke the law and had little to no regard for human life, if the stories about the van were anything to go by. What was I meant to think when I didn’t see you for a week and then the news was suddenly full of reports of a wormhole opened in New York to let an alien invasion force through?”

Darcy considers this for a moment.

“Also,” Lucy adds, “you put coffee in your cocoa puffs, which is not the act of a sane and rational human being.”

“Okay, that was one time,” Darcy says.

Lucy does that extremely irritating eyebrow thing that means she doesn’t believe that for a minute.

Darcy decides to let it slide. “You actually thought I helped organize an alien invasion? I can’t even organize my iTunes library.”

Lucy shrugs. “Every good mad scientist needs an Igor.”

Darcy shoves her, hard, in the arm, and Lucy bursts into laughter.

They push back and forth for a bit before Lucy looks at her phone again, and grimaces. “I’ve only got an hour. I should go.”

“Right,” Darcy says. “Well, if I’m ever in London…”

Lucy nods. “If you’re ever in London.”

Darcy’s not sure who starts it. All she knows is that all of a sudden she and Lucy are hugging, her face kind of awkwardly mashed against Lucy’s chest. Good grief, she’s tall.

The hug only lasts a second or two, and then Lucy is off, dragging her rolling carry-on behind her, glancing back only once to wave goodbye.

Darcy flashes her the peace sign, and watches her as she goes through a few turns of the slow-moving security line.

Then she feels like it’s getting kind of weird, and wanders off to find a Starbucks.

…

some time later

“Darcy, you don’t – I can’t afford for you to have your own intern! I can barely afford you!”

“It’s okay,” Darcy says, for like the fourteen millionth time. “Ian’s working for experience. Besides, he’s a friend. Friend of a friend.”

Jane sighs, shaking her head.

“So long as I don’t have to pay him,” she says. “And so long as he’s not – I don’t know, secretly a spy or a supervillain in disguise trying to steal or sabotage my research.”

Darcy snorts.

“Please,” she says. “If one of my friends was secretly a supervillain, I would definitely know.”

#i can't keep looking at this fic here take it #mcu thor #mcu #this is mary's fic tag

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sometimesiwriteangst · 5 years ago

Text

Again (Chapter 24)

TW: Domestic abuse (parental and relationship), homophobia, anger, flashbacks/panic attacks, nightmares.

In case anybody is interested in a bit of Again.

AO3

“Roman, we’re going to be late, do you have to take all those books?”

Deceit smirks at Logan’s words, the logical man sighing heavily as Roman shoves in another Shakespeare play.

“But I need all of them!”

“Next time, listen to the tutor. That way you’ll know exactly which book to bring, instead of panicking at the last minute,” Logan says bluntly.

Deceit snickers slightly at Roman’s indignant gasp, and shakes his head.

“Just grab the ones most likely to be used, Ro, or we’re going without you,” he teases lightly, “I’ve got philosophy and I really need to be seen as a good student after last year...”

There’s a loud huff, but soon enough Roman is saying goodbye to Virgil and Patton, and running after them, complaining about how mean they are. But Deceit still smiles, feeling at peace with the casual and friendly complaints.

“Doing okay, Mister...um...damn I have no nickname ideas this morning...”

Deceit chuckles and nods.

“I think I am, yeah.”

Dear Me,

Elliot hasn’t spoken to me since the incident, and they’ve changed classes. I don’t know if that’s because of me, because of my ex, or if that’s one and the same reason right now.

I mean, I feel like working against my ex is just causing more and more trouble. And I don’t want trouble...I also don’t want Elliot in trouble. Everything feels like so much more, if that makes sense. And honestly – the irony there – even if it doesn’t make sense, I don’t care. My emotions aren’t here to make sense, they’re here to just be.

And that should be okay.

I think.

Deceit wakes up at 11pm every night, if he manages to fall asleep before then. And then he’s unable to sleep again until 2am. He finds himself breathing deeply, shaking in his bed and trying desperately to calm himself.

“A...B...C...” he keeps it up, slowly going through the alphabet until the initial wave of panic passes, slowly fading in lieu of the slightly less intense anxiety.

He knew perfectly well why this strange night time habit kept up. The memories, the way he was used to being awake at this time...or being woken up…

“It’s fine,” he tells himself, curling up, “I’m safe now. He’s not here. I’m safe.”

Years of lying to himself catch up, and he just can’t believe his own words. And he hates it. He can’t trust himself, and sometimes he still catches himself not trusting others. There’s no winning, it seems. Or perhaps that’s a cognitive distortion caused by sleep deprivation and trauma.

“...it’s okay,” he whispers again, trying his best and tightening his grip on the blanket wrapped around him, “it’s fine...just a couple of hours and we can go back to sleep...”

It was hard. It was always hard. Every night, dealing with the same worries and flashbacks and intrusive thoughts and internal conflict. It was tiring, and yet he still couldn’t sleep.

Not until two am, at the very least.

And then it’s back to the nightmares.

Dear Me,

I hate conflict and hearing people argue. Anger makes me nervous. Logan and Virgil argued who was going to wash the dishes the other day, and I had to go hide in my room for a bit. I don’t think they realised why, thankfully. I don’t like admitting my anxiety over that.

Sometimes I just freeze up. I guess I feel like...if I just stay still and don’t do anything, maybe I’ll be safe. It was usually the safest way to deal with my ex, after all. Just stay still, don’t mess up. If you don’t do anything, you’ll get yelled at but you probably won’t get hit.

Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m doing better! But some of the fears just won’t budge. I guess we can heal the wound, but scars take longer to fade.

Which sucks, not gonna lie. I hate it.

“I hate feeling angry at him,” Deceit admits to Dr Picani, “I feel like I’m supposed to forgive him and just...move on with my life. But it’s hard, and he’s just...walked back into my life. Even if I don’t see him a lot, he’s there...you know?”

Deceit looks down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands, picking at his nails. Maybe he should ask Remy to do his nails, the enby was great and had so many colours. Maybe black. Or yellow. Or both…

He sighs, trying to keep his mind on track in time to hear Dr Picani.

“You don’t have to forgive him,” Dr Picani replies gently, “you’re allowed to feel angry.”

Angry. The word, the feeling, it runs through him like a jolt of electricity. All the times he was denied the chance to be angry, to fight back, to argue that his treatment was wrong. All the times his boyfriend then lashed back out in anger, snapping and shouting and hurting him.

Anger was bad, surely. He didn’t want to be angry. He didn’t want to risk being like him.

“Of course I have to forgive him,” mutters Deceit, folding his arms, “that’s what you do, right? The narrative is always forgiveness, moving on and all that shit...but I don’t feel...able to.”

Forgive and forget – he was so fed up of the narrative that forgiveness was the end goal. He didn’t want to forgive him. He didn’t want to pretend he could ignore or get over or be okay or whatever else forgiveness was meant to be. A lack of anger perhaps? How could he not feel angry at his treatment?

“And that’s okay,” Dr Picani insists, “your feelings are valid.”

Deceit blinks, jerking his head up to stare at the counsellor, who smiles warmly. There was something nice about that sentiment. He just wasn’t sure how much he believed that right now.

“...I feel fixated. How is that...”valid”? It’s like an obsession, Picani. I feel stuck in these feelings, and I can’t get myself free...”

Deceit breathes deeply, fiddling with his nails again. However calm he was, he inevitably ended up feeling like he was being overdramatic, especially in these sessions.

“I...I know I’m getting better,” he adds softly, “I’m being more social, and I’m doing the things I need to do to help stay...in the present. But sometimes I feel like I’m not getting better...fast enough, you know? I’m sure I’ve been in recovery for far too long.”

He frowns when Dr Picani chuckles slightly, but the counsellor simply shakes his head.

“There’s no such thing as too long,” the counsellor reassures him, “everyone heals at different rates, Dee. You don’t need to worry about time. You’re healing at your own pace, and that’s exactly how it should be.”

Deceit groans, because he knows that Dr Picani is right. Healing was slow and tiring and took so much time and energy. Sometimes he just hated having to acknowledge it.

“It’s going to be worth it, right?” he asks, trying to pretend the question wasn’t cutting deep.

“It will be,” Dr Picani reassures him again, “it’s going to be okay, and it’s going to be worth it.”

And so Deceit smiles, just slightly.

“Thank you.”

Dear Me,

So apparently there’s such a thing in abused children, or children from dysfunctional families, called “toxic family roles”. People tend to fall into different roles, like “the troublemaker” or “the lost child”. I was trying to see if there’s anything similar for domestic abuse survivors.

And wow, can we acknowledge that I just referred to myself as a domestic abuse survivor?

Deceit throws his arms around Virgil from behind, the typically anxious boy not even blinking, simply continuing to work.

“Hey Dee,” Virgil says, not looking up, “you good?”

“...yeah, actually...been practising those breathing exercises you do...they’re helping more now.”

Virgil looks up and smiles, relaxing Deceit a bit. “That’s good. I told you, you gotta practice these things to get the most out of them.”

Deceit nods, humming to himself as Virgil goes back to working, then lets go, instead coming around to sit beside him. It wasn’t that long ago that he would have hated admitting Virgil was right. That anyone was right. Sometimes admitting people were right felt like vulnerability, which was something Deceit hated, even as he tried not to.

“Hey, Virgil, can I ask you a sensitive question?” he asks finally, breaking the pesudo-silence.

(It wasn’t really silent, Virgil was a loud writer. Scratch scratch scratch.)

Virgil closes his book, putting it down before breathing deeply and nodding.

“Sure. I, uh, I guess so...go for it.”

“I can-”

“Go for it, seriously.”

Deceit still hesitates before asking, and blurts it out like Virgil so often did - “how did you deal with your parents? Did they try to put themselves back into your life?”

He internally curses himself for a moment for asking what he was actually wondering. He just needed advice from someone else, someone who had been through similar things.

“I mean...kind of. It took me a while to find a way to move out...things were rough in the meantime...” Virgil takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “They...called me a lot of names. My mum hit me a lot. My dad kept threatening to kick me out. It wasn’t a good time in my life.”

“I...I’m sorry...”

Deceit is sorry for asking. And sorry for messing up and letting his ex take his phone. No, no, that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. But he still felt bad, and was still sorry for it.

“It’s fine...I mean, it is now. I moved out as soon as I could, which was in my Junior year, towards the end. Got a job cleaning the local hospital, found a friend to move out to...you remember Kai, right?”

Deceit thinks for a moment. “...The skateboarder who claimed he didn’t play games competitively cause he was embarrassed?” he asks, and Virgil nods.

“Yeah. He was a good guy...ended up going to freaking Harvard. I think he’s working on being a games developer, the nerd...” Virgil smiles fondly before sighing. “My parents pestered us a lot. A lot of phone calls, asking if I was there. A lot of threats. One time they turned up and we had to call the police.”

“That’s awful...” Deceit murmurs, looking down. “You...You’re really brave...ugh no, I hate that phrase...”

Virgil just chuckles though, shaking his head.

“It’s fine, I know what you mean. But, um...in the end, I got a restraining order and basically disowned myself. Uh, emancipated. It was a scary process.”

Deceit tilts his head, a bit confused. “Emancipated? ...restraining order? You can do that?”

He still can’t quite believe that he can ask that sort of question without being mocked and laughed at. The words of his ex run through his head, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe, hard to think. The thoughts of how stupid he is run through his head. He can hear his ex’s voice, loud and harsh in his ears. He can feel the sting of the inevitable slap.

No! No, we can handle this – breathe – breathe deep, we can do this!

He’s certain that Virgil is there, that Virgil is concerned or trying to help, but he just can’t register it. It’s too much, or too little, or something.

No...no, we have to do this. We can do this.

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to hold it in, and then slowly releases it. He can’t remember the number of seconds it’s meant to be, not right now. But he still breathes, deep and slow. Holds it then lets it go. He forces himself into a rhythm.

It’s not a quick fix.

But slowly, the sting fades, his thoughts settle, just a little, and his ex’s voice becomes softer, harder to hear. And then he can feel Virgil’s hands gently resting on his shoulders, can hear his voice, firm and yet calm and comforting. There’s no pressure, just gentle reassurance that he’s safe and will be okay.

“I...I’m sorry,” he mumbles, breathing in slowly, “...I didn’t mean to...I mean...ugh...”

“It’s okay...how are you feeling?” Virgil rubs his back gently.

Deceit isn’t actually sure, and hesitates over his response. The urge to just lie was a bit too much. But he was trying, so hard, to tell the truth. He didn’t want to fall back into old habits. Who knew what other old habits he could fall into that way? He didn’t want to risk it.

“...I’m not sure. Okay, I think. I think I can manage...”

Virgil helps him back up onto the sofa – when had he fallen off? Deceit hated being so unaware of these things.

Virgil holds Deceit close, gently reassuring him with soft words, continuing until Deceit relaxes fully, the wave of self doubt and fear finally passing.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, “...I appreciate your help...”

“It’s no-”

The door swings open all of a sudden, causing both to jump as Logan comes running in, excitedly waving a letter.

“I got the medical internship!”

And like that the mood becomes better, excited, with Virgil and Deceit making sure to congratulate him as much as possible.

He deserved it.

Dear Me,

I think the five stages of grief apply to abusive relationships, sometimes. The denial that there is or was a problem. Then there’s the depression, and the anger...the bargaining I guess is more within the relationship once you do the denial part.

Alright, I suppose it’s more denial then bargaining then depression then anger.

I think for me at least, I’m finally understanding the damage he did. The damage he chose to do. And I’m finally getting angry over it. I hate it, I don’t want to be angry, but I didn’t deserve that. Whatever he said, I deserved better.

I’m just afraid of anger, including my own.

Deceit has to take a deep breath sometimes. It was getting easier to feel anger. Not anger at anyone, really. Just a deep, underlying anger about how he was treated. Anger at his ex-boyfriend for ruining so many years of his life, perhaps. All he knew was that sometimes it burned.

He breathes deeply as he prepares to enter his philosophy class. He was okay. He could do this. He just had to breathe. Count to ten, take a nice deep breath, and relax his muscles. He could do this. He could be calm, and he could control himself.

His anger at his ex and his abuse still burned, lingering like a fog around his mind, but he could sit and focus on the debate without getting angry and storming out. And he considered that to be an improvement, so he was happy.

After the class, his professor keeps him behind.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks nervously.

“Not at all!” the professor smiles, “you’re attending the law programme after this year, correct?”

Of course, Deceit nods, biting his lip. Surely the professor was going to tell him to give up? To quit, and not even try to do it?

“Well, I have an opportunity for a part time job in a law firm. It’s only a receptionist, don’t get me wrong, but they give frequent opportunities for internships and experience to law students that work for them. I think you should apply. You’d be good at it.”

Deceit blinks, and then frowns. He didn’t trust this.

“Why? Why me?”

To his surprise, the teacher doesn’t react as if caught out. They simply sift through some papers before smiling back at him again.

“”Because I’ve seen your progress, and think this will help you progress even further. You’ve shown a good work ethic, clear compassion, and dedication towards law. So, do you want me to email you the details so that you can apply?”

Deceit has to take a moment for the information to sink in. Work ethic, compassion and dedication? He wasn’t sure he should believe that. Hadn’t he been told he was lazy and selfish and ruined things?

No, that was my ex. He told me those things, so I shouldn’t believe him.

So really, there was only one answer.

“Yes please, I want to take this opportunity.”

And the anger feels a little less intense, but still there, fuelling something larger, something he couldn’t quite yet recognise.

But he thinks he’s ready for this, to take the leap of faith and apply for something new and exciting.

And the something inside burns brighter still.

#deceit sanders #virgil sanders #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw homophobia #sympathetic virgil

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gwoongi · 6 years ago

Text

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (3)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 5114

“This won’t be forever, Y/N,” he said, with such a sincere and genuine voice that you felt your stomach knot and churn, a lump forming in your throat. Suddenly you need another drink of water. “You won’t be sad forever.”

warnings: graphic content, death references, gore, swearing, dark themes

a/n: some people really might dislike the flashback additions i add, but they’re pretty much there to add context to the situation + to also develop the characters more, without me adding unnecessary dialogue or details which will slow each scene. omg also a note, (potential writer bias here), but y/n is a very . troubled character, and so she really isn’t this “strong unaffected leader”, she has some issues + i hope the story reflects these issues respectfully ((bc i worked rlly hard))

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05. scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare

5 WEEKS LATER.

At nobody’s surprise, the car ran out of gas around three days after Oklahoma. Since leaving the car on the side of the road in the middle of Oklahoma, it had been just Taehyung and yourself, walking the open road, deprived of water and a place to sleep. It was impossible to tell where you were now, walking like biters yourselves, staggering across the dusty roads.

Waking to the sound of refreshing birdsong, you squinted in the tawny sunlight. Rolling your head to your shoulder, your gaze landed on Taehyung crouched before you, the back of his hand pressed against your forehead worriedly, a frown etched to his lips.

You yawned, and he moved away his hand. “You’ve got a fever.”

A shaky laugh left your lips. “Ain’t that funny.”

His boots shifted on the gravel of the floor inside the multi storey car-park, your back leaned against the graffiti covered wall. A halo above your head in yellow spray-paint, Taehyung figured you looked pretty despite looking as you’d expect in an apocalypse. Though, he didn’t bet that he looked any better.

“Tired?” he asked, cocking his head to look at you as he zipped up his backpack.

“My legs hurt,” you admitted quietly, voice hoarse. “Thirsty.”

“Me too,” Taehyung muttered, stroking hairs away from your damp forehead. “We’ll find somewhere to stay, I promise, and I’ll find us something to drink. Just...don’t close your eyes, okay? Try and stay awake for me, okay?”

Keeping your eyes open as he helped lift you off the floor felt like the most impossible thing in an impossible world. “I’m gonna die from dehydration. Isn’t that hilarious?”

He grunted, supporting your weight. “We can’t afford to think like that.”

“‘m gonna die on you,” you continued, attempting to walk without his help. “I’m the leader and I’ve led you to death.”

“Don’t think like that,” Taehyung replied, out of breath slightly as he carried himself and your weight down a short flight of stairs. Despite being your companion crossing the country, he wasn’t sure if he was comfortable enough calling you a friend, yet. There was a tension, an unspoken thing between the two of you - a refusal to get to know each other, but an urge to know everything at once. Taehyung never asked questions, feeling he wasn’t close enough to get the answers. Still, same as before, he needed you to survive, and you needed him, now more than ever. “You can’t let it guilt you. Stop talking, it’s gonna wear you out. Just stay quiet and keep walking, okay? I’m right here.”

“I’m the worst leader.”

“Nu-huh. You’re the best leader, okay? You’ve got us so far. Don’t give up now, come on.”

Heaving himself forwards through the closed iron door, a flood of light made you grimace with a loud hiss, bringing your sleeve to cover your eyes as Taehyung carried you across the length of the car-park. Occasionally he would stumble, jumping you back up straight with an arm around his shoulders, your legs giving away and dragging like a doll across the concrete.

“Hey, hey, stay awake, okay?” Taehyung said, his voice more frantic now, as he crouched his head to look at your face closer. The sweat had opened up your pores, and your dark circles were even more prominent as a feature of your face. He didn’t mind. “Eyes on me, Y/N. Can you hear me?”

An incoherent grumble was good enough and he cursed softly, walking quicker across the park, his breaths laboured and a line of sweat building up at his hairline, his fringe sticking like mixture to a bowl to his forehead. Each step was followed with a breathless, “please,”, his fingers tightening on your skin, his heart physically hurting at the thought of letting you down...just a bit further, now. Just a little bit further-

Losing his steps, stumbling over his own feet as you hung limp by his side, Taehyung let you fall to the ground with a soft exhale of breath, your hair spilling out like a halo around your head. The sun was hot on his skin as he bent over you, checking for a pulse, relieved when he found it. By now, you were unresponsive.

He was panicked- his hands trembled as he cradled your face in his hands, calling you back to him, searching for a response in your face. Never before had he felt so afraid at the thought of being alone in this world, alone without a companion- without a possible friend. Without you.

“Stop right there!”

Hands still cradling your face, Taehyung looked up immediately, his eyes squinting in the midday sunlight. In a few seconds, they focused on a dark silhouette standing on top of a barricaded storage container, painted a navy blue with the words, “WILL SHOOT ON SIGHT!” sprayed on. Clearly he hadn’t noticed that. He was mostly thankful they hadn’t shot on sight. The figure did not move, standing still with their gun pointed in his direction. Without looking, too, Taehyung could sense about three other bandits pointing guns at him, masks pulled up over their faces, caps covering eyes.

“Please-”

“Are you infected?” the same voice called, gruff and loud. A shooter nearby shot down an approaching biter, slow in movement but regardless, still a threat.

“What? No, we-”

“Is she bit?” the voice repeated, pointing the gun at your body laying on the floor, sweat pooling by your arms. Taehyung looked down at you worriedly and then looked back up.

“No!” he was confident.

The figure lowered their gun for a moment. “Is she dead?”

“No,” Taehyung replied without a second of breath. “No! We’ve been walking for days and we ran out of water. She’s dehydrated.”

A second shooter scurried across the top of the container. “The girl’s down. Not a threat.”

“Anybody who’s not us is a threat.”

The second shooter frowned behind the mask. “Give them the water. They ain’t a threat to us yet. You’d want them to do the same.”

Although he seemed irritated, the first figure lowered his gun and pushed past the female shooter, hopping down from the container onto the floor. The girl remained indifferent, glancing at Taehyung in the middle of the street. Wordless, she waved her hand and the containers swiftly shifted, as if on cue, revealing a gate into a cluttered road, decorated with newspapers and large crates with, “NORTHGATE” engraved on them. Taehyung let out a sigh of immense relief, shifting to collect you in his arms, and without objection, moved towards the gates.

NEW YORK CITY, DECEMBER, 3 YEARS AGO. 2 WEEKS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK.

“What a way to spend Christmas.”

Taehyung had never spent a Christmas away from his family. Of course, with his sister being a second year student at NYU, she was breezing through her second Christmas away with ease. To the corner of her dorm room, a Christmas tree shedding bristles stood at an angle, with ugly decorations and a sponge at the top acting as the star- “Christmas on a budget,” she said when he mentioned it, and he laughed. In a room further down the hall, her roommates finished wrapping their gifts to give out in three days time, and Taehyung, amongst the sound of carols, focused his attention on the thickening pile of snow on the windowpane outside, the frost glued to the glass in web decorations.

“Tell me about it,” Taehyung replied animatedly, turning his attention to his sister who sat down on the circle carpet in front of him. She wore a bright green jumper decorated in gingham and flashing bulbs sewn into the wool, and plain black leggings with fluffy red and white socks. On her hair, a set of reindeer ears finished her look, meanwhile Taehyung settled with a similar jumper and bare feet, numbed by the fire.

His sister’s dorm sufficed as home. For now, at least.

“I can’t believe we can’t make it home this year,” she continued, dunking a Custard Cream into her hot chocolate. “You think they’re okay back home?”

“We can’t afford to think any different,” Taehyung replied, trying to remain optimistic. But with upper-New York in quarantine, and evacuations running almost daily, he was finding it harder to hang onto hope. “We’ll catch a flight when the airlines are back open. Knowing Dad, he’s probably taken them all to Grandma’s place. For comfort, and safety, while the raids finish. Did you hear about the riots in Detroit the other day?”

She nodded. “Scary stuff. I did some research before the internet shut down in the dorms, and it doesn’t look as extreme in Korea. I mean, the President was assassinated and there’s currently no stable Government, but, aside from that, everything seemed to be in working order. Daegu was fine, at least. I didn’t look anywhere else.”

At that, Mandy, a second roommate, stepped out from the thin corridor. “I heard England was the same. Brits executed their prime-minister a few nights ago. There was articles about them wanting to have Tom Hiddleston as the leader of the UK, which, to be honest, sounds pretty good. I’d go visit.”

Laughing, his sister thought nothing of it. She turned to Taehyung with a gentle gaze, not enough to cause panic, but enough to send a message without words.

“Did your friends leave campus already?” Mandy asked Taehyung, switching on the kettle. The TV fizzled to a static and she frowned, “great. Looks like the power’s cutting out too. Is it this bad in the Halls?”

“We still have internet. And, a few left campus. I think Zac is still in the dorms, though. He hasn’t left in a couple of days. He said he wasn’t feeling well. Figures he got sick from walking past the quarantine zone. I didn’t wanna take chances so I haven’t been there in a couple days.”

“Maybe you should stay here for the night,” Mandy offered kindly, sipping her freshly brewed tea. “I mean, until the storm has thawed. If Zac is sick, we don’t want you to catch it. We can drop by on the way to the student store in the morning and get your things. I don’t think the airlines are gonna reopen anytime soon, and subways were closed months ago, and I don’t think we’ll catch a ride on the bus in this weather. We’ll have to hole up in here until the military says it’s safe to leave.”

Taehyung accepted, taking a blanket from Mandy after she hurried to their storage closet to fish one out, with pillows spare for the couch, a new makeshift bed in front of the roaring fire.

“We’ll be together if anything bad happens,” his sister said, in a whisper, minutes before mandatory curfew at 9pm. “Promise?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung replied, his hand gripping her own. “I promise...”

PRESENT DAY. [x]

At the sound of bed sheets rustling, Taehyung jolted awake. Unable to differentiate the past and the present, Taehyung opened his eyes expecting to see the fireplace, and the Christmas tree, and his sister on the circle rug. Instead, he noticed an unfamiliar room, drowned in a desert-beige, the light peeping in from a rectangular barred window.

He dragged the chair he had fallen asleep on closer to the army bed you were lying on, the noise as grating as the sound of chalk on a blackboard. Checking for injuries, his hands smoothed away strands of hair from your face, the trembling anxiety faded but still present if he really concentrated.

With a groan, you tried to sit up, but his hands came to your shoulders and settled you back on the canvas sheets. “Where are we?”

“How are you feeling?” he asked, avoiding the question.

You pondered the question- “stiff. But I’m okay. What is this place?”

Taehyung looked over his shoulder at the empty room. “You were passed out on the road when they found us. We were headed for their camp and they stopped me for questioning. They let us in, gave you water, let you rest.”

“Oh,” your voice said, scratchy. By the headboard of the small, iron bed, Taehyung reached for a glass of warming water, handing it to you quickly. “Thankyou.” You swallowed half the water. “Are we staying here?”

Taehyung looked hesitant, taking a sip from the almost empty cup and setting it back down on the table. “I don’t know if we can trust these people. At the very least, we’ll stay for the night. They could give us some supplies to leave. I’m already running low on ammo, and we have nothing left to eat. I don’t think we have any other choice but to stay.”

You knew that there was no other way. Despite his efforts to keep you down, you shuffled back up off the bed, your back leaning with a heavy thud against the drywall. Taehyung pushed back on his chair, his hands knitted together anxiously as he watched you grimace, and scratch your throat absentmindedly.

“How long have we been here?” you asked.

“Not long,” Taehyung said quietly, looking the window to see the falling sunlight change angles. “It’s been a couple hours.”

“Are they at least nice? Does the camp look secure?”

Taehyung opened his mouth, but paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s not a camp. It’s more like, a street. A small little community of really angry people. I didn’t get to look around much, but I overheard one of the shooters saying that there was another small group of survivors outside near the farm. But, from what I heard, I think we got lucky being let inside.”

Having nothing of value to say in reply, you simply stayed quiet. Picking the skin around your nails, Taehyung shuffled back on the chair and pulled it to the wall with the window, standing on the plastic and peeking outside. The window was on the ground, meaning you weren’t, and he gulped at the sight of jeep wheels driving past, and black boots, similar to the military. It reminded him of New York, and the night before the bombing of the quarantine near NYU. He cringed and moved away, placing the chair back near the bed and hovering nearby, debating whether to sit or stand.

“You talk in your sleep, too,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze as it fluttered up from beneath his overgrown fringe. He offered a lopsided smile, curious yet nervous all at once.

“Yeah? Must have picked it up from you.” Instead of the chair, he sat on the bed. “Did I say anything funny?”

“No. Most of it was mumbles,” you replied, smiling up at him.

Taehyung laughed through his nose, his face downcast and fingers twiddling in his lap. “Ah, pity. I wish we still had cameras, you could have filmed it for fun.”

“I wish I still had my camera, so I could look back on my life before now,” you answered, after a short delay of silence. “Remind myself of people’s faces. Manipulate myself into thinking this is all a dream.”

Without really thinking, Taehyung reached to grip your hand. These days, he hasn’t really thought at all. You looked up at him, comforted at the way his hand felt on your own, smoothing circles into the skin of your knuckles, exploring the lines on your palm, fingering each separation. Oh, how beautiful it was, to find comfort in the presence of someone you barely knew, but trusted entirely.

Before you could reply, the door swung open, and his hands moved from your own back to his lap. He rose, too, reaching for the back of his jeans, gripping the pistol tucked inside.

The same female shooter from the container entered, her rifle swung over her shoulder, skin sweaty and tanned from the camo tank-top she wore underneath her black jacket, discarded somewhere. Taehyung remembered the details.

“She’s awake, then.”

“Yeah,” you replied bluntly, polite enough to suffice as gratefulness. “Thank you. For letting us in.”

The woman sighed, her shoulders sagging in the movement. “Well, no need to thank me yet. It’s still being cleared with the boss. Rules are rules. Feeling better, at least?”

You nodded slightly, staring at Taehyung as he chose to speak for you. “Can we leave this room, yet? It’s stuffy, and I think she’d like to walk for a while, isn’t that right, Y/N?”

He stared at you, sending messages without words. You nodded again, “please.”

Rolling her shoulders, the woman stepped to the side, leaving space for you to both walk out. “Don’t make yourself too at home, but you’re free to look around. Inside this building is restricted to outsiders, but the outside near the farm is free. There’s another group of survivors nearby- they’re cranky and hostile, but, they had children. We never refuse kids.”

Already, you were learning little things about this place. To be truthful, you didn’t even know what to call where you were- were they captors? Saviours? Enemies? You hesitated to jump to conclusions, instead moving to follow Taehyung out of the confined room with a curt nod and no words. The woman didn’t seem to mind; she slammed the door shut behind her and pointed her gun in the direction of a raised shutter, leading out to the luscious-looking farmland out back. She didn’t follow. She took off in a different direction, signalling to her group with words neither you or Taehyung could understand.

“I have a really bad feeling about this place,” you admitted in a low voice, sticking to Taehyung’s side like glue. The faint smell of sweat and grime that would have repelled you now comforted you instead, and without wanting to come across as unnecessarily clingy, you gently held onto the back of his shirt, letting him lead you out into the scorching sunlight.

“Hopefully,” he began, setting off towards the red and white barn pushed towards the corner of the premises, “we won’t be here long. As soon as we’re clear to leave, we will.”

Realistically, Taehyung knew what happened to newcomers who joined groups where everything felt perfect. Nothing was ever truly perfect, he thought, especially so in a post-apocalyptic world where dead people were coming to life to eat people. Taehyung had seen the movies, bought the T-shirt, played the game- he knew what happened. However, he hoped humanity had changed. He was willing to give this place a chance. If he wanted to survive another night, he’d have to.

The barn was ordinary looking, painted a brick red with white outlines, the picture-perfect barn that every farm had on TV. Surrounding the barn, a field of dead crops created a barren landscape that everybody felt familiar with, the weather not being right to grow crops. Approaching the barn, Taehyung paused when he noticed a young child running out, chased playfully by a Saint Bernard whose pants were louder than birdsong.

It had been a long time since he had seen a child. Or a dog.

He headed towards the barn, smiling affectionately when the little boy looked over with curiosity, his eyes widening in surprise and fright and he yelped in alarm, running back inside the barn. Taehyung hesitated, making you stiffen behind him as the dog growled in your direction, only halting when a man came out of the barn with the child cowering behind his leg. He didn’t look old enough to be a father, but a lot had happened since the outbreak. The man smiled nonetheless, his smile being nothing but warm and inviting.

“Hey, look, it’s the newbies.”

“Newbies?” you mocked without thinking. Although Taehyung gave you a look of mild disappointment, the man did not deter, in-fact he laughed and placed his hands on his hips.

“It’s good to see new faces,” he said earnestly. “They don’t bring in new people often. Welcome.”

“I’m Taehyung. This is Y/N, we won’t be here long,” Taehyung promised, stretching out a hand and shaking the man’s. The man laughed shortly, constantly smiling. His energy was like a breath of fresh air, almost enough to convince you that everything was normal.

“Namjoon. This here is Daniel. Not mine, of course. There’s a couple others in the back of the barn,” the man- Namjoon- replied. “I wouldn’t place your money on getting out of this place so easily. We’ve been here for a few weeks now. We planned to stay for three nights until Jenny’s fever levelled out. They took her in for testing. Said she’s in care, but we haven’t seen her since then.”

Taehyung moved to greet Daniel, crouching to his level. Meanwhile you stared blankly at Namjoon, an expression of doubt and question on your features. He noticed, but didn’t comment.

“They won’t let you visit?” you repeated. “Why?”

Namjoon shrugged, nodding for you to follow him into the barn. “Apparently their main building is off-limits to outsiders. A lot of them in here think she’s dead already. But, it’s nice to keep holding onto hope.”

Without approaching too closely, you made note of the six people in Namjoon’s group, not including himself and Daniel, who was still outside with Taehyung, giggling innocently. What they lacked in looks they made up for in numbers- you hadn’t seen a group look so wrecked in such pristine conditions. Namjoon had turned away, taking a seat on a bale of hay, stroking the Saint Bernard behind his ears lovingly.

“What is this place?” you asked, inching towards the dog whose tag read Leo.

“They don’t really tell us anything since we’re outsiders,” Namjoon began, occasionally looking up to make sure you were listening. He did that a lot. “But, a lot of their crates say Northgate. Nate says it’s a military name, but we obviously can’t prove that from in here, can we?”

“Is it...safe?”

Namjoon hesitated. “I don’t know. The barn is secure. I don’t know much about the actual camp. We mostly stick to ourselves and do whatever they ask. We’re in their territory, after-all. It started out good; they had enough food to go around, we joined them for dinner in their halls and there used to be pigs out in the fields. And then, it changed. They reduced our food supply and gave us small jobs to help out. We’re doing it for Jenny, mostly, otherwise we would have tried to leave. One of our group members, David, left a few days ago.”

“They let him go?” you gasped, trying not to sound too unconvinced that he made it away. But, as expected, Namjoon nodded, thinking purely of the situation. You wondered if it was an act, a coping mechanism. The look of life and hope in his eyes made you feel somehow guilty.

“They asked us if we wanted to leave a few days after the food began running out. David was the only one to pick up and head out.”

Why didn’t you leave?

In reply, however, you said nothing. Nothing seemed like the right thing to say in that moment. Seeing someone so hopeful for the world to change made you feel at ease, almost comfortable in the new and unfamiliar setting. After petting Leo, you stood, turning around to head back towards the entrance to the barn. Daniel hurried past you on your way out, a smile on his face, hair now tied into a bobble above his forehead. Taehyung stood alone, now, outside, watching Daniel leave with a smile.

“Making friends?” you asked, referencing Daniel.

Taehyung nodded with a hum. “I love kids.”

Meeting by his side, you stood in silence, both looking out towards the giant building you walked out of. It looked bigger on the outside- a giant bricked building, with modern windows and a slightly falling apart roof, but intimidating in size and length. It seemed never-ending.

“Taehyung,” you started, your voice quiet so that Namjoon or anybody else wouldn’t hear, “I really don’t like this place. I don’t think we should stay.”

He looked over at you with a frown. “You heard what he said. They’ve been here weeks and still haven’t left.”

“I don’t like that,” you insisted, shaking your head. “I’ve seen thousands of movies like this one, Taehyung. I’m telling you- this is exactly what happened in Season 4 of the The Walking Dead. They get to the safe place and then suddenly find out that the people they’re staying with are cannibals-”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“No,” you reasoned, looking at his face, “I’m being realistic, as usual. Look, it’s your call. If you wanna stay...we will. I’m just putting it out there. Something doesn’t feel right about this place.”

Even though he sighed, Taehyung said nothing; instead, he nodded, patting your shoulder comfortingly. He continued to stare out towards the building, and his mouth dropped to a circle when he noticed two groupies heading in your direction, accompanied by a larger, more plump woman. He pointed it out silently, nudging your shoulder, and as you looked up, you recognised the same woman from earlier, and a shooter that Taehyung seemed to recognise as he jolted in discomfort by your side.

“I see you’ve found the barn!” a voice nobody recognised called from across the lot. The larger woman came into view, the sun bouncing off her skin, a natural highlight made from sweat and grease blinding you as she got closer. “Hi, I’m Rose. You must be the two newcomers everybody’s talking about.”

She looked at you specifically, “it’s good to hear you’re back on your feet. I heard from Snowdon here that you were passed out when you arrived. How do you feel?”

You squirmed. “I’m okay. I was just thirsty. I appreciate the water.”

“You know what,” Rose started, her voice elevated in pitch as she turned to address Snowdon, the female member you barely knew, “I think we should run some tests on this young lady. Make sure that nothing is wrong. Just for safety precautions, of course.”

“No, oh no,” you replied, perhaps a bit too quickly for everybody looked at you with alarm. Rose raised her eyebrows subtly, and Snowdon paused in movement entirely, “I’m fine. Really. I don’t think you need to take any tests. I feel great.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Rose said in reply. She looked silently at the two members behind her and they turned without further word. “I just wanted to let you know that you’re perfectly welcome to stay here for as long as you need. Unfortunately, we can’t let you leave just yet, at least not until we know it’s safe to reopen the gates. Until then, you’re welcome to stay in the barn with the others. Dinner is usually at around sundown, sometimes it’s earlier depending on the weather.”

Taehyung, now slightly uncomfortable, nodded stiffly. “We won’t be of any trouble. As soon as it’s clear, we’d like to head out. We’re with a group, but we got separated. We’re on our way to them, now. We can’t be late.”

Rose smiled, her face like plastic. She reminded you of a robot. “I do hope it’s doable.”

The sound of Rose’s voice must have alerted the others further in the barn, as the sound of footsteps made you look away from the woman and back towards the entrance, where several people you only saw from a distance came out, tanned and burnt, parched and weak. Daniel bounded forward with childlike interest, meanwhile a woman who looked like his mother, or something similar, tumbled after him.

“Excuse me,” the woman said meekly, her voice quiet in comparison to Rose’s challenging authority. “I was wondering if Jenny was alright? We haven’t heard from her in weeks. Is she okay? Is it possible to see her?”

“Where’s Mommy?” Daniel asked, innocent and oblivious to the world. Rose continued to smile.

“I can arrange you to see her,” she suggested. “Only two of you, though. The others do not take so kindly to strangers. I can allow you and the little one access to see her.” She reached for a walkie-talkie burrowed in her pockets, “Nevis, please come out to the barn. The little one and his friend request to see the patient in Room 16. Show them the way.”

At that, Namjoon came out, shielding the sun from his eyes. “She’s okay?”

“Barely,” Rose nodded. She seemed to not care for Namjoon, and turned back to Taehyung suddenly: “forgive me for seeming so...brash, but I must ask if you have any weapons. It’s against the rules.”

You fought all urge to give away Taehyung’s pistol tucked in the back of his jeans. If she knew that there was a weapon there, she didn’t show it. Taehyung shook his head and folded his arms.

“Nothing,” he lied smoothly. “We ran out of ammo before we got here, and when Y/N fell, I couldn’t carry everything. I dropped most of the stuff along the way. The guards took the bat and the rifle. I have nothing else.”

Rose hummed quietly. “Very well.” Nevis joined her side, the same man as before. He had removed his mask, revealing a gruesome scar across his cheek, a hollowness under his cheekbones. He remained emotionless as Rose showed him Daniel and the woman, and without question, he led them towards the building.

Watching as Rose followed, the group left behind at the barn remained quiet in return. The group went back inside, and Namjoon joined by your side as the shutter to the building closed with privacy, separating the barn and the rest of the camp entirely. It seemed to be quieter, then, without the whir of machinery and occasional scream, which you guessed was either from outside the camp or the cannibalistic lair you were putting money on existing.

“I know you have a gun at the back of your jeans,” Namjoon said simply, looking at neither you or Taehyung but straight ahead. “Let’s hope nobody finds it.”

Taehyung gulped. “Yeah.”

Namjoon looked over then, and it felt weird not seeing a smile on his face. For the first time since you had met him, he looked serious.

“I won’t say anything,” he said honestly. “And if it’s any consolation- I don’t trust them either. I just do and say what I have to to make it easier to stay.”

NEXT CHAPTER.

#omg new characters thats fit #ktaenet #btsguild #bts #bangtan #bts scenarios #bts imagine #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #kim taehyung #kth #taehyung smut #bts au #zombie apocalypse au #bts zombie apocalypse #bts v #tlou #gwoongi

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jessyurahara · 5 years ago

Text

Attention- Kippei Ebihara-

Teacher! Kippei Ebihara x Student! Reader

Listen(NSFW) Sequel

It wasn’t quite wrong to have a crush on your teacher, but it wasn’t something you wanted to talk about, least not to your friends it would end up around the school at a moments notice, it wasn’t that you didn't trust them, its just, this was something that would drive you insane.

How could you not like Mr. Ebihara though?

He was smart and handsome, and charming, and he didn’t seem as though he was that much older than you. Yet, it seemed stupid, you knew the other girls in your class more than likely felt the same way, you’d seen some of the glances they shot him, it was obvious a few would kill to seduce him and call him theirs, but you weren’t willing to allow him to disrupt your schoolwork, paying attention to everything he says despite how he made you feel. You wanted to make something of your life and you couldn’t just allow very good looking man ruin that. You didn’t dress in a way to get his attention, although sometimes you wonder if it would be fun to mess with your uniform and try and see if you could catch his eye, an sometimes you wished you had the confidence to send him a cheeky wink or a seductive glance, but you weren’t the girls in your class, and Mr. Ebihara didn’t seem foolish enough to jeopardize his entire career over a fling with a senior.

That morning, you got up, washed, dressed and tossed on your uniform, there was less than a month left until your graduation, and tossing your revision notes from last night into your rucksack, you threw your earbuds in, turning your music up as you walked out the door, today you’d only have an hour of class with Mr.Ebihara and your plan was the same as always, keep your head down, write some notes and concentrate on trying to get a good enough grade at the end of the year. That’s all that mattered to you, an you held onto the few minutes you get to walk alone and listen to your music in the morning.

Walking into your school you headed towards your locker to dump your bag and grab the books you would need for your first lesson, taking out your headphones, you could hear the laughter of the girls around you, even hearing one of them refer to Mr. Ebihara as the hottest teacher on the planet. The girls had no chance, not that you were going to let them know that.

“(Y/N)!” Akito shouted out, pulling you into a massive one-armed hug with a huge smile on his face, he was one of your closest friends and your protector. He was loud, ambitious and a ball of fun.

“Did you do the homework for Ebiharas’ class?” Akito asked you softly as he began to guide you down the corridor, his arm still tangled around you as he made people move from in front of you to guide you to your first class of the door, you shot him a smile as you responded,

“Yeah, which play did you choose?”

“’Tis Pity She’s a Whore, you?” You laughed at his choice of play, he probably decided to study it because of the word whore, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he was disappointed with the content of the play,

“Twelfth Night” You stated, smiling softly at Akito as you thought about the play you’d chosen. A classical love story with the most complicated love triangle. How could you not choose it?

It was because you understood complicated love. Not that you could say that you were in love with Mr. Ebihara you didn’t quite know him well enough to say you were in love with him, but he made your heart race and you understood the idea behind the story, knowing how it felt to like someone who you couldn’t have due to circumstances you couldn’t change, like Viola being unable to have the Duke both due to his love for Olivia and the fact that he thought she was a man.

The idea of wanting someone you can’t have.

A few moments let the bell sounded and you were arriving at your classroom with Akito, but he wasn’t in this class with you, and giving you a hug and leaving you with your other friend Toji he walked away. Together with Toji, you walked into your class with a small smile, placing your notebook on the table, pulling a pen from your pocket and Toji providing some light entertainment for you as your biology lesson carried on and on. You spent the lesson taking thorough notes and Toju spent it drawing all over his notebook and making stupid jokes in an attempt to make you giggle until the bell rang and you had to head to your locker to grab your notebook for your English lesson.

Second period, English with Mr. Ebihara, and luckily, Akito. Meeting with Akito outside of the classroom before you headed into class, walking in Mr. Ebihara was already sat at the front of the class at his desk, leaning with his arms across his chest, his gaze set on the window, a growing pile of essays resting on the table in front of him, and you added your own as did Akito.

“Time for another lesson where every girl makes googly eyes at Mr. Ebihara while all the girls stare on in envy” Akito commented Jokingly as he pulled out your seat, you took your seat as Akito took his own next to you, resting his head in the palm of his hands as he stared at you,

“Ah well, it’s only an hour, then off to History” You responded with a slight laugh to your words and a smile. The boys in your class weren’t naive enough to not notice what was going on in the classroom, anyone with eyes could see that a lot of the girls had a crush on the very attractive teacher, they hated that.

The lesson started as it normally did, and you just started taking your meticulous notes while a lot of the girls just stared at him, and some of the boys were pouting like infants, but you and Akito just sat, taking your usual notes while Mr. Ebihara spoke about the importance of Shakespeare, going into depth about the language used.

“Is anybody actually paying attention aside from Miss (L/N) and Mr. Okayasu?” Mr. Ebihara asked with a rather pronounced sigh as waved a hand towards you and Akito, closing his eyes while pressing two of the fingers from his other hand to the bridge of his nose,

“Nobody else is making notes, you guys need to know this, it’s for your exam” He stated simply, looking more than a little stressed as he gazed across the class, catching sight of a few students taking rushed notes, pretending they had been taking them the whole time,

“What’s going on?” He asked, moving around his desk and sitting himself down at his desk, resting his elbows on the desk and letting out yet another sigh,

“Why are none of you listening?” Nobody answered, probably embarrassed that they had been caught,

“Alright” Mr. Ebihara then continued on, sitting behind his desk and talking about Shakespeare, you just continued writing notes, hanging onto his every word.

The hour seemed as though it was ticking by even slower than usual, every now and then you took your gaze off of your notes, glancing around your classroom, with the girls still making eyes at Mr.Ebihara and the boys still pouting, while Mr. Ebihara was looking back at you, or, at least it looked like he was looking at you. You felt as though you could feel Mr. Ebihara’s intense gaze on your every time that you looked away from him, every time you carried on making your notes, and the more intense it got, the more it made your heart race, and the more you struggled to write your notes. You refused to give in though, you refused to look up at him, you couldn’t give in to the temptation to catch his gaze. It was like he was testing you, and the next words out of his mouth changed everything,

“Miss (L/N), can you see me after class?” Mr. Ebihara asked, you could feel some of the girls' jealous stares on your back, you head snapped up and you caught Mr. Ebihara’s gaze, and then taking another breath you turned and looked at Akito in confusion. He looked just as confused as you, you couldn’t be in trouble, could you? You haven’t been talking in class, you haven’t caused any trouble, all you’d been doing was taking notes in class. You hadn’t done anything wrong as far as you were concerned.

As the class finally came to an end, you noticed a few of the girls who were leaving giving you a dirty look, thinking you were lucky that you were going to get some one-on-one time with Mr. Ebihara. Meanwhile, you simply remained sat in your seat until everyone had left, then choosing to grab your notebook, sliding your pen into your pocket and moving to sit on your desk, taking a moment to look at Mr. Ebihara before realising that you were going to have to approach him yourself as he remained behind his desk, head in his hands, staring at you,

“Is something wrong Sir?” You asked him softly, as you perched on the edge of one of the front desks. Smiling at him as he sat behind his desk, looking confused, frustrated and slightly stressed,

“No, I just wanted to speak with you” He responded, leaning back lazily in his chance, placing up at the ceiling.

“I’m leaving (Y/N)” He stated simply and you just gazed over him curiously, unsure of why he was choosing to tell you.

“What do you mean?” You asked him softly, the curiosity lying your tone,

“I’m leaving the school” He sighed out, brushing a hand through his hair shaking his head for a moment as though his mind was trying to talk him out of what he wanted to say,

“My time here has come to an end,” He said as though it was the most simple thing in the world,

“I don’t understand” You stated, raising an eyebrow at his words, you understood that he was telling you that he was leaving, you just didn’t understand why he kept telling you that he was leaving,

“I’m only a student teacher,” He said, looking out of the window for a moment before his gaze was drawn back to you perched on the edge of the desk,

“I’ve worked here for a year now, it’s time for me to move on”

“I know, I just don’t understand why you’re telling me this” You commented speaking your mind as you brushed your fingers through the ends of your hair, again wanting to crumble under the intensity of his beautiful gaze,

“The closer it comes to my day of leaving the more it becomes a reality” He explained although it still didn’t make complete sense to you, and you simply sighed out, wondering what exactly he was attempting to get at,

“And there is something I need to get off my chest before I go” And you just nodded at his words, watching as he closed his eyes, neither of you saying a word for a moment the classroom becoming encased in an awkward silence,

“Which is what?” You asked after a few moments of being entrapped in the awkwardness.

“They offered me a job here, a full-time job, and I turned it down, because of you” His confession caused you to go into shock, your eyes widening and a gasp slipping past your lips, if you felt confused before, now you were confused and shocked.

But his confession had also caused the silence in the room to become even more deafening.

“What did I do?” You exclaimed as the shock began to wear off slightly, beginning to feel a little bit offended by his statement, how was it your fault he’d turned down a full-time job, you hadn’t done anything other than act as a good student,

“It was nothing you did, it was something I did” He explained even though it left you even more confused, and you knew he could see that from the look you were giving him,

“I have feelings for you” he paused, and another uncomfortable silence settled around you, and you were left not really knowing how to respond to him.

“Mr. Ebihara-“

“Kippei”

“Mr. Ebihara” You began again trying to remain composed despite his correction for you to use his first name,

“Is this not inappropriate?” You asked him softly, tearing your gaze away from him and fiddling with your fingers,

“I’m leaving in a week, it doesn’t really matter” Kippei responded to you with a slight shrug of his shoulders,

“I just knew that I had to tell you before I left, the reason I didn’t take the schools offer is because I don’t know if I can stand watching you ignore me anymore” Kippei continued and you raised an eyebrow, worried by his words, he thought you were ignoring him, could he not see your flushed cheeks, the shimmer in your eyes whenever you gazed at him, the soft smile on your lips, and the affection in your eyes,

“I wasn’t ignoring you Kippei” You spoke, this time choosing to use his name, a soft affection to your words, cheeks red, but you felt as though using his name was all you could offer him at this moment, here he was pouring his heart out to you

“It’s easy to get lost in your eyes” You whispered with a shrug of your shoulders not completely sure if he would hear your confession but the slight widening of his eyes told you he had, your cheeks flushed a brighter red,

“And I care about my grades, i had to keep my head down, I had to concentrate on the subject otherwise I become like every other ditz in this class” You sighed out, combing a hand though your hair as you again attempted to regain your composure.

“What does that mean, do you like me back?” He offered, there was a slight hope lining the tone of his voice as he glanced over you, you couldn’t speak and simply nodded your head at him, how could you not?

He was sensitive, he spoke so passionately throughout classes, there was a real man behind the good looks, although they really did help. You’d seen it shine through so many times, like when he’d helped out some of the bullied juniors, or when you caught a glimpse of him outside of school, walking through the park on a weekend with a little girl, he was feeding the ducks, and chasing her around.

That was the moment Kippei became more than a teacher to you.

That was when you saw he truly was a man. A wonderful man.

“Good” He commented, moving around the front of his desk, sitting in front of you on it, gazing over you with affection in his eyes,

“I’d kiss you but this is not the time or the place” You smiled at his words gazing up at him through your eyelashes, your cheeks as bright a red as they could be.

“I guess this will be our secret for now,” You told him, letting a smirk grace your lips, knowing the moment he’d told you your life had changed forever.

“I start a new job, next term, at a primary school,” He told you a soft smile on his lips, you smiled back at him, you finished school in a month, forever, and from next year he wouldn’t even be at your old high school.

“No more girls making seductive glances at me,” He told you simply, and you laughed at his words, of course, he’d noticed,

“The only girl I want looking at me is you” He stated as though it was the most simple fact in the world.

“Sounds good to me,” You told him with a smile lining your tone,

“I graduate at the end of this term, let’s hope they find a replacement English teacher who is as good as you” You giggled at him, thinking about the old substitute they would probably pull in for the last few weeks of term,

“Nobody is as good as me” He responded, folding his arms across his chest, a smirk lining his features with a slight cocky tone to his voice.

“But, I’m always here to help” He offered with a wink towards you.

“Don’t be cheeky Mr. Ebihara” You commented,

“For the next week you’re still my teacher, so keep the flirting to a minimum” You giggled out, enjoying the moment as your heart raced in your chest,

“Yes, Miss (L/N)” He smiled out,

“But once I leave you’re mine” You smiled at his words, lifting your bag up and tossing it over your shoulder, beginning your way out of his classroom brushing your hand across his arm, wishing he could gather you in his arms and kiss you.

But that could wait.

For the next week, you and Kippei were little more than student and teacher, but after that, you were going to be so much more. And for a little while it might have to remain a secret, but did you really care when you had Kippei and he had you.

Headcannons/ Love Letters/ Stories/ Drabbles

#kippei ebihara #iyat kippei ebihara #iyat fanfic #iyat headcannon #voltage headcanon #voltage fanfic #In Your Arms Tonight #iyat

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magic-and-moonlit-wings · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 21: On The Edge Of The Spotlight

Becoming The Mask

Bold and italicized text indicates trollish.

"Behold." Toby opened up a tied grocery bag. An absolutely awful smell wafted out. A nearby troll leaned in for a better sniff. "Month-old sweat socks. Shopping spree tonight, on me." To the relief of the humans, and disappointment of the curious troll, he tied the bag back up.

"Speaking of buying things, I got my tickets for the play," said Darci. "My parents said they'd come, too." Assuming her dad didn't get called in to work.

"Nice," said Mary. Claire groaned.

"I'm not ready. We're not ready. Opening night's practically here and Steve still can't really get into character. I mean, he knows his lines, finally, but his delivery could still do with a lot of work."

"I thought he was doing fine," said Mary. "Everyone but you and he and Eli keeps stumbling. I feel like I'm doing tongue twisters. At least when Steve messes up, he acts like he meant to say it that way, so most of the audience probably won't notice."

"Sure, it's 'good enough', but it feels like he's using that as an excuse not to try and get better. Iambic pentameter is supposed to flow, and he just … blasts it out."

"Toby, do you or Jim have tickets yet?" asked Darci.

She knew he had. As the Mole, she'd been helping sell tickets at a table outside the auditorium that afternoon. But none of her friends knew she was the school mascot yet, so she asked.

"I bought two, for Nana and me. Jimbo said he's worried some emergency might come up in Trollmarket or at the clinic so he's not sure he or his mom can make it, but I'm working on him to buy tickets in advance just in case, so he doesn't get to the door and find out they're sold out."

"How many emergencies does he get called in for?" Mary gestured at the bustling underground marketplace as the four humans stood aside for a few carts to pass by. "It's busy down here but it all seems pretty peaceful. And when stuff does happen, most trolls seem like they'd rather fight out their own problems."

They all jumped when a gnome popped out of the wall beside them and chittered angrily. They reminded Darci of squirrels that way.

"Have you noticed the hat colours?" Claire wondered out loud. "Red and blue, like in Gnomeo and Juliet. Except these little guys don't seem to be fighting each other."

"Have you noticed," said Toby, "how there's now at least two movies that take a Shakespeare tragedy, rework it for a happy ending, give it a surprise cast, and set it to Elton John music?"

"What's the other?"

"Lion King is supposed to be based on Hamlet."

"… Yeah, I guess I can see that," said Claire. "The sequel to that one was Romeo and Juliet, too, and the, what's it called, interquel, was like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead."

"I think it's a sidequel?" Toby looked it up on his phone. There could, amazingly, be a better signal in some parts of Trollmarket than in some areas of the town above. "An interquel happens in the time between other stories. A sidequel basically overlaps another story in time, but with different perspective or locations."

"Elton John also did the Road To El Dorado soundtrack," said Darci. "I've heard the first song was supposed to have another verse, where it talks about a prophecy of the gods coming to live in the city of gold and that's why everyone was expecting them when Miguel and Tulio showed up, but it got cut for some reason."

"We should do a slumber party this weekend," said Mary. "We could marathon a bunch of 'contemporary takes' on Romeo and Juliet and tell our parents it's for school."

"I really need this to go well," said Claire, going to fidget with her hair. Her hand brushed one of her clips and she stopped herself. "My parents have been on me practically since I auditioned. The one time I got a B, what was their advice? Drop the play. If this doesn't go great, they're going to be all, 'we told you so'."

"Hey, no matter how bad the rest of us stink, you'll do great," Mary insisted.

"You both will – AAAHH!" The gnome hopped onto Darci's shoulder, and from there onto a green troll with an orange – pelt? A beard and a fringe of fur across his shoulders – who was walking the other way. The troll either didn't notice or didn't care about the sudden passenger.

"You okay, Darce?"

"Yeah, just startled me."

"It's wild watching them jump," said Toby. "I wonder if anybody's recorded, like, a record, for how high and how far they can go. We should ask Blinky. Or Chompsky; he'll do anything for a Nougat Nummy."

"Who's Chompsky?" Darci brushed off her shoulder. She was pretty good with names, and that one sounded familiar, but she couldn't put a face to it.

"Kind of my roommate? He's a gnome who lives in my dollhouse. I don't speak gnome so I don't know his real name, so I named him after that linguist guy Noam Chomsky; Nana's got some of his books; and Chompsky rolled with it."

Pedestrian traffic had eased up, so they were able to wander onward without fear of being stepped on.

"You have a dollhouse?" Of course that was the part that would draw Mary's attention.

"It's technically Nana's but it's in my room. It's the perfect size for Sally-Go-Back and digging it out of the basement was easier than saving up for the Moon Base."

"How'd you end up with a gnome in your room?" Mary asked next. "Did it follow you back from Trollmarket or something?"

"Stow away in your backpack?" Darci could see that. They seemed to like small places, being so small themselves. An open bag would look like an invitation.

"I think he followed Jim, actually. It was before I found out about, you know," Toby spread his hands in an expansive 'ta-dah' gesture, "this. Chompsky showed up one night, and then Jim came in and saw him and was all, 'oh no, we need to catch him, this is unsafe, what if he bites?', but then Chompsky found the dollhouse and kinda settled in, and I thought he was cool, and … I guess Jim decided he had to keep his cover, so he dropped it."

Toby's face fell a little. It had to hurt, knowing his best friend had been keeping something this big from him for so long. Darci felt bad sometimes about keeping her mascot job secret from her friends, and that wasn't nearly on this scale.

Jim was in the Hero's Forge. Usually he spent some of the night with the four of them, but apparently he'd lost a sparring match a couple of nights ago, and things were tense between him and Draal and Blinky now. As Darci understood the explanation, Draal had accused Jim of slacking off and Blinky took that as an insult to his capacities as a trainer when he found out.

So Jim was ramping up his training.

AAARRRGGHH, at least, was acting as calm as ever. Darci wasn't sure the placid troll could get mad for real.

"Hi, Bagdwella," Mary greeted when they reached her shop. It looked like a junkshop to human eyes but Bagdwella advertised it as 'fine gifts'. "How's business?"

"A little slow this week," she answered. The humans liked to stop by her place because she'd let them practise speaking trollish with her. "Not unusual for the season. It should pick up in three or four days. Rumour has it" – Darci and Claire exchanged amused looks at one of the first phrases they all learned, since it was one of Bagdwella's and Mary's favourites – "some of Glug's relatives are planning to visit from Floor-ee-dah. They always forget to pack a few essentials and they like to bring home souvenirs."

"What's this?" asked Claire, suddenly, sharply. She held up a stuffed rabbit and switched languages. "Where did you get this?"

"My suppliers brought it in a while ago, I don't recall exactly."

"This is my brother's bunny! He's been acting weird ever since he lost it. Suzy Snooze was here the whole time?"

"Uh, Claire?" Toby waved at her. "First rule of bargaining, don't let them know just how bad you want the thing." He turned to Bagdwella. "I'll trade you three socks for the … toy. I don't know the words for 'stuffed rabbit'."

"It's a stuffed rabbit if it's cooked and a cloth rabbit if it's a toy. Twelve socks and a bedspring."

"Four socks and a candy wrapper."

"Ten socks, all argyle."

Toby checked his pockets. "Six socks, a candy wrapper, AND a pen full of delicious dried ink."

"Deal."

"You didn't have to do that," Claire said to Toby when they left.

"I kinda did. She runs a store, not a Lost & Found. Even if she believed you about it being your brother's, she wasn't gonna just give it back."

Claire cuddled the plush rabbit. Darci's skin crawled a bit, watching her. Who knew what the toy had gotten into while it was missing? Trolls were amazing but not very clean.

"You'd better run that through the laundry a few times before you give it back to Enrique," she said.

"It'll be good for his immune system," Claire joked. "But seriously, yeah, I will."

Previous Chapter (Barbara has dramatically ironic concerns about Jim)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Back to the main plot!)

What Toby refers to as 'Shakespeare tragedies' are more accurately called 'Shakespearean tragedies', but he either doesn't know that or doesn't care.

In S1E4, Gnome Your Enemy, Toby refers to the dollhouse in his room as "Nana's dollhouse" at least once, so he presumably got it from her.

Bagdwella has a sister, Sagdwella, who "lives under a trailer park in Oo-tah". The Quagawumps live in Florida except for one, Glug, who spends her time in Trollmarket and makes a presumably-alcohol-equivalent drink that she seems to have named after herself.

Jim and Toby didn't see Enrique being carried by a goblin or chase after them, so Suzy Snooze was left in the alley until a troll on a scavenge run happened upon the abandoned plush bunny.

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killeret-and-the-void · 7 years ago

Text

A Text Post Nobody Asked For

In which I try to figure myself out and likely fail horribly.

So! Ya boi is struggling with a little thing called Gender Identity™. Probably not all too surprising and was pretty much going to happen eventually, I think.

This will probably be incredibly long, so you can bear with me if you’d like, or just close this tab and save yourself from my ramblings. I’d like to start by saying that I am not the most informed person in the whole world so I’m apologizing right now if I word something off or cringe-worthy.

There’s also a tl;dr at the bottom.

Act I - From Little Girl, To Confused Mess

Here’s a small anecdote that may have nothing to do with anything but I wanna be thorough. When I was very little (Kindergarten just to narrow it down) I thought I was a boy. I straight up remember saying to a friend: “I think the doctor’s got it wrong. I’m a boy.” This was before I knew of any anatomical differences between sexes, and once I did know of such a thing I was like “Oh darn. Well I guess they were right after all” and I continued on my merry way thinking I was then considered a “tom boy”.

Still, however, this was around the time that as a child, I would roleplay with friends on the playground. We’d play characters from the most recent Disney Channel Original Movie or something like that and act out the a scene or two, and you know how a rather large majority of those movies have one main dude and one main chick? Well we’d take turns on who would play who. I remember being disgruntled having to “play the guy” - you know, feeling like I couldn’t do it properly or something.

I’m not sure when I began to prefer “playing the guy”.....

But this was only in acting, you know? When playing a video game where I could choose my character’s sex, I always chose female. Something about wanting to make my character either look like me, or look like how I wanted to look at that time.

Enter into highschool and me using tumblr. The Hell Site.

It was this period where I really tried to form my own opinions and it happened to be when I became rather educated on things that I had otherwise been oblivious to. My feelings on myself really hadn’t changed: I was fine with my biological makeup and even started to find out that I could see myself in a relationship with another girl. Sadly though along with high school and growing up, along came depression. I became disillusioned and started hating myself - listening to music and playing video games helped place me in someone else’s shoes. Sophomore year I even tried my hand in drama, but I had to drop it due to anxiety and stress from mulitasking it with an AP class.

I suppose it didn’t help that the district flat-out wouldn’t allow someone to play a character or sing a part that didn’t match their biological sex. And quite frankly, at that time, the idea of playing anything that was close to how I was seemed despicable. If I am a girl, why would I wanna act as one? That’s too easy. If I’m bisexual, why would I wanna act a character who is bisexual? It wouldn’t be acting. And if I’m a morally sound person, why would I not wanna be the most evil, brutal antagonist of the show?

I figured this stemmed from me... hating myself. I was slipping in school, feeling more worthless with every passing day. Crawling out of my own skin sounded like the only solution. I didn’t want to be me. Or anything that I already was.

The explanation made sense, and it put my questions to rest. So I continued to read the parts of male characters when we were able to choose what Shakespeare role we wanted in class, continued wanting to dress up like male characters for Halloween, and my opinion of my own body image didn’t change. I was comfortable doing what I did. Until now.

Act II - Trevor

Instead of physically acting, I combined my interest in the act of pretend with my love for writing and began roleplaying online. Once again, I started out with a cis girl OC (I remembered that same gnawing feeling “How could I even try to play as an original guy? What if I don’t do it properly?”), but it expanded and along with that girl, there’s also my most recent who’s a cis guy, and the ‘middle child’ creation that’s something non-human and... doesn’t really have a gender; a character that has learned to act as both genders separately if/when needed.

The gender identity nor the biological make up of any of my characters, whether OCs or based off of someone, really did not matter to me after I made that first girl and got the hang of it all, though I did chuckle at the thought that I managed to have two of the binary genders, and then a middle ground between them.

What I really wanted to get to, though, was to mention the friends I made through the RP experience. A large group of many different people and different identities and sexualities. One of these people - a great friend of mine - as part of a joke I was involved in, started calling me Trevor. At first I was like like “Oh geez”, but something about it being a more traditionally masculine name made me like it?

The difference between this and any other masculine name I’d ever gone by is that this wasn’t an act - I was myself. It literally didn’t change anything else, though. People still called me by she/her pronouns and I was for all intents and purposes, referred to as a girl. Why was it starting to bother me??

I wasn’t acting any different, I still said the same stupid shit, I play the same video games, I wear the same clothes. But when people mentioned me and said “It’s her favorite character” or “She went to the store and said she’d be right back” it made me frown a bit? And when someone who wasn’t well acquainted with me saw the name Trevor and automatically used he/him it felt a bit gratifying. It’s when I noticed something didn’t feel right.

Gender up to this point of my life was always something I never applied to myself. I love and respect my trans friends and my non-binary friends and it’s so fucking easy to do. It makes them comfortable to be called by the right name and the right pronouns so I couldn’t imagine doing anything but that. However, when it comes to... anything else, gender had begun to fall through the cracks.

When I was little I gave pretty much everything a gender; numbers, letters, colours. But the more I looked at things and the more I learned, literally nothing had a “gender” anymore. Except people, if they wanted to. Anybody can wear skirts, dresses, overalls, tuxedos, etc. Nothing is “for girls” or “for boys”.

But this left me in limbo. If playing video games isn’t a “guy’s thing” and liking the colour pink wasn’t a “girl’s thing”, then why should gender even matter in reference to me? So it didn’t. Until apparently my pronouns started bothering me??

Now it feels weird even typing the name “Rhianna”. It looks... foreign to me.

Act III: Fear

I guess maybe some part of me always liked the idea of a being a boy. Being a girl is exhausting. The standards, the fucking creeps who think they can put their hands on me or take advantage of me, the expectation that I’m not allowed to have body hair. Despite all this I’ve never not said I was a girl. Not to say that being a boy is all sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, they’re expected to somehow not be emotional. It’s not ideal either way.

So what the fuck do I want?

I suppose it’s not much of wanting anything, is it? Other than maybe wanting to be comfortable. I’m over thinking this because I’m scared. I’m not saying I don’t feel like I’m female. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like anything else.

I find myself craving androgyny and masculinity. Even before I looked at myself and had these questions. Admiring androgyny in others, wanting things and then being told I couldn’t because it was a “man’s” thing. (True story, when looking at class rings, I wanted a larger one, pointed one out, and my stepmom flat out shouted “That’s a man’s ring!”. As if it was some sort of crime that I wanted a larger ring in that style.)

Went to the mall a few weeks back, and was looking for a new wallet. There were three different ones I was interested in, two of a similar style but different design, and another that was a thicker design with a chain. My dad was like “Well the chain one is more of a... a guy’s thing, I guess.” Was that supposed to deter me? I only wanted it more. Ultimately I chose one of the other ones because of price and I only have women’s jeans - those things suck when it comes to pocket space.

I keep on coming back to the same question. What does it mean? Why am I suddenly happier being called by he/him pronouns? It’s not like I hate going by she/her.

In fact, I catch myself saying these things. I’ll say something like “I’m a weak willed woman” and then stop like.... Nobody’s Gonna Believe You Are Struggling With Gender Identity If You Keep Saying Shit Like That. It’s just ingrained in my brain. Like a catchphrase. There’s such a divide between me and where I wanna be, I think.

I feel like I can’t relate to boys in music. Like I’m stuck on the outside looking in. It’s upsetting to me. Because not only do I feel like I’ll never get to that point, but what if that means that I’m not really struggling? What if it means I’m forcing this on myself to be different? I apparently do not like to be too comfortable for too long.

And this is not a comfortable thing to deal with, that’s for fucking sure.

I was tagged in something on Facebook about wanting a day to hang out with friends but it was specified that these friends would all be girls and it made me think. It made me worry.

I know my dad and stepmom won’t accept me being anything other than their daughter (Hell, they’ve likely suppressed the fact that I’m not straight) and maybe my mom would be... okay with it? I don’t know. But my family is tricky, and I’m ready for that. But.... my friends?

How much of my life am I willing to change? And that’s fucked because I literally wouldn’t be changing anything about me. Like, I still act the fucking same, but it will change literally everything around me. It’s terrifying and I’ve considered that maybe my fear is what’s making me be like “Oh, I mean, female pronouns are still fine, it’s cool”, but I Don’t Know.

There’s one thing I do know, and that’s I don’t feel they/them. Just the connotation and the feeling of it makes me feel larger and more important than I am, and it doesn’t match... me.

Now, here’s the kicker, if I am attracted to masculine things as it results to me and the things that I want and want to be seen by, that is fine to accept. But I do not experience any sort of dysphoria. I’m fine and comfortable talking about my body, complaining about my boobs, etc. I wanna be taken seriously even without changing any piece of myself besides being open about it. And knowing the struggle of transpeople, the idea that I’m fine with what some consider “female parts” makes me feel like a phony. Makes me feel privileged.

Doesn’t help that I’ve been remembering some trans classmates I had who threw a fit when Bill Nye said that gender was a spectrum and then said that non binary people were crazy. Feels great to remember that.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

This is a mess to read, I’m sure, and my thoughts are so scattered. I just want to get my words out, but I’m afraid this makes no sense. I have so much more to say, at least I think I do.

Act IV: Too Long, Didn’t Read

tl;dr: They/them doesn’t feel right, I don’t despise she/her, but I am comfortable with and might actually just prefer he/him. I am... considering the possibility of gender fluidity, tbh. But with that being said I think I can sum up my feelings with a picture.

You see these two? Not only am I attracted them, but I’d love to be them. To be able to have masculinity when I want, and also ooze femininity when I feel like it. To mix it up, switch between the two. And I honestly do not know what that makes me. Or what it means for my pronoun preference if I frown when being referred to as a girl, but feel like I’m on the outside looking in if I’m referred to as male. Thanks for reading. ♥

#gender #gender identity #gender help #personal

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spookyspaghettisundae · 7 years ago

Text

To Be or not to Be

It’s the weirdest thing when you meet your former best friend, and you have nothing in common any more.

Bonnie was at the shopping mall to grab a new book. She loved spending her weekends curled up in a blanket, reading a good story while drinking a hot tea, only stopping for the occasional food, bathroom, or vinyl break.

Her professor had left early today because she had been having a migraine attack, which left the afternoon of most English Literature students at the university, including Bonnie, wide open.

Her mind occupied with what book to buy and what ice cream to complement it with, Bonnie didn’t even see the young man who had stepped in her way until she almost ran into him.

“Got any change?” he asked.

Without looking at him, Bonnie replied, “Not really. I prefer spending the little money I have via credit card. It seems counterintuitive, but it somehow works for me. I spend less when I’m not sure how much I have left.”

“He didn’t ask for spending tips, he just asked for a little change.”

The voice seemed strangely familiar.

“Well, I don’t have any, okay?”

The face looked familiar, too. So much so that Bonnie said, “Belinda, is that you? I didn’t recognise you with that green hair and your, ahem, new look.”

“Belinda? Who calls you Belinda these days? This is Bindy. And she’s a proud fuck up, just like we all are,” the man in Bonnie’s way howled.

“Don’t scare her like that, Buck. Bonnie is a delicate soul.”

“Bonnie. Another potential B for our exclusive club. Wanna join the ‘Five B’s’, make it the ‘Six B’s’ instead? Bindy has been lonely lately, and you’re kinda her type. For some reason, she likes bookworms.”

“Shut up, Buck. Don’t listen to him, Bonnie. He’s just trying to get a reaction out of you. Besides, I’m not even looking for someone new. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

Belinda paused for a moment before she smiled and added, “But Buck is right about one thing. This will be a pretty lonesome weekend for me. Alone in the woods with two couples. We’re going on a little trip, you know. A weekend getaway in the hinterland. Billy knows the owner of what he calls an oasis in the mountain woods. Don’t try to explain to him that an oasis is always situated in a desert. He’s hell-bent on using the phrase.”

“It sounds cool,” said a small guy with a half shaved head. He was sitting next to a lanky man with long bleached hair who said, “It fucking does, babe.”

They were both wearing skinny jeans with holes at the knees and a The Clash T-shirt. That generally seemed to be the uniform look of the group.

Bonnie looked at the ground as she said, “An oasis in the forest is indeed an oxymoron. Unless, of course, he’s referring to the secondary meaning of the word ‘oasis’ as a refuge. Then it’s perfectly fitting. Either way, I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Of course not. You never wanted to hurt anybody’s feelings. So I’m sure you won’t hurt mine when I ask you now if you’d join us on our little trip?” asked Belinda with a slightly shy yet beaming smile.

Bonnie looked back down at the floor as she answered, “I already have plans for the weekend.”

“Do they involve other people, or will you be alone in your apartment watching sad movies all day long?” said the young man called Buck, who was still standing much too close for Bonnie’s comfort.

“Not sad movies but a good book will be my companion this weekend,” she replied, looking up defiantly. “Plus, I have a paper to finish. I’d rather stay in.”

“Oh, come on, Bonnie, live a little,” said Belinda. “How often have you stayed in a mansion? And the two of us will have a lot of time to catch up while these four keep each other company.”

“Keep each other company? We’ll fuck each other’s brains out. At least Billy and I will. I don’t know about these two prudes,” said the tall guy with the bleached hair while pressing his boyfriend’s hand.

“Who are you calling a prude?” The girl with the pink short hair grabbed the buttocks of Buck, who grunted with what seemed delight.

“Stop your squabbling,” said Belinda, “you’re scaring my friend off. Please, come with us, Bonnie. I promise you they’ll behave. It’ll just be like old times, when we were the Two B’s, just that it’s now the Six B’s.”

Bonnie smiled while her thoughts were racing. It would indeed be nice to spend some time with Belinda, Bonnie had missed her quite a lot over the years. And her story-filled mind craved an actual adventure in real life. But she also really needed a quiet weekend alone, it had been a stressful week.

Plus, her feelings were a little hurt. Back in the day, the Two B’s had only been the two of them, Belinda and Bonnie, nobody else was allowed in the club. That had been the rule.

Apparently, that wasn’t true any more.

Bonnie felt hurt on a deep, personal level. It even went so far, that it ruined the treasured memory of something she had never shared with anyone, not even Belinda.

Because Bonnie had always thought of the Two B’s as the “To Be's”, a reference to Shakespeare’s “To be or not to be”. Every time they had called themselves by their club’s nickname, Bonnie couldn’t help but think of that famous line: to be, or not to be, that is the question.

She cynically thought that in terms of their friendship being unique, the answer had to be a “not to be” after all. That realisation made Bonnie pretty sad and stung quite a bit, but then, to her surprise, her thoughts turned somewhat angry.

Billy, Bobby, and Becky weren’t even names that started with a B, there were just nicknames that started with a B. Those certainly weren’t their birth names. Unlike Belinda and Bonnie, those were proper B-names. And Buck, what kind of name was that? Was that even his given name or just some random word he called himself?

Bonnie didn’t care to find out. The more she thought about it, the more she was looking forward to her time on the sofa with a good book in one hand a an ice cream cone in the other.

* * *

Three hours later, Bonnie got out of the one car they had all shared, thinking that she really needed to work on her ability to say “no”. She had been cooped up in the middle seat in the back of the car with Belinda to her right and Buck and Becky to her left.

Those two had been sharing a seat and had been furiously making out for the whole drive. Sitting next to them had been uncomfortable to say the least.

After everyone had stepped out of the car, the others walked over to the lawn. It was lined with a row of greyish white stones of all different shapes and sizes. The five youths lifted various of the little rocks and put them down again, getting more and more frustrated with every stone.

“Are you sure that’s our way in, jackass?” said Bobby.

“Yeah, blockhead. It has to be under one of these stones. The stone’s fist-sized, that’s all I know, ahem, I mean, remember,” replied Buck with a sideways glance at Bonnie.

“Good thing you brought me with you then because I just found it.” Becky put down a small rock and handed the key over to Buck.

“Everything’s better with you around, baby. Who would I screw if you weren’t here?”

“Yourself,” interjected Bobby, which made everybody laugh. Even Bonnie couldn’t stifle a chuckle.

Bonnie entered the house last. Its big, impressive entrance hall had a marble floor, and two wide hallways branched off to either side. But what really caught Bonnie’s eye was a long polished wooden display table with beautiful stone sculptures on top. All three of them were about the size of a wine bottle and depicted dancing fairies. The car keys were hanging from the forearm of the middle one, and it almost looked like the keys were a part of the sculpture’s attire. Behind the table, a broad, polished wooden flight of stairs went up to the upper floor.

Becky and Buck were already stumbling up the stairs. They were half tripping, half making out, as they moved towards what was probably the bedrooms, scattering the house key and several items of clothing all over the steps.

From her left, Bonnie heard Bobby howl, “Jackpot. There’s a lot of expensive-looking booze in the liquor cabinet.”

“Then let’s get shit-faced. There’s not even any reception out here, so we’ve got nothing better to do anyway,” was Billy’s answer. It was coming from the same direction.

Bonnie went the other way, down the hall to the right. There was a door not far down the corridor labelled “Guest Bathroom”. From there, the hallway continued around a corner to the left. Bonnie turned the corner and suddenly stood in a wide kitchen.

It had a country-style wooden look, and a long row of windows straight ahead directed the view to a huge and well-kept garden.

There was also a row of smaller windows to Bonnie’s right, where the stove and sink were located right next to the fridge. The refrigerator was currently open and half of Belinda’s body seemed to be lost in the vast space it opened up into. Bonnie had never seen a fridge this huge in all her life.

Belinda had a disappointed look on her face when she closed the large silver door.

“It’s turned off. There’s nothing in there.”

“Well, there’s always the cupboards,” said Bonnie with a smile.

Half an hour later, the house was filled with the lovely smell of a hearty home-cooked meal that mostly consisted of canned food. Bonnie and Belinda had both always had a knack for cooking and used to cook together quite often, so they managed to create a rather delicious meal even though they had no fresh ingredients at hand.

Becky put the first two plates of noodles with “tomato sauce à la surprise” on the long wooden table. It had eight chairs to go with it and was clearly meant to host rather big and fancy dinners, which made it perfect for their party of six.

Buck and Becky entered the room and joined Billy and Bobby on the white sofa that was standing not far from the kitchen counter, which served as a room divider.

Buck sneered at Bonnie as he said, “We wanna eat our lunch over here, sweet Miss Proper.”

“If you make breaking conventions a rule, it becomes just another convention. But have it your way, Mister Rule Breaker,” said Belinda while bringing two plates over to the group situated around the coffee table.

Bonnie followed Belinda’s example and took the two plates she had just put down on the big table with her when she joined the others. There was hardly any room for the plates since there were already a half-empty bottle of expensive vodka and six shot glasses on the coffee table, but they managed to make it work somehow.

They sat around the small glass table, most of them sitting on the floor and putting their food and drink on the couch, ground, or their laps.

The lovely alcove by the windows looked like a mess after they had finished their meal. Becky had managed to spill tomato sauce on the delicate white fabric of the sofa, but no one seemed to care. Buck just flipped the cushion over, and that was that.

Bonnie was piling all the plates and cutlery into a tower of dirty dishes and was about to carry them to the kitchen, when Buck insisted on everyone sharing a toast. He was smoking a cigarette, using a gorgeous small ceramic bowl that had been sitting on the windowsill behind him as an improvised ashtray.

“But I don’t drink. I’ll just wash the dishes while you guys go ahead,” said Bonnie.

“What’s one drink, dear Miss Proper? I’m sure you can handle that much,” roared Buck.

“It’s not that I can’t handle it. I just don’t like the taste of alcohol.”

“Just one shot. It’s over quickly, and then you can wash it down with a tea or whatever it is that you do enjoy the taste of.”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you a chicken or what? One shot won’t even make you drunk. And I will be offended if you say no and that goes for the others too.”

They all seemed to agree, judging by the chorus of voices that followed. Bonnie was fed up with being treated like a child by most of these people, most of all Buck. So she took the shot glass he handed her and emptied it in one big gulp. She didn’t cough and didn’t even bat en eye as she put the glass back down on the table.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to wash the dishes. I don’t like living in my own filth.”

“Damn, woman. Maybe you have a backbone after all,” said Buck as Bonnie was already walking over to the sink, balancing the tower of dishes in her hands.

After Bonnie had put the dirty dishes in the sink, she noticed Belinda behind her, bringing over the shot glasses and the defiled ceramic bowl. In the background, the others were climbing out the window behind the sofa they had just sat on, trampling all over the couch while making their way to the lovely garden, completely ignoring the big slide door only a few paces away from them.

“They’re nice people once they warm up to you. It just takes them a while to let someone new in,” said Belinda while putting the glasses and bowl into the kitchen sink.

While Bonnie was still thinking about how to respond, Becky shouted from the garden, “Are you coming, Bindy? You can bring your friend.”

“Scratch that. Let little Miss Proper wash the dishes. She can join us once she’s done,” added Buck.

“Real nice people. I’m sure you’re right about that,” said Bonnie. “But I actually agree with Buck here. I prefer doing the work before play. So you guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You sure? Thanks. Honestly, I’ve been dying to explore the garden. There’s this ominous slope and I want to see where it leads.”

“You go have fun, Belinda. But be careful.”

Belinda rolled her eyes and smiled as she squeezed Bonnie’s hand. Then she walked over to the sofa and climbed out the window.

Bonnie could see the others through the kitchen window while she was washing the dishes. They were standing over by the drop, looking down towards the unknown. Buck put his hands on Billy’s shoulders, pushing him forward as if he was trying to shove him over the edge, but then pulling him back. This earned him a not so soft punch in the stomach by Bobby, whose long blonde hair was blowing in the wind.

Bonnie focused on the dishes again and was a little startled when there was a soft knock on the window in front of her. Belinda smiled at her through the glass and beckoned Bonnie to follow her as she passed through to the right, following the others to a covered veranda. Bonnie couldn’t see what was over to that side because there was a waist-high wooden fence obstructing her view.

She could only see rays of golden late-afternoon light passing through the narrow slits in the fence and shadows dancing in those beams as the others moved behind it.

Being done with the dishes anyway, Bonnie decided that it was time for the fun part to begin, so she went over to the sofa, sighed at the bootprints on it and climbed out the window, too. She walked over to the wooden veranda through an open door in the fence, joining Belinda who was standing in front of a metal cage.

Belinda was staring intently at whatever was in there while grabbing Bonnie’s hand. Bonnie squeezed her friend’s hand as well and turned to see what was in the cage.

At first, she thought it was a big dog that seemed to be hiding in the shadow of the fence. But as her eyes adjusted to the darker environment of the cage, she saw that it wasn’t. The creature was much more humanoid and seemed to be squatting while its hands touched the ground. It looked completely dishevelled and seemed to be wearing scraps. In fact, the more she looked at it, the more Bonnie realised that “it” was the wrong pronoun to use. This was a woman, hiding in the shadow of the calf-covered cage. The scraps she was wearing barely covered the most delicate parts of her body.

Her face seemed to be scarred, like someone had cut her mouth open towards her ears and left a thick brownish-pink scar.

“Is that …? Is she …? Where are the others?”

Instead of saying anything, Belinda pointed her free hand at a little shack in the big cage. There were muffled noises coming form that direction, but Bonnie had almost no time to notice them because the dirt-covered woman started crawling towards them. She was moving in a strange way that didn’t seem human and was weirdly choppy.

“Are you okay, Miss? Do you need help?”

Belinda squeezed Bonnie’s hand and shushed her. The woman in the cage was still moving slowly towards them, demanding all their attention with her strange not-quite-human looks and movements, when the others suddenly burst out of the shack and came running towards the cage’s door, which had been ajar the whole time, unbeknownst to Bonnie. The terror in their eyes sent shivers down Bonnie’s spine, who took a step back, ready to run. But Belinda was still clutching Bonnie’s hand, and as Bonnie tried to pull her back and away from the cage, Belinda was frozen in place, staring at the woman crawling in the cage.

Bonnie’s gaze followed that of Belinda, and she froze as well. As the woman slowly opened her mouth for an unnatural hiss, not only her lips parted but the scar tissue also gave way to reveal an unusually long row of pointy teeth.

Bonnie stood there mesmerised, and she barely noticed how Belinda let go of her hand, screamed, and stared running, calling for Bonnie to follow.

The others had reached the cell’s door and pushed it open, so that it slammed against the metal frame of the cage, startling Bonnie into action.

She ran off the veranda and onto the lawn, perceiving that the others had already gained a lot of ground and were running towards the slope that was the natural border of the property.

“The drop is too steep,” screamed Belinda while considerably slowing down her pace.

“I’d rather take my chances crossing the river down in the valley than staying here with the family’s freaky pets,” shouted Bobby.

“Me too, babe,” were Billy’s words as he ran over the edge and disappeared quickly.

Becky fell onto the lawn and gave a little scream, which made Buck turn around and help her up before he dragged her behind him towards the edge. They had almost left Bonnie’s field of vision, holding hands, running as fast as they could, when two shadows showed up behind them, seemingly out of nowhere, and threw them to the ground.

Two monsters looking similar to the woman with the scarred cheeks except that they were apparently male, loomed over the two lovers on the ground and howled in a way that made Bonnie’s blood freeze. She had come to a standstill next to Belinda, staring helplessly at the scene.

As the two monsters lowered their huge mouths towards their victims and ran their claws into the lover’s backs, another shadow ran past them and down the slope in fast pursuit of the two young men.

Bonnie, suddenly aware of her situation, tore her gaze from the ghastly scene in front of her, and pulled Belinda towards the window of the villa.

“Come on, Belinda, we’ve gotta get to the mansion and barricade ourselves in there. It’s our only chance. We can call the police in there. There must be a land-line phone somewhere.”

Her words actually reached Belinda despite her frozen state, but they had the opposite effect of what Bonnie had intended.

Belinda suddenly turned on her heel, violently broke free of Bonnie’s grip, and started running towards the slope, following the others to what could only be seen as certain doom. With her friend out of reach, Bonnie screamed at the top of her lungs, “Belinda, what the fuck! It’s this way!”

As if shocked by Bonnie’s sudden out-of-character profanity, Belinda actually turned around and started to move towards the villa instead.

Bonnie had already reached the window and was climbing in when the unnatural hiss from before came from the veranda. She turned her head just in time to catch a glimpse of the woman who had mesmerised both her and Belinda, before Bonnie slipped through the open window and into the parlour.

Standing on the sofa, Bonnie was holding the window open, ready to slam it shut as soon as Belinda joined her.

Bonnie watched her childhood friend run towards her, with the two dead bodies lying on the ground behind her. The monsters that had been feasting on them had finally let off and were now heading for the slope instead, joining the chase of the boys whose screams were echoing in the vale.

Belinda was getting closer to the window, and Bonnie felt a wild, almost fiery hope growing in her chest. But then she noticed the two lovers in the background getting up from the ground.

Those two looked at each other with animal-like eyes, and their faces moved in towards each other as if they were about to kiss. But instead, they sank their teeth in each others flesh, biting the others neck with animalistic delight and ripping out pieces of muscle with long, pointy teeth. As they slowly ate each other with pleasure, their mouths tore open all the way to their ears, showing an unnaturally long row of teeth ready to devour each other as well as anyone else.

Bonnie screamed a very high-pitched, long cry as she saw that carnal display of consuming love, which drew the attention of everyone around. Belinda turned her head mid-run, which made her lose her balance and stumble, and the monsters that had been Becky and Buck only mere moments ago looked up from their bloody embrace.

They looked at Bonnie for a moment and then focused their attention on Belinda. Their desire for prey must have beaten their lust for each other because they both stood up in almost perfect synchronisation, moving in a strangely choppy way.

Belinda, who had fallen onto the ground, shrieked at the sight of them and then started crawling towards Bonnie and the safety of the mansion. As their eyes met again, both young women saw a terror in the other’s gaze that was beyond anything they had ever seen before.

Bonnie waved her left hand in a frantic motion and yelled, “They’re gaining on you, Belinda! You won’t make it in time crawling. Get up and run!”

Stumbling to her feet, Belinda accelerated her run while the monsters got closer to her as well as the window, making Bonnie’s heart pound faster and faster with every step they drew nearer.

With their inhuman speed, the two monsters had almost reached her when Belinda made it to the window. Bonnie wrapped her right hand tightly around Belinda’s forearm, ready to pull her in when the look on her friend’s face suddenly made her stop.

Belinda’s eyes went from alight with hope and adrenaline to black with despair and pain in an instant. She looked down at her own belly and tears ran down her cheeks while she tried to suppress a groan.

Bonnie’s eyes followed those of Belinda and arrived at her belly, where she saw a thin red line form from Belinda’s chest to her navel. It erupted into a gaping hole, spilling blood and little bits onto the windowsill and all over the white couch. Little droplets got sprayed all over Bonnie’s blouse, face, neck, and forearms, making her feel strangely wet and warm.

Looking into her friend’s terrified eyes, Bonnie saw the monsters bloody faces coming ever closer and their clawed hands gripping Belinda’s torso.

Without a conscious thought, the hand that had been ready to pull her friend to safety now pushed her away instead when Bonnie drove Belinda into the two monsters while she slammed the window shut with her other hand.

The expression in Belinda’s eyes went from sheer terror to utter disbelief as she realised what had just happened. Bonnie had slammed the window shut before the three outside hit the ground, and she was already on her way to the kitchen when the two monsters started feasting on her childhood friend.

When Bonnie arrived at the entrance hall, she could hear claws scratching against the front door. Panicked, she looked around and saw the key still lying on the stairs. She grabbed it as fast as she could and ran to the door, practically throwing herself against it as the doorknob started turning.

The sudden impact must have startled the monster, giving Bonnie enough time to shove the key into the hole and lock the door. She silently cursed the fact that she couldn’t just walk out the front door and drive off back to civilisation to get away from this nightmare and maybe even get help for the others. Perhaps there was a way to reverse this transformation. With science and medicine being as advanced as they were nowadays, there was still some hope, wasn’t there?

The scratching at the door started again and was followed by loud banging noises. Horrified, Becky ran over to the display table and took the car keys from the arm of the dancing fairy. Then she walked past the sculptures and took a running start, so that she ascended the stairs two steps at a time.

While running upstairs, Bonnie couldn’t help but notice that whenever someone went upstairs in a horror story, they usually ended up being the next victim. But she obviously had no other choice. Bonnie suddenly knew what it was like to be the character the reader or movie-goer cursed at for doing the stupid thing.

At the top of the stairs was a big open space filled with many beautiful works of art: more sculptures, several old as well as modern paintings, and even the furniture clearly consisted of artisan pieces. There were several doors, and on instinct, Bonnie opened the one that was straight ahead.

She entered the master bedroom. Sweeping the room with her gaze for a way out, she couldn’t completely ignore its beauty. The wide open space of the gabled bedroom held a gorgeous light-coloured wooden desk and chair, and a big closet to go with it.

There was a canopy bed with untidy bedclothes – this was most likely courtesy of Becky and Buck – and behind it, the room opened up to a balcony that went along the whole length of the room, overlooking the garden. Bonnie recognised the balcony as a possible way out, but then again, the garden wasn’t at all where she wanted to be.

A little door to the left caught Bonnie’s eye when she was scanning the room. She went over there and opened it, which was how she found herself in the master bathroom. She hardly noticed the bathtub, toilet, and towel racks, but instead focussed her attention to the dormer window next to the washbasin.

Following her instincts once more, Bonnie climbed out the window and onto the roof. The sun was slowly setting behind the gable as she started her ascend. The tiles were easier to navigate than she thought, so that she reached and straddled the house’s topmost point in no time.

Now, all Bonnie had to do was to climb down the other side of the roof and find a way down the facade of the building on the other side to get to the car. She figured that that shouldn’t be too hard because from up here, she could overlook nearly everything.

Scanning the area, Bonnie’s heart sank, and her newfound enthusiasm went as quickly as it had come. Even though they hadn’t spotted her yet, she could see the monsters everywhere. There were several in the garden, two of which looked like Bobby and Billy, who must have been caught down the slope and came back up to join the others.

Other monsters, some of the original cage dwellers by the looks of it, were circling the premises. Even up on the roof, Bonnie could still hear someone banging against the entrance door, making it infinitely harder to reach the car.

Yet that was still her best bet. If she could divert their attention somehow – maybe by throwing a roof tile to lure them away from the door and the car – she might be able to escape. Feeling hope’s spark kindled once again in her chest, Bonnie made her way down the other side of the roof.

She had only swung her leg off the gable to begin her descend when she heard a scratching noise behind her. She froze mid-motion and then slowly turned her head towards the noise. Even in her despair, Bonnie had to smile. It was always the harmless-looking ones.

The woman from the cage lifted herself up the edge of the roof as if it was no feat at all, and then pulled up Belinda in one smooth, sweeping motion. Both of them stared at Bonnie with eyes filled with hunger.

Slowly but surely, and with her gaze fixed on the approaching monsters with their long rows of teeth glistening in the setting sun, Bonnie started climbing down the roof towards the car and towards freedom.

To be, or not to be, that is the question that would be answered for Bonnie shortly.

—Submitted by Lone-Eyed

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