#had no idea this privilege of my depression corner

[birf]

I’m a little pissed at you that you have that many open drinks and cans in your room but no ants. My depression room had seven empty pop cans at max and it got so infested I almost had to call an exterminator.

this ask has really opened my eyes cause like you’re so right, why don’t have a bug problem?

maybe cause I’m on the second floor? I’ll get ants in the kitchen if I’m not careful but it’s never been bad.. man I don’t know cause there’s so many half full open cans that have been there for weeks dare I say months

my parents house growing up always had really bad bug problems that they refused to acknowledge so like is this me taking where am I now for granted?? am I finding out just now that diet soda doesn’t attract bugs? cause I can tell you right now if there’s one thing that would immediately make my ass get up and clean something it’s seeing a bug on it

[coupleoffanfics]

Gotham Isekaied Reader

I have an idea. It's nothing new. I wrote nearly 5 pages of this idea, but I'm too scared to post it since it's filler and I even drew a cover. So I will ramble about this idea through headcanon. Some Jerome x Reader, I’m sorry. I can’t help myself. CW: One mention of suicide.

y/n wakes up to find that her life has gotten a major upgrade. Any flaws that her family has is erased. Did mom drink away stress? Now she doesn’t even touch alcohol. Dad isn’t smoking away his life. Her older brother is a law-abiding citizen who is studying to become a lawyer. Her younger brother is more positive about life and growing up in a home that they wished they had.

Not to mention that they’re rich. She no longer lives in a bad neighborhood and sleeps in a snazzy mansion.

Life is looking up until y/n turns on the TV with a news story about a man killing corrupt people with weather balloons.

She sits there thinking, ‘This was nice, but I should be getting back home.’

Maybe y/n’s close friends with Bruce beforehand. That’s when she realizes that she has to learn about the other y/n’s life. She can’t risk telling anyone about “we’re in a shitty TV show” without everyone considering throwing her into a mental institution. Tough luck because she ends up in Arkham regardless.

She writes down plotlines that she remembers. Making files on the character that she has met. Her files are hidden away in her room and aren't brought up later down the line when a certain person finds them.

How y/n ends up in Arkham is complicated. I want y/n to be completely sane through our POV, so she’s not going to be “I’m so insane and quirky”. Maybe she’s framed or killed someone in self-defense. Well, okay, I have thought out what gets her thrown into Arkham, but I don’t think anyone would find it interesting.

During her trial, the prosecutor will use her history of depression and suicide attempts to paint her as a homicidal. The whole trial is fishy, yet ends with her being locked up.

Bruce believes y/n when she says she hasn't done anything and promises to get her out of there. Legally of course.

Alfred probably tries to keep Bruce from visiting because Arkham has a reputation and doesn’t want him to be anywhere near there. The poor boy is going through too much in a short amount of time. 

So Bruce will send Selina to deliver anything. Or they both run away to visit y/n. When they come back to the manor and Alfred is questioning them, they both lie by saying that they’re somewhere else.

Bruce just wants to make sure his bestie is alright. Selina is just along for the ride but might visit y/n even when she doesn’t need to.

While in Arkham y/n is vibing in her little corner when Jerome starts bugging her. Might tell him about some plotlines just to see if anyone would believe her.

Jerome just laughs it off and starts orbiting y/n because she’s interesting. She tends to ramble and mumble to herself, for some reason he finds it so cute.

“You’re kind of funny, but I wouldn’t call you a joker.” She says before thinking, ‘Because legally you aren’t him. Thanks a lot, higher-ups.’

He writes about her in his diary and uses any stickers that she gives him. ‘Yeah, she's weird. Calling people characters and saying that we aren’t real, but she’s my little weirdo. I also got another pack of Hello Kitty stickers from her.’ Then he proceeds to doodle her with crayons.

When Theo Galavan surprise adopts them, Jerome starts taking y/n’s words more seriously. Still doesn’t believe her when she says he and everyone aren’t real. Like how is that possible? He feels real, oh whatever he has no time for that.

At the manor, Bruce is freaking out and dialing Jim begging him to save his bestie from that homicidal ginner. Theo has to make it seem like y/n is a hostage since she refuses to do any killing and Jerome has scary dog privilege.

‘They aren’t real. They aren’t people.’ She’d try to tell herself, but she just can’t bring herself to try to hurt someone. y/n is one of those freaks who try to drive safely in GTA without running over anyone or anything.

She doesn’t think that her words mean anything and that everything will follow the script. Until she tells Jerome to take an extra lighter with him. She’s chilling by herself when the news shows footage of a burnt bus and the news anchor talking about the cheerleaders who lost their lives.

That’s when y/n starts thinking over everything she’s said. She debates whether or not she should tell Jerome about Theo’s betrayal.

‘The show does start declining in ratings when he’s killed off. I could be doing the writers a favor, but what about the people? No, characters. They’re just characters! They aren’t real!’

In the end, Jerome is killed off and she’s put back into Arkham. Everyone is surprised by how calm she is after Jerome’s death. Not upset or anything. Like weren’t they close? Maybe their relationship was more one-sided.

Jim will question y/n and she might let a few things slip. Most brush her words off as they believe that she has some sort of Stockholm syndrome and is angry at Theo for killing her captor.

Back at Arkham, y/n yells, “FUCK!” When seeing Hugo Strange.

When Theo is dealt with, Jim will visit her or send her a thank you card for pointing him in the right direction regarding the investigation.

I’m getting tired and I might continue writing about this.

But I was going to have y/n be free from Arkham when some evidence regarding her case comes out. y/n will be outwardly passive throughout the story.

In the end, I was going to have y/n be the one who becomes Joker. Maybe she falls into a tub of chemicals. Don’t worry darling you aren’t going to be deformed like Jeremiah at the end. You’ll look different, but still smoking hot. 😘

Anyway seeing the physical change, her dwindling hope of getting back home, and her mental state being worn out. She decides to step up and take the name of Joker.

Bruce angst all the way. Maybe angst for other characters, but I could see this tearing him apart. He’s forced to watch his closest friend be replaced by a cackling monster. To then eventually start fighting against her.

She doesn’t react to being called y/n anymore, but she’ll give Batman/Bruce a melancholy look if he calls her by that. He doesn’t call her y/n often because that wasn’t y/n. y/n l/n was dead and there was no way she was coming back.

The theory of Joker being sane will ring true to y/n. She knows this isn’t real. It’s just fiction and any good piece of fiction needs a good villain. Since she’s not making it back home, she’ll make things fun.

Or multiple endings because those are always fun.

“Jerome? Jeremiah? Never heard of them.”

[jcbbby]

If you're still doing one sentence requests....

"Are you painting, my love?"

With maybe Kit if that works? Kit is so beautiful I can't stand it

- love,

@bowersbubbles

Amethyst my love!! I'm always taking one sentence requests! :) I think they're a really useful, sort of low stakes exercise for me because they can be like just a blurb. and they're fun to do!

I love this idea. I love writing Kit. Kit Marlowe forever and ever. Kit Marlowe supremacy.

One Sentence Requests: (send me a sentence or line of dialogue and I’ll write a little something Jamie/Henry/001/Kit Marlowe-related with it)

warnings: brief mention of family member loss/grief. other than that, nothing.

-

Things had been difficult for you as of late. The news of your sister, the only family you had left, falling victim to the summer plagues a few months ago had left you in a deep depression. You seldom left the house anymore, and you hadn't touched your easel in weeks, lacking any sort of inspiration or motivation to create. Kit was supportive, though. He was there for you, knowing he was all you had now. He knew how devastating loss and depression was, and he never once made you feel guilty for grieving.

Waking up this morning, the sun was shining gloriously through the window, illuminating Kit's beautiful, perfectly sculpted face. Something inside you just knew you had to capture it. For the first time in so long, you had the desire to paint.

Gently getting out of bed, as to not wake him, you tiptoed to your easel in the corner of the room. You sat down, quietly opening your jars of paint. Smiling to yourself, you glanced again to Kit's glowing face as he slept; admiring the beauty you had the privilege of waking up to each day. Finally, you made your first brushstroke to the canvas.

After some time, you had really zoned into your creation, not noticing when Kit awoke and silently watched you, smiling to himself. He was so happy to see you were painting again. He stirred enough to draw your attention, and you looked over to see his smiling face.

"Good morning." His voice slightly raspy from sleep. "Are you painting, my love?"

You smiled shyly back, gently lowering your paintbrush. "I am."

"Oh that's wonderful, darling." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "May I see?" He stood to walk towards you.

"No, no! Not yet. It's not finished." You scolded, holding your hands up and out toward him.

He stopped abruptly, throwing his hands up in front of himself, nodding once. "Alright then, alright... Shall I fetch us some breakfast in the meantime whilst you finish?"

You nodded again. "Kit? Could you maybe try to find more of that strawberry jam from that older woman at the marketplace?"

"You read my mind." He smiled. "I will be back shortly, darling." He slipped out the door to the bedroom as you went back to your portrait.

A while later, your heard Kit return through the door downstairs. Sitting back, you ran your eyes intently over your canvas before letting out a content sigh, deciding that you could call your it finished. Kit knocked gently on the door, his shoes clicking against the wooden floor as he slowly entered the room. He held a plate of bread situated next to a small pot of strawberry jam, a lump of butter, and a couple plums.

"A hardworking artist needs her energy." He smiled, placing the plate on to a small table behind your easel.

"It's finished." You grinned, motioning for Kit to come around and look. He smiled wide, taking fast, short steps to come to your side. "Do you like it?" You asked.

"Oh, my love..." He bent down, wrapping his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. "You've painted me like an angel. This is so beautiful."

"You are beautiful." You leaned your head against his cheek.

He smiled, snorting lightly through his nose. "I'm so happy to see you creating art again, darling."

"I am too." You craned your neck to kiss his cheek. "Now, about that strawberry jam..."

[quietgainsboro-blog]

I pick out the blue raspberry ones to feel closer to you. Reminds me of you that night and the way you say “blue razz”

You intoxicate me.

I pretended I didn’t notice your eyes fixated on me in the dark every time you heard a bass line as if it was pulsating loud as your heart and somehow I was supposed to feel it too.

I’m HSP so my sensitive ass noticed in my peripheral you turn abruptly at me, eyes studying my face, drinking it in, watching to see if my eyes meet yours.

I could make out a smile in the pitch black. I ask you to go for a walk with me around the stadium with me. I had to find one of those machines that dispense power banks. Not sure why I always have to be multi-tasking . was already bored by the opening act. Poppy…you found her annoying as well. I needed to be reading or researching something. Internet addiction.

i learnt that you recall that time to my girlfriend when it was just you and I walking around the stadium….and our conversation perfectly.

flora would come home and report about how you come over and inquire what I was up to today?

or just random personality traits you’d notice about me

“L is so confident!”

“L is so easy to talk to!”

“L is so nonchalant”

Already nursing your third beer. Drowning your pain. You reminded me of me at 20. Pretty mature for 25. Lit Major. Filled with existential dread. My type. Another former actress with depression. Vancouver’s full of them.

Vegetarians I can handle. But i swore I’d never date another model with an eating disorder. Reminds me of Suzanne a model I had a brief thing with. She spelt her name Siouxise like Siouxsie And The Banshees. We’d listen to music in the dark. Siouxsie stopped going to classes. After a while so did I.

what’s with models? The Japanese model was wild. Poor thing. I confused her. Everything she did was excessive. If she found out I liked something the next day there it was and copious amounts of it. She knew how to turn me on. Maybe it’s her voice. Always liked petite girls.

“i could play circles around him.” I thought. They’re playing “Whores” Eric Avery’s wide open bass playing. I’m really just here for Pumpkins playing Cherub Rock. Fuzz tones wanted to hear it in real life, in a stadium.

Cherub rock forever reminds me of my friend Gabe driving us back to LA from Malibu in his jeep. Telling me about the dude from Tool. Justin Chancellor’s new fuzz Wah. Struggling bass player driving Uber. LA is full of them. I’m embarrassed by my privilege. Try to hide my monogram eclipse keepall XS as I exit his jeep.

I pass you my vintage opera goggles. Naked women on stage. Are we at a cabaret?

“Young Billy Corgan is my type” you said

“What would you do if I died ?” You asked me

“seems like something I would write about” you said “bathroom corners & red velvet cake”

All night everything I said you’d say “that’s beautiful” as I’m fucking walking poetry or something.

“Maybe I should be a writer” I said.

“You should”

last time someone said “you should” reminded me of a girl I used to know. I told her I wanted to record her heartbeat and record a song over it.

“that’s her eh”

you ask me “what’s her name?” why?

“I want to put a name to a face.”

“is she a musician?”

i can feel you laser focus and it’s written on your face. Another writer. Just how many writers have you had entanglements with? you’re wondering.

G the poet. Won some kind of award. I had no idea she liked me. Maybe I’ll buy her book. I did notice she watched me from afar as I DJ’ed her party. Eventually came over and gave me several hickeys that lasted a week. The Japanese girls at the party love DJs. I was shocked by the way she hugged me when I ran into her two years later. Then I introduced her to my girlfriend.

you give away the way you feel about me when you always mention that you already expect me to know things about you.

“you know what I like” you’d say

“Where’s the toxic passion?” Oh yeah. are you like “if you’re not obsessed with me I don’t want it?”

“unfortunately. My fatal flaw”

“Yeah I want that kind of love. I’m like that too”

“Right? It’s boring without it”

“Damn we sound crazy”

“Maybe it’s a cancer thing”

“I would NEVER admit I’m like that”

“You just did”

“i expect someone to drop everything they’re doing and come right away. Right now.”

“that’s exactly what I did”

“Yeah you came pretty quickly”

Knowing you wanted to go to Berlin with me I flipped through photos on my phone. Hard Wax. SO36, Bi Nuu, Urban Spree. Accidentally came across one of your boss my girlfriend naked in the shower. You’d never seen her like that. Still looked like a model. Dramatic eyes. flora likes rue de saint honore. She’s not book smart like the type I usually like but she is an intellectual. She is very perceptive. she isn’t trained in music but she recognizes great music instantly.

I daydream what it’d be like to go with you. You’d want to hide out in a hidden speakeasy with me. Lean into me. Berlin, then walk all over Paris.. take you to my fave spots to see if evokes the same as what I feel. we both want to go south of the Seine. I’d pick out a bottle of wine and we’d hide in the hotel all day. I’d feed you strawberries by hand. Best record stores in the 11th arrondissment. You’d prob wear one of my shirts. You like menswear and all black. “Tbh sometimes when you speak it sounds like me” you text me. I’d surprise you by taking you to the Petit Bain. Fly to Koln next. Sounds like a far fetched dream.

I send an article that reminds me of you

“Poignant and true.”

you kept asking me how many years we’d (your boss and I ) have been together. 9 years must seem like an eternity to you.

you’d asked me that night and I answered but I guess you’d had too many drinks. You texted me the same thing again next day when you were sober

the way you talk about your friend shows me the lengths you’d go. Genuinely cares about her. We share stories about how we took care of our friends and their addictions. I show you a photo of Sarah.

“I’m too trusting. It’s always been an issue for me” you said to me.

“don’t ever be ashamed of having a pure and trusting heart, it’s rare” I said to you

“I’ve always been too trusting. Growing up I didn’t have a lot of friends on account of being shy and weird so I just embraced her you know”

as if the number would make you feel more wanted or what ? Less guilty?

Both of us overwhelmed. One night with you left me in a daze for days. Radio silence is how I cope. Scared of the intensity of my emotions. I guess that’s cancer crabs. Neither wants to be the one to initiate.

“meet me south of the Seine” I said

I’ve seen you only all of 4 times in person. You introduced yourself as if I never came into the store and picked you out and said your name.

you answer the phone as if you don’t know who it is on the other end

Not sure if you realize you text me all night til 2am. Guess you like our late night convos.

what if someone is perfect for you in every way but hates the music genre that you specialize in? She must have googled me. Not sure she just likes to press my buttons.

“I like classical music you know. I like Tchaikovsky” you said to me. Trying to impress me. Sipping on my horchata latte.

Bold of you to come up to my girlfriend and tell her “maybe I’ll go to Berlin with L and FaceTime you”

You had a few drinks and told me to pull up to the rowing club. I dropped the piles of records I was moving in my studio and zipped downtown. You say to me “Wanna get out of here?”

i took you to the fairmont pacific rim and you waltzed in and wanted to do blow with me. “let’s get a room!” You’re trouble. You lock eyes with the intensity of ten thousand currents.

You told me you spritzed some perfume here and gestured to your collar bone. My time to be bold. I leaned in to smell your perfume and you laughed nervously. You’re innately shy. Your boldness came from the alcohol. I pulled away.

“Can you bring an iPhone charger?” “What else do you need”

“just that and the will to live” you texted back

“They’re doing blink 182 now”

what song?

“i miss you”

What if she is crazy? I said to Flora Seattle seemed perfect weekend getaway to get a feel for how she travels. Cold cave playing at Neumos . My fave taco place hidden up a stairwell. Hide inside Elliot Bay. Show her off to Nate at Zion’s Gate. He’d be impressed with her enthusiasm and depth of knowledge for dark music. “Got yourself a baddie and she smart too” he’d say.

[tele-caster]

Journal.

7:24 PM 12/8/2022

A full month hasn't actually passed by... And I've encountered many things about myself just with the power of thought.

An over-thinker can only think about thoughts, said Alan Watts. But what if these thoughts actually provide you an answer, a key to a specific puzzle of life? I've known for the best part out of my life that actually my depressive, sinic, auto-destructive and harming thoughts are the ones that keep me in this very specific moment alive... Talking, writing and typing these memories most to myself and you.

For some reason, I have a constant thought and mindset of growing but with the only condition of willing to die no matter what the means are.-

Pretty serious for common, talkig and average people, I seriously feel dissociative toward  " Regular people ". Not the ones who don't make money, not the ones who actually work smart, not the ones who work hard, neither... The ones in which life gave them the privilege and blessing of starting a few ladders above me or others. It is but, the ones who actually aren't aware, concious, awake, or better said illimuned. We only need one small principle in order to be illimuned.

On the other side of the story, the stabbings from the same blood or friends continues to be something natural from their part and decision making... (Now you get why I am an isolated person) We should be able to believe that " Friends " get along and in common because of ideas, principles and even preferences, but, for power, greed, money and status that can or could be lost in the glimpse of an eye. This is why I am no longer attached to this mundane place we so called "Earth", it actually takes a long time for you to realise and the only living " values " in this world are pain, futility and grievance. And guess what? I bloody love it for some reason; the idea of chaos, pain, tears, sweat, betrayal and even more to come.

However, not beause it builds a strong character; but because it makes my "Other Self" sense a little bit of "Life". Like I mentioned before, I might have some personality problems believing I am some kind of abominal monster and demon; but no... I am better than that, I am bigger than that, I am stronger than that, in the same meaning of a "Devilish" mindset, but I mean to make no harm to others unless these fuckers had it coming anyway. I may look the other way in regards to lie, defiance, arguments, discussion, neglection, hate and even the worst of all; betrayal. "Do too much just in order to make *them* happy, but, beware your own gain".

I can find betrayal in each fucking corner of my life; whether is money, a girl, a friend, trust, honesty or even work. Matter of a fact, I've known the reality and fact that my Best Friends just use me in order to achieve, conceive and get what they want for themselves; afterwards I do not exist.- Ha, it is funnny since I've got this "Gut feeling" regarding those exact same things, and I've told to myself " This such and such will be happening" and guess what? It does happen, probably because I have already analyse the bloody situation and also read the person attitudes and ulterior motives without them noticing because their just to fucking gullible and distrated to notice what comes out from their mouth and words and also their fucking actions... So yeah, you may determine how someone is just by basically "paying attention".

Also drugs and alcohol have been a major issue of my entire life since 14-15. You name it lad, cocaine? Done. Ketamine? Done. 2CB? Done. LSD? Done. Weed? Done. Pills? Done. MDMA? Done. Heroin? Done. PCP? Done. And alcohol in a large variety; I love vodka and a scottish whiskey. However; since the last time writing nothing has been done in regards to these harmful and also deadly vices than can take me to the same path I ended before... Rock fucking bottom, on my own version of course. Besides... I don't think I can find a couple... Like I mentioned before; the world has become so mundane, stupid and sinic in so much senses.

Social Media for example in my own personal thought is just a soul sucking and seeking approval thing.- Of couse I use them, but I do not make them a priority like some people from this World do. However, whoever reads this thinks I'm being negative about many things and every thing, read again and read twice fellow; I am honest and original critic how will tell and say the reality of things; because by no means no ways, I will be affected to be a "Fake" person just to like someone... Who ever the fuck they are.

I've had full moon these few days; and guess what? It was and has been splendid to watch her glow, in that milky and shady cheesy colours it does... Some sort of connection pops out on me whenever shes out; without even looking up if there's a full moon I just know when shes there and when not. Her ease, tranquility, peace and harmony sounds of the night make feel delighted about the existence and life (Now that is something I am willing to live for). Most people like to feel superioty agaisnt the creation we have just right under our nose and in front of our eyes, who the bloody fuck knows why. Same principle and reason why people actually betray and harm the so called "Loved ones".

For instance; why would get married if you'd cheat? Why would you agree to the terms of business, if honesty won't be practiced? Why would you swear or even promise when you wouldn't abide. Every single time I think, makes me want to take my life, every thing I see; somehow digusts me... In relation and regards to the aforementioned reasons. The answer to all of this is superiority.

My heart breaks a little every time; I know for a fact something is going to happen just as I predict. Because it generally comes with the people not that I love *I DO NOT LOVE* but appreciate, respect and have charisma for... Love gets you killed, love is for the weak, love is invented to cover up the real things of this world, just like hate. Some of my close ones, see me as weak; but because only I have lead it down that path; if they only knew I have a machiavellan mind thinking how to murder each one of them because of the things done, and the ones that are being done; and for the ones that will be done. Trust me, or don't trust me... A friend is of a bigger enemy than the bloody enemy themselves.

[hajimine]

perennial destiny — fushiguro megumi x gn!reader

synopsis: megumi does not like the concept of soulmates. he wants to be able to choose who he loves—and he chooses you.

word count: 1.2k

genre: fluff, soulmate!au but not really, established relationship, soft!megumi (this is so cheesy fr)

soundtrack: on a clear day by joe hisaishi

a/n: i’m ngl i actually like this lol so i hope you guys do too! tysm @rintaroll​​ for being my beta and for the song rec mwah ily (ew) <3

A light smattering of clouds paint the blue sky in splashes of white, providing you with a little bit of shade from the otherwise bright afternoon sun.

You gaze at the little ducks waddling around on the pond, following their mother’s path. Unconsciously, you feel your lips curl up into a smile.

“What are you looking at?” Megumi murmurs, face turned towards you as he uses his hand to block out the sun from his eyes.

Humming, you give him a cheeky smile. “Nothing.”

He scrunches his face slightly, biting back a smile. He's used to your antics at this point.

Using his forearm to cover his eyes, Megumi sighs contently, shifting the position of his head on your lap to make himself more comfortable. The added weight on your thighs feel comforting, almost. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The two of you stay in silence for a while as you bask in each other’s presence, enjoying the moment. The dark-haired boy plucks a stray dandelion beside him, inspecting it closely.

“Do you,” he starts, hesitating. You hum, urging him to continue. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

You stay quiet for a while, pondering his question. “I think I do, actually,” you admit. “It’s kinda sweet—the idea of it all. I’d like to think that there’s someone out there who’s meant for me, y’know?”

Megumi closes his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering as he considers your answer. He's really pretty, you think to yourself.

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit dumb?” He asks finally.

The bluntness of his words takes you by surprise. You laugh, gazing down at him with a fond look in your eyes. There’s a small frown on his lips; the crease between his brows a little more pronounced than usual.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you watch as he relaxes under your touch, the tension leaving his shoulders bit by bit.

You settle on a simple question. “What makes you say that?”

Megumi sighs, “The whole ‘fate and destiny’ thing. I think not being able to live your life the way you want to is a little depressing.” He purses his lips. “What if you don’t like your soulmate?”

You turn to look at the ducks again, but they were nowhere to be found. Now, the pond was silent, and there were no ripples in sight.

The pleasant smell of earth seeps into your lungs as you breathe in. Never in a million years would you have expected to have this kind of conversation with him.

You didn’t exactly peg him as someone who would be interested in the concept of soulmates at all. A soft smile graces your lips.

“Well, I suppose there should be a system to prevent that,” you squint, “maybe they would make it so that it’s impossible for you to hate your soulmate.”

Megumi clicks his tongue. “That just makes us robots then.”

This makes you grin. “Robots?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, now shy. “If that's the case, you really have no choice in your thoughts and feelings, it simply strips your humanity away from you.”

You stop running your fingers through his hair for a moment and Megumi shifts, nudging your hand with his head to get you to continue. Cute.

Amused, you ask him, “Well, what if soulmates are real, and I’m not your soulmate, what would you do?”

He plucks another dandelion from the ground and inspects it before holding it close to his chest.

“It won’t change anything.” He says, not an ounce of hesitation in his words.

“Wouldn’t you wanna find your real soulmate?” You inquire, the flames of curiosity dancing in your eyes.

Without wasting a second, he sits up, turning around to face you. He studies your face for a second, eyes traveling down the curve of your nose and down to the slight upturn of your lips before returning to hold your gaze. 

Megumi speaks, eyebrows furrowed. “No. the fates or the heavens or whatever the hell is controlling our destiny won’t have any effects on my choices. I’m not about to be another pawn in the gods’ game of love. It’s the least I can do.”

And you laugh, light and bubbly; ignoring the fact that your chest feels abundantly lighter after his statement.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?”

His cheeks flare up, the headstrong confidence from a minute ago now gone, replaced by the charming bashfulness only a few have had the privilege to see. 

“Well,” he mumbles, “I’m not gonna leave you just ‘cause some prophecy tells me to. I like you. A lot.” Maybe a little too much, but he doesn’t tell you this.

The breeze tickles your face. “Yeah?”

Megumi refuses to meet your eyes, but he continues. “I want to spend the rest of my life with someone I chose myself. Soulmate or not.”

It is not his words that make your heart flutter—it’s the quiet blossoms in his cheeks, the sureness in his voice. If fate was a human, you’re sure that he’d fight her with no hesitation. Heck, even if she was a god, knowing Megumi, he would fight her too, even if it’ll cost him his life.

You watch him twirl the stem of dandelion between his fingertips. He doesn’t blow on it, nor does he make a wish like anyone else would in the presence of the perennial, he simply observes the flutters of white falling from its head. 

“So you would defy destiny if you had to?” You ask, knowing exactly what his answer would be even before he utters another word.

“Yes.” his dark eyes are steady, not a drop of uncertainty swimming in its depths. 

The soft breeze suddenly feels a little too warm for comfort. “That’s awfully romantic, don’t you think?”

And he blinks at you, but he does not yield. “Well, I just think soulmates are awfully unromantic.” He says, the corner of his lips twitching slightly.

A genuine laugh bubbles out from your chest. “You’re a curious one, Fushiguro Megumi.”

The smile on his lips is a fond one. “What about you?” He props his chin on the palm of his hand. “What would you do if soulmates are real?”

“Ah,” you pretend to think, “you’d be my soulmate then.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but the tips of his ears are dipped in vermillion. “But what if I’m not your soulmate?”

You spare him nothing but a glance, rising to your feet before brushing the dirt off your pants. As you squint at the setting sun, a contented sigh escapes your lips. On days like these, you could fully take in the beauty of the afternoon sky as you observe the shades of reds and golds dancing in the heavens.

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to find my one true love.” You hum, biting back a laugh.

The dark-haired boy scoffs and stands up, walking towards you with his hands in his pockets. Half a smile graces his lips as he reaches for your waist, pulling you close. With the sort of tenderness he reserves just for you, Megumi rests his forehead against yours. He feels warm.

Megumi smells faintly of the earth—a product of the hours he spent sitting under the sun with you—along with a hint of the cool menthol shampoo he uses to wash his hair. And together, they create a blanket of comfort and familiarity, one that you’ve grown to call home. You breathe in.

“I won’t let you leave.” He mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. His palms feel comfortably warm on your waist; gentle and light, yet sure and heavy at the same time.

There’s a playful sparkle in your eyes as your lips curl up into a smile. “I know you won’t.”

per·en·ni·al /pəˈrenēəl/

(n.) a perennial plant

(adj.) lasting or existing for a long or apparently infinite time; enduring or continually recurring.

a/n: as always, reblogs are highly appreciated! please let me know what you think of this fic, i always love hearing from you all! also: yes, there’s another flower symbolism in this piece lol <3

-> writing masterlist  |  taglist is in the comments

[lowkeyclueless5137]

Ok! So.... this was deleted and I had to rewrite it cuz tumbrl said 'suffer'....

Anyway! I'm dropping this bunch of incorrect quotes, feat Blot change au cuz I gave Ace new power! :3 episode/book 1-6 spoilers.

Cater @ the first years: Oh dear, oh dear, gorgeous...(done with life)

Cater @ Ace every minute: you fucking big baby... (affectionate)

Riddle: *a tyrant with anger issues and having one of the scariest UM*

Deuce: *an ex-delinquent, with a record for getting into fights*

Ace: *LITERALLY has a criminal record, raised under STIX's watch 24/7 because of the danger he can be*

Cater: Trey... you have some wierd children...

Trey(a mom in denial), choking on tea: I have WHAT now?

*during Azul overBlot, when Ace unintentionally forced Deuce in an overBlot with the ginger as a phantom*

Deuce, in his mind: what happened?

Ace, in Deuce's mind: I would like to know too...

Deuce: WHY ARE YOU IN MY MIND?! GET OUT!

Ace: I can't... so... ✨deal with it✨...

Deuce: tf?!

Ace: anyway... wanna hear my kazoo solo?

Deuce: .....

Any student after an overBlot figth: what'cha got there?

Cater carrying Ace and the other overBlot like sacks of potatoes: my phone...

*during Jamil overBlot, after the group got dokkaned across scarabia*

Ace: *slaps roof of Kalim* This bad boy could fit so much blot and trauma!

Kalim, tearing up: I am a bad friend....

Ace: see?

Idia, picking up the phone: you reached the house of internal panic... your personal anxiety Sass entity of disappointment in here... if you are the small Trappola, close the call and don't do arson...

Cater: it's Diamond...

Idia: applies to you as well...

Idia pointing to Mrs Trappola: this is my therapist that I consciously avoid going to an appointment because I'm petty, even if it's free...

Idia pointing to Mr Trappola: This is my doctor who said that I shouldn't drink only coffee and energy drinks to survive...

Idia pointing to Cater and Ace's big brother: these are my hitmen, who also work for me as spies... I like to not interact a lot with them like any other being except Ortho and cats...

Idia pointing to Ace: this is the reason coffee and energy drinks don't work anymore on me... also he recently learned how to do arson from his dormhead...

Ace: :3

Idia, after Ace even took a breath in NRC: Depression was last year for me, now I'm having a constant crisis over pizza to cope with everything...

Ortho: Nii-san... Ace got into a fi-

Idia: The box is square, the pizza is circle and the slices are triangles... GODS WHY?!

Ortho: .... I'm booking an appointment for your therapist...

Student: *overblots*

Ace, who is hungry: It's free real estate!

Trey: dinner ideas?

Grim: tuna!

Deuce: egg sandwich...

Epel: An apple pie...

Jack: Meat with seasonings...

Sebek: something edible...

Ace: blot...

Trey: All ideas are nice, except the last 2... do you wanna talk about it?

Ace and Sebek: no...

Cater: I asked Ace what would be appropriate for a date... he told me that apeshit is sexy... He forced an overBlot on me... later that night, Rook and Vil told me I was really sexy when in overBlot... I told this to Riddle and now he's in a state of shock in a corner...

Riddle, visibly scared: Ace was right and I don't know how to cope with this...

Trey: I am not a mom...

Deuce, coming in, sleepy: mom... can you please tell me a bedtime story?

Ace, tagging along: moooooooommmm.... can I have a glass of milk?

Riddle, wobbling in there, drowsy: mama... I had a nightmare...

Trey: go to my room and I'll come too in a bit...

Cater, who watched everything: you are a crappy liar...

Trey:..... I am not a mom...

Cater: and in denial apparently...

The overBlot gang getting kidnapped to STIX: ....

Ace's brother: So...

Cater: I will chop off your tongue if you say it...

Ace's brother, looking at Vil: he's your sugarda-

Cater, jumping on him with a knife: You lost your tongue privileges, my friend!

Rook breaks in stix: Bonjour :D

Ace's bro, with a tranquilizer: Aurevoir... >:3

Ace, puffing his cheeks cuz he didn't get dragged back to STIX:...

Deuce: why are you sad?

Ace: cuz they have the audacity to not invite me to their big boys queer pijama party for overBlots...

Deuce:.....

Ace: they also have video-games...

Deuce: >:O

Ace's brother: you

Ace: you

Ace's brother: have to go to NRC

Ace: have to go to NRC

Ace's brother: and be a good student

Ace: and be a good student

Ace's brother: You have to go to NRC and be a good student

Ace: I have to go to a facy boy school and fuck it up!

Ace's brother, tearing up: you learn so well...

Idia, to Cater: you will take care of him...

This is all for now! It's just chaos...

You can tell I'm not the best at the comedy department...

[hoshi-u-love-me]

TTT (Part. 2)

Group : Seventeen

Pairing : Seventeen × Reader

Genre : Drabble

Word count : 1.5k

Warning : randomness, fr I had no clue what I was thinking when I wrote this lol

a/n : I wanted to continue my other story (petals pt.3) but like I was in a fluffy-ish mood and like petals is just too depressing lmao (not so depressing but like the ideas I have for it were straight out a whole ass gallon of depresso)

(Pt. 1)

The car ride soon ended and you all filed out of the mini bus to welcome the sight of the villa you all will be occupying for the next 3 days.

Each went to inspect whatever it is that caught their attention first. You and Chan held hands, immediately running to the indoor pool and squealing with excitement. Mingyu walked past you both to unload the groceries you all had bought on the way over, Seokmin and Seungkwan following behind him.

"Ooh, Mingyu," You called, stopping him mid-way to look at you, "you packed my swimsuit, right?"

When the question seem to get processed in his mind, you could've sworn that you saw him blush a bit but nod quickly, almost enthusiastically. "I think it's at the bottom of your bag, I know this place has a pool and since both of you are little tadpoles, I put two and two together and assume you'd want to go for a swim while we're here"

Chan took off his right slipper and kicked the water at Mingyu's direction, not liking being called a tadpole. On the other hand, you just giggled at the scene that's happening in front of you.

Soon both you and Chan decided to investigate the premises further, hands still connected and swinging. You both decided to look at the rooms on the second floor. There were a total of four rooms, three were big enough to fit four people and the last one big enough to fit five people.

Next, you both stopped at the kitchen where Mingyu, Seokmin, and Seungkwan were putting away the groceries. You both inspected the things that you guys bought, giggling at each other and planning on how you guys plan on finishing your portion of the snack throughout the trip.

Slipping past everyone in the kitchen with Chan, you both stopped at the gaming room where there are a couple of arcade games at the corner, a pool table in the middle, and a mini fridge. Jeonghan and Seungcheol were already at the pool while Jun and Minghao was inspecting the arcade games.

You both lingered for a bit, checking in on everyone there before going to the staircase that leads downstairs.

There, you found a whole movie room. A big white screen on one side of the wall, a projector on the ceiling and a computer at the back. There were no chairs there, just a bunch of pillows and a rug.

Both you and Chan slinked to Joshua, Soonyoung, and Vernon who were hunched over the computer. "What'cha doin'?" you called, "Looking for good movies to- Ooh! Frozen!" Soonyoung exclaimed, pointing at the screen where the movie poster appeared. Joshua sighed at him, "If we decided that we're not gonna watch Moana, what makes you think we're gonna watch Frozen?" "uhm, great songs? Awesome graphics? Thrilling story line?" Soonyoung argued.

The two began bickering on why the heck they won't watch Frozen during the trip.

Vernon poked your arm, "you guys wanna get out before Soonyoung hyung start suggesting The Little Mermaid?"

At Vernon's words, Soonyoung clapped his hands, "The Little Mermaid! Thank you, Vernon!" and then a whole new argument started between the two.

With one hand in Chan's, you slip your other in Vernon's and slinked away quietly so neither Joshua nor Soonyoung would realize anything.

The three of you agreed to take a peek at the balcony at the second floor. But when you three were just about to step on the stairs, Seungcheol had called out as he stepped out of the game room.

"Kids, gather here! We're going to decide on our sleeping arrangements!" Seungcheol called. Everyone immediately gathered, putting their bags down and sitting on the floor or on the couch, whichever was available.

"Okay, first thing's first," Seungcheol looked at you and offered a smile, "(Y/N) will be staying with me tonight in whichever room I stay in" he winked.

Unsurprisingly, Jeonghan, Jun, Soonyoung, Mingyu, Seokmin, and Seungkwan boo-ed at him, "That's unfair! You can't get dibs like that!" Soonyoung exclaimed. Seungcheol snapped his head at the younger guy and glared at him, "Like hell I can't, I'm the oldest hence I get the privilege of taking care of our baby and make sure she's safe!" "We've established that (Y/N)'s MY baby so she'll be staying with me" Jeonghan said, scooting closer before wrapping an arm around your shoulder, "Tell him, (Y/N), tell him that you feel much safer with me"

You scrunch your nose at him and offered an awkward smile, "actually... I'd feel much safer with Chan and/or Nonie, I don't trust the rest of you... especially you" Jeonghan faked a dramatic gasp at you and drop to the side against Seokmin,"Rejected, by my own true love, how sad" he moaned in fake agony which made you giggle.

Seungcheol sighed, "come on guys, seriously, we have to pick our rooms" and with that everyone started dividing themselves. In the end there were Joshua, Jun and Chan, then Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Mingyu and Minghao, Seungkwan, Seungcheol, and Vernon teamed up next and lastly Soonyoung, Seokmin and Jihoon (in which Jihoon reluctantly agree because he doesn't want to sleep on the couch alone).

It dawned on you that you're gonna have to make a decision on which room you'd have to choose.

"N-no wait, why can't I just room with Seungkwan, Nonie, and Chan? Y'know, me and the maknaes stick together" you pouted, batting your lashes a little at them in hopes they would falter and agree with you.

In all honesty, your plan was iron clad, because Seokmin, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Minghao, Seungkwan, Chan, Seungcheol, and heck even Jihoon had a look of defeat in their faces.

But sadly Jeonghan shook his head and spoke up first, "nope, it's 13 vs 1, we all picked our roomates so you're gonna have to choose from the available options and not ruin the preexisting team"

Determined to have it your way, you turn to Jeonghan, pout going a teeny tiny bit deeper, you fiddled your fingers in faux innocence, "you think I'm gonna ruin things for you guys?"

For a split second, a VERY quick split second, you could see Jeonghan blushed slightly at your face. You know if you can win him over, you'd be able to have things your way.

Jun smacked your face with a cushion lightly, disturbing the impromptu staring contest you had with Jeonghan, "Nope, sorry princess, that's not gonna work anymore"

You grab the cushion and began hitting Jun with it while glaring at him, "I swear to God Jun, I hate you"

Eventually you give up, you agreed to pick from the options they created. And this is when all hell break lose.

Everyone kept pitching offers to you so that you'd room with them. The pitches varies from giving you snacks, the bed, and even their hoodies.

"Seokmin, stop pitching going on a camping trip, if it doesn't work on any of us, what makes you think it's gonna work on her?" Seungcheol sighed. Seokmin pouted at him, "It's worth a try!"

"(Y/N), if you choose to room with me," Joshua started, earning a cough from Chan and a hard nudge from Jun, "yeah, us, whatever, but if you choose to stay in the same room as me, I'll give you NCT's Mark's number, I go to the same church as him" he said.

That piqued your interest.

Your eyebrows rose at him, eyes widening.

"Really!? For real!? NCT's Mark ???"

"No, not really, but I got your interest and attention, so did it work?"

Instead of answering him, you hurled the cushion you've been holding at his face.

"This is stupid! Why won't any of you just claim me?" You whined.

Realizing what you just said and how it could be implied, you snap your head towards Jun who was already opening his mouth, "and I don't mean that in a sexual way" you cut him off before he could say anything. He laughed a little, raising both of his arms in mock surrender.

Seungkwan spoke up, "no one wants to claim you because no one wants you and your loud snores in their room" he snorted, obviously joking.

You were about to retort something snarky back at him before Vernon suddenly stood up and grab your bag without saying anything to you. But then he turn towards Seungkwan, "Seungcheol hyung and I spoke, we're swapping you with (Y/N)" he smirked before taking off to the stairs, "come on, (Y/N)! I'm letting you pick our room"

Now feeling better due to the fact that you don't have to choose between the boys, you stuck your tongue out at Seungkwan before dashing off to grab Vernon's arm and pick a room.

Seungcheol was quick to react, he immediately grab his own bag and followed after you and Vernon, "guys! Wait!" he squeaked.

The others sighed in defeat, all regretting not doing what Vernon did or not having the courage to just do it. They all grumbled for a bit, poking at each of their roommates for not speaking up quickly or even do anything. But they all eventually give up and proceed to leave the living room to put their things in their rooms.

All the while leaving a confused Seungkwan in the living room.

"W-wait, what does this mean for me? Am I sleeping alone here? Guys? Damn it."

[jasperwhitcock]

equinox | chapter 07 –– “a cruel god, a wrathful goddess”

here is chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy​​ posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but it seems 10/10 times my tag does not work, so that is a fun mystery for me to solve.

oof... sometimes u get distracted and then ur sister gets married and then u get unmotivated & d*pressed and forget to update ur fanfic for over three months... my bad y'all... sorry for the wait hehe. i hope it is worth it. again, i'm so thankful for the comments & i read them all. i get too shy to respond, but i WILL. i just need to talk myself up first. i love u. thank u. hehe. ♡♡♡ merry christmas/happy holidays if i fail u again before the 25th. i WANT to update more frequently. my catchphrase these days is "i'm trying my best," so... i'm trying my best.

this is for the sweet anons who slide into my ask box & ask me questions abt my fanfic. and for taryn, who consistently reminds me that there are people wanting to read this seeing as she is one of those people, kim, who i am so desperate to impress that i began working on a new chapter once she started to read my fanfic, and kae, because without her, this fanfic would never have existed in the first place. i love how i'm writing this as though it's the intro to an actual book when it's literally just chapter seven. ok, i will shut up now so u can read. love u. again.

07 A CRUEL GOD, A WRATHFUL GODDESS

In great contrast to the noisy ambience of the other students in the hallway, we were silent on our walk to our shared biology class. I wondered how conscious Edward was of the stares and whispers focused on our proximity to one another, but my guess was that he was very much conscious of it. I intentionally ignored glancing in any direction that I sensed one of my siblings’ presence, although I figured it was mostly paranoia driving me to feel as though we were about to cross paths. Holding my breath to more easily walk beside Edward left my senses impaired to the ability to pinpoint their location. 

I was lucky that for the majority of my immortal life, I’d managed to escape unwanted attention. But now, it seemed that precious luck had finally run out. Maybe embarrassment had been creeping up on me, maliciously building itself up all these years, waiting until just the right moment to rear its ugly head and exact revenge that immorality had stolen its favorite object of humiliation to torment. But here it was, ensuring that I was finally catching up on feeling awkward and out of step, a feeling I experienced for what seemed like the entirety of my human life. I thought once I’d been changed, I’d never feel this way again, but becoming misaligned with my family made me feel bashful to parade my defiance in their faces. I had operated better under no scrutiny as a mortal and was surprised to realize that that still held true as an immortal as well. Because though there was now never a struggle of staying upright or a risk of tripping over my own feet, that didn’t prevent me from feeling self-conscious as I walked beside Edward. Although for different reasons –– it was too mortifying to consider what my family might make of what my actions suggested about my feelings towards Edward.

And yet still, I would put up with the ridicule and disapproval of my siblings if it meant I could listen to Edward speak his silly philosophical theology, his questioning of god and existence, for just a few more hours. If I were going to be teased over Alice’s visions regardless, I might as well find out what I can about this pretentious boy before I leave him alone forever. If only to understand why his moving to this small town threatened to warp my own future so much. In losing night and in losing death, there were so very little anomalies in the endless amount of time I’d been given. So what would it hurt to allow myself to fixate on this minuscule difference in my life for just awhile?

It could hurt Edward, a more selfless part of myself reminded me. If indulging myself was playing with fire, I was being justly punished with the way flames were efflorescing the inside of my dry, burning throat.

If a god did exist, why would it make sense for such a being to craft someone like Edward with his perceptivity, and send him off to this small town, home to a secret such as ours? If a god did exist, why it would be fair for such a being to craft someone like Edward, someone who tempted me both in bloodlust and in curiosity, and send him off to this small town, home to the very vampire who desperately wished to kill him most? If a god did exist, if our kind had fallen short of heaven, I could understand why sending Edward into our path –– and more specifically, my path –– could be some kind of punishment. But what I couldn’t understand is why a god would allow someone as innocent as Edward to be endangered for the sake of bringing a sinful, undead creature to justice. It seemed the only reasonable explanation would be that a god probably did not exist. 

And how could there be? I was on the precipice of falling into temptation with every step further in the hallway and every question he asked and answered. I could never not be very much aware of the fact –– especially now with his body merely inches from my side and his sweet fragrance blooming both deliciously and relentlessly in the air. And even as I impossibly withstood the lure of his blood, how was I meant to ignore the irresistibility of his mind and how inexplicably concerned I was to understand it? It seemed like a very cruel experiment of free will and knowledge –– far too cruel to allow much room for the kind of god Edward hoped for.

I frowned as I realized that this experiment wasn’t that of a cruel god’s but that of a cruel vampire, and I felt very much like a vampire as the sound of his heartbeat was so appealing that it made my mouth water.

“Do the stares bother you?” Edward spoke quietly to me as we weaved throughout the hallway. Easily distracted, his question was able to pull the more civilized parts of myself together, though this was probably also in thanks to my choosing not to utilize my sense of smell. I found it funny that at least one of his thoughts had been in a similar vicinity. But of course, the rest of his thoughts were probably free of all consuming agony and struggle. For all his curiosity about morality, to inflict this existence upon him would probably devour him in misery. At least as a human, despite whatever conclusions he may come to, there was still some hope to be had for an afterlife. This thought should have been dark and depressing, but because it made Alice’s vision seem like a complete hoax, I almost found it funny. How would Edward ever end up like me?

“Oh, no,” I swallowed the venom in my mouth. “I live for attention.” I watched from the corner of my eyes as his gaze flickered over to me, the ever present half smile appearing on his face at my joke. My answer came out so comfortably as though I was used to this, when in reality, the student body for the most part had grown accustomed to ignoring me. And, of course, there was nothing comfortable about the demanding, aching dryness in my mouth or the burning in my nostrils. “How about you?”

“Likewise,” he joked, laughing. “This is interesting –– their fascination. I understood their interest on my first day because I’d guess a new addition to the student body in a town this small is something of a rarity, but today, walking by your side is garnering even more attention. Is it a once in a lifetime opportunity to have Bella Cullen walk you to class?”

“You’re just so observant, aren’t you?” I rolled my eyes, though the corners of my mouths pulled up despite myself. “And I’m not walking you to class. I’m walking to a class I just so happen to share with you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I think they’re just surprised because they’re probably under the impression that I don’t play nice with others.”

“And do you?”

“You tell me,” I replied, pausing to face him beside a wall of lockers next to the entrance of our biology classroom. As he stopped beside me, a gust of air from a passing student walking hastily down the hallway sent his scent reeling into me at an unfortunate moment where I’d chosen to breathe in. My muscles tensed to spring, and I desperately anchored myself to the floor as my mind fell into disarray.

“Nicely enough,” Edward winked naturally as though we’d been the best of friends since his first day. The demanding thirst was intruding on my awareness, and the desperation for something wet and hot and delicious in my desiccated throat was so dizzying that his voice sounded as though it were underwater. With an effort as though I were swimming through drying cement, I resurfaced, just barely proving my dominion over the desire. I focused on his voice so that it’d become clearer, forcing myself to take another excruciating breath in and exhale the fire out. “I will say I am honored to be the exception –– to be plucked from the masses by the renowned, reclusive Bella Cullen.”

With torturous effort, I snorted as though I wasn’t fighting everything within me to keep him alive. I breathed in again heavily, allowing my body to become a pyre so that I could speak. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop saying my name like that. And you’ve lost the privilege. I am never walking you to class again,” I rolled my eyes even though my joke could very much be the truth. The bunching of my muscles, the twitching of my hands, and the fierce pain in my throat reminded me of the fact. Before he could point out the contradiction of what I’d previously clarified, I sighed. “Let’s take this quiz.”

His pretty green eyes were alive with mischief and enlightened with what must be more answers to questions he hadn’t outright asked me as he turned to enter the classroom. I followed behind him towards our shared table.

Air from the vent rushed out, thrusting the scent of his blood wafting into my face again. I paused for an indistinguishable moment as I battled agony, murderousness, monstrosity. Holy fuck. What was I trying to prove! Was it really worth this? Swallowing hard, I sat beside him as though nothing happened. My suffering was so great that Emmett could have brutally ripped my arm off, he could have beat me with it, and I wouldn’t have noticed nor felt a thing. I could have been set on fire, and it’d feel like sinking into a cool pool of water on an even cooler day. I was already burning alive, my body acting as a furnace, and I was imprisoned inside it.

Without intending to, I sighed aloud, exhaling as though it would smother the flames. It was a stupid, attention seeking thing to do. Humans sighed to expel air or express some sadness or relief or exhaustion, so when my family emitted an audible breath, we did so as a means of blending in. But to breath out in a way to clue Edward into the fact something was plaguing me… it was a stupid invitation for more questions. And these were questions I had no intention of sharing the answers to. I felt his eyes on me, but before he could say anything, Mr. Molina began passing out quizzes face down on our lab tables as students continued to pile in from lunch.

“Alright, class. Today we have a pop quiz–– oh, come on, guys, don’t groan. You will have the opportunity to make corrections after these have been graded. This is just an assessment of what you’ve retained from this unit so far. You will have the entire period to complete–– thanks for joining us, Mr. Patterson, glad you could fit my class into your busy schedule. Why don’t you take your seat? –– You will have the entire period to complete your quiz. If you finish early, feel free to get a head start on this weekend’s homework! I’ve written the reading down on the board. Aw, I’m sure you’re all moaning because you’re disappointed at how light of an assignment it is because I just know how very excited you all are to continue your passionate pursuit of studying biology. Alright, now that everyone’s settled–– wait a minute––”  Mr. Molina paused, raising his pointer finger in the air, his eyes squinted in anticipation. Three seconds later, the bell signaled the beginning of class. “Begin!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward reluctantly turn away from me. In an elegant script, he wrote his name at the top of the paper and began his quiz. I turned away from him to look at my own paper, preparing myself to uncomfortably hold my breath for the next hour. The difference this made in my thirst was almost insignificant, but enough so that it gave me a tiny more leverage in my control. I smoothed out the pucker on my forehead with the eraser from my pencil, accidentally snapping the rubber off against my face. 

Absentmindedly, I began to breeze through the assessment, circling the correct answers, but my mind was more absorbed in the warmth of sitting beside Edward. Aside from the affliction of doing so, it was too pleasurable to have sat beside him so often and for so long today. I enjoyed the toastiness like a lizard basking in the sun. It made me recall the muddy human memory of laying out on a blanket in my backyard beneath my beloved blue Arizona sky, hiding beneath the small shade of a book. Not the blistering heat of a summertime Phoenix sun, but the warmth of the first day of spring. But the heat of Edward’s body alone was enough to fill my mouth with venom, so I tried to refocus my attention onto my quiz.

When I turned to the last page of questions, a motion beside me diverted my concentration once again. I peeked over, turning my head slightly in Edward’s direction to see what it was. As he thought over one of the questions, his right hand was moving peculiarly as he lifted and dropped down his long fingers almost as though he were impatiently tapping each digit one by one along the tabletop. Except the movement was more exact and calculatingly random. Engrossed, I watched as his his soft, fragile skin rippled over the muscle, the tendons appearing and disappearing with every bizarre movement. It took me a moment to make the connection between the large grand piano in his home and the motion of his hands. I realized he was miming piano movements while he thought through his answers. There was something both weird, funny, and endearing about this. I smiled to myself, not having the required oxygen to quietly laugh.

I felt his curious eyes flicker over to me and watched peripherally as he raised his eyebrows. I shook my head, biting down on my lip to unsuccessfully fight the smile, and returned to completing my quiz.

I finished a moment later and impatiently waited another ten minutes or so before I could turn in my work. I tried to ignore Edward for this small period of time at least, mentally reading myself the opening chapter to Wuthering Heights. Even though the words were committed to my memory, it was still never as good as actually reading from the book itself.

Once I’d decided an appropriate enough time had passed, I stood up to walk my quiz to the completed basket on Mr. Molina’s desk. Even having waited, I was still the first to finish the examination.

“Thank you,” the teacher whispered without breaking his focus away from the crossword puzzle he peered through his glasses at. I breathed in now that I’d placed some distance between myself and Edward, gladly facing the cool, fresh air from the vent.

“Neophyte,” I whispered back now that I’d replenished my oxygen supply.

“Excuse me?” He glanced up, his slightly aged face confused.

“Neophyte,” I repeated. “Eight across, two down.”

I took in one last clean breath and walked back to my seat as he tapped his pen across the squares of the space, mouthing his count of the letters to check if the word fit.

As soon as I took my place in my seat again, Edward stood up to walk his own quiz to the basket.

I wanted to watch him, but instead I forced myself to unzip my backpack and retrieve the biology textbook.

Busying myself with the assigned chapters, deciding to actually read them so as to not feed into my invasive Edward obsession, I couldn’t help but listen as Edward too placed his own textbook on the countertop.

I heard the scribble of pen on paper as he began to write what I imagined were notes until his large hand slid the paper over to me beneath the wall of my hair spilling over the desk. Well, I wouldn’t ignore him if he was the one deciding to bother me.

You know I’m pretty certain that cheating is a violation of the student handbook, but I’ll let you get away with it just this once.

I turned to glance at his face to see if he were serious. His eyes were warm and inviting, his mouth in the same crooked smile.

I took the piece of paper and looked around for my writing utensil that had gone missing somehow. My eyes zeroed in on a suspicious, tiny pile of wood dust on my side of the desk. When had I brutalized my pencil? He held his hand out to offer his own pen, and I accepted it, carefully plucking it from his fingers without making contact.

I wasn’t cheating. You were doing something funny. And what do you know about the student handbook? You’re new.

I slid the paper and pen back to him and watched as he combed a hand through his bronze hair, reading my response. The smile grew wider as he construed the biting tone of my note. 

Can I be let in on the joke? Edward wrote, turning to look at me once he was done. Again I was prisoner, though this time not to my own body. I was momentarily held hostage by the beauty and warmth of his light green eyes. I was understanding more and more the attraction the other students had for him. If I had a soul, it was as though he were staring straight into it.

I recovered, placing my hand atop the desk and then wiggling my fingers as though I were weaving my way through a very complicated piano piece.

Oh, Edward mouthed, immediately understanding. He silently laughed and placed his left hand to his forehead briefly as if to hide his face in mock embarrassment. The ink from the pen spilled onto the paper as he began to write again.

In my defense, there’s research that supports classical music puts students in a heightened emotional state, making them more receptive to information and helping them focus.

That’s very nerdy of you. I scribbled back, the corners of my lips pulled upwards.

I know. As I read the words on the notebook paper, we both laughed a little too loudly for the quietness of the room.

“Please remain silent for your classmates still working,” Mr. Molina stage-whispered from his desk, his eyes still fixated on the crossword puzzle.

It’s a bad habit. Edward tacked on to his message. I beamed. I knew a thing or two about bad habits today. I was appreciative of this silent conversation on paper; it made it easier to be beside him without needing to breathe to speak aloud.

What were you playing? I scrawled.

Clair de Lune. Edward wrote back. His thick eyebrows raised as my eyes lit up, and he continued writing. You know Debussy?

My mother used to play a lot of classical music around the house. It was one of my favorites.

It’s one of my favorites, too. Edward’s eyes were a little sad and lost in thought, and he smiled softly.

I was shocked by the change in expression and weirdly desperate to return the brightness back to his eyes. The burn in my throat was almost forgettable in the face of my concern. Almost, but not quite. He turned his head down to write on the paper again.

You said Rosalie played piano. You never learned? He turned to look at me, his expression curious. I shook my head and shrugged, reaching for the pen.

I didn’t think I had the coordination for it. While this was true for the time I was human, it wasn’t true now. Still, even though my days stretched into endless nights, I hadn’t yet devoted time to any instrument as an immortal.

Edward read the paper, his long pointer finger tracing the line beneath the words as he did so. He held his large hand out, and I dropped the pen into it.

I’ll show you sometime. Edward half smiled at me, his eyes sweet and earnest.

Knowing I shouldn’t be allowing him to think making a plans with me was an option, I reached for the pen to tell him that it was alright, but I froze as he suddenly moved to drop the pen and take my hand. Though he should have been the one hesitant and cautious as though approaching a dangerous, wounded animal, I held perfectly still as though he were the danger, and I needed to play dead for protection. You can’t play dead if you are dead, I thought to myself. 

My body tensed as my hand was enveloped in the heat of his much larger palm, uncertain as to what he was doing. My muscles screamed at me as I clenched my free hand into a tight fist, terrified of myself.

A shiver rippled through him as he felt the chill of my frozen fingers, and I twitched the hand in his possession, wanting to yank it away to protect him from the iciness but not wanting to alert him with the swiftness of the motion.

He smiled mysteriously at the spasm as though he somehow expected it. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but didn’t want to risk breathing. My control could too easily be lost. Besides, I was scared that if I were to open my mouth, I’d end up screaming.

I felt him push slightly and realized he wished for me to curl my fingers, so with great concentration and the acute awareness of his fragility, I moved my stony hand into the shape he directed, my fingers curved slightly beneath his like a relaxed talon. I didn’t like the shape; it was odd and inhuman and made me think of the violence I could cause.

But it wasn’t a claw. Because once my hand was positioned the way he wanted, he began to slowly place pressure on my fingers, and I dipped and rose them accordingly to carefully move with his. I watched as the two of our hands together played what I imagined must be the opening chords to Clair de Lune.

The disconcerting emptiness in my chest soared at the bizarre pleasure of this touch, and a weird sensation tickled my scalp, moving swiftly down my spine to my entire body. 

My muscles tightened violently and then relaxed, sending a shiver to ripple through me. It was too much pleasure and too much pain as my throat ached and I leaned into the warmth.

Embarrassed and not wanting to push my luck, I cautiously pulled my hand slowly away. He lifted his hand to allow me to escape as though I couldn’t just break his hand to do so, a half-smile pulling on his lips. I pretended not to notice the goosebumps on his arms.

See? he mouthed before deciding to whisper. “You could do it.”

I forced myself to smile and then turned away for the rest of the hour, trying to keep from doing anything stupid like looking at him or killing him. I’d completely forgotten where we were.

When the bell finally rung, I collected my things atop the desk hastily. Edward reached for my backpack and held it up for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured as I dumped my books into the bag. Before I could take it from him, he slid it onto his back and nodded his head once for me to go forward.

Feeling awkward, I turned and allowed him to follow me to the door. I was lucky to walk in front of him, taking the opportunity to breath again as the vent blew out in front of my face.

Exiting the classroom, I paused for a second when I saw Emmett waiting for me across the hallway rather than his typical spot beside the wall of lockers next to our shared Spanish classroom. Even though I was well aware of the fact I’d been dangling my irresponsibility in their faces all day, I still felt as though I was being caught in the act.

Emmett’s eyebrows raised as his golden eyes watched Edward follow behind me, carrying my backpack. I crossed the hallway reluctantly towards my big brother.

“Hello,” I greeted him, avoiding his eyes. I felt smaller than ever beside him with my head down, and yet not small enough as I wished to disappear.

“Hey, little sis,” Emmett began uncertainly, though I glanced up to see his full lips were beginning to stretch into a smile that I didn’t like. “Who’s that with you?”

“Uh…”

“I’m Edward Masen,” the lanky human boy introduced himself confidently as he stopped beside me. “And you must be––”

“Emmett,” my brother interrupted, grinning as though he always so comfortably interacted with humans. This was all too weird, but he looked to be enjoying it far too much. His desire to mess with me and his confidence in Alice’s visions seemed to override the abnormality of speaking to a student so amicably. I watched as he breathed in and shot me a meaningful look. I grimaced.

I opened my mouth to put an end to this torturously awkward interaction, but Emmett interrupted again.

“It’s nice to see you made a friend,” he began, an evil glint in his eyes as he watched my face. I was confused as to where he was going with this because our entire family would come across as misanthropic to the rest of the school, so why should it matter to him. He turned his attention to look at Edward who was closer in height to him. “You know, we worry about her––”

“Okay, let’s go to Spanish,” I cut him off quickly. “Edward, can I have my bag, please?”

Without looking at him, I reached for my backpack as he offered it and threw it over my shoulder, heading down the hallway. It was a massive relief to put some distance between myself and Edward. My thoughts were clearer, and I could breathe freely.

Emmett burst into laughter, his guffaws booming in the hallway. Several students paused in fear making me concerned about Edward’s reaction to my giant of a sibling, but I relaxed when I heard Edward chuckling along with him.

“Um, see you,” Emmett said to Edward before his steady, near silent footfall followed after me.

Even moving at a lethargic human pace, he caught up to me quickly.

“That wasn’t funny,” I grumbled.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emmett chuckled, ignoring my question.

“What the hell are you doing? What was that back there?”

“I don’t know. That was weird, but not as weird as you playing with your food.”

I hissed quietly.

“Damn, I’m kidding, Bells. But seriously, what are you doing? What happened to your high and noble speech about doing the right thing and staying away from the kid? I thought Esme was about to produce real tears. It even softened Rose.”

“Ugh, don’t talk to me about Rosalie right now. She’s been giving me dirty looks all day. It makes me feel awful. I already feel bad!”

“Well, I don’t really care what you do either way so––” I looked at him questionably. “I mean, sure, I want you to do the right thing, whatever that means. I don’t want you to feel miserable. But on one end, I didn’t really mind so much what happened to me.”

“Rosalie did,” I countered.

“Yeah, Rose did,” he acquiesced quietly.

“Anyways, I’m not having that conversation. I wasn’t talking to him today to test whether or not he’s worth it. That’s… unethical.”

“So what were you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned in answer.

Emmett laughed.

“You’re weird these days, Bella.”

“You’re weird everyday,” I quipped back before sighing. “I don’t know. He’s weird, too. I guess… I’m not making any decisions, at all, but if Alice told you what she told me… wouldn’t you be curious?”

Emmett thought it over. “Yeah, I think so. But I also don’t think I’d have even made it to this point,” he admitted. I winced.

“It’s kind of unfair for me to care more about satiating my curiosity and dance with the devil this way, right?”

“Well…he may not know it, but isn’t it more so that Edward’s the one dancing with the devil?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, frowning as we walked into our Spanish class. “I guess it is.”

I made the decision to avoid thinking of Edward for the remaining hour of school. I paid very little attention in Spanish, returning to the familiar mind-numbing boredom that classes had been prior to the last few days. Now that it was in stark contrast to the sudden life breathed into my time at Forks High School by my fixation with Edward, the tedium was no longer something dealt with indifferently and sluggishly. Now, it left me feeling restless, and it almost pained me how laborious it was to sit through a life I wasn’t an active participant in. It was nowhere near the pain of dealing with the excruciating thirst I had around my bronze-haired lab partner, but it almost tampered with my thoughts more knowing I’d feel less miserable if I spent this time analyzing every word Edward shared with me, every fluctuation of his tone, every glint in his perceptive eyes, every expression on his pretty face… But I was becoming too obsessive. The same hunger for adventure that made me fall in love with reading must be what was leading me to so treacherously, so impetuously dive into exploring this insignificant and yet cataclysmic difference in my life.

As though it had a personal vendetta against me, time moved even more lethargically than it ever had before, but finally, the bell signaling the end of school rang. Emmett’s eyes shot a concerned look at me as I rose from my seat too quickly, and I immediately felt embarrassed again. The cautious reminder in his expression made me feel childish as Emmett was never one to care much about bending the rules. 

“See you at home, I guess,” he shook his head, giving me one last look that seemed to suggest I’d lost it.

“See you,” I mumbled, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Leaving Emmett behind to wait for Rosalie, I weaved through the crowded hallway and out to the parking lot. Students were bundling together and squealing at the chilling air as tiny, fluffy snowflakes fluttered down from the overcast sky. The floor of the parking lot was almost as glassy as yesterday as the rain from this afternoon had melted into a thin layer of icy mush. Though there was hardly enough snow for a decent snowball fight, some of the rowdier students were bundling up a pitiful pile of snow to form pathetic snowballs in their fists.

I nearly skipped to the pearly white vehicle parked beside Rosalie’s overly conspicuous crimson car which was forming a small crowd of admirers. Leaning against the trunk of the car, I watched the front doors of the school to look for Edward.

The tangle of reddish-brown hair was easy to spot because of its strange metallic tint as he strolled out of the building with Naomi, the student who’d provided him with the information about my family on his first day. He had his coat folded over his arm, revealing how form fitting his light tan turtleneck was. He truly was a very attractive boy. It was odd that I hadn’t really paid much attention initially. With his dazzling face and tall, lean frame, Edward was pretty enough that for the vampires who searched for exquisitely beautiful humans to create into even more stunning immortals, he could probably be a contender for someone to collect.

Thinking of how Emmett questioned my motives today, I quickly banished the idea of Edward as an immortal from my mind, even if it was only a hypothetical inspired by my observation.

Edward paused, asking Naomi if she could hold on to his backpack for a moment. When she grabbed it, he pulled on his long black coat, and fiddled with the collar. Recollecting his backpack, he slid it onto one shoulder, then rubbed his hands together, blowing the warm air from his mouth to heat them up. Thinking of the sweetness of the smell of his breath made me remember to take in swallows of fresh air before he made his way over to me.

As he was distracted momentarily, I watched as a stray snowball flew towards Edward’s head. I was overcome with the urge to intercept it in the event it may hit him too harshly and knock him to the pavement, but flying across the parking lot inhumanly fast twice in one week was probably not the way to go about correcting my mistakes.

The soggy snowball crashed into Edward’s hair, exploding into shards of ice and water that slid down his prominent cheekbone. I laughed aloud at his shocked expression as the curtain bangs framing his face were immediately drenched, darkening his hair into a brown color. Once he’d realized what happened, his face broke into a good-humored smile.

“Holy shit! Sorry, Edward!” The classmate who had thrown the snowball with poor aim called out.

“No worries!” Edward called back. He shook his head, chuckling as he wiped the water from his face. As he laughed, his eyes found the space where I waited and brightened seeing that I, too, was enjoying the moment.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told Naomi, who was too beside herself in tears of laughter to reply.

Edward sauntered over towards me, and I inhaled deeply as a fortuitous whisper of wind blew from the tree line. I held onto the notes of crisp eucalyptus, fresh snow, and cedar wood, trying to distract my mind from the offensively mouthwatering scents approaching me.

Edward was a coordinated human, but even he lost his footing on the icy pavement. His body slid forward for a moment, but I stepped towards him to close the space between us and caught him by the elbow.

He looked up from his boots against the frozen parking lot into my eyes, startled momentarily at the swiftness in which I had appeared. Then, his full lips lifted into a crooked smile that creased his astonishing green eyes into half moons. I let go immediately and took a big step back to ensure a safer distance between myself and the warmth of his fragile body. It had been a risky movement, but somehow in comparison to yesterday, it didn’t seem to matter as much. I figured our classmates were too involved in their gawking at the details of my sister’s car or their feeble, slushy snowball fight to notice, and oddly, I didn’t care that Edward had seen. It was beginning to feel too late to keep up certain pretenses.

Although, it wasn’t too late, and it shouldn’t feel that way. I reminded myself I still had every intention of leaving Edward alone once I’d figured out what was so compelling about our paths crossing that had Alice’s visions spiraling in a confusing jumble. I took another step back slowly.

“Thank you,” Edward said, his eyes humored with another secret he didn’t seem willing to share. “You keep saving me.”

“Well, let’s not make this damsel in distress thing habitual,” I snorted, turning so that he couldn’t see the smile forming on my face. I felt shy about showcasing any comfort or happiness in his presence now that I was reminded of how fleeting this experimental friendship was, but I wondered if subconsciously I wanted him to catch me in my misery and ask me to explain, though I wasn’t certain why I wanted to sabotage myself like that. I opened my door and turned to look at him again. “You coming?”

Before he could answer, I dipped into the driver’s seat, and breathed in one last time. Well, once this was all over, I could finally stop inhaling dramatically as though they were truly my last, dying breaths. The air was mostly clean of his scent, but I knew that regardless, the heat of his body would be enough to disrupt my comfort and control. As the thought crossed my mind, I painfully swallowed back the venom pooling beneath my tongue.

Edward swerved through the crowd obsessing over Rosalie’s car and opened the passenger door, sliding into his seat. As he placed his backpack on the floor and fiddled with his seatbelt, I made sure to adjust the air conditioning so that the heat could warm Edward from the frigid Forks air. Though for me, just being in his presence made the intimate interior of the car feel as though I were again sitting by his fireplace.

“That’s a beautiful car,” he murmured. “Is it an M8?”

“Uh, it’s a BMW?” I asked uncertainly as though he’d spoken another language.

Edward grinned as though he wanted to laugh but didn’t want to make me angry. Rosalie would have loved to answer all his questions if he too had an interest in cars. Would have loved to, if she wasn’t deeply offended by my actions or if I had any intention of Edward meeting any more of my family members.

“Ready?” I bit my lip as I forced out any inconsiderate plots of murder that threatened to distract me from being a defensive driver.

“Mhm,” Edward answered.

I reversed out of the parking slot slowly, but as I looked in the rearview once I’d straightened out, I saw the fleeting image of Rosalie’s exquisitely beautiful and exceptionally angry face. I quickly readjusted the mirror to remove my sister’s reflection and sped out of the parking lot in a way that could have taken out a few unlucky students if I didn’t have above average years of driving experience.

Peripherally, I watched as Edward’s thick eyebrows raised, but he decided not to question me. Once we’d reached the main road, I slowed my speed so as not to rush through this time, even though I knew for his safety and my sanity, I should. As I drove, his right hand moved in odd shapes again against the arm rest of the passenger side door as though he were playing piano once more.

I decided to bite and use up some of my limited air supply.

“What are you playing?”

“Clair de Lune again,” he replied. Then, he began to hum the melody aloud for me as he moved his hand.

I thought to offer to play the song for him through the speakers, but I decided against it as I listened to Edward’s soft, velvety voice hum beautifully through the song, breaking the silence.

The ugly, slush-like falling of snow transformed into a falling of rainwater, and Edward’s voice was orchestrated by a lovely symphony of raindrops.

Before his voice could weave into the more involved moments of the piece, Edward stopped.

I looked over at him, curious for the reason as to why. His face was turned away from me so that all I could see was his untidy bronze hair as he gazed out the window. I pulled in front of his driveway and parked against the curb.

Miraculously, I’d made it again. Carefully, I inhaled through my nose to experiment with my control. The sweet bouquet of the boy’s blood was potent and even more mouthwatering than usual from the snow turned rain that’d wet his hair. I hadn’t considered the possibility that he could smell better than before, and I kept myself from groaning aloud as I dug my nails into my own palms. The tingling sensation in my nose was as though I’d sniffed some powerful chemical, the burning sensation in my throat as though I’d taken a long drag of a cigarette. But more painful. More demanding. Desire, need flew from my core out towards my extremities, and the beating of his heart pumping the blood through his body drummed loudly in my ears. It seemed to move through me, my frigid body almost twitching with every pulse, ready to lunge forward and crush his neck to my lips.

“What was your mother like?” He asked me suddenly, his voice soft. Edward turned from the window to face me, and I was bewildered by the intensity of his expression. His eyes were light and beautiful against the gloomy grey of the sky, and they squinted slightly as though studying my face like this information was absolutely essential. But this was not what stunned me, as I’d already seen the severity of this expression before in our ephemeral time together. It was the unexpected vulnerability of his stunning face. The more time I spent looking at him, the more I realized how beautiful this human boy really was. And it seemed a great tragedy for this beautiful boy to harbor such devastation in his eyes.

Whereas previously in his presence, my thoughts had become incoherent due to a lapse in control, now my thoughts were incoherent in distress and desperation to understand what had gone wrong and how I could fix it. I was momentarily dumbfounded, but I pulled myself together after the soft sound of a few droplets of rain against the roof reminded me that he was waiting for an answer.

“Well, she looked a lot like me, but prettier,” I began stupidly. He raised his eyebrows. “Or at least, she used to look a lot like me, and I used to look a lot like her. I don’t so much anymore.” It’d been so long since I’d really spoken about my mom, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. I knew I should have made some comment about whether or not she looked like Esme or Emmett since our story made us siblings, but I didn’t want to taint the rarity of sharing who she was with a lie.

“She was more outgoing than I am,” I continued, thinking through the foggy memories I held onto from my human life.

“That’s difficult to believe,” Edward teased quietly, his lips curving into a half smile.

I laughed, listening to the melodic sound of it, thinking of how it symbolized how very much different I was now from the human girl my mother knew.

“I was always very shy,” I smiled, before speaking up again, caught in the echoes of my past. “She was brave and irresponsible and slightly eccentric. And she was a very unpredictable cook!”

I laughed aloud again thinking of some minor explosions in our tiny kitchen and some questionable dishes. Edward laughed too, but when our laughter faded into the falling of the rain, my smile faded.

“She wasn’t perfect,” I admitted. “I think I recognize now that she was very fallible. I worshipped her when I was younger, but when I think back, I do see how in some of the ways she raised me, I was done a disservice… I grew up too fast. When she died––“ I sighed, feeling insincere and guilty about perpetuating this lie when I really should have said when I died, “––Esme became more of a mother to me, and even Rosalie’s been more traditionally nurturing than my mom ever was… But still, she was my best friend.”

“You miss her,” he murmured simply. I met his gentle eyes.

“Yes,” I bit my lip.

“How old are you, Bella?” Edward asked. “And not the formulaic, theorized version where you were born in your thirties. How old are you really?”

I tensed, wondering if he was asking this again because he’d taken note of how I didn’t directly answer this question the last time he asked.

“Seventeen,” I answered automatically.

“You don’t seem seventeen,” he responded, reproachful.

The tension left my body at the tone of his voice. I smiled again easily.

“Sorry?” I asked, biting my lip to hide the smile, unsure of how to respond.

Edward chuckled and the subtle crinkles by his eyes lit up his face. “Well, I wish you’d been given a happier, normal childhood.”

“I’m fine,” I shrugged, brushing it off. “I hardly remember most of it, and what I do remember reminds me that I probably didn’t have much chance at a normal childhood to begin with. I was terribly shy, remember.

“I did do girl scouts, though….Oh, and ballet briefly,” I admitted, unsure as to why I was volunteering so much information about myself. Wasn’t the purpose of me sitting here to uncover information about him?

“Why does that make you… embarrassed?” Edward’s eyebrows pulled up.

For an odd moment, I felt betrayed by the flush of my cheeks before I realized there was no blood rushing to my face. I blinked, bewildered by the peculiarity of this long buried instinct to become frustrated with my easy blushes when I hadn’t blushed for years. I felt self conscious as I wondered what Edward saw reading my expression to so perfectly decipher my feelings.

“I was very uncoordinated,” I dismissed his question as I fought the urge for my hand to flutter to touch my cool cheek.

“Now that truly is difficult to believe,” Edward half-smiled. “I can’t imagine I’ve seen anyone as graceful as you.”

I laughed aloud at his compliment, though I didn’t doubt his sincerity. I knew this was true of myself. It was true of all of our kind to appear fluid and effortless, but still, no one had ever applied the word to me. My vampiric poise was irrelevant and unimpressive to my family, and the very few humans brave enough to overcome their nerves to compliment me typically found their words to fail them.

“You’re very odd,” I beamed.

“What do you mean?” The bronze-haired boy asked, again wanting to be let in on the secret. While I had an insatiable thirst, it seemed he had an insatiable curiosity.

“How old are you really? Your word choice is bizarre for someone your age, you know.”

“Oh,” he laughed easily. “Well, I’m actually not seventeen. I’m eighteen. But I’ll try to strictly adhere to a more teenage vernacular, so I can compliment you in a more acceptable way from now on.”

I looked out at the dim light of the brewing storm, my smile fading as I decided that I should probably allow him to escape me before I did something I’d regret. But I knew I wasn’t resolved enough to completely leave him alone. He made me monopolize too much of the conversation, and I wasn’t satisfied with what I knew about him yet.

I sighed aloud, and Edward, too, looked out at the rain darkened sky.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked hopefully, making the assumption that our conversation was coming to an end.

“Yes,” I promised reluctantly. My eyes flickered back over to his pretty face, studying the lines of his strong jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, his full lips, committing this inconsequential face to memory as I silently resolved that this should be –– and would be –– one of the last times I’d allow myself to be this close to him. Tomorrow may well be the very last.

Likewise, as though his thoughts were in the same vein, his beautiful green eyes studied my face as well, though he did so in that mysterious way of his where he looked at me as though hoping to read my mind.

He sighed, then collected his backpack. Edward opened the door, stepping out into the bitterly cold weather. A shiver ran through his lanky body, making my body tense with perverse excitement. I cringed away from the deadly instinct and swallowed against the dryness of my yearning throat.

Edward’s tall, lean frame leaned down to peek into the car.

“Goodnight, Bella,” he spoke softly.

“Goodnight, Edward,” I almost whispered, gazing into the beauty of his dazzling green eyes.

Edward smiled his half smile, and closed the door, escaping into the building torrent of rain.

I gasped in relief at his absence, then stiffened realizing how the cab of the car was still heavily perfumed with his scent. I took in another deep breath, forcing myself to confront the burning thirst again, willing myself to manage it. I sighed as I hit the gas, making Edward disappear behind me.

  Both my control and the rain pour strengthened significantly as I turned onto the long drive leading to my house. I grimaced as I wondered how I’d face my family and explain the complete reversal of what I’d promised to do. I didn’t have time to consider for much longer as suddenly, a figure appeared instantaneously in the drive. I slammed my foot on the brake immediately in shock at its appearance, not wanting to total yet another car against one of my siblings.

I peered through the windshield, unable to see through the complete downpour that submerged my vehicle as though it were underwater. It was annoying for my perfect sight to be obstructed by anything, rainwater or even the transparent windshield because of my eyes’ desire to focus on the microscopic scratches.

The car violently screeched against the muddy pavement, and it looked as though we would have to bid this car goodbye until the figure hidden by the storm placed their hands out on the car roughly and forced it to a stop. The tires screamed in protest, and the metal groaned as it warped into the shape of the palms. I listened as it unnaturally bent again in a piercing moan as the figure fixed the indentions they’d created.

My windshield wipers swatted away a flood of water. Finally, I could make out my sister Rosalie, her hair dripping wet down her back like a supermodel who’d just emerged from a pool on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Her exquisite face was absolutely furious.

I gulped, feeling like a child who’d just been discovered sneaking home past curfew.

I felt uncertain as to what to do and why she’d chosen to stop me here. Surely she could wait for us to be under the cover of the garage before she chastised me. Not wanting to be drenched by the rain, I revved the engine to ask her to move aside, but the car didn’t inch forward against her strength. Beginning to feel annoyed, I revved the engine again loudly and for longer, but still, she didn’t move.

“Rose,” I hissed as I hit the brake again so that the car could roar viciously in the storm, only to be cut off by the voice of my adopted mother.

“Girls!” I couldn’t see Esme through the obscured glass behind the downpour, but even with the barrage of the rain, I could hear her lithe steps run furiously to the front porch. “Please!”

Rose’s head snapped up to look in Esme’s direction before turning to glance unhappily back at me. She stepped aside, and I sped into the garage, parking the car hastily.

I exited immediately and went to expect the damage to the front of the hood. It was only a minuscule bend from having been pushed and prodded back and forth, and I was positive Rosalie could make it look like new, though why it had been necessary to punish the car was beyond me. It wasn’t even mine.

I wheeled around once I’d heard the near-silent steps of her run, a wave of anger making me forget my guilt.

“Are you insane?!” I demanded.

“I could ask the same of you, Bella!” Now free from the obscurity of the rain, I could see in perfect detail the stunning fury of her glorious face. Her golden hair had been darkened by the rain, and it was slicked back effortlessly, like a glittering waterfall down to the middle of her back. She looked like a wrathful god, but I couldn’t find it in my stubbornness to care about how valid her anger may be.

“Okay, but did you have to take it out on the car? What did it ever do to you! You couldn’t have waited another twenty seconds to confront me? Well, you have my attention now, Rosalie, so say whatever it is you want to say!”

“You’re just unbelievable, Bella!”

“He’s not going to say anything, Rose! We already talked about this yesterday. You heard Alice! He’s not a threat to you and Emmett, so I don’t understand why you’re taking this so personally.”

“Exactly, Bella. I heard Alice. Which is precisely why I fail to understand as to why you wouldn’t understand why I’d take it so personally. After all these years of sisterhood, how can you not understand how I feel about this?”

I frowned, my forehead puckering, but still, I retained my anger. She huffed, continuing.

“If it was an inevitability, I’d understand. However, it hurts me deeply that you recognize the choice that you have. The choice that Edward has. And still, you’re willing to play with his mortality as though it were a game, when I never had that choice.”

I froze, the realization dawning on me that she was right. No matter the ways in which I tried to justify my actions or spin my intentions, she was right. Another part of my mind acknowledged that while I was aware of right and wrong, I wasn’t certain that what was right would be enough to keep me away anymore.

We stared each other down much like we had yesterday. Only today, rather than anger, her face was contorted in hurt, and mine was contorted in hopelessness.

“But… you found Emmett when he was still human…” I weakly protested, selfishly trying to highlight the irony, though I knew it was pointless as I wasn’t advocating for Edward to be changed either. That was too complicated a thought to wrap my mind around. But whatever may happen –– and I was still very much aware of the worst of possibilities –– I didn’t want my sister to hate me for it.

“He was dying, Bella,” Rosalie whispered. The anger on her face had completely faded, and in its place, pain marked her eyebrows, her full lips, her golden, sad eyes. In her sadness, she looked like a work of art, like one of those paintings of a weeping saint. “It’s not the same.”

I didn’t have a response to that, and I felt as though I was at an impasse, both with myself and with Rosalie. Because I knew the promises I’d made and broken, but I knew the promise I’d made to Edward today, and I had no willpower, no desire, and no intention to break that promise.

“You may not feel anything for him now,” Rosalie began, her eyes intently fierce as they bore into mine to warn me. Only this warning felt significantly more horrible than I’d imagined it may be, because it wasn’t made in anger, but in desperation and love. “But if Alice is right, you will. And it seems to me a horrible way to repay someone you love to steal their life, their future, their soul from them. You should leave him alone now while you still can, because once you love him… it’ll only hurt more one way or another. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your existence. I know I have.”

And with that, Rose turned, her face cold and sad, and she left the garage.

[bubblyani]

Bail Out : 01

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi-Chapter Series

Chapter 01: The Bruiser

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault. However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne, surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your choices in life, career, and in love. 

Word Count: 4700

Rating: Mature

Warning: Swearing and Hints of Blood and Violence

Author’s Note: Initially wanted to write a One Shot, but had more ideas to possibly expand. And thanks to @kittenlittle24​ ‘s encouragement, I was confident to continue this as a Series. This was soo much fun to imagine and write. It really was. Will do my best to make this a series you all can love. Enjoy!

Gotham City, never was it a fanatic of resting, especially when it came to crime. “Anyone out for a coffee run?” 


Thus, it was suffice to say the Law Enforcement of the City was never privileged with the gift of resting either. Even during the wee hours of the morning. Crime was detained, ranging from the highest risk to the mundane. Regardless, they were all crimes. 
 “...Anyone?”
 Officer John Blake of Gotham Police repeated his inquiry, scanning the other officers in the precinct. Buzzing like bees, all seemed quite occupied in their own matters. 
 “I’ll do it…” Officer Nina Langdon got up from her desk, answering with a smile. The way her pupils dilated, her secret attraction for the other young officer was quite evident. 
 Finally catching a whiff of enthusiasm, John’s eyes glinted with a hint of sincere gratitude. Standing next to him, Langdon began her query at everyone: “How about a new place today?”

The buzz, it continued. No one really seemed to bother with an answer.

“Try Commons Cafe! They have great coffee for an affordable price!”

Suddenly the buzz seemed nonexistent, when everyone’s heads indiscriminately turned upon hearing a voice. A female voice which was unfamiliar, yet professional. And to their surprise, it was traced all the way back to the nearest holding cell.

Taking a gander at their expression, the owner of that voice seemed unaffected. 
“You’re welcome…” She added coolly, returning her gaze back to the wall before her. Highly amused, Officer Blake chuckled. Deeply curious, Officer Langdon leaned over to Blake.
 “What is she in for?” She asked in a low voice. “Assault…” John answered, opening the file that rested on his neatly arranged desk. His answer certainly made the red headed officer raise her eyebrows. 
“Anything serious?” She was certainly inquisitive. He shook his head. 
“Nah…” he replied,  “Just a rough night, I guess” he added, turning back to the woman sitting in the cell.

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It was never intentional, but you just could not help overhear their discussion. And Officer Blake was right: Last night was indeed a very rough night. 


Trying to catch a wink of sleep in the cell seemed impossible for you. For you were not at comfort. Let there be no misunderstanding, for the environment was not to blame at all. You scoffed to yourself.You were no princess, seeking any luxury. It was just that your damned humbleness got in the way with the most mediocre excuses. Like, your tight skirt riding up every time you made an attempt to lie down, for instance. You did not want to make a scene by showing any unwanted skin.

That’s right. That damned humbleness.

And the throbbing pain in your right hand did not seem to help either.

Yes, your right hand with your knuckles, all bruised and bloody.

Sleep deprived, and slightly wounded, your body was in a state of confusion. You literally felt your eye lids grow heavy, as if your eyelashes held on to weighty dumbbells in the gym, and they kept doing down. Squinting your eyes, you made your most dire attempt to stay awake. You resorted to methods a many. Pinching your own cheeks, slapping them with no shame. All until you were sober once more. You sat there, with your legs bouncing about as you stared at the wall. 


Every other corner in the station seemed to have a dose of color. Even it was dull or depressing. The wall on the other hand, was white, was empty.
 Thus, it was no surprise that you picked up a brush, and proceeded to paint out the scene over that white wall of your mind.The scene that haunted you on a constant loop, all throughout the night. 


For everything was ever so clear.

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

(Last night)


With single stroke of your mind brush, the white canvas of the wall altered into the surroundings of a luxurious hotel.


A jazz melody, simple yet effective. It lingered in the piano keys, amplifying its effect on to every living being in the area. The musical sounds infused with the subtle shushes of the small water fountain placed in the midst of the restaurant. Occupants of class and formal attire were of abundance, out to play on a Friday night. 


And in the bar lounge in the corner, there was you, sitting on one of the barstools with your phone pressed against your ear. It was no call, as you listened to a voice message. The manner in which your eyes were closed, in which your temples had tightened, it was evident to any observer that you were listening to what you dreaded.

“Sorry sweetie!” The voice of Allison, your roommate flowed into your ear: “ I forgot that Mattie was having a Birthday bash for his friend, so I promised to help out with the party blah blah blah...you know the deal…But anyways, I can’t make it for drinks tonight. I’m so so sorry, roomie! Please enjoy yourself! And hey! who knows! Maybe you’ll get to work on ya flirtin’ tonight. Sorry again…Bye!” 
 As the message ended, a scoff was all you could let out. “Trust me…” You muttered to yourself, looking at the phone, “Flirtin’s the last thing on my mind tonight”.

With one hand lifted up, you turned your gaze over to the bartender nearby. Your empty cocktail glass appearing so lonely beside you.  

“Whiskey, please” You requested, lips forming a sad smile.Taking the glass away, bartender nodded with a hint of concern. 


You sighed heavily, before taking a sip from your glass. Work had certainly drained you. It drained you like an insect being drained lifeless by a spider. With eyebrows raised, you slightly shook your head at yourself. That was an inaccurate comparison for that may not be an exact fact. Yet, it was how you felt: Drained lifeless. And here you presumed blowing off steam with your roommate would help you cheer up. But truthfully, that was not the case. It was not what you wanted in the end of the day. Drowning one’s exhaustion in a splash dip of alcohol seemed apt. At least, you’ll drop dead on your bed without hesitation. You will sleep faster. And waste the weekend away. 


As the effect of the hard liquor began to spread all over your system, you felt compelled to take off your high ponytail. You were desired by your own conscience to let your natural tresses rest easy on your head. 


“Oh! Save me the High Road Bullshit! You’re just like the rest of them SCUM!”

A voice, quite enraged reached out to your ears from afar. It cut through all the superficial chatter a few feet in between. Given the tone, You involuntary rolled your eyes.

“Someone’s not having the best day, huh?” You said to the bartender. “Yeah…looks like it” the man replied, whilst wiping the table. Sipping the whiskey, you resumed in indulging on the burning sensation you felt on your tongue.

Yet, regardless of your attempt to steer your ears away, the awkwardness could not be avoided. Especially when someone had the decency to have a tantrum on these marbled floors.
 “Name one good thing Wayne Enterprises have ever done to the people of Gotham.Can anyone name ONE THING? I DON’T THINK SO…”

Now, you had to look up. Why on earth would he say something of the sort? Head unturned yet up, you paid close attention to the voice from the distance. Glancing upon the bartender’s expression, it was certain your face did not look happy at all. What was the other’s reply? You longed to hear it.But it was too soft. 
 “That’s right! It’s nothing but a HEARTLESS company with HEARTLESS people in it” Your eyebrows furrowed, tightly. This person certainly had the nerve. As much as this slowly turned your stomach, you silently convinced yourself it was not your place to interfere, nor to even be affected. 
“You know what?” The man continued loudly, “It’s a darn shame Joe Chill didn’t finish the job…He should have gotten rid of the entire Wayne family”

A loud thud! erupted from your fists as they landed on the table with such force. So much so, even the bartender clutched on to his wiping cloth with fear. “That’s it…” You muttered through gritted teeth. Gulping down the rest of your whiskey, you decided this was definitely your place to be affected. 
 “Yes! That’s right.” The man began to mock, “Thomas, Martha....and little Bruce Way-”
 “YOU!” Silence suddenly fell over the entire floor by the power of your voice. Even the piano stopped. Turning from your barstool, You heard yourself bellow: “You Take that BACK!!!”

Fueled with rage, you knew it was definitely your place to interfere.

Sliding off the stool, you quickly spotted him. The middle aged man was quite easy to make out by the fountain, due to his dramatic expression of embarrassment. All eyes were on you as your heels clicked sharply walking over to him in speed. He was the only one you could spot among the two conversing parties, and that was enough for you. Frankly you did not care. Though you were at your fullest rage, weaponized with clenched fists, the man looked at you with mere inferiority.

“Don’t you DARE say things like that!”

You yelled, pointing your index finger at him. The man laughed mockingly, which amplified heavily with all the dense fog of silence.

“Why?” He asked, “What are you gonna do?” He jeered, “Threaten m-OW!”

Gasps exited everyone’s lips in unison. Right when you cut him off with your right fist landing hard on his face. The punch was far from skilled, yet it managed to spill some blood, it was difficult to trace its origin. You felt pain, that was for sure. 
 “You take that back! I mean it” You spat out those words, which were akin to fire. Eyes squinting, the man scrunched up his bloody nose. 
 “Wha-? OWW!!”

This time it was your right knee that made an appearance. Greeting his nose violently with a kick, your knee brought out a popping sound, causing the others to gasp and scream in fear.

“ARGH! MY NOSE!” He cried out with agony. 
 “SECURITY!” 
The cries of the Floor Manager finally brought you to the realization of the surprising consequences of your pure rage. Lifting your hands up quickly with a sigh, you surrendered yourself as the security staff surrounded you. The bystanders watched you with disbelief. Some with mixed emotions, while others purely had taken a side in this altercation. The Security found it strange when you voluntarily placed the hands behind your back for their convenience. For you were no fool. You were screwed.

“Gentleman! Gentleman! Let’s take it easy on the lady, shall we?”

A voice so smooth and undeniably familiar tickled your ears. Turning back, you gasped. For you finally laid eyes on the other party. The man who was insulted. The man you involuntarily fought for:

Bruce Wayne, in the flesh. 
 With a tall, beautiful blonde woman wrapped around him, he was as powerful as he could be. Besides, the beautiful couple exuded pure regality. And that was when you felt completely underdressed. Why wouldn’t you be? Your silk shirt, tucked in your high waisted skirt paired with a jacket made you look so meager. While the blonde woman gave you a nasty look, Wayne seemed quite concerned in contrast. Embarrassment finally came over you when you were aware of the fact he just witnessed your rage. And how he was witnessing your messy state, which included the literal blood and sweat and disheveled hair. 
“I’m truly sorry, Mr.Wayne” The manager said, “…but our restaurant doesn’t tolerate violence” You were so tempted to scoff. And you did, out loud. “Wow! wow!” You cried out with irony, turning to the manager in your handcuffs, “So violence is not tolerated, but verbal abuse is?…” you inquired, motioning to the deserving bleeding man, “Unbelievable!”

“Security! Please escort her out!” The manager was certainly not pleased with your behavior nor your tone. 
“YES! Get that woman out of here!” The rude man cried out, still covering his nose, “I’ll do you one better…I’m…I’m calling the police” he said, taking his phone out from his pocket.

You shook your head with disappointment, still feeling the alcohol linger in you as you were easily pushed out of the premises. Averting your eyes, you were relieved to leave. For you did not want to be in the midst of everyone’s judgment, most certainly his.

You heard the soothing words of the management comfort the customers in muffled tone as your footsteps got closer to the exit.

“What the hell happened, miss?” The big, tall security officer inquired with genuine curiosity. As if he felt guilty of apprehending you, “Why would you get so riled up about Wayne Enterprises anyways ?”
 Sighing heavily, you looked over to him.

“It’s because I work there...” 


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

(Present)


Completing the imaginary painting for the 20th time, you finally looked down. The right side of your skirt was stained with dried up blood. Your knuckles shared the resemblance, except there were cuts as an addition. And holy hell! The stinging was unbearable. You were no fighter. You just experimented fighting in the wrong place, in the wrong time.

Rubbing the top of your nose bridge with your fingers, you sighed. So many sighs today. “Why…why did I do that?” You muttered to yourself. You were never the troublemaker, nor the violent one, so why now? You hoped your convincing voice message would lead to your roommate getting you out. But the way you were ditched tonight, there was no possibility. It seemed quite apt you were to be left there to rot, to regret your actions.

But never did you think you were actually fighting on behalf of Bruce Wayne himself. What were the chances?

The jingle of keys grew prominently louder, amidst the chatter of policemen and civilians. You looked up to see Officer Blake in front of your cell. “Good News…” He said, “Looks like you’ve been granted bail”

Your eyes widened with disbelief. How was it possible? You were only given one phone call. Standing up in an instant, you held on to the bars with your left hand dramatically. “R-Really?” You babbled, “But who?”

The young officer smiled softly. “Best if you see it for yourself” he said, opening the door, “He is waiting outside” 
“H-He?”   You swore you breathed in literal fear, forgetting to even step out.

As you went through the formalities, you could not help but wonder. Could it be that wretched man you injured, had come to rub his power all over your face? Were you to be eternally grateful to him? Feeling sick to your stomach once again, you took slow steps towards the exit, unwilling to see the light of dawn.
 “Ahh! Shit…” You cursed under your breath upon the first glance. It was not that wretched man. It was someone even worse. It was Bruce Wayne.

Taking a deep breath, you looked over at Blake. “Officer…” you began, “Do you have a mint by any chance?”

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

Nothing would strike you as strange more than the fact you saw Billionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne standing outside of a Police Station at around 6:30 am. And to bail you out nonetheless. Why? Was it something you should be worried about? You did not know.

For a second, you could not help but stare, especially when he was not aware of your eyes on him. He may have been wearing the same outfit as last night, yet he looked so different. With his tie loosened, hair a tad bit messy and out of sorts, he dipped his hands in his pockets whilst leaning against a black Lamborghini. As much as his sight seemed appealing and lovely on the eyes, it also worried you.

He straightened himself to attention the moment he saw you walk over to him. In the early morning, there was no one else by the pavement to cause a scene. Only the two of you. So finally came the big question: How were you even going to start a conversation with someone like him?

“Firstly,” you began, clearing your throat, “ I have to ask…” He looked at you with curiosity, as you took a deep breath:

“Was your date the Prima Ballerina of the Moscow Ballet?” You asked genuinely.

Bruce chuckled loudly, evident that it was the most unexpected question. But truthfully, it was something that kept you up all night.

He nodded, “Yes”

As much as you were happy to have guessed right, you were even more mortified. You were indeed the villain in the piece. “Oh my goodness,” you exclaimed, “I’m so sorry for ruining your date, Mr.Wayne…”

“Heh…Don’t worry about it” You could not help but realize the gentle nature of his voice. Gentle to the point it could graze over flower petals without causing any harm. But you knew you did not deserve that. Calming down, you averted your gaze down.

“You really didn’t have to do this…”you said, looking around shyly, “Bail me out…I’m sure that awful man-” “Mr.Henderson-” Bruce pointed out. “Right…Mr.Henderson…”you corrected yourself,  “…won’t stop with just getting me arrested…” “Actually, he’s planning to press charges” “What?” Your jaw dropped, “Oh for the love of-” Covering your face with your left palm, you sighed hopelessly. “I’m sorry…” you said, looking up, “This is not professional of me at all. I…” you paused, “I just had a rough night” you admitted with honesty. Instead of driving you deeper with guilt, he just stood there with very little expression on his face. As if to let you recover from your own mess.

“Get in…” He said, a few seconds later as he motioned towards his car. Your eyes widened. “Oh…No! It’s fine, Mr.Wayne, I can get a taxi-”
“I insist…please!” He said, voice still gentle, “You did punch someone in the name of Wayne Enterprises…” he added with a touch of humor.

Finally giving into a chuckle, you nodded in admittance before getting in.

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

You may not have known much about cars, but you certainly knew this one was quite the machine all men would die for. Would not be so surprising to find out the magnetic attraction it possesses. A symbol of power, for sure. 
 Following the first silent minute, you already as if you were robbing of his kindness. As much as the company of a handsome gentleman made you happy, a feeling of guilt was strong enough to conquer all.  

“You know…” you began, “…you can just drop me off at the nearest bus station Mr.Wayne, you’re being too kind” You said with concern. “That won’t be necessary…” Bruce replied, his eyes still on the road as he drove, “Your address is already in the navigator” He said, with his hands on the wheel, motioning to the system screen. You chuckled. Of course, he must have pulled the file on you.

“As someone from HR …I have to say that is a major breach in Employee Privacy” you said, looking ahead whilst attempting to suppress a smile.

“Perks of being the Owner I guess…I suppose you can understand…” Bruce replied, confidence brimming, “And really? You work in HR?” He asked teasingly, “I certainly did not know that…” You laughed instantly. “Now I know you’re lying” “Well…It’s good to know we have a bruiser in HR-” “Oh no…” You cried out frustratingly, “Stop! I beg of you…As if it’s not embarrassing already to be bailed by the owner of the company…” You said, covering your face, “Ow!” You cried out. You seemed to be so accustomed to him, that you were not even aware of your bruised hand, “No…It’s fine…” you said in an instant the moment Bruce looked at your hand with concern. The way he glanced upon you, his silence compelled you to guiltily take off the tissue paper you had used to hide your knuckles. Opening it up, you bit your lip as it stung in contact with the morning chill. “No, it’s not fine…” Bruce said sternly, “...here” And to your surprise, he somehow managed to magically find a place to quickly stop the car.

Oh! Billionaires.

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

Surprises did not cease to exist so soon.

You sat there dumbfounded on the passenger seat, as you watched Bruce Wayne medically treat your right hand. His hands were articulate, cleaning out and disinfecting the skin, before smoothly applying a cooling cream over the bruises on each knuckle. He did it with such focus, you were nothing but entranced by the mere sight. And before you knew it, your hand looked like it was alive once again.

“You’re awfully good at this…” You remarked, watching him wrap a small bandage around your knuckles. The pain in your right hand deprived you the chance to identify and secretly indulge his touch. “Why, thank you…” He answered with a teasing smug. “But that definitely arouses suspicion” You had to respond, smirking with mischief. “Well..You’re awfully observant” He smirked back, as he pulled away. “It’s my job, Mr.Wayne…” You said, watching him put his hands on the wheel,“I’m a Manager in HR. I need to know the staff” you added, leaning back on your seat, “We need to know what they want. What they don’t want, like and dislike”

The car began to growl softly with the start of the engine, and it was on the road once more. With the bandage securely placed, you could move your hand freely again.

“I don’t understand…” Bruce suddenly began, “You seem like a very sensible person…” he continued, “What could possibly drive you to punch a man right in his face?” “I admit…” you began with a deep breath, “It was quite an overreaction…” as the recollection revisited you, “But...I had my reasons…” You spoke with such freedom. “Which are…?” “Mr. Wayne...” you said, as a sudden rush of confidence wore you like a suit, “I’ve been working in Wayne Enterprises for almost 10 years” you looked at him, nodding as his eyes grew wide, “I got my first job here, and I have been working here ever since. I grew up in so many ways thanks to this company. And I know how many people have benefited from it, just like me.”

Tilting your head, your eyes squinted looking forward, “Sure, the management had a bumpy road with Mr. Earle. But…” you paused, with a chuckle, “ I guess I’m too loyal to leave. Besides, with you finally getting ownership, and Mr. Fox being CEO, I’m liking the direction this company is heading…” You said with a smile, “But…loyalty and alcohol… does not go well together, I realized” you admitted, keeping one’s fingers on your chin.

Bruce chuckled. You felt proud to humor him. However, a part of you suddenly wondered if this honesty of yours was going to cause any judgement in him. “Please know that as a professional, I do not condone my actions…” You stressed out. “But...personally…?” “No regrets whatsoever…” You answered immediately,  “That gentleman had it coming…”. Gasping, you covered your mouth, “Wow!…” you giggled, “I’m being too forthcoming now, aren’t I?”

“Looks like it…” With a smirk, Bruce looked at you. For a split second, you could relate this to two old friends, sharing a naughty secret. Who knew that Bruce Wayne was just like any other man you knew, except with a bit of specialty blessed in him.

Yet, still you looked at him pleadingly. “Forgive me…Oh!” You exclaimed, the moment you realized the surroundings suddenly grew familiar. The Lamborghini was already in your neighborhood. Finding a space to his luck, he finally parked. Before unbuckling the seatbelt, you savored the moment. Turning to him, you looked at him for a few seconds. Noticing your stare, his eyebrows were raised:

“Are you by chance, doing your job?” He asked teasingly, looking your way, “Being observant?” 
 Taking a whiff of his cologne was unintentional, yet necessary.

“No…” You answered, shaking your head, “Just…taking one last look at you. Just...imprinting the image in my memory, as you might call it…” you chuckled, moving your hands over your head, “I’m sorry but…It’s very rare for people like me to even meet Bruce Wayne in person.” You added, “And it’s highly unlikely that I will ever see you again”.

Opening his mouth, Bruce produced no sound. And just like that, he quickly closed it. You smiled, lightly bowing your head with respect. Why you did it, you did not know.

“Thank You, Mr.Wayne…” you began, “...for everything” you added, showing your hand.

The very moment you got out of the car, and walked around to reach the pavement, a pang of unhappiness came over you. A sense of chill suddenly pushed the sense of warmth away. You did not know why exactly.  

But you froze, as Bruce Wayne suddenly called out your name with formality. Turning back to face him, you were more than eager: “Yes?” With the window fully open, he put his head out to take another look at you. Possibly a few years older than you, he certainly was handsome with the morning light shining over him, you realized. “Never underestimate the power of probability…” He said. You folded your arms, suppressing a smile. “You’ll have to be more specific” you replied. He smiled back softly. “We will see each other again…” He said, with confidence. Your arms loosened upon hearing it, and that swell of unhappiness, that chill suddenly disappeared into thin air. Leaving enough room for the warmth to creep back in. This time, the warmth was strong enough to glaze your heart.

Still smiling, Bruce gave a small wave. “You take care now” he said, to which you nodded.   “I will…Thank You” You said, watching the Lamborghini slowly take off. Your eyes followed it until the sight of it grew small to the size of a pea. Moving your head, you quickly spotted the figure of Allison walking down the street towards you, with a dropped jaw. Relieved to see her without any hangover, you smiled at her. 
 “Was that Bruce Wayne?” Allison asked, pointing at the now non-visible car, “THE BRUCE WAYNE?” She squealed. “Yep…” “Damn! He looks good.” She said deliciously, only to gasp soon after, “Wait! Did he bail you out?” Her face grew concerned seeing your nod, “Oh sweetie…You know I would have bailed you If I had money…I know you’re probably mad at me right now but-”

Where her rambling apology went, you did not know, and did not care. For you were too deep in your own thoughts. That warmth which glazed your heart. You have only felt it a few times before. Recalling the times, was when you finally realized the unthinkable.

“Fuck!” You breathed. Allison looked at you with shock, “Excuse me?” “FUCK!” Exclaiming louder, you groaned out with frustration. With your buttocks finally resting on the front steps of your apartment building, you groaned louder. “Shhhhhh!“ Your outright cursing had attracted the attention of a displeased nun, as she passed you by.   “I’m sorry...” Your apology to her was muffled, through your hands over your face. The roommate sat next to you with a worried look. She smelled of perfume and cigarettes.

“Sweetie…” she began, "You gotta tell me what’s going on! You’re freakin’ me out!” She said in a low tone, yet her concern was evident.

“I’m not...” you paused, taking your hands away, “I’m not mad at you…” you said calmly, looking forward “...if that’s what you’re worried about…” You added, “It’s just that…” you sighed, “I’m pretty sure I may have to quit my job…”

Eyes widening, Allison clutched her chest dramatically. “WHAT? But WHY?” “Because....” linking your hands together, you exhaled deeply before turning to her: “I think… I like Bruce Wayne...”

——————————————————

Is your curiousity stirred? Chapter 2 HERE

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[catsandstrawberries]

Proud of You

Pairing: OT7 BTS x graduating reader PLATONIC! (also could be seen as 8th member)

Summary: Due to the coronavirus, your whole senior year has been destroyed, chewed, and spit out by the universe. You start to get depressed once your robes come, but the boys know just how to make you feel better.

Warnings: The reader kind of gets depressed, Americanized because American graduation and Korean graduation are a little different, like 2 swear words, but nothing else. Lots of fluff!

A/N: This is intended to be for high school seniors but words for college seniors as well, could be a stand alone read or a continuation of Real Family. 

“(Y/N), your package came!" 

I ignored Namjoon’s yell and cuddled back into the multitude of blankets that swaddled me in a large cacoon. 

Quarantine was not faring well with me. 

In retrospect, I had it a lot better than most people. I was surrounded by my seven brothers who I loved unconditionally and didn’t have any issues with food shortages or internet issues, but I wouldn’t be able to graduate. That was hard to come to terms with. After twelve long, hard years working at school, and only to be denied all of my senior privileges, seeing my friends, and the top of the cake, graduation. It honestly sucked. But, instead of facing my feelings, I’ve camped out in my bedroom listening to Lo-fi and pretending as if my mental health wasn’t suffering. 

”(Y/N)!“ I groaned with protest, rolling out of bed with no care about my ragged appearance. My hair stuck up at odd angles, and my baggy t-shirt and sweatpants weren’t the most attractive outfit I’ve worn. I trudged towards Namjoons shouting voice, ignoring the flambergasted look Jin gave me, and Yoongi’s voice shouting at me to take a shower and that I smelled like Hoseoks dirty socks. 

"Oh, you look…” I gave Namjoon an annoyed look, 

“dead to the world? Depressed? Annoyed? Sad?” I finally looked down at the package, a medium-sized box shipped from the school. 

I frowned, a sneaking suspicion about what it was creeping up on me. I picked up the box and carried it to the kitchen island, quickly grabbing a pair of scissors from the closest drawer and cutting open the top of the cardboard. My frown only grew as I spotted the robes and cap inside the box, the robe that I would never wear because my diploma was going to come shipped to me, like a useless piece of paper. 

I ignored the crowd watching me from the sidelines and crawled back to my dark hole of depression, otherwise known as my room. Little did I know the boys were setting a plan into motion before I even shut my door.

Netflix seemed to be my only saving grace. My little kid floaties as I attempted not to drown in the big kid pool. I was just about to finish one of the most important cinematic moments in history, Jane giving birth in the tv show Jane the Virgin. But the show all of a sudden started to buffer, and soon a notification on my computer was telling me the wifi connection failed. Aggravated, I tried to re-type the password only for my computer to tell me it was wrong. I stomped to my door, ready to scream at Jungkook for messing with the wifi only to find the exact boy and Jimin standing in front of my door.  

“Uh, hi?” The two looked very suspicious and both their hands were behind their back as if they were hiding something. 

“Is something wrong?” Jungkook asked, trying to bite back a smile as if he knew he was messing with me. Before I could interrogate him Jimin was elbowing him in the ribs, 

“don’t be a brat, Koo.” Jungkook grumbled, and suddenly Jimin was shoving a cardboard box into my arms, the same cardboard box with my graduation outfit. 

“Wha-" 

"You should try it on.” Jimin pushed, a gleaming look behind his eyes that told me he was planning something. 

“Why-" 

"If you don’t try it on and come show us, then we won’t tell you the new wifi password.” My jaw dropped as Jungkook let a sly smirk cross onto his face. Those sly dogs. I sent a harsh glare to the two of them, 

“fine, but I’m choosing dinner tonight.” Jimin exchanged a glance with Jungkook then ruffled my poor excuse of hair, patting down some of the large knots.  

“You drive a hard bargain, deal.” I couldn’t help but smile at their ridiculous antics but before Jimin could shove me back into my room Jungkook was adding, 

“be sure to brush your hair though, you look like the walking dead." 

The door shut before the hairbrush I threw could hit his head.

——–

The body length mirror in front of me only made me more anxious and sad as I looked over my uniform. The robes weren’t exactly attractive, but they fit, and the sad memories of never being able to walk with my friends or give a speech, fully appreciate the process of graduation only soured my mood. I ran a hand through my freshly brushed hair, I styled it slightly in preparation of being included in a V-live or some other event that showed my face to the public. I wasn’t an idiot, the boys wanted me out of my room, and to look nice so I assumed they would show me off to Army to try and lift my spirits. I didn’t want to do this. A part of me wanted to crawl back into my bed and snuggle under my fluffy blankets, call Jin and tell him that I wasn’t feeling well. They might buy it if I lie and say I’m on my period. Even though I was close with the boys, that was the one thing that always freaked them out, and got them off my back. Just mention blood coming out of their younger sister’s vagina and you’re no longer being teased, a full proof plan. I sighed and leaned against the cool wood of my door, my hand hovering over the metal doorknob. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad idea, just smile and take a few pictures then you can go back to your room, yeah 30 minutes tops, then I’d be out of there. 

With that final boost of confidence, I opened the door only to find Yoongi standing at the end of the hallway, dressed in the fancy blue sweater he only wore to important events. 

"Is this a blue sweater event?” I questioned jokingly, but his gaze was still locked on my outfit, and once I got close enough he fiddled with the tassel on the top of my cap.

“I’m so proud of you.” I snorted at his cheesy words, raising an eyebrow, 

“for what?” He shrugged as if it was no big deal and offered his arm out to me,  

“for being you.”

Yoongi led me into the dark living room, and my eyes barely had a moment to adjust before the lights were blasted on. My own eyes winced at the onslaught of light, but once they adjusted my heart did cartwheels at the sight in front of me. Gold and silver balloons and streamers hung around the room, inflatable letters spelling out graduation hung at the front of the room where Namjoon stood in front of a pedestal, the other boys lined against either side, creating a clear pathway for me. They were all dressed in nice clothes and once I got close enough they each handed me a slip of paper, diploma, written in crayon or colored pencil highlighted at the top of each paper. A personal message below each of them. I couldn’t help but laugh at that, especially after seeing Hoseok misspell graduation in crayon and have to cross it out to rewrite it. Once I was finally in front of Namjoon, he looked at me with one of the proudest and genuine smiles I had ever seen. 

“Wow, (y/n) looks so much better in her graduation robes then you did Jungkook,” Taehyung whispered cheekily and an embarrassingly loud laugh erupted from my chest at his words and the comedic look of betrayal that crossed Jungkooks face. Namjoon cleared his throat and then glared at the two before turning to face me, 

“Dear class of 2020, It is my greatest honor to be your commencement speaker as you head off to do great things in your lives, as you face graduation day, ready to take on a life full of brand new colors, a palette of opportunities and-” Namjoon filtered off and loosed the bow tie around his shoulder before walking around the pedestal and standing in front of me. “(Y/N), I am so proud of you. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you, balancing all the things you do, from school, to work, living with us, I know we aren’t the easiest family-" 

"Excuse you I’m fucking fantastic and (Y/N) appreciates me and our relationship,” Jin spoke up unashamedly, but a grin spread over his face and he was suddenly showing us two thumbs-ups which transferred into hearts. 

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, we just want you to know that we’ve seen how hard you’ve worked and that we will always be here for you. Even after you get your diploma, and face other big events in your life.”

I couldn’t hold back, and my arms were instantly wrapping around Namjoon in a bone-crushing hug, tears forming in the corners of my eyes as Namjoon spoke, 

“congratulations (y/n), you graduated." 

I’ve been through a lot with the boys, a lot of good memories. From concerts to hangouts, to awards, that time Jin got his tonsils out and thought Namjoon was Britney Spears, but this by far was my favorite memory with them. Or at least a close tie to the Britney Spears moment. Before I could wipe away the tears forming in my eyes Hoseok popped a confetti launcher, the loud bang scaring me out of Namjoons arms as Hobi attacked me in a hug. 

"Our strong girl graduated.” He wrapped his arms around me and jumped up and down excitedly, forcing my body to jump with him. 

“Let her go Hyung, I want a hug too.” I jumped into Tae’s arms as soon as Hobi let go of me, and smiled while he gently wiped away the tears trailing down my face. 

“You better be hungry (y/n), because I made every single dish you ever remotely mentioned you liked.” At the mention of food, I suddenly became aware of the onslaught of smells coming from the kitchen, sensations that made my stomach growl in hunger. Jimin pinched my cheek adoringly and I swatted his hand away, 

“I know we said you could pick dinner, but Jin-Hyung really wanted to cook for you-” I cut him off and stood on my tippy toes to kiss his cheek, 

“thank you Jimin, really." 

"Don’t thank Jimin, this was all my idea!” Jungkook shouted from the other room while Jin smacked him for trying to get into the food without the rest of us. 

“Excuse you! This was a joint effort, don’t try and get all the attention.” Yoongi joined in on the shouting while Namjoon sweated, 

“if anything I should get extra credit for giving the speech-" 

"You begged to do the speech!" 

I chuckled while Tae wrapped an arm around my shoulder, 

"Congratulations graduation girl, you deserve it.” Before I could thank him, shouting erupted from the kitchen, while Tae blanked in front of me. 

“Shit, they got into the silly string.”

[doyelikehaggis]

Oh my gosh think about Lizzie being sad around the school post ep and bumping into Kaleb and they bond and he cheers her up

Hi!! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get to this. For context, this was about episode 6! (I think...) BUT I WROTE A THING FOR IT!! I'll put it below a "read more"! Thank you for this idea, anon, I love it so much!! (I'm actually tempted to write a little more for it...) 🧡

Lizzie lets the smile slide from her face only when she hears MG close his door behind her. Each step away feels heavier and heavier, and she has no idea where she’s even going. Back to her room seems to be the only option she has left now, but she also really doesn’t want to be reminded that Josie has left her by seeing her side of the room with all of her stuff. 

MG doesn’t want to spend time with her. She can’t exactly blame him; did she really just expect him to be sitting there waiting for her to finally be ready for him? Of course he said no. And Hope has a new friend. One who actually makes her smile and laugh. Lizzie honestly doesn’t think she’s ever seen her so happy before. 

She takes the stairs instead, walking into the kitchen. After all, she never got her ice cream. She finds the two bowls surprisingly still there, the ice cream perfectly intact thanks to the freezing spell she placed over them. Maybe she had been hoping that MG would take her up on her offer for just a late-night talk and she could suggest ice cream, and it would be there waiting for them already. 

Now she has two bowls and only one of her. With how she’s feeling, that’s probably better. 

Grabbing a spoon from the drawer, she siphons the spell back off of one of the bowls and hops up on the counter. Then she digs in with a desolate sigh. 

“I don’t know what’s more depressing,” a voice says from the doorway, and Lizzie looks over at Kaleb, standing there and eyeing her with pity, “the fact that you’re eating ice cream alone when there’s another bowl, or the fact that you’re doing it in the kitchen, in silence, at…” he checks his watch and raises his eyebrows, “... a quarter to midnight.”

Lizzie lowers her bowl into her lap with a shrug, swallows the lump of ice cream, and shrugs, saying bleakley, “Both. You just summed up my life, so.”

Kaleb’s eyebrows hike up higher and he sucks in air through his teeth. “Yeesh. That bad?”

He walks past her to get to the fridge, presumably for a late-night blood bag. 

Lizzie scoffs and stabs her ice cream with her spoon. Then she sighs again and says, “No, it’s just… this school is a mess. We only just have enough students to even qualify as a school! We’re probably in god knows how much debt at this point, which, I kinda thought would be enough for my mom to come back and fix, you know? After all, she is headmistress, yet somehow she’s just fine letting my dad make mess after mess of this place, and—”

“And you miss Josie.”

Kaleb closes the fridge, blood-bag in hand. He sends Lizzie a small smile when she looks over at him, and she deflates, because…

“Yeah,” she breathes out as Kaleb joins her at the counter, but leans against it instead. “I really, really miss her. And I hate myself for it, because she’s probably so happy there, and this is what she wants, and she has spent years doing what I want, so… I should be able to support her on this. Shouldn’t I?”

Kaleb shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, you should,” he says, but to her surprise he continues, “but it makes sense that you’re gonna miss her like crazy. You two have never been apart. Like… ever. So, yeah, it’s gonna suck that she’s not here, and you’re allowed to be sad about it. So long as you accept that she's gonna do it anyway."

Lizzie stares at him. She wants to be glaring — she probably would have if this was a year ago, and she’d probably throw some snarky remark at him to cover up the fact that he’s right and she’s in denial. But she can only mush her ice cream sadly because she’s not in denial anymore and nod, looking down at her lap.

“I just…” She forces out a chuckle, closing her eyes. “Ugh, and I’m doing it again!”

“Doing what?” Kaleb asks, his brow crumpling. 

“Using people as my own therapists! I did it to MG for, like, two years, and now he’s pushing me away because of it. I did it to Josie our entire lives and she left. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why my dad prefers Hope over me, or why my mom won’t even return to the freaking country! And I’m still doing it to you! Oh my god.” She waves a hand at him. “You should go before I need to start paying you. Seriously, please.”

But Kaleb laughs. Not in a cruel, ridiculing way, but in a confused and slightly exasperated way. He doesn’t leave. Instead, he sets his blood bag down on the counter.

“You’re not using me,” he tells her. “Trust me, if I didn’t want to listen, I would’ve been out of here in a second.”

Lizzie just presses her lips together and gives a doubtful hum. It’s not fair that she keeps doing this. She just starts unloading without thinking, and people stick around because they feel bad for her. 

“Hey, we all need to vent sometimes,” Kaleb says, adopting a gentler tone when he realizes she doesn’t believe him. He gives her leg a little nudge with his elbow. “I got rejected today, if it’s any consolation, so I could use some free therapy time, too.”

Lizzie can’t help looking back over at him at that, but does at least try and put up a fight against her surprise. She fails. “Really? You were rejected? I mean, I understand MG rejecting me, but who the hell rejected you? Oh god, don’t tell me you tried with Alyssa again, I have had enough of that witch.”

It’s Kaleb’s turn for surprise but he does nothing to try and hide it. “Hold up. Rewind. MG rejected you? MG? My boy, MG, who spent all last summer talkin’ about you?”

“No need to rub it in,” Lizzie says bitterly, but there’s a small smile twitching the corners of her lips. “But come on. Fair’s fair. I’ll only tell you about my embarrassing rejection if you tell me yours.”

“So, you’ll show me yours if I show you mine?” Kaleb teases, cracking a grin. 

Lizzie rolls her eyes even as a laugh escapes her. She flicks her wrist; a drawer across the room opens and a spoon comes zooming out into her hand, the drawer closing back over. 

“Grab a spoon and take a seat, Mr. Hawkins,” she says with mock-seriousness. 

He laughs and shakes his head at her like she’s crazy — but in the good way. The kind of crazy that makes people smile so much they can’t stop until their face hurts. The kind of crazy that they want to be around because it’s fun and a little contagious and feels sorta like safety in a weird way. And the thought that he could feel any of that around her makes her feel a little less of the bad kind of crazy. 

Accepting the spoon from her, Kaleb hops up one of the stools, his leg brushing hers every time he moves. She doesn’t mind, just pushes the second bowl of ice cream across the counter and siphons the freezing spell off of it. 

“Go ahead,” she says, waving a hand at him, before digging back into her ice cream. 

“Cleo,” Kaleb says. 

Lizzie’s eyebrows raise and she hums around her mouthful of ice cream. She isn’t shocked. It was pretty obvious he had a thing for her the second he offered to try and get her to enroll at the school. And it was pretty obvious by the way she looked at him that her decision to stay was not going to be because of him.

“Maybe she just needs some time,” Lizzie suggests, shrugging. “After all, she only just got here. It’s gonna take some time to get used to this place. Maybe once she gets to know you?”

“Maybe,” Kaleb agrees, though he doesn’t sound too bothered. 

Lizzie frowns. “Or not? Do you not like her?”

“Nah, of course I like her,” Kaleb says, rolling his eyes, mushing his ice cream. Lizzie notices that he’s doing that thing where you make it smoother by mixing it a bit, the same way she does. “I just… it’s like you said. I don’t really know her, so it’s not… that big of a deal? She’s cute, and she’s interesting, and I could definitely catch some real feelings if she was into it, too. But at the same time, I’d rather just… get to know her.”

Nodding, Lizzie shrugs again. “That’s not a bad thing.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes jokingly. “So, technically you didn’t really get rejected. I should be taking that ice cream back.”

Kaleb pulls his bowl away from her with a look of offence. “How dare you try and take away my ice cream privileges. I am heartbroken!”

Lizzie arches an eyebrow. She just smiles and doesn’t argue as Kaleb smiles back, finally eating some of the ice cream. As soon as he does, he stops, making a face. 

“What — what is this?” he asks, a note of disgust in his voice. “Is this… peanut butter?”

“It’s Netflix & Chill’d!” Lizzie says. Then, when Kaleb just continues to stare in confusion, “Ben and Jerry’s? Peanut butter, pretzels, and brownie?” 

Kaleb just tilts his head and she scoffs.

“Have you never had Ben and Jerry’s before?!” she asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah! But it was, like… chocolate! You know, the one with the little chocolate fish? And, uh — the cookie dough one! You know, normal flavours. Good flavours.”

Wrinkling her nose, Lizzie says, “You qualify Phish Food as a good flavour?”

Now he’s staring at her like she’s the two-heads kind of crazy. It’s still not bad, she notes quietly, and warmly. It’s actually taking a lot of her self-control not to grin. 

“It’s chocolate and marshmallow!” Kaleb says. “How can you hate that?!”

“How can you hate peanut butter, pretzels, and brownies?” she counters. 

“Because that is way too salty!” 

“Oh, sorry, would you like a little more iron with that?”

They both pause. And then Kaleb starts laughing, and it’s like the first domino has been gently pushed as Lizzie starts laughing, too. Arguing over superior ice cream flavours at midnight is definitely better than eating them alone. 

Despite his complaints, Kaleb still loads his spoon with more ice cream and eats it as if giving it another go will change his opinion. Lizzie watches him curiously. His nose wrinkles again and she presses her lips together to hold back another laugh — a giggle — because seeing him trying to act like it tastes good is actually kind of adorable. 

He swallows and shakes his head. “Mhm. Nope.”

“There’s cookie dough in the freezer,” Lizzie tells him, putting him out of his misery. “It was Jo’s favourite as well, she always made Dad buy in at least two tubs in case of emergencies.”

“An ice cream emergency?” Kaleb questions.

Lizzie gestures around them, then at her own bowl. 

Kaleb nods. “Enough said.” He points at the second bowl as he gets up to move over to the freezer. “What about that?”

“Considering my day, two bowls seems fair,” Lizzie tells him. 

She dumps the contents of the second one into her own as Kaleb gives another chuckle. He retrieves the tub of cookie dough ice cream from the freezer and returns. When he takes a spoonful of it, his nose doesn’t wrinkle, and he gives a contented sigh and smiles, nodding to himself. 

“Now that,” he points his spoon at the tub, “that is good ice cream.”

“Honestly, you have no taste,” Lizzie jokes. “In anything except fashion. That, at least, I can respect.”

“I could say the same for you,” Kaleb quips. He glances up at her from beneath his eyelashes and maybe her heart gives a little flutter as a sly smile twists across his lips. 

She narrows her eyes, hiding it. Except he can hear it. But that doesn’t matter, she tells herself, because it’s nothing anyway. Probably brain freeze getting to her. Just… in her chest, instead.

“Agree to disagree,” she says. 

“Fine by me.” Kaleb then nods at her expectantly. “Right. Come on. Your turn.”

Catching on, Lizzie groans. “Oh no, I can’t. It’s humiliating!”

Even as she says it, she’s laughing again as Kaleb persists, trying to pull it out of her. In the end, it actually works, and she spills the whole nightmare to him. He listens. He laughs, of course, but only when she does, and he… doesn’t leave. 

Lizzie finishes both bowls of ice cream and Kaleb gets through his entire tub, then finally gets around to his blood bag as they keep talking. It’s well past midnight — maybe even past one in the morning, she can’t be sure — but neither of them even thinks about leaving. After the day they’ve had — hell, the weeks they’ve had — this was exactly what they both needed. 

[parkvcrs]

Hi can I request for you do to any Ewan McGregor character + cheating? It doesn’t matter who, how or when just a cheating prompt please 😊👍

Y/n L/n stood near the emergency exit of The Black Mask Club, frozen in place. One minute she looked over to where Roman once sat where he discussed with fellow mobsters about confidential topics. The next, he was dragged away by an arbitrary harlot — interrupting his meeting and dragging him to the corner of the club — believing that they blended in the crowd.

Roman was a generally flashy man in terms of clothing so it came to no surprise that his fiancé almost immediately spotted him being forced in an undesirable sin. Adultery. The kiss was expected but it still managed to astonish Y/n, her mouth hanging agape as she watched Roman’s hand clasped gently into the back of her hair, pressing in softly. After a few seconds, he broke away and smirking before taking the woman to a disclosed location as Y/n could only watch in horror as they exited her line of sight.

“Y/n,” Victor Zsasz approached his boss’ soon-to-be wife. “Is everything already? You seem like you’ve seen a ghost.” He noticed how her demeanour drastically changed from optimistic and not having a single care in the world to glum in a matter of minutes as she secluded herself from the rest of the crowd.

“Yeah, Zsasz, I just I need some fresh air.” She fabricates, her voice accidentally cracking as she masked her sorrow.

“Do you need any company?”

“No, I don’t that is necessary,” Y/n waves the henchman away from herself while plastering a faulty smile. “I’ll be back before you know it.” That was another lie but she cannot trust Victor with her life.

She used the exit as her excuse to hastily get away from anything that remotely reminded her of Roman Sionis. She got into her vehicle and drove. She had no location nor company. Only her thoughts to make her fall deeper into depression. Roman constantly said that he loved her, but that was all a ruse, wasn’t it?

One thing is for certain and the fact of the matter was that she needed to get as far away from Gotham City as humanly possible. Fleeing the country seemed like a swell idea at the moment. Roman was a Mafia boss with several links to sources of crime bosses who would not hesitate to turn Y/n in on the spot. She feared what Roman would do to her for she knew what was in the warehouse. That is when Y/n slammed on the brakes — gripping on the leather on the steering wheel tight as her mind was put to work. A fork in the road presented itself.

Y/n could either return to Roman and become his wife but having the knowledge of this cruel act that he was bound to find out sooner or later... or, of course, there was another option. She can move to a different state or foreign country. Hypothetically, it would be making her betray him in a way but Y/n would go under a different alias, alter her personality and find interest in a variety of hobbies that she despised. It was beserk but the h/c haired woman preferred those chances over staying another minute with that monster that is Roman Sionis.

The following morning, Roman strolled around his penthouse only to find that Y/n was nowhere to be seen. “Zsasz,” The criminal spoke up, approaching the framed serial killer. “Have you seen—”

“No, I haven’t seen her since last night. She was acting... strange.”

“How so?” Roman inquired, he was now intrigued by that claim. Surely, there must be some logic behind that strong accusation. He sighed before sitting down, gesturing for Victor to continue. “You know about that one dame you were with last night? What was your name again?” Victor began his analogy only to be halted by a question with Roman replied with a rebuttal.

“Her name doesn’t concern you. It is inconsequential to this narrative.” Roman scowled, clenching his teeth.

“As I was saying, after we,” Victor proceeded to slid his finger against his throat as an action to represent murder. “Y/n just disappeared. Her car was taken. My hypothesis is that she saw something that she didn’t fully have all the facts to conclude whether or not she was correct.”

“Do you think she believed that I was cheating on her?” Victor didn’t respond to Roman’s pressing interrogation but his silence spoke for itself.

Roman rested his head in his hands. This wake-up call was so unforeseen, he had to take a few moments to process the situation at hand. The persistent honking outside made his blood boil because it was merely stopping his thoughts to the point where he couldn’t think. His mind, scattered. His fingers curled tightly around his hair, he could to see Victor become uneasy because he knew that Roman would burst any second.

Roman grabbed a nearby pillow, standing up before throwing the cushion aside in a harsh manner. “Fucking fuck!” He screamed before taking ahold of a beer bottle as he threw it to the ground, thousands of glittering fragments to an errant stone. He proceeded to destroy various objects around his penthouse such as vases, furniture and expensive art pieces. When Roman’s tantrum came to a long-awaited end, he fell on the couch — exhausted.

“She’s not getting away that easily. Zsasz, notify our colleagues about this incident — we are sending out a search party.”

There were several parties with the same objective that was to find Y/n L/n. On the other hand, Roman wanted to go alone because he had an overwhelming urge that he knew where his significant other was hiding out.

After the long hours of nonstop driving, Y/n sought refuge in Midway City even if it was out of her comfort zone. She decided to spend the night in a remote hotel building in Room 208, the same room where she and Roman first met when one of his men attempted to assassinate her because he mistakingly thought that Y/n was one of their clients. It was a huge slip-up, to say the least, but she had the privilege of that issue weaving into her meeting Roman. She didn’t know why she came here due to the multiple other options in her range. Perhaps this was the first thing that came to mind since she didn’t know this area all that well.

In the middle of the night, a loud crash caused Y/n to awaken from her deep slumber in what she presumed to be a gunshot followed by several more. She looked around the room to see any weapons to arm herself but to no avail. She quickly hid under the bed, watching the door carefully.

Adrenaline floods her system when she heard footsteps approaching her room. It pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. “Come on out, Y/n,” A familiar voice shouted, the heavy footsteps consuming the adult’s hearing. He most likely murdered the front desk lady, the staff and the other occupants of the hotel.

That is when the front door clicks before ever so slowly... opening as Y/n heard heavy boots connect with the wooden flooring. She clasped a hand over her mouth to make her breathing quiet, her entire body wants to either run fast for the safety but she knew that was nearly impossible when it came to escaping Roman Sionis. All she saw was a part of his silhouette that was carved out of the darkness from the artificial light beaming from the main hallway. Roman moved around the relatively petite hotel room, examining the restroom to ensure you weren’t hiding in there before his opticals focused on the bed as a smirk appears on his face.

“Got you.”

[floatingbook]

I recently found your blog and im in love with your writings. I guess I just needed to went about this. Anyway theres this female youtuber that I watched for a long time now. She makes good animal content and is an ornithologist. Her style of content is also right up my alley. (1)

But the thing is shes homophobic. I knew this for a while now but on one of her recent streams she explicitly stated how disgusted she found gay people using very popular homophobic slurs in our language (not English). And like I dont hate her or whatever. I like her content and even her personality vice. she herself is gnc in her style and is not married. she gets a ton of comments from men telling her how weird it is and she addressed it in multiple videos saying how stupid she finds it (2)

but like this whole thing makes it difficult to just enjoy bird and lizard videos lol. recently we also got a new professor at my Uni. and while she considers herself tolerant she said quite a few. homophobic things as well. like she said she'd kill her son if he was gay, jokingly. but whats funny in that? anyway I talked about this with my groupmate whos lesbian and she told me she hated this but tries to not pay attention to it. she thinks its best to just ignore it.(3)

and like I think shes right. we cant change anything about this, our country is very homophobic. so why pay attention to it? Im secure in myself anyway. but its still so difficult to just not thing about it and enjoy everything else.have you ever dealt with similar feelings? how did you cope with them? sorry for long message. im also a lesbian if it matters. (4)

No need to apologise for the length of your message, sister! I’m sorry you’ve had to face this; but which lesbian, sadly, doesn’t? It’s all too common for us to be faced with this kind of non-physically-harmful homophobia. And at first glance, we tend to discount it, yes. After all, we are “secure in [our]selves”, we know there’s nothing wrong with being lesbians, that we’re not ill or cursed or whatever nonsense. In the long run, and although it doesn’t do the same kind of damage as homophobic physical harm, I think it’s more worrying. Especially because it appears so harmless at first, such a matter of personal opinion — we can’t really change the way these people think, they’re always going to harbour those kinds of thoughts.

But even if you’re a proud lesbian and fine with yourself, it still makes you internalise the fact that homosexuality is somehow wrong. Of course being regularly exposed to that kind of ideas, of content, is going to affect your wellbeing. Even if it’s “just” a passing remark from a youtuber, or a “joke” from a university teacher, or an aunt sharing a bigoted stereotype about homosexuality, or a random individual being interviewed on TV during a conservative march, or a priest mentioning once in a while how you’re going to end up burning in hell just for existing. These comments can lead us to feel terrible about ourselves, straight into self-hatred. They also, whether we like it or not, create a hostile climate for us. It’s not healthy to exist in an environment where you know that people despise or outright hate you, even if they don’t know that you specifically are a lesbian. You’re always going to be wondering how your teacher would treat you if she somehow found out. Would she lower your grades? Would there be any kind of retaliation? For every homophobe who makes homophobic jokes or share any other type of homophobic position, there’s always the worry of escalation to physical harm. As a result, you’re always, even if not completely consciously, on the lookout.

I think the best thing to do with these people is to cut them out whenever possible. I know that you like that youtuber’s content, but you’re always going to be wondering in a corner of your mind “when is she going to be homophobic again”. I’m sure you can find other women talking about that kind of subject, and if not on youtube maybe in podcasts, in documentaries, or on blogs. It’s eminently frustrating to loose a source of information and entertainment, but you also have to take care of yourself, and sometimes that means removing homophobes from your life. Here, a reminder that it’s not your job to cure them of their homophobia. You don’t have to put up with them. Much in the same way that women don’t have to waste their time explaining to men how we are human beings deserving of rights and dignity and a life free of oppression too.

In the case of your uni teacher, you can’t do a lot but bear through it. It’s good that you’re not alone; support your fellow lesbian, and make sure that you don’t let the hate, however how casual, get you down. I don’t think it’s about “ignoring” it as much as not letting either despair or rage take up too much space. It’s normal to feel depressed that homophobia is so widespread, but you can try to balance it out with the knowledge, shared by many of your fellow lesbians, that being a lesbian is perfectly normal and even wonderful. Same for anger at the homophobia, it’s perfectly normal in the face of bigotry and hatred, but please make sure that you use your anger as fuel for positive action and don’t just let it simmer and fester into giving up and depression and helplessness.

We don’t have to be resigned to the homophobia. You can sensibilise your friends to the problem, and hopefully find people who’ll embrace you for who you are. You can move to less homophobic places; you can create lesbians clubs, gatherings or communities; if you are determined and want to play the game and work within the rules of the system, you can lobby and agitate for reforms to law to make your country less homophobic. We don’t have to tolerate homophobic people. There are some things on which we can refuse to compromise.

(same anon who wrote about female youtuber)also Goddammit these straight anons are so ridiculous. sorry for my language. how can they not see their privilege? literally the entire fucking world is telling you that relationships with men are good and pure and "correct" and you DARE to come to a LESBIANS blog and whine about a tiny group of lesbian women who tell you that maybe men aren't the end all be all im just so sorry for their stupidity sis.. crazy you still have to deal with this shit :/

I’m used to it, not that it’s pleasant, but yes, sometimes it’s baffling how little reading comprehension and self-awareness some people exhibit on here (and out there in the world). I hope you have a very pleasant week, anonymous sister, and that your lesbian friend does as well ;)

[goldeneyedgirl]

jaliceweek20 day 2: soulmate au

JaliceWeek2020 Day 2: Soulmate AU

Untitled

Notes: I’m so mad this got so long because I was going to write this as a continuation of the Angel/Demon, but I wanted something shorter, and then this would. not. end. I think the premise was far too big. But alas, we have fic! No title is coming to me, so I’ll think of one tonight. If I get the other prompts done, I might even finish off the Angel/Demon version. 

Words: 6581

--

They meet like this:

The new girl, her hair hanging in her eyes, darts out of the classroom like she’s on fire. She runs straight into him, bounces off the wall of vampiric-muscle and hits the floor. 

It’s hardly the thing of great love stories or cinematic meet-cutes, but it is the beginning. 

He mechanically offers to help her up, but she looks away. That’s when he begins to notice - he doesn’t know how it feels for her, but it’s like someone injected ice into his side, where the mark has been for eleven years. She stares up at him for a moment, her hand fluttering at her collar bone before she’s back on her feet and hurrying down the hall like she’s running away. 

—

The soul mark appears when Alice is six. 

It is a twisted ribbon of a mark, from the inside of her left elbow, up her arm, over her shoulder, along her clavicle, over her right shoulder and down to her right wrist. It is enormous for a soul mark, especially on such a small child. And perhaps that would be okay, if it wasn’t for the colour - deeply and unmistakably red; dark in the middle and light on the outside, like she’s been slashed violently with a knife. 

Alice’s mother screams when she sees it, expecting blood to follow, until she realises what she’s seeing. Lillian stares at her daughter, who seems delighted by her positively disfiguring mark. Her little sister has one, her cousins each have one, there’s only her and Uncle Fred that don’t and now she does. 

But Cynthia’s is an elaborate knot of yellow on her right hip that looks more like an abstract flower. Lillian’s own is yellow and mauve, fanning out like sunburst on the back of her neck. She has never seen a soul mark like this, and she feels disloyal when she allows herself to think it quite hideous as she lets her daughter babble away in joy. 

What ugly, soulless individual could inspire such a mark?

(Then, of course, there is the social faux pas that Alice is obviously older than her new soulmate - just old enough for people to talk. It’s still not really acceptable in Biloxi society for the female half of the couple to be older, but it can be overlooked if its only a year or two. Don’t even get Lillian started on same-sex soulmates; she’ll worry about that if it ever comes to pass, pray to god it doesn’t. 

Thankfully, Cynthia was born with her mark, and Lillian with hers.

It’ll be years before Alice herself understands: the soul mark has less to do with birthdays and ages, and a lot more to do with the path you find yourself on - there’s no point having a map to a place you won’t be visiting. That day when she was six years old was the very day that the seeds of the Great Brandon Feud were planted, and her path was gently diverted into that of another).

—

The official reason they move to Forks is because Brandon Shipping is expanding, and the newest office and facility is in Port Angeles; Lillian thinks the small logging town is charming and a more socially palatable place to live, plus she is excited by the idea of renovating an old house (Alice is positive that every Pottery Barn in the Pacific Northwest is standing-by for her mother’s legendarily dull sense of interior design). 

The semi-official reason is that Alice punched her cousin Marcella at the last family Fourth of July barbecue, and both Lillian and Michael are leaving in shame. Alice resents this justification to her bones because one, Marcella deserved it, and probably another one or two. Two, if it had been any any cousin Marcella had said those words to, it would be Marcella who would be punished. And three, the unspoken reason. 

The unspoken reason was that Michael and his brothers have reached a peak in the Great Brandon Family Feud where ultimatums have been made that can’t be taken back, but all of them are focused enough on wealth and status they aren’t stupid enough to actually break up the company. So Michael is - depending on who you ask - either banished to the newest, furthest outpost of the company, or removes himself and his family from a ‘disturbing, irrational, and toxic environment.’ 

The only one who is actually relieved by their arrival in the dreary little town is Alice; wearing neck-to-wrist clothing all year around will be much more comfortable in Forks than in Biloxi. She might actually get to be normal. No sunshine, no swimming pools, no weddings or volleyball or spiteful, nasty little cousins. 

Just school and home and peace of being left entirely alone. That’s been her plan for years now - hide away and not find whomever branded her like this. She can almost see the disappointment in their eyes when they glimpse her, and all that she is. 

Forks seems like a really good place for someone to hide. 

—

The mark hasn’t changed in eleven years - bright red, enormous, and always there. Lillian has tried every kind of make-up and cover-up, every form of medication, every skin treatment but the red still bleeds through insistently. And until Alice was twelve, she didn’t really notice anyone recoiling from her mark - though Lillian always insisted on high-collar dresses and dainty cardigans, even in the summer heat. 

It was Cousin Grace’s wedding that changed everything - Grace was always a sweetheart, and everyone was pleased for her. All the little cousins would be bridesmaids and flower-girls, of course - that’s how it was down in their family. Alice was so excited - Grace was the oldest, and it was the first wedding she’d actually get to be in. They’d arrived at the bridal store, and everyone was gathered, and the dresses were there on the rack, and everyone laughed at how excited little Mary-Alice was to climb into her bridesmaid dress. 

Lillian was distracted, not thinking, as she accepted champagne and talked to Grace’s mother Susan. Cynthia was already being hustled into a fitting room when Alice emerged, already spinning in the pink lace creation with the sweetheart neckline.

And all went silent. The bride, the children, the mothers, the store attendants - all of them froze at the sight of Mary-Alice in her candy pink dress with a soul mark that looked like she’d just climbed off an autopsy table half-way done. 

Grace managed a sickly smile, “you look so pretty, Mary!” she manages in the same voice she uses for her kindergarten class. “It fits well, not too long.”

“That’s all we need, Alice, put your clothes back on,” Lillian manages in a faint voice before she is swept into a corner with Grace, Aunt Susan, and Grace’s wedding planning. 

The dressing rooms of wedding boutiques are not fortresses of solitude and silence. The murmured and slightly panicked conversation between the four woman about Alice’s Mark, about its hideousness, and the photos, oh my god, everyone will be forced to look at it. 

No, make-up won’t cover it - they’ve tried everything they can find. 

She just can’t be in the wedding. She’ll ruin it. 

Alice stares into the gilded mirror in the dressing room, at the dress she was so excited to wear. At the red slash that she has always loved but… it really is terrible, ugly to look at. Not like Mama’s or Cynthia’s or anyone else’s she knows. It’s so awful. 

She puts on her sweater and her skirt, and hangs up the bridesmaid dress she’ll never get to wear, and she’ll sit quietly as the rest of the cousins try on dresses and she won’t even cry when Grace lies to her so sweetly, and tells her that she’s got too many bridesmaids and would she mind terribly if she was just a very special guest instead. 

She wears a long-sleeved navy blue dress to the wedding and hides in the bathrooms when the photos are taken, not that anyone comes looking for her. She stays quiet and good and doesn’t complain about how hot her dress makes her. Cynthia spins on the dance floor in her pink tulle dress, and Alice tries to push down the jealousy. It’s not her little sister’s fault that she’s too ugly to wear a pretty dress. At least one of them gets to enjoy it. Then she wonders what she did to make her soul mate hate her so much they’d mark her like this before they’ve even met. 

—

Twelve is the year she stops complaining about her clothes, stops having to be reminded to cover herself up. 

Twelve is the year she finds she prefers oversized clothing, clothing she can hide in, so nothing but her face and finger tips can be seen.

Twelve is the year she doesn’t ask even once to go swimming with her friends (even though she’s never been allowed before) - and when she swims in their pool at home, she wears a long sleeved shirt over her swimsuit every single time, and only swims just before it gets dark, where no one can see her. 

Twelve is the year that she thinks, maybe if she was skinner, the mark might get smaller. Her mother compliments her on her diet as she fades away, but the mark just seems to get brighter. 

Twelve is the year she successfully convinces her parents and her fancy school to excuse her from gym permanently, because she’ll faint exercising in all those layers, and none of the other students should be forced to see her. (It takes a depressing lack of effort to secure that privilege, everyone praising her for her maturity and practicality, as if they’ve forgotten how much she had always loved gymnastics and volleyball.) 

Twelve is also the year she works out that she can’t cut or burn the stupid thing away, and no one seems upset with her attempts when they get a good look at what she’s working against. 

Twelve is a horrible year. 

—

The day she runs into the tall boy at school, it all goes to hell. 

She hasn’t really made friends at Forks - she sits next to June in Art, and Katie in History, and they’re both nice to her, but they really leave the new girl alone - she’s too quiet to be befriended. All her report cards have said the same things for years now - she’s polite and diligent but just so shy that perhaps her parents should get her help. 

They don’t, because Michael Brandon prefers his eldest daughter to remain silent and unresistant to his will. Plus, what would people think if they found out Alice needed a therapist?

So, she continues on her quest for complete invisibility, like a rabbit in the underbrush, and that leads her into running into the handsome boy she’s seen roaming the halls, and she falls flat on the floor, stunned but unharmed. 

It happens almost immediately, a burn in her chest that is running down both her arms and … no. No, nope, nada, nyet, nein. No way in hell. The burn is increasing and she gets to her feet, ignoring him entirely to go and hide in the library and wait for the pain to ebb. 

It still hurts when the final bell rings, and she stumbles to the bus, head down and headphones on so that no one can call out to her and have her hear. It feels like an inside-out sunburn, and she’s going home to take a cold bath and cry. 

No one else is home, thankfully, when she barges in the back door and straight up the stairs, pausing only long enough to grab the omnipresent tube of aloe vera gel from the fridge - she couldn’t bare to deal with the expected afternoon niceties with her mother right now. She’s got to get the burning to stop. 

Her bathroom is a tiny ensuite to ensure her privacy - her father has made no secret of how disgusting he finds her mark, and her mother only encourages her extreme form of modesty. She almost regrets all the layers - heavy sweater, turtleneck, camisole, bra, skirt, shoes, stockings, underwear - as she sheds them, wanting to scratch the skin from her body out of sheer frustration and discomfort. 

And then she looks up in the mirror and freezes. 

There’s no doubting he’s her soulmate, not an ounce of doubt in her mind. Because her mark has changed, and it is… like nothing she’s ever seen, not in all her research on the topic. Not in endless scrolling on social media of people boasting ‘before’ and ‘after’ soul marks, in delicate little love knots, and spiralling patterns and bursts of colour. 

This is something utterly unique. The ribbon-like shape is unchanged, but somehow, it looks almost faceted like crystal, like under her skin there is the inside of a geode, colours shifting in ripples of scarlet and gold. It feels no different to touch, but no longer does she look like she’s been murdered. And the very ends, on her wrist and arm, they have darkened to a deep and unexpected violet. 

The heat still rolls under her skin but is slowly dispersing again, as if it was just insistent that she had to take a closer look. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Alice feels… well, not beautiful. But not monstrous. 

So she climbs into the bathtub and starts to cry. 

—

She stays in bed the next day, unable to face school. Lillian indulges her claims she’s sick, everything below Alice’s chin tucked firmly under her duvet, and leaves her daughter to rest. 

She can’t do it, can’t face the idea of having to see that boy again, that truly handsome boy, and let him know that when life was dealing out soul mates, he drew her card. Because she hasn’t been made suddenly beautiful by their inevitable meeting. She’s still a tiny, bony, and pale little creature - her own grandmother assures her every Christmas that she’ll never win any prizes for beauty. 

That doesn’t stop her from peaking under the blankets every so often just to see the impossible glitter of her mark, the way it somehow shifts from ruby to crimson to scarlet, with little veins of gold threaded through. She doesn’t understand - it’s just skin, still flat and smooth, the most remarkable of illusions. 

In the end, she kicks off the blankets and throws on a dress and leggings and boots, and leaves the house. Finds herself walking to the school, hoping that maybe she’s lucky enough to one, not get caught by either her parents or teachers, and two, find Him before he leaves for the day. 

Apparently, she’s just the right amount of lucky. She finds him sitting on one of the benches outside the school, running his hand through his hair and looking stressed. He’s surrounded by others, no one she recognises - one guy appears to be reassuring him; they’re all looking for someone. 

A brunette girl catches her eye and points to her, and apparently the person they’re looking for is her. She tries not to shrink under their gaze, as she crosses the carpark and wondering why on earth she’s here, and not still in bed, why she’s even tempting fate by approaching him. It’s going to go horribly, and everyone in town is going to find out about her mark, and her parents will just outright destroy her. 

She falters, and looks up at him. He looks almost hopeful, as he stares at her, raising his hands in peace when he thinks she’s going to back away. 

She approaches slowly, her arms crossed over her chest as she finally reaches the group. 

“Hello.” The boy stands up to greet her and he is so, so ridiculously tall, it’s not fair. 

“Hi.” It’s awkward. All those soul-meeting stories she read online, they all sounded so lovely, and hers is at a bench at school and… this.

“We’ll leave you to it, man,” one of the other boys says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

The blond boy nods and looks at her. He has kind eyes, which is good, she decides. 

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he offers suddenly. “Just around here? Might make it easier.”

“Yes. That sounds okay.” Her voice sounds small, and they move away from the benches, from the witnesses, towards the oval. 

—

His name is Jasper Hale, and he’s eighteen. He lives with his aunt, uncle, twin sister, and his adopted cousins. They only moved to Forks a year ago. He likes American History, motorcycles, and horses. He plays the guitar. He’d like to get to know her. 

She fumbles through what to tell him. Her name, of course, her family. Why they moved. She likes… that’s a weird question. She’s spent so long hiding everything about herself that she can’t remember what she actually likes and what’s just become routine. 

She can do this. 

Her name is Alice Brandon - Mary Alice Brandon - and she’s seventeen. She lives with her parents and younger sister. They just moved from Biloxi. She likes drawing, she likes fashion, and she likes dancing. 

“I don’t know if this is inappropriate,” Jasper begins, as they take a seat on the ageing bleachers at the back of the school. “But, could I see the mark?”

She visibly flinches from the request, but he’s been very patient and seems to actually be invested in this, and she can’t be outright cruel. He’ll leave her alone soon enough. “C-can I see yours?” she manages, hoping to delay the inevitable. 

He nods, looking at her with concern, but hikes up the side of his shirt. It runs down his side, even underneath the waistband of his jeans, all sharp edges and thin lines jerking out, like a spiking heart rate. It’s mostly a dark gold colour, but with violet and scarlet bleeding into parts of it. It’s the most perfectly normal soul mark she’s ever seen, and she’s not sure whether to be disappointed his doesn’t match hers better so they can be freaks together, or if she’s grateful no one else has to live like she does.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, and it’s true. Beautiful colours, the visible representation of a beating heart. It suits him. 

He nods, a slight smile hovering at his lips. “Yours?” he asks, and this time she knows she cannot get out of it. But she also can’t whip off the dress she’s wearing, in the middle of the school oval. 

“Um, I can’t,” she began, looking at her shoes. “Not here.” She makes a gesture towards her chest. “Not the whole thing - but I can show you some of it.”

He’s curious as she rolls up her right sleeve to her elbow, and holds out her arm. He positively gapes at it, and reaches out to stroke it, making them both jump at the unexpected contact.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. That’s… incredible,” he murmured. 

“Incredible?” she echoes, pulling her sleeve down. He’s staring at her like she’s performed a miracle in front of him, and she doesn’t know how to act. 

“It’s beautiful. But you said you couldn’t show me all of it? How far up does it go?” he asks, furrowing his brow. 

She wordlessly and mechanically draws the path she’s been branded with - for him - and his eyes get wider. 

“I’ve never heard of such a … prominent mark,” he manages. 

“It’s pretty … dramatic,” she admits before sighing and shaking her head. “Before we ran into each other, it was… awful. Hideous - the ugliest thing possible.”

He looks shocked, and moves closer. “Why do you say that?” his voice is low, encouraging. 

“It was so big and bright and everyone hated it, hated looking at it,” she gestured to her chest. “You’ll understand when you see the entire thing. It’s… it’s nicer now, but it’s still everywhere.”

Jasper studied her a moment longer before looking out at the field. “I researched soul marks once, as a bit of a hobby,” he began. “American research on the topic is only very recent, and focused on the science of it rather than the meaning. But you begin to look abroad, or back through history, and what we know or believe it gets interesting.

“For instance, in India, they believe the length of the soul mark determines the length of your time together. Hundreds of years ago, they had a special way to measure a soul mark to determine how many years you would have together. It’s been lost to modern history, but it was once incredibly important a couple to have their soul marks measured and calculated. 

“And then in Ancient Greece, any mark was a sign of great pride. They would cut down their clothing - sometimes quite indecently - to show off - the more prominent the mark, the better.

“And some of the Slavic tribes, they believed that the shape and size and placement of the mark held great significance to the relationship the soul mates would have - the depth and strength of love the pair would carry for each other; that a great size implied that one half of the couple was taking on a burden of pain or suffering from the other, to help them through life.”

She sat there, almost breathless, as he so easily detailed the different things he had found and read. All of them full of acceptance, of hope, and of how… special such a thing was supposed to be. 

“What do you believe?” she manages to ask. 

He looks at her and reaches out to take her hand, gently squeezing it. 

“That there’s nothing you could show me that would scare me away,” he said, and she can feel herself blush. “And that I would very much like to get to know you better, Alice Brandon.”

—

He walks her home, still holding her hand, and they talk about nothing. Movies they’ve seen, music they like, places they would like to visit. He makes it easy to talk, to find things to say. The walk is a lot shorter on the way back. 

Lillian Brandon is not amused to find her so-called ‘unwell’ eldest daughter has snuck out, but is bamboozled and gracious enough to hold back her displeasure when she sees Alice hand in hand with Jasper. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Alice?” Lillian rebukes her daughter, and watches as her daughter appears to shrink back against the tall boy with his gaze permanently fixed on her. 

“This is Jasper Hale,” Alice manages, ducking her head. “He’s a senior.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Jasper replies respectfully, eyeing the uncomfortable girl at his side. “I’d like to thank you for doing me the favour of bringing my soul mate to Forks.”

Later, Alice will laugh until her eyes are watering over the look on Lillian’s face when she computes what Jasper is saying. That this tall, handsome boy who can’t take his eyes off her daughter is Alice’s soul mate. Lillian’s face goes through the full spectrum of emotions - confused, shocked, completely blank, incredulous, and then vaguely dazed. 

The late reveal of Alice’s soul mark is hand waved away with Jasper informing the pair his own didn’t show up until he was seven - that late appearing soul marks aren’t as uncommon as people think. Lillian is utterly flabbergasted and Alice only gets to enjoy it for as long as it takes Lillian to get to her favourite topic - complaining about Alice’s ‘disfigurement’. 

“It’s really quite gruesome to look at - you said your uncle was a surgeon? Perhaps he might know of someone who can tidy it up a little,” Lillian prattles on as the pair sit stiffly at the kitchen table. 

“I think it’s quite lovely, myself,” Jasper responds coldly, but Lillian doesn’t notice the change in his mood. 

“Have you seen the whole thing? Run up and put a camisole on, Alice,” Lillian waves a hand at her daughter. “You’ll understand. We’ve tried everything, but nothing works.”

Jasper looks furious as she leaves the table meekly at her mother’s bidding. Maybe Lillian is right, maybe Jasper will back away when he sees the sheer expanse of all, all that research be damned. 

It feels quite strange to walk around wearing so little clothing, and she’s slower going back downstairs, her face hidden by her hair, as she returns to the kitchen. The camisole is cut low enough to show her barely-existent cleavage, and she really feels like she’s just walking around naked. 

Jasper stands as soon as she returns, and for a split second, she thinks he’s going to walk out, that Lillian was right and she was right and it doesn’t matter it changed, it’s still awful. 

But he moves closer to her, reaching out to gather her hair and push it away from her face. And for the first time since they’ve met, he looks at her. At the faint freckles on her nose, the tiny scar on her cheek, her slightly sunken cheeks, her sad grey eyes, down to the faceted expanse of soul mark that twists up both her arms and meets over her collarbone. 

Lillian shakes her head in despair at the family shame revealed so openly, not remarking - or maybe not noticing - the change of it. 

“I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Jasper’s voice is firm and clear and appreciative and Lillian looks scandalised, and Alice starts to laugh and cry at the same time, and somehow she finds herself in his arms, clinging to him like a lifesaver because she can’t remember  ever being told that in her whole life.  

(It’s a quiet dinner at the Brandons that night, after Lillian reports to her husband what has transpired. The only comment Michael Brandon makes is right before he gets up, staring at his eldest daughter, and rudely congratulating her on catching a doctor’s son. Alice can’t find it in herself to care.)

—

Nothing worth having ever came easy.

Meeting the Cullens goes… fine. She wears a dress with a high neckline and elbow-length sleeves, but then puts a cardigan over the top because old habits are hard to break. She puts her hair up though, because it makes Jasper smile when she does. 

Dr Cullen seems vaguely horrified at the sight of her (Jasper reassures her later that it was how terribly, terribly thin she was, and nothing more), but Mrs Cullen is delighted by her, clasping her in a hug and insisting Alice call her ‘Esme’. 

Jasper’s twin sister, Rose, seems guarded but very polite to her, whilst Jasper’s adopted cousin (and Rose’s soul mate, which explains the very specific description) Emmett is all fun and games, and at ease with her right away.

“Jas said you had issues with your mark,” he says within the first minutes of meeting her. “Get a load of this.” He pulls his t-shirt up, and turns around to show Alice his back. Like Alice, his spine appears to have split perfectly down the middle to reveal a faceted crystal effect in deep pink and forest green. It starts at his hairline, running down his neck and stretches across his shoulders before narrowing again. 

“Very appropriate timing, Emmett,” the other cousin, Edward, sighs. 

“What? Jas was pissed she was upset,” Emmett tugs his shirt down, and Alice isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry that the whole family knows something she’s been ashamed of for so long. “We thought it might be, like, a freaky genetic thing but then Edward’s girl showed up with one like it on her leg. Some people just get lucky, I guess.”

“Ignore him. He’s got the tact of cinderblock wall,” Edward says to her. “He’s never had a moment of self-doubt in his life.”

That makes her giggle a little, and everyone relaxes. It’s a nice visit after that, but both Dr Cullen and Mrs Cu- Esme look at her with worried eyes, and that makes her worry more. 

At school, apparently being Jasper Hale’s soul mate is a scandal of the highest degree. Her locker is defaced twice, and one girl body-slams her into the wall as she walks past. Everybody suddenly knows who she is, and she has a place to sit at the cafeteria, and it’s not as bad as she thought it would be because the Cullens don’t eat much either. 

Jasper fusses over her a lot; he picks her up for school every day in a shiny black truck, and he walks her to every class. He takes her back home every day, and most days they sit in her room and talk. Nothing inappropriate, especially since she has to keep her bedroom door open whenever she has guests. She asks him about college, but he is dismissive of it - entirely focused on her and her plans. He helps her with her homework, helps her move her bedroom furniture - nothing is too much trouble. 

He only leaves at dinner time, when her father comes home. Sometimes she wonders if he’d ever leave her if he wasn’t forced to. 

She knows she runs hot and cold. Some days she clings to him like a limpet, reluctant to seperate even for their respective classes, quiet and solemn. Other days, she is distant, uncomfortable with being touched. Those are the days she drags the turtlenecks and heavy sweaters out, the ones that cover her right to her hands. And then there are the days she is her best self, when her smile is bright and she can wear a top that bares her forearms and forces herself to ignore people staring at her soul mark. Those are the days she can relied to eat lunch, to have a conversation with his family, to be the person she was shamed into not being. 

And Jasper stays for all of it. He doesn’t get mad, he doesn’t insult her, he doesn’t yell. He’s just right there, by her side, right up until graduation. They don’t go to Prom because the idea of wearing an evening dress makes her feel woozy and hide in the immense fabric of one of his hoodies and watch bad movies with aggressive focus. Instead, they stay at the Cullens house, and Mrs Cullen makes them crepes - she eats more than Jasper, she’s sure of it, but they’re very good - and he plays music in his bedroom and they dance there, instead. 

That’s where he admits he’s putting college off for a year and working for Esme - a very successful architect and interior designer - for a year. And not for college money; apparently that isn’t a problem. No, because he wants to wait for her, so they can go to college together. He doesn’t care where - it’s her choice. That she’s letting him tag along is all he needs. 

It’s all very romantic and it’s also their very first kiss, and then their very first make out, and nearly their very first time except she’s still messed up in the head, and the idea of getting really naked with anyone is so bad she hyperventilates and he has to calm her down. 

She’s not sure what he gets out of having her as a soul mate, but she hopes he knows that he’s saving her life. 

—

It’s late August, just before she starts her senior year with Edward and his girlfriend, Bella, when Jasper brings her to the house to tell her something.

She worries the entire trip to his house, piling anxiety on top of anxiety. It’s definitely her - they kiss sometimes and it’s nice, and she doesn’t mind when he sees her in her bra now, but anything else is too much and maybe he’s tired of waiting?

Or maybe he’s realised waiting around for a whole year in a town like Forks for a girl like her is actually really dumb, and he’s going to college after all. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

The thing is, in all her catastrophizing, she thought she had everything covered. Every single thing, from a break-up, to terminal illness, to joining the military, to world collapse. She feels like her head is spinning by the time she gets to the Cullens, and she’s positive she’s either going to faint or vomit by the time he tells her whatever he wants to tell her. 

“We’re vampires,” is absolutely and most certainly nowhere on her list, and she bursts into tears, and the entire family freaks out, and then she has to admit she thought she was being dumped, and both Emmett and Carlisle burst out laughing because apparently Jasper has been mooning over her since the day she ran into him, without exception, and the idea that he’d choose to leave her for some petty human reason is the height of comedy. 

She has to lie down after that revelation, as Jasper and Carlisle slowly explain to her that all those ‘quirks’ she evidently didn’t pay attention to where indicative of being a fucking vampire, with various interjections from Emmett that are unhelpful but funny. 

The end result is that she starts her final year of high school with the knowledge that her soul mate is a vampire - one that hunts animals but is physically unable to drink her blood thanks to soul mate biology; that they will respect her choice to remain human if that is what she wants, but that allowing him to change her will give them forever together. 

It’s a lot of pressure. She loses some of the hard-won weight she has gained, and she’s not sleeping well, and Esme - when she finds out - is fairly pissed they’ve rattled her to that point. When she goes to Esme for advice, the woman is more than happy to offer counsel, to listen to her hopes and fears and dreams and all the things that rattle around in her brain that she can’t stop thinking about.

It’s Rosalie who helps, who finds her in the Cullen’s kitchen inspecting the calories on the peanut butter jar.

“You know, I didn’t want this,” Rose says brusquely, taking the jar out of her hands and shoves Alice out of the way to make the sandwich for her. “I hated Carlisle for years for changing me without consent - I was dying, he made a choice,” the blonde girl says, slicing up the banana. “Then I got my mark, and found Emmett.” She cuts the sandwich likes she’s stabbing a dead thing. 

“Eat. There are a lot of things I regret and I resent about this life. We all have them - I know for a fact that Jasper has sanitised most of his own history to ‘protect’ you, and I disagree with that. But never have I looked at Emmett, had Emmett beside me, and regretted that. I love him more than I thought possible.

"We’re given these damn marks for a reason. I’ve never seen Jasper as… at peace as he has been since he found you. There’s never going to be a time - not today, or next month or even in the next twenty years - that he’s going to look at you and not see his entire world. Stay human, become one of us - only you can make that choice. But don’t make that choice because you think that it will change how it will make him feel. Because that’s not happening,” Rose finished, putting the peanut butter in the fridge. “You’re smart, you’re pretty, you clearly love him. Anything else is just your own neuroses. Eat the damn sandwich.”

She eats the whole thing. 

— 

‘Nothing worth having ever came easy.’ 

She reminds herself of that over and over again when things get hard. When she goes up a clothing size, when she wears a t-shirt that fits for the first time since she was twelve, when she’s staring down a perfectly ordinary bowl of fruit salad. 

When she lets him put his mouth on her soul mark, her chest bare, and her breathing only a little bit panicked. But it feels kind of nice and she makes a few sounds that are embarrassing but Jasper seems to like them a lot. 

When her mother drives her to Seattle to pick out a dress for prom, and she immediately reaches for a blue one. A vintage-style strapless cocktail dress in deep blue that she’s immediately in love with. It fits like a glove, and as she spins in front of the mirror, she chooses to ignore the look that Cynthia shoots Lillian, and Lillian’s wince. She loves it and she’s going to wear it.

And she does. She nearly hyperventilates, and changes into her back-up dress twice (one that covers her from wrist-to-throat-to-knee) before she commits. It’s what she wants to wear, it’s how she wants to look for him, and he loves her soul mark. He loves her. He’ll love her in any dress, but she wants it to be this one. 

And as she comes down the stairs, to go to her senior prom, in a dress that exposes every inch of what she’s tried so hard to hide, his eyes widen and he gapes. He loses all composure for a moment and that makes her laugh and he calls her beautiful, just like he does every day, except she’s almost started believing him. 

And decades later, when she remembers that night, it’s not the snide remarks she recalls. It’s of being in his arms as he dances with her; it’s her hand in his as she tugs him along. The way he looked at her, and the way she looked at him. It was the pride in his gaze, and the love, and the promise that no matter what, they would always be together. 

—

A few years later, her soul mark has changed again. Carlisle affectionately calls her a chameleon before delving into an academic recitation on the biology of soul marks and how great upheavals - physical, mental, or spiritual - can affect their appearance. 

“Duh,” Emmett says after a moment of silence, and even Edward and Rose are sniggering at that. 

Her soul mark has not shrunk or changed shape, as she once wished so passionately. And the beautiful crystal effect has remained, even more beautiful not that she truly sparkles in the sun. 

But the scarlet has faded away, giving way for swoops of gold and violet that twist together in a way that she adores.

It’s the very same gold of Jasper’s eyes.

The very same gold as the diamond in the ring he presents to her, down on knee, and she knocks them both to the floor in her delight and rush to accept. 

It’s the same gold she hopes her eyes will be.

Someday. 

—

[javistg]

Six Sentence Sunday. One Victor.

It’s been a long time since I posted one of these --a long time since I posted anything, really-- but I’ve been writing a little lately and I wanted to share this little snippet with you guys. 

This is from Chapter 25 and it’s definitely more than six sentences. 

Enjoy!

Chapter 25. Part 1.

The following morning, Katniss woke up to the sound of a blaring alarm.

Startled, she jumped out of bed and reached for the light switch.

A faint light, warm as a gentle sunrise, filled the room. The alarm stopped.

In her own bed, just a few steps away, Prim covered her head with a pillow. "What a racket," she grumbled.

Katniss slumped on her sister's mattress. Lifting one corner of the pillow, she took a peek at Prim's sleepy face. "Did you sleep well, Little Duck?"

Prim rubbed her eyes and yawned. "I was so tired last night, I could have slept on my feet. You?"

"I had a good night." Letting go of the pillow, Katniss stood up and stretched. "We should get ready. It'll be time for breakfast soon."

With the idea of food beckoning, the sisters got ready for their day.

XXOXX

"What's this?" Katniss asked, wrinkling her nose at the pale mush on her plate.

In front of her, Madge stifled a laugh.

The previous night, Katniss had been surprised at being assigned a table with Peeta, the Undersees, the Hawthornes, and a few other refugees. Now that she had gotten over the shock, she actually liked the idea.

Prim got along with everyone, and Mrs. Everdeen seemed oddly at home, sitting between Hazelle and Madge's mom. It was like the two parts of her life had finally come together.

Ignoring Katniss's dismay, Gale dug into his bowl of warm oatmeal. "The menu board says it's mashed turnips," he explained, slowly chewing his cereal and leaving the offending vegetable for last.

"Turnips?" Katniss repeated, "For breakfast?"

"Were you expecting cheese buns?" Madge teased.

With an amused snort, Katniss shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth.

She was still new to District 13, but she already knew that the chances of finding a cheese bun nestled between her cereal and mashed turnip portions were nonexistent. The food on her tray had been chosen for its nutritional value, not its taste.

"Cheese buns?" Gale raised a curious eyebrow, "What are those?"

"They're these crusty bread rolls Peeta makes. They're filled with melted cheese, and have fresh chives sprinkled on top," Prim explained, adding an enthusiastic chef's kiss to her description.

"Sounds decadent," Gale grumbled. Looking down at the food on Peeta's tray, he smirked. "Must be hard, huh? Getting used to this simpler fare."

Katniss looked up. Her spoon —suspended midway between her bowl and her mouth— hovered in the air.

Gale's words hadn't been harsh, but his tone was the old familiar one he used to criticize people from town. Katniss didn't like hearing it directed at Peeta.

It had been a long time since Gale's prejudices against the merchant class made an appearance. After everything that had happened in the last few months, Katniss had honestly though he had let go of his old resentments.

Apparently, he hadn't.

Next to Katniss, Peeta shrugged. Unruffled by Gale's comment, he said, "Not really. We hardly ever had cheese buns when I was growing up. We sold them at the bakery sometimes, but they were too expensive for my family to eat —unless they had gone very stale." Scrapping his bowl of mashed turnips clean, he added, "Practically everything we ate was stale."

Gale swallowed his cereal. His eyes softened.

Like most people from the Seam, Gale had always assumed the shopkeepers lived a soft life. He wasn't entirely wrong; Peeta always had enough to eat. But even Gale had to admit there was something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted.

"Well, except for the squirrels," Peeta glanced in Katniss's direction and flashed her a smile, "those were so fresh we had to make sure they didn't make a run for it!"

Feeling inordinately proud of her role in Peeta's diet, Katniss straightened up and exclaimed, "Well, you're welcome!"

Just like that, with a good-natured laugh at his friend's enthusiastic outburst, Gale forgot all about Peeta's privileged past and went back to his bland breakfast.

"So, what's on your schedule?" Madge asked.

"Um," Katniss looked at the timetable tattooed on her forearm. "After breakfast, I have kitchen duties followed by the education center, an evaluation at the food supply sector, lunch, and then something called Command."

"Command?" Peeta's eyebrows knitted in concern.

"Mm-hmm." Katniss stretched out her arm to show him her tattoo.

"I have that too," Gale said between sips of milk, "right after lunch."

Letting go of Katniss's arm, Peeta looked at his own schedule. There, in sickly purple ink, he read 13:00 — Lunch. 13:30 — Command.

"So," Katniss asked, leaning into Peeta's side, "what's Command?"

"It's this place where President Coin meets with her advisors to discuss strategy. They have an entire wall full of screens and maps showing what's going on in Panem," Peeta said.

"The president's advisors?" Gale asked, "What do they want with us?"

Mayor Undersee, who had been sitting on the opposite end of the table with the other grownups, stood up. With a quick glance around the room, he made his way towards Katniss and her friends.

Leaning over his daughter's chair, he said, "They want to meet you."

Katniss's mouth dropped open. Before she could do anything, she heard Gale ask, "Why?"

"It was President Coin's idea," Mayor Undersee said, "She wants to see who these saviors of District 12 she's been hearing so much about are."

"Saviors?" Gale repeated.

"Yes," the mayor nodded. "According to the survivors, that's what you and Katniss are."

You can find One Victor in AO3 and FF.net.