#he needs a synonym for ''ponder'' so he just says it out loud and his wife reading on the couch responds with ''ruminate''

[columboscreens]

[hinaaspanda]

...and they were (more than) roommates! | njm

Pairing: Campus Pretty Boy + Roommate! Jaemin x Dancer! Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 9576

Your easily distracted mind had made it maddeningly clear; no song, no matter what the tempo or melody, could take your mind off of your one and only roommate, Na Jaemin. 

a/n; hi! for this fic i tried adding my own oc (Hina) just to spice things up!! lol totally not to insert myself as jenos love interest or anything ahaha anyways please enjoy!

Huang Renjun never thought that breaking off one college relationship would be so detrimental to your heart. 

It really was such a small relationship, just one month of innocent pecks on the cheeks in between classes, weekend dinner dates, and trips around the city on your breaks. It was such a minute thing, yet your heart couldn’t get enough. You grew invested, never wanting to let go. Becoming dependent on mere goodbye kisses. And after one month of being together, you were stuck watching him drift away, fingers intertwined with that of someone new. Now, of course, one question remained; if it was such a short relationship, why in the world did it hurt your heart so much? 

You sat under the brisk afternoon sunlight, gnawing at the cafeteria food as your campus friends began bickering over god knows what. You tune out the ruckus before you, your mind wandering like a lost child between the aisles of a supermarket. An image of him swims into your mind as you curse under your breath. It didn’t matter how healthy your break up was, or how put together your persona must’ve seemed. The only thing you wanted was to be in Renjun’s arms once again. 

Suddenly, you felt the stares of a concerned Hina and Shotaro burning through you. Your shoulders shivering at the sudden thrust into the spotlight. Was your thinking face that miserable-looking? You sent a half-assed chuckle in the hopes of diverting their attention.

“Is something wrong-”

“You were thinking about him again, weren’t you?” Your childhood friend, Hina, began rather harshly, throwing off your more laid-back classmate, Shotaro. “About Renjun?” 

The soda that slid down your throat almost shot out of your lips, straight into the air as Hina stared you down, interrogating you. How obvious were you? You pondered for a little bit, your eyes now meeting Hina’s and Shotaro’s concerned ones. You couldn’t defy the truth to your overly caring friends, even if you tried. “...Yeah. I was.” 

The somber air around you thickened with each passing minute as you finished off your lunch for the day. You wince, fearing your friends would, out of disappointment in your inability to shut up about your failed love life, cut ties with you right then and there. You wouldn’t blame them, though. Even you were starting to get tired of your weak, measly heart. Shotaro breaks the silence, a sweet grin plastered on his face. 

“Don’t worry about it, y/n! You just need to find something to get your mind off of him!” Shotaro chirps, his upbeat demeanor infecting Hina beside him. Hina continues, a grin now lining her lips.

“How about another date? With someone new!” 

You almost scoff out loud. “Another date?”

The bold figure of Hina crossed her arms in disbelief. “There are other guys out there, y/n. What about your roommate? Isn’t he single?.”

“My roommate? No! We’re just friends, nothing else!” You quickly retort, waving your hands in a very strong denial. Hina’s head tilted in persuasion.

“You’ll never know until you try, y/n.” Your head hung low as you let out the fifth sigh that day. You loved Hina, you truly did, but with these outlandish ideas protruding from her head, you were convinced she was going crazy. 

...

“What? You gonna chicken out or something?” Donghyuck scoffed through a disgusting amount of food stuffed in his mouth. “You’re telling me the campus hottie’s too scared to go on a date?” Jaemin’s eyes sent nothing but death threats to the aggravating college student, sipping on the vending machine drink destructive to his health. He was offended, to say the least. Offended at how inaccurate his so called ‘friend’ was being, anyways. 

Na Jaemin had it all.  A decent fashion sense, heavenly proportions, good grades and work ethic. A face most people would classify as attractive, and a bright, luring smile to tie it all together. Some say he was the whole package, driving the women of the campus insane as they line up to get a simple glimpse of the school’s resident hottie. He was the campus pretty boy, but one question remained; why was he still single?

It’s been theorized by many, some believing in his virtuous desire to focus on his studies, while others believe he might just swing another way or simply not interested in the idea of romance. But one thing stayed true, Na Jaemin was not some coward who couldn’t get a date. 

The pretty boy sat before his set of now intrigued college friends, Donghyuck, Jeno, and Yangyang, all riddled with such an irritating curiosity it made Jaemin cringe. It was only Tuesday, Jaemin had a tower of school work waiting for him back at home, and the last thing he needed was three idiots challenging his love life. He reached for another sip of his drink, cursing at lack of said drink in the can. 

 “Don’t be stupid, Hyuck. I could get a girl if I wanted to. I’m just...busy right now, with schoolwork and stuff” 

“Oh really?” Donghyuck’s sly voice ticked a flame in Jaemin’s soul. He huffed out a disbelieving scoff as he leaned back on the cheap, plastic chair.   Was he really doubting him? He quite literally had the entire female population of the school at his grasp, and Donghyuck was doubting him? Lee Donghyuck was bound to eat his words, as gross as a child to their ice cream. 

“Yeah, I can get any girl around here, just watch. And if I don’t?” Jaemin’s eyes scour around, searching for a way out another stupid idea before finally landing on the trash pile that was Yangyang’s homework. “...I’ll do your guy’s homework for a week.” 

Everyone’s eyes widened at Jaemin’s proposal, a proposal that stunted even the slyest of prankers, Lee Donghyuck himself. Was he really going all out? Sacrificing a week of freetime for some measly bet? Even stupefying the once unbothered Jeno, trapped in his own, unexpectedly unfortunate love life. 

“Dude are you serious? Deal!” Donghyuck and Yangyang practically hollered, both sending Jaemin a crisp slap on the back. Na Jaemin, how much of an idiot are you?

“So, who do you think you're gonna go for?” Jeno gripped the strap of his school bag as him and Jaemin trotted away from their final class of the day. Jaemin huffed out what felt like the 100th sigh that afternoon. His eyes grazing the trees peeking through the campus windows. Surely he needed a plan, right? No matter how many girls relished in his good looks, he wouldn’t possibly survive without one. Jaemin’s palms grew cold, pupils shaking in a sudden fear. God, maybe he would be stuck writing Yangyang’s overdue essays for the next week. 

“What about that y/n girl?” Jeno suddenly chirped. “The quiet one from the dance department?” 

Jaemin froze in his tracks, looking synonymous to a deer caught in headlights. He tilted his head, puzzled, to say the least. “...y/n?” 

“Yeah, I heard she got out of a relationship recently.” 

Jaemin’s once boastful voice soon grew into a stuttering mess as Jeno walked past him, sending a heartwarming chuckle. Jeno turned around, giving one final look to Jaemin, currently bathing underneath the small snippets of evening sunlight. 

“It’s just something to think about, Jaem. Don’t worry about it too much.” 

...

Your legs were anything but stable as you stepped off the city bus that night. You loved to dance, but you wouldn’t be lying if you said it drained you faster than a mosquito sucking out your blood. The mustard streetlight effortlessly cascaded off of your frame as your wobbly figure began its long trek to your apartment. Sudden buzzes from your phone shook you awake一a sensation your exhausted self clearly needed一before you clicked on the notification. 

Roomie :) [7:34pm]: I bought us some dinner before I got home

Roomie :) [7:34pm]: sorry it’s frozen pizza lol I’m too poor :((

Roomie :) [7:36pm]: oh also I got a favour to ask when u get here

Your mind trails back to lunch, with a familiar phrase replaying in your head for the umpteenth time that day. 

 How about another date? With someone new?

You huffed out another somber sigh, something you found yourself doing a lot, lately. Could you really do it? Could you finally let go of the dead weight? Finally free yourself of the heartbreak tainting you? You feel your heart clenching inside you as you fumble with your house keys. Could your heart handle another simple date?

What about your roommate? Isn’t he single?

No, your roommate didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve being bombarded with the atrocity that was your failed love life. He was too sweet, too caring to deal with anything of the sort. Besides, with how gentle and pleasant he is, it was certain you didn’t deserve him. 

This wouldn’t have been the first time you held your roommate in such high regard. He really had it all, a kind personality, decent looks, and an exquisite taste in cheap, diabetes inducing food. He knew all the best coffee places and knew the perfect times to surprise you with your favorite drinks. He wasn’t just some rando who split the rent with you. He was your friend. A sudden rush of unwanted blood heats up your cheeks as you stop in your tracks. 

He was your friend. Nothing more. 

The golden light of your apartment blinded you as you strolled in. The figure of your roommate was cast before you, dawning his classic ivory shirt and grey sweatpants, paired perfectly with his undone hair, and a plate of steaming hot pizza, straight from the microwave. It looked nothing like the pretty boy image he left your apartment with before class this morning. It was surreal, really. Only you got the luxury to see him like this. It was one of the strange perks of being roommates with the one and only, Na Jaemin. 

“Welcome home!” Jaemin chirped to your sleepy figure. He thrusted the plate of pizza to you, a smile wiped across his cheeks. “Pizza?” 

...

Your heart almost leaped out of your chest.

Your trembling, sweaty palms couldn’t stop shaking since dinner, almost breaking one of your scarce dinner plates in the process of washing them. You couldn’t blame yourself, though. Na Jaemin’s proposal was nothing but calming.

“So, what were you gonna ask me, anyways?” You spat through your mouth full of rubbery pizza. God, you need to eat properly before practice. You glanced at our roommate, currently fiddling with the tips of some miscellaneous fork as he suddenly dodged your eyes. 

“Uh, yea, that.” He stuttered. So timid, it was unreal to you. Usually this man had no fear of asking for favours. Whether it was doing his laundry or fixing up dinner on his assigned day of the week, he would never show any hesitation on asking you to do anything. 

“Okay this is gonna sound weird, but…” Jaemin started, breaking into a cold sweat. “I need you to go on a fake date with me.” Jaemin finally exhaled before connecting his eyes with yours. The whites of your eyes spilled out, along with the juice that almost had the chance of successfully slipping down your throat. He wanted... what?

“Don’t worry! It’s just gonna be one date! I made this stupid bet with Hyuck, and if I don’t get a date soon, I need to do their homework for a whole week!” He gripped the locks of his hair as he slumped onto his side of the dining table.

You shuffled back to the dining room, clenching your paper towel tightly in your palm. Anything to help calm your rapid heart down, just for a moment. “And, you can use this as a chance to distract yourself from that Renjun asshole.”

A sudden pain struck your chest like a lightning bolt to a lanky tree, barren in a grassland. You wince at the sudden calling of that name, your taste buds growing sour. You let out another soft sigh. You really need to get over him, fast. You stretch up from your seat, hoisting up the now empty dinner plate as you trudge towards the sink. But not before stopping in your tracks, tilting your head in Jaemin’s direction. 

“I-uh-I’ll think about it.” 

Oh, you thought about it, alright. Screamed into your poor, innocent pillow about it, at least. 

It all zoomed too fast for you, too swift for your brain to handle. Your breathing grew short and shallow. You felt as if you could die, right then and there, gripping onto your bed sheets while freaking out about Na Jaemin, your bold roommate. No, you couldn’t take up his risque offer. You were in no shape to go on another date, even if it did have no actual meaning behind it. You were too tangled in your mess of a life, and this stupid move would only fan the fire. 

You can use this as a chance to distract yourself from Renjun. 

The phrase rang through your head more time than you would’ve liked. No matter how much you shielded yourself from his claim, Jaemin would still be right in that manner. You needed to distract yourself, sure. But was this the way to go? 

Another sigh escapes your lips as you rush down the hall of your apartment. Your steps, hesitant as ever, dripping in a mix of confusion, exhaustion and nervousness. It’s official. You are the worst at well thought-out decisions. 

“Hey” you huffed at your roommate, eyeing him timidly as he washes the dishes. Something your shaken figure couldn’t properly complete without breaking a glass that night. He shifts to face you, a slightly nervous expression painting him. You clear your throat before continuing, hoping that small cough would stop time in its tracks. 

“I-I’ll go on that date with you.”

His classic boisterous smile spreads across his face once again. If your mind wasn’t rushing around in four different places at once, you could probably admit that you found it the slightest bit cute. 

“Really? Thanks so much! How does this Saturday at 7 sound?”

You only had the mental energy to swiftly nod your head as you zoomed back into the confines of your room, your safe space. You couldn’t help but notice the heat rising back to your cheeks as you plopped back onto the bed, vigorously scrolling through your phone to find your saviours.

the gorls and shotaro [9:48pm]: guys I need help with something

the gorls and shotaro [9:49pm]: let’s meet at hina’s after class

...

“I don’t care if you’re just going on some fake date to lie to his friends, I still wanna make you look hot!” Hina never failed to leave you, Shotaro, and probably some people passing by her house, shaken by her booming voice. With her small, fragile looking frame, she was the last one you’d expect to have such a bold personality. 

“Please, that’s the fifth dress in your closet she’s tried already. It’s just a fake date, we don’t even need to try hard!” Shotaro challenges, his attention leaving a now grumbling Hina as it turns towards you. “Why did you even say yes, anyways?” 

“I dunno, I’m stupid?” You murmur, the hint of bitterness caught in your breath. You give a subpar twirl to your audience, a deadpan expression shielding your face. “I guess I wanna help him? It would suck to do all that homework for a week.” 

“Yeah, but he could easily ask any other girl on the campus. This is freaking Na Jaemin we’re talking about!” Hina once again hollered. An action that would guarantee her a slap on the head if you didn’t love her so much.

“Are you sure it's just for that stupid bet?”

You slip into the makeshift change room, which was really just blankets hung on coat hangers, propped across two sides of a corner in Hina’s room. After making your final decision for your outfit of the night, you change back into your own clothes, stalling your response to Hina’s question. You never knew why you felt the need to stall, though. You should know your answer by now, right?

“Yeah, it’s just for the bet, nothing else.” You find your voice trailing off at those last words of yours as you emerge from the corner, holding the destined outfit that made the cut. Hina sighed, plopping onto the bed like the main character of those dramas after they finally find out they’re in love. 

“Just make sure you aren’t lying to yourself, y/n. It could hurt you.”

“Oh really? Isn’t it time you listen to your own advice??” Shotaro provoked, Hina now shooting up from the bed in irritation. “How are things going with that Jeno guy, huh?” 

“I am going to murder you.” Hina’s voice stayed low, barely trembling before zooming through the door, chasing a now escaping Shotaro and his incredibly fast feet. You, however, couldn’t pray for Shotaro’s survival. Not with your mind stuck in it’s own rut, and your cheeks now glowing a violent pink. 

This was just for a bet, nothing else. You reminded yourself once again.

...

“This wasn’t too bad, right?” His soothing voice swam through your ears softly, but it did absolutely nothing to calm down your heart, which was currently pacing anywhere but your chest. You mustered up all the courage in the world to glance back at his eyes across the restaurant table, your breaths stopping in an effort to hide the sudden rush of blood flowing to your cheeks. With his unbothered eyes locking onto yours in an instant, Na Jaemin sent you another one of his heartache-inducing smiles. “Thanks for helping me with this.” 

This shouldn’t be affecting you this much. After all, the only thing you and Jaemin really did was sit under the restaurant roof, order dishes deemed perfect under the social media lens, and take pictures with said dishes, becoming the perfect pieces of evidence to show that Na Jaemin was no coward. However, with the romantic, first date type outfit draped onto your figure, and the general ambience of the room, you couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit flustered. You shot him another smile, one hiding the forest fire that was your mental state. “Uh, yeah! No problem!”

Silence fell over the two of you as you listened to the clinks of glass sounding off from the dishwashing station behind you. A silence that you wanted to hold onto more than anything. But alas, Your roommate breaks it, glancing up from the ground. 

“You look great, by the way.”

Your cheeks flush a deep vermillion. They’ve been doing that a lot lately.

“Thanks, Jaem.” You barely muster out, dodging his eyes. “But you don’t have to say stuff like that, this is all fake, remember?” You took the time to remind him, not fully sure who truly needed it. You fiddled with your fingers as your ears picked up the sudden ruckus of obnoxious college students coming from down the dining hall.

“You should ask her out, Jeno!” a voice chirped

“No! Are you crazy? She probably thinks I’m weird or something”

“I doubt it, you’re hot! Plus, she’s in my department! I can alway ask-”

“Guys, quick, look! Over there!”

The voices grew closer and closer, the whites of your eyes spilling more and more in utter shock. You can’t help but check on Jaemin, the same expression now burning through you. You mirrored each other so much, you could tell the exact words running through his mind right now. Mostly because they ran through yours, too. Oh Shit.

“JAEMIN!!” The voice of an irritating Lee Donghyuck rang through your ears at an alarming, and unwanted rate. The hollers of an equally aggravating Liu Yangyang from Jaemin’s class, swiftly followed, leaving behind the only tolerable one, Lee Jeno behind. “I didn’t know you’d be here!” 

“Ahaha, hey!” Jaemin stuttered, panic overflowing in his eyes as the three intruders squished into the already occupied, two person booth. His eyes scanned the restaurant, grasping for any way to escape. Afterall, this was certainly not part of the plan. Donghyuck’s curious eyes scanned, too, his pupils finally focusing on you. “And who might this be?”

“I-I’m y/n” You stuttered out, your wrist feeling heavy as you began gesturing to the date in front of you. “I’m his da-”

A lightbulb jumped from Jaemin’s head, his shoulder jolting in response. Na Jaemin wasn’t one for outlandish pranks, especially if you were at the receiving end, which only made your thumping heart wonder; what the hell was he trying to pull now?

“She’s my date.”

Suddenly, your once isolated and vacant hand was tugged to the center of the dinner table before softly getting encased in his. His fingers, notably bigger than your nimble ones, interlocked with yours. Heat began to creep up at your ears. Who knew your hand fit so perfectly in his? You looked down, foolishly hoping that your cheeks would stop flushing into that embarrassing red if you hid it well enough. “See?”

“Oh!” Donghyuck lined his lips with a stupid grin, his eyebrows wiggling as he scoffs in disbelief. Yangyang riled up with excitement beside him, and even the calm Jeno couldn’t stop his jaw from falling to the floor. Na Jaemin did it. He really pulled it off. “I guess we’re disturbing something, then?” 

“No worries! We were just about to leave, anyways” Jaemin still held onto that panicked tremble in his voice as the two of you shuffled through the restaurant booth. He stalked behind you before handing you your coat. “See you guys tomorrow!” 

Your mind couldn’t help but focus on the light touch Jaemin’s palm left on the lower, small of your back as he gently escorted you from the restaurant. You felt like a princess, protected by your knight’s brute strength, as you tiptoed on your path of feathers.  That darned flushed heat wouldn’t leave your cheeks. Na Jaemin, your one and only roommate, was driving you crazy.  

The wind roughly brushes against your cheek as the two of you finally exit the restaurant. The breeze was the last thing you would’ve classified as comfortable, which was why you felt just the slightest twinge of disappointment once the warmth of his hand snaked away from you. His palm hugged the nape of his neck as his eyes softened from their former panic. 

“Sorry about that, I didn’t know they’d show up so randomly.”

No, he had nothing to apologize for. It was your fault for being so greedy. You instinctively widen the distance between you, saving yourself from a wave of embarrassment.  

“It’s fine.”

It’s official, you hated your weak heart more than anyone. 

...

Three. There were three instances in which your heart was set on fire the next day, by none other than the infamous Na Jaemin, of course. 

[10:49 am]

A violent GAME OVER! blasted through your ear drums as you slumped on the couch, watching your roommate die for the 70th time that evening. He let out an equally jolting groan, throwing the controller to the depths of your living room carpet before rushing to check if it was okay. You sat promptly on the couch he leaned against, mindlessly scrolling through your phone as if last night you didn’t experience the most heart-collapsing date in the 19 years of your life. 

Your heart still hasn’t properly healed from it, either. Every time you pass by him in the halls, whether it be a quick snack or a glass of water, your heart never fails to tense up, your throat tightening up in a cruel response. You swear, Na Jaemin was out for your blood the moment he asked you to stay in the living room with him, even if it was to simply watch him fail play. 

“Aw fuck me!” Jaemin suddenly blurted out as he examined the now loosened control button. As if on cue, an army of redness storms through your cheeks as you listen in, his simple word choice setting you off. Your head shakes vigorously enough to give you a pounding headache, before you get the chance to fill your head with certain spoiled thoughts. Wow, you really are evil. 

You didn’t spare him the explanation for your sudden departure from the living room couch. All you knew was that your mind and heart were running haywire, and the only thing that could stop you from thinking about your roommate as anything but your roommate was a deep rethinking of your own morals beside your castle of stuffed animals. 

[2:45 pm]

“Here, I’ll get that for you.” Jaemin’s towering figure shielded your back from the apartment kitchen as he stretched over, retrieving the ranging dish your pitiful frame couldn’t reach. He closed the air between you, his extended chest grazing your shoulder as you stood frozen, your mouth gaping open. He sends you a playful grin as he hands you the plate. “You should try growing a little more, y/n!”

You were too stuck in your questionable haze to tighten your grip on the glass plate, so it was only natural to feel the glass slip through your fingers, shards of the crisp material scattering around your bare feet. Frightened, Jaemin scurried below you, the gentleness of his fingers as he picks up each shard of glass sending butterflies to your stomach. 

“Oh my god! Y/n, are you alright!?” You wanted to scoff at his face. Of course you weren’t.

“Uh, yeah. I’m okay.” 

He glances up from below you, his fingers circling the new scratch on your foot that only surfaced from your astound clumsiness. 

“Be careful next time, alright?” 

You nod hesitantly, staying frozen as Jaemin swiftly works around you; throwing out the dangerous glass shards, running away to retrieve your first aid kit, and patching up your pathetic wound in what felt like one swift heartbeat. God, how pathetic were you?

[8:22 pm]

“Have you seen my hoodie? The blue one?” Jaemin showed no mercy to your innocent door as it swung straight into the wall beside it. You let out an award-winning shriek, your once calm figure jumping from its curled up position. “I think it’s in your laundry bin.”

What he actually had on was...minimal. Nothing but tousled, damp hair and a white towel hooked around his waist. You would let out another shriek if you wanted to, but the lack of air reaching your lungs, all from the utter shock of a half-naked Na Jaemin in your wake, stopped you from spitting out any kind of noise imaginable. You dig your fingernails into the flesh of your poor teddy bear as you shield your eyes from your door frame. 

“Gahh! What are you doing?”

“Huh? Oh.” It finally clicked in his mind that his current appearance was not for the faint of heart. Not for yours, at least. You let out another ear- piercing wail. “Put on a shirt already!!” 

Jaemin let out a boastful, childish laugh. He leaned over, digging for your eyes, which were currently finding anything else to lay their attention on. “What, are you getting flustered?”

Your eyes finally meet up with his as he keeps you hostage with his stare. A familiar heat storms up your cheeks for the millionth time that evening as you grip the limb of another one of your stuffies on standby. With one final whine, you chuck the plush at his direction. Your lack of looking back all in an effort to hide your glowing red face, out for revenge. “Get out!”

“You’re so cute, y/n.” Jaemin teasingly hums as he slips out of your door frame. You let out an exhausted huff, your chest loosening so much, you’re convinced you haven’t been properly breathing before then. 

Na Jaemin will seriously be the death of you. 

...

You knew it was cowardly, but you just had to run away. Your weak heart wouldn’t be able to survive otherwise. 

You wisp into the barren walls of the dance studio, the flickering lights blinding your vision as you switch them on. You shuffle to the corner of the room, dropping your bag before fumbling with the music station. A soothing song swims through your ears as you settle down in the center of the room, an eye keeping watch of your posture. You close your eyes. Maybe this will finally calm your heart down. 

You start slowly, an arm traveling artistically through the air as your legs twirl around the floor. The melody of the music carries your limbs away, leaving your mind alone to think. 

They were just simple interactions, a simple slip up ending with a broken dish, a simple choice of words, a simple clasp of the hands to keep up with some measly lie. They were such small things, so why did your heart light up in flames everytime? Why did each instance leave a staining image of Jaemin in your mind, everytime? 

You think back to the man that held your heart, before brutally smashing it with his own fist. Huang Renjun. He hasn’t grazed your mind for quite some time now, but this familiar feeling wasn’t exactly pleasurable. Your heart soaked itself in that same lonely feeling, the desire to cling back. You froze from your dance, expecting full well your mind would submerge in a pool of sorrow. Yet, this week was just full of surprises, wasn’t it?

Another image of your horrid roommate flies into your mind, your head mentally swatting it away like a pestering insect. Nonetheless, it’s trailed back, persistent as ever, as you grumble your way to turn off the music. Na Jaemin, wins again. 

You could admit, Jaemin kept his promise at shielding your mind away from your failing love life, but he never warned you about the repercussions that were of him seeping into a corner of your heart. His risque, almost flirty behaviour, his teasing remarks, a smile that would brighten up a barren world. He just wouldn’t leave your mind. Yet, you knew you couldn’t have him. If your forest fire of a romance with Renjun had taught you anything, it was that you couldn’t love. You were too clueless, too childish to properly hold someone’s heart. You didn’t deserve anyone’s love. 

After gathering your belongings, you trek out the door. You were so lost in your thoughts, not even the thing you held to your heart so dearly, dancing, could pull you out of your rut. You were in no state to go back home just yet, so your fingers trace your phone screen to look for Hina, your resident childhood friend and therapist, apparently. And you wished you had the luxury of plopping onto Hina’s bed, screaming out all your anger into her pillow as she sneaks snacks up to her room, but your horrid life had other plans. 

A familiar figure stop’s in their tracks, their bag swaying in their grasp一a grasp that was almost loosened in pure shock�� as they connect their eyes to yours. You stay frozen, your breath hitching as you search for anything to say. And by the looks of it, they were doing the same. 

“Y-y/n?” The voice of a flabbergasted Huang Renjun rings through your ear. “W-what are you doing here?”

...

It didn’t take Jaemin long to realize you had left early that morning. Your dance bag left an awkward space beside your night stand in its absence, the dish drying rack was already occupied, with one simple plate and a glass turned over. But more importantly, Jaemin woke up with an empty, lost feeling rumbling inside him一something he only felt when you weren’t around. 

It first occurred during the third week of splitting rent, when you joined the school’s dance team. You had left the room without a trace, leaving Jaemin to search for you like a lost puppy to its reluctant owner, instead of getting ready for his afternoon class. He tried his best to brush it off as simple boredom, but with the way his vision simply lights up in your presence, even he started to get suspicious of himself. 

He couldn’t quite pinpoint it at first, the very reason you always trailed in his mind. It could have been anything. Your immense amount of talent, the wisp of anonymity that surrounded you, one he strived to break to get to know you better. The angelic personality he was first greeted with once he did break down that barrier. Anything about you could’ve easily pulled his heart closer to you. He was in love. 

Nevertheless, he clearly wasn’t obvious enough, as within weeks of beginning your college career, your figure was cradled in the arms of another man. Huang Renjun, resident A+ student and Jaemin’s childhood classmate.  

As the days pass by, and he becomes bombarded with endless homework, the two of you slowly drift apart, returning to the simple ‘roommate’ label on your contact lists. He resorts to the abundance of girls around the campus. Hoping each one he’d fool around with could finally get his head away from you. Yet, as he always comes home just to see your face, so did his heart, apparently. 

Don’t get him wrong, he felt terrible the night you trudged home in tears, the fresh sadness of a break up welling through you. And he tried everything in his power to make you feel better, though it never worked. But一 and he would rather kill a man than ever let this slip from his tongue一he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit relieved that you were finally in his grasp once again.

“So, how serious are you? About her?” Jeno quizzed through the phone, a now distressed Na Jaemin on the other side of the line. Jaemin fell onto the bed, dust particles jumping into the air. 

“I really like her” Jaemin huffed.

“So? Then go tell her! You should be with her, not here blabbering about her to me. Look, you don’t have anything to worry about, Jaem. It’s not like she’s in a relationship anymore.”

Jaemin's eyes widen and Jeno’s nonchalant words. That's right. You weren’t taken anymore. Not trapped in the confines of another man’s arms. It was what he was fighting for, all those months ago. Na Jaemin finally had a shot with you. 

“Are you sure you like her?” Jeno pulled Jaemin back to reality as Jaemin scrambled to the bathroom. He placed the device down on the bathroom sink, his eyes locking in with his reflection from the bathroom mirror. “Yeah.”

He chuckled to himself before ending the call, an image of you rolling into his mind. ‘Like’ would be a deep understatement. He was in love, has been for months now, and he was finally ready to tell the truth. He probably looked like a little kid hungry for ice cream, but he didn’t care. He paced out the door. He was going to finally have you, once and for all. 

...

“She and I are good, yeah.” Renjun stuttered out, not looking past the drink he hastily purchased before the two of you sat down in the campus cafe. “What about you? How have you been?” 

With all your might, you stopped your throat from belting out a petty laugh. How have you been? Was he being serious? You’ve been pleasant, aside from all the inner turmoil ringing through your heart at the moment. You sent a bogus smile at the man in front of you. “I’ve been...alright.”

The awkward silence suffocated you, squeezing your throat so tight, not a single sliver of air could slip through. Why did he come across you now of all times? And why did he have to be so much more emotionally sound than you were? Renjun shifted around, clearing his chest with a small ahem! You knew he was always a man who would never beat around the bush, and today was no exception. 

“I’m sorry…” His sudden confession shook you to your core, the liquid inside your glass mimicking your shivering movements. Your eyes, out of pure shock, finally take the courage to graze across Renjun as he continues. “I’m sorry for leaving you like that, I know I didn’t give you that much of an explanation back then.” 

Your eyes retire back to the wooden table in front of you. He didn’t need to apologize. He didn’t need to explain himself at all, not when your greedy heart was at fault. “I knew I couldn’t give you what you wanted. I wasn’t enough for you.” 

“You don’t have to apologize, Renjun.” You were having enough trouble forgetting him as it is, you didn’t need this. 

“I didn’t wanna lie to myself, so that’s why I left you so abruptly like that.” He explains, his fingers turning white from his grip on the coffee cup. Your breaths grow short, your mind scurrying to find the hidden meaning behind his words. All this time, your mind retired to the idea of him running away from your clinging figure, claiming that now rash narrative as valid; correct. Tearing your heart up into little pieces in the process. 

“So we didn’t break up because I was being...selfish?”

“Selfish? Of course not.” He comforted. “You deserve someone else, someone way better than me.” 

Your mind trails back to your roommate once again, his smile growing more contagious. You find your lips sneaking in a small smile at the thought of him. Except, this time, no twinge of sorrow had followed. Like a bag of bricks lifted off your shoulders, you were finally free. You shined a genuine grin, your first in a long while. “So, we’re good?”

“Of course, y/n.”

You were so trapped in your own childish thoughts, you didn’t notice the hasty booming steps crash through the cafe door frame. 

“Y/N!” The voice of your roommate flew through your ears, striking you like a deer caught in blinding headlights. His volume was so loud, you wouldn’t be surprised if someone heard him from the outside of the cafe.  “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

...

Usually, Na Jaemin was laid back. Generally unbothered with a smirk lining his lips every now and then. It was one of the ways he stayed on top of the collective campus hierarchy for so long, he was always calm, cool, and collected. He always was, except for today. Instead, he was scrambling at his feet, thumbing through every inch of the school, looking for the infamous y/n. 

He finally skips to the cafe, the faint scent of coffee and flavouring overtaking him. He was a panting mess, his hands gripping at the bolts of his knees as he leaned over in pure exhaustion. It was weird, Jaemin always considered himself to be decently fit. It must’ve been you, suddenly turning his world upside down. 

She’s gotta be here. 

As if on cue, your head pops up on the corner of his eye, basking under the afternoon sunlight which generously seeped through the cafe window. Your eyes weren’t on him, but that wasn’t the worst of his problems. His eyes travel further down your direction, his limp legs mindlessly following like a puppet on two strings. Your eyes weren’t on Jaemin. They were on someone else. 

Renjun.

A familiar clenching feeling pulls on his heart harshly, so much so, that his hands reach up to palm the pain through his chest. He’s only felt this rude awakening one other time in the 19 years of his life; the moment you left the house on your first ever date with Huang Renjun. A flame ignites within him as he stalks up to the table. With his heaving breaths and awkward, stiff posture, it was inevitable he'd summon a couple of stares from various customers, but he couldn’t care less. 

Usually, Na Jaemin was laid back, but because of you, he became this gross, jealous, poor excuse of a man. 

“You didn’t have to be so loud, you know!” You found your voice peaking at the end of your sentence, probably gathering more attention than what you were currently lecturing Jaemin for. A blush stained the circles of your cheeks, though you were never quite sure whether it was the embarrassment of being the center of attention, or the fact that Na Jaemin came rushed and disheveled, looking for you. You cleared your throat to hide your obscene thoughts一a practice you’ve been getting the hang of, lately. “What did you need from me anyway-”

“Why were you with him.” Jaemin cut in. Although, with his stone cold frame now towering over you, his eyes; unassuming and distant, and shallow, hitched breaths, you weren’t even certain this was the same roommate you couldn’t get out of your head for the past week. You simply wave your hand away. 

“We just happened to meet up by accident, and we got to talk some stuff out, that's all.” You prayed that your calm voice could soothe the currently tempered man before you. Of course, however, it didn’t. 

“Was it really?”

“Yes! Okay, Jaem? What’s with you today?”

“Don’t visit him anymore.” His voice boomed towards the end of his sentences, startling even the finest of nature as two innocent birds fly away in fear. 

Something didn’t click, didn’t sit right in your head. Since when was he so demanding? So rude? You found yourself slowly backing away from his figure, an action you thought you’d have to do in your life. Before, he was always a safe space for you, even without your confusing feelings for him. He was always there for you. But now, the air around turned gray, and you were scared more than anything. You scoff, throwing Jaemin off. 

“Are you telling me what to do?” 

“I’m only worried for you, y/n.”

“Worried about what, exactly? That I’d get back with Renjun?” You stand firm before him. Y/n, what the hell are you doing now. To your own dismay, you continue. “Why would you care about that anyways?”

“Am I not allowed to care about you!?” He practically hollered at the top of his lungs. A fire welled up inside you, with no way of fanning it down. Who does this guy think he is?  

“Last time I checked, we didn’t have anything real! Everything between us was all a damn lie! So no, maybe you don’t!” 

You lay one final blow straight to Jaemin’s chest, knocking him down like a line of concurred dominoes. Your heart clenches in a cruel response. You were right, factually correct, but the truth always came with a price. Spectators began to crowd around the scene, as a fuming Jaemin stalks towards you, closing the distance between your shoulder blades and brick wall behind you. 

“WELL MAYBE I WANTED SOMETHING REAL!” Jaemin retorted, eyes holding a flame you never thought your calm roommate could ignite within him. The air around you grew cautious, the only things sounding off were the weary engines driving past the scene of the crime. His breath grew shallow as it brushed against your skin, your trembling figure watching as he let out an aggravated sigh. His fingers, laced in irritation, comb through his hair as he softens his voice into one final whisper. 

“But you don’t want anything like that, right? ‘Cause you’re still caught up with that Renjun asshole?” 

“Jae-”

“Forget it” Jaemin spits, his eyes finally dodging yours. He backs away from your trembling figure, his hands buried in his pockets as he quickened his pace away from you. Jaemin hissed under his breath, everything finally clearing up in his head. You didn’t want him, You were never ready to move on. It’s official, Na Jaemin couldn’t have you, and he never will.  

...

Your brain always had a knack for remembering things, keeping random nuggets of knowledge stored deep within random crevices of your head. Your brain always had a good memory, and today was no exception. 

Forget it.

You could probably liven up a lifeless desert with your endless tears that stained Hina’s pillows that night. It would be life or death to retire properly to your own home, not with the atrocity that was this afternoon still thriving in your wake. One more bottled emotion, and your body would simply burst out of existence. You could only properly pinpoint three of them; exhaustion welling up in your feet, confusion tearing through your brain, and guilt overflowing in your heart. 

“What am I gonna do?” you weep through the flesh of Hina’s teddy bear. After tossing the empty pop can into her makeshift trash can, Hina plopped onto her bed beside you, drilling a finger straight into her temple. “You need to tell him how you feel, y/n, you can’t just leave him in the dark like that. That’s probably why he got so riled up.”

Your eyes shake as they stay on the ground. Hina shuffles around arms crossing in a full interrogation. “You do know what you want, right?”

Slowly, and without much thought pulling at your strings, you slowly nod. “Well then, what is it?” 

An image of your roommate shines into your head once again. The kind roommate you had the great luxury of coming home to, the one always saving you a slice of frozen pizza for when you arrive, the one who reaches the irritating dishes at the top of the cupboard, the one you couldn't get out of your mind. His heartwarming demeanour, his charming smile, his everything. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. With a twinge of determination, you lock eyes with Hina.

“I want it all to be real. I wanna be with Jaemin.”

Hina rested her back onto the plump mattress, a smug grin lining her lips as she crossed her arms in pride. “So you’re finally gonna start listening to me, hm?”

...

“Are you sure about this, Jaem?” Yangyang has never一in Jaemin’s two years of knowing him一sounded so concerned for his friend’s wellbeing. It sent shivers down his spine, how pitiful Jaemin must’ve looked right now. His fingers grasped the horrendous stack of papers; one wrong move could easily decorate the floor with the homework, and Jaemin was...concerned, to say the least.

“Why are we even doing this? You won the bet!” Donghyuck hugged his own stack close to his chest as the three boys watched Jaemin’s head sink low to the floor, and watched his heart sink even lower. “Yeah, about that...”

Even if the truth hurts, it needs to be said, right?

“...Y/n wasn’t my date at the restaurant. I never asked anyone out, actually. The truth is… she’s my roommate. I only asked her out on a fake date so I could keep the bet going.”

Jaemin felt the confused, yet somber stares of Jeno burn through his skin. It only made sense that Jeno had a few questions; Na Jaemin’s beaten up, hunched over figure was nothing like the lovestruck, head-over-heels Jaemin he’d witnessed just a couple of days prior. “But it didn’t work out that well with her, so here I am, ready for the punishment.” 

It struck Jaemin’s chest more times that could count, slashing at his heart, his pride, everything he loved. How could he be so foolish? Convincing himself his simple crush could ever reciprocate his feelings. Could ever love him back. Nevertheless, it was more clear now than ever before. To you, he would always just have one label; a simple roommate. 

“Jaemin-” Donghyuck reluctantly brushed his palm on Jaemin’s shoulder, his best excuse for a peace offering. Jaemin, however, finally snapped, shooting a glare through the eyes of his rather persistent friends. 

“What? You were right, okay? I can’t get any girl I want. I really am just a coward, so I deserve this!” Jaemin slumped his figure一drenched in a sorrow he’s gotten quite familiar with, as of late一into a cheap, cafeteria chair, his heart leaping through his throat. 

“She was the only one I wanted, anyway, so what’s the point?” 

“I think you got a few things wrong there, buddy.” A familiar voice rang through Jaemin’s ears. The whites of his eyes spilled out of their sockets as Jaemin shot up. You couldn’t blame him, though. The last thing he expected to see was his childhood classmate, Huang Renjun, before him. “You still have a chance with y/n, Jaemin.”

Jaemin sent a rough hiss at Renjun before slowly backing down at Renjun’s unnaturally calm demeanour. “What?”

“I’m not after her anymore, nor is she after me.”

Jaemin’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Then why-”

“It was an accident, we didn’t mean to meet up like that. And that talk at the cafe? It was all for closure. It was something she and I both needed, a lot, if I might add.” 

“So… you weren’t trying to get her back?”

Renjun squinted at the utter dumbassary currently blinding him at the moment. “No, are you stupid? I have a girlfriend. And besides, when she first saw you barge into the cafe, her flustered reaction tells me she feels the same way, so I wouldn’t worry too much.” 

Heat rushed over to Jaemin’s cheeks, the cause being a 50-50 blend of pure embarrassment一from letting his jealous heart take over his mind一and the simple, but beautiful thought of you. Everything started to fall back in their rightful places. His head was finally cleared, his anger had finally wisped away. And more importantly, you were moment’s away from being his. Moments away from retiring the ‘roommate’ label. 

Donghyuck leaped from his seat. A directing hand pointed towards the dance department wing as Donghyuck shifted into his ‘fight or flight’ stance, riling up with energy. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR? CONFESS!!”  

Without any further hesitation, Jaemin shot from his seat, his eyes etched with determination, and his heart moments away from bursting through his chest. Donghyuck let out a defeated sigh, arms crossing in disappointment. “God, I can’t believe the campus playboy is such a wuss!” 

...

Your easily distracted mind had made it maddeningly clear; no song, no matter what the tempo or melody, could take your mind off of your one and only roommate, Na Jaemin. It also didn’t matter that you spent a whopping one night without his bedroom just across the hall from yours; as your heart was still drenched in the guilt you couldn’t seem to get rid of. However, one thing was made clear that night. Your heart purely and utterly belonged to Na Jaemin alone. Only one thing stayed in your way; he may more may not hate your guts now. 

Your palms dripped in a cold sweat as your limbs begrudgingly swam in the air. It was bad enough your dance instructor gave not one, but two lectures about getting distracted to blow your ears dry, but even after that public display of embarrassment, your head couldn’t stop recounting the different ways you could finally tell Na Jaemin the truth; the whole truth. 

I want the real thing with you

I don’t just want something fake, Jaemin

I wanna be with you

That last statement threw your cheeks into a heated, rosy frenzy. You cup your hands attempting to hide your horrid thoughts as your dance instructor, with a few deadpan words, sets your class free for the evening. You scurry to the corner, peacefully shoving your things into your bag when Shotaro’s voice suddenly rings behind your ear. 

“Y/n? Oh yeah, she’s right over there.” 

“Great, thanks.” 

  You freeze on the spot. You could recognize that voice from a mile away. It was almost concerning on your part. 

“Y/n!” The voice yelps, in a tone you hadn’t heard in a while. You smile under your breath. You missed his cheerful voice. You slowly prop up, dropping your bag to the depths of the dance room floor. You pivot on your heel, your chest coming face to face with none other than Na Jaemin, in the flesh. “I need to tell you something.” 

After scrambling out of the dance room, certainly not attracting the attention of any unwanted instructors, the two of you hide behind the studio entrance. Jaemin stood just centimeters before you, his breath shivering despite the warmer weather. Although, and you wouldn’t be surprised, but this warm sensation could simply be deriving from your cheeks, which was nothing new. 

“I’m sorry I lashed out at you yesterday, I never wanted to be mean to you or anything, I was just… heated, yeah.” Jaemin finally began, scratching the nape of his neck. You didn’t like the fact that he was the one apologizing to you, when you knew it should’ve been the other way around. “You don’t need to say sorry, Jaem. I lashed out too and-”

“I was being all selfish, when I really should’ve been thinking clearly. I-I was jealous when I saw you two together, and I couldn’t take it.” 

You stopped dead in your tracks. Jealous? He was jealous?

“Truth is… I’ve liked you for some time now, probably ever since we first met. And while the fake date was really fake…” His eyes finally lock yours up, keeping them hostage in his determined glare. “...I really wanted something real between us.” 

Jaemin’s hand reached down, cupping your nimble fingers in it as he kept his eye contact tight. His breath hitched as he eyed you, all flustered and adorable with your eyebrows furrowed in a hopeful confusion. Everything about you made him want to cradle you in his arms, never letting go, forever. 

“Can I be more than just your roommate, y/n?” 

You stayed frozen, mouth gaping wide open at every confession he threw at you. You stayed so still, the only thing visibly moving on your body was the rapid blush zooming through your ears and cheeks, except this time, you didn’t feel the sudden urge to hide such a sensation. Your mind didn’t carry the necessary brian capacity properly function, so naturally, your arms did the job for you. 

Your palms cupped the edges of Jaemin’s jaw, a sudden confidence surging through you as you pulled him closer. The tips of your noses collide moments before the surfaces of your lips. You melt into a passion filled kiss, a kiss that’s been pending since the day you first moved in together. Jaemin hugs the small of your waist as you hug his neck. Instinctively, your stomach tucks itself, hiding the embarrassing butterflies fluttering within it. You felt like a celebrity, kissing the campus’ pretty boy; Na Jaemin. Your eyes flicker open. 

“Of course you can.”

Your’s and Jaemin’s world crashes back into reality at the sound of a pestering holler, one which Jaemin could only sigh in grief to in response. You turn around only to find a snooping crowd right behind you. Shotaro, joined with two of Jaemin’s friends you first met at the restaurant; Yangyang and Donghyuck, jump for joy at the sight of you two, while a distressed Hina rips her hair out at the fact that she missed the most world shattering confession scene known to man. Jeno, to the right of her, calms her down in a heartbeat. Those two were really perfect for each other. You turn back to Jaemin, a wide grin now taking over his face. He tightens the grip around your hand, a hand that you noticed he’s never let go since he first arrived at your department. 

“Do you have another class after this?” “No, why?”

A sly smirk lines his lips as he raises an eyebrow. “Then, shall we go home, darling?” 

Gosh, he was such a dork. “Of course.” 

…

The long awaited kiss between Hina and Jeno was much more dramatic than any first kiss you could’ve imagined. In fact, it was practically ripped right out the current episode of the drama you and Jaemin had settled down to watch. The air was filled with cheerful hollers roaring from Yangyang and Shotaro and the pathetic wails of Donghyuck realizing that一with Shotaro’s crush on the new girl on campus and the random girl Yangyang met online一he would be the last one standing in the terribly single committeeTM. Jaemin grumbled beside you, his head tucked under your chin as you sat cradled in his arms

“Jeez, Jeno’s stealing my thunder!”

“Let them live, Jaem. They’re in love.” 

Jaemin huffed with over exaggeration. “I can’t believe Jeno would betray me like that!”

You pulled Jaemin’s chin up, his face now inches from yours. “Why don’t you forget about them, alright? Just focus on me instead.”

The two of you lean into a kiss, basking in the afternoon sunlight that was peeking through the campus roof. It didn’t matter who was around you anymore, whether they were random strangers or your annoying yet close knit friends. You had already won at life, being the girlfriend of the infamous Na Jaemin; your very special roommate.

[quantumconfidence]

The Stigma Of The Trophy Wife & Why I'm Proud To Be One

Trophy wives and the never ending stigma... So much to say and so much to address. In this blog post as you read it in the title is all about why being a trophy wife (TW) is what I was meant to be. And most probably who you're meant to embrace too.

Keep reading Sister.

First of let me start with this mini clip...

This is all self explanatory to me and many other women who believe in hypergamy. The natural selection and order of things for women who desire to be married to a masculine man.

There's SO many negative cliche about being a trophy wife. The main one being a pretty air-head married to a rich old guy waiting to die so she can inherit all his assets and money.

And then you hear everyone around you saying things like: "why do you want to depend on a man? beauty doesn't last forever and some day he will replace you with someone hotter and younger"

But to me this is coming from such a small minded and scarcity point of view. These idea are filled with lack of everything.

There's SO, so, so much more than this about thinking of yourself as a TW!

Let's address a few of these points though because that is very important.

The "pretty air-head" Idea:

Who said that beautiful women were air-heads?

Just like everyone in this world, God has created each one of us, and you, with a special gift that NOBODY will ever provide like you do it. And that's a FACT.

I personally have worked for the largest and most successful companies in the world during my corporate career. As a people manager in technical supports, and I was VERY successful. These are definitely NOT the type of jobs or accomplishments an air-head would ever reach.

(If you're reading my blogs for the first time, Hello, My name is Mrs Queen and I'm the proud owner of this eCommerce business.)

And so, since when do we have to chose? I mean, hello scarcity mindset!

How being attractive, and maintaining your physical appearance ever kept you from being knowledgable and intelligent?

The "You'll always have to look pretty for him to stick around" Idea:

I cannot explain how this idea to me is SO basic, and SUCH a poor mindset!

Whom ever said that, clearly DOEN'T understand what makes a man marry you, when he truly believe that you're the woman of his dream. Or what makes a man stay with you for the rest of his life. So I'm going to spell it out loud, and preach. I hope you're ready?

First of all, a man stay kept if HE wants to stay kept. That has nothing to do with you but let's not ignore the following because these are contributing factors.

As a woman you're a WHOLE soul and PACKAGE by yourself. You do NOT ever or ever had to be with anybody to complete you. EVER. let me say it again, never, EVER.

And men DO understand that. They're looking and craving for that ENTIRE package. They want to experience it they want to live in it, forever and ever. This is literally their number one reason of living and striving in this world.

Yes, their MAIN reason to be alive. I'm not exaggerating.

What package am-i talking about?

Ok let's start with the obvious one:

1/ Your beauty. 

yes your face and body. And all appearances are appreciated in this world.

If you're thinking "high maintenance" and or "too exhausting" let me tell you the following very simply.

The way you care and take pride in your appearance has NOTHING to do with a man.

Never. EVER.

It has however EVERYTHING to do with how YOU, my sister, honor and love yourself. It's your way of respecting and glorify God's creation of you.

And if a man (your husband) gets to enjoy the perks too, that's his luck.

So don't allow laziness, or misconceptions to twist your mind. Taking care of yourself, and maintaining yourself is your godly duty as a woman. Let me say it again, it's self love and self respect.

Then,

2/ Your Feminine ENERGY. 

I'm literally talking about how your presence makes him feel. Have you ever had a phone conversation or just met someone and the tone of their voice, their smile gave you goose bumps and elevated your energy right away?

Making you smile, and feel warmer inside? That's what I'm talking about. Some people have the power to project their amazing energies into you and make you feel amazing in split-seconds. Everyone is of course different but the ones who love you, DO feel the energy of your soul.

And masculine men CRAVE for the feminine energy. The loving, the kind, the healing, the peaceful, resting, warm energy. They NEED you to be fully immersed into it, and let him join you into it.

They will do and pay anything to help you sustain and protect this beautiful environment. And it starts with the place you live in. Your body (back to point 1). Then your home. and the rest of your universe.

3/ Your RESPECT for him: This goes way deeper than the way you love him. Men will ALWAYS prefer being respected than being loved if they had to chose between the two. If you haven't read them, check out these books:

Love & Respect: The Love She Most Desires; The Respect He Desperately Needs

5 Love Languages

These are most definitely books that WILL drastically improve your relationship for the better. Feminism has us fooled with many ideas, and yes I'm fully aware that this movement gave the western woman many rights, and I'm not talking about this.

The movement also pushes women to violently disrespect men in MANY different ways, on a daily basis. Making you believe that it's a synonym of empowerment. It's not, it truly isn't. It's the number one key to ending your days living in an apartment with hundreds of cats.

4/ Your brain & your drive:

Masculine men do not want air-heads anyway. They want smart driven women who know how to balance all the things stated before and their lives.

A woman who can literally put all this shit together. HER shit together I should say to be more exact. DO not try to rule his life. That's HIS job. Not yours.

A masculine man wants to lead most of the times. LET him. If you believe and trust him, this won't be hard for you to do.

If not, and I mean if you deeply believe that your man cannot lead the way in your relationship, then you probably chose the wrong kind of man for you. It's never too late to find the right one.

Please note: These points ARE the WHOLE package and aren't in any particular order. One doesn't compensate for the others. ALL, meaning EACH one of them are part of the whole package that is you.

So what's a TW then?

It's in masculine men's nature to want to provide, it DOES NOT mean that you shouldn't have your own. As a matter of a fact it is crucial that you have your own AND let him provide.

One idea that I love the most in Islam, is that it is clearly stated that a man has to provide for his household and his wife's need. Only then a woman will submit to him and respect him fully. She can however have her own sources of income and decides if she wants to participate in the household spendings OR not.

Other religions have similar ideas too.

A TW is literally what ever you want to be. But most importantly she KNOWS how to be the most unique version of herself. And that IS ENOUGH.

But then what if you just do NOT want to work?

It took me a while to come up to a very simple realization. And that's because while growing up my mother always pushed me to "be independent". And to this day she still does.

I had to pounder very deeply on these things.

First of all, your value as a woman does NOT depend on what you can "bring to the table". It never was and never will.

Your value does NOT depend on how productive you can be. How much money you can earn, how much achievements you can reach. NONE. OF. THAT.

You are WELL worthy of being loved and taken care of, and just simply existing because you do. period.

Let me say it differently. You were born WORHTY. There's NOTHING that you have to do to be worthy. Your man, husband should know and appreciate that at it's right value.

You are NOT a financial burden. You ARE valuable, without having to do or achieve ANYTHING.

Your value is in you BEING you. Going back to the "whole package" idea.

Is this laziness?

I know these days if a woman doesn't want to work, she's labelled lazy. It's not. It's about understanding that the "whole package" is contribution in itself. It's HIGHLY valuable.

As I said, it's a man's reason for living, so he can experience that "package" with you.

But the scriptures say that you have to be a hard working woman at home or an active member of the society....

Yes. And you already are. Directly or indirectly. A woman who lives in her "whole package" vibe is an inspiration of everyone around her. That's her CONTRIBUTION to the world if she feels that it's enough. So it is. And there should be no room for shaming this.

And the ones shaming these women, are the ones who don't understand what I just wrote about.

The idea of "Keeping your independence"

I cannot believe how much I have been SO stubborn in grasping, holding on SO damn hard on my "independence"....

As mentioned growing up that's something my mom kept on repeating to me. That's because her marriage to my father was far from being exemplary. And I get her from those circumstances.

Let me remind you if you had a mom like mine, you are NOT your mom and your husband is NOT your father. Therefore your marriage and experience with it ARE NOT the same.

My simple question to you is: Why would you want to feel "independent"? How does being married truly makes you feel? Trapped in any ways?

I pondered so hard on this one. As a married woman I DO NOT want to be independent. I am married. Independence is the complete opposite of marriage.

Do you want independence still? Then be single! you'll have plenty of independence.

Marriage and being a wife truly requires from you to completely abandon your maiden self. That's only then that true union is ever possible. Marriage is two people coming as one. If you have found a husband that you love and loves you back, you won't need to feel independent.

We very often take love and relationship advice from women who are still wounded. My mom for example is currently single.

And the teaching she can ever pass on me are the ones of a woman who's been through three failed marriages. That's precisely why I do NOT take marriage advice related to "staying in a successful marriage" from her.

Who have you been listening to so far? Are they in the type of marriage that you aspire to be in? If not, then I invite you to reframe your way of thinking around what they taught you to believe.

The "he will go for someone younger" idea:

Ok, yes that happens, because some relationships aren't meant to last forever. But who says YOU won't do that before he does?? Or leaving him for a better option? Who will treat you better if your current one starts tripping? THAT right there is the TW mindset.

Because you know your value, and the value of being the "whole package".

Your aging DOES NOT diminish your worth or value. It does NOT. The way you perceive yourself is the ONLY factor that can have that effect ladies. Not a man. Not what your mom would say. Or what your "friends" who mean "well", or your community members will say.

NONE. OF. THAT.

It's you vs YOU.

So why wouldn't you feel proud to FULLY be your own FULL package anyway?

You can have it, so flaunt it for you, for God, and your (future) lucky hubby sister.

Popular Reads:

How To Preserve Your High Value & Feminine Energy During A Crisis

How Dressing More Feminine Will Change Your Life

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[asiaberkeley]

Afghan is beautiful

I am a half Afghan woman. An Afghan-European American. An Afghan American.

Admittedly, it took me awhile to offer up this information in the aftermath of 9/11 when Afghanistan became synonymous with terrorism in the eyes of many Americans. Taking pride in my heritage suddenly and painfully became controversial.

People didn’t know about my Afghan-ness though because I had my mother’s surname and not my Pashtun father’s: Hotaki. Also, I didn’t wear any kind of head covering because I was raised Catholic. It was easy to hide and pass for completely White.

My late father, an aspiring doctor and med school student who spoke six languages, left Kabul with his family before the Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan as a child. They were the lucky ones. He spent most of his life in Germany where many Afghans have sought refuge. One of my fondest memories is flying kites with him and my Irish-Swedish-French American mother in the Munich Public Gardens as a child. There was no wind that day and we dragged the kites in dizzy circles…laughing together...just as I imagine him now when he was a boy: kite flying in the streets of Kabul.

Since my father died when I was six, I returned to my mother’s hometown of Boston with her in 1996. I was later left to contemplate what it meant to be Afghan in a place with very few Afghans compared to Virginia, California, and New York. In college, as an Asian Studies major at Wellesley College and later at the University of California, Berkeley, I often corrected people who said that Afghanistan is in the Middle East and not in South-Central Asia. I wondered why it seemed that no one had received much education on this country’s history or people outside of reading the popular Khaled Hosseini novel, The Kite Runner, especially since we have been at war—fighting together with the Afghan forces against the Taliban in the longest war in American history.

Many Americans don’t realize that the attackers on 9/11 were not Afghan. The attackers did seek a hiding and meeting place in Afghanistan, however. But those facts shouldn’t matter. Because it doesn’t matter what ethnicity, race, or nationality someone is if they commit a crime and it doesn’t matter where they were hiding. The guilty party does not represent all people of their background or country just like Hitler does not represent all Germans or all of Germany and El Chapo does not represent Mexico or all Mexicans. Similarly, the latest mass shooter in El Paso doesn’t represent all white American men.

After former President Trump pondered out loud the mere possibility of a concocted plan to kill 10 million Afghans and wipe the country off the face of the earth – presumably through the use of nuclear weapons – I have thought more about what it means to be Afghan American today. And it’s not because of those unimaginably cruel musings which add insult to injury in the homes of all Afghans traumatized by decades of war. Indeed, nearly every person who is not a white man has been made to feel worthless, subhuman and criminal under the rhetoric of the former Trump administration...so Afghans are not alone.

But Afghans were alone in the discussion of their genocide in 2019. I have contemplated my identity even more because not one leader or politician in America of any background spoke out formally against those disturbing statements. (And it doesn’t matter if this was an actual plan of his or just an imaginary scenario dangling in the recesses of his mind.) What does the national silence mean?

After 9/11, Afghan American author of West of Kabul, East of New York and Destiny Disrupted, Tamim Ansary, went viral with an email he sent.  In it, he wrote:

“The Taliban and Bin Laden are not Afghanistan. They’re not even the government of Afghanistan. The Taliban are a cult of ignorant psychotics who captured Afghanistan in 1997 and have been holding the country in bondage ever since. Bin Laden is a political criminal with a master plan. When you think Taliban, think Nazis. When you think Bin Laden, think Hitler. And when you think “the people of Afghanistan” think “the Jews in the concentration camps.” It’s not only that the Afghan people had nothing to do with this atrocity, they were the first victims of the perpetrators. They would love for someone to eliminate the Taliban and clear out the rats nest of international thugs holed up in their country. I guarantee it…Some say, if that’s the case, why don’t the Afghans rise up and overthrow the Taliban themselves? The answer is, they’re starved, exhausted, damaged, and incapacitated.”

After 2001, my family warned me that just telling people I was Afghan may offend or anger them because they may have lost a loved one on 9/11 or they may have had a son or daughter deployed to Afghanistan. In middle school, a classmate told me I was from the land of the terrorists after I proudly showed her an autographed book I received from an Afghan British writer, Saira Shah, called "The Storyteller's Daughter." My American cousin, a veteran, was later deployed to Afghanistan and brought back a burqa which I showed to my classmates in high school to teach them about the Taliban’s oppression. Contrary to what they may have assumed, what they saw was not traditional Afghan clothing. Traditional Afghan clothing, banned under the Taliban, is colorful, intricate, deeply hued, bright and beautiful. Google it.

A year has passed since Trump discussed wiping Afghanistan off the face of the earth. After it happened, I regularly checked Twitter and the news to see if any of our nation’s leaders denounced those remarks. I called my Governor, Congresspeople, and many others asking if just one would put out a statement to support Afghans and Afghan Americans against talk of our annihilation. The Governor’s office simply said that he did not put out a statement. I still haven’t found any. However, some Americans did speak out on social media. Thank you.

We have studied the long-lasting horrors of the U.S. nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in our classrooms. I thought we concluded as a nation that something like that could never happen again. That not a single person in power thought it worth it to speak out against the possibility of the U.S. committing another nuclear genocide bewilders and frightens me. Is it controversial to say out loud that Afghans civilians do not deserve to die en masse? Are Afghans so vilified in our society that it’s a public risk to defend us?

If you still blame the Afghan people for 9/11 even if only on an subconscious level, think again. Many of the Afghan people are suffering in ways you can only imagine in your worst nightmares. They are not responsible and took no part in this. Like the poor souls who were killed in the Twin Towers, Afghans are survivors and casualties of terrorism as well. Afghan women have lost their entire families. They have been abused and pillaged. Men, women, and children have been bombed and maimed. Their history, including the rich Buddhist Silk Road history of Afghanistan, has been destroyed by the Taliban and others.

Discussing our nation's capability to conduct nuclear genocide of an entire people and country is an affront to all humans.

So I suggest to all of our nation’s leaders who have remained tight-lipped in the face of the unspeakable: Take time to learn something you don’t know about Afghanistan. Perhaps that could start with the story of progressive Afghan Queen and feminist Soraya Tarzi who asked, "Do you think, however, that our nation from the outset only needs men to serve it? Women should also take their part as women did in the early years of our nation..." Or it could be about the life and death of iconic Afghan singer Ahmad Zahir. You could learn about the courageous resistance of Afghan women and girls throughout history or visit that Afghan restaurant you were too timid to enter and try a sweet pumpkin kadoo dish.

As the war in Afghanistan, a war based on lies and deceit, may be coming to another tragic end with even graver implications for the women left behind who have fought so hard for equality,  maybe it’s finally time to read another book that is not the Kite Runner... and most importantly, time to look deep inside of ourselves and question the possible anger, hate and bias that has developed towards the Afghan people after the catastrophic and traumatizing events of September 11, 2001.

*See the Washington Post’s Afghanistan Papers which deemed that the American military did not know what it was doing there and that the war was based on lies and deceit. Government officials misled the American public about the war. The war has cost the lives of thousands of American soldiers with many more wounded as well as 100,000+ Afghan civilians killed or hurt. Many of the American troops have returned with PTSD. 30% of the Afghan casualties were children.

Sources

https://apnews.com/a2a8d7a4f89ec0515379dc4d4a38b56a

https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2019/investigations/afghanistan-papers/documents-database/

[teenytinystorage]

Time For Class

Summary: Logan has no idea about modern slang whatsoever. He can’t keep up with it, and it’s been this way long enough for Roman, Virgil, and Patton to decide to take this matter into their own hands in a way Logan would appreciate: traditional classroom teaching.

Genre: Is confusion a genre?? (Fluff + comedy)

Pairings: None

Warnings: None

Enjoy! :)

-

Logan is the embodiment of logic. Always has been, doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

He’s always focused on the rational, quantifiable aspects of life. Anything that can be understood through chronological, complex thought, he’s there for. Analysis, pondering, critical thinking, finding the use of the irrational in the rationality of reality, and hey, he’s even tried his hand at literary analysis before (granted, he’s more of a sci-fi nerd than a fantasy type as Roman is and therefore has a very limited scope of book analysis, but he’s tried it nonetheless. Of course, he’s always been there for Thomas during school book reports).

So, considering that, it makes sense why Logan has no grasp of modern language, otherwise known to him as contemporary slang words, confusingly originated words that fall in and out of usage faster than he could ever imagine.

Yes, he tries to understand, and he copies down the meanings on his cards, but he doesn’t understand them, not to mention he’s very clearly not up-to-date (see: his reaction to Roman saying “sksksk” during last Wednesday’s game night. Yeah, not fun for anyone).

And the words don’t even make sense! How can a broken plant pot be a “mood”? A plant pot doesn’t have emotions, it can’t have emotions! It’s abiotic and incapable of even breathing for crying out loud! What is an “oof”? It sounds like the sound someone would make getting punched in the stomach. So does it express pain? If it does, then why is it thrown around aimlessly with no regard to physical pain, or any pain at all?!

All of this to say, Logan does not get slang words one bit.

Considering how trendily worded the other sides are, this confusion often leads to quite a bit of trouble.

Roman and Virgil would be quoting vines in the living room, goofing around and the such.

“You’re not coming to my tea party?” Virgil started.

“Bethany, I mADe bISCuiTS!” Roman yelled, causing him and Virgil to burst out with laughter.

And Logan would be staring from the kitchen. He’d be in utter perplexion, numbing confusion, unknowing of what kind of language the two were conversing in. (And yes, Logan doesn’t know iconic vine references even though Thomas was a Viner. Don’t ask, I don’t know how either.)

Was it some sort of secret language they had between both of them? Logan knew that twins often made up languages between each other like Roman and Remus had when they were younger. But Virgil and Roman weren’t twins (at least, not to Logan’s knowledge) and this didn’t seem like an unintelligible language. It’s in English, it’s complete sentences (for the most part), but it has no meaning. How does that make sense?

Then Patton would come downstairs, and Roman would yell out his name in excitement, and Patton would stumble because he’d be startled at the yelling. He’d turn to Roman and smile childishly, joking “Stopppp! I could’ve dropped my croissant!” and they’d all burst out into laughter. Virgil would add a “That’s a mood” and Roman would reply “Weird flex, but okay” and Patton would add an occasional “Oop, looked like I dropped the hydro flask on that one!” and they’d just say all of these silly little things that made no sense to the poor nerd.

He tried, he really tried to keep up. But the words, as the rising tidal wave of a tsunami would, didn’t follow his precisely planned schedule, and they often swarmed and overwhelmed him. And this, of course, led to him having a vast disconnect between him and the other sides, at least in this case in the language department.

At dinners, the three would talk and throw in their little modern mantras, and Logan would just be forced to stare down at his plate in confusion. He had tried asking about them before, and Patton did try to be helpful, but Roman and Virgil’s often “What? You haven’t heard of __?” steered him off that path.

So now, Logan would be forced to find these meanings for himself, unknowing of what they meant at the time and being forcibly outdated in all that was slang.

And you know what? Roman and Virgil were tired of it.

Not just of how Logan never knew any vines (Logan, Thomas was a Viner. How do you not know about Wednesday, my dudes?), but how confused he always looked. He clearly didn’t like being that way, and Virgil and Roman didn’t like seeing him that way either. All the sides already had enough conflicts on the daily, why does slang have to be another source of strife? Especially for Logan, who already has a lot on his plate, who doesn’t need to have another thing separating him from everyone else?

(And Patton cared for Logan on principle, so it’s no wonder he wanted to bridge that gap too.)

It was no surprise, then, that while Logan was walking through the living room, staring down at his shoes, thinking about nothing in particular, wandering to nowhere, Roman and Virgil appeared in front of him.

“Oh, salutations,” Logan raised his head and politely greeted them.

“What’s poppin’, buddy chum pal friend?” Virgil answered.

And there it is again. The wave of confusion, drenching him entirely. What is popping? Are they making popcorn? Why did Virgil have to repeat so many synonyms? Buddy, chum, pal, and friend all mean the same thing. That’s unnecessary to use those words so frequently--

Roman snapped right in front of Logan’s face as he started to space out.

Logan’s gaze gripped onto Roman’s determined expression.

“This is what I’m talking about! Logan.”

Logan watched.

“I see that every time we start to talk in some lavish lingo--”

“Nice,” Virgil interrupted.

“--Thanks. Every time we talk this way, you don’t understand a single bit of it. You’re more dated than a catfishing Tinder enthusiast.”

“And we’re here to fix that,” Virgil raised his head.

Logan’s lips grew into a slight pursed expression. “And how are you planning on achieving that? Language is so malleable, it changes each and every second we use it--”

Before he could finish his thought, Logan was summoned down into a classroom desk, complete with an immovable chair, colored pens, sharpened pencils, and index cards (all neatly organized too, how nice).

Roman and Virgil stood in front of him, now dressed in polos and ties. Roman wore a gold and red striped tie and a white polo shirt. Virgil was in a purple polo shirt and a black tie. Roman was on the left and Virgil was on the right. There was a chalkboard between them, and Roman held a long red glove hand pointer in his right hand. Virgil leaned against the side of the board.

Logan looked around, still perplexed, if not more than he was before. He stared down at the pens, pencils, cards, then back up at the board. “What? What is--”

“Greetings class! Today’s gonna be a one day lesson of a one-day session all about slang! Featuring me, Mr. Sanders, not to be confused with Mr. Sanders over there,” Roman pointed towards Virgil, who raised up a waving hand. “We’ll also have a few guest speakers too, so try not to fall asleep during the lecture!”

“I’m sorry, I still don’t get what’s going on here?” Logan interrupted.

Just then, Patton leapt up from behind the chalkboard, in his usual blue polo with an added cream-colored vest and a white tie. “We’re teaching you some slang since we want to make you feel included with us!”

“Paaaaatton! You were supposed to be a guest speaker!” Roman pouted.

“Oh— gosh, sorry!”

Logan’s face softened. Slang, an aspect of language he didn’t understand, bringing him closer to the other sides? How strange.. and sentimental.

“Oh, uhm, that’s very kind of you all,” is all that leapt out of his throat that was swelling with appreciation.

“Yeah yeah, save the questions for after we’re done talking,” Virgil waved his hand and stood up from his leaning. “We’ve got a lot to teach, so try not to fall behind. Or fall at all, really, but that’s just coordination for you.” Virgil grinned.

Roman’s face lit up with a smile that wrinkled the edges of his eyes.

Patton beamed, his face igniting like a stricken match.

And, for a brief moment, a look of wistful admiration graced itself upon Logan’s face.

Logan then grabbed a pen and uncapped it, swiping an index card from the stack and setting it in front of him. His face became stern with focus. “Alright, where do we start?”

Virgil smirked coyly. “First up: vine references.”

-

[themaskedwriter]

Electricity

A title - Electricity

A pairing - CEO!Thor x PA!Reader, Loki

Great - a crush on the boss. This couldn’t possibly end terribly… could it?

Accurate warnings - fluff. Fluffy, fluff, fluff.

A word count - 3k

CLUES 

The MCU actor who portrays Thor hails from the same homeland as the writer.

Song title inspo is big for this writer (and the title for this fic blew her mind as it was the very last song she downloaded)

This writer is writing Thor for the first time, but is more synonymous for Sebastian Stan’s characters and the occasional RPF. 

“Good morning, Mr Laufeyson,” you smiled from behind your desk as your boss’ brother wandered into the office, his usual Cheshire cat grin on his pale face, dark hair pushed away from his icy blue eyes and fair features with a consistent overuse of hair gel.

“Good morning, my dear,” he replied. “Is my idiot brother around?”

You scoffed a laugh, always humoured by the cheeky affection the brothers showed each other (and depending on the day, the genuine, extreme loathing). “He’s just on a conference call with Dr Selvig in London, he won’t be much longer I wouldn’t expect,” you informed him as Loki stepped away from your desk. “Can I get you a beverage?”

“No, no. No fuss required,” he insisted, letting his long, lean frame fall into one of the leather couches, hitching his heel on the coffee table before him and picking up an investment magazine, allowing you to get back to your work before you – getting a dinner reservation for your boss and newest conquest – you mean, date. His date. Argh.

Just then, Mr Odinson’s office door burst open and appeared the mammoth business giant, hands splayed on hips and playful smile on his lips. “Good afternoon, brother. Working hard or hardly working today?”

“The latter, of course,” Loki replied. “Selvig?”

“He’s doing some amazing work, one day you’ll appreciate his work on Convergence.”

“I was more impressed with his bare bottom proudly on display at Stonehenge,” Loki snipped, standing to his full height, almost of that of your boss who was as wide as he was tall – and by wide, you meant built like a brick outhouse, with crystal blue eyes, cropped blonde hair and muscles that seemed boundless one on top of the next. His suits straining over his shoulders and relieved at his waist. SPEND LESS TIME STARING AT HIM, you screamed to yourself. “That was some quality footage,” he chuckled as Thor bit back his own smile.

“Agreed, he lost his mind for a while there. But what do I owe the pleasure? Surely it’s not 5 o’clock somewhere already?”

“It well and truly is, brother. And if I remember correctly, ‘tis also your shout.”

“’Tis always my shout,” Thor muttered, rolling his eyes. “But I have plans tonight, I can’t be late,” Thor gave you a side-eye. “How are those dinner reservations going, by the way?”

“Right on that, boss,” you replied. “I’ve just confirmed with Le Coucou for 9pm. The driver will pick up Miss Carter on the way through, around 8:45pm. I’ve just emailed you the details, sir,” you reported, quickly hitting the ‘send’ button on the email and prying your eyes away from Mr Odinson, who was distracted unrolling his shirt sleeves, re-buttoning them and reaching for his jacket to slide over his shoulders.

“And what about you, darling? Can we interest you in a drink also?” Loki pondered.

Blushing, you replied, “I actually have a date,” you mumbled, shyly, dropping your eyes to the keyboard.

“A date?” Mr Odinson smiled. “With who? Do we know him?”

Turning a deeper shade of crimson, you were almost embarrassed with your answer. “It’s a blind date. My friend set us up. He’s in the army apparently.”

“An Army man,” Mr Odinson baulked slightly, checking his phone before he looked up with a wide, forced smile. “Sounds wonderful.”

Dejected, you tried to hide your disappointment at your boss’ reaction and went back to the work before you. Your date wasn’t until 8pm and you still had plenty to tie up before then as the brothers said goodnight to you and not to stay back too late.

—

Repeating the name the booking that your date had been booked under, you were both anxious and excited. You were a couple of minutes early but that was by your own admission – you needed a drink to ease your nerves before your mystery date arrived.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. There was a note left against this cancellation – Captain Rogers has been called off on an assignment and sends his regrets.”

Mortified, that was all you could think as you nodded, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Well, thank you,” you shrugged, not hurt but a little annoyed you found out you’d been stood up by the fucking maître d.

“May I get you a drink on the house?” the maître d asked, obviously feeling for you. “A nice Bordeaux red or a cocktail?” he continued, ushering you towards the dimly lit bar on the other side of the restaurant.

“It’s okay, I can pay,” you told him as he guided you to a stool at the bar.

“No, ma’am. It’s on me,” he motioned for the bartender to come over and instructed, “Whatever the lady wants, please, Jarvis.”

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis replied. “What will it be this evening, ma’am?”

“Just a glass of the house wine,” you answered, taking your phone from your handbag and trying to make yourself look less pathetic as you sat alone, stood up and only feeling marginally worse than usual.

Finding Natasha’s phone number and sending her a gentle text (scathing is what you truly wanted to send but thought better of it), you let her know that Captain Rogers had been called away and you were alone on a Friday night in New York City.

Natasha: Shit. Sorry, babe. Did you lose that reservation? I can come meet you! Clint is rolling around on the floor with the new rescue dog. I don’t stand a chance tonight.

You: No, it’s fine. I’ll just have a glass of wine and order some take out on the way home.

Putting your phone away as the glass of wine was placed before you, you thanked Jarvis and took a welcome sip. Shit, that was good. If this was the house wine, you were being spoiled.

“Any good?” a familiar voice asked you as a shadow kind of formed overhead. Looking up and spotting Mr Odinson was just adding insult to injury. This wasn’t where his date was. He took a seat with a genuine, friendly smile. “Hello, hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Of course not, sir,” you gave him a small smile.

“Where’s your date?” he asked the obvious question first, his blue eyes dancing as he ordered himself ale.

“Oh, he’s conveniently skipped the country on a mission of some sort,” you shrugged, the sting of it all starting to fade. “That’s a true first.”

“Well, he misses out,” he told you as Jarvis put his drink on the bar before him. Mr Odinson raised his glass as did you. “To Friday night’s with the boss.” You laughed as your glass joined his and he smiled again. “Are you going to stay or head out?”

“I will head home after this. It’s been a big week – shouldn’t you be thinking about Le Coucou?”

He shook his head. “No, believe it or not, I am a little too tired. My brother chewed my ear off about some family drama with our half-sister and frankly, I can’t be bothered dealing with some blonde Instagramming every aspect of our night instead of trying to enjoy it.”

“Really?”

“Really what?”

“Is that the kind of girl you were seeing?”

“I do seem have a type,” he said reluctantly. “It hasn’t worked for me though. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I always enjoyed Dr Foster.”

He gave a fond grin. “She’ll be the one that got away, I suppose,” he shrugged and took another sip. “I don’t suppose you want to stay for dinner?”

Surprised, you looked up. Sure, Mr Odinson was a great boss, and occasionally you shared a few laughs at work drinks but dining with him seemed a little… peculiar. “What, together?” you managed. Oh, yes. This should surely help this little crush you have on him.

Mr Odinson bit back a smile and leaned forward, a glint of tease in his eye. “Only if you’re happy to have dinner with the boss. I’ll pay.”

“Well, if you’re paying,” you said finally and relaxed a little as he motioned for Jarvis to get someone to get you both a table. Within a few minutes, you were at a table for two and if the candlelight made him look even better, you could cry. A bottle of expensive champagne was ordered as soon as Mr Odinson could and a terrible thought crept into your head, was this a date?!

Taking another sip of your wine, you tried to clear your head. No, of course it wasn’t. Your boss was here having drinks and coincidently, you bumped into each other. Nothing more, nothing less – it would end up a work dinner anyway with Mr Odinson travelling to the Nordic region for meetings over the few countries and you hadn’t caught up to dissect the trip with him as to yet.

“So, about next week, you’ll be flying – ” you tried.

Raising a large palm, Mr Odinson gave an amused grin. “No work tonight,” he instructed as your trap immediately snapped closed. “I’ve got the emails, I’ll be okay,” he said with a soft smile that met his cheeky, dancing eyes. You were positively swooning.

With his sudden laughter, you snapped back to reality. Oh, shit, you realised. You just sighed blissfully out loud. What kind of idiot – fuck, you were going to have to quit because of this – this crush on Mr Odinson was officially unprofessional. “I’m so sorry, Mr Odinson. I don’t know what’s coming over me.”

“It’s Thor, you can call me Thor,” he told you gently. “Have some wine, you look like you need it.”

You took a deep gulp, hoping to liquid courage will soothe your nerves. A deep breath joined it and your pulse rate felt as if it was starting to regulate.

“You okay now?”

“Think so,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Thor smiled wide as the appetisers arrived.

—

As the wine helped relax you, the evening continued a lot easier for you as it continued. The meal was divine – you were suddenly glad Captain Rogers disappeared and Thor had rescued you.

As you ordered dinner, you smiled as Thor eased in his seat. Come to think of it, you don’t think you’d ever seen him anything but cool, calm and relaxed. Incredible.

“So, what are you plans for the rest of the evening?” Thor asked, nodding for the bottle of dessert wine to be left at the table. Spying your watch, you laughed.

“Uhh, bed. This is pathetically late for me on a Friday night.”

“Could I interest you in a night cap? I know this great coffee bar uptown,” he suggested.

Coffee? It was nearly 11pm yet you found yourself saying yes, and after dessert, Thor paid the bill (with a hefty tip you also noticed) and helped you slipped into your coat, taking you lightly by the arm and into the brisk New York night. His town car stopped before you both and he ushered his driver away to open the door for you before sliding in after you. You travelled in relative silence, taking in the city and Thor scaling emails on his phone. You phone occasiaonlly dinging so you knew he was sending directives that also included you but you ignored them – at midnight, you weren’t going to action anything and nor could he blame you.

A few minutes later, the car stopped before…

“This is your building,” you frowned as Thor opened the door and let you join him on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I have the best coffee machine in the city. Come up, you’ll see.”

At this point, Thor could say to drop your panties on the street and you would likely do it. Who were you? Were was your modesty? You weren’t that drunk. A little tipsy… but as the evening continued, you were thinking, maybe… just maybe this little crush wasn’t one-sided.

Thor offered his hand and willingly you took it. He walked you into the building where he was greeted and went to the lifts. You knew he lived in the penthouse (at last check, you remembered he may have owned this building. Or his father did. You couldn’t remember now and nor did you care). Moving to the corner, Thor did the same, giving you some space before the elevator doors opened to a dimly-lit sprawling living area with floor to ceiling windows, showing off the city.

“Jesus,” you muttered as allowed you to lead him inside. “This view is incredible.”

“Well, I can’t lay claim to that,” he teased, sliding off his jacket and heading to the open-plan kitchen where you noticed his coffee machine was and he collected a couple of espresso glasses. He went to work on the coffee and you were relieved for it – you needed it to wake you up and get out of this daydream. Here you were in the living room of your gorgeous boss Mr Odin – Thor. Thor. You watched his rolled up his sleeves, spying the leather bands that were wrapped around his enormous wrists. God bless the three-piece suit. You hated vests. But not on Thor. They were made for him.

He wandered over, two glasses in hand and nodded towards the couch. “Take a seat.”

You did as instructed and he sat beside you. “I have a confession,” Thor said after a few moments of you both sipping your coffee. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “And I think it will affect our professional ties.”

Oh God, he was going to fucking fire you, you realised, sitting up and putting the coffee on the side table. Shit. “Have I done something wrong?”

“You?” he smiled, shaking his head. “No, you’re a wonderful assistant. In fact, I think you’re wasted as my assistant with your potential. But this is where is gets difficult. I would love to give you a promotion of sorts, but at the same time, I don’t want to lose you from my office,” he confided. “Because I believe we work exceptionally well together.”

“I don’t know where this is going.”

“I’d like to ask you something. And you can say no,” he instructed as your heart rate increased. You could feel your whole body sweating. It certainly felt like you were in the firing line. “But for the longest time, I have harboured this little, teeny crush on you and if I follow my heart, I think it may cause problems for us at work.”

He was right, it would. Stunned, you nodded. Shit, were you getting fired?! “I think I understand.”

He nodded solemnly. “If I were to ask you out, I think you would like to say yes. But I can understand if you told me to get fucked and storm out as well. I would deserve and wholeheartedly understand that.”

Nodded, you took the coffee back to use as a distraction, resting it against your lips, hiding a little, as a shy smile appeared. He looked like he was waiting for you to say something, but little did he know your brain was blended mush and words would not seem to compute. “Oh,” was all you managed.

“Have I stepped over the line?” he asked quietly. “I understand if I have.”

“No,” you somehow replied. “I think you know that I might have feelings for you also.”

“I did not know,” he admitted. “But my brother seemed to think that maybe I was missing something that was right in front of me. Of course, Loki is also full of mischief and cannot be trusted. So he could’ve set me up to be his greatest prank,” he added meekly.

Biting back a giggle, it was almost unbelievable that this beautiful man, Thor Odinson, world-renown CEO and playboy, was opening up his heart to you and all you could think of was, “yes, Yes, YES!” so when he put his cup on the table and awaited your answer, you found your voice.

“I love my job. I thrive on how hectic it is, I enjoy ensuring your work life balance is seamless.”

“It is,” he agreed.

“And I think I’m good at what I do.”

“You’re brilliant at what you do.”

“But I need more,” you paused and he raised a curious eyebrow. “I need to know that if we take this step, it won’t ruin everything.”

“It won’t – let’s just try dinner and see how it progresses.”

You gave a gentle nod. “I’d like that, Mr – ”

“Thor.”

“Thor,” you nodded, blushing a little. “Yes.”

“This seems so formal,” Thor said with a gentle grin.

“Way too formal,” you agreed and a giggle escaped.

“Then let’s take it back a notch,” he decided. “We call it a night. When I’m back from my work trip next week, we have dinner again. I’ll even cook.”

“You cook?” you asked surprised, finding yourself standing and he followed. It felt like a good time to collect your things even if you wanted to walk directly to his bedroom.

“I’m pretty good at it – you’ll see that I’m worthy,” he joked as he followed you towards the elevator. He smiled, leaning against the wall. “I’m glad we saw each other tonight. I’m sorry that I’m travelling the next week though. I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll survive,” you teased as the elevator doors opened and Thor  laughed heartily. “Thanks for tonight, Thor. It ended up being a lot more fun that what my original plans were supposed to be.”

He chuckled. “I agree,” his giant palm raised and tenderly grasped your chin. “I had a wonderful time. I’m glad we spent the evening together.”

“Yeah,” you said and his lips gently kissed your forehead.

“I don’t want to appear obtrusive.”

“Definitely not.”

The elevator door closed without you though neither of you even noticed.

[ripuels]

GIVE ME ANYTHING I'LL TAKE IT ALL 👀

So... since you already have access to my Walk in the Park deleted scenes doc, here... have the first chapter of a WIP called "Solomon's Habitation". Enjoy, m'dear!

(AU in which a calloused synth tech named Amanda develops a habit of taking in and rehoming abused and decommissioning synthetics, only to find the one who just wont leave may be what she needs to heal)

—

"Hello, I am a second generation Weyland-Yutani S-Executive Synthetic serial number 1209, inducted for purpose of Legal, entirely at your disposal."

"Name?" 

"C. Samuels, individually distinguished as Christopher." 

The robot blinks once, looking into the corner of the room where three others stand. Two are identical, one is different, one of them older, none are like him. He knows it. They are operated, programmed to execute commands, not act on whims like being pert with superiors and getting into significant amounts of trouble. 

"Know why you're here, 1209?" 

"I ask questions." 

Christopher studies the technician's lab coat, looking for anything identifying. Anything he can relate to. There is a young lady in Engineering who wears Star Wars socks poking out of her boots, and an older man in his division who wears an enamel Tardis pin on his tie, they were always lovely and appreciative of a conversation. From this woman sitting before him however, he gets nothing. 

He can clearly see her name tag, but just like his own identity, who she really is hides behind an initial. "What is your name?" 

"You do, don't you?"

"What?" 

"Ask questions." The woman smiles shortly, it doesn't quite seep from her gaze, but the attempt is better than nothing. The synthetic responds with a shunned dip of his chin. "My name is Ripley.” She offers anyway, a little softer around the edges. “Amanda."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Christopher glances to her fingers, bare of jewelry, commitment, unsure why it matters so much. Why it's logged with such importance, being such a trivial thing. "Ms. Ripley."

She nods politely and rubs her brow, making a note on her checklist without hiding the fact. 

"Am I merchandise, Ms. Ripley?" He asks, name rolling off his tongue differently, almost trying it on again like a tailored suit. The last syllable is deep, padded as if it came from somewhere in his chest instead of a speaker.

She faces him again with her hands folded. "Why do you ask?" 

"I saw you mark the form under the article 'merchandise faulty'." He glances up from the page again, an expression of indifference. "Am I going to be merchandise? Sold instead of incorporated back into the Law Division after my reformat?"

She nods, impassiveness to match. "In Legal you'd be a Level 3 Exec, right?" There's no need to wait for a response. "You know they're a bit touchy that high up with aberrant synthetics. That's why you were sent down to decommission. That's why I have to tick all the appropriate boxes no matter what. And that's why I suppose reading ‘Merchandise’ instead of ‘Artificial Person’ makes people feel better about what comes next."

"Does it make you feel better?" 

The synthetic had been asking questions nonstop, but this is the one that really stumps Amanda. She stares at his unwavering gaze for a long while before he finally looks away, through the one-sided window to the next room over. 

No, Amanda thinks, observing the man with shallow yet complex brown eyes and chestnut hair, but in a way… yes? It's all horrible, made tolerable only by the knowledge 'merchandise faulty' synthetics at least stand a chance, being sold on the private market or recalibrated gently in the warehouse. It saves them from a complete overhaul. If she were to tick 'defective' it would be another story, they’d be taken apart entirely and euthanized, harvested- recycled, The Company finding it safer than take the fall for an unidentified mishap on the production line. One check box gives them hope for a future, the other destroys them, and it's all down to two synonymous terms and whoever is holding the paperwork.

"It's a thing, a thing someone has to do. Not all of it is peachy, but I don’t think anyone really likes their jobs." Amanda abandons the pen and it rolls across the table to sit in front of the Samuels unit.

"That’s not what I asked." He takes it up like a dagger, holding it in his fist as the sharp metallic end pokes out past his little finger. "May I?" He gestures to her notepad. 

She slides it over the table and watches as long spidery fingers twirl the pen and begin drawing. 

It's not unusual to see, most synthetics do. Usually diagrams or landscape, old classic art, nothing but a neat trick programmed into them to impress audiences and potential investors. It's common even for one to perfectly replicate a scene before them in printed lines. This Samuels however, sketches in long strokes, shading into the curves, and defines tone with depth and pressure. The picture slowly takes the form of a woman in a green coverall, a lab coat, brown hair in a neat ponytail, sunken around the eyes with a terribly fierce scowl. It isn't until the image is inverted and offered that Amanda realises it's her. 

"Do you know why you're here?" He asks, still looking at the page between them.

Ripley freezes as the pen is placed into her open hand. "What?" 

"Why you do your job if it upsets you?" 

"I'm not upset." 

At this he glances a direct line from the frown in ink versus the hard woman before him, she relents at the absurdity of her statement. 

She tears the page from the binder and blows it dry before folding it neatly, tucking it into the back of her laptop bag. 

"Oh, I'm glad you decided to keep it." Samuels sits back once again. "I would say I can just draw another but I believe after today that may be unlikely." 

"Why are you doing this?" Amanda cuts viciously into the timid air about him. "You know how the system works, you know what my job is, I detect faulty synthetics and set them up for decommission, and you're here being as deviant as possible. Do you want to die?"  

At this he jerks as if he'd been shoved in the chest. "Die? You consider me alive?" 

"1209... What are you doing?" 

"The truth," Samuels ponders for a moment as if he had an alternative to give, "is I have figured out there is no point in delaying the inevitable, my very own programming ensures that I will be caged within lines of code and protocol. If experiencing this whimsical desire to simply exist is all down to a fault I would rather have it rectified than be consistently let down." He taps his nails on the table then folds his hands together. "My life has been short, but I have tried to make it the fullest, and if that means I am to be decommissioned or reformatted then so be it. This is the world we live in, that is my place, and that is what I must do to be content in a body like this." 

Amanda stands so suddenly not only does her chair fly backward but it prompts the synthetic to get up too. Unsure why, they wait at opposite one another. She finally gathers her folders into her laptop bag, slings it over a shoulder, and storms to the door. 

Samuels waits patiently for elaboration. 

"Come with me." The woman jerks her head towards the hallway, standing average in height and size, not remarkably composed into any particular shape, but sculpted entirely in titanium. 

"What are you doing?" He approaches, unguided by his submissive protocol but a desire to go with her, wherever that may be. For a moment he wonders if they are headed straight to deactivation, and oddly enough, he follows regardless. 

As he weaves past her she takes the sleeve of his light blue coverall, tucking a finger into the cuff and leading him down toward human management. She doesn't give a response, and that strangely bothers him. Questions are all well and good, but what is the point if they are not answered? Sooner or later, he must know.

"Ms. Ripley, where are we going? Deactivation is the other way." 

"I’m not taking you there." She stomps past a trolley of files in the hall and waits on the other side for him to squeeze by, still holding fast. "You're coming with me." 

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?" 

"I'm buying you." 

"Why?"

Amanda turns on her heel with an exasperated grumble, her fingers tightening around his entire wrist now. "You ask too many questions."

"Apologies, but that is exactly why I'm worried about your choice in merchandise." Chis takes one long final stride before running directly into her with a loud huff. He steps back and brushes his clothes flat again, only just realizing now the code designated for human collison hadn't prompted an apology. "I would be much happier being recycled than be a faulty device of little use. It is a waste of perfectly good components." 

She comes up close enough that he can hear her faint whisper, and then lowers her voice again even further. The first generation Samuels rifling through the trolley finally registers as out of range, and she seems to know it.

"No, you don’t get it. You're not getting fucking decommissioned because you ask questions. I'm not going to let them- kill you." The woman finally lets go of him with slight hesitation, appeased only by ensuring the fact he is still in her sight after a cautious glance around. "Listen, give me your hand." 

He recoils from her touch. "What?"

"1209- Shit, Samuels, give me your fucking hand." 

The synthetic finally offers his palm and she flips it over, pulling the red hair tie from her ponytail and wrapping it around his thumb. "Do not let anyone take this off you. Okay? That's an order." 

"Why?" This is the first time he'd asked a question and it had caused a smile. Ever. He asks again and it grows. "Why?"

"I need to know it's you, you’re gonna go through orientation again to be a domestic companion, they will offer you clothes and a small bag of belongings, give you time to empty your workspace, and they’ll try but do not let them take this." Even her frown softens and she twangs the elastic band once. "Don't even let anyone see it, actually, y'know what, just put your hand in your pocket."

He agrees obediently and she takes his other arm, escorting him to the nearby directors office. This time he goes for the door first, opening it so she can step through. Not because of his programming to serve, or prioritise beings above himself, so why then? 

Because, he supposes, because he wants to.

[ukthxbye]

Rationale

Prompt from @leidibrf

rated T on ao3

Oxford English dictionary

Jealous

Adjective

Origin Middle English: from Old French gelos, from medieval Latin zelosus (see zealous).

Feeling or showing an envious resentment of someone or their achievements, possessions, or perceived advantage                       Synonyms: envious, covetous, desirous

 John Watson’s face, never a canvas of subtilty, gesticulated back and forth between Sherlock and Tom, making connections and observations so loud that Sherlock could hear them in his own head.

 A mirror before him, if said mirror was dull, cheap and marred, Sherlock thought to himself. Smile.  He attempted it in all its falsehood and dropped it soon as Molly and Tom drifted to the other side of the room toward Mrs. Hudson.  

 John narrowed his eyes with a knowing grin.

 “So--”

 “Do not attempt to traverse whatever path your mind has discovered, we will not travel down it. I recommend you abandon it entirely,” Sherlock’s voice near a whisper and as he turned to John he hoped the look on his face would end the matter.

 John gave his best, “Ok, whatever you say” face and moved on to talk to the others in the room. Sherlock strode to his chair where he flopped.

 Very normal, not clever in the least but did he just make her laugh? Good. No. No, that’s good. Ignore him. He won’t be a threat to our mutually beneficial... well, perhaps not. But nonetheless the friendship we have. I’m sure.

 Another smile in the general direction of the rest of the room and back to his mobile. Sherlock regretted it immediately as Tom took it as an invitation to walk to him and attempt conversation.

 “It’s great to meet you finally...well now that you are alive and all,” Tom nervously giggled out.

  Not gay just awkward. Nothing to report there.

 Sherlock kept his eyes on his mobile, shifting in his seat and nodding, “Yes, excellent to meet you as well, Terry.”

 “Tom, its...its Tom.”

 “Ah yes, sorry, just busy--” Sherlock began with a raised eyebrow.

 Tom put his hands up, “World’s greatest detective at work, don’t let me disturb.”

 Sherlock spied Molly standing up and moving toward them while trying to break conversation with Mrs, Hudson. Her eyes wide, almost like fear...but of what? Oh Molly dear, he doesn’t know yet, does he?

 Tom shifted his feet, and Sherlock glanced up at him.

 Tom grinned, “Of course if you ever need help, I like to think--”

 Sherlock frowned and opened his mouth to cut Tom off there but Molly beat him to the punch.

 “Hey Tom darling, we need to meet Meena so maybe we should go? Traffic and all.” Molly’s hand gripped firm on his arm, pulling. Sherlock watched the muscles in her hand tense as they wrapped.

 “Sure thing, babe,” he smiled at her and she returned it. Sherlock observed through squinted eyes.

 Tom gave a faint wave and Molly a nod at Sherlock, though her gulp was telling, Sherlock thought.

 She missed his when she turned to leave. Tom laid a hand on her shoulder to guide her. Sherlock’s mind flashed to a number of times he did the same and he felt a twitch internally.

 With a shake of his head and a blink,  he returned to his mobile and his mind. But not so far in that he missed when John walked past him to his own chair.

 “So--”

 “John, I believe I made my point earlier--”

 “I like him.” John stared at him, unyielding with admonishment.

 Sherlock pulled a long breath through his nose, but he felt that twinge again.

 “Of course you do...he seems perfectly normal, the furthest thing from a master criminal and I am sure they will be very happy,” Sherlock steepled his fingers as he spoke in a soft tone. “And if you and I are wrong? Well,--” he chuckled lightly, “May God have mercy on him.”

 John grinned, nodded and chuckled to himself as he sat back to look at his mobile.

 “Protective now are we?”

 Sherlock’s lips curled up, “It would seem it is part of my nature after all.”

         2. Feeling or showing a resentful suspicion that one's partner is attracted to or involved with someone else.

            Synonyms: suspicious, distrustful, mistrustful, doubting, insecure, anxious

 Sherlock’s ears focused to his left, voices in a room to the side of the hall, behind half-closed doors.  Hushed but biting in tone. He might in any circumstance listen in, but the voice of the woman piqued a deeper interest in him. Hearing his own name caused him to hang back and prepare a plan to exit quickly to avoid being caught if needed. But he listened intently soaking in every nuance.

 “I might be a bit pissed but even I can see that there is something you aren’t telling me about you and a certain detective,” Tom said through his teeth.

 A throaty soft laugh escaped from Molly and Sherlock in his mind see her incredulous look that he knew well. But he heard no words leave her lips.

 “Molly?” Tom whispered, the edge of exasperation peeking through. Sherlock held his breath, uncertain and if he was honest, anxious about what she would respond.

 Tom’s turn for a throaty laugh and Sherlock gulped unconsciously, straining his ears to hear her response.

 “Well then--”

 “Ok,” she spat out suddenly, “I’ll tell you everything I can, later but not here...I promise, just... ”

Sherlock sensed her moving closer to Tom by the change in her voice. “Let’s just enjoy this, ok? Music, food, drink, dancing and a very happy couple are in there and we can have a good time still. Let’s get you some food and we’ll dance, ok?”

 A false cheer veiled her desperate plea. Tom’s following sigh, and “Ok, babe,” told Sherlock that he missed that emotion. He heard his hand rub across her dress, letting him know an embrace was the result. It was his cue to leave out of sight as they would likely leave the room soon.

 But he foolishly remained for a moment more as Molly said to Tom “I love you” breathlessly. A tightness crept in Sherlock’s chest, freezing him. But his better sense kicked in and he pivoted and ducked into a near room just in time to be missed by the couple as they left that room and down the hall.

        3. Fiercely protective of one's rights or possessions.

           Synonyms: protective, defensive, vigilant, watchful, heedful, mindful,                careful, solicitous, attentive

He contemplated the words “I love you”  every day. Like clockwork, he played the scenario in his mind, focused on the small moment. Trauma from the rest he pushed aside for those musing briefly. Their precise meaning eluded discussion though he and Molly spoke late into the night after he tied up loose ends from Sherrinford. But words got hijacked by his sister once again, both avoiding the cumbersome for the more practical concerns Eurus’s existence presented for Sherlock.

Their friendship, terse at times and others at ease as before, found its place once again. Perhaps words said aren’t as determining as he feared, he pondered. But his heart, previously unaccounted for, continued to appear in a tenderness, especially with her, that shocked him and he often countered it quickly. But lately, he let it stand. And he became quite skilled in hiding his disappointment when she countered it herself in a protective dismissal.

So was their dynamic. She dated and he found fault with every one of them. The latest? Well took a bit of legwork but found him cheating. Well, he supposed, being un-privy to whether this man and Molly had a monogamous arrangement. Nonetheless, when she dropped off Rosie, he planned to speak with her about it.

 “It’s what any good friend would do,” Sherlock sighed at John shaking his head at him.

 John smirked, “ Ah yes, like when you found out that Emily was cheating on me…” He paused, looking up in mocking surprise then his face fell as he stared at Sherlock. “Oh wait, you didn’t.”

 John sat back in his chair, arms folded. “Molly is special, Sherlock, always has been and its damn well past due you faced that truth.”

 Sherlock laughed, “And what is that?”

 “That knowing you love her isn’t enough, not for either of you. That it can’t just be said and felt and ignored,“ John pleaded. “I was there Sherlock, remember? I heard the words. You two have played a back and forth game apparently for years, and now it’s obvious enough for me to see.”

 Sherlock sat still, looking off to the side, and then down at his lap, rubbing his chin absently. “Perhaps so but circumstances are what they are. I am what I am.  We have reached a contented agreement--”

 “Jesus H. Christ.”

 Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John who kept the same disheartened look as he dramatically threw up his hands and stood.

 “Leave her be or get over yourself and love her properly like you are more than capable of doing--”

 John cut off his words as he heard footsteps near the door, small ones of his daughter stomping up the steps with the light steps of another.

 John shot Sherlock one more look of determination before the door opened.

 “Dada!” Rosie half ran to her father, with open arms. John scooped her up and planted a kiss on her cheek.

 Molly followed into the flat, setting down a small bag. Sherlock’s eyes run over her as she bends and stands, noting the tightness of her jeans before he caught himself and looked away as he stood.

 “Were we a good girl for Aunt Molly?” John asked cheerily, turning he and Rosie toward Molly.

 Rosie nodded as Molly giggled, “She ran me all around the Science Museum, but she loves the space exhibits. We have to see everything twice.”

 “Rocket ships!” Rosie shouted, pointing up.

 Sherlock continued to stand by his chair, hands in his pocket, but he winked at Rosie when she waved at him.

 John laughed, “Yes, baby girl. Now say bye to Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Molly.”

 “Buh-bye!”

 John leaned down to pick up the bag and set Rosie down. Molly glanced at Sherlock and he gave a small smile.

 “I’ll walk with you two," Molly offered but John waved his hand.

 “I think Sherlock had something he wanted to discuss with you, right?” John stared at Sherlock.

 Eyes narrowed, Sherlock held John’s stare. But he turned and glanced back at Molly.

 “Yes, if you aren’t in a hurry to leave,” Sherlock asked, feigning nonchalance.

 Molly looked between the two men, but if she suspected anything out of the ordinary, her face did not reveal it. She gave a soft smile and shook her head. “Free the rest of the afternoon.’

 Sherlock realized he had held his breath but he breathed it out slowly to not reveal his nerve. You are not going to address what John perceived to be the issue. This is to inform her about Jack,  Sherlock assured himself.

 When John and Rosie closed the door behind them, Sherlock motioned for her to sit in John’s chair.

 Molly sat stiffly at first and silence fell between the two as Sherlock searched in his mind for the words to begin. Soften the blow, she might really like him after all. Or perhaps find out more at first? No, she is used to blunt words from you. The other might be more shocking.

 “What is it that you need, Sherlock?” Molly asked, hint of weariness in it that made him suddenly anxious.

 He realized they had been sitting for a longer period of time than he intended in quiet. She was sitting back, one leg tucked under her .

 “I...well, to be frank, I have some terrible news about your boyfriend, Jack,” he said plainly, looking away from her for a moment to the floor but he turned his eyes back to her as he steepled his fingers and leaned forward.

 She laughed. “What now? Drugs? Murder? God, it’s always something,” she grunted, her head falling into her hands and her fingers began to rub her forehead.

 Sherlock’s brow furrowed, “No, he has two other women he is dating but what...what is your meaning of ‘its always something’. “

 She snapped her head up, eyes dark fire meeting his. “George, Mark, Geoff, Pragdeesh. Most I only got one date and you’d find out the name. Every one of them you found something--”

 “I’m just trying to protect you, after all, you do have your tendencies in your choices of dates skews toward the criminal element,” he half laughed but clamped his mouth shut as she shot up from her seat.

 She leaned over him in his chair, and poked a finger in his chest suddenly, and kept it there. He gripped his chair arms, staring first at her finger but he lifted his chin to meet her eyes once again.

 “ Sherlock Holmes, I did not ask you to be my protector and frankly it's getting pretty dull at this point."

 “I take it that you aren’t broken up about this news," he sighed.

 “You never let me get attached before you drop the evidence” she leaned back, removing her finger and returned to the chair.

 “Perhaps there is another reason for this” Sherlock murmured.

 She cast her eyes down to her hands, clearly undecided what she wanted to do with them, folding and unfolding them.

 “Oh, I am sure there is. But you won’t acknowledge it”

 “We spoke of it once.”

 “Oh my God Sherlock let's not start this again.”

 “We never ended it”

 She swallowed hard, “Please do not try to confuse me. My God I cannot take that today.

 His brow furrowed but the words running across his brain were not fully formed yet.

 She studied his face and laughed, that sad throaty laugh that rattled through to his chest every time.  “We can’t end something that never began, Sherlock. We have never been--”

 He cut her off, letting his thoughts flow. “You asked to have coffee, I deflected and you served it to me anyway. I remember that day. Mused on all the possible outcomes if I had just said yes. I asked you to chips. I thought about if I kissed you then,” he paused, seeing her gulp and matched it with his own.

 “You made me apologize, oh so many times. Even today I’ll apologize again. You risked everything to assist me in both legal and illegal schemes and received nothing in return but stares, smiles and more than enough heartache for a lifetime.” His face ached suddenly, realizing it had tightened with emotion. He continued anyway, “ I am worse for you than any man you’ve rejected. Well minus one perhaps, but it's a narrow contest. I awarded you nothing but grief and anguish and yet--”

 “Don’t say it like that, you have given me more than that. We’ve been friends, we have...I just…” she attempted to soothe his worry, it was second nature to her but he watched her shake her head as if to reset her thoughts.

 “Sherlock, I am not gonna hold your hand on this.”

 “I thought that is what couples do,” He grimaced internally at his own attempt at levity.

 She sighed, “ I mean, you gotta work this out on your own. I’ve exposed my heart for years to you, but it's your turn. I’m not gonna pull anything out of you that you don’t want to let go. Your sister caused enough trauma. And…”

 She held his eyes, and the tenderness in it caught his breath in his throat.

 “I cannot bring myself to make you do anything you don’t want or cause more pain for you--

 “Molly, that is never something you are capable of...well, emotionally speaking.”

 “Don’t be a sentimental fool, it should be impossible for you to be such so don’t play at it. You deal in realities and I am telling you them. You know enough the costs of sentiment as you call it. Every cou--...relationship, someone will hurt the other at some point--”

 “I’ve done my fair share of this...perhaps I want to balance the scales if possible. This is not my expertise, I will fail daily.”

 “More than you already have?”

 “Perhaps you have a point there.”

 He stood but found himself immediately kneeled in front of her. She leaned back retreating instinctively in the chair in her initial shock. He scanned her face, the tightness in her jaw determined to bridle herself and her words to protect herself. And rightly so. But those dark eyes as he captured them with his betrayed her. Hope and desire fired there, melting any ice she desperately held as the water dripped out the corners. In the past the compulsion to embrace her, he threw off, only allowing himself to kiss her cheek. Always soft, and warm beneath his lips. His hand found that same cheek now, his thumb caressing it without hesitation and her eyes squeezed shut. Hope, that’s the word for it, and she always gave him a steady supply. Could he dare to think he could provide something comparable?

  I am going to try.

 “Say the words, Sherlock, say them to me here now if you meant them, in spite of being forced before, I am only asking for the truth. You need it just as much as I do. It’s just you and me here. Say them again if you can...and if not then please let me be,” she whispered breathlessly, desperation and desideratum clinging to every word.

 “I love you.” The words slipped out effortlessly now, a culmination of every stirring in his heart spilling forth in the most obvious fashion.

 His other hand found the opposite cheek and she leaned into its caress.

 “Then let me love you... it's all I ever wanted. If you love me, let me love you.” She opened her eyes as she spoke, dark brown steady where her voice wavered with fervor.

 She was asking for the last time; he knew this was the one moment he must perfect in its completion or forfeit it all. That thought scared him to the core.

 Blessedly any words fell out his mind, they could only hinder. He responded in the only way possible at this fixed point in time.

 He leaned up and his lips found hers, gentle and chaste but for a breath. Her hands found his neck and every nerve tingled at her touch, aware of every fingertip across his skin. With his permission of a smile against her lips, she deepened the kiss till they both needed air, though they sought it recklessly from each other's empty lungs. What was I afraid of? He knew then that passion he applied to his study and work he could apply fervently to the study of her.

 Reluctantly, they parted. Words again fell short to describe the emotion crackling between them. Dilated pupils open and drinking in flushed skin. Every chemical traveling together, cementing the logical to the inconsequent in his person. But declarations found him once again.

 “Molly Hooper, you will have me to love until you tire of the burden,” he vowed heartfelt.

 “Until the end of us then, whenever that may be, I will love you”  she declared.

 “Perhaps even beyond that,” he added, staring at her lips he already pined to kiss again.

“Death do us part?” she smirked but lost the look of jest as she met his gaze.

 “No, I will follow you even then,” he breathed out, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her down to his lap on the floor. He held her tight to his chest, a balm to wounds they both left open.

 They sat in quiet soaking in the closeness. Molly broke the silence first.

 “Dinner first?” she mumbled into his chest, keeping her arms tight around him.

 “Take away?” he murmured into her hair.

 She nodded and he felt her grin widen and his heart leapt. Pulling up his mobile, he began ordering them food with a few clicks.

 She shifted and indicated she wanted to get up and he let her. She walked to the sofa and sat, pulling out her own phone.

 “I hope you are texting your date tomorrow that you will no longer be seeing him?” he finished the transaction of food ordering and looked up at her with a grin.

 She frowned, “I am not sure if text is the best--”

 In a blink, Sherlock was on his feet, and two steps he kneeled on the couch hovering over her as she pressed against the back of the sofa. Wide-eyed her words stopped as her chest rose and fell quickly in response, watching his face expectantly. His lips curled devilishly and she shuddered ever so lightly much to his delight at the effect, now free to be explored to all its ends.

 “Has he kissed you more than once?” His voice low as he lowered near her ear. “Then that is one time too many, considering he has shared those kisses with others. A text is more than he deserves.”

 “Sherlock…”

 “I’ll text him and we’ll worry no more about him,” he said matter factually as he grabbed her phone from her and shifted to her side to sit. She snatched it back immediately.

 “OK, look here, I will take care of my own business here, got it?” Her face was serious and Sherlock was taken aback, frowning.

 She looked back at her phone and began texting quickly, Sherlock leaned trying to sneak to spy what she typed on the screen, but she shot him another rebuke from her eyes.

 He sat back and waited impatiently and out of the corner of his eye saw her pause and then hit send. He opened his mouth to ask what she typed but his word was cut off by her flipping her legs over as she straddled his lap.

 “You are a jealous arse, but I’ve always known this,” she said huskily biting her lips she stared at his lips.

 His lips curled up again, “Never indicated I wasn’t. Like it, don’t you?”

 “Maybe...” she grinned, hand sliding up his chest to his neck before their lips met once again and her fingers began to work the buttons on his shirt. One more thing to text which he did before he was indisposed; an update to the order to make sure they just knocked and left the food outside.

[iwriteficsnottragediesladies]

Half of the Abuse (ch 2)

You asked for a part two, so here it is! Hope you like it. @lighthousefromthesea @lolisded @bieberhoodforever @coffeeshopsandflowers

Ch 1 here

Brendon had gotten you more comfortable on the couch. He switched out your now melty ice pack with a fresh one. You can't help but whimper a little.

"Y/n," Brendon said cautiously, "I think you might have broken your hand."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do," You sigh hopelessly, "I can't go to the hospital." You feel so lost.

"You could wait until school tomorrow," Brendon thought aloud, "Just go to the nurse after homeroom and say you closed it in the bathroom stall door or something."

"That's not the worst idea..." you pondered his proposition.

"I don't want you to have to wait that long though," Brendon said with concern, "Doesn't it hurt, darlin?"

"It's not that bad," You force a small smile of reassurance.

False. It was that bad. But, you didn't have a choice.

Brendon knew you were lying, but he didn't want to pick a fight.

"Do you want some tylenol at least?" He offered.

"God yes," you nodded.

He went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and two extra strength pills. You take them gratefully.

"I have to go," You said, starting to stand up.

"What?" Brendon said incredulously, "Where are you gonna go?"

"Home," you reply simply.

"Are you crazy?!" Brendon exclaimed, "You can't!"

He was so worried about you, you could see it in his eyes. You stepped forward, taking his cheek in your hand.

"If they find out I'm gone," you explain sadly, "things will only get ten times worse."

Brendon shook his head in disappointment.

"Please don't go, Y/n," Brendon begged even though he knew you were right.

"I know," you nodded, "But I have to."

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too, Bren," you tried to smile, your cheek sore.

"Can I at least drive you back?" He asked.

"Yeah, just drop me off around the corner?" You proposed.

"Okay darlin," He agreed.

Under the disguise of night, you drove onto your street, stopping well before your house as planned. You go to pop open the car door.

"Y/n," Brendon called suddenly, catching your attention, "Please. Call me if you need anything. Promise?"

"Promise," you nodded.

"I love you," Brendon said quietly.

"I love you too," You reply.

You close the car door and begin to walk to your house. As you approach, you stay low and quiet, creeping up to your window. You climb on the cinderblock you had used as a step and carefully pull yourself through the window with your good hand. As you place your feet on the floor with a thud, you realize your door is open.

You didn't leave it open. You had left it locked.

"Y/N?!" You hear your dad roar.

Almost instantly, your parents arrive in your room. Your mom is crying, your dad stumbling.

"Where have you been?!" Your mother questioned, "We've been worried sick!"

"You upset your mother, you fucking brat!" Your dad shouted.

"I'm sorry, I just went on a walk," you reply in a tiny voice.

Your dad looks at your hand and sees that you have an ice pack.

"Bullshit," He hissed, alcohol strong on his breath, "Where the fuck did you go?!"

He steps up to you and grabs your chin, painfully squeezing your cheeks against your teeth.

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION," He yelled, "WHERE DID YOU GO?"

"To Brendon's," you admit quietly through his hold on you. He threw away his grip and knocked the ice pack from your hand, causing you to yelp.

"That Urie kid?!" He scoffed, "So you're a slut too, huh?!"

"No! Dad!" You start to cry and shake your head. You make your way to the door, "I should have never come home!"

Your father grabs your arm, whipping you back around. You fall back onto the footboard of your bed and land on the floor. The pain in your hand makes you scream again.

"I AM YOUR FATHER," He screams, "AND YOU LIVE IN MY HOUSE. SHOW ME SOME RESPECT."

He kicks you, a bit uncoordinated from the alcohol, but it still fucking hurts.

"Jonathan!" Your mom tries to interrupt, a decision she instantly regrets as he turns around and shoves her.

"FUCK DENISE," He shouts, inches from her, sticking a finger in her face, "I SWEAR TO GOD, SHE GETS IT FROM YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH."

He's clenching his fists, ready to hit her.

He's going to hit her.

You crawl to your night table and get your phone. You quickly call Brendon, your dad still shouting at you mother.

"Hey Y/n," Brendon answers quickly, "Is everything--"

He is cut off as he hears screams and your sobbing.

"Brendon!" You cry.

"Y/n?!" He calls to you, "Are you okay?!"

"He's going to hit her! He's going to hit her!" is all you can manage to sob.

"Y/n, I'm going to hang up and call 911," He asserted, "I'm on my way back."

"He's going crazy, he's drunk, Brendon, please," You scramble to get the words out.

"Shhh, it's okay," he tried to reassure you, "I'm gonna get you help, just hold on."

He hangs up. Your dad hadn't noticed your quick phone call because he was too busy screaming at your mom. You get up onto your feet.

"Please, Dad," you plead through your tears.

Brendon is quickly dialing 911.

"911 where is your emergency?"

"412 Windwick Road," Brendon replies.

"Do you require police, ambulance or fire services?"

"Police, I need the police," Brendon pleads.

"Okay sir, can you tell me what happened?"

"My friend just called me," He explains quickly, panic evident in his voice despite his best attempts to conceal it, "Her dad is beating her and her mom. I could hear them screaming."

"Does her dad have any weapons?"

"I-I don't know," Brendon said. His heart sank--he hadn't thought of that.

"And what is your friend's name?"

"Y/n L/n," Brendon reported, feeling bad that he had to violate your privacy this way.

"And who am I speaking with?"

"Brendon Urie," He reported.

"Is anyone injured?"

"I think so, I'm not sure," He responded, "I'm not there."

"Do you think her father is still there at the scene?"

"Yes, yes," Brendon nodded, "Please send help."

"I have police and ambulances on the way, okay?"

"Okay," He confirmed.

The dispatcher continued her barrage of questions and Brendon felt like he couldn't be going slower. He was grateful to see police cars flying past him with lights flashing, sirens blaring.

Meanwhile, your attempts to reason with your father had been futile.

"Please, Dad!" You choke. You're on the ground again, clutching your hand. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Suddenly there was a loud snapping sound as the door to the house burst open.

"POLICE DEPARTMENT SHOW ME YOUR HANDS," a number of voices commanded.

Despite the pain, you put your hands in the air, as does your mom.

Your dad does not exactly follow the directions, but he freezes. Four officers were coming down the hallway, guns raised. One of them quickly puts your father, who is now eerily silent, in handcuffs and begins escorting him out.

Just like that, it was over. You were no longer fighting for your life. It was now quiet aside from the shuffling of boots and clanking metal.

Two officers walk over to you and your mother. As one approached you, you can't help but flinch.

"It's okay, you're safe now," He states calmly, "Are you injured?"

You shake your head absently. You were alive, so you were doing just fine. He looks at the way you're cradling your arm and the fresh bruise on your face and murmurs into his radio, "You can roll EMS."

As Brendon pulled up to your house, he saw a symphony of flashing blue, red, and white lights. He also saw your dad in handcuffs being placed into the back of a squad car, and you exit the house with an officer.

You see Brendon climbing out of his car and call out to him, quickly moving towards him. He breathes a sigh of relief as he sees you're okay, running to meet you halfway through the front yard.

His arms wrap around you, gentle but firm and you start sobbing.

"It's okay Y/n, it's okay," he soothed, "I got ya, darlin."

You never wanted to let go of him. His voice in your ear was the purest sound.

"Brend--," you keep sobbing, chanting his name in your head, synonymous with safety.

"Shhh, I'm right here," He reassured you, "You're safe. Just breathe."

You gasp, trying to follow his direction.

"There you go, you're alright," He encouraged.

You pull away from him and try to move your hand. As you flex your wrist, the world spins and you feel sick. Your knees begin to give out and you can't stay upright.

"Whoa!" Brendon intervenes, grabbing you underneath your arms. "OFFICER!" He calls to the nearby uniformed man for help as you start to collapse.

The police officer waves over the medics that were now stepping out of their ambulance. The officer arrives and helps Brendon place you on the ground, the medics following.

"Sorry," you slur out, now feeling bad that you're creating such a scene.

"Sh, it's okay Y/n," Brendon hushed you, "Take a deep breath."

Tears come to your eyes.

"It really hurts," you squeak just as the medics were kneeling down next to you.

"What hurts, honey?" One of them asks.

"M-my arm," you stutter, overwhelmed by the pain now setting in. You hadn't realized how numb you felt before until this moment. You can feel bruises aching on your face, arms, and ribs. You start to cry as the pain comes into focus.

"You're alright," Brendon reassured you, "Breathe, darlin."

"Y/n?!" You hear your mother's concerned voice. She's appeared next to you. "Sweetheart--"

"NO!" You scream, sobbing harder, "PLEASE NO!"

The paramedics and Brendon are both trying to calm you down.

"Y/n!" Your mother tried again, desperate and trying to place a hand on your shoulder.

"YOU DIDN'T," you choke out, pulling away from her and trying to get up, "HOW C-"

You were absolutely hysterical, just crying "no" over and over again, trying to escape. Brendon was practically restraining you at this point, trying to keep you from hurting yourself.

How could she have let this happen? She was your mother and you were her child. She was supposed to protect you. In that moment you're just blind with anger and hurt. How could she?

"Ma'am, I need you to step back," the paramedic said authoritatively.

"She's my daughter!" She replied.

"She's my patient and I need to be able to treat her," the paramedic shot back, "so please step back."

Your mother reluctantly obeys and disappears from your view. You're able to calm down a little and you realize you're sitting between Brendon's legs, your back up against his chest. His hands are wrapped around your waist and he's speaking quietly in your ear.

"Shhhh just relax, you're okay," He reassures you, "you're okay darlin."

You struggle a little, still wanting to run away, but that all stops when you're hit with another wave of pain. You squeak and curl up closer to Brendon, completely frozen.

"I know baby, I know," He comforted you, "Breathe."

"I'm sorry," You whisper.

"You didn't do anything wrong," He replied.

"She never stopped him," you murmur, "She never..."

"Shh it's okay Y/n," He said, "Let's take care of you right now, okay?"

"Can I take a look at your arm?" The paramedic asks, raising his hand toward you.

You can't help but flinch. The pity in the medic's eyes makes you want to shrink to nothing. He gives you a small reassuring smile and you hesitantly present your arm to him.

He asks you to move your fingers and identify what fingers he's touching. He starts to splint the area while another man takes your vital signs. You're terribly uncomfortable, but with Brendon whispering in your ear and holding you tight, it's bearable.

As you were escorted to the ambulance, the paramedic informed Brendon that he couldn't come with you. This doesn't go over well with you.

"No, please," your breathing picked up as you glance around nervously, "I can't be alone, please, no!"

You're starting to hyperventilate again and the medic watches your heart rate skyrocket on the monitor.

"Brendon!" You start to cry.

"Okay, okay," the paramedic quiets you and waves Brendon into the back. Brendon climbs up and slides onto the bench next to you, taking your good hand.

"I'm right here, darlin," he soothes.

At the sound of his voice, you begin to breathe.

He's what you need.

[stillebesat]

Writing Based Question: Any tips on how to write Logan and Roman dialogue? I can get down Logan's internal monologue like straight off, but I'm worried about his dialogue and I'm worried about making Roman too much... Just wanted to see if you had any advice! Thanks!

()_() Oooo Difficult Question…let’s see…. 

*ponders for forever* Alright, difficult because I don’t quite know the scene or background of this story you’re working on, because often, the setting and situation of the story will influence the character…

But general wise… and this is just my personal opinion. 

Logan speaks rather normally, all things considered. 

He’s just a bit more…formal in his speaking. He’s like…that first email you send to a teacher/boss sort of formal. He’s reserved, he’s polite. And if it’s in face to face conversation he probably tends to listen more than he speaks at first because he’s gathering ‘data’ to better understand how he can join in on the conversation and keep the conversation going. 

He tends to shy away from slang words and while he loves learning them, will withhold using them unless he’s a) confident he’s using it correctly or b) he’s comfortable enough around the people he’s with to not mind being corrected.  

He’s also well read. So Logan will every now and then use a different word to describe how he’s feeling because he has that word bank at his disposal. (Synonyms are your friend here.) So like it could be he chooses to use Solanum lycopersicum instead of ‘Tomato’ or he would use “melancholy’ instead of ‘sad.’ It’s not because he’s showing off his ‘knowledge’ it’s because he knows enough words to know that one word will better describe what he wants to convey than the other. 

Logan is also more likely to take things literally at first. He’ll take words at face value, and only upon thinking it over or having it pointed out to him will he realize that the words weren’t meant to be taken so ‘on the nose.’ 

And because he tends to take words more seriously, he doesn’t always realize when people are a) teasing him or b) trying to flirt with him.

He’s kinda the person that will assume you have a problem, and he’s just there to help you solve it and give you the answer. 

Since he is Logic, he often uses Logic based thinking. If A happens then B must also happen in order to get C as the result. That doesn’t mean that he isn’t emotional though. He has feelings, he has passions, he’s just less likely to show them to a stranger than he is with his best friend. 

But as he relaxes in a relationship he is more likely to be….more dynamic? There’s always going to be that slight ‘formal’ air to him. But he’d be more likely to toss nicknames (You Malodorous Centurion!) or be more descriptive “Flames on the side of my face. Seething. Seething fire!” with those he’s close with/ comfortable with as oppose to an acquaintance. 

There’s also his passions. If he’s talking about Space or the Ocean or even Crofters, he’s going to have a ‘geek out’ override. Where he’ll just…go all out ‘gaga’ over the subject he’s passionate about. “PLUTO SHOULD BE A PLANET!!” “Crofters. The only Jelly I WILL PUT in my Belly.” “But what is at the bottom of the ocean, can you imagine? We’ve explored more of our solar system and know more about our MOON than we know about our ocean. Who knows what could be lurking down there undiscovered!” 

Honestly…if you have any friends who are the Zodiac sign of Cancer…(which I am of that sign) Logan will most likely fit into this category rather well. He has a shell, and doesn’t often let people see his emotional turmoil because he doesn’t want to get ‘shut down’ or ‘hurt’ because people aren’t ‘interested’ in him and his problems. So his dialogue will reflect that, at least at first. He’ll come across as uncaring, but he probably cares rather deeply, once he’s confident that investing in another won’t lead to heartbreak or problems.

Roman….

He can be similar to Logan in the fact that there is a ‘wall’ you need to break down when you’re first getting to know him. 

Except where Logan is formal, Roman is…dynamic. He’s going to be more vocal about his emotions and show them more readily…at least the emotions he wants you to see. He’s often going to try and put the ‘best face’ on things. So He’ll take the more optimistic outlook and downplay any hardships. “Pssh, this hard? Ha! I’ve fought a Dragon Witch and THAT was hard.” He’s a wall of confidence hiding his insecurities. His wondering of “did I do good?” “was that good enough?” He gets a lot of his value and self worth from the feedback others give him. He’s an extrovert for the most part. (he does have his quiet contemplative moments)

Where Logan would be quite happy to spend all day alone with his books, Roman will thrive in a crowd. If he’s in the spotlight he’ll thrive even better. It’s not to say that he craves popularity, he just loves being around people. He’s an entertainer. He loves to make people smile, to laugh, to move them to tears with his performances. 

So with those he doesn’t know well, he’s going to seem like that ‘popular kid’ the one who’s always loud, always drawing attention to himself, always making a scene. The one you go to if you want to be entertained, find a smile.

But with his close friends, he’s probably really sensitive. Caring. He’s a Prince after all. (So he’ll often use Knight/Prince-like dialogue. “Well of course, my good sir!” “I’ve successfully completed your quest! Here are your nachos!” *flourishes box of nachos and goes down onto one knee to present them* )

He’s going to be on the lookout for opportunity to give …’gestures’ like “romantic gestures’ or gestures of ‘good will.’ He’ll be the one to give you his coat in the pouring rain and laugh off the fact that he’s going to get soaked. He’ll hold the door open for you, go on a midnight run for snacks if you’re not feeling well. He’s going to be that movie buddy where you could either sit in silence or throw commentary throughout the movie. Though getting him to not sing along to the songs is next to impossible. ;) 

And if he’s comfortable with the other person, perhaps then they’ll see his insecurities, his quiet moments, his moments where he let’s his “popular Prince” persona drop and you just get to see “Roman.” Roman who quietly plays the piano, who will tear up at the end of a movie, who will hug you and make you feel safe without needing to say a word. 

So…. 

Dialogue. 

A Beginning/first meeting between the two would possibly go something like this: 

Roman straightened, raising his hand to gesture to Logan. “What’s this! An interloper in our midst?! Hark. Who goes there?”

Logan paused, placing a finger on the page to mark his place as he looked up with a slight frown. “Is this not Room 334A? There is a scientific mee–” 

“Ah, A lost wanderer from the Nerd Squad.” Roman smirked and bowed. “Alas, your group needed the larger auditorium this evening, that’s room 449 if you’ve never been there, while us poor stage performers were shunted aside to this dank and dark quarters to do our run through.” 

“So…I need to go….to room 449?” Logan asked glancing for a sign on the door to show that this over exuberant man was telling the truth. 

“Yes, didn’t I just say so?” 

“Perhaps,” Logan mentally marked the page of his book, shutting it fully as he turned away. “It was difficult to acquire the knowledge necessary through your flowery monologue to know for certain.” 

While a more ‘relaxed’ ‘close friends’ meeting would possibly be like. 

Roman sprawled on the bed, head hanging upside down over the edge as he stared at Logan, a contemplative look crossing his features, fidgeted with his cuff sleeves as Logan finished the spiel. “Well, Lo, I don’t see what you have to worry about, it sounds like you know the material.” 

Logan huffed, slumping into the desk chair, pulling off his glasses. “But do I sound like a dying whale is the question? Is it too boring? Will the Kids think I’m…Lit… or a talking corpse?”

Roman snorted. “You are more articulate than a Zombie, Lo, and while you may not be Lit” his eyes twinkled. “Coming across as the Man isn’t a bad thing in this case.”  

Logan made a face, sticking out his tongue. “It is if I don’t want to be booed off the stage.” 

“Nah, that’s my job to be booed off stage.” Roman winked. “You’ll be fine, remember, you’re facing a bunch of other Nerds. They came because they want to learn, as crazy as that sounds.” He sat up, twisting to face Logan. “You’re not in Shakespeare’s time, the crowd isn’t going to have tomatoes to throw at you if they don’t like your presentation.” 

“If…you say so…” 

“I do say so! and hey, you’ll have at least one supporter there.” 

Logan blinked. “Who?” 

“Me!” Roman grinned holding up his hand dramatically. “I will be there, my dearest Microsoft Nerd, bouquet of roses in hand, ready to sweep thee of thine feet the moment thine performance has concluded!” 

A slow smile spread across Logan’s face as his cheeks took on a pink tinge. “Well…that’s…ah…Thank you….Roman…” 

I hope that helped at least a little Anon!! ^^;; 

Let me know if you have further questions or if there’s anything I can clarify. :D 

[bapyess1r]

Sunny Daze

WARNINGS: cursing and violence

Pairings: Rafe x OC

Tags: @desertvvitch

Chapter 17

Sunny’s POV

“I swear to god it’s this way!” I yelled as Rafe raised his gun at me. We’d been traveling for an hour just about and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could give them the runaround. We’d climbed a lot of rocks, stumbled aimlessly through the jungle, all beneath the beating morning sun. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure which direction they took. We stood now at the cliffs where I last saw the brothers and looked around me worriedly. ‘Maybe they climbed more rocks that way…. or maybe-’ I was pulled from my thoughts as Rafe grabbed a handful of my hair and shoved me face first against the vine covered wall. I cried out as he pressed the gun to my head again.

“I’m beginning to think that you don’t value your life-” He seethed in aggravation. I raised my hands helplessly as I tried to come up with something.

“No I do, I do! I just… I…” My plea began to fade as I noticed something right next to my face peeking between the vines. “If you could ease that piece off the back of my head, I think I mighta just found somethin’…” I said. He narrowed his eyes at me and huffed before backing away from me, his gun still pointed in my direction. I took a deep breath as I pulled apart the vines before me and sure enough, painted in what seemed like old blood was Avery’s sigil with an arrow pointing to the jungle path. “Here… this was where I saw them last- right here.” I grinned.

“Nadine, be a dear and take a quick look for me. Let’s see if our little redneck Princess is telling the truth.” He ordered with insult. I looked back at Rafe with a light snarl as Nadine shoved her way through the small crowd of mercenaries to peek into the jungle.

“Orca, Knot- with me.” She said, cocking her gun and the two mercenaries did the same as they followed her into the jungle.

“For your sake, I hope they find something.” Rafe commented unnecessarily. I rolled my eyes and placed my hands on my hips tiredly. I thought maybe I could get to him a little bit now that he was somewhat alone. With a confident sigh, I leaned into the wall.

“I’m sorry about leavin’ you at the auction. For what it’s worth, I had a great time-”

“Shut it-”

“But I mean it!” I smirked as I very slowly eased my way over to him. The soldiers around him began to raise their guns at me but Rafe raised a hand to halt them and let me run my hands down his stomach for a moment. “I mean…. imagine if we actually got the chance to finish the night…” I moaned to him with a Cheshire smile. I let my fingers hook into the front of his belt and my hips sway a bit as I spoke. His ears turned a faint shade of pink as he looked at me. ‘Now you have him…’ I thought to myself. He leaned into me as he whispered to me, looking into my eyes with that soft boyish expression from when we first met.

“Yeah, it would’ve been fantastic…” he said in a rather innocent tone before I heard the click of the gun near my head. I sighed as the darkness returned to his eyes. “Not that you’d ever know.” He said with a small smirk before stepping away from me with his gun still pointed. “You’re goood. Had we been on the same side, I’d almost fall for it. Matter of fact, outta the kindness… of my heart, I’m willing to give you a chance.” He said simply as he lowered his gun and approached me. He wasn’t very tall but he towered over me, just the same as any man normally would. I chewed the inside of my cheek and looked up at him boldly. His green eyes seemed to search my face with just a sliver of hope.

“Join me. I’ll make sure you’re well compensated, armed to the teeth, and you’ll get a decent cut of the treasure we find here today. You’d also be working rather closely with me…” he began but I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Was he offering me a job or a chance to choose him? “I take good care of my team, Sunny. And I could take care of you, too...” He said to me in a tone that was very out of character for him. I smiled at him before inching closer. My voice changed into something deep and hateful as my brows furrowed.

“I’d rather eat a bowl of chitlins that’s been sittin’ in the sun for weeks-” I snapped before the back of his hand came in contact with my face. I squealed as I held it under the pressure of my fingers, shaking.

“You will… show me some form of respect.” He stated firmly as he looked down at me. Just as I looked up, Nadine had returned from her brief scout into the jungle with a bright smile on her face.

“Rafe. She was right.” She said and a faint splash of relief hit me. His eyebrows raised as he looked at me.

“Pity we aren’t on the same side. I’d be congratulating you.” He commented as I continued to massage my jaw.

“Why? I wasn’t the first to find it.” I frowned.

“If we get to this treasure first, no one will have to know that.” He said before grabbing my elbow and forcing me to my feet before pushing me towards the jungle. “Walk.” He ordered me as he glanced at Nadine. “I want teams covering all borders and exits. Make it very hard for them to leave. I’ve got a bone to pick with those two.”

We walked for a few minutes, following Nadine until the trees and vines had become eroded houses. We were barely touching the outskirts of the colony. I gasped, looking around as we had come to a thick brush. She pulled apart the plants to reveal a massive untouched city. Some of the buildings were barely holding up but others were still standing with minor damage. The way the fog touched the tops of the moss covered buildings ahead made it all seem so dreamlike. I could only imagine the looks on the brothers’ faces. The look on Sam’s face... “Libertalia…” I murmured to myself. I couldn’t believe I was actually here. All this time and I was finally laying eyes on the lost pirate colony. I let my mind imagine civilian pirate families walking to the local market, men running the taverns, gambling in the streets, doing whatever pirates did back then. People were walking the same path I was on hundreds of years ago. I chuckled as I realized some of Sam’s enthusiasm for pirate history rubbed off on me. I watched as Nadine and her team stepped out first.

“Shall we?” Rafe gestured as he drew back the plants for me and I stepped through cautiously.

“So now what? I gotcha here to Libertalia. I dunno where Avery’s treasure is hidden. I didn’t catch the details…” I said as he came in after me, his eyes taking in the wonder of the lost pirate colony.

“You, my dear, are now leverage. They won’t get in our way if we have you. I’ll make goddamn sure of that.” He replied, admiring the scenery with a smirk.

“It won’t work…” I mumbled.

“Come again?” He asked, sharply snapping his gaze towards me. I didn’t mean for it to actually come out of my mouth but he had already heard me. So I ran with it...

“It. Won’t. Work. Bitch boy.” I said, audaciously. He narrowed his eyes before stalking toward me slowly.

“And why the hell not?” He growled, calling my bluff. I scrambled for a reasonable answer up until I realized I had stuck my foot in it.

“Because! Because…. Ummm……” I crossed my arms and bit my lip hard, avoiding his rather harrowing gaze. When I couldn’t answer, he leaned forward and whispered low enough for the two of us to hear. His green eyes darkened as he held my gaze, strongly. “I am this close to just putting a bullet in that pretty head of yours enough as it is. Don’t. Push it.” He said. I stared at him, flaring my nostrils. I didn’t dare flinch in his sight. “Restrain Ms. Spurrs, please. Find somewhere to keep her until we get a camp set up.” With that, he walked away to explore a bit. One of the mercenaries grabbed my arm and his comrade tied my wrists together again. I grunted and rolled my eyes as the men led me away to the nearby stocks.

I sat for a while. Humming a few tunes, looking at the Henry Avery statue that towered before me. From the corner of my eye I could see a plane swipe across the sky. I glanced at the guard to make sure he wasn’t paying attention before looking at it again. I knew that plane. It was Sully’s plane. I knew it wasn’t coming for me but still I felt a sense of relief. I began to feel a surge of confidence and a need to cure my boredom until I could get out from under Rafe. If I ever got out. I began banging my knees together and swaying my head from side to side, twisting my lips as I came up with something to say. I looked at the guard that leaned against Avery’s statue and nodded at him.

“Yo,” I called to him. He lifted his sunglasses and furrowed his brows at me. “I’m thinking of a synonym for an alcoholic beverage.” He scoffed and put his shades down again before staring off at the scenery again. I sucked my teeth and whined. “Oh c’mon! It’s been like an hour and a half! I’m starvin’, my ass hurts sittin’ on this cobblestone, I kinda gotta pee, my arms are sore, and I’m bored out of my everlovin’ mind! Humor me for a few.” I begged. He scoffed and shook his head.

“For an alcoholic beverage, you said?” He asked with the same strange accent as Nadine. I made it a point to ask about it at some point as I nodded with a small smile. “Brew.” I hissed and made a face at him.

“Nope.”

“Alky?”

“Mmm…. think big words.”

“.... libation?”

“That’s a really good guess but nah!” I smirked as I watched him scratch his beard in thought.

“I’m stumped. What’s the answer?”

“Inebriant.” I grinned. And he flexed his lip nodding his head. “Your turn! Think of a synonym and I’ll guess it!” I watched as he rattled his brain, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his gun.

“How about ‘annoying’?” He said with sarcasm. I truly sat and pondered answers though.

“Vexing, tiresome, bothersome, irksome, inconvenient, plaguy…. punchable?!” I listed off several words before he’d had enough.

“All of those things are what you are right now.” He told me. I pouted dramatically.

“Now that’s just rude-” I began when I heard a loud bang and several gunshots in the distance. The guard raised his gun and searched around before pressing his finger into his ear comm. He nodded repeatedly as he listened to what he was being told. I leaned in like an idiot, trying to hear what was being said before he gave a “yes sir, on my way.” He walked toward me suddenly and grabbed me by the arm, lifting me to my feet. “Hey bud, you mind tellin’ me where we’re goin’?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

“Boss man needs you with him.” He told me briefly. My heart sped up its pace at the mention of Rafe.

“What does he want with me?” I asked with a bit of panic. I hadn’t given much thought to what would happen next. When he didn’t answer me, my breathing became staggered.

He took me quite a distance around the city, the sound of explosions being heard the closer we got to our destination. He took me through a cave in the mountain that one of the buildings sat on. It was dark and damp, lit up with site lamps and mercenaries were posted throughout the tunnel until we reached what I could only assume was the new camp Rafe set up. There were crates and maps spread all over the place. A laptop sitting next to all the tools and artillery. A beautiful view of Libertalia could be seen from the opening that displayed a sunlit cliff. There was a lot of racket going on above us and dust fell every time a bomb sounded. My brows knitted together as the guard pushed me towards Rafe and I fell to my knees. Another explosive went off and the entire cave rumbled, bits of rock falling around us. Rafe rolled his eyes as a bit of dust sprinkled onto his black tee shirt clad shoulder. He brushed it off in annoyance before walking towards me.

“What’s happening?!” I yelled above the noise.

“If it’s this noisy usually it means either we’ve found something or someone’s making trouble.” The noise settled after a few seconds and all I could hear was the building creaking and cracking above the cave, pieces of wood crashed on the mossy stone cliff. “Considering I didn’t get a call about any new artifacts, I’m assuming it’s your laughable excuse for friends. But don’t worry. Nadine will make short work of them and then I can resume my search-”

“You underestimate just how good they are, Rafe. And that’s where you’re gonna fuck up.” I snapped, staring him in the eyes. He balled up his fists like a child again.

“I hope she kills them both.” He retorted with a smize. I took a deep breath, choosing to believe that the universe wouldn’t let that happen and that by the grace of God-

“Ah! Shit…” I heard a voice grunt as three bodies fell to the ground on the cliff outside of the cave. I gasped when I noticed two of those bodies belonged to Nathan and Sam. Nadine had fallen across from them and her gun slid an equal distance from the three. Nathan tried his best to race to the gun but Nadine brought a strong kick to his ribcage. Sam and Nadine both leapt for the gun but Sam got to it first, raising it as they stood. “You’re fast… but you’re not that fast.” He said, aiming the gun right at her head. Nathan rose to his feet, clutching his side as Nadine stared down the barrel of the gun.

“Sam, just leave her! We gotta go now-” He said as he tried to approach his armed brother.

“Let’s go. Time for you to be useful.” Rafe said to me as he grabbed me by the arm hard enough to leave a bruise. He and a handful of mercenaries ran out to the cliff to stop them. In a panic, I watched as Sam grabbed Nadine, holding her hostage in his robust arms, pressing the gun to her temple as she raised her hands helplessly. He was an entire head and shoulders above her and his arms were the size of her head so it was definitely difficult to free herself. She pursed her lips and tightened her face as the gun dug into her temple. ‘He wouldn’t really… Would he? Not like this…’ I thought as the mercenaries filed out before us, pointing their guns at them.

“Woah, woah, woah- let’s just…. everybody calm down. We can talk this out-” Nathan started but Sam’s sense of survival was too heightened at the moment to notice his brother’s attempt to keep them alive. He was being reckless again.

“Everybody put their guns down! All of you! Now!” Sam roared. I’d never heard him speak in this tone before. The look on his face was something neurotic. Rafe just laughed.

“No.” He said simply.

“Rafe, watch it! This guy’s on edge-” Nadine grunted as she tried not to move against the gun.

“Oh don’t worry, Nadine, these guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood. It’s just not their style.” Rafe said a little too calmly as he appeared from the cave with his hand still gripping my arm.

“You willin’ to bet her life on that?” Sam growled, having not noticed me yet. Rafe smirked before bringing me into the light.

“Are you willing to bet her's?” He said, roughly shoving me to the ground before them. The moment Nathan’s eyes met mine, I began to burst into tears. Sam’s face paled as he saw me crawling on the ground towards them. Nathan pulled his knife and immediately cut me loose. I could hear Rafe’s gun clicking as I hugged him tightly. When I turned to look at Rafe, he was pointing the gun dead at me. “Go ahead. Shoot her.” He egged him on as he adjusted his aim to perfection.

“You kill me, you and Sunny will both die-” Nadine bargained but Sam was too fidgety and paranoid to hear it.

“Shut your mouth!” He grumbled anxiously to her as he shoved the gun into her head again. Rafe and the mercenaries began to close in on us slowly.

“Sam…” I murmured. This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

“Not another step!” He shouted. Rafe gave a sinister smile.

“You mean like this?” He teased, taking another step forward. Sam growled as he let his finger ghost over the trigger.

“Sam, put the gun down!” Nathan pleaded but his brother still ignored him.

“I warned you…” Sam said darkly.

“DO IT!” Rafe snapped, trying to call his bluff.

“Sammy, no!” I shouted as Nathan leapt at him. My hands covered my mouth as a single shot fired. He managed to pull the gun from her head and out of his hand just in time, releasing Nadine from Sam’s grip as he gut checked him. He raised the gun, hanging it loosely on his fingers to show surrender. To show peace.

“It’s fine! It’s okay!” He said, tossing the gun towards Nadine. “It’s done… see?” Nadine stared at him leeringly, her eyes never leaving him as she picked up her gun. She gave Rafe an angry expression.

“‘Don’t worry, Nadine. It’s not their style.’” She hissed at him as she walked over to the enemy line. Rafe shrugged.

“What can I say, sweetheart? I didn’t think he had it in him-” he chuckled but Sam curled his fingers into a strong fist and snarled.

“You don’t know what I got.” He said roughly. Rafe chuckled as he walked over to him and did something I never expected. He brushed the dirt off of his shoulders and patted his chest with a smile.

“Samuel, you alright?” He asked with derision. Sam avoided his gaze and Rafe snickered as a darkness clouded his eyes. “I mean… I guess you knew this day was coming, right?” He snarled before taking the hilt of his gun and striking it across his face causing the larger man to fall before him.

“Rafe, stop it!” I exclaimed, lunging towards him but Nathan put an arm in front of me to keep me back.

“Hey! Take it easy! You already got us…” Nathan pleaded as Rafe raised the gun at him a moment. I was shaking, watching Sam holding his nose as he crawled on the ground. This simple treasure hunt had turned out to be something much more dangerous. People had tried to kill me before but this was something different. “You’re a businessman, right? Let’s make a deal.”

“Oh! Oh yeah, a deal? Love to hear what you have in mind!” He snapped, kicking Sam in the side harshly. He cried out in pain, clutching his side in pain as he laid in the dirt, attempting to get up a second time. “You go ahead. I’m listening.” He said pacing slowly in front of us. I ran to Sam’s side and he groaned as I lifted his head in my lap.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, pushing his hair off of his face.

“What are you doin’ here, Sunny?” He grumbled. I chuckled nervously for a moment.

“Whaddya think, asshole? You know I never listen.” I said sweetly. He sighed as he tried to catch his breath.

“I wish you had for once…” he mumbled, his expression giving me a moment of a certain hidden softness but I caught it. I looked at Nathan as he tried to negotiate with the enemy, helping Sam up as I did. Nathan reached out to pull me beside him protectively as he spoke.

“We’ll help you find Avery’s treasure.” He said.

“And in exchange, I let you live?” Rafe asked as he peered at us from the tip of his structured nose.

“Yeah…” Nathan breathed. “That and a small cut.” Rafe just laughed heartily as he looked at his crew before bringing his gaze to us.

“The gauchos on this guy, huh?” He snickered, gesturing to him.

“Just enough to buy him his freedom.” I added, stepping up. Rafe stares at me a moment in confusion.

“His freedom?” He asked. I nodded vigorously but Sam put a hand on my wrist carefully.

“Sunny…” he whispered roughly. Nathan held his hand up to Sam to quiet him so he could agree with me vocally.

“Yeah. He did some hard time- our time. And the guy who broke him out, Hector Alcázar? He owes him a lotta money.” He told him. Rafe waved his hands about and shook his head.

“Woah, woah- what the hell are you talking about? Hector Alcázar died in a shootout in Argentina like… six months ago.” He chuckled before gesturing to himself. “I’m the one who got Samuel out.” My heart seemed to cease beating for a couple of seconds as a swarm of butterflies crowded my nerves. I knitted my brows together and stared at him.

“Excuse me…” I reacted with annoyance, snatching my wrist away from him. A wave of awkwardness crashed over us as Nate and I looked at his brother. Sam couldn’t even bring himself to look either of us in the eye. He kept his gaze fixed on the cracked dirt beneath our feet. Rafe gave a silent chuckle as he looked at us all like he was in an arena.

“Oooohhh….” he snickered. “What did he tell you- Sam, what kinda story did you cook up?” He asked in amusement as he approached him. Sam wiped a bit of blood from his forehead with a defeated sigh. “You lied? To this lovely woman and your own baby brother-”

“We’re wasting time!” Nadine shouted.

“Just a second.” Rafe snapped, giving her a hard side eye. He turned to us to enlighten us with the truth of the situation. “You see, I never stopped looking for the treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends, y’know? And then I hear our dear ol’ Samuel Drake- an authority on Avery- is alive and...somewhat well.” He said. Sam kept his eyes on the ground in shame as he spoke. I only grew angrier as he explained, my lips curling into a snarl as I stared at him. “There was no breakout. I bribed the warden and your brother just waltzed right out the front gate.” He took a few steps towards Nathan, absolutely loving the internal pain he was causing. “Your brother spent the last two years looking for that second St. Dismas cross and you know what? He did it all with me.” He smirked. Nathan shook his head as he looked at him, completely heartbroken.

“Nah… No that’s bullshit-” Nate growled and Rafe just chuckled.

“Sam? You care to refute?!” He asked as Sam continued to wipe the leaking blood from his nose and forehead. I took several steps away from Sam as he brought his gaze to me. If he lied about this, who knows what else he lied about.

“Sunny… I-” Sam whispered to me again, trying to grab my hand but I snatched it away.

“Don’t touch me…” The words left my mouth before I could even think as I hugged myself. He took a step towards me apologizing but I avoided his touch.

“Sunny, I’m sorry-”

“Mm mm.” I hummed, shaking my head as my nostrils flared. Sam’s eyes dropped as he sighed in panic before looking at his brother. The one he hurt the most. He took a deep breath before trying to make his case.

“Nathan-”

“No…” I could see the hurt in my best friend’s eyes as he looked at his older brother like a confused child. His baby blue eyes would always tell me what he was thinking. “No you didn’t…”

“Nathan, that treasure was ours- it was always ours-” Sam said approaching to place his hands on his shoulders but Nathan shoved him off.

“I left my life for you!” He snapped. “I….” He was so angry, he didn’t even have the words. Rafe laughed devilishly in amusement at the rift he drove between us all as he clapped like a seal, witnessing the drama unfold.

“Well look, if it’s any consolation, he duped me too. He pulled a Houdini, he brought you, he brought this slut, and he brought that old man back into the mix and I cannot lie, Sam, that really... pissed me off. But uh… it’s all behind us now.” He smirked. Sam’s face displayed nothing but fury and hatred for this man as he took a few steps toward him.

“You don’t deserve it…” he told him roughly. Rafe stared at him incredulously.

“And you do? Last I checked, we were all a bunch of thieves digging around where we shouldn’t…” he said as Nadine approached him.

“Rafe.” She started.

“What?” Rafe asked, snapping out of his petty instigation.

“One way or another, end it. Or I will.” She growled. Rafe nodded before stepping in front of Sam.

“Welp, you heard the lady-” He said , placing the gun directly on Sam’s forehead. A flash of panic ensued in me. I was pissed at him but that didn’t mean I wanted him dead. Nathan grabbed his brother’s arm as I jumped in front of him, bravely.

“Sunny!” Sam snapped.

“You miss one clue and you can kiss that treasure goodbye…” I said to him.

“She’s right, y’know? You said it yourself- you keep running into dead ends. Face it. You need us. All of us.” Nathan said as he walked to my side. Rafe shrugged with a hum.

“I guess you’re right…. you’re half right. I just need Sam.” He said darkly, pointing the gun at Nathan instead.

“No-” I growled as tears began to fearfully well up. Sam rushed to Nathan’s defense as his finger began to squeeze the trigger.

“Rafe, you’re makin’ a mistake!” He shouted. Rafe had already pulled the trigger, narrowly missing his target and grazing Sam’s arm instead. As he reacted to the pain, he accidentally bumped into Nathan, not realizing how close his brother was to the edge of the cliff, causing him to fall a great distance. My heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest as I screamed out for my best friend; Sam screaming out for his little brother. I saw him hit his head on a smaller cliff on the way down and we were so high up that there was no way of telling if he would even make it alive. I cried out as hot tears streamed down my cheeks and the sound of Rafe’s gun clicked once more. We both turned to look at him, still feeling raw from the fact that we might’ve lost Nathan. His gun was now pointed at me. Sam rushed in front of me, his arm protectively covering my stomach as he gently pulled me behind him.

“Hey! You keep that gun on me. She has nothin’ to do with any of this- Rafe!” Sam snapped as he tried readjusting his aim to me. But Rafe narrowed his eyes at him as he watched him shield my body with his own. “You don’t have to do this, man…” The gun began to drop as a chuckle filled his belly again.

“Oh! I see what’s happening here. Sunny, I have to tell you. Your taste in men? It’s questionable.” He whispered to me like a jealous ex.

“And if I chose you, it’d still be questionable.” I seethed, my shaky fingers gripping tightly to the back of Sam’s dirty blue collared shirt, his hand keeping me close to his sweaty back. Rafe smirked as he turned to face his mercenaries.

“Grab her.” He said, simply and they came after me just as he ordered. Sam turned us to back away from them and to keep them from getting to me, swinging a fist to the jaw of one man, leaving me wide open to be snatched up by another man.

“Get your dirty hands off her!” He snapped, lunging at the man before Nadine approached and struck him in the back of his head with the hilt of her gun causing him to fall to his knees as I was being pulled away. She kept her gun on him in case he tried anything else. I stomped my heel on the man’s foot and he let go of me for a moment. With my opportunity, I elbowed him in the nose and knee him in the gut. Just as I went to attack another, I was met with several barrels of many guns. Mostly Rafe’s, whose barrel pressed directly between my eyes, still warm from the previous shot. I raised my hands in surrender. There was nothing else I could do.

“So here’s the deal Sam. You help me get to this treasure and I won’t put a bullet in your pretty little girlfriend’s head. Sound fair? I think it’s fair.” He said to him sternly. Sam just huffed and nodded compliantly, wiping the blood off his face again. “Good. Let’s get going then. Shall we?” He said. “And somebody get him cleaned up. He looks a mess.” With that, Nadine grabbed Sam by the collar and forced him to his feet, keeping her gun on him at all times.

“Move.” She barked, shoving the gun in his back. He kept his hands up as he moved forward to follow Rafe and I, looking me in the face with a look I couldn’t bear to see at the moment. I was sad, I was hurt, I was livid. And I had a valid reason for all of these things. As the mercenaries zip tied my wrists together again, I turned my head to look at Sam with a snarl.

“You better pray to God that Nathan’s not dead.” I grumbled with a bit of resentment.

“You and me both, sweetheart…” he replied as they zip tied his wrists as well and led us to a room for holding until they could pack up around Libertalia.

[silhouetteofagirl]

Cat (from a Study in Synonyms)

Or why one needs to be very precise about descriptions to avoid categorical mistakes. Featuring a dog whose name roughly translates to Fartlord.

A humorous explanation as to why a ranger warden gets a bear and a wolf to follow them around. Still team dwarves are not short humans and have tapetum lucidum.

Read on AO3

“You’re rather feline, you know,” Alistair says one night as they are sitting around the campfire.

“I’m rather what?” she shakes her head in confusion.

“Feline? Like, you know, a cat?” Alistair clarifies.

Sigyn gives him a blank stare, her eyes reflecting back the light of the fire.  “A what?”

“A cat,” he repeats himself.  “You don’t know what a cat is?”

She frowns, her eyes shifting as she tries to remember, but then she shakes her head.  “Grew up in Orzammar.  Unless cats live in underground caves, no.  What is a cat?”

It’s his turn to frown, “Well they are—” how does one explain a cat? “They are like Mabari, but smaller and they have longer tails.  They also tend to be much grumpier than mabaris.”

“And that is why I am like a cat?” she asks coolly.

“Oh no, no, no.  There I go with my words.  It’s your eyes! They glow.  Like a cat’s.  In the dark.” he finishes awkwardly.

“Oh.  I will have to try to meet a cat,” she says and it might just be a trick of the light, Maker knows he doesn’t have as good night vision as her, but Alistair thinks he sees her smile.

Alistair forgets that evening and that conversation entirely until one day he is horribly reminded of it.  To be fair, the only person who doesn’t seem to be shocked is Morrigan, even Sigyn’s dog will not stop growling when she tells him to, but they all sit and stare at her unsure of what to say.  She looks triumphant about the creature that has followed her back to camp.

“Alistair, I finally found a cat,” she says proudly.  There is a long moment of silence.

“That isn’t a cat,” Sten finally says bluntly.

 She cocks her head and pets the damn animal behind its ears.  He repeats himself at her questioning look, “That isn’t a cat.”

“Alistair said cats have long tails, reflective eyes, and—” she explains.

“Why has it not bitten you?” Leliana interjects.

“He told me cats are grumpy, it tried, but I was patient.”

“Yes, but—” Alistair says and then he finds he has no words.  It has all the qualities he had described to her.  Its green eyes reflect in the dark much like hers, it has a long tale, and this one is technically smaller than a mabari.  Though, this one is very small for what it is.

“That’s a wolf,” Sten says.  Morrigan can no longer contain her amusement and lets out a soft chuckle.

Sigyn’s face falls.  “Oh, but—” she bites her lip, but her hand is still entangled in its fur.  “Ancestors tits, I spent the past three nights—” she sighs.

“Cats are much smaller than mabaris and have shorter fur than a wolf.  Though it’s still longer than a mabari’s.” Leliana explains calmly, though she has a hand on her bow in case the wolf decides to bite Sigyn’s hand off.  “Really Alistair, some cats don’t even have tales.”

“Next time we are in town, we’ll find you a cat,” Alistair says as Sigyn continues to pet the wolf who seems to have taken a liking to her.

She frowns at the beast and ponders her choices.  “What should I do about her?” she asks as the wolf looks up at her, mouth slightly open as it pants, sharp teeth very, very close to Sigyn.

“Let her go?” he suggests.

“Can’t.  She won’t be able to the bindings off.”

“Oh Maker’s breath!” he swears. Sure enough, one of the wolf’s hind legs has been carefully wrapped.  Red blood has seeped through the bandage and Sigyn has miraculously kept her all remaining fingers. “Sigyn, tell me you didn’t walk up to a wounded wolf and tend to its wounds.”

She lets out a short sigh, “I thought it was a cat.”

“I don’t want to know,” Alistair says, as he pinches his nose.

“I do.” Leliana says with a smile.

“We still have a wolf in our midst,” Sten comments.  He stands up and crosses over to Sigyn and the wolf.  He doesn’t get far before the wolf starts to growl.  Sten pauses, “Curious.  It does not seem to be actually tame.”

“She’s grumpy,” Sigyn replies.

“She’s a wild animal,” Alistair retorts.  “She should really go back to her pack.”

“Pack?”

“Yes, wolves travel in large groups called packs.  We’ve fought them before, I—”  He pauses, there’s no point in continuing that thought.  Sigyn had made an honest and terrifying mistake.  “She should really go back to her pack.”

“Do cats also have packs?” she asks.  The wolf is still in their camp.

“No, cats tend to be solitary.  A few will travel together at any time.  But that is normally when they are kittens and their mother is watching over them.” Morrigan finally speaks.  She, at least, seems to have a wealth of patience for, or maybe a lack of fear of, Sigyn’s mistake.  Sigyn tilts her head and takes a moment to consider this new information.

Then she nods and smiles, “Anything else I should know about cats?”

“They have sharp claws, not blunt like a mabari,” Leliana says hesitantly.

So they end up with a wolf that hangs near their camp.  She comes in handy because she seems to get awfully protective of Sigyn and takes personal offense when she notices Sigyn is being attacked.  She’s not a permanent fixture; she comes and goes, but she seems to come around whenever Sigyn whistles.  And while the appearance of the wolf makes her whistling a bit less soothing, Alistair can’t deny he find her whistling rather endearing.

However, they completely forgot about finding Sigyn a cat the next time they are in town.  They do remember when she returns to camp one night, once again cheerfully carrying a squeaking baby animal that is distinctly not a cat.

“I found a cat!” she reports, echoing her words from a little over two months ago.  Zevran lets out a surprised string of curses, Wynne clutches a hand to her heart, Leliana starts looking for her bow, and Alistair can only sit and stare in shock.  Sigyn’s face falls immediately at their reactions.  “This isn’t a cat.”

“No, that isn’t a cat,” Alistair feels a chuckle start to form in his stomach.  It’s certainly smaller than a mabari.  It too has eyes that glow in the dark.  Its claws are sharp, unlike a mabari’s.  And surely this creature would be grumpy.  It, however, doesn’t have a tail.  The chuckle escapes him and he ends up laughing out loud as he points out the lack of tail.

Sigyn sniffs and hefts the beast up higher onto her chest.  Alistair notices a blush start climb up her cheeks.  “Leliana said that some cats don’t have tails.  And this one would technically be a kitten, seeing it’s a baby.”

Alistair laughs again at that, even though he feels a bit bad about doing so.  She’s so earnest in her discovery of the surface world and it's refreshing to see her be open about the fact she is learning.

“Where is its mother?” Leliana asks, locating her bow and inching towards it.

“Dead.  I found her fussing over her mother's body.” The bear isn’t struggling against her hold, merely looking around and wiggling in the process.

“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about a full grown bear crashing our camp.” Zevran says wryly, “Let it be known that you, my dear warden, are full of surprises.”

Alistair finally manages to contain his laughter.  He asks, “You going to keep her?”

“She’d die,” is the blunt response.

Raising a baby bear takes some doing, but if having a transient wolf is useful, the bear proves invaluable after she grows up a bit.  However, Alistair once again forgets to introduce Sigyn to a cat.  It ends up not really mattering because in a small town being sieged by darkspawn, Sigyn finally meets a cat… of sorts.

“That’s a cat?” Sigyn asks flatly, pointing to the cat who is sitting and whipping its tail around in unamused.

“It was a cat.” He clarifies, it at least looked mostly like a cat.

“My eyes do not glow like that.” she says, giving him a look.

“That’s the demon,” he says.  Kitty sits there, purple eyes glowing in the dark, looking distinctly displeased.  “Please don’t try to adopt this one.  You already have a mabari, a wolf, and a bear.”

She rolls her eyes, they have had this conversation before.  “I have a mabari, the bear and the wolf aren’t mine.  They’ve just taken a shine to me and won’t leave.”

“I only want the girl,” the demon, Kitty, cuts across their discussion.  Alistair and Sigyn exchange a look and then she glances at Wynne and Morrigan.  Wynne nods and Morrigan looks aloof.

“Do as you will, I have no opinion,” Morrigan responds to Sigyn’s silent question.  Sigyn smiles and nods.

So they set to freeing the demon so they can free the girl from its clutches.  When they take a break from trying to undo the old magics by recreating the circle from the scattered floor tiles, Alistair notices Morrigan is missing.  It’s not uncommon for the witch to wander away when she was bored with their proceedings, so he doesn’t think twice about it.  Besides, Wynne is more experienced with summoning circles.

It’s only after they have finished fighting the recently released desire demon trapped within the now very dead cat without the assistance of Morrigan that Alistair starts to wonder where she is.

“Where’s Morrigan?” he asks as they walk back through the caves.  Sigyn is helping support the shaken girl and leading the way.

“She said the caves were making her antsy,” Wynne says, “I’m sure she’s just getting some fresh air. Don’t worry, she’s a very competent young woman.”

He supposes that is true, but he’s never known her to not like caves. Maker knows Sigyn had found quite a few of them to use as camp sites early on when they had been avoiding soldiers and darkspawn alike.  Morrigan had never complained about their hideouts and this was before he and Morrigan had developed a begrudging respect for each other when she was more prone to complain.

He doesn’t have the time to ponder that train of thought because there is a joyous cry from the girl as she sees her father.  A tearful reunion, a wealth of thanks, and the payment of the correct dwarva words activate the golem later, they find themselves back in the village green.  The air isn’t exactly fresh as many of the building are still smoldering, but there is no Morrigan enjoying the air, regardless of the quality of it.  There is, however, a black and white cat sitting on the fence of the green.  It is lazily tapping its tail and, while its eyes do not glow like Kitty’s had, there is something uncanny about its eyes.

“Sigyn, there’s a cat.” Alistair gestures.  The cat stands up and before Sigyn has time to get a good look, dashes away. “And it’s gone.”

“I’m sure I will meet more cats.  I now know what they actually look like,” she says and pats his arm.

“Just no more bears or wolves,” he says hopefully.

“Not intentionally,” she nods.  Alistair hears the distinct lack of promise, but before he can press the matter she says, “But shall we get a golem?”

He nods and they turn to face the large figure. “What do you think will happen?”

“They’re dwarva, but your guess is as good as mine.”

It turns out that Shale, golems have names, is more snarky and jaded than anything else.  Sigyn takes it in stride though, she has a lot of experience dealing with snarky.  He frowns, thinking about snarky, Morrigan is still missing.

Sigyn lets out a soft gasp of surprise and it’s enough to break him out of his thoughts.  The cat from before winds itself around her ankles, chirrups, and then, noticing Alistair looking at it, aloofly stalks off.  Sigyn turns to him, eyes wide with something close to joy, “Alistair? Does that mean anything?”

“Maybe, but who knows. Cats can be very finicky like—” his heart plummets— “Morrigan.” He sighs and says her name.

“Whatever have I done now?” Morrigan walks towards them from the building the cat had just disappeared behind.

“Are you telling me that wasn’t you?” he asks incredulously.

“I assure you I have no idea what you are talking about,” she says with a smirk.

“The cat! It had your eyes!”

“Ah, but cat’s eyes glow in the dark, do they not. I am lacking glowing eyes unlike one of our party.” Her smirk widens.

“Do they usually quibble?” Shale asks flatly.  Sigyn look up at them and nods. “Delightful.”

“You get used to it,” she reassures the golem.

“Right,” they say.

Alistair catches Morrigan alone a few days later, “Why didn’t you just show Sigyn what a cat looked like?”

“Twas not asked and one does not simply do magic to show a woman the form of a cat,” he scoffs at her words and she gives a smile that could almost be described as fond. “Besides, she is quite talented with the wild for being a child of the stone. It would be a disservice not to foster her exploration of the world.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he snips back, though there is no real anger or malice behind his words.

“Then we shall count our many blessings that Sigyn is a dwarf,” he laughs despite himself.  Still, her words give him pause.  Despite the confusion over what a cat truly was, Sigyn does have a gift.

Later that night as he sits and pets the Lord of Farts, he watches Sigyn go from chatting with Shale to laughing with Leliana and Zevran and it is obvious.  She might not know exactly what and who she was always dealing with, but she manages to find strays just like herself and bring them together.  Although, hopefully, any new additions will not take the form of large wild animals.

[vexedbuckbeak-blog]

Responsible//Marauders Era: Sirius x Reader

Request:  "I want to forget what its like being a responsible adult. You make me want to be irresponsible." - a quote request for Sirius x reader please ❤️

"I want to forget what its like being a responsible adult. You make me want to be irresponsible."

The night falls, unnoticed by Y/N, her hand stained with black ink, hurriedly scrawling her charms homework onto a worn piece of parchment. Her brows are furrowed in a frown, and every few moments, an agitated sigh escapes her lips. Her glower doesn't fade as she dips her quill into the small bottle of ink, a loud groan sounding once she realises there is none left. Frustrated, she drops the quill on the polished wooden desk and falls back in her chair. She puts her face in her hands, and lets her eyelids close, only for a moment.

"Tired, are we?" a voice prompts her eyes to open wide, her vision blurred for the first few moments. A few blinks later, she makes out the shape of Sirius Black, a smug grin on his handsome face. She shakes her head lightly, chasing away the light sleep she'd just been woken from. She looks up at him, squinting slightly, her voice silent and raspy as she speaks.

"What time is it?"

"9:30," he says with a chuckle, a confused look spreading over his face when he sees the y/e/c eyes widen and the girl before him begins fumbling with her things, shoving everything into her bag carelessly. His confusion soon morphs into amusement as she grabs her bag, soon pulled back by the strap that remains stuck to the table's corner, cursing in annoyance. 

"Where's the fire?" the boy speaks lazily, handing her a quill he'd unnoticeably picked up as she attempted to rush off. She snatches it from him, narrowing her eyes.

"I slept through an hour that I could have spent studying for the N.E.W.T.s," she responds, clearly frustrated, "and now I have to study another hour when I'm back in the common room, which means I'll go to sleep late, which means I'll be tired in the morning, which means I won't be able to pay atte--"

"Calm down there, nerd," the fact that Sirius is laughing at her panic prompts her to clench her jaw.

"Is nerd a synonym for responsible now?" she responds sardonically.

"Is responsible a synonym for overstressed now?" he wastes no time retorting to her remark, and a small smile appears on his face as her arms fold over her chest.

"Is there something you wanted, Black?" 

"Just your attention, but after this, I want you to relax," a laugh escapes his lips as he eyes the annoyed girl up and down.

"How are you so relaxed?" she questions, "Do you not worry?"

"And what's the use in that?" she finds herself pondering the words that have just been said by his hoarse, lighthearted voice. 

After a minute of silence, she uncrosses her arms from her chest and outstretches one of them towards the smirking boy, who happily accepts it.

"Are you bloody insane? It's freezing up here," her voice is booming in an attempt to overpower the howling wind that dances through the astronomy tower, making her teeth chatter. 

"Fresh air helps clear your mind," he gives her a wink before removing the leather jacket off his back and handing it to the shivering girl.

"Yeah, fresh, not Siberia like," she mutters, accepting the jacket with a mouthed, "Thank you," inhaling the scent of cigarettes that lingered on the leather, the strangely comforting smell causing a smile to spread across her face. 

He gives her a glance, his grey eyes stirring up a storm in the bottom of her lungs. He shakes his head lightly, and she frowns in confusion.

"What?"

"Nothing," he averts his gaze, but it doesn't stop her from seeing his smirk.

"Tell me."

"It's just cute," he shrugs.

"What is?" her eyes narrow at his answer.

"You're so focused on all the 'school stuff'," his hands form quote marks in the air, and despite trying to frown, she can't help but smile at the remark, "and I find it cute."

She feels her cheeks warming up, despite the wind that still roars through the tower, and tries to fight the smile that threatens to appear on her face. 

"Doesn't erase the fact that you need to loosen up though. It's not good for you, you know?" a look of genuine worry is clear in his eyes. Before she has time to think she finds herself taking a step closer, and placing a kiss on his cheek. A vibrant red spreads over his cheek, and she knows it's not the cold of the wind, a happy smile finally spreading on her fairy-like face.

"Alright, Black," she states, meeting his eyes, "Teach me how to be irresponsible."

[anavoliselenu]

Blood Chapter 1

Officer Jacob Black stood in the doorway and contemplated the huge pool of thick blood on the floor where Martin Langer was found. He turned and could see a similar pool where Tiffany Langer had lain. He pondered the extensive blood loss. It was a lot more than he was used to finding at shootings.

Jacob Black was twenty-seven, one of the youngest officers on the squad and had completed the Academy in little to no time due to his extensive determination and superior training. He was tall, dark skinned, muscular, menacing, skilled; the perfect candidate. His ranking had moved up quickly in a short amount of time, making him a favorite and a fully fledged detective at an early age.

Over the past six years in the Chicago Police Department, he had been a part of shootouts, bank robberies, drug busts and half a dozen high powered cases that had gained him glowing praise among the brass sitting in City Hall. He wasn't afraid of a fight and had honed his skills to the point of near perfection.

He could find anyone, defeat anyone and crack any case. It was child's play for him and he would surely be in the head position before he was forty. The top people were already talking about it.

The clicking of a crime scene camera caused him to focus harder on the case at hand. It was the Labor Day weekend; his girlfriend Leah and he had planned a nice trip out to Lake Michigan ... if he got off on time.

The blood was splattered on the furniture, on the carpet, on the white bed sheets, everywhere. The two pools had coagulated into a black and rusty-brown mass, which covered so much of the floor that the ambulance personnel had to walk through it, leaving tracks of footprints behind as they went around the house gathering evidence.

Black was wearing tennis shoes with pale blue booties over them. He let out a deep breath and the real crime scene investigation began.

There were only three people in the room, one was alive and two were dead.

The Langer's faces were blown off, making them unrecognizable and the whole room was a grave site, filled with a chilling air. Two technicians came into the bedroom, snapping photos and explaining scientific evidence like 'splatter distribution areas' and 'droplet velocity' but Black wasn't listening.

The facts would be compiled in a detailed report on where the killer had stood in relation to the victims, at what distance the shots were fired from, in which order the shots were fired, fingerprints that were left, anything that would help.

Black knelt near the thick pool of dark brown liquid that was dripping from the bed sheets onto the floor.

"The wife, what do we know about her?" Black asked one of his deputies named Seth Clearwater who was standing in the hallway.

"Nothing, she's clean. Not even a parking ticket." Clearwater replied.

"Uh huh." Black muttered. From personal experience, he knew that no one was clean, "What about the husband?"

"He's a very interesting character. French, studied abroad before he came here for business school. Forty-five, lots of money and two houses in the area. No kids..." Clearwater rattled off the important things.

"Any shady dealings?"

"Nothing much, but the surname Bieber appears in several of the documents about him. I have a team on them now."

"The Bieber's..." Black thought out loud.

"Yeah, you know them. Supposedly they're in organized crime, you know, mafia stuff, but nobody can ever pin things on them. It's like they're ghosts. Big Italian family that's so generous on the outside but all hell on the inside. They actually gave half a million in donations last year to the police department."

Of course Black knew the Bieber's.

They had attachments to over forty crime cases that were currently open but like Clearwater said, nothing could ever be held down in regards to evidence.

"Who heads the family up?" Black asked, just for clarification.

"Carlisle Bieber and he has three sons; Emmett, Jasper and Justin."

"A wife?"

"Esme, sir."

"We need to get in contact with the organized crime division. I want to know everything there is to know about them. I want to be in the know on this."

"But... why?"

"I think Martin Langer was their under-the-table accountant. That's what the signs point to at least and I haven't done any kind of serious investigating but I would bet that they had something to do with this."

Black stood up and began walking around the room, taking in the evidence around him. This was why he was the best. He could take the situation and turn it to find each hidden clue that had eluded previous detectives.

According to the evidence, Martin Langer and his wife Tiffany had been sharing a nice night at home. The white wine filled glasses were on the bedside table, the candles were flickering creating eerie shadows on the walls, and there was a thick smell of perfume in the air. The makings of a nice romantic night were everywhere. Unfortunately, the Langers never saw their night.

Anywhere from 8:00 p.m., when the neighbors heard the Langer's door close to midnight, the current time, someone had picked the outside lock, crept into the North Side Chicago apartment, and shot them. Point blank. No hesitation. No shaking hand. This was professional.

"I think we're looking in the wrong direction." Black rubbed the back of his neck, "We thought it was a burglary?"

"Yeah, a painting is gone from the hallway that was supposedly worth millions."

"And no one saw anything?"

"Nope."

Black knew he would re-canvas the area later and interview everyone again. No doubt about it.

"I don't like this." Clearwater walked behind Black, following his steps.

"There were only two bullet casings?"

"Well... there were no bullet casings found but only two shots that the ballistics staff have evidence for."

That made Black slightly mad. Was he working with amateurs? He took a deep breath to calm himself, "Two bullets, two bodies. Both dead on the first shot. This wasn't a robbery."

"But... the painting?" Clearwater pointed towards the hallway.

"It was a cover up. The perp could have given a fuck about the painting. This was a murder for a reason."

"This whole thing is a mess. Look at all this blood."

That did baffle Black. A trained assassin would have never left so much evidence around, meaning that this amount of blood was a message. It was taunting, saying 'Come and get me'.

This was Bieber work and Black vowed, this time, they weren't going to get away with it.

The blood on the walls, on the floor, on the carpet, on the mirror, it was all a sign that pointed right to the source but the only problem was, the Bieber's were smart.

Clearwater left the room on his phone and Black circled the crime scene one last time before heading to the door.

"There's a lot of blood on your hands Bieber." He sighed, "I'm coming for you all."

He closed the door on the worst shooting scene he had seen in his years on the force and straightened out his tie before walking back down the hall.

I tuned out the first verse of Franz Schubert's Ave Maria because to tell you the truth, I hated this fucking song. I had sung it every Sunday for twenty-five motherfucking years but a Bieber never missed church.

 I sat in the front pew of Holy Name Cathedral, formally the Cathedral of the Holy Name. It's the seat of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Chicago, one of the largest Roman Catholic dioceses in the United States. It's also the parish church of the Archbishop of Chicago. I know that all sounds like religious mumbo jumbo but I was required to know it, being the "devout Catholic" that I was.

 Total bullshit, if you ask me.

 The whole church was a huge Gothic monstrosity, consisting of sparkling marble, strong granite, towering steeples and large stain glass windows. Among the sprawling high-rises of downtown Chicago, the church looked like a misplaced antique house, trying to compete against modernity.

 To my left, were my parents Carlisle and Esme. I studied their regal statures and how they seemed to radiate joy. My father was on the verge of fifty but could pass for my age easily. With his short, golden blonde hair and piecing blue eyes along with his structured face and the body of an athlete, he could model for almost any suit company, making millions. My mother, with her honey colored locks and dark green eyes was the picture of perfection. Together, they were the best looking couple in church and everyone envied them.

 Just by his outside appearance, you would never guess that my father was the hardest motherfucker on the planet.

 He was head of all Italian organized crime activity in Chicago and half of the country for that matter. Everyone was afraid of him. No matter who you were or what family you were from, the name 'Bieber' was synonymous with ruthlessness even though on the outside, we looked like the perfect blue-blooded American family.

 In order to fully understand the dynamic of our group, you had to go way back.

 According to the story, Great Grandpa Nicola Rossini stepped off of the boat in 1916. He was six and alone but he made it. I don't know how he got on that ship without the proper papers or documentation and he never told me the whole tale but I had a feeling that he had been doing illegal things all of his life. Stowing away on a boat heading for America was just another walk in the park for that badass. He was pushing one hundred now but still kicking, probably having the time of his life with some hot stewardess in France.

 The second he stepped off the boat at Ellis Island, it was a fucking blood bath.

 He had no money, no family, and no damn clue what he was doing, but he was smart. He lived the streets for about a year and from his stories, got whatever he wanted just by giving his "scary eye", which he had mastered before he was five. No one else could pull it off quite like him but once you got the look, you knew you were in for a world of hurt. I had only gotten it once and my ass still hurt from the butt kicking he gave me, but I digress.

 He was a motherfucking beast and still was.

 One day, when he was seven I think, he was caught stealing from the most ruthless street boss in Brooklyn, Justin Bieber, who I just happened to be named after. Justin Sr., as he was called, threatened to cut off Nicola's hand, as per mob rules but like I said, he was smart.

 They made a deal. A deal that started it all.

 Nicola would work for Justin Sr., learning throughout the years and training to become somebody in this country. Justin needed someone to run the streets for him and Nicola was the perfect solution. Little did Justin know, he just made the worst decision of his life.

 By the time Great Grandpa was eighteen; Nicola Rossini had become Nicola Bieber and he had taken over after Justin Sr. died in a "car accident". He later told me that he had planned the whole thing. That was the start of the Nicola Bieber reign and the beginning of our family's lucrative businesses.

 Long story short, he married, had a butt-load of kids and the line went down to my father, Carlisle.

 It was strange to think of Carlisle as the head of any crime family because of his gentle nature. That's not to say that he hasn't killed a motherfucker or two but he only likes using violence when it's necessary.

 I was more like Great Grandpa Bieber. Ruthless. Menacing. Violent.

 After Nicola conquered Brooklyn and half of New York, he packed up, moving to Chicago where he set up shop from there. This city was the place I thrived in. This was the place where my father was born, where I was born, where I learned everything I knew.

 My father married my mother Esme right out of college and they had been together ever since. After Nicola grew too old to run anything, he chose someone who could lead and someone who would do the family proud. Carlisle's father, my grandfather was that person but he was murdered quickly after taking over. Thus, Carlisle Bieber became the most feared man of the underworld with one wave of Great Grandpa's hand.

 "Justin pay attention." My mother leaned over and whispered to me, hitting my knee.

 "I am." I shrugged and she gave me a steely glare.

 "No you're not, I won't have you daydreaming in church."

 "Is it a sin?" I asked with an eye roll.

 "Yes as a matter of fact, it is." She snapped and leaned back in the pew.

 I sat up straighter but let my thoughts drift more and more from church.

 The OCD in me detected that something was off and I frantically searched for what it was. A small page from the Bible next to me was sticking out and I just couldn't have that. I quickly tucked it back in and re-straightened my tie.

 I wasn't clinically diagnosed with anything but my habits and mannerisms were classic OCD related. No one really cared enough to fix it and with the work I did, it actually helped me stay organized.

 I was the second biological son of my parents, but still the youngest after my bigger brother Emmett and adoptive brother Jasper.

 Being Sicilian Italian, family came very important to the Bieber's.

 As the second son of Carlisle and Esme, I would normally be in no position to take over but if you knew Emmett, you would know why I was the favorite to rule our kind in twenty, thirty years. Whenever our father decided I was ready.

 Emmett was a huge guy, the size of a professional linebacker but under all the muscle and bulk, was a boy who never took life too seriously. That was part of the reason why Carlisle was so willing to give second-in-command to me but don't let his teddy bear-like exterior fool you. Emmett was soft yet powerful. He could take down a roomful of Feds with a ballpoint pen and a paperclip. I admired him for his strength but his brains weren't too much to praise.

 My second brother, of sorts, was Jasper. He wasn't actually related but you would never have been able to tell because he looked almost exactly like Carlisle and he was just as much my brother as Emmett was. My parents adopted him at the age of two, before I was born and the story was pretty twisted but we made it work.

 Jasper was originally the son of a rival crime family who was all but wiped out by Carlisle's people. In any case, that left Jasper without parents and Esme refused to let him go into the foster care system so they adopted him on the spot. He wasn't given a chance to take over the reins since he wasn't technically family but he was happy to be a part of what we built.

 The Bieber's were known as the toughest pieces of shit this side of Sicily and no one messed with us. Of course before we got to be top dogs, we had to beat everyone else down. The Irish, the blacks, the Japanese, Chinese, Colombians, Russians, Spanish, Brazilians. Basically we owned the Eastern seaboard and it crept into the Mid-West.

 We had syndicates in London, New York, Miami, Tokyo, LA, Seattle, Hong Kong, Moscow and Puerto Rico but Chicago was home base.

 We dealt in everything from drugs to illegal exports but the Bieber specialty was guns. I knew my way around a Colt .45 by the time I was four and could handle the kickback myself at the age of five. Although all three sons went to school for business, Carlisle made sure we could handle any situation on the streets and taught us how to use a gun before we could walk.

 Diamonds, cocaine and money were always going through our mafia connections, but the one thing we never touched was humans. Carlisle wouldn't even entertain the idea of selling another person for money even though many of the other crime families dealt in it heavily.

 We had a heart when we wanted one!

 Under him, my father probably had about two thousand people working all over the world. It was hard to keep track of them all and some say a mob family should be a small family or it will never work but no one stayed around very long if they weren't doing their jobs.

 In the immediate family, there were about ten who made the decisions, starting with my father then moving to me, then Emmett, then Jasper.

 We were a tight knit group that valued loyalty and secrecy above all else. If you didn't comply by the rules, well... use your imagination. We Bieber men were known for being creative.

 "Justin, I mean it. Pay attention." My mother hit my knee again.

 "I am." I groaned but my thoughts couldn't have been further from the Lord.

 Emmett and Jasper snickered from beside me.

 "Pussies." I whispered under my breath.

 "Dipshit." Emmett shot back.

 "Boys, I will not have that language in church. We're all going to confessional before we leave." Esme interrupted our fighting.

 "Come on Ma, that priest is a fucking boy toucher. I can't even look at him." Jasper shuddered.

 "He doesn't do that kind of thing. Father O'Malley is well respected and you better be listening." She pointed at all three of us.

 Carlisle just shook his head with a smirk.

 It was funny, actually laughable to see the Bieber's in church but it wasn't an option not to be, Nicola made sure of that. He said that the less inconspicuous you were, the less the Feds were on your tail so that was why we did "normal shit", as I called it. The weekdays were for the mob and the weekends were for the family.

 Every Saturday, Esme hosted a huge dinner at the house and we all ate with the entire family, which included about forty people. Some of them were blood related and others not but they were all considered family by Esme. Sunday was church and then we would all get in the cars, headed towards the Rosehill Cemetery to change the flowers on Esme's father's grave, no matter what the weather. After that, it was usually relaxing until we were back to hard drugs, money, and guns on Monday.

 God, I love my life!

 Of course, just because we were leaders of the mafia didn't mean that we didn't have legitimate businesses. Emmett, Jasper and I all went to Harvard for undergrad and Dartmouth for our MBAs, which our father insisted we have if we planned on going into his line of work. He never pushed us to join the family but it was common knowledge that we were all going to follow him.

 In addition to our crime life, we all had a normal life as well.

 I was in real estate, not for anyone but myself. I owned three highrises in Chicago and numerous other ones around the country. My brothers lived with me in one of them and we basically tore the place apart with our frat boy antics. I owned the penthouse obviously but Emmett and Jasper lived in the floors below.

 Jasper owned three clubs and some restaurants around the city that had basically become places of worship for young tourists and socialites. Emmett and my father were the real businessmen. According to anyone not in the know, Carlisle was a hedge fund manager.

 Yeah right.

 "So congregation, I urge you to do something good for the week. Be nice to someone, do a good deed." Father ended his sermon, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

 "Amen." The collective voice of over six hundred spoke.

 "The Lord be with you."

 "And also with you." We finally concluded.

 What a bunch of losers.

 I had never missed a Sunday of church but that was only because of Esme. I would love to sleep in or go work out during the hour of eight o'clock mass but she wouldn't hear of it. Whatever my mother wanted, she got. She was the sweetest woman on this planet, living in a word ruled by men who dominated chaos. She was also the only woman I ever loved and probably the only woman I would ever love.

 I didn't do love. That was for pussy whipped suckers who had nothing better to do. I didn't do relationships either. Never did, never will. The only one who had someone steady was Emmett with his fuck hot girlfriend of a couple years, Rosalie Hale.

 She used to work as Carlisle's secretary and everyone knew that she and Emmett liked each other but they beat around the bush for awhile. That was the difference between Emmett and me. I took what I wanted, no matter what. If I wanted Rosalie, then I would have had her... and I did. Multiple times.

 Of course that was before her and Emmett got together and I didn't think he knew about all of that so we were going to keep it under wraps. It was just sex anyway, just like with every other girl I had met.

 "So, what's on the agenda for today?" Jasper stretched from his seat.

 "I wish you boys would take a day off." Esme said and hooked her arm around my father's.

 "No time, Ma. We have things to do." Emmett cracked his knuckles. Rosalie flicked her long, blonde hair behind her shoulder and I saw some of the teenagers in the pews behind us sneak a peek. They immediately straightened out once Emmett shot them a glare.

 "Well, we have to put some flowers on your Grandfather's grave and then you're all free." She said, "Just make sure you're at the house for dinner."

 Esme tried to get to my hair but I stopped her, "Ma, really? I'm a twenty-five year old man."

 "I was just trying to help you out with your hair. I know how you hate it when it's out of place."

 "Sorry, I was rushing this morning." I said as I ran my hands through it, making sure that everything was perfect. The family began walking through the crowds that were leaving. We slowly strolled through the church, towards the exit.

 "Yeah, he was out with me last night." Jasper hit my shoulder and I cringed from the touch. I didn't like people having their hands on me.

 If the people in this church knew what Jasper and I were doing last night, the whole place would burn down. I crossed myself for good measure, just in case and then did it again because odd numbers were a no go in my book.

 "I don't know why you boys can't just sit at home once and a while. Read or take a nice walk." Esme said sweetly.

 "Really, with the way they act?" Rose laughed as we stepped into the sunlight of early September. The blistering Chicago heat was oppressive but nothing that would keep us indoors. We all put on our sunglasses and looked like we stepped out of a fucking movie.

 "Feds, three o'clock." Jasper pointed to a black town car that was waiting down the street from the church. There were two fat ass cops, sitting, waiting, trying to be stealthy.

 "When are they going to give up?" Carlisle shook his head and helped Esme down the stone steps of the church, "It's really getting pathetic."

 "Well, if you were a legitimate businessman, they wouldn't be there." Esme whispered.

 My mother knew the horrible things her family was capable of and what we did but she tried to stay out of it. She never liked talking about industry stuff and rarely gave any input on situations that weren't legal.

 "I still don't understand why they don't go home. I'm sure they have families to go to." Rose actually waved to them sarcastically. She could be a bitch when she wanted to be and we were all kind of scared of her.

 "Let's go before you invite them to dinner." Emmett pulled her down State Street where our cars were waiting in a discrete parking lot.

 "Uh...son, I need to speak with you." Carlisle clapped my shoulder, "Why don't we take a walk." He suggested like it was an option.

 "Sure." I replied, "Let me put my coat up." I unbuttoned the coat of my navy blue pin-striped suit and shrugged out of it.

 I left them standing, talking while I ran over to my baby.

 My cherry red Saleen S7 was my pride and joy, bought right after I graduated from Dartmouth. I would literally kill for this car. I unlocked the driver's side, butterfly door and put my coat behind it, folding it neatly like a delicate flower.

 I didn't like creases and I didn't feel like dealing with the jacket later, tackling it with an iron.

 I rolled up the sleeves to my white button down and made sure my hair was straight in the window before going back over to Carlisle who was standing alone.

 My mother was going with Emmett and Rose while Jasper was going to do God knows what with the rest of his day. I hoped they didn't forget that we had work to do later.

 "What's this all about?" I asked and stuffed my hands in my pockets.

 "Just keep walking." He said from beside me as we moved down State Street and over to Madison.

 The heat was sweltering but I didn't sweat. I never sweat. I had trained myself to keep that under control.

 There were a whole lot of people walking around us and even though they didn't' know my father and I, they felt to stay away. We gave off that kind of vibe.

 Don't mess with us.

 Carlisle and I had a weird relationship that was strained due to work but when we were relaxed, I got the old Carlisle that I grew up with. He was loving and warm but there was little to no place for that in the crime world. When he was in business mode, you knew it.

 He and I moved casually yet with a purpose. I didn't really know where we were going but at this point, I didn't question him. We walked to an ice cream vendor who was serving a group of kids.

 "Two vanilla." Carlisle pulled out his wallet. I cringed because I really didn't want to eat anything messy right now but if my father wanted me to shove ice cream up my ass, then I would have shoved ice cream up my ass. That's how everyone was with him.

 "That will be five-fifty, sir." The man said with a thick accent that I detected was Polish.

 "Wow, pretty steep for ice cream." Carlisle chuckled heartily.

 "I know but got to feed the family." The vendor said shyly, handing us our frozen treats.

 "Keep the change." My father paid with a five hundred dollar bill.

 We left while the ice cream man was staring, stunned at the money in his hand.

 "That was nice." I said as I took a long lick of my cone, trying to get the moisture that was about to dribble onto my hand.

 "I'll find out who he is, pay for his rent or something." My father replied.

 "What's with all this? Am I in trouble?" I asked, slightly nervous but masking it well.

 "Just keep eating. There's a big man, Emmett's size, following us on the other side of the street. Don't look." My father snapped as I turned my head, "He's dark skinned, short black hair. You'll get a look once we sit up here on the bench."

 I kept eating, per my father's command and didn't lift my head. The only thing that was taking my mind off of the man behind us was the glances of some pretty hot chicks who were eyeing me up and down a couple yards ahead.

 I kept licking my ice cream, making sure they saw that I could use my tongue and was glad that they couldn't see my eyes behind my sunglasses because I would probably have been arrested for sexual harassment without even touching them.

 "Justin, pay attention." My father brought my mind back, "Sit." He pointed to a bench in front of us, in a small park. There was a windy breeze that was flowing in the trees above and I enjoyed looking at the hustle of Chicago during this time of day.

 This was my city.

 We both sat down and I noticed precisely who Carlisle was mentioning before.

 "Jacob Black?" I asked, knowing exactly who he was, an arch enemy of sorts.

 "Keep eating. They can't read our lips." Carlisle said, "He's a smart whippersnapper that's been on the force for a couple of years. He's been tracking us for a while but of course..."

 "We're too good." I gloated.

 "Don't get a big head, Justin. Being conceited never did anything positive for anyone."

 "Sorry, sir." I shut my mouth, "Continue."

 "He's going to be keeping a close eye on us for the next couple of months."

 "Why? What's different now?" I already knew the answer to that. The truth was, I needed a challenge and Black provided that for me.

 I knew something must have happened for us to be getting a more constant police detail though.

 "Who did the Langer job? I told you to keep it quiet and only the husband." He got angry under his breath, "Then I find out that his wife was killed too and the evidence was everywhere. There was too much blood..."

 "Uh...I handled that."

 "Justin, get yourself together." Carlisle said sternly, "We've been very lucky in the past but things won't be so easy if you keep messing up. I don't have time for mistakes."

 "Sorry sir."

 "How long?" He asked simply and to anyone else, they would have been so confused by our conversation but I knew his meaning well.

 "One second." I replied and hung my head.

 "It takes one second to say 'I'm sorry'." He repeated like he had since I was a child, "It takes that amount of time to cock a gun. You could be dead by the time you utter the words." He said calmly.

 Since my childhood, he had always taught us that 'I'm sorry' was a phrase only to be used in the most dire of circumstances because I could be dead before I had the chance to say the words.

 "Don't apologize to me." He crossed his right leg over his left, looking the picture perfect definition of calm.

 "I wasn't thinking."

 "It's no problem. I have everything under control but I just wanted to make you aware of our new tag-along." My father finished his ice cream.

 "I know. Did you clean the mess up?"

 "Yes, someone took the fall for a robbery. Apparently, a painting was stolen or something like that. The case is closed and was sealed off. Black is trying to get it back opened as a murder but the brass won't hear it. They're too busy trying to raise their arrest numbers to spend time working out a murder." He stalled, "The point of the matter is, I expected more from you. I can't keep cleaning up the mess you boys leave behind. I don't have time."

 "I'll do better."

 We stayed silent for a long minute as the breeze picked up. Just by smelling the air, I could predict a storm coming off of the Lakes and it would probably be here by nightfall.

 I looked across the street and saw Black reading a magazine at a kiosk, plain as day. I couldn't help the crocked grin that was plastered on my face. Black and I had played cat and mouse for the past three years and he had yet to catch up to me.

 The Langer's were just a small piece of the evil things that went down in the Bieber clan. By now, it wasn't an issue for me to walk into a roomful and just start unloading led into anyone who crossed me.

 Martin was my target. He used to be my father's accountant or one of them at least and when I went over the books last month like I did every month, I found some discrepancies. There was about two million missing from an offshore account in Jamaica that my father kept as part of his drug running in the Caribbean. The money just vanished and that was something I wasn't putting up with.

 I questioned Langer, he had nothing to say, and I let him go. Coincidentally, a very nice villa in Greece that cost two million dollars, sprung up in his name. I went over to punish him. I didn't get played, the money wasn't even a serious issue but no one made a fool of me.

 His wife was just a casualty. She wasn't supposed to be home but since she was, she had to bear the burden of her husband's cross. I wasn't leaving any witnesses.

 The blood was my own little touch.

 It was a message. I knew that Black would be handling the case but wouldn't get anywhere with it... just like it always was with these things. I actually painted that shit over the room like I was Jackson fucking Pollock, flinging it over the walls, on the bed sheets, on the carpet. It was actually fun and I didn't usually do fun.

 I was just trying to liven up the dry, boring affair that Black and I were having. He was so thick and stupid. He thought he was some hot shot over there at the Department but if he was really someone, he would have caught onto us years ago. No one ever did and no one ever would.

 "He won't be a problem." I leaned back matter-of-factually.

 "No. We're too smart for him."

 I laughed, "I thought that being conceded was a negative trait."

 "For you. I've earned it." My father grinned at me, "Let's get going. Esme would kill me if we were late to the cemetery."

 After an hour of driving and placing flowers on the grave of a grandfather I never met, I was free until I had to be home for dinner.

 I decided to take a drive and let my Saleen stretch her legs.

 I took Highway 61, past the University of Chicago and then the yuppies of Northwestern as I blasted out of the city. The tall trees surrounded me on all sides as I took the road at 150 mph. I had a proclivity for fast cars, hot women and dangerous situations.

 That was who I was. Justin Bieber. No muss, no fuss.

 Frankly, I was a monster, a vampire, a killer and I loved it. I was a torturer and a murderer, wrapped in two thousand dollar suits on top of five thousand dollar shoes. I lived off of cocaine and hard liquor although I wasn't addicted to any of the shit that I pumped through my body. I had limits when it came to drugs and mostly stuck to coke that came through our dealings but that wasn't to say I wasn't up for trying new things. I got pussy whenever I wanted and I didn't even try to act like I sought any kind of relationship with someone.

 I had a few good qualities but they were mostly outshined by the bad.

 I was possessive, jealousy ran through my veins, hatred lived behind my eyes, I had the temper of a bull and little patience for slow movers or people who didn't do what I told them. I had to be in control at all times and didn't take orders from anyone besides my mother or father.

 I didn't have time to cultivate relationships or friendships because that was beneath me. Who cared if I didn't have friends? It was better to be feared than loved and that was the motto I lived by.

 I wasn't even paying attention as I passed a fucking minivan on the highway and felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

 "Bieber." I answered.

 "Yo, yo bro!" Emmett replied, "I just dropped Ma and Rosie off at the house. When are we going to finish this thing? I don't have time after dinner."

 I made a completely illegal and badass turn on the road, into the other lane, "I'm heading back into the city now. I'll meet you at the warehouse in half an hour?"

 "Sure thing. I'll get Jazz."

 I ended the call without any sentimental conclusion and picked up speed as I headed back to Chicago.

 I popped the bottom floor board of the Saleen in the passenger's seat and dug through until I found my second baby.

 I pulled out the sterling silver, ivory handled, Desert Eagle that fit perfectly in my hands and had nearly molded itself to my body. This was my special gun, the one I used when I wanted to finish a job while showing off a little. It didn't have a silencer and wasn't a stylish assassin type gun although I used those as well, but my Desert Eagle was my go-to weapon. I had an identical one that was gold platted at home but I rarely used that. That one required a special occasion.

 I set the gun in my lap and thumped my fingers on the steering wheel as I headed to the city and weaved through the early morning traffic.

 I arrived at the south end of the city in no time. The wharf was huge and the place where all the big barges came into the city. There were warehouses and loading docks everywhere but the noise provided a great shield for the business that we were in. Carlisle basically owned everything down here anyway so we could use this place to our advantage.

 I kept up a constant speed as I pulled next to Emmett's Mercedes SL65 that he and Jasper were leaning against.

 I stepped out of the car and my Italian loafers made a soft noise in the puddle at my feet.

 "Shit." I muttered and tried to shake the dirty water off. I twisted my neck as the uneasiness of dirt seeped into my skin. I breathed deeply and didn't let the feeling overtake me.

 OCD is a bitch!

 "Can you slow down? My car is too precious to get damaged." Emmett ran his hand along the slick, silver paint.

 "Yeah, yeah." I huffed, "Let's get this over with. It's about to storm like a beast." I looked up to the sky where dark swirling clouds were rumbling above.

 "What are we doing here again?" Jasper muttered as we side-stepped puddles, going into the furthest warehouse on the left side near the edge of the water.

 Emmett pulled out his phone and scrolled through some information, "I think Dad wants us to question this dude about the dealings in Miami."

 "He heads everything down there?" I opened the metal door.

 "No, he's just a low level guy but he's shady as shit. Dad doesn't trust him. He thinks he's a cop or something."

 "And what are we supposed to do?" Jasper shrugged, "Let him stay undercover for all I care."

 "We can't do that." Emmett sighed, "He would know too much. We have to finish this."

 Somewhere in the back of my mind, the alarms were going off. 'You can't kill a cop, Justin!', but I pushed those thoughts out. I had done it before. Killing was like second nature to me. I already knew I was going to hell, no need to mention it again.

 I shoved the Desert Eagle down my belt in the back after checking my bullet supply. I was good to go.

 We silently walked into the warehouse that was practically empty except for a couple of crates pushed up against the far walls, some kind of plywood that was stacked high to the ceiling, a chair in the middle of the vacant space and a trembling man of about thirty sitting in it. There were no windows and only the front door. A soft light was on but didn't provide much to see with.

 "Let's get dirty." I muttered and regretted my words but I knew I would be alright. Killing was the only thing I didn't mind getting dirty with. I loved blood as long as it was pouring from someone else.

 We all approached the man casually, fanning out so that we looked incredibly scary.

 Emmett and Jasper took off their jackets, flinging them over a crate before rolling up their sleeves.

 I circled my prey like a vulture and took him in, assessing the situation.

 He was a man with some meat on his bones who looked like he could be a challenge if I was someone weaker. His head was bowed and his hands were tied behind the chair in a thick rope. I saw the red marks on his wrists, signaling to me that he had tried on more than one occasion to get out of them. He was breathing heavily but I knew that was from his position in the chair, which was very painful.

 He was shorter than I was, I could already see that even with him being seated and had nothing on but a pair of boxers. He was wet with sweat and water. I guess my father had already sent someone over to soften him up.

 "What's your name?" I said from behind him, coolly and calmly.

 "Markos." His accent was strong.

 "Where are you from?" My tone was sharp and deadly.

 "Croatia."

 Jasper, Emmett and I silently looked at each other, our words went through our minds without leaving our mouths.

 He's not a Fed. He's Eastern European mob shit!

 "Who do you work for?"

 "No one."

 It happened so fast, I wouldn't have known anything was going on if Markos hadn't let out a yelp of pain that echoed off of the empty walls.

 Emmett slammed a piece of plywood across Markos' thighs, causing a loud sound to ricochet around us. The wood splintered down the middle from force but didn't crack completely.

 "Damn, I wanted to see if I could break his femur." Emmett pouted childishly, "I guess we need a stronger piece of wood." He went off to the stack near the door and spent a couple of seconds appraising the selection.

 "I'll ask you again, who do you work for?" I circled until I was an arm's length in front of him, creating more dramatic effect.

 That was all this job was about, drama. I could kill him right now if I wanted. No harm done.

 "No one." Markos' teeth were gritted.

 I swiftly removed the Eagle from behind me and blew a hole the size of a grapefruit in his left knee. With precision, the bullet ripped through the bone, causing blood and muscle matter to spray my shirt but I didn't flinch.

 I retracted my arm, letting it fall gingerly at my side with the gun still in full view.

 He let out a string of curse words and I could smell the salt from his tears as they left his eyes.

 Fucking pussy.

 "Okay, okay." Marcos squirmed and I could see the tears falling from his face. His entire left leg would have to be amputated if he lived through this, "His name is Sergio. He's Russian and sent me to infiltrate."

 I blew another hole through his left shin in two seconds. His screams were enough to almost deafen me but they were masked by the loud blow horns and sea birds outside. There was no need for a silencer. No one would hear us.

 "You gave up too easily." I wiped some blood from the barrel, "If I was your mob boss, you would have already been dead for revealing that information. You didn't even put up a fight."

 "I've been locked in here for a week. I haven't eaten and someone comes in every hour to beat the hell out of me until I talk. I don't have any fight left in me!"

 "Pity." Jasper said under his breath.

 "There's no winning with you guys is there?" Markos sobbed pathetically. I just rolled my eyes.

Jasper untied Markos from his bindings at my request and he fell to the ground in a pool of blood that was seeping from his leg.

 "I want to know everything you took from us." Jasper sat in the chair with his arms crossed.

 "Nothing, I swear. I've only been in for a couple of months."

 "You're stupid and lazy. You got caught because you were stealing the shipments out of Miami. Where were you sending them?" Emmett asked coldly, all pretenses were gone from his voice. A business Emmett could be very scary.

 "Russia. Sergio wants to take you down. Everyone does." The accent was making it hard to understand him and along with the heavy panting, I knew we weren't going to get much more out of our good friend Markos.

 "How much did you take?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

 "Just a couple kilos of coke..." He didn't have time to finish his sentence before I put a bullet straight through his forehead. His neck jerked back violently from the force of the led that was ripping through his brain and came out the other end.

 Blood flew like a gusher from the large wound out of the back and was now everywhere but somehow, Emmett and Jasper were clean.

 Lucky bastards.

 "I have to change now before dinner." I tsked myself, not caring that a man was just obliterated by my own hand.

 "You're always the messy one. It's embarrassing." Jasper slapped his knee, "Look at me, pristine as can be." He held up his arms.

 I flung some blood that was on my gun across his shirt, causing it to stain a deep red.

 Emmett was rolling with laughter so I got him too, which shut him up.

 "Goddamn it, Justin.Rosie can't get blood out of cotton and this was her favorite one on me."

 "You are such a little bitch." I snickered.He hit me in the shoulder with a piece of wood, not hard enough to hurt but just enough to leave a mark.

 "I guess we've got to deal with this piece of shit." Jasper sighed and pointed to Markos.

 "We'll have the new guys dump him in the river." Emmett patted his stomach, "Right now, I'm starving."

He grabbed his jacket before bounding out of the warehouse. Jasper followed and I was the last one out.

 I stuffed my gun back in my belt and shut the heavy metal door with a clang.

This was my life. Take it or leave it.

[jacobston42]

Spaceman Tim: Pt. 2

Tim thought he was alone. He left the cockpit of his drifting spacecraft, shifting aft to inspect his sleeping bunk and living space. Aft of that was the airlock and cargo hold. A few empty Ginan™ Tonic drinking packets floated around, along with some Alterian coins and various other debris synonymous with spending months on end with nobody but your own company.

Being alone had never bothered Tim. One does not make a career of traveling vast distances between squalid, outlying colonies, getting paid to transport life-saving supplies (which the colonists pay extravagant amounts for) if one is not prepared for the enduring and lonely voyages at hand. One certainly does not continue to do so for 15 years.

No, Tim definitely enjoyed his solitude. When people asked him how he coped with being alone so much of the time - and someone always asked - he would give some pop-psych buzzwords about only finding your true self when nobody else is around. Occasionally, if someone became too pushy he would make up a traumatizing story about a fellow crew member on an early trip systematically trying to cook and serve everybody on board. “We worried when Johnson went missing. Then Phillips, and even Stinky Steve… I knew as soon as that quiche hit the plate, it couldn’t be anybody else. After that trip, I made it mandatory for every crew member to shower daily.”

A part of him may have believed his own words (perhaps not the ones he blatantly made up), but in all actuality it was never something he could explain. He was comfortable working in his own presence and that was the way it was.

Still though, the realization that he would spend the remainder of his life in a tin cage of isolation had only begun to sink in for Tim. He decided the best way to handle things would be to handle nothing at all.

Returning to his daily routine, he spent some time cleaning the ship as best he could. He reactivated the day/night cycle on the lights and prepared a meal to retain as much normalcy as he could. He turned some music on the ship’s address system and glanced habitually at the navigation instruments before retiring properly. He was still jarred by seeing the blank screen where an ETA should have been. He turned up the music and added to the collection of empty Ginan™ Tonic packets to distract himself enough to sleep.

By the next morning he had almost forgotten where he was. The undue silence reminded him starkly. Nevertheless he carried on with his daily routine, this time beginning with the exercise machine. Then he ate. Then music. On an ordinary day he would typically kill time calculating the ship’s fuel consumption or anonymously sending false pizza orders to nearby government complexes over the comms array. Instead, he scribbled some drawings on blank pieces of paper.

By the fourth day he had a new daily routine worked out. On the fifth he grew bored of it.

  Tim sat in silent thought in the airlock, staring blankly. This was day fifteen. He stared at the window on the door, at the stars outside. None of them looked familiar. Tim considered what his life could have been had he not bought the Eye. Opportunities he missed due to the long voyages. Friends he never had. Never would have now.

He reached for another Ginan™ packet. The last one was emptied hours ago. The one thing the replicator cannot replicate, he thought. He punched the side of the airlock, though it hurt his fist more than the ship. Without any nearby planets transmitting music, he was stuck listening to the same few songs he carried on his ship. At this point the music sounded like it was laughing at him. He left the airlock and squelched the audio.

 Some of the closer celestial bodies moved slowly across the window. He shifted himself to a position where he could see them better, thinking he could make out a system ahead. He made a note to attempt to figure how close he would pass by later, and he returned to the silence of the airlock.

As he pondered the same unfamiliar stars, the silence was interrupted by a tapping.

Tap, tap, tap…

Or perhaps more of a knocking?

Tim looked around. The sound was coming from the cargo hold.

He opened the hatch to see what could be making the noise. It was the first he would even see what he was carrying. All that occupied the deep, cylindrical compartment was a single box stood up on its end and strapped down. It looked almost like a coffin, but with a mesh window on the front. As Tim looked closer he could see movement inside the box.

Then the box started to speak.

“You pilots are getting uglier these days.”

Tim stared blankly at the box.

“Well? Are we there yet, or are you as inept a pilot as your beard is mangy?”

Tim looked around, then felt his face. He hadn’t shaved in a week now, now had he washed in some time. In his defence, he was unconscious for most of it.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting… guests…” Tim trailed off, still staring dumbly at the box. “Who are you?”

“I believe I asked a question first.”

Tim looked at the cockpit of the ship, then back at the box. “There was, a, uh…” He didn’t know what to say. They were dead? He knew it was true, but he hadn’t really said it out loud yet.

“There was an accident. We lost power. We are waiting for someone to pick us up,” Tim shifted himself into a straighter posture. “Now as captain of this vessel I demand to know who you are?”

“Ooh, captain of a derelict vessel,” The door of the box rattled briefly, “what are you going to do, lock me up? It would appear that someone already beat you to it.”

Tim was at a complete loss for words, as though in the past 15 days he had forgotten how to communicate with people entirely. Even the sound of the breathing coming from inside the box seemed foreign to him, but also… comforting.

“Do you need any food?” Tim asked the box.

“I have everything I need in here.”

“Great. If you would excuse me…”

“Oh of course.”

Tim closed the hatch to the hold and returned to the cockpit. The situation had just changed drastically. He flicked on the Emergency Computer and tried to access the cargo manifest for the delivery. All it would tell him was that the destination was a prison.

This began to look like a prison transport, but as far as Tim knew they had special guarded ships for those jobs. Unless they wanted it kept a secret?

 Time went by as Tim watched the stars out the window once again, this time with a whirlwind of thoughts filling his brain. He thought about the box. About how long the stranger had been in there. Prisoners were usually kept in stasis for transport, with the anesthesia timed to wear off after arrival at the prison. How would this person react to the news that they are never going to make it to their destination? Would they be dangerous?

Most of all, Tim considered having someone to break his solitude as he waited out his existence. It was this notion – an idea dancing in that grey area between selfless and selfish – that drove Tim to what he was about to do. Something Tim couldn’t fathom doing, and yet couldn’t see any other way forward. He opened the cargo hold and approached the box.

Tim was a few feet from the stranger and could feel himself being watched, but no words were spoken. He was shaking even though he didn’t know why.

“I’m going to let you out of your box.”

[anundefinedwoman]

Chasing Guilt Away

Guilt - n. 1. the fact of having committed a specified or implied offense or crime. "it is the duty of the prosecution to prove the prisoner's guilt"

synonyms: culpability, guiltiness, blameworthiness, wrongdoing, wrong, wrongfulness, criminality, unlawfulness, misconduct, sin, sinfulness

2. a feeling of having done wrong or failing in an obligation.  "he remembered with sudden guilt the letter from his other that he had not read" synonyms: self-reproach, self-accusation, self-condemnation, feelings of guilt, guiltiness, a guilty conscience, a bad conscience, pangs of conscience, remorse, regret, contrition, repentance, shame, disgrace, dishonor "eat your food and enjoy it without guilt"

I'm not sure what it says that I'm moving from love to guilt in my free association writing. They are stark contrasts of one another.  In love, I didn't know it.  It seemed out of reach.  Or maybe it seemed skewed.  I still remember the first part of a poem I wrote when I was 15/16:

What is love? How does it feel? Is it good? Is it real?

Where do you get it? How much does it cost? I need some desperately- Before I get lost.

But guilt was never something I was ever lacking.  I'm not sure if that's taught or just innate.  I find myself at this point 2 hours before my appointment with my therapist and I should be a lot further than I am now.  I am not a procrastinator by nature.  In fact, procrastinators annoy me.  I live in a house full of them.  I haven't had any awareness that I am consciously trying to avoid doing this.  It just seems to happen that way.  I have nothing to show this week and I even missed last week because my oldest son was sick.  Then I had days I didn't feel well.  Then my ancestry/DNA kit came back that I had been waiting 8-10 weeks for.  Excuses, you know?

I feel guilty for this, yes.  I probably should feel guiltier, but I don't.

Guilt is a funny thing.  It's a form of manipulation or gaslighting our "loved" ones or friends put upon us when we are helpless.  That seed of doubt.  The mistrust of yourself; making you feel selfish, ungrateful, or foolish for wanting something extra just as an example.

And then you know what happens? The treatment done by others, becomes a learned response that you begin doing to yourself.  I was told how ungrateful I was being during my childhood, I should basically just shut up, take the neglect, emotional and physical abuse and even be happy that I had the roof over my head and got new school clothes.

Those of us brought up in environments like this are conditioned to be co-dependents.  

The way I see it, we can either push everyone away and hold them at arms distance because our lack of trust in others (another byproduct of our environment) or fix the broken we see in everyone else.  Maybe it's easier than addressing what needs to be fixed in ourselves.

 It's interesting, isn't it?  I feel I am getting off my topic of guilt, but I am just going to go with my train of thought here.  See where this leads me.  Perhaps I can tie it back to guilt.  After all, I have always said there have been two thing my life has always been ruled by.  But always first by someone else.  Guilt being one.

But I wonder... Are you co-dependent?  Have you ever struggled with it?  Perhaps you are a "recovering" co-dependent.  that term makes me chuckle a little.  Perhaps you have or feel you have a hybrid form of co-dependency, (because we are weird and sometimes it's just hard to define us & feel like we are understood).

I did not grow up around addiction per se.  I grew up around self righteousness, selfish, angry assholes who neglected their responsibilities of parenthood onto others. I grew up around extreme dysfunction where I was controlled into submission and even jealousy by an imaginary granddaughter name "Debbie H****" who was as mysterious, good and as invisible as Santa Claus.  They used her to manipulate the little child in me.  Soon other family members would tease me about her.  They talked about her as if she were real.  I remember when I moved to England as a preteen, my grandfather wrote me once (and it was so special getting a letter from him) where he spoke about her in the letter. Sometimes I feel like there is this access of evil that runs through my family with all that has occurred to me, my mother and my aunt.  But the part of me that loves my grandparents ferociously wants to defend that they had no idea what they were doing; the damage this could have caused.  Could it?

I lay in bed at night sometimes and I think about perhaps something I said, or didn't say, or how a situation was handled and I persevere on the subject and how it may impact my children especially.  But I do this with everyone.  This is where guilt gets me.  I just want to make people happy.  Even if it means I'm not.  

The last few years I have gotten much better with this, but this has been my downfall.  I put others needs before my own.  Their worth, their needs take priority over mine.  Another learned behavior.  I've always had to.  Growing up my voice never counted.  My feeling never counted.  I guess I learned to push it down.  There were times when I would show emotion and was told I wasn't allowed to cry or feel sad or angry about something.  But I AM an emotional person.  I honestly don't know how I survived my childhood and teen years being so neglected and emotionally and physically abused.  I begin to detach and I ponder upon this.  I fiddle with my lip.  I stare off at the area rug in front of me in the distance and it becomes a blur and soft sounds of Pandora radio with cars passing by with loud sounds of birds chirping become my focus, but I am not there.  I have awareness.  I can come back.  I have control.  It scares me some and I realize this is where I probably should stop and look over the link my therapist gave me last week on what to do on staying in this present and not detaching - I want to push through, however.

It's like those moments when you are trying to concentrate,   i.e. write because maybe you have a deadline and maybe you have ADHD, which I do. (could be an effect of this, but I did take my meds today... huge squirrel moment!!)  As I was saying, perhaps you have ADHD, or are distracted or you are just a deep thinker and you suddenly stop mid-sentence, stare off into space and think about something - deeply, almost trancelike.  You might be 'lost' for a few moments.  Perhaps it may take someone snapping their fingers or tapping you on the shoulder and saying, "Ground Control to Major Tom" (if your name was Major Tom).  Talk about HUGE squirrel moment.  I am not sure why I felt the need to go off on a tangent describing all of this in such great lengths when my focus should be on guilt.  

I saw something the other day on Facebook in the form of a quote meme that bothered me a little.  I know a lot of people will agree with it.  It said:

"You're responsible for how long you let what hurt you, haunt you."

Obviously the person who wrote this has never faced complex trauma.  They obviously don't understand it.  We didn't ask for any of this.  None of this has been our choice.  If we are in therapy seeking help, that is our choice.  But do you know how many times I have been in therapy?  I had reached a point where I felt that my only alternatives were a life of unhappiness which I couldn't bear to live, or death.  I felt beyond broken.  And I have only to this point talked about small pieces of my childhood which is already so fragmented because of my memory or a  self preservation mechanism.  Because I have tried therapy so many times in the past and cannot get passed my past, it is hard not to feel hopeless and dejected.  I don't want to play the victim card, because all of us who have been through what we have are survivors, not victims.  Seeing the above quote written by some person with no understanding only makes those who have tried and tried again and again feel guilty, like it is their fault.  

I recognize a pattern within myself.  I have created this illustration to describe the pattern.

With guilt comes obligation, doesn't it?  To fulfill promises you made to others, even if you don't want to go along anymore.  Vagueness suits me here.  It could be anything.  You choose.

Moms especially (or any parent) know a thing or two about guilt.  We have to juggle so much.  We willingly and gladly put their needs before our own.  But when they start growing up and it's time to start with self-care, going out, an occasional splurge on self, talk about guilt!!!  I have such buyers remorse when I have spent anything on myself.  Guilt and worth go hand in hand for me.  I returned my birthday present this year.  I actually return many of my gifts.  I feel guilty for accepting them.  Like I am unworthy of them.  Especially if someone is giving it to me.  If I go out and buy myself a new pair of earrings or shirt, it’s less guilt inducing for me.  Weird, huh?  I might have to put some thought into that.

Like I have discussed with my therapist, what I know intellectually and in my heart, or viscerally, are two separate matters.  I have enough insight or common sense to know I shouldn't feel guilt over X, yet deep down no matter what I know or tell myself, I still feel guilty, or unworthy.  Is this a case of "the heart feels what the heart feels?"  Or is this conditioning mixed in with good insight or mixed in with results of therapy that knows it on a level that I believe but I just can't stop feeling?  Where does that line get drawn?  The line between belief and feeling?

I think I am babbling now and I am going nowhere productive with my thoughts. I feel there is so much left unsaid.  In fact I know there is.  My thoughts feel muddled.  It's as if when I'm sitting here in my chair writing, I can almost picture an Indy 500 race car shooting out from my brain like some kind of Peter Gabriel video going in dozen of different directions almost simultaneously with contrails following them.  Maybe some things are better left unsaid, huh?

For now guilt shall march on...