#i am almost insulted by the audacity you presented to me today. but do not worry ♪

[keoke03]

you're in team magma? seriously? 0/10 worst evil team out of all of them.

wrong courtney, sorry ♪

[silent-sanctum]

Objection! Yet Another "In Defense"

Okay! My alarm bells went off and it has come to my attention that yet another user has posted a "Jotaro is a misogynist" allegation post. Since Yoongi ain't raise a weak bitch, I am here to give my own counterarguments to the post in more comprehensive detail.

This will be my "Should pineapple be on pizza or die" / "Is mint chocolate actually good or is it the spawn of Satan" type of debate.

I am going to die on this hill that while he is in fact a man of many, many flaws, misogyny is not one of them no matter how convinced some people think he is. I will live up to my bio and that's the truth.

But before I begin, I'm going to put up a couple disclaimers because if I know the Internet, people love jumping the gun almost immediately when encountering someone who has a different opinion than theirs.

Disclaimer #1: Whatever I state (or even what OP has said), is all within the realm of HEADCANON because we aren't Araki. We did not make the canon universe, so all my yapping will be assumptions based on the material presented to the audience. Disclaimer #2: I am in no way shape or form fighting OP, alright? These are just my rebuttals against the arguments she has mentioned. She's entitled to her own opinion. I'm entitled to mine. 'Tis but a food for thought of mine. Spicy edition. Disclaimer #3: I don't want anyone commenting/reblogging this saying "lmao don't you have anything better to do than to argue with people online?" Because I just finished a whole day's worth of examinations, for which I studied a whole week, and got good scores from it. I can do whatever the hell I want during my resting period, anonymous user. Even if it's making this huge ass post defending my hyperfix. Thanks.

With that out of the way, let's get on with the meat of it all.

"You people can't recognize misogyny if it isn't in your face "Women should die" kind of bullshit."

Oh I'm aware. Bold of you to assume that we don't know how deep and how silent misogyny can run in today's society. More so in Asia and the Middle East.

And it's slightly insulting to assume that because I want to defend a fictional character and that he isn't misogynistic popularized via memes, you say that "Oh! You don't know misogyny at all! It's annoying!"

You say that because I know in the West, misogyny is the more "in your face" and obnoxious type. But as an Asian woman, I very much know the levels of audacity men can harbor against women that aren't just limited to, as you quote, "Women should die" behavior.

Misogyny is similar to a spectrum. It can be as obvious and proud as the Andrew Tate's, the "Alpha" men, and the basement-dwelling incels. It can also be as quiet and condescending as a regular guy in your day-to-day. They won't preach toxic masculinity, but would instead infantilize, belittle, differentiate, or alienate women and see them as someone inferior to the male sex.

I can sense red flags. I'm hypervigilant about how men behave around women and whether they see them in a different, negative light. So I know what the hell this word means.

And I'm not saying OP is one (I genuinely don't), but women can be misogynists too. Ironic, I know but they exist. Some women are drawn to misogynistic men as well. Booktok is an example of that.

Phew. With that introduction out of the way, let me first make my little assumption on why this whole debacle started before I start breaking down each argument.

When you look at it from a bigger picture, he doesn't get to interact with many women in this series with an abundance of male characters. So it's easy to jump to conclusions about their stance on it when you decide to base a whole character on the beginning episodes.

I think the reason why some people are convinced that Jotaro is an "anti-woman" is because he yells at women... for the first few episodes. Let me see what else. *Flips note* Oh, that's primarily the reason. Okay.

What bad things had he done? Called Holly a bitch and yelled screaming girls to shut up. That's it. Any other things I left out was intentional because I will be discussing that separately.

I won't expand on the whole "but Part 3 happened because he loves his mother" shtick because it's in the first argument. But when you come to think of it, he doesn't really say "bitch" as much as people expected him to outside of Holly. He doesn't even say it unwarranted or like he wants to.

Onto the screaming flock of school girls. Before he tells them to shut up, here's what happened. They congregate, start calling for his attention, and one of them grabs his arm.

What does he do? Does he yank his arm off in disgust? Does he shove her even slightly? Does he tell her to "back off bitch" or "get the hell away from him?" No.

He simply looks at her and does nothing. Ignoring her so to speak. Because he doesn't like the attention of being seen as a piece of meat for them to ogle at. He only tells them to shut up when they start becoming obnoxiously loud.

"But he was very rude and pushed those two women on the plane!"

Ma'am/sir, they're on a plane about to crash unceremoniously into the ocean, and the flight attendants decide to prioritize fawning a minor over their own lives. In the process, they block his path to the cockpit. Who wouldn't get frustrated in a situation like that?

Onto the arguments:

I agree that there are misogynistic men who can still love their female family members but still be an "anti-woman" towards others. But I can cite examples on how he interacts with women who aren't family in contrast to how a misogynist would.

Case A: The School Nurse

And we have one of our first earlier examples from Episode 2. When we first meet her, he's sitting in the infirmary and she's there almost giving him a light lecture about getting into trouble. He wants his knee patched up and she's about to do that because that's her profession.

How does he behave around her? Does he show body language signs indicating he's undermining her skills as a nurse? Does he call her a nagging bitch for lecturing him? Does he dismiss her words?

No. He evades her hands from reaching his hat, and when she's about to snip his expensive pants he reasonably asks "what are you doing?" She explains her intention and he sighs, simply saying that he'll take them off himself.

Does he show resistance? No. He does what is told so his knee can be treated.

AND after Kakyoin reveals himself, he gets pissed at him for using the nurse as a puppet, saying his whole speech and ending it with "Especially if it's an innocent woman!"

I've seen some use this sentence as him being misogynistic because they perceive it as a sign of belittlement when in actuality, it's not.

You have to know that he lives in 80s Japan- Patriarchal Japan where women are most likely going to be treated less than men in general even up to today's day and age. (I doubt you've heard but there's currently active crimes against women in Korea. If shit can happen there today, it can happen in Japan too). Let's face it and I hate to say it but it's the truth: Women are part of the minority. That's a reason why gender equality rights are being fought for, and why feminists exist to begin with, as well as the creation of the MeToo movement.

Jotaro knows women are more prone to be taken advantage of in this country, more so during this period. And he hates that. He despises that. Hence why he responded with such words to Kakyoin with that much vitriol.

He acknowledges he's not a perfect guy, that he's a punk true and through, but he has enough dignity and moral values to see that when one portrays women as lesser than men and uses them for personal gain, it's vile and evil.

Case B: Anne

Miss little stowaway! Let's see his behavior around her. OP has mentioned her at the ending, being on the fence and all, so I'm here to shed some light.

Back in the boat when she's still posing as a boy, how does Jotaro see the situation: It's a child in the middle of trouble. He looks at it not through the lens of "I applaud this boy for fending himself", but more so through "People are already intervening so I'm gonna sit this one out."

She goes overboard and he jumps in to save her. And then he finds out Anne's a girl. Does he think differently of her? No. She's still a child who needs saving.

He becomes her passive big brother figure. He wants to assist her off the small boat, but she declines and sticks a tongue out, and he sighs. Saw someone's head get mutilated? He shields her eyes. Anne is getting inappropriate attention from an ape? He intervenes and sees the orangutan as a disgusting animal, both in a literal and figurative sense. Falling off a cliff? He safeguards her. Caught in a dead end? He helps her with a quick "good grief".

Case C. Tomoko

Another example! But let's switch it up a bit to Part 4 this time. A testament on how his personality was really just him being a teenager going through an identity phase, replacing that punk persona for professional stoicism.

When he visits her house to look for Josuke, he meets her. She sees him, thought he's Joseph, and immediately goes in for a hug, motorboating his chest with a string of "Love you's" spilling out in that pitchy voice.

Does he call her a bitch? Does he pull her away because she violated his boundaries? Does he make some belittling comment about her behavior in his mind?

No. Jotaro stands put, gets put off because she's all up on him rubbing her face on his chest, tells her frankly to look over him again and says he's not Joseph.

And then he asks if Josuke's at home. Tomoko's zoning out. And what does he do? He doesn't groan. He doesn't roll his eye at her blanking out. Instead, he notices she isn't responding so he repeats his question to her face with the same polite tone so he can snap her out of her thoughts.

And when he leaves, he says one more thing to her. It's easy for anyone to say something along the lines of "Toughen up, it'll get better" / "It'll pass" / "Hang in there". But what does he say instead? He offers condolences and mentions that if Joseph was less senile, he'd support Tomoko, knowing that she's been wanting to meet the old man again.

Yes. That's because he is mean to everyone. Equally. Hell, I think he calls men "bastards" more often than he calls women "bitches". In which part of the show did he show any sort of condescending remark that women were weaker? How often does he spout out "bitch" in the entirety of the show?

He protects them because, for one, his enemies have supernatural abilities that ordinary civilians can't see. Which one will make him more of an ass? Protecting them or turning a blind eye?

It's like saying that a man shouldn't help a woman struggling with her heavy luggage up the staircase because "Hey aren't we all equal? They should struggle as much as we do!" Which is such an asinine concept to adhere to.

It's not seeing them as weak. It's called having basic human courtesy. He's going to help because they're people who need help, not because they're women in need of saving.

How is that any different from him wanting to protect Koichi? From him wanting to protect Josuke?

"She's no mere woman. Jotaro stumbles upon a woman stronger than him and he couldn't comprehend it."

OR.

He knows something's wrong with the nurse so he makes that comment. "She's no mere woman" as in "She's behaving erratically than what a normal person should be behaving." Man or woman. She has a welcoming personality so of course he'd be thrown off guard when suddenly she's stabbing students in the eye and cheeks with unnatural strength.

And the way you worded this was as if you're saying Jotaro is allergic to strong women. When it wasn't the case at all. In part 3, he fights against strong women Stand users (Enyaba and Midler) just like he does with the male enemies. In part 6, he teams up with strong women Stand users (Jolyne and Hermes).

He even outright states and believes that Jolyne can make it through the chaos because he knows she's strong and capable. He's proud of her strength and abilities.

Again, in which part does he not comprehend that women can be strong? That it's so mind-boggling to the extent you had to include "fucking" to emphasize your point?

In fact, I think he'd respect and appreciate a woman who knows her self-worth and power. Sees a successful female colleague? *applauds in stoic.*

Again, I agree that age does not excuse anyone to be misogynistic. It can happen at any age. Because it's a mindset. It's rooted deep in the psyche. But I've already made my case about teenage Jotaro so I'm not gonna reiterate.

With the whole Kira deduction thing in Part 4.

Let me restate this- The time this part was set in is the late 90s. Setting? Japan. A patriarchal country where gender roles were more rigid and inflexible. During that time, I hate to break it to you, but the country was not that expressive nor progressive as compared to the West. It was common for women to be housewives doing the chores and tending to the kids, while men did the heavy labor out of the household.

So you cannot blame Jotaro for making that logical deduction. He was born in Japan, knew by then how his country works at 28 years old, and thus is able to make a deduction based on the patterns of how society was structured during that period.

Sure you could say some women worked too, but the majority of them would be the typical housewife. In 80s-90s Japan I say again.

"Traditional Japanese"

This, fellow readers, is what you call a "Preference". It can be harmless and not necessarily condescending. But even then, with the inclusion of the parenthesis, you could say that this was a choice based on the mindset of a teenager's train of thought.

Jotaro likes his quiet time -> learns from the world that apparently traditional Japanese women are usually the "quiet types" -> resulting in the aforementioned preference.

And just like any other preference, it can change with time as you grow older and wiser. As you can see, he dates and marries a foreign woman who's not "traditionally Japanese" and even had a kid with her.

It doesn't necessarily mean he wants a housewife who can cook and clean for him. At the age of 17, that's the least of his concerns. All he wants is for his partner to know when it's appropriate to be quiet and when it's appropriate to be excited. He prioritizes his peace. As simple as that.

I can see why people like to see him as part of the autism spectrum and I respect that.

And yes, I acknowledge that he's a huge asshole. No denying that. That's just how he is at that age.

And again, we don't see him say "bitch" that much anyways for it to be a verbal stim of sorts. I recall he says it twice or thrice. And that's it.

Personally, I'm not that sold into the headcanon (and this is coming from someone who probably has ADHD and has a sibling diagnosed with autism). Introverts can be callous. Some can look apathetic. Not every one of us will be shy and timid.

"He could've shoved her off."

And you know why he doesn't? Because as much as he tends to bark and yap about how annoying and doting his mother is, he loves Holly. He likes her hugs. He lets her give him goodbye kisses to the point it has become a pattern in his life. He likes her cooking. He's going to travel the whole world for his sick mother to get better.

And Holly knows that. A mother knows her child more than anyone else. She's unfazed by his words because she knows the good son she raised underneath that tough abrasive persona. Heck, even Suzy Q knows that too.

Also a cute little assumption. After they fight Midler and after Suzy talks to Jotaro, you can see his hand lingers on the phone. It's as if he's contemplating. I'd like to think that's a moment where he wanted to call Holly, to check up on his mother.

I agree that being gay doesn't excuse someone from being misogynistic. Like I said, it can happen to anyone of any gender or age.

Gay people can be misogynists. Point blank period.

Personally, he's a demisexual king in my eyes. But others are free to give him any orientation they see fit. Gay, trans, bisexual, aroace- You name it. The fictional world is your oyster! Go ham!

I believe that a fictional character's sexuality is a headcanon in on itself unless explicitly stated by the creator. Telling someone that character is straight? Headcanon. That character is gay? Headcanon. Claims a character to be non-binary? Headcanon.

"He's just a baby boy uwu uwu"

Okay OP with the "we're infantilizing him" allegations! That's new!

(That... was passive-aggressive of me. Apologies. I'm aware we call him "baby girl" often but with the way those two words were put into that sentence combined with the emojis gave off a different connotation.)

I don't know why but whenever we say that Jotaro isn't *insert one negative trait*, y'all are quick to say that we are proclaiming that:

"Oh my god~ He's not like that~ He's Saint Peter coming from the heavens pure as light."

Like what? No seriously... what??? I have never seen anyone treat him like he's the perfect human being.

Hell, I can even say that he's NEGLECTFUL. Yes! He's a neglectful father no matter how good his intentions were. He was an absent parent who technically neglected his child. There! I said it!

We KNOW he's an asshole. We KNOW he has a multitude of flaws that are not admirable. He's reclusive as fuck. He's brash and abrasive. He's seemingly distant when he talks to people. Socially awkward outside of work. He's impulsive when he wants to be.

I love character flaws. That's what makes a character so fascinating.

So please, if you have any strong opinions, keep them to yourself. Not everything has to be shared online. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

I can see a shit ton of flaws in this reserved, stoic mountain of a man. But I draw the line when it comes to some traits that seem not entirely fitting of his character.

The ending paragraph...

Me, an Asian woman constantly facing the audacity of men my age objectifying women and promoting toxic masculinity on a daily basis:

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 21: best friend’s sister

Character A poses as their best friend’s lover for a Christmas party. Character B is the best friend’s sister,, percabeth

Percy truly doesn’t understand how it’s come to this.

He likes to think that he has at least some form of dignity, but he is quickly proven wrong as he is shoved into a suit by someone that has the audacity to call herself his friend.

“Quit pouting,” Piper chastises, pulling on his tie just a bit too tightly. He chokes dramatically, glaring at her, but she just rolls her eyes. “You agreed to this.”

“I did not agree to this,” he says. “I was simply there when your mom told you to bring a ‘lover’ to the party, and you held me at gunpoint.”

“You love it,” she says, laughing. It’s the complete opposite of the truth because he actually hates this, but his windpipe is cut off so he’s incapable of actually pointing that out.

“There’s no way anyone’s going to fall for this.”

She laughs. “Everyone will fall for this, and that’s why it’s perfect. No one’s seen us in forever since we moved away for college. We can just frame it as two best friends falling in love.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know if I can do that. I look at you and want to vomit.” Piper gasps in mock offense. “You never had feelings for me? Not even small ones?”

“I had feelings for a lot of people, but believe it or not, you were never one of them. Not then, not now, not ever.”

“You really just friend zoned your best friend,” Piper says.

“I’m in love with someone else,” he lies.

Piper snorts. “You’re in love with my sister.”

His smile falls. “I am not. You take that back.”

“Relax, Percy. I think it would be cute if you got with her. You could marry into the family!” She claps her hands before pausing. “We could just never talk about sex again. I don’t want to hear about how you blew my sister’s back out.”

Percy shrieks. “Piper!”

She just laughs, throwing the jacket of his suit in his face and motioning for him to follow him out the front door. He hurls insults at her as he settles into the driver’s seat – also against his will, by the way – but she just throws them right back at him.

The hour drive home is spent with them being about as stupid as possible. They scream along with the music blasting in the car until they’re both laughing so hard they can’t breathe. It helps ease his nerves because he knows who’s going to be at this Christmas party, no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

He can’t even say her name right now because if he does, he might crash just so he doesn’t have to face her. It’s almost as though Piper can sense his frustration because she turns the music even louder until the car is shaking with the bass and he can’t hear his own thoughts.

Percy never ceases to be amazed by the wealth of Piper’s family. The second he walks into the manor, he is overwhelmed by the silvers and golds lining every inch of the place. It’s funny because he grew up around them, but it was always a stark contrast to the way his own life was. He could live a million lifetimes and never get used to being around people with this amount of money.

“So you’re rich rich,” Percy teases, just as he always does when they come home for the holidays,

“I’m wealthy,” she corrects, leading him along the corridors to the center of the party.

“Old money or new?”

“The type that could have you killed with the snap of my fingers,” she answers.

“Oh, please do not have me killed, your highness.” He grins cheekily as they walk into the center of the event.

“I must admit I’m liking the title,” she says. She stops him just before they are close enough to be noticed by anyone else, turning serious, and Percy fails miserably to match her tone. “From here on out, you’re my boyfriend, okay?”

“Oh god, I just threw up in my mouth.”

“That means having to kiss me at least once,” Piper says. “On the lips.”

“Please don’t make me.”

“I will never hear the end of this is they find out we’re faking, so start acting like a good boyfriend.”

“Uh.”

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

“Percy.”

“I can’t do it.”

“You’re going to plant one on these lips, or I’m going to pick up one of the silver forks and stab you with it.” “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, well if you’d kiss me, we might be able to get there.”

And then: “This is getting painful to watch.”

Percy and Piper both jump at the extra voice present. He turns his head so fast he nearly gets whiplash, and of course it’s her.

“Annabeth, my love!” Piper greets, giving her a lazy side hug. “I was just trying to get my boyfriend to kiss me.”

“Hm. I didn’t know you two were dating,” she says, a pointed grin towards Percy.

“Christmas surprise,” Piper adds, addressing Percy. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“You act like Annabeth’s my distant aunt,” Percy says, but he wraps her in a sweet hug anyways. It makes his heart stutter just the tiniest bit, and he has to force himself under control.

It’s embarrassing that he’s this caught up on her. It makes him feel a little guilty too, because she’s practically still a baby. He remembers when she was in diapers, wandering around the house with a pacifier while him and Piper messed around with play dough. Still, she had grown up, and he had too, and he hadn’t accounted for how pretty she would grow to be.

Okay, so he’s not that much older than her. He’s twenty, and she’s eighteen, so he supposes it’s acceptable, but now he’s in college and she’s still in high school, so things have grown… weird? He just doesn’t see her as much as he used to, and something in her changed. When she was younger, she would cling to him, but recently, she just looked at him with something he couldn’t pinpoint.

It looks similar to the face she has on now, actually.

“So you two are a couple now?” Annabeth asks, but Percy doesn’t really hear her. He’s too distracted looking everywhere except her short black dress she has on, or the way her curls fall perfectly onto her chest, or the gloss of her lips.

Piper elbows him, and he clears his throat. “Yeah. The happiest. We’re so in love. I want Piper’s babies.”

“Hm. From what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t have thought that was very true,” Annabeth says, giving him a knowing look.  It makes him wonder just what she’s heard. “Anyways, dinner’s about to start. Why don’t you go show everyone just how in love you are, oh-so-real couple?”

Piper laughs, but Percy glares at her. He’s given no choice but to follow Piper as she skips towards the dinner, and Annabeth follows at a distance, eyes analyzing them. Annabeth clearly hadn’t fallen for the disguise for even two seconds, so it has him worrying the rest of the night.

He is rightfully worried because the dinner does not go at all as expected. Annabeth is directly to his right, and Piper to his left, and they seem determined to kill him. Piper’s all lovey on the outside, which is not something he’s used to in the slightest, and it has the entire family’s attention on him. They coo over the new ‘couple,’ and Annabeth laughs into the hand covering her mouth.

Annabeth clearly enjoys the entertainment, and also relishes in embarrassing him even more because she’s started playing footsy under the table, running her heels up and down his ankle. He does his best to not make a face, but then her hand occasionally brushes against his wrist, and it has him wondering what it all means. Annabeth is much more handsy today than she’s been… ever, and he’s enjoying it more than he should with his fake girlfriend next to him, so the next opportunity he gets to leave, he takes full advantage.

He twists and turns through the halls, gets lost about five times before finding somewhere that looks remotely familiar, and then repeating the process. It’s a good few minutes before he finds an empty balcony and pushes open the doors to step outside.

It’s not to take a moment to breathe, really, because he’s fine. It’s just overwhelming, he supposes, sitting next to the girl he’s almost ninety percent sure he’s crushing on that he probably shouldn’t be, and his best friend who is apparently his girlfriend now.

“Hey, Piper’s boyfriend,” a voice calls. “You good?”

Percy rolls his eyes fondly, turning around. “Did you need something, Piper’s sister?”

She just shrugs and steps forward. “Just thought I’d come tease you a little bit.”

“Tease me?”

“A fake relationship? Really?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he says. “You’re, like, twelve.”

“I’m eighteen, but nice try.”

“A baby,” he emphasizes, heart suddenly beginning to race as she drags her fingers up his chest, tugging lightly on the tie. “Do you need something or not?”

“I guess I just have a question,” she says, leaning against the rail now. “So. I’ve heard things. Suspected even longer because even if I’m two years younger, I’m about two years smarter.”

He laughs. “What do you want to know?”

“You liked me,” she says. “Back in high school, I think.”

It’s a blow to his lungs, and he can’t find the air to breathe. He knew she’d bring it up at some point, because even if they never acknowledged it, it’s been floating between them, unsaid. He never acted on it because she was practically his own little sister at some point, and she’s Piper’s sister, and it just felt wrong.

“I think so,” he answers. “I don’t know.”

“Explain?”

“You’re Piper’s sister,” he tries.

“I’m Piper’s sister. I’m also your friend.” Annabeth tilts her head, a slight smile pulling at her lips. “What’s the problem then?”

“I–” He blinks. “I don’t know. I guess there isn’t one, really. It just never turned to anything more before I graduated, and now I’m hours away.”

“That leads me to my next question.” She stands again to face him head on. “You’re in college now. I haven’t seen you more than five times since you graduated two years ago. Are those feelings still there?”

“I don’t recall you ever being so upfront,” he teases. He doesn’t need to take time and think about her question though. He already knows the answer. He knows it every single time Piper says her sister’s name, or one of Annabeth’s pictures pops up on his timeline. He likes his best friend’s sister.

It might be more than just a crush.

(Definitely more than a crush.)

“I love you, Annabeth,” he says, “but I don’t want to do anything that might make things different, you know? I grew up with you, and I grew up with Piper, and if something happens, Piper will take your side, and I’ll lose the two people I love most, and–”

“That’s not what I asked,” she says. “I asked if the feelings are still there.”

From the way she’s looking at him, he doesn’t need to answer. “Why are you asking if you already know the answer.”

“Because I want to know if it would still be a good time to kiss you, like I’ve wanted to do for the last two years.”

Percy chokes out a laugh. “Annabeth.”

“You love me, Percy. It’s obvious to see it’s as more than a friend, and it always has been.” She bites at her bottom lip. “Do you know how many people I’ve had tell me that you and I would work well together?”

“I’m assuming a lot.”

“Piper was the number one supporter, surprisingly enough,” she tells him. “And I know you’re on a date with my sister, but she practically shoved me out of the dining room chair to come follow you, so it’s safe to say she wants this too.”

“Piper has issues.”

“Yeah, but you love her, and you love me.” Percy’s fingers fidget, because even though all of this has been swimming around inside him for years, hearing it from her is something else entirely.

“It’s only weird if you let it be,” she says, and something breaks inside of him.

Annabeth’s his friend too, and she’s a part of his life.

He loves her, so he kisses her.

It feels an awful lot like coming home. Suddenly, nothing else matters except him and her. Annabeth is his best friend’s sister, but she’s also his best friend too, and the person he loves and always has.

He distantly realizes that it’s going to be difficult to explain to her family how he went from being Piper to Annabeth, but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. It’ll be a cute story to tell in the future if this ever turns to anything more. He really hopes it does.

Annabeth is his family, and his best friend, and she is the one he was meant to be with from the start.

[eliyah-de-dark]

Two Lies and A Truth part 2

Turns out the Startrain can get a person from London to Paris in what feels like a matter of minutes. Marinette waited on the platform, alone in a crowd of commuters, with her wide brim hat pulled down low over her face. She wore her hair down, a countermeasure against any old friends who might recognize her style, and opted for an equally unfamiliar white and pink sundress. She'd originally made it for her dream date with Adrien. Now it would meet one of the only friends she had left.

The train from London pulled in, and Felix Graham de Vanily was the first off. He wore his signature dark gray three piece suit, a white shirt making his skin seemed more tanned. He scanned the crowd, forcing people to move around him as his vibrant green eyes searched for her.

She wove a path through the crowd and grabbed his hand. "Hey," she said weakly.

He froze, taking in her changed appearance before speaking. "Your hair looks nice." He touched just the tip of her blue hair, admiring the length. "What prompted the change?"

Marinette's smile dropped. "Don't want to be recognized." Her voice was almost imperceptible in the din of the station.

The pair walked out hand in hand, Felix's heart racing where Marinette's barely caught her attention. Together they wove their way through Paris. Their only pause was with Andre Glacier to get ice cream, Andre's idea not theirs. Finally their meandering brought them to the bakery where they first truly met.

Sabine and Tom waved to the kids as they went up into the apartment. Marinette noticed her mother's calculating look while Felix caught her father's questioning gaze. The young man thought their journey would end in the living room, but Marinette kept his hand in her own until they'd climbed up into her pink painted room. The walls were nearly bare, with the crumpled up pictures of Adrien in her waste basket. Felix took good note of that.

In the safety of her room, Marinette started talking. She repeated a lot of what Felix already knew: how her class had been turned, how the teacher punished her when it wasn't her fault, about how she had only 3 people left in the whole city she could trust. When she brought up the arrival of Suzette, he could tell from the stormy expression of her face that this girl did more than bother Marinette.

"What do you care if she's Ladybug?" Felix asked, waving his hand as if to present the situation on a platter. "Sounds like she'll prove herself wrong soon enough."

"But she's put the entire school in danger!" Marinette cried. She slumped onto her chaise and sighed. "If Hawkmoth thinks anyone in François Dupont is his arch nemesis..." She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. Felix had seen the chaos akumas caused, and if it weren't for the Ladybug Cure, everyone in Paris would be dead ten times over.

He nodded, and Marinette sighed with relief. She wanted to tell him the real reason, that she was the one suffering stolen identity here, but she couldn't. She thought of Master Fu's threat. Being Ladybug was stressful, sure, but it was one of the best things in her life right now.

Their phones buzzed simultaneously. Felix had his out first, sparing Marinette the trouble. Nadia Chamack's face filled the screen completely. "Don't be bemused, it's just the news. On this special report, we have Alya Cesaire live in our studio to talk about a remarkable post she's put on her Ladyblog." The camera switched to show the red haired girl Marinette used to call friend. As the audience applauded, the pair in a pink room sat on Marinette's chaise.

"Thanks for having me, Madame Chamack." At least she had her manners. "I'm a big fan of yours."

Nadja laughed and made a little dismissive gesture. "If you're a fan of mine, then you know here at the station we love our Ladybug, and your blog has been a key source of information on her. Let's show the audience what you posted today that's sweeping our city!"

Nadia's large screens showed Alya close up in the frame, breathing heavily. "How unbecoming." Felix scrunched his nose in disgust while Marinette laughed.

The video showed Alya rushing back to her seat where across from her sat...Ladybug? The costume was fairly well made, superior to Chloe's in many ways. There was still the glaring issue of a zipper on the back and her mask slowly dropping on the left side.

The two began talking like old friends, Alya crediting Lila for getting the interview squared away. Felix watched Marinette as her face switched from shock to horror.

Once the Ladybug interview had wrapped up, Nadja began asking questions about the whos, whats, wheres and whens of the impromptu video. "Lila, my best friend," Alya emphasized that title like she knew Marinette was watching, "promised me an interview with LB, and it turns out Ladybug is wonderful in and out of costume!" She pasted a surprised look on her face and murmured, "Oh, I shouldn't have said that." in such a perfect copy of Lila that Marinette searched for a wig line or something.

"In and out of costume? Does that mean - hold on, you know who Ladybug is?" Nadja had real shock on her face, and if the camera had turned then Felix imagined the audience would have that same look too.

Alya smiled sweetly. "I couldn't say."

The interview continued, but Felix set his phone away. Marinette was shaking now, and he put an arm around her. She leaned on his shoulder, her body slowing to matching his heartbeat. He rested his head on top of hers and took a deep breath. She smelled like strawberries, glue, and mint.

Now he jumped up and paced. Her eyes followed back and forth as he moved, pausing every so often to muse on a particular idea.

"I've got it." He smiled, a devious grin that split his face like a demon.

Marinette listened with rapt attention.

-

"Blast Master, I am Hawkmoth. You want to expose the truth about Lila Rossi and save your friend. I'm giving you the power to control explo-"

"That's a no on the name."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Then beg."

"...what is happening?"

"Listen, you're right about why I'm pissed, and I'll gladly take the explosion power, but I'm not calling myself Blast Master."

"I...suppose?"

"Excellent, glad we're on the same page."

-

Suzette Lambert basked in the attention of her schoolmates like a cat basks in the sun. Lila was right, she mused, these idiots are too easy. Only two weeks and she had near god like worship. She almost didn't regret transferring out of her private English school.

The two people who didn't immediately succumb to her will were Chloe Bourgeois and Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Chloe made snide comments here and there but hardly went toe to toe with the new queen of the school. It helped that literally anytime she tried, either that nuisance Alya would snap at her or the teacher would gently redirect the class.

Her teal eyes caught sight of the little pariah, who'd snuck in early and taken her spot at the farthest desk in the room. Marinette never spoke. Not even when the teacher called on her. When she'd asked, Lila bemoaned, "Oh Mari? She's just the worst. She's always so mean to me and everyone hates her for it. I wouldnt even bother talking to her."

Suzette couldn't say it was hard to get on Lila's bad side, but that seemed a bit extreme. It all made sense after her little "slip-up" though.

It was the Italian's idea to say she was the heroine. "Trust me, no one will even question it." As much as Suzette hated to admit it, Lila was right. Everyone latched onto the biggest lie of her life and now the royal treatment was just a standard. The only bad reaction she got was Dupain-Cheng running out of the room. That was weird on so many levels, but Suzette ignored it.

Class was going smoothly until the volley of ringtones interrupted the lesson.

"An akuma?"

"It's just down the street!"

"Hold up Alix, let me see!"

Suzette checked her phone, lazily scanning the report of a dancing harlequin-style akuma moving steadily towards François Dupont.

"Go suit up, Suzette!"

She looked at Alya with a tired expression. "What?"

The reporter pointed her cellphone at Suzette. "Don't you need to transform? To defeat the akuma?" Her quizzical look spread like a virus through the class.

"I can't." She needed to think, quick. "The Guardian took my miraculous for safe keeping." She mentally congratulated herself for the excuse.

Nino spoke up next. "Why?"

"Repairs."

"Why would a miraculous need repairs?" And why was Kim of all people chiming in?

"Oh puh-lease." Now came Chloe Bourgeois. She sat on her desk and ignored Madame Bustier's reprimand as she continued. "Obviously she can't because she isn't Ladybug." Sabrina nodded vigorously, the nasty little cockroach.

Alya naturally spoke next, loud enough to give the queen standing next to her a headache. "No one asked you, Chloe." She snapped. "Why dont you keep your opinions to yourself?"

"Why dont you you little gossip rag wannabe?"

Wow, Suzette thought. That's an interesting shade of red in Alya's face.

Chloe turned those sky blue eyes back to her rival. "What form does your miraculous take? Or better yet, what's mine?" She leaned forward, her head tilted as if to listen for an answer.

Suzette crossed her arms. "Why would I care about yours?"

"Because you're the one that gives it to me, Ladybug. And I know for a fact if you were the real Ladybug, you would've kept your mouth closed about your identity."

No one noticed Marinette in the back of the room staring wide eyed at Chloe.

"Who are you to talk to me like that?!" Suzette yelled. Lila grabbed her arm, locking her in place. "You're just the mayor's spoiled brat who only cares about herself!" Chloe smiled at Suzette's words. The audacity.

"Maybe, but at least I'm honest."

Another insult began forming in the mind of the false Ladybug when the door came off its hinges with an explosion.

((@goblinwhoships @ml-cartoons @enchanted-nerd since you three specifically requested being tagged, here you go))

((Yeah so people really seemed to like part one. That's pretty hekking neat. Hopefully part 2 can live up to the hype))

[jojo-reader-hell]

Jonathan with a girlfriend who is absolutely spoiled, stuck up, always completely dressed up, and a daddies girl? She tries to spoil him all the time with expensive items and throws a fit and starts bawling because she doesn’t know how else to show her affection?

MY BABY ��🥺 I needed to write something hopeful and sweet for my hubby ❤️❤️ GIVE JONATHAN LOVE.

“What say you to this color?”

Jonathan blanched, seeing that familiar dark scowl cross your face as you approached from the other side of the room. Your father was sitting placidly across the way from where you had been playing inspector, draped on a couch and smoking his pipe away from where the tailor displayed the many suits of clothing you’d commissioned for your future husband. No less than twenty full ensembles, including his wedding attire with more on the way to be delivered tomorrow. As if Jonathan didn’t already feel like a burden accepting your father’s kindness to stay at your home until the wedding, now he felt as though you were trying to dress him up like a show poodle.

“Now love…” Jonathan murmured meekly, but you didn’t hear him.

You slowly looked towards the tailor, the fabric of Jonathan’s wedding clothes between your fingers. It looked sharp and attentive on the mannequin, and from the greedy eyes of the man you hired he was already calculating in his mind how much he could swindle out of your purse.

“This is a joke to you, tailor?” You said, so lowly it was almost a whisper.

“Madam?!”

“Pray tell me sir, if you think this…” with one quick motion you ripped the sleeve of the new suit clean off and held it out, “… is a joke? A spectacle, a farce. I told you it was of the upmost importance that you use the fabrics and the stitches I recommended. Are you perhaps under the assumption that we are performing a production of ‘Twelfth Night’?! You were told this was a wedding, were you not?! SO I AM VERY PERPLEXED AS TO WHY YOU INSIST ON DRESSING MY FUTURE HUSBAND IN THIS INSULT OF A MONKEY SUIT-…!”

Oh great… There you went… When you got like this, not even Jonathan in his most commanding tone could get you to calm down.

“THE NERVE… NO, THE AUDACITY OF INSULTING HIM AFTER HE HAS GONE THROUGH SUCH A PAINFUL ORDEAL!”

He felt as though you would be so busy going over your individual trousseaus that you’d miss both the wedding and the honeymoon abroad you and your father had planned right from under him.

You hadn’t even waited for his wounds to heal or for the embers to be extinguished in what remained of the Joestar estate, no sooner had you invaded his sick room that you began to take over every aspect of Jonathan’s life. It was you that decided what he ate, what clothes he wore, what time he went to bed, he’d never felt as weak and helpless as he sank into his chair while you continued to run off at the mouth. You’d be married in a week (thanks to a bit of your prodding and encouraging he finally worked up plenty of nerve to ask you to be Mrs. Jonathan Joestar), and despite the general excitement of your household and the exorbitant costs, Jonathan was starting to feel the tiniest tinge of regret in his heart.

“Well, all I can offer you is luck for your wedding old boy.” Speedwagon had clapped him on the back, “Seems your lady wants it her way, and I hope she means well taking control.”

For some reason Robert Speedwagon’s usual talent for judging character had gone muddled. He didn’t quite know what to make of you. You tended to Jonathan like he was a child by spoiling him with gifts and trinkets, and tempting him with sweet things, all the while scolding your servants and your father with a sharp tongue, despite the fact that they all seemed eager to bend to your will. You’d been rather abrupt with Robert, turning your back to him and catering to your beloved Jojo as though the other man didn’t exist.

How many times had Jonathan scolded you about your selfishness over the course of your short courtship? Too many to count. He insisted gently at first that he didn’t need anything, your love was more than enough... Only to be blatantly ignored as you chided him for foolishness and delved for hours into the places you’d both go, and the clothes and toiletries you’d need for honeymoon in France and Italy. As of late he’d been rather curt with his tender feelings, trying to quell the resentment that had been building up.

What had he gotten himself into with you? The love you shared was hurried, as though fleeting, like a thief in the night you charmed Jonathan and easily stole your way into his heart because it was where you wanted to be. He knew it. Everyone knew your intentions for the charming specimen, and it was only a matter of time before he found himself inexplicably tied to you with a red string of fate, a chord binding the two of you for better or for worse. Call it the desire of the young to sow his wild oats, call it boys will be boys, call it the beguiling seductions of a temptress, call it whatever you please, all he knew was that this was to be his future if he cared one iota about reputation.

“For the price your crooked practice has tried to extract from me, I expect you to get it right the first time.” You growled to the tailor. “Make sure you do not make the same mistake twice.”

“Yes madam! Anything...! My apologies to your fiancé as well, I beg a thousand pardons sir.” The shriveled old man bowed out, and as you smoothed your skirts and pretended nothing had happened Jonathan stood to make his exit.

“Oh dearest! Please stay seated, if you need something presently I shall send Benson to fetch it!” Your voice rose a few octaves, and you darted towards him like a sparrow when you saw he was preparing to take his leave.

“I am quite alright, thank you.” Jonathan replied, his voice tight and low as he played off dodging your grasp as him trying to grip the arm of the chair to center himself.

He had to insist that he was fine. It would be alright. He just had to take care of some personal things before he could come back. But he instead hid away in the one place in the entire manor you wouldn’t think to look for him.

Surrounded in your own miniature museum, Jonathan sequestered himself in a bay window behind heavy drapes, and dropped his face into his hands as he began to cry his frustrated tears. This helplessness was consuming him. He could do nothing except submit to your will, and in his delusion of masculinity it hurt him and made him feel helpless and lonely. Despite his resolve to never let anyone push him around again, it only applied when his tormentor was a man apparently. What could he do? He couldn’t do anything to you except bow to your whims, already in debt in over his head and trembling at the trap laid out for him; it was a deadly combination of convention and Christian morals that dictated of a man to rise up and be counted responsible for his actions. Where could he go now? His choices of shelter were nonexistent. There was no Joestar estate to return to, at least not until you both returned from your bridal tour abroad when the workers your father hired projected its completion. Heaven help him, he even found himself pining for his lost love, feeling a heaping dose of Christian guilt whenever those thoughts crossed his mind. But there was no comfort even in emotional infidelity. Erina Pendleton refused to hurt you. During the nights she nursed him she rebuffed his reaches towards her, and only told him to treat you tenderly, to make an honest woman of you considering the nature of your close relationship, and to accept the kindness you had extended to him in the form of a place to recover. And there was no way, no chance in hell that a gentleman would betray the expectations of a lady. Even if you drove Jonathan crazy and made him wish that he had never agreed so rashly to marry you, he couldn’t go back on his word. Hadn’t he made a big to do about your engagement? Something he promised his late father pertained to you, a promise just before he went to school he assured his father the same thing he did for you: He would not force you to suffer shame or subject you to the horror of your father’s desire to marry you off to one of his rich friends to save face. If he made the choice to know you, he would take the responsibility of taking care of you as his wife.

They that dance must pay the fiddler after all. His father informed him that his late mother quoted this often. And what a shame it would be to her, if she were alive today and knew that her own son didn’t maintain the morals she wanted for him.

Surrounded by your “curios” and decorations from the Orient, Jonathan tried for many hours to steel his nerves. It took him until it was time to eat with you and your father, the hunger and promise of a feast coaxing him from his corner and to the dining hall where he sat distantly at the overly large table. He supped quietly, refusing to answer your questions as to why he was so late, and simply pretending as though nothing was happening in his mind. Sometimes he made polite conversations with your father, but any time you or the wedding were brought up he avoided the subject like the plague. Hard to do when all your father talked about was you, with the slight possibility he might throw in a morsel or two about his horses. Once in a lull where your father was prying lobster meat from the shell, Jonathan looked up from his plate that he had cleaned nearly five times to see that you barely touched anything, your shoulders withdrawn and your lips pressed tightly together. For a minute his heart twinged with anger, only to soften when he wondered if you’d even eaten anything at all. You looked so pale, and did you always have that green tint to your cheeks? Jonathan watched quietly as you told one of the many servants at your side that you just didn’t want anything right now, but in his heart he knew you weren’t starving yourself for the sake of fashion, nor was it because you were upset.

Jonathan couldn’t let the facade of his anger alienate you… It wasn’t right. Especially not in this condition where the slightest misstep could only make the situation worse. Even if you were with fault and not at all the perfect image of a lady, hadn’t he learned to see passed that to see the beautiful qualities you possessed? Hadn’t he been able to see passed the glitz and glamours you hid your true self behind? As was expected, you were favored by men for your wealth and quick wit, among the women you were hated for the ease with which you could capture a beaux with a simple beckon of your fingers.

It was odd really, among the other ladies of your pedigree you stood out, a bluejay among robins with the temperament to match; none of the ladies were safe from your sharp beak. A beautiful blonde daughter of a marquis would pale in comparison to you, even though you possessed no traditional qualities of beauty that they did. Your face was far too severe, brow perpetually pulled into a look far too sly, and your smile seemed to come at a price as well. Anyone who spent more than a few hours couldn’t fail to notice your short temperament and disdain for the delicate flowers of England. And yet when asked there was never any shortage of complements: your jewelry always sparkled the brightest against your clean skin, your hand was never empty, always clasped by a dancing partner or in fervent confessions of love, and your clothes were always of the finest French silks, fitted in ways to emphasize the assets you did have. Yet the compliments were more superficial, whereas most romantics like Jonathan wanted a Jane Eyre, you were more Blanche Ingram, all French lace and jewelry and coveting any little trinket you could get your hands on.

Yet there were hidden qualities you possessed that you only allowed Jonathan to catch a glimpse of. As much as you threw money towards your curios and your dresses and jewels, you were just as obliged to give it all away to charitable causes. He never forgot the blue coat school you showed him one day when he was itching to go outside for a bit of fresh air. The building bearing your family name was only a few hours ride away from your home, the halls as spotlessly clean and well equipped as your manor, and all the chubby cheeked little orphan girls knew you by name and ran up to kiss you and put bluebells in your hair when you told them you wouldn’t be visiting for some time. They cried at first, thinking you were abandoning them, only to squeal in delight when you told them you were getting married to the handsome man that had accompanied you. He remembered the parties he attended where he’d started to show interest. Your quick with and sharp intellect endeared you to the men, each one pushing Jonathan in your direction when they noticed your demeanor changed for the better whenever he was around. He would always remember the times you purposefully snubbed the advances of one Dio Brando, much to Jonathan’s secret delight, merely because you “did not like the look of his eyes” and that you would not forget the injustices committed against your sweet Jojo.

There were many other things… The times you’d prattle on and on about your fossil collection and all the things you learned whilst collecting them, bonding over a mutual love of history and listening to his own prattling about the stone mask, asking about his hopes and dreams, mourning his father with him on nights where his injuries were too painful to ignore… Even appreciating the friendship and love of Erina Pendleton, because she made him happy during a time where you did not know him. That had to be when he’d truly fallen in love with you. Your heart was wholly good, you only wanted his happiness, whereas any other woman would have flown into a rage because he had never stopped loving another.

Jonathan was so lost in thought about you, he rose from the table without speaking once the meal was concluded, and went automatically towards his sanctuary of your own miniature museum, he didn’t hear your footsteps following eagerly after him.

“Jojo??”

Your voice sounded so innocent, so tiny and sad, that Jonathan paused his journey and allowed you to catch up to him, your jewelry and the knickknacks lining the halls in curio cabinets rattling with your steps as you ran towards him. For every one step he took, you needed to run very far, and it took a while for you to catch up. Yet you did eventually catch up to him winded and looking more pale than before. Gently, like a little girl beseeching her father, you tugged his waistcoat in the hopes that he’d turn to look at you.

“Jojo...” your voice was the tiniest whimper. “Jojo... Are you going to leave me?”

“What?!”

Hours ago before he ate he might have considered breaking the engagement out of anger, but now that he had remembered his love for you (and been fed) he couldn’t dare think of destroying you like that.

“Why would you ever think-…”

“You have that look about you Jojo. I’ve seen it so many times, the first night I saw it, you were making our engagement known to Erina. Now... I... Jojo, please... Forgive me.”

Your hands were shaking. He could see you tottering in your heels and knew immediately when he grabbed your waist to balance you that your mood had only been dictated to anger because you were poorly. Dressed like a doll and smothering in your clothes because your father demanded it of you, and here Jonathan was only making it worse.

“Why... no, I should not pretend as if I do not know the cause of your pain.” He murmured as he pulled you close into his chest. “While I will not deny your tempers vex me, I must beg your forgiveness too... my love, I’ve told you over and over so many times: I have no need for earthly possessions. Your love is all I need. I don’t want to leave you, I only beg of you to let me take care of myself. I wish you wouldn’t spoil me so.”

“B-but Jojo...”

“Shhh... my love, you’re ashen.” He murmured softly into your neck. “You need to have something my love. I can send for a meal to be brought to your room.”

He tried to lead you to your room, but you refused to budge and only tugged on his clothes again, begging him to look at you.

“But Jojo... I... my only wish is that you should want for nothing.”

“I don’t need gifts and trinkets my love.” Jonathan murmured gently. “I just need your love and understanding, and for you to always be happy with me.”

You couldn’t help but melt into tears by his words, explaining through your hiccoughing that you never wanted him to feel unloved or unwanted, citing the many wrongs done to him and the burden it left on your heart to know that while you were blissfully unaware of your future husband’s suffering, you had merely been collecting and hoarding your obsessions and waiting for a man to come and take you away. It frustrated you, you went on, because Jonathan had lost everything, and for once in your life you had the means to give him back what he lost.

“I... I know I cannot turn back the hands of time and return those you have lost...” you whimpered, your tears wetting his cravat and making his own burst forth onto your hair. “However the least I can do is give you clothes, a home, a good meal...-“

“Oh my love... I only. Need. Your. Affections. Nothing else.”

Each word he spoke was punctuated with fervent kisses to your lips, his good arm pressing you tightly against his chest as you lost yourselves to passion. He very nearly lost control there in the hall, not caring that anyone including your father might walk in and scold you both for acting in perversion. But eventually he pulled away from your enticing lips, his heart swelling and beating out the things he thought in anger, your sweetest kisses reminding him of why he asked you to be Mrs. Jonathan Joestar in the first place.

“I had wanted to show you after we took care of your clothes,” you gasped, breathless from his canoodling, “Plenty of other things came today as well, come, before you take me to my room.”

You took him gently by the good arm, directing him into a room he knew to be your nursery in childhood. It wasn’t far from the area you assured him would be your own shared chambers (your father insisted you’d remain with him for the time it took to completely restore Jonathan’s home), and when you opened the door you assured him the setup within was only for a little while.

“Just until the little creature is strong enough to make the journey back home with us Jojo.” You told him with a smile as you lead him into the room.

Seeing the bright pretty colors, as well as the miniature items and clothes, Jonathan couldn’t hold back his happiness. He glanced at you, his lips open in a smile and tears dribbling down his cheeks, and gasped in pure delight to see the items you were squirreling away inside.

“You... you did all this?” He grinned widely.

You nodded eagerly, smiling as he picked up soft swaddling clothes, ran his fingers along the supple wood of a cradle, and looked around with wide, lovesick eyes.

It was as though finally he could see the promise of happier times in these possessions, and realized that you were only trying to give him happiness in the one way that you could. In truth, he still preferred you, and the gift you would give him in a few months time.

[sachigram]

Decorticate and Dehiscence

((click here to read on ao3!!))

There's an entire language spoken with only flowers. Shizuo doesn't understand it, but he's curious now that he's been exposed. Before Ami, he never once thought about what flowers could represent aside from a present between couples, or something pretty to look at on a walk.

Ami told him his flower was a gladiolus once, and then she'd smiled in such a sincere way, and Shizuo found himself looking up what the hell that could possibly mean. “Strength of character, faithfulness, and honor.” Yeah, Shizuo doesn't think that's the least bit accurate, and Ami is no longer a part of his life, or ever really was at all, but he does have her to think for teaching him to look for hidden meanings.

When Izaya went to Ami and confronted her, he came back with marigolds. Shizuo almost didn't think anything of it, because Izaya can be very distracting, but eventually he looked up what marigolds could mean, too. “Passion and creativity” was his first result, but underneath, a hidden meaning. “Cruelty, grief, and jealousy.” Izaya only laughed it off and said he bought the first flowers he could find. Shizuo knew better than to believe him.

Shizuo is aware he isn't the smartest person in the world, a fact of which Izaya always reminds him of, but Shizuo is instinctual, and he thinks being the latter is better for him in reading someone like Izaya. Being smart like Izaya would only result in the two of them always speaking in riddles and lies. Instead, Shizuo has the power to see through Izaya's lies, and Shizuo doesn't give a fuck about riddles enough to even attempt to solve them in the first place. Shizuo likes to think he keeps Izaya in check, but at the same time, the darkness in Izaya's eyes or the sharpest glint of his smile will have Shizuo knowing he's as powerless in stopping Izaya as Izaya is in stopping Shizuo.

They're the most dangerous men in the city for a reason, after all.

Still, Shizuo can brush off every warning from his friends and even his own pinpricks of intuition when Izaya is under him, next to him, opening for Shizuo's cock and demanding more and more. Bad things are still happening in the city, just like they always are, and likely always will be, and even knowing Izaya is involved in it somewhere doesn't bother Shizuo like it used to. Something inside him has steadily been growing more and more, unraveling and tangling and festering in his soul in a way that can only be associated with Izaya.

Shizuo knows he loves Izaya. Shizuo loves Izaya so much that it blinds him, fools him, keeps him wrapped in the cocoon of contentment that Izaya made for them both. And underneath it all, Shizuo knows Izaya loves him, too. Izaya admitted as much when he said he would do anything, anything to keep Shizuo with him.

Sometimes Shizuo wonders if Izaya would have killed Ami, had she not heeded the warning and left Shizuo alone. The thought makes him sick to his stomach, especially because he thinks...maybe Izaya would have. No, he knows Izaya would have. Maybe not directly, maybe not himself, but she would have been removed from the picture entirely, one way or another, and Shizuo feels even sicker to know he still wouldn't be able to stay away from Izaya after something like that had happened.

When Shizuo arrives at Izaya's place, he can tell immediately Izaya isn't there. It's more than the lack of Izaya's coat and shoes— It's a lack of presence. Izaya is an electric energy in the air, one that can't possibly be ignored. Likely, Izaya is off wreaking havoc somewhere. Shizuo frowns at the thought, but he still kicks his shoes off and goes about his usual routine instead of going off to find Izaya and stop whatever it is he's doing.

He's only just gotten out of the shower when he senses Izaya's returned. Shizuo hurries and dresses, eager to see Izaya, as he always is. He'd never say it to Izaya, of course, but Shizuo doesn't feel at home until Izaya is next to him, within reach.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya purrs, holding up a bag as he hangs his coat up. “I got dinner. I hope you weren't waiting long for me.”

“I only just got back,” Shizuo says, crossing the room and pulling Izaya to him, yanking him into a bruising, hungry kiss. Like this, it's almost easy to piece together Izaya's day. Shizuo can smell it on him, the different parts of the city. He knows no one else has touched Izaya today, not even brushing against him in passing. Izaya smells only of himself, and of Shizuo, like he always does. Shizuo growls lowly, knowing in his heart this means Izaya was safe all day, but more than that, others weren't likely safe from Izaya, who does his work in the shadows.

“Are you and your nose eavesdropping on me again?” Izaya asks, one of his hands on Shizuo's cheek. “You could just ask what I've been up to.”

“You're a liar,” Shizuo says easily. “I can't ask you anything.”

“How cruel of you. I always tell you the truth.”

“No, you tell me some bullshit version of the truth. There's a difference.”

“If it's deep-seated in the truth, then it's truth all the same,” Izaya says, pulling back from Shizuo and licking his lips. “You're only trying to smell other people on me. Making sure I'm staying faithful to you?”

“Of course,” Shizuo says, snatching up the bag to see what Izaya brought home. “Everyone knows you're mine.”

“Mm,” Izaya hums, looking pleased. “But some people have a death wish all the same.”

Shizuo tears into the bag, happy to see a steak for himself. He never told Izaya how he likes his steak cooked, but of course it's right. Sometimes he wonders just how long Izaya has been studying him, wonders if it was even before Shinra introduced them. He's long since decided he doesn't want to know the answer.

Izaya has a salad for himself, topped with seared tuna that's not cooked through. He sits next to Shizuo, sipping from a glass of expensive red wine. Shizuo thinks to himself this takeout was likely pricey as well, as the name on the bag is from a place he doesn't recognize.

“So,” Izaya says pleasantly, “how was your day, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo snorts. Izaya making small talk with him over dinner is as surreal as anything else they do together that isn't destroying the city or fucking, but it's always welcomed, because Shizuo loves to hear Izaya talk. Another thing he'd never admit to.

“It was the same as every day. Tom-san let me go a little early, though. He said he had some personal things to sort out.” Shizuo reaches over and takes Izaya's wine glass, trying a small sip. He doesn't like wine really, but he likes to share with Izaya, who always lets him.

“Personal things. Hmmm. Maybe a lucky lady.” Izaya rests his chin in his hand, observes Shizuo. “Speaking of luck, what has your little inner circle been saying about your increased time here? Have you told them about me?”

“They don't like you. You know that.”

“I do. In all honesty, they have good reasons, don't they? But here you are.” Izaya spears a big piece of lettuce, nibbles at it almost thoughtfully before he continues. “I'm honored, Shizu-chan, that you would choose me over the opinions of your friends.”

“Shut up. It's not like that. You're just—“ You. He wishes he had more articulate ways to express what he's thinking, but it's almost impossible for him to do so with words. “I like being here,” he says instead. “I like being here with you.”

“I like you being here with me.” Izaya's words seem to be sincere, and the way he's looking at Shizuo is nothing short of loving.

Shizuo blushes, looks down at his dinner. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“What do your...uh. Friends say about me?” He pauses. “Do you have friends?”

Izaya doesn't even look offended. It's actually hard to offend Izaya, unlike Shizuo, who gets angry at everything. Izaya seems immune to most insults, and the only way Shizuo has found to actually hurt him has been to imply someone else's importance is above Izaya's own.

“Just Shinra, who likes you only a little less than me.” Izaya smiles, takes another sip of wine. “You're far more popular than I am.”

“You could have friends,” Shizuo says, trying to imagine it. Izaya has always been around people, but then... Shizuo doesn't think he's seen Izaya interact in a way that wasn't antagonistic.

“I probably could, but I don't want them.” Izaya's gaze sharpens, bores into Shizuo's. “I only want you.”

“Only me? Won't you get bored?”

“No. You never bore me, even when you're not doing anything at all. Even when you're only sleeping. I always only want you.”

Izaya has a tendency to go from saying the most mundane, simple things to saying something that knocks Shizuo sideways, either from intensity or audacity—usually both. Izaya doesn't speak often of feelings, and the two of them haven't even worked out what they are to each other, but it's easy not to be worried about such things when Izaya is watching Shizuo playfully from over the rim of a wine glass, smirk on his face because he knows exactly what Shizuo is thinking about.

“And how did you want me, Izaya?” Shizuo asks, eyes locked on Izaya's throat bobbing as he swallows the last of the wine.

“You know exactly how.”

Shizuo sets his utensils down, not hungry anymore, not for food, at least. He craves Izaya as much as always does, more and more, no matter how many times he's had him. He stands, leaning over Izaya in his chair, tangling his hand in Izaya's hair as he yanks Izaya into another kiss.

“Were you done?” Izaya asks softly. He motions to the counter. “I brought you dessert.”

“You're dessert,” Shizuo says, lifting Izaya into his arms and carrying him up the stairs to the bedroom. They've had sex all over the apartment by this point, but Shizuo still likes it best in Izaya's bed, in those expensive as shit sheets with Izaya underneath him, perfect hands clenched in the silky smooth fabric.

Undressing Izaya never loses its luster. Izaya is gorgeous, and he always allows Shizuo to go as slowly or as quickly as he likes. Shizuo can get lost in just looking at Izaya's body. He's never found anything so beautiful before, has also never wanted to mark and bruise anything so badly in his entire life. He's wondered if it was leftover aggression from their past, but lately he's been thinking it's because Izaya is his. Only his. And everyone should fucking know it.

“I've been thinking,” Izaya says as Shizuo lays him out on the mattress, fully bared and spread out. He hisses when Shizuo's tongue swirls around his nipple. “How many times in a row do you think you can fuck me?”

“Huh?” Shizuo asks stupidly, lifting his head from where it was buried in Izaya's chest. He wipes drool off his chin. “What's the normal amount?”

“Less than you can give me, I'm sure.” Izaya arches under him, capturing Shizuo's attention once more with his body. “You're a monster, after all. If your sexual stamina can match your strength, I'd be under you for hours, right?”

“Wouldn't that...uh...” Shizuo's mouth waters at the thought of Izaya's body filled with Shizuo's dick and his come, so much that it'd be leaking out of him, seeping in between his thighs. “It wouldn't hurt you?”

“Let's find out,” Izaya says simply, handing Shizuo a new bottle of lube. They go through them frequently. “And stop drooling over me long enough to undress yourself. I want to see you, too.”

“Right,” Shizuo says, already eager to be inside Izaya, to push himself to his limit and fill Izaya until Izaya is wrecked. He thinks of something, pauses. “Should we...have a safe word?”

“As if words have ever stopped you.” Izaya laughs, pulling Shizuo's shirt up and off, tossing it to the side. “No. No matter what I say, I want all you have. I don't want you to stop.”

“Izaya...” Shizuo growls, leans down and licks into Izaya's mouth as Izaya focuses on undoing Shizuo's pants, pushes them down with his feet while Shizuo coats his fingers with the lube. It's quick, frantic. It's always this way until Shizuo is finally pushing a finger inside.

“Hurry it up,” Izaya hisses, clenching around Shizuo's finger. “One isn't anything to me anymore.”

“I know, I know, I just— I want to do it right. You could still tear, you know. If I'm too rough once, that's all it takes.” Despite his words, Shizuo adds another finger, giving Izaya what he wants. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Don't you?” Izaya presses his hips down against Shizuo's fingers, driving them inside deeper. “Haven't I earned you hurting me? I certainly want you to.”

Shizuo hisses, looking down over the scratches, bites, and bruises all over Izaya's body. It should sicken him to see them and know he's the one who did it, but it only adds fuel to the fire inside his veins, makes him want to tear Izaya apart and be the only one who can hurt him, the only one who can pleasure him. Shizuo wants Izaya to be his in every way entirely, wants Izaya to think of nothing else but being opened and fucked out on Shizuo's dick, wants Izaya desperate for it.

“See?” Izaya asks, looking so smug it makes Shizuo's teeth grind together. “You want to. You want to ruin me for everyone else, admit it.”

“I do,” Shizuo says, hating himself as he says it. He adds a third finger, picks up his pace, fucks Izaya with them until Izaya is gasping and writhing. “I only want you to look at me.”

“Shizu— Nnn! Hurry up, hurry up, I want it!”

“I know what you want.” Shizuo glares down at him, at his fingers disappearing inside Izaya's body. He purrs at the sight, loving the way Izaya looks like this, flushed and trembling with desire. “I want you to say it anyway.”

“Ha...! Trying your hand...at being...forceful...Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks, laughing shortly, his hips twitching and pressing down against Shizuo's fingers.

“It's only right, isn't it?” Shizuo asks. He could be angry at how far Izaya has dragged him down and corrupted him, but deep down Shizuo knows he was always corrupted, every bit as bad as Izaya already. It was easier to hate Izaya before than to hate himself, but he's always known he would follow that sly smirk and narrow frame anywhere, into Hell itself if he had to.

“I want...you inside me!” Izaya breathes, whining in his throat when Shizuo drives his fingers in as deeply as they can go, pressing hard against Izaya's prostate and not letting up on the pressure.

“I'm already inside you,” Shizuo says, his eyes still focused on the way Izaya's body opens for him, the way it seems to always pulls Shizuo inside further, to egg him on until Shizuo can't hold back anymore, just like always.

“Shizuo—fuck, you're—!” Izaya's legs thrash around from their place on either side of Shizuo, his eyes full of tears as the most sensitive part of him is abused mercilessly. Shizuo doesn't let up, presses harder, and grins in cruel satisfaction when Izaya comes hard, just from this.

“Look at you,” Shizuo murmurs, keeping his hand moving even while Izaya spasms and sobs under him. “You always cling so greedily to whatever I put inside you. You just love being filled.”

“Shizu-chan...” Izaya manages, whining again when Shizuo pulls his fingers out abruptly, using his free hand to coat his dick in lube.

“Shh. I know it's not enough. You asked me for all I have, right?” Shizuo doesn't waste any more time. He lines himself up with Izaya's entrance, pressing against, but not in. Not yet. “Tell me what you want.”

Izaya laughs again, though it sounds more unhinged and broken than anything. “So cruel to me, Shizu-chan. Always so cruel.” Izaya's legs curl around Shizuo's waist, not so subtly pulling him forward until the head of his dick is pressing into Izaya. “Oh— This, this is what I want. Your dick, Shizu-chan, it's all I ever want.”

“Yeah?” Shizuo asks. He leans down, licks the few tears that fell onto Izaya's cheek as he pushes his hips forward, sliding home where he belongs in one fluid motion. Izaya's body welcomes him. It always does. “You love me inside you. I thought at first it was the novelty of it, but you really won't relax until I'm in you as deeply as I can go.”

“I can't...can't focus without it...” Izaya gasps, his nails digging into Shizuo's shoulders. “Even when I...have you, it's never enough. I want all you have, everything, only for me, until...until there's nothing left...for anyone else!”

“You love it. You're so fucking greedy for it.” Shizuo laughs softly, pulling his hips backwards before jerking forward once more, addicted to the heat of Izaya around him. He sets a pace, each time fucking as deeply into Izaya as he can go.

“I do, I love it, I love—“ You. Izaya doesn't say it, but they both feel it. That strange thing inside Shizuo, that sticky, festering, dark feeling grows, grows, grows until it's all Shizuo can feel, all he can think about, and he knows all the things he hates about Izaya, those underhanded things, those terrible things, they're a fraction of what Shizuo would do to anyone who ever tried to take Izaya from him.

“Me too,” Shizuo says, and then he's speeding up, holding Izaya's hips and pulling Izaya down to meet him when he thrusts forward until he's coming inside Izaya, pressing as deeply as he can go and watching Izaya's eyes widen at the feeling. Shizuo doesn't so much as hesitate before resuming his pace, already hard and wanting again. He finds it much easier to work himself inside with the added lubrication, with the way Izaya is already so lax around him.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” Izaya groans, hard and panting under Shizuo. “Keep going, give me everything.”

“I will,” Shizuo says, and he means it. Everything he is, everything he has, good and bad, he wants Izaya to have it. “Take me, Izaya.”

“I am...!” Izaya seizes, writhing once more in an orgasm, his hole fluttering and tightening around Shizuo's dick, milking it until Shizuo is coming once more as well, his mouth open and drooling on the pillow next to Izaya's head.

Again, Shizuo's hips start to move almost without his permission, and Shizuo loves the sound of their bodies meeting between his thrusts, loves the way Izaya's breathing mingles in with it.

“Monster, you're a monster,” Izaya moans, a delirious smile on his face as Shizuo keeps fucking into him.

“Take me, Izaya, all I have, like you said,” Shizuo growls into Izaya's ear. He pulls out, relishing the way Izaya whimpers and garbles out some half-formed complaints at the loss. Shizuo puts a hand on Izaya's hip, turns him, rolling him until Izaya's back is pressed flushed to Shizuo's chest. Shizuo reaches out, takes Izaya's thigh, lifts it up and sideways as he guides his dick back inside Izaya, able to rock even deeper from this new angle.

“Oh, fuck, Shizu-chan...” Izaya's head tips back against Shizuo's shoulder as Shizuo picks up the pace.

“You like it?” Shizuo asks, using his strength to move Izaya's entire body backwards and onto his dick. “Feels so fuckin' good inside you, Izaya... You feel good, too?”

“Yes, yes, just keep going, please, give me more...!”

Izaya's never pleaded for him like this. Shizuo goes harder, well aware he's the only reason they're still moving, Izaya useless in front of him. One of Izaya's hands reaches back until it's tangling in Shizuo's hair, his other curling around and gripping Shizuo's ass, weakly trying to pull him in harder.

“God, hnn, you're so...so deep inside me... Shizu-chan, it's so much...”

“Mm...” Shizuo releases Izaya's thigh, presses his hand down against Izaya's lower stomach, growling lowly when he can almost feel himself moving inside Izaya, can feel Izaya's body yielding and submitting to him, even if Izaya himself never would. Izaya is emitting breathy gasps between every thrust, tiny “ah, ah, ah” noises of pleasure, the occasional whimper. Shizuo doesn't know why he ever thought Izaya would be quiet during sex. Izaya never shuts up, and this is no different.

“Tell me how it feels...” Shizuo demands, loving how honest Izaya is like this. He can never stop asking question, demanding answers. Izaya is never more honest than when he's stretched out around Shizuo's body, covered and filled with come.

“So good, so good, Shizu-chan...!”

“Gonna buy you a plug, Izaya,” Shizuo growls into Izaya's ear, moans at the feeling of Izaya clenching around him in answer. “Gonna fill you and—hnnn—plug you up...keep you ready for me...”

“Yes, fuck, Shizuo, yes!”

“You're mine, Izaya,” Shizuo hisses, resisting the urge to do something crazy like bite Izaya as hard as he can, to really hurt him, tear his skin, anything to keep Izaya focused on him, always. “No one else will ever—fuck you like this. No one else can do it like I do, right? No one else could make you this fucked out, could fill you up the way you love like me.”

“I do love it... Oh, fuck, Shizuo, I love it...!”

“Say you're mine.” Shizuo presses forward harder, does bite Izaya, can't help it, but he holds back from hurting Izaya too badly. “Say it...or I'm stopping...!”

“Yours, I'm yours, I only want you! I only—ah...!” Izaya comes, his body tightening once more around Shizuo's.

Satisfied with Izaya's words and with Izaya's hole spasming around him, Shizuo pulls Izaya closer and comes inside him again, watching Izaya's lashes flutter and Izaya's mouth drop open. Tired of not being able to see Izaya clearly, Shizuo rearranges them to their earlier position, Izaya underneath him, legs spread wide. Shizuo groans at the sight of himself leaking out of Izaya's abused hole.

“More?” Izaya asks breathlessly. Shizuo licks the small line of drool on Izaya's chin, pecks sweetly at Izaya's lips.

“Gonna fill you up,” Shizuo pants, already pressing his dick back inside.

“I'm...already...so full of you...” Izaya gasps, and Shizuo loves the sound of that, can't stop himself from pounding inside Izaya harder than he ever has before. Izaya howls under him, isn't getting hard again, but that's okay. Izaya asked for all Shizuo has, no matter what.

Again and again, Shizuo fills Izaya, each time pausing only long enough to kiss Izaya lovingly, to stroke his bangs off his sweaty forehead. Izaya is a blissful, fucked out mess under Shizuo, his eyes half-lidded and barely cognizant anymore. Shizuo loses count of how many times he comes, but the inside of Izaya's thighs are slick, painted with Shizuo's come that can no longer fit inside Izaya's body.

“You want more?” Shizuo asks, barely recognizing his own voice anymore. He's already moving again, not waiting for Izaya's answer, but Izaya nods anyway, his jaw slack and covered with his own drool by this point. Shizuo grins down at him, reaches up, presses a finger inside Izaya's mouth, watching with hungry eyes as Izaya curls his tongue around it, sucks at it while looking up at Shizuo. “Fuck, Izaya. You're so beautiful... The most...beautiful thing I've seen...!”

When Shizuo comes again, he flops onto Izaya, pulling his finger from Izaya's mouth, reaching down to curl his hand around Izaya's dick.

“N-no, Shizu-chan, I can't—“ Izaya starts, pawing weakly at Shizuo.

“Shut up. You can. You will.” Shizuo pumps Izaya quickly, watching as Izaya's eyes roll back and his body starts to convulse. When Izaya comes for him, it's clearly painful, but Izaya moans all the same, going lax under Shizuo and breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused and dazed.

They lay together, still joined, Izaya's hands petting through Shizuo's hair and Shizuo struggling to stay conscious. Izaya is always so agreeable after getting fucked. It's one of the best times to talk to him, second only to demanding truth from Izaya while fucking him.

“Hey, Izaya... I've been thinking...”

“Hmm?”

“What flower do you think I'm like?” It's a stupid question, but Shizuo is curious. Ami didn't know him, not really. Didn't know how awful he can be, how dark and twisted. Izaya knows. And Izaya loves him anyway.

“What?” Izaya giggles, tugs playfully at Shizuo's hair. “What's brought this on?”

“You reminded me flowers have this entire...language. I'm just curious. What am I like, to you?”

Izaya doesn't answer for a while, and Shizuo worries Izaya is pissed, thinking of Ami, but then Izaya hums thoughtfully and wraps his arms around Shizuo's neck, hugging him tightly.

“Kudzu.”

“Kudzu? Those aren't flowers!” Shizuo huffs, lifting on his elbows to glower down at Izaya.

“Kudzu is in the vine family, but there is a flower. Look it up.” Izaya stretches under Shizuo, sighing happily when his joints pop. “That's what you are. Hard to kill, stubborn, overtaking any and everything in your path until you're all that's left. It's very fitting.”

“Annoying. You're annoying.”

“I'm only being honest! Come on, what am I like then? Surely you have some ideas, if you're asking me what I think you are.”

“But I don't know all the stuff! It's not gonna be...right.”

“This is all speculative. There is no right or wrong.”

“I'm not saying. You're gonna make fun of me.”

“You won't tell me?” Izaya pouts, reaches up to pinch Shizuo's nose. “Not even for a Scooby Snack, Shizu-chan?”

“HAH?!”

Izaya cackles under him, doesn't so much as flinch at Shizuo's growls and threats. Shizuo gives up being angry, likes the looks of happiness on Izaya's face. Even after their rough, biting sex, Shizuo still finds himself wrapped around Izaya's pinky.

“Well,” Shizuo says, swatting at Izaya for good measure and settling back over him so he can bury his head in Izaya's pillow. “I thought of a rose, because roses are pretty, and because they're thorny and hard to be around. But that didn't seem right.”

“Mm,” Izaya agrees.

“So then I thought of dangerous flowers. Poisonous ones, and the best of those would be the foxglove, which can also mean insincerity, and you're pretty insincere. Or a lily of the valley or something awful like that.”

Izaya laughs, tugging at Shizuo's hair. “You're so flattering, Shizu-chan.”

“Shut up, Im not done. And anyway, you called me an invasive vine, so fuck you.”

“Okay. Continue, then.” Shizuo can tell from Izaya's voice that Izaya is still smiling.

“But those didn't seem right. I read that the more beautiful something is, the more dangerous it is in the wild. So then, you'd be something else entirely. Something undiscovered yet.”

“Ah,” Izaya says. “So you don't have an exact answer, after all.”

“I do. My answer is that you're beyond comprehension.”

Izaya laughs again, and Shizuo loves how unhindered Izaya sounds, how happy.

“I love that. Beyond comprehension. It's almost poetic, until you realize the source.”

“Hey.”

“So the two of us are an invasive, pesky vine, and a vicious, poisonous flower that hasn't yet been classified. How unfortunate for everyone that we've found each other, don't you think?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo smiles.

“But fortunate for us.”

“Yes,” Izaya agrees, and Shizuo doesn't have to dig deep to find a hidden meaning in his words. “Fortunate for us.”

[daysswithyou]

Fallen Chapter 24: Déja vu

previous / next

Characters: DAY6 Young K x OC (Rachel)

Warning!: Cursing and swearing, mentions of blood and bodily wounds

------

Tear me apart,

Rip me to shreds,

Leave me as nothing but skin and bones,

An empty shell of what I used to be before.

---

With the stars and moon hanging overhead, Younghyun dropped you off outside the female living area and made you promise that you’ll take a shower before meeting him for dinner an hour later. You nodded, mustering up a weak smile just to show him that you’re alright. You returned to an empty room; Esther should be with Jae now, presumably having a dinner date. You scrubbed your body vigorously in the shower, wanting to get rid of every last bit of dried salt clinging to your skin. Your skin was red, raw and tingling by the time you exited the shower but you could care less. At least you felt clean, clean from all the dark thoughts that previously clouded your mind, though you could never be fully cleansed of the painful memories. Walking along the hallways, you jumped when you saw someone waiting outside your door.

Bubblegum pink hair… classic red nails… This was Ayeon standing outside your room, no doubt about that. You gritted your teeth at the sight – seeing her always spelt trouble. Straightening your back, you ignored her but alas, before you could even get a grip on your doorknob, her voice had reached your ears.

“Drinks? My treat.”

“No thank you, I’ve got somewhere to be soon.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a wet blanket Rachel. It’s just harmless drinks.”

You turned around and crossed your arms before fixing Ayeon with your hardest stare.

“Really? The last time I checked, you don’t ever find me without good reason.”

Ayeon chuckled, but it was a mirthless laughter. Oh, how she wanted to scratch that stare off your face but not yet. Not now. Like a female lioness, patience will be her greatest virtue now – before she went in for the kill later.”

“Alright Rachel, you got me. I do have some things that I want to tell you.”

“You can just say it here.”

“I would need a little more time than that. So why not get comfortable over drinks?”

Ayeon lifted her red lips into a smile, and you knew that you weren’t actually left with a choice. Unless you went with her, she would not stop hounding you. You might as well get it done and over with.

“Wait here.”

You entered your room and slammed the door shut before leaning your back against it. You sent a quick text to Younghyun to tell him that you’ll be late – he didn’t need to know that you’ll be with Ayeon else things are going to get really messy. You swiftly switched off the phone screen once the message was sent. Remembering that she was still outside the door, you scrunched your face up in annoyance, gentling messaging your temple due to the massive headache that was currently splitting your brain open.

What the hell does she want with me?

---

Ayeon decided to go to a bar by the beach and you mentally swore for agreeing to her stupid deal in the first place. Being on the beach again reminded you of today’s earlier events and you could feel the discomfort crawl under your skin, almost like a million ants were festering under your skin. But there was no way – no fucking way – that you’d admit this weakness to Ayeon. Suppressing your fear, you held your head up high as you walked behind her. As the bar got closer, you could hear the addictive tropical house beats blast from the stereo speakers, the occasional lyrics becoming clearer once you reached the hut. You recognise some of the people at the bar as your classmates and you gave them a small wave as a greeting. Some waved back but quickly frowned when they realised who you came with. Guess your bad relationship with Ayeon is still widely remembered by everyone. You heaved a sigh as Ayeon greeted the bartender with a smile and waved them over.

Let’s just survive this conversation, then go get dinner.

You’re broken from your reverie by her question.

“Martini for you?”

“Yes. Lime. Please.”

“One vodka for me, and one lime martini for the lady here. Charge both to my bill.”

You watched as Ayeon passed her black card over and you kept your gaze on her, expecting her to initiate conversation. But she merely glanced at you from the side of her eyes, smirking as she did so.

“You’re in no hurry, right? Let’s enjoy the music and ambience as we wait for the drinks.”

This bitch is playing with me. Fucking hell.

“Sure.”

You kept your voice levelled, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing that your blood was currently boiling inside because of her. Thank goodness Lady Luck was on your side tonight, for the drinks arrived shortly and you resisted the urge to gag when you saw the bartender throw a wink at Ayeon, to which she giggled like some love-struck main in a chick flick. You felt a vessel pop in your temple, and you quickly brought the drink up to your lips, hoping the hot liquid would distract you from that sight.

“Out with it Ayeon. I know you’re not here to enjoy my company. Say your piece, and then we can both part ways.”

“Ouch Rachel, I am hurt.”

You tsked at Ayeon and you saw the shift in her gaze. She released her lips from the rim of the glass cup before turning fully to face you.

“Since you’re so eager to leave, Rachel, I shall cut to the chase. I know about the deal, and I want Brian back.”

Upon hearing her words, you scoffed out loud with your tongue in cheek. The audacity of this bitch to want him back after all the damage she has done. Has she no shame?

“Ayeon, in case your memory fails you, perhaps I should remind you that you’re the one that broke up with first and then publicly humiliated him. After all the damage you’ve wrought on him, you want him back? Your shamelessness is truly astounding. Besides, you can’t just ask for it back. It no longer belongs to you.”

You expected Ayeon to land a harsh slap across your face for insulting you, but she merely pulled her lips back into a smile, showing off her perfectly neat rows of white teeth.

“Oh really? I think it does. Normally I would have taught you a lesson for insulting me but I shan’t waste my energy when I’ve got an easier method to deal with you.”

You watched as Ayeon tapped her phone screen a few times before your phone screen lighted up – as with all your other classmates surrounding you – with a notification from the school app.

You continued to glare at Ayeon. What game is she playing right now?

Ayeon doesn’t waver under your gaze, she merely picked up the stem of her glass delicately before bringing the clear liquid to her lips.

“Check it. I’m sure you’ll be very interested to see it’s content since it involves… a certain… someone.”

The bite in her last word made it clear who she’s referring to and your fingers moved on their own accord to swipe at the notification. A video post with no caption is presented to you and you pressed the play button. The whole video is dark due to poor lighting and you barely make out his figure until the moonlight shone across the planes of his face, illuminating his prominent, handsome nose.

Younghyun… but what the hell… why does he look so dishevelled… and that suit…

You recognised the suit now – it was the one that he wore when he showed up looking all dazed and frightened at your doorstep. The image of his fear-stricken face appeared in the forefront of your mind again, the harrowing image knocking the wind out of you. Audio emitted from your phone speakers again; someone was shuffling offscreen. When you saw her, that’s when you felt the phantom, ice cold hands wrap their fingers around your throat, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you as it got harder to breathe with each passing second. You’d recognise that pink bubblegum hair anywhere – one that is currently sported by the same lady sitting in front of you in flesh.

The pair in the video was none other than Ayeon and Younghyun, the former whom now had Younghyun pinned against the wall as she aggressively sucked his face. Younghyun had one hand up her thigh, with the other on her lower back. Then, a flash of white hair in the video – Dowoon. Dowoon whom had accidently witnessed this sinful sight that very night. The weight of the truth finally hit you all at once, one that had you stumbling out of your chair as your phone clattered against the glass table top.

So, this was what happened that night. This was what Dowoon was trying to warn me about this entire time. Gosh… I’m such a fool. Younghyun cheated on me. Another guy fucking cheated on me – again. I’m so stupid for believing him… for believing that he loved me.

Against your wishes to not show an ounce of vulnerability in front on Ayeon, your body betrayed you as your throat ran dry, scalding tears already pooling at your lash line. Your grip on your phone is so strong that the screen almost cracked, your nails pierced into the soft flesh of your thigh and drew blood in the process. Ayeon snickered from her spot in front of you, relishing in the sight of your emotional torment. She broke you again – twice now. Oh, just how much more pathetic can you be?

“Like what you see Rachel? Told you his heart still belongs to me.”

Your body felt so weak due to the torrent of emotions currently raging within you – so incredibly weak that you can’t even make a sound to retort Ayeon. Then the sound of a suppressed giggle came from behind you and that has you snapping your head up to look at the person. Your classmate is currently stifling their laughter behind the palm of their hands, the fingers pointed at your pathetic self. More laughter erupted around the bar, some openly jeered at you now. This sort of scene… it’s all too familiar to you.

The canteen.

Jaebeom.

The public breakup.

It’s happening all over again – you’re the prey laid out in plain sight for all the wolves to see, before they closed in to rip you into shreds. Your head rung painfully with their shrill laughter; your heart hammering so painfully hard in your chest that you thought it might shatter your ribs. Your head is jerked back by Ayeon to face her, her perfectly manicured fingers digging viciously into your jaw,

With a sneer, she spat: “Go on, run Rachel. Run like you always do, run like the pathetic creature that you are. That’s what you do best anyways – running from all your problems.”

She then pushed you off to the side, sending you tumbling off the chair. She stopped short of kicking sand into your face – you looked wretched and pitiful enough. She didn’t feel the need to trod all over you again, you’re already doing a good job making yourself look absolutely miserable. Rising on wobbly and unsteady feet, you stumbled out of the bar, moving further away from the group of people that wanted nothing more than to tear you apart.

One step,

Then the second,

And another.

Soon, you’re thundering down the length of the beach, kicking up sand behind you as their laughter got softer and softer,

And then,

Silence.

The quiet static of cricket chirps filled your ears, the sound mixing up with the distant lapping of the waves upon the shore and the rustling of palm trees above you. It was quiet – just you against the world with your broken heart. On a normal night, you would have enjoyed the tranquil atmosphere and view; the stars still looked pretty hanging like shining crystals in the sky but tonight… your soul felt void. Completely drained and sucked dry of every good emotion in this cruel world – you honestly doubted that you’d be able to feel positive emotions after all the turmoil that you’ve gone through in your life, more so after tonight’s events. Younghyun’s cheating incident was really the last push that sent you tumbling over the edge, crashing into a million pieces with no hopes of ever being whole again. No matter how hard you tried, the unwanted images from before refused to leave your mind. Even when you squeezed your eyes shut, the cursed images kept replaying again.

Her lips on his…

His hands on her thighs…

The forsaken clothes on the floor.

One need not be told to know what happened next. The memory sent a shockwave through your body, and you lurched forward violently as your chest caved in on itself, forcing you onto the hard gravel, scrapping your knees and palms in the process. Yet, the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil within you. A strangled sob escaped you as the first tears streamed down your face like a thundering waterfall – never ending and soaking your outfit wet. You really did not want to make a fool of yourself and cry in public but you knew you could not keep it in anymore – else the pressure would kill you. So, there in the middle of the street, you wailed as you felt your heartstrings snapped. It was physically possible to die from a heartbreak and for a moment, you considered the possibility that you might. You were not sure how long you cried for – minutes? Hours? Time lost it’s meaning to you. After all – you no longer had an appointment to keep, or a place to be. You cried yourself dry, till you could not physically produce tears anymore. You felt like you were going to pass out any moment, and the first instinct would be to call Esther for help. To talk? To come and get you? Maybe both. You just knew that you wanted your best friend by your side now to hold you and tell you it’s going to be alright – because you no longer had the strength to say those words to yourself – maybe you needed someone to tell you so that you would believe it.

You tapped your phone screen weakly, only to realise that it had been damaged beyond repair during the incident just now. The screen was glitching – now it would be impossible for you to contact Esther. The additional distraught of being left with a damaged phone and no means to contact anyone caused another wave of frustration to bubble up within you and you let out a disgruntled sigh, the sound scratching against your hoarse vocal cords. With blurry vision, you slowly rose from the ground and stumbled forward. You didn’t know where to go – all you knew was that you wanted to go far away – to a place where no one would recognise you, and no one you knew could find you.

Away from Ayeon, away from Younghyun, away from this damned life that you led.

To leave things behind, you’d have to keep moving forward – and so you did. You dragged your limp body forward along the unknown path with no idea where it’ll lead you. Even when you walked right into the middle of the road, you didn’t notice until you saw a burst of light so bright that pain shot right through your eyes as the horrible screeching of tires pierced through the silent night, the smell of burning asphalt making you gag. It took you a few seconds to realise that you nearly got ran over by a car – almost, but not quite. The shock sent you collapsing onto the floor, scrapping your already wounded hands more. Any further abrasions and your skin might just be ripped to ribbons. The headlights of the car were inches from your face and when you lifted your eyes to look at the driver, you aren’t even surprised anymore.

She wanted you dead, maybe she was just making sure of it now. From her seat behind the wheel, Ayeon sneered at you. You’re a pest that just won’t die, constantly interfering in her life and making it difficult for her. And now? You nearly sent her to jail for an almost hit-and-run incident. The bright headlights gave Ayeon a clear view of you and she scoffed. Not only did you feel like a pest, you even looked like one. Disgusting – a creature that no one would want to look at. Your eyes were bloodshot from all the crying; no doubt. Your hair has fallen out of the neat braid it once was in, the strands of hair clinging to your face. Your nice outfit now stained with red, your perfect hands and feet now ruined from the damage you’ve caused yourself. Ayeon always knew you were… pathetic… but she never imagined this level of degradation that you would wreck upon yourself. Ayeon does not have sympathy to help you so she swerved her car and left you in her dust. Someone will pick you up eventually, or you could get run over by another car for real this time – she honestly could care less.

As for you, you just sat where Ayeon had left you, much too distraught to move yourself to a safer place. The world hates me so much, it’s trying to kill me now. It should have just now when it had the chance to. Why am I not dead yet? You chuckled darkly to yourself like a lunatic at your thoughts, pressing your forearm against your face. But the laughter soon gave way to more tears, though you previously thought you were incapable of producing more after crying yourself dry. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve sat by the side of the road, listening as cars passed you by.

The next time you saw light, Esther’s face was right in front of yours. One look at you, and tears immediately brimmed in her eyes – a rare sight for someone as tough as her.

“Rachel… what happened to you?”

---

The notification appeared on Esther’s phone screen when Jae went to get coconut drinks for them.

Ayeon? What’s the crazy gal up to again? Another video? What is this?

Esther pressed play and by the time Jae returned to her side, her face had turned ashen with her jaws clenched and lips pressed into a thin line.

“Esther? What’s wrong?”

“That bastard. That bastard that we call a friend. He cheated on Rachel.”

Jae nearly dropped the drinks when she turned to face him – never before has he seen such feral rage in her eyes, the fire blazing fiercer with each passing second.

“What are you talking about? What did Brain do?”

“This. This is what he did.”

Esther shoved her phone in Jae’s face and clicked play. Oh, now he knew. Now Jae knew why Esther was going mad with rage. There was no mistake about it – Brian and Ayeon are back together again. And now the whole world knew.

“I need to find Rachel. I need to tell her this before she finds out on her own.”

“Wait Esther, let’s not be brash. What if she’s seen it already?”

“Then all the more I need to be by her side to comfort her. Twice, this has happened to her. She’s gotten her heart broken by jerks that don’t deserve her. I know he’s your friend Jae, but this is where I draw the line. You don’t have to follow me, and I’m sorry but date night will have to wait.”

With that, Esther took off down the length of the beach, racking her brains on places that you might possibly be at. Jae returned the drinks to the stall owner before hollering after Esther, as the stall owner hollered at him to take the money back. She ran to the other end of the beach when she spotted you there. A speck in the middle of the road. That’s you for sure – she’d recognise your favourite sundress anywhere.

“RACHEL!”

Jae thought he would finally be able to catch up with Esther after running for so long, but he only groaned when he saw her picking up speed again. How she coulf outrun him despite all his basketball training still baffled him – he’s truly got one hell of a girlfriend.

When Esther finally got to you, she nearly stumbled back from the shock. Who did this to you? Who reduced you to this weeping, hollow shell of a person that she once knew as her best friend? The wounds – oh gosh the wounds were the worst. Long cuts across your legs and arms, the wounds festered for a long time; she could tell because of the dried blood against your white dress. Some were deep with gravel stuck between the gaping wounds, she could only pray that you would not need stitches but she was not optimistic. But it was your eyes that told your story without words – oh, how could someone’s eyes hold so much sorrow in them? The blood smeared across your face gave you a ghastly look, but it was really the look of anguish in your bloodshot eyes that broke Esther’s heart and forced tears through her eyes.

“Rachel… what happened to you? Who did this to you…that monster! The wounds… they look really bad. You must have been out here for so long so let’s get you to the hospital first alright? Those wounds must be cleaned before it gets infected.”

Esther moved to help you up gently, but you merely gripped onto her shirt tightly, pulling her down to sit beside you.

“It hurts Esther… it hurts…”

“I know Rachel, I know. That’s why we got to get them cleaned alright? Then they’ll hurt less once they’re recovering.”

“Not the… not the wounds. Here. It hurts here. It hurts so much I think I might just die.”

“Where…? Oh, oh no, Rachel please don’t cry. He’s not worth your tears… please don’t cry…”

When Esther finally looked down at you, you weren’t holding onto your wounds in pain like a normal person would. Instead, you were clutching onto your heart, fisting the fabric above that area so hard that you might tear the material at any time. Nothing could compare to the emotional pain that was still wrecking your body at this point in time. Even Jae – whom was watching in the background – felt anger slowly rise within him for the pain his friend had caused you. No one deserved to suffer through this sort of emotional torture. Brian had disappointed him, and all of them. As you continued to sob into Esther’s embrace, Jae’s phone rung in the background.

Brain Kang calling

Not now Brian.

Jae’s phone continued ringing, and when Jae finally lifted his eyes to look at Esther, he knew that she could never forgive him.

“If it’s Brian calling, tell that bastard to get lost, and never appear in front of my sight again. I will rip him to shreds if he does, I could never forgive him for what he had done to her.”

Jae gulped, swiping the red button as the world around you went black.

Like déjà vu, your whole world came crashing down on you.

[vertanimeni]

the ice will start to break, the day will fade away (3/18)

Summary:

“Have you heard? The Elephant of Caocin has committed high treason!”

From Trikru’s most reputable war hero to Trikru’s most wanted traitor, Kova found themselves stripped of their titles and trapped between a clan that wants them dead and a camp of invaders - the same ones who kidnapped and tortured their brother.

But Kova was willing to do anything to stay alive and keep their family together.

Pairing: Bellamy/Grounder OC

Word Count: 3,543

TW: ...drugs? Jobi nuts.

A/N: Hi hi! After some convincing from my friends, I decided to post this series here :D I’ve already finished with season 1 and half of season 2, I’m just in the middle of re-writing and editing. If you’re reading through my blog, the read more does not show up due to Tumblr’s new formatting, so please click on the post itself. I’ll be updating every other day at 12pm EST. Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

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iii. insolence.

As soon as Kova had realized where the invaders planned on dragging Lincoln off to, they sprinted all the way back to Chief Indra’s camp and stumbled out an explanation on what happened to their brother. They hadn’t considered that they weren’t exactly at a good point in their relationship seeing as the Chief wouldn’t put him in danger, but instead of sending a team with Kova to get him back—

“So, will you stand there and waste my time, or will you explain to me what you had told the Chief?”

—the Chief sent them to General Tristan, who had been ordered to fill Lincoln’s absence as scout facilitator by the Lieutenant. How they managed to fill his position so quickly, Kova didn’t know, and they didn’t want to think about how expendable they might have seen their younger brother. And now, here they were, watching as the invaders dragged Lincoln’s body into their camp. The General passed his binoculars to the scout in the branches below him before standing. The tree they scouted in was tall, full of leaves, and just far enough from the camp that they didn’t have to worry about potentially getting caught.

His words were harsh enough to bring Kova out of their stupor. “I already told you everything I know, General.” Their worried eyes fixated on the drop ship. “What do we do?”

“Nothing.” He merely observed as Lincoln disappeared into the drop ship. “He has been compromised. There is nothing left we can do for him. I suggest you return to your duties at the training camp. You may take a day off to mourn if you wish.”

His words sunk in slowly. “Nothing? Mourn?”

With no response, General Tristan walked past them, his robes flickering against their shoulder. On instinct they grabbed the edge of the fabric, preventing him from moving. “Despite involuntarily leaving TonDC, Lincoln is one of the most loyal warriors of Trikru. You dare abandon him in this manner?”

“You dare talk to me in this manner?” The General snapped, snatching his robes back. “Tell me, Elephant of Caocin—” It was subtle, but Kova flinched, and Tristan pounced. “—did you have a plan prepared before you went to the Chief? Or to me?”

They remained silent, their fists trembling, nails cutting into the palm of their skin.

“I’m sure you are aware, but after the events of the Mountain, you became very well known for your brutal plans. And to be truthful with you, I was not present when the incident at the Mountain took place.” He turned away from them. “However, Chief Indra and Lieutenant Anya were, and those two spoke highly of you, mostly for being able to separate emotions from duty.” The General looked over his shoulder, a sneer stretched across his nose. “Yet, it seems seclusion has made you soft, Elephant of Caocin.”

“I cannot say I find that to be an insult, General.” They gritted out through clenched teeth. A hand clapped against their shoulder.

“You most certainly should. Lincoln may be your brother, but he is not important enough to risk the Commander’s plan.” The General met Kova’s shocked, wide eyes, and had the audacity to laugh at their predicament. “Yes, the orders to leave Lincoln behind came from the Commander herself.”

Two different pains shot throughout Kova’s shoulder — one sharp, from the General’s nails digging into their collar bone, and the other dull, from how tightly he squeezed. But not once did they show their discomfort. “I will warn you once, and only once. Do not interfere.” The pressure lightened ever so slightly before it completely disappeared. “You are dismissed.”

Dismissed? Dismissed?! There was nothing Kova wanted to do more than to scream, to shout at the unfairness of it all, to curse out the General and this so called Commander. Instead, Kova gritted their teeth, set their jaw tight, as if the moment they let go they would act upon their violent thoughts, and hissed, “Yes sir.”

They didn’t know how they managed to speak without moving their jaw, nor did they know how they bowed their head, or how they descended the tree, for all they could feel was their rage cooling down, leaving only a heavy stone in their stomach. The weight would make a man drop to his knees, to beg the Gods for forgiveness and for help.

But they were no man, and this weight was familiar, one that Kova had carried for over two years, one that they no longer needed help from Gods that no longer listened, not since they cursed themselves at the Mountain. Instead, they seethed with spite and found themselves sitting in an isolated tree, hanging just above a corner of the invaders’ camp, hidden by green leaves, some of which were turning yellow and orange. One leg hung over the side of the branch while the other was pressed against their own chest.

‘If I don’t follow orders,’ Kova summarized their options, ‘my people will punish me. If I do, I lose a brother.’

Oh, there was no doubt which side Kova would take. They knew the moment the General spoke. Tristan’s words rang in their head. “He is not important enough to risk the Commander’s plan.”

“He is to me.”

Expendable. That’s what the warriors were to Trikru, and they hated themselves for taking this long to realize it.

Light flickered at the corner of their eye. They looked down at the invaders’ camp, only to see a chain of people packing very familiar nuts into small aluminum packages the reflected the sun with every crease.

Kova couldn’t hold back the devious smirk that formed on their lips.

‘I am well known for my brutal plans, am I not?’

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“I’m gonna go pee.” The tent flapped open, exposing Jasper to the cool air. The nuts he had eaten were really good, gave him a better high than anything he smoked back on the Ark. He walked up to one of the secluded sections of the walls protecting the camp and threw his empty pack of nuts to the side. Shortly after unzipping his pants, he caught a glimpse of someone sprinting past the wall on the other side. “What the…”

Jasper shook his head. Nah. He must be high as shit, right? It can’t be what he thinks it is. But curiosity got to the better of him, and he stepped closer to the hole to get a better look. His pupils dilated.

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Octavia, on the other hand, was having the time of her life, sewing some furs together while sitting on a log. Alone. Don’t get her wrong though, Bellamy was a good brother, but his doting was really cramping her social life down here on the ground. She just wanted to have fun, ("Octavia!") was that too much to ask for? She spent her whole ("Octavia!") life underneath that stupid floor—

"Octavia!" Jasper cried out, unaware of the looks he was getting from the other teens as he ran up to her. He gripped her shoulders and rocked her back and forth. “Listen, I think I’m going crazy, or the grounders are here — or I’m going crazy and—“

“Pause. You need to slow down!” She pushed his hands off her shoulders and held the sides of his arms. “Relax and tell me what you saw.”

In the midst of describing his experience at the wall, he saw the very same grounder standing in the middle of the camp. “Him, he’s right there! Why isn’t anyone doing anything?”

“Jasper, there’s no one there. Stop it!” Her eyes flickered between him and the area he was pointing too.  “Are you on something?”

“We’re all gonna die,” He mumbled softly. As if resigned to his fate, he ate more of the nuts he had in his pocket.

Octavia snatched the pack from his hand and examined it. “Is this all you’ve eaten today?”

“It doesn’t matter now, we’re all gonna die anyways.”

‘Oh, he’s definitely high as shit.’ "Hold on.” She looked to her left and seized a stray stick from the forest floor. “Here, take this.”

“It’s...just a branch?”

“No,” She wiggled her finger, a knowing smirk on her face, “this here? It’s an anti-grounder stick. If you hold on to it and sit right here, the grounders won’t be able to see you.”

He immediately dropped to the floor, clutching the stick tight in his arms as if it were his life line. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll just stay right here then.”

“Of course it makes sense.” She patted his back and spotted the boxes full of the Jobi nuts. “Just stay right here.”

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With their back pressed against a perfect hiding spot — a mutated tree that formed a c-shape around them — their breathing was short, quick, and panicked. The mask they wore grew warm and sweaty with each breath to the point where they had to tip it over their head. How is it that they almost got caught without even entering yet?!

The area they had planned to climb over was mostly concealed by vegetation and was rarely watched by either the invaders or Trikru’s spies. Kova made sure of that — they couldn’t have the scouts seeing them, too. Intruding should have been easy. All Kova had to was climb a hanging tree, crawl to the other side of the barrier, and fall into the bushes.

But then this dumbass just absolutely had to take a piss right when they ran past the crack and climbed the tree. They hadn’t even noticed the hole in the wall until it was too late! And to make it worse, the dumb fuck was the boy who had crossed the river. Kova would recognize those dumb goggles anywhere, seeing as Trikru had drawn the boy based on the descriptions of the scout that supposedly killed him.

Maybe if that scout had done his job right, Kova wouldn’t be stuck in this situation, hidden out of fear as the boy shouted about grounders invading the camp. Kova’s heart raced rapidly. There was no way they fucked this up already, right? Not just the General, but the Commander herself would have their head over this matter if the invaders didn’t kill them first.

“There’s a grounder! It’s right there!”

The voice projected in their direction, and for the first time in years, they prayed to whatever God that could be listening to not be discovered. Every muscle, every tendon in their body was tense, ready to sprint into action at any moment. But when they looked through the foliage hiding them from the rest of the camp, the boy wasn’t pointing towards them, but in the opposite direction, cowering in fear over… an invisible grounder?

Oh, Kova was so tempted to laugh. They held it in, even when the other invaders and the girl he spoke to gave him strange looks, even when the girl gave him an ‘anti-grounder’ stick. Looks like the Jobi nuts kicked in just in time. Kova watched as the boy collapsed to the ground, holding the stick. ‘Oh. How terrifying. I can’t believe I worried over something like that. But… grounder? Is that what they’re calling us?’

Well, it wasn’t like they could say much, seeing as Trikru had named the group invaders.

Their amusement turned into confusion fairly quickly. The sky girl had realized the boy had eaten the hallucinatory Jobi nuts. Yet, instead of recalling the packages, she went around camp and handed them out like freebies. Strange. Maybe she hadn’t made the connection? Well, regardless, it would make this a lot easier for them.

Kova switched their gaze to more important matters. They hadn’t seen Lincoln leave the drop ship, so he must still be in there. They dropped their mask, covering their face. Sticking to the shadows of the drop ship’s side and approaching the entrance, Kova sneaked past the curtains and slid behind some bins to the side of the entrance before anyone could see them.

The same sky girl came by not even a moment later and climbed up a ladder and opened the hatch, spoke to someone inside briefly and came back down to leave. A few moments after she left, a different boy clumsily scaled down the ladder and fell off when his foot missed a bar. He shook it off and stumbled past right past Kova’s hiding spot and walked through the curtains.

Kova didn’t start their warrior training yesterday. They knew something was amiss. But this might have been their only change to save Lincoln. And so, now that there were no invaders around, they set their determined eyes on the ladder.

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Lincoln didn’t start their warrior training yesterday. He knew the sky girl, Octavia, who for some reason had taken an interest in him, was planning something. He couldn’t tell if her soft actions towards him were out of gratefulness for saving her a few days ago, or if it was guilt over his capture. But she had given the young sky boy watching him a packet of Jobi nuts, and based on the knowing twinkle in her eye when she made eye contact with him, she knew exactly what those nuts did.

But then she left, and once the nuts took on their effect, the sky boy stumbled down the ladder, saying how bored he was watching him. Lincoln couldn’t help but let out a laugh once the hatch closed behind the boy, although it was more of a huff than anything.

Regardless, there he was. Alone. He had no idea if Octavia planned on helping him get out of the wires around his wrists or if she expected him to somehow do it himself, but he barely had enough energy to stand, let alone escape.

He let his head hang, his body slump, and briefly wondered if this was how he was meant to die. Alone. At the hands of invaders. Maybe his death would spring Trikru into action. Only the Gods know they won’t be saving him any time soon, not with the plans they had for the group.

His thoughts traveled to Kova. During the battle at the Mountain, he was worried any conversation of theirs would be their last, and now here he was, worrying over the same thing. Would their last conversation truly be of them arguing? His heart trembled at the idea.

His ears picked up a gentle sound of hissing, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. The drop ship made strange noises, creaks and whispers, like a wooden house against strong winds.

But this time was different, for he heard the sound of footsteps climbing up the ladder, of hands slapping against the metal floors, and of someone grunting. He gathered enough energy to lift his head, only to find someone closing the hatch as quietly as possible.

Except this someone didn’t wear leather and jeans, didn’t have unmarred skin, nor did they have a slightly bent posture, like the rest of the invaders did. If their familiar clothes or tattooed dark skin didn’t give them away, their straight posture and the mask they wore certainly did.

“A-Ko?”

“A-Lin!” They cried out quietly, tipping the mask back to rest on top of their head. Kova rushed over and felt the familiar heat of anger tumble underneath their skin as they checked on his wounds. “What the hell did they do to you?” They pulled out a knife from a hidden sheath and slashed the ropes and wires that held up his arms. They hadn’t realized he had been standing in this position for days, and wasn’t expecting for him to fall into their chest. “I got you.”

“How did you find me?” He asked while they worked on breaking the ropes around his ankles.

“I came to your camp to apologize—” As soon as he had been released, he collapsed against their side. “—Here, I got you. You’re okay.” They took one of his arms and pulled him over their shoulder to help him sit. “I found you being dragged out of your house by the invaders. I couldn’t just leave you.”

His body flushed with sudden relief from being able to sit and from their words. The adrenaline was wearing off, but he didn’t want to become dead weight when they were still in danger. “A-Ko. I’m tired.”

With the gentleness an older sibling could have, they brought their foreheads together, keeping him awake. “I know, I know you are, but we’re not safe yet. We have to go while the invaders—”

The hatch opened. Kova’s mannerisms were always swift and clean, and their actions were no different as they stood in front of Lincoln, pulling out their sword from its sheath against their hip with one hand while the other dropped the mask back over their face. Just as they were about to pounce on the young sky girl who entered, Lincoln grabbed the bottom of their pants. “Wait, don’t. Not her. Octavia is a friend.”

The sky girl startled when she noticed the sword swung at throat level, startled that even when the grounder stopped mid-swing she let the hatch drop. The grounder lowered their sword at the same time she managed to catch the handle before it could slam closed. She didn’t notice the questionable look the grounder sent at Lincoln.

‘Are you sure?’

He nodded wordlessly and they sheathed their sword. A nervous twitch of Octavia’s hand caught their attention. “Those clothes.” Kova motioned to the fabric clutched in her hand. “Are they for him?”

“Y-Yes.” Octavia shook her head, a trembling laugh tumbling out of her mouth. “Sorry, I just— I wasn’t expecting—”

Kova snatched the clothes out of her hands and knelt before Lincoln, wordlessly tapping his biceps.

“Be nice.” He chided and raised his arms up.

“Running out of time.” They didn’t bother glancing back as they tossed the jacket behind them, expecting Octavia to catch it. “The arms are inside out. Fix it while I help him.”

Thankfully, Octavia seemed to take their orders in stride. They heard the rustling of fabric behind them. Scrunching up the bottom of the shirt to the neck hole, they guided Lincoln’s head through. The fabric chafed against his wounds and he let out a small painful groan, his face scrunching up.

“I know, just wait until we get home. Right now, we need to get out of here.”

He bobbed his head and allowed Octavia to slide the jacket on. Both she and Kova supported him with an arm over their shoulders and helped him shuffle his way to the hatch.

“I’ll go down first, make sure no one is around.” Kova swung onto the ladder, but before they descended, they looked at Octavia with sharp eyes, but soft words. “I saw you with the Jobi nuts.” Without hesitation, they held their forearm out. Octavia slowly offered her own, and Kova gripped it with the strength of a protective older sibling. They gave her a short nod. “Thank you.”

“It was my fault. He shouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.” Octavia glanced at Lincoln, and while Kova could obviously see the guilt in her eyes, there was something more. “I’m sorry this happened to him, I really did try to stop it.”

Something told Kova they didn’t want to know what that look meant. “…mn.” They turned to Lincoln. “Meet you downstairs.”

They descended without another word. Halfway down, they heard the soft murmurs of a conversation above them, and a sudden realization popped up and slammed Kova across the head. ‘She’s the girl from his journal.’ Their foot missed a bar, but they were close enough to the ground that they could jump off and land quietly.

After making sure the coast was clear, the last thing they wanted to do was look up, but they did, and by the Gods did they regret it. They caught a brief glimpse of Lincoln on the ladder, leaning over the entrance of the hatch towards where Octavia was, his face out of sight.

Kova looked away fast enough to hear the joints in their neck cracking. They faked a retching noise, quiet enough as to not alert anyone, but audible enough that Lincoln shot back from the hatch and climbed down. He thought Kova would help him with the last few bars, but when he didn’t feel any hands on him he looked at them questioningly.

“If you have enough energy to be making out with an intruder, you have the energy to climb down yourself.” They couldn’t help but tease, a smug look on their face as they crossed their arms.

He rolled his eyes and dropped down, and before he could even think about stumbling forward, Kova’s hands guided his across their shoulders. They led him past the curtains and into the bushes, away from everyone’s view. There was no way he could climb the same way Kova entered camp, so the exit would have to do.

There was nothing Kova wanted to do more than tease him a bit further — after all, it was rare for their younger brother to find interest in anyone — but before they could, the two were face to face with a sky boy. A sober one.

Lincoln recognized him as Finn, the boy he stabbed before he was knocked out. He communicated this as a ‘warning’ to his sibling with one squeeze to their shoulder and they took out a knife. Kova knew that if the sky boy were to try anything, they would have to drop Lincoln to fight, and they weren’t sure if they were willing to risk that.

So one could only imagine their surprise when they realized the knife wasn’t necessary. Finn jutted his head towards the exit and stepped to the side with his hands up. Kova wasn’t one to look at an opportunity and throw it away, so they dragged Lincoln along slowly towards the opening, as if one wrong move would set alarms off within the camp. They kept their eyes on Finn until they reached the forest line, then unceremoniously picked up Lincoln across their back and started jogging.

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[artificialqueens]

Withstanding The Test Of Time Ch5 - Shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - I’ll be honest, I’ve entirely forgotten how to format fics on account of the fact that it’s been so long since I submitted. Nonetheless I’m here!! I’ve been a busy bee with school (year 11 woo - not) and mental breakdowns and periods of horrific self doubt but pffft that doesn’t matter.

It’s been a long time coming so here she is!

Irritatingly enough, Alaska had been true to her word. The party was small enough that the place wasn’t overwhelming, but large enough that Sharon could blend in, unnoticed, with nobody paying any attention to her.  She had dug out an old black ensemble that she had often wore when she went clubbing, pairing it with the darkest makeup and the largest heels she could find. To add a little bit of insult to injury, she had even taped over her timer again - the large ‘Alaska Thunderfuck’ was obscured by some offensively-matching black electrical tape.

  Sharon’s first port of call was to grab a drink, in an effort to find something to do with her hands and to avoid talking to anybody. She wanted a beer, but there was no such luck - she ended up content with a vodka and coke, surveying her surroundings.

  It didn’t take too long for her to find Alaska, what with the bubbliness she seemed to be overflowing with. She was in the same dress as she had been that afternoon, making her way around the room to graciously accept everybody’s congratulations. At least, Sharon thought to herself, they only really cared about Alaska. The last thing she wanted was a congratulations on caving to her fate.

  At that thought, she started to regret showing up. It wasn’t like she was going to have fun tonight. She might as well have stayed in Alaska’s home, spending her money on cheaply made horror films to pass the time until her new wife came stumbling home. That would’ve been preferable, but she was here now.

  Eventually, she decided to just use her phone as a crutch. Instagram was looking exciting, full of people who had better bodies, better lives and more money than her… Facebook was as bad as ever, with the baby bullshit… Twitter was filled with promotions for a movie she didn’t want to see… but it was fine. As long as she kept her head down, and pretended she was interested, no one would approach her.

  Her phone buzzed, the distraction as unwelcome as her boredom.

  Bianca: We need to talk

Bianca: Call me.

  Sharon rolled her eyes. Bianca had been a safe haven to Sharon for years, but she was beginning to feel as though the older woman only cared about her when she was of use. After all, Sharon was one of the few who was willing to get arrested for the cause, but that didn’t seem to mean anything outside of protesting.

  Stepping outside, she dialled the number, stretching her sore arm as she did and attempting to copy the exercises the doctors had told her to do.

  “So?”

  Sharon frowned. “Huh?”

  “Your timer? Did it go off?”

  Of course. With a huff of annoyance, Sharon rolled her eyes. “Why thank you for asking, Bianca, I am recovering well after being hit by a fucking car. Not that you seem to care, of course.”

  “Get over your attitude, kid. Did your timer go off?”

  “Yes, it did.” Sharon said shortly. “Is that the answer you want? Or do you want me to go into detail about how madly in love I am with my new soulmate, hmm? How deeply I regret joining your movement because now I know the feeling of true, real love, yes?”

  “Sharon, listen to me-”

  “No, Bianca, you fucking listen to me for once.” She said hotly, getting worked up. “I’ve done enough listening. I’ve been arrested for you, because I believe so strongly in our cause that I think it’s worth it. I was hit by a car - an actual fucking car - trying desperately to escape my fate because I was so upset that I’d have to succumb to the laws I’ve been fighting against with you since I was a fucking child. Today was the worst day of all, because it finally fucking happened. And I’ve had not an ounce of support or sympathy from you, all because your fucking timer will never run out, so you don’t care how it feels for anyone else. It feels like a trap, Bianca! It feels like someone has their hands around my neck and I can’t get out and not a goddamn word of support has come from you. I need you right now. I need somebody who will understand the desperation I’m dealing with. I was stupid enough to believe you’d care about me, and that you’d reach out. But you don’t, do you? You care about your fucking protests. And that’s it.”

  “Sharon-”

  “No.” Almost out of breath from her rant, Sharon decided to just end the call. “Fuck you.”

  Thanking anyone above that she had remembered to take the purse that contained her cigarettes and lighter, Sharon hurried to fish one out of the packet and lit it, bringing it to her lips with a sigh of relief. As she released the smoke, tilting her head upwards, she noticed Alaska was stood a few feet behind her, looking awkward.

  “Want a cigarette?” Sharon offered, slightly uncomfortably.

  Alaska, predictably, shook her head. “No, no thanks. I don’t smoke.”

  “Of course not,” Sharon took another drag. “You value your lungs, probably.”

  The blonde didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and she brushed off the comment with a shy smile. “That didn’t sound too good.”

  Sharon huffed. “She didn’t deserve all the years of my life that I gave to her. Then again, neither do you.”

  Alaska looked at the floor.

  “It’s nothing against you…” Sharon added, suddenly feeling a stab of guilt. “It’s this whole soulmate bullshit… like, I don’t know you. We don’t know each other. But all of a sudden I’m supposed to be yours for the rest of our lives.”

  “I know.” Alaska said quietly, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “You’ve made your views clear, Sharon. If you stopped to listen for one second, you’d realise that I haven’t tried to force mine on you. Am I upset? Of course. Have I tried to make you fall for me? Not even close.”

  Sharon rolled her eyes. “I don’t need this. I don’t know why I came out tonight-”

  “I don’t know why you came out tonight either!” Alaska exploded, angrier than Sharon had expected she could look. She usually came across as calm and collected, but not anymore. “What do you want from me? I’ve done all I can. And you know as well as I do that we’re soulmates because there’s something inside each of us that the other is going to fall for. You’re only hurting yourself by denying yourself that love.”

  “You soulmate-worshippers are all the fucking same.” Sharon spat, stubbing out her cigarette against the wall. “God forbid anybody have a different view to you, right?”

  Alaska scoffed. “A different view is one thing, Sharon, this is a matter of fucking fact. You’re the close-minded one here, not me.”

  She stalked off back into the party, clearly more than aggravated by their conversation. Sharon stubbed out her cigarette a little too aggressively into the wall, cursing as her fingers scraped against the rough brick. Sure enough, it had drawn blood.

  Childishly enraged, Sharon stamped her feet against the floor and left, deciding her chance her luck and walk to her new home. She had never been the best at controlling her impulsive anger, but she soon came to realize that she had bitten off her own nose to spite her face. In leaving the party, she had only cut herself off from an evening of potential drunkenness and dancing, and it wasn’t going to affect anyone but her. Alaska didn’t give a shit if she was at the party or not. But here was Sharon, stalking angrily down a road she didn’t recognise, hoping she would end up in the right place.

  Ha. What a painful metaphor for her life.

  Is it me? She wondered. Sharon had always been unpopular, a trait that came with being gay and weird and anti-soulmate in a world that revolved around the perfect marriage, but that had only followed her into adulthood. Her friend count had dwindled from a meagre three to a pathetic two, and even that was a stretch. Courtney wasn’t really a friend - she’d have nothing to do with her if it wasn’t for her marriage with Willam. Her relationship with Willam at present was rocky at best, and she’d just lost Bianca. Sasha was sweet but just a coworker - again, somebody who would never give her the time of day if they weren’t otherwise associated with one another - and that left Alaska. Alaska, her wife, who had hit her with a fucking car at the start of a clearly beautifully blossoming relationship.

  Sharon was angry. Far too angry. It was all her fault, and she knew it. Her own parents hated being around their miserable excuse for a daughter, and it was no wonder. She was going to be as shitty a wife as she was a friend.

  It wasn’t long before Sharon had to admit that not only was she a shitty person, a shitty friend and a shitty journalist, she was also a shitty navigator. In her anger, she had walked too far to turn back, but not far enough to recognise anything. Something told her she had taken a wrong turn - or many wrong turns - and she was pretty much hopelessly lost.

  She didn’t want to concede. It was only made worse by the fact that she picked up on the first ring.

  “Sharon?”

  “Where the fuck do you live?!”

  Sharon’s demanding tone caught Alaska by surprise. “What?”

  “I said, where the fuck do you live?”

  “Where are you?” Alaska had the audacity to sound concerned.

  “I don’t fucking know, Alaska. In case you didn’t get the message, I’m lost.”

  Her aggression was uncalled for and Sharon knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Alaska was probably the only person who could help her, and she was still spitting in her face as she begged.

  “Alright, I’ll come and get you. Stay put, and stay on the phone.”

  Sharon rolled her eyes. “Great idea. Drunk driving.”

  Alaska huffed, clearly irritated with her impertinence. “I’m not drunk, I haven’t drank anything tonight. Look, do you want my help or not?”

  Sharon bit her lip.

  “Thought so. Where are you?”

  As Sharon opened her mouth to snap back, Alaska cut in.

  “And don’t give me any ‘I don’t know, I’m lost’ crap. Look around, tell me what you can see, and I’ll come find you.”

  Letting out a sigh, Sharon deflated, feeling the anger in her chest dissipate into a bout of hopelessness and low self-esteem. “Uh… there’s like three Indian takeaways opposite me… I don’t fucking know, it’s dark. There’s a bank?”

  There was a pause. “Sharon, are you on Lilibeth Street?”

  She shrugged, and then realized Alaska couldn’t see her. “I don’t know! If I knew, I’d tell you!”

  “Go find the bus stop, if it’s Lilibeth Street then it’s next to the bank.”

  Sharon did as she was told. “Okay, yeah, that’s where I am.”

  “Jesus fuck, Sharon, how did you wind up there?”

  “I wasn’t thinking! I wasn’t looking, I don’t even know where you live so I had no idea where I was heading. Can you just hurry? I’m not feeling this area. Semi attractive woman alone at night in a place like this doesn’t feel so good.”

  She paused and corrected herself. “Passable looking woman.”

  Alaska ignored her, though Sharon swore she heard the fragmented beginning of a sentence, as though Alaska was going to argue. Instead, she simply stayed on the line, the sounds of traffic faint in the background indicative that she was true to her word and already on her way.

  “Just stay put and you’ll be okay.”

  Yet again, Sharon rolled her eyes. “Where else could I go?”

  “Not the point. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Both of them remained on the call, although neither spoke in the fifteen minutes it took for Alaska to drive from the party to Lilibeth Street. Sharon hadn’t realized how long she had been walking for, the anger having blinded her rational senses, but it had to have been a decent amount of time. She was embarrassed to have given in and asked for help, so embarrassed that she couldn’t even think of anything nasty to say down the phone. That was new.

  It was Alaska who broke the uncomfortable silence as Sharon spotted her car pulling up a few metres away.

  “I can see you! I won’t hit you this time, come over.”

  Sharon should’ve laughed. It was funny. But her bitter, resentful side took over and told her to cling to the tattered shreds of her pride. She ignored the joke, pushing aside Alaska’s attempt at a truce, and hauled herself into the passenger seat without a word.

  “Sorry it took so long.” Alaska said. “Weaving through everyone wasn’t so easy. Everyone wanted to talk to me.”

  Sharon snorted derisively. “Must be nice. Can’t say I’ve ever had that problem.”

  “Be thankful,” Alaska tried to make light of Sharon’s negativity, still unsure of how to deal with her. “It’s exhausting.”

  “I’m sure it is.” Sharon replied. “But having friends is better than having no friends, surely. I mean, face it, you don’t deserve me.”

  Alaska recoiled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong.” Sharon told her. “I know we argued earlier, but you’re still lovely and all that shit. I’m talking about how I’m the world’s biggest asshole and I look like the before picture. You could do better and you know it.”

  They lapsed into silence. Sharon had tried to sound nonchalant, if slightly disinterested, but she hadn’t succeeded. An atmosphere of awkwardness settled around them as it suddenly seemed far too clear that her words were laced with insecurity and hatred, rather than a punk defiance.

  Finally, Alaska managed, “I can’t believe you think that.”

  The car had come to a stop outside a house, which Sharon realized in the darkness was their house. Alaska parked but made no effort to get out of the car, letting the light come on and illuminate their over-tired faces.

  “Do you - do you really think I could do better?”

  Sharon frowned. “You think you couldn’t?”

  “No, I mean…” Alaska waved her away. “You don’t see…? God, Sharon, when I first saw you… other than lying unconscious in the road, I mean… the first thing I thought was that you were really beautiful. You don’t see that?”

  The compliment made Sharon feel strangely uncomfortable for reasons she didn’t understand. She squirmed slightly, sure she was blushing unattractively.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever been the prima donna.” She muttered. “Lousy job, lousy income, lousy life. I’m not exactly every woman’s dream.”

  Alaska looked deeply at her, genuine hurt visible in her doe-like eyes. How did she have the ability to look at Sharon like that? Nobody looked at her like that. She possessed a kind of gentleness and beauty that Sharon didn’t understand or recognise. She looked as if she was genuinely perplexed by the whole conversation, and Sharon was frustrated that she didn’t get why.

  “You don’t need to be every woman’s dream, Sharon. That’s impossible. You… You only have to be my dream woman.” Her voice was impossibly soft.

  Sharon looked away. “Don’t do this. Don’t pretend like I’m what you were fantasising about as a teenager. I know that’s not true. I’m not anybody’s dream woman, not even yours.”

  Alaska shook her head, somewhat defeated. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  They walked in silently, ignoring the awkwardness that had been created by their conversation. Sharon followed Alaska, still slightly unsure of the layout of her new home, praying she wouldn’t have to sleep in the very bedroom she had allowed herself to sob in earlier. Agreeing to the marriage was something - but sleeping in the same bed was another thing entirely.

  Sharon nearly melted with relief as Alaska opened the door to a bedroom she hadn’t seen before. “This is the spare room, you can stay here if you want.”

  It was small, but still a decent bit bigger than her old bedroom. In the centre of the room, Sharon recognised her old duvet and bedding, neatly laid out on the bed as if it had been there the whole time. Once again, she was touched by a gesture that seemed so small yet was so thoughtful. It seemed wrong that Alaska had been so kind. Sharon didn’t deserve any of her kindness.

  “I figured it would make you feel more at home.” Alaska smiled weakly. “Goodnight, Sharon.”

  Sharon nodded, unable to bring herself to say it back. Her first day as a married woman ended as it had begun - curled up in bed, desperately unhappy.

  -

  Sasha offered nothing but a friendly smile as Sharon took her seat at the desk, remembering their conversation from the previous workday. Under the law, Sharon was legally entitled two weeks away from work, in order to celebrate her new marriage and allow time for a honeymoon, should she choose to go down the traditional route of many. Perhaps a little childishly, in her attempt to prove that she was not happy about her marriage whatsoever, Sharon had set her alarm and headed into work purely to get away from her new home.

  “Hey, Sharon. How’s your weekend been?” She asked conversationally.

  Sharon scowled at her computer screen, irritated by the email notification that had just appeared. “It was okay. I fucking hate having emails first thing in the morning, don’t you?”

  Sasha laughed. “Definitely. Who is it?”

  Sharon clicked the little bubble.

  Sharon, Please come to Board Room 2A at 9.30am today for a meeting to discuss the changes to your monthly pay. If you are unavailable at this time, please reschedule as soon as possible.

Yours,

Agnes Moore

  “What…?” Sharon frowned, rereading the message. “It’s from Agnes. Apparently my wages are changing.”

  Sasha pulled a face. “A promotion, maybe? You deserve it!”

  “You’re probably the only person in this office who thinks that.” Sharon snorted, not missing how the office bitches were glaring at her from across the room. “Isn’t it crazy how you can get hit by a car and still receive less sympathy from your coworkers than they’d give a dead badger. I love working here.”

  Sasha giggled, far too used to Sharon’s grim sense of humour. “At least you have Agnes. She’s nice, it’s Trinity you want to worry about.”

  “Right,” Sharon agreed. “Well, I’ll let you know whether they’re firing me or not. This should be fun.”

  She ignored the stares of the others as she walked through the office, heading for the elevator. Despite her pessimistic attitude, a new kind of resolve had taken hold of Sharon overnight, and she felt the overwhelming urge to try and prove herself. After all, the reason she was in so much debt was owing to the fact that she had been to college in order to study her dream profession, and was working her way up to getting there. It didn’t matter that she had been an intern for so many years, silenced at every opportunity. With her freedoms outside of work suddenly limited, Sharon wanted to prove that she could make her way up on her own.

  An idea had struck her as she lay in bed that night, thinking too much about everything and nothing. If her bosses agreed to it, it could be the first step in the right direction - a small pay-off towards everything she had been working for. She’d lost her independence through her marriage and lost her passion for her cause through Bianca - she wasn’t going to lose this, too.

  Both Agnes and Trinity were seated at the table in the meeting room, watching her through the glass walls as she made her way towards them. Breathe, she told herself. You got this.

  “Ah, Mrs Needles.” Trinity welcomed her as she sat down. Sharon tried to suppress her wince at the title of Mrs. “So glad you could make it. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Sharon bit her tongue, forcing herself not to do anything rash. “We do?”

  “We do, surprisingly.” Agnes replied, her tone much warmer than Trinity’s. “We’re aware that over the weekend you got married, meaning you’re now entitled to the marriage bonus as well as an extra $15k per year. Any articles written will now be shared alongside the others on the company twitter as well as just on the website, guaranteeing they will reach a wider audience. We need to discuss your accounts and your position within this company before we grant these to you, however. There has been talk about promoting you to a proper journalist within the company.”

  Sharon’s mind was reeling, bombarded with too many facts at once. Marriage bonus? Extra pay? A promotion? She didn’t really know how to make sense of it, and continued to sit quietly, dumbly staring at her bosses across the table.

  Part of her wanted to laugh at their lack of tact. If promoted, she would be a ‘proper’ journalist. Of course, it hadn’t been just the others in her office that had viewed her as the help. She had been the coffee girl for longer than anticipated, and more so the coffee girl than the girl who wrote shitty articles about bland topics.

  “Okay…” She said finally, crossing her hands in her lap. “I’m willing to pretty much accept everything you say at face value, but I have to ask about this promotion. I’d like to know what has been holding me back for so long. I’ve been with this company for a while.”

  Agnes and Trinity exchanged a look.

  “Well, Sharon, as you know…” Trinity began, her voice cloyingly sweet. “We’re a company that express a multitude of opinions on a multitude of topics, and everything goes. However, as far as the ethos of the workplace goes, many people within the team felt as though you weren’t quite as experienced as those you work amongst. Of course now, with these new developments, you’re much more suited to the position.”

  Irritatingly, Trinity used so many pointless buzzwords that it took Sharon a while to figure out what she was actually saying. When she realized, however, she was sure she was wrong. If not, she needed to hold her tongue even more to keep back her rage.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Sharon said, staring her dead in the eyes. “Are you saying I’ve been held from the position due to being unmarried?”

  Both of her bosses shifted uncomfortably. “It’s complex, you see,” Agnes tried. “Not all decisions are made by us, and some of those above feel that-”

  Sharon cut her off. “It’s a yes or no question. One word will do.”

  Trinity pursed her lips, clearly slightly pissed at the interruption. “Yes.”

  Sharon smiled widely. Spite, as she well knew, was an excellent motivator, and it would definitely work in her favour this time around. If she played the game right, things could go well for her.

  “No worries, I completely understand,” She said, with as much sincerity as she could muster. “Actually, I had an idea for an article that could be written as my first proper debut. I won’t give anything away, of course, but it’s the story that we never hear.”

  Agnes frowned. “What do you mean? We aim to please and intrigue our readers, not to put them off with something they don’t want.”

  Sharon shook her head. “No, that’s the beauty of it. It’s the story we’re not being told. No other company is publishing this story, which means we’ll stand it. Like it or hate it, people will want to read it because it’s new and it’s different. If you’re willing to agree to this promotion, I’ll write it.”

  It was too good of an offer to pass up, and Sharon knew it. With a handshake and the promise of a few more emails - oh joy - headed her way, she had sealed herself a promotion, a pay rise, and the chance to write an article that could potentially get her fired.

  It was a little more than thrilling.

  She was suspiciously chipper when she returned to her desk, prompting Sasha to grill her within an inch of her life about every detail of the meeting. Her friend had squealed with excitement, attracting the attention of the others.

  “I can’t believe they think you’re worth paying as much as us.” Pearl commented, her nose turned up at the very idea.

  Normally, Sharon kept her head down and her mouth shut to avoid trouble, but she simply couldn’t any longer. “Pearl, I can’t believe they think you’re worth paying.”

  The death glares were worth it. Sharon turned back to her computer, trying to suppress her laughter. Sasha had made no attempt to quieten hers, which wasn’t doing her any favours.

  Sharon felt a strange rush of adrenaline as she opened up her document, tentatively trialling a headline. It could be changed, of course - everything she wrote would be heavily revised and edited to ensure that it was perfect, but it was a good start. Whether or not her bosses liked it, she would soon find out.

  In bold letters, the blazing headline, “Protesting Marriage Laws - The Story You Don’t Want To Hear” stared back at her. It would be a controversial one, for sure. But she was Sharon motherfucking Needles, and she had never shied away from a controversy before. There was no reason to start now.

  That’s right. I’m the protagonist of this jumbled up mess you are about to see. Or the antagonist, if you prefer. I present to you, the story that you don’t want to read.

[ecotone99]

[HM] Technically, she's right.

This is an original piece of work... due to the content, grammar has to be PERFECT (you'll understand after reading) so I welcome grammar Nazis with open arms. I'd like to make this longer, but I'm trying to keep it under 1750 words.

Now, I don’t know whether you’ve been in the situation where you’ve just about had enough of people and their woefully inadequate understanding of their intellectual shortcomings, but it was in precisely this situation I found myself about a month ago and it led the series of events I will recount to you now.

I sauntered into the office with a debonair resolve as the proverbial excrement had no doubt collided with the fan and I was damned if I was going to go out in anything other than the finest style. You see, I’d had it to the back teeth with this whole circus of an operation they called an educational institution and, I’ll admit, had not been as diplomatic as I perhaps could have been.

I’d started teaching in the golden days; when an educator was respected as being at the top of his or her field. I never intended to stay long, but it was a decent enough pay cheque to support me while I wrote my novel, and teaching English seemed a logical application of my literary skillset. However, as time moved on I let the comfort of a regular income and decent holidays grow upon me like moss on the inactive stone and the emotional drain I hadn’t quite anticipated seemed to suck the creative life from me. Jaded and cynical my wife called me. Well she would say that wouldn’t she? However, upon further consideration she might have been onto something because, whilst I have never suffered fools gladly, I found myself becoming increasingly short tempered with those unfortunate souls for whom the act of employing logical thought was a daily struggle. Especially those who should know better. I allowed some students to make mistakes as they were learning; their intellectual dwarfism was to be expected, but adults were increasingly beginning to earn my ire. Couple this with the school’s new policy of giving passing grades to students who didn’t earn them and I must admit I was about ready to pack the whole thing in.

The young girl behind the front desk smiled weakly at me. She was obviously in a conundrum over whether or not to feel sympathy. Bright and ferociously good at her job, I had always appreciated her competency; though at this moment she resembled an unwilling observer to an autopsy, as she was shifting uncomfortably in her chair, not knowing what to say or where to look.

“Is he in, Suzie?” I enquired, nonchalantly.

The girl shook her head disapprovingly at me, suddenly amused and baffled at my demeanour. She chuckled, once, then simply nodded and mouthed the words “Good luck.”

I sauntered down the hall and knocked twice courteously on the door as I poked my head into the office. The incumbent at the desk was a middle-aged chap who invariably gave the impression he was one step away from collapsing into a nervous wreck. Robert was the principal of our little institute for the educationally depraved and today he appeared more remarkably harried than usual. He possessed the air of someone whom, upon waking, had discovered a rabid Tasmanian Devil in his sock drawer and that this revelation had somewhat set the tone for his entire morning.

“You wished to see me?” I enquired.

He furrowed his brow and responded in the affirmative, whilst doing his best to look stern. I asked after his general well-being, relating the analogy to the Tasmanian Devil I mentioned earlier but he didn’t seem to take this line of enquiry well, so I spared his delicate constitution and dropped the subject.

“What is this?” he snapped at me, shoving a piece of paper across the desk. I recognised the document of course. It was a standard, typed piece of work and covered almost entirely in red, corrective ink. At the bottom of the offending article was a large letter “F” in a circle with the inscription next to it: “This is a grammatical disaster. See me immediately.”

“It appears to be a corrected piece of literature.” I responded with fake curiosity. “A letter writing exercise if I have spied the original correctly, it is hard to tell under all that red marking.”

Robert snatched back the document and roughly held it up to display my signature in red at the bottom. “YOU did this! WHY did you do this?”

I sat down in a chair and reclined at ease, enjoying the obvious frustration of the besieged man before me.

“Well,” I began, “the piece is supposed to be a letter, however the formatting functions more like a magazine article written by a student in kindergarten. The spelling and grammar certainly matches that demographic only, the sentence structure and content reminds me of a communist manifesto promising the beheading of the bourgeoisie at the hands of the beautiful revolution. The past, present and future tenses are used interchangeably and without discretion. Oh, and in the fourth line she used the word “pacific” instead of “specific” which I, for one, believe should be punishable by death. It was overly long, it was confusing and…”

What else it was I wouldn’t be able to tell him for it was at that point he cut me off. “IT WAS WRITTEN BY A PARENT!” he erupted, throwing the page on his desk which collided with what, I imagine, would have been a most unsatisfying light swish sound rather than the large powerful thump that would have perfectly punctuated his point.

I volunteered that the adult age of the composer only made the errors worse, but it appeared he was more concerned with other issues.

“The fallout of this? It’s going to be huge!” he began, infuriatingly choosing to speak only in sentence fragments. “Already contacted head office. District Director furious. Wants to know what kind of school I’m running. She wants you fired! He wants answers and I want to know what possessed you to mark a piece of correspondence and RETURN IT TO THE PARENT???”

I raised my eyebrows in a non-verbal question as to whether he was through with his little tirade and, after he’d sat back down and picked up a mug of pens he’d knocked over, he took a breath and deflated. You see I’d long since come to the realisation that, after the initial bluster and fight, Robert was actually one to avoid confrontation. He simply didn’t have the stamina for it. The “no failing grades” policy of the school was yet another symptom of his confrontational impotence. The new teaching graduates would cower under that initial first assault of his, but those of us who had been around the traps a bit longer had learned to let him have his little fit and wait it out. Myself, I could foresee even keeping my job so long as I first kept my cool and feigned unshakable confidence.

Still, I decided to take pity on the poor man. I could, after all, see his side of things. I’d landed him squarely in it and he was under pressure from all sides. My acknowledgement of how I’d wronged him, if only indirectly, seemed to calm him further and after a moment of quiet reflection, I imagine he was dwelling upon how a rabid Tasmanian Devil would be preferable to his current situation, he spoke quietly;

“From the beginning.”

I recounted the tale of how a boy had handed me his abomination of a final paper for the semester with a deluge of excuses as to its tardiness and not a hope of any one of them being believable. I marked the paper anyway and gave it a passing grade as per the school policy, with a cutting remark at the bottom that left no question as to my thoughts on his literary style, or lack thereof.

Well it was shortly after I returned this insult to creative writing that I received a letter from the invertebrate’s mother insisting that I change his grade. She argued that I was being unduly harsh and that I should be ashamed of my teaching.

“She should proofread her work before criticising mine.” I concluded.

Robert looked at me with a mixture of horror and awe. We had all received letters like this over the years and it was cathartic to spot the errors in the correspondence when the content was questioning your professionalism. He must have, at some level, dreamed of doing what I had done.

“But why antagonise her like that?” he pleaded.

“Well…” I smiled, recollecting, “In the letter she insists, point blank, that I am wrong. I mean, please? That’s akin to a McDonald’s employee criticising the Sous Chef at ‘Le Jules Verne’. One is simply not in the same league as the other.”

Robert was clearly conflicted. He was infuriated by the arrogance and audacity I had displayed and yet he was still smiling in disbelief. But he wasn’t quite ready to let me off the hook.

“So you marked her letter to prove who was right?”

I chuckled.

“No. I marked her letter because she THEN went on to say her son’s English was no worse than hers.”

He stared at me, then grabbed at the letter and stared at it reading furiously. His eyes widened in complete disbelief alternating between me, then the letter, then back again.

“You know…” he smiled cautiously. “Technically she’s right.”

“Yes…” I affirmed, realising my job was safe once more.

“Apparently she is.”

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[smoothshift]

Inspired by the recent Kia dealership story, I present my appalling experience with a Chevrolet dealership via /r/cars

Inspired by the recent Kia dealership story, I present my appalling experience with a Chevrolet dealership

After reading the recent post on r/cars regarding the Kia dealership experience, I figured I would share a similar story with a well known, big-name Chevrolet dealership.

TL;DR Had a terrible experience from the moment I walked into a Chevrolet dealership. The salesman could not answer simple questions, argued with me over basic facts that he had wrong, insulted myself and my car, and treated me like an oblivious child when I wanted to test drive a freakin' Camaro.

Backstory: 6 months ago I was in the market for a new car, at that point I had been daily driving my Z4 M coupe for 3 years. I should also mention that I have been working at a BMW dealership for over 4 years at this point, so I am well aware at how dealership antics go. Considering I am surrounded by BMWs on a daily basis, I wanted to get into something different. The cars I was considering were the MK7 GTI, Focus ST, 6th gen Camaro (v6 1LE or a SS), or if none of those worked out, an E90 335i or E90 335is.

This particular story is about a well known and decently sized Chevrolet dealership in my area, and how they single handedly turned me away from the brand.

After watching the Motortrend head2head on the V6 1LE Camaro VS the BMW M2 (A car I have had a lot of time in), I was intrigued by how well the Camaro held it's own to something almost twice it's price. I wanted to check one out and see how I would like it compared to my other options, so, I called up my local Chevrolet dealership and made a sales appointment. I mentioned what kind of vehicle I was specifically looking for, and I requested that I was paired up with a sales associate that was knowledgable on Chevrolet's performance cars as I had a few questions I was unable to find answers for on my own. The receptionist said it wouldn't be a problem and that she would set me up with one of their "Camaro experts".

A few days later, I roll up to the dealership in my M coupe and park in front. I figured if they knew what kind of car I was driving, they would be more likely to take me seriously instead of thinking of me as a "joy rider". I walk inside, surprisingly without any salesmen bee-lining in my direction. I mention my appointment to the receptionists, she makes a quick phone call, and responds with the first red flag. She mentions that the "Camaro expert" already left for the evening, which surprises me considering it was 5pm on a Saturday in August, which is prime sales time. No biggy, she sets me up with another salesman instead. Lets call this guy "Bill", Bill is an older gentleman, and promptly introduces himself to me and asks what I'm looking for. I had done my research prior to coming in, so I knew exactly what cars they had on their lot, and exactly what features I wanted. I tell him I am in the market for a new Camaro but I have yet to test drive one and I want to compare the V6 1LE and the SS to see which I prefer. Second red flag, Bill immediatly tells me that "there is no such thing as a V6 1LE" and "even if there was, you wouldn't be able to buy or even look at one because they are so desirable". Giving him the benefit of the doubt I try to correct him in a polite way saying that "the V6 1LE does exist, and it is on the Chevrolet website", he disagrees again but tells me to "hold on" as he speaks with his supervisor. Upon his return he mentions that he was confusing the 1LE with the ZL1. He asks what cars in particular I would like to test drive first, so I pull up the two that are on the dealer website. One loaded V6 listed at 35K and one base 1SS listed at 38K. While this dealer did not have a V6 1LE in stock, they had a V6 manual with the performance exhaust that was pretty similar, so I asked him to show me this one first.

Red Flag number 3 happened when I was asking him some pretty basic questions about the car. I asked if the non-1LE came with a limited slip differential, what the weight of the V6 was, if you could get mag-ride in the V6, and if Recaros could be optioned as a standalone in the V6 like they are in the SS. Bill did not have ANY answers to these questions, and after I asked the last one he replied with "You sure do ask a lot of silly questions, most of my customers just drive the car, and if they like it they buy it, so how about we go for a test drive?". "Okay", I responded, and we hopped in and started to drive off. Before we left the lot he asked what I drove currently. Red flag number 4 happened when I pointed over towards my M coupe and said "that black BMW over there". He replied with "oh man that foreign piece of junk? No wonder you're looking at Chevrolets! I'm sure you must pay $1,000 in maintenance a month on that thing!". Now this guy is flat out insulting me, I said "it's actually not that bad, especially considering I work for BMW", hoping that Bill would mellow out if he knew that I worked in the automotive industry. During the test drive, Bill continuously messed with the climate control, stereo, and other gadgets in the car trying to "impress me" with all the features the car had. I told him I don't really care about the touch screen display and I mainly cared about how the car drove, which brings us to Red flag number 5. Bill then had the audacity to say "well thats pretty silly, if you actually cared about how a Camaro drove you wouldn't even be looking at a V6!". I thought to myself, is this guy purposely trying to lose a sale?

When we returned to the dealer lot, I was frustrated and wanted to leave. Though, I made time out of my day to come out and see if the Camaro was a serious contender for my next car, so I figured I would check out the SS back to back with the V6 while I was already there. As we pulled into the lot my Chevrolet dealership experience was brought to a halt by Bill throwing The rest of the red flags. I ask him where the 1SS was that I showed him on my phone earlier, as I wanted to compare the two side-by-side. Bill says "Oh, that car was sold yesterday and we no longer have it on the lot". While driving to the side of the dealership where the rest of the Camaros were parked I asked him if there were any other manual SS' on the lot I could see. He said "probably not", and I mentioned if he could double check so I don't have to go to another dealership to see one. Bill then proceeded to pull out his phone and check out his inventory on the dealer website which he just explained wasn't "up to date". As Bill was doing this I spotted the base 1SS manual, that "was sold yesterday" according to Bill. I pull the V6 Camaro up next to it and hop out. I said "This one has the same VIN as the one on the website. I thought you said it was sold?" Bill stuttered and said "huh, guess not", I asked him if he could grab the keys so I could at least take a look inside, he said "I'll try to find them, give me a second". When Bill returns he has an annoyed look on his face and says "Looks like the key battery is dead, so we wont be able to unlock it". At this point I ask Bill if I could see the key real quick and he hands it to me. I then proceed to pull the "hidden" auxiliary key out of the FOB, and unlock the SS' door with it. I put the key back in the fob, hand it back, and tell him "Thank you for wasting my time, considering how impressed I was with the first car, you might have actually had a sale today, but instead you treated me like an oblivious child".

I proceeded to leave after that. The following week I ended up purchasing a 335i.