#my brain is smooth but gains a few wrinkles when i get worked up

[waflof]

Time to yapp about my opinions on hell and religion

My experience with hell and religion, since childhood up until now have led me to believe that religion is meant to control the masses.

It's very values are meant to guide you to do the "right thing" it's values have been taken and bastardized by every generation to suit their needs

Religion is for those who need something supernatural to hold them together and give life meaning.

As it currently it's meant to give people a quick a answer about the moral why's and how's

It gives us easy answers to hard questions

It nurtures ignorance

Hell as it is today wasn't an original part of the old testament. It is once again an example of how we bastardize and mold religion for our needs

Specifically the need for the human karmic need for justice

Hell in of itself is meant to be a human electric fence. It is meant to deter humans from hurting each other and at the same time make the downtrodden feel a false sense of justice, because

"I don't care what they did, it's God's role to judge them"

Turning the other cheek leads only to a harder blow

Religion and it's extension hell. Are simply crutches

And if theoretically religion and God were real. I would still not believe. Not because of a refusal reality but because, if God was real and has the answer to every question of the universe. I would continue searching for answers. because an all knowing God who created a flawed people, yet punishes them for being flawed.is a God I don't want to follow

I don't hate religious people. I hate their religion and by proxy their God

You might say "well every movement and ideology is adapted and changed overtime to suit the needs of the believer*

And to that I will say, that it's current adaptation has unfortunately coincided with the rise of capitalism, and has severely watered down its anarchist view points. Almost entirely erasing them and replacing them with hate.

Don't you think it's odd that most Christians and catholics are conservatives. even though jesus explicitly preached about not judging others, and other anarchist views ?

It's because in its current iteration Christianity and catholicism have become bonded hand in hand with capitalism and hate.

Times are always changing and evolving but we need to analyze and recognize when that change isn't a step forward, but a leap backwards

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Alt Ending, Part 5

Hot take but finals kinda suck

First part

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Tag: @solangelo252

You’d think her body would be grateful that she was finally giving it food, but no. She put it in her mouth and instantly felt nauseous. It didn’t even want to go down her throat, and keeping it there felt basically impossible.

But Tim had looked so happy when she had tried, so she forced it down.

(Well, she forced some of it down. If he noticed that a good amount of the food she brought to her mouth actually disappeared into the sleeves and folds of her dress he didn’t say anything.)

Tim started coming by three times a day with food after that. She didn’t complain despite her discomfort, she had really missed him.

Also, he looked stressed out and/or exhausted whenever she saw him. She worried about him. They both had a tendency to overwork themselves when they hit blocks, hell she’d sometimes joined him in his week-long deep dives into cases, but now that she was an outsider looking in… she was kind of shocked she’d ever let it get that far for either of them. When was the last time he’d slept through the night? Taken proper time to clean himself, even? A while, she guessed from the deep bags under his eyes and the way his hair was frayed from running his fingers through it.

“Timmy,” she chirped.

He flashed her a tiny smile. “Hey,” he said, coming over and taking a seat beside her on the bed.

She took the bag from him and set it aside, much to his dismay, but then she reached over and dragged him into some cuddles and he suddenly had new concerns. He groaned into her shoulder.

“Bean, come on, I don’t want to sleep.”

She didn’t let go. “You need to.”

“Don’t have time.”

She rolled her eyes, bringing a hand up to start attempting to smooth out his hair. “You have to sleep eventually.”

“And I do!”

She didn’t answer, which he took to mean she didn’t believe him (a good assumption, she didn’t).

“I do! I get at least a few hours a week.”

“Wow, amazing. I take it back. You totally have a healthy sleep schedule.”

“Worry about yourself, first. You don’t sleep either,” he huffed, but he was starting to relax into her hold nonetheless.

“I’m also literally dead.”

“You used to say you’d sleep when you were dead.”

Marinette scoffed. “Well, to be fair, I thought I’d actually die when I died.”

He gave a short laugh, and she opted not to acknowledge that it was a little forced.

She yawned and laid back with his face in her shoulder. “I’m surprised none of the others have drugged you to get you to sleep yet.”

“They’re too busy drugging B --.” He winced just slightly. “They’ve just got a lot on their plates is all, I’m the least of their worries.”

She didn’t say anything about his tiny slip up, just gave a light hum to say she understood.

She didn’t dare to move until she was completely sure he had nodded off. Even then, she only did so to pick up the food he’d brought for her.

Her nose scrunched a little at the prospect of eating, but when she opened it and saw it was fried rice she perked up a little. She nibbled at her food.

Honestly, she didn’t know if it was working. It seemed to be, but then again most of the things that got better could be attributed to other causes. Her skin was gaining color again, but the bleach may have just started to wear out. She was feeling more energized, but then again she was now getting a total of four cups of coffee a day thanks to Tim and Jason fueling her addiction. Exercise was getting easier and she was packing on muscle again, but she was also working out enough with Dick for it to be explainable that way…

She didn’t know if it was working. She didn’t even know if she WANTED it to work. The plan had been ‘kill Bruce and then quickly off yourself before the others can react’ and not having an instant out was kinda problematic when it came to finishing that plan.

Not that the first part of that plan was working out for her, either. Bruce still hadn’t come to see her. She doubted he ever would at this point.

She didn’t even have a way out, as the door was automated and presumably opened by someone outside.

No. The only way she would ever leave was if she managed to ‘fix’ herself, and that wasn’t happening because there was nothing to fix! She would know. Her entire thing as Ladybug was fixing things.

She looked down at Tim. When he slept all the little wrinkles in his forehead smoothed to make him look much younger. She smiled a little at the sight, pressing a kiss to where she knew the creases usually were.

At least, even if her situation couldn’t be helped, she could still help others.

~

She’d come to expect a routine of sorts, so the moment it was broken even slightly her brain short-circuited.

Duke stood in the doorway as usual, but when she glanced past him…

“Where’s Cass?”

His grin disappeared a little, but he pulled his back to his face with ease. “Wow, I’m really feeling the love here, Mari.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, we both know Cass is the best person to ever exist.”

Duke nodded his agreement and came over to take a seat next to her. She cozied up to him as usual, curled under his arm as he pulled up their newest show on his laptop…

She had a lot of thoughts about Cass being missing.

On the one hand, she just missed her friend’s too-warm body pressed up against her and quiet complaints about how the actors were doing it all wrong.

On the other hand… Marinette was completely aware that they had Cass stopping by as much as she did to check on Marinette, to see if they were making any real progress with her. Cass was a human lie detector, able to detect when someone was going to be dishonest before they’d even realized it themselves, and they’d be stupid not to take advantage that. So, the fact that they were no longer making Cass drop in as often… either they thought she was doing better, or that she never would do better.

Marinette hoped it was the first. She knew it was the second.

She found it harder than usual to enjoy Duke’s snide comments about how dumb and cliche some of the characters were. She turned and pressed her face into his side. The glasses on the bridge of her nose dug into her skin.

Fuck. She was never getting out of there, was she?

She felt his free hand come up to run through her hair and she sighed.

“Duke…”

He pressed pause on the show.

“Tim told me you’re a meta, that you can control light. Can you do it for me?”

There was a beat.

“Why do you ask?”

She laughed a little. “Does it matter? Can’t I just be curious about why my favorite brother didn’t even bother to tell me that he has powers?”

“I thought you already knew. It’s common knowledge.”

She huffed. “Maybe I just prefer to be told things than meticulously look through every piece of information to figure it out.”

“What kind of bat are you?” He joked.

She winced and the hand in his shirt balled it just a fraction tighter. She didn’t respond.

There was a few seconds before he sighed and moved his hand from his hair to her chin, gently pulling her face out of where it was hidden in his side. She refused to meet his eyes.

It was silent again, neither of them sure what to say.

“Here,” he said after a moment, putting his free hand out and making light dance across his palm.

Her face lit up, literally and figuratively, at the sight of the tiny ball of light. She leaned a little closer.

“Aw, it looks like a tiny sun!”

He laughed a little. “Yeah. I can also…”

There was a moment of silence as he concentrated and the tiny ball of light split into the colors of the rainbow. She giggled, reaching out to cup his hand in hers. It was the first non-artificial light she’d seen in months, the first rainbow she’d seen since… Paris, actually.

Well, even if she wouldn’t ever see the outside world again, at least she could still have this little fake sun. It was basically the same, just as good, she told herself. She ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks that were telling her otherwise.

~

She tossed the plastic spoon she’d stolen from one of her meals in the air idly.

The plan had been to turn it into Baby’s First Shank but that probably wasn’t going to work out. Pen to the throat was at about a .01% chance of working, attacking him with a spoon-knife needed a few more zeroes added to that already insanely small number. She gave it a .000000001% chance at best.

Then again, the other option was trying to strangle someone who had an insane height and weight advantage to death before someone else could interfere...

She sighed to herself and put the spoon in her teeth, starting to pull.

She didn’t get very far before she heard the metallic whoosh of the door opening and she barely glanced up to see Dick.

He stared at her from the doorway, his eyebrows slowly raising as he watched her attempt to bite an edge into a spoon of all things.

She pulled it from her mouth with a ‘pop’.

“I think your eyebrows are trying to escape,” she told him.

He blinked at her before rolling his eyes and walking inside fully. “Thanks for the assist. Would have lost them otherwise,” he said sarcastically.

“I’ve seen you lose your phone three minutes after putting it down, Dickie, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

He gasped and rested a hand over her heart. “You think that low of me?”

“Lower. I was being nice.”

Dick pouted and walked over to the bed. She didn’t think much of it until he was diving onto her stomach. She put her hands out in an attempt to soften the blow, but it wasn’t enough to save her. She groaned in pain as his extremely hard head made contact with her not-so-hard stomach.

“FUCK. This is why your parents called you Dick, y’know!”

He only laughed at her.

Despite herself, she gave him a smile.

She rested her head back in the pillows for a moment (mostly just to catch all the breath she’d lost) before pushing him off. “Ready?”

He groaned into her comforter before rolling onto the floor. “‘Kay.”

Marinette grinned as she took a seat beside him, starting her usual stretches. He pushed himself up to sit with minimal groaning and started working on his shoulders.

It was quiet for a while as they stretched.

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek and kept her eyes on her foot when she spoke next: “Dick?”

She could feel his gaze on her.

“I… can I have some more stuff? Everything here is so boring. I just… I want new things to do. Or, at least, new things to look at.”

There was a long silence between them. Anxiety bubbled under her skin. She switched legs so she could gauge his expression through her bangs. His expression was carefully neutral.

She cringed.

“Obviously I’m not ungrateful! You guys have all been really nice and accommodating! I get food and a phone and, honestly, that’s fine --!”

“Mari!”

Her mouth snapped closed.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. Anyone would be bored here. I can talk to them. It’ll probably depend on what you want.”

She finally looked at him properly, eyes wide. She really hadn’t been expecting that to work.

He slowly pulled his legs to him to sit criss-cross applesauce, head resting on his hand. “I can probably get some baking things, a sketchbook, just blunt objects in general. Deadly, but not before someone could get there.”

Marinette nodded her understanding, a smile making its way across her face.

“You’re the best.”

“You constantly say Duke and Cass are the best.”

She was torn between agreeing with herself and flattering him. Since she wanted something, she decided on flattery: “That was, like, a few hours ago. I’ve grown since then. You’re my favorite now, Dickie.”

“Can I get that as my ringtone?”

“Only if you only use it to mess with Jay.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

~

The door whoosed open and she barely moved her head to look at it.

She froze.

Bruce?

No. No way. There was no way in hell.

But was there? Cass HAD stopped coming. Maybe she had somehow convinced them that everything was working out and everything was fine.

Marinette hadn’t done anything differently, though, so that probably wasn’t it…

Oh. Oh shit.

Maybe she was actually going insane. Because there was no way the bats would have made that kind of mistake by letting Bruce in when she was still intent on murdering him. He had to be a hallucination, because nothing else really made sense. Kwami, Tim was going to be SO smug about this one.

Actually, no, he didn’t have to know.

Her gaze slipped away from Fake Bruce and back to the dots on her ceiling. Because, as everyone knows, that if you don’t acknowledge hallucinations they go away…

“Marinette,” Fake Bruce said, trying to trick her into outing herself as losing it.

“Marinette,” he tried again, starting his way over.

She did her best to ignore the footsteps and the way the bed shifted when he sat down. No wonder schizophrenics fell for this shit, this was all so real…

Except... weren’t schizophrenics not supposed to be able to tell what was real and what wasn’t? Wouldn’t her knowing (thinking?) he was fake be an indication that he was actually real? Or was that just her mind trying to justify believing it?

Marinette bit inside of her cheek and let herself look at Fake Bruce again.

He cracked a smile for her. A hand reached over and pushed some hair away from her face. “Hey,” he said.

She hesitated.

It would suck if this all was fake, the others would get confirmation and she really wouldn’t have a way out. But if it was real then this was her only shot. If it was real Cass would be watching the cameras to see what she was thinking and she would know for sure that Marinette was still intent on killing Bruce…

Fuck.

Marinette pushed herself into a sitting position and looked Maybe-Bruce up and down before grabbing him by the front of his suit and pulling him into a hug. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes when he hugged her back.

“Fake.”

The man tensed underneath her and then sighed as he pulled back.

He gave her an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, Marinette.”

She shook her head slightly and fell back. With a flick of her wrists the knife she’d created out of her plastic spoon was in her hands and she absently tossed it at the hallucination. Either it would make him disappear or it would look like it stabbed him and she could pretend that it actually happened.

But then it didn’t do either of those things.

Her eyebrows knit together when the spife shattered upon impact.

He looked unconcerned as he gently swept all the pieces into his hand and then put them in his pockets.

“The fuck?”

“Language,” he chided lightly.

She grinned. “You really need to work on your ‘Bruce’. Accepting a hug that quickly is one thing but chiding someone for language? In OUR family? I’m pretty sure he gave that up by Jason.”

The man chuckled and shook his head. “I’m Superman.”

“Oh.” She blinked a few times before shrugging to herself. “Okay. You look just like Bruce. It’s kinda creepy.”

“Yeah, trust me, we know. It’s pretty helpful, though. One time a person tried to assassinate Bruce and ended up fighting me. It wasn’t their day.”

She smiled a little, but it didn’t last very long. She fell back in her pillows and glared at the ceiling. “This sucks.”

“I’m sorry this all happened to you. You’re just a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d long-since given up on denying that something had happened to her. Not because she no longer believed it, but because it wasn’t worth the effort. No one ever believed her when she said it.

(Could she blame them? No. She almost believed it herself just a few moments before. Still annoying, though.)

Instead of saying any of that, though, she brought a grin to her face.

“You and B should switch houses for April Fools. See if anyone notices anything.”

~

She really should have noticed something was up when her coffee didn’t energize her at all.

It had all been going fine. She was making Jason dispose of all the pieces of food she’d used sleight of hand to get away with not eating (she was still a little bitter about him stealing her pen and this was the most she could really do to get back at him, compromised as she was). They made idle conversation, mostly just about how Damian had got himself a new pet cat that he had named BatCat (though, apparently, they had heard him slip up and call him Charles a few times). They debated over how good that name was and the merit of Jason’s suggestion -- BatPussy, of course -- as she drank her third cup of coffee of the day.

It was about halfway through her drink that she began to notice that something was off. She squinted at Jason suspiciously.

“Decaf?” She asked, her voice worryingly sweet.

He raised his eyebrows and tried to look unimpressed despite stepping back a good half-step. “Please, if it was decaf classical conditioning still would’ve made it work at least a little.”

She opened her mouth to retort, then realized he was right. Or, at least, she was pretty sure. She couldn't seem to think of anything against it.

She frowned, looking down at her drink again and swirling the contents around. She drank the rest of it, trying to figure out why exactly it wasn’t working.

Was she already at the point where caffeine had little effect on her again? She didn’t think she was that bad yet… hell, she probably couldn’t be because she was depending on others to give her her fix…

She shook her head slightly and then quickly realized that was a bad idea. Pain stabbed through her skull and she stumbled into Jason. The plastic thermos slipped from her fingertips and went rolling across the floor. Her head crashed into his chest and arms were quick to wrap around her.

“You got shitty coffee, try a different place next time,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

He laughed a little. “Yeah, okay, kid. I’ll be sure to do that.”

She nodded as much as her headache would allow and felt the arms around her slip down to pick her up. She blinked her eyes open blearily and regretted it when the light attempted to murder her via knife to the head.

Heh. Little light particles with little knives.

Wait.

Did she get a concussion? Somehow? Without getting hit?

She buried her face in his shoulder and it was then, as he set her in bed and tucked her in, that she realized what had happened.

“Bitch,” she murmured above whatever drug they had put in her drink.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she could do little more than scrunch up her nose and vaguely wave him off. Her eyes fell closed again.

~

Marinette woke up a while later.

The first thing she noticed was that the lights were dimmer, something she didn’t have to open her eyes to see because her head wasn’t pounding as much.

Then she realized a person was with her. They had entwined themselves around her, tangled their limbs with hers. They needn’t have bothered, everything felt like lead. She wouldn’t be moving for quite some time.

… why was she being held down? Oh no. That was probably bad, huh?

Marinette made a sound in the back of her throat and started trying to shift away from the person pressed against her back. She needed to see who they were. They didn’t bother to tighten their hold on her, she wasn’t really getting anywhere.

In fact, a hand stopped holding her down. Instead, it came up to pet her hair.

Oh? This was nice.

A voice by her head told her it was all okay. After a moment she realized she recognized that voice. She smiled sleepily. Cass. She liked Cass. She pressed closer to her and was rewarded with a hand rubbing up and down one of her arms.

She nearly fell asleep again. Cass was safe, Marinette was safe… the warmth against her and the soothing touch… of course, it certainly helped that the drug was still in her system and she was exhausted...

But then her mind wandered back to her first question. Why WAS Cass holding her down? Why did they drug her in the first place?

She moved so her hair could block some of the light and then cautiously cracked her eyes open.

The batboys were all moving things inside almost silently. Jason was carrying an entire fridge on his own. Dick and Damian were arguing over the positioning of the table they had just brought in through angry hand motions. Tim and Duke were working together on… was that a gaming set?

And she was being held down because the door was wide open.

Marinette looked at the doorway for just a moment longer. She allowed herself to imagine getting out and swinging through the city with her lasso, allowed herself to pretend she could lay in the grass, allowed herself to believe that she could see the sun and the stars and just breathe fresh air again…

And then she closed her eyes and sunk into Cass’s grip.

What was the point in trying? Even if she could somehow beat out all six of the people in the room with her and get past whatever security Bruce had to have outside of the room all while drugged… then what? No money or idea where she was… and she’d be running from the bats of all people…

Yeah. Useless. She curled up and allowed sleep to take her again.

~

Quite a while later she woke up and blinked a few times when she realized she wasn’t the only person in bed. At first she thought it was just Cass or Tim, they were the most likely culprits, but then she realized everyone had managed to cram themselves onto the bed with her. Her and Cass had gotten brushed to the side of the bed to make space for Tim, Dick, and Damian. Jason had collapsed across the end of the bed -- presumably for space, but Duke was laying half on top of him so that obviously hadn’t worked out.

Marinette smiled faintly and buried her face back into the crook of Tim’s neck.

~

When she woke up again, most of the drug flushed from her system (somehow…?), she thought she was alone.

This was fine. She was able to stretch out and sit up.

She blinked when she saw Damian, who was sitting on her floor and playing a video game.

Huh? Video game?

She looked around her room confusedly. The bats had basically made her a one-room apartment, complete with kitchenette and a tiny study area. Of course, it was much higher quality than the apartment she’d had, with a high tech gaming system and a little dining area and holy shit that was a MINI LIBRARY?

Wild.

“You’re finally up.”

She hummed lightly as an agreement. She crawled over to the end of the bed and smiled when he handed her a twizzler. It was objectively one of the worst candies, but she liked having something to do. She twirled it in her hand idly.

“Do you think… do you think it’s working?”

She frowned confusedly and dropped off the bed to sit beside him on the second beanbag chair. She chanced a quick glance in his direction to gauge how he was feeling... his expression didn’t let anything on other than that he was thinking hard, though she was pretty sure that was about the game.

“Gonna elaborate on that?”

He clicked his tongue. “Are you going to join the Undead Robins Club?”

She grinned at him. “I wasn’t a Robin.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her smile disappeared a little and she trained her eyes on the game. “I don’t know.”

“You know we never will know for sure, right?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge it. They were the bats, they were never going to chance taking off her glasses because if they were wrong and she WASN’T better… well, it wasn’t the kind of mistake they could easily come back from.

“Yeah, I know,” she said after a few moments.

“Do you care?”

“Doesn't really matter if I do. It won’t change anything.”

He frowned. “That’s not answering my question.”

She bit her cheek. “I… yes. I care. It still doesn’t matter.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but instead he just went back to playing the game.

“Damiiiiiiiii…” she whined and, when he gave a vague grunt to show he was paying attention, she continued with “... shouldn’t I get to play first? It’s mine.”

“You slept in too long,” he said without looking up.

She huffed. “Only ‘cause I was drugged!”

“Unfortunate.”

She got off the beanbag chair and whacked him over the head with it. He barely acknowledged it outside of an annoyed click of his tongue.

She huffed and pulled the chair back to herself to sit again. “Is it two player?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a bitch.”

He clicked his tongue again.

She pouted for a little while longer before looking back at the screen with a smile. “... heard you got a cat named Charles. Wanna talk about him?”

Damian’s face lit up. “Can I?”

“Only if you let me play.”

He looked pained. If he gave it to her then he’d be giving her something she’d want, which was a sibling no-no, but if he didn’t then she probably wouldn’t listen to him gush about his cat. A few moments went by before he reluctantly handed over the controller.

She beamed and scooted her chair over to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel him stiffen underneath her but, when she didn’t move again outside of what was necessary to play the game, he relaxed again.

“I thought you were going to listen,” he chided lightly when she didn’t take a break between levels.

“I can listen and play.”

Damian sighed a little and shook his head.

“You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want --.”

“I’m getting to it! So, he’s a black cat that apparently hadn’t been adopted because everyone thought he was evil so the pet store was going --.”

~

Marinette noticed something was up the minute the door opened.

First of all, it was Duke and Damian. That’s all that really needs to be said. Those two together… it’s never a good thing.

Secondly, they were there as Signal and Robin. Most of the time the others avoided even talking about their lives as vigilantes for fear of setting her off in one way or another, but here they were showing up in their suits? No, something weird was going on.

“Hey, Mari, can we skip a fight and you just put a bag over your head and let us pick you up?” Tried Duke.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “You want to…? Huh?”

“We don’t really have much time to explain. I’ll tell you on the way.”

Damian held up a potato sack and some twine, which really wasn’t all that encouraging.

She hesitated. “... what’s something only you two would know?”

“Really?” Said Damian with more than a little exasperation.

“Hey, we’re all bats here. I’m not moving until you prove you’re who you say you are.”

(Technically, if they were really Duke and Damian, they could fight her and do it anyways. She probably couldn't beat both of them at once. Still, that kind of fight would hurt all of them and she really didn’t want to have to do it at the moment.)

Duke hesitated before shrugging. “Your favorite ice cream flavor is mint. Which I don’t understand. Just brush your teeth if you like that taste so much.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Alright, you’re who you say you are. Robin?”

“… early on I lied and said that Nightwing’s real hero name was actually BatNightwing to mess with you both.”

She frowned. “I forgot about that. You’re a dick.”

“No, Nightwing’s a Dick. He’s a Damian.”

Marinette was THIS CLOSE to fighting them anyways.

But she didn’t. She was kinda curious about where all this was going. So, she allowed them to bind her hands and slip a bag over her head. Arms wrapped around her -- she didn’t really care who it was -- and she was lifted off the ground. Then, they were walking.

Part of her wondered if this was some kind of test. They were checking to see how compliant she was or how likely she would be to run once outside. Maybe they had Superman on call in case she tried to escape.

She really couldn’t tell.

She didn’t think that they had any reason to take her out of the perfectly safe and well-stocked place they had put her in.

Maybe her location had been compromised and they were moving her to a backup? No, that didn’t make sense. Duke made sense for transport, Damian didn’t. Damian was one of the worst fighters in the family (he was in no way BAD at fighting, of course, it was just a byproduct of being in the game the shortest amount of time and not being a meta) and he was the second most likely person to end up fighting her after Jason. What the fuck?

Wait, Duke said he’d explain on the way.

“What’s going on?”

“New idea on how to bring you back,” said Duke simply.

Well, she guessed that was more information than she’d previously had. She’d take it for now.

She heard a quiet whooshing noise and frowned confusedly, only to feel herself get set down… somewhere. She felt carpeting underneath her, which meant she was in… a house? No. A car, she thought as she noticed the quiet hum of an engine. She’d been put in the fucking trunk. She kicked out as much as she could without knowing exactly where they were and gave a cry of protest, but then the lid was clicked over her head and she was thrown into uncomfortably complete silence.

She scowled to herself. She shouldn’t have thrown her spife at Superman, it would have been really useful right then. She tested the bindings against her hands and winced at how tight they were. Did they really use zip ties? Those were notoriously bad for circulation.

… oh. Yeah. She was dead. That actually wasn’t that bad, then.

Still annoying. Hard to get out of. Assholes. She wondered if it was worth dislocating her arms…

Yeah. Probably. If she could get out then she would be OUT.

She flipped herself onto her stomach. She pulled her feet up to her arms and then started pushing back. Her body strained in protest and she bit down on the front of the bag over her head to stop herself from making any sounds.

And then she felt a pop in her left shoulder and a flare of pain and the makeshift gag wasn’t enough to hold back her sobs. Her arm throbbed and it was only made worse when they reached the city proper and the roads started getting choppy. Every little bump in the road sent a new wave of pain rolling through her and all she could do was ride it out.

They started hitting smoother roads what felt like hours later... it was kind of concerning because she had no clue where they could be, those were uncommon in Gotham, but at least she no longer felt like she was going to die every few seconds.

She took a few seconds to bring her breathing back to normal before she started slowly wiggling her arms out under her butt and legs and then they were in front of her. Great. She picked herself up as much as she could in the tiny space, checked her angle mentally, relaxed her muscles, and then dropped down on her shoulder to get it back in place.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. It felt weird and still kind of hurt but at least it was mostly better.

She pulled the bag off of her head and relished in the slightly fresher air.

She looked down at the zip ties on her wrists and she sighed a little. Time to do that hack that looked stupid but actually worked if the kidnappers were stupid enough to leave you alone.

She brought her feet up, untied the laces of her shoes, and tied them back around the ties. Then she set to work trying to saw at the zip tie.

She paused when she heard the low rumbling of a plane. Were they near an airport? Oh. That was going to be a problem. She went faster.

Unfortunately, Marinette didn’t get very far before there was a click and the trunk opened.

She cried out in pain at the sudden light and squeezed her eyes shut, turning to press her face into the carpeted interior.

Hands grabbed her and pulled her out of the trunk. Before she could do much to look around so she could get her bearings and make herself a portal, the bag was forced over her head again and a strong grip on her arm (the good one, thankfully) kept her from pulling it off again. Then someone knelt in front of her and fixed her shoelaces.

“Really, NightMare?” Duke said, unimpressed.

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.”

Damian scoffed.

Someone picked her up again and she sighed as they carried her along. They were definitely at an airport. She could hear people milling about. She was sure it was Gotham, too; she could feel a few stares, but most people seemed comfortable with the vigilantes among them.

Then came the normal airport stuff. Walking. Some arguing over whether she counted as luggage or if she could go through the metal detector with them. Sitting. A little chatting with civilians. More walking. More sitting. Very light chatter, just formalities and asking for drinks (Duke, who she figured out was the person carrying her, slipped a box of orange juice up her bag so she could have something). And then they were in the air.

After some time in the air the bag and zip ties were removed. She kept her eyes closed to let them adjust to light naturally and instead focused on rubbing feeling back into her hands.

One English alphabet later, she opened her eyes.

They were in a private plane (or was it a jet?), which explained why it was as quiet as it was. Damian was drinking a glass of water and reading something on his phone. Duke was nibbling at some complimentary pretzels and working a Rubix Cube. They both glanced in her direction from time to time, but they seemed pretty confident that she couldn’t do anything while they were in the air (which was true, but annoying).

She looked around a little more and found that there were no other bats.

“Um… where’re…?” She trailed off, unsure.

They stopped glancing in her direction, ignoring her and her question. The frown that had been on her face since pretty much when they’d first taken her from the room deepened.

“Do they… do they know what’s going on?”

The silence spoke volumes.

She rested her head in her hand. “I’m going to need something stronger than a juice box for this.”

Duke sighed but called a friendly looking woman inside to get her some wine. Marinette and Duke sipped at a glass each (Damian wasn’t allowed any, something Marinette took a little too much joy in). She scrutinized the two over the rim of her glass.

“Are you going to explain or let me guess? Because letting me guess is going to end up with me assuming you’re doing something way worse than you actually are.”

Damian sighed a little. “It’s hard to explain.”

“We’re in a plane. I’m going to guess we have time. Start talking.”

“We drugged them all -- except Orphan, she’s just out doing patrols and won’t know what’s going on for a good few hours -- and grabbed you.”

Duke gave Damian a pleading look to make him continue for them.

Damian, reluctantly, put down his phone to talk. “Signal and I have an idea on how to bring you back from the dead. The others won’t like it, especially not Red Hood, so we’re making the executive decision to not ask.”

Marinette didn’t know a lot about when Jason had been resurrected, it was a sensitive subject so it was avoided pretty much at all costs. All she’d gathered was that it was a rather messy experience for everyone involved.

She rested her head on her hand and then looked back down at her drink. She snatched the bottle from the table and, when Duke protested, set him a glare and started drinking directly from it. They were actually going to bring her back through probably shady means. She was NOT drunk enough for this shit.

~

She got stuffed in a suitcase when they left, which was extremely insulting (and a little embarrassing, if she were honest).

She rested her head against the side of the suitcase and listened to the dull thrum of people talking on the other side. She vaguely recognized the language, both Nino and Damian both spoke it when frustrated, but the words were all Greek to her.

Well, they were all Arabic, but you get the point.

~

She didn’t even realize she had been asleep until she was awoken. Rather abruptly. The zipper for the suitcase was opened and she tumbled out. Marinette cursed in French as she hit the ground and laid there, her entire body aching from not moving for so long. She hadn’t known her face could get pins and needles, she wished she could go back to her blissful ignorance.

“Are you sure about this? You want to save her?” A woman’s voice said above her, sounding a little skeptical.

Marinette forced herself to roll over so she could glare at whoever it was, she knew when she was being insulted, and then she blinked up at the new person.

A tall woman with dark skin and hair and a body to die for stood above her, hands on her hips.

“Holy shit, Dami. You got terrible genes. She’s gorgeous and you’re… you? What?”

Duke hid laughter behind his hand and Damian scoffed.

Amusement flickered behind Talia’s ‘I could kill you before you could even scream’ expression. “I’ve changed my mind. I like her.”

“Cool,” said Marinette as she quickly pushed herself to her feet. Her body wasn’t ready for that, but that was the least of her concerns. The pretty lady was ushering her along and Marinette wasn’t going to hold her up if she could help it.

“How did you die?” Talia said, which was an interesting choice for conversation.

Marinette shrugged, though, unconcerned. “I don’t know, really, there wasn’t this ‘oh, wow, I’m dead’ moment. My guess is I either drowned in acid or died of dehydration at some point. Does it change anything or…?”

“No. Just curious.”

“Oh. Good.”

“... do you not know why you’re here?” Asked Talia carefully after a moment’s contemplation.

Marinette shook her head. “Nah, they’ve been avoiding telling me. I assume it’s painful.”

“... yes. Very.”

The four lapsed into silence after that.

Marinette felt weirdly on edge as they walked through the facility, her hands rubbing the goosebumps that were prickling along her arms. The further they walked, the more on edge she felt. They were approaching something unnatural, something so undeniably WRONG, and she needed to GO.

But Damian and Duke were behind her, probably sensing her unease, and running ahead would only get her there faster… so she walked.

She bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to ground herself.

But, the moment they stepped into the room, she froze.

Green water. That apparently hurts.

Acid.

“FUCK.”

Duke was ready for her to run, apparently, stood in front of the only exit and ready for a fight before she could even get a full step away from the hell that awaited her.

“No no no no no no wait it’s fine I actually don’t mind being dead it’s fine guys please --.”

Damian grabbed her arms and she choked out a sob,

“Damian god damn it I was kidding about the mom thing you’re perfectly attractive or whatever I promise I really didn’t think it would hurt you that much we don’t need to do this let’s tALK IT OUT --!”

“It’s not about that --!”

Duke managed to get a hold on one of her legs and lifted and all she had to struggle against either of them was a foot and she was SO fucked --.

“PLEASE DUKE PLEASE I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID BUT I PROMISE I CAN BE BETTER YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS PLEASE PLEASE LET ME GO I’LL BE FINE WE CAN FIGURE SOMETHING OUT PLEASE --.”

Talia grabbed her last leg and she sobbed as she thrashed around uselessly. They started dragging her towards the acid. Nothing to do no way to run no help in sight no --.

“PLEASE! I PROMISE I’LL BE BETTER PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!”

And they did. They let her go and she fell into the acid.

[your-eternal-muse]

Home

Summery: After months of being held against your will, you escape into the world, and await for the moment when you can return home.

Warnings: Mentions of abduction, vague mentions of abuse, talk of injury, thoughts of giving up, mentions of weight loss

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Words: 2.5k

Authors Note: Wow. It’s been a hot fucking minute huh? Sorry for taking so long. I was moving and unpacking, and getting situated and than I got a new job and so many other things. This is the piece that got me back into the writing flow, so that's fun. I am still working on requests, and while they may not be posted in the order that I received them, they still will be posted. I will also be posting little one shots in between them as well, because my brain doesn’t know when to fucking stop. I missed you guys. I hope you’re all doing well. Also I’m at 950 followers??? That’s insane. I don’t believe it. Anyway, enjoy!

I run.

I run through gaps in between trees, stepping on sticks, ducking under branches.

Every muscle, every bone in my body is screaming at me to stop. To give up, fall to the ground and curl up at the base of a tree and give in to the darkness.

But I can’t.

I can’t stop running, not until I know I’m safe.

Not until I’m home.

The air is brisk, and the leaves crunching underneath my bare feet are different shades of decay.

The sunlight breaking through the canopy does little to tell me what time of day it is, or even what direction I’m going. 

So I just run.

Away from the little wooden house where I’ve been beaten almost everyday for who knows how long.

I’ve lost count of the days.

But I got lucky.

He’s always gone during the day, and I’ve lost enough weight so I could slip my wrists through the zip tie that had me bound.

I’m losing stamina, but I keep pushing forward.

Please, god, give me something, anything.

I stumble through a wall of brush, falling to the gravel ground of the side of the road.

A road.

I push myself up, my steps stuttering as I gain my back my balance.

I turn my head, looking both ways down the seemingly deserted road, and I now believe in a mighty being above because I see gas pumps not even a half a mile down the road from where I’m standing.

I start running as fast as I can, limping every other step, trying to pick up a speed my body has forgotten.

My heart is pounding in my chest, and every breath feels like it’s being ripped out of me, but I couldn’t stop now even if I wanted to.

I turn into the gravel driveway of the station speeding towards the front door, barreling inside, heaving for air as I turn and lock the deadbolt on the door.

I flip the sign from open to closed for good measure, before slipping down to the floor in a heap.

“Oh sweet baby jesus above, darling what happened to you?” A woman runs out from behind the counter, crouching down next to me pushing dirty matted hair out of my face, hands running gently over my exposed skin.

My voice is hoarse, and my throat burns when I speak.

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent y/n y/l/n of the Behavioral Analysis unit of the F.B.I.” I let my head fall back against the glass of the door. “I don’t, I don’t have my badge otherwise I would show you.”

Her eyes are deep green, and kind. Worry creases her already wrinkled face, and her skin looks soft and loose.

“Oh honey, it’s okay. I believe you. Can you tell me what happened?”

Tears start to form in my eyes and I can’t seem to move anymore. “I was abducted by someone we were chasing in May, and I just escaped.” 

A hand comes to cover her mouth. 

“I really need to use your phone to contact my team.” 

She couldn’t be older than 50, with long dirty blonde hair starting to gray at the roots.

I couldn’t help but feel the trust swarm my chest, too tired to put up walls anymore.

“Oh of course, honey. Let me help you behind the counter, and we’ll get you all set.”

She gingerly helped me back to my feet, wrapping my arm over her shoulders to help me sit on a stool behind the counter. 

She makes sure I’m set sturdy on the seat, before handing me a landline from beside the till.

“You use that to call however many people you want, and I’m gonna go get you some water and something to eat.”

She starts to walk away but she snaps her fingers and turns around, grabbing something from the counter and draping it over my shoulders.

It was a fuzzy winter jacket.

“It’s almost November, you’re probably freezing too.”

Her accent is a gentle southern, like a grandma who makes peach cobbler and gives the best hugs. 

I shove my arms through the sleeves, zipping it up to my chin. 

Almost November.

It’s October.

I’ve been gone for five months.

October, and I’m wearing shorts and a ripped tank top.

I look down at the landline and take a breath to steady my trembling hands before dialing the number I know by heart.

Three rings, and he picks up.

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

I start to sob at the sound of his voice, a voice I never thought I’d be able to hear again.

I start to collapse within on myself.

“Hello?”

I haven’t said anything.

I take a breath, wiping my nose on the back of my hand before speaking.

“Hey, Spence.”

It’s silent, and I can faintly hear the sound of something crashing to the floor.

“Y-Y/n?”

“Jesus, I never thought I’d get to hear your voice again.”

“Where are you? Are you safe? Is he there?” He’s frantic, his voice rushed and high.

“I don’t know where I am, but I’m safe. I’m at some gas station. A nice woman is helping me.”

I lick my lips and I can taste the saltiness of my snot. “I got out.” 

“Penelope, I need you to trace this call right now.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

He has it on speaker, and I openly sob at the twinkle of her voice.

“Penelope…” is all I can muster, but it’s enough to hear her gasp, and then her own sob.

“Hold on tight sweet girl! We’re coming!”

I hear typing, and background voices getting louder.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Derek?” I gasp, bringing a hand to the center of my chest and grasping the fabric tight in my hands.

I lean back against the wall as the woman comes up with bottles of water, and bags of different foods.

Tears stream down my face, and the woman pushes hair out of my face, pinning it back with clips from her own hair.

“Is that you stud muffin?” I hope he hears the small smile in my voice.

I hear a shaky breath. “Yeah it’s me sweetheart.”

“I got her! She's a few miles outside of Chattanooga Tennessee!”

Tennessee? How the hell did I get to Tennessee?

“Derek, go tell the others. We’ll meet you at the jet.”

I hear shuffling on the other end as I break the seal on the water, before taking a long, much needed gulp.

“Are you still there y/n?” His voice is laced with concern, and I can picture the crease above his brows, the shakiness of his hands. 

“I’m here.”

“You stay right there, okay? Don’t move. We're on our way.”

The woman hands me a box of tissues, and I take a few wiping my eyes, but my cheeks stay wet.

“God, I missed your voice.”

A moment of silence, and I know he’s trying to collect himself on the other end of the phone, trying to stay strong for me.

“I missed yours too. I called your phone every day just to listen to your voice. I probably left a thousand voicemails.”

The woman opens a bag of chips for me, before kneeling and pulling out a first aid kit from below the counter.

“I thought about you every day. About your voice. Your smile. I just wanted you to walk through the door and say some weird statistic and we’d fly off into the sunset.”

I can hear him choke back tears and all I want to do is hold him, like his pain is somehow my own.

“I tried. I tried so hard, but you had disappeared without a trace. But I never stopped. I would never stop looking for you.”

“I know, Spence. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you, and I never will.”

Muffled voices in the background and he sniffles. “I have to hang up, baby. We’re taking off. We’ll be there in a little under two hours okay?”

Two hours.

“Okay. Please hurry.” I close my eyes, picturing his smile in my mind. “I miss you.”

“We will. I love you. See you soon. Hang on.”

The line goes dead, and I bring the phone slowly back down from my ear, hanging up.

I take a chip and pop it in my mouth. 

The woman stands in front of me, and with a cotton pad with alcohol, starts to clean at the cuts on my face.

“What’s your name?” I ask, feeling bad, that in the 20 minutes I’ve been here already, I hadn’t even stopped to ask.

“Luanne, sweetpea. It seems like you got a lot of people that care about you.”

I nod my head, popping another chip into my mouth. “My team. They’re my family. We were on a case in Chicago in May when…”

Bile starts to form at the back of my throat, but I shove it back down with another swig of water. 

I lick my lips, trying to get rid of the sting of the salt in the cracks. “Thank you. For helping me. I know you didn’t have to but-”

“Sweetpea,” she holds my face in her hands, wiping away the tears that are still falling. “You have been through hell and back again. You deserve all the kindness in the world.” She pulls me into herself, and I nuzzle my face into the fabric of her shirt. 

It smells like lavender.

“You’re safe now. Any bastard that tries to come in is going to have to go through me first.”

I clutch onto her shirt, basking in the first kind human touch I’ve had in months. 

She smooths down my hair, soft and slow, and I listen to the heartbeat in her chest.

“You know, you remind me so much of my daughter. She looks soft on the outside, but she’s one hell of a fighter. I think you’d both get along rather swell.”

She stands, and just holds me, running her fingers through my hair, as I soak her shirt with my tears. 

I’m never going to forget her, forget this. 

I will spend every day of the rest of my life trying to repay this woman's kindness anyway I can. 

Thank you, will never be thanks enough.

Flashing lights appear outside the window.

~~~

I’m tired. 

My eyes burn with every blink and there’s an insistent pounding matching the beating of my heart inside my skull.

It hurts to breathe.

It hurts to move.

I’m freezing.

I tighten the blanket around me as medics move around me, getting things ready for when I’ll finally cave and agree to go to the hospital.

But I can’t leave.

I won’t leave. 

Not yet. 

The red and blue lights don’t help the migraine swimming behind my eyes, and everyone is talking too loud.

Why is everyone talking so loud?

My eyes look across the darkening parking lot, and Luanne is leaning against the hood of a cop car, her hands in her pockets, and she smiles at me, her hair blowing softly in the cold October wind.

But I hear fast paced tires on gravel, and my eyes move from her to the two black SUVS pulling into the lot.

I’m moving. 

Thoughts aren’t even processing in my brain, my neurons are stagnant. I’m moving on pure instinct. 

The car door opens before it’s even stopped, and the blanket falls from my shoulders in a heap on the floor of the ambulance.

Time is an illusion. 

It’s completely stopped as my feet meet the gravel, and I push the dirt behind me, moving towards the one person I thought about whenever I got the chance.

It’s just me and him, moving towards one another, two unstoppable forces about to test Newton's law.

My eyes start at his feet.

His pants fall over the top of his chuck taylors, and I’m positive two different socks sit below them. 

Higher.

Closer.

His hips.

He’s not wearing a belt. His holster is crooked. He was in a rush.

Higher.

Closer.

His chest. 

His vest is missing. His tie is loose, and the top couple of buttons are undone.

I can see his collar bones.

Higher.

Closer.

His neck, the bobbing adam's apple.

Higher.

Closer.

His lips, pursed.

His nose, red.

Highest.

Here.

His eyes. 

Deep hazel, honey surrounding darkened pupils, and I fly into his arms.

Ice melts.

My head clears.

I wrap my arms around his neck, shoving my face into his shoulder, inhaling like it is my first breath.

My feet aren’t on the ground anymore. 

He holds me, tightly against him, hands splayed across my back, his own face buried into my neck.

Our heart beats sync. For a moment, we're one. 

And then time seems to start again, and I pull back, eyes bleary, and I grab his face, crashing my lips to his in a desperate plea. 

He breaths into me, and I know, for certain, for the first time in months, that I am safe.

I am home.

We break, and our tears mix on cold cheeks, and I can’t stop looking at him, touching him, feeling the fabric of his jacket beneath my fingertips, the growth of his stomach beneath my own.

“I love you, I love you so much, oh my god.” His hands are all over me. My face, my neck, my arms. 

I never thought I’d get to touch him again, get to feel him, get to kiss him.

“You’re here. I love you. You’re here.” Is all I can manage as I bring his face to mine again.

I played out entire scenes where we did exactly this inside my head while that man did whatever he wanted to me.

I had all the things I wanted to say inside my head, but now that it’s real, now that it’s forged into reality, words fail. 

Nothing I can or want to say means anything at this moment. 

Nothing matters other than me and him.

A new hand is on my shoulder, and I lift my head to see Hotch. 

And so I am passed, from person to person, being held and squeezed and kissed and cried on until everyone has felt the breath leave my lungs, and I have felt the warmth of their skin. 

I return to Spencer, and he drapes his coat over my shoulders and zips it up to my chin, before the medics walk over.

They don’t say anything, and they don’t need to. 

I simply grab his hand and start moving towards the ambulance. 

“We’ll meet you at the hospital.” Hotch's voice is stern, and soft at the same time. 

I nod, and climb into the back, Spencer right behind me.

The medics get to work, and I feel my eyes droop, feeling his hand in mine.

He brings it up to his lips, pressing a kiss against each knuckle. “It’s okay. You can rest now. You’ve fought long enough.”

I smile at him, watching the tears stream down his cheeks. 

I succumb to the darkness.

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[pjoseries]

“i bear it so they won’t have to” + curse of achilles percy

oh this one’s a doozy, thank u emma 😋

(TLO AU)

══════════════════

Percy doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it—the bloodlust. It starts out as a whisper, a simple low hum drifting across the nape of his neck. It crawls in his ear and settles inside his brain and every time he uncaps Riptide, a single persistent thought crosses his mind: Show no mercy.

And he doesn’t. Not when a hoard of monsters comes barrelling through their ranks. Not when he sees the other campers on their feet, but flagging, exhaustion bogging them down as monster after monster charges at them. Percy holds his own on the front lines, raising his voice to be heard, “Fall back!”

He repeats it again for good measure and the piercing, confused stares from them quickly fade as he gains the attention of every monster in his vicinity. A grin slides across his face and he gives Riptide a twirl. 

“How many of you do I have to kill before you get with the program,” Percy taunts. He lets one of them come close enough to sink their claws into his skin, but it just slides right off, ripping through his shirt instead. 

The monster gapes for a moment and attempts to slice through him again, but Percy just tsks and tilts his head. “Nice try, but no dice, man.”

He impales the monster in a quick movement, leaving him in a shower of dust. He grimaces and looks at the others. They march towards him, but Percy doesn’t even think. He blocks and jabs and slices his way through the dust and the dirt and he feels nothing. The curse really works. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes to slay the last monster. He just knows that at the end, he’s drenched in monster dust and sweat. Percy finally rolls his shoulders, taking in the damage. The borders are safe for now. He spots a few campers a ways away limping and handing each other ambrosia. Footsteps come towards him and he whirls and points Riptide at empty air. 

It takes him a moment, but even that’s too long, before he lowers his sword. It’s Annabeth, of course. He furrows his brows. He knows it’s her. She wipes the sweat off her forehead and tucks her cap into her back pocket. 

“Percy, what was that?” she asks, gray eyes glinting in the afternoon light. 

“I, uh,” he says, pocketing Riptide back into his jeans. “I’ll tell you later. We have to check on—”

Annabeth stomps towards him and grips his arm. Logically, he knows how tight of a grip it is, but it’s weird that it doesn’t even sting. “Did you… gods, you didn’t. That trip with Nico… Percy, that is stupidly dangerous.”

She knows. Of course, she figures it out. Percy’s just a fool for thinking he could have broken the news to her later. 

“I did what I had to do.” Percy grits his teeth and steps back.  

She tugs him closer. “You could’ve died.” 

Percy makes the mistake of looking into her eyes again, shiny with unshed tears and he falters. He can’t stand to see her cry. He musters up a wry smile and shrugs. “I’m here, though.”

He tells her nothing of what he saw as he made his way out of the River Styx, doesn’t say a single word about how the first time he ever felt like he would drown that her voice was the only thing he grabbed onto. All he does is loosen her grip with his free hand and gives it a small squeeze. 

“I’ll tell you more about it later, okay?” Her hand is warm and callused from training and it takes him a few seconds to remember he has something to say. “We need to go to the Big House.”

Annabeth just nods and he lingers for a moment before he lets go. As they make their way to Chiron, their hands brush and all thoughts of the fight vanish from his mind. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It’s on the bridge when he gets an inkling that something is wrong, not with the curse or with the battle itself, but him. It’s similar to the last fight, Percy yelling at the Apollo campers to retreat, but the last of the monsters are dead. All that remain is Kronos himself and his demigod army. 

He slows himself down, aiming to knock them off their skeletal horses and send them running, not maim. Their swords bounce off his skin harmlessly and Percy vaguely notes that he’s ruining his already low supply of shirts. 

The voice is louder now, but still the same. Persistent as a tic: Show no mercy. 

Shut up, he wants to bite back, but he already looks insane just charging through a swarm of demigods and coming out completely unscathed. They make their way almost to the middle of the bridge when Percy freezes, like a lightning bolt just jolts through his body. Then: Annabeth screams. 

“Annabeth!” he yells and turns. A guy stands over her, his knife bloodied and dripping. Percy sees red and the voice persists louder again and he’s almost tempted to take its advice if it isn’t for Annabeth’s weak gasps. 

Percy would’ve died, if not for Annabeth and Annabeth’s dying because of him. Because he’s too damn focused on that stupid voice in his head that makes him want to tear the bridge apart and everyone in it. She doesn’t even know that’s his weak spot. 

He locks eyes with the demigod—Ethan, his mind supplies—and stalks towards him. In a beat, Percy slams his sword hilt into his face and feels a bitter sense of satisfaction as he grunts out in pain and moves away. A couple of other demigods try to come closer, but he swings Riptide as a warning. 

“Get back!” he growls. “No one touches her.”

Kronos merely hums. “Interesting.”

Percy just scowls and steps closer to Annabeth. Suddenly Achilles words come back to him: The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. He was dumb enough to ignore Achilles’ warnings and now his weakness is staring him right in the face, her face turning ashy as her breaths weakening. Annabeth. His tie to the mortal world. He should’ve known. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew, but the war took precedence. Now look where it got him. 

She’s dying and he’s surrounded by enemies. 

“Bravely fought, Perseus Jackson,” Kronos says. “But it’s time to surrender, or she’ll die.”

Annabeth sits up and groans. “Don’t.”

Percy clenches his jaw and bites back the panic at the sight. Her shirt is soaked in blood and he has to get her to a healer. His mind swirls for an escape route and, in a second, he yells out, “Blackjack!”

The pegasus swoops and carries her out and away from any immediate danger. Percy’s glad he knows what to do because he doesn’t have any time to explain. Luke—Kronos’ face twists. 

Percy meets the scythe with Riptide. 

Then their battle begins. And for once, Percy lets the voice in his mind take over. 

Show no mercy.

Percy smiles. He won’t. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The voice stays with him, long after the war ends. Despite how many hours he’s clocking in that affects his sleeping schedule, or the lack of one, he notices that he’s itching for a fight. 

It makes no sense. He wants to rest, but the voice tells him he has the curse for a reason. What use is he to his friends, to his family if he lets them go off on dangerous quests to get injured or worse? A couple of extra more hours of sleep is a petty consequence when it means saving everyone the trouble of getting hurt. 

So despite Annabeth’s warnings, he volunteers to guard the fleece, or to head training, or to do any of the more dangerous missions. There’s an undisputed agreement amongst the campers that they’ll let Percy do whatever he wants which is kind of weird but it works in his favor, so he’ll take it. Well, unless their names are Annabeth and Grover, that is.

But after this one quest—if he can even call it that, maybe just a favor for his father—Percy lands back on the shore, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest. His hands tremble as they flex over his own legs. The water rushes to his ankles, an attempt to calm him down but he just flinches. It just makes things worse. 

Percy’s no better than the monsters he fights. 

He wonders if monsters never exploded into dust, if they bleed like he does. He wonders how much blood he’s spilled, how much it stains his hands, his heart, his soul.

“Percy?” Annabeth says quietly. She pads over to him, settling down right next to him. The water drenches her shoes, but she just places a warm hand on his. “Percy, hey. Are you… okay?”

Her tone is awkward, but there’s an earnestness to it that makes him soften slightly. So he lifts his shoulder in response and stares out into the water. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Percy clears his throat. “Do what?”

“Go on all these quests. Try to save everyone. The war’s over, Percy. You can just enjoy camp like everyone else, too. You don’t have to do everything. You’re not Atlas.”

“Annabeth, this curse… I have a responsibility. Why let everyone else get hurt if I can do it? They’re just kids.” Percy unfolds his legs and lets Annabeth’s weight ground him. It’s like the voice gets muffled when she’s near. “And besides, I bear it so they won’t have to.”

Annabeth’s fingers find his cheek and he crumbles under her touch. He turns and Annabeth has this expression on her face that he can’t parse out. He closes his eyes and lets her smooth out the wrinkle between his brows, lets her trace a swooping pattern on his cheek. “You’re sixteen, Percy, not sixty-five. You have to let yourself take a break, Percy. The others need to know how to survive out there without you. You’re not always gonna be there to protect them. You’re gonna run yourself to the ground and I’d like to see my boyfriend awake once in a while.”

“Guess my eyes have to be open for that.” Percy smiles into her fingertips and blinks exaggeratedly at her. She giggles and it sends warmth all the way down to his belly. She stands up and brushes off the sand from pants before she holds out her hand. 

Golden light shines behind her, circling her like a halo. He’s suddenly reminded of his dip in the Styx, the way dream-Annabeth held in her laughter as she grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Real-Annabeth wiggles her fingers and he lets her haul him up. 

“Promise you’ll take it easy?” she asks. 

And his answer is an easy one. He kisses the side of her head. “Promise.”

Then they walk back to camp, their hands swinging between them. 

[benedictscanvas]

the future is bright (with you, my dear) - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death, serial killers, the general criminal minds stuff but nothing graphic

A/N: Okay, so, confession: this is very self-indulgent! I’m not very well, but desperately wanted to get something out to you so I’m sorry if the quality isn’t up to scratch! But I just wanted to write something super fluffy and comforting that could just wrap me up in a nice soft blanket. Hope you enjoy! :)

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(ways to say i love you) number 16 = “it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyway”

The ticking of the clock in the hotel room was unrelenting. It wormed its way into your brain and stayed there, until you were hearing it echoing in your head and you didn’t even know whether it was real anymore. Eventually, after minutes, hours, you didn’t know, you huffed as you got out of bed and took the clock off the wall, taking it into the bathroom and putting it in the tub.

When you returned to bed and you could still hear it, it was only a few minutes before you returned to the bathroom and took the batteries out. You threw them in the tub angrily and practically stomped back into your bed like a child might.

The case was slow. Agonisingly so. You’d been here for days and yet you still felt no closer to catching the unsub than you were when you began, despite having three more dead bodies left in the woods since then. Some of you were tired, some of you were cranky and some of you were just pissed off. You found yourself a mixture of all three.

It was all swirling around in your mind, and you could swear you could still hear that damn ticking, so you only heard the knocking the third time it happened and a soft utterance of your name accompanied it. You recognised the voice, and it was the only thing that had you hopping out of bed, grabbing your long cardigan from the peg and wrapping it around yourself, only wearing a tank top and shorts in the hot climate.

When you opened the door, Spencer was already halfway down the corridor.

“Spence,” you hissed, watching him wince and turn around, “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, did I wake you?” he whispered and you smiled as you shook your head, beckoning him into your room so you could talk properly. Rossi, who was currently in the pissed off stage of the case, would only come out of the room and glare at the two of you if you stayed in the corridor any longer.

Instead, he followed you inside, still murmuring his apologies even after you’d sat him down on the end of the bed next to you. You crossed your legs on the bed and wrapped your cardigan tighter around yourself against the chill of the cheap hotel.

“Spencer, seriously,” you said, resting a hand on his forearm to stop his mumbled rambling, “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

He paused at that and tilted his head in that adorable manner he sometimes did.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just can’t sleep. This case is…”

You trailed off but he nodded. He understood. He always did. People thought he didn’t always understand people, didn’t always pick up on things but in your experience? He picked up on your cues before anyone else, understood you better than anyone else. Best friends ever since you’d joined the BAU together, inseparable on and off cases: if there was anyone you wanted at your door when you couldn’t sleep, it was Spence.

“I know,” he said sympathetically, placing a hand over yours on his arm. He glanced behind him and looked back to you, a newly amused smile on his face, “Where’s your clock?”

You bit your the inside of your cheek.

“Never had one,” you lied, unconvincingly. It wasn’t your best work.

“All the rooms have one, Y/N,” he said, eyebrows raised as he stared at you. You muttered your answer incoherently, “What was that?”

‘It’s in the bath, okay?” you said exasperatedly, pouting, “That stupid ticking was driving me to distraction.”

He chuckled at you, shaking his head fondly.

“Of course it’s in the bath.”

“Anyway,” you said pointedly, “What are you doing awake? And here?”

His gaze was cast downward almost immediately, and you frowned. You squeezed his arm a little, because you were still holding onto it. You didn’t have the heart to let go, but luckily neither did he. It was nice to have a bit of human contact amongst all the human misery you saw day to day.

“I don’t know,” he said weakly, shrugging his shoulders, “I was just lying there staring at the ceiling and...well, I had a feeling you might be too.”

Now he was lying to you, but he was seriously trying to. It was a serious lie. Your frown only got worse, the lines of your face deepening. Now you did have the heart to, so you removed your hand from his arm and leaned back away from him.

“Spencer, why are you really here?” you said, the room changing all at once, but you added with soft eyes, “You never have to lie to me, you know?”

He was biting his lip and you just wanted to reach up and and pull it away from his teeth, run your fingers gently over his jawline, smooth out all the worry lines he’d gained since you met him. Sometimes, you wished he hadn’t seen everything he had seen, wished you could save him from it all. But sometimes, you also wished you could kiss him. Some things weren’t meant to be.

“I know,” he said guiltily, “Sorry. It’s stupid, though, and I don’t want you to think I can’t handle the case or that I’m not thinking clearly or-”

“I can guarantee that whatever your reason for knocking on my door, I’m not going to think anything like that. Ever, Spence.”

He looked at you with a look in his eye that you recognised as love. You knew it to be the completely platonic kind, but it made butterflies stir up a frenzy in your stomach regardless.

Ironically, platonic friendship was one of the furthest things from Spencer’s mind in that moment, but there was no way for you to know that.

“Okay,” he relented, “You know how me and Rossi went to the crime scene today? Well, when we pulled the sheet back from Shelly Peterson’s body there was a moment...well, it was such a stupid moment because I knew you were back at the station and we’d spoken on the phone not five minutes prior but-”

You sighed gently.

“She looked like me?” you interjected, nothing but kindness in your tone, none of the teasing he might have worried about or the wrinkled nose at the stupidity of his thoughts. None of that.

“She did,” there were tears gathering in his eyes and you had to will yourself not to cry right along with him, “A-and I just...I haven’t really seen you since because we were working on separate parts of the profile so I couldn’t sleep until I-”

He wasn’t finishing his sentences. It wasn’t unlike him sometimes, when he was a little shaken up, but it still worried you each and every time. You were so used to him being eloquent, beautifully so, speaking at a hundred miles an hour but still making more sense than people who spoke ten times slower. When he lost the ability to speak fully coherently, you knew he was really fighting an mental battle.

“Until you came and saw me?” you finished for him again, knowing he wouldn’t mind. They were words he couldn’t bring himself to say, but also ones that he needed you to know. You would happily say them for him if necessary, “Spencer, that’s not stupid.”

You had noticed your resemblance to the victim earlier that day too, but hadn’t said anything. JJ had given you a look but you’d brushed her off quickly, not wanting to draw attention to it in front of the team. They must have noticed too, it was hard not to, but nobody said anything. It went unspoken. For you, though, it had only been in pictures and you could imagine you might have reacted a little differently had you actually been at the scene like Spence.

“It felt stupid,” he said quietly, “I think Rossi thought I was losing it. I just kept...staring at her. And I knew she was Shelly Peterson, of course I did, but it felt like I was staring right at your dead body. Y/N, I don’t think I can ever do that for real. No, actually, I know I could never do that, I’m not capable, I think- I think it would kill me.”

His words were chilling. His voice got louder as he started finishing his sentences again. It was as if he was so determined never to have that nightmare become reality that he had to tell you now, he had to tell you right this second that there was no scenario in which you were allowed to die.

“Well, that’s okay,” you said confidently, not being able to help yourself when you reached up and took his chin between your thumb and forefinger, begging him to make eye contact with you, “Because I’m not going anywhere, Dr Reid, and neither are you. You’re not allowed to. I won’t have it.”

“But-”

“Nope,” you stopped him, because his thoughts were consuming him and you desperately wanted to bring him back to you, to this moment, here in the hotel room where the two of you were safe. Where the two of you were together. “Creating geographical profiles side by side, that’s how we’re going to live out the rest of our days. We’re going to go to crime scenes and trade theories away from the group if we’re not sure about them. We’re going to force each other to get a few hours sleep on the jet whenever we can.”

“Yeah?” his voice was still timid, but now it sounded like he was simply getting more overwhelmed with every sentence you spoke. You swallowed the sentimental lump in your throat and continued on, reluctantly letting go of his chin now that he’d dared to look at you.

“Yeah. We’re going to spend weekends together. In the park. At my apartment, at your apartment. We’re going to sit at our desks across from each other in the bullpen every day. Chat as we do paperwork. Get each other coffee. Eventually, I’m going to learn that however much sugar I put in will never be enough.”

“Would be great if you learnt that sooner rather than later,” he joked with a chuckle, even though there were more tears in his eyes. You swatted his arm playfully, your own choked laughter filling the small room.

“We’re going to be as old as Rossi one day, with a few grey hairs, and there will be new FBI recruits that ask each other in hushed voices, ‘Is that Doctor Reid and Agent Y/L/N? I’ve read all of their books!’ and we’ll sign a few of them if they’re lucky,” you explained, feeling a few tears of your own surfacing as you imagined Spencer with grey hairs around his temple.

You could picture him, years in the future, walking over to you on the jet and sitting down with that small groan that Rossi let out quite often when he sat down, a customary groan that slightly older people seem to do even if nothing hurts and nothing is stiff. Spencer would groan as he sat down and you would laugh at him, tease him for being too old for all this now, and he’d remind you of this very moment.

“We’re going to co-write books?” he said dreamily and you knew he was picturing scenario after scenario of your future now too. You hoped it might get the image of your dead body out of his mind, at least for a while, replace it with images of you laughing at his ridiculous philosophical jokes just because he thought they were funny.

“We are indeed,” you hummed happily.

“How do you make our job sound so...romantic?”

You hadn’t expected that, but you tried not to let it show on your face. Instead you just furrowed your brows in confusion and hoped he didn’t see the fear in your eyes at the prospect of being found out.

“Romantic?”

“Yeah,” he said, seemingly unfazed by what he was saying, “We have one of the worst jobs in the world, see more evil than most people will ever even hear about, but you make it sound like we’re going to live out this...romantic ideal.”

You took a deep breath.

“Our job is awful...basically all the time, I know. But I suppose, on the occasion that it isn’t awful, it’s usually either because we save someone or because- well, because you’re around.”

Spencer paused, staring at you and your gaze drifted down to his lips before snapping back upwards again. He saw that. Definitely. Your tone had changed, but he was the one who had mentioned romance, so you were only following his lead, you told yourself.

Was he closer than he had been a second ago? Your mind was playing tricks on you. When he spoke, his voice was breathy and barely there.

“Sounds pretty r-romantic to me.”

You held your breath.

“Is that a good thing?”

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

“I think you missed some stuff out of our future,” he said and all you could think was that he hadn’t said no, not yet, and that if he was about to let you down gently then you weren’t sure you would cope, “I know we’re going to work together for the rest of our lives. Create profiles and catch killers and write books. But I’m also...I’m also going to love you for the rest of our lives. Do you think we could fit that in?”

You exhaled slowly, just so he wouldn’t hear how shaky it was. Your grin was infectious, clearly, because he was grinning too, you could see it through tear-blurred vision. You wouldn’t answer his question directly, he hadn’t answered yours after all, but you spoke up quickly to make sure he had no doubt about your answer.

“We could...go on coffee dates?”

“Movie marathons under mountains of blankets?”

“Kissing in the rain?”

“Kissing under the stars.”

“Kissing everywhere.”

“Moving in together?”

“Getting a dog? A cat?”

“Getting down on one knee?”

Voices growing softer and softer, the questions soon melted away into the dim glow of the hotel room and the future felt closer than it ever had before as you shared your first kiss.

(and your second, and your third, and your…)

---

tags: @justkurotingz @yes-sir-hotchner​

[canvas-the-florist]

Just a Little Flir-Tea

Ship(s): Romantic Moceit,

Warnings: food mention, misunderstandings, a lot of puns

Summary: Patton and Janus are enemies of the mindscape. Except, are they? Janus thinks so but could he be wrong? No… They must be enemies. Who else would tenderly make tea with him?

Word Count: 1.3k

-

   Patton walked throughout the mind palace, humming a song without memory of the lyrics. In his hands he held a plate of chocolate chip cookies and passed by Janus who was sipping tea and sitting calmly at the table. Well, he looked calm but he was really seething. How did Patton have the right to be so serene and happy and cute while they were obviously about to fight about something?! Janus could swear that Patton didn’t understand rivalries at all, it was very frustrating.

   Everything he did was absolutely infuriating. Patton would stare at him sometimes, and always seemed to “accidentally” become more clumsy. Janus would usually get back at him by responding to his puns without a reaction or pretend he was fine with it all. But something about Patton always riled him up and Janus couldn’t understand. Even with how Janus was treating him Patton would go out of his way to see him. What was his deal?

   “Oh, hey Janus! Fancy seeing you here!” Patton greeted, tilting his head to the side as he smiled. Janus’s face grew hot… FROM RAGE thank you very much and he put down his cup of tea. “Well, I guess you’re always fancy with the hat and cape and all.”

   Janus raised an eyebrow as Patton sat down next to him. “Wow Patton, what a delight to see you… in my personal space. That doesn’t bother me at all.”

   “Oh, that’s good! I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” Patton placed the cookies next to Janus’s cup of tea, which spilled off the table, almost hitting Janus’s leg. He jumped up with a whelp, summoning the rest of his six arms before regaining his composure and coughing to lose the exaggerated expression. The arms didn’t disappear, instead Janus wrapped himself in a very dramatic arm crossing that only he could pull off. Patton put a hand over his mouth, with concern? Was he laughing? Janus couldn’t really tell but felt embarrassed anyways. “You okay, Jan? I’m so sorry I didn’t tea that coming!”

   Silence followed after the pun, with Janus staring blankly at Patton. Janus closed his eyes, the extra arms disappearing in a golden light before looking back at morality with an unenthusiastic expression. “That was a stretch, even for you.”

   Patton got up, smoothing the wrinkles in his pants with a small laugh. He walked over to Janus who stepped back a little bit. “Yeah, my bad. I won’t get oolong face about it though. Seriously, are you okay kiddo? I can get a towel or something.”

   Janus felt the human face of his face heat up again, possibly from the tea. Maybe it had gotten him after all? Patton furrowed his eyebrows, his head tilting to the side again. Janus looked away. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned back. Patton didn’t have any malice in his face. They were rivals though, Janus felt really confused. They were supposed to be RIVALS. Not friends or anything. That’s how it was… Patton smiled and Janus’s shoulders relaxed. Wait no, he had to keep his guard up. It could be a trick or something!

  “Let’s go to the kitchen okay, I’ll get you a different cup of herbal tea. You like the mint lemon one, right?” Janus was so confused that he just nodded.

   “How did you know that?”

   Patton blinked and thought for a moment, contemplating. He dropped his arm back to his side. “Why wouldn’t I notice that, Janus? You drink a cup every morning. You’ve been making it at the same time I start baking! Now, c’mon I wouldn’t want my favorite reptile to get a stain on your cool cape!”

   That’s when it happened. Patton kissed Janus’s cheek and walked in the direction of the kitchen, after picking up the overturned tea cup. Janus felt like his brain was short circuiting. He blinked a few times in the now empty room. His hand hovered over his scales, imagining what just happened repeatedly in his head and then turned around to head into the kitchen after Patton. What happened to being rivals? Patton was humming the same song from earlier while washing the teacup in the sink so Janus could presumably use it again. He put the cup on the counter.

   “Do you want to help make it? I don’t want to mess it up.” Patton gestured to the cabinet to the right of him. He didn’t mention the minute he was standing idly in the other room and Janus was almost grateful. Almost. Janus walked over and filled the kettle with water and started to heat it up. His head felt heavy as all the thoughts in his mind seemed to be wrong. From a kiss on the cheek? He should gain his composure. He’s deceit! The scary snake boy with a wonderful aesthetic! Janus needs to calm down. “Hey Janus, not that I don’t love your enthusiastic hisses to yourself, the water is boiling.”

   Janus quickly lifted the kettle off the stove and hissed at Patton. “You didn’t think to mention that earlier?”

   “Sorry! I just-”

   “Patton why did you kiss me?” Janus asked, putting the kettle down. He looked back to Patton who seemed startled. Janus didn’t mean to bombard Patton with questions but he was really confused.

   “Chai don’t know what you mean?” Patton clapped his hands. “Oh, earlier? Was I not supposed to do that? I’m sorry but we’ve been dating for a couple months now and I-”

   “Stop with the puns- wait… dating?” Patton nodded. Janus thought back in his memory, thinking back to any moment he agreed to date his nemesis. It would’ve been. He suddenly remembered the start of the rivalry. Patton asked him to… go… out… “Oh.” OH.

   “Janus?” He sunk down the floor hiding his face in his hands. “You okay, bud?”

   Patton knelt down into a squat next to Janus, who mumbled into his gloves. “I think I… need to stew in my own emotions and regrets for a moment.”

   “Don’t you mean… ‘brew’ in your own emotions?” When Janus didn’t respond, Patton sighed quietly and stood back up. “Okay, bud. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I’ll leave you to that.”

   “Actually-” Janus grabbed Patton’s hand. When Patton looked at him, he blushed and looked away. Patton gave a soft smile that Janus didn’t see. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind some company to spend it with. If you want! I, uh, be-leaf that we have something to work out together. But for now… want to just be here for a moment?”

   Patton slid down the counter, still holding Janus’s hand as he joined him on the floor of the kitchen. They didn’t talk for the first few minutes as Janus was mentally beating himself up over it. But eventually they started talking. Patton was more endeared than offended by the one sided rivalry. Janus even laughed a little as Patton described his side of the story. In the end, the tea was forgotten on the counter. Janus decided that a romantic partner would be nicer than a rival. Well, if the second kiss said anything about that.

-

   Roman walked into the kitchen, looking behind him with more interest “Hey, Patton I noticed there were some cookies left on the table and I was wondering if I could have-” He saw Patton asleep on Janus’s shoulder. “OH MY I’M SORRY FOR WALKING IN ON ANYTHING BYE.” He walked out quickly, passing by Logan along the way.

   “Why did you augment your volume-” Roman grabbed Logan’s arm and walked them out of the dining room. “Roman, Roman stop ignoring me what’s happening-”

Taglist: @theeeami @made-of-love-and-loneliness @yourfellowsmolgay

[deceitfullyanxioussss]

Must Have Been the Wind

Hey guys! I kinda already posted this on my ao3 a few months ago and just realized I forgot to post it here as well so like, here you go I guess lmao

Summary: Remus goes back to his apartment and wants a nap after a bad day at work. Instead, he finds he is kept up by some very troubling sounds coming from the room above his.Remus decides he wants to help this stranger.

Song fic! Must Have Been the Wind - Alec Benjamin

CW: Cursing, and uh, Remus being Remus ig? Oh, and minor homophobic character (Lemme know if I need to add more)

Proof-read by @queroze, thank you again, even though this was a while ago lol

Remus let out a huff of breath, feeling his tense muscles relax as he practically melded into the couch. The plan was for him to catch a nice nap after his exhausting day at work.

   He was a barista at a coffee shop, which usually wasn’t too bad. He liked his job. Often, he even found it relaxing.

   However, there can be days that are just the exact opposite of relaxing.

   It seemed as though every customer he came across that day woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Oh, and don’t even get him started on the Karens. The Karens were nearly impossible to deal with.

   A frown slipped on his face, recounting the worst part of his day. There was a very verbal homophobe who came in today.

   Remus was very openly gay and always wore a pride pin on his apron next to his name. He had the unfortunate luck of having to take, and make his order. He probably had to stand there for a full 5 minutes, just listening to his lecture about how wrong gay sex is. Remus was able to shut him up by reminding him of the line behind him.

   It didn’t end there though.

   A lesbian couple walked in not long later, hand in hand. It didn’t take long for it to catch the attention of this man, who immediately jumped at the chance to pull another 500 slide PowerPoint out of his ass.

   The rest of his co-workers decided that he had to be ushered out of the shop. Nothing about getting him to leave was easy though, not in the slightest. He went out yelling and cursing the whole way.

    The two girls were very lovely though, they had a nice conversation about the upcoming pride event, and he was more than happy to give them both free refills on him.

    So he guessed the day wasn’t all bad, but it still seemed to drag him out as if he was dough under a roller, crunching off of his bones into powder and flattening all his veins against his skin.

     Yes, a nap seems like a good idea.

     Remus’s eyes fluttered closed, fatigue quickly overtaking his body.

   Just then, a sharp, yet muffled noise cut through the serenity of silence.

   Some barely-conscious part of his mind gained interest in this sound.

   What was that? It kind of sounded like glass.  It had murmured through its TV static atmosphere.

   The rest of his mind, nearly completely asleep, wordlessly communicated that it was probably nothing, and he should just focus on sleeping.

   That seemed to calm his brain enough to settle down.

There was a little sliver of his mind that wasn’t quite ready to let go of the sound yet, though. It kept listening, even if undetected by the rest of the brain. It seemed right to do so, as muffled sounds of yelling and sobbing registered through its cloudy state.

   It was then Remus blearily pried his eyelids open and sat up.

   The fuck?  Remus groaned internally, forcing his body into an acceptable sitting position. Confusion stuck onto his brain like wrinkled cling wrap as he tried to make any sense of the hazy world around him.

   A loud thud was heard from the floor above, followed by an emotionally drained cry.

   Remus grunted and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

   For maybe just a split second, his heart felt sympathy for the person, but he was just so tired. It’s not like it was his problem, right? He could just ignore it and go back to sleep.

   He flipped over on his side so his head faced the back of his sickly green couch and closed his eyes, trying his best to draw his attention away from the sounds upstairs.

   He must have laid there for a good while, trying and failing to push the sounds to the back of his head, his anxiety amping up little by little the longer the crying persisted.

   Eventually, Remus let out a loud, guttural sigh and stood up swiftly. He couldn’t just ignore them, he had to help.

   Making the decision, he walked towards his coat-rack and hastily tossed his jacket over his shoulders, bee-lining to the elevator.

   He silently curses the elevator for being so slow as he restlessly waited for the doors to push open, and when they do he wasted no time getting in and selecting floor 2.

   Remus usually enjoyed the tacky elevator music, but he found it only served to tick him off this time around. The music seemed to drag time out even slower and he was already so, so restless.

   Ding.

   With that, he stepped out and eagerly trodded down the hallways, stopping in front of the desired location. He raised a hand and knocked on the door with little hesitation, the anxious tapping of his foot echoed within the empty halls.

   Remus listened with rapt attention through the door, hearing as the person inside scrambled to make themself look even the slightest bit presentable.

   He waited impatiently, his gaze anxiously wandering around for some sort of distraction or stimulation. They landed on the grossly patterned navy blue carpet, look completed by the numerous stains that have accumulated over the years. Finding little interest there, he moved onto the walls. The dim, sparse lighting made the colour look like a shit brown. Impulsively, he reached to run his fingers along the many indents that found a home among the distasteful brown. The tactile stimulation instantly captured his focus, and he let the rough surface soothe him.

   Remus, too caught up in the stimulation, had forgotten his original purpose of being there. He startled back to reality upon hearing the soft click from the door. He immediately snapped his head back up, being met with a pair of mismatched eyes and a scarred face. This person was looking up at him with what he thought was supposed to be a confident expression. The effect was dampened by his pink-ish eyes, mussed hair, and the pastel yellow sweater he had hooked all the way up to his chin.

   Remus gave the other a small wave, just then realizing he had no game plan. Did he just… ask? Did he make small talk first? Should he invite him to his coffee shop for a drink and talk there?

   The other reciprocated the wave, smirking. “How may I help you, sir?” He asked politely

   Remus cleared his throat, deciding he should just be direct with this conversation. He was never really good at softening his approach anyway.

   “Hey, so, basically I heard something shatter and a lot of crying and yelling and I was kinda concerned about it, so I came to ask if you were ok.”

   The two men stared at each other for a few seconds before Remus spoke up again. “So, are you ok?”

   He heard the other snicker quietly, a gloved hand waving as if to dismiss the question. “Oh, my. That’s ridiculous. Your ears must be playing tricks on you, my dear.”

   Remus took notice of how he subtly buried his face deeper into the sweater.

   His attention was brought back up as the scarred man spoke again.

   “Thank you for caring, sir, it’s very kind of you, but I have some urgent work to get back to. I wish I could tell you about the noise, but I'm afraid I didn’t hear a thing.” He shook his head. “Perhaps it was merely a harsh gust of wind.” He suggested.

   Remus let out a quiet sigh, but nodded and accepted the answer.

   The two waved each other farewell as Remus trudged back to the elevator.

Remus had been laying down, back pressed hard against the cold concrete of the floor. The chill from beneath seeped in through his spine and into his chest, weighing him down heavily. He just couldn’t stop thinking about his upstairs neighbor.

   It had been hours since his last visit already, and the man upstairs was still pacing across his apartment, occasionally he would stop and silence would follow. The pacing always started back up though.

   Absent-mindedly, his hands fiddled with the necklace around his neck, running his fingers across the cool, smooth metal.

   He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he wanted to help.

   Remus knew that he didn’t have all the facts, and he didn’t really want to intrude on the man’s life. There was a possibility that nothing was wrong, and he was  just imagining things. He didn’t want to pester his neighbor with his stupid, false worries.

   But what if something is wrong?   You saw his puffy eyes. You know you heard those sounds.  His mind kept telling him.  You can’t just leave him alone, can you?

   Remus nodded to himself and for the second time that day, stood and made his way back to the other’s door. More hesitantly this time, he knocked. His raps were slow and unsure as he swayed nervously from side-to-side.

   He heard the pacing stop, and he waited, his focus on nothing but his shoes this time around. Then he heard footsteps approach the door and he looked up just as the door swung open.

   He was met with the same mismatched eyes, messy hair, and sweater. He didn't forget to take note of the new eye bags and odor he’s sporting with him though.

   “Oh, it’s you again.” the nervousness of his neighbor's voice managed to carry through despite the fabric covering his mouth.

   Remus ran a hand through his hair and looked to the side. “Yeah.” he chuckled unsurely.

   “I just- I’m still worried,” he said, smile falling. “I know you said you were fine, but… I just felt the need to check again. It’s- those sounds- they’re not leaving me alone.” he tentatively looked up into the other’s eyes. “Are- Are you sure you’re ok?”

   Remus is pretty sure he saw the scarred side of his face twitch, probably in annoyance he’s sure. He knew it was a bad idea to come back up. He was always such a bother, even to his own family. What made him think a stranger would appreciate seeing his face twice in one day?

   “Yes.” the answer cut through Remus’s thoughts and redirected his attention. “I am absolutely positive that everything’s fine.” There was a hint of irritation that Remus desperately wished he didn’t hear.

   “Once again, thank you for caring, it’s very kind. Truly. But I really do have some urgent work to get back to. I wish I could help you with the noise, but I didn’t hear a thing. In fact, I’m almost certain it was just the wind. You need to stop worrying so much over such a trivial thing.”

   Remus’s body became hot with shame as he shrunk in on himself. He nodded at the man before he sluggishly made his way back.

The following morning, he didn’t even bother with breakfast. Immediately going over to slouch on his couch, he stared back up at the ceiling. It seemed to be a new favourite hobby of his apparently.

   He had a lot of time to think about the previous night, about his last interaction with the man upstairs.

    There was no way those sounds were from his imagination. He was in a groggy state when he heard the yelling, sure, but surely the pacing wasn't something his ears made up. Surely, the messy hair and puffy eyes weren't something his eyes made up.

   His mind carefully brought up the idea of confronting him again, but he quickly winced and scrapped the idea. The irritated voice of the other causing his gut to lurch in a nauseating way.

   He was most certainly not going to be looking him in the eyes for a good while now.

   He was starting to break through the surface though, right? Maybe he should just call it quits and admit that he can't help.

   He couldn't just go back up again, he didn't think he could take the ice-cold, biting irritation again.

   Remus sat, rolling the interactions over in his head. Whoever said anything about a letter?  A lightbulb sparked, setting an explosion through his body that jolted him up from his seat with a gasp.

   "A letter! That's so simple! I don't have to face him again, and he doesn't have to feel as much pressure! I'm a fucking genius!" He yelled, pumping his fists into the air with triumphant gusto.

He rushed over to his desk, brimming with excitement as he began to write.

   In Remus's very distinct, messily scrawled printing, he began:

   Sup Mr Scarface! (I haven't even thought to ask your name yet lmao)

   Listen up nerd! I  promise  I'm not playing tricks on you when I say this

   You’re  always  welcome to come in

   You could stay here for an hour or two if you ever need a friend. We can talk about the noise when you’re ready

   But… til then I’ll say it must have been the wind.

   Yours sincerely, annoying dude from yesterday ;)

   Remus let out a long, pleased sigh as he gave it a quick once-over. He saw many mistakes, but he gave them not even a second glance before he was already out of the door.

   He was going to deliver this letter and it was going to be wonderful!

Remus shucked his jacket off and onto his coat-rack upon returning from work the following day. It had been a pretty good day today. No awful homophobes, that's for sure.

   Turning his T.V. on for background noise, he moved over to his miniature kitchen. Distantly aware of a news reporter talking about some murder, he got started on his rice and gravy.

   Perhaps 10 minutes passed by when he heard a gentle rapping on the front door.

   Remus curiously strode over and opened his door, surprised to see the man from upstairs in front of him.

   "Oh, wow. Hey there, dude! Didn't expect to actually see ya this soon!" Remus exclaims.

   "I, uh, yeah…" the scarred man shifted in place for a few moments, burying his face into his sweater. "If the, uh, offer is still open, I’d love to have someone to talk to,” he mumbled through the thick fabric.

   Remus stood and processed the words for a few seconds before grinning widely.

   "Of course! Of course! Come on in, my man! Lunch will be done in a bit if you want some!”

   The other smiled and shyly slunk into his apartment

   "I’d love that.” He said. “Thank you.”

   "Not a problem at all! My name's Remus by the way!" He excitedly extended a hand for the other to shake.

   Said man looked at his hand for a moment or two before carefully clasping his own around it.

   Even more carefully, his shy voice spilled a simple name. "...Janus."

[artificialqueens]

If You Ever Wanna Be in Love (I'll Come Around), Chapter Five (Branjie) - Athena2

Previously: Brooke and Vanessa’s night of babysitting turned into them kissing Now: They both deal with the aftermath and find themselves pulled together once again

A/N:Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback and comments you’ve been giving this fic! They really do mean a lot to me and I appreciate them all. It would be great if you could leave some on this chapter as well. Thank you so much to Writ for betaing and helping me out with this chapter, you’re the best.

“I kissed Brooke,” Vanessa blurts to A’keria. Saying it makes it real, proves it wasn’t a dream or hallucination. It really happened, and Vanessa knows it doesn’t mean anything, but her lips are still tingling.

“What the hell happened?” A’keria asks.

“We were babysitting, and her niece chanted for us to kiss and…yeah.” Shit, it sounds lame like that. But on that rug, with the sunset illuminating every inch of Brooke’s face, her cheeks glowing, it was almost…magical. Almost real. It’s not, though. It barely lasted five seconds. Vanessa kissed her abuela longer than that as a kid, scrubbing sticky lipstick off her cheek after.

“Damn. One six-year-old is all it took.” A’keria mutters.

Vanessa swats at her. “Hey! She was loud enough for the whole building to hear, okay? We had to!”

A’keria rolls her eyes. “Yeah, she really forced you. Who would win, two adult clowns or a first-grader? Not you, apparently.”

“You calling me a clown?”

“You and Brooke. Might as well open up a circus.”

Vanessa groans. “It was just so the kids would quiet down. She’s gonna be my fake wife at the carnival to shut Paul up some more, and that’s it.”

But does Vanessa want that to be it? That can be the end of the fake-wives-and-girlfriends thing, but Vanessa knows she doesn’t want it to be the end of their friendship. She can’t lose Brooke in her life, laughing at work stories and sending each other selfies, someone who just gets her, who didn’t ask her to change anything.

They were thrown right into the fire at first, forced to act married. But things have slowed since then, the intense blaze now a cozy fireplace warmth, with more of Brooke unraveling before Vanessa’s eyes. How sweet she was around her family. How she sends Vanessa pictures of dogs she sees. How excited she was after realizing she made mac and cheese. And the kiss–but Vanessa’s not thinking about that.

“If you say so.”

“We’re friends. Not every relationship has to be romantic.”

“No, they don’t,” A’keria agrees. “But if your feelings for her go beyond friendship, I don’t think you should deny that.”

Vanessa shrugs. She’ll deal with that when–and if–she has to.

—

“Hytes!”

The men on the museum board favor last names for address and Brooke can’t argue without being called whiny. She snaps her head up, trying to focus. Her brain is a slow computer with too many tabs open, pinging between guests and her speech and kissing Vanessa—

“Yes, Greg?”

Ugh. Greg. He hadn’t believed Brooke was department head the first time they met, had called the museum director to accuse her of lying. The resulting pride that erupted in her after Greg found out that Brooke is, in fact, department head, had left a stream of tension between them at every board meeting.

“Check with the guests for the T-Rex opening again. Some are major donors, so we need them.”

Brooke nods wearily. So much of the museum came down to donors, and she knows it’s important, but she wishes this entire exhibit opening didn’t have to fall on her. But her shoulders are more than strong enough to carry it.

“Unfortunately, with the expenses of the T-Rex,” Greg continues, “Your department might face cuts if this doesn’t go well.”

The words slice at Brooke’s stomach. “Cuts?” she demands. “But funding got cut last year–”

“Then you’ll just have to do well, won’t you?”

Brooke nods. She could punch Greg, but she has to channel that energy into this exhibit instead. She can’t face more budget cuts. She cried after letting Ariel the intern go last year, and she won’t lose Plastique this year. Cuts would also mean less events and kids programs. How many kids like her come through those doors and gain a new passion for paleontology? How many find a safe space, or realize they’re not alone? How many dream of ages past as they walk through the rooms?

Brooke won’t let them down.

All she wants is to text Vanessa after, to rant with someone who knows that higher-up board-member nonsense. Vanessa said that one racist library board member told her ‘someone like her’ didn’t even belong in a library, and Brooke just wanted to hold Vanessa and comfort her. Now, selfish as it is, she wants Vanessa, because somehow Vanessa has come to mean comfort to Brooke. She writes a text asking Vanessa for coffee and freezes.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke’s problems weighing her down. She knows how caring and empathetic Vanessa is, how she takes on the feelings of others, hurts when her friends are and sad when a kid at the library cries. Makes it her mission to cheer them all up. Brooke loves it about her, but she can see Vanessa caring too much and getting stressed, and she won’t let Vanessa do that. They’re friends, and they share things, but this seems too big, something Brooke wouldn’t want anyone to carry with her. She won’t hurt Vanessa with it.

She deletes the text.

—

Vanessa hovers outside Brooke’s office. Something’s up with Brooke. Her replies have been short and half-hearted all week, and though it could be nothing, and she knows she has no right to expect essay-length texts from Brooke, she knows in her gut something’s wrong.

Vanessa finally knocks, and the Brooke that greets her isn’t unlike normal Brooke. But Vanessa looks closer, for things she would have missed before but are obvious to her now. Brooke’s eyes are dull, rimmed with dark circles. Her hair is messier than normal, like she’s been tearing her hands through it. And then she sees Brooke’s hands, usually so sturdy and clever and quick. They’re trembling a little, just enough for Vanessa to see. She has to restrain herself from grabbing those hands, running her thumb over the smooth skin until Brooke is calm.

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She can see the wheels spinning in Brooke’s mind, the worry in her eyes. She’s seen Brooke nervous before, but this is different. This is tense and stressed Brooke, trying and failing to keep her professional put-togetherness, and it hurts Vanessa’s heart. Vanessa puts her hands on her hips, daring Brooke to lie again.

Brooke sighs. “It’s the exhibit. I need to make sure all the donors are coming, and if there’s not a good turnout my department might lose funding, so everything…everything has to be perfect.” She takes a deep breath, and Vanessa wonders how long she’s been holding that in, letting it poison her.

“Perfect’s a lot to ask,” she says softly.

“I can do it. It has to be,” Brooke says simply, and Vanessa wonders how many times perfection’s been asked of her before, how many times she’s worked herself into the ground to deliver it.

“Who said? That asshole Greg?” She’s heard enough from Brooke to know Greg is not someone she wants to meet.

Brooke nods weakly, and all Vanessa wants is to smooth that wrinkle between her eyebrows.

“Can I help with anything?”

“I don’t think so. I just have to wait for replies. And finish my speech–” she grabs notecards off her desk, “–which is horrible.”

“I’ll listen to it! No arguing,” she says when Brooke protests. “Read it.”

Brooke does, talking about how great it was to bring the skull here and the importance of museums. It’s a good speech, one that’ll have rich people opening their checkbooks. But something’s missing–that breathless, childlike passion Brooke has when she talks about dinosaurs, the excited inner child that comes through in her smile. Brooke is going for cool and professional, and it’s good, but it’s not her. At least, not the Brooke Vanessa knows.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Vanessa says gently, “But can you make it less formal? A little more fun, more like you?”

“That’s how I had it the first time,” Brooke admits. “I just–”

“You wanted it to be perfect,” Vanessa finishes. “But it’s perfect when it’s like you too, you know.”

Brooke smiles, and Vanessa knows she’s gotten through to her. “Thank you, Ness.”

Vanessa wrinkles her nose. “Ness?”

“That’s what Sophie calls you. I kinda like it.”

“Okay, Brookie.”

Brooke swats at her playfully, and Vanessa drops into Brooke’s desk chair. Her desk is neat, of course, littered with tiny dinosaur figures and pens in a C-3PO mug. She smiles at pictures of Brooke on fossil digs, in graduation robes, giving presentations.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, dino expert.” Vanessa shoots a horrible imitation of Brooke into her desk phone.

“I don’t sound like that!”

“Sure you do.”

“‘Sure you do,’” Brooke mimics in a raspy voice that Vanessa admits is accurate. She could sit here all day, but lunch is almost over.

“I gotta go, but take a break,” Vanessa orders. “I know you’re working too hard.”

Brooke nods, and her smile loops in Vanessa’s head all day.

—

Brooke types the last sentence of her speech, sitting back in awe. Her speech for the opening of a special exhibit, a childhood dream come true. It hadn’t been easy to get here. There were the doubtful years of college when Brooke learned paleontology was a lot more than digging up bones, when professors–usually male–approached her in lectures and asked if she had the right room, maybe you’re looking for the teaching department, sweetie? There was the struggle of needing a perfect application for one of only a few internships, the job prospects that made her toss and turn at night, wondering if she should go the teaching route, suck it up and teach earth science to bored college kids needing an elective. And then those first bones shone through the dirt, glittering under the Montana sun, and Brooke had known that this was all she ever wanted.

She reaches for her phone to tell Vanessa. It’s strange—Brooke never would’ve thought of sharing this with anyone, would’ve just kept it to herself. Another day at work. But she’s done it, and all she wants is for Vanessa to know, to share it with her. Lately she’s sharing more and more with Vanessa, from funny memes or restaurant recommendations to the book of Mary Oliver poems she’s going to give Vanessa as a thank you for helping with the speech. She loves when Vanessa sends stuff back, selfies of her in a witch hat, or pictures of crafts she’s done. The fact that Vanessa did something like tiny She-Ra swords and thought of Brooke, wants her to experience it too, makes Brooke warm and fuzzy inside.

There’s a missed call from her mom, and Brooke calls her back first, trying to calm her heart. There’s no reason to think anything bad happened, she reminds herself.

“Mom?” Brooke asks hesitantly.

“Brooke!” She’s too cheerful to report bad news, and Brooke relaxes. “Your dad and I were wondering if you and Vanessa want to come for dinner some time?”

Shit. “Um–”

“We’d love to see her again.”

“I’d have to check.”

It’s not fair to ask Vanessa again. The agreement was one work dinner and one family party, but they’ve strayed so far from that Brooke doesn’t know where they stand anymore. Brooke planned to say they broke up if her mom asked. She never thought her parents would like Vanessa so much. But she should have expected it, because who doesn’t love Vanessa seconds after meeting her?

“Well, I hope so.” Her mother’s voice is so loving that Brooke’s guilt burns hotter. “Vanessa’s such a good fit for you. You’re so happy around her.”

It’s not real! Brooke wants to yell, and she almost tells her mom the truth. But that would crush her, crush the person who always wanted Brooke to be happy. The person who brought her to the park and coaxed her to join the other kids, even though Brooke was too nervous to ask for her turn on the monkey bars and sat under the slide instead, dreaming of worlds where she wasn’t told to come out of her shell. Who brought her to museums and science camps and encouraged her to keep going in college. Who tried to find women for Brooke to date after she came out, wanting her to have someone she could be happy with.

How could she disappoint her mom like that?

She swallows the lump in her throat. “I-I’ll check, Mom, okay?”

“Okay, honey. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Brooke sighs, shrugging out the tension in her shoulders. She needs the big guns for this one.

—

“I don’t know what to do, Nina.” Brooke burrows herself deeper into Nina’s couch and takes another sip of wine. “Everything’s a mess.”

Nina occupies the couch’s other end, just like their college days, giggling on a cramped twin bed. Brooke wishes they were back in that freezing cinder-block room, where her biggest concerns were finding edible dining hall food and finishing homework and herding drunk Nina, who just wanted to re-enact every Disney movie ever, into bed. Not the absolute disaster things have become. One little lie. One little lie to stop endless questions about dating, the well-meant hopes that she’ll find the one. Now, the lie is a skyscraper about to collapse in front of her, and all she has to mend it is duct tape.

What was she thinking, agreeing to this? One smile from Vanessa and she was gone, fake ring on her finger and knees touching on her parents’ couch like teenagers, watching movies and bringing coffee and texting nonstop. Now she has to break her mom’s heart and tell her they broke up, or do the act all over, pretend to be in love again, and then what? They keep doing this for the rest of their lives?

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Nina says finally. “You said Vanessa liked your parents, so why not ask her?”

“Because where does it end? We do this again, my mom loves Vanessa more, she keeps asking to see her. I’m supposed to ask Vanessa to do this for every birthday and holiday and whatever? Next thing you know we’re spending Christmas there–”

“Brooke.”

“–And my mom loves weddings. There hasn’t been one since my sister’s so she’ll start asking about that–”

“Brooke.”

“–Then we’ll have a fake wedding, and what if she starts asking about kids? Oh my God, I’m gonna have to kidnap a child and they’ll make a Lifetime movie about me—“

“Brooke! Breathe, okay?”

Brooke realizes how fast the words are tumbling out, how little she’s breathing. She forces a deep breath, willing her lungs to accept the air. Nina pats her shoulder gently, and Brooke nods that she’s okay.

“I think you should just ask Vanessa,“ Nina continues. “There’s plenty of time to figure things out after. You can tell your mom you broke up later.”

“But it’s not fair to keep asking Vanessa. And the longer this goes on, the more it’ll crush my mom when it’s over. It’s easier to end it now, before she really gets attached to Vanessa.”

It’s not just her mom, Brooke realizes. The more they do this, the closer Brooke gets with Vanessa, and the more it will hurt when it ends. Vanessa has become one of her favorite people, and she can’t lose their friendship. What if asking Vanessa to do this again ruins it?

“Honey, I get that. Vanessa did ask you to the carnival though, so maybe she won’t mind going to your parents’ again? It’s one more event each way, so it’s not totally unfair.”

Brooke shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Don’t forget yourself either,” Nina says. It’s familiar, something’s Brooke’s heard since they were eighteen and Nina made sure sleeping and eating didn’t get sacrificed to Brooke’s studying. “You can’t keep fake dating just to please people.”

Brooke nods. “You’re right, Nina. How’d you get so smart?”

“Just born that way, I guess.” Nina sips wine with a smug smile. “And I want a lead role in the Lifetime movie.”

—

The carnival grows closer, and preparation is in full swing. There’s a running tally, currently at seven, of how many game booths Yvie’s told off on the phone for not following safety rules. There’s the list of food trucks Vanessa and Silky assembled from their personal rankings, plus a new Greek one Brooke told her about. There’s Nina and A’keria’s practice sheets of face paint designs, from fierce tigers to questionable butterflies.

Aside from the kids, this is what Vanessa likes best about her job–having different activities to do, things that let her be creative and not have to sit still at a desk like she did in school, or spend hours refolding the same shirts like when she did retail. She can run outside to test paper airplanes for a craft, or arrange displays, or help kids with homework, and maybe that’s why she never wanted another job. What other job would let her have this much fun?

The added bonus is that it distracts her from Brooke and dinner with her parents. She shouldn’t need distracting from Brooke, but try telling her brain that after seeing Brooke in a fire-engine red skirt the other day, the fabric wrapped around her legs like a second skin. Not to mention the fact that she kissed Brooke pops into her head at random moments, and she can still feel those soft lips against hers.

Is there something more to her feelings? But they’ve been faking a relationship, and that’s bound to rub off. How many movie co-stars got together after playing love interests? Not that she and Brooke are exactly movie stars, but hey, their performance was convincing. Sure, she talks on the phone with Brooke for hours at night, just like high school minus the tether of the phone cord, and brought her cookies once, but those don’t have to be romantic. The speeding up of her heart around Brooke, the way she’s drawn close to her like a magnet, how her eyes can’t leave Brooke when they’re together, aren’t anything either.

So having dinner with Brooke’s parents again shouldn’t be a big deal. If this were a real relationship, a second parent meeting would be much more serious, requiring Vanessa to wear her best dress and bring fancy wine. But they’ve already passed the test, and it’s just dinner. Brooke is nervous, she knows, never planned things to get this far and felt awful for asking, but Vanessa gets it. If the situation was reversed, she doubts she could crush her mom, always on lookout for girls Vanessa can date, like that either.

And she did ask Brooke to the carnival, which wasn’t part of the agreement. Another dinner isn’t unfair. One more dinner, and Brooke will end things on her side, and Vanessa will go back to saying her wife is sick when parties come up. Vanessa hates to think of Brooke’s parents being upset they broke up, but she can do it.

A’keria’s wrong. She’s not in love with Brooke.

At least, she doesn’t think so.

—

Dinner is just them and Brooke’s parents, and Vanessa lets herself go. They want to know more about her, and she tells stories of summers at the beach as a kid, sand clinging to her legs as she built sand castles with her mom, how she and brother splashed for hours, how her dad hoisted her on his shoulders to watch the nightly fireworks. She talks about her college roommate Shea–they kissed once, incidentally, but Vanessa leaves that out–and how they threw a party on the dorm roof. She talks about the time she, Silky, and A’keria misread the recipe and made 30 pancakes instead of 15 and passed them around the apartment building.

Everyone laughs, and it’s hard not to love this, not to want this. A girlfriend like Brooke with her nice family, who reminds Vanessa of her own family even if they’re nowhere near as chaotic. Talking about memories must spur something in Brooke’s mom, because after dessert she pulls them in the living room and whips out a photo album.

“Here’s Brooke as a baby,” Brooke’s mom says, and Vanessa melts, her heart damn near exploding at baby Brooke, wrapped snugly in a white blanket patterned with pink hearts. Her hair is lighter than it is now, almost white-blonde, but her smile is exactly the same. Her eyes are wide and shining with joy.

“Here she is in kindergarten.”

There’s five-year-old Brooke outside a red brick building with a huge grin on her face, modeling a pink tutu, in a blue dress at graduation.

“And here’s Brooke in middle school—“

“Mom, I’m begging you,” Brooke groans, but the page flips to a picture of teenage Brooke whose reluctant smile reveals wire-covered teeth.

Brooke buries her face in her hands, and Vanessa gently pulls them away.

“Hey, everyone looked horrible in middle school,” Vanessa soothes. “I bleached part of my hair once and looked like Cruella DeVil.”

Brooke brightens. “You owe me a picture of that.”

“Fine.”

The pages turn, and Vanessa doesn’t notice how late it’s gotten, doesn’t notice anything until thunder tears through the sky, bringing pounding rain with it. Everyone jumps, and the reality that they have a half-hour drive in pouring rain and darkness hits, making Vanessa squeeze herself.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” Brooke says. “Wanna go, Ness?”

If Vanessa could focus, she’d notice her face flushing over the nickname. But she can’t, because she very much does not want to go out into that storm.

“Maybe we can wait it out?” Vanessa suggests, and Brooke nods.

It’s still going strong half an hour later, and Vanessa’s jumpy, rubbing sweaty hands on her legs.

“I don’t think it’s gonna let up,” Brooke’s mom says in worry. “I’d hate for you to drive in this dark anyway. Maybe you should stay here for the night.”

Vanessa turns to Brooke, who’s biting her lip. Vanessa knows Brooke doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable staying here, but Vanessa would much rather be in this cozy house than driving in that storm. Brooke gives a nod that lets Vanessa know it’s her call.

“I think we should stay, Brooke,” Vanessa says quickly. “There’s no point driving in this or waiting for it to stop and driving home at midnight or something.” She appeals to reason, not wanting her fear to show.

Brooke agrees, her gaze softening as she takes in Vanessa. Vanessa suddenly realizes she’s folded up into herself, alert for the next crash of thunder.

Brooke’s mom smiles. “I’ll get the guest bed ready…” She heads down the hall and Brooke turns to Vanessa, eyes soft and tender.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Brooke asks. “I don’t want you to think you have to.”

“I want to,” Vanessa insists.

Thunder rumbles and Vanessa jumps, curling into Brooke’s side on instinct. Brooke seems shocked at first, but softens into the touch.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Brooke says softly. She lowers a tentative arm around Vanessa and her muscles unclench. “We’re safe in here.”

“Sorry,” Vanessa whispers. “I know it’s just a storm—“

“Don’t worry. Everyone’s afraid of something,” Brooke soothes. “I’m really afraid of flying. Small spaces too.”

Vanessa nods shakily. It’s so embarrassing to be scared of thunderstorms as an adult. No one judged her as a kid in her blanket nest, snuggling stuffed animals to protect her from the rain lashing at the windows. Even her brother would stop teasing and let her hold his favorite Batman action figure. Her mom would bring her hot chocolate and comfort her, and Vanessa shouldn’t need comfort anymore. But Brooke is offering it, holding her securely enough to fend off a storm herself, and Vanessa lets her, the safety of Brooke’s arms better than her childhood blankets.

When Brooke’s mom says the guest bed is ready, Vanessa thinks she would rather sleep in Brooke’s arms.

—

The guest bed is a cozy cloud of soft white cotton sheets, and Vanessa wants to jump right in.

Brooke grabs two pillows. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” she says, assembling a makeshift bed with the pillows and spare blankets.

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“I don’t mind. Really,” Brooke insists.

Brooke’s gaze lingers on Vanessa, and Vanessa tries to catch all the feelings that flash across Brooke’s face. Does Brooke look…hopeful? Like she wants Vanessa to resist, pull her into the bed? Or is she hoping Vanessa lets her stay on the floor so they don’t have to sleep together? Is she worried about making Vanessa uncomfortable? Is Brooke uncomfortable? Vanessa doesn’t want to make Brooke uncomfortable, doesn’t want to force anything, so she agrees, wondering if that’s sadness or something else on Brooke’s face. Vanessa slides between the sheets, and the bed feels way too big with just her in it.

“It’s weird, sleeping in my parents’ house.” Brooke’s voice rings faintly from the floor, and Vanessa moves to the edge of the bed to hear her better. It reminds her of the sleepovers she had as a kid, snuggling in her Little Mermaid sleeping bag and sharing secrets with her friends, everything more exciting when it was past their bedtimes.

“Sleeping in other places doesn’t bother me,” Vanessa says. “I stayed at my parents’ last Christmas and slept like a baby. Even better than a baby.”

“Is the bed okay?” Brooke frets. “I can–”

“It’s fine.” Vanessa pauses. It could be the sleepover memories rubbing off, but she wants to talk with Brooke, talk all night about everything and nothing, in a way she hasn’t since she was thirteen.

“What were you like in school?” she asks, eager for more of the Brooke in that photo album, of the joy in her eyes that Vanessa recognizes now sometimes.

Brooke props herself up on her elbow and peeks up at Vanessa. “Quiet, mostly. You know how some kids just walked in a room and made friends?”

“Yeah.”

Brooke sighs. “I couldn’t do that. I usually read by myself at recess, watching the other kids. I could never think of anything to say, and when I did it was either too late or I was too afraid to say it. I thought everyone would laugh at me. They usually did.”

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa breathes into the space between them.

Brooke shrugs. “It’s okay. I had some friends, but I didn’t mind being on my own. Or I got used to it, anyway. I don’t know if things would’ve been different if I wasn’t as nervous around people, y’know?”

“I get it,” Vanessa says. She would say more, but she knows it’s hard for Brooke to open up, and she doesn’t want to push her.

“What were you like?” Brooke asks.

“I was funny. I made one joke and suddenly I was the class clown. I didn’t always want to be, though,” she admits. “I was smart. I loved reading, loved learning—when I could focus, cause ADHD’s a bitch. But everyone thought I was stupid, ‘cause I was so restless. That’s why I decided to keep being funny instead. I didn’t realize there’s no reason I couldn’t be both.”

She had been friends with everyone—cheerleaders, drama kids, honors students. She had cracked jokes in class and had the charm to win over anyone. But it had been exhausting at times–sometimes she just wanted to curl up in the library and read, but there was no escaping the funny, popular kid gig, no way to try new things or change herself.

“Right,” Brooke agrees. “It’s like you were stuck in a box. Whatever people called you, that’s what you were.”

Vanessa nods, because that’s it. Brooke always gets her, and it’s a relief to have that understanding.

“God, school sucked, didn’t it?” Vanessa mutters. “At least we never have to go back.”

“Shit, yes. You couldn’t pay me to do high school again.”

They keep talking–about school, about childhood, about themselves–until Vanessa’s not even aware of the rain anymore, until there’s nothing in the world but their secrets and laughs floating through the darkness. They keep talking until Brooke’s eyes start drooping, her words growing farther and farther apart as she drifts off around 2am, and Vanessa settles and tries to do the same.

But she can’t sleep. That hole in the mattress where Brooke should be is a hole in Vanessa’s heart. Why didn’t she insist Brooke get in the bed with her? Vanessa usually sleeps well, but her best sleep is always with someone there, with warmth and safety beside her.

As a kid, she slept with her entire stuffed animal collection so no one felt left out. Through all her relationships, it was sleeping with someone that she loved the most–waking up in the night and feeling the safety of someone there, letting arms curve over her waist, the morning sun shining off her girlfriend’s face. There was such intimacy and tenderness in seeing someone sleep, seeing them so vulnerable and knowing that you loved them and would protect them. Maybe it’s better Brooke’s not next to her. Maybe it would bring up those feelings.

Vanessa peers down at Brooke. She’s curled up on her side, lips parted slightly. Vanessa’s heart beats in time with the gentle rise of Brooke’s chest. Sweet Brooke, who held her in the storm and always praised her and brought her coffee just because. Who always thinks of others first and never makes Vanessa do anything she’s uncomfortable with.

She looks at Brooke’s face, soft and untroubled and angelic in her sleep, and her heart swells, and shit, she knows that feeling. She tries to stop it, but it’s like using an umbrella for defense from a hurricane. She wants Brooke here, wants her warmth and intimacy because—

Because she’s in love with Brooke.

[lyssismagical]

All the pretty pictures in my head are faded

Whumptober Day Seven - Isolation 

Read on AO3

Peter hunches his shoulders over his body, making himself as small as he can. The smaller he is, the less noticed he’ll be, the less people will look at him.

He can feel the eyes on him as he makes his way down the school hallway. He’s been out of school for the past two weeks while he’s been unable to find a placement. They still haven’t found one, but he’s been allowed to go back to school to make sure he doesn’t fall too drastically behind everyone else.

Books heavy in his arms, Peter flushes with embarrassment. He doesn’t have much anymore. Wearing a pair of jeans that barely stay up around his thin waist and a ratty t-shirt that’s been stained too many colors that Peter didn’t bother asking what they were or where they came from.

Ned appears at his side, eyes wide with confusion.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks! Where have you been? Was there a… you know?”

“No, Ned,” Peter sighs, voice hoarse from disuse. “I can’t talk about that anymore. My suit’s gone.”

Ned’s jaw drops. “Gone? What do you mean it’s-”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Ned. Please,” Peter says, head bowed in passivity. “What class is it?”

Thankfully, Ned drops the subject and leads Peter to Chemistry, not questioning Peter’s holey shoes or smelly shirt or greasy hair. Peter’s never been more grateful for Ned’s undying loyalty and friendship.

*

Peter goes straight to bed when he gets home. He arrives exactly an hour and five minutes before the other kids in the in-between home because they all go to a school in the town on the other side of the city. Cheap but they have to make it through traffic.

His bed is uncomfortable and he shares the room with four other boys. There are another nineteen kids in the in-between home, split between six bedrooms. It’s too much for the home, they’re not supposed to be home to more than ten kids, but apparently there’s too many kids who don’t have anywhere to go.

The adults in the house are nice enough, but they’re too stressed trying to gain more funds from the government to have the money to care for the kids they have in their home.

Everything was lost in the fire.

Peter’s suit, all of Peter’s belongings, everything of May’s, everything that used to belong to Ben.

May.

Peter lost everything that day.

The only reason he was okay was because he was running out to get some groceries for May. He insisted May stayed home…

It’s his fault. So he deserves to live in small room with strangers and nothing to rely on.

He deserves anything that comes to him.

*

The other kids get home in exactly the allotted amount of time.

Peter hasn’t made any friends here yet. The majority of the kids know that friends you make in homes like these are hard to keep. Everyone’s going different places some point or another.

Everyone holds hands around the table. Not because they’re forced to pray, but there’s a few people around the table who do pray or are religious, so they include everyone as a way to make it feel more like a family, to make them feel a little less alone.

“Amen,” one of the boys at the end of the table says. All twenty-eight of them, including the caretakers, struggle to fit around the dining room table, but they make it work, sitting elbow to elbow, knee to knee.

A few of the people around the table echo their own versions of amen back to him, but otherwise, the dining room is quiet, not a single noise out of place.

*

Peter’s never been very good with names and being in an in-between home means he has twenty-three people he’s supposed to consider friends or ‘short-term sibling.’

He doesn’t even know the name of the boy sleeping on the bunk above his. It’s not as though he doesn’t care about them specifically, he just doesn’t care about much at all.

“You up, New Kid?” a voice whispers.

“Yeah,” Peter says hoarsely. He doesn’t speak much anymore.

“Welcome to The Unwanted.”

*

“We’re just here to help, Peter.”

The stupid lady has a fake smile plastered on her face, red-painted lips curved up but not moving past her mouth.

Luckily, Grace is sitting next to her, rolling her eyes along with Peter. She’s one of the workers at the in-between house. One of the most understanding out of the group of six workers.

“I don’t need help,” Peter replies. It’s not the right answer, of course, he needs help. But he doesn’t deserve help.

“Peter,” Grace murmurs warningly.

“You’ve lost a lot, honey, I understand it can be-”

“What do you understand about any of this?” Peter demands, anger flaring inside his chest. He ignores Grace’s warning look and the lady’s pen moving across the page, probably writing some bullshit about his ‘anger issues’ or something.

“I’m going to have to ask you to take a breath, honey-”

“Stop!” Peter shouts, voice breaking as he stands up abruptly. “Stop it! I’m not going to fucking calm down! You have no idea what I’ve been through, okay? So stop pretending like your fancy degree is going to help you understand anything!”

Grace stands up, sadness in her eyes and disappointment curving her mouth down. “Peter, if you don’t apologize, you’ll have to be punished.”

He slams his phone down on the desk, barely even wincing when he hears a crack, super strength forgotten.

“Fine, do you think I give a fuck? Take my phone, take my things, take whatever you want. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care!”

Grace’s hand is cold on his elbow. She knows he won’t be violent towards her, they say he’s the most passive person they’ve ever had in their short-term home.

“C’mon, Peter, let it go,” she says. She doesn’t sound angry, just disappointed. Peter’s not surprised, it’s been two weeks and he’s refused to speak about anything. “Let’s go back to your room.”

“I wanna go home!” he shouts, pulling his arm away from her hand as tears fill his eyes and distort the room. “I just wanna go home.”

His anger disappears too suddenly, like the plug’s been pulled, and he’s left with emptiness. A May-sized gap in his chest. His knees buckle and Grace barely has the time to catch him and lower him to the chair.

Grace doesn’t say anything as the dam breaks and Peter begins to cry, hiding his face in his hands, simply keeps a hand on his back and the other on his arm, and lets him cry.

*

Peter wanders the streets of New York.

His body feels empty like a cavern, but like there are weights tied to his ankles.

The world around him is static.

One foot after the next.

He stops when he reaches a set of revolving glass doors. Looking up, he finds he reached Stark towers in his dazed movements. He supposes he’s just trying to find anything familiar. The only thing he’s got right now is Ned, but he shattered his phone and he’s been suspended ever since he broke Flash’s nose when he said something about May.

“Peter?” A woman gasps.

He turns slowly, the colors of the world greying and blurred, drained of the light it used to have. Pepper’s standing on the sidewalk, a tray of coffees balanced in one hand and her phone in the other. She’s probably just coming back from the meetings she had in Long Island, Peter saw it on the news in the short-term home.

Peter doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

Pocketing her phone, Pepper steers Peter by the shoulders into the building and onto the elevator.

“FRI, alert Tony. Tell him to meet us up there.” Pepper’s voice sounds like she’s underwater.

The next thing Peter knows, he’s sitting on a plush couch, a blanket pulled tight around his shoulders, a mug in his hand. He can’t remember the walk from the elevator to the couch or where Pepper went or when he got the mug, but it doesn’t seem too important.

Not when he sees Tony, socked feet against the hardwood, a pair of loose sweatpants, an oily t-shirt, mussed hair.

“Peter,” Tony breathes.

Suddenly, he’s being engulfed in a warm embrace and he can’t help but sink into the hug, having been desperate for something like this for a very, very long time.

His brain is elsewhere though. “Not supposed to be out late.”

“Yeah, I know, kid, your curfew was hours ago. What-”

“Not curfew.” Peter makes his eyes focus on Tony’s warm brown ones, only a few feet away from him. “May’s gone. Grace can’t make rules.”

“What?” Tony says. His eyebrows are furrowed, deeper wrinkles in his forehead when he makes that face. “What happened, kid? You’ve been totally MIA for two weeks. No activity, no texts, no calls, I thought you’d been kidnapped.”

Peter takes a long breath. He’s too far gone to feel anything when he explains.

“May’s gone. Dead gone,” he says. Grief is routine. “Couldn’t save her. Halfway home.”

Tony sucks in a sharp breath, moving too fast for Peter’s molasses brain as he begins pacing the room.

“What do you mean? Jesus, kid, what the hell?”

Pepper appears out of the blue, a sympathetic expression plastered on her face. Peter’s starting to miss Grace.

“Is there anything you need, honey?”

Peter’s sick of being called honey.

“I’m okay,” Peter says. He plasters on one of their fake smiles, daring anyone to call out the lies. “Should be back there.”

Static.

He can see Tony’s mouth moving, room blurring around him as he struggles to focus, but none of the words compute. All of them lost in the vastness of his mind.

“-sleep,” Pepper’s saying to Tony. “No good now.”

And Tony’s nodding and then his hands are on Peter’s shoulders and he’s being pushed gently horizontal on the couch, a pillow under his head and blankets under his chin. Tony keeps his hands on him, running through his hair or rubbing soothing circles into Peter’s back or smoothing his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone.

*

When he wakes up, things aren’t any better by a long shot.

But he has Tony.

Hope blossoms in the May-shaped hole in his chest.

Maybe he doesn't have to be temporary or isolated or filled with static. Maybe, just maybe, he deserves help and permanence.

[taendrils]

the heartbeat challenge | 1

― ❝things never work in your favour when you run out of fucks to give, and right when you do heaven seems to throw the seed of evil right into your arms, or more precisely on the corridor to your college dorm. you swore an oath to hate the XY population, blood and pinkies and everything- but namjoon, the shy brunet helping you with your sister’s wedding has always been a man of science- and he seems to love testing just how much he can make you tick.❞

• pairing: namjoon/female reader  • genre: fluff, comedy, a college rom-com, semi-wedding planner a.u • warnings: slow burn, swearing, mentions of sexism and unhealthy dynamics in literature • wordcount: 16k words

a/n: this fic contains satire interpretation of a ‘man-hating’ oc. oh and a very cute namjoon. also this is my longest fic/series thing up to date. cheers and let’s enjoy.

“And a toast to the young couple!”

The people sprawled across the joined tables cheered, the sound of champagne glasses clinking and the sound of friends laughing in delight pleasant to your ears. Few things in life could beat the sensation of hearing nothing but sounds of happiness around, and you took it all in–letting your head fall back and closing your eyes, barely keeping yourself from raising your arms in the air. Between the winter midterms and the inter-semestrial break filled with nothing but volunteer work where you’d encounter children screaming on schedule and coming home to find your love interest–a.k.a the latest lesson chapters all spread out on the kitchen table–at last, you could say that you felt relaxed. One moment ready for the history books where this sort of happiness surrounded you, and one you deserved for sure.

Maybe you deserved it because the earrings you had been wearing for the past five hours insisted on pulling your entire earlobe off or at least fight for their custody, and some part of your knee still stung as a reminder to never rush with blades on your legs again. Especially at eight in the morning when a hyper Yuna who resembled the children you interacted with more than enough swayed into your room like a fairy of adult representatives–clipboard in hand and face lacking any concern. She resembled her corporate supervisors down to the hem of her tailored coat, ready to check every item that met the standards from her list and glare at anything else that didn’t. For her, it sounded like the perfect plan.

For you? Not so much.

She started out with your room, sending daggers to the dust on your nightstand before shifting her eyes to you. Or what was supposed to be you, hidden between three pairs of pants and a nest of messy hair, suitcase left open in the carpet’s middle and the rest of the clothes thrown out at random. A fallen soldier with hopes as high as the sky, but nowhere near ready to get struck with by the chains of femininity and requirement to socialize.

You know, like she didn’t tell you about her engagement party a whopping two days ago, as you were in combat to recover the countless days of sleep that you lost this semester in like, eight hours.

At first, living a quarter of your life with sleep deprivation, you thought you were imagining things, or you made unintentional contact with the spirit world in your attempts at meditation and regaining the self you lost as the years of education progressed. But no, here she was, diamond sparkling in artificial light like a laser pointed towards a jail sentence, focused on you. You didn’t dare to open your eyes, fear tap dancing as it travelled in slow motions across your spine at the chance that said light could hit you right in the pupil.

Spineless as you were, you allowed her to drag you along to whatever beauty rituals were going on in the household, passing a tray of cookies that you could blame on Minho’s choices for sure. Maybe the date too, with his impatience and competitive streak coming together to create the best party in the shortest time. To be honest, you had no idea about any of their whereabouts.  And hours later, between passive-aggressive calls, Hyoyeon arguing with staff as she watched last night’s MMA match, and a bright-eyed Minho swatching tissues to figure out the best colour coordination, you found yourself at a much bigger location, with everything that you dreaded next to you.

Namely, men.

Sure, you enjoyed making people happy and an enjoying an easygoing atmosphere; you were a firm believer (or someone who strived to be) in a life without worries, and thus every moment spent smiling brought you a hair closer to your goal. But men were... well. You’d leave that for them to explain.

Now, confronting the statement, people might think that you suffered from an attention-starving syndrome. Did you? Perhaps. The possibility was out there, far away, like your toleration for the male sex, but a self-grasp told you that your hate did not arise out of being ignored. Not that you were Miss Popularity ever or had friends more than you could count on your toes all high school. One could say, you did well enough to float in the middle of the spectrum–you were not demonized for not appealing to them, but neither did you get a confession or even guys from your parallel classes sliding into your Facebook messages using the classic ‘sup’. Oh, the tragedy of missing so much in life.

In fact, if you take time to think about it, that’s been your signature in most of your endeavours. Existing in the middle of any crowd. From a family standpoint, you weren’t able to shine like your sisters–Yuna being a signed model, recognised for her kindness and charming personality and Hyoyeon resembling the movie-version of a female badass–a no-nonsense boxing trainer. Each of them challenged the norms in their own way, subverting femininity or straight up refusing to conform to it and then... there was you.

That Feminist. Loud and a little annoying. Struggling with both.

The fact that they had settled and formed their own lives and routines while you skated on dry land through college didn’t help either. When you hung out with them, the reminder made you cower a little, fold yourself back into the shell you developed in your younger years from the lack of stability you experienced. You heard a lot about their boyfriends too– fiance and boyfriend, and from what you collected Minho seemed nice enough for a model, not to mention Hyoyeon’s doctor boyfriend, and you learnt to put up with them. Somehow.

However, you weren’t familiar with the faces to your right at the linear table, making it impossible to prevent having your mouth glued shut the entire time the photographer told each of you to smile and blinding you with the lights. Because here was the thing.

You had a blank face. A resting bitch face, like some said, or a woman not smiling face, as you liked to call it. You wanted to express your excitement, you really did, but the thought that your sister would soon be trapped close to forever in a relationship that could only be broken off if she gave her car, or worse–her TV screen held onto the corners of your mouth just like those damn earrings. Hence why, instead of expressing unfiltered joy over Yuna’s engagement, this time official, ring and fancy place rented, you looked like the personification of a rocking chair. Giving occasional nods as if you absorbed all information regarding next week’s weather.

Shame on them for dolling you up like this, hair parted, pretty braids tight on your scalp and orange dress making you look like a fairy. A fairy protecting the pumpkins and other agricultural crops, puffy sleeves moving like waves with your every movement and pleated fabric brushing over smooth thighs. Thighs you gave your blood, sweat and tears to.

Did you deserve to sit next to a man, all beautiful like this? What wrong have you done?

Since you were a child, you gained knowledge about the prices one had to pay to achieve happiness, and to restore the balance, with the peaceful music in the background and smiles in harmony to match it to your left, red wine you had been eyeing all evening on the other side, came the existence of the man. A tall gentleman with hair gel that spread to his brain, and whose arms were too big to stay by his sides, hence why he was taking up all the space on the table and separating you from your one true love. What was left to do, you pouted, interact with him and get into a potential discussion of how you can correct flabby arms, or risk your joints by stretching all across the table so you’d snatch the other one?

Not in the mood for a gym discussion in a trying time, you got up and used the remaining flexibility skills you had to bend across three welcoming faces. The liquid was so close now, its proximity tempting you and charming you into a trance. You wanted to experience this intimate moment, and to assure no one would pay attention to it– having you adverting your eyes to the table parallel to yours... making contact with your greatest enemies.

Your sister, with Minho and his mother who lit up at the sight of you. “Here she is, our youngest!”

She was a nice woman, short perm smoothing over the ends of her cheekbones. A figure that stood up to her son’s forearm, gentle and caring. As a general rule, you loved being in her presence, but you were already sensing the wrinkles forming as your eyes almost screwed shut with how hard you tried to raise the corners of your mouth. Not like you minded one bit, only one part of you wishing to avoid witnessing the impending disaster of interacting with her at social events.

Getting back into a normal position, you let your hand drop off the bottle, fingers longing for the coldness and bowed right as she averted her gaze to the chair you had been sitting on, then to the unknown guest. “And this must be your date?”

Your eyes widened, reaching to touch her only to have your hands freeze midway. “Oh, no, no way–I don’t have a date.”

“How come? Look at you, you’ve filled out so well,” she smiled as she squeezed the extra weight on your hips. To admit, the praise added a few points to your self-esteem meter, but it was no match to the aggravation you experienced in her presence because she had to ask about the other set of chromosomes at each meeting. It was part of the old lady gossip: asking about graduation, when you will get a job, oh and also if you’re not married by twenty-two when are you picking up a man so they can open another question folder. The one branded with a guaranteed approval stamp, none other than ‘when will you have grandkids’.

Insistent question marks to follow it soon after despite you not being related.

“I came to celebrate these two. I’m not looking for one right now,” you said, hoping your tone sounded polite in the least bit. Being accustomed to old ladies, who made up in curiosity for all they lost in height was a full-time job you never stopped learning from.

“Are you staying celibate? Waiting to save yourself for ‘the one’?” she inquired further. Here we go.

“Yeah, course she is.” Minho puffed, letting out a laugh. “For the One Lord Jesus Christ, you mean.”

“Amen. I will find my way, I’m sure,” you took a step back, attempting to return to your chair.“This family needed a cat lady anyway. You guys will be beautiful at 35 and all that, and I’ll be having my wrinkles illuminated by the laptop screen.”

“Coding?” Yuna supplied.

You took it as one of the instances to use your fake smile.“That’s plan A. If it fails, I’ll resort to the worse: write fanfiction in various locations.” Plan B was always ‘Embarrass yourself to the point they don’t talk to you out of their own will’. And get money.

“Oh, come on–”

“I could be in your basement and you won’t know it because Arnold Augustine the Third keeps wailing from the milk temperature.” you leaned your head forward, mimicking the way you sat while you typed on the keyboard, “Clickety clickety clickety clack, clickety clickety clack clack.”

“There is no way I would name our kid that.”

You pursed your lips. “Well, tell your fiance here who made me create an Instagram page to ‘keep the name’.”

His mother stood there with a tight-lipped mouth, the kind of expression others had when you weren’t close enough for them to get the joke, giving back the same forced politeness you gave a minute ago.“I can always introduce you to somebody, child.”

Minho tapped the beautiful girl four seats from you, whispering to her as she passed him the wine, and sometimes you envied him and Yuna for being so in-sync because the next second she was holding out a glass to you as he poured away the bottle’s contents. The drink matched the shade of her velvet floor-length gown, you noted, and if you thought you resembled a fairy of autumn, she was the season’s goddess.

“She’s enjoying herself enough, trust me,” her fiancé added as she passed you the glass. “I think we should check on uncle as well, don’t you love?”

Releasing a breath you’ve been holding for the entire meeting, you sat down, finally pouring the entire glass in your throat in one go, pose relaxing soon after. However, something bothered you–the feeling from this morning still lingered on your legs, little droplets of blood making your knee itch until you found a chair corner to relieve the sensation. Your knee moved farther, knocking into something solid. More accurate description provided, knocked into a muscled thigh fighting to rip out of a blue suit.

“Don’t have a date, huh?” the man grinned as he rubbed his leg against yours. Interpreting your gesture as romantic, movie flirting? Oh God. “Youngho, I’m a bodybuilder.”

A tab opened in your head to search for the profession: male thot job #1.

“Oh no, no no. No, thank you. I am here for the wine,” you explained, “I have a boyfriend.”

Yes, the wine. And the side piece was mango chicken.

“A lady shouldn’t drink so much. It’s not good for you,” he gave you a gentle smile, and you laced yours with the gentlest of ironies as you replied.

“A gentleman shouldn’t give unsolicited advice to strangers.”

He turned back to his plate, and you added another face to the history of guys who disappointed you on the first meeting, struggling to make space on your brain’s list.

Starting with your first crush, a basketball player who acted so nice with you and even pretended to know half the math you did to get close to you and work together. The joy was he seemed quicker to make fun of you for your moustache to his friends whenever they questioned your closeness. Second one, same field but a smaller ball to throw around, as sweet as they come, got bored with your dynamic when he met another girl who liked trap and Rammstein. The third one didn’t even know you existed–not that you were doing much to attract his attention either as you spent half your time staring at his hands and vintage shoes.

Then you considered the what ifs. If you wracked your brain enough, you could still remember the second date you went to at seventeen, eyes holding onto the remaining flicker of hope. Immersed into the memory, you recalled the way your pompadour partner, beer in hand, gave a detailed explanation not of your beauty, but of how much he hated communism and ‘feminazis’. After that, you lost count of the large-shouldered figures passing your life and focused your curiosity on said feminazis. Cool girls that, like you, realized long ago how the key to feminism didn’t have to do with hating men but happened to support the cause.

Attention syndromes aside, you didn’t lack ‘experience’ either. Didn’t even know what people considered experience. You kissed a lot of boys in truth or dares when you were fourteen (and man did you think you were doing something). Also, you were good at faking interest for dares when all you wanted to do was kiss them. Who would have thought you’d end up with a profound dread for the male sex? A good portion of the population who interacted with guys over sixteen, it clicked to you. After your discovery, you wished you could form a society made up of girls that were unfortunate enough to be attracted to those they hated. Yes, we exist, you wanted to say.

A capital flaw that turned you off beyond belief (not that they ever turned you on in the fun way beyond your bedroom and in the outside world) was their lack of dependability, besides opening their mouth. Your high school best friend, Yoongi, you remembered him as one of the most kind-hearted people that you knew. You could have almost said him alone showing this much humanity had been enough to clean the stains of his gender’s reputation, and yet. There’d always been that one little detail that proved to you that Yoongi was indeed a man.

Case in point: the one time in senior year in which you needed a photocopy for your album that required you to search half a town for. It went well, except for the fact that between seven bus stations you still weren’t sure whether they had the machine for it. And Yoongi being a few steps away from the store couldn’t bother to ask about it on the premise of ‘being sick’. Also, who could forget your high school sweetheart, Jungkook, your athlete deskmate who called a lovesick you for the first time during a presentation to ask you whether you’d join his clan in Dragon City.

Spoiler: they didn’t do photocopies there. But at least you contributed to the pay of bus drivers as you succumbed to breeding dragons ready for war.

The realisation came in at a much later time. Although the crushes came and fleeted and you had a greater chance than others at being smitten from the first three conversations with anyone, there was a territory you hadn’t adventured into. No longer did you bother to explain the heavier reasons, the tear-jerkers and mood ruiners. At the time you’d choose to go with the simple alternative.

You had never cared for a man, and you never planned to.

The standards raised. You became mature; you hated men. And nothing could have convinced you otherwise.

At least the free booze on table five distracted you from it.

So, about The Feminist.

The roots of this reputations had been foreign to you since you didn’t talk to many people outside of your dorm or classes. Even while volunteering, you kept it with the three friends you went there with, not making an effort to be social more than that. On the occasion, you’d act out to pull the laughs out of your friends and didn’t bother to scan the people watching, therefore it became a mystery to you how your first impression switched between a clown and the aluminium tinfoil hat.

You had your fair shares of conversations with frat boys in your freshman year when you were a small bundle of hate. Even then, as you expressed your opinions they twisted your words, mocked you as you kept to politeness while conversing. ‘I thought you didn’t like men’, they’d say with a smug face, carrying on with expressions which made you sneer. From the other side, your tinfoil sons and daughters, you heard about your supposed plans to go to Law School only to get into the government and implement liberalism and laws to limit their rights.

Well, they had the spirit but messed it up at the end. Not wrong but not true either. Sounded like another back-up plan in case it went wrong with computers. You ended up being a famous case in the ethics classes you took before you decided on coding, all gritted teeth and ready to eat guys who substituted a personality with monotonous voices and wearing glasses. Despite the events which to this day made you more reluctant to express yourself, you still frequented some classes related to the humanities field: you remained in gender studies and literature.

One of which you were currently sitting in, on the edge for the last hour due to today’s theme of discussing novels of experience. Ten minutes left and your wings would be free, with no hint of annoyance or anger for the entire day. An achievement uncommon for a lesson requiring creativity and freedom of belief, which you loved expressing but avoided hearing.

Creativity had its perks and downsides. One of them was that everyone was allowed to manifest it in one way or another, which left space for questionable fiction not only to be created but to be discussed and theorized over in academic circles. Such example you didn’t want to experience again had been the latest reading assignment, one of the choices for today’s topic. Most of your classmates who chose to present had ventured into other choices, letting you live and catering to your neurons. Until you heard the incantation.

“Based on a definitory experience in 1929, the book which puts to light the tragic heroine bearing the same name explores the idea of retrospection, of relieving a love whose absence leaves the individual…”

Leaves them blessed that they didn’t read such bullshit. You rolled your eyes, remembering the read you got through during winter break, the slowest 120 pages of your life. A tint of sadness seeped through the anger building in your loins, threatening to overflow. The rest of the emotions you learned in high school psychology came to you in their order. Starting with the disgust you felt at the author’s description of the young girl which were both infantilizing and barbaric, marking her bright presence and sense of spirituality as below him. The little fucking intellectual who sat and beat his dick to how he was the sole individual on Earth capable of self-reflection.

In the beginning, the first state to follow had been surprise. Surprise that no one thought to leave that man in a ditch after a drunk night and use his manuscript as toilet paper. With your eyes closing the night you read, in its steps happiness followed, now that it was over and you could go sleep and never check it again.

Lastly, fear. You understood and if you had to name a positive about the story would be the accurate portrayal of subjectivity, of how one would misinterpret based on their thought process and obsession with another person. Fiction had the qualms of exploring said concepts but to you, the way people related and discussed them based on reality’s moral system mattered most. You feared that people would take this toxic relationship and call it a love story and you feared the backlash following your disagreement.

“The subjective perspective of the events makes the impossible love even more painful for the protagonist as he is forced to separate from the young girl, ‘woman and child’, who ends up succumbing to his infatuation and wishes to give herself completely to him with the symbols of spirituality around them bearing as witnesses. A powerful interior conflict can be observed…”

The impossible love. Romeo and Juliet were shaking in their boots at the love of an unempathetic protagonist and a girl too young to know what love meant. You’d think the asshole had an interior conflict since he was stepping over any moral compass known to man.

“…, this way, an authentic and vulnerable experience is captured by the author. It is a story of irremediability, of a consuming love which young people aspire to experience and live for.”

Breathe through your nose, lips pursed to even out your inhales. Once again, the mere mention affected you more than it should’ve, and your mouth won the race over your self-control.

“I disagree.” You didn’t wait for the professor to call your name. Not anymore.“It makes no sense to brand the book as a love story or something a teenager should strive for because of the male character’s actions and his view of her throughout the story. A novel of experience? Certainly. The subjectivity and the protagonists’ reflective notes throughout the narrations guarantee it.”

“Well–” your classmate cut in, but you gave no sign of stopping.

“But she is described as ugly and barbaric, below him despite her high education and extensive poetry knowledge and changed from virgin to whore as she gives into him. These thoughts do not disappear even after he ‘falls in love’ and starts to feel whole next to her because of his supposed superiority. This is not a tragedy, separating them was mandatory to protect her.”

You let your head drop, pursing your lips as you waited for the counter argument. At the silence,  the professor took to watching you, pondering over the answer.“I think you should reflect on the mentality of the 30s. During that time, it could’ve been considered as such.”

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t stop the slight tremor of your tone and the voice that raised another octave. “Are we still living in the 30s? Why are we perpetuating the same mentality, why are we letting it slip with this excuse?”

The professor’s gaze alternated between you and the clock pointing towards the end of the class, “We should leave this discussion for the next time.”

The whispers increased. From behind you, a girl spoke. “Here she goes again with this extreme stuff. I swear, I’m a feminist too but she is exaggerating.”

You were familiar with the type. The one to laugh at your jokes and watch with undivided attention whenever you wanted to lighten up the mood by making a fool of yourself. Several times you heard them laugh at jokes made at the expense of women, several times you were shut down when you stood against it, the moment you call it out you get called a sensitive extremist.

And it wasn’t always bad since men’s voices were an echo chamber to you or radio noise at best, yet the women. The pressure put on women like you by other women suffocated you, settling over your windpipe no matter what you replied. Those were the most frequent case when it came to the rising of your doubts. Chest heavy, you chose not to retaliate, storming out as soon as you collected your things, hoping that time alone would help you solve the issue within yourself.

“Hey, wait–” you snapped your head to the sound, wild eyes contrasting the touch of calamity in his. “I–”

The guy got out of class, hurrying after you. Even a buffoon would see the correlation.“Has the professor said anything?”

He paused in his tracks, taken off guard by the question. “No, that's not it. I wanted to tell you–”

Emotions weren’t your best feature, and you had a few arguments with them here and there. They would threaten you, you’d fight back, they’d reach for cat videos or a thing you did ten years ago and you’d shut up. And isolate.

Which was what you were planning to do right now, if not for Beanie Boy over there testing–wait. You’re sure you’ve seen this guy outside of literature.

“You're in my gender studies class, aren't you?” you pushed, remembering the denim jacket and beanie from a row in front of you, a classic colour combination. Besides that, who could forget the impression he left from the first day, starting off his speech with: I'm tired of his story, It's time I listen to hers. Girls cooing, an unusual image present in your lectures and a few giggling over the shy gestures following. That you remembered.

The tangled letters of his name stayed foreign to you, more concerned with paying attention and learning, and so did his motif to look for you. From what you gathered, he was a unique individual, popular for his Instagram outfit shots and scenery captures. An apparent style whose amalgam of characteristics you didn't recall seeing in recent lectures.

You tilted your head, hand falling to your hip. “Do you want the notes, is that it?”

His mouth gaped, dimples growing to see the light. “Oh, thank you for offering–”

“Then it’s settled. Come to the dorms on Floor One by Thursday, I’ll be there then,” you said with the solemnity and suspicion of a drug dealer, quick to turn around and walk away. More than ever at this hour needed the space to calm your nerves and collect yourself enough so you could pay attention to the next classes.

Still, were you so cheap now that you’d hand out your notes to anyone now to get rid of them? Information is the way to life, and yet you traded it just to get away from it.

Classic.

Five days later fate found you in yet another tricky situation. For as long as you’d live in the campus dorms, you were to never experience peace or any tranquillity. Be it you were cursed or stamped with bad luck at birth, the fact had been internalized long ago, along with your animosity for the object you have lost once again. There was no other way. You pressed the door’s handle, tempted to give up and bang your head against it so you had a way out of this situation.

At least you weren’t completely hopeless.

Once pulled out of said thoughts, you felt around for the phone in your jeans, battling with the sleeves of your fur coat to retrieve it so you could dial Yujin, “Hey, any chance you’re around? I lost the key again and I can’t face Mrs. Choi for the third time this month. Can you please go instead of me?”

Past desires loomed over you once again as you registered your roommate’s words: she didn’t think you’d be home this early, so she locked the door till she returned from the library. Your schedule followed: meet up with your girlfriends and revise the material for next week’s finals as you ranted on the side, but you didn’t have access to it. Duh.

A possibility that not everything is out to get you manifested as you heard steps on the hallway, and you took it as your saving grace… until you checked who it was. A perfect candidate for directing your frustrations to. The Man of the Hour. The most recent addition to your database, who said nothing about the missing material. You were friends on Facebook, for fuck’s sake, did he not care enough to ask for your room number? Did he have other resources to access your personal information, you questioned, frantic in your thoughts which made you turn around, determined to find the answers.

You marched up to him, cutting off his chances at avoidance. “You!”

He pointed to himself, mouth agape.

“You made me wait for so long, and you didn’t show up,” you chastised, wincing a little at how your neck cracked when you stared up at him. “I even organised my papers for you.”  

A hand came up to scratch at his own.“Uhh, I appreciate it… but I-I’m not here for that.”

“So, guess it’s for another time? How long will this take?”

Your patience was running thin more with each meeting, though you remained careful in front of the man. Given your current moods and schedule, you didn’t have the chance to rage about education- and a part of you didn’t want to either. The more you saw him, the more you took your time to observe him, along with his gestures, both of which made you reconsider your opinion of him. Such as no matter how tall and imposing he was, he never looked you in the eye.

Not to mention how you were locked outside your room so you stood no chance to even touch said cellulose, thus you had close to no right to be angry.

“I... This is my room. I moved to 113 at the beginning of the semester.” His gaze once again, drifted elsewhere, studying the hall and reverted back to your shoulders, to the soft curve of your jaw.

“Did I not see you before? Ever?”Were you that absent and disconnected from your surroundings?

“Well, uh… you must’ve seen a lot of these.” He bent to touch the ground before getting on his tiptoes to raise his arm as high as he could, and an image of huge beige coats and white sneakers popped into your mind. The assumptions you made led you to the face your roommate told you about, Kim Seokjin, a pure aphrodisiac senior from art history. You mistook Beanie Boy for him, you thought, coming back at the right time to watch the former grin bashfully at his joke. He surely caught you smiling, for he continues his newfound rambling. “Yeah, Hoseok says he won’t get down in the club with Vincent Van Gogh, so I switched on the coats. Sorry for confusing you.”

“So that’s what he’s been doing instead of practising at 5 AM,” you said, shivering as you remembered the way his steps brought more complaints in your sophomore year than the last generation combined. “You get used to the sound after a while. It worked wonders during exam season, I didn’t fall asleep one night.”

“It’s the same thing, he just has more audience now.”

You chuckled, police sirens going off in your head at the realisation that you were enjoying this, a little too much. With suspicion creeping up behind you and a sense of urgency to cleanse yourself through group conversation, the need to end the conversation throbbed in your veins. “Well, thanks for that. See you!”

You felt bad for leaving like that, but a complaint appointment and anxiety generated from the possibility that he will ask you to bring them now were already keeping you locked towards your destination: the lounge.

“I heard there was an emergency,” you sat down on the couch as you bid hello to the group of girls, books, notes and flashcards scattered on the table and their laps. You recognised them as the girls from your floor, a few doors away from you, with whom you spent a good majority of your time at the beginning of freshman year before drifting apart, each focused on your own majors and forming groups there. Besides Sojung, your close friend you plopped next to, you’d see them on occasion and spend your time with them pretending to study and trying out nearby cafes.

“Yes, we ran here as soon as we heard about your struggle,” she said, expression serious as she petted your head. Not long after, her grin grew in time with yours diminishing, satisfied at how she stole your joke out in the open like this. Despite your opposite attitudes, Sojung’s deadpan humour was never far from your dramatic one and many times she was quick to outwit you. She already knew about the events at the party, having them narrated in an incoherent string of texts, followed by the conclusion that you were in need of pleasant company.

“You mean girl,” you pouted, “and to think I came all the way here to support you.”

The girl rolled her eyes, going back to her study material, forehead crease a little too obvious, and you welcomed the challenge to make her laugh.

“These exams shouldn’t exist. They’re stressing you out too much,” you complained, wishing you could do more when the light bulb flickered in your head. “I’ll change my major. I’ll get my diploma in being a wall so I can protect every girl from these assholes. See what they do then.” Catching a glimpse of the corners of her mouth rising, you pondered the occupation: not a bad idea at all if you considered it.

“This is hell. Don’t you have things to revise too, girl?” Seungyeon, the criminology major and girl you wish you could be, said. Serious yet sociable, a go-getter with elevated thoughts said at the right time, she was as close to a college model you had.

“It’s a few brackets and logic commands. Not a lot to grasp. Either it works, or it doesn’t.” If you had lived in a world of your own wishful thinking and didn’t stress out over these two months in advance, yes. Studying and trying out the material at midnight became incorporated into your routine, allowing yourself a two-day break every week. In spite of it, you were glad you didn’t have to memorize entire textbooks and that your field allowed for skill practice, adding the literature classes you partook in to exercise your creativity and widen your perspectives.

“Plus, I’m here to listen to any of you who needs help, since my girl here has other plans,” you said, tone honey-like as you encouraged your proposal. You were aware at that not many of them were bold enough to ask for help first due to fear of inconveniencing others, making you cautious in approaching the subject and with enough luck catching some friends. You didn’t know Seungyeon that well on a personal level, but you were striving towards having more people as ambitious as her, what was a little sugar coating? And as expected, she grinned at you, getting up to hand you her portfolio, all written in cursive black ink.

“Can you quiz me on these terms?” You nodded, brows furrowing at the thesaurus language.

Close to thirty minutes later, coat discarded and your head spinning from the new information, your hand froze on the foiled page as your phone started buzzing in your back pocket.“Pits of hell, main demon speaking.”

“Please stop doing this whenever you’re answering me in public.”

“There’s a price to pay if you’re making me participate in a phone call.” you smiled, delighted by Yuna’s whiny tone, already picturing her desperate eye roll. “No, it’s ok. Keep going.”

“I talked to the receptionist and he said they can rent us the place March 30th. Some TV broadcast will host a reality series there from the fifth onward.”

Blood drained from your face.“T-that’s. In two months,” you stammered, shoulders already slumped at different heights from the stress building and slapping each bone at varying times. “Why not April first so you can say psych? Please…”

“Minho thought it’d be funny too. He has a spring collection in Portugal on the third.”

“What kind of thing is he modelling on your wedding week? Lord.”

“Tuxes.”

“Forget I asked,” you said through your teeth as your nails dug into the cover of Sojung’s manual, threatening to fold the piece and rip its remains. “And you want me to do what? Mhm… A few errands, right, close family wedding. Thank fuck for that at least. Sure, I don’t have anything else. Yes, I’m serious. Love you. Ok bye.”

Shifting your eyes to the group, you stared each of them in their pupil with solemnity as your body slumped on the couch till it met the criteria of a shapeless blob. “I’m doomed,” a sigh left your lips as your hand travelled to meet Sojung’s, craving physical affection in this time of need. Might as well get it from a pretty girl. “Here’s my end, cheers. Please raise a drink in my memory next time you go out.”

The girl cooed at your dramatics and squeezed your hand, reaching to caress your cheek and pull your head to her shoulder. She was not the one with words, but she never minded offering you physical comfort to remind of her support. Your eyes closed by themselves, wishing to drape yourself over her long legs and hide your face in her neck, a place where no responsibility could haunt you as you were hidden by her styled hair and comforting arms. In your crisis, you thanked heaven for women’s existence and for your luck to be surrounded by so many of them before you continued.

“She wants me to help with the wedding and I-I don’t know anything about this shit. I’m not good at the whole aesthetic thing.”

And a little part of your heart broke, the truth of your statement ringing in your ears. Although you learnt how to be confident in your abilities as you grew out of teenage years, you still had more to go through until you were comfortable with the unknown. Enthusiastic willingness existed, but it wasn’t always enough, and it hurt to be aware of it once again, having your stomach throb from the fear of disappointing or ruining things with your input.

“But you have style,” the girl added. “I love those tennis skirts you wear.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know about colour coordination, or materials, hell I don’t even know what a chiffon is...”

“Then why offer to do this?”

“Cause she’s busy you know,” you peeked at the biology book in her lap (the one you threatened to snap mere moments ago), thinking about how great it would be to exist as a paramecium.“She has a career and all while I’m here considering majoring in being a wall. And I don’t want her to carry such a burden alone.”

“You have time to learn. And if not, I know someone who can help with that. Namjoon is amazing with these things. I’ll talk to him, okay?”

“Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-“

A part of your brain lit up in recognition, but you ignored it, not bothering to look-  too busy wallowing in your misery to be bothered with chats.

Sojung moved, making your head snap off her shoulder and have you grasp your surroundings–to be specific, their new addition to it: Beanie Boy from Gender Studies, sat on the folding chair with a stack of books in his lap. “Namjoon, you’re here, I have to ask–”

Time ticked as gears turned into your brain, throwing the information in every angle until you processed it. You nodded, mouth agape, thinking what you should put inside a conditional command to make this situation look better, hopeful as you were. It ended up something like this:

if (disasterhappens) { pleasedont(); }

Squeezed between the timeline of a Data Structures course and the unforgiving cold, you stepped out of the bus the same pace as Namjoon, whose name you picked after your last encounter. In your classroom, he’d often remain quiet, thus your conscience didn’t feel too bad about making an excuse for your pea-sized memory. Faces were easy to memorize, but God forbid, hold on to a name and your brain threatened explosion. This time, true to his word, he ditched the coat, going for a padded jacket.

It worried you the slightest, as it had him open to the attacks of the weather, but you kept it to yourself.

“What are we doing?”

“They got most of the stuff done, so I don’t have to bother with calligraphers and shit to send out invitations or find photographers, we picked the dress three months ago... it should be easy.” You flicked open the cover of your pocketbook, proud of the doodles you managed between the tasks. “I have to rent the tablecloths, organise the seating positions, order the flowers, argue with the guy at the venue, other useless stuff, then- oh! Get the cake- that’s her taking pity on me for sure.”

“Do you have any specifics? If not, we can work something out. I know what women like.”

You squinted in suspicion, tone rich with all the certainty you had the ability to muster. “I bet you do.“

His eyes widened, “No, I didn’t mean it like that-”

Keeping your mouth shut for the first time in your life, you stood to realise he was helping you; he didn’t look like he signed the petition to buy you a tinfoil hat. By law, you were obliged to restrain the second nature which leaned towards hostility- for men. The notion made you sigh, wishing for a way to tell him it was fine without it becoming weird or turning into a race for apologising. “Either way, I have no escape. Might as well drag someone to hell with me.”

Namjoon said nothing, stirring and adding salt to the soup of guilt you were harbouring for the last minute which boiled in your gut and threatened to overflow.

“Schedule comes as planned: be back at the station by 4 to take the 4:03 bus. That’s a 15-minute ride till we get to Yuna’s house where we’ll drop these, and from there it’s a 30-minute walk to the building.” With that, you sprung into action.

“You got this figured out, huh?” his voice rang with a tint of impress you picked up on.

Your lips pursed to suppress a smile as your pace slowed, “I mean, of course I do.” It was little before you changed your mind, thoughts running wild between your responsibilities and morals because of them battling out. The whirlwind made you move with more speed, your words almost matching the fastness of your legs.

“Thanks for coming with me and stuff. This will be a piece of cake, but still.” you shrugged, a little awkward to be running errands with a guy at 3:15 PM like one of those middle-aged couples. Hence why you resorted to Conversation 101, mastering it in time to deal with such an unfamiliar situation. Truth be told, your wished for a method to express your gratefulness now that he doubled it by he was accompanying you in the time between classes, a holy period marked by relaxation– not picking out from thirty shades of silk red.

However, by itself, the ‘thanks’ had remained stuck in your throat, in need of an extra push to make it sound nonchalant instead of a word of relief which decreased the anxiety blood levels.

He didn’t seem to mind. Namjoon walked behind you without struggle due to your bulldozer walk, eyes fixed on his steps and hands in his pockets. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I’m happy to help.” You turned your head to look back at him, a pursed smile lingering on your features making you repeat the action every five seconds. Turn, stare, square up with your facial muscles.

“You must really want those notes, huh? Is the class that important?” you joked as the two of you approached the store, hand reaching out to open the door with Namjoon trailing close.

“Well, I-” Namjoon paused, startled when your feet came to a halt at the doorstep, body spinning to make eye contact with him. The grip you had on the door handle twitched as you watched him come closer and closer, releasing right as he was about to step inside. In a perfect impersonation of an ostrich, his head pulled back as the door closed in seeming slow motion, reminding you of how much of a bad fanfiction your life was every time you went outside.

His widened eyes bordering on mania met yours through the glass, breaths living him as if he was trying to deflate and disappear from you as soon as possible. You gasped and bowed your head, moving to open the door, tugging it towards you with no result before his hand enveloped the handle, yanking it open. The force sent you aiming towards the pavement before strong fingers gripped your forearm and pulled you straight.

Straight into him.

Your mouth gaped, arms flying out to his biceps to push him away from you and save yourself out of this situation–that’s what you were planning. Instead, you froze, fingers still gripping the muscles because, despite the accident, you were touching him. A man.

The best part was that Namjoon seemed as frozen as you felt, his gaze busy tracing every feature, never leaving your face. Your heartbeat became more erratic by the second as embarrassment crept upon your cheeks, but you were not the bitch without prior experience to trainwrecks like this- after all, you made codes. Thus, you laughed and tightened your grip, slowly shaking him before the pace increased. “We have to be very precise! Do you understand me? This is for a far greater cause, we need to pay attention to every shade and detail, point blank-”

“Period. I wouldn’t have been here if I didn’t know,” the words come out gentle as he tilts his head, fingers trailing forward to pet your shoulder before distancing himself. He gave a curt nod, signalling for you to move, and if this was any other time you would’ve protested, you took it as an opening to flee.

“Yes, of course,” you mutter as you walk through the variety of fabrics. Yeet. The notes app on your phone came in handy now, as you had an excuse to focus on anything but him. Most of the instructions were clear, silk fabric, ask for the rented option because buying requires to iron them and none of you knew how to use a household object like that, stick to the theme and pick-

“Apple red?” you said out loud to the cloned shelves adorning the entire store, each inclined in a different way for aesthetic purposes, or to make your life difficult. “She’s so pretentious. What even is that, they all look like fucking red.”

“Couldn’t a professional do this?” Namjoon inquires from beside you, scrutinizing the interior design before settling on a banner painted on the wall. “Live laugh love. Very suburban.”

“Dunno, maybe this way they thought they could get away with spending less money. Not like they’re lacking any, goddamn family-oriented capitalists.” you rambled, being used to inserting dramatic lines in your speech with your girlfriends. Nevertheless, this territory had boundaries on pending left to be established. From your knowledge, guys weren’t used to interacting with language innovationists, so you had to sweeten the deal a little to avoid feelings of inferiority. “They could’ve counted on me finding a hero since men and all are sooo good with details.”

You sighed. Way to go, sarcasm.

Namjoon only chuckled, continuing to study the store’s organisation system. “I’ll go look for what we need, and we’ll get back in 10 minutes to compare. Hope that’s okay.” He dashed by you, your brows furrowing before realising it was time to roll, stomping away to browse through foldings.

After forgoing the opportunity to give up halfway, you returned to him with six different shades, raising each hand to present it to him, starting with the first option at hand, a deeper shade of red.“I think I found it. How’s this?”

Namjoon licked his lips.“Uh, well, it looks a little-”

“A little what? It’s red.” you pointed with your head as if it was obvious before lifting the others up. “All of these are red.”

“That is wine red,” he explained as he scratched the back of his neck. “We should pay more attention to details if we want to do a good job.”

Your left eye twitched. Namjoon had been kind to you (human standards, not male ones) in the time you spent together. Guaranteed, his timing was off during most of your meetings and in objective standards, he did nothing wrong, but your conscience didn’t enjoy subtle reprimanding. In fact, she felt threatened, ready to have you bring out the big guns. You had some logic and attention to detail too in any state of tiredness; it was a matter of whether it wanted to be exercised.

Despite your lack of knowledge in colour theory,  blamed on your monochromatic wardrobe, at first sight, it looked like apple to you! Yet, determination rose in your chest and now the world shed new light upon your sight- you would pick the best goddamn apple colour in this store.

He did nothing wrong. Still, you weren’t at fault either because your competitiveness flared over the most useless reasons.

“Huh, seems like I’ve been eating the wrong apples.” You wanted to drop the fabric onto the floor for dramatic effect, yet your common sense stopped you, too worried about the workers that would have to clean up after the two of you. “How about this one?”

“That’s burgundy.”

“How do you even know those?”

“My mother has that hair colour… Every lady over forty in our neighbourhood uses that.” Chin tucked, he looked down at his pile to avoid your gaze. “I think this is more accurate.”

You inspected the piece with the attention of a fine painter, ready to create your own Starry Night with tablecloths and future flowers.

“Looks like candy. That apple’s full of chemicals. Yuna only likes organic, farm stuff,” you chirped out of pure pettiness, and Namjoon must have sensed it, because his pose turned frigid, glare with raised eyebrows aimed like an arrow towards you. “I’m sure this one is right-”

“That’s crimson,” his voice interjected. “There’s no way this is good for a wedding unless we’re talking the Red one.”

Both of your tones grew sassier and the man you sassed at the end of your course morphed into a reflection of yourself. Nice but ready to cut if you’d open your mouth in the next three seconds. Bad for both of your sakes, you had no qualms about passing whatever limit because you were the tear in the system–for fuck’s sake, you made the system. “Lucky for me, I have no idea what that is. I don’t watch hipster shows.”

Let out a sound similar to a laugh meant to be suppressed yet it escaped anyway. “That’s the farthest thing possible from hipster.”

“Fine, I’m not supposed to care about those anyway.”

A passive-aggressive smile. “Yes, we should go back to our task and try to solve the problem.”

Another one. “There’s no problem, I’ll look for more and then we’ll go on our way.”

“Of course,” Padded boy retaliated before sitting in front of another shelf. “This?”

“It’s blinding my eyes. It’s not gonna match. She also wants freesias, let’s just find something similar,” you said as you dug through the packages on the bottom shelves. “Ha, how about this?”

“It... “ He tilted his head, letting out a deep exhale, “it looks good.”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” You clutched the fabric to your chest, ecstatic to leave colour combination to the experts and never return again.

With crossed arms and hostility radiating off him, Namjoon, the image of attention to detail, looked as if he was about to launch into a rant about nihilism and why shit like this shouldn’t matter at your smallest gesture. You mastered the same fixed stare, as your friends told you several times and you focused on the floral details at the empty cashier’s spot, scared of what might happen if each of you directed it towards the other.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Both your heads snapped to a man in overalls, flower crown resting on top of his head and grin beaming on his features- until he saw the both of you glaring at him, “Oh. I apologise for the delay.”

You broke out of your trance, gesturing at the packaged cloth. “We’d like to rent uh… ten of these.”

The man returned with your fulfilled request and you hurried to get a hold after swiping on Minho’s smiley-face covered credit card. You gave an awkward smile which you hoped he saw before switching to Namjoon, who was a bit difficult to interact with due to the messy way you were holding the items.

“I’ll hold them myself. Help me out with the door,” you muttered from under the mountain of fabric, feeling a little self-conscious of being this authoritative in a fabrics store.“If you want to.”

“It won’t move. Hold on.” From outside, he clutched the handle and pulled it back with his entire body, leaning half-suspended in the air. His leg, like a whip from God, stretched out over the pavement in pointé position to reach the other door and fight to push it as you squeezed through the minimal space.

Ignoring Namjoon still stretched out trying to open doors for you, you checked your hand watch, the image making you gasp.“Oh no! It’s 4:10 p.m.” You turned to him, eyes wild and devoid of any humanity as he got into standing position at last.

“We had to be at the bus station at 4! The next bus is in 6 minutes and it’s going to take us 15 minutes to get there and I can’t afford a taxi.” You sprinted with the most speed, but after an entire fifteen seconds on the clock your feet planted on the ground, hands on your knees and throat constricting as you struggled for air.

“Why do I never do cardio I-” you panted to no one in particular as Namjoon’s figure passed you, increasing the distance with controlled steps. “Oh fuck. Hold on. Wait!”

Your body did its best to maintain your equilibrium as you chased after him, tablecloths in hand.“How on Earth are you moving this fast-”

With a gaze at his wit’s end, he waited till you advanced to him before snatching the packed items from you and digging through his back pocket to get his wallet out. “Hold this and pay,” he said as he intertwined his arm with yours, hitting the acceleration button full force without warning, “There’s no time for little legs.”

Once again, your heart joined the marathon.“Hey–wait! Wait, I didn’t plan a sprint in this, my hair’s going to be ruined!” The wind’s presence smacked you at once too, even air attacking as you tried and failed to keep up with his pace. Thus, all left to do was whine about it. “Move slower! My hair, I–I can’t let people know I’m ugly–hey!”

“Spill.”

“Quite interesting that you assumed I’d have anything to complain about when I never did it in my life.”

Sojung quirked her eyebrow, pausing her scrolling to turn her head and judge you properly, to which you pursed your lips- fighting hard to not burst into laughter and blow your cover.

With the aid of a motivational discourse about the balance between studying and having fun (the most you can have in said weather), you managed to bribe her into watching a movie as long as you made the sweet tea and let her pick. A problematic duo, Sojung and these choices, since she had a torturing streak going against your brain cells, but you followed her rules, ready to rumble by immersing yourself into whatever character you deemed the dumbest. Now, warm cup in hand, there you stood, squeezed to her side due to the bed’s size, looking like her disciple, or at least a very starry-eyed novice.

How else were you supposed to be, as you were cuddling with an objective image of temptation under the blankets, bare feet ducking under hers to steal her warmth? A woman who radiated daintiness without effort, the tips of her hair still wavy from Saturday’s party enough to create the aura of an Aphrodite of Science who pulled you in, who charmed you into wanting to feed her grapes and braid her hair.

“You haven’t talked about it in days. I’m worried,” she stated as if you broke our friendship code by avoiding the wedding topic, which you thought you were doing a pretty good job on. Yesterday you even stuck to the manners code while convincing the photographer not to reschedule, reminding him with the required politeness of who he was dealing with. Your sister didn’t like to flaunt her status and neither did you with yours (whether you had one was arguable), yet you never minded reminding people who she was in case she got too humble.“You’re not like that.”

“Fine, don't look at me like this- there’s a reason why I should’ve said no. I made a fool out of myself.” your friend nodded, giving you the gesture for ‘go-ahead, confess your sins’. “So we got to the store, I walked first right, cause you know how I move, and I opened the door and you know I’m not an animal so I wanted to hold the door open for him but-”

“But he’s a man.”

“Yeah and I can’t-” you closed your mouth, opting for indecipherable gestures with your free hand, “fraternize with the enemy, for lack of a better word. And I almost hit him with the door.”

With a temporary interest, you watched as the beginning credits for whatever movie Sojung picked. This way you could postpone the pain a little. Deep breaths.

“I didn't know how he is with these things, I- we argued a lot. Over tablecloths.”

“Of course. Like me and Mino when we had to do that project together. The cells we had to analyze looked like cones to me but he insisted they're joints.”

You laughed, a full sound that came with you shaking your head, “The bar is on the fucking ground, God.”

“Mhm, but I'm sure Namjoon wasn't like that. He's very immaculate and detail-oriented with his work, not thinking about joints,” she emphasised on the last words. “He’s an alright guy. A little passive-aggressive sometimes but he'll get over it.”

“Yeah, he’s-” you sputtered, an adequate definition of Namjoon still foreign to you. Good would raise suspicions, not bad would have Sojung urge you into detailing. “Bearable.”

She gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. “Right. And his Insta shots are cute. You should follow him.”

You sighed, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your phone and obey her request. After a search lasting less than a few minutes, you caught sight of familiar fashion popping into your recommended. You clicked on the profile, pictures of animals and outfits for the day welcoming you, his trademark coats fitting perfect with his long legs.

Compared to the rest of his feed, his fifth picture was a close-up one, with him sitting on the ground, a deer on each of his side. At the display taken from a Disney picturesque, there it was: guilt drowning you again, this time sour edition. Why were you like this.

Granted, despite your differences and mutual pettiness, he tried to be patient for as long as he could-bless his heart- while you started out colder and less optimistic than usual and let your attitude get the best of you. Grumpiness was not a trait of yours, it was by chance you let it take the wheel again as you pressed the follow button. Bold of you to think he’d notice with his 1.3k mark, coming from the girl with 70 followers and three pics of you smiling.

Cuddled up to your friend, you settled on forgoing this matter, focusing on the movie and hoping the guilt soup would simmer down. Later swearing as your insides turned to mush, you buried your head in the pillow, groaning as you re-imagined the scene with the male lead trespassing for the girl- risking fines for plucking the rose and jumping back the same gate with no effort. A hundred other similar scene to this one came back to you, and yet your reaction was impossible to control- half-way between an eye roll and batting your eyelashes, brain alternating between commands. Old, young, there were reasons cliches were cliches, and the public's feelings were what made them popular from the start.

This love was the exact movie love which would never be possible in real life, where the oh-so-young hero gave roses and heart attacks to an innocent girl having no prior experience with motorcycles. Thus, you didn’t bother to fight against indulging a little in whatever trope the movie was displaying. It mixed the leather jacket and typical bad boy vehicles with a retro type of romance.

“Why do you always insist on this kind of movies?” you asked, pleading with your girl to cease these activities but also hinting to her you wouldn't mind another one. Especially for this week, a time where love and capitalism went one on one. Valentine’s day was a sensitive topic for you, anti-capitalist and all, but you were aware of the loneliness some friends of your experienced. Hence why ever since you were a freshman, you bought envelopes and red paper, brought your trusted heart stapler and got to work. You had close to no criteria for your choices: close friends, people you had pleasant interactions with, girls under stressful situations. Random people on hallways who made you smile and later got a letter with a lollipop and your attempts at a cursive: ‘Someone’s thinking of you! Please buy chocolate on sale this year!’

“Wanted to get us in the mood.” She winked at you as her hand found yours under the blanket, laptop propped on her legs, “It’s fun seeing you squirm.”

“Come on, men in real life are not like that. There’s not one dude out there who will be this attentive to you, and if he does he's gonna get you in debt. You'll have to bail him out of jail.”

Sojung shrugged, yellow turtleneck brushing adorably against her chin. You didn’t know what offended you more: her silence or how cute she looked without even trying - making it impossible to stay fake-mad at her.

“My judgement’s been rotten, but if I said one fair thing in this world is that one.” An accusing finger was pointed at her, “You should agree. I haven’t seen you talk to any of the guys in your classes outside of school.”

Sojung took one long glance at you, taking her time to answer. “I guess I’m too busy right now.”

Your brows furrowed, “Yeah… college’s a bitch. But this time it’s doing you something good, right?”

“Eh. Another one?” she asked, seconds away from your definite yes.

After two more hours of cringing and containing your cooing, you remembered today’s goals: find Namjoon and consult him about the next weeks’ schedules, establish a proper plan. Of minimal interaction, if possible- in which both of you secured efficiency and less trivial arguing. You shook your head, finding the thought’s beginning ridiculous- going to his room, seeing him to tell him you didn’t want to see him.

Wasn’t a complete truth either.

Sense of responsibility and need for order aside, this was a bad idea. You didn’t check in with him, part hesitation part not having his number and being too awkward to write to him on Facebook (you were friends, you checked). Yet, you stood at his door, fist hanging in the air.

Three raps, a deep breath to calm your nerves- what nerves? Why would you experience that? You could do this. You knocked on doors before, thank God.

With newfound confidence, you smacked said door with all you had, positive that Namjoon would hear and you’d have no way out of it then. Bag on your shoulder, you fiddled with the letter hidden behind your back, hoping the glue dried enough not to move the heart from its middle. Earlier today, as you were bracing yourself for your mission, you saw Hoseok heading for practice. It eased you a bit, doing this in front of Namjoon alone.

The door opened and your mouth curled to the sound of it rattling from its hinges, “Hi, are you busy?”

Namjoon, in all of his bear pyjamas and bedhead glory, eyes round and wide stared at you with uncertainty. “I’m… not doing much. You can come in.”

“Were you sleeping? Sorry I didn’t say anything, I don’t have your number and-”

“No, no, we can solve that. I-” he paused, seeming to struggle, “That’s how I sit when I don’t study or go outside.”

Following after him, you watched as he sat back on his bed, same lotus position and brought his legs closer together to make space for you. Soon, he must have realized his mistake, tips of his ears turning red as his gaze moved back to you. “I mean! You can sit in Hobi’s bed. I’ll-” He rolled out of his bed, crouching next to his roommate’s bed so he was next to you, “yeah.”

“I don’t want to take away too much of your time-”

“I don’t mind.” He licked his lips, head dropping down, “Well, not that much. Please continue.”

You bent to show him what you’ve been working on- a logical scheme to ensure productivity without spending too long on a destination, tying together similar events. One which you ended up doodling on for illustration, marking the points where you might have trouble later and the way to approach them. “This is the battle plan. Minimum effort, maximum fun. I fucking hope.”

“Cute,” Namjoon said, a close-mouthed smile on, and you were right in the radius to get a glimpse at the true depth of his dimple. Oh. You pouted, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form a coherent thought at his words. You were not cute. “I mean the sketch.” 

Chest deflated, you pursed your lips at the geometric owl you drew, not pausing to catch the amused glint in his eyes or how his grin was growing. “Ok, first destination. So I searched for Google reviews, right, and the guy at the venue is a total asshole.”

“What’s the plan then?”

You breathed out, “I was… I was hoping that you can help with this one. I, err, struggle with being diplomatic around guys.”

He nodded, signature dimple popping out again.“Sometimes.”

Your mouth gaped in mock offense before you caught his gaze again. You cursed under your breath, looking down at your chest in indignation then switching to his desk chair. It resembled the one in the lounge to the point it was suspicious–making you squint at the offensive object, recalling the image of Namjoon last sat on when he was pulled into this mess.

“…And I’d appreciate you giving me some tips maybe, on how to deal with the guy. I’m desperate.” The option of going there and listing everything you and your family wanted without a compromise was tempting, but there were several warning bells pointing towards the opposite result.

“To begin, don’t judge his colour combination outfits.” He chuckled, lifting your mood a little. “Be assertive, but don’t make him feel out of control. Bring your demands in as suggestions.”

“Look intimidating but polite,” he said softly. “You already have half the part down.”

You puffed, “I breathed.”

“Doesn’t matter if the situation seems bad, don’t bend down to whatever he may tell.” He extended his palm towards you, and you gave him the sheet. “You think he stands a chance against these?”

“I was planning on that, but-” But it was difficult for you to do these without becoming snappy, without attempting to have the fucker trip with the power of your glare. Your voice died down in your throat as you stared at the bullet point tasks again.

Check in, talk about catering options and suggest food for their catering team to serve, confirm the guest list and the number of hours spent. Return a month later to assign the seats and assist the decoration process in case there was any need for changes. All that came as an obstacle was the man. The little devil impersonator you head so much about on hidden google reviews.

If you lost your cool it meant sabotaging one of the most important tasks of the entire scheme, which would guarantee a disaster in case you messed up. Here you were, with a possibility of rivalling Cinderella and getting expensive shoes stuck on stairs, only you’d lose the entire place instead of the shoe. It wasn’t like you could hold a wedding under your local drawbridge either-why did Yuna leave this on you? Why not pick Hyoyeon or Minho? Was this the time for you to develop a diplomatic streak?

Namjoon interrupted your impending existential crisis, “I’m free this weekend.”

Using the rational side of your brain, you submitted to his request, crossing off your earlier decisions. No interaction my ass, you thought. “Fine. I’ll pick you up on Sunday.”

As he meant to return your plan, you got up. “Actually, that is for you. And also this.” You pulled out the blue envelope, heart left intact to seal it.

“Oh?”

A rush of panic hit your gut from how he was looking at you, expecting you to go on. Did he want you to spell it out? God, no, you–“…found it at the door.”

As he got a hold of it, he let out a fake gasp; yet you weren’t so sure about the excitement which came across real, urging you to check the letter again for things you might have missed.

“Woah, it's right in the middle! Very sharp with the details,” the man tilted his head, not giving you any time to breathe. Like he was testing your reaction.

You tried to keep any tint of emotions at bay despite your body naturally adopting a more confident pose at the praise.“Mhm, agreed.”

“This is very thoughtful. I should thank the person when I see them. Even though it came four days earlier,” he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah-”

“Must have messed up the date.”

“Hey!” You paused, mouth closing shut. “Who cares? They made an effort.”

“You’re right, I’ll make sure to let them know.” He nodded with solemnity. “Was that it?” he asked and ended up mimicking your previous gesture, not meaning to come out like that.

“Uh, I have to go anyways.” You laughed to try and mask how startled you were. “I’ll… see you in a few days. Have a good one?”

I’ll try, he wanted to say, but instead he nodded, following you to the exit.

After you found the most bizarre way to ask for his number again, he meant to return to studying, thoughts of his appearance forgotten now that you left. He didn’t do much else since he woke up, neither he could say he expected anything to happen today, and he was long accommodated to the sturdiness of his chair to be bothered by sitting there for hours.

Settling on his usual space, he placed the papers you gave him under his stationery, focusing to remember the line he remained at. Though, it was no easy task, the little heart and doodles pulling on his attention and disregarding his work ethic. Damn them.

Before he registered his actions, Namjoon grabbed the papers again, taking in every piece of information laid on the battle notes he started out with. One thing that stood out to him was the contrast between your big personality, which appeared effortless to him, and your writing. He sort of expected messier handwriting taking up space on the sheet, similar to the way you acted each day.

Meeting you didn’t happen often, but he was neither blind nor deaf, he heard the degree of familiarity you used in speech even with teachers, had seen you in passing comforting people from the same dorm. He felt like a witness to some of your antics by the vividness Sojung described them with, complaining that kids at the volunteering centre would spend more time with you, attacking you with kisses to as you screeched and swore revenge.

Your writing was smaller and much more organized, taking up half the A5 paper you gave him. He didn’t know why he was even thinking about this, or why he felt like he found something new about you through it. Next came the letter, which contained a heart-shaped lollipop and a note attached to it, this time written in cursive but bearing the same letter size.

He chuckled as he read. Chocolate on sale. Ha, he bought that February second.

Some of the regrets for your experience together washed away as he spent more time re-reading, an impulse having him reach towards his stationery and take the scissors, cutting your schedule plan in half. You, in particular, were not the main cause for said emotions, he knew that much. Often he had a hard time telling people no, wishing to help as much as he could even if it came at his expense and a disappointed look from his friends who pleaded with him to listen, to stop caring so much about other people’s situations and turn his attention to him. Be selfish, take a break, practice self-care or whatever he wanted to call it, they told him. Look at you for once.

He still struggled with that. This time, like many others, his conscience was telling him he’s doing the right thing, but there was a slight change. Something pleasant stirring up in his loins, a level of contentment with his decision to accept. He could at last witness you rip that fucker to shreds.

The anatomy book was still open, but for the time being, he had no motivation to continue studying. He wanted to prevent losing your indications too, so he put the paper inside the book before closing it, only image available being the freesia you drew next to the first circle. No more information for now, he thought. After all, he could research plenty in his surroundings for the current chapter.

The cardiovascular system.

Based on your poor approximations, it had been more than a week since your last encounter with Namjoon, and a part of you wanted to scream because you had kept a lot of secrets in during this time. There was no date from when you began classifying your life as before and after Namjoon, but as the timeline stretched out you started talking to him more and more. To the point where you’d have inner monologues about it and whether you were doing the right thing, like the case in point.

You forgot about yourself on several occasions, swimming in special mathematics and the burden of college life which nearly drowned your optimism alongside that of your friends’. Yet, to your surprise, at least twice a day you’d find a lifeboat to lean onto which came in a package with a hose to swallow the water. Weird metaphors aside, in other words, you and Namjoon started texting a few days after he gave you his number and you managed to deliver the notes. And not just one phrase here and there, but multiple messages that had you debating food choices, new courses and the density of your literature teacher.

It turned into a habit, checking your notifications between classes because of him. Those close to you knew you preferred real-life communication to texting and made efforts to hang out as much as possible, so your phone hardly buzzed most of the time.

With the exception of him, of course. You discovered hidden opinions with the help of your flair for complaining and progressed on the stages of your friendship enough to be comfortable with the idea of him helping you. Well, calling it a friendship could’ve been a stretch, but development is development. Difficulties still arose in the eye contact department, but you discovered he opens up far more when he didn’t have to face you. Were you scary like that? He even followed you back on Instagram before liking all of your pictures, it mustn’t be the case.

Though, you couldn’t be the one to talk, because you ended up seeing him in passing once and got an existential crisis from waving at him, unsure whether you were at the stage for it or not yet. Ready to duck into a bush and never speak again, your eyes widened as you spotted him waving back and smiling, pointing at you to whoever he was with. Even bigger was the shock coming from him walking towards you and striking a conversation, asking you about your studies and the week you had. He was the same as always, shy grin on and ears listening with diligence as you fumbled for words and gaped like a fish at his interest in your well-being.

It was hard to hate him. There, you said it. Hard to despise a person of his type when all he did was-

Ping!

Driven by habit alone, you wet your lips as you unlocked your phone, thankful for the distraction of the thoughts causing you to be distracted in the first place.

[beanie boy] 8:50 a.m: you know, if that photographer keeps being an asshole, i got this friend that can replace him real quick [beanie boy] 8:50 a.m: his style is a little more middle-aged art teacher than mine, so it might be hard to accept him but he’s great [beanie boy] 8:51 a.m: promise?

The corner of your mouth curled, recalling the recent discussions of the guy throwing a fit because Yuna wanted a shot near the lake outside of the ceremonies, followed by one at the central park and how she went on to pay his fuel to shut him up. You didn’t even realise the lecture was close to finishing, and from what you heard, Thursdays around this time they’d let him go a few minutes early. According to calculations, he must’ve been texting you right as he got out of class.

[you] 8:52 a.m: you have ties in the photographer industry? [you] 8:52 a.m: is tht why you know so much colour theory…,, Damn

Where did he have ties though, it occurred to you. What was his major? During the time you spent talking, you felt like you knew a lot of trivial information about Namjoon that most of his classmates didn’t, but the origins of his passions stayed foreign to you. The notes app in your head updated with the urge to find out about it.

[beanie boy] 8:54 a.m: i held his light in the art museum as he was developing pics. We bonded then

You furrowed your brows, thoughts that Namjoon might have more titles around the campus except for the one you gave him foreign to your conscience. To this photography guy, he was light Boy, who helped him through hard times- was it his thing? Help random people, make them feel special and then never meet with them again?

[beanie boy] 8:54 a.m: his art is also weirdly motivational. Idk what it is about dog paws and noses that moves me to tears but it’s very helpful when i have a hard time [beanie boy] 8:55 a.m: are we on for today?

[you] 8:58 a.m: yes i hope so

He told you he didn’t have plans for the upcoming week starting today, and the venue devil reserved your discussion for the same days. Still, a part of you grew anxious from his lack of reply and agreement as you moved to the next class. Scurrying for your phone, you began typing again.

[you] 9:09 a.m: i mean, it’s ok if we don't Do it now. [you] 9:10 a.m: there’s still time. Idc

You put your trust in one man and look what happened. He hated you. He wanted to ditch you-

[beanie boy] 9:14 a.m: what? yes i want us to go today [beanie boy] 9:15 a.m: for the record, i ignored a ppt presentation to answer this [beanie boy] 9:15 a.m: and ouch, that’s cold. you really hurt me this time. [beanie boy is typing…]

[beanie boy] 9:19 a.m: maybe you can make it up to me with some tea later?

Your breath hitched as you read the notification on your phone. Too dangerous out there to open it.

[beanie boy] 9:19 a.m: heard it’s good for the soul

Yeah, the fucking soul alright. Glad he was preoccupied with his as he was toying with yours. Half pettiness half need to pay attention to your surroundings, you put your phone back in your pocket, ready to concentrate on your lecture.

Immersed in the new information and ways to solve presented to you, you forgot about your feelings regarding the matter and came back more energized and ready to take on the day. The day in which--oh no.

[you] 11:23 a.m: we’ll see about that [you] 11:25 a.m: meet me in front of the art building in three hours?

You didn’t mean to come out mysterious or cold, but now that it was done you were starting to embrace it, showing how much of a layered person you were. Bet photo guy didn’t keep him on his toes like this.

Bet photo man didn’t have to wait in front of a building looking like a sheep lost from the herd, no shepherd in sight to calm your nerves. Its new-age design and uneven blocks brought all the space for doubt to slither into your heart, no answer from Namjoon as of yet. You were hoping for the best, self-esteem steeling itself for you to erase the idea of him ditching you.

A hand fell to your shoulder, his face leaning into your range of sight and you let out the breath you were holding. “Hey, sorry I’m late. The professor wouldn’t let me go.”

You didn’t bother to turn to him, pout ever present as you rubbed your shoulder to get a bit of warmth. The wind was ruthless. “Wouldn’t want to keep such an artefact from discovery. Bet they had a lot to say.”

He still hadn’t let go of you, fingers instead tightening on your shoulder and bringing you closer to him, continuing to rub your grey jacket. You took a peek at him and he paused, cheeks puffed before he burst into laughter, making you look at him in wonder.

As he came back from it, his grin was still present, wide and shiny and rivalling the sun. The kind of expression that’s overwhelming, that makes your eyes crinkle and your mind foggy. It’s merciless in the way it lets the feeling seep through, surrounds with the sensation of allowing your defences to drop. It pulls you in and caresses your thoughts into melting, urging you to enjoy the moment. An endearment which is too familiar to you, but which had never risen from your essence and left drops of warmth and honeysuckle in its path.

Then, as an offence against your well-being, he said, ‘I’m glad you think so’, pulling you out of your daze.

You shook your head. This couldn’t be happening.

“Are we taking the bus this time too?” he said as he resumed to his usual distance.

“Uhh… that’s the plan.”

“Great! Let’s go!” he raised his eyebrows, challenging you with his power walk once again. The chances of you wearing the crown for the fastest walk were slim now that you had met Namjoon.

You didn’t even register the walk to the station, too preoccupied in trying to keep up with him and answer his questions about the guy at the venue as he was blurting out random ‘what an asshole’s. Paying for the ticket and squeezing between a swarm of people came as a blur as well until you were forced into Namjoon’s personal space, close enough to smell the wavering scent of his fabric softener. His gaze turned to you, face getting closer and making your eyes widen.

Namjoon opened his mouth to apologise, but you cut him off by reaching out and plugging one of the earbuds he removed to hear you back into his ear. With that, you turned around so your back was facing him, letting out a deep breath to even your heart rate. You didn’t remember crowded places having such an effect on you, though you supposed crowding anxiety developed at any age.

“How do you feel?”

“Focused,” you said. “I’m estimating the chance I’ll fail this.”

“Failure will never overtake you if your determination to succeed is strong enough.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Namjoon seemed to switch back to his shy persona, avoiding your gaze before his head snapped back to meet your eyes. “Just something to remember. Quotes like that usually calm my thoughts.”

It did make you calmer, just because you imagined Namjoon with his own suburban quote room. Maybe he was the type to read the quotes and meditate after, do a little yoga? Stretch those long legs and kicking other planets while he was at it? “Oh… thank you? Do you read them often?”

He nodded as he brought his cap down, bravery vanishing as the both of you entered the venue.

You grasped the modern twist that brought so many people in, that created a ballroom atmosphere even with the ordinary white curtains closed shut. Lines bloomed from the root of a crystal chandelier and served to separate the rose tones in pleasant shapes. Near their end, they were pulled from their seams and moulded to create another rose-gold halo, which reflected the light of the diamonds and poured right onto the glass-like floor. The thought that you’d be spending at least a day uninterrupted here was thrilling–it made you hide your hands behind your back, intertwine your fingers so you wouldn’t slip and touch.

If the place lured you into letting loose, the three-piece tailored to fit his frame posed a tightness to the chest area of the man waiting in the corner encouraged everything but. He surged forward with power stance and introduced himself to both of you, reaching out to shake Namjoon’s hand. You quirked an eyebrow as you exchanged names, sharing a confused look with him. Following his gestures, you studied both of their reactions with a careful eye as they shook hands, comforted by Namjoon’s lost gaze. At last, he moved to you, and you gripped with the biggest force your noodle arms could handle.

“Our pleasure.”

“We have provided a full course dinner with traditional dessert and listed our vegetarian options in the e-mail we sent. Our in-house catering accepts suggestions up to 10 days before the due date. You can only choose to switch a meal with another one that is available on our list.”

He led the two of you on a tour of the place, explaining the back door exits and pointing to the emergency pans plastered on the main hall. Alright. Positivity. It wasn’t so bad, Breast Man over there might’ve stored some sense of organization and compassion in those gigantic tits–

“The team will be available from the start of your appointment and continue till the end of the day. Anything after midnight will have to be covered by your service or paid for a fee.”

Your face fell.

“I–I don’t understand, if we paid for the entire day then how do they need to pay again?”

He beamed. “Nothing has been covered for the 31st.” Caught you without a reply and continued,

“The only thing ensured from one to seven a.m are the accommodations for the guests coming from abroad which will take place at our partners from Novotel.”

For fuck’s sake, were you about to argue with this asshole over the hours in a day?

“We reserve a full day of preparations, and it is recommended you visit during the week for a check. The rest, in case you want to you can reserve a date to establish the final changes to the menu, decoration, and other services that our team has covered.”

How you wished for the chandelier to drop down and split the earth so you’d never have to face this man again.

Despite the circumstances being turned against you and your temporary fluster, you tried to collect your thoughts enough to formulate an answer. In the corner of your eye, you saw Namjoon tensing. “Of course. I have some right now Regarding the main-course. Swipe the vegetables for carrot puree and add caramel soy sauce. And we’d like–”

And then the head gears that caught up to you made you notice how he was doing nothing but stroll around like a pompous poodle, not paying any attention to you. Did he insist on meeting so he could stay here and attempt to intimidate you? Very funny, how you’ll show him–

The suggestions. Right.

Or not.

“We provide–”

“Sir, with all due respect–” The rest of your cognitive functions not responsible for speech lounged to watch another episode of your embarrassment. “Having a set schedule for the guests is impractical since each plane has its own set-off time. Leaving them with no place to stay for possible hours on end is impolite, and I… I think that it’s not an image your business strives to have…” Your confidence was leaving you like your last hope, but by his face you were making some points. Namjoon remained quiet next to you, nodding on occasion and making little sounds to support your words. Being a beginner in the art of scamming, neither of you could find a strong enough argument for all of his schemes, but you remained tough, defending Yuna’s choices in front of this food and muscle growth connoisseur.

Annoyed from your end and sure to have picked on your guard dog behaviours, tight suit ended up noting the food changes and finalised the details for your next meeting, part of him left unsatisfied, from the way he was watching you and Namjoon. Maybe it was the chest. Then, as if struck with a revelation that will make his horns show at last, he smirked down at you.

“Business aside, it’s a little early to get married, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, body stiffening as you processed his words. You were doing your best, but the feeling was already weighing upon your chest at the mention of doubt regarding the couple. This guy. “Sure, a little early for me to–”

Without a word, you felt Namjoon’s pinky lock with yours before gripping your entire hand and enclosing it in its own. You stopped in your tracks, struggling to think of something else. “to… make a decision, but for them, it’s not. They love each other a lot. They’ll be so happy to be married.” You nodded to yourself, 100% sure of what you were saying as you squeezed Namjoon’s hand unconsciously.

With that, you got out of the situation in one piece, arrangement still intact but with a neon purple bruise to your ego. Devil man made you promise you’d call and schedule another meeting, this time with the staff for decoration as he seemed to milk the last seconds of his scammer persona.

As he was all jittery, you waited for him to release his grip, but, to your surprise, you found yourself pulled further from the building.

“I apologise,” Namjoon whispered, his hand hanging onto your open one.

“Huh?”

“That guy, ugh–he’s very good at making people lose their temper. That was ridiculous.” He puffed, at the limit of frustration and something you couldn’t decipher.“I didn’t know what to say or if you wanted me to say anything. I don’t know, I guess–I didn’t want to discredit you. Not in front of him. Not e-”

He switched to your still intertwined fingers and watched as the tips of your fingers dragged against his. You let them drop back to your sides as you watched his, curling around his denim pocket. You never looked at him, too focused on trying to pick each line running through your head to notice him getting lost in the distance between your hands.

“Namjoon?”

The words died on the tip of his tongue. “Mmm?”

“How was I?”

“Uh…You were fine, got a little carried away at the end. But that’s–we need to talk about–”

You shushed him, a rush of motivation hitting you. Blame it on sparkly eyes, your lack of care for yourself, the moon, Mercury in Retrograde. You were thirsty, and you were going to do something about it. Or that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Forget it. Let’s go get that tea.”

a/n: and part 1 done! feedback means the world to me and i’ve been working on this for like two months so pleathe tell me ur thoughts! peace! its gonna get spicier in the next parts but we had 2 establish some ground...ehehe ;) thx to miss liana @yuengi for being the sexiest wife n beta possibol.!!!

[imagine-darksiders]

Afterburn

Chapter one - Adjustment period.

Minecraft Story Mode - R O M E O  +  J E S S E 

Words: 12,912

Summary: It’s the day following Jesse’s triumph over the Admin, and in a move that rattled all of Beacon Town, their plucky hero extended a hand of friendship to her former adversary and allowed him to recuperate within the city walls, at least for a time before he would inevitably set out for the Underneath to find Xara. 

Stripped of his powers, confused and ashamed, Romeo must venture out into the city that ultimately hates him in the vague hopes of restoring the hurt he’s caused. The problem is, he doesn’t know how. 

It’s a good thing then, that Jesse does. 

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Tags: Female Jesse; The Admin; Romeo; Radar; Jack; Nurm; Angst; Slowburn; hurt/comfort; budding friendship; Romeo gets protective; impromptu cafe date; villain experiencing real kindness for the fist time in a long time; there is a hug; 

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Alright, so I know this isn’t a Darksiders fic but to be honest, I’ve felt like they’ve been lacking a little recently, so I thought step right away and write something for my second favourite fandom, just to refresh my brain :) I’d love to know your thoughts X

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Power corrupts.

Odd how one little locution could plague the guilty conscience of a man who wholly believed for years that he was the exception to such a rule.

Sitting alone in the dark at the end of a queen-sized bed, the disgraced admin – Romeo – expels a long, pent up sigh, bending forwards until his elbows rest on top of his knees, pale fingers clenched tightly around fistfuls of bouncy, scarlet hair.

The silence of early morning is disturbed only by the rhythmic 'tap,' 'tap,' 'tap,' of his sneaker's heel on the birch wood floor and a whispered word that slips, soft and reverent as a prayer, from his tongue.

“Fred...”

Romeo couldn't tell if the choice in flooring was the reason he'd been given this room, or if it had merely been an unfortunate happenstance that nobody thought of in the midst of yesterday's pandemonium. Not that it particularly mattered, in the end. He was never going to get any sleep in here regardless.

Fred had loved birch. Fred had also been an admin, right there alongside Romeo; the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

Though unlike Romeo, when Fred gained his omnipotence, he had remained completely unaffected by the bewitching delirium that comes with obtaining phenomenal power. Xara too, the third and final admin, had managed to stave off its influence.

Not Romeo, however. The power that came with being an Admin had not only corrupted him, it had shoved and bullied its way between his ribs, sunk its jagged teeth into his heart and clung on with a stubborn fervour that refused to be shaken loose. It turned him into something monstrous and the most harrowing part was, he hadn't even noticed the transition that had been so painfully obvious in hindsight.

A tiny sliver of sunlight finds a gap in the bedroom curtain and creeps steadily across the floor towards Romeo's feet. Absently, he watches its gradual journey, noting with no small degree of nausea that morning has indeed come, despite his efforts to stave it off so he might be allowed to wallow in self pity forever and a day inside this dark room, in the left wing of Jesse's Order Hall.

At the thought of Beacon Town's hero in residence, the former admin tugs a little more sharply on his hair.

Jesse....Her name leaves a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. Not because she had defied all odds and defeated him, turned him from a near–god to the tiny weakling he used to be, so very long ago, but because she – however unintentionally – serves as a glaring reminder of everything he wants to be. Everything he ever wanted to be.

Liked. Loved. Admired...

... A friend.

That's what it was all about. His power mad, envy-driven rampage was simply down to the fact that he wasn't Jesse. And even when he was her, for that briefest of moments, it didn't go as he imagined it would.

When Jesse was Jesse, she was adored. When Romeo was Jesse, somehow he still managed to botch things up and turn that carefully accumulated love into fear and hate.

It wasn't until the end that he recognised the heinousness of his actions - when it was all over and he was staring up at her from the cold, hard ground in terminal space.

Power corrupts. Stripped of it, and he'd been rendered lucid and humble – devastatingly aware of what he'd done under its influence.

At long last, Romeo's fingers disentangle themselves from his hair and he lowers them gently to the dusty pink duvet at his sides.

Already the sunbeam has moved over his shoes and is well on its way up the opposite wall. The ex-admin glares at it with more heat than is really necessary. He can't very well continue to mope around inside this guest room all day, not the room that Jesse always reserves for her friends, if the polaroids scattered on a patch of wall above the headboard are anything to go by.

Romeo had passed several hours last night scouring them, staring up into the beaming face of the hero herself, with her arms slung around the shoulders of a heavy-set man, hair black as an enderman's hide and clad in an emerald green shirt. He towered over the other two; Jesse, and a woman dressed almost exclusively in red, who's eyes were sharp enough to cut diamonds, dark and analytical. Romeo had hardly bothered to learn Axel and Olivia's names in the beginning. They weren't Jesse.

For a long time, he'd stared and stared and stared at the pictures, wondering why he was suddenly hit by a nagging sense of deja vu, and then aghast to lift his fingers and find an unfamiliar wetness forming on his cheeks.

There they were, all three friends. The brains, brawn and in the middle – always in the middle – was the heart. Romeo had had to exercise an extraordinary level of self restraint to keep from tearing those photographs off the wall.

Heaving out a weary sigh, he scrubs a hand over his face and pushes himself off the bed, stretching out a kink in his back with a grunt, knowing he can't continue to delay the inevitable. Eventually, he'll have to wander outside and face the mistrustful, scathing glares of the Beacon Town residents.

...Might as well get it over with.

Smoothing out the wrinkles in his grey t shirt, Romeo sucks down a steadying breath and drags himself over to the door. His hand has just grasped the metal knob when he pauses, bracing himself for...what?

For facing the full extent of what he's done?

For the hateful words whispered behind his back?

For Jesse to turn that unwaveringly patient gaze onto him and ask with a genuine smile, “How did you sleep?” As if he hadn't tried to kill her and her friends on multiple occasions. As if he hadn't tried to bedrock over her whole world like a toddler throwing a tantrum when it didn't get its way.

A groan bubbles up the old admin's throat but he swallows it down, taking in a deep inhale through his nose and letting it out again in a loud, gushing sigh.

Before he can give into the temptation of retreating underneath the duvet again, Romeo sets his jaw, turns the knob and yanks the bedroom door open, stepping out into the wide corridor...

...and straight into Jesse's skittish intern.

The young, bespectacled man had been happily ferrying an enormous stack of build authorisation documents from Jesse's office to the dingy vault down inside a basement beneath the Order Hall. The papers are all a formality, of course. Typically, the hero in residence is more than glad to let people build whatever they want. But apparently, the lack of organisation had vexed Radar so much, he sat down one evening when he had nothing else to do and drafted up records of every past, current and future construction project in Beacon Town. When he handed them to Jesse, she hadn't had the heart to tell him they were a bit redundant.

Unfortunately, the precarious pile was stacked so high, he couldn't see where he was going, relying more on his in-depth knowledge of the hall's layout than his own eyesight. So in choosing to step out into the corridor at that precise second, the ex-admin really threw a wrench in the works.

The intern crashes into Romeo with a sickening crunch, prompting the former to blurt out a yelp as he bounces off a sturdy body and topples backwards, throwing his arms out to catch himself and subsequently scattering his carefully organised paperwork all over the place. He lands on his rear, the impact jarring him and flinging the glasses off his nose where they clatter to the ground at Romeo's feet, who - for a few, terse seconds – remains rooted to the spot, starting down at the boy as a tiny inkling of dread begins to gnaw at his gut.

'Oh no...That's Jesse's intern. I just knocked Jesse's beloved intern to the floor,' he shudders, 'If this is any indication of how my day is going to pan out, I'm heading back to bed.'

Suddenly, Radar lets out a pitiable whine and leans forward to pat around on the carpet in search of his glasses, soft brown eyes squinted harshly under puckered brows. “Oh my gosh! I-I am so sorry.” he stammers, catching the former admin by surprise, “I didn't see you there!” He continues to ramble out apologies, his fingers skirting closer and closer to the glasses but never quite near enough to find them.

It's at that point Romeo realises that the kid has no idea who he'd just crashed into.

Part of him is tempted to quietly slip away so he won't later be accused of picking on the Hero's friend. Glancing over a shoulder, he takes a step back. Then, quite unexpectedly, he's drawn to a halt by one, quiet thought. 'What would Jesse do?'

...Probably something noble, heroic even. Jesse would lift Radar to his feet, brush him down and softly reassure him that it was her fault for walking into him.

The ex admin has to bite down on his tongue to keep a sigh from escaping. Here he is, vowing to be a better person and he can't even nail down the basics. Face burning with shame that the prospect of sneaking away had even occurred, he bends to one knee and gingerly retrieves the boy's spectacles, mumbling, “Here,” and pressing them into Radar's outstretched hands.

“Hey, thanks!” The relief in the young man's voice is palpable as he sits back and hurriedly slides the glasses back into place on his nose, blinking a few times and roving his gaze upwards from a pair of red sneakers. “Sorry for bumping into you. Wasn't really watching where I-” The moment his eyes meet Romeo's jet-black stare, Radar freezes and his words sputter to an abrupt halt whereas the former admin utters a completely ineloquent, “U-um,” before he falls silent, flexing his fingers and glancing between the intern's gaping mouth and the papers littered about on the floor.

Clearing his throat, Romeo tries again, grimacing when it still comes out as a croaky, “Uh..”

Good grief, just yesterday he couldn't shut up, but now it's as though someone has coated his tongue in lead. Radar's face is a confused amalgamation of worry, trepidation and suspicion, but above all, fear.

'They don't love you, they're afraid of you!' Jesse's desperate cry rings in his ears, twisting Romeo's features into a crestfallen frown.

After a moment or two of uncomfortably being subjected to the youngster's guilt-inducing stare, the former admin hesitantly reaches down to offer him a hand, choosing to ignore Radar's less than subtle flinch.

“Here, let me he-”

“NO!”

The blurted exclamation catches Romeo off guard and he jerks his arm back just as the boy lurches forwards and scoops the sheets away, clutching them protectively to his chest, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Uh! I-I mean, I've got this,” he squeaks, ripping his focus away and hurriedly scraping his precious papers together, “You-you should go and find Jesse.”

The intern's reaction shouldn't have stung the way it had, alas, Romeo finds himself wilting at the outright rejection of his offer to help.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, he merely observes as the young man frantically stacks his papers into neat, little piles. All too soon, the quiet becomes too thick and a sudden urge to break it nearly overwhelms the former admin, prompting him to gulp loudly and ask “Jesse....wants to see me?” The heart in his chest gives a resonant buck in the same manner an unruly student's might if they were asked to pay a visit to their headmaster's office.

There's an unexpected degree of apprehension in his tone that gives the intern pause. Glancing up, Radar cocks his head at Jesse's former adversary and chews absentmindedly at his bottom lip. “Um..Not exactly. She told me to tell you – if I saw you – that she's...she's at Nell's house.”

He finally places the last sheet on top of the stack, hefts them all up into his arms and attempts to get to his feet but nearly drops everything all over again when a large, strong hand slips around his skinny wrist. Startled, he jumps at the unexpected contact, fighting against a compulsion to shake himself free as he's gently tugged upright. The instant he's steady on his feet and no longer in danger of tottering backwards under the weight of all those papers, the hand swiftly retracts.

Peering around his pile of documents, Radar gapes after Romeo, who's turned on his heel and is beating a hasty retreat towards the hall's front entrance, head ducked low and hands stuffed into his pockets.

Once their old enemy has disappeared through the doors and they slam shut with an almighty boom, Radar lets out a wheeze and slumps a little on his trembling legs.

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

“Jesse, dude? You have outdone yourself once again.”

Nell claps a hand down on the hero's shoulder and the two of them step back to admire the statue sitting on a pedestal just outside Nell's front yard. For the better part of the morning, Jesse had painstakingly set about removing the Admin's handiwork that had been built on top of the original sculpture she'd made specifically to welcome her new friend into Beacon Town.

Wiping her palm through the light sheen of sweat gathered on her forehead, Jesse turns to shoot Nell an apologetic frown. “It's nothing. I'm just sorry I didn't change it back before. But I didn't want to get you in trouble with you-know-who.”

And a good thing too, considering that mere seconds after she'd made the executive decision not to tear down Romeo's statue, the man himself had materialised out of thin air to carry out an impromptu inspection.

“Oh pshaw! Don't sweat it, pal!” she replies, blowing a long, blonde strand of hair out of her face, “You probably did me a solid. No telling what that Admin guy would have done if you'd-” Just then, Nell's voice cuts off and her head snaps to one side, looking past the resident hero at something in the distance. “Uh, oh,” she mutters a moment later, a phrase that send cold fingers of dread creeping up Jesse's spine.

“Uh oh? Nell, you know those are two of my least favourite words.”

But her free-spirited companion is too busy staring apprehensively across the square to respond. Instead, she nods towards the beacon that gave the town its name, her eyes narrowed to soft, blue slits. “Speak of the devil...” she warns.

Jesse follows her line of sight and begins to scan the crowd until she eventually spots a familiar mop of wavy, red hair poking out from behind the monument's low wall.  

Inevitably, there is an instance in which her heart rate quickens at the sight of her former adversary and she has to remind herself – quite forcibly – that he isn't a threat any more.

Stamping down on her gut reaction to move in front of Nell, she raises an arm and waves at him. “Romeo! Over here!”

The ex admin – who until that moment had been lingering beside the beacon, trying to work out how best to approach the hero and her friend – gives a start, glancing left and right as if to make absolutely certain that she was addressing him before hesitantly returning her wave, albeit with far less enthusiasm.

Lowering her arm, she looks back at Nell. “Hey listen, I've gotta scoot, but it was great hanging out.”

“Wait, huh?” Her friend pales, tearing her eyes off the him to gape at Jesse, “Where are you goin'?”

“Got some errands to run. Thought I'd bring Romeo along to lend a hand.”

“....Who's Romeo?”

Jesse blinks, suddenly remembering that most of the town still only knows him as The Admin, and if he was ever going to be accepted, she would have to rectify that. “That's Romeo.” She juts her chin at the man standing beside the beacon, almost as though he's afraid that moving will provoke a nearby citizen to spontaneously attack. “He doesn't go by Admin anymore..”

Nell is quiet, wrinkling her nose and slowly blinking at the smaller woman. “...Seriously?” she says after a while, “Dude's name is Romeo?”

Huffing out a soft laugh, Jesse shakes her head and lightly touches her friend's shoulder in farewell. “You'll get used to it. I'll see you around, okay?” And with that, she turns on her heel and makes off towards Romeo. All of a sudden, a hand grasps her upper arm and pulls her to an unsteady halt, prompting her to glance back over her shoulder, one, dark eyebrow raised expectantly. “Um..Yeah?”

Nell promptly leans closer and puts her lips up to Jesse's ear, whispering into it consiprationally whilst keeping a flinty glare aimed in Romeo's direction. “Uh, Jesse? Pal. Now, I know you can handle yourself, but are you sure you wanna be..like.. alone with that guy?”

They both return their attention to the man in question and notice how he's hunched in on himself, eyes cast to the stone underfoot as a last measure of defence against the disdainful glares shot his way by nearly every Beacon Towner in his vicinity. Jesse notes – with a strange concoction of satisfaction and concern – that he seems a lot...smaller than he had been before.

Hooking her thumbs into the straps of her dungarees, the hero flashes Nell her trademark, reassuring grin.

“You don't have to worry. Romeo isn't the Admin anymore. And besides-” Her grin softens as she flicks her eyes back over at him. “- He's not gonna hurt me. I think he really wants to try and make up for what he's done.

Nell, however, doesn't look so convinced. This time though, she refrains from pulling Jesse back when the hero throws a farewell over her shoulder and strides across the square, meeting him halfway.

Pulling her lips into a tight line, Nell murmurs, “Man, I hope you're right, Jess. For your sake.”

The moment he sees Jesse move away from her friend, the former admin tenses, limbs locking up at his sides and he swallows, trying to gauge if her approach is threatening or not. Cautiously he observes her, privately marvelling at the openness of her face.

The corners of her mouth are turned up into an easy smile and her large, too-trusting eyes no longer burn with that ferocious determination he'd been privy to as her enemy. Now, as she draws nearer, he can make out the smudged khol still muddying the skin beneath her eyelids, evidence that she'd been too exhausted last night after her long ordeal to bother removing the make up before bed and there are even faint, red veins zigzagging across her sclera. Despite the airy smile plastered on her face, there's a shadow hanging over her, and a sluggishness to her gait that he hasn't seen before. Either she's been awake since the wee hours, or – like him – she'd hardly slept at all.

Both notions twist his stomach into remorseful knots.

“Hey, Romeo.”

He stiffens, blanching as he realises he'd been caught staring at her eyes while she made her way over to him.

With more effort than should really be necessary, Romeo blinks. “Oh, Jesse!” he blurts out, as though he's surprised to find her here at all, “Fancy running into you!”

The hero stops just shy of a metre from him, hesitates, and then takes another step closer. The gesture – though small – doesn't go unnoticed and his lips give an appreciative twitch.

“Yeah, sorry. Thought I'd get an early start on fixing some stuff around town,” she says, curling her fingers around a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear. “Did Radar find you?”

She gestures down the road he'd just come from and beckons him to follow.

Hesitating for a second, he watches her stroll past him. Then, shaking his head, he hurries along after, easily matching her pace wit his far longer legs. “Yep,” he tries for a laugh that ends up sounding forced, “Jittery little fellow, isn't he? Said I might find you out here, talking to ol' Nellie.” He glances back to see the blonde watching him like a hawk, arms folded across her chest. “Good, uh..Good sort, that one.”

“Who, Nell? Yeah, she's good people. So glad she decided to settle down here. Radar too! I don't know what I'd do without him around. Probably forget a lot of social obligations for a start.”

Narrowly avoiding a painful collision with an exceptionally cross-looking woman's shoulder, he echos, “Social obligations?”

“Oh, that's Radar's way of trying to make mayoral responsibilities sound fun,” she explains breezily, “It's just stuff like, attending town meetings, overseeing build contests. Dinner parties, dance parties...”

“Sounds exhausting,” he admits, recalling the few days he'd tried being Jesse. The demand for his attention had bordered on oppressive and he'd only been subjected to it for a fraction of the time she had.

A trio of parrots that had busied themselves by idly hopping around the path in search of dropped food suddenly take to the sky at their approach. Jesse regards them wistfully, exhaling through her nose before she offers a response. “It's not so bad really. You get used to it.”

Romeo hums, scrutinising her from the corner of his eye. She doesn't sound as though she's used to it. In fact, she sounds like she wants to sprout wings and fly away with the rest of the birds.

She confirms his suspicions a moment later by quietly admitting, “I do miss being able to just go on adventures whenever I want. I'm not as...free as I was a couple of years ago.”  

Once again, Romeo finds himself unable to offer little more than an evasive grunt, uncertain of how he ought to reply. In truth, he's distracted.

She fell into a conversation with him far too quickly and easily, she has yet to bring up the reason she brought him out here, nor where they're currently heading. And not once has she sent him the same, heated glare he seems to be receiving from every other person in town. To say his nerves are frayed would be an understatement. Romeo can't remember ever feeling so on edge, suspended in a state where he's perpetually braced for something bad to happen.

He very nearly asks her to just get it over with and start laying into him about what a terrible person he is, but at that moment, they turn a corner and his attention is immediately diverted elsewhere.

They've emerged onto a busy street, lined with quaint little cafes and general traders where the atmosphere is made bright and airy by slats of early morning sunlight that break through gaps in overhead structures to warm the stone beneath their feet.

Romeo's mouth falls open comically wide. “They've rebuilt so much already?”

It isn't difficult to detect the pride in Jesse's voice as she leads him towards a cafe at the very end of the road. “Yep, everyone here was super keen to get the town back to normal after – uh....” Awkwardly, she trails off, biting her lip and sending her former nemesis a sidelong grimace.

“After I destroyed it,” he finishes for her, his expression neutral, although she can see the tightness in his jaw.

“Hey now, you didn't... completely destroy it,” she offers lamely, hurrying past a house in the process of having it's entire roof reconstructed, “You just...sort of...revamped it. Yeah!” Smile renewed, she sweeps an arm out at the surroundings. “I mean, lose the golem guards, a few less fires and take away the threat of being zapped into a cage at a moment's notice-”

At her side, Romeo winces miserably.

“- and Beacon Town is pretty much back to normal.”

He gives her an incredulous squint, unable to stop a derisive snort from jumping out of his nose. “Sorry, normal? Are you forgetting about the ginormous, horrifyingly daunting tower of colossal proportions up there?” he huffs, throwing a hand up to indicate the structure looming over the rest of Beacon Town, casting its long shadow out over the western forest.

The Admin Tower. A monument he'd built as a show of his power and talent. It had seemed so impressive once. Now, he can hardly stand to look at the damn thing, standing there in all its ostentatiousness, his magnum opus that perfectly reflected its gaudy creator.

Jesse, however, appears to have a different opinion. “Okay, I didn't want to tell you this while you were...the old you,” she says behind her hand in a hushed tone, leaning close enough for him to catch a whiff of the sandalwood shampoo she uses, “But that tower? It's pretty mind blowing.”

“Mind blo- whu-?” Apparently, 'mind blowing' was the most apropos term she could have used. Tripping over his own tongue, Romeo nearly walks into a wooden chair sitting just outside the cafe they'd been heading towards, where small, square tables are dotted about and several bunches of daffodils rest in glass vases at the centre of each.

Casually, Jesse makes her way around the table and tugs out a chair on his opposite side, sitting herself down whilst he simply gawks at her, incredulous. “You...you like my build?” he breathes, his body moving of its own accord until he finds himself seated on his own chair without really registering the motion.

“Well, yeah! Why did you think we decided not to tear it down?” Jesse raises an arm to wave at someone behind him, though he's too taken aback to try and see who. “You were a jerk, sure. But that doesn't mean your builds weren't incredible! That icy palace of doom?” She leans forwards to rest her elbows on the table and sends him a pointed look, “Horrifying, don't get me wrong. But, credit where it's due – it was pretty awesome.”

The former admin's heart leaps into his throat, breath hitching at the approval she'd just hit him with.

“I still can't believe you built all that, just for me.” She shakes her head and her smile falters for a fraction of a second, a pensive frown darkening her eyes.

Momentarily, Romeo has to wonder why she'd think he wouldn't build something like that for a friend, but just as he opens his mouth to reply, he's cut off by the sound of a throat being cleared sharply to his right. Startled, he jerks his head around to see who'd rudely interrupted the conversation and nearly jumps out of his skin as a folded menu is brusquely shoved into his hands.

Standing over them, eyebrows slanted sharply in a seemingly permanent scowl, is a fair-haired man wearing a bright, green pinafore, his lips stretching into a tight smile which looks a hell of a lot more genuine when he turns it onto Jesse.

“Always good to see you, Jesse,” he drawls, handing her another menu, “We may not be back up to full efficiency just yet, but thanks to you, we're at least open for business.”

Ducking her head and lifting one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, she replies, “Ah, it wasn't all me. Everyone's been pitching in to help get the city back to normal.”

“Indeed,” the waiter sniffs and pauses until she begins glancing over the menu before he throws Romeo a look dirty enough to stain, “Well...Almost everyo-”

“I think I'll have the rabbit stew!” A vicious glare accompanies Jesse's snapped interruption, though both are so out of place for the amicable hero, the men have to do a double take just to make sure it had been her who spoke.

After a brief second of stunned silence, the waiter gives a start and fumbles for his notepad, swiftly jotting down her order. “O-of course, rabbit stew. We can do that!” Turning hesitantly towards the former admin, the man whispers down to her, “And...uh...What'll he have?”

A rush of irritation tickles at the back of Romeo's mind, bridling at the waiter's attitude. However, the glimmer of anxiousness that flashes across Jesse's face catches his eye and quells that surge of aggression.

'You asked for this,' he reminds himself dismally, swallowing down the anger, 'However they treat you, that's on you.'

Sucking in a breath, he tries to respond when he realises there's a problem: He has no idea what's on the menu. He hasn't even looked at it.

Come to think of it, when was the last time he actually ate anything?

As an admin, he had no need for sustenance.

Now that he's normal though...

Romeo peers inquisitively at the dark-haired woman sitting opposite and cocks his head to one side, struck by a sneaking suspicion that she'd had a similar thought at some point or another. Why else would she bring him here?

Conscious that he still hasn't provided an answer, he settles to offer up a tiny shrug and utters, “Same as her.”

Clearly taken aback, the waiter's eyebrows shoot up his forehead and nearly disappear beneath his wispy, brown fringe. In the end though, he nods and all but snatches the menu out of Romeo's hands, taking Jesse's too before he bustles off back through the door leading into his cafe.

Once the little bell hanging above the entrance stops tinkling, the hero deflates, slumping forwards over the table and covering her face with her hands.

“I am...so sorry about that,” she moans.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, somewhat bitterly, “You didn't seriously expect it to be any different, did you? Not after how I...how I behaved.” Raising his eyes to the street, he counts no less than seven people who're trying to look busy while simultaneously throwing him wary glances every now and again.  “I mean, it's hardly any wonder most of Beacon Town wants me gone...And I don't think they're very happy that you-” He jabs a slender finger across the table at her. “- decided to let me stay for a while.”

Pressing her lips together, Jesse frowns, cautiously venturing, “You know, Romeo...If you want to leave, I'm not going to stop you. The gate's right there. I just -” She heaves out a sigh. “- I know what it's like down there, in the Underneath. You do not wanna be there unprepared. I thought that, if you're really going to go and find Xara, you should at least wait until you get your strength back.”

Stubbornly folding his arms across his chest, he grumbles, “M'already strong.”

“You went from having god-like powers to having no powers at all.” Jesse drops her eyelids and levels a skeptical look his way. “Trust me. There'll be an adjustment period.”

And because she sounds as though she knows what she's talking about, because her eyes betray no disdain yet still make him feel about an inch tall despite being thousands of years her senior, Romeo doesn't argue - doesn't see any reason to. She's right. Loathe as he is to admit it, he isn't the same, powerful creator of worlds anymore, and that thought both comforts and terrifies him.

He meant what he'd said in the Terminal; that without his power, he's nothing – less than nothing. Just a shell of his former self.

For a while, they simply observe one another across the table, Romeo's hands slowly closing into fists atop the cloth. There's an apprehensive tension choking the air around him, borne of his own bewilderment.

Why is she acting like this? Why isn't she addressing the elephant in the room? How can she sit there in front of him – all smiles and impeccable manners – and imply that she gives a hoot about what happens to him? That's something friends do. And he and Jesse are not friends. He ruined any and all chance of that by being utterly monstrous to her.

Heart in his throat and now on his sleeve, Romeo suddenly heaves himself halfway out of his chair, knocking it back a few feet.

Jesse blinks, but doesn't otherwise react as he stares her down, unaware of the tremor in his arms that are braced against the tabletop. “Alright! That's it!” he blurts out, “I can't take anymore of this!” Through gritted teeth he chokes out, “Why are you being so. Bloody. Nice!?” He punctuates the final word by slamming a fist down, rattling the flowers in their glass jar.

Over his rapid intakes and exhales, he notices that the whole street has gone deathly silent, and he doesn't need to look to know that everyone is staring at him, watching with baited breath to see if they need to step in and defend their beloved leader who has the ex admin locked in her tired, green gaze.

It's under that gaze that he finally begins to wither, the frustration leaving him like water from a leaky pail.

Jesse lowers her eyes and he finds himself moving down with them, sinking back into his chair as his mouth opens and closes around an apology, never quite finding the courage to break the spell of quiet. He wishes she would though. It's becoming unbearably thick.

All of a sudden, the bell above the cafe door rings loudly and he jumps, shoulders tensing when the waiter approaches their table with two, steaming dishes of stew balanced in each hand.

“Sorry for the delay,”he says, setting one dish in front of Jesse and promptly dropping Romeo's in his place, mindless of the stew that sloshes dangerously close to the rim, “Will that be everything?”

At last taking her eyes off the former admin, she turns a smile up at the waiter and nods. “That's great, thanks.”

“Well...You let me know if you need anything.”

Romeo has a feeling that the offer doesn't extend to him.

With a last, lingering glare, the man strolls off back into the cafe and the silence descends over them once more.

Desperate for something to do with his hands, Romeo hastily picks up a small fork and uses it to prod at his stew with feigned interest.

“Romeo.”

The utensil slips from his fingers and tumbles into the food with a wet splat, sending flecks of gravy flying in all directions. Reluctantly, he lifts his head to look at her and braces himself for a scolding.

Instead, she throws him off kilter by flashing a toothy smile and pointing her fork at his face. “I don't know if you remember how food works, but it's supposed to go in your mouth, not on your chin.”

“Huh?” His hand flies up and, sure enough, there's a spattering of thick, clumpy goop stuck to his red tuft of beard. Grumbling, he scrubs it off with the back of a hand, glowering at the hero. “Don't change the subject...You didn't answer my question..”

Now it's her turn to stare down into her stew and shovel some meat idly across the dish. “You want to know why I'm being nice?” she reiterates, peering up at him through her dark lashes.

Swallowing, Romeo nods.

The young hero sits back in her chair, humming and searching his face intently before she eventually takes a breath. “It's because -”

“It's because she's Jesse.”

The two of them give a start at the sound of a gruff, surly voice calling out from somewhere nearby and suddenly, strong fingers clasp Romeo's shoulder, pulling an undignified squawk from his throat.

“Oh no,” Jesse mumbles, covering part of her face with a hand as a burly man sporting an eye patch and an impressive beard saunters around Romeo towards her side of the table and grabs a chair from nearby, dragging it right up next to her and plonking himself down into it with one, broad shoulder pressed up against her. His lips pull back over his teeth to grin at the ex admin, though it only invokes the image of a lion baring its teeth.

Thoroughly cowed, Romeo shrinks further into his seat.

Eyes as hard as an iron block, a thick mane of dirty blonde hair and muscles that bulge out from beneath the sleeves of his navy vest – It isn't difficult to recognise the newcomer.

Puffing out his chest, Jack sniffs, staring his former nemesis down from across the table.

Without his powers, Romeo can at last appreciate just how intimidating Jack is. Even sitting down, he manages to dwarf Jesse.

Exasperated yet too fond of him to push him off, she resigns herself to lean into his shoulder, throwing Romeo an apologetic look.

Years ago, Jack had lost two of his best friends – Sammy and Vos – to the Admin's sea temple during a hunt for the legendary treasure supposedly buried within.. Their deaths had utterly devastated the man, left him with post traumatic stress disorder and a lingering tendency to fret profusely over those closest to him.

Jesse is among the few friends he has, which has – on more than one occasion -  rendered her prone to his often overprotective nature.

“Hrnn!” A second voice, this one far gentler than Jack's, draws their attention and before they know it, a villager has slipped into another chair on Jesse's right, though at a much less invasive distance. “Hmm, hrn hnn,” he continues, scowling at the adventurer, who blinks rapidly and recoils, affronted.

“I am not, Nurm,” he hisses before raising his voice, throwing an arm around Jesse's shoulders and grinning, “What? I'm not allowed to say 'hello' to a friend?”

Rolling his eyes, the villager lets out a huff and shifts around to smile warmly at the girl.

“Hey Nurm,” she greets, earning a soft hum as he extracts a hand from his robes and lays it gently over hers, patting it fondly.

That simple action sends a pang of longing racing through Romeo's chest.

There'd been a time  - long, long ago – when he, Xara and Fred had been that close. Close enough for physical touches that didn't hurt.

For a moment, it feels as if he's the interloper here, and they're the ones who Jesse had invited to eat with her.

“So,” Jack barks suddenly, clapping his hands together and startling Romeo back to the present, “We were just passing by – totally not following you, by the way – and we couldn't help but overhear you shouting at our Jesse here.”

At his side, Nurm grunts, mimicking his partner's stern glare.

The young woman sandwiched between them must have noticed that Romeo's face turns ashen because she carefully squirms until Jack gets the message and retrieves his arm from her shoulders. Once free, she taps a finger sharply on his clenched fist, a subtle, silent command which he reluctantly obeys, letting his fingers stiffly unfurl until they lay flat on the tablecloth.

“Romeo and I were just having a chat.” She glances at him pointedly. “Right?”

At the other end of the table, the ex admin runs a finger around the inside of his collar, adam's apple noticeably bobbing up and down and betraying his anxiousness. “We were! I-I was just asking her-”

“-Why she's being so nice to you. Yeah, we heard,” Jack interrupts, rolling his good eye, “The whole of Beacon Town heard.” Under his breath, he utters, “And most of us are asking ourselves the same question..”

Releasing his shirt, Romeo drops his hand against a thigh where it lands with a soft 'thwap' as he sighs defeatedly, forehead puckering. “I just don't get it,” he mumbles, partly to himself, partly to the other three, “She should hate me.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, the rest of us do,” Jack helpfully puts. A loud thump from under the table accompanies Nurm's admonishing, “Hrrm!” and the bearded adventurer flinches, wincing.

“Ow! What the heck was that for?”

Leaning back in his chair, Romeo waves a dismissive hand at the villager. “No, no. He's right. I mean, I'm not completely blind – not anymore...  - Everyone's got a good reason to hate me. Especially you.” His dark eyes find Jesse's and hold her gaze for several seconds before his nerve gives out and he drops his head again.

Nobody speaks for a time, Jack, Nurm and Jesse all exchanging sidelong glances while their old enemy watches the steam slowly rise from his food.

Jack can feel his other half's wizened stare on the side of his head, but he pays Nurm no mind, too preoccupied with scrutinising the disgraced admin before them.

Admittedly, he is a rather sorry sight.

Pallid complexion, dark circles beneath his eyes that make even Jesse's look small, hunched shoulders and a general lack of deluded grandeur leaves Romeo a damn sight less impressive than he'd once been.

Deep, deep down, there's a tiny part of Jack that sympathises. Losing that sort of power in one fell swoop would take a toll on most people. He imagines it would feel like having his own rippling, super athletic arms taken away and replaced with...with baby arms, or something. The very notion sends a shudder coursing through his body. “Listen, er...Romeo,” he begins, scratching at his nose, “I gotta be honest – Jesse here? Heck, I don't think this kid could hate anyone. Now, I'm not saying that's a bad thing!-”he rushes to explain as the young woman opens her mouth to protest. “I just mean, this isn't exactly the first time she's forgiven someone who almost destroyed the world.”

Nurm hums his agreement.

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds pretty bad,” the hero in question mumbles, abandoning all hopes of eating her stew while it's still hot. Luke warm would have to do.

At her statement, Jack barks out a laugh.“Ha! Not from the bad guy's perspective!”

Romeo can't help but to purse his lips, nodding soberly. “S'true. When I was the Admin, that selflessness of yours? Bah! Oh, I just thought it was pointless! Now though...” An incredulous smile nudges at one side of his mouth. “I'd have to say, I think it's one of your more attractive traits.”

He doesn't miss the way Nurm and Jack bristle, whereas Jesse herself raises a sly brow and the corner of her lips begin to twitch. It takes him a second to place a cause for their reaction. “Oh for!- Not attractive like that!-” Blowing out a rasping huff, he prays that the heat creeping up his cheeks isn't too noticeable. “You know what I meant.”

Harrumphing, Jack narrows his eyes but at least the tension drains from his shoulders.

“Well, Jack, Nurm-” the young hero nods to each of them in turn. “-It was great to see you guys...” She trails off, leaving her sentence open-ended in the hopes they'll interpret her hidden prompt to bid farewell. Jack looks about ready to batten down the hatches and glue himself to the chair, yet his intentions are thwarted as the villager gets to his feet, gesturing at the dishes of stew and murmuring something to the gruff man beside Jesse.

“Nurmie, the food isn't getting cold,” Jack huffs, following his partner's lead regardless and standing up. “Look! I can still see the steam....Oh wait, no. No I can't. Sorry Jess.”

Wordlessly, she shakes her head and grins, waving his apology aside.

Eyeballing Romeo for a last, lingering moment, he turns to her and rumbles, “Hey, listen...Me and Nurm are gonna go start putting the shop back together.” He lowers his voice, adding gently, “If you need anything, you come get us, okay?”

Sometimes, Jesse wonders if anyone even remembers that she can look after herself.

However, for the umpteenth time in her life, she decides to humour him. “Don't worry, Jack. I will. Bye Nurm!”She waves at the villager who has made his way around the table and takes his partner's elbow, tugging the larger man away from Jesse.

“Hrrm, hnn!” he chimes, waving back. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he offers a small nod to Romeo after which he and Jack make their way back down the street, heading for their home.

Twisting around in his seat, Romeo stares after them, teeth worrying at his bottom lip as a nagging thought pushes to the forefront of his mind and before he can stop himself, he's calling out, “Hey! Hey Jack!”

The man jerks to a halt, spinning around, his good eye round with surprise.

For a second, Romeo falters, feeling the stares of every Beacon Towner boring into him curiously. Unfortunately, it's far too late to back out now. Besides, Jesse's watching. So, setting his jaw, he swallows his pride – what little he has left – and continues. “I never apologised! For...for Vos and Sammy!”

He hears a soft intake of breath from the hero behind him and very quickly realises that mentioning Jack's deceased friends – especially the one he'd impersonated – probably wasn't the best idea.

Even with the distance between them, they can see Jack's entire body stiffen, sorrow clouding his rugged features.  There's a worrying second or two where Romeo is convinced that the adventurer will march right back over to the table and punch him square in the jaw. Apparently, Jesse seems to be on a similar train of thought as he hears the chair behind him scrape against the ground and her shadow falls across their table, letting him know that she's on her feet. Typical Jesse. Always prepared to intervene should a bust-up occur.

Neither of them need have worried though.

The villager at Jack's side rests a mollifying hand on his partner's rigid fist, squeezing gently until it goes slack. Then, without taking his eyes off Romeo, the adventurer turns his hand over and intertwines his fingers with Nurm's, returning the comforting squeeze while a humourless smile tugs at his lips and he softly calls back, “Sorry's just a word, pal. You want people around here to start forgiving you? You gotta show 'em you're sorry. No good just saying it.” Shaking his head slowly from side to side, he twists himself about, transferring Nurm's hand into his other one and the two of them start off down the path once again, though not before the former admin catches one last statement tossed over Jack's burly shoulder, one that's almost lost among the low hum of the bustling street. “But saying it is a start..”

Jesse and Romeo wait in silence until the adventurer and his companion turn a corner at the end of the road and disappear from view.

Several moments pass in which activity gradually picks up around the cafe again and all of Beacon Town seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Unsurprisingly, Romeo finds himself exhaling right alongside them. He turns back to face the hero in residence only to find her looking at him thoughtfully, a lopsided grin brightening her face.

“...What?” he asks after a pause.

With a coy shrug, she returns her attention to the stew on her placemat and stabs at a chunk of meat with the fork. Raising it up to her lips, she replies, “No, it's just... that was good of you. To apologise, I mean.”

He blinks as she pops the food into her mouth and immediately prepares a second forkful, etiquette all but forgotten in favour of eating the stew before it grows completely stone cold.

Hesitantly, Romeo lowers his eyes from her face and takes up his own fork, following Jesse's lead by scooping a piece of rabbit onto it. “He's right though, your friend...Saying sorry just doesn't feel like it's enough..”

Humming around her mouthful, Jesse gulps it down, pausing between her next bite to say, “That's because it kind of isn't.”

She's watching him closely now, expectantly, causing his ears to grow warm under the intensity of her stare as it follows the food all the way up to his mouth where he stops to give it a wary sniff before pushing the fork past his lips, eyes narrowed in anticipation. As soon as the meat hits his tongue, an explosion of flavour lights up his tastebuds and he's mortified at the groan that escapes him. His face must have done something funny as well, seeing as Jesse hastily brings a napkin up to her lips just a bit too late to hide her broad grin. “That good, huh?”

“Mhmm!” he nods eagerly, already shovelling in another fork load and nearly swallowing it whole. “Blimey!” he exclaims once he's no longer in danger of choking, “Remind me why I stopped eating food after I became an admin.”

Jesse's eyes sparkle like the sun on water. “If you think that's good, just wait until I reintroduce you to cake.”

Letting out an acknowledging grunt, Romeo wolfs down the rest of his meal, only sitting back when the dish is completely devoid of even the tiniest morsel. Using the back of a hand to wipe away any excess food off his chin, he sighs and offers the girl a contented smile. “Thanks for this, Jesse.” He indicates the dish, but hopes she'll figure out that he's thanking her for so much more. “You didn't have to do this.”

“Eh, you looked like you needed it.”

“No, seriously -” The former admin's expression turns instantly sober and he leans forwards, palms flat against the table. “I...what do I owe you?”

“Oh, don't worry about it,” she replies casually, putting her cutlery down inside the dish, “The guy who owns this place got into a bit of trouble with some skeletons last year and I saved him. Ever since then, he lets me and my friends eat here, totally gratis. You don't owe a thing.”

To her surprise, the ex admin roughly shakes his head, fingernails scraping over the tablecloth. “Jesse, please, you have to let me repay you somehow. How can I ever make up for what I've done if you won't let me?”

“Romeo,” she huffs, firmly enough to get him to pry his fingers from the table, “You don't need my permission. I'm not stopping you from doing good things. You should help people because you want to, not because I tell you to.”

“I – I do want to help people! But I just..I just...gah!” Frustrated, he exhales brusquely, slouching back into his chair and giving Jesse the most imploring look she's ever seen. It'd even put Radar's to shame. “I just don't know where to start.” Trailing off, he lowers his eyes down to rest on the hero's knuckles, where he can see the purpling bruises lingering on her skin, testaments of her final showdown against him. It seems even Fred's golden gauntlet – powerful as it was – couldn't wholly protect her from the full might of a desperate admin.

Unbeknownst to Romeo, his eyebrows knit together and he scowls darkly at the bruises, unaware that while he's peering at them, Jesse is busy casting a sympathetic glance over his face.

“You know,” she begins suddenly, drawing his head up a little, “If you really want to help out, I think I know how to get you started.”

Immediately, he brightens, “You do?”

The hero in residence doesn't bother to conceal her smirk. His enthusiasm had once been utterly horrifying and bordered on obsession, but now that he's no longer a giant megalomaniac, it's an unexpectedly endearing trait. “Come on,” she says, standing up and digging around in her pockets for something, “I'll tell you on the way.”

Curious, Romeo gets to his feet as Jesse fishes a gold nugget from her overalls and places it down next to her dish.

“Hey!”He points at it accusingly, trotting around the table and falling into step at her side. “I thought you said you ate here for free?”

“Yeah, I know,” she shrugs, “But...he works hard, and it just doesn't feel right to leave without a trade.”

“Hmph. No wonder they love you.”

She chuckles warmly but doesn't dispute his comment.

The unlikely duo make their way down the winding streets in silence, simply taking in the sounds of Beacon Town until Jesse leads him around a corner and the enormous, north gate comes into view. It briefly occurs to Romeo that she's taking him somewhere outside the walls.

“So, where exactly are we going?” he asks, eyeing a large, balding man leant against the side of a porch up ahead. The stranger has a mean glint in his eye, flicking a glare between Jesse and the ex admin with each glance growing increasingly sour.

“The mines,” she replies breezily, waving at a few passersby.

Romeo falters and stumbles on a piece of uneven cobblestone. “The mines? Why the mines?”

“Well,” she starts, biting the inside of her cheek and casting her eyes up towards the clouds floating along overhead, “Since someone decided to pull everybody out of the mines to prepare for a festival -”

The former admin cringes and hisses through his teeth, already realising what she's about to say.

“- No one's been down there to monitor the Heck mouth situation for like, three days.”

“Heck mouth?”

“That giant, monster-spewing hole in the ground? The one you made so I would find your gauntlet?”

“Ah...That Heck mouth.” Gnawing on his lower lip, Romeo exhales. “Listen, Jesse... I'm so-”

“It's done now,” she interrupts him gently, “What matters is fixing the problem.”

“Oh, I'll tell you how you can 'fix' the problem...”

Unexpectedly, Jesse's arm flies out, stopping Romeo in his tracks as a shadow falls over them and they find their path blocked by the same man he'd seen on the porch.

Electric blue eyes contrast the angry red flush blooming from the man's neck to his face. With flaring nostrils, he raises a hand and jabs Romeo in the chest, hard.

“You can fix it by doin' what you should've done yesterday, n'chucked this guy off the nearest cliff!”

He advances, forcing the ex admin to stumble back and bring his hands up, instinctively covering his face when, all of a sudden, despite being half a head shorter than either of the men, Jesse pushes herself between them, shoving the newcomer away from Romeo and thrusting her chin out, challenging him. “Hey! If you've got something to say, you can take it up with me.”

“Believe me,” he sneers, “I got a lot of things to say to you. The first bein,' how could you let this...this monster stay in Beacon Town!? You're s'posed to be keepin' us safe!”

Cowering behind the hero, Romeo has to marvel at this man's gumption, screaming into the face of the woman who defeated a Witherstorm and an Admin. Jesse – remaining true to her un-confrontational nature – does her best to pacify him, drawing his attention from Romeo and directing it onto her. “Look, you're angry. I get it, trust me. But there isn't any point taking it out on him now! It's over. He's done and he's trying to make up for it!”

But the man either isn't listening, or he simply doesn't care. Face contorted into an ugly snarl, he takes a step closer, bumping his chest against hers and glaring down his nose, forcing her neck to crane back just to keep his gaze. “Oh yeah? And you seriously believe that? Cos it seems to me he'll tell you anything just to save his own skin!”

Bristling like an angry ocelot, Jesse squares her shoulders and slowly grinds out, “He's telling... the truth.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I trust him!”

At her back, Romeo recoils a little and his eyes grow wide and round along with his mouth, which drops open to form a small 'oh.'

'She trusts me?' The impossible notion turns itself over and over in his head and he latches onto it, clinging tightly, too afraid to let it go.

Had he misheard?

No. Her words had been so firm and clear, he couldn't have misunderstood.

Is she lying?

Hardly likely. Jesse is one of the most frustratingly earnest people this side of the Nether.

So why in gravel's name would she ever trust someone like him? Nobody trusts him! - admittedly, with good reason. Not even Xara had, in the end. In fact, the last person who ever trusted him was Fred, and then he'd....he'd....

The painful memory resurfaces and Romeo scrabbles to squash it down, shaking his head to clear it and letting his eyes focus on the back of Jesse's head, a tender warmth igniting deep in his chest and gradually spreading outwards.

From what he catches, the man still hasn't calmed down and her attempts to sate his rage only seem to agitate him further.

“He'll turn on us the moment we let our guards down!” he roars, throwing an arm out that narrowly avoids clipping the young hero around the ear as he gestures over her shoulder at the ex admin.

“No, he won't. Look – Just -”Exasperated, Jesse knocks his arm aside. “- I don't want a fight to break out, okay?”

Finally, the man pauses, darts his eyes down to her face and then drags them back up to Romeo again. The lull in aggression entices Jesse into a false sense of security and her shoulders relax, a tiny breath hissing out between her teeth.

She should have known better.

Curling his lips back suddenly, the stranger growls, “Then you shouldn't have let him stay,” and before she knows what's happening, he brings an arm up again, this time using his elbow to shove her roughly in the ribcage, knocking her completely off balance.

In that instant, time slows for the former admin.

He sees Jesse teeter sideways, sees her expression of shock and disbelief. Then, he sees her hit the ground with a jarring thump, her palms scraping over the hard cobblestone as a cry bursts free from her lips.

After that, all he sees is red.

A terrible roar cuts clear across the square, turning every head and shaking Jesse out of her daze. Snapping her eyes open, she's just in time to witness a furious Romeo surge forwards to meet the man head on and seize him by the lapels of his jacket, hauling him off his feet and high into the air with a strength he simply shouldn't possess.

Kicking and struggling in the former admin's unshakable grip, all previous bravado seeps out of the man and his face turns ashen. “H-Hey!” he squawks, “Let me go, man!” Frantic, he grabs Romeo's hands and attempts to pry them off to no avail. “Somebody! Get this guy off me!”

Hearing the terror in his voice urges Jesse to scramble back onto her feet, wincing as she pushes off her grazed palms. “Romeo!”she shouts, “Put him down!”

People are starting to take notice, some fleeing the vicinity while others move a few steps closer, glancing between each other and the scene playing out before them, unsure of whether or not they dare intervene.

The ex admin is completely oblivious to it all.

His eyes are firmly locked on the man dangling from his grasp as a feeling akin to hatred begins to bubble up from his stomach, building to a roiling crescendo and spurring him to give his victim a violent jostle, pulling a whimper from his lips.

'Good,' he finds himself sneering gleefully, 'he deserves to be scared!'

Meanwhile, completely unbeknownst to him, Jesse has latched onto his forearm and is tugging on it for all she's worth. But it's as though he'd suddenly turned to stone. Limbs locked up, his sinewy muscles barely even quiver with the effort of keeping a man as large as he is aloft for so long, a fact that unnerves the young hero. She hadn't realised he would be this strong, even without his admin powers.

Desperation bleeds into her tone when she sucks down a deep breath and pulls herself up to be closer to his ear, yelling into it, “ROMEO! STOP!”

And just like that, as if emerging from a dream, he blinks, sound and awareness rushing back to him all at once. Turning his head stiffly to the side, he's startled to find Jesse's blazing, green gaze mere inches from his nose.

“J..Jesse?” he rasps as an instant wave of calm washes over him, dousing the fire in his belly.

She gives his arm another yank.“Romeo! You've gotta put him down, now!”

“Huh?” He jolts, finally registering an uncomfortable twinge in his arms and the fingernails scrabbling frenetically against his knuckles. Swivelling his head forwards again, the former admin gasps, seeing his hands clasped around the lapels of the man who'd pushed Jesse over.

When did he?.....

Deflating, he promptly drops the man in a heap on the cobblestone and staggers backwards.

Eyes. There are eyes everywhere. He can feel their hateful glares on him as he spins in a slow circle, taking in the small crowd of people that have gathered seemingly from nowhere to surround him.

“Jesse..” He turns to face her once more, slowly shaking his head. “I-I didn't..I didn't mean to-”

Trailing off, he bites down on the inside of his cheek when he sees the look on her face .

Frustration. Wariness. Disappointment.

He's suddenly hit with an itch to bury his head in a block of sand, if only to escape that expression.

Tongue glued firmly to the roof of his mouth, he takes a few, bumbling steps towards her, not missing how her shoulders tense at his approach. “Jesse, I am so, so sorry!-”

A murmur starts to circulate the crowd, growing louder until he can distinctly make out certain words that cut like knives, chipping away at his resolve.

“What was Jesse thinking?”

“Somebody throw him outta here!”

“-thought she said he was harmless?”

“He just attacked that guy!”

Eventually, someone scurries forwards from the crowd and grabs the man on the ground, helping him upright again but the moment he's steady, he shrugs them off, straightens out his jacket and shoots a dark glare at Romeo then turns to shake his head at Jesse before spinning on his heel and stalking towards the gaggle of onlookers.

A few of them part to let him storm by, several even following after him, no doubt in the hopes of garnering some more information about the encounter.

Romeo can do little but watch him leave, mouth opening and closing like the world's most helpless goldfish. He would probably have remained that way for many hours if Jesse's small, warm hand hadn't suddenly snagged his wrist and given him a sharp pull. Too stunned to protest, he allows himself to be dragged across the square in the direction of Beacon Town's front entrance.

'Oh, now you've gone and done it,' he admonishes himself miserably, 'Kicked out on day one...'

But just as they near the gate, the hero unexpectedly veers to her right, instead leading him on a new path towards the entrance to the town mines.

In spite of his confusion, he keeps his mouth tightly shut as she stomps down the narrow staircase, her fingers still closed like a vice around his wrist.

They get to the bottom and it's only then that she releases him.

He trails slowly to a halt and chews his lip, sheepishly watching her move several metres into the dimly lit mine before she whips around to glare at him, arms folded tightly across her chest and a slender eyebrow quirked expectantly.

“What-” She begins, voice terse, “-Was that!?”

“I-I don't-”

She cuts him off, throwing her arms up into the air and closing the distance between them. “You were doing so well! I thought I could trust you!”

She may as well have twisted her sword into his gut.

Staggered, Romeo wrings his hands together, coming dangerously close to pleading when he rambles out, “No! No, no, no, please! I – You can! You can trust me, I promise!”

He can't lose that. He can't. He hadn't felt that good in a long time when she said she trusted him.

Though his words are saturated in genuineness, Jesse doesn't seem convinced. Huffing, she pinches the bridge of her nose. “How can I? You just attacked that guy! Why? Why'd you freak out on him like that?”

Shuffling awkwardly, he looks down at the toes of his sneakers and mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” she asks briskly, cocking her head at him.

Drawing in a deep breath, he reluctantly pulls his eyes up to her again, swallowing thickly before he whispers, “He hurt you...”

“I-”Jesse falters, taken aback. “What did you say?”

A little louder, Romeo gestures to her weakly, repeating, “He... hurt you. I – I saw him push you and-...I don't know, I just....It's like I switched off! Like I wasn't in control anymore.”

She looks a little perturbed by his explanation but he doesn't know how else to word it. It is the truth, after all.

Ever so slowly, the young woman's face changes, moving from stern to puzzled before his eyes.

“Why would you care?” she says after a pregnant pause, “Dude, you literally tried to kill me. Like, a lot.”

“I know,” he breathes, wringing his hands, “And I can't ever take that back. But...when I saw him push you, after everything you've done for me, I couldn't just stand there and-...” He has to rein himself in after noticing that his fingers have begun to twitch in her direction.

For some time, only the sound of torches crackling nearby permeates the stillness of Beacon Town's mine.

In the end, it's Jesse who takes a tentative step forwards - once again bringing her within touching distance - and sighs, shoulders slumping as she rubs at her temples. “I guess I can't really be mad at you. Not if you were just trying to help...”

“Wait, what?” He recoils, squinting. “You're not...angry?”

Jesse emits an airy laugh.“For what? Standing up for me?  If I got mad every time one of my friends did that, I'd spend my whole life in a bad mood! It will be harder to convince those people out there to let it slide though...” She chews on her lip, one side of her face scrunched up in thought. A few seconds later, she chuffs, hands coming up to rest on her hips and she aims a funny look at the former admin. “Man....It's hard to believe that just yesterday, you hated my guts, huh? Now you're defending me from the locals?”

“Jesse...” he frowns gently, “I never hated you.”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Uh. Again – you tried to kill me?”

“I was angry with you. Livid!”A nervous little laugh wheezes out of him and he turns away. “I wanted to hurt you because you hurt me.”

Cocking her head to the side, Jesse pulls a face. “Romeo, what exactly do you think I did to hurt you in the first place?”

“You didn't want to be my friend,” he tells her simply with a shrug, “And don't tell me that sounds pathetic – I know it does. You were the one person I wanted to be my friend – the one person I thought would want me as a friend. But then, you didn't.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and kicks at a loose chip of stone, feeling Jesse's astonished stare on the side of his head.

Following a moment of hesitation, she says, “I... didn't realise it meant that much to you..”

The former admin doesn't respond, so she moves around to his front, ducking her head to catch his eye. “You must have been pretty lonely.”

“I wasn't lonely,” he protests weakly, “I was...I was....” But in lieu of any legitimate excuse, he trails off, averting his gaze to the walls, the ceiling – anywhere that isn't Jesse. In the end though, he slumps forward in defeat and finally drags his head up to look at her, swallowing audibly. “Alright, so maybe I was.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” The tilt of her lip lets him know that she's teasing and seconds later, she has her thumbs hooked into her overall straps as a pensive looks washes across her features. “Welp, I don't mean to brag, but I happen to know a thing or two about making friends.”

In spite of himself, a tiny snort betrays Romeo's bemusement. “So I've noticed.”

He balks when suddenly, Jesse reaches down and takes his wrist, just as she had outside, except this time, there's a grin on her face instead of a scowl whilst she pulls him further into the mines. Luckily, the gloom conceals a dusting of pink that creeps onto his cheeks at the unexpected contact. He allows himself to be guided once again towards a wall near the back of the main chamber, a place well lit by torches, until they come upon a humble little crafting table. It's surface is littered with notches and chips, worn down over the years by hundreds of experienced hands.

As they approach, Jesse's fingers slip from his arm and he instantly mourns the loss of gentle contact. She kneels down a few steps to the right of the table, in front of a wooden chest that looks to have received the same level of love, and places her hands on the lid, hefting it open.

A raucous creak rends the still air as the chest's hinges protest against the unexpected intrusion but it nevertheless swings open and thunks against the wall, giving Jesse enough space to plunge her arms inside and rummage around whilst Romeo lingers at her back, twiddling his thumbs and glancing up at a deposit of iron the craggy ceiling.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks, pulling out a wooden stick.

Without seeing her face, he can't hope to hazard a guess as to what she's thinking but she's dropped the jovial lilt from her tone. Uncertainly, he replies, “Uh, course you can.”

For a while, she hesitates, her shoulders heaving up and down though he doesn't hear her sigh. Another pause, then, “I meant what I said you know. Back in your tower.”

“Oh, um...” Romeo scratches absently at the back of his neck. “You might have to refresh my memory. It all just seems like a it of a blur now.”

She still doesn't turn to face him, and he's starting to think she's only pretending to look for something in the chest. He watches her place the sticks down next to her boots before she continues, “You were just about to bedrock over the world. And I said that we could still be friends, remember?”

“Y-yeah.” He blinks and leans an elbow against the crafting table. “Yeah, I remember, sure.” Though he wishes he didn't..

“Well, I wasn't just saying that to stop you. I knew there was at least some good in you and....I wanted to find it.” At last, she pulls her arms from the chest, bringing a pair of iron bars along as well. Then, gathering the stick in her free hand, she stands up and turns to face him fully, eyes shining with so much sincerity, his chest gives a dull throb.

“I really did want to be your friend, Romeo.”

A heavy weight settles like lead in his stomach. Just another chance, he'd squandered. “Guess I should have taken the offer then and there, huh?” he laments quietly, glancing down at his feet.

All of a sudden, a burst of laughter catches him by surprise and he lifts his head again to find Jesse shaking her head at him and beaming as she abruptly pushes the stick and iron bars into his arms. “The offer still stands, dummy!”

“Oh.” This time, there's no use hiding his blush. They're standing too close to a burning torch, the firelight illuminating his face and and setting sparks dancing in Jesse's eyes. Prying his tongue from the room of his dry mouth, Romeo croaks, “You're serious? You....you want to be my friend? What, even after-” He breaks off, gesturing at himself helplessly.

Jesse's hand finds his shoulder and turns him gently to face the crafting table. “Yeah, weirdly enough, I kind of do. You're not the bad guy anymore, and I think it's important you know that even if it doesn't work out with Xara or the rest of Beacon Town-” Her fingers give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before they slip from his shirt. “- You still have at least one friend out there.”

Romeo's arms clutch the items closer to his chest, a familiar ache beginning to build in his throat.

The next thing either of them know, he's dropped his load of crafting materials onto the table and lunged forwards, slinging his gangly arms around Jesse's shoulders and clutching tightly to the back of her overalls. He has to bend considerably to accommodate for her shorter height but in the spur of the moment, he barely notices the awkward angle.

Jesse meanwhile, lets out a startled yelp, although it's lost in the fabric of the former admin's shirt. Blinking, she turns her face to one side so that her cheek is squashed against his bony chest instead and she can strain her head back to peer up at the underside of his chin. He has his eyes clamped shut while a dopey grin gradually worms its way across his features.

Once the initial shock has worn off, Jesse finds herself relaxing slightly in his warm hold. It's less crushing that one of Petra's hugs and a little too angular to be as comfortable as Lukas's, but it's far from unpleasant and soon enough, she hesitantly slides her arms around his scrawny waist, feeling him flinch for a second before he promptly melts against her.

“Ha..Never had you pegged for a hugger,” she jokes.

Romeo's only response is to let out a soft hum, smile growing even wider until suddenly, he registers what he's doing and his eyes snap open. In a rush, he lets go and springs away from her as if he'd been stung, holding up his hands up and blurting out, “Oh, Nether! I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me.”

It could just be his imagination, but he'd swear that Jesse's laughter chases away the mine's oppressive gloom. “You don't have to apologise for hugging me! Actually, I think it's a vast improvement from yesterday.” She flashes him a wink, setting his nerves at ease.

“Sorry if it was weird,” Romeo mumbles, scuffing his sneakers on the ground.

“Not weird at all.” Knowing that the truth would only make him self conscious, she waves his apology aside. It had been weird to receive a hug from an ex-immortal who had shaped the very world she stood on. Weird; yes. Though certainly not bad.

He's starting at her again in such a way that reminds her briefly of how Ivor had looked at her when she told him he could build a home in Beacon Town. It was the first time she'd seen the old wizard's smile grow so tender.

Eventually, Romeo's attentive stare starts making her fidget and she clears her throat shyly, tucking a stray hair behind her ears. “We'd, uh...We'd better get to it. That Heck-Mouth isn't gonna check on itself.”

“Huh?” He shakes himself out of his trance. “Oh, right. Right. The Heck-Mouth, yeah.”

He moves back to the crafting table when Jesse taps it and raises a quizzical brow at him. “Just in case we run into trouble, I thought it'd be a good idea to make you a weapon,” she says, “When's the last time you crafted something without your Admin powers?”

“Ah. Heh. I suppose it has been some time,” he confesses, rubbing at his beard.

“Don't worry about it, you'll relearn. Starting with....” Turning her attention to the crafting table, Jesse sets about separating the iron bars. “A sword, I think. Okay, so for one of these, you're gonna need to put an iron bar here...aaand...here....”

She continues to teach him the basics of weapon crafting while Romeo stands close to her side, nodding at appropriate intervals but paying absolutely no attention to the table whatsoever, too busy watching his new friend with a curl of warmth rolling around in his chest.

'Friend.' Romeo's lips stretch impossibly wide, wider than they have in years. 'My friend.'

[sobdasha]

katia asked: drabble: Akito and Shigure and “Wanna bet?”

me, constantly: “I’m so done with Shigure’s shit and I hate that my being so done with his shit means I keep talking about him on my tumblr and when I think about AkiGure I think about that bonus comic where Takaya says ‘...are you sure you’re really happy with Shigure, Akki? Sometimes, I feel a bit bad--’“

me, today apparently: “well shit I guess I wrote AkiGure sap??????”

–

"You know," Shigure says, very casually slipping a bookmark into the pages of his novel before he pokes the bear, "I think it's high time you took Shiki on a play date."

With Rio and Chizuru and, therefore, Ayame and Saki. "Hah," says Akito. "I don't do play dates."

Akito is the head of the family. Play dates are not her job. That is a perk, and honestly she ought to be getting more perks.

"The weather's nice lately." Shigure flips a page, settles his bookmark in again. "It's still cool, for now. And Shiki's small, but he's not going to stay small for much longer. You'll regret missing out one day."

He slides that last one in like a needle, and Akito stiffens. She's not Tohru, sure, but no one besides Tohru is Tohru. Akito's not a negligent mother. She spends plenty of time with her son at home, where Ayame and Saki are decidedly less present. They have meals together as a family more often than not. There are bedtime stories, there are weird children's TV shows. There aren't really any family game nights because both of Shiki's parents are terrible losers and even worse winners, but it's a good thing they know this about themselves!

"My job is important," Akito says. "Something only I can do. Your job is to handle the play dates so I don't have to waste my time."

Shigure chuckles. "Oh, really?"

Akito grabs his book and slaps it down on the futon, but she doesn't actually throw it and the bookmark was nestled firmly into the spine so Shigure won't have to hunt down his place again. Nice.

"I love Shiki!" she hisses. "And I spend all my time trying to manage and deal with this clusterfuck of a family because I love Shiki! I'm trying to keep him from getting screwed over the way all the rest of us were!"

"I know that," Shigure chuckles again. Smoothing her hair back out of her face with his now-free hand. "What I meant was, wanna bet?"

At her look, he elaborates, "Would it really be that much of a waste? Do you want to bet? And don't tell me you can't leave the running of the family to someone else for a few days; you have plenty of people here who are more than happy to support you. Let's see, there's Kazuma, and Momiji's getting quite a bit of clout these days, and Yuki isn't entirely useless…"

Shigure feigns a look of surprise, putting a hand to his mouth in that way that always makes Akito want to punch him. She refrains, though. "Oh! And there's also your husband who loves you and loves yanking strings and seeing that this whole damn family gets what's coming to it, namely, being dragged kicking and screaming into a change for the better! And what do you know, he's actually your assistant and knows how to do all of these important paperwork things! Maybe you should let him assist!"

He's not exactly wrong. Akito hates that, so she just crosses her arms and scowls at the blankets.

"I still think we should make it a bet, just to make it interesting," Shigure says. He picks up his book and lays it aside, then shifts under the covers invitingly. "And so we know whether or not you're right. Let's switch jobs for a few days, and each day we'll exchange the most valuable thing we gained. Sound fair?"

It sounds like a trap. It sounds like a very reasonable trap. Shigure's going to come out of this looking like a wise, mature adult, and Akito's going to come out of this looking like a stupid spoiled child, and it's a trap.

But he looks right into her eyes, and smiles at her, and Akito's always been so gullible so she just snuggles up next to him anyway.

–

Apparently, the Mosca family watches cooking competition shows together.

Akito, sitting on the very edge of the park bench, as far as possible from Saki and Ayame without provoking them to hunt her down, misses the whole explanation about today's cooking challenge. She misses the assembly of ingredients, the drama of the kitchen, the flurry of Rio and Chizuru and Shiki putting together their dishes. She misses the explanation Rio gives of what he's concocted and why it's best and deserves to win.

What Akito is unable to miss, unfortunately, is the portion of muddy sand and small pebbles and bits of stick and leaf and grass and what is that even that Rio hands "Judge Auntie Aa-chan" to appraise.

Further down the bench, Rio's mother and Ayame are gushing in praise of the dish's plating, its piquant aroma, the dedication of the chef, the inclusion of actual vegetable matter, and overflowing with gratitude to be able to take part in this rare delicacy.

Akito, mother of the year, says automatically as Rio finagles the plastic dish into her hands: "This looks disgusting."

Rio leans up to her, deadly serious, and whispers near her face, "It is."

Akito is never going to understand children in her entire life.

–

"Here," Akito says, shoving the cheap plastic dish at Shigure. Rio let her borrow it on the condition she'd wash it and bring it back tomorrow. She also got him to explain exactly what exotic foreign dish he'd made, although she didn't really understand and she definitely mangles it now as she tells Shigure just what a fricken priceless treat he's in for. "So I saved you some."

"This certainly doesn't look like something you could get at any old restaurant. A very exclusive dish. Please pass my compliments on to the chef," Shigure says. He reaches down and ruffles Shiki's hair, precisely because Shiki doesn't like that and wrinkles up his nose and squints at his father whenever it happens. "What about you, kiddo? What'd you make?"

"Sand," says Shiki. "It was yucky."

"Well," Shigure says. "I suppose this one-of-a-kind treat is your half of the bet, am I right? Then it's time for me to give you what I earned today."

Akito's feeling pretty confident about this, despite her misgivings. She went on the play date, watched her son dig around in the park, subjected herself to Ayame and Saki's attentions, and all she's got to show for it is a handful of nasty organic things in a cheap toy bowl. Shigure's absolutely dealt with a lot more valuable things today.

And then Shigure leans in and kisses Akito's cheek.

–

Akito forgets to slide down to the end of the park bench, as absorbed as she is in googling on her phone "how to tell if your husband is cheating on you with the maids." And, upon further thought, "how to tell if your husband isn't really cheating on you but the maids are flirting with him because you married one hot bastard."

"Oh my, Aa-chan!" Ayame says, leaning up against her shoulder and reading her phone screen, although says is a misleading verb because Ayame never simply says anything, he always declaims it in a very loud and carrying voice. "What's this, what's this? What can this be?"

"Your wife asked me to google it for her," Akito says without looking up or missing a beat, and Ayame laughs.

"I admire your brilliant and quick sense of humor! I'm sure you and Gure-san must always have such wonderful battles of wit! But," he adds, gently pushing her hands down to her lap, "I think you needn't fear on that front. I know my dear Gure-san like I know my own heart, and he only has eyes for you."

Akito makes a noise that is part not-actually-agreeing with Ayame, and part trying to appease him to make him go away, and part objecting to the fact that the edges of her personal space bubble are now apparently inside Ayame's body.

It's not exactly that Akito doesn't trust her husband. It's more that Shigure is an asshole, and Akito knows this because she's also an asshole, and she doesn't trust anyone and that includes herself. And it takes much less brain engagement to skim through the trash her google search is giving her than to actually consider who gave Shigure the kiss he "won."

She's not fretting about who her husband might be doing what with, she's...she's marveling at the depths of the stupidity of the internet.

"Auntie Aa-chan?" Chizuru says. Akito raises her head and looks at him. Turns off her phone screen when he pointedly looks down at it until she gives him her complete attention.

Chizuru shoves a fist at her. "This is a dinosaur fossil," he announces, opening his hand to show the small rock cupped in this palm. As far as Akito can tell, it's just your usual playground rock, a bit ridged but still boring.

Shigure would have enthused over it, eagerly discussed with Chizuru what type of dinosaur it might belong to, praised Chizuru for his skill and sharp eye. Put his novelist talent and wild imagination to good work.

"Uh-huh," Akito says.

Chizuru pushes the rock at her again. "It should go in a museum. But you can have it. For when I'm a famous--" there's a long string of syllables here that Akito can neither parse nor reproduce, but from the context she later realizes it's paleontologist "--and I dig up a lot of dinosaurs and I'm rich and I'm even more famous than my dad."

Ayame chuckles and says that he can't wait for that day, and he looks forward to seeing his son's picture all over TV, and Akito says: "Okay. Er. Thanks."

–

"This is for Shiki's college fund, apparently," Akito says, plopping the rock into Shigure's hand.

"That's one worry solved, then." Shigure crouches down and offers the rock up to Shiki. "Kiddo, any thoughts on where we should display our prize fossil?"

Shiki looks at it, hard, for a long moment, and then quietly takes the rock from his dad and wanders off, trying the rock out on various shelves.

Akito crosses her arms and glowers at the fridge. "Well?" she says. "That was my half of the bet. What valuable thing did you get today?"

"Weeeeeell," Shigure says, "I would have presented you with quite a small fortune in checks...but, I figured you'd rather I just do the bank run to deposit them myself and spare you the trip. So, you'll just have to content yourself with this."

And once again, he leans in and kisses Akito's cheek.

–

This park inconsiderately doesn't have any good weeds.

So Akito's having to make do with pinching a blade of grass between her nails and ripping it into tiny pieces, alternating between my husband is a stupid perv and my husband is not.

She loses her place when Saki lays a hand on her shoulder and says, "Aa-chan, your waves are very distressed today."

That is bullshit. The wave report is bullshit. Akito's waves are not distressed. Akito is a grown-ass woman, sitting hunched on a park bench, intently ripping the shit out of an innocent blade of grass while mumbling to herself.

Obviously she's not fine.

"It pains me to see you like this," Saki says, pressing a hand to her own chest. "And you're scaring the children."

Sure enough, when Akito looks up, there's Shiki across the playground watching her and biting his lip. She gives him a smile, although she's not sure how well it works. She's not good at the kind of stupid displays Shigure's always effortlessly spouting off. And Shiki might get his awkwardness all from Akito, but he's probably too young yet to get how alike they both are.

Saki says, "Do you know what I like to do to cheer myself up when I feel like this?"

–

Akito shoves the handful of receipts at Shigure, who laughs ruefully. "Oh, dear...the crepe stand opened up again, did they? And of course as head of the family it was your treat. Let me guess...these ones are all Saki's--I'll never figure out where that woman puts it all away--and these are Ayame's, and then there's one for each of the boys, and a second one for each of the boys after they all managed to drop theirs somehow…"

Apparently this is some sort of regular occurrence. Another reason Akito doesn't do play dates. This sort of crap is best left to Shigure.

"I hope yours tasted good, at least?" he says.

Not wondering who's been kissing her husband would have tasted better. Akito hadn't really felt like bothering with her own, so she'd shared with Shiki, and that was actually how they'd ended up dropping the first one. But it had been kind of nice, even with Ayame and Saki there chattering away incessantly in the background.

Akito shrugs.

Waits.

"Well, it is the last day of our bet," Shigure says at last. "I suppose I'd better pay up, so we can decide the winner of whose job is more valuable."

Akito shrugs again, and Shigure leans in, once more, to press that damn kiss on her cheek.

"You know, I really wouldn't call your efforts a waste of time," Shigure breezes on immediately. "You got treated to a gourmet meal the likes of which you'll never taste again, you've gained another museum-quality antiquity to add to our estate, and you shared good food under good sunshine with good friends--"

Akito, very reasonably and not-at-all jealously, grabs Shigure's collar and yanks at him as she demands over his stupid rambling, "Who gave you those kisses?"

Shigure blinks, and stares at her for a long moment. And then his face contorts with the effort of not smiling and laughing at her, which he fails to manage, and then he's snickering and taking her hands in his.

"Oh, you precious child," he chuckles. "Think, why don't you. Those were the kisses you gave me each morning before I went to start my duties."

Oh.

Oh.

Akito wriggles one of her fists out from under Shigure's hand so she can thump his chest with it.

"You cheated!" she hisses. "That doesn't count, you cheated! You made this like, like a stupid plot in one of your novels, just to teach me some stupid sappy lesson, and you cheated!"

Shigure tilts his head in a modest little nod, no shame at all. "Of course I cheated. Obviously I cheated. Honestly, I thought you'd catch me out on it. But I suppose in this regard I was, for once, wrong."

Ohh, that smug bastard. Akito hates him. Akito hates him so much. So much so that she burns with hate and definitely not anything else when he looks right into her eyes and smirks at her.

"I think we both win," he murmurs. "I think both of our jobs are very worthwhile, and together we make a very valuable family. And I treasure that. What about you?"

Akito doesn't give him an answer. She just tugs him down and kisses him on his stupid smug cheating bastard romance crap mouth.

(It was a trap all along. But she lets his arms close around her anyway.)

[shatteredsisters-blog]

Chapter 2: The Calm BeforeThe wind tugged at Sophie’s blonde hair, whipping against her face, making her scrunch her eyes. She sat criss-cross among Calla’s roots, waiting for Linh to show up. Sophie hadn’t expected to wait so long but was appreciative for the time she gained to sort out her maze of feelings.It was slightly refreshing, to have a moment to just think, to just breathe… And especially, refreshing to just live.“Miss Foster,” a familiar voice said from behind, “are you alright?”Sophie smiled and adjusted her head to see the small gnome. “I’m fine, Flori. I’m just waiting for… a friend.” A friend. Yes. Of course. Only a friend.“Would you like for me to sing to you? I recently composed a new song,” Flori questioned as she made her way to sit with the elf.“I… sure, while I wait.” Maybe she should wait just a little longer? The gnome opened her mouth for a melody to pour out, and almost instantly, the female Song twin appeared with a soft zap of light. Sophie almost leaped off the root she sat on, startled by the sudden appearance. Flori stopped singing and began to study the dark-haired girl. The blonde’s hands shot down from her lap to the ground so she didn’t fall over.Linh gazed at the other elf, a small smile flashing across her lips for only a moment. She then met eyes with Flori and beamed.“That’s a beautiful song,” she whispered, her words flowing like soft waves on a summer day, and which made Sophie’s skin tickle.Linh looked… Majestic, with her multi-layered white-and-blue dress that clung to her body, and little teal slip-ons that Sophie absolutely adored. And what else did Sophie adore? Well, of course— “Sophie! I… Uh, hello…” Linh stuttered as her silvery blue eyes met Sophie’s. Sophie looked away and blushed. The blue-eyed girl smoothed a hand down her dress and slowly walked over to the elf. “You, uh, look great today,” Sophie murmured awkwardly, glancing up at Linh’s face to see her reaction. To her relief, Linh smiled and looked down. “Thanks,” Sophie wanted to peel layers of skin off her face to try and hide her blush. She settled on nervously pulling out eyelashes. Linh sat down next to her, and Sophie felt a smile edge onto her face. Flori laughed softly, “I’ll be going, have a good time, you two.” The two girls smiled at the gnome and waved good-bye as she wandered away. After a moment, Linh turned to Sophie. “So… Want to meet Merla?” There was a hint of glee in the hydrokinetic’s pale blue eyes. Sophie tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed, “Merla…?” “My murcat!” “Oh!” Sophie’s eyes popped open, “Oh… Of course!” A huge, adorable grin appeared on Linh’s face as she whirled a large, blue-stained glass tank that had large, graceful images of waves crashing down from what seemed to be thin air.Inside, a purple-blue scaly cat swirled around, it’s wide yellow eyes sparkling. Sophie couldn’t help but smile back at Linh.The fish-like feline blew a few bubbles and rubbed its scaly head against the glass. Linh beamed and turned her gaze back to the blonde elf.“Would you like to hold her?”Sophie smiled, “Sure.” A blonde empath stared wide-eyed down at the piece of paper he held in his hands. It was written messily, scrawled down like it was a last moment thing, with quick, non-rhyming words. But right now, Keefe could ignore that sad fact. This note might not even be by the Black Swan… It could be by whoever… Maybe even Sophie? Writing in the third person? He…doubted she would do that. Keefe ran a hand down the side of his face, fear coursing through him as his heart thrummed against his chest. He read the note again, and again and again and again, just to make sure what he saw was correct. The moonlark needs your help Where the forest shines brightest, Follow the Path of Petals, That most try to avoid,To where she shall be.  Keefe had to breathe. The Moonlark was obviously Sophie. The few years spent with her had given him that bit of knowledge. Where does the forest shine the brightest? What does that even mean? And why did she need his help? Was she hurt?Keefe put his hand against his chest and sat down on the nearest chair, sinking into its cushiony haven. He racked his brain for any possible source of information, and absolutely nothing came up. He ran his hand through his hair, letting the oh-so-familiar motion calm him and let his mind relax.A hint of a memory, a spark, ignited in his brain, exploding into a vivid image of a book that he remembered reading not so long ago. Heller Kern, a majestic forest with a mysterious bright glowing light in the center. Multiple paths lead to the core, many dangerous and often a perilous trek. However, if you know where to look, there are a few that are safe, breathtaking, even. Many say that if you get close enough to the luminescence, you will hear the voices of those you love, those who make your heart sing in happiness. However, should you venture into the trees when you don’t love anyone, the light shall drag you in and your soul shall be at war with itself for all eternity, condemning it to never find peace.Heller Kern, a forest that was known only in whispers and the most ancient of texts.Keefe stopped reading after that short passage. He wasn’t supposed to have those books, and the English was especially hard to read. From what he understood, it was a shady place, and the images that decorated the pages where haunting, yet so… inviting. He’d never willingly set foot in that place, but if it means it’ll help Sophie, then he’ll fall into the darkest pits that only humans could conjure with their imaginations. He shook his head, shoving the off-topic thoughts to the side. Hopefully, the ‘path of petals’ wasn’t one of the ‘perilous treks’ and more of an easy one. But maybe the information was so old that the forest has changed and adapted since then? Keefe took a breath and walked through the familiar halls of the Shores of Solace, the place he still lived per his annoying father’s wishes, even after he graduated. He’ll stay here until he finds the perfect place for him to live out his life with whomever he ends up with. Even if it meant dealing with his arrogant, cold father. Keefe wrinkled his nose. Heller Kern was a human name, as the book was a human one. He wasn’t sure where the name stemmed from, but he vaguely remembered the name of it in the Enlightened Language. He stopped once he found the Leapmaster 5000. The glittering crystals began to spin around, and he called out, “Claralux!” The crystal lowered, and a beam of light shone next to him. He didn’t hesitate to allow the light to whisk him away, brushing him across the globe, dropping him right at the line of trees.The forest was just as creepy as he expected. The trees started small, but from where he could see, they grew thicker, taller, bigger, as the woods got deeper. There seemed to be a gentle light pulsing from the distance, calling for him, wishing to wrap him in its soft embrace. A familiar voice whispered to him; “Follow.” A voice he was supposed to hate. A voice that made his heart flutter and made a ghost of a smile appear on his lips. A voice that resurfaced some of the dumbest, yet happiest memories he could think of. A voice full of hidden anger and hurt, yet so much love and caring. “Follow,” it repeated, more insistently this time. So Keefe took a breath. And he followed.Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger, KOTLC Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Keefe Sencen, Tam Song, Linh Song, Fitz Vacker, Biana Vacker, Sophie Foster, Dex Dizznee Additional Tags: Kidnapped, Missing, kinda mean, i feel bad doing this to keefe oops, Angst Summary:

How broken do you have to be before you’re shattered?

Keefe Sencen has been taken. Snatched from what was meant to be a prank, he struggles to find his way home. The question is, where is home?

Tam Song is cracking. He’s the cause of this, or so he believes. He’s convinced he’s the reason Keefe is suffering, and it’s awakening feelings he’s so desperately shut in the depths of his mind.

Sophie Foster is panicking. One of her best friends is missing and his blood has been splattered. She wonders, what would happen if there is no blood left by the time she finds him?

Time is ticking. Hour by hour, there’s a chance Keefe will never come back, and the gang is scrambling to crack the clues and ominous hints left by the mysterious thieves.

Chapter 2 below the cut.

Chapter 2: The Calm Before

The wind tugged at Sophie’s blonde hair, whipping against her face, making her scrunch her eyes. She sat criss-cross among Calla’s roots, waiting for Linh to show up. Sophie hadn’t expected to wait so long but was appreciative for the time she gained to sort out her maze of feelings.

It was slightly refreshing, to have a moment to just think, to just breathe… And especially, refreshing to just live.

“Miss Foster,” a familiar voice said from behind, “are you alright?”

Sophie smiled and adjusted her head to see the small gnome. “I’m fine, Flori. I’m just waiting for… a friend.” A friend. Yes. Of course. Only a friend.

“Would you like for me to sing to you? I recently composed a new song,” Flori questioned as she made her way to sit with the elf.

“I… sure, while I wait.” Maybe she should wait just a little longer?

The gnome opened her mouth for a melody to pour out, and almost instantly, the female Song twin appeared with a soft zap of light. Sophie almost leaped off the root she sat on, startled by the sudden appearance. Flori stopped singing and began to study the dark-haired girl. The blonde’s hands shot down from her lap to the ground so she didn’t fall over.

Linh gazed at the other elf, a small smile flashing across her lips for only a moment. She then met eyes with Flori and beamed.

“That’s a beautiful song,” she whispered, her words flowing like soft waves on a summer day, and which made Sophie’s skin tickle.

Linh looked… Majestic, with her multi-layered white-and-blue dress that clung to her body, and little teal slip-ons that Sophie absolutely adored.

And what else did Sophie adore? Well, of course— “Sophie! I… Uh, hello…” Linh stuttered as her silvery blue eyes met Sophie’s. Sophie looked away and blushed. The blue-eyed girl smoothed a hand down her dress and slowly walked over to the elf. “You, uh, look great today,” Sophie murmured awkwardly, glancing up at Linh’s face to see her reaction. To her relief, Linh smiled and looked down. “Thanks,” Sophie wanted to peel layers of skin off her face to try and hide her blush. She settled on nervously pulling out eyelashes. Linh sat down next to her, and Sophie felt a smile edge onto her face. Flori laughed softly, “I’ll be going, have a good time, you two.” The two girls smiled at the gnome and waved good-bye as she wandered away. After a moment, Linh turned to Sophie. “So… Want to meet Merla?” There was a hint of glee in the hydrokinetic’s pale blue eyes. Sophie tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed, “Merla…?” “My murcat!” “Oh!” Sophie’s eyes popped open, “Oh… Of course!” A huge, adorable grin appeared on Linh’s face as she whirled a large, blue-stained glass tank that had large, graceful images of waves crashing down from what seemed to be thin air.

Inside, a purple-blue scaly cat swirled around, it’s wide yellow eyes sparkling. Sophie couldn’t help but smile back at Linh.

The fish-like feline blew a few bubbles and rubbed its scaly head against the glass. Linh beamed and turned her gaze back to the blonde elf.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Sophie smiled, “Sure.”

A blonde empath stared wide-eyed down at the piece of paper he held in his hands. It was written messily, scrawled down like it was a last moment thing, with quick, non-rhyming words. But right now, Keefe could ignore that sad fact. This note might not even be by the Black Swan… It could be by whoever… Maybe even Sophie? Writing in the third person? He…doubted she would do that. Keefe ran a hand down the side of his face, fear coursing through him as his heart thrummed against his chest. He read the note again, and again and again and again, just to make sure what he saw was correct.

The moonlark needs your help Where the forest shines brightest, Follow the Path of Petals, That most try to avoid,

To where she shall be.  

Keefe had to breathe. The Moonlark was obviously Sophie. The few years spent with her had given him that bit of knowledge. Where does the forest shine the brightest? What does that even mean? And why did she need his help? Was she hurt?

Keefe put his hand against his chest and sat down on the nearest chair, sinking into its cushiony haven. He racked his brain for any possible source of information, and absolutely nothing came up.

He ran his hand through his hair, letting the oh-so-familiar motion calm him and let his mind relax.

A hint of a memory, a spark, ignited in his brain, exploding into a vivid image of a book that he remembered reading not so long ago.

Heller Kern, a majestic forest with a mysterious bright glowing light in the center. Multiple paths lead to the core, many dangerous and often a perilous trek. However, if you know where to look, there are a few that are safe, breathtaking, even. Many say that if you get close enough to the luminescence, you will hear the voices of those you love, those who make your heart sing in happiness.

However, should you venture into the trees when you don’t love anyone, the light shall drag you in and your soul shall be at war with itself for all eternity, condemning it to never find peace.

Heller Kern, a forest that was known only in whispers and the most ancient of texts.

Keefe stopped reading after that short passage. He wasn’t supposed to have those books, and the English was especially hard to read. From what he understood, it was a shady place, and the images that decorated the pages where haunting, yet so… inviting. He’d never willingly set foot in that place, but if it means it’ll help Sophie, then he’ll fall into the darkest pits that only humans could conjure with their imaginations.

He shook his head, shoving the off-topic thoughts to the side. Hopefully, the ‘path of petals’ wasn’t one of the ‘perilous treks’ and more of an easy one. But maybe the information was so old that the forest has changed and adapted since then? Keefe took a breath and walked through the familiar halls of the Shores of Solace, the place he still lived per his annoying father’s wishes, even after he graduated. He’ll stay here until he finds the perfect place for him to live out his life with whomever he ends up with.

Even if it meant dealing with his arrogant, cold father. Keefe wrinkled his nose. Heller Kern was a human name, as the book was a human one. He wasn’t sure where the name stemmed from, but he vaguely remembered the name of it in the Enlightened Language.

He stopped once he found the Leapmaster 5000. The glittering crystals began to spin around, and he called out, “Claralux!”

The crystal lowered, and a beam of light shone next to him. He didn’t hesitate to allow the light to whisk him away, brushing him across the globe, dropping him right at the line of trees.

The forest was just as creepy as he expected. The trees started small, but from where he could see, they grew thicker, taller, bigger, as the woods got deeper. There seemed to be a gentle light pulsing from the distance, calling for him, wishing to wrap him in its soft embrace.

A familiar voice whispered to him; “Follow.”

A voice he was supposed to hate.

A voice that made his heart flutter and made a ghost of a smile appear on his lips. A voice that resurfaced some of the dumbest, yet happiest memories he could think of. A voice full of hidden anger and hurt, yet so much love and caring.

“Follow,” it repeated, more insistently this time.

So Keefe took a breath.

And he followed.

[demialwrites]

Kitty Kompanion Ch 5

Genji hadn't been at the watchpoint for longer than a full day for the past month. Not having a work schedule for yourself, you lost track of what day it was.

You did offer to do paperwork, but Winston waved your suggestion off. "Athena does all that."

So you doubted yourself that Genji seemed be going on longer and longer missions. Overall, you were okay. Your breasts were so nice and full, and your stomach didn't have as many stretch marks as you had feared. You should have been grateful that you were safe and healthy. The piece missing from your heart disagreed. Whispered to you that it was unfair. You wondered why you should get out of bed, to face the loneliness. The tempting sleepiness pulled you back down. You closed your eyes, chasing the split second before unconsciousness that was free of any worry. The extra sleep had the opposite effect that sleep normally has. You spent the day feeling like shit and looking like it, eyebags and all.

You gave up training after falling and bruising your hip. Your centre of gravity had shifted without you noticing. You sat there, annoyed. You punched the floor, resentful that the further along you got, the more your job was becoming 'being pregnant.' You took your frustration out on Genji's cock when he was home. Making him lay back while you rode him until you tired yourself out. Your fingers gave you a less satisfying orgasm, and it was getting harder to reach properly. Genji welcomed your use of him, contentedly drinking in your curves with his hungry gaze. As soon as your thighs refused to obey you, he guided you back slowly with his hands at your back to avoid ripping his knot out of your cunt. Genji curled around your pregnant stomach to give love to your swollen breasts. These was some of your best times with him lately, because his knot locked inside you guaranteed some quality time. You traded tender kisses and discussed possible baby names until he had to leave again.

Genji noticed the growing length of his missions, as well, and picked up the habit of bringing you a small stuffed animal from each new location. Whether he stole them or bought them, you didn't mind. The theme was baby versions of animals whenever he could find them. You had amassed a sizeable amount in a short time. You lay in the bed, surrounded by the stuffies, because half its occupants weren't there most of the time anyway. You were wondering if Genji's presents were doubling as baby toys. He indignantly huffed when you asked him this.

Later he confessed to Jesse and Hanzo in the Orca that his scheme had been found out, and his brother had no sympathy.

"Don't be cheap, then!"

"It is called being frugal, Hanzo. You would go broke just trying to get a first date," said Genji, taking a jab at Hanzo's expensive tastes in cologne, bath oils, eyeliner, skincare, and separate combs for his hair and his fur.

"At least he pays for the things," Jesse pointed out, when Genji would have no problem stealing them.

"As if there is honour involved in something so insignificant," Hanzo said.

"There is to me," Genji growled. "Who is the one who is single, and who is not?"

"Genji's got a point, Hanz," Jesse said. "You might try bein' nice every once in a while."

Hanzo squared up with the cowboy, ears flat and his tail waving. His white teeth peeked out of his sneering lips. Jesse barely twitched.

"You should work on that attitude. It's bringin' team morale down," he drawled, casually puffing on his cigarillo with a finger and thumb holding it steady.

Hanzo picked a far away sniper perch to sulk in after the Orca landed.

"Sorry if that was unprofessional, Jesse," Genji whispered to him.

"As long as we stick to the plan and come back in one piece, you two can cat fight all you want."

Hanzo wheezed poorly contained laughter. He got a hold of himself and asked McCree if he plucked his joke from the dumpster they passed on the way over. Jesse took his cigarillo from his lips.

"Well, I'll be."

"He laughed," Genji said. His chest expanded with a deep breath. He let it out slowly, placing a hand solemnly on Jesse's shoulder. "I will make an appointment with Angela for him when we get back. He is clearly terminal."

"Do not!"

Jesse and Genji fell against each other, snickering quietly so enemies wouldn't hear.

Genji returned from that particular mission with a stuffed baby beaver. He found you napping with all the stuffies. What an adorable sight you made, with your pregnant belly protruding above all the stuffed animals. He had no idea you missed him so badly, and instead was drawn to join you for your nap. He added the baby beaver to the pile and then pushed some to the side so he could slot himself into the cuddle pile next to your body.

You would have remained in the bed with this surprise appearance of Genji, but you an immense need to pee and right now. You inched towards the side of the bed, dragging your extra weight along. It disturbed your bedmate. He shifted around and you stopped with your legs hanging off the side of the bed, waiting for him to greet you. Genji opened his eyes, hazy with sleepiness, and spied the stuffed animals.

"My kittens," he cooed, sweeping his arms inwards, gathering some stuffies to his chest. He curled up around them, his tail touching his chin, and went back to sleep. You could tell he was sleeping by his peaceful, steady breathing.

You were about to pee yourself, so you quickly used the bathroom. Then you swiped your phone from the bedside table and snapped a pic of Genji cuddling his 'babies.' You had no idea what was going on, but you had to save this.

You woke him, and he whined at you sleepily not to show anyone because he didn't remember talking to the stuffed animals at all. But too bad. Too late. The picture was already taken. Genji left for another mission, and now you had this darling photo to look at to comfort you while he was away.

"Hey, Angela."

"How are you feeling? You look tired."

You were on a first name basis with the pretty, blonde doctor now, and you knew the drill for your check-ins. You stepped on the scale, so she could record your weight gain. To be fair, a medical program was automatically recording all the data for perusal at Angela's convenience.

"I am, but I'm fine otherwise I think."

"That's good. I'm tired as well," she groaned and launched into some gossip. "Everyone is keeping me very busy. Did you hear that Tracer recalled into friendly fire for the fifth time in three months? She's doing her best under the circumstances, but...Ugh! And I'm trying to convince Winston to switch to natural peanut butter as a compromise, but he conveniently keeps 'forgetting' to buy a minifridge for it. Then I just about put Jesse's cigar out on his leg. Ahhh, but I have the best sleeps after days like that!" She grinned. "Also makes me look forward to seeing your healthy little baby bump in comparison."

"The Winston part might be partly my fault. I ate all his bananas a week ago."

"That's alright. He's an adult; it's squarely on him," she said, pointing at her shoulders. "Come, come. Sit."

You sat on the exam table.

"My favourite part! Hearing the tiny heartbeat." She took the stethoscope from around her neck. "Athena, bring up the audio feed for the mother to hear."

"Yes, Dr. Ziegler."

Angela played your heartbeat for you. Then the baby's. You got a little light-headed each time with the realization that a tiny life was growing inside you. You cupped your belly tenderly.

"Almost makes me want to give up being a doctor to have children," Angela said wistfully.

You looked up in surprise.

"What?"

She chuckled. "Got you!"

"Whatever," you muttered with a smile.

"You know what's next," she said. You did, lying back on the exam table so the medical equipment could scan your uterus. "Let me just quickly go over your stuff here..." she said, walking over to the console.

You waited patiently. You wished Genji were here, but that was no surprise.

"Wait," the doctor said. You sat up, already on alert. "Am I that tired? Did I forget you were having twins?"

Dr. Ziegler was squinting at the screen and rubbing her cheek in deep confusion, while you fought the urge to flail about in panic. No, you did not mention twins!

"Wait," she said again. This time you deflated onto the exam table, already done with the surprises. "This one is reading as a few weeks younger. That cannot be..."

You nodded to everything she said, trying to ignore the lack of blood flowing to your brain. Dr. Ziegler released you for now, intending to study the results of the scans of the second baby. You dumbly walked down the hallway with your hands to your baby bump, until a thought smacked you like a pebble to the head. Genji was still not here, again! You fisted your hands angrily and jogged back to your room. You paced back and forth at the foot of your bed. The object of your anger was out on a mission, again.

Athena had to say your name twice before you realized she trying to get your attention.

"Athena! Right, sorry," you said, depositing your rear on the bed. "What can I do for you?"

"An audio transmission for you from Agent Genji."

You adjusted the position of your feet needlessly and smoothed invisible wrinkles on the stomach of your shirt.

"Alright. Connect us, please."

Your beloved's voice spoke your name, warmly drifting down from the ceiling.

"You!" you seethed.

"What? I-"

"Another baby! Angela says I'm pregnant with a second baby! Appeared out of nowhere! ...I think," you added quickly. "I don't know..." A tsumani of angst came crashing over your anger, snuffing it. "And you're not here!" you wailed.

You tried not to be selfish and blame Genji for not being here, but you just did. You failed. You were overwhelmed and alone. You stared at the floor, waiting to be chastised for not handling it better. Genji had never lost his patience with you before. Maybe this time you went too far.

"You may have to explain to me again what that means when I arrive home. For now, go see Angela. Please try not to stress too much. We will get through this. Together."

"The transmission has ended," said Athena.

"Thank you, Athena," you said sadly.

"You're welcome."

"Together," was Genji's last word to you. Of course he had your back with this. You were foolish to think otherwise. Still, the prospect of two babies to take care of was daunting. Hopefully, Angela had an explanation of where the second baby came from, and soon. And maybe...she was mistaken about the whole thing. You had mixed feelings about that. For now, all your previous emotions receded, leaving you drained and raw. You fell back onto the bed, needing another nap.

[aphceggles-blog]

Mariza Smut

Night had fallen over the Reynolds estate. With James Reynolds away on business, the house only had one inhabitant.

Maria stared at the pamphlet. It was a few pages, crudely printed in black ink. The bold title hit her in the face. The Reynolds Pamphlet. In small, neat print, directly below, the author was named. Alexander Hamilton.

Maria squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that if she shut out everything, locked herself away, submerged herself in the blackness of her mind and never left the house, she could pretend everything was fine. That her husband was loyal, and her and her parents were still alive. That she had someone who cared for her, someone who loved her.

Her hands shook as she began to read. Soon, tears blurred her vision, distorting the world around her into a haze of colour. Her reputation was destroyed. By tomorrow, everyone will have read it. She gripped the paper tightly, her fingers creating wrinkles around the edge. Her candle flickered, casting long, shapeless shadows across the dark room.

His words were like a knife to her heart. He portrayed her as a desperate whore, who practically forced herself on him, in an attempt to salvage his own reputation. It hurt even more that he knew the truth. That James Reynolds, her abusive husband, forced her to sleep with Alexander so he could blackmail him. She hated every second of it, deceiving and lying her way into someone's bed, especially when he has a wife and kids.

Her head snapped up with sudden realisation. His wife. She must be devastated. Maria had never met Elizabeth Schuyler, but had heard that she was trusting and kind. She didn't deserve this. Maria remembered how it felt the first time James cheated on her. That day, her whole world seemed to fall apart. The betrayal of someone she thought loved her. That was the worst part. The realisation that his words of love were all lies, his kisses empty and his embraces meaningless.

Maria wiped her eyes and crossed the hall to her bathroom, holding the candle tightly for light. She washed her face, reapplied her coat of devil red lipstick and tried to force a smile. Her bold lips stood out from the rest of her face. Men often thought that she wore that shade of red to be seductive, but over the years, the colour had become a kind of armour to her. As long as she wore red, no one could break her heart. She smoothed out the silky red fabric of her dress and slipped on her red shoes. She knew what she had to do.

Maria paced quickly through the dark, cobbled street, her shoes clacking loudly on the floor. She tried to ignore the eyes that followed her every movement and the whispers as she passed by. Almost everyone she saw was holding a copy of the Reynolds pamphlet. Her long dress swished behind her as she walked. Maria held her head up, trying to appear confident, as if the voices following her meant nothing. After a few minutes, she reached her destination on the next block. The Hamilton residence.

Maria approached the door, second guessing herself as she reached for the knocker. She bit her lip and knocked, quickly retracting her hand. Almost immediately, a boy of about 18 opened it. He had a handsome face, covered in freckles and shoulder length curly hair. However his eyes were red from crying and his hand clutched another copy of the pamphlet. His eyes darkened, he clearly knew who she was.

“Before you shut the door,” she began.”'I came to apologise.” “Your apology won't change anything!” He hissed, his face contorted in anger. “How could you? You knew he was married!” A tear trailed down Maria's cheek. “Please let me explain. I-” “Phillip who is it?” A soft yet broken sounding voice interrupted her, as a woman appeared in the doorframe next to her son. Despite her bloodshot eyes, she was very beautiful, her long brown hair pulled into a loose pony tail. She wore a simple, yet elegant blue and white dress and smelled faintly of smoke. Maria knew, this was Elizabeth Schuyler.

“I'm so sorry, please let me explain.” Maria pleaded. Eliza looked at her. Apologetic, a mess, she looked pathetic, yet something about her was fascinating. There was nothing for her to gain by being here, yet here she was, practically on her knees, begging for forgiveness. “Okay, I'll listen, come in.” She agreed. “But...” Phillip began. “It's okay Phillip”' Eliza put a hand on his shoulder. “Go to bed, you need some sleep.” “But she -!” “Phillip.” She said sternly. He sighed, shooting Maria a cold look, before stomping up the staircase.

Eliza lead Maria down a lavish corridor, into the drawing room. Despite having been to the Hamilton estate several times before with Alexander, she had never been in the drawing room before. It was a large, comfortable room, with a small fireplace on the far wall. Maria was awestruck by the simple elegance of the decoration, trailing her fingers across the surface of the mantelpiece, before sitting down next to Eliza on the sofa. “Your explanation better be good.”

Eliza listened patiently as Maria finished her story. “...and I am so sorry that I did this to you and your family, but my husband didn’t give me a choice. I hope you can forgive me.” Eliza nodded in understanding, glancing at the other woman out of the corner of her eye. 

Maria was immaculate in every way, her makeup perfectly applied and her dress lacked even one crease. Despite this, the amount of pain she was in was evident on her face, as she blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill. “I-.” The words caught in Eliza’s throat as she searched her brain for comforting words. Uncertain of what to do, she reached out and grasped Maria’s hands in her own.

Maria looked up at her, her brown eyes glistening with tears. They locked eyes, and for a moment, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world. Maria hesitantly drew one hand out of Eliza’s grasp, and gently cupped cheek, tilting her head upwards. Both were silent as they leaned in closer, Eliza wrapping her arm around Maria's neck, their faces an inch apart.

Their lips touched.

Eliza's eyes fluttered closed as Maria brought their lips together gently. Maria pulled her closer, running her fingers through the smaller woman's soft hair. She moaned softly into the kiss, overcome with passion.

Eliza hadn't been touched in months, since Alexander became obsessed with his work. Months of deprivation and longing had built up and were now pouring out as she kissed Maria harder, tracing her collarbone with her slim fingers. Maria's lips moved down to her neck, kissing and sucking to form several dark purple hickeys.

Eliza giggled at the sensation, desire filling her body, then gasped with pleasure as the other woman's lips grazed a sensitive spot on her neck. Maria hesitated, unsure of whether she should continue. She had been with many women in the past, yet Eliza was the most beautiful one she had ever seen.

“Don’t stop.” Eliza whispered, and Maria smiled as she began to undo the back of her new lover's blue dress. The material slipped from her shoulders, leaving her in her plain undergarments. Eliza bit her lip as the cold air hit her body, and began to unlace Maria's dress, exposing her red laced corset.

She traced the lace briefly before slowly unlacing the back. The dark haired woman followed suit practically ripping the corset open to expose Eliza's breasts, casting the material away before returning her attention to the woman before her. Eliza bit her lip in embarrassment as Maria's fingers grazed her erect nipples, her back arching as her warm mouth engulfed one. Eliza moaned as her lover sucked and nibbled at it, causing her womanhood to throb with desire as she felt herself getting wetter.

Maria's fingers trailed up the inside of Eliza's leg as her mouth moved lower, her warm tongue tracing her flat stomach. She hooked her fingers into the side of Eliza's final item of clothing and teasingly pulled them down her legs, exposing her womanhood. Once the fabric was removed, Maria buried her face between the smaller woman's legs, licking a teasing stripe up her clit, making her gasp. Maria continued to tease Eliza, tracing her tongue around the edge of her clit, before swirling it around. Eliza moaned loudly as Maria's tongue pushed against her g-spot, sending a wave of pleasure through her body.

Maria moved her tongue faster, causing Eliza to gasp loudly and grip the sheets, breathy moans escaping her swollen lips. She had never been with a woman before, and the feeling was new to her, Yet it brought her far more pleasure than Alexander ever had. She could already feel a knot beginning to form in her abdomen, signalling her impending orgasm. Maria smiled and traced her finger teasingly around the edge of Eliza's entrance, feeling her wetness. “Please.” Eliza gaped. Maria continued to suck her clit as she slowly inserted a digit, curling it sideways, making her lover buck her hips into her skilled fingers. She thrusted the finger slowly before adding a second and a third, sending new waves of ecstasy to Eliza's body. She felt the knot in her abdomen tighten as Maria increased the speed of her fingers, pounding into her core while continuing to suck her clit. She arched her back, gripping the sheets as she felt herself approaching her climax. Eliza felt herself tighten around Maria's fingers as an explosion of absolute pleasure washed over her. She moaned loudly as she rode out her orgasm, collapsing with exhaustion onto the sofa.

Maria kissed her gently, before pulling a blanket over them and wrapping her arms around Eliza's waist. “Goodnight.” She whispered softly, a small smile on her face.

[strmyweather]

Third Time’s the Charm

For just a four-week (and relatively gentle) cut, this most recent adventure was definitely more of a roller coaster than anticipated! It started and ended on relatively high notes, but with a great big dip in the middle. This was my third time through the Renaissance Periodization gauntlet, and the logistics feel pretty familiar by now, yet I still somehow manage to come away from each of these with progressively deeper insight into my own physiology. I feel like one of the official RP hashtags should be #alwayslearning! I've definitely posted a lot more in the Facebook groups than anywhere else lately, so this post is going to be long, even by my standards — apologies in advance! :) Quick background recap. I finished my second cut in late January 2018 with an all-time low scale weight of 133.7# — and also with a lot of metabolic and hormonal issues. I couldn't sleep, was freezing all the time, had a nagging back injury, my hair was falling out, I had through-the-roof anxiety, and I lost my period for nearly four months straight. The goals had been to (1) get my first ring muscle-up, and (2) get below 20% body fat (read: lean enough to eventually do a massing cycle), and while I did meet both those goals, it was clear to me in hindsight that I should have stopped that cut about 3-4 weeks sooner than I did. It was also clear that I subsequently needed a LONG maintenance period, both to let my body heal and to regain some of the barbell strength I'd lost over the previous year (while focusing on gymnastics and fat loss). The immediate post-cut period was a mixed bag. Physically, I certainly started feeling better in every respect. My back pain completely disappeared within a week, and I also ultimately got my muscle-up about two weeks AFTER the cut was over (a testament to the magic of a smaller body that is ALSO properly fueled!). Furthermore, I finally listened to my coach and began rating my workouts appropriately (generally 'Moderate', not 'Light') in terms of my carbohydrate consumption, which helped performance and recovery tremendously. However, despite a fairly slow and careful reverse-diet progression, the scale definitely climbed higher than I'd hoped — my Cut Week 12 average had been 135.8#, and I finally plateaued at 140-141#. Objectively, I'm 5'5" with an athletic build (and literally haven't been in the 130s since puberty), so this wasn't unreasonable on the part of my biology by any means, but after 12 weeks of such close analysis of scale data, it took a while for my brain to settle down about it. However, in mid-April, performance finally started to hit its stride — I was still feeling pretty light and efficient on gymnastics, and when we tested a few barbell maxes, I shocked myself by easily recapturing almost all of my old numbers (most of which had been attained more than a year earlier, when I was 30-35# heavier) and even exceeding a couple (crushed my overhead squat PR by 15 lb!). After that, I finally accepted that the 140-142# range seemed to be a good all-around functional spot for me. And then I went to Cuba, on the same wonderful health professionals' trip that I took last year. Leaving aside the mojitos, beaches, and classic cars, one unfortunate wrinkle to this year's trip is that almost every single one of us developed some degree of GI issues. Apart from being rather irked that my famously iron gut had let me down, what this meant in a practical sense was that I could barely eat for almost a week (while still doing a ton of standing, walking, and other low-level activity). I had rolled my eyes at myself while obsessively packing a cache of nonperishable RP-friendly snacks, but I was ultimately grateful that I had done so, because I knew I needed to at least force myself to gag down a casein shake every night no matter how nauseated I was! I came home having dropped back to 138-139# territory — and, in hindsight, I think this served as a 'mini-cut' in the true sense of the word, in that it predisposed me to gain weight. I wasn't fully recovered from the metabolic aftereffects of my previous cut (had literally just gotten my period back for the first time while we were in Cuba... because of course that would happen), and so that week of unintentional severe restriction, combined with (undoubtedly) a major shift in gut flora, PLUS my coach putting me on a strength cycle... well, it was the perfect storm to lead to a bit of a rebound weight gain. I had stopped checking the scale daily or even weekly at this point, but throughout late May and early June, most of the numbers I saw on my spot checks were in the 143-146 range. Beyond just the scale, my clothes were also starting to fit differently (my hard-won 34C bras were getting a bit tight), gymnastics were feeling tougher than they had in months, and I was suddenly feeling self-conscious in my gym clothes. Something had to be done — but with the aftereffects of January still fresh in my mind, and with heavy barbells now the focus of my training, I had more than a little PTSD about the idea of embarking on yet another cut. The quirk of fate that provided my 'accidental' acceptance to the 2018 New York City Marathon (which is a whole other story) is what ultimately nudged me into pulling the trigger. I’ve run marathons before, but not since starting 1:1 CrossFit programming or since following RP. Knowing that a shift in my training would be coming soon, I posted a question in the RP Endurance group about my situation. I had the vague idea of combining a cut with the early or middle phase of the marathon training plan, when a calorie deficit would be easier to hit. One of the endurance coaches promptly replied — with exactly the opposite of what I'd expected to hear. "Cut now. Start today. Finish as far out from the marathon as possible." I blinked for a second, and then it clicked. For some reason, it took someone ELSE saying it to trigger the light bulb. Of course. For goals like mine — maintenance of strength and muscle mass — heavy barbells are actually the perfect time to cut. Marathon training, by comparison, would be the WORST time for someone like me to cut, because although the scale would certainly drop, I'd also be a lot more likely to lose precious muscle along with fat. I started back on strict Base the very next day. If nothing else, this made me very aware of all the tiny luxuries I'd managed to work in — no more extra glasses of milk, sneaky spoonfuls of PBfit, or "tastes" of Reddi Whip squirted directly into the mouth! :) However, because I was still fearful of pushing the limits too far and knew that I objectively didn't have very much weight to lose, I also set myself some parameters. My three 'hard stops' were that I wasn't going to go below 138#, wasn't going to extend the cut beyond 8 weeks, and wasn't going to utilize the third/harshest phase of the cutting plan (since slashing carbohydrates would be counterintuitive to my performance goals). Week 1 Starting weight: 147.2 lb Week 1 Average: 144.2 lb The first thing I noticed was that my mental state calmed down tremendously. I hadn't fully acknowledged how much this situation had been worrying me, and I had also forgotten how lovely the 'control' of a cut can feel. From day one, I was no longer afraid of the number on the scale, because now — rather than being passive (and therefore frightening) information — it was a tool that I could use to make changes. Further, I knew I got to look forward to watching it go DOWN! :)

I also knew I had a peak week programmed in (what would have been) Week 5 of this cut, so every time the scale showed a number that was higher than I'd hoped, I felt an odd mix of disappointment AND reassurance that "at least that's more mass with which to move the barbell!" Oddly, I think the fact that I had a rationale for not entirely WANTING to see a massive scale plunge helped me to approach this whole thing with a bit of a healthier mental state. The second thing I realized during this first week is that I had drifted further from my templates than I'd thought. In many instances, I was habitually shorting my fats and (not always consciously) exceeding my prescribed carbs. I made sure to write this down, so I could correct it when I started to work my way back up towards Base; however, I also didn't re-add all the fats I had dropped, because that seemed like a silly thing to do in the first stage of a *cut*. As such, my first week of this adventure was spent on an imaginary 'gray zone' tab that I named 'Cut 0.5'. :) This first week was, honestly, pretty smooth sailing. My parents had been in town for a visit, and we'd eaten at a couple of restaurants, so my starting weight of 147.2# was a bit artificially inflated; however, this meant that I had a very gratifying water weight drop across the first week (five pounds!). This made my clothes start to fit better AND my gymnastics feel instantaneously better, both of which were big morale boosts. I started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I might be able to knock this out in six weeks instead of eight. Week 2 Average: 143.8 lb This was where the plateau started to hit; that lovely five-pound drop was (naturally) followed by a RISE of 4# across 4 days. This was partly being driven by hormones (PMS week), but in a shorter cut like this, you don't wait around if you don't have to. Midweek, I could tell that my average was going to stagnate, so I went ahead and moved onto the first fat loss tab. This impacted my sleep almost immediately (hello darkness my old friend...), and also led to that annoying, familiar feeling of weakness and shakiness on non-training days when carbs were low. However, in general, I continued to feel pretty good — handstand push-ups in particular were suddenly feeling awesome, and although barbells FELT noticeably heavier, my hard numbers hadn't actually backslid. I had two notable non-scale victories in week two. First, I had two unavoidable restaurant meals in the span of 4 days (a dinner and a post-workout breakfast), wherein I managed to (1) stay compliant and (2) calmly enjoy myself and my company in the process, feeling neither deprived NOR the usual overwhelming creeping dread about the unpredictability of the food in front of me (green salad with grilled shrimp/veggies for the dinner, an egg white omelet with salsa, veggies, and toast for the breakfast). It sounds so simple, but I just never learned how to do that very well on my first couple of cuts — how to simultaneously make good nutrition choices in a social setting AND truly FEEL okay mentally about those choices, rather than anxious or apologetic or defensive or self-conscious. This set of coping skills would have been a worthy takeaway no matter where the scale ended up. Second, this week made me recognize and appreciate the value of cycle tracking. Losing my period for so long after my last cut was admittedly nice on one level, but was also incredibly annoying, because I had no hormonal context in which to confidently interpret my day-to-day physical and mental fluctuations. That experience prompted me to start paying MUCH closer attention to such things during maintenance, and now that I have a couple months' worth of notes, I absolutely see a very strong correlation between where I am in the month and how I feel (both gym-wise and mood-wise). It's pretty neat to write a description that says (for example) that I woke up roasting hot overnight, or the scale went up, or my mood was calmer than I expected, or my skin started breaking out — and then flip back to the previous month and realize I'd written the exact same thing on the exact same cycle day then, too. In addition to being just plain cool information (female bodies are weird and frustrating and also kind of incredible!), this is also extremely comforting, because it reminds me that I often have additional reasons to feel 'off' that aren't necessarily directly correlated to cutting. 

Week 3 Average: 142.1 lb This third week was where I really started hurting. Training started to feel like utter garbage — I could still hit my expected/prescribed numbers on MOST things, but it was taking significantly more physical and mental effort to do so, and every so often I'd run headlong into an unexpected wall. Despite ZMAs and melatonin and even the occasional Flexeril, I couldn't sleep through the night at all anymore. My right shoulder got 'tweaked' and refused to calm down (much the same as my low back had done, during my second cut). And non-training days felt absolutely horrible — I wasn't "hungry" per se, but I felt persistently weak, and would get lightheaded every time I stood up. I checked my BP at work on one such occasion, and it was way down at 86/63.

Part of me was sufficiently freaked out that I almost wanted to go ahead and call it right here — not because I was struggling with hunger or cravings, but because I was extremely leery of (potentially) losing muscle or impacting performance without (by this point) any particularly good reason for continuing to do so. However, I also knew that the wise RPer overshoots slightly, when feasible. I was also able to recognize the fact that, since I'd already made the mistake once of not stopping a cut when I should have, I was probably a bit hypersensitive to discomfort this time around, from the perspective of not wanting to make the same error twice. I decided I had at least one more week in me. And this third week wasn't all bad: I practically danced a jig when I started my period (on time!), because I knew it would be sending the scale on another nice downward trend. This was also the week when I started to feel really good about my physical appearance — which I guess shouldn't have surprised me, but did, probably just because my first two cuts had felt like such long slow slogs. But the very reason that this one was shorter was because I didn't NEED to lose very much — and it was definitely gratifying to feel this degree of satisfaction so early in the process, comparatively speaking. I also measured myself this week and compared the numbers to my old log, which made me realize that — though I was (fortunately!) not as tiny as I was at the very end of my second cut, I was generally matching up with where I'd been about three weeks from its end — at a point when I had weighed (wait for it) 138#, a.k.a. the weight I had picked as my 'hard stop'! Given this — essentially the same measurements as before, while also 4# heavier — I realized I'd probably increased my lean body mass significantly during maintenance (hooray!), and therefore should probably adjust my boundary lines accordingly.  After some thought, I decided the cutoffs should be: — an average of 140# (rather than 138#) — since, along with performance, my other highest priority was (and is) muscle preservation. If I was measuring the same at 142# as I had been at 138#, then willfully cutting all the way to 138# this time might have been flirting with the edge of diminishing returns. — a maximum of SIX weeks rather than eight — because, the shorter the cut, the less it would spill over into marathon training (which was *definitely* the setting where I'd be more likely to lose muscle). — a plateau on the FIRST cutting tab, or possibly a 'gray zone' of tab 1.5, rather than going fully onto the second tab... a decision that was also related to my impending marathon training. I have a prior history of metatarsal stress fractures as it is, and hence am highly motivated to NOT screw up my hormones again at the moment, which made me reconsider the wisdom of dropping my fats all the way down to 7g/day (as I'd have done on the second tab). All of the above is perfectly reasonable from every angle. However — although I didn't quite say so out loud — in my mind, by the end of this third week, I had already made the decision to call it at the end of week 4. That certainly wasn't how I'd initially planned for this adventure to go, but I was feeling rotten, I had a peak week coming up, and it was seeming pretty obvious that the cutting process was serving neither my body nor my priorities very well. Privately, as this week drew to an end, I was feeling like a bit of a failure, knowing that I was going to ‘quit’ sooner than I had planned. I'm accustomed to thinking of myself as 'strong' on all levels, more than capable of pushing through discomfort — and the cutting process is pretty familiar to me at this point, not particularly difficult or intimidating anymore — so I truly did not expect to be experiencing the physical effects quite so strongly at this stage of the game. Even though it wasn't a terribly logical thing to feel, I was definitely more than a little disappointed in my body for 'letting me down'.  However, this is one arena where my loquaciousness served me well; I started writing a blog post about the negative things I was feeling — and by the end of it, I had convinced myself that (1) it's also a victory to recognize the point of diminishing returns and know what the responsible decision is, and (2) the fact that I was 'feeling' the cut this strongly this time could, in fact, be viewed as a direct reflection of the tremendous progress I've made in my training over the past year, how very hard I'm working every day, and how well my current baseline nutrition habits are serving me. In other words, the major impact I feel when I mess with my homeostasis is itself a testament to the healthy habits I've developed in SUPPORT of that homeostasis. Looking at it that way made me feel better.

Week 4 Average: 140.2 lb Nadir: 138.3 lb ...So then, of course, things immediately improved. :) The gym started feeling closer to normal, AND the scale took a nosedive (both of which always happen in cycle week 2 — note to self: structure ALL future cuts this same way! :)). I also saw a new sports massage guru for my shoulder, who did some cupping (which I'd never had before — interesting experience) and was able to help the discomfort pretty significantly. It's not gone, but it's better, and I bet a few days of higher calories will be the tipping point. As per my mental wrestling match last week, I was always going to choose to stop today, regardless of the numbers. HOWEVER... my average for this week has ultimately ended up being 140.2#, with this morning's weight being the lowest I've seen so far, 138.3#. Meaning, based on my parameters above... it's officially time to stop ANYWAY! ...Which just makes me laugh and shake my head at the workings of the universe. :)

Numbers: This Cut: — Starting weight (Day 1): 147.2# — Ending weight (Day 28): 138.3# — Highest to lowest: down 8.9# — Weekly averages: down exactly 4# across 4 weeks — Inches: down 6" total (1" off bust, under-bust, and hips; 1.5" off waist and belly) DEXA, January 2018 vs July 2018: — Weight (on their scale): up exactly six pounds since January, from 134.8 to 140.8 — BUT, get this — LEAN mass has INCREASED by SEVEN pounds since January (!), AND — body fat is also DOWN another 1.5% since January (from 18.6% to 17.1%)... which is probably primarily from the efforts of these past four weeks. I mean... I'm just saying... it basically doesn't get better than that! Takeaways:  — As I mentioned, the process of strictly dialing in my macros again has definitely helped me identify some places where I'd drifted further from template on maintenance than I should have (often shorting fats and exceeding carbs). Since I haven't left FL1 on this go-round, I'm now in a very good position for a 'controlled reentry' over the next couple of weeks, which will be a chance to correct this and hopefully end up with EVEN MORE FOOD/calories on my new base. As of today, I could technically jump to New Base all in one go — but in the interest of optimizing the final macro result (and rebounding as little as possible, weight-wise), I'm going to split it into two jumps of about 150-200 calories apiece. I'm sure I'll end up adjusting as I go, but my tentative plan for right now is to add 1.5 servings fat to NTD, and 0.5 serving fat plus 20-25g carbs to training days (to bring me back to ‘Light-Plus’ territory); the second jump (in probably 1-2 weeks, depending on what the scale does) will be adding back the rest of the fats. — Related: this experience also confirmed for me that, on maintenance, I was definitely rating my workouts correctly as (for the most part) Light-Plus or Moderate. I don't discount the RP approach of resistance training being the primary driver of ratings; however, my personal experience (yet again) is that INTENSITY matters also. I'm on the 2.0 version of the templates, meaning my first tab has only cut my fats, not carbs — but I've rated almost every single day as Light for these past four weeks, and in terms of how beat up and under-recovered I've felt, I do think the carb deficit has likely played just as much of a role as the overall calorie deficit. — We all know this already, but I think my degree of success here really speaks to the power of a long maintenance in terms of repairing our metabolism. Last time, I saw zero change on Base, then plateaued on FL1 in the middle of Week 4 and had to move to FL2 for the remaining 8+ weeks of the cut. This time, after five months of maintenance, I actually LOST a bit of weight on Base (!), and then Week 4 was where I saw the overall BIGGEST scale drop... without ever leaving FL1. — Going forward, I'll be very interested to see how well this all 'sticks' — how the degree of rebound compares to previous cuts. For obvious reasons, mentally and logistically, I found this cut DRAMATICALLY easier than either of my first two, so it'll be useful information to know whether a commitment this short in duration actually has any lasting effect to make it worthwhile as a potential future approach. (Based on this experience, if I keep training at this level, I also may need to give a bit more consideration to trying 1:1 for future cuts.) — Overall, I definitely 'got what I needed' out of this, which is: back to feeling proud of my body in all respects — happy with the fit of my clothes, with my visual appearance, and with my performance. I mean, we always want to push the envelope just a bit further — the hints of actual abs that I've been able to see this week are admittedly tantalizing! — and I certainly COULD push further if that were the priority, but right now, it isn't. And after all the ups and downs of the past few years, it's comforting on some level to know that "this is all I had to do" in order to get back to a place where I'm at peace with my body. Although this won't be my first marathon, the training for it is going to be a brand-new learning curve now that I'm on individualized CrossFit programming as well as following RP, and it'll be a huge help to know that I'm starting from the best possible place, physically speaking. — Also, although it may sound a bit silly, it's oddly mentally reassuring to know that I seized this opportunity to 'dial it in' and shave off just a couple pounds during an (admittedly brief!) window when it logistically made sense to do so. The scale is fickle and the amount of actual fat loss was certainly small — but I won't have the opportunity to cut again for another few months, and knowing I did everything I reasonably could during THIS phase — not to mention, everything I learned from that stellar DEXA result! — lets me feel a bit more emotionally okay about fueling my body purely for training and performance over the challenges to come. It's gratifying to watch the swing of this pendulum get progressively narrower as I hone in on the ideal spot in terms of both appearance and performance. Honestly, in so many ways, I barely recognize myself compared to a year ago. I'm happy right here, and this is a great spot to sit and breathe for the moment, but I'm also already curious — and optimistic — about whatever may come next. #massing? ;)