#my god this started out as a thought exercise to Mull Over Something and it became...whatever tf is happening now

[musical-chick-13]

*gritting my teeth and yelling at myself in the mirror* EVEN IF YOU WRITE IT AND IT'S BAD, AT LEAST IT WILL EXIST THAT'S BETTER THAN THE IDEA GOING UNREALIZED BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE IS GOING TO FUCKING WRITE THIS

[sunnydbd]

finally have the courage to post a little writing exercise thats been sitting in my drafts for awhile enjoy ❤︎︎❤︎︎

word count : 673

also its a rewrite of silver bullet chapter 14 by puckparty(yes ik,, i promise this is my last post on this fic,,,)

Scar slumps forward, perching his forearm on his knees, lax hands clasped between them. A shiver racks throughout his body. Scar takes a cursory glance at Grian, his gaze already fixed onto him. A soft smile plays on his lips and Scar hadn’t realized how much he missed the faint crinkle pulling at his cheeks whenever Grian let Scar be privy to the odd sight.  Warmth fills his chest. A burst of air leaves his nose in a sigh, “So,” he drags out the syllable, leaning back into the couch cushions, “What now? I mean there’s a lot to unpack here.”  Grian’s hands move from his lap, mussing the thick fabric of his pants, mussing the wrinkles of the denim, crossing his arms as he pouts. “I know,” he starts softly in spite of the crease forming between his brows, “I’m asking myself the same question, but…” His gaze flickers to Scar, a confession embedded in the flush spreading across his nose bridge, “I just— had to make sure you were safe first.” Grian leans in on himself, elbow digging into the joint of his knee, torso sinking into the soft of his stomach— curling in on himself as if to coward behind the cover of his person. His chin rests in the cleft of his palm, fingers absent-mindedly brushing along the flesh of his bottom lip, avoiding Scar outright. That’s… also a sight he isn’t privy to. Scar swallows the dryness in his throat, warmth fogs his senses, fills his lungs with smoke, steeps his mouth in tea. And he keens— suppressing the saliva pooling in his mouth by tensing his jaw. An animal to a salt-lick, his mind provides. An all too Pavlovian response.  “That’s— uh…” Scar gives a sputtered clearing of his throat, akin to a shallow groan, taking the reins of mind by flitting his gaze from the angel sitting on his couch, “Thank you.” “It’s fine.” Grian dismisses the sentiment with a wave. “Least I can do after getting you involved in this.” His hands vaguely gestures in front of himself, brows wilting, “Putting you at risk.”  Scar sighs, arm slung across his breast, “It comes with the territory. My entire career, the H.E.A.R.T. Foundation, every part of the job is a risk, but it’s worth it.” He lulls his head back; chin tipped to the ceiling, backrest bolstering his neck. He can’t look at Grian after that last statement, be that because of reverence or of cowardice, he couldn’t say– though his mind draws near the ladder. “Is it—” Grian starts and that gets Scar’s attention again, “Was it?” He doesn’t face Scar, just pores over him through narrow eyes instead, features— straight upturned nose and cherub curls— framed with the soft light spilling out from the kitchenette. Scar can hardly get a read on the man, the intention behind his actions, the thoughts churning in his mind, fixating on it– on him– is more like trying to decipher the details of a slab of concrete than anything deriving scrutiny. He’s rewarded with a fog; over his hands and what they were doing, enveloping his hindbrain until he’s forgotten what exactly he was dissecting under the microscope of his gaze, billowing from the innermost corner of his consciousness– or God knows where– with a niggling ring settling in his ears in the wake of silence, when his mind is most prone to wander. The feeling is most prominent whenever something’s mulling over in Grian’s mind, expression stoic with indifference. He supposes– which is a dangerous game when it comes Grian– it’s adapted from his job, his title as an heir, the need for diligence when the idea of vulnerability is likened to weakness in the developmental years. Yet, he betrays these analyses and notes Scar has logged from their previous sessions; eyes lidded, the soft line of his lips dropping ever so slightly– its vulnerability, weakness, that peels away at the initial words which give way to a question. Was I worth it?

thank you for tolerating my self-indulgent brainrot,, ,

[daughterofsticks]

sermon on the mini-mount

we're so used to being the co-pilots of our own demise. we know something's wrong & we ignore it. for what reason? what is it about, 'oh, my wrists are starting to hurt, I wonder if I'm getting carpal tunnel'. lookup exercises to prevent carpal tunnel. BOOM. you don't even have to go anywhere. we just think about it and mull it over for forever. considering it. 'my wrists are hurting' & that's it. I think something is wrong with my relationship. & we just ignore it. & then the fear that we create with our negative thoughts becomes our reality. then our relationship doesn't last. when it doesn't last we think, 'ah yes, what I knew would happen has come to fruition." except you've created that reality for yourself. what is it gonna take to take the helm, take the reigns, take the wheel of your own life? you all want Jesus to take the wheel. you're not asking him to go anywhere. nope, 'just take the wheel;' well, this car is crashing & you did that on your own. God isn't crashing your life. God's not saying let me drive your car; God's saying, 'let me be your navigation no matter what transportation you're taking.' it's not consulting with God. it is very much collaborating. what are the hopes & dreams of your heart? those are the things God's given you. when you see yourself living a happy fulfilled life, what does it entail? how is that very thing not from God. so what is it gonna take? is it a countdown?

5

4

3

2

1

WAKE UP

wake up. take ahold of your life. be an active participant in your own life. if you need to think of yourself as a main character in a movie, do that! other people are playable characters to interact with. take it outside. cuz that's where you're gonna get the fulfillment. the days upon days. how can God redeem the time that was lost to you if you don't give God time to do it? place to do it? permission to do it? what is it that you need? I'm still asking myself, 'what is it that you still need? to go & believe God bigger?' the man came to Jesus, 'heal my whatever...I believe, help my unbelief.' I believe. help my unbelief. that's it. faith like a mustard seed. starts very small,,,becomes the largest plant in the garden (or whatever). you just have to plant it. you just have to water it, till it (idk). the increase comes from diligent tending, from the small things. the small things make the increase. it's unfortunately just that basic. you just have to believe. have faith. whatever faith you have, take it, plant it in something:

fasting,

diligent prayer,

attention to what you eat in a more conscious holistic way,

considering, more closely, the words that come out of your mouth,

considering those closest to you--who are they?--maybe find out

not all these things. just one thing. choose something, some kind of soil to plant your faith in & watch the increase.

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

team bonding

Taako dropped down onto the couch next to Lup and immediately draped his legs over her lap. He snorted to himself when he saw that one human on the team—Barney, he thought—look over at Lup with a soft, kinda goopy look. Gods above, the mission hadn’t even started and he couldn’t wait for it to be over.

The rest of the team slowly shuffled into the living area. The Institute had insisted on the seven of them all living in a shared apartment for the month leading up to the mission. Something about making sure the bond engine had enough fuel. Taako kinda thought that’s what the three months of training they’d been doing was for but hey, he wasn’t the expert on bond propulsion.

He scooted over slightly to give Lucretia a little more room to perch on the arm of the couch. Magnus sat on the floor, reclining slightly, and looking relaxed. Barclay (certainly that’s not his name, right? It’s been three months, he’s gotta get this. Barold? That’s not a name, Taako thought. It’s his name now, he decided after another moment of thought) leaned against the wall and glanced around the room. Merle commandeered the easy chair in the corner. Captain Davenport stood in front of the group, seemingly ready to give them all yet another rousing speech on the importance of their mission and of the importance of bonding during this time, yadda, yadda, yadda.

It wasn’t that Taako didn’t take the mission seriously, he just thought that everyone else seemed to take it a bit too seriously. He and Lup could probably power the bond engine by themselves, what good did it do making all of them live together for an extra month? Somehow he figured that being exposed to Merle’s snoring for an extra 30 days wouldn’t exactly improve group morale. It had barely been three days and Taako was ready to cast Mending on the dwarf’s entire respiratory system.

“Okay everyone, I think our flight simulation today went really well. I know we’re still hitting a few snags but I know that these next few weeks are really going to solidify us into a real team!” Davenport said, bouncing his gaze across the room. “Now, I think there are a couple more bonding exercises that have bee –“

Lup’s hand shoots into the air as she interrupts. “Hey, Dav, I wanted to circle back to what I asked in my interview.”

“Uh, you asked a lot of things in your interview, Lup. Remind me what you’re talking about?”

“Well, if we’re going to be a team, are we going to have some sick team uniforms?”

“Oh, she does raise a good point, Cap,” Taako said, lolling his head to give Davenport his full attention.

Davenport frowned and looked around. “There’s…there’s only seven of us,” he said slowly. “Do we really need uniforms?”

“I mean, nobody needs uniforms, they’re just cool,” Lup said, crossing her arms.

“What kinda uniforms are we talking? Because I think some matching coveralls might look cool,” Magnus said, suddenly seeming a little more interested in the conversation.

“Absolutely not, coveralls are far too utilitarian for me. What about some sick jackets? Like, ooh like some nice satin bomber jackets with ‘IPRE’ embroidered on the back?” Taako suggested, sitting up to engage in the conversation.

“Nah, what if we get capes? We’d look so badass with some capes!” Merle said, looking over at Magnus for support.

“I personally am vetoing capes, I think we’d all look ridiculous,” Davenport said, sitting down on the coffee table.

“Um, what about lab coats? Since we’re all scientists?”

“Speak for yourself, Barry!” Magnus said, shaking his head.

Barry, that’s it, Taako thought to himself.

“I think it’d be illegal if you put me in a lab coat,” Magnus continued, scooting closer to the circle that was forming.

“What about robes?”

Six heads swiveled to look at Lucretia, who blushed slightly at the sudden focus.

“Well, it feels very magicky but it’s also just kinda cool for those who either don’t do magic,” Lucretia motioned towards Magnus, who grinned. “Or those of us who don’t do it that often.”

“See, I like the idea of robes but I gotta say, I don’t know that I’d love driving in a robe. I feel like a jacket could be nice,” Davenport said with a shrug.

“Maybe a kind of military style jacket? Something with some cool pockets?” Merle offered.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Taako interrupted abruptly, putting a hand up. The other six looked at him quizzically. “Why can’t we just get both? Like I know that Captain and meathead might both feel a little better in jackets but I also know that me, Lup, and Bluejeans over there would rock some super spooky robes. But also, cha’boy wants options.”

Davenport seemed to mull this over for a moment. “We could probably find it in the budget…” he murmured aloud, the end of his tail twitching in thought. “Yeah, okay let’s try to get both!”

“What color?” Lucretia asked, a small smile forming on her face.

“Well, the official color palette of the Institute is ivory –“

“Oh definitely not any shade of white, please,” Barry interjected.

“Obsidian –“

“Boring!” Lup called out, laying back against the couch.

“Mauve, which I am personally opposed to. And crimson.”

“Crimson is mighty cool,” Taako relented, nodding at the rest of the group. Slowly, everyone began to nod.

Davenport smiled wide; he wasn’t prepared for this conversation but he had a feeling it’d have good consequences for the engine. “Alright, I’ll be sure to get us some red robes and jackets. Now, Barry, I think tonight’s your turn to cook?”

“Oh please gods no, I saw this man burn oatmeal this morning,” Lup blurted out. She sent Barry a meek, almost apologetic look. “No offense, dude.”

He shrugged and smiled, a gentle blush kissing his cheeks. “None taken.”

“Lup and I have a recipe for a real good soup. Everyone fall in, wash your hands, and get ready to cut a shit load of onions.” Taako stood up and waved everyone into the kitchen. Normally he hated other people in the kitchen with him, but he figured it probably couldn’t hurt to get that bond shit going while they all had time.

[retrievablememories]

stuck with you | yoongi

title: stuck with you pairing: yoongi x reader, taehyung and jimin as side characters genre: fluff request: “Can you do a idol!Min Yoongi of BTS request of his crush being best friends with Jimin and Taehyung and him and his crush consistently fluster the other but they never realize until one day he does and finally make as move despite everyone telling them for weeks that they like each other?” word count: 3.3k warnings: some cursing, mentions of the pandemic a/n: i’ve been actively avoiding writing anything concerning the pandemic/lockdown cuz let’s be real, we’re all here to have fun, not think about real-life shit...but i decided to try it here

i wasn’t sure how to write their living arrangements tho since most of them seem to have their own places? so i just used the hannam the hill house for reference 🤪

“How have things been for you guys lately?”

Taehyung and Jimin exchange skeptical looks with each other, which you don’t catch because you’re too busy picking over your food.

“We’ve all been stuck in the same damn place for weeks now, so you tell me.” Taehyung chuckles, shaking his head. 

You visiting their house right before the stay-at-home mandate was issued ended up with the three of you—plus Yoongi, to your luck—being cooped up in the same house for almost two weeks now. It wasn’t wholly a bad thing, since you got to be with your two best friends, but living with three men was pretty much as messy as you’d expected it to be. “Wow. Never thought we’d run out of things to talk about.”

Jimin tries to humor you. “Things have been fine, you know...same as always. Except for Yoongi-hyung acting like a lovesick weirdo. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you…?” Jimin feigns an innocent look.

You look up from your plate. “A lovesick weirdo for who?”

“We’ve been through this like 20 times already, Y/N,” Jimin sighs.

“Yes, and every time I tell you you must have the wrong person because that makes no sense whatsoever.”

“He’s lovesick over you,” Taehyung reiterates, like you didn’t catch the gist the first time around.

“I don’t think Yoongi likes me.” You shake your head and make a face at the notion of it, trying to disguise your irritation at them constantly trying to provoke your emotions.

“Why not? There’s a lot to like about you, don’t downgrade yourself.” Jimin insists.

“He doesn’t even act like he does. If anything, he gets all odd around me.”

“That’s just how he is,” Taehyung says, leaning back in his chair. “You’d think you’d start to catch onto this after being here for so long, but…”

“No, she’s too busy being too embarrassed and intimidated to even get within 4 meters of him.” Jimin and Taehyung both giggle at that, and you shake your head.

“You guys are like little schoolkids. How many more big tales are you going to think up before our quarantine lifts? You could probably write a book by the end.”

Taehyung shrugs, putting his arms behind his head. “I might do that, as long as you let me make you and hyung the star-crossed lovers who are too dumb to tell each other how they feel.” He stretches his leg under the table to nudge your shin with his toes, knowing how you hate when he puts his bare feet on you, and he cackles when you protest loudly.

“Will you stop trying to get my hopes up for nothing—?” 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Yoongi steps out onto the terrace with the three of you a few minutes later. He shields his eyes against the sun’s sudden brightness after he slides open the glass door, holding his other arm up.

“Look who’s appeared!” Jimin says excitedly, his eyes glittering with enthusiasm.

“You’re loud,” Yoongi grumbles, though he’s mostly speaking to Taehyung and Jimin. “I can hear you laughing from downstairs.” Your body tenses up and melts all at the same time, and suddenly you feel like you don’t know how to do anything right—like hold your chopsticks correctly. They shoot out of your hand when you try to use them again and hit the patio floor. You look at them forlornly.

“You good?” Yoongi asks, a smile fluttering across his lips at your clumsy actions.

“Uh, yeah I’m fine.” You can only glance back at him, embarrassed that you’ve made yourself look like a clown. Jimin laughs like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing on Earth. You shake your head and push away from the table, wanting—no, needing—a quick exit. “I’ll just find some more of those…”

Jimin shakes himself free of his sudden bout of laughter and jumps at the opportunity. “Wait, I’ll get them for you.” He bolts up from the chair before you can even think about it and goes back into the house, already planning to take his sweet time on his mission to get you new chopsticks. Taehyung picks up the hint almost instantly.

Yoongi turns back to the doorway after Jimin disappears through it, his movements a few beats too late—as if he’s just now realizing the other man left. “What was that about—”

“Oh shit!” Taehyung’s exclamation cuts into Yoongi’s question. In a sweeping motion, Taehyung “accidentally” elbows your water off the table, sending the bottle splashing out onto the patio in sad little streams. You jerk away from the splash, but the water droplets have already gotten you.

“What the hell?!”

Taehyung shrugs like it was inevitable and gives a sheepish smile. There’s an undeniable scheme lingering in his eyes, though. “Looks like I’ll have to get you another one.” He stands up to get your aforementioned water, though you begin to form the idea that you’re not getting any water at all.

You sigh and rub your fingers across your forehead. The heat of the sun has turned from pleasant to uncomfortable, and you don’t even have your water to take the edge off. Great.

Yoongi turns back to you, his eyebrows creased. “That was weird.”

“They’re just trying to…” Force us together? You’re too embarrassed to say anything like that, and your words trail off in a stammer. Why did they ever think this would be a good idea? Yoongi raises his eyebrows in curiosity at your bitten-off answer. “An-anyway, that doesn’t matter. So...what are you doing out here?”

Yoongi shrugs, smirking slightly. “Well, I do live here.”

You snort to cover the way your stomach cuts a flip at his smirk, and you reach for your food in a nervous gesture before you remember your chopsticks are still gone. “You sorta seem like a vampire, though. I’m surprised you came out to get some sun.”

Yoongi mulls over that thought. “Hmm…a vampire, huh?” He runs a hand through his pitch-black hair, and even though the gesture is just an afterthought, it makes your heart skip a beat. You almost want to roll your eyes at your reaction to that simple movement. “Don’t tell me you were one of those obsessive Twilight fans over a decade ago.”

“And if I was?”

“Would you enjoy being bitten by a vampire?” Yoongi regrets it as soon as he says it, and you ducking your head into your hands doesn’t help the flaming embarrassment. “Fuck, that was stupid—sorry.” Your shoulders are shaking with laughter, and even though it’d be cute in another context, he feels like he’s about to combust. So he decides to make a run for it. Maybe a cowardly move on his part, but it seems like the best one right now.

“Hyung, you can’t be serious—” Jimin calls out to Yoongi as the older man brushes past once he gets back indoors, but the other man tries his best to ignore Jimin as a blush crawls up his neck. “Go back and tell her. It was the perfect moment!”

“There’s gonna be a lot more of that mess until we can leave,” Taehyung says, peering through the glass at your now confused expression and shaking his head. “God, one of them needs to say something before I lose my mind.”

--

Like Taehyung predicted, there’s a lot more of “that mess” over the next week. You and Yoongi continue to tip-toe around each other, unsure of how to appropriately handle each other and never unable to shake the awkwardness that colors every interaction.

The most notable incident of all, however, occurs when Yoongi does his laundry one day and somehow finds a pair of your underwear mixed in with his clothes after taking them out of the dryer. How the hell did they even get there, and how did he not notice them before?

Bound to his usual fierce overthinking, he stands there for a few long moments, wondering what he should do. Obviously, the only answer would be to return them to you. But then what if you think that’s weird, him somehow having your underwear? Or what if you assume he’s some pervert who’d taken your panties on purpose?

And to his great luck, that’s precisely when you walk into the laundry room. You give him a timid smile and greeting, which melts away into pure embarrassment when you see him standing there as if he’d just been framed for murder—and your deep red panties sitting in his laundry pile.

Yoongi’s gaze darts between the laundry and your eyes, his jaw working aimlessly as he tries to come up with something that makes sense.

He decides on “I didn’t know they were there,” though this feels just as inadequate as it sounds.

“M-maybe I threw them in the wrong bin,” you rush out, and in the same breath you cross the room to practically snatch them out of the pile of his clothes. You know you couldn’t have done it, though, which leads your mind back to those two sneaky men who’ve been trying to exercise their terrible matchmaking skills as of late.

“A-ah, yeah—maybe,” Yoongi agrees half-heartedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You both pause for what feels like an eternity, for a reason you can’t decipher, and you think you might burst from the sheer discomfort of it all. “Well—th-thanks. One less thing to wash, I guess.” You try to laugh, but the sound comes out high and forced. Similarly, Yoongi’s answering smile is tight around the corners.

The next few days after that, you are both unable to maintain any kind of eye contact. Taehyung and Jimin are endlessly amused by the way you and the older man dance around each other like two ghosts struggling to inhabit the same space.

You make up for it slightly by turning all of Jimin’s white shirts into a splotchy pink once you find out that this was indeed his terrible and silly idea.

--

You’ve been sleeping in Jimin’s and Taehyung’s beds since you’ve been barricaded in their home with them, which none of you really think twice about. You’ve been friends with them for years and don’t see either of them other than platonically, so it’s not awkward for you or them. Although it was originally intended for you to mostly stay in Jimin’s bed, you end up alternating between the two, climbing into whoever’s bed you feel like that particular night. Neither of them mind the switch-up, and Taehyung likes using you as his personal pillow, so it all works out.

If there was anyone who minded at all, it was Yoongi. It wasn’t a burning jealousy, because he knew he had no right to feel like that about you—not when he couldn’t even admit to you that he liked you. But it didn’t make him want to jump for joy to know you were in either of the younger men’s beds, even just as friends.

He spent many nights imagining you were beside him instead, warming the empty spaces of his bed, whispering to him and telling him about your day. It didn’t matter if he already knew everything you did that day because you’d all been living in the same space for weeks. He still wanted to know. 

But until either of you made a move, he didn’t know when that would happen. If ever.

He didn’t even know if you’d be interested, or if you saw him the way he saw you. You were never as close to him as you’d been with the other two men, and although that could be explained by you being best friends with them for years, he honestly chalked it up to you not liking him as much. Taehyung and Jimin had tried to tell him the exact opposite several times before, but he wasn’t really convinced. Not with the way you seemed to lock up around him—like if you said or did the wrong thing, he’d hate you forever.

If only you knew he could never feel that way about you.

--

You decide to sneak your way to the kitchen for a late-night snack one night, your socked feet scuffing quietly on the floor as you make your way to the kitchen. However, your plan is derailed when you run into Yoongi in the hallway, who has apparently just taken a shower. He’s fully clothed—thank God, because you’re not sure how you would’ve survived it otherwise—but the towel on his wet hair speaks to his recent shower. Your immediate response is to jump in surprise, feeling like you’ve been caught red-handed; although there’s no law stopping you from getting something to eat in the middle of the night.

“Oh—Yoongi.”

“You’re still up?” he asks, pulling the towel away from his face so he can see you better.

“Uh, yeah...I was just getting something to eat, I guess.”

“No crime in that. You’re tip-toeing around like you’re nervous about it, though.”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone up.” You shrug your shoulders, trying to appear more nonchalant than you really feel. “But I see you’re already up…” Your words trail off behind you as you walk into the kitchen. Yoongi watches your retreating back before making the split-second decision to follow you. He’s not really sure why, previously intending to go back to his own room. 

“Were you getting something to eat too?” you ask, turning back to glance at him when you hear his footsteps behind you. You’re admittedly happy at the idea of spending a little more time alone with Yoongi, though you’re still nervous as hell.

It’s probably not the best idea to say I just came because I wanted to be next to you, so he nods to your question. "Uh, sure, I guess. What were you gonna get?”

“I don’t really know, just whatever’s in here…” You open the fridge and stare into it absentmindedly, your eyes raking over the food but not really seeing it—not with Yoongi’s presence hovering behind you.

Eventually you settle on some leftover rice and kimchi—which there’s always plenty of—not wanting to expend too much energy on cooking anything new.

You and Yoongi sit at the table together, using the light of your phone’s flashlight and the under-cabinet lights to illuminate the room instead of the overhead. Maybe it’s a little strange, but you like the ambiance of it more than having the harsh overhead light on.

The room is quiet for a while as you both eat, which you don’t initially mind. But you can’t ignore how Yoongi keeps stealing glances at you, like you aren’t going to notice, like he isn’t sitting right in front of you where you can see. It makes you antsy, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Is something up?” you finally ask, keeping your eyes on your half-empty bowls, too nervous to look straight at him.

He hums like he’s thinking intently about it. Then he decides to rip the band-aid off and says, “You’re always tense around me.”

“Oh.”

He chuckles at your short response. “Why?”

You feel like you’ve been backed into a corner, and you hesitate. “Well, you’re always weird around me. Why is that?”

“Touché.” Another tense pause where he thinks of what to say, and then, “Jimin and Taehyung swear you like me.”

You try not to react so obviously, but your spoon clatters against the side of the bowl. If he’s acting weird because of the idea of you liking him, how can it be possible that he returns the feelings? Maybe he doesn’t know how to let you down easily. You suddenly feel ridiculous, like you’ve been wasting your emotions on nothing. “...I see.”

“I thought they were...trying to play some game. But, since you’re here now...is it true?”

Maybe if you close your eyes hard enough, you can poof yourself out of existence. If you felt trapped before, you really are now. You blurt out the first thing you can think of, trying to save yourself.

“Before you think I’m stupid for liking you, you should know they’ve been saying the same thing to me about you. So. Yeah.”

Yoongi looks at you full-on. “They told you I like you?” A nervous grin fixes itself on his lips, which makes you second-guess yourself. At this point, your head and heart are tangled in a knot. Why does your love life have to be this difficult? “So that’s it, then.”

“What is?”

“We like each other.” That makes your heart rate pick up. “...and didn’t even figure it out until just now, despite everyone else’s ‘help’.”

You take a shaky breath. “You like me.”

Yoongi nods, glancing between his hands on the table and your face. “I should’ve said it sooner.”

Despite yourself, you feel the corners of your mouth twitch into a slight smile—one that’s colored with relief and a tinge of lingering nervousness. “Later is better than never, I guess.” You find yourself laughing from the way all your stress slowly unwinds itself from your body, and Yoongi joins you, his eyes sparkling in the dark.

“So. This means we’re dating now, right?”

“I hope this isn’t considered our first date.” You snort, looking around the kitchen.

Yoongi shakes his head, placing his cheek in his hand with a sleepy smile. “I promise I’ll take you somewhere nice...after the pandemic is over.”

“We might be waiting a while, then.” Finished with your food, you go to quickly wash the dishes in the sink, and Yoongi slides in next to you to do the same. Another silence falls over the two of you, but for the first time, it’s not uncomfortable or pulled taut with words unsaid.

When you finish, Yoongi leans against the counter, his eyes openly tracing over you, wearing just a big T-shirt and shorts. It’s a simple outfit, but it warms his heart.

“Come sleep with me,” he says suddenly. You crack an awkward smile at that, and he’s blushing before the last syllable even leaves his lips, because he understands how that sounds. “I mean, actually sleep. It’s late.”

You pretend to hesitate on it. “I don’t know, Taehyung might miss me…”

“Taehyung and Jimin have had you all to themselves the past few weeks. It’s my turn now.”

And with that, you let him take your hand and guide you back to his room, maneuvering carefully through the dark house. His bed is new to you, but it’s instantly comfortable—like home. The smell of him surrounds you, as does his arms when he pulls you closer. You smile against the fabric of his shirt as you tuck your face into his chest, his chin on top of your head.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, his fingers curling around your shoulder. His voice is soft and low, already halfway to sleep.

“Goodnight, Yoongi.”

[confringo-]

Talking to Myself

Things I want to do 

Finish Hex: Haunted Pound

Write that Merril/Julian fic called Oral Intensity that I’ve been wanting to write for months now.

Write that Welcome to Night Vale!Widomauk fic in Night Vale format 

Write that Ashton/Orym Punk/Ballet fic that someone mentioned on twitter that one time just because. I don’t even know what the plot is going to be. 

Write a Drawfee fic for Luce and Rowan because I wanna play out what a corruption arc would look like BUT WILL ANYONE READ IT DO I REALLY HAVE THE ENERGY FOR A MULTICHAPTER, SUPER INVOLVED FIC??? 

Write a stupid lil Empires SMP fic about how Hermes was born through Joel and Sausage. 

I sincerely want to do 30 days of Sebasthan because I love them so much even though no one will read it lmao

That one Juliark fic that involves body shots. 

Read the Simon Snow trilogy because I have all the books now yeehaw

Finish up Wyfmite season 3. 

Start a new podcast for the manuscript I worked on in my Master’s. 

Catch up on podcasts that I haven’t listened to in months! 

Things I have to do:

Finish reading the three books I haven’t finished reading for the last idk TWO YEARS. 

I still need to query agents for my book. I’m still daring to do 20 more agents in the first couple of weeks of October. 

Write a synopsis for said book

Edit the manuscript. Like, even though not much will change, it’ll be much better if I’ll be able to send the story how I envision it. There’s just this one aspect of it that I want to move to the end and I think I know which scenes i have to edit to make that work. But I still really need to make sure everything’s grammatically correct EVEN THOUGH FUCKIN WHITE PEOPLE SAY SHOULD OF ALL THE TIME  god help me 

Exercise a little bit more. Nothing too intense but I do want to start using the treadmill more often. I’m doing pretty okay with the push ups so I hope i can keep up. 

I’m honestly most afraid of the query thing. I’m so sure that I’m going to be rejected by everyone I’ve queried so far. And while there are still many more agents I can query, will I be mentally alright if, by December, I’ll have that many rejections??? My self-doubt is already on an all-time high. Like, as much as I want to make plans, I just KNOW that the day I get more than one rejection, I’ll be out of commission. I’m so afraid of the state I’ll be in once the rejections start pouring in because I’m already so fragile. I don’t want to promise anything to anyone, especially myself. As much as I want to do so many things, December is a huge ????? Right now. 

Like, okay. Most the agents say 8 weeks to hear back from them (or Not Hear Back from them.) The longest time frame I got was 10-12 weeks. So. Theoretically.  I should be getting responses between October 17 - November 18 for the first wave of queries I sent. November 7 - December 16 for the second wave. 

Maybe I should stop at the second wave. 40 agents this year should be enough, right? Could I squeeze in ten more? Make it an even fifty?? That would be kinda crazy. Alright. If I think about it, if I’m going to be in a shit mood the whole of November and December, I might as well push it. I think I can squeeze in another 10. Can I? Can I really??? 

After sitting here for a couple of minutes to mull it over, I don’t think I can. Not if I want to accomplish something I like. So I’m gonna cut it there. 20 more agents in October, no more. I’m gonna spend the rest of the year taking care of myself because I just know I’m gonna have to. 

I’ll probably be able to write Oral Intensity in a week. It’ll be short, sweet, and smutty. Then I did promise that one twitter person I’d write that Asrym one so I’ll see what I can do for that. The rest...They can wait. I don’t have to write all of them this year. Though I might write a few more things just to remind myself why I write and why I love writing. 

I don’t know when I’ll be able to do edits. I should do it at the soonest time but the second I thought about it, I felt a spike of anxiety. This is gonna be tough to calm but I’ll see what I can do. It won’t be so bad. The hard part is over. Writing the damn thing is over. All I have to do is move some pieces around and make sure everything’s grammatical. It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. 

I think I’m insisting that these things should happen during October. In that short span before October 17. Joey, don’t do that. None of these have to happen during that time. In fact, the one that should happen is the editing. And Hex. Alright. Let’s try this again. 

This week, September 20 to 25: Finish querying the last six agents. 

September 26 to October 2: Finish writing Hex and write your story’s synopsis.

Those are the only weeks you should care about now. I have this problem where I think too far ahead and get overwhelmed and shit like that. Hence, this post. I need to write it all down before I go crazy. I’m going to focus on just a WEEK ahead. That’s as far as I should go for planning ahead. We’ll figure out how we’re feeling then. For right now. Those are the things I should be worrying about. If I have time for more, if I have the emotional energy for more, then wonderful. Let’s stick with these okay? I believe in you.  

[whoistheasshole]

How do I get out of this unsatisfying life I’m living?

Anonymous asks: So the thing is that I feel incredibly stuck - I have all the basics of life which I'm grateful for but also that was my BIG dream as a kid, to get tf out of my parents' house - but now I have that and idk what to do for the rest of my life. Like, if I try those "visualize your future" things I'm just like, "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer" & it feels like I don't really WANT anything so I can't plan, you know? Just flailing here honestly. Pretty tired of it.

I wrote back: I got your question. To pinpoint my answer a little better, can you tell me about your current situation, like how long has it been since you moved out? Which are the things you have in order to your satisfaction? Some vague idea of your age range would also be helpful, but I can work without it too if you’d rather not share.

Anonymous answered: Ah, sorry. I was trying to fit in the character limit & also whenever I think about this my mind just goes flbbbbth. It's been about 5 years? That's about the only thing I'm truly HAPPY about, I'm not thrilled with my social/love life, career, etc & have pretty much been just coasting tbh. I'm almost 30. Thanks for entertaining this.

Alright, thanks for adding some background. I will come at this from different angles and you can pretty much pick and choose what sounds helpful and leave the rest, okay?

First, while there are people who have it all figured out, methodically planning their next career step or fully certain that there is no greater joy than raising a child, there are tons of other people who just, to quote, go „ flbbbbth“ when asked about their next steps or, god forbid, their life plan. I would say I fall in the latter camp, but I don’t mind because I think there is nothing wrong with that. I let myself be guided by the things I need to be happy (more on that later) and by current necessities – if my job becomes shit, I need to find a new job. If a friendship goes sour, I need to end it respectfully. But I couldn’t tell you specific career or personal goals, except...

... let’s talk about the „later“ now.

I’m an organizer, maybe even a worrier, and therefore I like lists. And for that reason I made a list a while ago that I still have and expect to keep for a long time. It is a list of everything that I need to be satisfied with my life. It consists of 29 entries and has three of them checked, though several others could be counted as half-checked. I wrote down everything that came to mind, paying no attention whether it was reasonable or feasible to want. That wasn’t the question.

It covers stuff like a clean flat (not checked), restful sleep (not checked), friends that I see regularly (checked) or a job with purpose (not checked). This list is my guide. Well, generally my needs are my guide, but it can be hard to be aware of your needs sometimes, so I got this list. And if I wonder what I need or want to focus on, I can turn to it and choose one of the entries and see what I can do about it. I can also look over the list every few years and see if things have developed in the right direction. Little progress is no reason to chastise myself, but helpful information to see whether I need to re-direct my focus.

Please note that I wrote „satisfied“, not „happy“. Being happy is a passing emotional state. It is completely normal and okay not to be happy all the time. But quiet satisfaction with where you are or where you are going, that is pretty achievable. It certainly is a process, but an enjoyable one.

This list is not a race and it is not really a to-do list because most of the things I wrote down aren’t easy to accomplish with a single action. They take months and years and, for some items, I can only try and hope it works out some day (see anybody who ever purposely looked for a partner).

So maybe this kind of list could be an exercise for you. Maybe it provides you with some insight, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s not the right point in your life. But if you sit down and the only thing you can come up with is „cry forever“ or „sleep forever“ then, you know, that’s a sign.

Which brings me to my next point: Journaling or automatic writing. This method is especially helpful for those „I feel some kind of way and I couldn’t even tell you how“ moments – so maybe exactly where you are right now. Captain Akward has introduced me to a website called „750 words“ and I’ve used the principle of „morning pages“, though not the website, since then whenever I felt like some emotions were starting to boil over.

I sit down, ideally in the morning, and just barf it all on the (digital) page. There are only two rules: 1) Don’t edit or judge yourself, write everything as it comes to mind (that’s the automatic writing part) and 2) Don’t stop before you’ve reached 750 words. You are not looking to write anything readable or clever or lyrical, you’re looking to get all the weirdness out so you can move on. Repeat this as many days as you feel queasy or weird or confused or angry or sad. Each day, as soon as you’ve reached the 750 words, you can walk away. Heck, you could even delete/burn the document if that feels right. It’s just about giving your thoughts the room they need so you can continue with your day, hopefully feeling somewhat relieved.

While we’re at writing, I also have a question for you: Where is the pressure coming from to „do something with your life“? Is it truly coming from inside you or are there outside factors? Are people in your life asking you when you’ll have kids? Do you live in a culture where it’s expected that everybody does something of note, works certain prestigious jobs? Do you compare yourself to the people around you and feel like you’re „late“?

Maybe mull this over on a leisurely walk or write about it, using the method above. No matter where it’s coming from, the feeling of pressure won’t go away just by knowing its origin, but the knowledge can help you keep it under control. And if you find it is truly your own wish, you will have tools to shape your life according to your needs.

So, next, sleep: Maybe do that?

You wrote "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer". I understand this was half a joke, but also … it was probably more than a joke.

How are your energy levels? How does life feel? Are you trying to jog through jello most of these days?

If we’ve been overachievers or had a tough home life or needed to take care of ourselves pretty early, we can become accustomed to everything being difficult. This feeling and behavior can become a way of life, even when circumstances change and we have a chance to act differently.

Do you feel rested? Do you have regular moments of quiet in your life that let you breathe? If not, this is where I would start. Forget about lists, though morning pages might be a helpful accompanying tool (if they don’t become a task to punish yourself with if you don’t find the energy).

Take some weeks or months, maybe even a year to make rest your priority. You will have to find a way that works for you. Yes there is a lot of clinically proven stuff out there, but you will not see me do yoga or meditate. Though feel free if that’s up your alley. If you love cycling or taking photos or drawing or just plain lying on your bed and staring at the wall, see where you can add more of that to your day. Whatever brings you closer to yourself and makes you feel like you can exhale and stand still for a moment, that’s the way to go. Do this as long as sleeping seems like a fine choice. And for good measure maybe a month longer. You are ready to stop when you cannot wait to do something else goddamnit I’m bored!!! (you might say)

If you are in this picture, please start here. Any kind of life plan, next steps, strategizing, solving of riddles would set you back and perpetuate your exhaustion. Rest is not time wasted, rest is how you get your life back.

If you are in this picture, you will likely find that if you really pull through, if you truly rest, as long and boring or even scary as it may be, the other questions will probably have an intuitive answer afterwards. Not like „this is my 20-year career plan“, but „I feel like doing x this week“. And that is enough. Because you won’t need to strain to hear your needs through the fog of exhaustion anymore.

Finally, some practical information and links for when you do have the energy and inclination to tackle your job and social life. I am not saying you need to change anything if that’s not what you want to focus on. These are just some tips, in case they become relevant.

For your social life, I recommend what others have recommended before me: Pick an activity that you do with other people and stick with it long enough to become a familiar face, see also here and here (yes, meeting gay people is similar to meeting other people). If you try out new stuff, go there at least 5 or 6 times before you decide it’s not for you – of course assuming nothing bad is coming up like racist or abusive people in the group. Shop around if the first group/activity doesn’t work for you until you find something that you’d like to do permanently. Maybe you’ll gain some friends, maybe you’ll find a romantic opportunity. In any case, if it’s something fun that you like to do anyway, you will have found an outlet with a social group attached. It is absolutely not as easy right now, with Covid and all, but if nothing outdoors-y comes to mind, you could also use this time to brainstorm what sounds like fun for when things are safer again.

Of course you can also look at opportunities online, like Discord servers, online interest groups etc but I do understand if that’s just not appealing right now. I am certainly over sitting in front of a screen.

To round this up, don’t sneeze at contacts that you already have. Are there acquaintances, friends of friends, colleagues, family members who you would like to get to know better? Then go do that! Suggest a time and place to meet up and see how they react. Say yes to the potential friends.

Speaking of which...

The Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes might also be interesting. Sure, it’s a little pop culture positive thinking kinda stuff, but I did like the impulse it gave me to consider when I say no to opportunities out of anxiety or worry. It made me accept some social invitations from colleagues (… in the before times) that I would not have otherwise considered. I did not gain life-long friends, but I did learn another valuable info: That my FOMO wasn’t justified for these events ;)

It also lead me to the decision to do one new thing every month – visit a new place or try a new activity or cook a new food. If the concept sounds appealing, just think about what sounds interesting and achievable to you.

And finally, the advice blog recommendations that I’ll always have. For social life, love life, and general life planning turmoil: Captain Awkward. For everything job-related, including how to write a good cover letter or interview well and, of course, how to get out of the dreaded current job you have: Ask A Manager.

To sum it up:

1) Figure out if you even have the energy to tackle any of this right now.

2) Figure out your pillars for a satisfying life – nothing big and shiny, just … basic needs, wishes, social needs.

3) When you feel like it, pick what you want to tackle next and see where it leads you.

4) Stay flexible. This is your life and it’s okay to go where it takes you, even if it doesn’t look „cool“ or „impressive“ from the outside. All you need is to make it your own.

And if you want to, let me know how it goes some time. :)

[toukenramblings]

Dating Headcanons: Buzen Gou, Matsui Gou, Samidare Gou

There isn’t enough fanart of Samidare, this is a crime. How dare.

Anyway it’s about time I finally got to this! I’m really nervous about writing for the Gou boys and I won’t lie that I looked to @sword-brainrot​‘s headcanons for Buzen and Matsui for help and I do hope that I’m not like...ripping anything off. I’m sorry if I am! I’ll do my best though!

Warnings: Blood since ya know...Matsui is Matsui.

Buzen Gou

Bu-chan no doubt is a man who is very ticklish. He’s already pretty physically affectionate with you before the relationship, giving you sideways hugs when asked and as you two grow to be more comfy with each other, it leads to lil tickle fights. No im not say that you two during confessed during the tickle fight tf

But if you are also a morning person and often see Buzen running, he will happily ask of you to join him! You two will do all kinds of exercise routines together and sure he’ll slow down to accommodate your pace until it’s him at a brisk jog and you are at a full run because hOLY HELL ARE HIS LEGS GOOD.  

Buzen won’t notice his feelings for you for a while, not until someone comments on it. Most likely will be his brothers though, who will notice that he will often slows down to a grinding halt when around you during his runs, sometimes just walking by your side in a comfortable silence instead of dashing on ahead.

Buzen will hesitate to confess, but if he did, it will be something along the lines of: “Slowing down is rather difficult for me. But it’s wonderful to do so. Just being by your side, existing in the same space, taking in the sights around us. It’s beautiful. But my heart...” he would place a hand on his chest, right over that organ, “Is always running faster than I could ever catch up with whenever I’m with you. I think...I think I’m in love with you.”

The minute you return his affections, this man is over the moon! He is ecstatic! He wraps you in his arms, presses kisses to your face, all of the love he had been storing away finally coming to surface. All of the kisses, all of the hugs, all of the hand holding!

Daily runs with you are still going to be a thing. Now though they turn into morning and evening rituals. In the morning you two go on a brisk jog to start the day and in the evening you two will go on a small walk in the forest, holding hands and talking about your day before stopping back at your rooms and giving each other a lil peck of a kiss before you two go to bed.

There is no doubt that Buzen is an early riser and he can cook…kind of. It’s probably simple things like toast and butter for the carbs and nothing too complicated. It’s decent and it’s obvious that he cares. But Buzen does begin packing snacks for his runs, a lil energy bar for him and you!

There are times when Buzen wants to slow down, that’s when he’ll seek you out. Wherever you are, he will find you with a gentle smile pressed upon his lips, wrapping his arms around you and inhaling your scent. Will put his head in your lap or make you put your head in his lap. Whatever works! Lap pillows all around. Buzen will want you to slow down as well, take in the time you two share. Who knows when it will end, huh? Don’t be surprised for Buzen to whisk you away when you’re stressed and have too much to do. He’ll take you out for a lil walk to clear your head, holding hands all the time.

The rest of his siblings are not so subtly screaming about wedding bells behind both of your backs.

 Cuddle bear? Cuddle bear.  In public his PDA is rather sporadic, depending on how he feels. Don’t think that he doesn’t love you or anything, but it ebbs and flows with how he feels at the time. Sometimes he’ll wrap an arm around you, a cheek kiss, holding hands, and sometimes it’ll be silence and then all of a sudden a random kiss outta nowhere in front of his brothers. Of course he is very respectful of your space too, and most of the time it’s just hand holding and hand kisses.

Back to the ticklish Buzen, Buzen is rather ticklish so he will almost scream if you have cold hands against his warmer skin. It will turn into a tickling match if you try to tickle him though. So tickle him at your own will.

Oh dude he loves picking you up randomly, princess carries are his specialty. Piggy back rides, whatever! He just wants an excuse you carry you!!!! Just to be close to you!!

Buzen adores homemade things, and will most likely have something of yours to hold on to during missions. It gives him a bit of a sense of home, because it’s not a physical place, you are his home. If you made him something to take on to missions he’ll cherish it with all of his heart. In turn, this extends to you as well. He is pretty good with his hands, can sew and knit a little bit as he picked it up probably from the other swords around the citadel. Will make small little trinkets for you and the best thing he can do is a scarf. A rather…messy scarf but warm none the less.

Yeah Buzen will sometimes take off his shirt during his runs just to tease you, winking his eye as you flush.

Will also adore horseback riding with you!!! Horses are fast after all and he probs raced against one but like, just hanging on to him intimately as you two have a day to yourselves?? Best.

Matsui Gou

It…takes a long time to get a relationship with Matsui. It’s slow, full of ups and downs, pains and sorrows yet happiness. Matsui doesn’t speak of his feelings often and doesn’t show them. On the outside it is a calm sort of façade, keeping you at an arm’s length. He does not dare to let you into his mind, oh so full of blood and sin. Even the idea of being near you scares him.

One day you had wiped his nose clean from the crimson that dripped from it, and Matsui was almost ready to faint at the close proximity. Heart hammering in his chest. A part of him wants to run, and he almost does. At the edge of his chair, muscles screaming at him to flee. But there is another part of him that just…wants to be closer. He kept those feelings silent and dormant for so long, hesitant to let anyone in. Why would he when all he is good at is being a weapon? To spill the blood of the enemy? It hurts to be around you, it almost makes him cry.

 It’s going to take a long time before he even tries to open up to you, and when you do confess, Matsui almost thinks it’s some kind of cruel joke. It’s not that he doubts you, it’s fate that is just so cruel to him. Why would you love him? Who set you up to this? Was it his brothers? Matsui will ask for time for his answer, mulling over it for quite a while, going on expeditions to be away from you in order to get his head sorted out.

When he does return your affections and confession, his hands will shake, never daring to look at you and whispering something that is oh so faint, “I…you know as well as I do that I do not deserve you, master. I am a weapon, we all are. In hindsight, it is forbidden to enter a relationship with us. We are killers, we ruin the lives of people. But…I do not want to leave your side. I want to stay with you…if you will have me?” and there may be tears pricking at the edge of his eyes. Hug him, give him a kiss, PLEASE.

Matsui is the most selfless of lovers. He knows heartbreak can happen in a relationship and will not mind if you leave him, even if the thought terrifies him. He is oh so willing to do anything and everything for you! In his own little ways of course. It might just be as simple as waking you up in the morning or helping you sort paperwork or just existing by your side. As long as he can be with you and breathe the same air as you, he is happy.

Matsui is not the biggest on PDA. If he does want it/if you want to initiate it, there’s always some sort of ask. “May I hold your hand?” “May I kiss you?” “May I sit beside you?” Matsui is a man that respects boundaries and has some of his own. It will take a while for him to become comfy with the idea of a relationship and PDA. He is trying his best after all, and sometime he is a little distant. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for you, he’s just having trouble sorting out why the hell you love him so much?????

 Like Buzen, Matsui also has a fondness for little homemade things. If you make him something, Matsui might start sobbing right then and there. You care about him so much? He doesn’t understand it! Hug him please, rub his back and soothe him. Matsui does enjoy shopping and will most likely find some kind of item at a store for you to hang on to while he’s away! During missions he will not let this little trinket of yours leave his side – Gods save the one who breaks it/steals it.

Be very patient as you are patching up Matsui. He may flinch at your touch every now and then before melting into it, cheeks flushed and sometimes trying to not show you how it affects him like this. He will also hold your hand during his repairs.

 If you have some sort of skincare routine or into fashion, expect Matsui to watch you in utter awe. He will pick up some magazines about such things and will accompany you will you shop. You two will have a shopping date together and it’s sweet! He loves pampering you and being pampered in return! He isn’t a wasteful spender though, having a bit of a budget. But sometimes he can’t help it spending a lilll bit over it just to spoil you though!

Getting him spontaneous gifts makes him bury his face in his hands, trying to hide his flushing face and nosebleed. Kiss his cheek and take care of him during this time, sweetie! He’ll appreciate it!

Matsui also values nutrition so don’t be surprised if you see him and Kuwana in the kitchen or Matsui with any other sword that knows how to cook. Matsui can cook, kind of, but he will want to watch your health. He makes rather simple healthy meals whenever he can, giving them to you. Reads all about human nutrition and knows exactly what to make/ask for from Kuwana to help give you a boost in energy or to fulfill your hunger.

The day Matsui holds your hand out of his own volition in public is a sweet one, his cheeks flushed and fingers lacing with yours, squeezing it tightly as though you will disappear. Reward him with a kiss and watch the blood drip from his nose from pure excitement…and maybe pass the fuck out.

It’s no secret that Matsui is a very private person. He won’t talk much about his life and it’ll take a long time for you to get past the hints or the lil self-depreciating jabs he makes at himself. All he asks is that you are there for him, be an ear for him to talk to.

Matsui is also the kind of person who leaves behind little notes for you while you’re busy to cheer you up. Simple little things signed by him with a lil snack or something, left outside of your office when he knows you’re swamped with work. He is almost sporadic with these sorts of instances.

Matsui has nightmares a lot and loves it when you run a hand through his hair, lulling him to sleep. It’s one of the few times he can sleep properly.

Samidare Gou

Samidare is nothing short of loyal. He is a ‘dog’ after all, and his loyalty towards you will never waver. He’s not Hasebe levels but more so of a quiet observer. There are times when he is there watching over you in silence, like a ninja yes, but then there are times when you surprise him by calling him out. He will jolt and ask what it is you will need but will slowly come to seek out your presence. It brings him a sense of comfort, and who knows, he kinda looks like a puppy trailing after you after all.

It’s probably someone (be it his brothers or someone else close to you) that notices Samidare’s habits. The way he lights up whenever you are around, one could almost see the slowly-hurried wagging of an invisible tail behind him.  They will confront him about this and Samidare almost has a lightbulb form over his head. He will stop for a moment, sitting down, head in his hands as he ponders over this new revelation. You do make him happy after all and again he does follow you around like a puppy…but it’s almost different? His heart races when he’s around you, for the better. He wants to hide in the shadows but does not, to bask in your light.

And then one day you suddenly start noticing these little poems at your office desk, in an envelope with a wax seal of no one’s crest, as though someone had used your personal belongings to make it. You can see that your drawers had been slightly rummaged through and you were ready to see who the hell it was but when you open the letter it’s a haiku??? Of love??? Who the hell?????? And then the letters will not stop coming over the next few days.

You immediately begin to file down the suspects: Kasen, Izuminokami, Mitsutada? Who else could be into poetry like this? Of course there is someone around the citadel who can’t keep his damn mouth shut and you eventually pry the information out of them. So you immediately go and make your own poem to confess back and dash over to Samidare. When he sees that you figured him out, his cheeks go full red and there is a mumble under his breath, you can see his hands shaki- is that another letter in his hands? “Yes…I did indeed make those letters for you. I do not know if you…will return my feelings but, I wanted to tell you that you are important to me. There are not enough poems in the world to tell you how I feel or…or well…do forgive me if you do not return my feelings.” And then you pass your own poem to him, his face practically goes even redder as he reads it. Pull him into a kiss right then and there, do it, do it for me. Make him flush even more red, make him pass the fuck out.

Samidare is rather neutral with PDA. He won’t mind it in front of others but will absolutely go red if you initiate it. He won’t initiate it often unless you two are in private. Only then will he turn into a big ol cuddle bug.

Head pats. He almost preens whenever you give him a head pat. He will lean into every touch you grace him with, whining and whimpering whenever you leave him. Samidare is also very much into neck and shoulder kisses, so don’t be surprised if he comes up behind you silently (you can always tell its him though, no one else closes in on you like that with such gentleness) and gives you kisses on your skin when you two are alone.

Samidare adores spending time with you, so you two make it almost a habit of going for a daily walk in the forest or out in the city/town. He adores exploring and finding new places to spend his time with, and since becoming your romantic partner, the enjoyment has only tripled! He just has to hold your hand during these times too!

Murakumo may be a bit jealous of how close Samidare is with you, but when he sees how happy you make Samidare, he relents. He knows that you would never hurt him and besides, all of the Gou family approves of the relationship! As long as Samidare is happy, Murokumo will be happy! Will be subtly planning your wedding when you two aren’t looking.

Samidare does get a bit jealous at times as well. He isn’t the type to be angry or anything, and he’s a bit of a sulky person when he’s jealous, like a big ol puppy. He’ll try not to show it though. It’s kind of obvious when you two are along and he just clings to you like no tomorrow.

Samidare is also rather quiet, and is more than willing to sneak up on you. Though after you two got into a relationship, he has become much more in tune with you if you’re a jumpy sort of person. He doesn’t want to alarm you! So when he is going to sneak up on you to give you a hug, he’ll normally whisper in a calm voice, “I’m here.” And wait for you to come to him. You can just lean back into his embrace and he’ll catch you!

If you think Hasebe or Tomoe are super in tune with your schedule, you haven’t met Samidare. Samidare always seems to know the right time to pop into your study and get your mind off of things. He’ll find his way into your office through door or window, with a snack in tow or just a hug.

Lap pillows. Oh man he loves laying his head on your lap and letting you run your fingers through is purple hair. Dude it’s the bEST. He falls asleep right then and there. If you ask for a lap pillow, Samidare will happily return the favor! Also will switch up being the spoon in bed. Big spoon? Little spoon? Who cares?! As long as you two are together, hugging it out, comfortable in each other’s presence, he is happy!

There is no doubt that this man is protective of you. The citadel is fine, everyone is able to kick some ass and none will dispute your authority but outside of the citadel? With strangers???? No fam, you are going to stay safe and protected, he’ll fight the world for you.

Also adores puppies! He loves animals and if you take him to like an animal café or the zoo, you’ll lose him within the first few steps into the damn place. Of course he’ll always come running back to you. No worries! He’ll find his way back!

Don’t think the poems are going to stop when you two are beginning to date. Oh no! In fact every morning you wake up with a poem. It could be one already written by a famous poet, or one that Samidare makes up on the fly, inspiration coming from just gazing at you. He will also deliver poems to you to cheer you up. In fact, the poem you wrote your confession on is always kept in his pocket whenever he’s out on a mission or something. It’s his good luck charm! You could have an entire little album of poems he’s written for you at this rate.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Fiore the Genderfluid Kelpie

Notes: this is a commission from a user who wishes to remain anonymous, about a curly-haired musician meeting her monster match for the first time. 

If your roommates weren’t such absolute twats about the noise, then you really wouldn’t have much of a reason to practice your violin in the outdoors like some kind of lonely vagabond. The day is bright, only a few clouds in the sky, but not specifically warm enough to make you melt into the little dirt path. Nor do you feel much strain in your lungs as you hike around the dirt path. It’s the kind of day that hints of summer, with all the warm, soft sunlight of the day without the same, stifling heat that comes in the deeper throes of those months.

Hauling everything- the violin, the stand, and the sheet music should be more complicated than it seems, but you’re so used to it by now that you don’t really notice the effort. All the better, then, because having an explosive argument with your roommate over staying indoors would be more trouble than it’s worth. The smaller university also locks its practice doors during the summer, so you can’t go there.

So, again, outdoors, it is.

Google maps is very helpful for seeing the dirt trail that weaves its way around the nearby lake, though it doesn’t register it as a viable pathway. You have to eyeball it, which is okay, because you think it would be reasonably simple to make your way back to the high rises of the city, as you can see them once you stand on a hill, right on your tiptoes. There’s a gorgeous, large, and ancient weeping willow that google’s satellites have captured, one that’s large enough to provide shade and shelter from any unruly breeze. Already, you spot it on the other side of the water, so you tuck your phone into your pocket and head in that direction.

Setting everything up is easy, the collapsable stand simple enough to build, the ground flat enough to allow it to stay upright. You trap your sheet music to it with clothing pins, just as a precaution despite the breeze isn’t quite strong enough to blow them to kingdom come, and turn on your metronome app on your phone as you set it right next to the paper. Once everything is set up, albeit with your violin still in its case, you allow yourself to go investigate the edge of the lake itself, just for the sake of looking around.

The lake is large, extensive, and a shimmering, crystalline blue. You remember that a few years ago, some environmentalist people in town managed to get a large clean-up production in order, clearing out the trash and filtering the muddied water until it stopped shining with grease. There’s an ancient, dilapidated dock, the old, rotting wood half-submerged in the reeds and water, though you think that the very center might be able to hold your weight.

Wanting only to get a better look at the lake as a whole, you step onto the dock, wincing as it creaks under a portion of your weight, but it seems to take it well enough. Carefully, you place your other foot down, too, then carefully tiptoe over the part of the wood that looks the most stable, getting about halfway down the dock. The lake itself is supposed to be ridiculously deep, there’s a river that provides freshwater from the melting snow on the nearby mountains, so it also must be rather cold.

Funnily enough, as soon as you think that, there is a violent crack sound from beneath your shoes, and you find out for yourself exactly how cold the water really is. It’s freezing, just as expected, a biting, icy feeling running through your nerves, and you barely even have time to shut your mouth tight to avoid getting a mouthful of water. Your arm smarts as it hits a plank wrong, and there’s a snap that you aren’t sure is from the wood or your arm.

You struggle, arms flailing limply as you try to surface. There’s something on your foot, though, it’s somehow pinned or stuck in a stray part of the dock, and you don’t think you even have the air to deal with it. Letting out a breath of bubbles to help ease the tension in your chest, you bend your knee a bit, dragging yourself down further, and try to feel out what you’re stuck in.

Wood, definitely another part of the dock, and it feels like you just punched your foot clean through, right up to your ankle. You wriggle, trying to shimmy your way out, but there seems to be absolutely no way for you to get out without at least dislocating something. Before you can even process true, absolute panic at the thought of drowning, a pair of arms wrapping around your chest and pulls. A shock of pain runs through your leg, and your struggle, harder, jabbing your elbow against something… rubbery, you think.

The water is too murky for you to see beyond the blob figure that swims gracefully down to your ankle. After just a moment, two arms reach forward, snapping the plank with such ease that you wonder why you weren’t able to pop out of it yourself, but suddenly you’re being pulled up again, though this time, you actually feel the air.

You splutter and gasp, your face probably cherry pink with the violent effort your body makes to resupply oxygen. Once you manage to take in a few, choking gasps, you spin around to see your rescuer, a bit taken back when you notice the lack of clothing on her pale, freckled body. She’s slim in frame, not at all looking anywhere near strong enough to be able to snap a slab of wood like it was nothing more than a twig even if it had been rotting in the water for god knows how long.

“Um, thank you,” you say awkwardly, unsure of what else to do, “for helping me, I mean.”

She eyes you up and down, her eyes glittering in the reflection of the sunlight dancing up from the water. There’s something that’s oddly absent from her gaze, like a slab of blankness beneath the blue irises, and you find yourself unconsciously crossing your arms across your chest in a sort of protective gesture of yourself.

“Of course,” she says finally, after a long, awkward pause, “you were drowning.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she wasn’t entirely sure if that was what really was happening or not, so you wonder if maybe she’s teetering on embarrassment? That might explain her strange behavior.

“My foot was stuck, yeah,” you say. “If you hadn’t freed me, I probably would have.”

“Hm,” she nods sagely, as though that were an answer to another unasked question, “you cannot breathe in the water.”

“No, I can’t.” You are suddenly very aware of your wet socks as you shift your weight, the thick layer of silt squishing down and over the soles of your tennis shoes. “That’s the thing about humans, we can’t breathe underwater.”

“Fascinating,” she mulls the idea over, as though she couldn’t possibly relate.

“Um,” you’re trying very hard not to stare at any other part of her body but her face, “yes, so I was here to practice my violin, but um, I didn’t realize that anyone else was here.”

“Practice the violin?” She echoes.

“My instrument,” you gesture vaguely in the direction of where you set up your temporary haven of music, “I was going to practice out here because my roommates get annoyed by the noise. I didn’t realize that someone was out here, though, I thought I’d be alone.”

She waits for you to elaborate, but when you don’t, she suggests, “if you are worried I might mind a little music while I lounge and swim, you should not. I will somehow survive.”

It takes you a moment to process that she must be joking, so you let out a brief laugh. “I’m sorry for crashing your lounging and swimming. Um, do you happen to have a name?”

“Of course,” she says.

When she doesn’t embellish, you ask, “what is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She has to think about it for a moment, you can see her eyes fade as she wanders through the depths of her mind to drudge it up. You wonder how long she might have gone without hearing it because the long silence that follows seems a little too meticulous to be her looking for a fake one to give. “Fiore.”

“Fiore?” You shift again, wincing at the feeling of slime absorbing into your shoes still. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you; it is, isn’t it.”

Slowly but steadily, you manage to get yourself out of the muck, kicking off your shoes and socks once you’re free from the reeds. Bare feet on a dirt path, you think, is preferable to the soggy, squishing feeling of muddied and wet shoes, and when you turn around, you don’t spot your savior anywhere. Shrugging that off, you head back over to your little setup, checking over your phone, thankful that you had the foresight to pull it out of your pocket before you took an impromptu dunk in the lake.

Popping your violin case open, you begin on your scales, just as a brief exercise to warm your fingers up before moving onto more complicated pieces. Pressing against the strings, you quickly draw your bow out to make the notes. C major, then minor, then D major, then minor, and so on until you moved halfway through the scales before glancing self-consciously over to where you last saw Fiore, but there isn’t any sign of her slim figure.

Thinking that she might have just left while you were paying attention to your finger’s positions over the strings, you go back to practicing, finishing your scales, and choosing from your bags which piece to begin working on.

You would say that this is the most peaceful practice session that you’ve had since this whole worldwide ugly situation has started. No roommates come banging on your door to tell you to quiet it down, no angry stomping protests from the neighbors in the above apartments. Just you, the violin, and your music, and you find yourself improving somewhat on one of the more difficult passages in a piece that’s had you stuck for a long while.

In fact, it was so productive that you find yourself returning in a few days, spurred on by the annoyance of your roommates. The weather is beautiful enough, a gentle breeze cooling any sort of heat that may become stifling in the warming spring. You repeat the actions from when you were last at the lakeside, setting everything up, leaving your phone on the stand, then move to investigate the shore.

You are looking to see if Fiore is here, you’re not ashamed to admit it, but as you scope out the edge of the lake, you see no one around. Not even a telltale sign of rippling to suggest that someone is swimming just below the surface, so you suppose that she just isn’t around. Which, you assume, might as well be expected, because it’s not like you know her whole schedule of when she actually goes for a swim.

So you start practicing again, going through your scales, then beginning on your regular pieces. As you pause, maybe a half-hour into working, to turn on the metronome on your phone, you notice a head of black hair poking up from the water. Which is weird, because you didn’t see anyone in your periphery arrive, you think you might have given the circumstances, but maybe you were just so sucked into the music that you weren’t paying attention to anything else.

Thinking it must be Fiore, you walk over, popping up on your tiptoes so that you can get a better view of her head, you almost stop in your tracks when you realize that the body swimming in the pond is, in fact, very masculine. And just as naked, but you digress. Face so red you think you might look more like a tomato than human, you take a step back, your foot catching on some root or twisted patch of grass, and you fall hard on your ass.

He’s looking at you promptly, eyes sharp and hauntingly familiar. You’re even more embarrassed, now, because you thought that you might have been able to make a quiet and unnoticed retreat. Instead, you’re looking at the face of someone who seems to be debating on whether or not to eat you alive. At least, that’s what it feels like from his predatory glare.

“I- I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” It dawns on you now that he might think that you were trying to get a sneak peek of the goods, and just the thought of gaining the reputation of a peeping tom makes your face heat up even more. “There was like this girl who was here last time I practiced, I mean, I saw her when I was practicing violin, too, and you two actually look a lot alike, so I thought- I, um, thought you were her because of the black hair.”

The man regards you with no small amount of suspicion, eyes narrow.

Nervous, you try to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve made. “I was practicing violin, she seemed to like the music- I mean, I think she did. I’m really sorry to bother you, and I’ll just go back to practicing, sorry.”

As you get up to leave, the man cocks his head. “Your hair.”

Mindlessly, as if spurred on only by the word, you reach up and pluck one of the coils, pulling it down to its full length if it were straight. “Y-yeah?”

“It didn’t do that, not when you were here last. How did you make it crumple up?”

Was he there, and you just didn’t see him? “I- I don’t know what you mean.” You release the strand, and it pops back into place, frowning. “It’s just curly?”

“It was straight when you fell into the water.”

“Oh,” feeling sheepish to have your past mistake thrown out like that by another stranger makes you want to bury yourself, “that’s what happens when my hair gets wet. It stops being curly.”

The man regards you like he’s never even heard of such a thing before. Ignoring the weird feeling in your chest, you approach the water, cupping your fingers together, and bring a fistful of water up to a strand. True to your word, it straightens out almost instantly, and you allow him to stare at you like a bug under a microscope, comparing the now damp strand with the rest of your hair.

“See?” You offer, hoping the pinkness in your face might have died down by the attempts to satiate his own curiosity.

“So it was you,” he says, nodding sagely as if he figured it out on his own.

“Yeah, yup, that was me.” You take a significant step back, wiping your hand on your shirt. “I don’t remember seeing you, though, so you must have been swimming out on the far side.”

There’s an awkward pause, and just when you’re about to turn around and retreat back to your music stand, the man speaks, “You don’t remember me?”

Immediately, you try to go through your recollection of that day to see if you somehow wholly blocked the presence of the man, as well, but you don’t think you did. “Did you introduce yourself?”

He looks almost hurt. “I’m Fiore, I told you.”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to bug out of your skull, because no, that’s not Fiore. Fiore is… admittedly, the same size as this man, tall, slim, with black hair that does fall past her shoulders, but come on. Come on! There’s no way the two are the same person, at least, you don’t think so, because you could have remembered everything wrong. You couldn’t have, though, because this really isn’t something you can just mix up.

“You’re confused,” probably-not-Fiore observes, which is most likely an elementary observation on his part.

“Yes.” You admit, not wanting to outright refuse to believe that what probably-not-Fiore’s saying is false.

“I see.” There’s a faraway look in his face, open enough to give you the feeling that he’s trying to put some kind of explanation in words. “It’s like your hair.”

“My hair,” you repeat, unsure.

“Your hair changes. My body changes. It’s… the same, but different.” Maybe-Fiore places a hand on his chest and drags it downwards to his stomach. “Sometimes, I feel better in this body. Sometimes I feel better in other bodies.”

“Oh,” you say, because that makes perfect fucking sense, of course, why didn’t you think of that earlier, “right.”

“The humans have a term for that, I think,” Maybe-Fiore places a hand on his chin as he thinks, “another visitor to my lake told me, but I cannot remember it.”

“Oh, you’re not human,” you say, not believing him in the slightest, “I didn’t realize.”

“Did I not mention it,” Fiore says in a tone that suggests that he very well knows that he never uttered a word about his species, “interesting. Anyway, I enjoyed the music you played earlier, and I would like to hear it again.”

“Alright,” you hesitate, though you know that you might as well comply. Slowly, you head back to where you left your stand and pick up your violin. Trying your best to focus, you begin practicing again, starting with scales and arpeggios as you did the last time you were here. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him, lounging, still very naked, on the outer banks of the lake, clearly enthralled in your music.

You’re not sure if you can be flattered over that or not, but you continue practicing nonetheless. When you’ve put in some time- about an hour or two, according to your phone, you begin breaking down your practice area, collapsing your music stand, and packing away your books. Maybe-Fiore is lying leisurely on the side of the dilapidated dock, eyes only opening once the music has ceased.

Sometimes, I feel better in this body. Sometimes I feel better in other bodies, he has said, and you try to digest what that means, the humans have a term for that, I think.

“Did you mean genderfluid?” You ask suddenly, popping your case shut.

He sits up as you stand, trying to formulate a sentence. “What?”

“You said you sometimes feel comfortable in other bodies, and that there was a word for it. Did you mean genderfluid?” You clarify, trying to adjust the straps of your myriad of bags, so the weight is evenly distributed on your shoulders.

“Yes- that.” He smiles, and there’s a weird feeling swimming in your stomach when you see it. “Sometimes, I feel like a male. Sometimes I feel like a female… and I have the advantage of being able to change.”

“Okay,” you nod, wondering for the first time if he actually is Fiore, if Fiore could simply switch their sexes the moment they felt different. Which… you think is a tad bit out there, because changing one’s shape so instantaneously and thoroughly isn’t physically possible. That you know of, though.

“Will you play closer to the lake next time you come?” Maybe-Fiore says, laying back down against the half-rotted wood, closing his eyes.

“If you’d like,” you say, warming up to the idea. You would be directly under the sun, but a lot of sunscreen and plenty of water might keep you from dying.

“I would like,” he nods firmly, rolling back over into the water.

Trying to not look below his waist, you say your goodbyes, and turn to leave.

The weather is already warming up, as though spring was nothing more than a few-day blip on the calendar. The humidity doesn’t help matters, either, because your hair has decided to do something very unique with itself, poking out in oddly placed tufts that don’t want to conform to any other look but insane person. When you come back to the lake, you have a water bottle filled to the brim with mostly ice to melt and sip on while you practice.

You hear the horse before you see it, the tromping of hooves against the earth, a loud, resounding whinny as it sees you in the middle of its path. It’s an incredibly large, foreboding creature, pale like a ghost, a myriad of speckles dotting its back half. Immediately, adrenaline bursts into your veins, because random, galloping horses are not good news, especially when it seems to be heading right for you.

Just when you’re about to shed your stuff and dodge, the horse makes a sharp turn, kicking up some dirt as it does so. Even though the immediate danger is over, your heart is still quaking in your chest hard enough to feel the aftershocks in your fingertips. You are far too startled to do much other than watch the admittedly majestic creature with a wary eye as it gallops over to the lake, the white spray of water splashing about as it plunges beneath the surface.

All that happened within the span of a few moments, and you are far too surprised at the… the absurdness of it all to do much more than stand there, mouth agape, as you quietly debate the pros and cons of leaving your things so you could run away faster. Before you come to a conclusion, though, you see a head of black hair pop up from the water, and all you can think of is Fiore and a feral horse getting into a tussle that the creature would not lose.

You drop your things and run, but not away from the lake, towards. Wild horses could easily cave someone’s skull in like a mallet to a melon, and you’re not going to just leave when Fiore- whoever they may be- might end up pummeled to death by hooves. While you try to shout- keyword try here- you find that the ungodly speed you’re running at mixed with your panicking lungs, all you can manage is a weak wheeze until you near the edge of the lake.

When you get that close, you see that it is Fiore, her slim, long hair sticking to her skin from the water. You’re just about to run yourself into the mud, but you manage a screeching halt, gasping for air, a drop of sweat rolling down your temple as you manage to choke out, “horse, there’s a horse-”

“Not anymore,” Fiore chirps, completely unaware of your panic.

“What? No,” you bend over, your lungs desperately trying to compensate for the sudden strain, “there was like a huge-ass horse that almost trampled me earlier, it went into the lake- and-” come to think of it, why haven’t you seen it surface for air? Where did it go?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fiore steps closer to the shallows, the water only waist-deep on her. “I was just delighted to see you, I may have gotten a little too excited.”

You shake your head, only half processing the nonsense she’s speaking. “Not you, the horse. There’s a horse!”

“Yes,” Fiore sounds like you, almost exasperated that you do not quite understand what’s going on, “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t startle me, the horse did!”

Fiore looks at you, her eyes narrowed slightly, making you feel like you’re missing a massive, undeniable piece of some puzzle you didn’t know you were playing. “And I said I was sorry, sweet thing.”

Even though a shiver runs through your back when she calls you that- sweet thing- you have to be misunderstanding something significant here because... is Fiore insinuating that she can turn into a horse? You are going to faceplant onto the ground if the answer is yes. “Fiore.”

“Yes.”

“So, you were a horse just a few minutes ago.”

“Yes?” She sounds almost relieved that you finally understand what’s happening. Like back and forth was exhausting, and she could not understand why you didn’t.

“Ha.” You’re going insane. Or maybe Fiore was trying to pull a fast one, a long drawn out fast one, and this is all some kind of elaborate hoax to mock the girl who hikes half a mile just to play the violin. “No.”

“Ha, yes,” Fiore counters, almost impatiently.

“But-”

“What makes it so difficult to understand?”

You feel like your brain is going to explode. “Um… I need to go fetch my violin.”

She brightens somewhat. “Don’t forget that I want you playing closer this time.”

“R-right.”

Surely you’re teetering on the very edge of sanity because that conversation did not just happen. Slowly, you gather your things, trying to mull the conversation over in your head. Fiore- the woman, the man, the horse, this can’t be happening. But you can’t come up with any sort of more logical explanation, especially since any other alternative seems far wilder than the simplicity of shapeshifter. So as you begin to put everything together to play, you ask, almost timidly, “what are you?”

“What do you mean?” She’s sitting out of the water, naked, only a few arm’s lengths away.

“I mean,” your fingers are shaking too much to actually play, so you pretend to tweak at the strings of the violin to tune it, even though you don’t have the means to properly do so, “if you can change like that, and you even said that you aren’t human, what are you?”

There’s another faraway look in Fiore’s eyes, the same as when you first asked for her name. Like she has to struggle to remember, as though she hasn’t had to explain her existence in a long while. “Your people have many different names for mine,” she says, reminiscing, “but I suppose that you might know the word ‘kelpie,’ hm?”

You are not going to be scared, not yet. Trying to keep your voice calm, you ask, “like the man-eating horse creature?”

Fiore, to her credit, seems to find that description funny, of all things. “I haven’t tasted man in so long, but I can’t say that I find it particularly delicious. I prefer those creatures with the horns, what are they called... cattle.”

At least she doesn’t seem to favor the taste human, so you force your body to relax a little. “And you live in the lake?”

“For as long as this village has existed.” She closes her eyes, you can see a timeline play in her mind. “Though, not so much a little vagabond grouping anymore.”

You think of the high rising skyline and let out a little snort, unbidden, “you can say that again. Have you visited the city square recently?”

“I’ve never visited the square,” she leans back on her elbows, staring up at the sky listlessly, “never needed to, really.”

“Huh,” you’ve finally managed to stop your shaking body, calming down enough to lift your violin to your chin, “maybe we should go together sometime.”

Before you give her time to process the offer, you drag the bow across the G string, letting the note resonate over the landscape, just to make sure you didn’t muck anything up during the impromptu tuning. Satisfied with the outcome, you begin to play, not bothering to set up your stand or bring out any books, sitting cross-legged in the soft grass instead of standing. This isn’t really about practicing, you decide, but about letting the music flow through you naturally.

By the way Fiore’s eyes become half-lidded, then slowly close, you can tell that she’s enjoying your improv. With your focus only on the next several notes, you need your fingers to grasp; you can’t put too much attention in how beautiful she is, sprawled out in the sun like this. Only that she is, but you try to only use your periphery to observe this.

“You said that you could show me the main square?” She asks when the music notes slowly ebb away.

“I mean,” how do you put this delicately, “you might have to put on some clothes, first.”

Her face scrunches up in a slight scowl at the mere thought. “Yes, I’ve noticed that humans are cautious about covering your bodies up. If you’d like, you can take yours off now, I wouldn’t mind.”

You try not to balk at the idea right off the bat because you’re not sure if mutual nakedness means the same thing to her as it does to you. “I’m fine for now, actually. I don’t mind the clothing.”

“If you insist.” She goes back to her leisurely lounging. “But I suppose that I would have to wear… something, if I were to enter the city.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, there are laws about public nudity.”

Fiore lets out a little hmph, “and there are certain rules to the clothing.”

“... Yeah,” you say, trying not to show too much sheepishness.

“But you will help me?”

“Of course.”

Fiore pauses, cocking her head to the side as she thinks. “I believe someone once told me that such an outing would be called a ‘date.’”

You just about crack the wood of your violin in half. Not entirely sure in which direction either of you would like to take, you say, “I mean- yes, it could be, but it doesn’t have to-”

“What do you mean when you say it is, but it doesn’t need to be? Are humans always so very confusing about such matters? Must be exhausting.”

There’s some truth to that statement, your brain is especially ready to explode again, though for a much different reason than before. “I mean… if you’d like it to be a date, it could be a date. But if you didn’t want to go on a date with me, it could be like a platonic get-together.”

Fiore squints, running over her options, then shrugs. “I’m fine with a romantic outing.”

The hairs on your arm stand up. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” There’s an odd, explosive sensation in your chest, and you’re not sure what to do about it. “That sounds like a plan.”

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 16: Are You Crazy?

(Ally + Lyn + Michael)

Michael.

The text I received that morning was the most wonderful thing in the world.

The test results were in.

I got out of bed quickly, making sure to text the group chat before heading out the door. If I was being honest, I wasn’t actually that excited to know what the results were, but at least we might a confirmation of some sorts that will help us with the case! I threw on my heavy jacket and dashed out the door, not even caring about how early it was.

Making my way across campus towards the lab, I wondered what it was that we would find. Would the slime sample actually be human DNA? What if there was nothing at all? What if this had all been for nothing. I really hoped it wasn’t the last one. I still had really wicked headaches every now and then, and I’m pretty sure Lyn’s arm was going to scar from those nasty claw wounds. Not that I had the guts to tell her that.

I quickly unlocked the door to the lab and walked in, smiling when I saw Lamar already waiting for me. Lamar was the 3rd year who I had mentioned liked me who would probably help us out, and I was glad that I was right about that. I clapped him on the back and leaned against the counter, practically vibrating with energy.

“What’s the news, bud?” I asked.

“Like I texted you, the results came back,” he said as he reached for the tablet. “Something that I found interesting, however, was this.” He pointed to one of the results on the screen.

I looked at them with interest, instantly noticing that there was more than one DNA result. Now, that wouldn’t be totally unusual had this been a normal situation, because only God knows what could be on the wall of a locker room, but the fact that I had pulled the sample from a very small and specific site should have meant that there was very little to no contamination. However, I could see that there were at least 3 different results.

The first one wasn’t too surprising, belonging to one Jackie Park. That was the girl who got attacked by that freaky monster. The second one belonged to someone named Fredrik Moore, which wasn’t too surprising because Ally just told us about him the other day. It was the third result that was startling to me, because I didn’t recognize it at all. The DNA belong to someone named Jerimiah Kinkly. It was only after staring at the name for several minutes that it clicked. Kinkly. Like Professor Kinkly?!

“Thanks for this, Lamar,” I said, not taking my eyes off the screen. “Can you email this to me?”

“Absolutely,” he said, quickly doing just that.

I was just about to bolt to go tell Ally about this in person, when he reached over to grab my wrist. I looked over to him in question.

“What is this all about?” he asked, hand waving at the tablet. “I agreed to help, but this seems a lot deeper than a simple science project.”

“If I could tell you, I would,” I gently removed his hand from my wrist. “Unfortunately, there is nothing I could say that could make this make sense.”

Concern crossed over his face. “Is this dangerous, Michael? Is that how you ended up with that horrible concussion?”

I tried to go for an easy smile, but I think it came out more like a grimace. “Seriously, man, don’t worry about it. Everything is under control.” I hated lying to anyone, but especially my friends. The look of disbelief on Lamar’s face was almost enough to make me spill the beans, but I couldn’t do that to Ally.

“If you say so…” he looked extremely unsure as he stepped away, crossing his arms together. “Just be careful, Michael. No one here wants to see you get hurt again.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promised. I left after that, feeling like a weight just got added to my chest. I honestly couldn’t believe how deep this whole thing had gone. It started as wanting to help figure out who attacked an innocent student to evolving into solving the murders of several different people at this school.

The sad part was thinking of how no one looked into the mysterious circumstances of their deaths. Each time they agreed it was just suicide. Did no one think to ask why a student who just finished his exams would jump to his death? No one questioned the graphic nature of another student’s death? It was just another example of how terrible our policing system was. They were too willing to take the easy answer.

I looked over to the tree where Dahlia Cressman’s spirit resided. Why were there so many dead people on this campus? The thought of that alone was unsettling. It was almost as unsettling as knowing that the murderer was still on campus, with Ally dropping that bomb on us this morning. I would never tell my mom that she was right for saying that this wasn’t a safe school, but damn was she right. I would have to get her a really nice gift for her birthday to let her know.

I glanced at my phone, wondering if there was enough time for us to meet before class. I knew that my class started at 9:30, and Ally had a class at 9:30 as well. I didn’t know Lyn’s schedule but it was clearly busy so she usually couldn’t meet with us until the evening or on Fridays. At the very least, I could tell Ally before our respective classes.

I managed to catch her at meal hall, where she was working her way through some peanut butter toast. I slid in next to her, and she looked over in mild surprise.

“Hey, Michael,” she said through a mouth full of toast.

“Hey, did you see my text?”

She nodded, covering her mouth with a hand. “I did, yeah. Did you get to see them already?”

“Yes!” I pulled the email up, showing the results to her.

Ally’s brow furrowed in concern as she slowly read it over. Her lip curled inwardly as she looked away, clearly thinking deeply. I gave her a minute to work through her thoughts before asking her what she was thinking about.

“It’s just something…” she pulled open her bag as she muttered under her breath. Ally pulled out the notebook that she’s been writing all the case notes in, reading it over quickly. Finally, she let out a small gasp.

“What is it?” I asked, looking over her shoulder. Her handwriting was so messy in the book, and I wasn’t sure where to look for the shocking note that she jotted down that was causing her reaction.

“Dahlia told me something a while ago, but so much as happened since then,” she explained quickly, flipping through the book, “that I forgot about it. She told me that there was two people in the Athletic Centre, but that one of them had died when the campus had been first built or sometime before it. The other, who I bet money on is Fiona Moore, resided there since she died. Here where it doesn’t make sense, because your results suggest that her brother is one of the spirts there. So why is there another person? Kinkly? Is his related to our Drama prof? And why didn’t Dahlia tell me there were three people there?” She ran her hand through her hair, blowing her breath out in frustration through pursed lips.

“Maybe she didn’t know?” I suggested.

“Maybe…” she mumbled. “Still, I think I’d better check with her.”

“Good idea,” I said. “Why don’t we do that later?”

She nodded firmly. “Sounds like a plan. We can get Lyn, and all go together. Even if you guys can’t see her, I think it’s better if you’re there for this.”

“Okay,” I said. “But make sure this doesn’t consume you all day, yea’?”

“I’ll try my best but make no promises.”

“Good enough for me.”

We left shortly after that, heading to our classes. Though I told her not to overthink it, I ended up mulling it over all throughout Finite Math. There was so much going on, and it was starting to feel like there was no end to this rabbit hole. If this little bit was getting to me, I wondered how Ally was coping with this all?

XXX

Lyn.

I think I was starting to dissociate a bit.

I was sitting at my usual table before practice, my textbook open in front of me but I was staring off into space. My lack of proper sleep was catching up to me, and the weekend just made everything so much worse. I should have just asked Olivia if she wanted to do something alone with me instead, but the choice had been made, so I had to live with the consequences.

I had music playing, but even with my headphones on it sounded far away. I whacked my knee before sitting down, and while I was aware that it should hurt, it didn’t really feel like anything. I only felt like this a couple of times before, so I knew it was pretty bad. Maybe I should try talking to that woman again, the mental health lady. I couldn’t even remember her name.

I saw the texts from Michael and Ally, but I had no energy to answer them. I just had stared blankly at them before putting my phone face down, so I didn’t have to see them anymore. Now here I was, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer it was until practice was. But my brain felt like it was in a fog, I had no real concentration. Finally, I gave up on pretending I was doing work. I packed it all away and headed for the pool.

When I got there, no one else was around just yet. That was okay with me. I changed into my swimsuit and pulled on my sweatpants. I walked to the pool slowly, hoping that the feeling would soon go away. The heat of the pool was there, but it didn’t do much for me. I couldn’t really feel it. I just starting do my warmup exercises when I heard the voices of the others starting to drift in.

Sit up. Hold. Down. Repeat. Going through the motions of the crunches wasn’t doing much for me. It didn’t even feel like I was doing anything. I was looking up at the ceiling of the pool when Loryn’s face appeared over mine, concern etched in her features.

“Hey,” I said dully.

“Hey,” she echoed softly. “Can I sit with you?”

I nodded, not making any effort to move from my spot. I was pretty sure the others were coming over to see what was going on, but Loryn shooed them away.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Loryn asked gently, her hand hovering over mine. I nodded again and shuddered when the warmth of her hand covered mine. It was the first sensation I had since Ally grabbed my hand yesterday. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” my voice sounded so tired to my own ears.

“What’s going on, Lyn? Can you tell me?”

“You’re being very nice to me,” I noted dryly.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she said firmly.

I sighed heavily, feeling a little bit of tension leave my body. “I’m processing some shit.”

Loryn frowned. She ran her thumb over my hand, her eyes crinkled in thought. “Processing what? Does it have something to do with your weekend home?”

I’m not sure why, because it wasn’t funny at all, but I laughed. I laughed so hard that I couldn’t breathe, my hand covering my face. Loryn’s hand squeezed mine, but she waited until I stopped before saying anything.

“Lyn?” The concern was so obvious in her voice, it made me feel sick to my stomach.

“Yeah, something happened,” I said bitterly. “I fucking hate going home because everything is shit. Leigh and I got into it with one another and mum is a fucking sociopath who gets sick enjoyment watching us all squirm as she bullies us. I shouldn’t have gone but I had this insane notion that maybe, just maybe if I did, I could fix my stupid broken relationships with my sisters at least! But here I am, miserable because I was a bloody optimist, and I got burned for it. I can’t sleep a full night’s sleep and haven’t been able to since before what happened to Jackie and I just want it all to stop!”

My chest was heaving, and my eyes were prickly, but I felt a little bit better after getting it all out. I refused to remove my hand from my eyes, instead opting to lie there with my eyes closed tight.

“What…what do you mean?” Loryn’s voice sounded hesitant. “You want what to all stop?”

“I dunno…” I took a deep breath to stop myself from shaking. “I’m just so fucking exhausted, Loryn. I don’t think I can keep going like this.”

Loryn reached over, taking my hand off my face. I cracked open a single eye, only to shut it again when I saw the look of fear in her eyes. “No, Lyn, please look at me,” she said quietly.

So, I did. I opened my eyes and looked over at my friend, whose face was twisted up with conflicting emotions. Why did I always feel sick when someone looked at me that way? I didn’t need them to pity me more or anything. I know that’s not what Loryn was doing at all, but it felt that way.

“Lyn,” she started softly, “I need you listen to what I’m saying, okay? You have to relax. No more pushing yourself to the limits. I am your friend, and I’m saying this because I care about you so much, but it’s fucking ridiculous how much pressure you’re putting on yourself. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, not anymore. You’ve shown how bright you are, how caring you are, and how much effort you put into everything. Forget them and focus on you.”

I stared into her eyes and a realization came to me slowly. Loryn cared about me, this I knew. But the reason why I always felt sick when I saw someone looking at me that way was because no one ever looked at me like that while growing up. Someone actually giving a shit about me was so alien to me that I reacted negatively each time I saw it.

“Focus on me…?” I repeated slowly, my own voice unsure. I sat up a little, blinking rapidly. “Loryn, I’m not sure how to do that.”

Loryn smiled at me, with a small shake of her head. “I know, you dumbass. That’s why we’re here for you. You just have to tell us what you need, okay?”

What I need? I looked around, taking in the sights around me for the first time. I saw Andrew standing nearby, twisting his cap in his hands in a fit of nervous energy. Kerry and Matt stood close enough that they could be there right away, both looking worried. Tammy and Emma sat on the blocks, talking to each other but clearly keeping an eye on me. Maddie was making sure that Will didn’t make his way over at all. I shifted to my knees, feeling overwhelmed with feelings. I…how could I be so blind? These idiots were here for me last year, yet I was so wrapped in my own drama that I never noticed it, but I could see it clearly now. We were family, like Coach Jacob said at the start of the season. These people, they were here for me, if I needed it. Just like we were for Gunner. Just like we were for Jackie.

“Loryn…I-” I choked. I was shaking as I reached over, pulling her into a crushing hug. “I need help,” I practically whispered the last part.

She reached up, running her hand through my hair. “I know, Lyn, I know. We’ve got you.”

Next thing I knew, they were all there. The whole thing was so overstimulating, and I felt myself dissociating again, but that was fine. I sat there under their smothering hugs, staring off into space again. Help, that’s what I needed. Someone who I could talk to about everything, all the abuse, all the impossible expectations. I knew deep down it wasn’t going to be easy for me, these kinds of things never were. We were always told that people who needed metal health help were weak, because they were unable to cope with ‘daily stressors’ but I knew this wasn’t true. I saw Ally, how she dealt with all the shit life threw at her, but it didn’t make her weak. If anything, Ally was stronger than I ever could be.

I closed my eyes, resting my head on Loryn’s shoulder. Right now, I felt weak. And that was okay.

XXX

Ally.

Now I promised Michael I wasn’t going to be obsessive all day about this, and I think for the most part I kept that promise. Key word being most.

It’s just that the whole thing was extremely concerning and interesting to me. I truly believed that Dahlia didn’t keep something from me intentionally, which led me to believe that she really wasn’t aware of Fredrik’s presence in the locker room. Which led me wondering how he managed to escape her notice. Like I’ve said before, somehow answers always ended up leading to more questions. It was a wonder how I haven’t torn my hair out yet in frustration.

I looked down at my notebook, filled with all the information that the others and I have gathered so far. The most shocking piece of the puzzle was this Jeremiah Kinkly fellow. There was a very slim chance that he wasn’t related to our dreadful Drama professor. How was Professor Kinkly connected in all of this? Was he even? Was it merely coincidence that this name showed up at all? I was starting to get a headache from all of thoughts buzzing around in my head.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I never even noticed when this guy approached my table. He rapped his knuckles against the hardwood, causing me to jump in surprise. I looked up at him, blinking in confusion.

“Yes?”

He smirked at me, making my stomach flipped uncomfortably. “Hey, babe, I was wondering if I could sit with you? There’s no available seats.”

Babe? Excuse me? I looked around and noticed there were several empty seats. I turned back to him, raising an eyebrow in question. “Actually, I’m pretty sure there are a bunch around. Maybe take a second look?”

“Well,” he drawled, leaning down into my space, “I just wanted to sit with a hot girl like you. Is that okay?”

I shook my head, really taking this guy in. He had dark hair that was combed back and hawkish features. He was good looking, but I couldn’t shake the predatory feeling I was getting off of him. It was making me uneasy.

“Sorry?” He looked shocked. “Are you actually saying no to me? You know there’s nothing stopping me from sitting here if I wanted to, right? Stop being a bitch.”

“Stop being a bitch?!” I stood up, glaring at him fiercely. “I’m not being a bitch because I don’t what some asshole sitting with me!”

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off when someone angrily said, “Derek, get the fuck away from her, you creep.”

I looked behind me to see Lyn and Loryn standing behind me, anger in their eyes. I have to admit, while I felt I had this under control, seeing Lyn glaring at this guy and protecting me had a certain sexiness to it.

“Lyn!” He went from annoyed to smarmy in a flash. “How have you been doing, sexy?”

“None of your business,” she snarled at him, fury in her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I made it clear I didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. Now, don’t you have someone else to bother? Where’s Poppy at?”

The guy, Derek, shrugged lazily. “Dumped her a while back. She was fun for awhile, but she was looking for something more committed. I wasn’t about to do that for her. Anyway, I’m not sure why you give a damn who I talk to, so I’m pretty sure this chick here is free game.”

“I’m not a piece of property!” I snapped.

When Derek didn’t step away, both Lyn and Loryn stepped closer so they were beside me. Derek sized us all up, and maybe after seeing how much more fit the two swimmers were, decided it wasn’t worth the fight. He shrugged away, running a hand through his hair.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Forgot what a cunt you could be, Lyn.”

Lyn’s face coloured with anger, but it was Loryn who shoved a hand into his chest. “I never fucking want to hear you speak to Lyn or any other girl like that again, you bastard,” she growled menacingly. “If I do, you’ll regret ever making an enemy of Loryn Frasier.”

He rolled his eyes and finally walked away, clearly making the right decision in not saying anything else. After he was fully out of our sights, Loryn looked over her shoulder at me.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Thanks. I think I had it under control, but the help was appreciated.”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Lyn, looking bashful. “I figured you were okay, but Derek is awful. Even looking at him makes my skin crawl. We saw what was happening and just reacted.” She tugged at her ear, staring down at her shoes.

“Who was he anyway?”

“My ex,” sighed Lyn. “One of them, anyhow.”

“Seriously one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made in your entire life,” commented Loryn.

“Shut up, I know.”

That was Lyn’s ex? Ugh, he was a piece of work. I scowled in his direction one last time before moving on. It was one bad conversation, hopefully it wouldn’t happen again. Shaking my head, I looked over to the two of them. Loryn caught my eye and patted Lyn on the shoulder, pulling her close. She whispered something, which Lyn nodded to. Sparing her friend one last thoughtful look, Loryn waved goodbye to us as she left us alone.

We stood there silently for a few seconds as Lyn continued to look down at her shoes. She seemed a little less tense than she did yesterday, but she looked even more tired. I tapped my shoe against hers, knocking her out of her thoughts.

She looked up, our eyes meeting. I smiled at her, and eventually she smiled back. Not one of those fake smiles that she’s been using, but a real one. It was small, but it was there. And, there was a brightness to her eyes that hadn’t been there in a while.

“Sorry I didn’t answer your text,” she said almost shyly. “I was processing some stuff. I’m feeling a little better, so I wanted to see what you wanted in person.”

“Only if you’re feeling better,” I said.

“Honestly, I still feel like shit,” she snorted. “But I made a breakthrough. I’m not feeling fantastic, but I’m feeling well enough that I could come and be here for you tonight.”

“If you’re sure,” I nodded. “I just wanted you and Michael to be here when I spoke to Dahlia Cressman tonight. I’m hopeful we’ll get some answers.”

We started walking out of the library. Lyn had a thoughtful look on her face, but I was hesitant to push her for her thoughts, so I didn’t ask what was on her mind. We walked over to the tree where Michael was already waiting for us, shivering from the cold. He perked up when he recognized us in the dark.

“Thank God you’re here,” he said to me as we approached. “People kept staring at me.”

“Welcome to my world,” I laughed.

“Soooo, what’s the plan?” he asked, looking over at the tree. Lyn and I looked over as well.

“I’m hopefully going to get some answers,” I declared.

“Answers for what, Ally?”

The air pressure changed as Dahlia appeared in front of me, her arms crossed with a disinterested look. Instinctively, Michael stepped closer to me, hand going to my shoulder. For his comfort or mine, I wasn’t sure. If Lyn noticed the difference in the air, she didn’t show it. She was staring at the tree with curiosity, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Hi, Dahlia,” I said cheerfully.

“I hope for both of our sake’s you’re not trying to press more answers out of me that I cannot give,” she said coolly.

Using my free arm that wasn’t currently being used as a crutch, I pulled out my notebook. I flipped to the page I was looking forward, with the information with Fiona and Fredrik Moore. I held it up so she could read it clearly. Her eyes skimmed the page, the curiosity lighting up in her eyes. She looked at me when she was finished, tilting her head.

“What’s this all about?”

“See, that’s where it gets interesting,” I said, flipping to the page with what she told me about the Athletic Centre. “See here? This is what you told me after we got back from the hospital. You told me that there were two spirits currently lingering there. However, these recent DNA results,” I pulled out the printed results, “suggest to us that there are three lingering attachments. I was hoping you would know anything about that.”

Dahlia stared at me for a couple of minutes, her face carefully controlled to show nothing. Then she broke out in a mischievous grin, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

“Doesn’t it feel better once the pieces start to fit together nicely?” Dahlia looked at all three of us, the grin still in place. “When I told you that there were two spirits haunting the Athletic Centre, I wasn’t being dishonest. Technically, there are only two lingering attachments. But see, there is where it gets a little tricky, Ally. Tell me, what are the names you have?”

“Uh, Fiona and Fredrik Moore, and Jeremiah Kinkly.”

Dahlia nodded. She stepped back, leaning against the tree. “Fiona is correct. I remember the day she died, very tragic. Jeremiah as well, though I wasn’t there for his death. He died during the construction of the campus. You can look into that, darling, but according to the others he fell from the building when the windows were being put in. Fredrik, on the other hand, is not a lingering spirit.”

“Huh?” I was confused. How did that make any sense? The other two looked over, and Michael squeezed my shoulder.

“What did she say? I can hear whispers on the wind but I’m not picking up any words,” he whispered, eyes darting around the area.

I quickly recapped what she told me. Michael rubbed his chin in thought, while Lyn glanced over to where Dahlia was. I looked over too, noticing for the first time Dahlia was staring at Lyn intently. That was strange. Dahlia must have realized I caught her staring, because she looked away, her face giving nothing away. I made a mental note of that.

“What does that mean?” Lyn asked, turning her attention to me.

“I’m not sure,” I replied honestly. “Can you tell me what that means, Dahlia?”

Dahlia’s eyes flickered to me as she nodded. “He was brought here against his will. He made peace with his death, but something brought him back. That monster was in fact him, transformed by the person who forced him back into the world of the living.”

I covered my mouth in horror. I read about that recently. Someone could try to bring a spirit back, but unless they had the proper training to do it safely, the results could be disastrous. Is that what happened? Who would do that? My stomach was churning with discomfort even at the thought of someone doing something so irresponsible. Taking a deep breath, I recalled what she just told me to the others.

“That’s…that’s so horrible!” Michael squeaked out, fear constricting his throat. Lyn pressed her hands to her ears, just shaking her head.

“We have to go back…” I whispered, staring at Dahlia, who nodded when I said that.

“Go back where?” Lyn asked, giving me a skeptical look.

I hesitated before swallowing my fear. “The locker room, we have to go back.”

“Are you crazy!” Lyn shook her head in disbelief. “Remember what happened last time we went there? I fucking do, that’s for sure.”

“Yea’, is that really the best idea, Ally?” Michael added, his face pale with fear.

I nodded slowly, “Yes, I’m sure. We need to talk to Fiona, for real this time. I understand if you guys don’t want to go with me, I really do. I can go alone.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” snapped Lyn, flicking my forehead. I rubbed the spot as she crossed her arms. “Of course, I’ll go with you. Just know I think this is incredibly idiotic.”

I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I looked over at Michael, who gave me a heaving sigh. “I’m going too, obviously. I just get to complain the whole time. Also, I’m calling dibs on being the one who doesn’t get concussed this time.”

“Deal,” I laughed, reaching over to give him a hug.

I have to admit, this is a great relief. I really didn’t want to go into this alone, and it meant the world to me that they were willing to come with me, even with what happened last time. It was nice, this feeling. The feeling of no longer being alone. It was enough to make me tear up, but I quickly swiped at my eyes so they didn’t notice. Obviously I wasn’t sneaky enough, because Lyn silently reached down and took my hand into hers, rubbing her thumbs against my knuckles in comfort.

“Is that everything, then?” Dahlia asked, boredom lacing her words.

“For now, it is,” I smiled at her. “Thanks, really. You’ve been a great help tonight.”

If a ghost could blush, I’m pretty sure she just did. She twirled her hair around her finger, looking away from me. “You’re welcome, glad to be of service. Stay safe out there, Ally. Tell your friends the same thing.”

I watched as she disappeared from view. The air pressure changed back to normal, and Michael gasped beside me, but Lyn didn’t, basically confirming to me that she can’t sense anything that went on. That must be a lovely feeling. She did, however, look over where Dahlia had last been standing.

“Did she leave?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Good. I felt like I was being watched.”

Huh, interesting. I made a mental note of that too. Actually, since I was thinking about it, I decided to bite the bullet. “Lyn?”

“Hm?”

“I was wondering something. You looked like there was something on your mind earlier before we got here. What were you thinking about?”

Michael looked curious as Lyn mulled over her answer. Finally, she just shrugged. “My dad’s last name is Cressman.”

“Your dad? Michael and I said at the same time. He grinned at me, and I smiled back.

Lyn nodded, as she starting to walk away from the tree. I followed with no choice, since our hands were still together, and Michael followed not wanting to be left behind. “Yeah, my dad. Hart is my mum’s last name,” a dark look crossed over her face for a second before settling back to neutral. “It’s probably just a coincidence though. It’s a common surname from Ontario, you know?”

A coincidence, huh? I glanced over my shoulder as we walked away, only to see Dahlia sitting up in the branches, watching us as we left. I wonder if that’s all it was.

[mindctrlaltdel]

Random Reviews: Mulholland Drive

This movie is BASIC INSTINCT, written and directed by Salvador Dali.

***

Recently, I watched MULHOLLAND DRIVE for the first time for my friend Shawn Eastridge's podcast, MISSING FRAMES (www.thenerdparty.com/missingframes/episode-103-mulholland-drive).

As I watched this odd, funny, disturbing, interesting flick, I took the following notes. Is it, as some critics say, the BEST FILM OF THE 21ST CENTURY? Here's an inside look at my viewing experience as I mulled over MULHOLLAND DRIVE...

[PRESS PLAY]

I love how the first five minutes is basically a bad late 90's Gap commercial, all swing dancing, no point...

The Mulholland Drive sign is calling to us. The street, Mulholland Drive, is Bali Hai for perverts.

Justin Theroux gets top billing over Naomi Watts??

I gotta admit, I saw one of the movie's original posters and thought "Naomi Watts AND the lady from the first MEN IN BLACK is in this? It's the triumphant return of Linda Fiorentino." When I DIDN'T see her name in the opening credits, I was disappointed. She's NO Linda Fiorentino... for this role, she's even better. AND she's a countess (seriously, look it up). Oh, and Robert Forster shows up for 10 minutes.

Not-Linda Fiorentino has some hustle in her for someone who just survived a horrible head on collision.

I like how the street signs kind of tell us where we are and what kind of world we're in. It's like a surreal, dramatic version of that Californians SNL sketch.

You mean to tell me that the red-headed older woman didn't see not-Linda Fiorentino under her kitchen table? UnbeLIEVable.

Holy crap, the wide-eyed guy in Winky's - he plays Jimmy Barrett, the comedian in MAD MEN... and MAD MEN is an interesting connection here, because everyone talks in this measured, paced deliberate way throughout that series, kind of similar to how the characters usually speak in the David Lynch productions I've seen... When I started watching MAD MEN, I thought the actors were purposely directed to speak that way, so everything to seem more "real" as opposed to that fast-talking, old-Hollywood style that you'd expect to see from outspoken, big idea-types. I imagined that Matt Weiner wanted people to seem - at least to modern audiences - the way people actually were - particularly, the inhabitants of the intelligent and cerebral world of ad men, working behind the scenes, on the fringes of show business. But then Jimmy Barrett, an old-timey comedian ALSO spoke that way. And it just didn't seem authentic to me. Anyway, back to THIS movie...

OH and that dingy woman behind the dumpster! She's like if Captain Howdy moved out West and got all LA on us. Is that Cloris Leachman covered in mud? And the music... for some reason, there's nothing scarier than the sound of an HVAC vent on full blast. (According to this article, www.vulture.com/2014/10/mulholland-drives-evil-hobo-breaks-her-silencio.html,the actress who played Evil Hobo #1 said of her audition process: "I don’t mean to brag, but David Lynch said he was looking for the most incredible face he could find. I actually met him at a Twin Peaks party, and he was like, 'Look at that face!'")

I love the X-Files-style synth strings that play over Naomi Watts (Betty) and gram-gram (Irene) as they walk through the hotel, I mean the airport... Aw, these two old people love Betty. What a different life she's living than that countess who's not Linda Fiorentino who's squatting in that redhead's apartment that Betty's about to move into.

Even then, Naomi had a good American accent. (Although I learned she's technically British but split her time between England and Australia), those Australians are great at spitting out neutral American sounds. But once I learned that Betty is supposed to be Canadian, I was very disappointed. It's not THAT authentic. Where are her "Aboots"? And she didn't put maple syrup on anything in this whole movie.

Oh my God, are Irene and her husband, riding in this towncar, ALSO going to get held up, like not-Linda Fiorentino at the beginning of the movie? Oh okay, they're not. We just followed them for no reason other than to see that they look happier than an old couple in a Cialis commercial. I guess meeting Betty really improved their sex life or something.

Coco - of course she's a fading hollywood starlet... AHHH, Coco is played by Ann Miller - good for her. She's basically that kooky old landlady from SEINFELD, the one who worked with the Three Stooges that Kramer met when he went to LA. Look at all these connections!

"Prize-fighting kangaroo who shits all over the courtyard" - do you think Naomi Watts is going to come out and say, "as an Australian, I was actually offended by this line, but I was scared into silence by that power-hungry monster, David Lynch."

The countess - who now goes by "Rita" - does kind of look like Rita Hayworth. I like the connections to old Hollywood and to noirs and how it's all wrapped together. Rita Hayworth is also a redhead, like Betty's aunt. She's of Spanish descent as well... and the actress playing Rita in this movie is of Mexican descent... Connections, connections.

I love that this casting session is basically run by a deep state shadow organization with a weird waiter in a red blazer... This is how Disney cast WandaVision.

HAHAHAH "That is one of the finest espressos in the world sir!" - this is DEFINITELY how Disney casts their movies. And Justin Theroux is the only man with integrity in this room! Does anyone have any class in this town!? They don't even validate his parking.

This is my favorite movie about making movies since BOWFINGER. And I may not be lying. And somehow less weird than THE ARTIST.

Is everyone gonna start killing each other over Ed's famous black book? This is oddly funny.

"Something bit me bad!" This incredibly long fight scene between the blond guy and secretary... it reminds me of the Uma Thurman/Daryl Hannah trailer fight in KILL BILL VOL. 2 but with less snakes.

These closeups of lingering looks on Rita's cash-filled purse are great... She's pulling wads of cash out of that purse one at a time, like Leslie Nielsen pulling eggs out of that blond lady in AIRPLANE!

I want to know what direction David Lynch gave that braless woman who's following the blond assassin around. It's like she's doing an acting exercise... like you know, when you're told to fill the space... "walk around the room, and clear your head. And now you're walking really fast. And now you're slow. NOW, imagine what it would be like to walk with your nose as the furthest point in front of you. Lead with your nose..." And David Lynch did that and told the braless woman to lead with her chest.

Justin Theroux is basically Robert Downey Jr.'s character from BOWFINGER, except NOW, he's the protagonist.

Betty is loving Rita's amnesia a bit too much. If this were my life, Rita would be the most interesting thing to happen to me too. Hell, if I was from Ontario, getting off at LAX would rock my world.

When Justin Theroux enters his glass-walled home to find his wife with another man, well... Justin Theroux may never star in something like HOBO WITH A SHOTGUN, but I can definitely picture him in YUPPIE WITH A GOLF CLUB.

That slinky theme song playing in Justin Theroux's/Laraine's house is a song that I actually listen to in my tiki, lounge playlist - to give you a hint of my music tastes. What I listen to for fun, Billy Ray Cyrus puts on to drown out his love-making.

By the way, BILLY RAY CYRUS!!! WHAT? Is this how Miley was conceived??? I think yes.

Pink paint in a jewelry box! This is much better than the usual throwing-all-his-belongings-out-a-second-story-apartment-window-scene that happens in every other movie.

I wouldn't be THAT excited if I learned MY name was Diane Selwin. BUT the sexxxual tension with the waitress Diane at the diner is palpable!

So, not-Linda Fiorentino has amnesia. How does she know that answering machine is NOT her voice!?

Justin Theroux/Adam Kesher's wife is very aggressive with the large man who's so dedicated to finding Adam Kesher that he keeps calling Adam's name in vain like the secretary in my doctor's office.

I watched this movie in pieces, the first half late at night. The second half the next morning. In between, while sleeping, I had a dream where Betty and Rita were looking over a map and any time one of their hands brushed over another, their hands would turn gold. As if this was a stylistic choice made by the filmmaker directing my dream to show that there's some kind of deeper relationship between these two women. So I've started dreaming in Lynch.

I like how this film is so utterly connected to not only Lynch's subconscious, but the audience's as well. Lynch is TAPPED IN. I don't always love when a film goes all in with a surreal style, because sometimes that's just a cover for something lacking in the storytelling department. But I do feel there's more to it here, in MULHOLLAND DRIVE.

The hooded woman, Louise... I feel like I've run into her on the streets of New York. A Louise will ALWAYS find a way to give you a portent of doom that ruins your day. Friggin’ Louise.

This movie is so moody, you really have to be in the mood to watch it.

There's something magical and prophetic about the cowboy, like he's the seer that the old general sees on the eve of battle... Also, I love how the lead female role in Justin Theroux's movie is his sword of destiny. There's a glitz and gleam and nostalgia to Old Hollywood that naturally gives this movie, set in "modern" Hollywood," a total fantasy vibe.

Hahaha that "You're still here?" scene rehearsal between Betty and Rita is an excellent transition.

James Karen - the real estate guy from POLTERGEIST - is handling casting! "He moved the headshots but he didn't cast the bodies!!"

The casting direction: "Don't play it for real until it gets real." It's interesting how the characters, who work in the "business," seem to control their reality. Betty seems unsure of where the scene is going, then she gets into it. And it really speaks to her conversion from a bright-eyed new arrival to someone who surrenders to the darker impulses of the city.

HEAVY BREATHING.

Ugh friggin' Bob...

I love how Lynnie, the casting director, pulls the rug out from under that scene. There's always a jaded casting person who totally wrecks any good feelings about every audition. It's a thing.

David Lynch uses nostalgia and a latent love for Hollywood to draw the characters (and us) into his world and then subverts our expectations. A lot.

Why is the screen test just a lip-synching contest? ...I think it feeds into the nostalgia element for the movie at large but it seems like a waste of studio resources here. Early-aughties Hollywood spending, amirite?

Rita's reaction to finding the body is played very much like the reaction a character would have in an older film... The horror! The fear! The silent gaping terror while possessed with the inability to scream. I was watching the original KING KONG before this (which is may be a sign from the universe that I had to watch this Naomi Watts vehicle, as she starred in the remake), and specifically remember the scene where the director Carl Denham is coaching Ann Darrow/Fay Wray on how to act in a horror film - "now look up, and you see it, you see it in all its horror. And your jaw drops and you try to scream but you're so frozen in terror that you can't!" - I imagine that's what Lynch is doing to not-Linda Fiorentino off-camera as they filmed this scene.

Uh-oh, Rita is single-white femal'ing Betty now... She doesn't have a personality of her own, so she's going to take Betty's.... And now we're just getting NUDE with each other. This erotic thriller immediately turned from skintillating to Skinemax.

"I'm in love with you" - is Betty just saying that to convince herself? It feels more lusty than real. Betty's so bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Rita is gonna chew her up and spit her out!

I like the shot when they're sleeping together and, as they rest, their faces overlap thanks to the perspective of the framing. How much of the same person are they becoming? Where does one personality start and the other end?

The weird 2am theater. How'd Rita and Betty find this place? I love how this pop-up slam-poetry reading in this opera house is as terrifying to Rita and Betty as finding the dead body.

So Betty starts convulsing in her seat and then the poet disappears in a kind of old-style, cinematic I'm disappearing effect. I dig it.

Wait... is this a mysterious, magical show that just appears in LA, like Hamunaptra, the City of the Dead, that town in THE MUMMY that only shows up at sunrise on the third day or something like that? Or is this just a poorly attended Spanish-language talent show that could only afford to book this theater at 2am on a Thursday?

I love that Betty and Rita are tearing up over Rebekah Del Rio's performance (Rebekah Del Rio is a real person, by the way). Then, Rebekah faints as her voice keeps singing - is NOTHING real? Has Betty totally given into this weird world to the point that she doesn't really know what's authentic and what's fake anymore OR was Betty fake before she got to LA so it was easy for her to get acclimated.

This movie is like THE MATRIX, from the perspective of characters who only took the blue pill and didn't look back.

OOOH, Betty has the box and Rita has the key! But the box is empty except maybe its the Gom Jabbar pain-box from DUNE. Is David Lynch using MULHOLLAND DRIVE as an excuse to make good on his promise to produce a good version of DUNE.

WAIT A SECOND, the cowboy knows the dead girl? Does this even matter?

Now, wait ANOTHER second. Is Betty performing or DREAMING when she's Diane or is something else going one??

What's the BLUE KEY doing there?

"Two Detectives"??? Is she talking about Betty and Rita OR Robert Forster and the pudgy guy? OR someone else entirely - the two guy's from Winky's???

The movie became more interesting the moment the perspective shifted to "Diane" and "Camilla." When that happened, Naomi Watts really amped up her performance... reaching a level of intensity we hadn't seen since Betty's audition... it does take 2 hours to reach that point.... But then, when Betty and Rita are topless on the couch, I couldn't tell who they were supposed to be until Rita/Camilla called her "Diane."

Wait, now Rita's acting?? OH, so Rita was an actress? And Diane wasn't? Or Betty looks exactly like Diane?

The weird shifts in focus. The sad masturbating. This is the most depressing soft-core ever made!

Did Betty get killed and have amnesia too?

They take a shortcut to Eddie's house which looks EXACTLY like where Rita/Camilla was taken at the beginning of the movie by the hitmen in the towncar before that wild accident with those teenagers made her life weirder... OR less weird. You be the judge.

IS this a flashback or the future. Eddie and Camilla are having an affair?

MY MOTHER? COCO - what's real and what isn't????

The jitterbug competition.... Diane/Naomi wanted the lead so bad, Camilla got the part but in Mulholland Drive, Naomi is the star.

Then, Camilla is kissing that other blond actress who Betty watched screen test...

MULHOLLAND DRIVE is just David Lynch telling us that LA is a place for lust and jealousy and no matter what, purity gets ruined.

WHAT, the blond waitress is BETTY? And Diane hires the blond guy, who's officially labeled as a hitman.

Diane is also from Canada...

Are Diane and Betty just different versions of the same people in nearby parallel universes? I certainly HOPE so. This is too much insanity for ONE universe to handle.

The blue key will be found where the blond guy told Diane. Okay, that makes sense. But if this were to mirror real life, the key was in her hand the WHOLE time!

OH, and hobo-Cloris Leachman comes back... AND she's holding the blue box/Gom Jabbar... WHY the hell did those two old people wander out of that paper bag??? Do they represent longstanding guilt? Seems like it. Because they've just crept into Diane's apartment.

MULHOLLAND DRIVE is almost silly to the point of pretentiousness at points - at least with the last word to be uttered on screen - "silencio." That said, it does evoke the HAMLET line: "And the rest is silence," so THAT's poetic.

Sadly, Robert Forster was barely in this movie...

Oh, and Lee Grant played Louise - the old-Hollywood connections keep coming!

I can't believe this movie was intended to be a pilot?

***

Now, some final notes:

On the swapping of characters and relationships in the last 30 minutes -- my first thought was that Betty/Diane and Rita/Camilla look similar and/or they're connected by a parallel universe, and the diner is like the central hub between worlds, and hobo-Cloris Leachman is the gatekeeper between the two worlds... I buy the "dream world" explanation that some critics espouse, that's something I considered myself as I watched. But I'm not sure I believed Betty is Diane's dream version of herself. Also, I think David Lynch has a feeling about how everything fits together, yet I don't know if he's even settled on an explanation for everything. He just trusted his subconscious and he's so confident in his latent abilities, that we trust him to show us everything we need to see and take us everywhere we need to go.

I enjoy how it's a surrealist answer to SUNSET BOULEVARD. I hope in 2050, someone makes "The 405" really tying all these movies and Los Angeles roads together.

MULHOLLAND DRIVE is weird but good. Still, I don't know if, to me, it's more weird than good. It's also funny. But is it funny because it's weird or because it's actually, genuinely funny? Are these questions David Lynch actually wants me to ask or does he make it weird on impulse to cover for the fact that the film is simply just weird and based entirely on impulse? MULHOLLAND DRIVE is almost like a parody of a film noir, made by an inter-dimensional alien life-form who studied a bunch of movies from the 40's through the 90's but doesn't have a full grasp on human behavior, and DESPITE THAT, it's more of an emotional experience than a logical one. It's somewhere in between. It's self-indulgent in a way but also very giving. It's a paradox wrapped in an oxymoron wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a coffee-stained napkin covered in cigarette ash locked in a small, blue box.

***

Summing it up: I don't think there's a world where this movie would get a perfect score from me. Because ultimately, for all it's interesting and exciting moments, it's more of a passion project for David Lynch than a piece of entertainment for the audience, no matter how entertaining it may be. To me, it's a vision board more than it is a complete film. And yet, it IS a complete EXPERIENCE. And there's nothing wrong with that.

All of that said, I know David Lynch doesn't really like to give viewers a clear cut, traditional narrative. So, I had a feeling the mystery was just that, a mystery. Or even moreso, the FEELING of a mystery. It's not about where we're going, it's about the journey to the destination. And while the general atmosphere is moody and evocative and often powerful, MULHOLLAND DRIVE plays more like a 2.5 hour piece of music than a cohesive narrative. Maybe that's the best thing about it.

In the distant future, when our way of speaking has become as archaic as the words of Shakespeare are to us, it's the feeling and emotions and images of movies like MULHOLLAND DRIVE that will still have a timeless impact on the future audiences who view them.

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 9

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

“Hey.”

His touch and voice tore Astrid from her thoughts and her mind blanked for a second. Up close, she could see the many freckles on his face and the strands of hair that stood in every direction. When she caught his eyes properly, she steeled herself.

“Hi.”

He started balancing back and forth on his heels, casually putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, dropping the two packed sandwiches he’d just held. “I thought I saw you at the park yesterday.” He ducked down to pick up his food, coming up with a red face.

“Oh, right. I was…” – running away from you – “in a hurry.”

She watched as he absentmindedly grabbed something from a shelf next to him and ran his fingers over the print. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered it was women’s shaving cream.

“Yeah, me, um, me too. I mean–“ He put the item back and ran his hand over his neck and the gesture was so familiar, she wondered how she’d come to learn to associate it with him during the handful of times they met. “I was there with my friend, and… Oh my god, you met him, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what he said to you, he just doesn’t hear how stupid and obnoxious he sounds most of the time, and he doesn’t mean to, at least not usually, and I’m sure he didn’t want to sound like a creep or anything, and I really hope he wasn’t being terrible, because he can actually be nice, and I’m rambling, do you want me to stop talking, I can stop talking, I can – I’ll just stop talking.”

Maybe it was the awkwardness, the hands flying roller coasters through the air, and the genuine concern about annoying her, or maybe it was her lack of sleep from last night, but she couldn’t stop the amused grin from blooming on her face.

“It’s okay, I don’t even remember what he said.” She reached out and gently socked him on the arm. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He exhaled in relief and properly smiled at her for the first time. It was that lopsided smile and the kind gleam in his eyes that still kept haunting her in her dreams and fantasies that she just couldn’t seem to ban from her mind, no matter how hard she tried. But she had to make peace with that. She’d had to accept that one of her favorite shows had ended in an, in her opinion, not so perfect way, and she couldn’t do anything about that as well. (If she turned a blind eye, the comparison might even work.)

“It’s been what, one and a half years? How- how’s everything? How’s um… How’s Eret?”

„Good. It’s… We’re good. He’s on a work trip.” Why was she so nervous? Maybe it was the effect of those green eyes and that smile that made her fidgety and stumble over her words.

He was about to respond when she held up her hand in an emergency decision. “Look, I have to go.” Didn’t need to make up a reason, right? “But maybe we can talk later?” She fished her phone from her pocket and created a new contact before handing it to him. “I don’t have much to do this upcoming week and since my best friend is on vacation in Europe, having a friend around would be nice.”

For a moment, he stared at the device a bit dumbfounded, then his fingers tapped a series of digits and he handed it back. “All your friends are on vacation in Europe?”

“No, just that one. But everyone else is kind of busy.” Did that sound like some kind of excuse? She hoped not.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ve got work, but not all day, so…” Before he could start rambling again, he stopped himself by pressing his lips together and nodding a few times.

Giving herself something to do that didn’t include looking at his soul-searching eyes, she fumbled with her phone, opening up a new chat and typing in a simple “hi” and a friendly emoji. “Check your phone.” Looking up again, she gave him one last smile, then she grabbed the next best item from the next best shelf and brushed past him on her way to the door.

“Um, don’t you want to pay?” he called after her. Right, crap. The cashier looked up from his magazine at Hiccup’s words and watched her warily with narrowed eyes. Wordlessly, she hurried over and fumbled a bill out of her wallet on autopilot, taking the change and stuffing it in the pocket of her pants. Then she left with a quick wave over her shoulder. Hiccup was still standing there, holding his sandwiches in one hand and the other frozen mid-air in a waving gesture.

Only when she was back at the house did she realize she’d bought shaving cream with a raspberry and cheesecake smell. With a groan, she tossed it into her duffle back. She hated that artificially sweet stuff. She’d have to go back to the store to get what she’d actually come for tomorrow. Hopefully, she wouldn’t run into anyone else that she knew.

After several hours had passed and her phone hadn’t chimed once, she huffed and turned it off. Her heart shouldn’t be beating so fast every time she checked it for new messages. She wasn’t a teenager waiting for her crush to text her, although the sentiment didn’t seem too far off, her age aside. But she would rather punch herself in the face than admit it was true. If anything, she was waiting for a friend to contact her. Nothing more.

It was the only truth that she’d ever allowed herself to believe. At times, it sounded almost like a mantra she kept repeating, in yet another sleepless night after she woke from the same old dream. She knew that Eret could tell something was off with her, trying to concentrate on throwing these thoughts and feelings out of her mind and unintentionally growing distant while fighting her inner battle of guilt and stubborn loyalty to her principles. Whenever Eret realized he couldn’t get through to her during these phases, he grew distant himself, and it usually ended in either a big fight or a steamy reconciliation.

She guessed it had only been a matter of time until they’d end up where they were now. But she didn’t want to remind herself of last week, instead nudging her thoughts in a more flowery direction. Like to last winter when she went to Austria, high into the Alpines, feeling like she was in a whole other world. Almost touching the sky, her steps painting shapes into the white wonderland, the air frosty and revitalizing.

Then she came home, back to Eret, back to the life she chose, back to the routine that would slowly make her restless again. Make her feel like there was more to her life than Eret, although she quickly made herself brush that thought aside. For the most time, everything was fine and she was glad she married him. It was what she’d always wanted – a secure life with someone she loved and who she knew loved her, a life she was comfortable and familiar with.

But after a while, that restless feeling would return, and she booked her next ticket. Sometimes, her husband would accompany her on her adventures and they were twenty again, their relationship new and exciting. Other times, however, she went alone, glad to get away from it all. It was like a never-ending cycle of comfortable domesticity and the longing for more.

For some reason, sitting on her parents’ couch, waiting for a text from a guy she shouldn’t be so excited about texting, felt like another adventure, like that something more she was always desperate to reach. It shouldn’t.

She could feel herself drifting off into dangerous territory again, fields upon fields of what-ifs, throwing her about like a churning ocean as soon as she dared to step onto the soil. The only other pressing matter on her mind was no good alternative to mull over, though. It just made the ball of nerves in her stomach tighten until she couldn’t sit still anymore, so she jumped off the couch and went for another run. Maybe, if she drove herself to exhaustion, her mind would become pleasantly blank.

The exercise helped. Soon enough, she could hear her blood pumping through her veins, could feel every short breath in her lungs, every muscle in her body. Her feet were pounding onto the asphalt and dirt paths that lead her all around the neighborhood, until she reached the house again, panting and refreshed despite the sweat running down her skin. She felt right again, like everything was how it was supposed to be.

Only after she took a long shower and dragged dinner with her parents out into the late hours of the day, she turned her phone on again. It chimed, several new messages popping up. None from Eret. A few from Ruffnut, asking for a video chat. One from her assistant trainer, telling her that the Berserkers, their rival swim club from the next town over, had opened up a spot for Berk’s junior team to train in their swimming hall, the small one reserved for the swim club only. It was good news, very good at that. Not only could she finally go swimming again, but her team had the chance to train again as well, to get ready for their next meet with the Berserkers and Bog Burglars.

Taking a deep breath, Astrid put her phone away and rolled onto the other side of the bed, burying her nose in the pillow with the small smile on her lips wavering. No further messages.

_______________

The berries in Hiccup’s sundae were swimming in a sea of melted ice cream, splotches of whipped cream giving the sad picture a moldy flair. Around him, the sound of chatter and spoons clinking against glass provided his ears with white noise; not even the voices of his friends discussing some trivial matter reached his ears.

His eyes were glued to the little text box on the bottom of his phone screen, his fingers hovering above the letters of the virtual keyboard. The screen went dark from inactivity and his reflection stared back at him, adorned by greasy fingerprints in the shape of his unlock pattern.

“Hiccup, you still with us?” The sound of his name finally pulled him out of his thoughts. When he looked up, three pairs of eyes were looking at him expectantly.

“Huh?”

“You kind of spaced out there for a while.” Fishlegs pointed at the phone in his hands, trying to get a look at the screen but giving up when he saw it was dark.

“Oh. Sorry. I was just… Never mind.” He laid his phone next to his sundae and started stirring the warm, sugary soup with the long spoon, frowning at the viscous consistency. Just when he had brought himself to eat a spoonful of ice cream soup, his phone chimed and he dropped the spoon as if it were burning hot. It fell back into the sundae, splashing purple-pinkish soup on his shirt.

His shoulders sagged when he saw it was a text from his dad, replying to his last message with a simple thumbs up. With a sigh, he went back to stirring his soup, ignoring the curious looks of his friends.

“Did something happen?” Fishlegs asked, concern lining his voice. “Are you waiting for an important call?”

Hiccup shrugged in the most casual way he could. “Nah. It’s just the old question of who’s going to text first, me or her.”

His friend’s face lit up in understanding, then went back to a slight frown. “I thought you quit online dating.”

“I did.”

Leaning forward, Heather pushed her empty sundae cup away from her and placed her elbows on the small table. “Enlighten us. We want details.”

Hiccup sighed. “It’s not like that. She’s… a friend.” Heather didn’t look convinced in the slightest, her eyes boring into him like an aggressive x-ray. He quickly turned to the man sitting next to her. “So, Cam. How was London?”

Cam, a young man with blonde hair that went down to his shoulders, scratched his beard as he put on a reminiscent smile. “Not as rainy as we thought.”

“As you thought,” Heather interrupted him and set her eyes back on Hiccup. “And you stop changing the topic!”

But Hiccup kept his attention stubbornly on Cam. “Heather mentioned you guys saw Romeo and Juliet at the theater?”

With a wary glance at Heather who was still not done with the subject, Cam nodded. “The interpretation was a little unusual, with a lot of slang and modern topics. Not quite the classic Shakespeare experience, but it was a really funny performance.” He grinned. “During an intermission, there was this group of teens who asked me if I was related to Kurt Cobain.”

“What did you tell them?” Fishlegs asked.

“I wanted to spin some story, but then someone,” he threw a pointed glance at Heather, “butted in and had lots of fun talking about how I just needed a haircut.”

“You’re welcome,” Heather said in a sugar-sweet voice, prompting a discussion over Cam’s hair that Hiccup didn’t bother listening to. He was too pre-occupied with trying to find a nice way to draft a text message in his head. What was he supposed to say to her? Did she even want him to text her? Maybe she’d given him a fake number so he’d leave her alone. Despite the warm weather, he suddenly felt cold.

“Earth to Hiccup, you’re doing it again.” Apparently, Hiccup’s crisis over texting a girl was more interesting than Cam’s Kurt Cobain hair. Such a pity.

Once again, the attention of the whole group was on him, and he knew that especially Heather wouldn’t give up until he told her what his problem was. He shoved his phone back in his pocket where it would hopefully stop haunting him, at least for the moment, and rolled his eyes. “Like I said, she’s a friend and we’re not dating.”

“Yet,” Cam commented but Hiccup pointedly ignored him.

“Then why are you so nervous about texting her?” Fishlegs asked.

Hiccup scratched his neck. “It’s complicated.”

“Why?”

One look at his friends and their attentive expressions and he realized he wasn’t going to get out of this so easily. He fiddled with the paper napkin under the sundae cup, ripping off a piece and rolling it to a ball between two fingers. “Because,” he mumbled, so quiet the others had to lean in to understand him, “she’s in a relationship and we have something like history, mostly on my part.”

“Oh,” said Cam.

“History?” it came from Fishlegs.

“What kind of relationship?” asked Heather, her eyes narrowed, the answer already in the back of her mind, poking at the surface behind a suspicious expression.

Hiccup sighed. The only person who hadn’t been there when the whole Astrid fiasco had started was Cam, and he didn’t feel like explaining the entire thing to him. So he just threw Fishlegs and Heather a meaningful look and clarified, “I mean that she’s married.”

“Oh,” said Cam again, none the wiser.

“Oh,” said Fishlegs, knowingly, and with a pitying frown.

Heather rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Still?!”

About nine months ago, Heather had called him one night, and the next morning they’d gone out for breakfast and talked for hours. About them, their relationship, the past, the future. He had told her the whole Astrid story and she had listened. She had apologized for being so harsh to him, but she’d been hurting, and Hiccup knew that. She also told him about her recent breakup and it had felt like something heavy had been lifted off his chest when they’d talked it out and realized that after all this time, they were still friends. It was that day that Hiccup noticed the guy shyly looking at her from a few desks over every once in a while, his long blonde hair falling into his face.

“Yes, still, unfortunately. I can’t exactly turn that off, you know.”

“Stop sassing me, Hiccup, and tell us what happened.”

“Less than you think,” he said and recounted his two encounters with her over the past two days.

“Just that we’re clear,” Fishlegs started when he was done, “we are talking about Astrid Hofferson, right?”

“Yes,” Hiccup and Heather confirmed in unison.

“Who?” asked Cam.

“The reason Hiccup and I broke up.”

“Hey!” Hiccup exclaimed. “You know that’s not all true.”

“Weeeeell…” it came from Fishlegs in a high-pitched voice, prompting Hiccup to roll his eyes.

“She wasn’t the whole reason, just the catalyst.” He nodded in Heather’s direction. “And you know that.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, it’s in the past,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Fact is, you can’t keep waiting for a girl who’s as unavailable to you as her. She’s married, Hiccup. She made her choice. Move on.”

“But what if she likes him too?” Fishlegs threw in.

“Then she’s still married. And it wouldn’t be Hiccup’s problem, it would be hers.”

“It would still concern him,” Cam countered. “And isn’t it his problem already?”

“Well, yes,” Heather said, “but it wouldn’t be his choice to make, is what I mean.”

Hiccup wiped a hand over his face. “Then what do I do?”

Heather shrugged. “Easy. If you still feel like you need to, you text her a universal ‘hey, how are you’ and then you move on with someone else. My brother’s been seeing this guy for fun recently, no strings attached, and it helped him move on from his previous relationship. Maybe that’s something you could try, just hook up for sex, without any hopes or expectations going in, and maybe you’ll find someone you really like.”

“You brother is gay?” Fishlegs asked, slight surprise coating his voice. “I didn’t know that.”

“Took him a while to figure it out, but yeah, very gay.”

“Honestly,” Hiccup murmured, “that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

“Right?” Heather chuckled. “So, what do you think? Have meaningless sex and find some love?”

Hiccup’s smile disappeared. “I tried to date other people, Heather. It never worked out. I just can’t forget her.”

“That’s why I said go in without expectations, because you’ll immediately start comparing the poor girl to someone you can never have.”

“First of all, how is me going in without trying to fall in love with someone going to help me forget Astrid? Second, I’m not the guy for casual hookups. I want something real, and no matter on how many dates I go, no matter how much effort I put into moving on, I can’t find that with anyone else because all I can think of is her.”

Especially now, with the invisible weight of her phone number in his pocket. He flopped back into his chair, suddenly exhausted. He’d lain awake for hours last night, contemplating whether it was actually a good idea or not to text her, the tips of his fingers tingling from simply reading her name in his contacts and the simple ‘hi’ she’d texted him to give him her number. Which she’d done on purpose, which in return had to mean something, didn’t it? And she had basically asked him to be her friend…

Cam let out a low whistle. “Sounds like you have it bad, man.”

“I collectively only spent about six hours with her, and I fell in love with her.”

Heather huffed. “Oh, please. In love? What’s her favorite color?”

“Blue,” he answered quick like a shot. “But she also likes soft gold tones.”

“Did she tell you that or are you just guessing?”

Suddenly taken aback, Hiccup racked his brain for the memory and came up short. “I don’t…” He couldn’t remember her ever sharing this particular piece of information with him, and yet he was so sure that he knew. How?

“Look, there’s no logical explanation for why I feel this way. But it… It’s like…” Gesticulating, he searched for the right words. “It’s like I’m the land of the dinosaurs and she’s the meteor that crashed and changed everything. Like I’m a ghost town and she’s the magic that strikes like lightning and creates new life.”

Cam was picturing his words, Fishlegs nodded the way he did when reading and trying to understand poetry, and Heather just raised an eyebrow at the analogies.

“And now… Now I have the chance to truly get to know her, even if all I can ever get from her is friendship.”

Heather considered this for a moment. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you.” He nodded with a grave smile. “But you don’t even know her.”

“Maybe if he gets to know her,” Fishlegs pondered, “he’ll realize that she’s not that great.”

“Maybe,” Heather mused. “And then you’ll get over your infatuation.”

“You’re always so supportive.”

“Hey, I’m just looking out my friend because I don’t like to see him hurting.”

“The same goes for me,” Fishlegs added. “If you think it will make you happier to text her than to cut her from your life completely, I think you should just do it.”

Cam fished his phone out of his jacket, pulled up a video and wordlessly held it in Hiccup’s direction. “JUST DO IT!” Shia LaBeouf screamed at him. Heather pinched the bridge of her nose in fond exasperation.

Fishlegs gave him two encouraging thumbs up. “Just text her hi.”

Hiccup looked between his three friends, ignoring Shia who was still screaming at him, and willed the ball of nerves in his stomach to go away. It was just a text, a simple electronic message that he probably attributed more meaning to than it actually held. He could still back out. Could resolve to hearing about Astrid and her life from Heather who’d know from Dagur who’d know from Eret…

But the prospect of a life completely devoid of her felt worse to him than just being her friend with the additional pain of never being able to be with her the way he wanted to, although that would go with the first option as well. So maybe getting to know her was the only way to go from here, since being without her hadn’t been of any help so far. And maybe, even though he doubted it with all he had, he would get over her as soon as he knew her better.

He took out his phone and weighed it in his hand for a minute, like weighing out his options, until Heather snatched it from him. “I still don’t like the thought of you getting hurt through this more than the other way, but…” She held the device directly in front of his face. “Just goddamn text her so you can get to know her and stop putting her on a pedestal.”

Taking a deep breath, he unlocked his phone, pulled up his chats, selected hers, and before he could overthink it, he typed in a simple ‘hello’ and a smiley face and hit send. Only a few seconds passed until he started wondering if perhaps he should have send more, like an explanation why he waited a day to text her, or his name because she’d already deleted his number, and that reminded him that this might not even be her real number and he was already spiraling.

“Did you do it?” He glanced up at Fishlegs who was once more trying to get a peek of his phone screen. Hiccup decidedly turned it off and shoved it back into his pocket.

“Yes.” He pointed at the warm ice cream soup before him. “And now I need another one of these.”

It was late when he turned his phone back on, the nerves in his stomach tangled like his father’s knitting yarn after his cat had declared it its mortal enemy that had to be defeated in a life or death encounter.

The breath in his lungs turned to stone when his notifications appeared. A couple new mails, ads from applications he never deleted, and a handful of new texts he skimmed with lightning speed. Group chats, colleagues, Snotlout, Cam with a Nirvana gif and the same old Shia video, and– the frown on his face turned into a wide smile. One new text from Astrid.

[thecoleopterawithana]

What does your tag "Paul is a concept why which we measure our pain" mean?

Hello, Anon dear!

I applaud your sharp eye! You know, I actually thought twice about adding the tag to that particular post; even going as far as deleting it and then putting it in again. My reticence came from the fact that the reference was quite oblique (even for my standards). Nevertheless, this is a subject that I’ve been mulling over lately, so I thought, “Whatever, these tags are mostly for me, anyway!” 

But you caught me! (Though I appreciate that you did.)

I first came across this brilliant phrase in a tag by none other than the ever-insightful @amoralto. I’ve since found out that Rob Sheffield has a chapter of the same title in his Dreaming the Beatles (2017), though he doesn’t go exactly where I thought he would with it; I don’t think we give it the same meaning. 

It is, of course, a variation of John’s “God is a concept by which we measure our pain”, whose meaning didn’t hit me fully until I read his 1971 interview with Robin Blackburn and Tariq Ali (the post in which @amoralto used the tag). Here he describes how Janov’s Primal Scream Therapy had been for him until that point about acknowledging and facing his own pain, going to the root of it, instead of seeking refuge in the usual distractions and God-like figures absolution. I can not recommend this quote enough. It is, in my opinion, essential to understanding John Lennon. 

In fact, the deeper understanding about this side of John was so important to me that I made a whole post about his patterns of disillusionment immediately after. There, I try to express, among other things, what the phrase "Paul is a concept by which we measure our pain" means to me.

In short, what all this God/Idol/Parental-figure talk boils down to is Agency and the existence or absence of a conscious exercising of it. It’s about the perception of control and how that translates to notions of power.

To reach the absurdity of quoting myself:

“I can’t say that I’m familiar with theology or the exploration of the purpose of faith, but I see John as addressing how people use God - and all the other things he claims he doesn’t believe in anymore - as coping mechanisms for the pain in their lives. The greater the pain, the more you cling to these “distractions” from reality.

Though, this is not simply about distractions, like drugs, sex and success, as a means of escapism. When the despair is overwhelming, you want someone or something you can hand it all over to, and an all-powerful entity to whom you can just turn everything in and absolve yourself of the responsibility. And this Father figure will either make it better and make the pain go away, or it will tell you that there is a grander purpose to the pain, life works in mysterious ways, and it is as it is destined to be.

But the main point here is John’s need to hand over responsibility.” 

My hypothesis is that John was made to feel so unloved, his self-esteem was destroyed in such a way as a child, that he doesn’t believe himself to have agency over his life, to have the power to actually chose. Or if he does, he’d rather hand-over that power to someone else and be simply taken care of, instead of having to face the world alone and vulnerable, a possible victim of his own mistakes.  

But if John’s strategy in the face of pain and fear was to give up control, Paul’s response was to seize it.

I have explored the possible origins of this coping mechanism in a post about Paul’s childhood. There I propose that the pain of suddenly losing his mother and then feeling he couldn’t count on his father in the aftermath convinced him that he couldn’t really rely on anyone but himself.  

To quote myself again:

“Not only had the only reality he’d ever known been destroyed by his mother’s sudden death, his own father – who was supposed to be this strong, unshakable pillar in his life – couldn’t be relied on to hold it together.

Paul had been let down. He was on his own.

Fear steems from a feeling of powerlessness. You feel painfully vulnerable to whatever life might throw at you, at constant risk of being hurt again, and the only solution is to be on the lookout. Be prepared.

Paul was caught unawares because the people he’d counted on to always be there suddenly weren’t. And with his compassionate and reasonable nature, he probably didn’t even blame them at all. But the facts were that Paul had been left hanging, not once but twice, when he needed them the most. So he kind of lost his faith in everything.

Life is chaotic and unpredictable; and people, through no fault of their own, are just as inconstant.

And so, in order not to risk being let down again, Paul took matters into his own hands. He tried to escape the pain and dread of being powerless by seizing control of whatever he could. And that was mostly himself.

And so begins Paul McCartney’s saga of isolating independence and other control-issues.”

It’s that last bit about the “isolating independence” that I haven’t explored fully yet, though it’s something I hope to put out soon. 

The thing is, Paul got really good at being self-sufficient. He was confident and had his hands firmly placed on the steering wheel of his own life. He felt he had agency; he had control; he had power. 

In a world where people mostly feel afraid, lonely, and powerless, someone who presents such strength is magnetic. You can’t help but admire and love them; you want to be watched over by them and be loved in return. 

And there were those who felt rejected from the start, and so grew hateful of their Idol (Yoko Ono, Allen Klein, Phil Spector, Jann Wenner). 

But then there were those who felt the Grace of God shining upon them, but by then, they didn’t want to feel such an imbalance in the relationship. Anyone can be a god, after all. 

So now Paul’s self-reliance didn’t just mean strength; it meant detachment. As John put it in that Blackburn interview:

“The worst pain is that of not being wanted, of realising your parents do not need you in the way you need them.”

John’s biggest fear and hurt was that of feeling like he needed Paul a lot more than Paul needed him. 

That’s why we reach a point where Paul’s way of showing love (especially by trying to help and “ease the pain”) is no longer welcome because it only served to increase the perceived imbalance in the relationship. Paul was seen as always fine and unbothered, so much so that he could afford to be “charitable” with his bandmates. It made them feel inept and redundant. 

And this is not just in John’s “head”. This was exactly George’s main complaint during the breakup: that even though Paul always helped him with his songs, he never took George’s own suggestions, which made George feel infantilized, unappreciated and no more than a “backing band”.

Of course, things get infinitely more interesting once we also look at them from inside Paul himself! But I’ll leave that to its own post; I feel I’ve given enough spoilers as it is. 

In summary, that tag is used when I feel there is an instance of people treating Paul like God: an unknowable, generally-benevolent, omnipotent being, whose grace you seek so he may deliver you from pain and fear. 

And you both adore his steadfastness, his unconditionality, and resent him for being invulnerable, unaffected by your behaviour. 

And when you suddenly feel abandoned by this God, if you no longer feel his love or as if he didn’t do his job of saving you from harm, you may as well cast him and his “religion” away; accuse him of being a false idol and everyone who still loves him to be ignorant mislead fools.

(Of course, needless to say that Paul was no unshakable god. But like I said, more on that later.)

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT: love on the rocks; baron corbin

Notes:

This was sent to me by @andie01​ on my main’s asks and I had to put it here. If I ever do anything with this concept, I’ll probably massively revamp the OC. But for now, here it is.

Summary:

Kittie just needed a few drinks to get past her ending relationship with Ethan. And attempt to avoid surfacing feelings for Baron. Which wind up coming out anyway, thanks to Baron, showing up.

Pairing:

Baron Corbin x OFC, Kittie

Warnings:

Alcohol tw - tipsy oc.

Kittie sat at the bar, a finger trailing around the rim of her glass of Jack and Coke. Five more sat in front of her, the beginnings of a pyramid. Her eyes darted to the door of the bar and she grumbled when the person walking through wasn’t who she was expecting, but Baron Corbin instead.

“Just fucking great. Pretty sure he’ll have some remark to say about Ethan standing me up yet again. Just exactly what I needed to hear tonight.”

As if on cue, she felt a finger tapping her shoulder.

“Go away, Corbin. Seat’s taken.”

“See, now, I’m hurt. Not even gonna attempt talkin to me?” - somehow, Kittie didn’t even have to be looking at the giant of a man to know he was probably giving that pouty smirk of his. … the one that secretly gets to me even if I’d rather die than admit anything… Sighing at the thought, Kittie turned around and her eyes met his just as she raised her hand to wipe at her eyes when she felt the first tear trickle down.

God, the last thing I need right now is for Baron Corbin to see me crying over Ethan Carter III. I’d never live it down. Ever. He seems to enjoy pointing out just how wrong for me Ethan is.

Baron bit his lip just to keep from growling in anger. If she was crying it wasn’t hard to guess why and just that thought had him wanting to storm the hotel and find Ethan.

… or get her outta here… get her all alone and finally just fucking talk to her… talking to her seems to be so much easier when she’s drunk and all those walls and all that conditioning and the whole ‘better than you’ thing are gone… but neither thing was a thing he’d come in here to do. He’d honestly just come in to have a drink because he was on edge and all worked up.

And naturally, it was all because of Kittie.

All she had to do lately was walk into a room and he felt himself tensing and oh so painfully aware of her.

“Jack and Coke.  On the rocks.” Baron called out to a bartender.

Kittie eyed him suspiciously and Baron rolled his eyes, moving to stand closer so he could be heard over the stupid music someone was playing in back.

“Gonna try to get me e-even more d-drunk?”

“For your information, it’s for me. I came here to drink.” Baron eyed her and she fidgeted under his gaze. Breathing in and out, he finished, “And no, not cos of you. Because I wanted to drink.”

Kittie swallowed hard, nodding and eventually, muttering an apology.

“I don’t know why I e-expected him to show up tonight.” Kittie shifted her eyes to the door of the bar, tapping her bare foot against the rail of  the stool she sat on.

Baron eyed her warily.

Something was different about her tonight. Instead of getting all worked up and tempermental she was just sort of.. Quiet.

Like she’d been thinking.

Like she was more than just a little upset.

It probably wasn’t a good idea, but Baron found himself moving closer to her.

Kittie stared up at him, reaching back behind her to grab her glass and she went to raise it to her lips, but Baron grabbed hold of her hand and guided it to his own instead, giving her a look as he did so.

“Careful, darlin.. These will put ya right on your ass.”

“I-I used t-to drink Jack and C-coke all the t-time, thank you.” Kittie mumbled it as she shook her head, adding that to the growing list of shit she’d changed about herself for Ethan because Ethan didn’t like it or something to that effect.

She’d given up all this shit for him and yet, she found herself thinking bitterly, he couldn’t be bothered to even attempt meeting her halfway.

“Right.” Baron chuckled, reaching out to steady her because she was constantly swaying and that alone told the tale. Looking down at her, he smirked and asked, “You gonna make it?”

“F-fuck you.” Kittie stammered, biting her lip as she stared up at Baron intently. She reached up before she could stop herself, toying with the collar on his leather jacket.  “S-see y-you’re f-finally done d-dressing like a c-corporate flunkie.”

Baron swore under his breath and glared at her. When she gave a shrug and a sort of giggle and it hit him that she was being a little brat, he leaned in a little closer.

Kittie mirrored the posturing and he smirked as he stared her down. Shrugging nonchalantly, he mused aloud, “Thought you liked that whole suit and tie shit.”

… which is why I’ve been wearing the damned vests and slacks and shit…

Kittie eyed him a few seconds, mulling over what he just said. She burst into laughter and when he gave her another one of those glares, she took a bigger sip of her drink, sitting it down.

“It d-didn’t suit y-you. T-this does.” she was threading her fingers in the collar of his jacket and he sucked in a breath as the gap between their bodies closed just a little more.

He’d die before admitting just how deep under his skin she was. But  yeah… Just thinking straight around her was a goddamn exercise in self control.

He’d been drawn to her since she and Ethan signed to the company. Maybe that’s why he spent a lot of time being such a dick.

Girls like her didn’t go for the guys with rough edges like him.

They went for prissy shitheads like Carter, apparently.

The guy had somehow even gotten Baron’s friend Alexa under his spell lately and just that thought had his stomach churning.

If Kittie had half a clue as to where her perfect man was tonight.. He pushed that down. He  suspected that Alexa and Ethan may well be hooking up, because they’d been flirting nonstop all week.

If his suspicions were right..

“Everything okay?” Baron asked, staring her down intently.

Kittie’s brow quirked as she stared into dark brown eyes and swayed a little, leaning forward before she could stop herself.

All she kept seeing was Ethan and Alexa, flirting right in front of her in catering earlier.

… you should’ve just fucking ended it then.. Right in front of everyone…

That thought had her sighing again and shaking her head at herself. Baron’s hands went to her arms to steady her again and she leaned against him a little.

Baron tilted her chin up and Kittie swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. “S-shoulda just dumped him. I d-don’t k-know why I…” she tried to avert her gaze because this was not a conversation she wanted to be having with anyone, especially not Baron Corbin, the guy who took pleasure in being a total dick towards her…

But drunken words and sober truths.

It was apparently going to happen, whether she wanted it to or not.

“Ya didn’t cos you care about him. I dunno why, he’s a shitbag..” Baron answered, trailing off, not at all sure what to do about anything taking place at the moment.

Oh he knew what he wanted to do. But wanting to do a thing and it being the right thing to do, - the best thing to do, that was a totally different story. Because the best thing to do in this case would clearly be to leave.

Let her work through this on her own like he’d typically do with anyone else. Crying and hurt females weren’t… -and never had been, his strong suit.

… but you have a certain weak spot for this particular one… the thought plagued him no matter how much he tried to ignore it. The thought had him tensing even more, almost painfully aware of how tipsy she was and how close she was standing and the way it felt with her standing that way, body all pressed right up against him.

… but girls like her don’t go for the kinda guy I really am. And until her, I was totally fuckin fine with that.. Preferred it… he couldn’t help but begrudgingly have the thought. And that thought had him frowning in irritation at himself.

Kittie seemed to pick up on his irritation and she pried herself away, shaking her head, preparing to turn back around and leave Baron to his drinking that he claimed he came to do. She was obviously annoying him.

She figured sooner or later it would happen. It always did.

… which kind of sucks when lately all you find yourself able to think about is him and the way you feel…. Alive? Like your own person? Whenever he’s around and you’re fighting with him about one dumb shit thing or another… She had to admit it. Ethan wasn’t the warmest person for the most part.

And there was something warmer.. Downright hot, if she had to be honest, about the way she and Baron tended to push each other’s buttons. There was all this underlying tension there, the air littered with things not said. And even when they did push each other’s buttons, she found herself incapable of not… Touching the guy.

Despite her best efforts.

Like now, even though she knew he was beyond annoyed for whatever reason she still found herself inching closer.. Sliding her fingers over the leather jacket’s zip front. Staring up at him.

Just as she dropped her hand and was about to turn facing the front, Baron grabbed hold of her hand, eyeing her.

“Fuck it. I can’t just keep pretendin…”

“What? I was gonna  leave you alone.. You were getting that annoyed look.” Kittie bit her lip and Baron shook his head, grumbling as he leaned in real close, hands on either side of her body, pinning her back right against the bar’s edge. Those long legs were on either side of his body and he growled quietly. “Not annoyed, okay? Just stop talking.” her body was pressed completely against him and his hands moved over her thighs, sending a shiver he felt under his touch as it  passed through her body.

“Okay, sorry.. I just..”

His hand raised and tangled in her hair, resting on the back of her neck as he started to kiss her, groaning at the softness of her lips and the flavor of the gloss she was wearing. “You taste like cotton candy, you know that.” he muttered quietly, fingers tugging at her hair, pulling her mouth against his harder and deeper. His other hand squeezed her thigh, a smirk forming at the quiet whimper she let out at the touch.

It confirmed what he suspected. Carter just liked flaunting her around like arm candy. Beyond that, the douche probably ignored her.

This kiss had to.. Spark something. It had to stay in her mind like she wouldn’t stay out of his. It had to make her see that while he might not be her usual choice, he was an option and he was more than sick of sticking back, waiting for a good moment.

Waiting wasn’t his style and it never had been.

“ Lipgloss.” Kittie managed to mumble into the kiss as her fingers dug into the front of his jacket, gripping, pulling herself even closer to him. His hand crept up her skirt higher and he asked quietly, “Wanna get the hell out of here?”

“Depends.. Are you gonna be you or are you gonna send out that pesky evil clone of yours that’s been lingering way too fucking long already?”

“I’m back, baby girl. Tonight is all me.”

Kittie eyed him, but giggled into his mouth as he picked her up, starting to carry her out the door of the bar, right past Ethan, who cleared his throat.

“Oh yeah.. It’s over, Ethan.”

“You’ll regret it.”

Kittie looked from man to man and took a deep breath, shaking her head. “No, Ethan, I actually don’t think I will.”

“Think about what you’re doing!” Ethan called out, but Baron was already carrying her out the door, lingering long enough to give Ethan this cocky smirk and shrug as Kittie whined impatiently, “I wanna leave. C’mon, Baron..”

[randomoranges]

Lol. So I reworked this in parts. Added a lot to it. And I feel I still could have gone on with this, but I didn’t want to completely re-write this. It’s not the point of this exercise. Still wish I could plug a machine to my brain in the morning when I’m still in bed and think these great dialogues and scenes though. there’s something to be said about the messy in-between. Still a lot left to say about the past, but there’s something new in the future. 

Perfect Cities Regret

 Post birthday 2017

 Étienne was uncharacteristically quiet and had been this way for most of the day. It had been a few months since their last impromptu meeting and since then, they had exchanged a handful of letters, much to Edward’s pleasure and surprise, but their new fragile – whatever they were calling this – was still in its early infancy and therefore, fragile. Business had brought them once more to the same city and Edward had quite frankly been surprised to find Étienne at it again. It wasn’t like him to come to the meetings, Edward knew for a fact Étienne despised them, but when he’d asked, Étienne had told him that Élyse was under the weather and so he was stepping in.

 In the spirit of their “let’s try to be civil again” clause, Edward had reached out to Étienne and asked him if he wanted to meet up after the meeting. Étienne had agreed and they had walked down the streets of the city, catching up on their busy lives. Edward had marvelled at how once upon a time, it seemed as though he had endless time to visit his friend and now their schedules were incompatible at best. Then again, it wasn’t as if he was actually actively trying to meet up with Étienne at the drop of a hat. And Étienne wasn’t clearing his schedule for him either...  

 “It’s because you wanted to visit, before. Now you’re partially afraid, so the convenience of being “busy” is a crutch.” His brain supplied for him and he hated how that wasn’t entirely wrong. Perhaps afraid was the wrong word. He felt wrong footed and didn’t want to assume Étienne wanted to spend time with him either, or push him away. Then there was the matter of complicated feelings and unresolved issues in the way.

 It was difficult moving on when every thought of Étienne was heavy with nostalgia and the never ending list of what ifs and questions. Seeing the shadow of what Étienne had once been pained him and he wondered if his friend had always been that way and he had simply been blinded by a visceral need for companionship. It was a good thing he had Calvin now, or he knew he would have returned to Étienne a long time ago, not knowing that there was a real shot at happiness within reach. He would have run back to Étienne without even knowing where he stood with him and he knew it would have ended in misery yet again.

 Yet, a voice inside his head still whispered doubt to him every now and again and he hated that he still didn’t know, so many years later and that he wasn’t able to let it be. Let bygones be bygones and such.

 But that didn’t mean he had stopped worrying or caring for Étienne.

 “You’ve been rather quiet. Spill, what’s on your mind?”

 Edward had noticed it during the meeting. Étienne had sat in his usual corner, he’d kept mostly to himself, had said his bit, jotted down whatever comments and suggestions had been given and then had sat down quietly for the remainder of the meeting. He hadn’t participated, Edward could have almost forgotten he was there, had it not been for the fact that he was sitting in Edward’s line of sight.

 “Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing. Just been a long week.” Étienne looked away from the window he had been staring at and took a drink from his milkshake. They had walked into the place after Edward had complained that he was starving and joked that Étienne was purposefully making him go hungry.

 Edward would have let the comment slip, once upon a time, but he knew better and could tell that there was something genuinely bothering the other man. “Don’t bullshit me, Étienne. Come on, you know you can tell me. Aren’t we supposed to be friends and try to talk about stuff?” Edward tried to keep his tone even, but it was starting to get to him. Why was it that Étienne could write five page letters going on about his feelings for other people, about his heartaches, and about his fears, but when they were together, he caged up and remained tight lipped?

 “I don’t know, you tell me.” Étienne snapped and then winced. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but he was tired of feeling left out, tired of feeling unwanted and tired of getting pity from the rest.

 “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” Étienne mumbled, looking back at his drink and then the window. He played with the straw for a moment, while Edward studied him.

 Edward felt he was at the surface of the issue and if he could just get a good grip on it, then he would finally get Étienne to tell him what had been troubling him. And it wasn’t just now. He’d noticed it in the tone of the letters. Edward had read enough of Étienne’s letters to be able to pick up on his moods and state of mind from the words he wrote and those he didn’t. Étienne was sitting on something and he was being a rightful pain about it. The story was starting to get annoying and Edward was this close to tossing it all aside. If Étienne wanted to be a petulant child, then that was on him. No one could reproach him for not trying.

 “Look, I’m sorry I was harsh, but you are my friend.” Edward started again, after a lapsed silence. “I’m just worried. You haven’t seemed yourself as of late. Are you okay?” He asked again, softer. He tried catching Étienne’s gaze, but his friend’s usually bright green eyes were dull and guarded. He had seen that look too many times to know that whatever was troubling Étienne wasn’t new. In fact, it had probably festered into something of gargantuan proportions and was keeping him up at night. But Edward couldn’t read minds so either Étienne tell him, or he was leaving.

 “It’s fine.” Étienne dismissed the rest of Edward’s question and another uncomfortable silence would have settled between them, had it not been for their food that arrived at that specific moment.

 Thankful for something to do with his hands and also famished, Edward tucked into his meal and started putting a good dent in his sandwich. At least he had that. It gave Étienne a chance to mull over his thoughts. If he chose to say anything, Edward would be more than glad to listen, but if not, he was done trying.

 They ate in silence, Edward took his time eating, not knowing what to say, while Étienne played around with his food, another warning bell going off his in head. Sometimes he truly wished he didn’t care so much for Étienne. It would be easier. Especially when Étienne was being a bitch about it. Seeing Étienne so clearly unhappy chagrined him, but Edward had learnt a long time ago that he couldn’t help Étienne if Étienne didn’t want to be helped.

 He was seriously considering faking an emergency call when Étienne broke the silence he had placed them in.

 “Do you regret me?” He asked, quiet, his voice trembling a little. For a moment, Edward wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly, or that Étienne had even addressed him, but when he looked at him, his eyes were heavy with emotions Edward didn’t want to recognise. There was a storm there, a proper maelstrom brooding that threatened to swallow him hole and unravel the careful thread of their fragile reconnection, if he went about this the wrong way.

 “What?” He asked dumbly. He knew it wasn’t the right answer, but so shocked was he that his brain needed a moment to process things.

 “The time we spent together, do you regret it?” He asked again.

 Edward knew the answer. He didn’t even have to think about it, but he was so surprised by the seemingly out of the blue question that he faltered and couldn’t formulate the words. The small hope Edward had spied in Étienne’s eyes quickly disappeared, leaving mere anguish than anything else.

 “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” Étienne mumbled. He reached for his walled and took out a crumbled twenty, placing it between their dishes, before getting up. If he could make a hasty retreat, perhaps he could save whatever dignity he had left.

 No. This wasn’t ending this way. He was done with miscommunication. He was tired of being the bad guy. He’d gotten enough messages from Élyse. Emma hadn’t gotten off his case for literal years. This wasn’t going to come back to haunt him again. He wasn’t alone in this. “Wait. Étienne, where are you going?” Edward reached for Étienne’s arm and tugged him back towards his seat. “Give me a chance here; you can’t just ask a guy if he regrets spending twenty years with him and then leave. You caught me by surprise.”

 Étienne wordlessly sat down and stared at him, waiting.

 “I don’t regret you. God – I’ve never regretted you. Just because things didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean I wished it didn’t happen. I would have left a lot sooner if what we had didn’t appeal to me.”He started, trying to convey the right things to Étienne. Wanting him to understand. Wanting to smash his face on the table at the same time. How could Étienne think such a thing? Christ, twenty-fucking years. An entire lifetime worth of friendship. How shallow did Étienne think he was? “We had a good run. We had some great years and even though I wouldn’t do half the things we did anymore, I do cherish the time we had together.” He added.

 “Then why did you – why couldn’t you... be yourself with me?” Étienne finally asked. Edward blinked and looked at him long and hard. No matter how many years he had spent with Étienne, the other still managed to throw him for a loop every now and again. This was apparently one such moment.

 “What do you mean?”

 “Don’t play stupid with me, Edward. Why didn’t you tell me about your hobbies? Your love of cooking, or your strange, albeit endearing, teacup collection? Why did you shut me out? Why did you lie to me?”

 Oh.

 Oh so this is what this was about?  Étienne was going down that road?

 Edward gave a short, incredulous laugh, but then stopped when he realised Étienne had been quite serious. “For the same reasons you didn’t let me into your life.” If they were going to air out their dirty laundry, well Edward figured he could do Étienne the service of giving back just as good.

 “But I –” Étienne started protesting, before Edward silenced him with a look.

 “You let me in parts, Étienne. You may have opened up about certain things, but there was always more in that beautiful head of yours. It was always one third of a truth for two truths of a secret. I can’t read your mind. I never did and never could. You may have thought you were obvious with whatever it was that was going on inside your head, but you weren’t. You never were. We did it for the same reasons – or at least, that’s what years of thinking about this have led me to believe.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. It would be too easy to get angry and say hurtful things that he wouldn’t be able to take back later. He was angry, sure, hurt absolutely, but he didn’t hate the man. “We were afraid. And if you weren’t, then I most certainly was.”

 He’d never had the luxury Étienne had had to be himself. He’d tried once and it had backfired on him. Spectacularly. And the fear of it happening again, despite what he was told, had stayed, in one shape or form, for a long time. He didn’t live on the same cloud Étienne had seemed to be on and sometimes, it felt as though Étienne just didn’t get it. He couldn’t just flip the finger and move on. Did Étienne really think he would have lived this way if he could have? Did he think he enjoyed being this way?

 “I was afraid you wouldn’t find me interesting, the moment you would know of the less exciting aspects of my personality. Put yourself in my place; I was a nobody and all of a sudden, you, Mister Personality himself, had taken an interest in me. I was shocked as much as I was flattered, but I also knew your type and felt I had to live up to that.” He started. If Étienne wanted a fight, then he could deliver. “I thought I was a curiosity to you, or some pity case/social experiment, at fist. But when you kept inviting me over and showing me around, I realised there had to be a bigger interest and I didn’t want you to grow tired of me. I didn’t want to bore you with the quieter aspects of me.” For so long, for so many years, he’d always wondered why it was that Étienne had kept him around. They’d grown in different directions, had different interests, and yet Étienne came back to him, and still he’d wondered when his friend would cut the tie and tell him that it’d been fun, but enough was enough.

 “Think about it – for one moment, just think. You kept on going about no strings attached, sex for the sake of sex, about getting bored quickly, the comments you made about the things you found boring, of mundane things, of hating certain things – how the fuck did you think I would feel? When I thought some of those were interesting?”

 Étienne looked at him, surprised, “I don’t know man, did it ever cross your mind that maybe I valued you as a friend? That I genuinely cared about you? That I stayed with you because I thought – I think – you’re a cool person? Or, d’you also think that I was too shallow to feel anything? Cause, I did – I did find you interesting. I – I l- you were important to me. You still are. I don’t understand why it had to end and I don’t understand how you could think – how you could still think you meant nothing to me.” He was angry. He was hurt. He had buried these feelings a long time ago, but it seemed Edward wouldn’t let him go about this.

 Edward sighed. Sometimes, Étienne could be rather thick headed and a little naïve. “I didn’T think you were shallow, but sometimes... sometimes it was hard to tell what you really thought. Like I said; there was always more going on inside your head than you cared to share. I couldn’t guess everything you felt or your motivations behind your actions. You hid behind your deflections and I couldn’t play your games anymore – didn’t want to. I felt we both wanted two different things.”

 “I wanted to be with you.” Étienne said with conviction. Spat it out and let it fall between them, somewhere with the sugar packets and the paper napkins. He looked right at Edward, straight into his hazel eyes and the determined flicker in them was enough to unsettle him.

 The silence that followed was deafening.

 Edward wanted to laugh again. Étienne really needed to get better with his timing. And delivery.

 “And how the fucking hell was I even supposed to know that?” He asked bitterly. Sure, Étienne had been nice to him. He’d been friendly. There were many times when Edward had wondered if any of the myriad of things Étienne had done could mean more, but then within the same breath he’d say or do something else that would contradict everything and make him question it all.

 “What if – what if I had said something back then? Would it have changed things? Maybe if you had actually believed in us – maybe if you hadn’t always hated yourself so god damned much – maybe if you hadn’t been so fucking cynical you could have seen some of the good in it all, but I guess you were too important for good things to happen to you. Better go off on a pity party than to take a fucking chance!” He continued as if he hadn’t heard him, going off now that he had started, letting it all out now so that he could regret it later. Regret and feel terrible and hate himself for it.

 Edward sneered at him, a violent thing. It was one thing knowing your faults. It was another thing when your best friend (former best friend? Former lover?) called you out on it. It was something else when you were called out on it with so much hate and hurt. After so long. He’d spent the last two decades working on himself – trying to be better, because he knew that he’d let self-doubt taint his life for too long, but he hadn’t been the only one at fault. Étienne hadn’t been all peaches and cream either.

 He  wondered how many times it was that Étienne could give him whiplash in one sitting.

 “Yeah, well, lucky you things didn’t work out then. Now you’re not stuck with a loser like me. And I guess we’ll never know for sure if it would’ve worked out if any of us had said anything back then. After all, there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t have bolted the other way had I said anything. There’s no use mourning for a life we never had. Things happened the way they did and now you need to move past whatever missed opportunity we may have had, no matter how much it hurts.” They both had to, really, but maybe if he said it aloud it would actually happen.

 He sighed, took a moment to breathe.

 This had not gone the way he’d expected it to. Or the way he’d wanted it to.

 And here he thought they’d been making progress.

 But then again....

 Had they ever even tried to address the multiple elephants in their room? Maybe it was best if they had this fight now, when they were still trying to rebuild. Maybe they would be stronger for it in the long term. There was still so much more that needed to be addressed. This had been nothing but a surface scratch.

 One thing he knew for sure was that as much as it had felt a little bit good to lash out, he knew he’d feel bad later on and that he didn’t want to leave Étienne on such a sour note. He supposed he preferred the little progress they had made over the years of radio silence.

 “I’m sorry,” Étienne’s voice cut through his silent musings and Edward looked up to the other’s face.  Edward could see the storm brewing in the other man’s eyes, but he waited to see what else Étienne would say, not trusting himself just yet. “I guess you’re right – we both held back, we both could have done things differently, and at the end of it all, neither of us did. I shouldn’t have gone off like that...” Edward waited, he could tell there was more Étienne would say. “I’m sorry I doubted you – I guess I just – I – fuck,” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, bumping his glasses off his nose, “If we’re trying to be more honest or whatever, I guess the point is that I missed you – I miss you and I want to be friends, I really do.”

 Edward studied his face as Étienne fell quiet. There were no tricks here and he sounded genuine. Maybe he was being a fool, maybe he was being hopeful, but he took a chance. He wanted this to work as well. Therefore, on a rather bold move from his part, Edward reached over for Étienne’s hand instead and gave it a long squeeze. The fact that Étienne didn’t pull away was already something and it reassured him in so many ways.

 “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t be yourself.” Étienne murmured, finally, after a beat. Edward squeezed his hand and was relieved when Étienne squeezed his back.

 “I’m sorry too.”

 There was still more they needed to discuss and Edward could tell that Étienne was holding back on some things, but maybe it was better not to push for the time being. Maybe they both needed a little more time and he supposed there would always be the letters, where Étienne would keep on opening up, one page at a time. And if Étienne ever did want to actually talk, he would be ready to listen. Until then, this would have to do.

 FIN 41

 Started writing: April 22nd 2017, 3:58pm

Finished writing: April 22nd 2017, 5:22pm

Started typing: May 5th 2017, 3:37pm

Finished typing: May 5th 2017, 5:07pm

[kinda-ooc-just-a-little]

Heart of a Lion

Chapter 5 Third Time’s a Charm

Shinso x Reader

Rated M for Future Mature Themes (Not Explicit)

Tags: slow burn, mutual pining, secretive quirk

Summary: You never wanted to be a hero. You come from a long family of heroes, so why not just be a normal person? That’s what you hoped, until you re-connected with your old High School friend/crush.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /  Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 /

It’s been two years. Exactly two years since you started working as a secretary at the agency and every day you can feel your soul leaving your body. You never thought someone could be so full of themselves to the point they have no regard to anyone around them, but your boss proved otherwise. He thought he was so important that he didn’t need to do any work himself and left it all on you. Countless nights were spent finishing up reports and documents of the day, only to go home at midnight, pass out, and start the whole day over again. Sure, the pay was great, overtime even better, but everyday you wondered how much you could take.

Until a few weeks ago, you were informed that even after two years, you would not be getting a raise.

Screw this. You thought.

You decided it was time you give up thinking you’ll be anything other than something for your boss to ogle at and started applying for… more credible hero agencies. Surprisingly, again, you already got an interview lined up for the next day and could not wait to tell your boss that you would be leaving his sorry ass.

That is… if you got the job.

You cringed to yourself. Having to come back to this job may be the final day you lose your sanity and you’re not sure what you would do to your boss if he calls you ‘baby doll’ again.

The clock strikes 5 PM and it was time to go home. You groaned, thanking whatever god was out there that made the day slow, ending with no overtime paperwork and more time to prepare for your interview.

You grabbed your things, only to be called by your boss.

“Hey, baby doll!” He gleamed.

You clenched your fist and forced on a smile. “Yes boss? Is there anything you need?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to say I’ll miss you tomorrow. The office isn’t the same without your pretty face, doll!”

You gritted your teeth. Does he even realize how inappropriate he is being right now? Or… ever? “Sorry, boss. I just got some personal things I have to get done.”

“Well, don’t take too long. You know you’re the only one who can do good work around here. Besides me, that is.” He grinned.

Your patience was running thin. “Well, I got to get started on those personal things, so I’ll see you later!” As you basically ran out the door.”

“Come back soon, doll!”

Your pretty sure that there were a select few people who could pull off calling others ‘doll’ and he for sure was not one of them.

You arrived at your apartment and immediately fell onto the bed. Life seemed so… boring after you left UA. You suppose this life was safer than being attacked by the league of villains every other week. Though, you always wondered what it would be like to be working as hero. You could have been working next to the top heroes. Maybe even be working next to Shinso.

You clenched your fist. You truly missed him. The first couple months of graduation was great, but then it turned out just like when Shinso joined the hero course. You both got busy and suddenly neither of your schedules matched up, especially when your boss started… flirting with you, for lack of a better term.

You heard your phone’s notification go off. You opened the screen to see a breaking news article about a monstrous villain attack in central city. You immediately sat up from your bed. The attack was near where your interview was. You flipped down the article. There seemed to be no severe damage to the area where the attack took place. You exhaled in relief, thanking the spirits that the building your interview was in didn’t get demolished the day before your interview.

You flipped through the rest of the article and stopped at a photo that was taken at the scene of the crime and felt your heart skip when you saw a familiar indigo in the background. It was Shinso. It looked like he was directing civilians after the chaos, and he was… smiling. You clenched your phone. He looked so… happy. You couldn’t even remember the last time you genuinely smiled.

You grunted and got up from your bed, tossing your phone onto it. There’s no time to reflect on old crushes. You made a light snack, took a shower, and went to bed.

 “How early can you start?”

You were practically reeling in your head. This is too good to be true. You really hoped you weren’t dreaming.

“Immediately.” You say. “Please.”

“That’s great! Our team has been behind as our heroes have been taking on more cases each day. Then we had to transfer people to the dispatch department and that was a whole thing.” You saw him write a phone number on a sticky note. “I’m sure you saw that big fight near here on the news yesterday.”

Your eyes widened. “I did. Was it this agency that took care of the incident?”

“Yep!” He responded. “We managed to take care of it thanks to the heroes we have, but the team spent most of the night cleaning up, which could have been resolved quicker if we had more people.”

“I understand.” You said. “I’m grateful I can be one of those people. I really think working here could benefit not only myself, but a lot of people.”

“I like that enthusiasm.” He handed you the sticky note and smiled. “Just let me know if anything changes or if you need to contact me. I expect you here bright and early Monday morning!”

You returned the smile as you grab the note. “Thank you so much! I promise I’ll be here, Eight AM sharp!”

“Awesome! Let me walk you out to the lobby. I know this place can get kind of confusing.”

“Of course.”

 You stared at the note on the way down. It all felt like a dream with how fast everything was happening.

“Oh, before I forget.” Your interviewer turned to you as you reached the lobby. “Next week the team is taking a trip camping to the forest for some ‘team-building exercises.’ It’s required from HR every now and then, however, since your new, we’re not forcing you. Unless you want to, that is.”

You mull it over in your head. “I’m not sure, it might be too early to-”

You jumped as you heard your name shouted from across the room. You were shocked to hear your name being shouted here at all places, but you more shocked when you recognized the voice.

Shinso. You turned to see him practically running away from the group he was walking with to join you.

“S-Shinso? What are you doing here?” you said, a little bit too timidly.

“I work here. What are you doing here?”

“I’m… um… working here too.” You inwardly groaned. Of all the times to be nervous, why was it now?

“Yep! This is our new team member!” The interviewer said. “I have to get going, but just think about the trip and let me know if you want to attend.”

“Of course. Thank you once again for this opportunity.” You bowed and shook his hand.

“No, thank you. I’m sure after a couple of weeks, things will slow down and the work load will be easier for everyone, so don’t stress too much. I’ll see you Monday!”

You waved goodbye and realized you were left alone with your past friend/crush/turned acquaintance. You wondered if it was too late stop existing.

“Are you going to the camping trip?” Shinso observed you curiously.

“I’m not sure.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I think it would be too early for me to participate in team-building exercises.”

“You should go. It’s easier to get to know other people and…” He rubs the back of his neck, just like he did in high school. Classic Shinso. “I’m going too. It would be nice to talk again.”

“Because the last time we promised to talk went swimmingly.” You ssid, a little too much venom in your words. You couldn’t help it; your nerves were on fire.

“I know… I’m so-“

“No.” You cut him off. “This time was my fault. I prioritized my job over you and I’m sorry for that.”

“Well, it didn’t help your boss was an egotistical obnoxious prick.” He grinned.

You laughed. “Yeah, that too.”

An awkward silence fell between you two. You felt like it was the last day of school all over again. Finally talking again but feeling dreadful because you know in the back of your head there was no way you would be more than what you were when you met him.

You heard the group Shinso was with interrupt the awkward silence to call his name.

“Damn it.” He clenched his fist and turned to you. “I have to go. Please consider going on that trip. I’ll even let you hang out with me if you get shy around the team.”

You scoffed. “Please. I don’t need help talking to people. I was the one who talked to you first, remember?”

“Of course. I’d… never forget you.”

You could practically feel your blood pressure increase. Damn. When did he get so smooth?

“Just think about it.” He said as he turned to leave, “I’ll be waiting.”

All you could do was watch as he walked away to join the other heroes.

You let out a deep breath and try to believe that you were actually talking to Shinso again. You hope you weren’t dreaming, only to wake up alone and with a shitty job again. You take a couple deeper breaths.

No. This is real. Shit, this is real.

You fast walked out the door before the small happy tears that welled up in your eyes fell.