#not a dig at anyone except myself but i refuse to take pride in my own ignorance

[valtsv]

i need to be more passionate about math and science. just because i'm married to english literature doesn't give me an excuse to be ignorant. you can't write if you don't know anything.

[storm-driver]

im gonna take this moment to just vent on main rq, it's nothing super serious, it's mostly just about my writing

it's been 3 and a half years since my last substantial updates to atone and repay. and breaks and hiatuses are fine to take for any author, i would never shame anyone else for putting stuff above their writing. but i feel kinda disappointed in myself because i took me so long to get going again.

a lot of it is because of the mental health issues, the life issues, relationships and all. i refuse to dig that stuff up anymore for the betterment of my health. however, i still cant help but look at my writing and realise something i was so passionate about suffered so badly from it.

that piece of writing that spiraled into its own story was my pride and joy back when i was 17-years old. i had nothing going for me outside of my grades in high school, i didnt feel confident in my art skills except for the occasional drawing i liked. my writing was the only thing i enjoyed doing. and along came 2020 to kill it.

that period of time is difficult for me to recall. but i know one of the things i regretted the most was abandoning my writing. it wasn't me taking a break. it wasn't even a hiatus anymore. it was just me running away from something i used to love so god damn much.

i still have over 20 drafts of various KH fics sitting in my google drive folders. none of which ive touched in years. ive been so afraid to re-explore my old writing and get back to it, because im so afraid i cant measure up to what i used to be able to do. i dont know if my passion is the same as it used to be.

the change ive gone through in the past few years was for the better, and i can feel it. i'm a much happier person than i used to be. i'm hardly bearing the burdens that weighed me down as much as they used to. i'm enjoying being alive and interacting with people again.

but there's still some part of this guy wishes who they were still the same person they used to be.

[spicycreativity]

Idk if you’re still doing requests, but if you are, how about something with Janus coming back to the Dark Mindscape after a bad meeting with the others and just being really upset, and Remus walking in on him crying and comforting him?

You guys are really challenging me with these requests! (Affectionate 💕) Thank you for sending this one in!

In my quest to craft a scenario where I found it believable that Janus would cry, I ended up creating a sort of one-sided anti-Moceit, which was a very intriguing avenue to explore, and which I would like to think about in-depth later 👀

(And then I started thinking about the potential for a weird love triangle thing where Remus is in love with Janus who's in love with Patton who... isn't in love with anyone and how that could possibly end-- probably in some sort of heavy-handed aro-friendly lesson about managing your own expectations and not forcing other people into roles they're not comfortable with uhh sorry this has nothing to do with your request)

Anyway, let's break that snake

The brutal sting of humiliation sat heavy in Janus' chest, taking up the space where his heart and lungs were supposed to go. It hurt to breathe, in fact, he couldn't breathe except in these awful shallow gasps. He had… obviously misread some things, misplaced his trust. Patton-- Patton was supposed to have--

Janus fell back against the wall, unsure of quite where he was and too miserable to care. He pressed his fingertips to his forehead and took in a deep, trembling breath that dissipated into a shuddering sob.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

This is what he got for opening up. Oh, he told them his name, oh, he reached out to Patton, he had even been stupid enough believe that Patton might…

That Patton might want him.

The first few tears blurred Janus' vision; he refused to blink in the hopes that they might just drain away. He wasn't crying. He didn't cry. Because crying meant that someone had hurt him, and he was always so, so careful not to let anyone in.

Except that his treacherous heart had slipped past the bars of its own cage and run to Patton and it had ended like this. He'd had no backup. The first meeting since his humiliating name reveal had ended in further humiliation when everyone, everyone, everyone had shut him down and not even Patton had stepped in to say one thing in his favor.

Fuck.

With one final gasp, it was over. The tears began to pour down Janus' cheeks and great, shuddering sobs made his shoulders shake. He had to get out of here. If anyone found him like this, crying because his feelings were hurt, he could never show his face again. They already didn't take him seriously, they'd made that abundantly clear. Even the grudging fear-respect he'd managed to scrape together would vanish.

But wouldn't that be a fitting end for his reputation? One final humiliation after a long line of them.

God, it was hopeless.

"Whoa," said a voice.

Janus flinched. Then he reached for the last, tattered scraps of his pride and straightened up to face the intruder, arranging his face into a scowl despite the tears still pouring down his cheeks. "Remus," he said in a horribly strangled voice.

Remus closed the distance between them and kissed Janus' forehead, knocking his hat askew. "How was the meeting?"

Janus laughed. Hysterically. "Fan-fucking-tastic," he said, his chest still spasming with choked half-sobs. "They all love m--" He couldn't couldn't get the full lie out.

"Good," said Remus. He bounced on his toes so casually that Janus didn't even realize he was adding to his height until he scooped Janus up into his arms and started to walk. His whole body thrummed with repressed energy and Janus spared a moment in his sickening self-pity parade to feel grateful. Remus rarely found cause to hold himself back or tone himself down, especially not for someone else's benefit. He was putting in a monumental effort, all for Janus. This only made him cry harder. Fuck. Remus continued, "I'm glad it went so well. Tell me what happened?"

They reached the living room. Remus let out a little huff of air through his nose and the whole thing became a massive pillow fort, almost tall enough to stand up straight in. Remus ducked through the entrance and settled the both of them down in a beanbag chair.

Janus adjusted a little so Remus' sleeves weren't digging into his face quite so much. "The usual," he said, fighting to get the words out without more pathetic sobs taking over. "They all listened and, and let me explain m-myself, and when the others tried to shut me down…" Here it was, the most hideous truth in the flimsiest disguise, the one that made him want to dig out his own heart so it could never betray him like this again: "Patton backed me up." The words came out in a whisper, aching in the back of his throat, and a fresh wave of tears irritated the sensitive skin of his human cheek.

Beneath him, Remus was shaking a little with the effort of repressing himself, but his voice was remarkably steady. "I'm glad, Dee." He traced his fingertips across Janus' back, drawing little swirls and shapes. "It's what you deserve. You've been working so hard to get everyone pointed in the right direction and I'm so, so fucking glad--" A pause, so Remus could take a deep breath-- "that they're finally listening."

"Lucky for you," Remus said, his pent-up energy now booming in his voice, "I love having a captive audience. Sit tight! I've been re-writing The Princess Bride with guns!"

"Thanks," Janus said weakly, and sniffled. The tears seemed to be slowing a little, though he now had a massive headache to show for it. The truth, undisguised, crawled pitifully out of his throat in a thin, quavering plea: "I don't want to think about it any more."

Janus smiled a little despite himself.

[oumakokichi]

Hey, so after the saiouma analysis I just really wanted to ask what you think about the line "When I find someone I like, I'd do anything to get them to notice me even strangle them". Because you often talk about the former part of that line but I've never seen you talk about the latter half. Do you think that was a joke? And if yes why are you so sure he was joking about that but not the "like" part? Because Ouma makes a lot similar comments in Salmon Mode (dogeball scene, "licking dust")?

Hi, anon. You’re wrong there, actually—I have talked about this entire quote at length in the past, multiple times in fact. I even translated it myself, before the localization of the game came out, so I am pretty well aware of what the quote says in its entirety.

I’ve already gone over this line and scene several times in pretty great detail, but let’s dig a little deeper here. As always, I’ll be covering full-game spoilers, so I’ll put the rest of this under a cut!

First off, let’s start with some clarification. As I even mentioned in my original post, the “I’d do anything to make them notice me, even strangle them” part of Ouma’s quote is pretty clearly a dark piece of foreshadowing referring to Miu’s death. This is evident from the fact that we see her lifeless body, dead from asphyxiation, in literally the very next scene. It’s absolutely meant to be “dark humor” of a sort, as well as foreshadowing for the twists that are about to come, particularly since Ouma was not only responsible for Miu’s death but actively takes credit for it later on when he goes into full “I’m the big bad villain” mode.

However, scenes often serve more than one purpose. There are usually layers to certain lines of dialogue, and this one is no exception. Ouma is talking about “strangulation” in the literal sense, yes, by alluding to the way Miu died and the lengths he’ll go to in order to avoid dying himself, but he’s also referring to his fixation on Saihara itself.

Ouma is canonically interested in Saihara, and in the idea of potentially teaming up with him. He makes comments towards Saihara that he never makes towards any of the other characters, and has his portrait singled out from everyone else’s on his whiteboard. He asks him explicitly to team up with him right before this line. He’s fixated on Saihara pretty hard, to the point of being overbearing and nearly smothering him—and he’s aware of it, on some level. He’s “suffocating” Saihara in the sense that he wants Saihara to pay attention to him, and not to anyone else. That’s why he quite literally asks him to stop hanging out with Momota and “be his friend instead.”

Clearly, Ouma doesn’t mean that he’s going to actually go out and strangle Saihara, or anyone else for that matter, just to get them to pay attention to him. He’s a pacifist by nature, which we know for a fact because it’s in his motive video, word for word, that he and DICE have a whole taboo against murder. The reason he crossed this line and killed Miu was largely out of self-defense (since he already suspected she was going to try and kill him), as well as a stubborn refusal to ask anyone else for help because he was too paranoid to trust them.

However, that doesn’t mean that he’s not being unfairly possessive here—he absolutely is. Almost the entirety of chapter 4, even after this line during most of the investigation, is spent between Ouma and Momota vying fo Saihara’s attention, with Ouma clearly resentful that other people take up Saihara’s time and attention despite the fact that he’s interested in Saihara and he wants Saihara to team up with him and he believes that he and Saihara are much smarter than everyone else. It’s a childish, immature reaction to having feelings for someone—the exact kind of thing that someone like Ouma is prone to doing, since I’ve stated multiple times that he’s extremely childish at heart, as well as arrogant and prideful.

But this doesn’t negate the fact that he does, canonically, have feelings for Saihara. I noticed you used the localization’s translation of the quote in your ask but completely ignored the part in my post where I mentioned specifically that the original quote describes Saihara as “the person I fell in love with,” or “suki ni natta hito.”

The language used in the original Japanese is much stronger than just saying “when I like someone.” As I explained in my post, it is the exact same phrase that Maki uses to describe her feelings for Momota. While “suki” on its own can certainly mean to “like” something or someone in a more casual sense, “suki ni naru” is much more explicitly romantic in context, and does not carry the same sort of feeling that Ouma is “joking aound” here.

In addition, taking Maki’s confession seriously and considering it canon without question, but trying to translate Ouma’s differently, insisting that he only meant “like” or that he was “just joking” feels like quite a reach to me. Again, the phrase is literally identical in Japanese, and it’s only ever used in those two scenes for the entirety of the game.

It’s explicitly clear that he’s talking about Saihara here because he word-for-word says that Saihara “rejected him” after he storms out of the room. He then immediately follows up this remark about rejection by talking about how he’s in love with this person, which is pretty clear-cut.

As for how I know that Ouma isn’t joking about being in love with Saihara, that would be because he’s alone in the room. By himself. With no one else around, whatsoever. Sure, Ouma absolutely tells jokes or lies when other people are around—but he’s stated explicitly in chapter 3 that he doesn’t enjoy the idea of lying to himself. Therefore, we can assume that when no one else is around, Ouma is being honest. There’s no incentive for him to lie or tell a joke here, because there’s no one for him to lie to.

In fact, there’s not even any reason to include this scene in the game at all if we assume Ouma is lying. If he’s just joking or lying to an empty room, that serves no purpose to the story whatsoever. By contrast, if we assume that he’s telling the truth, then the scene does have a purpose: to let us, the player, know that Ouma has romantic feelings for Saihara, and that he’s going about those feelings in the complete wrong way.

Basically, Ouma has no reason to lie and no one to lie to throughout this entire scene, since he is explicitly by himself after remarking that he was “just rejected.” He uses pretty explicitly romantic language to describe Saihara in a scene that, unlike the jokes in his FTEs or salmon mode, is completely unskippable and therefore necessary to the plot. It simply doesn’t make any sense to write this off as “a joke” or “not canon” when it ticks off all the definitions of a canon scene, and when Ouma’s feelings for Saihara are a pretty huge part of his motivations for why he acts the way he does in chapter 4.

Which is more likely? That Ouma was lying to a completely empty room and that he also happened to be lying every single time he called Saihara his “beloved,” his “favorite person,” said they were “lovers in a past life,” and that he was “born to meet him,” where even his “ideal romantic scenario” in his love hotel involved Saihara being himself and not a different person—or that Ouma was telling the truth when talking out loud to himself about how he fell in love with someone and wants them to pay attention to him no matter what?

You can decide, anon, and I’m not really here to try and change your mind or anything. I’m just letting you know that I have gone through the original game in its entirety and I’m well aware of what the original lines say in Japanese. I hope this cleared up your question, and that you have a nice day.

[sierraraeck]

How to Lose Friends

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: When Aundreya’s presence is requested at the BAU, she doesn’t know what to think, and is dreading the reactions of her previous teammates. Especially that of Doctor Spencer Reid. Story sixteen.

Category: Some angst.

Warnings: Cussing. Normal CM talk. Mentions of prison.

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: I hit 100k words of fanfic I’ve written for this series in this part.

The buzz of the bell signaling a door opening jolted me awake.

What the fuck? Why is my door being opened?

The light streaming in from the hallway, invading my dark little space, was blinding. The only solace was the dark figure shielding most of the light from my eyes.

“What?” I rasped.

“Aundreya Chambers, lovely to see you again,” the voice was coated with sarcasm. While still somewhat unfamiliar to me, I knew who’s face belonged to that type of bitchy sarcasm.

“Majesty Strauss, welcome to my humble home. Would you like a tour before we begin?” I still barely had my eyes open, denying the fact that my minimal sleep was being desturbed. She moved further into the cell in order to stand right in front of me.

“Get up. Your presence has been requested at the BAU.”

“What? Why do they want me?” I finally opened my eyes enough to stare up at her stone cold bitchface. That was the last thing I was expecting this morning. “Is it so they each take their turn reminding me how much they hate me?”

“Stop whining and get up. They need your help,” she all but rolled her eyes, the sound of her heels clicking back over to my cell door.

“With what?” I insisted.

“I’ll brief you on the drive.” Strauss completely exited my box while I laid my head back against the thin as paper pillow, letting out an irritated sigh. “Are you coming?”

“Do I have a choice?” She gave the tightest lipped, most forced smile I’d seen a human give as one of the officers came to clasp the handcuffs around my wrists.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The first half of the drive was dull. Strauss wasn’t much for small talk, especially with someone like me, and she refused to let me in on what was happening until we were only a few minutes out from headquarters.

It was Maeve. She’d had a stalker for a while, and now there was reason to believe she’s in immediate danger. That’s all she told me.

We finally arrived at Quantico, and I almost wanted to laugh. It’d been… what? Fifteen months since the last time I’d been there? The feeling of walking back in felt oddly familiar, like the first time I entered the building as a convicted criminal who was meeting the team. Despite the three years I’d spent with them, I was standing there as if nothing had changed. Actually, that’s not true. Things had changed. They’d gotten worse. Now, instead of wondering how they’d react to a somewhat normal looking girl who’d had a rough past, I knew exactly how they’d react to a psycho looking, handcuffed, last-time-I-saw-you-I-confessed-to-murder, criminal. And I didn’t want any part of it.

But if that’s how they were gonna see me, I might as well have worn it with pride. I had a reputation to uphold.

I was pushed through the glass doors into the bullpen, and everyone’s eyes snapped to me. I must’ve been quite the sight: disheveled, frizzy braids, cuts and bruises on every visible part of my body (and most non visible parts, too), my orange jumpsuit peeking through the stained, weak excuse they called sweats, not to mention the chains connecting my handcuffs to the links around my ankles. Upon entering, they removed my cuffs, but kept a watchful eye on me as I approached the door to the briefing room. The people behind there were the ones I really cared about. Or, at least, cared even a shard about in comparison to the utter indifference I felt toward everyone else.

I closed my eyes, and took a long, deep breath before forcing the door open. I had barely entered the room, barely made eye contact with Hotch standing opposite me, before both my shoulder blades were shoved against the wall behind me, long fingers wrapping around my throat.

“What is she doing here?” the hiss in Reid’s voice sounded exactly how I’d imagined it in my head, preparing myself for this encounter. He looked almost as bad as me. His curls were going in a million directions, and I could only imagine the amount of times he’d run his hands through them. His eyes were blood-shot and slightly puffy, and the dark bags underneath seemed more defined. The only thing that contrasted all of that, and let me know his head was still in it, was the darkness in them. There was nothing lighthearted or soft about them anymore, at least, not for the moment and not for me. Not to mention the rage I could see boiling at the surface. It was like looking in a funhouse mirror.

Morgan and Hotch made a move to pull him off of me, but I waved them away. I knew this was coming, and the sooner we got it over with, the sooner we could go back to our new normal. “I was invited.”

“By who?” I could hear the betrayal coating his voice before he even knew who it was.

��You didn’t tell him?” It was Rossi that spoke up.

“I was about to,” Hotch stated, “She showed up a bit earlier than I anticipated.”

Reid just stood there, orbs of fire replacing his eyes. “Let go of me,” I forced out through clenched teeth. He did as I asked, taking a staggering step back and just bore holes into me. I replied with a smirk. “So what do you need me for?”

“As Strauss should have already told you, Maeve is missing and there is reason to believe she’s in danger,” Hotch recited.

“Great. So what do you need me for?” I repeated. They were great profiles, I couldn’t see anything I’d add to the group.

“As you know, there have been people in the past that threatened her safety, and they have been people you’ve had a connection with.”

I arched an eyebrow. “So you think that the person responsible for Maeve’s disappearance is some street rat I’d know?”

“If you want to put it that way, sure,” Hotch confirmed.

“Okay, then you guys have seriously lost brain cells since I left,” I let out a bitter laugh, “There’s no way some rando on the street would care about some lame doctor.” I saw Reid’s posture tighten up, and I didn’t really fancy the idea of being slammed into the wall again, so I shot him a quick, “No offense.”

“What makes you so sure?” Morgan asked.

“Look, all I’m saying, is that I don’t see how she’d hold any value to anyone on the streets. Unless she’s all the sudden a drug lord, running a gang, or saw too much, they wouldn’t care about her. And let’s say for fun she is one of those things, and someone on the streets did take her, she’s already dead,” I pointed out. Reid flinched. “People on the streets don’t play with their food.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Reid hissed.

I shrugged. “I’m just saying. But either way, case closed or start over. Neither of which require me.”

“They might, actually,” Hotch said.

“What now?” I grumbled.

“We might still want to utilize your other skills.”

“And what are those, exactly? You can all profile just fine without me,” I scoffed. “Clearly, you’ve been doing just fine these past 15 months. Speaking of, where is my replacement?”

Looking around the room, I didn’t see Doctor Lewis.

“She’s gone for this one, so we could use another person,” Hotch acknowledged.

“Cool. So find another person.”

“Aundreya, we could use your ability to track down people. We can profile all we want, and have Garcia send us all the information she can dig up, but we need someone who can actually locate them. Someone who knows how to find people without a record or paper trail, who don’t want to be found. And based on the other working profile we have, that’s exactly the type of person we’d be tracking down.”

I let out an annoyed sigh and rolled my eyes. There was no way I was getting out of this, so I forced out, “Fine. Let’s find Reid’s girlfriend.”

The whole room of people, myself included, starting moving with a purpose toward something to do. Everyone except for Doctor Reid. He was just standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at me.

I tried so hard to ignore him, and I was about to say something when Morgan beat me to it, placing a hand on his shoulder and murmuring, “Kid, what’s going on?”

His answer was not directed at Morgan. “Nothing else? That’s it, that’s all you have to say?”

I looked up at him and even I could feel the boredom in my eyes. “What else is there to say?”

After a few deafening moments, he sternly whispered, “Was any of it real?”

I could tell by his face the deeper questions behind it. Did you ever actually care about me? Were you just manipulating and using me the whole time? Was the possibility of ‘us’ just an illusion?

“I could ask you the same question,” I snapped. It suddenly felt like he and I were the only ones in the room, like we were moving across a silver screen while the rest of the team watched from their theatre seats.

“I still wanna know why.”

“Why what? There’s a lot I’ve done, you’re gonna have to be more specific,” I deadpanned.

“All of it. Prison, letting me take the fall, Darrell-”

I stopped him right there. “Inmates kill each other all the time. It was a means of survival. I had to, I couldn’t let you die, and I couldn’t let you be the killer either, now could I? You’re not the damaged one-”

It was his turn to cut me off, and I was surprised by his words, “You're not damaged.”

“What makes you so sure?” I was quick to refute, “Only one of us should have to carry that burden around. And like you said, what’s another name to add to my list?”

“Is that what you were carrying around with you all the time?” Prentiss’s question seemed so genuine, I just answered.

“Yes, that and…” then I realized what she’d just admitted to.

“And what?” she probed.

“Wait, were you guys watching me?” I accused. The silence that followed, along with ‘oh shit’ glances were all I needed. “You were, weren't you! That whole time you just watched? And did nothing to help me!”

“What were we supposed to do?” Morgan joined in.

“Something, anything!” I looked back over to Reid, his hands in his pockets and his eyes still burning up. “Do you even want me on this case?” I was looking for any and every excuse to get out of this room, and away from these people.

“You are a big help,” Hotch intervened.

“I didn’t ask you,” I shot Hotch a glance out of the corner of my eye, then directed my attention back at Reid, enunciating each word carefully, “Do you want me on this case?”

“Why would you ask that?” he dodged.

“Because last time I checked, I was supposed to be staying out of Maeve’s life,” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“You are, but these are extenuating circumstances,” he returned my look.

“So you do want my help,” I clarified.

“I want your skills.”

I let out a disgusted chuckle, venom dripping from my words. “Oh I get it. You only want me around when it's convenient for you. Otherwise you just wanna give up on me and let me rot in there.”

Reid broke eye contact with me. “All the evidence pointed to you.”

His words sent a shiver up my spine, as the neurons in my brain started firing at rapid speed. I’d heard those words before; rather, I’d seen those words before, and I couldn’t resist reciting what followed. “But the one thing you can’t stop thinking about is what Hotch said the night we got caught?”

His eyes immediately snapped back to mine, looking astonished. “What?”

I set my jaw, and continued, “That you were manipulating me the whole time and I’d fallen into the trap of a professional criminal, even as a profiler. I don’t want to believe that, but maybe it’s true.”

Derek jumped in, “What are you talking about?”

I ignored him. “Maybe you’re the one who’s been using me this whole time. I don’t have the answers, and I don’t think I ever will. Don’t keep tabs on me. I know you have the means to, in whatever capacity, but I don’t want you tracking my life.”

“Stop, Aundreya, please,” he pleaded. If you didn’t want those words getting out, didn’t want your team to realize how vile you could be, you should have thought about that before sending me that letter.

I wasn’t gonna stop. Instead, I started pulling the paper out of my pocket. “I no longer want you to be a part of it. And stay out of Maeve’s, in case you think that’s some twisted loophole you can use. This is no longer your family.” By the end, I felt just a little moisture coming to the surface, but I choked my tears back down.

“What is she talking about?” Morgan insisted.

Reid’s mouth was slightly open, struggling to find the right words to explain this. I wasn’t going to give him the chance. I tossed his letter, folded up to fit in my pocket, on the table. It slid across and stopped right in the middle. “His letter. The piece of paper you saw me walking around with, this is it. My list on one side, his letter on the other.”

“Aundreya-” Reid attempted.

“You didn’t even sign your name,” I shook my head, “You couldn’t even sign your fucking name. It’s pathetic. And just so you know, the evidence pointed toward me because I helped it to.”

“So you did or didn’t want to go to prison?” he asked me.

“Of course I didn’t want to go, Reid,” I answered like it was the dumbest question I’d ever heard.

“Then why'd you take the fall for me?”

“Because you didn’t do it.”

“But neither did you, right?”

It sounded like more of a mockery than a question, but I answered, “Right.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Jesus Spence! I did it because I-” Oh shit.

All eyes were on me as he slowly asked, “You what?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” With that, I stormed out of the room using the back door, and made my way up to the rooftop.

The cool breeze hit me in an instant, and I relished in the fresh air. It’s crazy how easily I took that for granted the three years I was out. I leaned up against the railing as I soaked in this feeling. I wouldn’t get to keep it for long.

I heard the door creak open, and knew who it was before she could even say anything.

“You know, I understand why he’s mad. He thinks I let him sit in prison for something I did, you all do,” I quickly tacked on.

“That’s not true,” Emily’s voice could be so soft sometimes.

“It’s okay, I get why you all believe it. I would have too if I were you. I mean, my whole life has consisted of lying, manipulating, and cheating.” I looked over at her once she’d joined me at the railing. Her face was kind, as if she was inviting me to continue. “I hate everything about it.”

“Is that why your name is on the bottom of that list?”

I hadn’t even thought about them seeing that. Fuck me. “Did you know that Aundreya isn’t even my real name?” I offered instead.

“Alionth?” she guessed.

I gave a single laugh. “No. I was born Clara Spade. I was her all the way up until the Slaughterer saw me. When we went into WITSEC, my name was changed to Cassy Sae. I lived as her until our house burnt down, and I begged Gideon to help me disappear. Cassy Sae died that day with her mom and sister, and I changed my name again to Aundreya Chambers. It was Aundreya who hit the streets and joined a gang. It was Aundreya who was The Figure and moved up the ranks until she ran the joint. When the gang collapsed and I started the ring, I don’t know, I guess I just wanted a new name. A new name had marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life up until that point, why not keep the tradition, you know?” Emily nodded along to my words. “I chose Alionth because I’d already been using that as my stage name at clubs, and a lot of the people I recruited I met at clubs. I actually ran my whole operation out of one, so the name just naturally fell into place. Then I made just about the biggest mistake of my life, which landed me in prison. In prison, most people were street rats, so those who did know me, knew me as Aundreya, so I went back to being her.”

“And who are you now?” she asked me.

I sighed. “I… I have no idea. I’ve been Aundreya for the majority of my life, but I just don’t know if she’s good enough anymore.”

“It’s not about the name. I know you think it does, but the name has nothing to do with who you are.”

“I don’t know, it sure feels like that.”

“It’s not true. Falling into that trap is unwise, it’ll hurt you more than it already has,” her eyes were wide, and I could tell she was trying to read me.

“So you think I’m stupid?” I asked.

“No, the exact opposite actually. I think you are so smart and are looking so many steps ahead, that you can no longer see what’s right in front of you.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you’re afraid.” I scoffed at her, but she was completely serious.

“I am not,” I insisted.

“You are. You’ve been hurt so many times, betrayed even, and now you won’t allow anyone in.” She sounded like she was speaking from experience. The silence hung between us before she said what I’d been waiting on the whole time. “Just tell him.”

“What?” I tried to play it off.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Emily said, in that stern but caring tone she’d mastered. We both knew I knew what she was talking about, and I’d been too hopeful she’d ignore my near-confession only minutes earlier.

“I can’t,” I said, my voice dropping.

“Why not? I think he deserves to know that you lov-”

“Don’t say that,” I cut her off like my life depended on it, “Emily, I’m telling you, I can’t. I can’t do that to him,” my eyes were wide with pleading, and I’m sure I looked like a wild animal in headlights.

“Give me a good reason why.”

You say that as if I haven’t already compiled a list in my head of all the reasons we wouldn’t work over the past three years.

But I opted only for the biggest reason, the one at the very top of my list. “Because I’m terrified that it will kill us both.”

“Huh?”

“Look at us. We’re a disaster! I mean, hell knows, we’ve both already almost died for the other. I don’t want to take the chance that next time we won’t be so lucky,” I explained. And if we aren’t, at least one of us should be able to get out and that person is not me. I could tell there was something else lingering on Emily’s face, but I filled the airspace before she could. “No, I need him to hate me. It’ll be easier this way, because when this goes south, and it will go south, it makes it that much easier for him to just forget about me and move on, move on with Maeve, his great girlfriend who can actually be there for him in a way I haven’t been able to, in a way I don’t even think I’m capable of.”

“I would call going to prison for him ‘being there’ for him, even to an extreme, and I think you should let him make his own choice about how he feels about you,” she gave me a pointed look, “knowing all the facts.”

I shook my head. She just wasn’t getting this. “It’s better this way, trust me, I’ve seen it before, been there before, too many times. It’s better if he already hates me going into this. It would be unfair of me to lay that on him, knowing what I’m going to have to do.”

“And what is that?” I stared at her, open-mouthed, and once she realized I wasn’t going to answer her, she asked, “This is about more than just Maeve, isn’t it?”

Yes. There are people who are hunting me down, and I’m scared shitless that you, and Spencer, and the rest of the team will get caught in the crossfire, and yet again, it will be my fault that practically the only people on this planet I care about, who’ve actually cared about me at some point, will be dead. I wanted so badly to tell her, to get everything off my chest, but I just couldn’t. The less she, and the team, knew, the better.

“Is this about those other two names on the list?”

“You saw that, huh?”

“Yeah. Is that what this is also about? The whole ‘end of the world, protecting Reid’ vibe you have going on?”

I didn’t know how to answer, so again, I just stood there silently.

“It sounds to me like you’re giving up, expecting to die,” Emily filled in the silence.

“I am definitely expecting to die, and I’m expecting it to be nasty, and hateful, and to completely ruin me, yes. But like hell I’m giving up.” I wanted to make that perfectly clear.

“Good. So while I don’t know what else is going on, and you clearly aren’t open to telling me, I do know that Maeve needs our help. Yours specifically. And I can’t imagine how much this sucks for you, but-”

“I know,” I said, nodding, “We have a case.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

While Emily and I were out, the rest of the team had gone back to trying to put pieces together. The moment I walked in the door was the same moment Reid left. JJ walked out after him, but not before giving Emily a knowing look. It’s like they were tag teaming us or something. I tried to blow it off.

“Get anything?” I huffed.

“Maybe…” Derek trailed off.

“What does that mean?”

“We have a list of people we want you to look over,” Rossi said, handing over his tablet.

“Damn, already?” I questioned.

“Have you already forgotten how quickly I work?” Penelope looked over at me with an amused face.

“Well, time hasn’t exactly been my friend as of late so I might be a little rusty, but no, my liege, you just never cease to amaze me.” And with that, I felt some of the tension release from the room. Not much, but I’d take it. I think everyone would take it.

We worked well into the night, looking over people and sending pairs of agents out to question the promising ones, and as I expected, every single one was a dead end.

Until one of them wasn’t.

The boys had just got back from interviewing Robert Putnam’s, Maeve’s fiance, parents.

“He look good for this?” I asked as soon as Hotch stormed into the room, Rossi and Morgan right on his heels. Reid hung back, like we were repelling ends of a magnet.

“I want you on him.” Hotch had barely gotten the command out before I reached for the door handle.

“I don’t.” The words were hot and dry and coming from none other than Doctor Reid.

I stopped to face him. “Why not?”

“I don’t trust you. Who’s to say you won’t just run off? Then we’d let a high-profile criminal walk free and let Maeve…” he cut himself off, and I saw him swallow, probably choking down the tears with it.

“Reid,” Hotch barely drew his attention away from me.

“It’s okay,” I assured Hotch, “I get that you don’t trust me. None of you do. But I need you to make up your mind. Either you want me helping or you don’t.” When I got no more than a few blinks, I continued, “Look, you don’t have to trust me, okay? All you have to trust is my skills. Like you said, I’m a professional at things like this, so I can handle tracking one simple weasel. Not to mention, that if I didn’t want to be here, or I wanted to’ve escaped, I would have done it already. And if you’re worrying about my capacity to actually treat this case with some care, don’t. I already blindly tried to get myself shot for her before I even knew who she was, remember? So if you don’t wanna trust me, great. Don’t. I’m fine with that. But trust my abilities and what I know, what you know, I can do.”

I stared at him so long, that I wondered if small roots started pushing their way into the ground below me.

“Okay. Go,” was all I got, but it was all I needed.

I gave him a single nod, and headed for the door.

I got just a few feet out when Hotch’s voice caught me, “Chambers.”

I spun around to face him. Once he pulled the door shut, I asked, “What’s up?”

“He’ll come around.”

I snorted, “You’re funny, Aaron,” I spoke through laughs, “Got any other good jokes before I head out?”

“I’m serious.” I don’t know what it was in his tone, but it snapped me completely out of it.

“He won’t. I fucked up, real bad, and I broke a promise to him,” I lowered my voice so I was whisper-yelling the next part, “Hell! I killed a man in front of him!”

“We all have,” he nonchalantly stated. The disconnect I was feeling had to have been obvious, and he proceeded, “We shoot people in front of him all the time. We do it to save other people, we’ve even done it to save him a few times. How is it any different?”

My eyes went wide, and I couldn’t believe it was Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner who was saying these things to me right now. “No you don’t understand. I promised people, I promised myself, that that wasn’t who I was anymore. But that's exactly who I am. I said that I wouldn’t do things like that again, and then I did, breaking my promise and proving that I’m exactly the same as I was all those years ago. Someone you, and he, can’t trust.”

“We both know that’s not true.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he just kept going without me, “The way he reacted to you getting arrested that night is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. He looked disgusted with me, after I aided you in your plan to get him out. He said to me, ‘You can’t do this, Hotch, you can’t let this happen!’ He was so hostile that he cussed at me and tried to hit me,” I audibly gasped at this information. I could never see Reid acting like that, but I would know just how much prison changes a person. “Morgan had to restrain him before all the work you’d just done to get him out of prison went to waste on something as stupid as him acting out.”

I didn’t know what to say, “Hotch, I…”

“I knew what you were doing, so while Morgan tried to get him to calm down, I told him that you were giving him an out. We knew that there was a very high likelihood that he was going to die in there, but we knew that you wouldn’t.” He offered a small chuckle then, which totally threw me for a loop.

“What is it, what’s funny?”

“Spencer said that we couldn’t know that, and it was Morgan who said, and I believe he used these exact words, ‘She’s strong. Plus, they’ll want her in solitary, worried that she’ll do much more damage to others than they’ll do to her.’”

Even I had to crack a smile at that. “He’s not wrong.”

“He definitely was not. I think he was still recovering from that nasty black eye you gave him.”

I offered a not-so-regretful grimace.

“One more thing,” I looked up at him as he spoke, his tone returning to that of seriousness. “It doesn’t have to be right now, or within the next couple of months even, but he deserves to know the truth.”

I don’t even know why I tried, but it was my natural reaction to deflect. “What are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t take a profiler to know that memorizing and reciting the only piece of contact you’ve had with him verbatim shows how much you care about him and what he thinks of you. And based on the sole fact that you don’t really seem to care at all what anyone thinks of you, that speaks volumes.”

I stood there blinking at him for a moment or two before having my wits come back to me. I started to shake my head, but he continued to speak.

“Do you really want to prove that you’re not like that anymore, that you’ve changed?”

He always seemed to know the right questions. I nodded my head, “Yes.”

The great Aaron Hotchner looked me straight in the eyes, “Then go catch this killer.”

Series Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl

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[221bshrlocked]

Wanted Man (1)

Wanted Man Masterlist

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Words: 3750

Warnings: the tension is real.

A/N: Please please comment and tell me how I am doing. I am in constant need of validation. I am not sure if I will have a taglist or not.

They promised clear skies last night. But you should have known better, this city never saw the sunlight. It didn’t matter either way, you’d worked under worse conditions for years and from what you’ve heard, it had gotten better over the last few months. You kept on looking at the skyscraper ahead of you, wondering why your advisor requested for you to meet with the COO of Wayne Enterprises. It wasn’t a request per se, more of a command if you were honest with yourself. But you weren’t one to negotiate with her, especially when you could tell how little space she left for a reply from you. 

“Black coffee for Y/N.” You heard the barista yell out from behind you, excusing yourself as you made your way through the crowd impatiently waiting for their drinks. Once you grabbed the drink, you quickly headed out of the coffee shop, looking at your watch to see if you were still on time. So busy juggling your notebook, the phone and the coffee, you didn’t see the gentleman exiting his car right in front of you. There was no time to react, dread washing over you as you realized how much the fall would hurt and that yes, there was now coffee all over your white shirt. 

“Ah crap really? Of all the days...” You dabbed at the stain on your shirt in vain as you stood up, picking up your phone and looking for your notebook when you saw that the gentleman had already picked it up for you.

“I believe this is yours.” The timbre voice snapped you out of your pain and you looked up in time to see who it was you had also just spilled your drink on. 

And it was at that precise moment that your lungs collapsed in fear. You stared at him for a few seconds before you realized the smile aimed at you was not meant to be friendly but- actually, you couldn’t quite understand what kind of smile it was but you didn't want to stick around to find out.

“I am so sorry sir, I usually watch where I’m walking but I didn’t see you at all I swear. Shit that probably costs more than my apartment and I just spilled my coffee all over it. I could pay for the dry-cleaning sir...sorry no not that you can’t afford to pay for it I just meant that I could-”

“Please, don’t worry about it.” He cut you off and you shivered under his direct gaze, one that shamelessly took in your form before returning to your eyes and maintaining eye contact until you couldn’t help but look away. “Normally, I would offer to buy you another one but I believe neither of us have the time.” He could tell how nervous you were, choosing to look away from your heaving chest as he buttoned his suit and shut the door of his car. You were about to say something when you saw his driver walk out and stand behind him.

“Would you like to change before the-” 

“That’s alright Alfred, it's not like anyone will report me.” He turned to his driver and nodded, letting him know he didn’t need his services at the moment. Looking at his watch, he frowned and adjusted his clothes one more time before walking away.

“You should be more careful.” You blinked at him confusingly, unable to look away as he took his phone out and dialed someone as he walked the opposite way. 

Was there even a point to go to the meeting now? 

You tried to find any excuse to tell your advisor but you were a horrible liar, and she knew that more than anyone. 

“What have I done?” You whispered to yourself as you made your way to the highrise building you were sure you’d be kicked out of as soon as you entered. You kept on looking around to see if he was anywhere nearby but when you saw that his car, and the driver, remained in the same spot, you decided it was better to go and end the meeting quickly rather than avoiding it all together.

“Hi, I have a meeting with Dr. Fox in fifteen minutes. I was sent on behalf of Dr. Karen Fairbanks.” You told the security guard at the front desk, sighing in relief when he asked you to follow another guard to the elevator. So he didn’t ask for the meeting to be canceled yet? That must be a good sign. 

You waited in the elevator as the guard swiped his access card and pressed on the 39th floor button. The elevator ride didn’t give you nearly enough time to try and figure out what you would say should the meeting not go your way. A loud ding announced your arrival and as soon as you stepped out of the elevator, another guard greeted you and led you to the only door visible on the floor. You walked behind him and sighed at how loud the silence was, thanking him when he opened the door for you and asked you to go inside.

“Hi, I’m here for-”

“Good morning, you must be Y/N Y/L/N. He is ready for you. You can go ahead.” The woman never stood from her chair, smiling at you as she waited until you moved towards the second door. You reluctantly turned the handle of the door and pushed through, quietly shutting it behind you before turning around and making your way to the desk.

“Good morning Dr. Fox, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” You were proud of how steady your voice was, reaching out to shake his hand only to be met with two warm ones on top of yours. 

“Please, call me Lucius. There are no formalities among colleagues.” He softly tapped on your hand before walking around the desk to sit down, motioning for you to take a seat opposite him.

“C-colleagues? I am sorry sir I believe you are mistaken.” You responded, not sure what he was speaking of as you flipped your notebook to explain to him what it was you were doing here. “Surely Karen told you what it was we are looking for?” Fox raised an eyebrow when you shook your head, sitting back and taking a few moments to collect his thoughts. 

“Well, in that case, let me fill you in. Wayne Enterprises is looking to...expand. Not just metaphorically but literally. I’ve spent months attempting to convince Mr. Wayne of this project and I had spoken to Karen a while back to let her know I needed her top student for this large-scale development should he agree. And one he agreed, I asked her to send whoever she chose over so I could finalize everything and get started. She must’ve mentioned at least something with relation to this?” 

“I- wow umm sorry, excuse me sir this is all a bit to take in. She hadn’t said anything apart from an hour meeting with yourself. I was meant to ask you a few questions about the underground structure of Wayne Enterprises and ask if you would be willing to assist in a similar one in New York. She mentioned nothing of what you had just told me.” Fox said nothing, smiling at you before asking if you needed anything to drink.

“No thank you sir, I have already spilled coffee on my shirt  earlier and I’d rather not make a fool out of myself again.” You tried to return the smile but didn’t have the energy to do so.

“Would you be surprised if I told you I thought that was a design on the shirt?” He tried to put you at ease but it did little to your nervous spirit. 

“You are too kind sir.”

“Lucius. Or at least I hope that is how you’ll address me soon.” His tone became more serious and you thought he might be a little impatient. Before you could respond, the door to the office was opening, in walking the man you wished you wouldn’t be able to see ever again.

“Mr. Fox, I do apologize for my tardiness, I ran into some-” The words died in his throat as soon as he took one look at you and it took everything in his power to not smirk at your obvious distress. “Something urgent came up and I needed to take care of it. Hi, Bruce Wayne. Pleasure to meet you.” Bruce took three strides before he stood right in front of you, reaching out his hand to shake yours. When you couldn’t move, he took a deep breath and sat opposite you, crossing his legs before turning his attention to Fox.

“I must apologize Mr. Wayne, but I believe my old friend did not fill in our architect.”

“Really? How so?” Bruce rested his cheek on his hand and waited for you to respond. When you didn’t, he asked Fox to tell him what you discussed so far. You suddenly felt light-headed, refusing to acknowledge the situation you were currently in until you heard your name a few times.

“Sorry, yes?”

“Well, I was just asking for a reason behind your apprehension? Is it a salary problem or relocating?”

“R-relocating?” You looked at Bruce then Fox, then back to Bruce again.

“It is my understanding that Mr. Fox informed you of the importance of this project, and I do not make light of such matters, especially ones in need of such a large investment. You’d have to relocate to Gotham. Most of the work following your sketches, should they be approved, will require you to be on site at all times and I cannot have you wasting time going to and from New York.” Bruce spoke with such eloquence and authority you couldn’t not shift in your seat.

And although you were only looking at him for a few seconds, he was studying every one of your movements, his chest slowly filling with pride when he noticed the effect he had on you.

“Sir, I- with all due respect, I do not think I am the person you want on such a project. I only just received my Masters and I assure you there are many more capable architects out there than myself, whether in my graduating class or ones already established. You will have no trouble finding the perfect fit for you.” You silently cursed at yourself for that last sentence but you paid it no mind. “And even if I were to take you up on your offer, I have to say that I do not have nearly enough to relocate on such a short notice.”

“As far as I can tell, your objections all have solutions.” Fox cut you off, digging through one of his drawers before taking out a folder and handing it to Bruce. “I would not have agreed to hire you without an interview had I not seen your portfolio Ms. Y/L/N. It is quite exceptional if I may say so myself. Most architects I’ve worked with are more theoretical than practical, choosing to rely on every penny going into the building without truly caring for its function or what it communicates once it is erected. But your designs are more practical and reliably distributed than anything. As for the second matter, I am sure Mr. Wayne will have no problem convincing you to come on board. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do need to ask my secretary for something.” And with that, he stood up and walked out of his office, leaving you a flustered mess in front of the one man you dreaded talking with.

You’d spent a few minutes in silence before daring to look up, only to see that Bruce was already gazing at you.

“Do I have the face of a monster Ms. Y/L/N?” Of all the questions you thought you’d be asked today, that was the last one you expected.

“N-no sir not at all.”

“Then there must be some other reason behind your refusal to look at me as we speak.”

“S-sorry Mr. Wayne I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that-”

“Nevermind. I do believe I must convince you to take on this project because I will not hear the end of it from Mr. Fox if I don’t.” You could tell he sounded more annoyed and you hated to be on the receiving end of that tone.

“And why is that?”

“Well, for starters, I’ve never seen him speak this passionately about someone else’s work so you must be exceptional at what you do. I am sure we could come to an arrangement on such a short notice. How does one fifty sound?” Bruce asked neutrally and you took a deep breath before deciding to look at him again. 

You’d thought he was a handsome man on the news, but now that you were this close to him, he was somehow much more attractive. The pictures didn’t do him any justice. He was much more broad-shouldered, his hair softer than it looked on screen. And my god, were all billionaires this fit? His suit wasn’t too tight on him but it was constricting enough for you to see how potentially muscular he was. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could compare to his eyes. You weren’t sure if they were brown or just an incredibly dark hazel color. Either way, they managed to look straight through you and you barely managed to maintain eye contact with him this time around.

“One fifty sir?” You asked, not sure what he meant by that number.

“I can make it two hundred if you want me to. I am sure you’ll deliver.” He crossed his arms, and you couldn’t help but shift your gaze to the way the dark material of his suit clung around his biceps.

���You misunderstand me, what do you mean by one fifty?” The question must have surprised him because his eyebrows furrowed for a second before relaxing again.

“One fifty an hour of course.” Bruce remained unfazed by your surprised reaction, gauging your reaction carefully. 

“Y-you are too kind Mr. Wayne but-”

“I am not a cruel man Ms. Y/L/N.”

“That wasn’t what I mean sir. I only wanted to say that for a fresh graduate who hadn’t worked on previous projects, you might regret that number. My work has only been on paper.”

“You would be horrible in business. I’ve never met anyone who asked for less in exchange for his time and efforts.” He chuckled and if it weren’t for the fact that he may have just given you a backhanded compliment, you would have returned the gesture.

“I am only attempting to be honest. One fifty is more than enough Mr. Wayne.”

“So you will take the job?” Bruce hadn’t meant to sound so eager but when he knew you hadn’t noticed his excitement, not with the way you were still staring almost timidly at him.

“I would be dumb not to. Student loans aren’t a joke.” You rang your fingers and Bruce immediately shifted his attention to the nervous tick, incapable of understanding why you were so rigid, perhaps even fearful, around him.

“Ah yes, I am sure Columbia University was not a walk in the park.” Bruce said as he stood up, buttoning his suit and placing your portfolio on the desk before turning around towards you.

“I take it that is a yes?” He waited for your response patiently, smirking at you when you nodded and wavered through an answer. 

“Yes sir, it would be my pleasure to be associated with Wayne Enterprises,” you stood up and stretched out your hand for him to shake, amazed that he never brought up the coffee thing this far. He still hadn’t changed and you wondered why a man of his standing would purposely walk around all day long in that state, knowing fully well paparazzis were everywhere. 

He took your hand and you felt your heart skip a beat at how warm and firm it was. Bruce watched your body language, amazed at how quickly you responded when it was only a small touch. You watched as he placed his hands and his pockets and said nothing more, raising an eyebrow when you didn’t budge. 

Thankfully, Fox entered the office again and approached you, smiling before welcoming you on board and telling you that you’ll receive an email from him shortly. You couldn’t get out of there fast enough, bidding the secretary a good morning before almost breaking the ‘close doors’ button.

“Believe me the pleasure was all mine.” Bruce whispered to himself as he watched you go, turning to Fox and shaking his head at him. “I don’t want to hear it.” He said, sitting down and crossing his legs again before picking up your portfolio. 

“A bright young lady, one of the top in her class. Fairbanks couldn’t wait five minutes before telling me about her work. I think you will not be disappointed by her Mr. Wayne.” Fox said as he looked out the window of the high rise.

“You don’t have to convince me Mr. Fox, I can see for myself.” Bruce gestured at the portfolio but Fox couldn’t help but warn him. “I assure you Mr. Wayne, I know you have seen her work yourself. But I will keep reminding you that she is a great asset for the team, one I would hate to let go should she run into any...executive problems.” Fox was no longer smiling, his serious expression enough of a warning sign to Bruce.

Bruce turned his attention to Fox, knowing fully well what he was implying. He knew his friend meant well but for some odd reason, he felt a bit possessive over you already.

“She’s too young for me Mr. Fox, and I can assure you, she will not have to deal with executive problems.” Bruce stood up and took the portfolio with him, knowing fully well Mr. Fox can see the files in his hands. 

“Good day Mr. Wayne.” 

“And to you Mr. Fox.” Bruce waved back as he exited the office and headed to his car. He’d already put your name in his system, his paranoia getting the best of him yet again. It would be a shame if you weren’t who you said you were. By the time he’d finished all his meetings and arrived at the penthouse, Alfred had already prepared every record on you and placed it on his bed.

“Impressive girl Master Wayne. I didn’t realize we’ve started checking individuals who spill their drinks on you.” Alfred bellowed sarcastically as he set down dinner on the nightstand. 

“Very funny Alfred.” Bruce shook his head at the butler before flipping through the pages. 

“There is nothing out of the ordinary in those files, and yet you’ve read every word.”

“She’s my new architect,” Bruce responded as he read up on your undergraduate work.

“Your architect?” Alfred couldn’t help but smile when Bruce looked up and threw imaginary daggers at him. “The new architect, happy now.” And he laughed even more when his master responded with irritation. 

“Oh you misunderstand my curiosity Master Wayne, I only meant to remark on the job and not your choice of adjectives.” Alfred left before he could get a response but he knew Bruce was staring at him as he walked away.

“She’s too young for me!” Bruce yelled out to the empty hallway, knowing fully well he wouldn’t hear the end of it. He quickly finished his meal before accessing the numerous dummy corporations he had scattered around for pursuits he didn’t want to be associated with. By the end of the night, he’d gotten in touch with Ascendium Education Group and sent them a few invoices, telling them to contact him, through the corporations of course, when they received the checks. 

Bruce went to sleep that night more satisfied than he’s ever been in years. But this satisfaction was short-lived when he realized that yes, you were too young for him. More importantly, you didn’t deserve being associated with someone like him, not that you weren’t already when news went out that he was looking to expand. 

Following the meeting, you took the ferry back to New York, and spent the entire commute talking with your advisor. She told you that you’d understand her deception once you spoke to Fox, letting you know that she shouldn’t be seen as favoring anyone. You’d asked her for an honest answer and she told you that while she did not consider this as partiality towards you, other students and professors in the department might misunderstand. And when you finally asked her the dreaded question regarding doctorate applications, she told you that you probably wouldn’t need to worry about that for a very long time. Being associated with Wayne Enterprises would open many doors for you and even if there weren’t job offers after the completion of this project, the salary would be more than enough to cover you until you did find a job or decided to go back to school. You’d thanked her for her time and recommendation, telling her that you did in fact take the job and planned to move in the next few weeks. 

When you got back to your apartment, your excitement got the best of you and you started packing your things, telling your rather inattentive roommates that you would be moving out soon. Before you went to sleep, you checked your emails and saw that Dr. Fox had already sent you an email, your eyes widening in horror when you saw that Mr. Wayne was cc’d. He had an email? Wasn’t there someone that did this stuff for him?

You quickly researched the prices of moving companies, grimacing at how expensive most of them were. But it was going to be alright soon. You could afford to spend whatever you had left now that you knew how much you’d be getting. The man seriously thought you would ask for more? These goddamn billionaires and their shameless lack of understanding. 

You went to sleep with immense relief. You hadn’t felt this happy and safe in such a long time and it was strange that this feeling was caused by a man who probably forgot your name as soon as the meeting ended. 

[rest-in-being]

Message From Sultan Ul Awliya Sayedi As Shaykh Muhammad Nazim Adil Al Haqqani (may Allah sanctify his secret.) - A Must Read Everyone.. I do not change anyone, I do not add to anyone. I only pass on Divine Knowledge. I give from you to you, from within yourself. I make Connections. If you refuse all and accept the One, You are not proud. If you accept all and refuse the One, You are proud. We are holders of the Attributes of God, not His Partners. The difference between you and your Master is that you are proud. What shall I say about myself? I am like the moon. When the sun goes, the light of the moon goes. If the light of My Master leaves me, I am in Darkness. I am nothing. Whoever sees me as this one or that one sees me through the Light of my Master. You are burning. And what burns you is Love or it is Fire. Whoever refuses to feed his soul is cruel. Our soul nourishes itself through Obedience to Its Lord. If you take away its nourishment, you shorten your life. They say, “He died.” What does this mean? It means, “He was taken away. The Divine Spark was taken from Him.” Then, He is Nothing. The Oneness of God is the basis of all prophetic religions. It is the Criterion with which to distinguish a false prophet from a true one. He who calls people to the Oneness of God calls them to the True Way and is a True Emissary of God Almighty. He who does not call them to this Way, but who calls them to another or to others, does not follow a Heavenly Way but runs after his ego. I do not say, “Follow me”, for I know who will follow. We claim existence, and we cling to this existence. Maybe the price for it is high, very high. “It does not Matter”, We keep saying. “We will Pay.” Yes, I know all languages. I understand them all. There is also a kind of speaking without speaking, and I know what will be said before it is said. I understand. The love of the believers, of the saints, of the prophets, comes from the Love of God. At first, God Loves them, then His Servants Love them. When does this Love comes to us? When we begin to obey. When you dig, you find the water. It is the same with obedience; it is like digging in the Heart. Even if You are photographed in 20,000 poses, You are still one. Great wisdom lies in this. To reach your one essence, you must die to yourself while you are still alive. Die before you die', means to be in connection with the original. It is impossible to understand yourself. At least, you must look into a mirror. No one recognises the imperfections in himself. What comes first, the pearl or the shell? Doubt comes from pride. You doubt when you are not humble enough to believe. Pride is the greatest obstacle standing between us and our Destination. All things except God are like shadows in a mirror. Anger is a big tree in our heart. It is difficult to uproot it. Knowledge is not as important as Transmission from Heart to Heart. One of the Friends of God said, 'When I see someone from behind, I know how he thinks. When I see his Face, I read his Book of Life.' All praise, whatever its source, goes to Allah. When I praise you, I praise your Creator. For there is nothing praiseworthy about you, unless it comes from your Creator. We ask to be no one and nothing. For, as long as we are someone, we are not complete.

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #36)

(cw: discussion of addiction/violence, suicide mention) ----------

01/24/88   6:30 PM

Hey.

Once I’d chosen my “higher power”, the rest of the program really began to interest me more.

That isn’t to say that I had suddenly seen the light and knew exactly how to fix everything, no. I was still on wobbly legs and I knew it. The goal was to shift my entire worldview, and that sort of thing does not happen overnight. But I had an idea to go off of, which was more than what I’d had before. And the more I sat with it, the more the idea unfurled itself. 

There are no absolutes in a world of color. No rules, only choices. I thought I’d lived my life as a rainbow, but I’d been painting with one color for so long. I was indigo -- cold, proud, with the depression of blue and the aggression of violet. I was the color of bruises, the sort that are almost beautiful, but hurt something awful. All of my choices were touched by a shade of pain. I never really thought there was another way to be.

But this new theory of mine challenged that with the phrase: ‘There’s always another color.’

I didn’t know which ones exactly I wanted to move forward with, but I sort of figured that keeping an open mind and paying close attention would reveal them to me. And that, as it turned out, was sort of what step three was all about.

Step three is Surrender. We were expected to surrender to our higher power, and hold it in greater importance than our own selfish desires. My own desire was to learn to live by my new worldview anyway, so it seemed easy enough. But I was told that swallowing my pride would be a tough thing to maintain, so I had to stay on top of it. Well, duh. Of course it’s been hard. You and I were always some of the most prideful little beasts in the arcade. I still fail regularly, but I haven’t given up yet. Which is really what matters. Or so I’ve heard. 

I’ll admit something sad. Sometimes, while I’m doing all this work, I wonder if you could have benefitted from anything like this. Like, maybe it would have helped you sort out all that darkness in your head. Maybe it could have saved you, and you’d be sitting right here beside me right now. I don’t know… maybe not. I’m not sure how you’d have ever been convinced to try it. I mean… it took a monumental catastrophe and threat of imprisonment for me to even consider it. If only you had been lucky enough to survive your own… catastrophe. Then, well... maybe.

It hurts so much to think about.

If nothing else, it makes me want to succeed for the both of us.

I was still on step three by my fourth session, but I was preemptively worrying about the upcoming step four. It had been causing me a fair bit of anxiety since the beginning, and I was almost afraid to complete step three and arrive at it. Step four is Courage, which involves pretty much digging deep into your code and listing all the bad things you’ve ever done. A ‘fearless moral inventory’, they called it. I just had no idea how I was going to tackle that. Others might have been able to make a list based on things they felt bad about. I was going to have to think a little harder about mine. Not that I have any shortage of misdeeds to list -- I probably have a hundred for every day of my life. I just… didn’t feel bad about most of them. Feeling any kind of remorse or regret for my actions was never something I was very good at. 

I began to wonder why that was. Probably for the first time ever.

While I considered it, I just listened in to all the shares from the other members. During step three, I’d been going along with the challenge I issued myself before, the one meant to lessen Worluk’s effect on me. It was going alright. As I paid more attention to them, the other members had started to take on their own colors in my mind. I definitely got to know some of them a bit more, and even found that listening to their stories helped me gain better perspectives of my own.

I feel a bizarre need to respect the anonymity of the program even here, so I won’t name names. But I’ll name their colors.

An NPC sprite who gave me pinkish-mulberry vibes told us about his experience with step five, Integrity, which I’d been trying not to think about. He seemed near tears as he spoke, just brimming with emotion.

“I’d been so afraid that she would turn me away when she heard about the things I’d done… but she just hugged me. She said that she would have been there for me sooner if I’d just opened up to her… but I think I’d just been so ashamed, I didn’t even think I was worthy of help. I never knew how important that was. Just to feel like you deserve saving.”

That one reminded me of you a little bit, which hurt. I thought about how you had only chosen to let me in on our very last night together. How you barely gave me any time to help you. I hoped you felt like you were worthy of help, but I also kind of doubted it. 

It also raised questions about my own self worth... but I tried to tuck those away for later.

A Bad Guy sprite with an orange air about him piped up in response, saying he could relate. But in his case, the sprite he had tried to make amends with turned him away. “It was awful,” he said. “It was everything I’d been afraid of, but all the same… I had to accept it. I’d done wrong by them. I have to live with the consequences of that and choose to be better. Even though my fears came true, I’m still alive. I’m still okay. And that’s kind of freeing.”

Again and again, fear played a heavy role in their struggles. And the more I sat with it, the more it sank in, and the more sense it made. As much as I hated to entertain the idea, maybe I’d been afraid, too. Of what, exactly… I couldn’t really say for sure. But I took a look at my life for a moment, and all the things I loved to do, like drinking and fighting and breaking the rules… and felt kind of sick. Like… maybe it wasn’t always just about chasing freedom. Chasing one thing… could also mean running away from another.

But I could hardly be blamed for that, could I? I’d felt alienated for so long, like different rules applied to me because my Easter Egg role sucked so much. Like my pain validated all the bad things I did. It was only fair, right?

But that was when Worluk spoke up. Her voice didn’t strike quite as much terror in me as it had before, but even as small and raspy as it was, it demanded my attention.

“I’ve tried apologizing to the boys. To everyone, really,” she said, a quiet, tired frustration in her voice. “But they won’t take it. They see right through me. I did a lot of things that hurt them while I was neck deep in buffs. And I’m sorry for hurting them, I really am. But I’ll be real with you all. I’m having trouble regretting the things I did. They were all things I wanted to do already. It just felt like buffs made me actually go out and do something about it.”

“That’s understandable,” Clyde said. “But none of us are exempt from regret. None of us here can decide that we’ve done no wrong. The sprites around us, the ones we hurt, are the ones we need to listen to in order to understand the gravity of the things we’ve done.”

Worluk shook her head a bit at that, refusing to look. “I know. I get that. I do. But if you had only seen what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t say that…”

“Pain is the one thing all of us have in common,” Clyde reminded her calmly. “No addict is free of it. But pain only explains our behavior. It does not justify it.”

I winced. 

It felt like that sentence saw my thoughts and slapped me hard for them. His words hung over my head and forced my gaze to the floor. I wanted to argue. I didn’t want it to be true. I needed to keep being the exception in order to justify my actions. After everything I’d been through, I couldn’t be held to the same standard as everyone else.

But, to my dismay, that also seemed to be how Worluk felt.

I knew firsthand how unjust her actions had been. I knew that she had no excuse. Her decision to attack me was nothing but misplaced rage and overwhelming bloodlust. She was nothing more than a dangerous, sadistic lunatic in my eyes, and she deserved to be locked up. She didn’t even deserve to be in that circle with the rest of us.

It was unspeakably frightening to me, then, that we could have the same thought. That we could be the same in any way at all. Yet, I was helpless to deny it.

We were very similar.

We had both used our pain to justify some pretty horrible things. We both refused to take responsibility. And the scariest part was, even though I hadn’t attempted to murder anyone, who’s to say that I wouldn’t have gone down that route if I hadn’t gotten help when I did? I mean, I did threaten someone just to get their buffs. If the circumstances were right, could I have done the exact same thing as Worluk?

Wouldn’t I have killed to avenge you?

I felt sick. I couldn’t let it be true. I had to be better than that. Better than her. 

But in a weird sort of way, I kind of... wanted her to do better, too. Not out of compassion. It was sort of selfish, actually. I felt like she and I were, unfortunately, in the same sinking ship. I could have just let her drown, but I’d just be watching her suffer a fate that would quickly come for me after. If that makes sense. I hated her. I still wanted to rip her antenna off and feed them to her. But if she was beyond help, then so was I. Somehow, I had to believe that it was possible to turn things around, even after we had sunk as deep as we had.

And counselling is hard. Really hard. And boring. But she had to do it, same as anyone else there. She had to swallow the same giant pill that I did, so maybe I could jam it down her unwilling throat. 

Maybe I could take things into my own hands, just a little bit.

I didn’t want to speak to her directly, because I might have lost my nerve and started screaming at her. But I thought up a way to get my point across. Whether it was a good idea or not, I didn’t have time to assess. I only had until my turn to plan, so it was going to be mostly improv.

It was time for more rolling with the proverbial punches.

Once my turn came, I found myself trembling with the severity of what I was about to do. This bug sprite had caused me so much pain and suffering. But I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I could paint with a color outside of revenge if I so chose. So I loaded my brush with exactly what the dreaded step four called for -- courage.

“Hi, my name’s Mavis, I’m an addict,” I began as usual, leaning on my knees. “I’m on step three tonight, but... all I can think about is step four.”

I was met with some knowing nods. Someone muttered, “That’s a tough one.”

I flashed a half-smile and continued, “Honestly, a big part of why it’s so daunting is, I mean, I’ve probably done more bad things in my life than good things. I could try to list them all, but then I’d be on step four for the rest of my life.”

There were a couple chuckles.

“But listening to you guys and your stories about, y’know, opening up to sprites you care about, I, uh…” I paused. “Well, I’m really not good at… being helped. I never really have been. A big part of that’s just pride, but I think, uh… everything that goes along with lettin’ people in has never been my forte, and that’s only gotten worse ever since, uh… well, lately. I haven’t let anyone in on what I’ve been going through. But... well, I guess, keepin’ with step three like I oughtta, I feel like... it’d be surrendering to my higher power to-- Okay, I don’t know quite how to word it, but I need to paint with a different color. That much is clear. And I thought… y’know, I could start right here. So… I’ve got a story I’d like to share, if that’s alright.”

“Please,” Clyde prompted.

“It’s an ugly one,” I warned him.

“There are no judgments here,” he reminded me with a smile.

I took another deep breath and sighed. Here goes, I thought.

“Well, it’s probably no secret to y’all that I haven’t exactly been the most popular sprite in the arcade since… y’know. Everyone’s got their opinion. And some sprites, uh, share it more loudly than others. Throwin’ stuff, yellin’ at me, that all sucks, but I guess I can deal with it. The thing is, though, someone… took it to a whole other level. Back before I got hooked on GC, someone, well… tried to kill me.”

That got everyone's attention.

Clyde turned blue. There were several horrified gasps. Sprites leaned towards me, their eyes wide, so many emotions growing behind the shock on their faces. Worluk's antennae perked up as she listened. Obviously, she knew that I knew who she was. But I don't think she knew what I was doing. She looked less angry and more curious -- maybe she was curious to see if I'd be dumb enough to try to accuse her.

When Clyde came to his senses, he asked me worriedly, "Have you told the Surge Protector about this, Mavis?"

"Well… yeah, I did eventually," I told him. "But not ‘til a couple weeks ago. Right after the attack, he helped me across Game Central, but I just-- I couldn't talk about it then. It was weird."

Before I could continue, a little sprite with lavender vibes interrupted, quivering in alarm, "Wait, wait, I think I saw-- I saw you! With Surge! And your shirt was all--"

"Yep."

"You mean, that was when you’d been--"

I nodded and swallowed. "Yep. Sure was."

"Oh no," the little sprite put their hands near their mouth and looked at everyone. "I saw her, everyone, she looked awful. She could barely walk. Her-- her legs were bleeding!"

"Actually," someone else added, "I remember seeing her, too. I just-- I didn’t look too close 'cause there was so much blood on her face…"

I felt myself going red. It was embarrassing to have them remember just how awful and abused I looked. But it felt like the point of the program was to get used to embarrassing myself, so I tried to take it as a good thing. 

"What did Surge say?" Clyde asked.

"Well,” I said with a defeated laugh, “he said there was nothing he could do. I have no evidence. I don't know who it was. I didn't even see them. I was blindfolded and tied up."

So many horrified eyes were fixed on me. I glanced at Worluk just for a moment, and saw just the slightest hint of nerves in her body language. She was glancing around just a bit more than usual. I figured she would never get my point if she got too defensive, so I decided to cut to the chase.

“Look, settle down, everybody, okay?” I put my hands up with a half-smile. “I’m okay. I mean, I’m here, right? And I’m not here to give anyone nightmares with the details. I just wanted to get that off my chest, because I’d been keeping it to myself for so long. It was one of the big reasons I got into GC. I wanted to drown out the memory. I’m not even totally sure why I didn’t tell anybody. I think… maybe I didn’t wanna seem weak. Or something like that.”

“How could that make you weak?” The lavender sprite asked. “You’re incredibly strong to have survived that.” 

My ears felt hot. I didn’t know what to do with that. “Uh… thanks. The thing is -- and this has puzzled me ever since it happened -- whoever did it… they left me alive. I was totally at their mercy, but they left me alive. For a while, I sort of thought that they might have done it to be cruel. Leave me alive and humiliated. Let the fear consume me ‘til I’d corrupted myself on buffs. Let me tell you, what they did to me screwed me up real bad. It ended up in all my bad trips in one way or another. And I spent many a sleepless night just imagining what I’d do to this sprite if I met them. The revenge I’d take for all they put me through.”

Worluk was watching me dead on for what may have been the first time. I hated admitting that she had made such a significant impression on me, but I tried not to return her gaze too obviously or tense up under her scrutinizing glare.

“But nearly dying of corruption, and blacking out and nearly burning down Tapper’s, it, uh… it put a lot of things in perspective, y’know. ‘Cause, uh… my attacker -- well, attackers, there were actually four sprites there, but the ringleader -- I never did get to see her. But I heard her, and I could tell… she was definitely high.”

Soft gasps. Solemn nods.

“And I’ve sorta realized how lucky I am to be here now. Not just to be alive, but to be getting help. Because really, there’s no denying that I could have gone down that same road if I had more time. And with that, y’know, I wonder… would revenge even make me happy now? Now that I know it could’ve been me? Now that I know how similar she was to me?”

I chanced a glance. Worluk was frozen stiff, her expression intense but unreadable. My words were making an impression. Good or bad, they were doing something to her. An encouraging rush of adrenaline coursed through my body. Don’t stop now, it told me. 

Finish it.

“I never understood why she left me alive, but I think I get it now,” I indirectly spoke to her, my heart pounding. “She’s not a nightmarish monster, she’s just a sprite. A sprite who, when it comes down to it, knows the difference between right and wrong. Who knows that killing me would not actually make her happy. She must have realized that we’re not so different. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be alive right now. Buffs make monsters of all of us. But I can’t condemn her for that, not without condemning myself, too. Wherever she is, she’s not beyond redemption. And neither am I.”

“YOU DON’T DESERVE REDEMPTION!!”

The whole room jumped out of its pixels, and everyone was upright in an instant, reacting to the screeching bug that had leapt to her feet, her yellow wings spread out and quivering with rage. She screamed in a voice that was suddenly far closer to how I remembered her:

“I LEFT YOU ALIVE BECAUSE THE BOYS BEGGED ME TO, NOT BECAUSE YOU DESERVED TO LIVE!”

Well.

All bets were off.

My first instinct was to fight. She was threatening me. Challenging me. Surely, she was about to dive right into me and we would lock into our fated fight to the death, just like I thought we would from day one. But as my hand snapped to the empty space at my hip where my brush would be, my path to her was suddenly blocked. A few other members had stepped in front of me. It took me just a second to realize that they were not barring me from her. 

They were barring her from me.

I’ve felt alone to many varying, crushing degrees in this story, regardless of who was actually there for me. I’m not sure why, but that split-second moment when those sprites stepped in front of me was when I realized I wasn’t alone. I had never been alone. The thought that everyone in the arcade wanted me dead was never true. There were always allies waiting for me.

I had barely a moment to process that.

That was also the moment when the big, buff security guards leapt into action. Two of them were upon her immediately, gripping onto her arms and wings as she thrashed and buzzed. The third guard disappeared entirely, surely out to call the Surge Protector.

Voice deep with horror and disbelief, Clyde called out to her, “Worluk… You’re not really saying--?!”

“YES,” she snapped, “I’m SAYING. Don’t lie and tell me none of you ever thought to do the exact same thing! How can any of you say you trust this lying glitch?! You know she was in on the Roadblasters attack -- she even went all Turbo on Tapper’s, for Pong’s sake!”

A couple of voices came to my defense. I think they said that Tapper’s was a buff-related accident. That Worluk had no proof of my involvement in the Roadblasters incident. That I was just as much a victim as anybody.

I barely heard any of it. All I could hear, echoing again and again, drowning out all coherent thought, was your name said in her voice.

I wanted to push through everyone and rip out her tongue. I wanted to snap off her mandibles. I wanted to mangle her vocal cords just for thinking for one second that she deserved to say your name.

I didn’t do that. I stood there, breathing hard, flames roaring in my belly until I finally shouted the question I’d wanted to ask since the night of the attack.

“Why the HELL would I be in on it?!” 

Everyone’s gaze turned to me. I was shaking, on the verge of tears from pure, raw emotion. Hearing that bug’s horribly familiar screams brought back harrowing flashes of the emotions and sensations I felt the day she tortured me. I felt that fear and helplessness once again, and that fact kicked up seething, scorching rage. I would not be her victim again. I locked eyes with Worluk, sharpened my voice to a deadly point, and demanded, “Why would I help my best friend kill himself?!”

She gave a single, ugly, humorless laugh. “He didn’t kill himself. You just didn’t save him. The plan went sideways, and you failed.”

I shook with so much fury, I felt like I was going to burst out of my own skin. I could barely stand to stay in one spot, twitching and tensing with animal rage. My allies started to lift their hands, trying to keep me under control and preparing to try to catch me if I leapt over them, which I was dying to do. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU SCUM-SUCKING BIT-BAG?! WHAT DO YOU CARE?! YOU DON’T CARE! YOU DON’T KNOW ME -- YOU DIDN’T KNOW EITHER OF US! YOU’RE JUST SOME SADISTIC FREAK WHO NEEDED SOME FRESH GORE TO GET OFF ON!”

“I CARE,” she roared back, fighting against the security guards’ arms, tendons in her neck straining as she threw herself into her wet, hissing screams, “BECAUSE I WATCHED YOU LEAP RIGHT OVER MY SISTER’S BURNING BODY JUST TO SAVE A MURDERER -- AND YOU COULDN’T EVEN DO THAT!” 

That threw me. I blinked hard. “Your sister?! What sister?! What are you talking about?!”

“YEAH, MY SISTER! HER NAME WAS GARWOR! SHE WAS SWEET AND INNOCENT AND YOU COULD’VE SAVED HER, BUT NO, YOU WANTED TO SAVE THE MONSTER THAT STARTED THE FIRE IN THE FIRST PLACE! YOU REALLY WANNA LIVE, KNOWING THAT? IF I KILLED YOU, IT WOULD’VE BEEN A MERCY! I WOULD’VE SAVED YOU FROM YOUR OWN FILTHY, PATHETIC EXISTENCE!”

I didn’t understand. She had to be lying. 

But the massive memory gap concerning the time of the Roadblasters incident scratched and dug at my brain. I still didn’t remember that day. But from the stories I’d gathered, there was a blast. There was fire. Always with the fire. It felt like her words were sharp fingers digging into my brain and trying to forcefully uproot my mind. A sharp, pounding headache hit my skull, and I couldn’t speak. 

Before I could manage a response, Surge materialized in the room with a flash of static.

“Alright, alright now,” he said firmly, standing between Worluk and the group and holding a hand up to both sides. “Someone better tell me what’s going on here.”

“Gladly,” Worluk answered without hesitation. “Surge, I confess to the attempted murder of that scrawny waste of pixels over there named Make-it Mavis.”

Surge stood a bit straighter. He seemed surprised at how easy that was. “Is that right?”

“That’s right. I’d rather quit this stinkin’ program and be locked up for life than sit in here and have to pretend she and I are the same for a second longer.”

And, amazingly… that was it. I wish that I had said something more. Anything, really. Just to have the last word. But life doesn’t always work out that way. My head was so muddied up with the explosive stress of the encounter, I could barely speak.

Surge took the confession as the proof I wasn’t able to give him, and he cuffed her, and recited her sentence and rights to her as he and a guard escorted her out of the room and out of sight. To say everyone was shaken would have been an understatement. A couple sprites cried. One nearly had a panic attack and needed to be calmed down. No one came into the meeting that night expecting such a harrowing confrontation. Not even me.

I had come into the program wishing so badly that I could get rid of Worluk. Then, almost the second I convinced myself to live and let live, she got rid of herself for me. I think we really were very similar, in the end. I very easily could have left the program in a similarly explosive fashion. But the only difference between us was that I chose to do better.

I think that was really the moment that sealed my faith in the ‘colors’ idea. It really did come down to choice. She chose to give up.

And I could choose to heal.

That was my surrender. That was step three.

But at the end of that session, I was raw. I was fragile. I felt terribly sick. I made sure to thank everyone for defending me. It really did mean a lot. But I told everyone I’d take a session or two off just to rest and recover. They all understood, of course. A couple others even said the same. But we’d all be back, we promised.

I just had a lot to process.

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 26: To Have and To Hold

A moment of respite in the midst of war and chaos. The comfort of knowing that one’s loved one is just within reach. Having someone to hold, and just holding.

In other words: It’s wine and poetry night in Skyhold, and the boys are making the best of it :)

Read here or on AO3!

(art by @le-mooon​) 

************************

“Lavender and lemon blossoms. Interesting.”

Tristan lifted his head from the edge of the tub where it had been resting and eyed Dorian questioningly. “What?”

“The soap you use,” he replied. His back was pressed against Tristan’s chest, his voice vibrating through him when he spoke. Low and smooth, making the water itself ripple. “I could always detect the lavender, and I knew there must be some sort of citrus in there, but I could never quite place it.” He reached out for the soap bar, bringing up to his nose to smell it again. “Simple. Unsophisticated. A touch mundane, perhaps. It suits you quite well. I approve.”

Tristan laughed softly at his teasing tone. “I’m glad you find my unoriginality appealing.”

“Amusing, amatus. I think the word you’re looking for is amusing. I guess there is some beauty in simplicity, but let’s not overdo it, yes? Next thing you know, you’ll be washing with the ash soap they use in the kitchens.”

“That might not be such a bad idea. I’ve heard it takes the grime right off. What? It’s true!” He laughed at Dorian’s horrified expression, leaning forward to nuzzle his ear. “You don’t have to worry about that. I wouldn’t let you walk about with a man that smells like a well scrubbed kitchen pot.”

“Good,” Dorian chuckled, leaning into his touch. “I almost feared you were being serious. One can never know with you Southerners.”

Fingers skimming over the surface of the warm, soapy water, a smile still lingering at the edges of his lips, Tristan let the weariness and tension of the last few days bleed out of his limbs. The fire in the hearth crackled softly and doused the room in a warm glow, the only other light coming from the bright orange glyph Dorian had cast on the bottom of the copper tug to keep the water warm.

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

“Hmm?”

Dorian’s eyes were closed, his head resting on Tristan’s shoulder. Tristan buried his nose in his hair, breathing deeply. “I find you fascinating.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Tristan smiled at the soft hum that sounded at the back of Dorian’s throat. “How do you maintain the glyph? Are you channeling now?”

“Just a little. This is a relatively small one, so it only requires a trickle of magic to sustain it.”

“And you can do it just like that? With your eyes closed?”

Dorian’s smile widened. “You’d be surprised how many things I can do with my eyes closed.”

He was relaxed, almost melting in Tristan’s arms, his features soft, his breaths even and smooth despite the low chuckle that rumbled in his chest. Tristan let his eyes roam over the curves and planes of his body, sprawled as it was before him, submerged in the warm, cloudy water. He was… exquisite. Sublime. God-like. Real. He was real, tangible, there. Beautiful and daring, sharp-witted and eloquent, a shining example of all the qualities the ideal man should possess, those that philosophers and thinkers had debated on for centuries. Tristan wondered for a moment exactly what Dorian had seen in him. He had been average in most of his endeavours on the best of days, let alone now, that every new day was an opportunity for all his shortcomings to be exhibited for all the world to see. Most people, he was sure, saw him just a step away from failure.

Yet, with Dorian he never felt like a failure. He never felt less, or not quite good enough, or broken. He felt whole. It felt odd.

He idly traced a line with his index finger from the perfect half moons of Dorian’s manicured nails where they rested on his knee, all the way up to his forearm, past the angle of his elbow, up his bicep. His skin glowed copper in the golden light, and Dorian hummed softly when Tristan leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss upon the curve of his shapely shoulder.

That was when he saw it; a small, barely noticeable scar on his arm, a darker patch on the otherwise unblemished expanse of skin. His own skin was riddled with scars, large and small, smooth and ragged, and it had become a habit for Dorian to trace his long fingers over them, asking for the stories behind them. A habit Tristan had come to look forward to, he had noticed.

“How did you get this?” he asked him, examining the small mark.

Dorian reluctantly opened his eyes to glance at it, then closed them again. “A proper gentleman never reveals his secrets.”

“Who said anything about propriety?” Tristan asked teasingly, to which Dorian scoffed.

“You’ve got me there.” He let out a soft sigh. “I’m afraid it’s not as grizzly and thrilling a story as yours tend to be. I got it when I was thirteen, while I was still in the Circle of Trevis.”

“You’ve never told me about your time in the Circle.”

“Circles. I did change a few. Besides, what is there to say? I was incredible. Everyone loved me. My professors revered me and waxed poetic about my abilities. If they could, they would have carved my likeness in marble and set it atop the entrance of the University of Minrathous, I’m sure.”

“Right. Of course. I should have guessed.” Tristan huffed a quiet laugh at Dorian’s sarcastic tone. “Is that the way things work in Tevinter? Do they move you about in different Circles?”

“No. But it was the way things worked for me.” He let his head fall back against the crook of Tristan’s neck, peering at the snowy mountaintops beyond the wide windows. “I was admitted to the Circle of Carastes first, when I was nine. I got into a fight with another magister’s son, and I was expelled soon after. Then I moved to the Circle of Marothius, then Trevis, then Caimen Brea… I could go on. The very last one I went to, Marnas Pell, was by far the worst. No other Circle wanted a mage with such a terrible track record, as you can imagine. I didn’t even last a month.”

Tristan’s heart clenched with the resignation in his voice. Pain, deep, visceral, seared him to his core. Was that what Dorian’s childhood had been like? Kicked about from Circle to Circle, never lingering, never growing roots, never having friends? He let out a slow exhale through his nose, trying to keep his voice level. “Did you get into fights a lot?”

“I was admitted in the Circle very young, and progressed very quickly. I was usually the most competent in my year and beyond. There were many that didn’t appreciate this.”

“Who were they?”

“Older students. Some apprentices. They didn’t like that I moved ahead so quickly, my powers and knowledge surpassing theirs by a wide margin. Some were vocal about it. The one that gave me this scar was particularly loud about his displeasure.”

Tristan frowned. “Did he bully you?”

“Me? Bullied? On the contrary. He challenged me to a duel. I beat him quite easily, but not before he managed a gush on my shoulder.” He brushed his fingertips over the small scar. “It was the first time I had attempted healing magic on myself, and it would prove to be the last. I only got this small scar; the burn scar on my opponent’s face is still visible to this day.”

“How old was that boy?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen? Blight,” Tristan breathed. “And they expelled you instead of him?

“Yes, well,” Dorian said with a bored wave, “I was the one with the terrible reputation, you see. He was the son of a magister, a powerful one at that. I had become something of a pariah at this point. He didn’t hesitate to call me that to my face, either.”

Tristan’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. Anger was bubbling inside him, thick and hot enough to choke him. He wrapped his arms around Dorian, pulling him close, as if that would be enough to shield him from the world. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he whispered. “Never again.”

Dorian let out a dismissive harrumph. “This isn’t always up to you, amatus.”

“I’ll make sure that it is.” He reached out, threading his fingers through his where they lay on his knee. “I would let the whole of Thedas burn if anyone so much as thought of touching you.”

“Now, this is either incredibly romantic of you, or incredibly insane.”

“What if it’s both?”

Dorian paused for a moment, tilting his head to the side. “Yes. That sounds about right.”

Tristan huffed in amusement, and Dorian lips widened in a fond smile as he rested his forehead against the side of Tristan’s face. A long moment of silence passed before Dorian spoke again. “Did you ever get into fights when you were younger?”

Tristan paused for a moment in thought. “No. Not when I was that young. Except for Tilly, there weren’t that many children my age when I was growing up. I did have a few friends… but I didn’t see them quite as often. Other than during those awful banquets my mother used to drag me to.”

“How did you spend your time, then?”

“When I wasn’t fencing or riding, I would go to the beach with Tilly, or read books, or… I guess I tried to study, too, occasionally.”

“You must have been a stellar student.”

“Why is that?”

“You are very bright, amatus. Not to mention surprisingly well read. For a Southerner at least.”

An odd sense of pride swelled in Tristan's chest with the earnestness in Dorian’s voice. Why did it make him feel giddy that Dorian thought him bright? He shook his head, scoffing. “My tutors would disagree with you. They were never particularly pleased with my abilities. I didn’t have an affinity for history, or maths, or science. I found them incredibly boring, and my tutors found me very dull indeed, compared to my sister. She was the stellar student, not I. They all loved her. Me, not so much. A maths tutor once called me “terribly obstreperous and frightfully obtuse” because I’d refused to solve an equation.”

“He called you that?” Dorian turned his head slightly to look at him, incredulity in his gaze. “What did you do?”

“I pretended not to care, but Tilly was very mad. Oh, she was fuming. She told Nelly, our housekeeper, and Nelly told our mother. The tutor was dismissed the next day.”

“Good. I would have boxed his ears if I had him right here.” Dorian’s furrowed brow relaxed, his thumb brushing over Tristan’s palm. “Were there no subjects that you did enjoy?”

“I was fond of my Orlesian tutor. Madame Clemence. A lovely woman. When she’d first arrived, she had tried to teach me Orlesian the same way she did with my sister; grammar, syntax, rules…" He shook his head. " I didn’t take to that very well. The letters would dance before my eyes and my tongue got tied in knots. In the end, she gave up trying to teach me the rules. She’d noticed I was fond of poetry, and started bringing me books with Orlesian poems. We would go out in the garden when the days were good, and she would read them to me. Then, she would talk to me about them until I was able to reply back.”

“She sounds like a fascinating woman.”

“She was. I would probably have hated Orlesian too if it weren’t for her.”

Dorian huffed, but Tristan could see the smile painted just at the edges of his lips. “That would be such a pity. Your Orlesian is quite irresistible. I could listen to you talk for days.”

“You could?” Tristan smiled softly. He brushed his cheek over Dorian’s ear, tracing its contours with his lips. “J’ai regardé devant moi, dans la foule je t’ai vue, parmi les blés je t’ai vue, sous un arbre je t’ai vue, au bout de tous mes voyages, au fond de tous mes tourments, au tournant de tous les rires, sortant de l’eau et du feu, l’été l’hiver je t’ai vue, dans ma maison je t’ai vue, entre mes bras je t’ai vue, dans mes rêves je t’ai vue…” He tightened his arms around him, sliding his mouth to his. “Je ne te quitterai plus.”

Dorian hummed against his lips. “I think I caught a few words of that.”

“I hope you did.” Tristan ran his thumb over his cheek. “I meant them.”

Time stretched on languidly while they lay in the water, warm like a wet embrace, their lips gliding in soft, velvet kisses. The moon hung close to the eastern edge of the night sky, thin like a nail, silver against a velvet blue canopy. They kissed and kissed… until a soft rumbling sound echoed through the silence.

Dorian edged back to gaze at him. “Was that your stomach?”

Tristan felt heat travelling up to the tips of his ears. “I, uh… yes?”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I think… this morning?”

Dorian’s eyes widened in their sockets, and he pushed himself up and away from him. He was dripping wet, water running in rivulets down his body and pooling around his feet when he stepped out of the tub. He held out a hand to Tristan, who simply gaped at him.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

“W-where are we going?”

“You need to eat. The way you’re going, you’re going to be falling flat on your face any day now. Come,” he said, his fingers curling, beckoning, “I’m taking you to dinner.”

Tristan huffed a laugh as he rose to his feet, letting Dorian help him out and pat him dry with a soft cotton towel. There was something in that gesture, the familiarity, the sheer tenderness and care of it, gentle touches with no ulterior motive or desire. The simple act of caring for a loved one, and taking joy in the shared moment.

Tristan caught Dorian’s hand after they had both put their clothes on, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “So,” he said softly, “what are we having tonight?”

Dorian smirked playfully. “Whatever is left in the kitchens, of course. Beggars can’t well be choosers at this hour. Let’s pray it’s something edible and not that meat pie they keep serving at the tavern. Or, Maker forbid, that stew.”

Tristan shuddered at the thought of the thick, floury crust, or those tasteless stews that felt like boiled mush on his tongue. “I’d happily go another day without food if it meant not eating that foul stuff.”

“No. No, you would not. Not while I’m here. Now,” Dorian said, showing him towards the door, “I want to see that lovely derriere marching down those stairs and to the wonderful midnight feast we’ll no doubt be having very soon.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, yet couldn’t help the wide smile that blossomed on his face. He did as he was told, walking out of the quarters, Dorian in tow. Maighdin mumbled a quiet “Your Worship” when he informed her he would be going to the kitchens with Dorian. Alone.

“She’s quite nice, that girl,” Dorian said to him after they were well out of earshot. “Kinder than she looks. She actually came by the library a couple times while you were gone to ask me if I needed anything. I joked about wanting caramel apple slices to nibble on with the tea I was drinking at the time, and she brought me some the next day.”

“Did she?” Tristan tried to combine the image of stern-faced Maighdin and caramel apples. No, it didn’t quite fit. “Why would she do that? That’s hardly her job.”

“She knows we're seeing each other. Perhaps she feels the need to check up on me simply because I'm associated with you. She does seem very diligent. Cullen has chosen your guards well.”

Tristan’s brows furrowed as he walked on. “Yes, he has. I wish they weren’t needed, yet I’m happy with the people he has chosen anyway.”

Dorian shrugged, his steps falling almost at the same time as his. “You can’t change the way things are. Besides, they make you look intimidating. That’s what the leader of Inquisition should look like, isn’t it?”

“I think that was the idea from the start,” Tristan grumbled. “I’m glad that’s working, at the very least.”

“Not as intimidating as you look now, though,” Dorian said teasingly. “That scowl you wear could drive anyone in their right minds away.”

“How come it hasn’t driven you away?”

“I happen to be quite fond of it.” He turned to glance at him, head cocked to the side. “There’s this small line you get in the middle of your brows when you do it. It’s rather lovely.”

Tristan laughed quietly under his breath as they walked to the lower keep, a flush warming his cheeks despite the night chill. The narrow staircase before Josephine’s office was long and dark, seemingly unending as they descended to the bowels of the old keep. The damp there was far thicker than upstairs, permeating the stone walls and clinging to the dampness than still lingered in Tristan’s strands. They walked along the corridors, illuminated only by the dancing light of torches, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The underground level was thoroughly empty at that hour, and Tristan found that he could breathe more easily now that it was just him and Dorian there. He had almost forgotten there were other people in the keep other than them, when they heard the shuffling of boots, hushed whispers, the sound of fabric brushing against fabric.

Dorian and he exchanged a quick glance before cautiously approaching. They hadn’t even taken a step before a slender female figure dashed past them. Tristan had just enough time to glimpse the black hair gathered in a long braid that flowed down her back, her grey washerwoman’s cotton dress rustling around her feet as she ducked around the corner.

A man followed soon after, but he didn’t flee down the corridor like the woman had. He stood before them, blinking, his dark eyes wide as realisation dawned on him.

“Y-your Worship,” Nhudem mumbled. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then bowed before him, as if remembering himself. He was wearing his Inquisition armour, the golden eye on the breastplate catching the light of the torches as he moved.

“What are you doing here, Nhudem?”

The man paled visibly, fists clenched at his sides. “N-nothing. Your Worship. I-I was… was on my way t-to your quarters and I… I-” He stopped, bottom lip trembling. He looked ready to pass out.

Tristan’s frowned at him. “Who was that-”

His question was cut short when he felt Dorian’s elbow nudging his sides. He glanced at him, and saw the minute shake of his head, and the smirk that curled his lips before he reined it in. With a soft exhale through his nose, Tristan turned to Nhudem. “Maighdin should be expecting you upstairs to relieve her of her duty. You are late as it is.”

Nhudem bowed eagerly again, throat bobbing as he gulped. “Yes, Your Worship. Of course, Your Worship. By your leave, Your-” Tristan waved him off, and the man bowed once more before walking- or rather running away.

“It seems your guard has found a lady friend,” Dorian said after Nhudem had disappeared down the corridor.

“Right.” Tristan sneaked a glance behind him, making sure there was no sign of the woman or Nhudem before resuming his march towards the kitchens. “Did you get a look at that woman?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“No. She was very fast. Why?”

Tristan worried his lip as he walked on. “I should tell Leliana.”

“For whatever reason would you do that?”

“They’re my guards, Dorian. I need to know who they associate with.” So far as he knew, Nhudem had been a widower for years. Leliana’s very thorough vetting had mentioned no other relationships, which meant that whatever had been going on between him and that washerwoman must have been fairly recent. Unless he was really good at hiding. Which was troublesome in and of itself. If Tristan had learned anything from having grown up around servants and guards is that they talked. A lot. His own guards would soon come to know more about him than his own advisors, if they didn’t already. He couldn’t afford to have them spilling that information during secret trysts in storerooms and dark corners.

It was odd, how much things had changed for him ever since the title of Inquisitor had been bestowed upon him. A few months before, Tristan himself would have clapped Nhudem on the back and never thought twice about the whole thing, but Inquisitor Trevelyan had entirely different considerations.

Dorian’s steps fell alongside his, his palm brushing against the small of his back. “You don’t have to be in control of everything all the time, amatus. Let your people have their fun. You know they deserve it.”

Tristan rubbed the back of his head, trying to shake off his unease. He took a deep breath, nodding. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“When am I not?” Dorian asked with a wink, placing a kiss on his temples. Tristan leaned into his touch, threading his fingers through his. It would do him some good after all to let go of the Inquisitorial mantle, he realised, if only for a little while.

Their steps echoed along the dark corridors, and the damp lessened more and more as they made their way towards the kitchens. The warmth from the fires that roared most of the day had seeped into the stone, hot to the touch even in the middle of the night. Tristan let his fingers trail along the ridges in the centuries-old bricks, relishing the silence, when he noticed a soft, eerie light coming from behind one of the many doors.

Without really thinking, he pushed it open. The smell of dust and old parchment reached his nostrils as soon as he took a step in.

“A library?” Dorian gasped, walking ahead of him. “An actual hidden library?” He immediately went over to the shelves, glancing at the book titles. His eyes grew wide, like a child in a sweet shop. “This is fascinating. Maker only knows what else is tucked away in this place.”

Tristan smiled at his lover’s enthusiasm, letting his gaze sweep over the many books on the shelves. Most of them were far too old for the letters on their backs to be legible. It surprised him how many things he still didn’t know about Skyhold- he had lived there for months, yet he kept finding new places every time he happened to wander aimlessly about. Not that he had been doing much of that lately. There was usually no moment to spare from his Inquisitorial duties, his days scheduled by Josephine to account for nigh on every single minute. They were filled with meetings, training, judgements -the list went on, seemingly endlessly- and by the time he finally got to meet Dorian at night all he had mind for was… well. When it came to Dorian, there were a few things he had mind for no matter his exhaustion or the time of day, but even they weren’t enough to sate him. Nothing could ever be enough.

“How’s your research going?” Tristan asked, his fingers brushing over the books’ hard leathery backs.

“Ah! I’d almost forgotten about that,” Dorian said, turning to him. “I think I’m on to something. Remember when I told you that I could tell that the Venatori glyphs looked familiar? As it turns out, they are.”

Tristan’s eyebrows shot up with interest. “Are they? You remembered where you’ve seen them?”

Dorian nodded enthusiastically. “I believe I’ve seen them before, in Minrathous. It was a very obscure piece of research, but I might be able to retrieve it. I’ve already written to Tilani. If she manages to locate the scroll again and send a copy of it to me, I may be able to find what the Venatori are trying to do. That should give us an advantage when we next encounter them…”

Tristan’s fingers strayed to the scar on his neck while Dorian spoke, where the Venatori blade had cut him so long before. Talk of them always made him uneasy. Thinking about how close he had been to dying at their hands was... unnerving. Had Solas not been there during that time in the Hinterlands to heal him… His lips tightened in a line as his guts twisted and turned. Knowing that he had only himself to blame was even worse. He had been so reckless back then, always dashing about, getting into fights he couldn’t possibly win. In many ways, it was as if he had been challenging his fate, pushing at its edges to see where it would snap. Wasn’t he still doing that, in a way? Wasn’t he testing his limits, day after day? How long before he actually met them? Even in his last encounter with those blighted Venatori, he had only been a hair away from getting burned to a crisp, and Dorian with him. He had almost died, and still he hadn’t been able to rescue but a single person. There was so much at stake, people’s lives hanging in the balance, while he teetered. While he stood, as a symbol of hope, even though he had very little. And how much blood had been shed, so that he may stand there? How much more before his task was done? Before-

“Amatus.”

Tristan blinked. He hadn’t even realised he had stopped listening, lost in his own thoughts. Dorian was holding him by his shoulders, concern evident in his features. Tristan rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Forgive me. I got distracted. You were saying?”

Dorian shook his head. “It’s alright. We can talk about it tomorrow. Now is not the time.”

“No, I really want to-” Tristan cupped his cheeks. “I want to hear everything about it. This is important. You’re important.”

“So are you. My research can wait. This night is for us. You deserve some time away from it all.” Dorian smiled warmly at him. “Tonight, the only subjects we’re allowed to talk about are food, wine, and all the things we’ll be doing once we get back to your quarters.”

“Sleeping, that is?”

Dorian clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “You’re dreadfully dull and I hate you.”

“Mm-hmm. Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Dorian returned Tristan’s cheeky smile with one of his own, pulling away to return to the dusty shelves. Tristan let his eyes linger on Dorian’s back for a long moment, following his movements. He wouldn’t mind simply standing there and watch him for a day or three; watch as long fingers brushed over the books’ hard leather spines, careful, light as feathers; as he pulled the books out, caressing their covers before tilting them open; as his brow furrowed in concentration, as his eyes glided over the letters, as he brushed his knuckle over his chin in thought. As he sniffed in contempt, snapping the book shut and placing it back on the shelf.

“Senseless drivel. The amount of Chantry propaganda in this place is shocking. How they found themselves here, I’ll never know. One would have thought that a place this ancient would have some decent books, but apparently this is not the case.”

“A mystery for the ages,”Tristan murmured in agreement, glancing at an entire shelf of biographies of various Divines.

Dorian let yet another book snap shut and placed it on the shelf. “I challenge you to find one book in this place that isn’t about some Divine’s or saint’s life or some other similar nonsense.”

“A challenge?” Tristan asked, perking up. “I like the sound of that. What do I get if I win?”

Dorian smiled wickedly at him. “That will depend on what you find.”

Tristan thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. I’ll bite.” He glanced at the tomes on the shelf closest to him, squinting as he tried to read their titles, faded with time and obscured by generous coatings of dust. He drew one out, brushing the grime away. “This one doesn’t look so bad.”He handed it to Dorian, who peered at the book cover and huffed in amusement.

“Assorted Poems and Elegies of the Storm Age. Why am I not surprised?”

“It isn’t a Chantry book," Tristan said with a grin."What’s my prize?”

“Not so fast.” Dorian flipped the book open on a random page, peering at the writing. “Wilt thou love the Maker, as He thee? Then digest, My Soul, this wholesome meditation, How the Holy Maker In His Ascension, doth make his Temple in thy breast.” He glanced at Tristan, quirking a brow.

“Oh," Tristan breathed. "Right. I'd forgotten how much of the poetry from that Age is religious. Let me see.” He took the book from Dorian, flipping through the pages, scanning their contents until he found what he was looking for. A small poem, tucked away at the bottom of a sprawling epic about a Templar blessed by the spirit of Andraste. He handed the tome back to him, tapping the page lightly with his finger. “This one.”

Dorian shot him a lingering, apprehensive look as he accepted the book, lips parting slightly on a soft intake of breath. “He is equal with the Gods, that man, who sits across from me. Face to face, close enough to sip his voice’s sweetness, hear him laughing love’s low laughter. Fire in...” He squinted at the page. “I can’t make out the rest. The letters are faded.”

Tristan moved closer, placing his palm on the small of his back, reciting from memory. “Fire, delicate fire in the flesh, with flowing rein, gliding swiftly through every vein. Though ’tis death to me, I cannot choose but look on him; But, at the sight, my senses fly, I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die; I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimmed with delirious draughts of warmest life. Ears resound with noise of distant thunder, eyes gaze on stars that fall forever into deep midnight.” He gazed expectantly at Dorian, watching the soft light of the room play across his features as he tilted his head to the side.

“‘Eyes that fall forever into deep midnight’,” Dorian said after a moment, drawing out the syllables. “Is that some very elaborate way to say that someone kicked the bucket?”

Tristan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.” He plucked the book from his hands, placing it back on the shelf. “I still win, though.���

“Not a chance. A single poem does not a decent library make. I need more.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, biting back a smile as he continued searching through the shelves. He was never one to back down from a challenge. He was combing through a shelf filled with books of chants and psalms, when he saw a small, thin book, almost hidden behind the large tomes.

“Tristan de Lydes,” he whispered as he pulled it from the shelf and held it in his hands, heart thumping in his chest.

“Hmm?”

“Tristan de Lydes. It’s an old Orlesian epic. I used to have a book just like this. I took it with me when I left home, but it was lost after the explosion at the Conclave.” Tristan turned to look at Dorian, who had drifted from his corner of the room to glance at what he was holding. “It was my father’s favourite. He was so fond of it, he named me after it. He used to read it to Tilly and me all the time when we were kids.”

Dorian’s touch was light and tentative, his hand brushing the base of his spine. “You never talk about your father.”

Hazy memories, half hidden and half forgotten drifted through his mind unbidden, like smoke gliding over a fogged mirror. Smell of old parchment and burning smoking leaf. Light blonde hair streaked with white, gathered at the nape of his neck. Ink stains on crisp white sleeve cuffs, long fingers constantly fidgeting with the stem of his ivory briars. Carvings of flowers and birds around the pipe bowl.

Grey morning light streaming in through the wide window panes of his study, dancing dust motes catching the sun, settling on the books and scrolls that covered every surface. The sound of his mother's laughter as his father recited a silly poem, their tea forgotten in their cups. One of the few memories he had of his mother laughing like this, bright and carefree.

Light blue eyes, almost translucent, that grew more and more weary as time went by, absent, red rimmed, unfocused. The silence that spread over the Trevelyan manor after they had closed for good.

He clenched his jaw, his hold on the book tightening. “He died when I was very young,” he whispered. “I don’t remember him well.” He swallowed past the knot in his throat as he lovingly brushed his fingers over the letters etched on its leather cover. “After he passed away, Tilly and I used to read it to each other before we went to sleep. She loved the sappy, romantic stuff, while I wanted to hear all about the sword fights. We would argue about which part to read for ages.” His lips curled in a soft, reminiscent smile. “She always got her way in the end.”

Dorian’s arms slithered around his waist, drawing him closer. He rested his chin upon his shoulder, the side of his face touching Tristan’s cheek. “You could read it to me, if you’d like.”

Tristan huffed quietly. “I thought you hated poetry.”

“Not when you read it.”

The tenderness in his voice made Tristan’s heart swell, pushing away the shadows, like a shining globe made of pure starlight. He leaned against him, the warmth of Dorian’s chest soothing and comforting as it seeped through his clothes. They stayed like that for a long while, simply touching, simply holding, speaking little, perhaps not at all. The companionable silence, the presence of someone that cared for him, and that he cared for in return.

He could get used to this, he thought.

****

Tristan swirled the wine in his cup, bringing it up to his nose to inhale the rich blend of grapes, berries and honeysuckle. He tipped it over his lips, letting the dry red roll over his tongue, savouring the taste. “This is exquisite. 9:32 was an excellent year for Antivan wines. This one may actually surpass that Rowan Rose we found in the Hinterlands that one time.”

Dorian blinked at him, incredulous. “You must be joking. Rowan Rose is one of the most prized wines in Thedas. Only second best to Aggregio Pavalli. Antiva can never hope to challenge Tevinter in wine making.”

“Different years yield different wines. The one we found was from 9:26, and it had been a relatively poor year for strawberry grapes all over Tevinter, what with that pest outbreak. It was still good, but I dare say this one here is better.”

Dorian harrumphed, still unconvinced as he took another sip. “You Marchers wouldn’t know good wine if it hit you on the head with a frying pan.”

Tristan shot him a teasing smile, slithering closer to him. The embers in the kitchen hearths were still glowing, enveloping the wide room in a thick heat, and he was feeling slightly flushed under his coat. Dorian’s presence and the wine they had both been drinking was enough to make him sweat. “You seem to have a lot of opinions about Southerners. Specifically Marchers.”

“Indeed,” Dorian said, quirking his brow. “There’s one Marcher in particular I am chock full of opinions about.”

His scent tickled Tristan’s nostrils when he buried his nose in his neck. “Care to share them?” he whispered, placing soft kisses along the underside of his jaw. Dorian caught Tristan’s bottom lip between his teeth when it brushed over his, sighing softly. Sitting on the floor of Skyhold’s kitchens, tipsy from wine and heady kisses - could there be anything better than this?

“This isn’t going to work, you know,” Dorian murmured against his lips.

“What isn’t?”

“You think I haven’t noticed that you still haven’t finished your dinner?” he said as he gingerly picked up a small piece of pie from the plate beside them- the only leftovers they had been able to find. “Kisses don’t work in distracting me. Now, eat.”

Tristan scrunched his nose as Dorian held it before him with the tips of his fingers. “I don’t like it. It tastes like plaster. Plaster with a terrible filling. It makes me queasy.”

“I know. But this is all we have now. So, open up.”

Tristan smirked, brushing his palm down the inside of Dorian’s thigh. “Why does that sounds so enticing when you say it?”

“Oh, no. No, no.” Dorian swatted his hand away, dangling the pie before him again. “I told you I’m not so easily distracted. Don’t even try.”

Tristan rolled his eyes and huffed, accepting the vile thing. Before Dorian could withdraw his hand, Tristan caught his wrist, flicking his tongue over his fingers, drawing them in his mouth. Dorian’s lips parted on a silent gasp, his lids growing heavy as he watched him. Tristan smiled wickedly, placing his cup on the ground as he slid his mouth off Dorian’s fingers, then pushed him on the floor, climbing between his legs. Dorian let out a soft moan, threading his fingers through Tristan’s hair.

“Amatus,” he rasped, “we’re in the kitchens.”

“Are we?” Tristan said, looking around him with a perplexed frown. “And here I thought we were in Cullen’s office.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. Positively hilarious.” He smoothed his palm down Tristan’s back, following the curve at the base of his spine. “What if someone comes in?”

“At this hour, it’s probably just us and a couple rats doing the rounds.” Tristan pushed himself up on his elbows, peering into Dorian’s eyes as he lay beneath him. Dorian watched him carefully, running his tongue over his pillowy bottom lip, over that indentation in its center that Tristan wanted to lick, and bite, and kiss. Maker help him, but he could spend an eternity just kissing his lips.

He took a deep breath to bring some focus back into his brain. “Would it bother you if someone saw us? Together? If it makes you uncomfortable, being seen with me…” He paused to swallow thickly. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that makes you unhappy. If you wish for what we have to remain a secret, so it shall be. I’ll do my best to hide it, and-”

“I want you, amatus,” Dorian whispered, cutting his sentence short. “I want to be seen with you. That’s what worries me.”

“Why?”

Dorian gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, then exhaled softly through his nose. “You and I both know how people will react. They will say that I ensnared you with my wit and charm. That I used evil blood magic from Tevinter to turn you into my plaything.”

Tristan shot him a perplexed frown. “Can blood magic even do that?”

“It can do worse than that.”

“Dorian,” he said, putting on a serious face. “I have something very important to say.”

“Yes?”

“I want to be your plaything.”

Dorian huffed a laugh, smacking him playfully on the shoulder. “Oh, just stop it. I’m being serious.”

“So am I. I want to be your plaything. I want to be your plaything. I want to-”

Dorian stopped him with a kiss, chuckling against his lips. “I know you do, you terrible, terrible man.” He pushed a strand behind Tristan's ear, his silver gaze fixed on his. “Beis festis umo canavarum.”

“What does that mean?”

“'You will be the death of me'. Quite accurate in this case. Especially if your highly religious and anti-Imperium followers find out about everything you’ve just said.”

Tristan looked at him, his brows furrowing in determination. “They can try to pry you away from me, if they dare.”

“You’re full of lofty declarations tonight, aren’t you?

“You bring it out in me.”

“I’ve noticed I’ve been bringing a great deal out of you lately.”

Tristan laughed, cupping the back of Dorian’s neck as he brushed his lips over his. He deepened the kiss, savouring the sweetness of his tongue, drinking in the sound of his sighs, the pie and their wine entirely forgotten beside them. Tristan didn’t need any of that for sustenance, not when he had Dorian in his arms. He didn’t need food to eat, wine to drink, air to breathe.

He had him. He had him. He had him.

***

The first light of morning was slithering through the folds in the curtains of his quarters when they finally lay down to sleep. Enveloped in Dorian’s soothing warmth, Tristan felt there was nothing in the world that could disturb the calmness of that moment.

There, wrapped in the heat of Dorian’s body, surrounded by his sweet, earthy scent, with the gentle pull of sleep at the edges of his consciousness, was when the nightmares finally caught up to him.

[moominquartz]

Humans are fascinating in that they are meant to change. Gems cannot. Their programming is irreversible and resolute.

A Rose Quartz character study. Contains spoilers through Steven Universe Future S01E04: Volleyball.

Rose Quartz has never loved anyone more than she has loved Greg Universe.

It almost hurts to admit. She loves Pearl, of course — and that, perhaps, is a fault; for Pearl adores her to the point of exaltation.  But Pearl’s feelings for Rose are solely because she was programmed to adore her Diamond, and therefore Rose can never allow herself to reciprocate; the one thing she cannot allow her. That is a conversation she and Pearl will never have, because Rose is a coward.

But Rose is a hypocrite, because she adores Greg in much the same way.

“My Greg,” she murmurs between kisses, enjoying very much how Greg could never know the true connotation of that phrase. How beautiful, to promise oneself so wholly to another, not out of duty or propriety, but because one wanted to.

“My Rose,” Greg tries once, and Rose freezes.

No one has called her theirs in centuries. Pearl stopped once the rebellion began in true force, because it could ask some people to connect the dots — even in private, Rose had felt it was too risky, and it would reinforce a mindset Rose wanted to eradicate. (Not that she’d been successful at that.)

Rose had called Pearl “my Pearl” countless times; at first, it had made Pearl intensely uncomfortable, but over the years it had turned into a point of pride. She’d always meant it, every time. Rose had not used such a term of endearment with any of the men she’d dated — not before Greg. And even then, she hadn’t meant it any less.

But Greg whispering those words makes Rose remember every member of her court. She remembers the way Pearl had said those words shortly after assuming her new identity. She remembers every Jade, every Pebble, every Pearl —

I shouldn’t have been standing so close, my Diamond —

Greg’s hands curl around hers, begging her back to the present. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, voice softer than she could ever deserve.

“Of course,” she murmurs, a lie they both recognize.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Greg says. “Would you rather I not say that?”

She nods. It ends there.

Greg never pushes her for anything. Never asks her for details. Never questions the horrible, horrific past she hides from everyone.

She doesn’t deserve it. She deserves someone who demands explanation, who demands her to prostrate herself and accept judgment for all of the people she’s ever hurt. Someone who sees right through her and refuses to accept her.

But Rose Quartz is a coward in love, and Greg is a soft blanket; he is her shield from her own past, and she takes great pleasure in escaping in him.

-

When she accepted her colony, she left Spinel behind. Thousands of years later, she tends the garden surrounding her fountain and wonders where Spinel is now. Did she ever look for Pink Diamond? Did she ever find that Pink was shattered? Did she accept that answer, was she given another role on Homeworld?

Without Pink Diamond, Spinel had no purpose. Had White shattered her?

Rose considers the Garden. She considers making the trek to the desert alone, reactivating Pink Diamond’s ship, and returning to the Garden. Finding Spinel, if any pieces of her remain, and bringing her back to Earth.

But it was quite possible that the other Diamonds would be notified if the ship was used again. She couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t risk bringing the Diamonds’ attention back to Earth.

After all, after the Corruption, they had abandoned the place. Even with gems in such a maimed state, the planet itself was safer than it had ever been. She couldn’t risk all the life on Earth for just one gem.

Just another mistake she’d made, never rectified. Just another crime, never judged. Just another fear, never put to rest.

-

Bismuth proposes the Breaking Point with a gleam in her eye.

Rose doesn’t turn her down out of any sense of justice, out of any sense of morality. In all honesty, Bismuth brings up an argument that shouldn’t be ignored. In war, when the enemy is willing to shatter you, you cannot simply poof and bubble. It’s a time consuming, delicate way to eliminate them, and Homeworld has greater numbers, heavier artillery, and too many resources.

But Rose can’t allow Bismuth to shatter her. Even if Bismuth has no idea that she’s presenting this idea to her greatest enemy.

When Bismuth insists, when she points out the strategic benefits, Rose knows she’s right, and she knows she has no real argument against her.

“I’m sorry,” Rose says with finality, “but it isn’t right.”

“Isn’t right?!” Bismuth’s temper is flaring, spiking past just irritation and incomprehension. “What does that mean? This is a war, Rose! We don’t have the luxury of moralizing our actions! We need to prioritize our soldiers. Your soldiers!”

“Calm yourself.”

Bismuth’s fuse does not extinguish. She threatens her, says she’ll go to the others about this. And Rose cannot justify herself to the others, who will no doubt see that Bismuth’s weapon is exactly what they need. And if they question her, they’ll dig, and they’ll expose a truth Rose cannot possibly hope to explain. It terrifies her.

So Rose extinguishes Bismuth’s fuse for her, and pretends — for her own sake — that it never happened.

-

Pearl, broken beyond repair. Spinel, abandoned. Bismuth, bubbled and hidden. Pearl, enslaved and silenced. Lion, dead. All of the Rose Quartzes, bubbled and falsely judged. Hundreds and hundreds of Gems, corrupted. Amethyst, isolated. The Earth, permanently scarred.

At some point, all of her mistakes add up to a terrifying sum.

Humans are fascinating in that they are meant to change. Gems… Gems cannot. Their programming is irreversible and resolute.

Rose Quartz is Pink Diamond, and Pink Diamond is a monster.

-

After a particularly trying tour of the Prime Kindergarten, Rose asks Greg pointed questions about human reproduction. And, though red-faced and flustered, he explains it to her. He takes her to the Budwick Library, where they go through health textbooks and detailed diagrams, and Rose realizes something extraordinary.

“Do you think we could do that?” she asks, as the book shuts.

“Huh?” Greg blinks at her, confusion writ across his face. “You mean — have a baby together?”

“Do you think we could create life together, you and I?”

Rose thinks of the Kindergartens. She thinks of how much life she recklessly destroyed in order to create gems who only worked to destroy even more of it. But humans… Humans were designed to preserve life, gloriously, nothing being sacrificed for their survival except time and energy.

Greg’s eyes are on her, thoughtful and sensitive as always. “I… this is probably a weird question, but uh.” He blushes. “Do you even… do you even have that kind of… equipment?”

“I could shapeshift it,” she murmurs, enraptured. “I could give myself ovaries and eggs and a vagina and a cl—”

“I-I guess you could!” Greg squeaks out. She giggles; she can’t possibly begin to fathom why he’s so embarrassed about this when it’s such a gift. “I… could you… could you hold all of that? For months?”

“Sure.”

Most gems couldn’t, but she’d had plenty of practice shapeshifting. And on top of that, she was one of the most powerful gems in existence, though she would never tell Greg that. Not unless he asked.

“But I thought…” Greg runs a hand through the gorgeous mane of his hair. “I thought gems couldn’t… reproduce like that.”

“We can’t.”

He starts, turning quickly to stare at her in horror, all the adorable awkwardness and embarrassment vanishing. She understands, and she wants it anyway.

“You mean…”

“I don’t think I would ever be able to give birth in the way that humans can,” Rose admits as she stares at the cover of the textbook. She places her hand on the cover, caressing the image of the pregnant human. “Gems aren’t designed for it. But if I could give up my form to create another life…”

To allow a new life to form and to erase an irredeemable one in the same breath.

“I — Rose.” There’s something odd in his voice. “I don’t know. I… You’ve lived for eons. You would seriously give all that up? You wouldn’t — you would die for this?”

“Yes.”

The answer is easy. The loose ends that are left in her life aren’t within her reach. What better bow to tie on her existence than to make up for her mistakes? To create a being that not only is capable of change, but is designed to?

“I…” Greg’s voice shifts. He sets his hand over the one she’s placed on the book. “...Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

“Of course.”

-

When the test is positive, things change drastically.

Firstly, Garnet forbids Rose from accompanying them on any missions.

“My future vision is useless here,” Garnet explains as her gaze, though obscured behind her visor, lands on her still flat stomach. “And… from what you and Greg have explained to me about human pregnancies, it seems a fragile thing. Let’s not test fate.”

“I can take care of myself,” Rose insists. “I am not a human.”

“I know.” Garnet shrugs, a half-smile playing on her lips. “Heed it anyway.”

So even though Rose rolls her eyes and huffs and pouts, she does as Garnet asks. After all, Garnet has never steered her wrong before, and Rose doesn’t want a reason to fear for her child’s life before it’s even begun.

Not that she’ll be around to fear for it when it has.

Secondly, Amethyst starts avoiding her. It isn’t what Rose expected, but she isn’t surprised. Amethyst has never adapted very well to loss.

Thirdly, Pearl shatters.

Not literally, of course. But Pearl becomes fractured, pieces of her former self.

“I hadn’t realized it was actually possible,” Pearl whispers in horror.

The two of them stand on the cliff above the temple, watching the waves. Below them, Greg and Amethyst are jamming, and Amethyst hits the drums with more voracity than usual.

“Isn’t that the wonderful thing about humanity?” Rose replies, awe and love coloring her voice. “Nothing is predictable. It’s always changing. If Greg had been anyone else, I don’t think I could have done this.”

Pearl frowns. Tears are in her eyes, but she does not shed them. Rose wishes she would.

“You know, Rose, that I have followed you through the furthest reaches of space, and I would follow you to the very end.”

Pearl’s fists clench.

“But I don’t believe I can follow you in this. Rose, you… you will be gone. Dead, in the human sense. You’ll be shattered.”

“Shattering means I would be in pieces for the rest of my existence,” she corrects, calm, quiet, patient. “This is different. I would cease to be, and instead, a new life will sprout in my place. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Of course it isn’t!” Pearl snaps, raising her voice at Rose for the first time in years. “You can’t keep using that word! You can’t — you can’t just abandon us like this!”

“We have nine months until the child is born. I won’t be leaving until then.”

Nine months is but a blink to the two of them, and Pearl’s hurt, defeated expression shows just what she thinks of that.

“In these nine months, I need you to come to terms with this decision I’ve made. I don’t need you to understand it, just accept it. And, my Pearl…”

Rose wraps both of her hands around one of Pearl’s, and her dearest friend freezes.

“I need you to promise me that you will not abandon my child as I am abandoning you.”

Pearl begins to shake as the tears, finally, slip from her cheeks. “Rose… Rose, this isn’t fair. You know this isn’t.”

“I know.”

Neither of them move. Rose waits as Pearl, trembling, terrified, wrestles with the ugly jealousy and pure adoration inside of her. The sun has set and the city quieted by the time Pearl finally meets her eyes again.

“... I promise.”

It is the cruelest thing Rose has ever asked of her.

-

Rose doesn’t technically need to eat, but after discussing it with Greg and Vidalia, it seems that energy is a thing babies need.

“All of my energy comes from my gem,” she tells them. “Surely the baby will simply take energy from there as well.”

“I dunno,” Vidalia mutters, eyes heavy with makeup as she looks to her own son. Rose remembers baby Sour Cream fondly, though he has grown exponentially since their adventure. “The babe doesn’t have your gem yet. Maybe you should be eating.”

“They’re part human too, after all,” Greg murmurs.

Rose doesn’t think it’s necessary, even still. But the idea of her eating, and that energy going to the life forming within her, seems to comfort Greg, so she agrees, however reluctantly.

And then she discovered that food seemed to directly correlate to the horrendous “morning sickness” that she’d heard so, so much about. They didn’t have a restroom within the temple, which meant a lot of unpleasant mornings were spent by the seaside.

It even interrupts peaceful sleep spent at Greg’s side in his cozy little van. It drives her absolutely crazy, and Greg frets, stumbling after her as she rushes to the ocean waves. Sometimes she actually pukes, sometimes she doesn’t, and she hates its lack of predictability.

“Garnet,” Rose whispers one morning as she collapses, somehow exhausted, onto the temple’s warp pad. “Can’t you just use your future vision to tell me when I’ll puke?”

Garnet chuckles. “Sorry.” She isn’t sorry. “I’ve told you before. You’re already an anomaly, hard to pin down with foresight. Throwing human pregnancy into the mix is… well. You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

Rose groans. Garnet’s smile stays for only a moment more, before she sits next to her.

“Rose. You know that I will follow you, unerringly.”

“Of course.” Rose’s eyes close, though she knows Garnet’s remain open.

“I know that Pearl and Amethyst are struggling with the choice you’ve made, the choice you’re making, in their own ways. But I just can’t understand it.”

Rose gestures, without looking, toward everything. “You know how I feel about humans, don’t you? How could I possibly resist the decision to create one?”

“You’ve resisted before. None of the humans you’ve been with have spawned this desire in you. Except for this one.”

Garnet is clever and wise, and it isn’t just Sapphire that makes her that way. Though Sapphire has the gift of foresight and level-headedness, Ruby has always been the less naive of the two.

Still, Rose doubts she can ever properly explain this decision to any of them. Maybe Pearl could come the closest to true understanding, if she ever thought to put her (understandable, justified) emotions to the side for a moment.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,” Rose says, opening her eyes and staring upwards. Stars are still visible, though the sun has already begun to warm the night sky. “Perhaps even too many mistakes. But this decision… doing this, with Greg. This isn’t one of them.”

They say nothing for a while. No doubt Garnet is waiting for Rose to say something clarifying and sensical. The fusion watches her expression while Rose watches the sky. The stars vanish, midnight blue becoming purples and pinks and reds and oranges, and when the sun is finally high enough for the sky to be its typical, baby blue self, Garnet sighs.

“I’ll never understand it,” she says at last. “But at the same time… I do.”

Rose is relieved, even though she almost wishes Garnet had taken that bait. ‘Elaborate, Rose. You said ‘too many mistakes.’ Enumerate them.’ But Garnet is too trusting, and Rose is too afraid, and so she lets the mystery die.

-

Whenever Rose happens to be in the same room as Amethyst, Amethyst immediately has something more important to do. Rose thought she’d be fine with it, but after a few months, it has become something that hurts.

She misses the starry-eyed little gem who would follow her around, hanging onto every word and imitating every action. Of course, that desire is too close to something she doesn’t want to be, but she cannot help her programming, faulty as it is.

She is over the morning sickness by now, and her pregnancy is beginning to show. Rose can’t help but be awestruck by it, because her body seems to be shapeshifting without her consciously willing it. Is this growth?

Pearl, bless her gem, is making an effort. Rose sees it, appreciates it; she sees the way Pearl flinches at the sight of her, at the reminder that Rose will be vanishing from her life, and appreciates that Pearl looks anyway. Garnet looks upon her and sees an even larger blind spot than usual, and accepts it, prepares for the worst case scenario as she knows she may not be able to avoid it.

But Amethyst? Amethyst refuses.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Rose confesses to Pearl and Garnet one night. “I can’t. I can’t spend these last few months without her.”

And it may be selfish, but Rose believes Amethyst will regret it if this continues on; if Amethyst doesn’t speak a single word to her until she’s giving birth. By then, it will be too late.

And she cannot allow another mistake.

Garnet decides to speak to Amethyst first. She says that will go over better than Rose trying to corner her, and Rose agrees. So, though she doesn’t hear the conversation, when Garnet brings Amethyst outside of her room, Rose feels fear strike her heart.

Amethyst looks… disgruntled, like she’s just been scolded. Her arms are crossed as she comes to Rose and Pearl.

“Pearl,” Garnet calls. “Let’s give them a moment.”

Pearl looks like she might roll her eyes, but she does as Garnet heeds, and a moment later the two of them have vanished into the warp pad. Now it is just Rose Quartz, alone with an Amethyst whose entire existence is built upon Rose’s mistakes.

“Amethyst,” Rose begins, quiet and gentle. She won’t startle this little one. “Let’s talk about this. You can’t keep avoiding me forever.”

“Yeah I can,” Amethyst snaps, shoulders tensing. “Just watch me. What will it matter when you’re gone, huh? If that’s what you want so bad?”

Rose blinks. “Uh… wait, that isn’t what I want. I’m going to have a child, remember? Just like humans do all the time.”

“Yeah, but humans don’t die when they do! Well — well, most of them don’t! But you found out you’d like, have to die, and you were just like, ‘all right, sure, sign me up!’”

“Am—”

“I just don’t get it!” Amethyst all but shouts, loud enough that she may have even been heard in Beach City. “You can’t just run away when you want to! But you’re gonna do it anyway! You’re running away and never coming back, and you don’t even care that everyone wants you to stay!”

“Is that not what you’re doing?” Rose challenges, and Amethyst’s eyes meet hers for the first time; wide, shocked, tearful. “Running away?”

“I…!”

“Maybe I am,” Rose admits. Amethyst blinks, frozen. “Maybe I am running away. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe I’m hitting two birds with one stone: I’m hiding from my mistakes, but also, I’m creating new life from nothing. It’s… it’s almost like I’m human.”

Almost.

Amethyst sniffs before she plops down onto the ground next to her. They both stare out at the sea for a second, until Amethyst turns and places her hand on Rose’s growing belly.

“There’s someone in there, huh,” Amethyst says, not quite asking. Rose smiles and nods anyway.

“I… I just dunno what we’re all gonna do with you, Rose.” The little one leans against Rose, sighing as she drops her hand from her belly. “I felt like, if I didn’t acknowledge it, I could pretend it wasn’t happening. And… and you’re just getting more pregnant.”

“Maybe I should have talked to all of you more seriously about it,” Rose murmurs.

“I think I’d still be super mad,” Amethyst snorts. “But like… I dunno how humans work, but I promise, we’ll be super helpful to the baby. It’s gonna be like I was, right? With no memories and no idea what its purpose is?”

“Yeah.” It’s a melodic sigh, celebratory.

“Sweet.”

Isn’t it?

-

The very first time she feels the babe kick her from within, everything — not just in her pregnancy, not just the morning sickness and the craving human food and the aching back and feet, but in the entirety of her existence — everything has been worth it, for this one moment.

“Greg,” she whispers, stars in her eyes.

Greg lifts his head from the book he’s got in his hand. “Hmm?”

“Greg, come here — oh!”

He sits upright, stretching. The day has been a lazy one, and as enjoyable as it’s been, he’s moving too slow. “You’re going to miss it!” she insists, grabbing his hand and yanking it over.

“Whoa!”

She presses it to where the movement just was, waiting, on the edge of her seat, hopeful. Greg seems to stop breathing, eyes widening, as they both oggle her belly.

And then—

“There,” Rose whispers.

Life.

“Oh my god.” Greg’s eyes water. He laughs, slow and surprised, and then it evolves, changing into something ecstatic and joyous. Rose cannot help but join him, overtaken by emotion in a way she has never been before.

Then Greg begins to sob, and his arms wrap around her, holding her close.

As she embraces him in her warmth, she wonders if humans have been in her shoes before; if they have made loved ones grieve for them before they’ve passed, knowing they’ll be bringing new life with their passing.

A part of her aches. A part of her fears.

“They’re in there,” she murmurs, hoping to comfort him. “Kickin’ around. Probably gets that from you.”

Greg chuckles, though it’s tinged with tears. “Yeah, right, miss ‘rebel leader.’ They’re gonna get all of their feistiness from you, and you know it.”

She can’t help the smile. “Yes. I do.”

-

By the time they are recording the tapes — the only thing their child will ever have of her — Rose can’t help but think, for once without any fear at all, as she stares into the camera and speaks to someone she will never know:

Rose Quartz has never loved anyone more than she has loved Steven Universe.

[redhairdontcare732]

Sweet PeaxReader: Riot Night From Hell, Part 2

Author's note:

This is the second part to this, so if you haven't read the first I highly suggest you do, or this won't make sense! I'm trying to figure out how to make a masterlist so that all the imagines will be in one place, but it's not up yet. Again, italicized text indicates a flashback or memory.

AnYWaYs. Here's the last part to this two-shot

TRIGGER WARNING: Violence against women, semi-graphic violence described.

Jughead POV:

“Hello?”, I answered the unknown number with a sickening feeling of dread.

“Juggie! Long time no see”, a very familiar voice practically sang.

“Penny. Called to brag about the impending war?”, I practically snarled. She giggled with her disgusting, sickly sweet facade.

“Oh Jughead, why brag about something so certain? You should know by now that isn't my style. No, I was calling because there's someone here that I thought should get to speak with you before I take care of her”, she quipped.

I furrowed my brows in confusion. Surely she didn't have Betty? I'd narrowly gotten Toni back from those assholes; there was no way that they'd had time to find Bets, right? The growing pit of fear tightened and took hold in my middle. Before I had a chance to formulate any semblance of a response, my anxious mental rambling was abruptly cut off by the angry shouting from an all too familiar voice.

“JUGHEAD DON'T LISTEN TO THIS BITCH”.

“Y/N”, I managed to choke out. My heart had officially sank into the very bottom of my being. They had Y/N. There was an electric crackling sound followed by an agonizing shriek that made my knees turn weak. This couldn't be happening, not to her. Y/N was like the sister that Jellybean never got the chance to be for me; she'd been a constant in my life ever since we were in diapers. Hee homelife sucked, and more often than not she stayed in the trailer with me. She knew me better than anyone, even Betty. She was the first to support my novel about Jason Blossom, the first to welcome me into the Serpents. Hell, on more than one occasion she’d even beaten up the morons that bullied me. All of the memories of Y/N and I flooded my mind; all the times she showed up to my trailer in the middle of the night to escape her father, every movie she and I watched and dissected together, the stupid jokes, each time she fiercely protected me, everything.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed firmly against my chest as I surveyed the student lounge with my usual mix of disdain and disinterest in equal parts. It was just another day in hell,with the exception of the eerie sense of foreboding; the discovery of Jason’s body had cast a dark cloud over Riverdale High’s student body, that much was clear. Students walked a little faster to class, people walked in groups, and the entirety of the students seemed on-edge. Well, almost everyone.

My attention was fading in and out as Reggie ripped into Moose and Kevin before spouting his insane theories about Jason’s murder. I watched Archie struggle with the vending machine with limited interest, thoughts turning to my own theories and ideas regarding the Blossom investigation, until I heard Reggie utter my own name.

“What was it like Suicide Squad? When you shot Jason?”, the dark haired jock addressed me with a sense of near gleeful malice. I rolled my eyes back so far I almost worried they would get stuck that way like my mom used to tell me. “You didn’t do stuff to the body...like after?”.

“It’s called necrophilia Reggie, can you spell it?”, I replied, disgust and disinterest written all across my face. Reggies face went from smug to angry in seconds, and it wasn’t long before he leapt over the side of the chair he previously occupied and charged at me like a bull released at a rodeo.

“Come here you little--”, Reggie started.

“Leave him alone Reggie”, Archie stepped in front of me, placing himself between the Bulldog and myself. I didn’t quite expect him to step up for me, but I guess it was just part of Archie’s personality. He was never one to allow the Bulldogs to walk all over anyone, unless of course it was only with words.

“Yes Reginald. Do leave him alone”, I heard a voice come from just across the room. I pulled myself out of my musings about Archie to turn and find Y/N leaning against the lounge's doorway. Her arms were crossed, leather jacket pulling lightly against her broad shoulders, and one of her combat clad feet leaned casually against the frame. Her face probably appeared impassive to the rest of the students, but I had known Y/N my entire life and I knew that she was pissed. Her Y/C/E were alight with anger, and her fists were tightly clenched against her arms. Y/N wasn’t fond of any of the Northside kids, but she especially hated anyone that talked down to me or Southsiders in general. She had always been overly protective of me; she always half-teased that she was my ‘big sister’, which I always refused to accept because I was 2 months older than her. She would always say that didn’t matter, it was her ‘maturity’ that made her the ‘older twin’. Regardless, his was going to end poorly for Reggie if he didn’t back off quickly.

Reggie didn’t appear fazed by her sudden arrival for more than a second or two. He scoffed, head turning from Y/N to me and back.

“And what are you going to do about it if I don’t?”, he sneered. Y/N smiled her most terrifying smirk; it was the kind of smile that always looked so out of place on her otherwise sweet face, the kind that should be more than enough warning for it’s target. I noted the way Reggie’s face fell fractionally before his cocky facade returned, and I shook my head. Reggie always was a special kind of stupid, and now it was finally going to get him into trouble.

“Well Reginald, I just thought that you should have a fair warning before I’m forced to step in”, she stated simply, choosing to circle the Bulldog slowly like a snake circling its prey. It was almost poetic really; most Serpents didn’t have the correct mannerisms to actually be compared to a snake, but Y/N fit the gang’s name to a T. She was beautiful, but in a completely different way, cunning, smarter than most people, and always slow to strike-- but when she did, you were going to regret ever underestimating her or not heeding the warnings she was so clearly giving. Reggie snorted once more before turning his back on her and facing me once more.

“What, can’t fight your own battles Jones?”, he glowered. “Gotta get your butt buddy here and your Serpent Slut to step in for you?”.

I shoved to make my way past Archie but the redhead blocked my path. Y/N tapped Reggie on the shoulder in a way that seemed too gentle for the occasion. If I hadn’t been present for the previous events I wouldn’t have thought she was doing anything more than trying to gain his attention. But this was Y/N and Reggie and there was nothing innocent about it. As soon as the football player turned, he received a solid punch to the nose. He immediately reeled backwards, blood spurting from between his fingers and profanities spewing from his lips. Y/N chuckled and kicked his shins, making the Reggie fall to his knees clutching his nose and groaning. Her hand flicked out quick as lightning, long nails digging into the soft part of his right ear causing the bloody boy to howl out in pain.

By now we’d gathered the attention of everyone in the lounge. Moose and several of the other Bulldogs stood and rushed over to their friend, but not one dared step in between Y/N and her target. They all just stood tensely, watching the entire thing unfold with looks mixed between disgust, fear, and slight admiration. Veronica, Betty, and Kevin stood together off to the side watching the chaos with wide eyes. I relaxed back into a bored stance, more than happy to let Y/N do her thing. Most people would be worried about the girl in the midst of a fight with a jock twice her size, but I knew better. I watched with a sort of pride as Y/N leaned in close to Reggie’s ear, fingers still pinching his other so hard that it was beginning to draw blood.

“Now, I can let the Serpent Slut comment slide because, honestly, I don’t put much stock in the opinion of a flea-ridden mutt, but the comments about my brother over there need to stop. So, if you value the use of your pathetic face or dick again, I suggest you leave Jughead alone. Permanently.” she hissed. “And don’t think that just because I don’t go to school in this Pep-filled nightmare that I won’t hear about things. Trust me when I say I have my ways Bulldog. This is your first and final warning”.

She released his ear and stepped back. Then she turned to me with a bright smile and a new twinkle in her eye, all signs of her terrifying persona gone as quickly as it came on.

“Ready Jug?”, she asked kindly. I smirked and headed over to the door with her, exiting the school and leaving behind the still shocked faces of the students left in the lounge.

“You know I could have handled that on my own”, I teased, only half-serious. Y/N laughed out loud and shoved my shoulder with her own as we made our way down the steps outside the school.

“Oh Juggie I'm sure you could have, but what kind of big sister would I be if I didn’t help?”, she giggled, stopping for a moment to pinch my cheeks playfully. I swatted her hands away, smile still planted firmly on my face as we stepped out into the cool fall air.

Y/N was so much more than a sister to me. I'd always teased her about calling us twins, but truth be told she was right. She was my family, even more so than my parents or Jelly, because she had chosen to be in my life and actually stay in it. Y/N was the one constant factor in my life.

“Mhm, I gotta say this girl has more fight in her than the last one”, Penny simpered. “Of course we're obviously a bit more impatient than we were previously, and besides Y/N/N and I have some unfinished business of our own”.

“What do you want Penny? What's the endgame here? You've already got all of the Serpents ready to enter the Colosseum and fight, when you and I both know there's no chance of survival. What more could you possibly want at this point?”, I rasped, still reeling in shock and fear.

“I'll tell you the same thing I told your pathetic, fake little twin: don't play stupid with me Jones, you're too smart for that. You,Y/N, and your teenage wastoids did me dirty and I haven't forgotten”, she snarled. “So you'd better show up soon because while I am loving watching Riverdale burn, my patience with you Joneses is running dangerously thin”.

“Surely you know that this won't end well?”, I stated trying futilely to sound more strong than I was feeling. Penny chuckled darkly.

“Oh I know it won't Jughead, but I'm not the one that's going to lose everything. Because if you bring anyone along with you, including your dad or this one's anger management case of a boyfriend, I'll kill her on the spot. No little Red Riding hood hiding out in the woods either. You come alone or don't come at all” she threatened.

“Whichever works for me really”, Penny continued nonchalantly. “Either way I get a Jones all to myself”.

“So if I come to you, no tricks, you'll let Y/N go?”, I asked evenly.

“Course kid. Just show up alone and I'll let the little Serpent Slut go”.

“NO JUG DON'T. SHE'S A LYING FUCKING--”, I heard Y/N start to shout before her voice abruptly cut off. The sounds of sickening groaning and thudding filled the phone line.

“I'd hurry up and make a decision here Jughead. With the mouth on this one we may have to start the party early”. Penny laughed before ending the call.

My eyes were filled with unshed tears, and I threw my fist against the side of the Wyrm in anger. There were no options left, no reprieve from the shit show that had overtaken Riverdale. Y/N didn't deserve this, none of the Serpents did. I wiped my eyes futilely as the tears continued to stream down my face, and dialed the one number I knew could maybe get Y/N out of there alive.

    “This is Hiram”, Mr. Lodge answered curtly.

    “Fangs getting arrested, the riot, the Ghoulies showing up the night of the riot, with Penny in tow, taking Y/N. None of this is happenstance”, I said, half to Mr. Lodge, half to myself. It was hard to believe that all this could be orchestrated by one mad-man, but then again this was Riverdale.

“Jughead I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about”, he sighed.

“You’ve been buying up everything you could, but you couldn’t buy us, so you paid the Ghoulies and Penny to go war with the Serpents, so you could finally get rid of us once and for all. How much is this costing you?”, I ground the words out of my mouth, still in slight disbelief that they were even real. But they were. This was real, and Y/N, my dad, and the entire Serpent population were in danger thanks to the coward I was currently speaking to.

“I’m hanging up now”, Hiram replied after a few seconds.

“ ‘Cause I have a counter offer”, I practically cut him off. His line went nearly dead; he was silent. “Mr. Lodge?”.

“I'm listening”, he answered finally.

Y/N’s POV:

    I sat, or rather perched near a crackling fire while I watched, with more hate in my eyes than I had ever felt, Penny who sat calmly across from me. The orange and yellow flames crackled with a relaxing, sweet glow that did not fit the scenario. My hands were bound behind me with the thickest, sharpest fucking rope in existence. I swear Penny had gone and found the oldest, most uncomfortable length of rope in Riverdale just to piss me off and add insult to injury. Speaking of injuries, I was 99% certain that I had a concussion based on the pounding in my head that was unlike any other I’d ever felt before and the blood that I could feel dripping down my neck. It was as if one minute I was riding with FP, and in the next I was awoken in the worst way possible. Malachai had decided that the best way to rouse me was to shove his taser in my ribs. I awoke screaming, confused and in more pain than I could describe. Being tasered was like someone shoving an electrified fork into my core that was ripping my muscles apart. I would have much preferred the sternum rub that cops used to wake drunks, or even a punch to the face over their chosen method.

    “Good morning dollie, did you have a nice nap?”, Penny giggled as I attempted to stand up. I could still feel the remnants of the electric shock coursing through me and it made me feel as if I was going to be sick. One of the two Ghoulies that were holding me up by my armpits decided that I wasn’t moving fast enough. He yanked my head up by the roots of my hair, causing my eyes to water with pain and the wound on the back of my head to throb. Penny walked up to me slowly, eyes staring into mine the entire way. Penny’s eyes were a disgusting pool of emotionless darkness; though her eyes appeared to be a light blue in color, as she got closer I realized that they were speckled with black spots. How fitting. She finally reached me, smiling at me sweetly before sucker punching me straight in the gut. All the breath left my body in a single whoosh, but I refused to cry out in pain. I would not give Penny anymore satisfaction in seeing me suffer. The same putrid Ghoulie grabbed a fistful of my Y/H/C hair and made me look up.

    “Aw, what’s wrong? Nothing to say?”, Penny snarled before punching me across the jaw. Stars danced across my vision and I fought hard not to pass out once more. I used every ounce of strength I had to lift my head on my own.

“Penny”, I growled. “What the fuck do you want?”.

“Awww come on now, don't  play stupid with me love, you're too smart for that”, she pouted with fake concern. “I want payback from you and all your backstabbing teenaged Serpent pals. Although it seems like the town has already taken care of one of you for me. Pity, he would've been such fun to beat; that sweet little face all twisted in pain”, she risked wistfully. Then she grinned like some kind of demonic Cheshire cat, leaning in dangerously close to my face.

“Speaking of sweet, at least I will still have the pleasure of explaining to your loser boyfriend all the ways I'm going to make you scream before these guys-- ”.

I spat at Penny's face, hitting her directly under her eye. My spit had turned bloody from her punch, and it now adorned her scowling face. Though I knew I would pay dearly for my action I couldn't bring myself to regret it once I watched the Snake Charmer's face go from smug and all knowing to disgusted and furious. I felt a twisted sense of pride in that moment. Penny could do her worst to me, but I would die before I let her speak like that about Fangs, Sweet Pea, or anyone else I cared about. The Ghoulies holding me yanked me down by my arms and kicked my knees out from under me; I fell to the ground in a heap, knees taking the brunt of the fall. Penny wiped my bloody saliva from her cheek with the inside of her jacket before chuckling lightly and kicking me directly in the face. I couldn't help but cry out in pain as I felt my lip split in several places and heard the sickening crunch of my nose breaking. Fresh, hot blood squirted and sputtered from my nose like a faucet, and I tilted my head forward in a useless attempt to keep myself from choking on it.

“Think it's time we gave your little brother a call, don't you?”, she asked while cracking her neck in a businesslike manner.

“Leabe him out of this”, I hissed, trying to sound like the bitch didn't just break my nose. Penny laughed.

“Aww that's adorable. You think you call the shots around here doll?”, she asked condescendingly. “Bring her over to sit. Wouldn't want her to pass out again before the real fun begins”.

The men holding me shoved me roughly onto a chair as I fought with every ounce of strength I had not to lose consciousness. I vaguely heard Penny speaking to someone, but largely my thoughts were filled with Sweet Pea. The only reason I was even clinging to reality right now was him; I still wondered if he was okay, and hoped he would be smart enough not to avenge what was about to go down. As I struggled against the darkness that threatened to overtake me, I heard Penny more clearly call Juggie by name, and I fought against all my pain to warn him.

“JUGHEAD DON'T LISTEN TO THIS BITCH”, I screamed with all my might. Surely he must know that there was no way that Penny was going to let me go no matter what he did. I was dead no matter what, but Jughead was an idiot if he brought himself into this too. I didn't have too long to catch my breath before Malachai shoved his crackling  taser into my ribs once more. I couldn't hold back the cry of pure pain that ripped it's way up my chest and out through my bloody lips. The taser had dug into me in nearly the same spot as before, and I vaguely smelt the sickening aroma of burning flesh as I began to black out once again. Malachai was having none of that, and he slapped me across the face in order to rouse me. Through the ringing in my ears that hadn't stopped since I'd awoken I vaguely could make out the sounds of Penny luring Jughead to this pit of terror, using me as bait.

“NO JUG DON'T. SHE'S A LYING FUCKING--”,

I was cut of abruptly by one of the Ghoulies tipping my chair backwards harshly until I felt my back hit the ground with an agonizing thud. As if this wasn't enough, he also kicked me twice in the stomach for good measure. I couldn't fight the darkness this time, and I allowed the waves of numbness to overtake me.

I don't know how long they'd left me unconscious, but I did know that they'd moved me once more. I now sat across the fire from Penny, no Ghoulies holding me up. They'd positioned me awkwardly in a chair, the ground around me filled with the gruesome sight of my own blood. As I waited in silence I internally wondered how much blood I'd lost tonight. If my constant struggle against unconsciousness was any indication, probably a lot.

“Look who decided to rejoin the party”, one of the Ghoulies practically giggled. I struggled against the ties that dug into my wrists futilely, anger reigniting as I recalled the events of the night. Penny laughed from her place across the fire.

“Oh please Y/N, by all means please get out of those ties. I’d love to see what you think you can do with all of us here”, she laughed mercilessly. I huffed, ignoring the screaming protests from nearly every part of my body. I settled myself more comfortably in the chair, although there was no way any position was going to be in anyway comfortable given the state of my injuries. I glared at Penny before sending a sickly sweet smile her direction. If I was going to die all because of this raging bitch I was at least not going to afford her the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.

A twig snapped from somewhere behind me.

Jughead entered the grounds through the brush and for the first time since I was brought here I felt my eyes fill with hot, salty tears. I couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to come here, without any backup. He was going to end up with the same fate as me, and the unnecessary sacrifice from the boy I considered closer than family was too much for my heart to bear.

“You fucking moron”, I mumbled, unable to think of anything else to say. Jughead eyed me up and down with a look of pure sorrow as he assessed my injuries. I briefly wondered if I looked worse than I felt, but quickly dismissed the thought. Nothing could possibly look worse than the way my body was feeling at the current moment.

“The sacrificial lamb arrives”, Penny exclaimed as she stood. Ghoulies flanked her on either side, and the orange glow from the fire made her gaunt face seem even more evil. Jughead reluctantly turned his attention from me and he turned to face her, his expression stoic.

“I’ll remind you of the deal I made with your boss, Hiram Lodge”, he stated lifelessly. “I turn myself into you tonight and there’s no bloodshed tomorrow. Y/N goes free”.

“Yes, apparently getting you two out of the picture is more important to him than an all out Serpent annihilation”, Penny replied. “Kudos”.

“What do you mean the two of us?”, he ground through his teeth. “Y/N is leaving. Now”.

    Penny just laughed, the sound of her witches cackle echoing throughout the clearing.

    “Let’s just say that Mr. Lodge and I may have, re-negotiated a bit after you called. We agreed that one less Serpent to deal with tomorrow the better off we’ll be”, she sneered. Jughead hung his head, eyes closed and lips pursed in a thin line. “Come on kid, did you really think your sacrifice was really going to save anyone? Y/N gets it, she’s known from minute one. You really should have listened to her”.

“You son of a--”,

    “So do I at least get one last cigarette before this thing or what?”, I interrupted Jughead, voice hoarse from screaming. His face snapped up to meet mine, blue eyes filled with so much sadness that I couldn’t help but send a small smile his way. I was really going to miss him.

    “That’s your last request?”, Penny chuckled with disdain. I held my ground, staring into her empty eyes with as much contempt as I could possibly convey. Penny shrugged, and motioned to one of her tagalongs. He stepped up to my now standing form, switchblade flicking out in what I’m sure was meant to be a threatening motion as he waved it in front of my face tauntingly. Did he really think the threat of death was really going to faze me at this stage of the game? His uneven teeth glinted against the flickering light from the fire as he leaned down and swiftly cut the ties binding my hands. I grabbed my pack from my back pocket, lighting up quickly and walking slowly over to Jughead, unsure the whole way if my legs would really be able to take me all the way there. I savored the taste of the sweet nicotine as it hit my throat, blowing the smoke out through my nose.

    I reached Jug after some difficulty; the eyes of every insane asshole in the clearing were trained on each of my movements, but I mentally blocked them out as I took in the boy in front of me. He looked about twenty years older than I’d last seen him, and I felt a pang in my heart at his change in demeanor. I brought my hand up to his arm, gently squeezing it and smiling lightly.

    “Y/N…”, he started, voice cracking. I held up my other hand as a way of silencing him.

    “Me too Juggie”, I said simply, trying to show him how much he meant to me through my eyes. Being my twin had its perks, and Jug seemed to understand what I was getting at immediately. He brought his arms around my shoulders gently, hugging me to his chest like he used to when we were kids and I was hiding out from my father. After what felt like only seconds, I disentangled from my brother and turned back to the group with as much strength as I could muster. I took one last puff from my cigarette, flicking it absentmindedly into the fire.

    “30-2 huh. You guys that scared of us?”, I sniggered. Malachai and the rest of his posse stalked towards Jughead and I slowly.

    “The only scary thing is what we’re going to do to your not-so-little boyfriend when we find him”, he snarled. I blinked once, turning to Jug and giving him a blank look. Then I felt all the rage that had been building all night, hell my whole life, snap from inside me like a rubber band. I was nearly blinded by the intensity of the anger that was aching to come from every pore in my body.

    “DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HIM”, I bellowed as my fist swung out of its own accord and landed solidly in the center of Malachai’s ugly painted face. From that moment all hell broke loose; all the Ghoulies attacked Jughead and I with a kind of insane vigor that I couldn’t describe if I tried. I attempted to fight back at first, but waves and waves of blows were coming down on me like the downpour of rain during the sad montage part of a rom-com. After the first few hits my body became mercifully numb, and I just lay on the ground waiting for the comforting curtain of darkness to overcome me once again.

    As I faded in and out from consciousness my mind was flooded with thoughts of my Sweetest Pea. I'd always thought it was all bullshit when people claimed they saw their life flash before their eyes during experiences like these. I also never dreamed that this kind of thing would ever happen to me. But it was, and I could confirm that my entire life with Pea was playing through my mind as I lay brokenly on the cold ground. I couldn't really feel my face at all, but in my head I was smiling as I enjoyed watching each of my memories like a comforting movie.

I recalled the way Sweet's dark curls bounced across his forehead as he laughed that truest laugh that only a select few, me included, could draw from him. I thought of the way his smooth lips would perk up into a smile whenever he saw me and the way his strong jaw felt under my fingers as his lips connected with mine. I heard the moans of pleasure that I took such pride in pulling from him in our more intimate moments. I re-lived the countless lazy days that we spent in our trailers, his strong arms holding me protectively. Nestled in the way I loved to lay on his solid chest when we cuddled in bed; how he would always tighten his hold around my middle and whine whenever I attempted to get up. I was soothed by the memory of his steady heartbeat against my cheeks as his fingers grazed over my back and arms gently. I felt the way his calloused fingers felt when they danced across my cheeks, leaving a small trail of electricity in their wake no matter how many times he repeated the action. I heard the deep, soothing bass of his voice, lips tickling the shell of my ear as he told me he loved me. But above all, I heard my own voice echoing as I promised him that I would never leave him. Tears filled my eyes as I realized that I would be breaking my promise tonight, and I prayed as the world faded from view that he could find some way to forgive me.

Sweet Pea's POV:

I skidded to a stop and barely switched my bike off before I began sprinting to the spot Toni had identified. There was an abandoned fire crackling, with no sign of Penny or her Ghoulies. FP and I shared a glance; his eyes were open as wide as they could go, and he looked almost as terrified as I was betting I probably looked. I only spared a second before sprinting off into the thicket, FP hot on my heels as we entered the brush to search. My head whipped around frantically for any signs of Y/N. I probably looked like a fucking mental patient with the way I tore through the uneven terrain, but I couldn't be bothered to care. The fires of anger in my chest had died down to make way for the anchor of fear, guilt, and panic that was weighing me down the longer I went without Y/N in my arms.

“PEA”.

FP's frantic howl rang in my ears like the sound of the shot that killed Fangs. I whipped around to find him kneeling on the ground a couple of yards away from where I stood. I sprinted faster than I ever had, ignoring the way my legs screamed in protest and the way my heart sank into my feet. I dropped to my knees as soon as I reached my destination, giant unshed tears forming in my eyes and the back of my throat burning at the sight before me.

Next to a badly beaten Jughead lay my beautiful Y/N. Her face was nearly unrecognizable with the multiple cuts and swollen bruises forming across her once gentle features. The plump lips that I loved so much were nearly indistinguishable from the rest of her face they were split so badly, and there looked to be teeth marks on her slender neck. Her Serpent jacket was missing, and I could see several areas of her exposed skin had been either burned or slashed in some way. Her long Y/H/C locks were matted and covered in blood and dirt, and there was blood under some of her nails. The knuckles on her right hand were swollen and bloody; I noted with a sick sense of pride that she likely fought back against the Ghoulies, even though she was outnumbered. That's my girl, never one to go down without a fight. Her body was still, and even as I gently scooped her into my lap she remained cold and motionless; I felt my breath hitch and a sob leave my body when I found that I could not tell if she was still breathing. My shaking fingertips lightly grazed the spot where her once smooth cheeks resided.

“Y/N, baby please. Don't do this to me, you've gotta wake up princess”, I pleaded softly while standing and gathering her up in my strong arms. I began running out towards help. The way I felt her long limbs dangle lifelessly from my hold nearly tore a hole in my heart. I couldn't be too late, it just wasn't possible. She swore she'd never leave me. She promised.

“Pea…”, I almost missed the nearly inaudible rasp that came from her lips as I ran. I came very close to stopping when her unusually tiny voice reached my ears, but I kept going towards the area where I knew Toni had brought her truck.

“I'm here babydoll, don't worry. Everything is going to be alright”, I choked out. She tried to speak again, but I shushed her gently.

“Don't speak Y/N, I'm getting you help. Just stay with me doll. Can you do that for me baby? Just open up your beautiful Y/E/C eyes and stay with me, okay?”, I pleaded, moving more quickly as I spoke. Her dark fan of lashes fluttered weakly as she struggled to do as I'd asked. My heart broke, and I wished with everything I had that my Y/N would be alright.

It’d been an agonizing 2 weeks spent in the confines of a tiny, white, too sterile looking room in Riverdale General. Y/N had been rushed into surgery as soon as Toni and I brought her to the hospital, and since that day had undergone 3 others to attempt and repair the damage that those Ghoulie scum had inflicted. Her internal bleeding was out of control when she arrived, and her lung had all but collapsed from the blunt force she was subjected to. She had nearly half her ribs broken, a broken wrist, broken orbital bone near her eye, and a severely sprained ankle. Her skin was slowly recovering, most of her bruises shifting from deep purple to light shades of yellow and green as time went on. Her skin was stitched in multiple places from either the surgery or the cuts she sustained that night. In total she had over one hundred stitches covering her once smooth skin. She’d also required a skin graft to her upper rib area from some burns that the doctor said were likely from some kind of electrical element. Despite all this, as I sat next to her in the most uncomfortable plastic chair I’d ever encountered and stroked her hair gently, I still couldn’t help but feel like she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever known. Her swelling had gone down significantly, and the splits in her lip had all but healed. I spent hours stroking the back of her hand with the pad of my thumb, staring at those gorgeous lips and wishing that they would part and begin speaking to me in that musical voice that I missed so dearly.

I hadn’t left the hospital for more than an hour at a time since she was admitted. I missed everything from the rumble with the Ghoulies, Jughead’s release, and even Fang’s discharge from the hospital. The others came and visited nearly everyday, most of them trying to gently pry me away from the room for any length of time. I refused each time, berating anyone that would even try to take me away from my Y/N. How could I leave her? It was my fault she was even in here, laying in this bed, broken. I should have protected her better, should have rushed to find her as soon as we got separated at the Sheriff’s station. Guilt washed over me in giant waves as I thought of all the ways I could have saved her. But she swore to me that she would never leave me, and I believed her. She was going to come out of it one of these days, and I was going to be there to hold her once she did.

Currently, it was day number 16 of Y/N’s stay, and just like all they other days she laid motionless on her bed with her chest lightly rising and falling with each breath she took. They’d taken her breathing tube out a few days ago and ever since then I’d sworn I’d never take any of her soft breaths for granted ever again. I used to lay with her on my chest as she slept, my hands lightly resting on her waist as I relished in each gentle snore and soft sigh that left her. If she ever laid on my chest it was an inevitability that she would end up sleeping at some point. Not that I really minded, she was adorable when she slept. She used to say that it was because she loved the feeling of my heartbeat against her face; she said it reminded her that I was still there with her, that I was safe. I always teased her about it, taking pride in the light blush that adorned her face as she stated proudly that my heartbeat was like her own personal lullabye. Now I as I listened to the steady beat of her heart monitor I understood more and more what she meant. I yearned to go back to that time and savor in the moment more than I had. I was situated on one side of her with her smaller hand nestled into mine as I sat and stared quietly at her beautiful face.

Jughead sat on her other side, hands folded across his lap as he stared off silently into space, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Jughead visited more than anyone else, even after he was discharged himself. He always sat stoically on the other side of her bed, and he was the only one who never pressured me to leave the room. I appreciated his silent support more than he could ever know, and I took a large amount of comfort in the fact that Y/N would be so proud to see her “two best boys” getting along for once. I only wished that it were under different circumstances. Jughead seemed like he understood how I felt better than anyone else.

The amicable quiet of the room was broken as he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, rising slowly. I didn’t even have to glance at the clock to know that it was nearly 9pm. Though they’d made a special exception for me, most visitors were booted from the room at 9. Jughead put his coat on slowly, and bent down to press a light kiss to Y/N’s temple.

It was funny, I’d never pegged Jones for a softie, but when it came to Y/N he seemed like the most affectionate person. I wasn’t very fond of him at first, but over time I came to understand that he and Y/N really did care about each other like, well, twins. They had an odd relationship, that was for sure, but I was more okay with it than most people would probably assume. I trusted Y/N with every fiber of my being, and if she said that Jughead was nothing but a brother then I believed her. With one last nod in my direction, Jones exited her room and I was left alone once more with my girl. Grabbing her hand in both of mine I began to smooth out the rings that I’d insisted be placed back on her fingers. Y/N was so particular about her rings, even more than me, and it seemed wrong that her hands should be bare. It just didn’t fit her. I sighed brokenly as tears filled my eyes for what felt like the millionth time since she’d been here.

“Hey babydoll, it’s me, Pea. I don’t know if you can hear me or not, the doctors claim that you can, but I’m not sure if I believe that or not. But anyways, I just wanted to ask you again to please come back to me. Please”, my voice cracked as my tears fell like rain onto her soft hands, soaking down into the thin hospital sheets that covered her. I went through this speech each night, begging for her to open her eyes and look at me. Begging for her to squeeze my hand or give me some sign that my Y/N/N was still in there. Each night I lost a little more hope that she would respond, and each day the cement block that had lived in my stomach since the day I carried her here in my arms became just a little heavier.

I continued to speak to her until my voice was hoarse. I talked about whatever I could think of, rambling on for as long as I could. Sometimes Betty or Jughead would bring by some of Y/N’s favorite books, and I would spend the lonely nights reading out loud to her. Some nights, like tonight, I just spoke about nothing like we used to do together.

Eventually I faded off into a restless sleep, head laying on her lap and hand still connected with hers. My dreams, if I had any at all, were always filled with her smiling face. Tonight was no exception, and my head was filled with images of her smiling face. She was just as beautiful as ever, clad in her favorite outfit with her radiant laugh echoing over and over. She held me close to her, and she seemed as happy as I’d ever seen.

“Pea…”.

I heard her musical voice call out to me as she beckoned me closer to her.

“Y/N…”, I murmured.

“Sweet Pea... handsome…wake up”,

I frowned. What did she mean? I didn’t want to wake up, my dreams were the last place I still had with her. I shook my head sleepily.

“No…”, I muttered stubbornly, reaching out for her quickly. Her dream-face broke out into a devious smile and she quickly hopped away from my reach. I stared in utter confusion, and it wasn’t long before I heard her beautiful chuckle echo and felt the ground around me shake lightly.

“Baby, please wake up”.

I groaned and sat up slowly, neck sore from the position that I had slept in. My eyes blinked rapidly as I tried to re-adjust to the bright lights of the room. And once they had, I needed a double take to ensure that I was really seeing what it looked like I was seeing.

Y/N was sitting up, albeit a bit awkwardly, in her bed with her eyes wide open and a fond smile on her face. Her hands were tangled in my dark, unwashed locks as she brushed my hair back from my face. Her eyes were filled with such love that it took all the breath I had in my body away for a moment as I gaped dumbly at her. She chuckled lightly, removing her fingers from my hair and taking my hand in hers.

“Boy, and here I thought you’d be happy to see me”, she croaked playfully, squeezing my hand. I finally snapped myself out of my trance and practically attacked her with a hug. I couldn’t believe it, she was finally awake, and I had almost fucking slept through it. I held her in my arms for an immeasurable amount of time, taking absolute pleasure from the way her arms tightened around my body and her slender fingers danced through my hair once more in a soothing motion. I could’ve held her like that for the rest of my life, but after what felt like only a moment I heard her slightly muffled voice come from the depths of my chest.

“Uhm carefully Pea, ouch”, she muttered. I immediately pulled back from her as if shocked by an electric current. Of course that hurt moron, I thought to myself. Sitting myself on the edge of her bed, I decided to gently rest my hands on the sides of her face instead, thumbs gently rubbing across the healing bruises on her smooth cheeks.

“It’s really you”, I murmured softly, still not convinced totally that this wasn’t just a dream. I felt her smile against my hands before she took one of my hands and kissed my palm lightly before returning it to its place on her cheek.

“Of course it’s me baby, who else would it be?”, she whispered. As she leaned her face further into my hold, her eyes fluttered shut slowly, and I panicked.

“Y/N?!”, I cried. Her eyes shot open and she frowned resting her hands over the tops of mine, rubbing soothing circles with her fingertips.

“What? What is it?”, she exclaimed, eyes wide. She removed her hands from mine in order to grasp my face gently, mirroring my previous position. Her soft hands stroked against the tense muscles in my jaw, patiently waiting for my response. Realizing I had overreacted I cast my gaze downward as I removed my hands from her face and attempted to slow my now shallow breaths. Y/N was having none of that, and she brought her two fingers to tilt my head back by my chin.

“Pea, handsome?”, she questioned softly. I sighed.

“I just...please don’t close your eyes like that”, I muttered, slightly embarrassed. “I thought I lost you again”.

Her eyes were immediately remorseful, and I nearly got lost in the deep pools of emotion that I had been missing for far too long. She patted the spot next to her in her bed.

“Come lay with me Pea”, she said nearly inaudibly. I shook my head.

“Not a chance babydoll. You’re still too injured for me to pull that off without hurting you”, I reasoned, grabbing her hands in mine and squeezing them softly. She frowned.

“I don’t care Sweets. I just want you to be here with me, that’s all I’ve wanted for the last however long it’s been”, she said softly, tears forming in her big Y/E/C eyes. My resolve nearly crumbled at the sight of her sadness, my heart screaming to do whatever she said. But my more rational side wouldn’t let this go on without a fight.

“Babydoll… “, I started to argue with her, but she shook her head wildly.

“Sweet Pea please….”, she pleaded. I sighed once more, any ideas of denying her what she wanted out the window. I slowly slid up the bed and gently brought Y/N to my chest, tucking her head gently under my chin and savoring the way she let out a sweet sigh of contentment. I nestled my face into her hair, and she mirrored my action but into the crook of my neck. For the first time in nearly 3 weeks I felt at peace. We laid like this for a while, Y/N’s hand circling the place over my heart lovingly like she used to do back in my trailer. I nearly fell asleep once more, but fought the urge in favor of savoring the moment for as long as it lasted. I’d waited half a month for this day, and I was damned if I was going to let sleep ruin it. I was so lost in my musings for a moment that I almost missed the soft words that came from Y/N’s mouth.

“Pea…”, she murmured sleepily.

“Yeah baby”, I answered softly. She yawned.

“I’m going to fall asleep handsome. Please don't be scared”, she said, eyes nearly closing again. “I meant what I said when I promised not to leave you. It’s gonna take a lot more than Penny fucking Peabody and some Ghoulie trash to take me away from you. I love you Sweet Pea”. My heart soared as she slowly moved to kiss my neck, just where my Serpent tattoo was placed. I unintentionally shivered and she smiled her trademarked little smirk, though her eyes remained closed.

“I love you so damn much Y/N”, I murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head gently. She tightened her hold around me slightly. “Get some rest babydoll, I’ll be here when you wake up”.

“You promise?”, she muttered, already halfway asleep. I chuckled lowly.

“Yeah baby, I promise. I’m not going anywhere”, I vowed.

“I don't want you to worry”, she whispered. I chuckled lightly, placing the gentlest kiss I could muster to her forehead.

“Little late to that game babydoll”, I teased lightly. My cheeks hurt from the smile that had been etched on my face since she woke, but I couldn't bring myself to care. “It's alright beautiful, sleep. I'll be here when you wake up”.

“I know you will be”, she muttered, eyes finally creeping shut as she snuggled in closer to my side.

“Sweets…”, she breathed after a few minutes of silence. I'd thought she'd fallen asleep in all honesty, and my eyes were closed too as I sank into the easiest sleep I'd had in weeks.

“Mmm”, I answered quietly.

“I promised you I'd always be there”, she murmured against my neck. “I still will be, I love you Sweetest Pea”.

I opened my eyes to see her, seemingly asleep. Her hair was covering part of her face, and I gently brushed it to the side. She didn't stir at my action, and I took it to mean that she was now fully asleep. I smiled once more in utter peace as I whispered in her ear.

“And I love you my gorgeous, smart, badass, loveable babydoll”.

[trivialqueen]

39. Hero

{Here’s the next section of that original story. Still currently, and creatively called, Hospital Romance Drama. As always, I’m neither a doctor, nor British.  I’m just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men.}

“No, not to be so odd and from all fashions As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: It were a better death than die with mocks, Which is as bad as die with tickling.” Sofia Grace stopped so abruptly she almost spilled her flat white. As it was the jarring motion broke the perfect little heart Helen had made with the milk. Slowly she approached, just to confirm what she was fairly certain she was hearing. It sounded like Magnusson, baritone with just a hint of Scandinavian coloring his otherwise impeccable English. It sounded just exactly like Director of Surgery Felix Magnusson reading the part of Hero from Much Ado About Nothing.

“Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.” A younger voice replied. Sitting up in her hospital bed was a young woman, maybe sixteen. She was focusing very intently on reciting from memory her lines.  Beside her sat Felix, glasses perched on his patrician nose which was firmly wedged in a tatty script copy of the Bard’s comedy.

“No; rather I will go to Benedick And counsel him to fight against his passion. And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with: one doth not know How much an ill word may empoison liking.” Magnusson read. He made no effort to change his voice in any way – adopt an accent or sound more feminine. Sofia couldn’t decide if that was better or not. She couldn’t imagine the man adopting a falsetto and yet just thinking about it she desperately wished he had. She honestly also wouldn’t have imagined him sitting in the middle of his day with one of his patients to help her memorize lines either. And yet here he was.

“Line?” The girl had sat quietly for a few moments, staring hard into the middle distance.

“You know it, just try.” Felix looked up at the young woman, his tone encouraging. There was something different about his voice. About him. It was the same gentleness he’d shown Addie, a sort of parental mien that occasionally popped out in unexpected places. He was capable of patience, of kindness, of all the fatherly virtues. Just not when it came to anyone he worked with. Tamara had been crying in the bathroom on Harvey earlier. She didn’t even want to cry in the bathroom on Irene, just in case. Tamara had only been out of school a few months and literally looked like she was twelve. One would think such a combination would bring fatherly Felix to the fore. That was, however, not the case, apparently.

“She cannot be so much without true judgement--” the girl began. Felix clicked his tongue.

“Not quite. The line begins, ‘Oh, do not do your cousin such a wrong’.”

“Got it.” The girl gave a decisive nod. “O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. She cannot be so much without true judgment-- Having so swift and excellent a wit as she is prized to have--as to refuse So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.”

“Very good.” He returned his attention to the script. “He is the only man of Italy. Always excepted my dear Claudio.”

           And so they continued, ‘Ursula’ reciting from memory and Magnusson correcting her as necessary. It was not a good performance by any means, both were too flat for that and the setting left something to be desired, even by ‘random adaptations of Shakespeare’ standards. Nonetheless Sofia felt not great urge to interrupt them. Nor was she ready to walk away either. In the midafternoon sun and the overhead light Magnusson looked relaxed, almost charming. The rays glinted off the slight red gold undertone in his curls. He must’ve run his hands through his hair recently, and frequently, it was not as tamed as it usually was. The gel was broken up and his hair was almost Byronic. Adding to the image of the hero, his aubergine colored tie was slightly loosened and the top button of his pale blue dress shirt was undone.

“… I'll show thee some attires and have thy counsel Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.” His fingers were long and slender sprawled across the cover of the script. In another context one might say he had musicians’ hands.

“She's limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.” ‘Ursula’ looked up from her middle-distance staring and caught her watching. She colored brightly, her ears turning scarlet under her mop of professionally caramel colored hair.

“If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.” Magnusson did not notice her, nor his patient’s embarrassment and finished the dialogue as evenly before. He slid his glasses off his nose and into his pocket. He looked up to ‘Ursula’ and then followed her gaze to Sofia Grace. Their eyes met and she could see his ears tint, yet he arched a brow as if challenging her to say something.

“What fire is in mine ears?” Ms. Hale was smirking, her cayenne lips twisting smugly and her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Ms. Hale.” He shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but her eyes pinned him.

“Go on!” Bridget chirped. She’d gone from embarrassed to intrigued in seconds. Ms. Hale smiled brightly.

“Can this be true? Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?” She had the delivery of a thespian, which he was hardly surprised. Her every day comportment was dramatic, why should she be anything less than theatrical when actually reciting Shakespeare. “Ummm…” And then she paused. Looked thoughtful for a moment. And sipped her coffee to buy some time. Being lefthanded logos on mugs never faced out when she drank out of them, but he could tell it was her Wonder Woman mug. As far as Felix could tell she didn’t own any other mugs. “Contempt, farewell! And maiden pride, adieu! And that’s all I can remember.” She gave a charming shrug.

“No glory lives behind the backs of such.” The script was still open loosely in his hand, so it was easy to check Beatrice’s next line. She stared at him for a moment and he read on, “And Benedick, love on-”

“I will requite thee!” She jumped in, clearly her memory jogged. “Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand: If thou love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves in a holy band; for others say thou dost deserve, and I believe it better than reportingly! HA! Nailed it.” She exclaimed with a fist pump.

“Ah! Not quite.”

“What?” Both surgeon and student stared at him.

“If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves up in a holy band…”

“Oh, come on! After twenty years you’re going to ding me on two words? The spirit is the same!”

“Let’s apply to the director then.” Bridget looked between them both.

“I’d say that’s good enough after …twenty years?!” Ms. Hale gave him a cheeky smile over the rim of her coffee mug.

“I know, right?!” She preened.

“It seems like it should be longer ago, doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” Bridget dissolved into peels of laughter. Felix could feel the smile spread across his lips. It was perhaps not the best dig, but it was so perfectly set up. “Just because you’re jealous of my theatrical chops-”

“I would have you know that I made a fine Thespian in the sixth form.”

“Who were you? The messenger boy?”

“Sir Andrew Aguecheek.” Ms. Hale visibly chocked on her coffee. He couldn’t blame her; it was not the role he’d have cast himself in either. But Aguecheek was supposed to be a ridiculous man and at sixteen he had been all arms and legs and knobby, awkward angles.

“WHAT?” She chocked, thumping herself in the chest like it might help. “Was this one of those instances that it was for a class and they had to cast everyone, even if it meant combining or breaking up parts to get the right numbers?” It had been for class credit, but he would never admit that. Instead he stood and handed the script back.

“Bridget, if you need further help with your lines, I think it’s obvious who you should ask.”

“You’ve been a big help, Mr. M.”

“You haven’t forgotten our three o’clock appointment I see.” Magnusson commented as he keyed in the five-digit code to his office door.

“How could I, you’re in check!”

“Not for much longer, Ms. Hale. Not for very much longer.” They had been at this particular match for the last three weeks, ever since the machines incident and her opening move. A normal chess match should not take so long, however, they had yet to play even fifteen minutes in a single sitting. Emergencies had no concept of time so even with all the planning, getting to be in the same room at the same time was difficult. She hadn’t even realized she’d put him in check until later, she’d been distracted by her pager when she’d made the move. (Not that she’d admit that to him).

She follows him into his office, it is more familiar to her now, almost as familiar as it was when Charlotte was DOS. Over the course of their several chess moves (it’s hard to call them matches when they don’t even last as long as a cup of coffee sometimes) she and he have developed a routine. Upon entering his office he would immediately turn on the hot water kettle he kept in a discreet corner by his desk, he would then empty his pockets, carefully placing his cellphone on his desk, and then he would bring his tea set to the table. Magnusson took his fancy leaf water quite seriously, carefully choosing the tea he wanted from a selection of loose-leaf options, measuring it out precisely into the teapot, and occasionally going so far as to get up and adjust the water temperature on the kettle. The tea set would always include the tea pot, a single cup and saucer and a 350gram jar with three beautiful biscuits in it. And not the store-bought kind either, biscuits clearly made by an individual.

While Magnusson carefully matched his tea to whatever sweet treat he’d brought with him that day (florentines with Darjeeling, palmiers and chamomile, shortbread with earl grey, gingerbread and lemon tea) Sofia Grace would kick off her heels and snoop examine his artwork. All of the photos on his walls were signed works, the vast majority taken by an Ingrid Karpe. He had a small collection of sculptures as well, all contemporary looking and rather abstract, although the one on his desk was clearly a fish. Just like the photo on his desk was clearly his son. Magnusson would never say anything as she examined his small gallery, but she was aware that he was aware of where she was looking. If he wouldn’t offer, she wouldn’t ask, even if it did pique her curiosity – why did so many of the photos have seemingly the same subject? Where was that dark-haired little boy now?

Eventually, when it looked like Magnusson’s little tea ritual was nearly finished Sofia Grace would return to the sofa, curling into one of the corners, her bare feet tucked up under her as she’d lean on the arm. Rather than face off against one another over the small conference table in his office he moved his chessboard to the end table between them. He stopped offering her tea early on, since she always brought her coffee. And so coffee versus tea, black versus white faced off. She would accept his biscuits, however.

“Is that a bakery digestive biscuit?” It was. A lightly brown, crunchy-tender semi-sweet meal biscuit. It was thicker than the digestives from the store, but it was unmistakable. “Holy shit, I didn’t know you could actually makethese. You have got to give me the name of your bakery.”

“I’m allowed to have some secrets.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He gave her a smug smile over the rim of his tea. It was the sort of expression that told her he wouldn’t pressed further. At least not at the moment.

“You’ve acquired a new nickname.” They had settled into the game, digestives devoured. Magnusson had deftly saved his king for checkmate and they were now back to a nearly cat game. During her yearlong recovery she had had nothing to do but play lots of chess, learn German, and read many, many trashy romance novels. Sofia Grace knew she was good at chess, but Magnuson was something else entirely. (Not that she’d ever tell him that).

“If you going to try to get people to call me Sir Andrew Aguecheek, I’m going to have to draw a line.”

“Ooo, I hadn’t thought of that! Brilliant!” Her eyes sparkled at him, like stars dancing. It was perhaps the first time those dark eyes sparkled at him. He had seen them sparkle before, for others. But at him they only ever spat fire, or at best, flinty sparks. And now they were sparkling for him. The sight whipped through him like the first cold wind of winter – he was completely unprepared; his breath caught; senses tingled. He could feel it cut through him to the very core.

“Don’t you dare.” He felt slight pride in being able to speak like he was unaffected. Ms. Hale’s white knight retreated slightly, smartly. She smiled.

“In addition to Sir Andrew Aguecheek, you’ve acquired a new nickname.” After thoughtful deliberation he moved his bishop to C4. Felix had expected her to be as rash a chess player as she was a person. He’d heard tell that she’d once incited an abusive husband of a patient to punch her in the face in the middle of the hall so there was more concrete evidence pointing to his violent temper and to buy time for the man’s partner to finish giving their statement to the police. She had absolutely no sense of self-preservation, as far as he could tell. And yet when she played chess, her moves were anything but impulsive. He had expected this game to be over by now, but she had surprised him as an opponent.

“Don’t people have better things to do?”

“It wouldn’t be a hospital without gossip.” Her quip was only halfhearted as she studied the board. He sipped his tea and waited – for either her move or his apparent new nickname, whichever came first.

“Well, what is it?” She’d studied the board for what felt like an hour before she carefully moved her pawn. “It can’t be worse than ‘Björn the Slasher’…” A few of his monikers had made their way to his ears. None of them were good – they were both disdainful as well as lazy and stupid. A smörgåsbord of Swedish stereotypes peppered with some tortured reference to his height.

“That one’s hilarious.”

“It makes me sound like a camp horror villain.” She gave him a look over her mug that clearly said, ‘well, aren’t you?’ “If you’re going to tell me about ‘Fucking Felix’, I’m aware.” Alliterative, yes, creative, no.

“That’s hardly a nickname and more a general reaction whenever we have to work with you.” He stared blankly at her, for want of a response – other than to note that their colleagues were more than a little dramatic.

“Well what is it then? Is it the abominable snow man? The Snow King, perhaps? The Ice Giant? Felix the Herring? Hurdy Gurdy – which I really don’t get by the way. Dr. No perhaps?” And then there were the more hurtful ones like Dr. Death or the Angel of Death. But it was truly ridiculous the names he’d been called in the short time he’d been at Saint Sebastian’s.

“Don’t forget the good humor man.” She added brightly. Ah, non-literary irony. He thought sarcastically. They lapsed into temporary silence as they studied the board.

“Doctor Damocles.” Ms. Hale said after carefully removing his captured pawn from the board. It made him start.

“Dr. Damocles – That doesn’t even make sense!” He was well familiar with Damocles, the obsequious courtier of Dionysius II of Syracuse and the moral anecdote about him.

“You’re the harbinger of impending doom! Looming about, threatening everyone’s job, scaring people half to death. You’ve made five people cry since you’ve gotten here – three F1s, two F2s, plus Tamara Aquilarios just this morning!” Ah, that interpretation of the tale, he remembered it well – and paid dearly for it. Just listening he could feel the sting of his father’s hand across his cheek. His first summer home from boarding school his father had insisted that rather than make noise around the house he dedicate his time to something useful and worthwhile – translating all five books of the Tusculanae Disputationes. Every night his father had marked his translations. There had been no room for error. There was never allowed any room for error. It was one of his earliest lessons.

“But that’s not the point of the parable at all. The sword doesn’t just represent, oh, something terrible is going to happen, but it’s about realizing that what looks like an enviable life – a life of wealth, power, and luxury is, in fact, fraught with anxiety, terror, and possibly death.” She stared at him blankly for a long moment.

“God, you really are an insufferable pedant, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying, the nickname is fundamentally wrong.”

“This would be why we call you ‘Fucking Felix’.” He had nothing to say to that and so he returned his focus entirely to the pieces on the board and his mostly consumed cup of breakfast blend (a choice he made as it complimented his biscuits, ignoring the fact it was after three o’clock). For a move they were both quiet. Focused.

Ms. Hale licked her cayenne lips, they were slightly faded, the color having transferred from full mouth to the rim of her mug in a distinctive kiss, making the cup as hers more than the motif on the outside could. There was some intimacy in seeing her without that flawless signature color, even if it was a fleeting moment before she touched it up and returned about her day.

He was distracted by the red bow of her mouth rather than listening to the words coming out of it.

“But seriously,” She was saying, “we can’t go on like the anymore. The cuts, the redundancies. Everyone in this hospital is running scared. You can’t run a hospital like it’s some company, we’re here to make people better, for God’s sake, not turn a profit.”

“You know that the hospital is not a for profit company, and I know that the hospital is not a for profit company,” She looked at him skeptically, both forgetting the chess match for a little while. “But it has been made abundantly clear to me that the Foundation Trust board does not care. They are interested in seeing healthy profit margins, strong financials in general, efficient staff, and an impeccable reputation. The austere, and only the austere, will survive.”

“Making nurses cry, terrorizing the staff, you think this is going to make Saint Sebastian’s a better hospital, this is how we achieve FT status?”

“Ensuring that the staff are fulfilling their roles and obligations, that nurses are performing proper procedures and tests and running effective bed checks will go a long way toward our Foundation Trust application, particularly since Sir Stewart Frazier, Angus Black, Tristan Guy will be looking over our shoulders for the foreseeable future. They start their on grounds audit Monday.”

Sofia Grace felt herself choke on air. Monday?! The audit starts Monday?!

“The audit starts next week, and you didn’t think to tell us yet?” She was incredulous.

“I myself did not know until this afternoon when Sir Stewart called me.”

“And you decided to read Shakespeare and play chess rather than inform us of this?!” Magnusson sat his teacup down on the table, she momentarily worried that it would have broken, the thud was so heavy sounding.

“I am not one to just fire off emails, saying whatever it is I’m feeling as I feel it. I think before I speak, and in this case, I wanted to think quite carefully about what I should put in such an email. Rest assured, there will be notification by the end of the day regarding this development.”

“You can’t just keep secrets from us!”

“I am hardly keeping this a secret.” His tone was as frosty as Lappland. “Everyone will know by the end of the day, once I have time to sit down and draft the email. Didn’t I ask you to have some faith in me?” She opened her mouth to protest, it was hardly a lack of faith when he literally said he would inform people when he felt like it. He cut off her retort, however. “Regarding Nurse Aquilarios, on the topic of having some faith in me, did you bother to find out the context in which I apparently made her cry?” His delivery was nothing like any rant she was familiar with, certainly nothing like her own style which built and built and built until she exploded like a steam engine without a valve. Instead he was cold, even, and brooking no interruption. “I asked her why a patient hadn’t had a pregnancy test performed. She had skipped the routine procedure in order to save time and because the patient had said they were not pregnant. It’s how she has been able to get such good bed check times. It turns out the patient was actually pregnant, which of course meant an entirely different treatment plan.”

“Your asking had her in tears in the women’s loo! She’s only been out of school six months you know.” Ah, to be young. She wouldn’t do it again for a million dollars. Tamara was maybe 23. It seemed so long ago now but the fear was something she’d ever forget.

“Then it should be fresher in her mind than others that routine procedures become routine for a reason: they serve important purposes and it’s not for us to arbitrarily decide what really is or isn’t important.”

“She’s a good kid, cut her some slack.” Sofia Grace was still skeptical about his just “asking” Tamara rather than yelling at her – the young nurse had been a mess of runny mascara when she had stumbled upon her in the toilet, but she was inclined to agree with Magnusson on the general point. Running a pregnancy test on anyone with a uterus was an important habit to have. There were a surprising number of otherwise competent people who nevertheless weren’t 100% up to date or correct about their current health or health history.

“She has all the makings of an excellent nurse, if she could master the basics of routine procedures and confirming what we think we know, rather than assuming or simply taking someone’s word for it.” It was perhaps the nicest thing she’d heard him say about anyone, except for perhaps immediately after she impressed him with her trick to avoid cracking the chest of a young chef to repair their punctured artery.

“Have you considered telling her this?”

“I censure when there is a need to censure and I praise when there is reason to praise. I won’t go out of my way to do either.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to be nice, you know.” Perhaps it would, it was so hard to tell. There were moments. Flashes of kindness in him. And then, well, he made grown men cry. For a long time they just stared at each other, chess match forgotten between them as a battle of wills took all of their strategic thinking. Without his glasses it was easier to see his eyes. They were nice eyes - sable colored, with long, thick dark lashes – the kind mascara companies were forever trying to replicate.

A shrill beep broke the silence – and their eye contact. Both reached for their pagers.

“Schiße.” He was grateful for the interruption, as piercing as it was. Her eyes had stopped dancing and they had taken a hard, flinty expression. They unnerved him, her eyes. He knew they could steal his soul. They were eyes that could lead a man to hell.

“I’ve got to go.” She began putting on her shoes. “Same time tomorrow?” He stood with her. In her smart heels she was still a head shorter than he was. It was noticeable when they stood next to each other, but so easy to forget given the size of her personality.

“I will have to check, there are some meetings for me to attend before the board begins their audit.”

“Well, you have my number.” She gave him a polite smile, her face a mask of professional focus. Once she was out of his office and off to Harvey, he carefully cleaned up the remnants of his tea and then sat heavily at his desk. With a sigh he opened a new message.

Dear Colleagues…

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

NOW~G-DRAGON fanfic Pt.5

Genre:SMUT/ANGST

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: G-Dragon x Reader

Worcount: 5,930

Part.4 Part.5

Masterlist

Before heading to my first class, I stop to grab my usual at the coffeehouse, where Taeyang is waiting for me with a smile. After our hellos, we’re interrupted by a girl asking for intricate directions, and so we don’t get the chance to catch up until we’re walking to our last class of the day. The class that all day I have been dreading, but anticipating.

“How was your weekend?” Taeyang asks and I groan.

“Terrible, actually. I went to another party with Hyuna,” I tell him and he makes a sour face and laughs. “I’m sure yours was much better. How is Rin?”

His smile grows at the mention of her name and I realize that I didn’t mention seeing Hoseok on Saturday. Taeyang tells me about Rin applying to a ballet company in New York and how happy he is for her. All the while, I wonder if Hoseok’s eyes light up like that when he talks about me.

As we walk into class, he’s telling me how his father and stepmother were thrilled to see him, but I find myself searching the room and not listening very closely to him; Jiyongs’s seat is empty.

“Won’t it be hard if Hyo-Rin is gone so far?” I manage to ask as we take our seats.

“Well, we are already far from each other now, but it works. I really just want the best for her, and if New York is it, that’s where I want her to be.”

The professor walks in, silencing us. Where’s Jiyong? He wouldn’t skip class just to avoid me, would he?

We dive into Pride and Prejudice—a magical book that I wish everyone would read—and before I realize it the class is over.

“You’ve cut your hair, Y/F/N.” I turn around to see Jiyong smiling behind me. He and Taeyang exchange awkward stares and I try to think of what to say. He wouldn’t mention the kiss in front of Taeyang, would he? His smile, tell me that yes, yes he would.

“Hey, Jiyong,” I say.

“How was your weekend?” His expression is so smug.

I pull Tae by the arm. “Good. Well, see you around!” I yell nervously and Jiyong laughs.

When we’re outside, Taen asks, “What was that about?” obviously catching on to my strange behavior.

“Nothing, I just don’t like Jiyong.”

“At least you don’t have to see him often.”

But there is something behind his voice, and why would he say that? Does he know about the kiss?

“Um … yeah. Thank God,” is all I can muster.

He pauses. “I wasn’t going to say anything, because I don’t want you to associate me with him, but”—he smiles nervously—“Jiyong’s dad is sort of dating my mom.”

What? “What?”

“Jiyong’s dad—”

“Yes, yes, I got that, but Jiyong’s dad lives here? Why is Jiyong here? If his dad lives here, why doesn’t he live with him?” I flood Tae with questions before I can stop myself. He looks confused, but less nervous than a moment ago.

“His dad and my mom live close to the campus, but Jiyong and his dad don’t have a good relationship. So please don’t mention any of this to him. We already don’t like each other.”

I nod. “Sure, okay.” A thousand more questions come to my mind, but I stay quiet as my friend goes back to talking about Rin, his eyes brightening with each word about her.

WHEN I GET BACK TO MY ROOM, Hyuna isn’t back yet since her classes run two hours past mine. I start to lay out my books and notes to get ready to study, but decide to call Hoseok instead. He doesn’t pick up, and it really makes me wish he was here with me at college. It would make things so much easier and comfortable. We could be studying or watching a movie together right now.

Still, I know that I’m thinking about this because of my guilt about kissing Jiyong is consuming me—Hoseok is so sweet and he doesn’t deserve to be cheated on. I am so lucky to have him in my life. He’s always there for me, and he knows me better than anyone. We have known each other basically our whole lives. When his parents moved in down the street, I was ecstatic to have someone my age to hang out with, and the feeling only grew as I got to know him and learned he was an old soul like me. We spent our time reading, watching movies, and bringing life into the greenhouse behind my mother’s place. The greenhouse has always been my safe haven; when my dad drank I would hide in there and no one except Hoseok knew where to find me. The night my dad left was a terrible night for me, and my mother refuses to speak of it, ever. Doing so would shatter the perfect façade she has created for herself, but I still want to talk about it sometimes. Even though I hated him for drinking so much, and for pushing my mother around, I still felt the deep need to have a father. That night, stowed away in the greenhouse while my dad screamed and went wild, I kept hearing glasses shattering in the kitchen, and then, when it stopped, footsteps. I was terrified my father was coming for me, but it was Hoseok. And I had never been so relieved in all my life to see someone safe. From that day on we were inseparable. Over the years, our friendship turned into more, and neither of us has ever dated anyone else.

I text Hoseok that I love him and decide to take a catnap before I begin my studies. I pull out my planner and check my work one more time, I can surely fit in a twenty-minute nap.

Not even ten minutes into my nap, there’s a knock at the door. Figuring Hyuna must have forgotten her key, I groggily pull the door open.

Of course it isn’t her. It’s Jiyong.

“Hyuna isn’t back yet,” I say and walk back to my bed, leaving the door open for him. I’m a little surprised he even bothered to knock, since I know Hyuna gave him an extra key as backup for herself. I will have to talk to her about that.

“I can wait,” he says and plops down on Hyuna’s bed.

“Suit yourself.” I groan, ignoring his chuckle as I pull the blanket over my body and close my eyes. Or rather, trying to ignore it. There is no way I am going to be able to sleep knowing that Jiyong is in my room, but I would rather pretend-sleep than face the awkward, rude talk we are bound to have. I try to ignore the sound of him gently tapping the headboard of her bed until my alarm goes off.

“Going somewhere?” he asks and I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.

“No, I was taking a twenty-minute nap,” I tell him and sit up.

“You set an alarm to make sure your nap is only twenty minutes?” he says, amused.

“Yeah, I do. So what’s it to you, anyway?” I grab my books and lay them out neatly, in order of my class schedule, and stack the notes for each class on top of them.

“Are you OCD or something?”

“No, Jiyong. Not everyone’s crazy because they just like things a certain way. There’s nothing wrong with being organized,” I snap.

And he laughs, of course. I refuse to look at him, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see him pushing up off the bed.

Please don’t come over here. Please don’t come …

And then he’s standing over me, looking down at where I sit on my bed. He grabs my Literature notes and turns them over a couple of times exaggeratedly like he’s staring at a rare artifact. I reach up for them but—like the annoying jerk he is—he lifts them higher, so I stand and swipe at them. But he tosses them in the air and they fall to the ground in a scattered mess.

“Pick those up!” I demand.

He smirks and says, “Okay, okay,” but just grabs my Sociology notes and does the same thing to them. I scramble to pick them up before he steps on them, but that’s only funny to him.

“Jiyong, stop!” I yell, just as he does the same with the next stack. Infuriated, I stand up and shove him away from my bed.

“You mean, someone doesn’t like their stuff being messed with?” he asks, still laughing. Why must he always laugh at me?

“No! I don’t!” I yell and go to shove him again. He steps toward me and grabs my wrists, pushing me back against the wall. His face is inches from mine, and suddenly I’m aware I’m breathing way too hard. I want to scream at him to get off me, to let me go, and demand that he put my work back. I want to slap him, to make him leave. But I can’t. I’m frozen against the wall and mesmerized by his brown eyes burning into mine. “Jiyong, please,” are the only words I finally find. But they are soft. And I’m not sure if I am begging him to let me go, or kiss me. My breathing still hasn’t slowed; I can feel his increasing, the way his chest rises powerfully. Seconds feel like hours, and finally he removes one hand from my wrists, but the other is large enough to hold both.

For a second, I think he might slap me. But his hand moves up to my cheekbone and then he gently tucks my hair behind my ear. I swear I can hear his pulse as he brings his lips to mine—and the fire crackles under my skin.

This is what I have been longing for since Saturday night. If I could only feel one thing for the rest of my life, this would be it.

I don’t let myself think about why I am kissing him again or what terrible thing he will say afterward. All I want to focus on is the way he presses his body against mine when he lets go of my wrists, pinning me to the wall, and the way his mouth tastes like mint again. The way my tongue somehow follows his, and the way my hands slide over his broad shoulders. His hands grip the backs of my thighs and he lifts me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and I’m amazed at the way my body somehow knows how to respond to him. I bury my fingers in his hair, gently tugging at it while he walks back toward my bed, his lips still molded to mine.

The responsible voice inside my head finds her way in, reminding me that this is a terrible idea—but I push her back. I am not stopping this time. I pull Jiyong’s hair harder, earning a moan from him. The sound elicits one of my own, the two mixing in the most heavenly way. It is the hottest sound I have ever heard and I want to do anything I can to hear it again. He sits back on my bed, pulling me so I’m on his lap. His long fingers dig into my skin, but the pain is wonderful. My body begins gently rocking back and forth on his lap, and his grip tightens.

“Fuck,” he breathes into my mouth, and I experience a sensation I have never felt before as I feel him harden against me.

How far will I let this go? I ask myself, but I don’t have an answer.

His hands find the hem of my shirt, and he tugs at it, pulling it up. I can’t believe I’m letting him, but I don’t want to stop. He pulls away from our heated kiss to get the shirt over my head. His eyes meet mine, then go down to my chest as he takes his lip between his teeth.

“You’re so sexy, Y/N.”

The idea of dirty talk never appealed to me, but somehow Jiyong saying those words becomes the most sensual thing I have ever heard. I never buy any fancy underwear because no one, literally no one, ever sees them, but right now I wish I had something besides this plain black bra. He’s probably seen every type of bra there is, the annoying voice in my head reminds me. To try to get such thoughts out of my head, I rock harder against his lap, and he wraps his arms around my back and pulls my body to his, our chests touching …

The door handle jingles. I push myself off Jiyong’s lap and throw my shirt on, the trance I was in immediately broken.

Hyuna steps through the door and stops short when she sees me and Jiyong. As she takes in the scene before her, her mouth forms an O.

I know my cheeks are bright red not only from the embarrassment but from the way Jiyong has made me feel.

“What the hell did I miss?” she gasps, staring at us both with a huge grin. I swear her eyes are practically clapping with glee.

“Nothing much,” Jiyong says and stands. He walks to the door and doesn’t look back as he walks out of the room, where I’m left panting and Hyuna laughing.

“What the actual hell was that!?” she asks me and then covers her face in mock horror. But she’s too excited by the gossip and pops back quickly. “You and Jiyong … You and Jiyong are like messing around?”

I turn and pretend to look through the stuff on my desk. “No! No way! We aren’t messing around,” I tell her. Are we? No, we just happened to kiss, twice. And he took my shirt off, and I was basically humping him—but we aren’t messing around, like regularly. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

She comes over to face me. “So … that doesn’t mean you can’t mess around with Jiyong—I just can’t believe it! I thought you guys hated each other. Well, Jiyong hates everyone. But I thought he hated you even more than his normal hatred for people,” she says, then laughs. “When did this even … how did this happen?”

I sit on her bed and run my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know. Well, Saturday when you left the party I ended up in his room because this creep tried to hit on me, and then I kissed Jiyong. We promised to never speak of it again—but then he came by today and he started messing with me, not in that way.” I point at the bed, which only makes her smirk grow. “Like he was throwing my stuff around and I pushed him and then somehow we ended up on the bed.”

It sounds so bad as I repeat it. I really am acting so out of character, just like my mother said. I put my hands over my face. How could I do this to Hoseok—again?

“Whoa, that sounds hot,” Hyuna says, and I roll my eyes.

“It’s not—it’s terrible and wrong. I love Hoseok, and Jiyong is a jerk. I don’t want to be another conquest of his.”

“You could learn a lot from Jiyong … you know sexually.”

My mouth falls open. Is she serious? Is that something she would do … wait, has she? Her and Jiyong?

“No way, I don’t want to learn anything from Jiyong. Or anyone besides Hoseok,” I tell her. I can’t imagine Hoseok and I making out like that. My mind replays Jiyong’s words: You’re so sexy, Y/N. Hoseok would never say something like that—no one has ever called me sexy before. I feel my cheeks heat up as I think about it. “Have you?” I ask a little sheepishly.

“With Jiyong? No.” And something inside me feels better when she says that. But then she continues. “Well … I haven’t had sex with him, but we had a little fling when we first met, as embarrassing as that is to admit. But nothing came from it; we were sort of friends with benefits for about a week.” She says it like it’s no big deal, but I can’t help the jealousy that stirs inside me.

“Oh … benefits?” I ask. My mouth is completely dry and I find myself suddenly annoyed by Steph.

“Yeah, nothing too big. Just like a few heavy makeout sessions, a grope here and there. Nothing serious,” she says and my chest hurts. I’m not surprised really, but I wish I wouldn’t have asked.

“Does Jiyong have a lot of friends with benefits?” I don’t want to hear the answer, but I can’t help asking.

She snorts and sits down on her bed across from me. “Yeah, he does. I mean, not like hundreds, but he’s a pretty … active guy.”

I can tell she’s seen how I reacted and is trying to sugarcoat it for my sake. I make the mental decision for what feels like the hundredth time to stay away from him. I will not be anyone’s friends with benefits. Ever.

“He doesn’t do it to be mean or use girls; they pretty much throw themselves at him, and he lets them know from the start that he doesn’t date,” she says. I remember her telling me that before. But it’s not like he said that to me when we …

“Why doesn’t he date?” Why can’t I stop asking these questions?

“I don’t know, really … Listen,” she says, her voice full of concern, “I think you could have a lot of fun with Jiyong, but I also think this could be dangerous for you. Unless you know you will never develop any sort of feelings for him, I would stay away. I have seen a lot of girls fall for him and it’s not pretty.”

“Oh, trust me, I do not have feelings for him. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I laugh, and hope that it at least sounds genuine.

Steph nods. “Good. So, how much trouble did you get into with your mom and Hoseok?”

I tell her all about my mother’s lecture, minus the part about me promising not to be friends with her anymore. We spend the rest of the night talking about classes, Tristan, and anything I can think of besides Jiyong.

The next day Tae and I meet at the coffeehouse before class to compare notes for Sociology. It took me an hour to get all my notes in order after Jiyong’s annoying stunt yesterday. I want to tell Tae about it but I don’t want him to think badly of me, especially now that I know about his mom and Jiyong’s dad. Tae must know a ton about Jiyong, and I have to keep reminding myself not to ask questions about him. Besides, I don’t care what Jiyong does.

The day flies by and finally it’s time for Literature. Per usual, Jiyong is in the seat next to mine, but today he doesn’t seem inclined to look my way at all.

“Today will be our last day on Pride and Prejudice,” the professor informs us. “I hope you all have enjoyed it, and since you’ve all read the ending, it feels fitting to base today’s discussion on Austen’s use of foreshadowing. Let me ask: as a reader, did you expect her and Darcy to become a couple in the end?”

Several people murmur or randomly flip through their books like it’ll provide an immediate answer for them, but only Landon and I raise our hands, as always.

“Miss Y/L/N,” the professor calls on me.

“Well, the first time I read the novel, I was on the edge of my seat about whether or not they would end up together. Even now—and I have read it at least ten times—I still feel anxious during the beginning of their relationship. Mr. Darcy is so cruel and says such hateful things about Elizabeth and her family that I never know if she can forgive him, let alone love him.” Tae nods at my answer, and I smile.

“That’s a load,” a voice cuts through the stillness. Jiyong’s voice.

“Mr. Kwon? Would you like to add something?” the professor asks, clearly surprised at Jiyong’s participation.

“Sure. I said that’s a load. Women want what they can’t have. Mr. Darcy’s rude attitude is what drew Elizabeth to him, so it was obvious they would end up together,” Jiyong says, then picks at his fingernails as if he isn’t the slightest bit interested in the discussion.

“That isn’t true, about women wanting what they can’t have. Mr. Darcy was only mean to her because he was too proud to admit he loved her. Once he stopped his hateful act, she saw that he really loved her,” I say, much louder than I intended.

Much louder. I look around the room and find everyone is staring at me and Jiyong.

Jiyong. exhales. “I don’t know what kind of guys you normally go for, but I think that if he loved her, he wouldn’t have been mean to her. The only reason he even ended up asking for her hand in marriage was because she wouldn’t stop throwing herself at him,” he says with emphasis, and my heart drops. But finally we’re getting at what he’s really thinking.

“She did not throw herself at him! He manipulated her into thinking he was kind and took advantage of her weakness!” I scream, and then the room really, truly goes silent. Jiyong’s face is flushed with anger, and I can’t imagine mine looks much different.

“He ‘manipulated’ her? Try again, she is … I mean, she was so bored with her boring life that she had to find excitement somewhere—so she certainly was throwing herself at him!” he yells back, his hand gripping the desk.

“Well, maybe if he wasn’t such a manwhore, he could have stopped it after the first time instead of showing up to her room!” After the words leave my mouth, I know that we’ve been exposed, and snickers and gasps are heard throughout the room.

“Okay, lively discussion. I think that’s probably enough on that topic for today …” the professor begins, but I grab my bag and run out of the room.

From somewhere behind me in the halls, I hear Jiyong’s angry voice yell, “You don’t get to run this time, Y/F/N!”

I get outside and am crossing the green lawn, about to reach the corner of the block, when he grabs my arm and I jerk away.

“Why do you always touch me like that? Grab my arm again and I will slap you!” I scream. I surprise myself at my harsh words, but I’ve had enough of his crap.

He grabs my arm again, but I can’t manage to follow through on my promise. “What do you want, Jiyong? To tell me how desperate I am? To laugh at me for letting you get to me again? I am so sick of this game with you—I won’t play it any longer. I have a boyfriend who loves me, and you are a terrible person. You really should see a doctor and get some medication for your mood swings! I can’t keep up with you. One second you’re nice, then you’re hateful. I want nothing to do with you, so do yourself a favor and find another girl to play your games, because I’m done!”

“I really do bring out the worst in you, don’t I?” he asks.

I turn away and attempt to shift my focus to the busy sidewalk next to us. A few confused students’ eyes linger on Jiyong and me for a beat too long. When I face him again, he’s running his fingers across a small hole at the bottom of his worn black T-shirt.

I expect him to be smiling or laughing, but he’s not. If I didn’t know any better I would think he was … hurt? But I do know better and I know he couldn’t care less. “I’m not trying to play games with you,” he says and runs his hand over his head.

“Then what are you doing—because your mood swings give me a headache,” I snap. A small crowd has gathered around us, and I want to curl into a ball and disappear. But I have to know what he will say next.

Why can’t I stay away from him? I know he’s dangerous and toxic. I have never been as mean to someone as I am to him. He deserves it, I know, but I don’t really like being mean to anyone.

Jiyong grabs my arm yet again and pulls me into a small alleyway between two buildings, away from the crowd. “Y/N, I … I don’t know what I am doing. You kissed me first, remember?” he reminds me.

“Yeah … I was drunk, remember? And you kissed me first yesterday.”

“Yeah … You didn’t stop me.” He pauses. “It must be exhausting,” he says.

What? “What must be exhausting?”

“Acting like you don’t want me, when we both know you do,” he says, and steps closer.

“What? I do not want you. I have a boyfriend.” The words tumble out too fast and reveal their absurdity, making him smile.

“A boyfriend that you’re bored with. Admit it,Y/N. Not to me, but to yourself. You’re bored with him.” His voice lowers, and slows to a sensual pace. “Has he ever made you feel the way I do?”

“W-What? Of course he has,” I lie.

“No … he hasn’t. I can tell that you’ve never been touched … really touched.”

His words send a now-familiar burn through my body. “That’s none of your business,” I say and back away, making him take three steps toward me.

“You have no idea how good I can make you feel,” he says, and I gasp. How does he go from yelling at me to this? And why do I like it so much? I have no words. Jiyongs tone and dirty words make me weak, vulnerable, and confused. I have become a rabbit in a fox’s trap.

“Really, you don’t have to admit it. I can tell,” he says, his voice thick with arrogance.

But all I can do is shake my head. His smile grows and I instinctively back against the wall. He takes a step toward me, and I take a deep, hopeful breath. Not again.

“Your pulse has quickened, hasn’t it? Your mouth is dry. You’re thinking about me and have that feeling … down there. Don’t you,Y/F/N?”

Everything he is saying is true and the more he talks to me like this, the more I want him. It’s strange to crave and hate someone at the same time. The attraction I feel is purely physical, which is surprising considering how opposite he is from Hoseok. I don’t remember ever being attracted to anyone except Hoseok.

I know that if I don’t say something now, he will win. I don’t want him to have this power over me and win, too.

“You’re wrong,” I mutter.

But he smiles. And even that sends electricity through me.

“I’m never wrong,” he says. “Not about this.”

I step to the side before he fully traps me against the wall. “Why do you keep saying I throw myself at you if you’re the one cornering me now?” I ask, my anger pushing past my lust for this maddening tattooed boy.

“Because you made the first move on me. Don’t get me wrong, I was as surprised as you were.”

“I was drunk and had a long night—as you already know. I was confused because you were being nice to me; well, your version of being nice.” I scoot past him and sit down on the curb so I can get out of his space. Talking to him is so exhausting.

“I’m not that mean to you,” he says, looming over me, but it sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Yeah, you are. You go out of your way to be mean to me. Not just me, but everyone. But it still seems like you are extra hard on me.” I can’t believe I am being this honest with him. I know it’s a matter of minutes before he turns on me.

“That’s just not true. I’m no meaner to you than I am to the rest of the general population.”

I shoot up. I knew I couldn’t have a normal discussion with him. “I don’t know why I keep wasting my time!” I yell. I start walking back toward the main pathway and lawn.

“Hey, I’m sorry. Just come back over here.”

I groan, but my feet react before my brain can catch up, and I end up standing a few feet away from him.

He sits on the curb where I was previously sitting. “Sit,” he demands.

And I do.

“You’re sitting awfully far away,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “You don’t trust me?”

“No, of course I don’t. Why would I?”

His face falls slightly as my words hit him, but he recovers quickly. Why would he care if I trusted him?

“Can we just agree to either stay away from each other, or be friends? I don’t have it in me to keep fighting with you.” I sigh, and he moves a little closer.

He takes a deep breath before he speaks. “I don’t want to stay away from you.”

What? My heart beats out of my chest.

“I mean … I don’t think we can stay away from each other, with one of my best friends being your roommate and all. So I suppose we should try to be friends.”

Disappointment bubbles up from nowhere, but this is what I want, right? I can’t keep kissing Jiyong and cheating on Hoseok.

“Okay, so friends?” I say, pushing down this feeling.

“Friends,” he agrees and reaches out his hand for me to shake.

“Not friends with benefits,” I remind him as I shake, only to feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

He chuckles and moves his hand to play with his eyebrow ring. “What makes you say that?”

“Like you don’t know. Hyuna already told me.”

“What, about me and her?”

“You and her, and you and every other girl.” I try to fake a laugh but it comes out as a cough, so I cough a little more to try to cover.

He raises his eyebrow at me but I ignore him. “Well, me and Hyuna … that was fun.” He smiles as if remembering something and I swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat.

“And yeah, I have girls that I fuck. But why would that concern you, friend?”

He’s so nonchalant about the whole thing, but I’m in shock. Hearing him admit to sleeping with other girls shouldn’t bother me but it does. He isn’t mine:Hoseok is. Hoseok is. Hoseok is, I remind myself.

“It doesn’t. I just don’t want you to think that I will be one of those girls.”

“Aww … are you jealous, Y/F/N?” he mocks me, and I shove him. There is no way in hell I will ever admit that.

“No, absolutely not. I feel sorry for the girls.”

He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Oh, you shouldn’t. They enjoy it, trust me.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. Can we please just change the subject?” I sigh and lift my head back to look at the sky. I need to clear the image of Jiyong and his harem out of my mind. “So, will you try to be nicer to me?”

“Sure. Will you try not to be so uptight and bitchy all the time?”

Looking at the clouds, I dreamily say, “I’m not bitchy; you’re just obnoxious.”

I look at him and start laughing; fortunately he joins in. It’s a nice change from screaming at each other. I know we haven’t really resolved the big issue here, which is the feelings that I may or may not have for him, but if I can just get him to stop kissing me, I can focus back on Hoseok and stop this terrible cycle before it gets worse.

“Look at us, two friends.” His accent is so cute when he isn’t being rude.

Hell, even then it is, but when his voice is soft his accent makes it so much softer, like velvet. The way words roll off his tongue and through his pink lips … I can’t think about his lips. I tear my eyes away from his face and stand up, wiping my skirt off.

“That skirt really is dreadful, Y/N. If we’re going to be friends you need to not wear that anymore.”

For a second I’m hurt, but when I look up at him, he’s smiling. This must be the way he jokes; still rude, but I’ll take this over his usual pure malice.

My phone alarm vibrates. “I need to get back and study,” I tell him.

“You set an alarm to study?”

“I set an alarm for a lot of things; it’s just something I do.” I hope he just lets this topic go.

“Well, set an alarm for us to do something fun tomorrow after class,” he says.

Who is this and where is the real Jiyong?

“I don’t think my idea of fun is the same as yours.” I can’t even imagine what “fun” is to Jiyong.

“Well, we’ll only sacrifice a few cats, burn down only a few buildings …”

I can’t stop the giggle from escaping and he smiles back.

“Really, though, you could use some fun, and since we are new friends, we should do something fun.”

I need a few moments to contemplate whether I should be alone with Jiyong before I answer him. But before I can answer, he turns to walk away. “Good, I’m glad you’re aboard. See you tomorrow.”

And he’s gone.

I don’t say anything; I just sit back down on the curb. My head is spinning from the last twenty minutes. First, he basically offered me sex, telling me I have no idea how good he could make me feel; then, a few minutes later, he was agreeing to try to be nice to me; then we were laughing and joking and it was nice. There are still so many questions I have about him, but I think I can be friends with Jiyong, like Hyuna is. Okay, not like Hyuna is, but like Nate or one of their other friends who hang out with him.

This is really the best thing. No more kissing, no more sexual advances from him. Just friends.

But as I walk back to my room, past all the other kids going about without any knowledge of Jiyong or his ways, I can’t quite manage to shake the fear that I just walked into another one of his traps.

[atarahsofer]

Activity Check - 08

“The fact is that we have no way of knowing if the person who we think we are is at the core of our being. Are you a decent girl with the potential to someday become an evil monster, or are you an evil monster that thinks it's a decent girl?"

Cooking came naturally, the other parts of operating a business, not so much. While she'd spent a good part of the morning in the kitchen, Atarah felt uneasy as she settled in her office chair and opened up her email, immediately digging her teeth into her lower lip as she read it over for the third time this morning. It was an honor, she knew, to amass enough attention that the Seattle Met wanted to write about her and about Motek and she delighted in it, but the questions they’d asked seemed odd. The interviewer had clearly realized because she’d specifically admitted it was an attempt to really get to know her and be able to write about her. Atarah didn’t want anyone to really get to know her.

With a sigh, she pressed reply.

Hi Alicia!

Thank you and the Met, so much for taking an interest in both Motek and in me. It is an honor and I appreciate it very much. Below are my answers to your questions. I’d love to set up a time for you to come by the cafe so you can really can see what I’ve built here.If you need anything else from me, please don’t hesitate to ask!

Todah Rabah,

Atarah Sofer Owner of Motek Cafe and Market Place

1. How do you handle happiness, anger, disappointment, and love?

If I’m being totally honest, I don’t think I handle any of those emotions well. Coming from where I do, showing emotions isn’t so common. When I was a child, as a daughter, I was expected to resign myself to the kitchen and most of how I felt wasn’t allowed to be shown publicly. In the army, they considered emotions a weakness, because it could take your attention off the mission. I think, because of those experiences, while I feel a lot, I sometimes don’t let myself connect to the emotions and, instead, distract myself by cooking.

It brings me great joy to share my culture with all of Downtown Seattle. Motek is my way of bringing my heritage and my homeland to Seattle. Nothing makes me as happy as seeing people enjoy my food or ask me about it. It is like a warm hug from my best friend or my dog curling into my lap at the end of a long day. My mother is an excellent cook, who takes great pride in it. She’s a huge part of why I cook the way I do and it provides me such happiness to cook.

Opening a restaurant can offer a lot of anger. I saw a vacant space, and I jumped on it before I really thought things through. I didn’t realize that people wouldn’t take me seriously; not only because I have no culinary education outside of my mother’s kitchen, but because I am a woman. It is disappointing in 2021 that we don’t get credit for being just as good as a man. In the army, it forced me to prove myself constantly, so this is nothing new to me. When you’re belittled and berated to strengthen you, it teaches you to refocus your anger elsewhere.

When I hired my staff for Motek, I really tested them and, admittedly, I was probably more like a drill sergeant than I want to say because this is my restaurant and my name on the line; I don’t want any mistakes that would disappoint my customers or myself. I take criticism to heart and I feel like an emissary of my people in some ways to introduce people who might know nothing about Middle Eastern food. Disappointment is an emotion that weighs heavily on me because I know leaving my family made me the ultimate disappointment and I try to keep myself from disappointing others even if I’m overextending myself to do so. Being disappointed? At least, not at Motek.

Food is love. When I cook, I am putting my heart into it and I want everyone to taste that this expresses my love - to my country, to my culture, to my customers. I love people who are patrons of Motek, who have embraced what I’ve built and who believe in what we are doing. My staff, especially, have put so much faith in me as their leader. My mother used to tell me that the greatest thing to be was a balaboosta. It’s like… being a maven, of the kitchen, of the home, an exceptional mother. I may not be anyone’s mother, but I can try to fill the void for those who never got a Jewish mother to fuss over them.

2. You've spoken a bit about Sanctum but how has it helped you and how do you respond to someone outside of Sanctum asking questions about The Organization?

After leaving my family home and my medical discharge from the army, Sanctum provided me a community and a support system that I don’t know if I would’ve been able to do without. It’s blessed me with a home and drive to become the truest version of myself. If someone is interested in learning more about it, I am happy to refer them to someone who can be of more help.

3. How do you respond to attacks on your character?

As long as it isn't attacks on my cooking skills, I try not to take things to heart. I have a lot pride in what I do and who I am. I've worked really hard to become the person I am now, but I don't suffer fools. As I've gotten older, I've tried to become a more mature version of myself. Petty comments don't tend to bother me so much but, when someone comes at me, I find it very hard to back down from the challenge.

Atarah groaned, rereading her answers and shaking her head. She couldn't send that. This exposed far too much and she refused to be this vulnerable. This wasn't a therapy session, this was an interview. And, if Alicia wanted to ask her about her career as a cook or her business, these simply weren't the questions to showcase that. The brunette leaned her head back, jade hues closing as she took a deep breath. Then, shifting back to sitting straight, she deleted all of her answers and pressed send.

[ocean-skies]

open journal entry

I have definitely been struggling to write this all down... between my distractions and my pride, i have too much and not enough to write down. At first, I was going to completely dig up everything... I was gonna touch more on the toxic relationship I just removed myself from, and kind of vent about the existential i guess realizations i haven't really explained all of to anyone. i've been nervous about someone seeing my innermost thoughts(why not keep it to myself? kept in secret in my own journal) but maybe it can help someone to share some of it. maybe it will help me. or maybe i should do it just because it takes me out of my comfort zone. anyways, im just gonna jump into it and get hella personal before i overthink it more so if i know you personally, this isn’t exactly something I feel is healthy to dwell and talk on anymore after this. even though the story of the end of my relationship with my ex last month goes a long while before this, what started to turn my life upside down recently was when i started short term therapy, which i'm hoping to increase. i thought it would help to go to get some advice on coping with my anxiety, and secretly, to get some objective advice on what i was only beginning to suspect was a toxic relationship. my counselor pointed out to me the emotional manipulation i was being subjected to, and why i was letting it happen... she pointed me in a direction that would start to change my entire perspective on my life. when i told her about the way my mother is and was to me growing up, she pointed out to me how spot on the way i turned out ended up being when you're the daughter of a mother with narcissistic personality disorder. why i have so much anxiety and why i'm such a pushover and especially susceptible to not just attracting toxic relationships in my life, but desiring them. the familiar is most comfortable, whether it's what is healthy for us or not, and recognition of that has only been the first step. I began after this to really analyze everyone in my life, especially my gf at the time. I knew I was being taken for granted, and that i was not taking a lot of red flags as seriously as i should have. But I didn't even know where to begin to address it. The battles i faced daily for 18 years of my life shaped me into someone who avoids confrontation as a means of survival. i have gotten better, and i thought i was past the point of not being able to speak up and say no to things that make me uncomfortable, but it's still a struggle. as experiences where im taken advantage of make me ever more uncomfortable, i get a little closer each time to handling it the right way. Sometimes, it takes an especially frustrating experience to really push me, such as one i had with a new friend at a kickback who took advantage of my inability to be firm especially while intoxicated so she could continue unwanted physical sexual contact. i felt uncomfortably taken advantage of, as small of a transgression as it was, and it was because i recognized how weak i was through my submission to someone I was supposed to be comfortable with because of my fear of offense, of saying no. that same get together, i grew close with a girl i met there, and i started to repeat the toxic cycle I find myself in. right in front of me i saw myself growing towards someone absolutely unavailable, which i realized was one of my problems- i was seeking the (especially emotionally) unavailable. all of this happened throughout the end of may into june, while I was in an open relationship with my ex who barely talked to me, but that wasn't even the beginning of my journey with addressing what was in front of me with them and finding the strength to let go. It broke my heart to let go, and i still feel guilty to have been the one to ask for my ex back last january and then be the one to give up this last june, but i know what is going to be healthiest for me. I was fighting for someone emotionally unavailable who led me on that they could be open, and that they could change. I ignored all the early red flags, like the blatant and serious lying, feeling myself turn into someone I didn’t want to be, their serious inability to commit and lack of respect held for me as well as being taken for granted. Their inability to communicate, even when we needed it most and more lies and excuses for inexcusable behavior. I fell victim to the sweet promise of change, of going back to the way things were before true colors were shown. I ignored for so long what it meant when they could make time for their friends but never for me, not even when we had not seen or hardly spoken to eachother in weeks, with our interactions slowly diminished into them being glued to their phone when we would finally get to hang out, mostly ignoring my repeated attempts at conversation for a couple hours until they wanted me to fuck them. i feel sad that i put so much energy towards someone who wanted me to fight for them, who expected me to run after them, yet still refused to even look back or fight for me when i was the one leaving. refused to even react, just sit in their room and be fine. Its only been an affirmation of toxicity. giving up is hard for me, and giving up the love i feel for someone is the hardest decision i have ever made, but the sickness in my relationship made it easy, once i started to recognize it and see that I deserve an equally reciprocated love. i was stuck on all this for a while, but now the wounds are healing and i can assess the damage and try to grow. i have always had a big soft heart, a softness someone would be lucky to have despite the pain I have endured. But my heart is finally too tired of trying to be loved- it's grown cold in a way that that i'm reluctant to recover from. Ive come to terms that my mother will never love me unconditionally, and the same with my father, and with it is my drive to believe in and seek out a love like that elsewhere, a love that could match the kind I want so badly to give. I finally know what its like to have walls up in my heart that have a solid foundation, walls that even I, who alone knows every weakness in it, can see it as almost to impenetrable for comfort. I have no desire anymore for those who can't show me that i'm wanted just as equally in their life, a desire that has me leaving many behind. I've begun the recognition stage with everyone in my life now, and i'm learning the value of watching for the people who genuinely want me in their lives enough to make real effort and letting go of those who don't have my best interests in mind and can't participate in a healthy and equal giving/reciprocating relationship. but managing my relationships is only a small sliver of my journey, and counseling has taught me that. the solution to all of my problems lies within myself already. when i hit rock bottom i realized just how much weight i put into my relationships, and especially the wrong ones, and that has been a major building block for my journey. learning to love myself, by myself, is just as important to my healing process as identifying the issues that come from my upbringing. learning to peacefully live with myself, which includes my anxieties and shortcomings, is the only way to start a path away from choosing the wrong people in my life, and letting them affect me so greatly. i can't focus on someone else in the way they deserve without first coming from a healthy mindset ready to take on that challenge. i've been improving and working on that, and progress has definitely been good 👌🏼i'm no longer self harming and having ideations because of anyone else's actions, and i've finally got a crucial lesson through my head: nobody except for myself is going to make me better. no amount of anyone else's advice or support will make me secure enough in myself to overcome my anxiety, and i can't wait for someone to come along and help me, i have to do it myself and move on. because nobody will be there, that sign will never come and i only have myself for sure in my life, and only I can go that extra mile for myself. i have to work on the very way i think, and i can't blame myself for the steps i have to take to get there. it's hard not comparing my journey to someone else's but i have to remember that my journey towards happiness is mine alone, and learning to be happy alone is the first step. it's been hard for those who know me to understand when i work on being alone, and i do feel sorry for how not responding to them can make them feel but i know what i need to do in my daily life to work on overall happiness and to maintain my emotional individuality, as it's something i'm often too quick to give up. so that's it's for now, this was a long one lol and i don't think i'll edit it since i'm tired of writing so i'll start smaller stuff later 

[neocassity]

❁ Mortified | John Seo ❁

A/N: You could say it is a modern ‘Pride and Prejudice’!AU set in College. I have no other way to put it. The next parts shall be up sometime soon. Enjoy your read, if it is palatable to you, that is. You can express your distaste or ‘liking’ if you find it worthy of a feedback. I shall look forward to it.

❀Genre: Angst, Romance ❀Pairing: Reader x John Seo ❀Word Count: 1,985

Part 1 ❄️ | Part 2 ❄️ | Epilogue ❄️|

Pride mortified is pride lost. Pride mortified is pride in war to be brought back. Pride mortified is loathing the subject who caused the derision.

  Something rather unnatural was taking place in an educational institution, and ‘mortification of pride’ could it be labelled rather amusingly. As the pair assigned glared at each other apprehensively, impertinence a rather robust feature in both their etiquette toward each other, their peers silenced in their quest to converse and resolutely thought how to make their hatred for each other lighter.

  To no avail.

  “What kind of sentence is this? Could you not bring your prudishness here as well?”

  “Could you please care to understand that candidness is not appreciable when you are presenting yourselves in a formal setting?”

  “We live in the 21st century where candid is the key to social exploration and growth-”

  “A new century doesn’t necessarily signify values lost-”

  “Values are lost when you do not help an elderly cross the street, or rather adamantly disagree with your partner just because you are shallow enough to let your personal distaste get in the way of your education!”

  His face flushed and his eyes widened, not leaving yours for a mere second. The corner of your lips lifted triumphantly as you sensed his will to vocalise his revulsion any further having retired. An easy victory over the haughtiest man you had ever come across.

  He stomped out of the classroom and the entire student body present sighed unanimously, relieved that one half of the tension had chosen to hide beneath his own grimace. The other half was joyous then, as you pranced your way to your friends, one of whom chose to admonish you for you rather inconvenient uproar.

  “You know he is the professor’s preferred pupil. Rebuking him in front of hundreds of pupils will infuriate him further. He will make your grades fall and you will have to repeat the course. You’re the reason behind my high blood pressure. I cannot even bring myself to understand-”

  “You need to rest yourself!” you chortled, “I am severe on his nerves, so why does that disturb yours? Sometimes I feel compelled to reconsider if we are the best of friends or you and him.”

  “Of course it isn’t the latter, which leads me to worry. You and him are paired for the second time in a semester! Do you know what it is for? The professor wants you both to communicate and sort out whatever difference causes the commotion.”

  “It could be sorted but unfortunately, I am not as wealthy to change my facial attributes by going under the knife. And again, after further reconsideration, I’d rather spend the money to buy myself books and us meals than distort something God has so carefully blessed me with.”

  That caused your friend’s tongue to hold itself back, for she had been your companion when your last bit of newly conjured respect for the aforementioned man had broken down with his rather unflattering words.

  “I do not understand how does anyone even like y/n,” he had started rather broodingly, “She is unnecessarily loud, outspoken to the point where it is considered to be rather discourteous, and not even physically attractive. Have you seen her stuffing that little mouth of hers with food without any worry of her health? Rather unlikable, if I were to be honest.”

  You were to ramp down the three only stairs beneath your feet to him to give him a piece of your mind, but your friend grabbed your elbow and pulled you away. Her words of solace to you were,

  “When a man is so blindly disdainful, he is deaf to words spoken out loud as well. Speaking to him would only make him get even a worse impression of you. You must not complain!”

  But you were a woman of your own choice, later telling him that ‘rain is only appreciated inside a house when it rings against the roof’.

  “What if one doesn’t necessarily like the rain?” he refuted, his hand stopping against the paper he was so ardently writing on.

  “Then that person doesn’t like the essence of life. I would be far from surprised though, if one finds themselves abrasive to sound just because they can hardly produce their own.”

  His pleasantly groomed eyebrows, something you had once taken the liberty to praise him for, rose in understanding of your words. From then on, you hated curves resembling the ones that crowned his eyes.

  The silence between you two had found its own colour which resembled a repugnant yellow, and its odour brushed off people even closest to both your bosoms. When it was brought to attention to one of your most eager and prolific professors, he paired you two together. Contrasting persona, thoughts, and styles; same job, mission, and goal. The first project had been finished with much endeavour on both their parts, yet there was lack of cooperation that requires interest and compromise. The professor was a good judge of character, and thus shamelessly paired the two creatures, who were hateful toward each other, together again.

 However, last time they hadn’t had such a passionate banter. It was safe to acknowledge that the two of you were to ignore and loathe each other till death could put it to rest. His cold demeanour, inconsiderate disdain toward people any different from him or his preference, his constant denial to any situation foreign even at the slightest; all had you crinkle the skin on your nose and your lips hinted a subtle pout.

 “I cannot see you two putting up with each other anymore. Alas, your grades are going to tumble down!”

 “Fear not, my friend!” you consoled, “I am going to ensure none of us suffer for our mutual hatred.”

 The next day when it came down to the rushed submission, your partner showed up rather tentatively, his head slightly bowed as his eyes sweeping across the ground. You hid a rather sardonic grin behind the back of your hand as he approached you. You stood quietly as he placed himself at a position where both your arms could never touch, a space where another friend of yours could stand to snicker at him comfortably.

 “I apologise for my behaviour. I will take responsibility and ask Professor Austen to grade us separately. That only ensures justice-”

 Quietude ensured as you handed him a teal-coloured file, containing contents supporting yours. He read through all the pages except the first few he had typed on his own, his glances vapid at your articulate and keen observation of his representational fashion and perfect execution on his behalf.

 “How-” he had started but put to silence when the students standing before you in queue moved, allowing you and your partner to present yours to the teacher. Standing before the class, you started with a beam that quirked your eyes. To your astonishment, he complied and supported, also curving his lips rather gleefully every once in a while. You could not help but raise your well-trimmed eyebrows for the occasion. Well, he probably had some goodness draped by the ice that coursed through his veins instead of the warm, crimson blood.

 After the termination of the lesson for the day, he watched as your closest companion ran to you with Americano. Had you stayed up all night working his part as well? Why did you feel the need to drive yourself for his grades too? You were the last person who could be complaisant, thus the sacrifice on your part was rather complex whenever it came to being explained in his mind.

 He met his friend in the cafeteria as he carefully sliced onto his pancake, dimples digging his soft cheeks as he looked up at his rather bewildered friend.

 “She worked on my part, too. The professor did not even understand that it was not written by me. She saved both of us from failing this course.”

 “Well, that calls for celebration!” Jaehyun declared victoriously, “I had told you that despite her spirited persona, she is not as intolerable as you brand her to be. She could have talked of your misdemeanour and asked the class to justify her actions as well as complains. Yet, she chose to just work it out on her own and save you from all the mortification. If she were as blasphemous as you think of her, she wouldn’t have sacrificed her own sleep for the sake of your pride.”

 He looked away and his eyes perceived you slouched across the table as your friend ran her fingers fondly through your hair. You let your forehead touch the table and your nose followed, you shoulders finally unwind and your body lax. Only then did he realise that you were rather petite, and the manner you carried yourself had a lot of venture in how you were perceived. Your long mane covered your arms as you used your palms to leverage your head upon the table, your friend generously scattering your locks out of the braided bun to give your head a lesser load to carry on the top.

 “She has beautiful hair,” he muttered to himself, his whisper anguished, “It looks rather illusory… almost thought-provoking and transcendental…”

 Jaehyun’s mouth fell open as he rambled on to himself, his eyes fixated upon your form. He refused to look away, adamant to drink in your features, all the beauty his rather hateful eyes had purposefully patronised before. He could explain the reason before, but then he was all astonishment as you slowly brought your face up to your friend, your chin resting on your palm as you smiled lightly. Your left cheek had a very faint indentation, so faint that one not having seen you for years could not put it to describe your face. He ogled your form, his breath having hitched.

 “It’s just hair…” Jaehyun finally informed his rather bleak friend, before he rose to his feet and walked to your table.

 He cleared his throat and gathered your attention, which was somewhat scattered to him as well. You sat up straight and tensed your shoulders promptly, your neck straightening as he stared at the table where your face was placed even a while before, imagining the smile as he could not dare to look at its originator.

 “I, for a fact, have in mind that you are not a very complaisant person. Rather, you are conceited and somewhat self-centred as well. Despite all your rather stark and uninviting shortcomings, what you did today is rather commendable and I shall forever be in debt for your selfless service, more so because it was certainly out of your character.”

 “Interesting…” your friend muttered quietly beneath her lips, closed and twisted.

 The fact that the man towered over you had never delighted you, thus you chose to stand before him despite being rather fatigued, too fatigued to strike up an argument the most insensitive person was bound to desire.

 “John, I had never heard such intricate description of my character till now. I am rather surprised at your insightful observation of a fellow classmate. I shall always remember how I am, and act upon my traits. Especially, more to the person who had the vigour to judge me so. I am not so thankful, I’m afraid.”

 He started but you put your hand up respectfully, showing him some of your refined character his eyes failed to perceive, “If you will excuse me, I need to have some rest before the commencement of our next class.”

 Jaehyun’s palm deafeningly landed upon his face as he shook his head. His lips pursed as his friend drearily walked to him and sat down.

 “I do not know what I have done to cause her such temper.”

 Jaehyun chose to shake his head again, leaving his friend in a rather frenzied condition of mind.