#okay so like the time it takes to safely extract an organ

[inkskinned]

we really didn't get violent enough about roe v wade being overturned. but and also - you're one person. you donated money. you went to the protest. you did what you could, which felt like doing basically nothing.

recently some big paper published an op ed (why did you even read it? you knew you'd get upset) about how it's gross that men can't find a partner because women don't want to suffer bad dates - they'd rather go to yoga class. you actually laughed - well, yeah! and it was funny until it wasn't, because something about it made your stomach churn. this is the thing, you want to say, but you don't have the words for what the thing is. just that men being bad at dating is your fault.

the thing is also on instagram. you don't know if it's a setting or algorithm thing, but these days, the most hurtful comments always seem to skim the top. simple reaction is don't read the comments but - you're human, so you're curious. you want to respond to every weird, sanctimonious one with replaying something a million times to find evidence they're lying about their gender is literally sexual harassment you shouldn't be proud of this or maybe get a fucking life you absolute dickhead but you've gotten into enough of these battles as a kid. nothing ever resolves. it just makes you upset.

your father was radicalized. the thing is - you go to therapy about it and yet never find the words for exactly the way that one hurts.

the other day your sister predicted that a commercial that aired during the superbowl was going to cause trouble. you wanted her to be wrong about that. this morning, while scrolling, you saw someone post exactly that - he got so angry i had to leave. it was terrifying. it reminds you, however bleakly: there are entire swathes of people who do not worry about domestic violence. who have no idea why you would put keys into your fist. who do not understand "it's better to be rude than dead." who have never googled am i being gaslit.

the other day you found out there's a bill that would make it so if you have a uterus and are braindead, you could fulfil your cattle purpose and carry a fetus to term. you think about the fact that the leading cause of death for pregnant people is murder. you think about ongoing and informed consent. you think about how, out of fear, if your ex boyfriend had pressured you, you absolutely would have said yes to it. in the comments, you write there is no way that these documents wouldn't be immediately forged. this is going to be misused. and then just delete it, sighing. get up and go to work.

the other day they overturned roe v wade. we weren't nearly violent enough about it. somewhere, a clock is ticking. it's been ticking a long time. you want to say it's time, but it's been time for a while, hasn't it.

[jinkookspencil]

like couples do | knj

you run out of period products at dawn, and there's only one person who's up....

description/tags: namjoon drabble / fwb to lovers / fluff / but mentions the fact that namjoon and reader had unprotected sex (don't do this) and reader is relieved to get her period afterwards / so obviously mentions of period and blood / maybe a bit angsty? / been busy and been working on a request! but it's been a while since i wrote namjoon and, gosh, i love writing for him even though whatever comes to me for him is usually the most random bursts and ideas, like this one i thought of last night / let me know what you think <3

wc: ~1.6k words

+

Your gasp pulls you from heaven to hell.

Extracted from your dream, you’re out of the covers in a flash, dazed as you try to meet your reality. The room was sweltering despite autumn settling in and the fan whizzing away in your room as it always did. The sound you’d grown so accustomed to only made it harder to think, but you didn’t have to. The wet pools at your back and around your body suddenly made themselves known, with your black pajama top sticking to your sweaty skin. With a quick change into a tank top and a sip of cold water, you were ready to escape into a dreamland, far from the hellhole that had been your bedroom...

Only to be met with a small pool of a different kind when you pull away the blanket.

Fuck.

Quickly feeling between your thighs confirmed it - you bled through your shorts.

Well, at least it’s here, you think, your heart settling after days worrying about the sudden delay in your cycle. After all, Namjoon hadn’t used any protection… 

It was hard to put away the mental image of him once you were in the bathroom, remembering that one time he had you propped up on the cabinet, but looking through it now, the panic returns. You were all out of pads and tampons.

This is why people have roommates. Or stupidly organized Virgo boyfriends, you think, cursing yourself while rummaging through every drawer, cupboard, and overnight bag without finding a single tampon for the evening. 

The minutes spent on your phone were quick to squash any more of your hopes - the delivery service app had been shut down for the night after some seemingly catastrophic bug on their end, and your female friends who lived nearby hadn't answered your texts and calls, as expected at this time of day.

Reading the time on your phone, you knew one person who would definitely be up. The person who always showed up. The man worked ridiculous hours, following his ‘late-night creativity’… unless the universe really wanted to torture you and, for the very first time, he’d be asleep as well.

You consider running to the convenience store, double layering your bottoms with black fabrics, and taking a scooter... only for a stinging cramp to shock you at your lower back.

He had to answer.

+

to: joon 🌒[3:58am] - hi are you up?

to: joon🌒 [3:58am] - text asap please it’s urgent

to: y/n🍀 [4:01am] - yes i’m up. are you okay y/n?

to: y/n🍀 [4:01am] - i’m finally done with work for the night.

to: y/n🍀 [4:01am] - are you okay? i’ll call as soon as i’m out of the building.

to: joon🌒 [4:02am] - don’t call i’m embarrassed to say this to you out loud plus i'm in pain

to: joon 🌒 [4:02am] - can you get me some pads and tampons? i got my period (aka the pain) and i’m all out so….

to: joon🌒 [4:02am] - i need em and i can’t get em

to: y/n🍀 [4:03am] - y/n of course. phew i thought this was going in literally the complete opposite way considering…

to: y/n🍀 [4:03am] - anyways, aren’t we past embarrassment? never feel that when it comes to me please.

to: y/n🍀 [4:03am] - safe space just for us, remember? 

to: joon🌒 [4:04am] - yes :) thanks joon 

to: y/n🍀 [4:04am] - :) getting on my bike now. i’ll be there in 10.

to: y/n🍀 [4:04am] - the sky’s starting to change colors. look outside, pretty :) (1 image attached)

+

The knock, though expected, jolts you enough for your new bedsheet to spring away from your grasp once again. Frustrated, a groan escapes you as you walk to your front door, tightening the robe that covered your body and stained shorts.

“Sorry I’m late,” Namjoon giggles at the door, seeing your furrowed expression. “Oh, you’re most definitely on your period, huh?”

“Get in here and shut up,” you groan once more, letting him in. All too familiar with your place, he unpacks one of the bags in his hand, carefully displaying an array of period products on the nearest table. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t send a photo and ask me to choose one,” you say, grabbing one of the boxes.

“I… I grabbed everything in the aisle without thinking. Shit, I should’ve sent a photo, right? Are these not good enough? Are they the wrong size? Will they fit your....? I can go to another convenience store,” he murmurs, head tilted down as he surveys the products before you.

“No, Namjoon, honey, the photo is just a thing boyfriends tend to do when they’re asked to get period products. You asked the same size and fit question, though,” you laugh before quickly realizing you compared his actions to that of a boyfriend. Something he most definitely was not.

“I lived in a dorm full of boys, how was I supposed to know?” he says, scratching his head.

“These are perfect, and I’m stocked for at least the next three months. Thank you, Joonie,” you say, squeezing his arm.

“Anytime, Y/N,” he replies quietly, pulling you closer to him so he can kiss your forehead. It only hits you both when your hand is rubbing at his back in his embrace, and it takes even longer to break away than it did to realize the situation. 

Something shifts in Namjoon’s gaze when he sees you emerge from the bathroom in new pyjama shorts. “Cute PJ’s. I’m not used to seeing them on you for more than five seconds.”

“Enjoy the show, then,” you quip, plopping down next to him on the couch and extending your legs over his lap. You hadn’t really meant it as a command, but can’t help but smile catching the fact that Namjoon had obeyed. His fingers draw mindless circles at your ankles as his gaze travels upwards. Minutes are spent in silence, eyeing your thighs with intent before his eyes rest on your exposed clavicle. His circles stop, gripping your ankle and noting the undeniable rise and fall of your breathing and breasts, swollen and tender against your thin cotton tank top.

“Oh,” he finally says with a cough, breaking the silence and raising his brows. “I almost forgot. I thought you might need these.”

Leaning forward, Namjoon dumps the entire contents of the second plastic bag onto your hard coffee table. Small, colorful circles bounce off of it and onto the floor, long bars land with a thud, and instantly recognizable plastic packages are cushioned by its contents.

“Oh, Joon. I do. I do fucking need this,” you let out, almost as a moan. “You already know what I want.”

Smiling, he tears open a plastic packet of your favorite chocolate-flavored bread and another for himself. The time spent biting and savoring the pillowy snack was heavenly in the comfortable silence -save for the birds that begin to chirp from somewhere outside your window.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the sticker,” you say, handing Namjoon the tiny square envelope in your now-empty plastic packaging. He’s quick to grab it from your hands, giddy to see whatever Pokemon character was inside.

"Take mine, too," he says, handing you his square, with an illustration of a pink, deer-like creature - not at all like the Pokemon he usually mentioned.

"Oh, she’s pretty!”

"Exactly..." he says. "Deerling, that's her name. She's a new favorite of mine, actually. Her colors change based on the different seasons in the year... and when she evolves, her deer form's antlers are basically how branches are decorated in nature: budding flowers and leaves for spring, greenery for summer, you get the picture. She's the only one that truly encapsulates the beauty of our world..."

"All that for a Pokemon? I'm jealous," you tease, but he doesn't laugh, quietly opening the envelope you'd handed to him.

“Yes!” he cheers. “I don’t have this one yet - Moltres. Ah, you really are my good luck charm, huh?"

"Am I? I guess you should keep me around, then, huh?" you say, leaning back on the couch and poking his shoulder.

"That's the plan," Namjoon says, his eyes still thoughtfully fixated on the sticker he fiddled with, but only for a moment. “Uhm… I… we… should probably get some sleep, huh? I should probably…go. Uhm, should I?”

“Do you want to go?” you ask, feeling a tightening in your chest at the thought. Just like all those nights in bed, it was too comfortable to remember that this wasn't your entire reality but stolen, secret time. Always, one found themselves reminding the other to snap back to reality. It was beautifully torturous, just as you two had liked it for so long… until it began to sink in that the beauty could stand on its own…. if only one of you had the courage. 

“….No. No I don’t really want to go, Y/N. But if you want me to….” 

“I don’t want you to,” you interrupt, nudging his fingertip with yours right over your knees until your hands are intertwined. “I mean someone has to help me fit that stupid sheet onto the bed... and you're quite familiar with my sheets."

“I am,” he smiles, nodding to himself and squeezing your hand with his.

“Then we can get in… and just go to sleep… or cuddle,” you wonder, feeling Namjoon's soft hand under yours.

“Like couples do?” Namjoon asks, finally meeting your gaze for the first time that night.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m thinking like couples do,” you whisper, your breath hitching on the words that spoke your once unthinkable, far-fetched desire while looking at it right in the eyes. 

“Me too,” he smiles, bringing your hand up to kiss it and rest it at his dimples. “Like couples it is then.”

[hide-in-imagination]

So, I was watching this video about personality types that people develop as a childhood trauma response and I couldn't help but thinking of Ámbar because that's what my brain does kjsdfn. Hearing this information, I came to think that Ámbar has a mix of 'The Doer' personality and 'The Hostile' personality, being the first one more prominent in seasons 1 and two, with 'The Hostile' taking prominence in Season 3.

I won't write down everything because it would be too much-- Watch the video if you're interested-- but I will leave some extracts down below that resonated with me:

"The hostiles are very capable of actually softening if they want that. They have to see the hostility as a problem. But they won't soften if they don't see it as a problem and embrace this 'double down on who they are', which also happens too, unfortunately." (Ámbar in Season 3 claiming 'this is the real me and everyone will just have to deal with that.')

"A way for hostiles to become more present and authentic is doing work around softening, which, paradoxically, is exactly what the abuse was about: being labeled as weak, or soft, or not having any power. So that feels like kind of a 'no-go' zone for them but self-compassion that is taught by safe people helps soften a hostile whom they respect and trust."

"A hostile usually deals with their feelings from a hard anger place at front and detaches from childhood grief and sadness. (...) Hostiles really struggle with being loving. They might confuse control for love."

"In healing childhood trauma we can kind of shift to the opposites instead of center and find who we really are." -> Ámbar going from more of a 'doer' personality first and 'hostile' second, in which she wanted to ace everything and succeed so she would please Sharon and be popular but her way of doing things was always very aggressive and demeaning to others, to a 'hostile' personality first and 'doer' second, in which she embraced this 'Okay, if I'm the bad one of the story, I'll just do it upfront, I don't care what anyone thinks and I don't need them or their approval anymore'. She still has this goal of being the best at what she does and takes on a lot of work (being the manager of the Roller, organizing an Open in record time, organizing another event two weeks later) but this need for control falls into a secondary category where hostility is the main characteristic now.

"For treatment, I would encourage any of these personalities to become more real about their childhoods and find some anger about what happened to them and hold abusive parents accountable, like, you were kind of set up to both adapt this personality and miss out on developing what you were born with, and to become more real about what it was like growing up."

I think that Ámbar really shows she's on the journey of healing when she starts realizing that Sharon is the one in the wrong and starts comparing how she treats her versus how Mónica treats her, for example, and seeing that there are other ways that families can function and that adults can function. It's deeply sad that something as drastic as 1-Sharon lying to her about her identity, and 2- Sharon later abandoning her and fleeing the country, was what it took for Ámbar to finally stop mirroring her image and want to not be like her instead. It really comes to show how deeply ingrained some ideas and damage can be in someone when they come from family and it's all you've ever known.

It also puts her whole Season 3 Wears-All-Black persona in a new perspective because it can be seen as her lowest point in life, the moment where she's furthest from who she really is, but it very much could've been necessary for her to go through that phase, to embrace that anger and that part of herself, because it was a part of her that always existed but that she hid in order to be seen as perfect, which was a toxic unreachable standard she was holding herself to. In not denying the darkest parts of herself anymore, she could finally deal with it and where that anger and that sadness comes from, and eventually be able to find who she really is or wants to be within a mix of all the aspects of her personality.

Anyway, I think I talked too much, but I really love exploring Ámbar's character and applying any new information I find to her (and Simón) and so I wanted to share it with the fandom because you're the only ones who'll understand my brainrot 😂

[estonian-is-horrible]

eesti dashcon'23 pt.3

Yeah, okay, I guess I'm doxxing myself: Here's a Doodle where you can select which dates would work for you. Feel free to use a fake name, this is just to get an idea what calendar dates work for most people.

& again: if you can't come this time, there will be more opportunities.

Please reblog if you want your mutuals to come meet you as well.

FAQ pt.2:

What in the hellsite is a pancake party? It's just like. People hanging out and talking about life. Not so different from blogging! Instead of typing shitposts you just say them out loud. It's pretty wild.

I make crêpes. People who don't know what to say shove crêpes in their mouth. People who are full try to pet the kitties. People who don't like kitties touch my instruments without asking and get their grubby fingers smacked.

But I am le introverted!!! Yeah, s a m e. Look: I've organized 60+ of these things only because I love my friends and because I don't have to go anywhere, and nobody can blame me if I hide in the kitchen and make pancakes to avoid talking to people. You'll be fine here. You can hide in the other room, sit in the corner quietly, or play Large Brick NoName-Brand-Jenga, or Munchkin or whatever.

I have allergies :( Well, sadly I have 2 cats, but luckily I have Zyrtec. As for food, I can try to make gluten free and/or vegan pancakes. I'll ask about that in the survey later.

Usual pancake ingredients: vanilla extract, wheat flour 405, eggs, lactose-free milk, brown sugar, salt, cinnamon, black pepper, olive oil, blueberry flour.

I'm gonna be late / can't stay long No such thing as "late". Come whenever. Leave whenever. All good. If it's not on a weekday, we might be around until midnight or 2am.

Do I like. Bring anything? If you want to share something, then sure, but it's up to you. Food & snacks will be provided. BYOB if you're planning to drink.

How do I know I won't wake up without a kidney? How does anyone, really? 🤔 You'll be fine. I met like a dozen estonian tumblrinas. Look in the notes, hopefully someone will vouch for me. I have a strict no fuckboys policy. Don't encourage anyone to drink. If you will drink, drink slightly less than you can handle. One beer = one glass of water. Take care of your health.

Wh... where is this. What's going on. My apartment. 67 square meters or so? Bus 18, 18A, 14, 33, 10, train stop Hiiu. It's like half an hour from the center, quiet and vaguely middle class.

Staying safe, pt.2: I'm still trying to figure out how to best organize this while letting everyone stay anonymous. More details in a future post.

[jaeminlore]

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

-

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

-

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

-

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

-

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

-

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

-

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

-

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

-

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

-

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

-

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

-

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[honklore]

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Karl.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[cryingcow]

Character Story - Mine (Holiday) [RGGO]

Due to certain personal circumstances, I’ve moved up Mine’s story on the list. Thank you @chaoticcandies​ and @firstorderglory​ for the request!

Story: Right before Mine goes on his Okinawa field trip, Daigo informs him that another one of Kiryu’s bodyguards has been killed. Daigo asks him to investigate while in Okinawa to see whether someone does or does not have a plan to assassinate Kiryu. Mine solves the problem by funding and formulating Kiryu’s assassination plan himself.

Daigo: “Now Mine, I want you to make sure Kiryu-san is safe, okay?”

Mine, buying several rifles: “Yes, Daigo-san.”

Daigo: “That means I want him alive and not dead, you hear me?”

Mine, writing Kiryu’s name on his portable guillotine: “Loud and clear, Daigo-san. :)”

Notes:

1) Match pump - “lighting a match and stopping the fire with a water pump”. In other words, solving a problem that you yourself made in the first place. The phrase also came up back in Sera’s story, I think.

2) Like a beehive - “turmoil”

.

CHAPTER 1

.

|The Nishikiyama Family field trip by Kanda completed their itinerary without delay, and they returned back home. However, Mine remained in Okinawa on his own . . .|

Boy: “Ojiisan! It’s the long-awaited summer vacation, play together with us more!”

Kiryu: “Yeah, let’s invite everyone to play baseball later.”

Boy: “Hooray! Absolutely, Ojiisan!!”

Girl: “Ojiisan! I can’t find my colored pencils . . .”

Kiryu: “Recall when you last used them . . . maybe you’ll find them soon?”

Girl: “Hmm . . . where could they have gone?”

Mine: “. . . Is this the orphanage ‘Morning Glory’?”

Mine: (. . . Indeed, for me to be ‘the’ Fourth Chairman’s bodyguard . . .)

----

|A few days before the Nishikiyama Family field trip.|

{Mine knocks on Daigo’s door and enters.}

Mine: “Excuse me.”

Daigo: “Mine, I’m happy to see you. I heard from Kanda, are you going to Okinawa?”

Mine: “Yes . . . I’ll be in trouble with Kanda-no-aniki otherwise. He doesn’t care that it’s inconvenient for me.”

Daigo: “Heh . . . However, this time it’s convenient.”

Mine: “. . . What do you mean?”

Daigo: “There’s a problem in Okinawa. It cannot be made public.”

Mine: “. . . Is it related to Kiryu-san?”

Daigo: “. . . As expected, you make good guesses. That’s correct.”

{Daigo is silent for a few seconds.}

Daigo: “The Fourth Chairman is secretly being guarded in Okinawa.  . . . But the other day, one of the escorts was killed.”

Mine: “So you’re asking me to investigate.”

Daigo: “Yeah . . . many people in the Tojo Clan don’t like Kiryu-san. If someone dies because of that, it will cause unnecessary waves in the organization . . . Investigate this matter. And ensure the safety of the orphanage . . . Mine, can I ask this of you?”

----

Mine: (. . . Nothing else to do about it. It’s a direct order from Daigo-san. I should set aside my personal feelings and fulfill my mission. Now, I was able to confirm Kiryu-san’s appearance. Should I join the escort staff . . . ?)

----

Mine: “Are you Chinen?”

Chinen: “Mine-san? I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s move over here . . .”

Chinen: “I and Osugi, the escort who was killed, were keeping an eye on ‘Morning Glory’. That night . . . Osugi and I were doing different things. The attack happened then . . . The next morning, Osugi was found floating along Kubochi River . . . he was shot in the head at close range.”

Mine: “What is the criminal’s aim?”

Chinen: “That’s still unknown . . . However, investigations are underway on those who are connected to Morning Glory. Apparently a man named Teruya who is helping Morning Glory is being looked into.”

Mine: “To survey the supporters of Morning Glory instead of the orphanage directly . . . how strangely roundabout.”

Chinen: “Yes. So I thought I’d get the information and went straight to that Teruya . . . but he was being strangely vigilant, I didn’t get anything out of him at all.”

Mine: (It’s obviously not the work of a civilian. It’s not unreasonable to be wary, but . . .)

Mine: “There must be a reason for this Teruya to be vigilant. It might be best for me to listen to his story. Show me to Teruya.”

----

Teruya: “I’m very sorry for the other day. For that person to be Mine-san’s subordinate . . .”

Mine: “No, there appears to be a misunderstanding . . .”

Teruya: “I see . . . so why is someone like Mine-san here?”

Mine: “I heard you are in a critical situation as someone minding the orphanage ‘Morning Glory’. Maybe I can help . . . If you don’t mind, could you tell us the story?”

Teruya: “. . . Actually, the company’s server was hacked and the stolen information is being used as blackmail. The other day, yakuza-like men rushed into the office and said to give them 200 million if I didn’t want anything to happen to my customers . . .”

Mine: “Did you pay?”

Teruya: “No, I couldn’t come up with the money right away, so they’ll wait a week for me to ready it by then . . .”

Mine: “I see . . . the next time the men arrive, prepare the money. And for the hacking, I’ll provide you with the security we use.”

Teruya: “Th-Thank you very much . . . but, to give them the 200 million . . .”

Mine: “I’ll get it back later. We’ll let them grab the money and swim home so we can gather information.”

Teruya: “Will the plan really work that well?”

Mine: “Please be assured. Leave everything to me.”

----

{Mine and Chinen are hiding behind a corner as they follow the yakuza-like men with the money.}

Chinen: “They don’t seem to notice our trail . . .”

Mine: (Get back the money, extract information from them, hit their organization, rebuild Teruya’s business . . . then the orphanage is protected and business is completed. But-- Is that really okay? The escort was killed because he tried to protect Morning Glory . . . in other words, people were sacrificed because of civilians like Kiryu. Daigo-san was worried, but that a situation like this could greatly shake up the Sixth Chairman’s structure . . . Then what I really need to do now--)

{A noise comes from their hiding place.}

Yakuza-like Man A: “. . . Oi, who’s there!! Come out!!”

Chinen: “! Mine-san, I’m sorry . . .”

Mine: “. . . No, it’s just as well. There are no witnesses and I can hit them here.”

Yakuza-like Man A: “I’ll tell you what to hit! Did you come here to get the money back?!”

Yakuza-like Man B: “We’ll make you spit it out!!”

{Mine beats them up.}

Yakuza-like Man A: “Huwee . . .”

Yakuza-like Man B: “That guy has the money, let’s run!!”

{The other two run away.}

Mine: “Chinen, chase them!”

Chinen: “Yes!”

{Chinen runs after the two.}

Mine: “Oi, you . . .”

Yakuza-like Man A: “H-Hiii?! Do-Don’t kill me!!”

Mine: “I won’t kill you. I just have a request for you . . .”

Yakuza-like Man A: “Re-Request . . . ?”

Mine: “Get in touch with your boss right now.”

Yakuza-like Man A: “Wha . . . What do you want with my boss?”

Mine: “Hmph . . . would you rather die here?”

Yakuza-like Man A: “I-I understand!! I’ll do as you say!!”

{The yakuza-like man makes a call.}

Yakuza-like Man A: “I-I’m sorry, Boss. I’ll hand over the phone now . . .”

Mine: “. . . Are you the boss of this guy?”

Man: “Wh-Who are you?”

Mine: “Heh. Don’t worry about that.  . . . I’m your collaborator.”

.

-END-

.

CHAPTER 2

.

Man: “. . . A collaborator? Who are you.”

Mine: “You don’t need to know that.”

Man: “. . . Do you think we’d trust someone no one knows?”

Mine: “. . . How about credit? Heh. I’ll give you 500 million. How’s that?”

Man: “5-500 million . . . ?! You’re bluffing . . .”

Mine: “You can decide later whether it’s a bluff or not.”

Man: “. . . Why would you go so far . . .”

Mine: “What you’re attempting to do is convenient for me . . . that’s all there is.”

Man: “. . .”

Man: “Bring the money and let my subordinate guide you. Once I receive it, then I’ll trust you.”

Mine: “Understood.”

Mine: “Oi.”

Yakuza-like Man A: “Hiii . . . ! Y-Yes . . .”

Mine: “The boss wants to see me. Take me to him.”

----

Mine: “The promised 500 million. Also the 200 million taken from Teruya.”

Boss: “. . . Certainly. You did bring it. I trust you. I’m Inami, leader of the Inami Family. You want to cooperate with our plan, but how much do you know?”

Mine: “Your purpose is to encroach into Okinawa’s resort development plans, which have been stopped for several months. The orphanage supported by Teruya is on the planned development site. Teruya is being threatened to acquire the land. Is it because Kiryu Kazuma is on that land that you chose such a roundabout method?”

Inami: “. . . That’s right. Previously, the Tojo Clan’s Tamashiro Family was aiming for that land . . . They were almost destroyed by Kiryu. It’s a well-known story around these parts. We don’t attack the orphanage directly because we fear Kiryu’s retaliation. We don’t have enough weapons and soldiers to deal with Kiryu.”

Mine: “What if I said I would pay for that?”

Inami: “! No way . . . you want Kiryu to be . . . ?”

Mine: “No need to snoop around any deeper. However, hasn’t my financial strength given me ‘credit’?”

Inami: “. . . All right.”

Mine: “Heh. It was nice to meet you, Inami-san.”

Mine: (These guys will get rid of Kiryu as part of their job. Kiryu’s existence is Daigo-san’s Achilles heel. I will cut off any future worries here.)

----

|That night. Mine met up with Chinen while hiding his relationship with Inami.|

Chinen: “I see . . . it was the work of the Inami Family? Was their aim to crush Morning Glory without provoking the Fourth Chairman . . . ?”

Mine: “Yeah. I was careless and let him escape, but I heard their goal.”

Chinen: “But what do we do? Even if we know who the enemy is, there’s only two of us. This is originally a top secret mission. We can’t expect support from the Head Family.”

Mine: “The enemy will try to do more damage to Teruya. Leave that to me. You should go back to being Kiryu-san’s bodyguard.”

Chinen: “U-Understood!”

----

|A few days later.|

Teruya: “--Then, I will try to do as Mine-san says.”

Mine: “This is expected to increase sales by 20%. Management should be fairly stable.”

{Someone knocks on the door and enters.}

Yakuza A: “Sorry for intruding when you’re busy, Teruya-san.”

Teruya: “Who are you guys . . . ?!”

Yakuza A: “Teruya-san’s place seems to still be fine, so we thought we’d like to get a little more money . . .”

Teruya: “I-I have no money to pay you!!”

Mine: “. . . What do you mean by coming to the office without an appointment? Truly there is no common sense among yakuza.”

Yakuza B: “Oh yeah? And who are you . . . ?”

Mine: “Would you like to be sent back quickly?”

Yakuza A: “Don’t be a fool!! We’ll beat you both up!!”

{Mine beats them up and sends them running.}

Mine: “That doesn’t mean they won’t come here again. Let’s keep meeting up here regularly for a while.”

Teruya: “I sincerely thank you very much.”

Mine: “Hmph. No, this is all for Morning Glory.”

----

Inami: “As mentioned, those at the bottom that I sent don’t know about you.”

Mine: “Yeah, thanks to that, Teruya trusts me completely.”

Inami: “. . . Phew, I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Mine: “Until Kiryu has been done away with . . . perform the next step in the plan well.”

Inami: “Should we take over the system by exploiting the security vulnerabilities introduced into Teruya’s company?”

Mine: “Yeah. I’ll then act like I noticed the exploitation and stop it.”

Inami: “So it’s a match pump?  . . . You’re a con artist.”

----

|A few more days later.|

Inami: “Hehe. Thanks to you, Teruya’s company is running smoothly. But is it necessary to help Teruya just to get rid of Kiryu?”

Mine: “There is this situation here . . . That being said, the weapons have been procured . . . how are things on your end?”

Inami: “We’ve pulled out enough men from the surrounding organizations to strengthen our force . . . are you ready to go anytime?”

Mine: “Is that so . . . then let us move the plan to the final stage. Kidnap Teruya tonight and have him call Kiryu as a hostage.”

Inami: “! Having a hostage to block his movements would have Kiryu like a beehive, right?”

Mine: “That’s right. Don’t mess it up.”

Inami: “We’ve set up the table this far. Failure isn’t an option.”

Mine: “I’m counting on it.”

----

Yakuza A: “Thank you for your hard work.”

Mine: “The confrontation happens tomorrow. Don’t mess it up.”

Yakuza A: “Yes sir!!”

{The yakuza runs off.}

?: “Huh? Mine-san?”

Mine: “!”

Chinen: “Mine-san, why did you come out of the Inami Family office . . . ?!”

Mine: “Chinen . . . ! You . . . should be monitoring the orphanage . . .”

Mine: (Damn . . . I was caught off guard . . . ! I should have foreseen that something would go wrong . . . !)

.

-END-

.

CHAPTER 3

.

Chinen: “Mine-san . . . you’re getting along very well with the Inami Family . . . what is the meaning of this . . . ?”

Mine: (Shit . . . I wasn’t careful of my actions . . .)

Mine: “. . . Chinen. It was wrong to keep quiet. But please calm down and listen.”

Chinen: “. . .”

Mine: “As you can see, I have a cooperative relationship with the Inami Family. But that’s to extract their information.”

Chinen: “Then it wouldn’t be necessary to hide it from me. I’ve never been in contact with the Inami Family.”

Mine: “That is . . .”

Chinen: “Don’t try to deceive me! Mine-san, are you connected with the Inami Family?!”

Mine: (Tch . . . Is it impossible to salvage the situation anymore . . . ? Then I’ll have to get rid of him here--)

Chinen: “. . . Just kidding. Ahaha.”

Mine: “? . . .”

Chinen: “Ahaha. Don’t worry. Actually, I’m also a traitor.”

Mine: “. . . What did you say?”

Chinen: “I’m also colluding with the Inami Family, trying to crush Morning Glory. Are you surprised? So was I when I heard Mine-san had joined hands with Inami. But I agree with assassinating Kiryu to wake up Daigo-san. I’ll cooperate too!!”

Mine: (. . . Have I been turned around? Was it all by Chinen’s hand from the start?)

Chinen: “I’ve heard the plan from Inami. Let me in on it too! Mine-san!”

----

Mine: (If everything goes as planned, Inami, who has kidnapped Teruya, should have gotten in touch to call Kiryu . . .)

Haruka: “Ojiisan! Are you really going out alone . . . ?!”

Kiryu: “Yeah . . . Teruya’s life is in danger if I don’t obey.”

Haruka: “Could it be the Tamashiro Family who has Teruya-no-ojiisan, just like before?”

Kiryu: “No, that is absolutely impossible. At the time, Daigo promised, ‘I will not touch Okinawa’. He’s not one to break his promises.”

Haruka: “. . . not Daigo-san . . . ? Then, who on earth . . . ?”

Kiryu: “It doesn’t matter who they are. Teruya is a friend who supports Morning Glory. You can’t abandon your friends. Isn’t that right?”

Mine: “! . . .”

Haruka: “Ojiisan . . . you’re come back, right?”

Kiryu: “Yeah, I’m definitely coming back. Haruka, look after the kids while I’m gone.”

Haruka: “Yup . . . ! Please take care, Ojiisan.”

Mine: (Kiryu’s words . . . he’s not riding on his strength. He should know what would happen when he boldly goes out alone. Nevertheless . . . Friends . . . ? Even if he’s just a total stranger who’s in it for the money . . . !)

Mine: (. . . Kuh. That is Kiryu Kazuma . . . the man Daigo-san is aiming for . . .)

----

Inami: “To really show up alone . . . the legendary yakuza seems to know no fear . . .”

Teruya: “Ki-Kiryu-san . . . I’m sorry . . .”

Kiryu: “Teruya . . . ! Are you hurt . . . ?!”

Inami: “Oops, don’t move, Kiryu . . . if you move, this gun will blow his head away, okay?”

Kiryu: “Taking a civilian as a hostage . . . you’re a lowlife.”

Inami: “Anyway . . . is it wrong for a yakuza to get what they want by any means necessary?”

{A big group arrives.}

Kiryu: “! . . .”

Inami: “You notice? Countless muzzles are aimed towards you . . . you’re already a trapped mouse!”

Mine: (It seems that things are going according to plan . . .)

Kiryu: “At the time, Daigo promised, ‘I will not touch Okinawa’. He’s not one to break his promises.”

Kiryu: “It doesn’t matter who they are. Teruya is a friend who supports Morning Glory. You can’t abandon your friends. Isn’t that right?”

Mine: “. . .”

Mine: “. . . Hmph. I’m hesitating.”

----

Chinen: “Mine-san! This is the end. We have Kiryu covered from the rear--”

Mine: “--No, I can’t let this go through.”

Chinen: “Mine-san, what are you saying . . . ?”

Mine: “I’m cautious. Until I am certain of something, I try not to come to conclusions. In other words . . . Kiryu’s murder is on hold.”

Chinen: “! Do you mean to betray us . . . ?! Why now . . . !”

Mine: “Hmph. You don’t need to know.”

Chinen: “Don’t play around . . . !! It’s only a little longer until Kiryu can be killed!!! If you get in the way, we’ll kill you too!!!!”

{Mine defeats all of them, and they all collapse.}

Mine: “Now, the reinforcements are taken out . . .”

Mine: (The rest depends on your efforts. Please do your best to hold on . . . Fourth Chairman.)

----

Inami: “Kuh . . . Reinforcements haven’t come yet?!”

Kiryu: “What’s wrong. You seem to be getting very impatient?”

Inami: “Sh-Shut up!! Do-Don’t move!! You want something to happen to him?!”

----

Mine: “The distance is roughly 200 meters . . . Well, that’s no problem . . . I didn’t think the rifle I bought would be used for this . . .”

{A shot rings through the air.}

----

Inami: “Guaaa?! M-My hand?!”

Teruya: “Hi-Hiiii?!”

{Teruya breaks away from his hold and runs.}

Inami: “W-Wait! Did he escape--?!”

Kiryu: “I don’t know who . . . but someone helped.”

Inami: “O-Oh no--”

{Kiryu beats everyone up.}

----

Mine: “Is that the ‘Dragon of Dojima’ . . . ?”

Mine: “Heh, you’re too obstinate.”

Chinen: “Because of you, my plan is ruined . . . My sister and her husband committed suicide from a large debt because Daigo stopped the Okinawa resort plan . . . ‘Protecting Kiryu’s whereabouts’ is a dumb reason! Killing Kiryu so that Daigo will taste the sadness of losing a loved one-- guhaa . . . !”

{Chinen gets punched by Mine and collapses once again.}

Mine: “I’m not interested in your story.”

----

|Thus . . .|

Woman in swimsuit: “Um . . . are you alone?”

Mine: “Am I? As you can see, I’m alone.”

Woman in swimsuit: “Yes . . . sorry for suddenly calling out to you. So . . . are you sightseeing in Okinawa?”

Mine: “No. Had to do a bit of business from Tokyo.”

Woman in swimsuit: “You’re from Tokyo?! I hear the city is nice! So . . . have you finished your business yet?”

Mine: “Yeah. I just had to handle some trivial trouble. It was a minor job.”

Mine: (Teruya’s company is safe after what happened. Both Inami and the Inami Family have been taken care of . . . I’ve reported to Daigo-san that everything was the undertaking of Chinen.)

Woman in swimsuit: “U-Um . . . In that case, why don’t we have a meal together at a nearby shop?”

Mine: “. . . Heh. Yeah, if it’s okay with you.”

Woman in swimsuit: “R-Really?! I’m glad . . . !”

Mine: (Kiryu Kazuma . . . I understand why Daigo-san looks up to you. I withdrew this time . . . heh. Do you have any idea what’s coming next? . . . Fourth Chairman.)

.

-END-

Masterlist

[mymostimaginaryfriend]

between a heart & a hard place

♛ 5x05: Teresa and James plan the heist (1.9k words; rating T; tags: missing scene, weaponized jazz music, angsty dancing)

➢ read on ao3 or below the cut:

The Van Gogh was beautiful. It was a shame they’d have to cut it from the frame, yet Teresa knew better than most that no beauty survived long in this world without collecting a few scars. So while it was a shame, it wasn't enough to stop her. Indeed, it’d be one of the only decisions she’d been forced to make lately that she wouldn’t lose any sleep over tonight.

Losing Kostya wasn’t an option. The pain of lost beauty was nothing compared to the pain of lost power.

They gathered in the hotel lobby, using the private concert by a semi-famous jazz pianist as cover for some recon. Kelly Anne gamely chatted up the hotel owner while Pote stifled a yawn and nursed his beer. James leaned casually against the bar, seemingly entranced by the music. It was only because she knew him so well that she could see the relaxed demeanor hid a man at work, busy formulating a plan. He hadn’t said much about his time away, but it was hard to believe any of it had involved art heists.

She felt a frisson of worry about putting him in unfamiliar, possibly dangerous territory but she knew better than to underestimate him. It was a lesson she’d learned the first day they’d met.

She followed his gaze to the piano, wondering what he was studying there. Teresa had never thought herself a jazz fan before moving to New Orleans, but it had become the soundtrack of her triumphs and heartaches over the past year. She found herself drawn to the melancholy of it, the soaring heights of a trombone, the plaintive pleas of a piano. Rising, falling, rising again. Even now, each soulful note plucked at her heartstrings with the simple strike of a key.

The song was beautiful, perhaps James was merely getting lost for a moment in the music. He’d said she’d changed and she had, but she wasn’t the only one. When he’d left, there’d been sharp edges, edges that should have been honed to lethal blades by his work with Devon and yet the James who had returned had a softness she was unprepared for. A sort of fragile vulnerability that made her want to shelter it from the wind like a flickering candle flame, to nurture and feed it until it was strong enough to warm her too. Her throat ached at the knowledge of how easily it could be snuffed out.

She’d almost done it herself this past week. It’d hurt to see the light in his eyes dim when he looked at her but that had been what she wanted, hadn't it? This distance between them. If it wasn’t easy, it was necessary. She’d rather let the sun set between them than watch the light in his eyes permanently go out because of her.

Emotional attachments equaled vulnerability. Romantic attachments could get you killed. She had needed someone once and his loss had nearly destroyed her. She felt in her bones she wouldn't be able to survive losing James. If she let him into her heart, his death would take that vital organ with him. For as much as she thought about the future these days, there was a part of her relentlessly certain in the knowledge that they’d never get there. Not in one piece.

That didn’t stop her from wanting to reach out to him though—for comfort, maybe, or reassurance.  Perhaps it was the thought he no longer understood her that hurt the most, that made her want to seek communion with him skin to skin if not soul to soul. But that wouldn’t be fair to him, to push him away then pull him close just because she desperately needed someone—him—to tell her it’d be okay. That it was all worth it. She suspected his silence these last few days was answer enough.

It was for the best. The higher the climb, the longer the fall. She couldn’t afford weakness and neither could he. If he was no longer able to be as ruthless, then she would have to be ruthless enough for the both of them.

The song ended and she turned back to James to find that he wasn’t studying the room anymore. He was studying her, his expression inscrutable.

His gaze, like the silence between them, was heavy with unsaid words, words that might never be spoken at all but most certainly not here in public. Best to get back to business.

“You have a plan?” she asked, grateful that her voice remained steady.

He nodded.

“Walk me through it,” she murmured, eyes drawn back to the painting in question.

“Dance with me.”

Her attention snapped back to his face at his surprise counter offer. She’d expected a cool recitation of information—sight lines, security cameras, escape routes—not a softly uttered invitation to be close to him, to touch him for the first time since that night in New York.

“James,” she began, not sure if she meant it as the prelude to a warning or an apology.

A flash of emotion was quickly smoothed away by his normal mask of professionalism. “Relax,” he said, pushing off the bar. “I just need a reason to be in the northwest quadrant of the room.”

She shot him a questioning look and the corner of his mouth ticked up in muted amusement. “The dance floor,” he clarified, holding out a hand.

Right. Of course. The plan. Just business, just how she wanted it. She ignored Kelly Anne’s double take and took James’ hand, letting him lead her to the far side of the small dance floor.

Once it would have been a simple thing to step into his arms, but as the first few notes of the next song began, she hesitated. He might not recognize the tune, but after being a bar owner in New Orleans for over a year, she sure did.

They’re writing songs of love, but not for me. A lucky star’s above, but not for me.

If he noticed any significance, he hid it well, guiding one of her hands to his shoulder and holding the other against his chest. His other hand found her waist and turned her smoothly in the direction he needed to surveil.

She didn’t speak, letting him work in silence. She tried to concentrate on the people around them, the sound of the piano, the lights of the city beyond the windows, anything but the warmth of his body, not under the usual leather jacket, but the expensive fabric of his suit, his scent of new cologne and old cigarettes as foreign as it was familiar.

After a moment, he pulled her closer, leaning down to murmur near her ear. “We’ll do a smoke bomb, smash and grab. Extract the painting, ditch the van. Travel by motorcycle to the drop-off.”

“We?” Teresa asked, a little breathless. Some not small part of her wished she could watch him in action, especially in the kind of situation when no one was shooting back at them.

“Me,” James corrected. “You’ll be at the rendezvous point with Pote. I’ll use a two-man team—”

“One of the men?” Teresa asked. She trusted the crew that had accompanied her to Berlin to handle security but wasn’t sure who she’d recommend for a job that required the finesse of art theft.

“I know a guy nearby,” James told her and she let out a breath of laughter. Of course he did.

“You know everyone.” She turned to smile up at him but was taken aback by the seriousness of his expression.

“Not everyone.”

His words, or maybe the weight behind them, had her wondering if he was thinking of her.

She had done her best to hide her inner turmoil over the events of the last week. Suppressing her guilt and remorse over turning in Marcel. Hiding any misgivings she had about ordering the hit on the crooked cop with defensiveness or dismissal. She was la Jefa, it would do no good for anyone to see her doubts. So she'd put on strong front but hadn’t realized until now how much she’d depended on James seeing through it.  He always had before.

“You think we made a mistake,” she ventured, allowing space for his answer to clarify what was specifically bothering him the most. Perhaps it was vindictive of her to use “we” but distance or not they were still in this together.

James looked away. “It’s over now.”

“That’s not an answer,” she pressed.

He frowned, hesitating. “I did. I don’t know. You were right, the feds were ready to raid us. Bringing in Gamble would have been their next step.”

It was almost shameful, the intensity of the relief that washed over her at his words. But by James' grim expression, it seemed he grew even more troubled by the admission. 

“But?”

He glanced at her, eyes bleak. “His wife was home. She found him while I was still there.”

Teresa’s heart dropped in her chest. She knew from the news reports that there’d only been one victim that night but looking into James’ eyes she saw that it haunted him. The future that might have been. He’d have killed the wife too if she’d caught him. He’d have killed her for them.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, letting her hand find the tender skin of his neck and the staccato rhythm of his heart beat. “I’m sorry. But…”

His eyes briefly fluttered shut. “I know.”

If she couldn’t help herself from holding onto him a little tighter, it seemed he welcomed her momentary lapse. His hand sliding to the small of her back to draw her nearer until they were touching the entire lengths of their bodies, their only attempt at dancing a slight swaying from side to side.

“I just want to keep you safe,” he said, resting his cheek against her temple. She felt the old familiar panic at the implied even from yourself, but this wasn’t like Phoenix. He wasn’t trying to make decisions for her.  

Couldn’t he see that she wished the same safety for him? That everything she did was in pursuit of this shared goal?

“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” he continued, slowing their sway until he was just holding her. “And now...hope is a dangerous thing. It draws your attention to the horizon instead of keeping it on the danger right in front of you.”

She wondered if he was feeling it too: the walls closing in from every angle, the same echoing dread that haunted her midnight hours.  The ever narrowing window of daylight to that future someday.

But as the final notes of the song were played, even as the distance between them didn’t seem as vast anymore, even if for a moment she entertained the idea of not letting go, of leading him back up to the suite to finish repairing with their bodies what she’d bruised with her words, she knew that if they had any hope at all of that other life, they had work to do now.

James, as always, understood that better than anyone. He released her and smiled, eyes once again lit from within.

Many, many hours later while she waited in a safe location as he once again risked life and limb and freedom at her request, Teresa tried not to give too much credence to the sickening feeling in her stomach that the danger he’d mentioned earlier, the danger right in front of him that threatened their much dreamed about future…

....might end up being her.

(ao3)

[sfb123]

Sapere Aude - Part 6

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: PG-13 Adult language, allusions to smut (but nothing graphic), discussions of death, conspiracy, blackmail, and other adult themes.

Warning: The Royal Heir Book 3 Spoilers all over the place.

Word Count: 2,146

Notes: Not much to say, other than this is the big meeting you’ve been waiting for. There’s A LOT of information here. I hope it’s not too overwhelming!

As always, one love to my pre-readers @texaskitten30 & @txemrn. And thank you @twinkleallnight for my moodboard!

Tags: Tags seem to not work in the actual body of the fic, so I’m going to try tagging everyone in the comments, hopefully that works. If you want to be added or removed, just let me know!

As Riley entered the solarium, Eleanor rose from her seat. To say it was an awkward moment was an understatement. Yes, they had met the night before, but there had been so much going on in Riley’s mind that she wasn’t able to truly process the woman standing before her until that moment.

“Your majesty.” Eleanor bowed slightly.

“Forgive me, but I’m not quite sure how I’m supposed to address you.” Riley was doing her best to stay guarded, even though she was screaming on the inside. 

“Please, call me Eleanor, no need for formalities. We are family after all.”

Riley grimaced subtly at that. What does she know about family? Did she really just say that? Too soon, lady. Read the room. “Okay Eleanor. Please, call me Riley.”

“Riley, how are you feeling this morning? You’re recovering alright, I hope.”

“Considering the circumstances, I’m doing fine. Can I offer you something to eat or drink before we begin?”

Eleanor nodded. They both took a few moments to put together plates for themselves. Riley was certain anything she ate would immediately come back up, but she wasn’t going to let her nerves get the best of her. They sat there in silence for several long moments. Riley finally spoke up. “So, you’re in charge of the secret society that has been trying to take down my family. How’s that going for you?” There was a bite in her tone, despite her attempt to stay neutral and composed. 

“Riley, please, I know how all of this may seem to you, but you haven’t been getting the entire story. There are very few people in the organization that have the full picture. I am one of those people, and I am here to fill you in on everything.”

“So fill me in. I’d love to know why you’re so hellbent on destroying the son you abandoned.” She crossed her arms over her chest. As hard as she tried to stay calm, the longer she sat there, starting at this woman, the more angry she got. Not for herself, for Liam. She was so protective over him, he was always worried about others, his kingdom, his friends, his family, he needed someone to worry about him. That was a burden she would gladly bear.

Eleanor sighed deeply. “Riley, I didn’t know what I was doing, or who I was when I joined the Via Imperii. I was a young girl with a crush on a boy. He told me about this group that would be able to show me the world.” She knew the similarities in their stories would get her attention. “Surely you understand what that feels like.”

“I might have heard a story like that once or twice.” Riley blushed and sunk a little lower in her chair. 

Eleanor went on to explain that, unbeknownst to her, the boy that she followed into the group was actually sent specifically to recruit her into the Via Imperii. They were looking for a way to unite Auvernal and Cordonia, and they saw her as the way to do this. They would get her in power beside Constantine, and she could advocate for the unification of the two countries. There had even been a marriage alliance proposed at one point that would have promised Liam to Isabella and had him rule Auvernal by her side, with Leo taking over the Cordonian throne. Luckily, that failed spectacularly, and didn’t make it past the negotiation phase. The Via Imperii had chosen Eleanor because she seemed to most fit Constantine’s type, making it easy to catch his eye in his vulnerable state, considering his wife had recently abandoned him. Since she was not familiar with Cordonia, they made sure to pair her up with a native operative, to compensate and help her along the way. That is how she met Jackson Walker, her partner, and Constantine’s lead guardsman. 

“Drake’s dad? Wait, if Jackson was working with you, does that mean that he’s not…he’s still...” She took a deep breath, trying to compose her thoughts, but her brain was moving too fast for her mouth to be able to keep up. 

“No. Unfortunately, Jackson is no longer with us. After my extraction, Constantine became difficult, he stopped listening to everyone. Once influencing him no longer became an option, it was determined that the only path was to remove him from power entirely. Jackson expressed his doubts over the change. The Via Imperii decided that this made him a threat to the plan, so he needed to be eliminated.” There was a sadness in Eleanor’s voice that Riley wasn’t expecting.

“So the failed attempt on Constantine’s life…”

“Was not an attempt on Constantine at all, but a successful attempt on Jackson.” She closed her eyes, and bowed her head slightly. “It was so hard to see that happen to such a dear friend. And it broke my heart to watch Bianca and the children go through all of that pain. Especially Drake, it hit him exceptionally hard. But he and I both knew what this was when we signed on.”

“So there really is nothing stopping them from taking me away from Liam and Eleanor?” Riley’s eyes started to fill with tears. She was officially in over her head.  

“Yes there is. Me.” Eleanor reached her hand across the table and placed it over Riley’s. “ I have caused my son enough pain for a lifetime. I won’t let him go through a hurt like that ever again.”

Riley jerked her hand back, sadness and fear quickly replaced with anger at the audacity of Eleanor trying to comfort her. “Why would you even care about the pain you caused him? Wasn’t he just part of the job? Another thing you signed on for?” This was the exact argument that she had talked Liam down from that first night that they discussed everything. At the time, Riley truly believed that his mother loved him, but all of this new information completely threw her for a loop. She didn’t know what to believe anymore, and she needed to stand up for her husband. 

“When I married Constantine, it was part of the plan, yes. But in my time by his side, I truly grew to love him. He was a good man that only wanted the best for his country, and his family.”

“Yea, I’ve seen first hand what he was willing to do to make sure his country, and his family had ‘the best’.” She emphasized her sarcasm with air quotes. 

“I know what Constantine did to you during Liam’s social season. My heart truly broke for you, and for Liam. The love you two have for each other was evident, even back then. Constantine wasn’t always like that, there was a time when he would have been thrilled for his son to find someone he cared for so greatly. Unfortunately, everything changed after my extraction.”

“Let’s talk about that extraction. Why did you just leave like that?”

Eleanor explained that after the marriage alliance with Auvernal fell through, Constantine started to doubt her loyalty to Cordonia, that she seemed to be putting the needs and wants of Auvernal ahead of those of the kingdom she ruled. The Via Imperii determined that, in order for the plan to move forward, they would need to pull Eleanor out. Because of her expansive knowledge of the inner workings of the monarchy, and Constantine himself, they agreed that she would still be a valuable asset, but she would be reassigned to work behind the scenes, providing them with intel to help them in their mission. 

They had worked with Barthelemy through associates in the past, and they knew his desire to have more power in the kingdom, so they felt he would be the best choice to move the plan forward. In order to boost his ego, they led him to believe that he was truly killing the Queen.Through a series of undercover operatives, they ensured that no actual harm would be done. Despite Barthelemy bringing in an outsider, Godfrey, to assist him in the assassination, the plan went off without a hitch. The only problem was, after Eleanor’s ‘death’ Constantine was in a constant state of paranoia. Barthelemy was confident that nobody would be able to get to the king, and if the Via Imperii wanted any control in Cordonia, they would need to take over the throne. 

Riley’s head was spinning. She didn’t know if the explanation made things better or worse. She understood now the mechanics of it, but she still couldn’t comprehend a mother abandoning her son. “But you just left Liam. Abandoned him. You knew what these people were doing, you knew what the plan was, how could you just leave your son in the middle of all of that?”

“Trust me, leaving my son behind was the hardest decision I have ever made. When I was assigned to my position as queen, my loyalty was to the Via Imperii. The second I became a mother, everything changed. My priority became my son. He took precedence over everything.” 

“Then why did you leave him?” Riley’s voice was small, barely a whisper. 

“It was the only way I could protect him. They wanted me out of there. At least if I went willingly, I could still be here to keep him safe.” Elenaor looked at her hands, which sat clasped on the table in front of her. “Leaving Liam will remain the greatest regret of my life, but it was all I could think to do in that moment to protect him.” 

Riley’s eyes closed briefly, those words immediately brought her back to the balcony in Fydelia. That was practically word for word the reason he gave her for choosing Madeline at the Coronation. Boy, the Cordonian Ruby doesn’t fall far from the tree. 

Eleanor looked up, a single tear rolled down her cheek as her eyes met Riley’s. “I made it my personal mission to make sure you joined the Via Imperii so that we could work together to keep Liam safe. They want him out, they are telling you that the plan has changed, but I know for a fact that it hasn’t. Liam has already proven to be one of the best rulers Cordonia has had in centuries. The two of you are exactly what this country needs, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone ruin that.” 

There was a level of vulnerability in Eleanor’s eyes that Riley wasn't expecting. It was the look of a mother desperate to protect her child. The same look Riley had seen in the mirror when she was protecting her daughter from the countless threats that they had faced in her short life. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many obstacles and grey areas. As horrible as all of this was, in that moment, Riley truly believed Eleanor, she trusted her. 

“So...what can I do? How can I help?”

“You and I will stay in touch, I will give you any information as I get it, so that you can stay one step ahead of them. For now, just keep your family close, and keep living your life as you normally would.”

Riley nodded. Part of her wanted to tell Eleanor that Liam knew what was going on, that she had told him everything, but she was afraid that would do more harm than good. She figured she’d wait, at least until she told Liam about her. While she did believe Eleanor was being sincere, she was going to let Liam take the lead on how this relationship progressed. She was grateful for her help, but that wasn’t going to cancel out all of the pain that she had caused Liam. 

Eleanor stood from her seat. “I really should be getting back, but I’m so glad we had a chance to talk.” She extended her hand to Riley’s.

Riley was just about to shake her hand when she paused. “Wait, I have one more question.” She had just remembered a very important missing piece to the puzzle that was Eleanor’s death. “You were pregnant when you die...er, were extracted.”

“Right, of course. I found out I was pregnant about a month before the extraction. I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell Constantine, which was probably for the best.” She looked down. “I had a son, he was raised in the Via Imperii, and is currently on assignment within the Palace.”

“Wait, so Liam has a younger brother, and he works in our home? He’s been in contact with his brother this whole time, and he doesn’t even know.” Riley felt that all too familiar sting behind her eyes again. 

“Yes, we placed him in the King’s Guard so that he could also help in protecting your family. His name is Thomas.”

Continue Reading

Tags: @txemrn @texaskitten30 @kingliam2019 @anjanettexcordonia @twinkleallnight @mile9213 @kittypryde-bipride @motorcitymademadame @kat-tia801 @bebepac @gkittylove99 @khoicesbyk @jessiembruno @queenrileyrose @athena-penrose @pixie88 @eadanga @choicesficwriterscreations @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @annarenee355 @burnsoslow @shewillreadyou​ @imturaxamara @gabesmommie1130 @cordoniaqueensworld

[incorrect-missionimpossible]

prompt: benji taking a bullet for ethan (can be ot3 if you’d like!) how it ends is up to u but lots of hc and angst please?

ANON I'VE FINALLY DONE IT. you probably are very mad at me. you've probably given up on ever getting an answer to this prompt. BUT I'VE DONE IT!!! i'm so sorry for how long it's taken to respond! i hope this fic makes up for it <3, and thank you for the prompt!

~~~

Ethan has no idea how this happened.

It was supposed to be a normal mission, as safe as missions for the IMF could be.

But missions are always unpredictable.

Ethan is helpless to do anything as Benji shoves him out of the way of the bullet.

He catches Benji before he hits the ground, and Benji slumps against him, his blood slick on Ethan’s jacket.

“Benji,” Ethan gasps. “Benji, Benji-“

Another gunshot. Instinctively, Ethan whirls around so his back is to the direction of the gunshot, protecting Benji’s body from any further injuries.

“Jane,” his voice breaks as he speaks desperately into his microphone. “Jane, the shooter, Benji-“

“I got it.” Jane’s voice is cool, and steadying. “Will’s calling in an extraction team. I’ve taken down the shooter. Ethan, you’ve gotta assess the damage of Benji’s wound. Right now. Stop the blood flow. Do you understand me?”

“Ok,” Ethan mumbles. He slowly kneels and lays Benji’s body out on the ground.

Benji’s eyes are fluttering shut. There’s blood pouring out from a place in his abdomen; a major artery or organ must have been hit. Ethan removes his jacket and places it over the wound.

“Hey, Benji,” he says softly.

Benji smiles weakly. “Hey, Ethan.” His accent, the one that Ethan loves so much, is less prominent. Benji’s voice is laced with pain, and his eyes are clouding over.

“You gotta stay awake,” Ethan whispers. “Benji, Benji, Benji, stay awake. You can’t-“

“I’m sleepy,” Benji interrupts. “Shut up, Ethan, let me sleep.”

“You can’t sleep,” Ethan hisses. “Benji, you can’t.” He looks up, desperately, searching for any sign of the extraction team.

“Why not,” Benji slurs.

“I’m not sure if you’ll wake up again,” Ethan decides on.

“Oh,” Benji murmurs. “Hmm. I’ll wake up again.”

Ethan looks down at Benji, whose eyes are closed. His chest is rising and falling, but just barely. Ethan places a hand on Benji’s neck, and feels the pulse fluttering there, weak.

“Benji,” he tries, but the words don’t leave his mouth, and he feels like the world is shattering around him.

~~~

The extraction team arrives three minutes and 29 seconds later. They have to peel Benji from Ethan’s arms.

Jane takes his hand in her’s, the pressure is soft, but reassuring. Will’s hand is on his shoulder, a silent show of support.

“Trust them, Ethan,” Will says quietly. “If anyone can save Benji, it’s these guys.”

Ethan nods. He feels numb.

~~~

Jane and Will lead him to the safe house.

“Wash up,” Jane orders. She hands him a fresh set of clothes.

It’s only then that Ethan realizes his hands are covered in Benji’s blood, and so are his clothes.

~~~

Benji’s in the ER for five hours. They don’t let Ethan see him.

I want to make sure he’s okay, he thinks he says. Just let me see him. I need to make sure he’s okay.

Will grabs his arm. “Let them do their job, Ethan.”

Ethan can read the grief in Will and Jane’s eyes; they’re just as worried about Benji as he is. He sits down in a chair, and waits.

~~~

He was shot just below the ribs. He’s very lucky; the bullet just missed his organs. However, there are shards in parts of his body. We’ll need to operate to remove them. Ethan was only able to nod in response to the doctors.

~~~

They let Ethan see him. He rushes into the room, and there’s Benji, spread out on a white bed, pale and with various tubes attached to him. His eyes are closed.

Benji Dunn is no longer in immediate danger of death. He’ll pull through. He’ll heal in a couple of months. No field work for seven weeks.

Ethan sits down on the chair next to Benji’s bed, and takes Benji’s hand, searching for his pulse. He relaxes when he finds it; it means Benji’s still alive. He slumps in his chair and falls asleep to the soft beat of Benji’s heart.

~~~

“Ethan?” Benji’s voice breaks through his slumber; it’s confused and slightly worried. “Is everything okay? Where am I?”

“Benji?” Ethan asks.

“Yeah?” Benji smiles tentatively. “You haven’t forgotten me, have you?” he jokes.

Ethan smiles. “No,” he says fondly. “I could never forget you. You’re in a hospital. You were-“ his voice breaks.

“I was?” Benji prods.

Ethan gestures at the mass of white bandages on Benji’s stomach.

Benji looks down. “Ah,” he says. “Bullet wound, right?”

Ethan nods. “Yeah. You- um, you-“

“I was shot?” Benji guesses, and Ethan hates how casual he sounds. Like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just almost die, for Ethan, of all people.

“You were shot,” he manages. His hands are shaking.

“Hey,” Benji says softly. He sounds concerned. “Hey, Ethan. You’re shaking.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Benji shuffles a little to his side. “Wanna join me?”

Ethan hesitates. “You’re hurt.”

Benji shrugs.

Ethan gives him three seconds to change his mind before sliding in between the pristine white covers. He immediately finds Benji’s wrist and places his thumb over the pulse point. Benji raises and eyebrow, bemused, but chooses not to say anything.

“You okay?” Benji asks gently.

Ethan nods.

There’s a pause, and then Ethan shakes his head. His hands are trembling again.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Benji prompts.

Ethan takes two deep breathes. “You took a bullet for me,” he says.

“I did,” Benji nods. Like what he did was okay.

“You took a bullet for me,” Ethan repeats. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Why?”

“You’re my best friend,” Benji says, confused. “I saw you were in danger. I reacted appropriately.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Benji sounds genuinely curious.

“You can’t just-“ Ethan groans. “You can’t just take bullets for people. One day-“ Ethan can’t finish.

“You’re one to talk! You’re the one who’s jumping off car parks and climbing buildings, and doing stupid self-sacrificing shit all the time!” Benji sounds incredulous, disbelieving.

“Yeah, but no one cares about what happens to me! People care about you, though!”

“Excuse me?” Benji protests hotly. “What do you mean no one cares about what happens to me? I care! Will cares, Jane cares, Luther cares-“

“Never mind that- just, don’t, okay? Don’t take bullets for people, that’s my thing, I do the stupid shit, not you-“

“You do the stupid shit? You do the stupid shit? So I’m not allowed to, what, help people? Put myself in the line of fire, because that’s my job?” Benji is furious.

Agitated, Ethan pulls away from Benji and faces him. “You can’t put yourself in the line of fire,” he exclaims. “you can’t, because-“

“Because what? Why do you even care so much?”

“Because I love you!” Ethan shouts. The moment the words leave his mouth, he turns pale and removes his hand from Benji’s wrist.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, quiet and scared, and he makes to move away.

Benji doesn’t let him. He grabs Ethan’s arm.

“Benji,” Ethan says, tired and broken. “Don’t. I’ll go. Sorry.”

“I love you.”

“W-what?”

Benji’s eyes are serious as he repeats, “I love you, Ethan Hunt.”

Ethan inhales, exhales. He shuffles back to Benji. “Um. Really?”

Benji laughs. “Yeah,” he admits. “I have for a while now.”

“Me too,” Ethan says hastily. “I’ve loved you for, a long, long time now.”

Benji smiles and rests his head on Ethan’s shoulder. “M’ tired.”

Ethan hums. “Sleep,” he presses a light kiss to Benji’s tuft of hair. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

“You sound like the protagonist of a sappy romance novel.”

Ethan chuckles. “I’m sorry. For yelling. I was just worried. You shouldn’t have done that. Thank you for doing that.”

Benji sniffs. “Sorry for worrying you. I’m glad I did it, though. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I won’t let you,” Ethan points out.

“You can’t stop me,” Benji contradicts.

“I can,” Ethan says, and they share a smile.

“Sleep, Benji,” Ethan whispers.

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

~~~

h/c? i hope it's checked. angst? i also hope it's checked. once again, i'm so sorry for the late response. my writing time has freed up rn so my responses will be faster hopefully.

[alkalineleak]

fuck it potion headcanons bc i love potion mechanics mwah mwah

potion headcanons so lets talk potions: - potions cannot be used extensively due to how much danger and stress that puts the body under - this is because of one thing: blaze rods! The power that blaze's store inside of themselves, which is then used to extract and burn materials to make ~drugs~ - So blaze rods again, how they work inside potions inside a person or monster (totally not confusing wording) is that it burns and finds fuel inside the body! It literally burns and goes through body fat, energy, stored food, muscle and basically any tissue inside the body. If you used more than one or two potions without break or resuppling nutrients and energy into your body it will slowly eat you from the inside out. - because of this normal "drink me :]" potions are far more dangerous than splash of lingering potions because they go directly into the body and immediately into burning the tissue as well as being far more potent due to it going directly inside the body. - splashing potions are overall more safe due to the fact they are less potent and the affects aren't as long, but why? It's mostly because the potions themselves are actually more like a cream and evaporate super quickly so they are also like inhalents. Lingering potions are basically just straight up inhalents and they evaporate SUPER quickly. They are the most safe but less potent option of the tree, even though they take a while to make. ALTHOUGH they do evaporate and dissapear super quickly the base affects actually can have some short term illnesses bc y'know, YOUR FUCKING LUNGS HSJKJDK - potions most of the time (mainly with healing, strength, slowness and potions that generally affect a persons performance) do not really add magic, but instead work on what is already inside to do whatever task is desired either more strongly, or weakly. - strength (and also any physical enhancement potions like speed, jumping, etc.): does not actually make you stronger but instead sort of turns off the part of your brain that purposefully limits how much power it uses so the body doesn't destroy itself and absolutely fills your brain with a fuck ton of adrenaline so you don't feel it as bad! Think of the thing where people pick up cars to save someone! :]]] - Healing (regen, healing, etc.): this just fucking cranks up your cells to heal TO THE MAX WH- this also burns away at energy, tissue and food WAY QUICKER than normal enhancers bc this is your body going fucking sicko mode holy shi- - the weird ones (water breathing, invis, etc.): OKAY THESE ONES ARE ACTUAL MAGIC MORE OR LESS DJSJSJ they usually come in adding and then slowly fading away some body parts that allow you to do this so for example the reflective layer called tapetum (sits behind the retina) that allows animals to see in the dark or slowly generating gills and the organs that come with it on the neck and sides (around the ribs) to be able to breathe the oxygen that's dissolved inside the water - on the topic of water breathing: you need to add certain ingrediants to the potion so itll be able to breathe in certain types of water aka water with different amounts of saline - health yeet potions (HOW THE FUCK DO THOSE WORK??? poison, wither, weakness, etc.): Okay so back to the blaze rod thing of burning through your cells but these fucks? THEY DO IT QUICKER LIKE SO FAST IT SUCKS AT YOUR TISSUE AND ENERGY YOU ARE FUCKED FBDHJKSLDKJFK Even with potions that don't take away HP they just weaken and take away so much tissue BUT! Here's the thing, this loss is TEMPORARY so it also has regenative properties bc this damage is not permanant...mostly. Okay so here's the thing with that, if these potions are used too much (more than 3+ times with no breaks inbetween) then something that happens and that something is called long lasting damage and ailments - harming potions basically go straight into your nerves and make it feel as if you got all your nerves balled and then were doused in lemon juice

10 - seconds - 12 minutes in minecraft takes about 20 secs irl :]]]]] to 26 minutes in minecraft time for one potion

are these scientific in the slightest? no are they fun to think about? absolutely

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Sequel to A Forgotten Memory

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

With more and more information revealed via Augustus' burner phone, The team now has to make an important decision, one that would change the course of their lives, forever.

Chapter 15 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Previous Chapter : Meet Me Halfway

Unexpected Alliances

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141

Flying above Russian Airspace

Roach was speechless. Admittedly the dark and messy battle at the Gulag was something worth noting but the thing that kept his head preoccupied at the moment was Soap and France kissing in the middle of warfare.

Guess love knows no boundaries huh. He thought to himself as he looked at France kneeling beside Soap who passed out from exhaustion. Another person laying beside him was an old man named Jack. The 141 records had a match to Jack, he's apparently Alex's mentor who got missing when their safehouse got raided.

Guess the force will be having two reunions tonight. His eyes turned to Price, who sat by the huge window and gazed into the sea of clouds, he's always serious and in thought that Gary found him intimidating, even after that short mission in Germany. 

Then there was Ghost. He's surely heartbroken now that she saw what France did. And Gary was slightly to blame, well not necessarily his fault but if he pushed him enough to confess, maybe this won't hurt more than it did to him today.

Gary spent the rest of the trip observing, noting his comrade's actions, discussing with their thoughts, especially after the invasion. He was glad 141 extracted Soap before the deliberation, where none of them are allowed to perform missions. Gary felt scared, he just got here, got the hang of it, and was afraid to cut ties with the 141 on such short notice. But he hoped Shepherd would talk sense to the board, especially now that the burner phone filled with leads was within their possession.

"You're awfully quiet…" Ghost nudged to Gary while fidgeting with his gun.

"Well, I got nothing to talk about." Gary replied, turning to the masked man.

"Well I've got a lot, and it's pretty nasty. Can't say it here though." He replied, his tone was almost relieved, as if he just blurted out something that was bothering him for a long time.

"Is it about them?" Gary whispered, pointing his thumb to the couple back at the med bay.

"That's a different story, and I told you I was right, they already had a thing going on since day 1. Who am I to interfere…" Gary could feel him frown beneath the mask, he got defeated in the war of love.

"That's okay… You'll find someone better." Gary consoled and Ghost automatically shrugged it off. 

"Eh. I hope…" he said, turning to the window opposite to Gary's position.

~

Task Force 141 Base - Infirmary

"The audio from this room's camera is muted so it's best to discuss it here." Ghost sat on the chair as concerned 141 members circled around him, Jack, Alex and Soap occupied the beds as they recovered from injuries.

"What you got for us, lad?" Price crossed his arms as he leaned by the door, his hat tilted perfectly on his head.

"An anonymous number sent Augustus coordinates of the base prior to the attack." He held up the phone and everyone murmured.

"Looks like we have another mole in our hands." Alex grunted, turning to Jack for nostalgia.

"But this time, we have a solid lead to who it is…" Ghost added while everyone braced themselves for the slap of reality they're going to get.

From out of nowhere the infirmary doors opened, Maxine was panting and sobbing at the same time, her hands held her thigh desperately enduring some sort of pain.

"It's Samantha… haaah… Shepherd took her!..." she panted as Gary quickly assisted him while everyone who was capable of fighting dashed to the scene.

"Go, Gary. I'll take care of her." Soap quickly got up with Jack, they were already fine and just required to complete their nutrition so assisting her would be the best option.

Gary nodded and dashed outside, bracing himself for the unbearable news.

"Shit. What's going on! I thought we already agreed not to take Samantha elsewhere!" Gary caught up with Ghost and the rest of the available team.

"I have my wild guess, but you're not going to like it." He replied, adjusting his shades as they exited the building. From there, they saw the General's aircraft already far away from their reach. Behind them Alex, Soap, Jack and Maxine followed, their faces were drawn with extreme sadness. 

A few seconds of staring at the sky and Price's comms received an incoming message.

"Captain, I regret to inform you that the 141 is no more… I'm sending the High Value Individual to their care as the threat escalated and is being designated to a different force. I'm sorry. Please tell the rest of the group that in two weeks they will be returned to their prior assignments before 141 was established." his voice was nonchalant, emotionless and straightforward, like he's reading it from a diner table's tissue paper.

"No…" Price muttered. They were this close to Nero.  The rest of the team looked down, others started to disperse and did as ordered while the more concerned group stayed.

"Shepherd's working with Nero. He wants the EMP based weaponry to help his marines in Afghanistan." Ghost blurted, raising the heads of everyone around him.

"He's trading the economical side of the world to win a war?" Gary asked, as the information doesn't add up.

"It's a wild guess but the global economic pressure is already influencing the government to allocate more funds to anti terrorism. Cutting off 141 shouldn't be in play but he found a way to do so… He wants us to stop fighting back." 

"Then fighting back is what we're going to do." Price muttered, grabbing his phone.

"I'm going to make a few phone calls. Those who want to stay and save the world could stay. Those who are content to return to their past lives, you could leave." 

"What about me?" Maxine asked, raising her hand.

"Come with us, We'll take care of you while it's not safe out." Gary said, almost pleading her to say yes.

"I don't have anyone else but France and Samantha. I don't know where to go from here…"

"Then that settles it. Nikolai will take us somewhere safe. If the 141 is no more, we could still salvage weapons and ammo for ourselves. But after this, there's no turning back." Price added, his voice sparked inspiration to everyone. 

And that was it, from that moment. They've gone rogue, for a good cause. And they have to defeat Nero, Whatever it takes.

The Next Step

John Price

Task Force 141 - Disbanded

Former Task Force 141 Base - Helipad

A small group of his comrades were willing enough to stop the war, even at the cost of losing a lot of privileges. Price was always one to work under strict jurisdiction, and this rogue act he's going to commit will be backed up soon, it's going to be dependent on how Laswell influences the board.

The idea was easy. Create another task force which had to be approved prior to the 141's disbandment so that the papers for their redeployment would never be processed. Of course a few strings needed to be pulled and an organization must be able to absorb them. Interpol was willing to help along with Jack's influence to the CIA and Price was lucky enough to have them two on their side.

And there they were, with Nikolai's majestic aircraft, they set course to a temporary camp thanks to Jack. Price noted that he'd get along with the CIA, given they're age similarities and stance toward warfare. 

He surveyed his trusty crew and took note of their abilities. There's Alex, former CIA and fought alongside him in Verdansk and Urzikstan. He's got a clear objective and will and it doesn't matter to Price whether its love or world peace. He's good at terrible hostile locations and can single-handedly turn the tide of war by local agreements and persuasion. A good weapon.

Then there's Simon Riley, or Ghost. Excellent Sniper, the team's tech guy. He's a keeper, his ability to reject emotions while in combat makes him focused and a keen observer. He also excels in weapon usage. You give him anything with a trigger and he'll be sure to hit enemies no matter what.

Another one is John MacTavish, or Soap, what kind of a name is Soap? Price thought. Price looked at the muppet proudly. He rose among his comrades during recruitment and stood at the top of his batch, showing exemplary combat skills and demolitions expertise. Excellent at handling air support machinery and his keen eye never misses a tango hiding from the field. He's got it tough recently, Price believed luck wasn't on his side that's why he got injured a lot.

There's Gary Sanderson or Roach. Price calls him the team's therapist. He sees the willingness to help from the guy. He's eager to train hard and be better and he was impressed on how he handled the German Infilnitration they did together. He has initiative and a clear goal. Something useful at these times.

There's Francine Winters, France a.k.a. Shepherd's prodigy, the last minute addition. He's still quite skeptic as to why she's placed here, but so far he knew that with her sister mentally disturbed by the enemies she's bound to use her emotions as ammunition. She's great at stealth and close combat especially great for breaking and entering missions. She could be trained of open area battles and she has the drive to do so, making her another good addition to the team.

As for the remaining ones, Jack and Maxine, he has no idea yet but them tagging along and using their resources to the fight would greatly increase their chances of killing Nero and destroying the era of EMP machinery.

"Looks like you got yourself a pretty nice team, pal." Jack patted the Former captain's shoulder.

"Yeah. Small enough to remain secret and powerful enough to defeat Nero." he muttered. Jack held his phone and showed it to Price.

"I got us a place. An old CIA Safehouse."

"Are you sure this is going to be okay?" 

"Positive. This one's not used for decades. Classified as dormant and unmaintained. It's situated near a city that once housed a lot of terror activity but after it got neutralized it became very peaceful." Jack convinced. Price no longer hesitated, the team needed the help they can get.

"As long as we're under the radar." He replied and gave Nikolai the coordinates. From there they would begin their revenge toward Nero's attack, plan Samantha's rescue, and discover what Shepherd is really up to...

One step at a time.

Doing everything they can.

To set things right.

Whatever it Takes.

END OF PART 1

Wild ride first half. I hope you stay for the second part right around the corner!

Notification Squad my beloved 💝

@smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @ricinbach @beemybee @whimsywispsblog

[bandaged-writer]

a chance || dazai

➤ Pairing: Dazai x Reader

➤ Genre: fluff

➤ Warning: none

➤ Summary: To be held so closely and tightly by you, reminded him of the time you confessed to him one late afternoon. Now that Dazai thought about it, it was a lovely memory and wondered if it was okay for him to give in.

➤ Word count: 3.1k

➤ Note: This is my first time writing after nearly a year, but I hope you still enjoy it. Please, let me know what you think and feel free to drop a request in my inbox. ^.^

The sound of hurried footsteps were successfully drowned out by the hustle lingering within the busy streets of Yokohama. People chattered away either on their phone for business purposes or with their peers, laughing at jokes, pouting and enjoying themselves underneath the glowing sun of spring. The smell of food filled your nostrils as you passed them in a hurry and for a moment you contemplated getting a piece of that delicious piece of strawberry cake the bakery had on display. After all, your morning stopped you from having the slightest bit of breakfast in your system.

That train of thought, however, was interrupted by your colleague, Kunikida, picking up the phone. “Where are you? You’re already five minutes late and I doubt you’ll finish the reports you have to finish at this rate.” You couldn’t helpt the slight roll of your eyes, yet you knew that Kunikida only meant well - or so you’d like to believe. “I’m sorry, Kunikida,” you started with a heavy sigh, stopped at a traffic light and waited for the lights to turn green. “My car wouldn’t start this morning and the traffic is too horrible to take the bus. The next train would’ve arrived late so now I’m walking to work.” 

To anyone else, it could sound like an excuse, but Kunikida never saw you arriving late without a plausible reason and even that case was extremely rare. Whenever he entered the office, you’d arrive at the Agency only a few minutes after him, a treat from the local bakery in your hands and a grin on your face. Truth be told, it had become a part of Kunikida’s schedule: “Greet [Name] at 08:05 am”. That’s how consistent your presence was.  “That’s unfortunate,” Kunikida spoke and glanced over at your supposedly empty desk which Dazai was occupying, mumbling something about finding your Google search history and using it for blackmail while Atsushi was quite literally dragging his superior away from your desk. Luckily, all the chairs possessed the ability to roll. ‘‘How much longer will you take?“

One hand stuffed into the pocket of your jacket, you hastily crossed the street once the traffic lights turned green and skillfully avoided bumping into people, only stopping once because someone’s dog was sniffing your leg with a wagging tail. You stroked the pet’s head affectionately and cooed at the creature that possessed such button-like eyes. At least there was one good thing about your morning now. “Hmm..Maybe about ten minutes? Could be less, could be a few minutes more,” you spoke into the phone, unsure of how long you’d actually take. If the streets continued to be so lively, then you’d definitely need longer than usual. Why couldn’t those people choose a different day to go outside and meet up with their friends and business partners? Ah, not like you had any control over such a thing.

‘‘Dazai-san! I’m sure you won’t find anything on [Name]‘s computer!“ Atsushi argued loudly enough for you to catch it over the phone. ‘‘Isn’t this what people your age call ‘finding tea‘?“ Dazai whined in response, pouted his lips and acted like he had gotten seriously betrayed by the Internet and its slang language.

‘Oh, Dazai is back?” You asked Kunikida before he could ask you to hurry up so he wouldn’t end up wringing the brown-haired man’s neck who was currently going on Kunikida’s nerves with his usual antics. A smile cracked your lips at the thought of a sense of normality returning to the Agency. Well, as normal as it could be. “Unfortunately, yes. Please try to arrive as early as possible.”

With those words being said, the call ended and the small smile fell from your lips faster than it had found home on your face. Everyone was still on high alert after Atsushi was abducted by Akutagawa and fought the Port Mafia’s rabid dog. Then there was Dazai purposely getting himself caught by the mafia just so he could find out who had placed the bounty on the young boy’s head. He was successful as always, but usually it was a death sentence once you were within the wall’s of the Port Mafia.

Of course, you believed in Dazai. His calculations were awfully accurate and somehow, everything played right into his bandaged hands. A man of such intellect would be terrifying to anyone else, but it only made you wonder how sharp Dazai really was, how deep his thoughts truly went. You’d probably never find out.

Despite Dazai’s plans always working out one way or another, you couldn’t help but worry about the suicidal idiot while everyone else brushed it off, saying he was either drifting along the river or chatting up some pretty lady. Only Atsushi and you had voiced out your concerns at the time.

You’d barely made it through the door and shrugged off your jacket when your hand was suddenly held by an awfull familiar, bandaged one and chocolate orbs sparkled brightly upon your apparently long-awaited arrival. “What a blessing you are for my sore eyes!” Dazai exclaimed dramatically and pulled off his daily, overdramatical act, lips pulled into an anticipating and hopeful smile that this time you’d say yes to a double suicide with him. “Ah, [Name]! You won’t believe how dull and grey the morning is when you’re not here and all I see is Kunikida’s unflattering face.” Somewhere in the back, you could hear Kunikida call out his partner’s name in an offended and warning tone of voice, probably about to pop a vein, too.

Normally, you would’ve laughed at their antics, but this time, a frown slowly spread across your face as you looked at Dazai, his hand delicately holding yours. Only one mistake in his planned abduction could’ve sentenced him to death by the hands of some mafioso. He wouldn’t be here, holding your hand and fooling around with Atsushi, annoying Kunikida and receiving more paperwork as a result. That idiot wouldn’t ask you for a double suicide every morning or steal bite after bite of your food until it, according to Dazai, magically disappeared. He would be gone, erased, deleted. This was the first time Dazai had been at the office ever since his visit at the mafia. “A wonderful face such as yours would look absolutely stunning in a lover’s-”

Dazai cut himself off as you refused to even crack the ghost of a smile at his attempt of openly flirting with you. Usually, you’d hear him out and end up laughing at his rather serious suggestion, but this time, there wasn’t even a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. Instead, he found a layer of sudden sadness clouding your gaze, but it wasn’t enough for tears to spill. “Is everything okay?”

You lowered your gaze to the ground, bangs casting a shadow over your eyes while you slowly let your hand slip from Dazai’s gentle grasp and raised it up high. Suddenly, you smacked him upside down on the head - maybe a bit harder than you intended to, but it was deserved either way. “You idiot!,” you exclaimed loudly enough to catch the attention of your colleagues who were more than puzzled that you were upset with Dazai of all people. After all, they were convinced that the two of you were connected by the hip or siblings separated at birth. 

“Ah, didn’t I tell you that I’m not as fond of pain as I am of your face, [Name]?” Dazai whined after his chin collided with your shoulder pretty hard. A pout found home on his lips as he was about to rub the sore spot you had hit so mercilessly and out of the blue, as well. “Shut up,” you said and rested one hand on his back, the other one cradled the back of Dazai’s head, getting tangled in his messy, brown locks. It probably looked funny given that Dazai was taller than you and maybe you’d laugh about that later. “I was worried sick about you,” the grasp you had on his trenchcoat tightened like he was about to disappear, slip from your embrace like water through the gaps of your fingers. 

Chocolate-like orbs widened as he understood what the hit was for and he silently admitted that it was indeed deserved. He’d told you nothing about his plan to extract information directly from the mafia instead of receiving it through a third person. Of course, Dazai knew you’d be upset with him once he’d return to the Agency, knew about the feelings you held for him.

Dazai could feel your heart thumping against his chest in relief and allowed himself to bask in the warmth you radiated. He didn’t necessarily return the hug, but ended up patting the top of your head and gently messing up your styled hair which had probably frustrated you like every morning. To be held so closely and tightly by you, reminded him of the time you confessed to him one late afternoon. Now that Dazai thought about it, it was a lovely memory and wondered if it was okay for him to give in.

The sun was beginning to set and dipped the office of the Agency into an orange hue, giving the usually lively space a tranquil and warm aura that would be welcomed by anyone walking in. But the office was empty safe for Dazai and you who was typing away on the laptop in front of you, sending off important emails and bringing certain documents into chronological order to make it easier for Kunikida to skim through them whenever it’d be needed.

Dazai had ended up with more paperwork than necessary since he insisted on annoying Kunikida all day while you just had a lot to do. A case had caused a lot of material damage throughout Yokohama and now it was your duty to get everything organized and ready to be paid off by the insurance that had saved the Agency from bankruptcy more than once. That was why the two of you were currently stuck in the office, working overtime, unpaid.

Usually, you’d chat with the man sitting opposite of you about anything that came to mind, but that afternoon, you were nervously biting your bottom lip, chewing the sensitive flesh until it was reddened. The glances you stole of him were fleeting but you’d always look away whenever Dazai was about to make eye contact. Your cheeks were dusted in a pink hue as well and truth be told, it looked cute and suited you in a way. However, Dazai wasn’t too fond of your sudden silence. He was about to break the silence, but you cut him to it and closed the laptop shut a bit louder than necessary - you flinched at the sudden, strong sound bouncing off the walls of the Agency.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” your voice was full of conviction yet it was shaking with the insecurity of a child, your fingers couldn’t properly hold still. Interested in what you had to say, Dazai rested his chin on his palm, brown eyes attentive to your every move yet they held a soft glimmer in them and conjured a smile on his lips. “Hm? What is it?”

You took a deep breath - once, twice. It felt like your heart was trying to pound its way out of your ribcage, your pulse raced and you could hear the blood ringing in your ears. But this was no time to chicken out. If you didn’t do it now, God knew when the next best chance would be offered to you on a silver platter like this. “This might sound silly, but I think I might be developing feelings towards you,” you confessed in one breath and for a moment it felt like a burden had been lifted off your shoulders. It felt good to come clean. “You don’t have to return those feelings at all. I just..really needed to get this off my chest and I don’t want it to change anything between us,” and it was true. You didn’t mind being just friends with the suicide enthusiast as long as he remained by your side in some way. But unsaid feelings can be one’s downfall, so you took the risk.

The expression on Dazai’s face didn’t change, but it wasn’t quite readable, either. There was a certain depth to it that you’d never reach the end of, no matter how deep you swam, no matter how deep you’d cut. “I was wondering when you’d notice,” Dazai pretty much deadpanned. He had taken notice of your lingering gaze, the more frequent blushing when he’d compliment you or the fact that you always brought food with you, although you knew he’d eat it instead. The confusion on your face at that moment was quite amusing, too. Dazai chuckled, “you’re pretty much an open book for me to read, [Name].”

Of course, he’d know before you’d even notice your own feelings, you thought to yourself and let a gentle chuckle slip past your lips. It was really futile to hide anything from that man. “Promise it won’t change anything between us?”

“Promise,” he smiled in a heartfelt way.

“Yes, we’re all very happy you two get along,” Kunikida cut the moment without mercy and dumped a load of paperwork on your desk that contained things like finances, complaints, cancelled cases as well as successful ones. “But work comes first.” The blonde adjusted his glasses on his nose and then crossed the point of giving you your work for the day out of his schedule. Next was getting the discounted eggs and several other goods. No way he was going to miss out on that. “Come on, don’t be so harsh on them, Kunikida,” Yosano said, sitting on the edge of Ranpo’s desk who had been watching the scene with snacks between his fingers. “You know how they are,” the doctor tried to reason with the idealist and possibly lessen your paperwork. Kunikida shook his head no - as was expected but one could always hope, right? “That’s no excuse to be slacking.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured your colleagues and got to your desk only to find your Google search history opened. So that bandaged bastard really did want to find dirt on you. Luckily, this wasn’t your personal laptop but the one you explicitly used for work. “It has to be done sooner or later, anyway. I’d rather have it off the desk now than tomorrow,” getting comfortable, you opened up Excel and began typing in the different losses as well as profits the Agency had made, giving several documents your signature and the likes. 

“And what was that about my face being unflattering, you bandage wasting machine?!”

“Ouch, words hurt, Kunikida-kun!”

True to your words, all the paperwork was off your desk, every single data was saved on your laptop and the documents were stored away safely in a folder. When you looked out of the window, you saw that the large crowds from this morning were beginning to clear out, the sun was about to set soon. Considering the time, you doubted that anyone else would enter the Agency, today. 

Atsushi was out on a job with Kenji, Kunikida was getting those discounted eggs, Ranpo had finished a murder case and most likely went home with Tanizaki’s help. Yosano had given you a hand with some of your work but left early.

You closed the Agency’s door when your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching you and sighed. “I’m sorry but we’re closed for today,” you spoke and locked the door properly, letting the key slide into the pocket of your jacket. But to your surprise, it was no possible client that wanted to give the Agency yet another case. “What? You can’t recognize me by the sound of my footsteps? I’m disappointed, [Name],” Dazai feigned hurt and put his hand right above his heart. The audacity you had to not recognize him after working together for so long! You couldn’t help the surprise adorning your face - Dazai never got back to his workplace unless he was dragged by Kunikida or it was a top priority. “Yeah, you must be incredibly hurt and will never get over it,” you laughed and cocked your hips to your side. “Now, what did you come back for?”

It was at that very moment that Dazai dropped the theatrical act that you had grown so fond of and replaced it what that damned tender face of his. You know, the face someone made when they could see their puppy grow up. “Let’s go on a date,” He spoke softly, not tripping over a syllable and remaining completely composed unlike you when you had confessed one or two months ago. Heat rose to your cheeks and suddenly, you grew oddly shy. Sure, Dazai was the epitome of a flirt and regularly asked women to commit a double suicide with him, but never quite asked them for a date with a look in his eyes that made the endless depths of them seem reachable. “Are you serious?” You double-checked, eyebrows raised in curiosity of his sincerity. Although you were pretty sure that Dazai wasn’t messing around in that moment, you feared that your ears might’ve played an ill trick on you. “As serious as a suicide enthusiast can be,” Dazai confirmed and offered for you to take his hand. Your eyes flickered from his hand and back to his face a few times, wondering what changed his mind about your feelings towards him and being a little bit cautious. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“You trust me, don’t you?” You hated it whenever he pulled the trust card. Both of you knew you could never say no to that particular question, because it’d be a lie. And Dazai had a nose for lies. Sighing, you put your hand in his and watched his face light up in a pleased way, red staining your cheeks and your heart rate gradually picking up the more you realized that Dazai was seriously taking you out. In a date way. 

As the two of you strolled throughout Yokohama’s streets and ended up in a small restaurant where Dazai made up for all the times he’d eaten your food by treating you to dinner, he’d realized that maybe this was one of the few right decisions he’d ever made.

A friend of him once told him he could never fill the empty hole in his heart. But maybe you could.

[komoryriku]

Queering KH: Part 2

How to Queer this Anime Game? By me, an American nerd lol

Pictured: Dream. Drop. Distance. Sequel. 8)))

What is Queering 

I’m so excited to talk about this okay this is literally the only fun thing I get to do as an English major anymore lmao.

“Queering a text” is the academic term for taking a given text and extracting the queer subtext of it, or applying a queer reading to it. It is taking a piece of literature, film, or art and reading into it for the gay coding. It is an especially important tool for reading old literature written during periods of extreme homosexual oppression, wherein the author would be forced to hide hints of homosexuality under layers and layers of superficial text.

Pictured: Sora and Riku battling Ursula as she means to wreck their ship, mirroring the disaster that Sora’s friends Eric and Ariel (lovers) faced at sea.

As a post-structuralist, I am also here to inform you that every text is made up of intertextual influence. This means whether the JK Rowlings of the world intended it or not, their characters may well be queer coded because of the unconscious influence of homoerotic customs in our culture that have permeated the text. It’s why people speculated that Newt Scamander was gay, because he showed little interest in Tina and preferred to focus on his beasts, which is not normative for a male protagonist in straight media. People likewise considered that Merida from Pixar’s Brave might be gay, because she had no interest in dating men and wanted to live a wild lifestyle traditionally associated with masuculinity, things that are pretty in line with lesbian coding. And let me tell you, lgbt claimed Queen Elsa IMMEDIATELY for very good reason. Pretty much everything about her journey, purposefully or not, makes for an strikingly overt gay metaphor. Let it Go is a coming out song for a woman suffocating under normativity all her life, deal with it.

Same, Elsa.

Oh whoops I accidentally pasted this picture of Riku here.

Keep Cultural Distinctions in Mind

Something else important I want to point out is that different cultures are- different lol. They are going to vary. What is queer coding here is not necessarily queer coding in Japan. A man presenting femininely in American media would certainly get him coded as gay. A bishonen in an anime though? Not so much. Men bathing together in Japan is common practice so that would mean nothing gay over there. In America however, you have things like this vine. 

In which 2 dudes are chilling as far away as possible from each other in a hot tub to prove they are not gay lol.

So when I say the male members of Organization XIII bathe together, it means literally nothing in a Japanese context.  

But let me tell you this: homosexual mlm tend to enjoy bathing with other dudes. Sexual attraction is sexual attraction no matter where you go. So how would you queer code a Japanese character as gay in a hot tub context? 

By American logic, if the straight thing to do is sit 5 feet apart in a hot tub, then the inverse, the gay thing to do, would be 2 men sitting very close together in a hot tub. So if I were to code 2 American male characters as gay in a hot tub context, that is what I would do. But if I really wanted to hammer it home, I would ALSO have them blushing so there is no straight explanation for their closeness. 

And for a Japanese character, for whom bathing with men might well mean nothing, I’d definitely have them physically blush, so that you know it does NOT just “mean nothing” to him...

Oh look at that. Amano went out of her way to draw Roxas blushing at the concept of bathing with men. So when I say “the members of Orginization XIII bathe together”, you know that means something to Roxas, cuz the coding tells us so. There are indeed certain ways you can depict a shonen being either interested in or at least affected by that idea. You just have to mind those codes telling you what the character really feels, especially when they can’t really say it.

Speaking of blushes, Amano uses them a lot. 

They’re a pretty effective tool for hiding gay coding into your characters cuz an anime character might blush for any number of reasons, from being flustered by their crush, 

to being flustered because they don’t have a crush.

If you’ve ever translated Japanese media, (I haven’t, but I have friends who do), you know that Japanese is very vague which means you need the whole context to properly understand a scene. It’s a similar situation with queer coding. Consider this scene of Roxas blushing. 

If Roxas felt positively about the insinuation that he and Xion are holding hands, how might one code this? Well, if he’s feeling really excited about it in a positive way, you might draw him smiling or expressing flattery on his blushing face. However, Roxas reacts negatively, with a frown on his blushing face. This insinuates he does not like this idea at all, especially since he also shuts it down right away in his dialogue.

But you might say “Well how do we know he isn’t just shy?” to which I say- well we can’t know. That’s the whole point of queer coding in literature. It is to say a character is queer but without actually saying it, to give plausible deniability for safety. It is to suggest a character is queer but without any confirmation. It does not mean that the character isn’t queer, however. It just means it cannot be confirmed by the text alone. However, a bold text that is very determined to have hidden queer characters without any straight explanations, will provide coding that has very little or no straight explanation. 

Back to the Roxas and Xion dialogue^. This scene alone cannot confirm or deny anything. As I explained however, the suggestion that Roxas is not straight IS there. Considering the whole context, also, this scene is another piece of “evidence” to add to the pile of suggestions that Roxas isn’t straight. This coupled with the bathing panel, and this panel of him admiring Axel, his male mentor, with deep flattery during his first day of adventuring, all exist.

Roxas does not express negative sentiments in his blushing at men, nor does he say anything dismissive to them. When he blushes at Xion’s comment, however, it is with a negative reaction. Consider also that if the author wanted Roxas to appear straight, she would present them in ways that allude to straightness and NOT in ways that allude to queerness. Roxas would not do suggestively queer things like blush in flattery at Axel calling him special and then dismiss Xion’s suggestion that they are holding hands if he were simply coded as straight. Queering a text sometimes requires a lot of critical thought like this. This is because again, these things are hidden, and sometimes hidden really well so that unsuspecting straight people will not even consider the queer suggestions. This is one of the advantages Nomura has in his favor with Kingdom Hearts: by making it so convoluted, the gay text can be forward, strong, and blatant but remain undetected by straight powers. This keeps the series safe from oppressive scrutiny. Characters like Namine and Xion can exist as literal illustrations of compulsory-heterosexuality. And people will still think Sora and Riku are straight. 

Even if I don’t know all the queer codes Japanese culture might specifically have, (and I do not, I do not live in Japan nor have any semblance of what that is like beyond what my friends who have lived there can tell me, and what I can research while sitting in my pajamas in Kentucky lol), there are certain things that are rather universal. Blushing, physical contact, lingering gazes, etc etc. Attraction is attraction and certain body language and other physical symbols will translate and will travel. So that’s the majority of what I will have to focus on. 

But I do want you to know that rainbows are still gay in Japan. 

Finally I also want to express that cultural intermingling is a thing. We do not live in bubbles, especially with the internet. Our cultures affect each other ALL the time. Although Kingdom Hearts is primarily a Japanese series, it is consciously tailored to appeal to both America and Japan. This is by design given the idea was to marry a Japanese hit like Final Fantasy with an American phenomenon like Disney’s media. This is why they take special care in minding the English translations and dubbing of the KH games (when they are able to do so, mistakes are still very often made and i hate it cuz they’re usually heterosexual-agenda-pushing “mistakes” =~=). The games are so intimately tied to both the Japanese and American cultures they are derived from which is part of why accurate translations are so important. And given what they would mean for queer audiences, what they represent for queer people makes accurate translations even MORE important. Some things get quite lost in translation, and some things are grossly added in translation. We will discuss that down the line...   

A brief aside that I implore you to ignore:

On the subject of Roxas not being straight, I have heard of one really fun queer motif in Japanese media which is ”ryoutoutsukai (両刀使い)”, “the two sword fencer”: the dual wielding bisexual. Now- I do not necessarily think this is a means of coding Roxas as bisexual, and beyond that, from what I’ve heard in my research on bisexuality in Japan, certain age groups don’t even believe in bisexuality there. However, a love of more than one gender exists no matter who is willing to acknowledge it or not, and this motif is there. And Promisekeeper and Oblivion do rather fit the bill of representing homosexuality (Oblivion/Soriku) and heteronormativity (Promisekeeper/Sora and his childhood friend Kairi). So- while i don’t think it means anything, this fun idea is there~  I will say, however, that as far as I can tell, Nomura and his staff know exactly what they’re doing with their queer coding and are well connected to it in both cultures. So I mean- if any anime team would know bisexuality exists and how to code it, I firmly believe the KH team would, so. There is some food for thought for you~

Get ready for part 3, I hope you like TWEWY~ B)

[saphyrenights]

Who wants a free ENGL 1102 lesson on English Rhetoric?

As some of you know, I’m a semester away from getting my master’s degree in English rhetoric and composition. My research is focused on devices and tactics speakers (writers, rhetors, etc) use to persuade audiences. Basically, I’ve been trained to look at the nitty gritty of language to determine how an audience can be or is being influenced. I’m gonna share some of that with you guys, so if you’d like to get a real world example of why studying rhetoric matters, even for the layperson, read on.

***

Still here? Awesome. Look at the difference in language used for the following two headlines. Notice anything about the tones of these headlines? How do you feel when you read one versus the other?

[TPD asking public for help locating missing Thomasville man; WCTV]

[Police on the hunt for missing Thomasville man; WALB]

Take a sec to think about it before reading on.

***

Done? Okay.

The first three words of the WCTV headline---TPD asking public---make an empathetic plea directly to the audience for help finding this man. They use the word “missing” to let us know his absence is out of the ordinary and that there are people who are concerned about his safety. From the picture, we can tell he’s a well-groomed, casually dressed, youngish Black man. He’s completely average and could easily be any one of us, so it’s important to help find him if he’s somewhere and needs help.

But look at the language used in the WALB headline. The first four words of this headline---Police on the hunt---immediately set us up to expect something a lot less empathetic. If you take the prepositions and adjectives out of this sentence, you end up with “Police hunt man.” This headline doesn’t even name the police department who’s “hunting” him; it’s just a generic mention of the police in general. Like the WCTV headline, this one also uses the word “missing.” But since the only entity that’s been mentioned so far is the police, it’s possible to assume that they’re the people missing him. When we see the same exact picture of a well-groomed, casually dressed, youngish Black man, our thoughts have been subconsciously primed to expect the worst. Could this man be a criminal on the loose?

According to an article published in the Washington Post, “the average news consumer in the United States is a headline-reader -- at best” (Cillizza). The majority of people who read the news don’t read the articles. They skim the headlines and move on. Why is that important to note? Because sometimes the headlines are misleading. If that’s all the information a person receives, how well-informed are they going to be about the story? What opinions are they going to form?

The WCTV headline asks the public for help locating Bower. The WALB headline says the police are hunting a missing man. There is a HUGE difference between the meanings of these headlines. Those differences are made even more apparent in the articles themselves. Prepare to join the precious few people who actually read a news story past its headline...   

From WCTV:

[THOMASVILLE, Ga. (WCTV) - The Thomasville Police Department is asking the public for help locating a missing man. 26-year-old Corey Bower has not been seen or heard from since Dec. 21, according to family. Bower’s family said this is unusual. Bower is described as an African American man with a slim build, and is between between 5′08″ and 6′ in height. He was last seen wearing long red pants and a large coat. If you have any information about his whereabouts, TPD asks that you please contact the Investigations Division at 227-3302 or Dispatch at 226-2101, or send them a message. Copyright 2021 WCTV. All rights reserved.]

Think about what you just read before you move on to my analysis. What impressions did the article give you about the missing man? The people looking for him? The role of the police?

***

Finished mulling it over? Arright, let’s continue.

This article mentions that it’s unusual for Bower to be out of contact from his family for long. We get the sense that he has family who is very worried about him. Again, the tone engenders empathy in the reader, and the writer makes another direct appeal to the public for help. “TPD asks that you please contact...” Polite, but urgent. The police are being used as facilitators for the safe return of this man. They aren’t predators hunting prey, as implied in the WALB headline. Also, the article mentions his name 3 times, including a “Bower’s family,” which humanizes him for the audience. Heavy on pathos, this article wants the audience to identify with the missing man and his family. If there’s a personal connection between the reader and this story, they may be more likely to remember to keep an eye out for this missing man because they can place themselves in his place and in his worried family’s place. Article wordcount: 97. 

Now, let’s look at the WALB article:

[THOMASVILLE, Ga. (WALB) - The Thomasville Police Department is on the hunt for a missing man, according to the agency’s Facebook page. Police said family members reported that Corey Brower, 26, hasn’t been heard from since Dec. 21. Brower was last seen wearing red, long pants and a big coat. He is between 5′8-6′ in height with a slim build. If you have any information regarding his whereabouts, you’re asked to call the investigations division at (229) 227-3302 or dispatch at (229) 226-2101. You can also send them a message on Facebook. Copyright 2021 WALB. All rights reserved.]

I’m going to ask you to consider the same three questions I asked before about the other article. What impressions did this article give you about the missing man? The people looking for him? The role of the police?

***

This article, as you can probably tell, is less concerned with pathos and mostly uses logos as a rhetorical device. If “just the facts, ma’am,” were an article, this would be it. We get no indication that anyone cares about this man, only that people are looking for him. No, we have the “on the hunt” line repeated. The police are not presented as facilitators in this man’s safe return. They aren’t asking the public for help. The article just says “you’re asked to call...” We’re told that the information comes from Facebook, meaning that the person who wrote this just straight up passed along a Facebook post. The WCTV article also received its info from Facebook, but they went directly to the heart of the story before directing readers back to the Facebook post if they have information that can help (which they didn’t do until the very, very end of the article). But do you notice any information missing from the WALB article that was included in the WCTV one? Yep...the WALB article doesn’t mention Bower’s race, a key piece of information for locating a missing person. Why do you think WCTV mentioned his race while WALB omitted it? [Answer in the tags or somewhere on this post; I have my own theories, but I’d love to hear what y’all think is going on here.]  Word count: 79. Fewer words than the WCTV article, less humanizing of the missing man, and as many mentions of Facebook as there are of Bower’s name. It’s safe to assume that the writer is making no attempt to get you, the reader, to empathize with Corey Bower, his family, or the difficult situation they’ve found themselves in.

What purpose does the WCTV article serve? What about the WALB one? Of these two articles, which one do you think an audience is going to care about more? Why would a simple, straight forward news story about a missing man inspire two very different tones for articles? Questions, upon questions, upon questions...

***

And that, my friends, is why rhetoric matters. Also, Black lives matter, even in journalism. I realize that different news organizations adhere to different style guides, but these articles exhibit a pretty drastic difference in tone. And for transparency’s sake, both of these news organizations are owned by the same media company, Gray Media Group. This comes down to a personal difference between writers (or editors) and what rhetorical meaning they’re choosing to give to this situation.

But that’s an ENGL 4000 lesson at the least, so I’ll end it here. 

BTW if you live in the South Georgia area and you have info about where Corey Bower may be, contact the Thomasville Police Department. I know, I know, ACAB, but that’s where his family went for help.

Anyway, this concludes my short ENGL 1102 rhetoric lesson. Feel free to use this for your classes or just as a personal reference. And please share this because the more practice people have with critically dissecting what they read, the better they’ll be at extracting information from various sources and figuring out what’s credible and what isn’t. And lordy knows we could use a lot more of that these days.❤️

[so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed]

Here are the five fics I’ve posted for @wordplayfics 2020! Once again a massive thank you to @lululawrence for organizing it, and thank you to all of those who helped me write these past couple of weeks. To all those who have read my fics, thank you so much! Your comments are what keeps me going. Please continue to let me share these worlds with you!

week 1: extract  my love will never leave you [Larry, 10472 words, T] week 2: bronze sadness is a little boy looking out the window [Ziam, 6477 words, T] 

week 3: sin it’s time to find your wings again [Larry, 12339 words, T] week 4: shot it’s a long shot just to beat these odds [Ziam, 13945 words, T] week 5: board if you’re lost just look for me [Larry, 9162 words, T]

== please click through to read the summaries for these fics ==

week 1: extract my love will never leave you [Larry, 10472 words, T]

In a world where memories are used as currency, Louis will do anything it takes for Harry to get better. 

week 2: bronze

sadness is a little boy looking out the window [Ziam, 6477 words, T]

Liam is twelve when he receives the key. It’s given to him on his birthday, in a red velvet box, and something about the weight of the box in his palm gives him pause, makes him hold his breath when he unwraps the bow around it.

The bronze key looks innocuous, but Liam knows better. He’s grown up with the stories, as many people have. Has been told about the keys, and that most people except for an unlucky few got one at birth. Some were immediately gifted to them by their parents, others had been kept away from them until such a time that they were deemed responsible enough to understand what it meant.

Because this kind of key, it doesn’t just open any door.

It reveals what you need most, when you need it most, and it can only be used once.

week 3: sin

it’s time to find your wings again [Larry, 12339 words, T]

The first reports are dismissed, as tall tales or folklore. As mental illness, poor Bathilda, she’d gone loopy. As people simply getting scared in the dark woods and seeing things, making things up. Magic isn’t real. Mythological creatures aren't real.

But then the first one is caught. A faun, that little Meg from around the corner swears has attacked her in the woods, and everyone comes to the marketplace to see the faun be hanged for its crimes. Louis doesn’t want to go, but at the same time, he finds himself unable to stay away. Not when this proves what he’s wanted to believe all along, that magic is real.

*

Louis is twenty when he starts working at the prison. His fascination for supernatural creatures had turned into something most closely resembling loathing over the years, due to the many stories of their evildoing, and although he still doesn’t believe in hanging them for their crimes, he does believe in keeping the town safe. In making sure that his siblings get to grow up without fear of being kidnapped or hurt. As the oldest son, it feels like his duty to make sure that no creature in the wide area will ever pose a threat to anyone.

week 4: shot it’s a long shot just to beat these odds [Ziam, 13945 words, T]

Zayn: how many years in prison would I get for murdering a popstar???

He scrapes the plates clean, resists the urge to kick the trash can, his breathing still feeling shallow and high in his chest. He wants a cigarette. And a cuddle from Louis. But a text is the most he can realistically ask for now, and luckily Louis doesn’t leave him hanging.

Louis: ?????

Okay, so it isn’t that helpful, but Zayn knows his anxiety well enough that just distracting his mind is usually enough to keep from having an actual attack. It doesn’t matter that the subject he’s discussing is the one thing his brain is actually panicking about, just trying to formulate words into a text is helping.

Zayn: I served him raw chicken. RAW. And he was kind enough to want to try and eat it too. I could have killed him!!!

That would’ve made headlines for sure. FORMER BOYBANDER GETS POISONED ON FIRST DATE, more on the ten p.m. news.

Louis: well that’s one way of making sure he’s not going to go on any of the other dates. Bit drastic though mate.

week 5: board if you’re lost just look for me [Larry, 9162 words, T] Let your dreams set sail. 

Louis blinks at the sticky note, sitting casually in between a flyer advertising an upcoming gig for one of the many bands on campus (the heavy metal graphics implying that the music is not to Louis’ taste) and an ad for a yoga club (Louis is going to have to give that one a miss too). It’s small, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention, just tucked away as though it’s been left there for Louis to find.

He snorts. “Let your dreams set sail. What a fucking joke.”

It’s to himself more than anything, and he doesn’t realize that he’s been overheard until a voice speaks up from right behind him. “Don’t like the sentiment?” It’s deep, and rich, and Louis turns around to the owner of the voice, only to blink at him instead.

He is beautiful. Chocolate curls and intrigued green eyes, and Louis doesn’t have a brain to mouth filter at the best of times, let alone when he’s presented with very attractive boys.

“I mean, it’s a bit cheesy, innit?” He finds himself saying. “Like, this kind of inspirational crap is just bullshit, if you ask me, because how am I supposed to let my dreams set sail when I’m arse deep in homework and I don’t even know what I want to do with my life? It’s not like I have the luxury of finding out, with the prospect of crippling student debt.”

The boy hums. “I guess. The sentiment’s nice though. We should all try and dream a little bit more.”

*

Louis’ first year of college is everything he had hoped for it to be. It’s why it’s so hard to swallow that his second year is everything but.

* A fic where motivational quotes, no matter how cheesy, might just make everything better after all.