#or spend a few spare minutes putting the bare basics of their characters on to the point I have to do it

[alren-ki]

The shitty thing about feeling as if you've been ignored is the Paradox you trap yourself in if you even THINK of mentioning it, on the one hand, if you directly say it to the faces of the people who have just been busy and haven't been ignoring you at all will think your clingy and desperate and might want to pull away from you because you've made them uncomfortable, on the other hand, if you do it in an untargeted soft way of "Hey I've felt a little left behind" in the general chat that could very well get ignored to, leaving you to just feel worse. It's a catch 22 of minty fucking eels

[weatherman667]

Knights of Sidonia:  Love Woven In the Stars

Sadly, everything I was afraid it was going to be, and a few extras.

Most of the problems come from the fact its THE MOVIE!!!!!!!, though we do have to point out he Funimation dub is, overall, worse than the Netflix one.  Most of the time it’s the same, but there’s a lot more of the pukey/cartoony voice acting, rather than proper, dramatic voice acting.

Now onto THE MOVIE!!!!!!!

It compresses an entire season into a single movie, but it’s worse than that.  It’s a general audience movie. This means that it spends a lot of time getting the viewer up to speed to where we are in the show.  When the exposition happens, 99% of the exposition is stuff we already know, along with the fact it’s a giant infodump.

Space is the best way to describe this.  You need space to process information and emotions, and is actually a fundamental part of Japanese aesthetic disciplines.  Gone.

Giving a sense of space, both physical and temporal is extremely important in storytelling, which is something that the series did fantastically well.  There’s a lot of space in space, and crossing it takes a lot of time.  Turning the ship is something that takes minutes to an hour to accomplish safety, and has to be done in stages.  The Garde units are designed to spend two months alone in space.  Gone.

What should have taken a season is done in a couple hours.  What should have taken an episode or two is done in moments.  Character development:  Gone.  Story development:  Gone.  Emotional impact:  Gone.  Unpacking the Captain’s character arc is not done.  After a sentence or two, it skips ahead to the end of her story, where she is forgiven.  Kunato’s redemption arc:  done is about 10 seconds.  Ochiai’s complex character development:  gone, turned into a cartoon villain.  Complete with monologue.  Complete with monologue in a fight where split seconds determine success and failure.

Every character basically loses 20-30 points of IQ.  Camera angles are switched from descriptive angles to narrow / dramatic camera angles.  These do help to hide the fact the Garde squadrons rarely if ever use proper tactics.  The tactics that the series spent two seasons building up for us.  They NEVER engage at maximum range, they never drop the extensions for their rail guns, they take barely minted pilots and instead of putting them in reserve, put them onto the high priority mission.  This seems to be a way to introduce the world through their eyes to the virgin audience whom have never seen anything about Sidonia before.  Events aren’t carefully thought through, with complex projections, but made with spur-of-the-moment predictions you know will succeed because of plot armour.

10 years have passed since the original, and nothing has changed or been resolved.  All of the characters still live in the harem boarding situation.  The love triangle is resolved with a last-minute pair the spares hookup that transgenders one of the characters, (and not even the character that is genetically designed to switch genders).  The final battle is, quite simply silly, in all regards.  This dramatically reduces the impact of it.  The happy ending is also a result of brainjacking.

*hits his head on his desk*

Is it a bad movie?  No.  Would I recommend it to anyone who liked the series?  No.  Would I recommend it to anyone who hasn’t seen the series?  No.

The series is way too complex to reduce down to a single movie, and the backstory infodumps the movie provides don’t happen in a fashion to build dramatic tension.  You basically go from:  This character with obvious villain / lancer hair is bad.  Wait, he’s good now.  Oh, it wasn’t ever his fault, so we don’t need to worry about anyone actually forgiving him.

Does it have good representationTM?  No.

Do I consider it canon?  Parts?, maybe.  Otherwise, no.

I’m honestly going to back to wishing we got a third season.

[likelightningafterthethunder]

Like Lightning After the Thunder: Chapter Two: Reprieve

Fic Summary:

His breath wavered as he stared into Katsuki’s eyes. He knew he could get out if he tried. He could knock Katsuki out, hope that no one else would find them, and run back into the shadows where he belonged. Katsuki may have had him pinned down but he was in Denki’s range now and it would take little effort to send a charge through Katsuki to paralyze him temporarily.

It would take barely any additional effort to kill Katsuki.

As the sparks began to charge, lighting up the air around him, Katsuki refused to back down.

–

Katsuki always knew he was destined for great things.

He didn’t think he’d have to turn his back on all he’s ever known to get there.

Rating: T

Warnings: Eventual major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma

Other Tags: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki, slow burn, alternate universe - canon divergence

Read on Ao3 (links to corresponding chapter) or read below

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Fic navigation to read the fic on tumblr

–

Katsuki wasn’t surprised to see one of his former classmates’ face on the news report with the tagline “found dead after hero-villain fight.” 

The reporter gave a rundown of the fight that had happened a few days earlier on the other side of the city, between a small gang of villains and Ochako. The villains themselves weren’t very high ranking― potential to be B-rank if they were more organized as a group, but C-rank individually― but they had managed to cause a decent amount of damage before Ochako had arrived on the scene. The news replayed the footage taken live from the battle, showing Ochako using her quirk on larger pieces of rumble to assist the lower ranked heroes in the area with evacuation as she charged forward towards the villain group herself. 

The footage wasn’t ideal. It was grainy from trying to capture the scene just outside of the limits of its scope and if it weren’t for the pink of Ochako’s hero costume, Katsuki was certain the camera person would not have been able to keep the camera centered on her. The footage continued until Ochako grabbed one of the villains, freezing seconds after the villain began to float. A red circle appeared around the villain’s face along with a mugshot before cutting back to the reporter.

In the aftermath of the fight, that one villain was never found. 

Ochako had been frantic when they had met up after, her gaze thousands of miles in the distance every time Katsuki looked. She denied anything being on her mind despite it being so blatantly obvious that something was, but Katsuki chose not to question it. After all, if she had wanted to talk about it, she wouldn’t have asked to meet him.

The report continued to explain the search procedures that had taken place over the past few days before describing a call on the tip hotline that ultimately resulted in the discovery of the villain’s body. While they didn’t show a photo of the body, Katsuki couldn’t help but wonder just how bad it was for the report to completely skip over the cause of death.

In the end, Katsuki supposed it didn’t matter what caused the villain’s death. Ochako was certain to end up finding a way to blame herself, for not paying better attention during the fight, for not trying hard enough to find the villain after, for being the last person who saw the villain alive. 

Even if she didn’t, there were parts of society that would make sure she would never forget.

Cheeky: can you meet up with me today?

Katsuki: Takeshi’s?

Cheeky: yeah

Cheeky: drinks/dinner on me after if you want

Katsuki: I’ll be there at five. Don’t be late.

Cheeky: got it!

Cheeky: hey wait why are YOU telling ME not to be late when I’M the one who asked YOU to meet me

Katsuki: You know why.

Cheeky: it was ONE TIME KATSUKI ONE TIME

Katsuki was at Takeshi’s gym a quarter before five, reserving their usual space and changing into workout attire before sending Ochako a text to let her know he was already inside. He started his stretches, looking up only when he saw a pair of pink sneakers approach the ring.

“You’re late,” Katsuki said, continuing his stretches. 

“By five minutes!” Ochako dumped her water and towel on the bench next to Katsuki’s, quickly joining him in the stretches. “I was outside before five, waiting for you!”

“I sent you a text saying I was inside.”

“Yeah, like two minutes before five!” She huffed. “I was totally on time.”

“Whatever. Hurry the fuck up.”

They continued preparing in silence, speaking again only to confirm that the other was ready to start. This time, only a couple of the guests flinched when Katsuki charged forward at Ochako yelling out “die!”

After the fifth time a hit landed that Ochako would have normally been able to block with ease, Katsuki stood down. Her form had been lacking for the better part of the past hour, and there were a few times that her blows hadn’t hit with the full force Katsuki was familiar with. She didn’t even react to Katsuki’s change in form until Katsuki had walked over to the bench for his water.

“Wh― hey! What gives?” She frowned but joined him for a water break when he didn’t return to the ring right away.

“Don’t insult me,” Katsuki rolled his eyes at the shock on her face, “You’re distracted. What kind of fucking spar is worth the time when your opponent isn’t giving their all?”

“I’m focused on the spar! I’m totally and completely here! I wasn’t insulting you but I am now, you’re just saying that because of your enormous ego,” 

Katsuki paused, looking at her directly in her eyes. She didn’t flinch.

But the longer he held his gaze, the more Katsuki could tell that she was holding back.

“First,” He began, “Don’t be cheeky with me―”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be so cheeky with you if you didn’t call me cheeky all the time!”

Katsuki held back an amused smile.

“Second,” He continued, “I hit you five different times in ways that you should have been able to block with your eyes closed.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment, because what I’m hearing is that you think I could fight you with my eyes closed.”

“Insult. You didn’t fucking block the hits, dumbass.”

Ochako huffed, crossing her arms. “Whatever. I’m going to focus on the compliment part of it.”

“Third, you didn’t even notice I walked away until after I reached the bench.”

“I― I was expecting you to come back! That it was some sort of trick to get me to lower my guard or something!”

“And fourth, you speak faster when you lie.” He let Ochako stammer for a while in response, continuing when her shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh. “You sure this is the break you need? I don’t mind wiping the fucking floor with you if that’s what you want but you better respect my time back and fucking fight me with your all,” He shifted his weight a bit before adding hesitantly, “I can try to listen if you want to talk instead but that’s not really my thing,”

Ochako didn’t answer immediately, instead taking a drink of her water. Katsuki waited as patiently as he could, although he did offer her a glare to try to speed up her thought process. 

She put her water back down and hit her knuckles together, briefly reminding Katsuki of Eijirou. “Okay! One more round. I need to redeem myself before we leave for drinks,”

Katsuki grinned, shoving her lightly with his shoulder as he walked back towards the ring. “Whatever you say, Cheeky. You’re still going to fucking lose.”

“I’ll make you eat your words, Katsuki!”

She did not, but not for lack of trying. Ochako actually paid full attention to the spar after the interruption and while Katsuki still had the upper hand on brute strength, she was nimbler and lighter on her feet. Katsuki was fairly certain that had the shift manager not interrupted to tell them that their time was up that Ochako was only a handful of moves away from finding some “barely legal in a spar between friends but completely legal in a rules free battle against a villain” opening and winning the round. While technically neither of them had won, he did agree—after some teasing and pestering— to counting it as her point in their ongoing scoreboard, adding, “But if you want me to count it as eating my words, you’ll have to fucking try again.”

Ochako seemed to be in a brighter mood when they met up again post-changing in front of Takeshi’s. She bumped shoulders with Katsuki as he approached and began chattering about work and her day as they made their way over to the restaurant they usually ate at after sparring sessions. He didn’t offer much other than the occasional “yeah” and swear when her story necessitated it, but she didn’t seem to mind. She spared him from talking until after they were already seated and ordered their food and drinks. 

“Oh yeah! I heard from Tenya that you finally sent in your response to the reunion! Do you know when you’re heading down to Musutafu yet? We should get on the same train so that the ride isn’t as boring— well, kinda, since you’ll probably not be talking,”

“Shut the fuck up, I can talk when I want to,” Katsuki scowled, rolling his eyes when all it resulted in was a laugh from Ochako. “I haven’t looked at the train schedule yet. The Shitty Four Eyes approved for both the 28th and 29th off though.”

“Nice! Well, when you figure out when you want to head down, let me know and I’ll be your Anti-Explosion Time buddy for the ride down,” 

“Oh fuck off.”

Ochako laughed again. Katsuki hoped this would be the extent of the reunion talk but she continued, “It’ll be great to see the entire class again, don’t you think?”

“You make it sound like we never fucking see anyone. I literally saw you a few fucking days ago and you spend half your weekends with Frog Face or Four Eyes or the fucking Nerd or whoever the fuck,” Katsuki pointed out. “We see basically everyone at the Billboards too,”

“Don’t be such a bore, Katsuki. Reunions are different from the Billboards. We don’t have to deal with those ‘damn extras’ at the reunion,” She put on her best Katsuki impression at “damn extras,” extending her palms outwards and adding a playful “Boom! Pow!” 

“I don’t fucking sound like that.”

“Yes you do. I’m the great Katsuki Bakugou! Die you fucking piece of shit! Boom! Bam! You fucking extra! Bow before the king! Boomboom!”

Katsuki let the faintest hint of a smile slip. “I have never said ‘bow before the king,’”

“Oh come on Katsuki, you tried to name yourself King Explosion Murder, don’t deny it. Even if you’ve never said it, you’ve definitely thought about it.”

He scowled, muttering a “fuck off”, refusing to acknowledge that yes, yes he had thought about saying it once or twice.

“So you admit that I’m right!”

“Fuck off, I said no such fucking thing.”

“You didn’t say ‘no’ either though.”

“I’m demoting you to a fucking extra, you shitty fucking extra.”

Katsuki was given a brief break from any potential cheeky response from Ochako when the server stepped in with their drinks. They raised their glasses, a silent toast to making it another day alive, to making it as far as they had come, to their friendship.

To the silent understanding that there were some struggles that were best left unshared.

He didn’t press further about whatever it was that was stressing her out, even if he had a strong feeling about what caused it. She didn’t comment on the circles under his eyes or how his mind seemed to wander after she brought up certain high school memories. They talked, ignoring their stressors, and for a while, they could pretend everything was fine.

[ve1vetyoongi]

better with you | ksj - 01

Chapters: index

Pairing: Seokjin x female reader

Genre: fake dating/arranged marriage!au, smut, angst, humour.

Word count: 19k

Summary: A part time job as a chef at Paradise Resort seems like the perfect way to spend your summer and save up some spare cash to open your own restaurant back home. That is until you cross paths with the CEO’s son who threatens to fire you if you don’t help him inherit his trust-fund-baby-fortune. How? By making you his fiancé. Well, his pretend fiancé at least.

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, spanking, semi-public sex.

A/N: uwu hello and welcome to the first chapter of better with you, part of the paradise series! i hope you enjoy reading these characters as much as i enjoyed writing them because they’re some of my favourites 🥺💘 p.s. im honestly not happy with the pacing of this chapter, but i really wanted to share, so bare with me if it sucks!

Paradise Resort and the people in it are nothing like how you imagined them to be.

Sure, Paradise is a picturesque gated community with sparkling lake views surrounded by pear trees and sprawling green lawns and white stone fountains like the website described. And sure, everyone here drives foreign cars and loiters by the pool on weekdays and drinks bubbly for breakfast from fine China beneath chandeliers which glisten in the morning sun.

But you quickly realise there is something off; something that doesn't quite fit the expectations you had when you arrived here at the start of the summer, wide eyed and excited.

And that something is you.

You aren't one of the balding golfers leisurely steering carts across the perfectly pruned Paradise grass, flirting unashamedly with pretty young women in tennis skirts as they pass. And you aren't one of their wives, leaving lipstick stains on crystal wine glasses in wicker chairs on balconies as they giggle over finger food and afternoon tea and ignorance of their husband's infidelities.

And you certainly aren't the type of girl to spend her summer's horseback riding or wielding badminton bats or sipping copious amounts of white wine, paid for a la daddy's credit card.

No, because you are a culinary major. Nothing more nothing less. And lucky for you, Paradise was hiring - at least for the summer, anyway, and who better to work overtime in the kitchens at the expense of rich dudes other than broke students, right?

While most people came to Paradise to unwind and celebrate another year of prosperity, it was simply your job to watch from the kitchen window, grit your teeth and save enough cash to put towards opening your own restaurant back home.

Which is exactly how you find yourself slaving away over a plate of scallop sashimi on the stickiest day of August as the kitchen gets ready for the biggest event in Resort history — at least according to your fellow summer employee and designated dish washer duty-man Park Jimin, who seemed to be a constant fountain of gossip -- a trait which you secretly liked him for, despite feigning disinterest in his tittle-tattle.

"Do these people even know what good food is?" You frown at an underwhelmingly small plate of goat cheese salad as you wipe the edge of the plate with a cloth. "They can't seriously want to eat this. Don't they ever just, like, want a burger or something?"

"You're just noticing this place is bonkers?" Jimin snickers behind you, hoisting his weight onto the counter and pulling a grimace of his own when he lay eyes on the limp pile of lettuce leaves they dare to refer to as a meal here. "I saw someone order dessert for breakfast yesterday. Rich people have no rules, Y/N. Besides, it's not like we can serve burgers once Mr Kim arrives."

"Mr Kim?" You ask curiously. "Who's that?"

Jimin's eyebrows furrow, like he can't actually believe you're asking him such a question. Ever since you got here at the beginning of the summer he's been diligently keeping you up to date with the latest Paradise gossip, so you aren't sure why he's surprised you're as out of the loop as ever.

"Mr Kim. The founder of Paradise’s son?" You shrug, blinking at him cluelessly and Jimin shakes his head with a pained expression, lowering his voice like he's utterly appalled at your ignorance. "You haven't heard anything about the guy who is gonna take over this place once his father retires? Kim Seokjin?"

Ah, so that's who the infamous Seokjin is. His name has been buzzing through the kitchen for the last week, much to your confusion, and apparently he would be dining in the restaurant tonight.

You heard the senior chef's were working over time to perfect the cherry clafoutis he personally requested (despite not being an on-the-menu dish) and his impending inheritance of his father's dynasty seemed a topic of hot gossip, spreading in hushed whispers from the bar girls out front to the janitor, everyone seemingly desperate to get a glimpse at the Kim Seokjin. Meaning there are only two possible reasons as to why: he is rich or he is filthy rich.

"So what's the big deal with this guy. Is he some sort of celebrity or something?" You nudge Jimin in the ribs as you return to your station and start to sauté a fresh batch of onions. 

"Nah, just filthy rich." Jimin indulges and you nod. Just as I thought. "And goddamn hot if I should say so myself." He adds, returning to his dish washing station with a sigh, wrinkling his nose when his hands plunge into the soapy suds.

"Still, I don't see why I need to work over time for him." You grumble. The clock had chimed five o clock ten minutes ago and usually you'd be on your way to have a shower and shampoo the smell of grease and garlic out of your hair but instead you were still on the clock, orders lining up for you to prepare and stat. "What’s so special about him dropping by for dinner. Everyone here is rich."

"Well I was talking to one of the big guys," Jimin nods towards the senior chefs. "And apparently his parents have been trying to get him to marry his girlfriend for, like, ever." Jimin's voice dips to a whisper. "But get this. He broke up with his girlfriend last week when his parents suggested they get married!"

You narrow your eyes. "Right. So I'm working over time because some rich dude decided to throw his toys out of the stroller?"

Jimin rips off his pink rubber gloves and shakes you by the shoulders, like he’s trying to knock some sense into you. "Just shut up for a second would you? We're working overtime because his parent's have set him up on a date!"

You slap a hand over mouth, letting out an exaggerated gasp. "Not a date!"

"I know right!" Jimin shakes his head as if this is the scandal of the century, not quite sharing your sarcasm. "Can you believe it?"

"Is he talking about Kim Seokjin, again?" Jungkook, one of the summer buss boys, emerges from the restaurant through the double doors in his familiar black uniform. Jimin quickly smoothes down his hair, mentally chastising himself when soap suds coat his blonde locks, face burning as red as the tomatoes you chop beside him. It's common knowledge that Jimin has the biggest, all consuming crush on the oblivious chestnut haired waiter who flashes you an ever cheeky bunny smile now as he scoops up the dish you prepared onto the tray balanced on his forearm. 

He shoots Jimin an eye roll. "All he talks about is Kim Seokjin this, Kim Seokjin that." Jungkook shrugs. "I really don't see what the big deal is about this guy."

Jimin crosses his arms sulkily and you have to stifle a laugh at the pair. "The big deal is that this date has to go well - no, perfect - because Seokjin needs to marry someone "parent approved" or else his father will reject him as the heir of his dynasty."

You want to ask him about his impressive eavesdropping abilities but you have to admit, this is pretty big news - especially around here where the latest hot gossip was Han Seojin's husband's gambling problem when he hit up the casino after a few too many brandy's.

"So basically, the fate of the resort lies in his hands tonight." Jimin adds excitedly as he slams the dishwasher closed with a triumphant grin.

You roll your eyes. That is surely a bit dramatic. The guy was probably too blinded by the riches he would be inheriting to care about the poor girl he was getting hitched too. "You're invested in this, huh?"

Jimin nods eagerly. "Like I said. He's hot. Like sex on legs hot."

If you weren't watching carefully you may have missed Jungkook's eyes narrowing slightly or the way he tenses and puffs out his chest. "Pfft. He is not."

"So is!" Jimin pouts. "You're just jealous you're not as inhumanely gorgeous as he is." Jungkook raises a brow and Jimin rushes to smooth over his words. "Not that you're not gorgeous! No, that's not what I mean—"

The awkward moment is interrupted by the sound of a ladle banging against a frying pan, and you let out a groan when you hear the unmistakable yell of the head chef. "Attention everyone!"

"Speaking of crazy people." Jimin mutters with a roll of his eyes, rolling up his uniform sleeves and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as all the employees gather in the centre of the kitchen. "Looks like Hoseok got out of the wrong side of bed again."

You stifle a giggle when you find that Jimin is in fact correct, head chef Hoseok rounding the corner with an ever serious expression on his face. He has always been the stern type, mouth constantly fixed in a permanent frown as he criticises your dicing skills or catches you burning another steak, but you can see by the bluish bags under his eyes and the furrowed lines etched into his forehead that he means business today and a hush quickly falls over the kitchen apart from the gentle hiss of frying onions.

"As you all know, today is a big day for Paradise." He begins. "Each and every one of our future's here as employees depends on it. Mr. Kim has chosen us to cater for his dinner date and I need each and every one of you to do everything you can to make sure it goes smoothly. Capeesh?"

Dang. Is head chef Hoseok himself nervous? He's usually irritatingly confident in his cooking abilities. Maybe this was more serious than you thought...

"I'm counting on you guys to prove our worth, you hear me? It's already an honour that he picked us to host such an important event, and if we fumble who d'ya think he's gonna fire first once he takes over as CEO?" Hoseok interrupts your train of thought, waving a wooden spoon now like he's conducting an orchestra. "Which is why I expect zero funny business. I'm looking at you Jeon Jungkook! Now scram, we have customers to feed."

A unanimous groan fills the room as everyone gets back to work, and the kitchen falls into a state of turmoil as the clock ticks away, Seokjin due to arrive in a few hours and you haven’t even started on his appetizer yet.

"This better be worth it." You grumble to yourself, suppressing a smile when Jungkook bounds like a Labrador puppy into the restaurant fit  with an armful of salads yelling "Rabbit food coming up, y'all!", despite the stern look Hoseok sends his way.

You turn to Jimin, rolling your eyes at the hearts in his eyes for Jungkook as he strains his neck to get a glimpse of the chestnut haired boy's ass through the kitchen's window. He blushes when he notices you looking, but not before he’s flashing you a grin.

"Just wait until you see him," Jimin calls cheekily as you rush to the stove you had abandoned earlier. "Then you'll be glad you worked over time."

As it turns out, you are not glad you worked overtime. Kim Seokjin is late. Unfashionably late. So late that you are considering eating the dish you slaved over for nearly an hour to perfect to his preferences only for him to let it go limp and cold.

At least you could add another trait to the list of what you now know about Kim Seokjin: filthy rich, (allegedy) goddamn hot, heir to the resort and most importantly douche bag who can't make it on time to the first date with his future wife.

To make matters worse, the level of unrest in the kitchens is unlike anything you have ever seen before as everyone nervously awaits his arrival. Jungkook has been out front to polish the wine glasses at the private table he set up and lovingly adorned with candles and a bottle of iced champagne of the expensive kind because it would "create sexy vibes" more times than you can count. Hoseok took extra care with the placement of the parsley on top of the steaks he grilled and you even saw Jimin fixing his hair in the reflection of a shiny pan.

When the clock ticked over to eight, everyone had gathered around the small kitchen window, eyes beadily trained to the door. 

"He'll be here any minute now, I can feel it." Jimin whispers as he sidles up beside you, practically vibrating. His excitement for the date has started to rub off on you, a funny fuzzy feeling settling in your chest — all this Kim Seokjin talk has you itching to see the guy in the flesh, even if it is just from behind the kitchen window.

Sure enough, Jimin's Kim Seokjin senses must be somewhat accurate because a hurried hush falls across the kitchen as a black car pulls up outside, a unanimous gasp filling the room as you watch him emerge from behind the tinted glass windows in awe.

You were waiting for a tight lipped guy in a suit and tie to step inside; a younger clone of all the middle aged men who frequented the resort when their "model" children got busted bunking off from golf games or whatever rich kids did to rebel. Except the guy that strolls through the sliding doors like he has time to waste is so far from the average Paradise resident that you are almost sure you're hallucinating. Or have onion in your eyes. Surely you aren't seeing this clearly?

The guy who crosses the threshold and takes a seat at the table Jungkook graciously guides him to is clad in a vibrant Hawaiian shirt, the floral a stark contrast to the luxe interior of the resort. The garment is unbuttoned lazily and draped across his broad shoulders, a pair of round,humorously large sunglasses perched on the end of his nose, and if you weren't so shocked by his...impressionable entrance you might find the whole situation comical.

"This is Kim Seokjin?" You splutter, unable to stop the giggles that leave your lips at the sight of him bobbing his head unnecessarily hard to the monotonous classical tune that carries through the restaurant, blatantly ignoring whatever words Jungkook (who looked completely starstruck) was stuttering.

The situation becomes even more ridiculous when you see the disgruntled look on the pretty girl who traipses behind him awkwardly, dressed in a floor length gown and pearls, face turning sour when Seokjin neglects his manners and forces her to pull her own chair out to sit while he zones in on the bottle of alcohol in the centre of the table.

They look like characters out of two separate worlds. Jewels glitter on her fingers as she taps them agitatedly against the table, clearly as dumbfounded by the situation as you are, especially when she offers her glass to Seokjin to pour her a drink, only for him to thrust the entire bottle of wine in her face.

Your attention is drawn away from the unfolding scene momentarily when Jungkook flies back into the kitchen in typical Jungkook fashion, except this time with an extra bout of zealousness if the stars in his eyes weren't already obvious.

"I take it back!" He puffs, slipping his empty tray beneath his elbow, hands now free to swing Jimin around in circles. "He's the most beautiful human I've ever seen!"

You cross your arms with a sneer. "Looks like a goof to me. That shirt? Not a good look on anyone."

"But his face!"

"Yeah, his face, covered by those obnoxious glasses."

"You didn't see it." Jungkook whispers, pulling your hands into his own. "He could end mankind with that kind of face! And I bet he has a monster dong too-"

"Okay, jeez." You push him away, scrunching your nose in disgust. "No discussing customer's monster dongs in the kitchen."

"So you admit he probably has one?"

"Shush!" You hiss. The kitchen huddle lets out a synchronised gasp and you elbow your way back to the window, peering past a tall chef's hat to fix your attention on the scene which had somehow escalated ten fold since you'd left it.

Seokjin's body is wracked with laughter, hand slamming down ferociously against the table, making his date wince every time the fine china jumps on the table cloth. Her hands are placed carefully atop the napkin in her lap, food untouched as Seokjin takes the liberty to pour himself another glass of wine. He looks utterly uninterested in anything she has to say, and she seems embarrassed by his mannerless behaviour, glancing around anxiously. The tension between them is suffocating, even from your safe distance, and you swear you could cut it with one of the knives hanging from the utensil rack.

Then, Seokjin leans in towards her. He removes his glasses, carefully tucking them neatly into his shirt pocket before resting his chin in his palm to stare at her intently.

Maybe he was finally taking an interest in her? She seems to think the same thing, a small smile creeping onto her face despite her awkward demeanour.

Until it slips from her face nearly as fast as it appeared, replaced by an expression of pure appalled horror when Seokjin whispers something into her ear. You can only see the back of his head so lip reading is out of the question; but if the way her chin drops into her lap was anything to go by, you have a feeling whatever he said was not something you wanted to hear on a first date and probably not from your future husband, either.

Without further ado, the girl throws her cutlery down with a clash, gathering the fabric of her dress and storming out of the restaurant in a manner that suggests the date went badly to say the least.

A ruckus has broken out in the kitchen by this point; Jimin and Jungkook stopping mid monster dong debate to gawk, a rumble of chatter erupting as everyone processes the events you had just witnessed.

What did he say? Do you think it was the steak? What does this mean for Paradise? Is he still gonna marry her?

The last one came from Jungkook and you couldn't help but bite your lip in an attempt to smother the laughter that threatened to spill at his question. "Somehow I don't think he proposed to her just then, Kook."

Your eyes zone in on Seokjin again. He is slumped back in his seat now, knuckles pressed to his eyes. He looks exhausted, a sudden change in demeanour considering this is the same guy who was shooting finger guns at his date a few moments ago. Now he just seems defeated

For a moment you think he is going to get up and leave. That is until he twists in his seat, motioning towards the kitchen window with a crook of the finger. Dessert? He mouths.

The kitchen staff disperse hurriedly, a tinge of red creeping up Hoseok's neck at being caught spying, although it is clear by the smirk on Seokjin's face that he knew you were watching him all along. There is something in his eyes that even has you wiping the amused expression of your face, though. An authority.

"Could this night have gone any worse?" You ask Jimin, referring to Seokjin's debacle. Except Jungkook is quick to interject, thrusting two black bags in your face with a grin.

"For you, yes. Your turn to take out the trash."

You blink at him a few times before reluctantly taking the bags from his grip. They were heavy, nearly making you stumble. How had Jungkook held them so easily?

"Fine." You manage to get out between gritted teeth, struggling to balance with the extra weight in your arms. "But you owe me."

"Oh believe me," There is a glint in Jungkook's eyes that you can't quite put your finger on. What was he up to? "I'll make it up to you sooner than you think."

It's dimly lit when you stumble out back armed with a pile of trash bags, the only light source some fairy lights strung around the palm trees lining the restaurant. It takes all your strength and three tries to haul the heavy trash bags into the dark mouth of the dumpster and you're out of breath by the time you're finished.

Finally satisfied with your work, you wipe your hands on your apron and turn to stalk back inside and flick Jungkook's forehead - except a loud ringing from somewhere in the shadows stops you dead in your tracks.

You stiffen, hand reaching for the door handle as a precaution, head snapping towards the direction of the sound. You can't help the small gasp that leaves your lips when you take in the figure of a tall man leaning against the kitchen wall just a few meters away, the ringing ceasing when he lifts a phone to his ear with a frustrated groan.

Shit! As soon as you realise you're not alone and before you can think better of it you're scrambling behind the dumpster, crouching so that you're just out of view but still in earshot as the figure starts to murmur into the microphone.

"Yeah, dad, I know she flew all the way from Morocco to be here tonight. It's not my fault we weren't compatible!"

Huh? A voice squeaks on the other end of the line, and though you can't work out what they say exactly the frustrated sigh that leaves the man a few meters away tells you it wasn't exactly friendly.

"What makes you think you know what's best for me? I never wanted this stupid engagement in the first place!"

Intrigued and against your better judgement, you brace your hands on the edge of the dumpster and pull yourself on top of a cardboard box discarded beside it to get a better view of the scene. If you strain your neck you can just about see the shadow of a tall figure pacing back and forth just around the corner and you can't help but lean in a little closer to hear his harsh words more clearly, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Because it's my life! I'm sick of you and mom always telling me what to do with it." You raise an eyebrow, ever intrigued when the voice lifts from a hush to a yell. "Fine! I'll go on another date, but you'll see. I won't end up like you. You owe me big time for this, dad."

With that the phone call is cut off with a monotone beep and you see the shadow of the man pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing sharply, before the soles of his polished loafers crunch against the gravel in the direction of where you crouch, eavesdropping. You had enough experience with the residents here to know they wouldn't take this lightly — you had to sign a handful of NDA's before you even got the job, so naturally your eyes widen with panic when you realise you're about to get busted listening in on a confidential call. But before you can dive behind a trash bag and take cover, you lose your footing and find yourself hurtling head first into the dumpster, landing with a crash.

A few seconds pass, the footsteps ceasing as you squeeze your eyes shut and pray your beating heart doesn't give you away, before a voice calls out.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

"No!" You squeak hurriedly, slapping a hand over your mouth when it's already too late and flushing a deep shade of red when you hear a sharp intake of breath and you realise you've blown your own cover

You silently hope the guy will give up and leave, but then you hear someone climbing the outside of the dumpster and you open your eyes to see a puzzled pair of eyes peering down at you from beneath a cocked eyebrow, followed my a loud snort. "You need some help down there, sweetheart?"

This guy might be a total stranger, but any questioning words die on your tongue when you look around and remember you're literally trapped inside a dumpster and your upper arm strength is definitely not enough to get you out of this thing alone and — hold up, there's probably rats in here, right?

You scramble to your feet, brushing your messy hair from your eyes with a nervous laugh. "Uh...yeah. I guess I do."

A steady hand emerges over the edge of the dumpster and with a weak and embarrassed smile you grasp it, suppressing a squeak when the guy unexpectedly launches you over his shoulder so that he can pull you out in one fell swoop and set you safely on the ground.

"Uh, thanks." You manage to get out when you find your balance, awkwardly brushing some dirt from your apron. "Good thing you walked by when you did..."

"Yeah, guess you could call me your knight in shining armor, huh?" The guy chuckles, long and smooth like velvet. A laugh you've heard before, just moments ago in fact. That's when you battle through your embarrassment to look up and face him for the first time, flushing at the involuntary gasp that passes your lips.

The man before you has the deepest eyes you've ever seen, sharp yet soft around the edges beneath the sparkle of the low light and you shiver when they finish looking you up and down to stare into yours directly. Your eyes slip down to the familiar Hawaiian shirt draped over his broad shoulders, eyes widening when you look between your bodies to find his fingers still clasping your own as he eyes you with a curious interest.

"S-Seokjin?" You splutter. He nods, letting out a deeper chuckle this time as though he could hold it back no longer. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same question," He counters, letting you go so he can reach into his pocket to retrieve a half pack of cigarettes and a lighter, ironically just beneath the unmissable NO SMOKING sign. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out here hauling trash at this hour?"

"I...work here."

He nods and you just stare at him like an open mouthed idiot. He must think it's because of the way he fiddles to spark a light at the end of his cigarette, drawing his eyes from the stick back to your surprised expression. "What? Oh these? I don't smoke. Stole these from my father's coat pocket." He shakes the box back and forth with a smug grin. "Nothing pisses him off more than loosing his Lucky Strikes. Besides, I own this place, I can do what I like."

You shrug. "Well, your father does." You are speaking too quickly, mentally pinching yourself for not being able to bite your own tongue. "He owns this place I mean. Right?"

A blush creeps up your neck under his gaze which narrows as he draws closer to you. His eyes are a deeper brown up close, like a pot of warm hot chocolate - soft at the edges where they crinkle into a smile at your rushed words. Nothing like the steely glares you usually got from residents here.

"Correct," The toe of his shoe kicks at the gravel beneath your soles while he strings together his next words carefully. "For now. I'll be proud owner of Paradise before the year is out, though."

"Ha." You can't help but snort under your breath, Seokjin's head simply tilting in response with an almost amused curiosity. "I don’t know about that. Didn't look like your fiance wanted to marry you very much."

"Word spreads quick around here, huh?" He lets out a dark laugh, grimacing at the cloud of nicotine that floats away into the nigh from the cigarette between his fingers that flutters to the gravel before it’s even reached his lips. You wince when he uses the toe of his Balenciaga’s to stub it out into a pile of smoldering ash before reaching for another one that he lights in the same way as before. "She wasn't my fiance, actually.To be honest, I hadn't even met her before tonight."

You let out an awkward laugh. "I take it the wedding's off then?"

"Ha ha," You practically hear the roll of his eyes. "At least one of us finds this funny, because my father sure as shit won't." His tone is suddenly chilly and for a moment you think you offended him, though a quick scan of his face reveals a turn up of the mouth that says otherwise. He kicks off from the wall, slinging his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and you swallow thickly as the safe distance between you grows ever smaller, so close you can smell his woody cologne. "It was never on, per se. And it never will be if I have anything to do with it."

You can't help but scoff at the way he tightens his jaw and throws his arms across his chest like a toddler in time out. Sure, you hardly knew the guy but something about his attitude rubs you the wrong way. This is the guy who has everything, yet he's trash talking his lavish lifestyle to a summer employee? 

"You're kind of an asshole, huh?"

"Can't say I haven't heard that one before." Seokjin agrees with a smirk. "But you don't seem like much of an angel yourself. First I find you eavesdropping on me, save your ass from a dumpster and then you choose to insult me?"

You shift awkwardly under his intense gaze, worried you might have overstepped, mouth dry as you spit out a response. "I...I didn't mean it like that—"

"God, chill out would you? I’m kidding. You're so stiff it's stressing me out." His tongue snakes out to lick his lips thoughtfully. "You're different, y'know."

"Huh?"

"I can tell you're not like everyone else around here. You're honest." Seokjin explains, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt to allow him some more breathing room as he continues. "Everyone around here is either a liar or a cheat. Or both."

"You don't even know me." You huff.

"You don’t know me either, princess.” Seokjin smirks. “So what makes you so sure I'm an asshole?."

He blinks at you eagerly, and you realise he's serious when he arrogantly waves his hand for you to go ahead and indulge him, like he's somewhat amused.

Well damn. If this guy wanted honesty you'd sure as shit give it to him

"You want the truth?" You suck in a deep breath. "I don't know what I expected when I heard the buzz about you but it certainly wasn't a rich guy who wears hawaiian shirts and makes girls cry on first dates. I don’t need to know a single thing about you to know that you’re an ungrateful asshole, just like everyone else at this resort."

A few seconds pass, Seokjin's eyes widening in momentary surprise like he wasn't used to people telling him the truth, before his face breaks out into a beaming grin. "I have a feeling we're going to be good friends." He glances at your name tag. "Y/N, is it?"

You half nod before you register his words. "Friends, what do you mean—?"

Just then the phone in his grip starts to vibrate violently, and he holds it up so you can see the bold DAD that lights up the screen.

"Sorry to cut this short pretty, but I need to take this. Better get back to work before I cut your pay check, sweetheart." You must look visibly nervous because he bursts into laughter. "What? I'm kidding, remember?"

You roll your eyes, hiding the way your face heats up by spinning on your heels and storming back towards the kitchen, pausing briefly before you can turn the handle when you hear Seokjin call your name.

"Hey. Wait up! One piece of advice. Don't let this place, get to you, okay?" Seokjin calls with a smile. "I like your honesty, it's...refreshing."

And with that he lifts the phone to his ear, disappearing around the shadowy corner with an irritating smile and a finger salute.

For some funny reason, Seokjin's words ring out in your head for the rest of the night. I have a feeling we're going to be good friends. Something tells you that isn't the last time you're going to see Kim Seokjin, and you can't tell if the way your heart skips a beat is a good thing or not.

Much to your surprise, that isn't the last time you see Kim Seokjin.

The next night he returned equally as late and equally as eccentrically dressed and left his date, blonde this time, (though equally as pretty as the last one) flustered and red in the face as she stormed out of the restaurant with glassy eyes and crushed dreams

The night after that you spot him arguing a little too loudly with a feisty lady outside the restaurant, the way he doesn't even stay long enough to finish his champagne a clear indication that the date went less than perfect.

Night after night, the same scenario played out with different unimpressed women, until finally, they just stopped coming. No more girls. No more dates. No more of Seokjin's signature laughter permeating the entire restaurant. Sure, the guy was a complete asshole, that much was clear; but you his absence left the restaurant feeling even more lifeless than before.

Obviously Seokjin's fucked up dating life wasn’t anything to laugh about. But you had to admit his antics put a smile on your face, something which had been few and far between as of late. Even when Hoseok was working you overtime, you found yourself biting your lip to suppress a grin every time Seokjin waltzed through the door. And now he was gone, and with it your small escape from reality.

"Do you think his parents finally gave up?" Jimin sighs one late evening, shaking his wet hands in the face of Jungkook who bats him away playfully.

"Nah, he probably just found a girl he likes." Jungkook reasons. "Made his parents see things from his point of view."

You snort. "They don't sound like the type of parents who would give up that easy." After more dates than you could count on one hand with various suitors deemed good enough for their son, it was clear they were prepared for him to rebel. You doubted they would give in without a fight.

"You might be right..." Jungkook trails off, rushing to smush his face against the window. "Unless...wait! I think he's back!"

"He's back?" You breathe, elbowing Jungkook out of the way and ignoring his ow! of protest, your own breath fogging up the glass now as your eyes dart from table to table in search of a familiar face.

You let out a breathy laugh. Sure enough, there he is. Hair gelled back tonight you noted, bouncing his skinny jean clad knee beneath the table with an impatience you can't quite put your finger on.

Wait...

"Ha!" You almost do a double take. Seokjin is sat alone tonight. No nearly-crying-twenty-something across from him. Just Seokjin with a single flute of champagne in his hand opposite an utterly empty chair.

Well. This is new.

"I think he's been stood up!" You lower your voice to a whisper when your burst of laughter gains a few strange looks. "There's no girl with him this time."

"What?" Jimin splutters, standing on his tip toes in an attempt to see over your shoulder. "No girl?! Let me see!"

You budge over and Jimin lets out a gasp of surprise when he takes in the scene for himself. "The Kim Seokjin got stood up. I can't believe it!"

"Maybe he's getting a taste of his own medicine." You muse.

A mischievous look crosses Jungkook's features and then he is pulling on his black apron and scurrying towards the door. "Let's find out!"

"What? — Jungkook!"

You watch open mouthed as Jungkook approaches the lonely table, fingers quivering around the order notebook he clutches like a safety blanket, with nerves or excitement you can't quite tell; before he exchanges a few words with Seokjin who barely even glances up, lazily folding a napkin in his lap. Jungkook nods vigorously before he speed walks back to the kitchen like his life depends on it, a smug grin appearing on his lips as he thrusts the order slip towards you.

"Two orders of sirloin steak, medium! Pronto!"

"Two?" You and Jimin splutter in unison.

Jungkook looks amused. Too amused for your liking.

"Yup! And guess what?" Jimin is hanging off his every word, desperate pleas of what? making Jungkook chuckle harder. "He wants the chef to serve it."

You narrow your eyes. "Hoseok? Why?"

Jungkook scoffs as if you're being clueless on purpose. "Not Hoseok, idiot!"

"Then who?"

"You." Jungkook points a finger right at you.

"Me? Wait! Jeon Jungkook, you get back here!" Before you can ask questions he is already bounding into the restaurant like a labrador on crack.

"Have fun!" He yells over his shoulder with a wink. "You'll thank me later, Y/N."

Half an hour later and you're stood with two steaming plates balanced on your arm. Why are you so nervous? All you have to do is go out there and serve the food. It's not like he was asking you to kill someone.

But every time you muster up the courage to go out there you remember your encounter with Seokjin outside the kitchens, and you instantly feel weak at the knees.

You smooth down your apron one last time, filling your lungs with the stuffy kitchen air before Jimin's hands clamp onto your shoulders and steer you towards the door.

"What are you—?" One forceful push later and you're stumbling out into the restaurant. "Jimin!"

"You can do this!" You hear Jimin call, the exasperated look you send over your shoulder in response prompting a not so reassuring thumbs up. The way your eyes downturn into a dark glare makes him collapse into a fit of gasps and giggles as he nods for you to keep going.

I'm going to get him back for this...

The table Seokjin liked to frequent is closest to the window, view casting out over the lake which the resort surrounds like a half moon, terribly modern in all it's white pillared glory in contrast to the natural beauty of the clear blue water. The lake is darkened now with the reflection of the midnight blue sky, the soft glow of lanterns lighting up the path around it and illuminating the picture of weeping willows which ripples across the water's surface, disturbed only by canoeists tying up their boats for the evening.

Seokjin doesn't seem interested in the quiet goings on of the resort. He has probably seen them a hundred times before. His back is facing you but you can see how his eyes are transfixed on the sliding entrance doors in the windows reflection. It was late evening and most people would be returning to their suites for the night by now, but Seokjin's steely gaze remains unwavering, like he's expecting it to zip open any minute. Is he waiting for someone?

Some part of you feels sympathetic. It doesn't look like anyone is coming to join him any time soon. Poor guy is about to get a taste of his own medicine and look like a fool sat opposite an empty chair harbouring a plate of uneaten food.

Ha. It's exactly what he deserves, you think. Karma.

Every step towards him feels heavier than the last until eventually you find yourself stood with knees knocking right behind him, food probably going cold with every second you spend coaxing yourself to man up and face him. You silently pray he won't hear the pound of your heart over the low hum of chatter and scrapes of cutlery against china plates that seem to fall away to silence in this corner of the restaurant where it's just Seokjin and you.

You're debating spinning on your heels and making Jungkook do it instead when Seokjin's unrelenting stare at the door snaps up to meet yours in the window's reflection, the authority in his eyes enough to have you hiding behind your hair in shame at being caught dwindling like an idiot.

"I wasn't expecting you to actually come." His voice is a deep hum that makes you jolt and nearly drop the plates. A heat burns your cheeks when Seokjin swirls the champagne in his glass amusedly, facing you with his forearm on the back of his seat and beckoning for you to set the plates down with a nod of his head. An order.

You narrow your eyes, unable to curb the irritation that laces your sigh as you obey him. You set down the dishes, one in front of him and the other in front of the seat still empty of whomever he is expecting. "I wasn't exactly expecting to be serving you tonight either. I usually just prepare the food."

Seokjin doesn't miss the roll of your eyes, snorting at the shake of your hand that gives away the anxiety beneath your front when crystal beads of champagne splash onto the immaculate table cloth as you try to top up his glass.

"Yeah and here's a reason for that. You're a shit waitress."

The way you slam the bottle down onto the table top is a little too aggressive, the legs shaking violently and drawing the eyes of a few of the surrounding diners who wipe their mouths with a delicate astonishment and flash you dark looks at the disturbance.

"Are we done? If I'm so bad then why did you call me out here?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." His fingers fold the napkin in his lap carefully. He settles back into his chair with a grin laced with mischief while you practically hop from foot to foot with nerves. "Would you sit for a second?"

"I'm an employee." You raise a brow. "I don't think that's appropriate..."

"Please?" He rests his chin in his palms.

You hug your torso and self consciously glance side to side. With a roll of your eyes you sink down into the chair, if a little reluctantly, when you're sure the couple at the table directly opposite are too deep in conversation about the crème brûlée to notice the strange encounter happening beside them.

"Fine! But make it quick or Hoseok might actually shave my head."

Seokjin gets straight to the point. "I need you to do something for me."

There is a glint in his eye as he snatches up the glass intended for the rightful occupant of the leather cushion you perch on, pouring a small amount of champagne into the flute and pushing it towards you with an encouraging nod. You observe the fizzing liquid with caution, turning your nose up at the floral aroma. Was he trying to poison you with Veuve Clicquot?

"Okay, elaborate?"

"I'm going to need you to pretend to be my date." You wait for him to laugh but his lips are pressed together in a line that tell you he is being serious. "You up for it?"

"Excuse me?" An astonished laugh punctuates your widened eyes, voice raising incredulously at his request. "Your what?"

"Hear me out!" Seokjin hisses, holding a finger to his lip to quiet you down when you splutter on the air that feels like it's thickening in your throat. "I just need to get my father off my back. It'll be five minutes tops!"

By this point you are rendered speechless, pinching the inside of your thigh to check if you are trapped in some weirdly vivid nightmare.

You? His date? Oh god...why aren't you waking up?

Your lips curl around a single breathless word. "Why?"

"Hello, I'm Kim Seokjin? Dad owns the resort? Need to get married to inherit it? I thought we went over this the other day—"

Throwing your arms over your chest impatiently, you click your tongue. "I remember idiot! I mean why me?"

"For fucks sake — you want the truth?" He chuckles but it's devoid of any humour. "You're new around here so my father is less likely to recognise you, okay?" He downs the rest of his glass, picks up his fork and pokes the cold steak on his plate restlessly, hardly bothering to look you in the face even when you scoff in disbelief.

You bite your lip, voice quiet. "Is this some sort of game?"

You are no stranger to Seokjin's tricks — you watched them play out with your own eyes, more girls than you could count on one hand leaving the restaurant in tears or worse — and something feels funny in your stomach, an instinct that says he has an ulterior motive you just can't put your finger on.

From the corner of your eye you spot Hoseok poking his head into the dining area, eyes merciless as they scan the room in search of you, the tell tale tap of his foot against the ground a giveaway of his growing impatience which makes you duck out of view in fear.

"If this is just one of your sick jokes then congrats," You deadpan. "I could literally lose my job over this."

"What? No!" He seems genuinely surprised at your accusation, exasperated sigh sounding desperate while his eyes bore into yours with a look that says please. "I'll explain everything. Please?"

He winces when your chair scrapes loudly against the tile as you get to your feet with a disbelieving shake of your head. "Sorry but I have a job to do—"

Suddenly Seokjin lets out a gasp and you hear the automatic glass doors zip open. "Ah shit!"

Seokjin's eyes widen with panic but before you can twist to see who has arrived for yourself, you're being pulled back down into the seat opposite him roughly by the elbow.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Seokjin isn't listening, shrugging his jacket down his arms and wrapping the fabric around your shoulders hastily. "Cover your uniform, okay?"

The smell of his expensive cologne fills your senses and a warm hand squeezes your shoulder pleadingly, the glint in his eye replaced with desperation.

For a moment you falter and his face brightens, believing you to be finally convinced. Until you come back to your senses and slap his hand away. "Get off me!"

"Too late." Seokjin murmurs, but before you can shoot him a questioning glance a pair of polished black shoes stop beside you. Your entire body stiffens, aware of a pair of eyes probing the back of your head.

Oh no.

"Seokjin."

An unfamiliar deep voice rumbles beside you and when you dare to look up you're met with the peering face of an older man who you recognise from the Paradise website. There are traces of Seokjin visible in the curve of his mouth and the sharp edge of his jaw and he was probably considered good looking in his youth.

Ah. So this is Mr Kim?

"You lasted longer than fifteen minutes. This must be a new record, son."

Despite their likeness it's hard to believe they are father and son -- the stern frown keeping a pair of thin framed glasses balancing on Seokjin’s father’s nose along with his crisp tailored suit a far cry from the boy sat cross legged opposite you, wine colored shirt unbuttoned too far to be a mistake.

Seokjin plasters a false grin to his mouth and raises his glass towards Mr Kim, as if to toast. "I told you I would try didn't I?"

Mr Kim says nothing, averting his intimidating gaze to you instead. Your mouth dries when he addresses you directly. "What was your name again?"

Shit! Alarm bells sound in your head, instantly regretting coming out here in the first place and getting mixed up in Seokjin's mess.

You swallow thickly, hardly daring to look him in the eye. "It's — uh," Seokjin is signalling at you with an alarmed look, face falling into his palms with a muffled groan when you fail to catch on.  "Y-Y/N. I'm Y/N."

"Is it now?" Mr Kim scratches his chin thoughtfully, humming to himself as he studies your face. Shit, does he recognise you from the kitchen? Are you about to get fired? Your pulse goes into overdrive when his eyes narrow. "I'm sure I remember it being something like—"

"Her middle name!" Seokjin quickly butts in, cutlery clattering onto his plate in his haste to gain his fathers attention. "She goes by her middle name. We were just talking about it actually. Right, Y/N?"

All eyes fall on you again, Seokjin sending you a pleading look, but you don't trust your voice not to waver so you just nod and hide your rosy cheeks by wrapping your lips around rim of the untouched champagne glass.

"Funny middle name." He shrugs, landing an audible slap to Seokjin's back who winces at the hard contact. Mr Kim's eyes seem kinder as they look between you. "I'm proud of you, son. I'm glad you could finally see things from our perspective."

"Sure, dad." Seokjin shrinks away from his fathers touch with a look of distaste. "Now would you do us a favor and leave us to discuss...marriage things?" You choke on your mouthful of bubbly, eyes watering as you try to hold back a spluttering cough.

Thankfully, Mr Kim is already losing interest, flashing Seokjin a thumbs up before striding over to one of the waiters holding a platter of coconut shrimp appetizers and taking a handful for himself.

Watching him gain a safe distance and disappear among a circle of business men at the bar, you finally feel safe to let out the shaky breath you were holding. Seokjin presses his knuckles to his eyes, the vein in his neck protruding with tension.

"What the fuck was that?" He seems to have forgotten your presence, lost in his own thoughts until you rip his jacket from where it sits around your shoulders and throw it into his lap with contempt. Your laugh of disbelief sounds foreign to your own ears, unable to comprehend what actually just happened.

"You're crazy!" You let out breathlessly. "I'm out of here."

Before you can storm off like you want to, Seokjin's hand closes around your wrist and pins you in place.

"Listen, I know you think this is ridiculous but I'm literally about to get on my knees and beg you here. Just do me one more favour." You shoot him a glare and for a second you think he might actually drop to the ground and grovel if you asked him to. "Just one!"

No matter how hard you try to pull away Seokjin is persistent. "Why should I?"

"Because you have a conscience?" He pleads. "The human desire to help others in need?"

"This is crazy—"

"I'll repay you!"

You pause. "How?"

"Undecided." His head tilts in thought. "You need money?"

Disgust courses through your veins. This guy thinks he can buy you? You have encountered some entitled rich guys at Paradise but this has to be the icing on the cake, an unbelievable disconnect from acceptable social discourse — though are you surprised? He doesn't exactly have a reputation for being a good conversation holder for fucks sake, just ask his other dates.

You scoff. "I don't accept bribes. I think we're done here. Good luck with your plan or...whatever."

"Y/N wait—" Something in his voice makes you stop dead this time. An authority. No longer pleading but commanding. "I'll fire you myself right here if you don't help me out just once."

Your heart twists. Part of you knows that whatever Seokjin has in mind will be batshit crazy, if his antics tonight were anything to judge by. It would pain you to do something so demeaning but...you need this job. The decision was practically made for you.

You swivel to face him. He is standing over you now, hands on hips as if he means business. "One favor! That's it!"

He punches the air triumphantly. "You want it in writing or something?" He teases, the glint in his eye back now and taunting as you practically vibrate with a combination of embarrassment and rage.

"Don't push it." You warn. 

"Okay, jeez." He throws his hands up in defense. You are acutely aware of the hysterical giggles coming from the kitchen belonging to none other than Jungkook and Jimin and the way your face burns scarlet as you storm away from Seokjin with fists clenched. "I'll let you know when I need you, sweetheart."

09:04, from unknown: — 10 o clock. meet me outside the archery court. — go to locker 16, key will be in the lock. you'll find everything you need inside

The light of your phone stings your half-open eyes, slumber still clinging to your body as you rub away any remnants of sleep with your knuckles and re-read the strange text over and over again.

Archery? An accidental text to the wrong number, surely?

You glance at the clock next to your bed - the text was sent over twenty minutes ago by now. Whoever the recipient was supposed to be wouldn't have long to get ready.

09:26, you: — huh? who is this?

Before you can even set your phone down and swing your legs out of bed your phone pings, the sound enough to make you wince in your sleepy state.

09:26, unknown: — it's seokjin??? — you know, the guy you're supposed to be marrying?

Excuse you?

All remnants of sleep and/or inner peace are ripped away as soon as you see his name pop up on your homescreen.

"Seokjin?" You splutter out loud. A name you never thought you would have to see again, let alone at this time in the morning.

You scramble into a sitting position, back pressed to the headboard as you grip your bed hair in pure disbelief. The three little dots bounce menacingly at the bottom of the screen as you type and re-type a response. Eventually you settle on something simple and to the point:

09:28, you: — how the fuck did you get this number???

Ping ping. You resist a face palm as you gather the confidence to input your password and read whatever bullshit Seokjin responded with.

09:29, unknown: — i think you're forgetting i own this place — not to brag but ive got connections — anyway, you have half an hour to get your ass over here before my sister arrives.

As you thought - utter bullshit. His sister? It's almost as if Seokjin thinks you are actually dating - or even worse, actually getting hitched.

Wait...he doesn't...does he? You suppress a groan. Why else would he be dragging you out of your apartment to go and shoot arrows at targets with his sister instead of polishing his golf club collection or lounging with self made millionaires or whatever rich things rich guys do.

You are just here to get some culinary experience. To blend into the background like the rest of the employees at Paradise, to focus on making the lives of CEO's and retired business men as easy and as luxurious as possible. Why on earth is he even taking notice of you?

09:30, you: — your sister??

09:30, unknown: — yeah? who'd you think you were arching with? — i don't do sports. — count yourself lucky my mom had to take a rain check

Fuck. His mom?

"Get a grip!" You chastise yourself. You had barely spoken two words to each other before the other night, his existence unbeknownst to yours let alone yours to his; the exchange itself a glitch in the simulation and definitely not something which you wanted to make a habit - so why are you instilled with nerves at the thought of meeting this guy's family?

You don't have time to respond with a harsh reminder of your respective positions at Paradise and why this is absolutely a Bad Idea before Seokjin sends a series of reassuring follow up texts, almost as though he read your mind and all it's reluctant thoughts.

09:32, unknown: — don't worry so much this is just to make people think we're really seeing each ohter — other* — hurry, can't have people thinking my future wife isn't punctual — doesn't look good for the reputation 😎

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck!

This is actually happening. How did you manage to get roped into some rich dudes family drama and his consequent plan of deception? And why on earth you fly out of bed, desperately trying to pat down your fly away bed hair while simultaneously shrugging on a pair of jeans is utterly beyond you.

But deep down you know why. It's because you have a sympathy for Seokjin. A goddamn sympathy for the man who seemingly had everything and who every other resident at Paradise wished they could be.

You are increasingly aware of the way your heart hammers against your rib cage, pulse quickening with every tick of the clock that brings you closer to 10 o clock. Not because you're about to see Seokjin again, surely?

Pfft. Of course not! This is just a favour - a formality as an acquaintance if you could even call yourself that.

The clock ticks over to 09:40. No, you promise yourself as you scoop up your bag and your keys. It's doesn’t mean anything, it’s just because you hate being late.

You end up being late anyway, despite rushing to Paradise from your nearby apartment without so much as considering breakfast and somehow managing to gather the courage to open the door to the women's locker room.

Embarrassment pools in your stomach when you feel the quizzical eyes of Paradise regulars burning into your back over the edges of their martini glasses. It takes all your strength to pass by them with your eyes trained to your shoes, hoping to seem unbothered by their towel turbans and gossiping lips.

You’re unsure why you feel so out of place. It's not as if you are trespassing; they gave you a benefits card when you accepted the job, giving you access to some of the resort's facilities. Some would say it was generous, but it's not as if you ever had a chance to use them in between long kitchen shifts.

Luckily, you doubt there's a risk of them recognising you from the kitchen. The resort is mostly populated by younger club members and besides it's not as if they ever cared to study your face for long enough to commit it to memory.

Still, your casual sweater and jeans combo makes you stand out like a sore thumb in a room full of designer polo shirts and athletic wear and you can't suppress the sigh of relief that escapes you when you make it past a hoard of already merry day drinkers on their way to a hot yoga class in search of locker 16 as instructed by Seokjin.

Sure enough, a key sits snugly in the lock. When you open the metal door you find a tennis skirt with a matching polo shirt, both folded neatly beneath a pair of strikingly white sneakers.

You scoop the pile into your arms, surprised when a card flutters to the ground. You recognise the Paradise logo in the corner, an unfamiliar handwritten scrawl smudged across the front in black pen.

Put these on and meet me round the back of the range. I'll be waiting. - SJ

You roll your eyes. Would it kill him to say please? Not that he is used to asking nicely. Manners are few and far between when things are handed to you on a silver platter (or by an underpaid kid with a summer job). At least that's what you gathered from your observations since you got here.

You slip into the white ensemble, silently thanking the you from yesterday for shaving your legs when you notice just how uncomfortably short the skirt is. The fabric smells like one of those expensive perfumes you sprayed at the store once and you briefly wonder who these clothes belong to.

Fastening your hair into a high pony tail like you see the other girls here do, you take a deep breath and finally sidle up to the full body mirror.

Almost everyone has filtered out of the locker room by now, some to spa appointments, others to sports matches and you find yourself alone, nearly choking on the humid air when you take in your appearance for the first time.

You look like you belong here.

Collar popped around your neck, skirt falling in perfect pleats around your waist, hair falling against your cheekbones. Not a speck of dirt on the branded shoes cushioning your soles.

For a moment you feel a sense of pride fill your chest, head resting high on your shoulders as you bask in the confidence that washes over you until you feel giddy with belonging.

Until you remember what you really are. An imposter.

Despite your Paradise inspired appearance you are nothing but a fake. A smudge on one of the picture perfect Paradise postcard's in the gift shop.

Your shoulders deflate, the sudden urge to tug your sweater back on and run as fast as you can becoming overwhelming.

Your let yourself slump onto one of the plush couches, head falling into your hands. What are you doing here? Letting some guy dress you up like a doll and show you off to save his own ass?

Besides, his family would see through you as soon as you walked out there. After all a polished stone, although pretty, can never be a diamond. And these people know diamonds like the back of their hands.

Is it because he has the authority to fire you from the kitchen job you worked so hard to get? Or is it because somewhere deep inside you are curious to see what could be in this for you?

A vibration on the couch beside you draws you from your thoughts.

10:09, unknown: — where r u????? — you know where the range is right???

God, why didn't you just say no in the first place?

"Just get on with it," you tell yourself sternly. Meet his sister, smile politely and leave without owing Kim Seokjin a single thing.

You will save his ass, buy him the time he needs to convince his parents to get off his back. And then you can go back to your culinary uniform and back to serving up lobster to rich people and you can forget this ever happened and that he so much as exists.

With a shaky breath you get to your feet, throwing your familiar clothes into the locker along with your comfort zone and what feels like your entire identity.

If this is going to work you couldn't think like Y/N, you realise. You have to think like a Paradise country club member. And luckily for you, your careful observation of other residents from the kitchen gives you quite a lot of material to work with.

Before you can second guess yourself you're taking a deep breath and striding out of the locker room door and into the sunny resort grounds.

Oh god. I'm really doing this. You suddenly feel exposed as you pass the golf court, just managing to dodge a rattling cart before it flattened you.

A pair of girls stroll past with arms interlinked, tennis rackets swinging at their sides leisurely as they make their way to the course.

Oh god. They're gonna see through you. Oh god. Just smile!

You let the corners of your mouth curve up into the closest thing to a smile you can muster, pleased when you earn a friendly nod in greeting before they dive back into their conversation again.

Nobody is noticing. You hold your head high, telling your shoulders to relax and look natural. You can do this.

You reach the range but instead of following the group of middle aged men ahead of you up to the front entrance, you slip round the back. Your eyes land on him instantly; none other than Kim Seokjin, leaning impatiently against the wall, just like he said he would be.

His appearance is enough to have you faltering in your tracks. Unlike the last time you saw him when he donned a much less flattering eye sore of a Hawaiian shirt, he's put together from head to toe - white button up tucked into a pair of tailored trousers, brown loafers showing off his ankles, the whole outfit finished off by a knit sweater tied around his shoulders.

"Wow." You can't help it. You're starting to see why he had a reputation for being particularly easy on the eye.

You swallow thickly, shaking the stunned feeling from your head and ignoring the way your heart beats a little faster the closer you draw to him.

"Finally!" Seokjin hums as he lets out a frustrated huff, eyes glued to the Rolex on his wrist. "Where have you been-"

His breath hitches when he finally looks up and takes you in for the first time. You were surely imagining the way his eyes widen and look you up and down. Right?

"Well well," Seokjin regains his self control quickly, licking his lips. "Someone scrubs up well."

Smartass. "To my credit you've only ever seen me in my work clothes."

"Touché." He purses his lips. "Nobody could make those hats look good. Except me, obviously."

There is that glint in his eye again. As if he is messing with you to get you riled up again. If he wasn't the Kim Seokjin you'd mistake him as flirtatious.

You hug your torso, confidence dwindling with every second you stand beneath Seokjin's probing gaze, anxious to get out onto the range before it dissipates completely. "So? Are we just gonna stand here?"

"You turn up late and then have the audacity to order me around?" His eyebrows furrow and for a second you think he's going to warn you. Remind you who has the power here.

But then his face breaks out into an amused smirk and you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. "Remember when I said I think you and I are going to get along just fine?"

Seokjin slings his hands into his pockets, striding towards the back door of the facility. He shakes the handle before using his key card to let you both into the archery equipment lodge.

You trail behind him. "Don't get too comfortable," You warn. "This is a one time thing."

Seokjin muses over a selection of crossbows in display cases before fishing in his pocket for a key, unlocking the glass and taking down two flashy ones. He grabs a quiver loaded with arrows from a stand and thrusts both into your arms without warning.

"Sure." He is slinging a quiver over his own shoulder now. He holds open the door to the archery range, gesturing for you to go first. So now he has manners? "If you say so."

The archery range is an expanse of perfectly pruned green grass, surrounded by the breathtaking scenery of fragrant rose bushes and trailing ivy that the resort boasts. And, as you're learning, an excuse for refreshments, as you find yourself now in a fancy veranda bar with high arching windows that overlook the distant targets, serving chilled lemonade and Prosecco and appetisers on fancy napkins.

"Pretty cool, right?" Seokjin asks, resting his elbows on the windowsill and smirking at your speechlessness and open mouthed expression. "But quit looking so surprised, yeah? You gotta make my sister think this is normal for you."

You don't have time to ask what he means before you are being spun around and engulfed in a hug. You freeze, sucking in a breath of surprise, the sickly smell of fancy shampoo engulfing your senses as your face is pushed into a head of perfect ringlets.

"You must be Y/N." The person, a woman, purrs into your ear. "It's good to finally meet you." The way she draws out the word makes you nervous.

This is Seokjin's sister?

Something about it doesn't feel how a hug is supposed to. Instead it feels like a silent interrogation. Are you good enough to be one of us? Nothing about it is warm. Instead it's sticky, your hands patting her back awkwardly, counting the seconds in your head until it is acceptable to pull away from her stiff hold.

When she lets go you are met with the tight lipped smile of a pretty twenty something, eyes scanning your face from beneath a sun visor. A customised hot pink quiver drapes across her shoulder and you notice the way she eyes your borrowed equipment distastefully.

"That would be me." You force a smile that ends up being a little too wide, glancing nervously at Seokjin who simply nods  in encouragement. "It's good to...finally meet you too?"

She holds you at arms length, giving you a once over before speaking tightly. "Well aren't you a doll?"

You must look as terrified as you feel because her eyebrows raise triumphantly. Seokjin senses the tension. He looks between the two of you almost worriedly, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. For a second you think his concern is kind of sweet...No! Not allowed.

"No hug for me?" Seokjin swoops in and his sister's features harden at his sarcastic tone, a punch landing on his shoulder which he pretends to rub better, emitting a small ow!

"You're late."

"Sorry Hyejin, couldn't find my best shoes." Seokjin throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you from her grasp a little protectively and flashing an award winning smile that makes your heart flip...No! Definitely not allowed.

"Those are your best shoes?" She grimaces, shaking her head with an air of disappointment. "You left me waiting here for half an hour for those?" Her eyes narrow at you accusingly, as if she knows the truth and wants you to offer an apology.

Seokjin is quick to save you again. "Yup. All my fault. Shall we shoot?"

"Gladly." She smooths down a stray curl, studying her reflection in the glass windows. "I've been itching to see Y/N's aim since I got here. I hear you are a pro, no?"

You choke. A pro?

Luckily she's already stalking across the deck in her click-clacking wedges and out onto the damp green grass, missing the panicked glance shared between yourself and Seokjin.

"Uh-"

"Um-"

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. Think of something, he mouths.

She stops dead, shooting a puzzled glance over her shoulder. "Well are you?"

"Not exactly-" You start.

"I think you're thinking of one of the other...candidates, Hyejin." Seokjin says carefully. He places his palm at the small of your back. The gesture was probably just for show but it comforts you none the less.

"I'm sure she's just being modest." She says to Seokjin, but she's looking right at you. Her forefinger taps against her palm and you can almost see the puzzle pieces falling together in her head before her expression smooths out and you let out a sigh of relief. "So. Shall we?"

Seokjin nods sheepishly. Hyejin slings an arrow into her bow with the ease of an expert, Seokjin quickly following suit. And it is in that moment, as you watch them shoot equally as precise shots to the centre of their respective targets, that it dawns on you. You have never shot a bow and arrow in your life.

"Let's see just how good you are." Hyejin steps back, offering you the main stage. You squint at the targets in the far distance, the rings blurring into one. How on earth did they make hitting those things look so easy?

"Sure thing." You wince at the strain in your voice as you fumble to pull an arrow from your quiver, fingers shaking as you try to sling it into the bow.

You can do this..

You lift the bow, close your eyes and hope for the best when you let go of the arrow, watching as it flies a short distance before sticking upright in the dirt just short of the target.

Cheeks scarlet, you glance at Hyejin who looks positively horrified. "When you said not exactly good I wasn't expecting you to be so...inexperienced. No personal trainer?" She muses, eyeing you quizzically, to which you shoot her an embarrassed smile in confirmation. "Anybody would think it was your first time!" You sheepishly giggle along to the hearty chuckle she enjoys at the mere thought, spluttering when her face suddenly darkens "It's not right?"

You freeze. "Uhhh..."

"It's just nerves," Seokjin insists, palms clamping your shoulders and thrusting you forward again. "She's probably just shitting it because you're watching."

"Language!" Hyejin scolds, letting the roll of Seokjin's eyes slip when she sees you fiddling with another arrow.

This time you prepare the bow with ease, a bout of confidence washing over you as you make eye contact with Seokjin over the top of the bow you raise to your shoulder. His eyes soften slightly and he offers an encouraging nod as you squint at the target and shoot the arrow straight into the centre ring.

You're momentarily shocked at your own abilities before Seokjin is letting out a genuinely impressed hoot, his hand coming between you to offer a sly high five unbeknownst to Hyejin. A silent congratulations for not completely fucking up.

"Pretty good." Hyejin nods, looking genuinely impressed, and you give yourself a silent pat on the back.

Holy shit. This is really working! She believes you belong here!

"Although I'm not sure where father got the idea of professional from with that technique," She lowered her voice, clearly only intending for Seokjin to hear the last part despite you standing beside her. "I must admit her figure seems better suited to tennis anyway..."

Or not. Maybe you still have some work to do...

Hyejin seems in a hurry to get to the next target, and Seokjin hangs back to whisper in your ear before you follow.

"Congrats," He hums with a smirk. "You fit right in. Welcome to Paradise, Y/N."

The next forty five minutes pass quicker than you expect.

"— and I said, 'How could you seat the Jeon's next to the Jung's when you know they're feuding about the business contract'?" Hyejin exclaims. "Scandalous."

"Scandalous." You reply with a bored attempt at enthusiasm, raising your eyebrows at Seokjin over the rim of your glass as you sip cloudy lemonade through a straw. To his credit he looks equally as exhausted with Hyejin's spiel, shaking his knee impatiently as he itches for an opportunity to pounce.

As Hyejin continues to make mildly interrogative small talk and you find it increasingly easier to think on the spot when she asks about your family's (imaginary) dynasty and the university degree in economics you (supposedly) possess, you start to feel more comfortable. But Seokjin still refuses to loosen the arm resting around your shoulders keeping you planted by his side all afternoon, as if he is nervous his sister might swoop down like a bird and take you away at any moment, like a toddler with a toy.

That's why when she suggests a trip to the little girls room to powder your noses, Seokjin throws you a reluctant look. He protests at first when you readily agree (hoping to splash some cold water on your face to cool the constant burn that seems to have settled into your every pore) and he still looks concerned, knee bouncing nervously, when you peel yourself away from his body and disappear into the bar a few steps behind Hyejin who doesn't seem interested in side by side small talk.

In fact, you use the bathroom in silence and she doesn't speak another word until you catch her gaze in the mirror as she emerges from a cubicle behind you.

"You might have my little brother fooled but I see right through you, you know." She sets down her cosmetics bag on the sink, retrieving an expensive tube of lipstick and swiping the pinkish colour over her lips nonchalantly.

The tap stops running over your soaped up hands as you try to curb the nausea her words induce. Does she know who you are? Who you really are?

Despite the shake to your voice you try to play it cool. "W-what do you mean?"

Hyejin's laugh is small and tight, nothing about it humorous at all. Her eyes never leave her reflection, fluffing up her curls with an air of superiority. "I see through parasites like you straight away."

Your mouth falls agape with astonishment. "Parasites?"

"You should know that I have people all over this place who will find out exactly why you came here." For the first time she turns to look you dead in the eye, a bitter smile lacing her lips smugly. She is eye level but it feels like she is towering above you. "What is it you want? Money?"

"No I—"

"Just wait." Hyejin slings her bag over her shoulder triumphantly, voice getting smaller as her heels click across the tiles to the door. She pauses, poking her head back into the room as if burdened with an after thought. "You could do with some more mascara, by the way, darling. Would make you look much prettier."

And then she's gone, leaving you to watch her hips swaying into the distance with hands dripping dry onto the ground.

By the time you calm your nerves enough to emerge from the bathroom looking semi-confident, Hyejin is already ordering another drink and Seokjin is straining his neck to search for you anxiously.

Even from a few meters away you can see the way he sighs with relief when he spots you approaching. It didn't last for long though as he must notice the slightly reddened rings around yours eyes that weren't there before and before you can give him a watery smile in greeting, he is on his feet.

"What happened?"

You bite your lip. "Seokjin, I think I need to go."

"I knew this would happen. Did she try and get in your head?" You nod and his face darkens. "I was an idiot bringing you here."

"It's fine, I shouldn't have agreed, you stay and I'll just go—"

"Right!" Seokjin makes a show of slapping his palms to his knees, practically jumping to his feet and dragging you up with him by your elbow, only a hare away from spilling the drink in your hands. "Sorry to cut this short but I think it's time for Y/N and I to be going."

Hyejin looks positively furious at the suggestion of saying goodbye, gesturing towards the bucket of ice in the centre of the table you had inhabited after your arms began to hurt from holding the archery bow. "But we haven't even opened the Champagne yet, Jin-"

"Oh I don't day drink." You wave her off, biting your lip with instant regret when you see how her face hardens.

"Sorry Hyejin but there really just isn't enough time," Seokjin insists, reaching for your bag to save you the trouble, slinging it across your shoulder and pushing you by the shoulders towards the exit. It's not like you have a choice in the matter but you have to admit you are relieved the whole fiasco is finished. "Send my best wishes to Wonho and Minhye!"

"Minhyuk." Hyejin splutters as she staggers to her feet, chair scraping obscenely. "Your nephew's name is Minhyuk!"

"Good to know!" Seokjin calls over his shoulder, already speed walking into the lobby before you can make out her response.

When Seokjin decides there is enough distance between you and the range he drops his arm from where it drapes around your shoulders. You didn't realise it was there until it was already gone, a cold emptiness settling over you. Why had it felt so natural?

He lets out a deep sigh of relief. "Thank god that's over with. I thought she would never stop talking."

You snort in agreement. "I've never told so many lies in my life."

"I find that hard to believe." Seokjin smirks when you slap his arm playfully. "It came too easily to you."

"It's your fault! Your deceptive ways are rubbing off on me!"

"Deceptive ways?" Seokjin splutters, a genuine laugh spilling from his lips. Heartier and much different to the strained chuckles he's been giving Hyejin all day. You decide by the way your heart lurches that you like it much better. "I'll have you know I never lie."

"You're joking right?" Surely he is aware that it was him that roped you into this identity fraud master plan in the first place? The smirk on his face says yes. It's your turn to laugh, mimicking his earlier tone. "I find that hard to believe."

"Then ask me a question and I'll tell you the honest truth and nothing but the truth."

"Uhh okay?" You pause, mulling over all the questions you really want to ask. Why did you choose me? Does this make us friends? Are you gonna look through me again at the restaurant when this whole thing is over?  Before you sheepishly settle on something more appropriate.

"How much is the resort worth? It must be a lot if you would go to all this...trouble."

"Five hundred."

"Five hundred thousand?"

"You're coy. Of course not." He chuckles. "Million."

Oh. Well now everything makes sense.

"Come on, ask me another." Seokjin bumps his shoulder against yours playfully, hair falling in his eyes that you’re desperate to push away. Your cheeks burn. "What's on your mind, kitchen girl?"

Don't say it...don't say it...

"D-did your sister hate me?"

Too late. The question slips out before you can stop it and you slap a hand over your mouth in shock.

He narrows his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Why do you want to know? It's not like any of this really mattered - it wasn't real after all. So why does your stomach twist when you remember the spiteful way Hyejin spoke to you?

You flash a sheepish smile. "J-just interested."

Your ego was just bruised that's all. It was natural to feel bad when someone didn't like you, right?

"Then yes."

Oh.

Your chest clenches for no reason. Maybe he really never lies after all, huh?

Seokjin must notice the way you pout. "It's not personal! That's just how she is. Honestly, out of all the candidates so far you're the one she hated the least..."

You snort. "Good to know?"

You come to a stop outside the locker room doors. You don't know what to say - what is left? Goodbye? Thank you?

You're probably never going to speak to him again, true; but goodbye feels too formal. Too real. Instead you stay quiet, the sound of cicadas and balls hitting racquets filling the silence as Seokjin’s chocolate brown eyes make you weak at the knees when they darken, his body drawing ever closer to yours.

"Aren't you gonna ask how I plan on repaying you?"

Seokjin's fingers wrap around your elbow before you can slip away and you gasp at how his skin burns yours. You swallow thickly. The light bounces off his face dazzlingly and you have to admit he looks good right now, with his shirt unbuttoned lazily and his bitten lips inches from yours.

"I-I forgot about that." You admit. Sure you had been uptight about this whole idea initially but you couldn't deny the fact that today had been kinda fun. Did you really need a reward? Maybe you'd got a little lost in pretending to be someone else. So what?

"Well," Seokjin draws closer until your back presses against the wall, his breath hot next to your ear. "I have something in mind."

Your pulse quickens when you feel his hand rest upon your hip, the rise and fall of his chest so close that you get tingles down your spine.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "W-what is it?"

His chuckle is warm against your sensitive neck and you shudder when his lips ghost over your skin, so so close. "Can I show you?"

"Sure." You breathe.

And then he takes you by the chin, lining up your mouths and crashing them together in a hot tangle of tongue and teeth, his chapped lips moving against yours with an urgency. Your arms snake around his neck, tangling in the hair at his nape and pulling him into you with a thump.

Before your eyes can flutter shut and your heart can get lost in the feeling of his teeth pulling at your bottom lip and the taste of sour lemonade that still lingers on his tongue, Seokjin pulls back with a smirk, eyes dropping to your parted lips and then back to your blown out eyes with a satisfaction.

He runs a knuckle down your cheek. You feel your legs weaken.  "I want you."

The huskiness in his voice makes your head spin, chest burning with the desire to connect your lips again. But you resist.

"Why?" You squeeze your eyes shut, head lolling back against the wall to avoid his gaze, embarrassed at how shaky your voice sounds after one kiss. God, you're weak. "Why me?"

"Like I said," Seokjin's fingers trace down your sides, eyes darkening when he notices the way the light touch makes you shiver under him. "I want you. Have since I first saw you."

He wants you? What about all those other girls, the ones he sent running? The ones who were much more suited to him than you would ever be?

"So what?" You scoff, biting your lip to stop a needy gasp when he presses a bold kiss to your jaw. "Want to add me to the list of girls who — mmf — w-who you seduced?"

He pauses, lips pressed against your burning skin for a little longer while he registers your words. "Maybe." He resumes his earlier actions, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "Is that so bad?"

"I can't do this." You bite your lip. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't intending on letting Seokjin get to you, didn't mean to become a mark in his black book or a notch in his bed post.

"Why not?" He presses his forehead to yours. Your breath hitches and you will the warm tingle in your stomach to go away. "I saw you checking me out on the range."

The way he grins tells you that you hadn't been so subtle after all.

"And besides," Seokjin grips your ass through your skirt, making you gasp to his satisfaction. "This way, I get to pay you back and have some fun of my own."

"H-how?" You can feel yourself slipping. Into his touch, into his words.

"By making you cum." That had your panties damp and he knew it, the heat between your legs distracting you from the way he groans against your lips when your hips buck into him involuntarily.

It's like he knows what you need, slotting his leg between your own and putting pressure on the growing ache in your core. "I know you want this too."

He's right, the way the cotton of your panties has begun to cling to your folds a tell tale sign of your arousal. Seokjin knew exactly how to make you putty in his hands. Every teasing touch of his lips to your neck, every feather light trace of his fingers has him chuckling darkly when you melt into his body, unable to resist the way he makes your core ache needily for his touch.

"Come on, I can make you feel good." Your breath hitches when fingers toy with the hem of your skirt. "If I just lift this up..."

Oh god. If you don't stop now it'll be too late...

His hand slips beneath your skirt, pads of his fingers hooking your sodden panties to the side, the flash of cold air against your needy folds making you whine into the crook of his neck. "P-please."

You feel him smirk against your hair, speaking with a tone so sickly sweet you would've rolled your eyes if your clit wasn't already pulsating for his touch. "Please what?"

"Make me cum."

"I knew you would come round." He pulls back to face you, drinking in the expression on your face which you presume is utterly fucked out. You have to admit the way his own irises have darkened with what you recognise as lust makes your stomach leap in anticipation. "So desperate for me already hm?"

You whine, somewhat in confirmation, somewhat in frustration at his refusal to touch you even when you buck against his hand. "Please."

"I wouldn't have put you down as the begging type." His hand suddenly cups your heat, pads of his fingers circling your entrance teasingly. He lets out a choked groan when he feels your arousal. "This wet for me? Already?"

"What do you expect?" You stammer, squeezing his shoulders and holding back on the urge to buck against his palm again. "You've got your hand up my skirt."

"Mmm, I could just make you come undone right here." His eyes darken, tongue snaking out to wet his chapped lips hungrily. "Could easily fuck you out nice and slow with my fingers if I wanted to, hmm?" Seokjin has begun to circle your entrance teasingly, making you squirm every time he nearly slips inside.

"Fuck." Your eyes are squeezed shut, breathing already laboured despite him barely even touching you, just the thought of him filling you up getting you dangerously worked up. "I want you to."

"What was that?" Seokjin's lips curve up mischievously, one of his fingers nearly filling you up before he removes his hand and you groan with frustration. "Gotta use your words sweetheart."

Your heart thumps at the use of the pet name but you choose to ignore it, instead reaching between your bodies to clasp his wrist before it disappears completely. "Fuck me," you pant, eyes roaming his with desperation. His staunch gaze never falters. "Please, fuck me now."

Seokjin connects your swollen lips again, but not before mumbling against them gruffly. "Remember you asked for it."

Then, his free hand to spreads your legs, knee stopping them from closing as his other hand closes in on your aching core. The feeling of his digits running down your soaked slit has you panting and you feel your legs buckle when he pressed two of his lithe fingers into your heat without warning. You are dripping by now, hole accommodating the stretch and allowing his fingers to slip inside easily.

Your clit pulsates with need and you want to feel Seokjin everywhere, have him take you in any way he wants, momentarily lost to the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of your heat; until you remember that you have Seokjin's hand down your pants in broad daylight and anyone could walk by and see just how weak he makes you.

"Wait!" He halts his ministrations, raising a brow. "W-we can't, not here."

You mewl when his thumb ghosts across your swollen clit, touch light but enough to have you gasping into the crook of his neck.

"Let's take this inside, then." Before you can ask what he means his fingers disappear, leaving your hole clenching agonisingly around nothing again. He presses the arousal coated digits to your lips and you enjoy the way his jaw tightens as you eagerly take them into your hot mouth, humming when you taste yourself on your own tongue. "Fuck you'll drive me crazy if you keep this up."

You can tell you are getting to him, even if he is trying to hide it. The way his eyes roll back when you suck his fingers clean, how he bites his cheek to stop a lustful groan when his eyes dip between your bodies to your almost naked heat tells you all you needed to know.

He can't take it any longer.

Seokjin pulls his hand away with a wet pop, your throbbing heat protesting when he let your legs fall shut, linking his clammy hand with your own. "Come with me."

It takes a second to remember how to walk, letting him pull you behind him in your dizzy haze. His hand is warm in yours and your entire body aches to feel them on you again. It's already too late to hide your swollen lips and slightly mussed up hair before Seokjin drags you right into the men's locker room .

"Wait, we can't do it in here—"

"Everyone out!" Seokjin's voice bellows through the locker room, all its inhabitants pausing their ministrations to peer at you curiously.

You try to let go of Seokjin's hand to button up your shirt but he won't let you, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you hide behind him self consciously, knees knocking. "We need to use the locker room."

A groan erupts through the room, a chorus of again? permeating the sound of lockers slamming shut with frustration before one by one all the dudes in the locker room began to shuffle past you to the exit.

"Seokjin!" You hiss, standing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear angrily. "Now everyone knows!"

Seokjin's thumb rubs across your knuckles soothingly. "Who cares?"

You feel your cheeks flush hotly when a man you recognise from the restaurant, now wearing nothing but a towel, narrows his eyes in a knowing look. You willed the ground to swallow you up.

The sound of footsteps ceases, the door swings closed and finally you're alone.

"Better?" Seokjin turns to you expectantly.

"I can't believe you just did that!" You cover your face with your palms. "God how am I going to look any of them in the eyes again."

"They don't care." He soothes, your unamused expression not faltering still.

"Are you even allowed to do that? W-What if they tell someone—"

"They won't," Seokjin smirks. "They value their memberships here too much."

You bite your lip. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

Seokjin rushes forward to cup your face in his palms reassuringly. The act feels a little too sincere and you nearly melt at the intimacy, resisting copying his motion by pinching your palm instead. "It's okay, seriously! They're just jealous that I get lucky more around here than any of the old bastards have in their entire lives."

"I don't believe you." Your words are muffled by his chest, his chuckle vibrating against your cheek.

"They're jealous because they'll never get this lucky."

"Huh?" Seokjin's hands slide down the small of your back to cup your ass, lifting your entire weight so that your legs wrap around his waist. You let out a giggle of surprise when his face comes into view, smirking up at you.

"Lucky enough to get someone as pretty as you underneath them."

There they are again, the butterflies in your stomach, the skip of a beat in your heart, a warmth spreading through your chest that feels too good to question right now. "Technically I'm above you." You mumble. "Besides they were all, like, fifty years old or something."

"Just shut up would you?" Seokjin stumbles forward, throwing you roughly onto one of the couches. The fabric feels like velvet when your nails clutch at it desperately, trying to hold on to whatever control you have left when Seokjin drops to his knees between your legs to hover over you. "And kiss me for fucks sake."

You oblige, pulling him by the collar to connect your lips in a kiss even more heated than before if that was even possible. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you sigh contentedly into the kiss when he pulls your face even closer with his palms.

"F-fuck." He pulls back with a pop, hands roaming along the tops of your thighs too teasingly for you to handle. By now you're so worked up that you just needed him to take you roughly, the thought of his cock pounding in and out of you making you moan when you feel his bulge brush your leg. God you want him more than you knew it was possible, the way your clit pulses at the thought of how good it would feel to come around him or better yet feel him come inside you overwhelming.

"Seokjin, p-please fuck me." You practically whine, letting your head fall against the couch cushion when his thumbs fiddle with the lace of your panties. "Wanna feel you inside me."

The sound that comes from his throat seems strangled. "Fuck, what did I say about driving me crazy?"

"Need you so bad," You rotate your hips to emphasise your desperation, the action providing you with no relief when his steel like grip prevents you from putting any pressure on your dripping folds. "Wanna cum for you."

You blink up at him through your lashes and you swear you see his adam's apple bob as he swallows a moan. He liked it when you provoked him, you could tell. His resolve is crumbling with every word out of your mouth.

"Please, I'm so wet." Fuck, you are. You can feel it dripping down your ass, probably making a mess of the couch below you. You hope it can be dry cleaned. "Just fuck me now—mmf!"

Seokjin shuts you up with a hard press of his lips to yours, the action conveying he's just as desperate as you, the way his hands trembled telling you he isn't as unaffected as he wants to appear.

His breathing is nearly as ragged as yours now. "You like riling me up don't you?"

He runs a shaky hand through his hair exasperatedly and you look up at him hopeful, willing him to touch you, kiss you, anything.

"I'm not going to fuck you."

Oh.

You stiffen beneath him, his words shocking you still.

He doesn't want you. Simple as that.

This was just another one of his games and you fell straight into it. You close your eyes and braced for him to start laughing. To point his finger and tell you how lame you are for ever thinking that someone like him could want someone like you.

Except nothing comes. Just the sound of your shaky breaths and a shower running nearby.

"Why?" Your voice is small now and you draw your knees to your chest, trying to hide as much from him as possible. "You don't want to?"

He looks dismayed at your suggestion, palms shooting out to push you back down and pull you back into his hold again.

"It's not that, Y/N." You let out a relieved breath, not fighting Seokjin when his forehead falls against your chest in defeat, heavy breaths ghosting across the tops of your breasts. You're sure he can feel the way your heart beats uncontrollably in your chest.

"Then why?" You bite your lip. You sound too needy, to whiny. Why do you even care if he wants you or not? This is a one off anyway.

"God, I want nothing more than to strip you and see you bounce on my cock right here"

Oh.

Seokjin's lips attach to your neck, sucking harshly like a man deprived, as though he can't hold back any longer. His hands roam everywhere they can reach, rubbing your breasts over your shirt before his fingers work on the buttons eagerly.

"S-Seokjin..."

"Would give anything to see you come undone on my cock. Bet you'd moan so pretty when I pound you, yeah?"

Truth be told you'd let him right now if he said the word, the thought of him stretching you out making you see stars before he has even properly touched you. Your core is hot and sticky against your panties while you clench around nothing while his every word makes you writhe to be filled. "Then w-why don't you?"

"Because there's plenty of time for that, princess." He flashes you a smile. Plenty of time? Why did he make it sound as if this wasn't a one time thing? As if you'd be back for more? "This is for you remember? Gotta pay you back."

You yelp when Seokjin lifts your ass, thumbs finally dragging your panties down your legs and throwing them behind him before he spreads your legs with a hunger. "Let me taste you, hm?"

Seokjin pushes your skirt around your waist, exposing your core to his hungry eyes, drinking in how you look all spread out for him. Just the sight of him so close to your dripping heat makes the coil in your stomach tighten and you're sure you could cum just from the way his lips part in anticipation.

He looks up at you for confirmation, smirking when you nod your head before falling back against the couch weakly when he drags a finger down your slit teasingly, licking his lips when you mewl at the brief contact with your clit. "So pretty."

He sinks back against his heels, cheek warm against your inner thigh, hot breath caressing your clit. A moan escapes you at the feeling much to his amusement, his bruising grip on your thighs stopping you from bucking up. "Hurry up — mmf — please."

For the first time he listens to your request, skipping the teasing to run a long stripe up your soaking slit. Seokjin groans against your clit and you quiver, his staggered breaths hot against your dripping folds. "Taste so good, sweetheart."

"S-Seokjin," Hands spread your legs as far as they cN go and then plump lips engulf your clit, sucking with a perfect harshness that makes your legs shake and your head fall back with a gasp, hands tangling in his blonde locks tightly enough to have him groaning blissfully. "Fingers!"

The breathiness of your voice makes him chuckle against your heat, vibrations enough to have your knees straining to close around his head, the pressure between them almost too much. "What was that?"

"Fingers," You reiterate, aware of how fucked out you soundjust from feeling his tongue on your clit, every teasing flick making your entrance pulse. "Inside me, now."

"No please?" The drag of Seokjin's flat tongue down your slit to prod at your hole is sinful, the way he took to fucking you with his tongue teasingly drawing small whimpers from your lips. It's mesmerising how he knows just how to make you fall apart.

"P-please!"

The gentle brush of his nose against your clit nearly has you coming on the spot. "Turn over." He growls against your mound. An arm wraps around your waist and before you can protest his mouth leaving your heat, you are being flipped onto your hands and knees, Seokjin's palm pushing your head down against your forearms so that your ass comes up for his viewing pleasure. "That's more like it."

"F-fuck." It feels dirty being on display for him like this, dripping wet and wiggling your hips, desperate for friction against your spread folds. Pressing your cheek to the couch, you catch a glimpse of Seokjin's expression as he takes you in, eyes black with desire, lips still coated in your sticky arousal.

"Shit." His breath hitches. "Such a pretty pussy, hm?"

It's your turn to take a shaky inhale when a single finger circles your entrance, Seokjin humming approvingly when you clench hopelessly around nothing. Knowing you are so close to being filled even with a single finger gets you panting, circling your hips and trying to sink down onto the digit that smears your wetness through your folds lewdly. Seokjin pulls his hand away with a click of his tongue.

"That desperate to be filled, baby?" His tone is taunting, followed by a chuckle when you whine at the way his words make your clit throb. "Fuck, such a slut, dripping wet for just my fingers."

He reaches around to press the pad of his finger against your lips and you suck it instinctively, humming when you taste yourself, some of your sticky arousal smearing on your chin. Seokjin's head rolls back, the visual practically sending him into sensory overload.

"Such a slut," A loud slap fills the room, a palm landing flat against your upturned ass, the sensation making you cry out in surprise. His breath is hot and ragged against your ear. "You like that?"

Despite the embarrassed shake of your head another smack lands to the flesh of your other cheek with enough force to leave a mark this time. It stings when he rubs his calloused hands over the reddening skin that is now burning hot where it collided with his palm but the pain quickly dissipates to pleasure and you bite your hand to stop from moaning out too lewdly. "Use your words, princess."

"Seokjin!" You can't hold back from whining his name when his palm lands straight on your heat, the sharp pain a somehow welcome relief when he instantly rubbed a few soothing circles into your folds with the pads of his fingers, each graze of your clit making your legs shake uncontrollably. "I-I need more."

"This?" Without warning he presses two fingers into your pussy, entrance squeezing around him wildly at the pleasant stretch. Every flick of his wrist permeates through the locker room with a loud squelch, testament of just how worked up you were.

"Ugh!" Every drag of his fingers against your velvety walls has your eyes rolling back, the way he curls the digits with every thrust hitting your sweet spot perfectly, like he knew exactly how to drive you crazy. "S-so good."

You are starting to get out of breath, meeting his thrusts by rocking back against his hand and this time he doesn't protest, encouraging you by kneading the flesh of your ass and groaning in time with the sharp gasps leaving your lips each time the heel of his hand brushes your swollen clit.

"Think you can cum again with just my fingers, baby?" The way you clench around around his digits is a tell tale sign that your second high is close. Just his words alone nearly make you fall over the edge, words slurred as you try to focus on anything other than the unrelenting pulse between your legs.

"N-need more." You sound utterly fucked out, eyes squeezed shut and lost to the feeling of being filled but the stretch isn't quite enough and you need more to tip you over the edge. "Another one."

Seokjin lines up a third finger with your entrance, the ring on his finger cold against your hot walls as he slides it in beside the others at an agonisingly slow pace; to allow you to adjust to the stretch or to taunt you can't tell. By the time he gets to his knuckles your body is wracked with laboured breaths, quivering knees barely able to hold your weight as you bite the inside of your cheeks to curb a string of whines at being finally filled.

Of course, his fingers weren't as good as the real thing and you wonder how he is able to control himself when your mouth waters at the thought of feeling him inside of you instead of his hand.

The room is still a little humid from the showers, a layer of sweat glistening across your skin as you chase your high with determination, the stickiness between your legs dripping down Seokjin's wrist and making him tut, the click of his tongue heightening the sensation.

"That's it, cum for me." The authority lacing his tone tips you over the edge, another smack stinging your ass as you bury your face in the couch with a cry, the feeling of his fingers pumping you through your high almost too much to bare but as soon as they are ripped away and you're left clenching around nothing you miss the feeling of being full.

"So pretty when you cum." Seokjin murmurs. Under normal circumstances you would have been embarrassed, self conscious even with your ass up for anyone to see, release leaking on to the couch, but you're too fucked out to care about anything m, barely able to register Seokjin's new found gentleness as he flips you onto your back and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear while you focus on returning your breathing back to a normal pace.

"Holy shit." The beat of your heart seemsdeafening in your ears, the only other sound you can comprehend being Seokjin's own ragged breathing.

"Fuck, I nearly just came in my pants." When you manage to turn your head he is staring straight at you with disbelief, eyes travelling to your swollen lips. "I'm going to jerk off to this image forever."

"Me too." You murmur honestly.

Your lids fall shut in post orgasm bliss, not expecting the incoming peck Seokjin presses to your parted lips. It is barely a kiss, plump flesh of his lips brushing yours for less than a second but a funny warmth spreads through your chest at the gesture. Seokjin seems as surprised as you, as if he can't quite believe he just did that, shuffling to the other side of the couch to put some distance between you.

"You should uh, get dressed." He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly and turning away to give you some privacy, as if he hadn't just had his head between your legs just a moment ago.

His behaviour, albeit kind of strange, makes you smirk and you decide it won't hurt to tease. "Well, at least now we're even."

Seokjin bites his lip when he turns around to find your skirt back around your thighs, overcome with a new confidence, sauntering over and palming your ass like he owns it. "Nope, not getting away that easily. I think you'll find I made you cum twice. So now you owe me. Again."

"And what do I owe you this time, Kim Seokjin?" You place your hands on his chest, no instinct to push him away for some reason. "Golfing with your brother up next?"

"No," He scoffs. "My brother wouldn't be caught dead with a club."

"Then what?"

You notice the glint in his eye again, the one you are starting to crave. "Let me get to know you."

"Isn't that what you did today?"

He shakes his head. "The real you."

[pricemarshfield]

what do you truly desire?

A Deckerstar human/romcom AU. Chapter 5/10, read on AO3 here (or the full fic here). Will be rated E eventually, so minors DNI.

Five months later, Lucifer's life is fantastic.

It's not a surprise. His life has always been better than the average person's: plenty of money, some of the world's best alcohol, possibly the most active sex life of anyone in the LA area. Maze's brief trend of being gentle after Chloe had rejected him because of her has long-since ended, so she's back to her normal self: quick-witted and vicious and Lucifer's best friend.

She doesn't tell him anymore stories about her roommate, and he doesn't ask her about Chloe. It's basically the same way they did things before, just with the one tweak. Still, it's not as though he doesn't know when she tiptoes around things. Maze happily starts a story about building a model rocket with her other best friend (Lucifer holds a hand to his chest, mostly-mock-offended) but then clams up when Lucifer asks the friend's name or any other details, or Maze corrects him on some minor detail about LA's liquor laws that only someone who spent a lot of time with a cop would know. (Lucifer doesn't remember what that one was. Maze handles the books.)

Lucifer continues to talk up their customers almost every night, waxing poetic about their most expensive whiskeys, whispering in a handsome man's ear about how good Maze looks mixing cocktails, helping them through the potential sexuality crisis that tends to cause. It's certainly not a traditional lifestyle, but anyone he has a conversation with long enough to actually talk about it tend to say how lucky he is.

Which is right, obviously. He's lucky. What more could he want?

Of course, the life of a club owner doesn't start at opening. He needs a new suit, deep blue for an event someone's paying a truly sinful amount of money to host at Lux, and his tailor won't do house calls. Maze had tried, at one point, to wake him up earlier, if only so that he'd cook her breakfast since she burns everything short-of-but-sometimes-including toast. But he spends over a thousand on just the sheets on his bed, let alone how much he spent on the mattress, and he's damn well going to enjoy it.

(It's not--and this is crucial--it's not moping. He doesn't have anything to mope over, definitely not, his life is absolutely wonderful and he doesn't spend any time thinking of a blonde woman who doesn't swoon at everything he says like anyone he puts any effort in with, the first person he'd been interested in since Eve and the rebellion she represented.)

He's running late for the appointment, due to some truly abysmal traffic and a lack of parking anywhere near the shop, so he's rushing along through the crowd of people that seem to be omnipresent anytime he needs to get somewhere quickly in this city.

"Excuse me, pardon me, I'm actually in a hurry, so--okay, now you're purposefully obstructing everyone here, step to the side if you're going to text--" He turns his head to stare down the offending party, a stern-faced woman with a harsh haircut and horrifically short bangs--when he runs right into someone in the street and gets hot coffee all over his person.

It's not necessarily bad form to swear in public, but the string of words that come out of his mouth certainly cross the line into bad etiquette. It hurts like a motherfucker, and worst of all, the shirt he's wearing is white. Lucifer spares a moment to be thankful--not to a God or anything, just in general--that he's already got an appointment with a tailor.

"Shit!" says the woman he bumped into, and Lucifer turns his head to see Chloe. Because he'd only just managed to mostly put her out of his mind, and the universe is a vicious, punishing thing. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry--"

She's still looking with dismay between his shirt and what's left of her coffee, not at his face, and Lucifer coughs a little. "I didn't take you for a black coffee drinker."

Chloe looks up at him, eyes wide with surprise. "Lucifer? That's--insane, LA is a city of almost 4 million people, what are the chances?"

"Given my luck? Quite high, actually," Lucifer says, and Chloe's expression shutters almost quick enough for Lucifer to miss the flash of hurt across her face. "Because of the coffee! Not--I did like this shirt, but it is good to see you. And I'm near my tailor, anyway."

Chloe still looks a little offended, but she manages a small smile up at him. "You have your own tailor?"

"Well, suits like these don't come off the rack." He holds his arms out, realizes that he's now blocking the crowd and being a huge hypocrite, and lowers them. "Let's step to the side for a second."

"What? Oh, right," Chloe says, and gets out of the way. Someone shoots them a dirty look as they shuffle through to the side. The--chicken and waffles place...interesting--has a bright, tacky red-and-gold awning that gets them a bit of respite from the shade so they can talk.

Chloe digs through her pockets, pulling out receipts and crumpled-up straw wrappers. After glancing at his face, she says, "I'm just trying to find a napkin or something to get the coffee."

Lucifer looks at the reflection of the two of them in the window. His shirt has a giant brown spot in the middle of it that, while it should come out with dry cleaning, is certainly not going to be helped by old napkins. "I'll buy a new shirt while I'm at the tailor. Hopefully it won't need alterations."

Chloe snorts. "'Alterations.'" Her British accent is abysmal and sounds less like him and more like an offensive impression of a character from a cult classic BBC show. "This place looks like a college haunt, you could probably get a USC T-shirt inside until you get home tonight."

Lucifer shudders. "Ugh. Absolutely not."

"What, you're telling me you don't have any cheap clothes that you hold onto just 'cause they're comfortable?"

"A silk robe is comfortable," he grumbles. "Certainly more comfortable than a T-shirt from--" He looks at the door, squinting against the glare of the sun against the 'restaurant' door. "--Classic Southern Cafe of the West Coast."

"I mean, the name leaves something to be desired, but if a place with a name like that's still open then it can't be all bad."

"Or someone with more money than sense decided to throw their life savings at something they were completely unqualified for. Like that cafe in Boston."

Chloe blinks at him. "The cat cafe?"

"You're familiar!" Lucifer says, delighted. "Maze told me about it, she delights in disasters."

"...she told me, too."

Right.

"Okay, look," Chloe says, and Lucifer braces himself for the worst of it. "I'm really sorry about the way I kicked you out." Oh? "I mean...I just--okay, I'm not jealous."

"I hadn't thought you were?" Lucifer says, unsure if he's about to be insulted or what. He's not letting himself be hopeful about anything, though, suffocating the urge to be optimistic about it before it can say whatever it wants to. If this conversation goes well, he'll be pleasantly surprised, and if not, he won't have lost any of the progress he's made over the course of the past few months.

(The most he's hoping for is that he'll be able to talk to her. He enjoys that, more than he does talking with almost anyone else.)

"I just mean...ugh, okay, Maze and I were a thing, okay? Just briefly, barely a month! We didn't really work like that, but we made good friends, and then she was moving out of her old roommate's place and I needed to move out of my mom's old house and it just worked? And it was just--weird, you having slept with her and me also--fuck, sorry, I'm rambling."

She is, which seems pretty unlike her from Lucifer's previous two times that he'd met her, but it's annoyingly endearing anyway. "It's fine, Detective. Don't stop on my account."

Chloe reaches a hand up to rub the back of her neck. "Right. And I just...don't really casually see people, okay? I mean, Maze was an exception. Not in that way, I'm definitely bisexual, just...yeah. And as much as I liked you, I just don't think I have the room for a relationship right now."

Lucifer's heart definitely doesn't drop down into his stomach at that, not at all. "Of course."

"I would like to hang out, though? As friends?" Chloe says. "If you're alright with--"

"I am," Lucifer says, quickly enough that he accidentally interrupts her. She grins up at him, though, so it's good, it's fine. "I...do have to get to this appointment, I need a suit for work--"

"Yeah, of course, sorry to keep you, and sorry again about the coffee! You were right, too, I don't normally like my coffee black, but it's--not important, go get a new suit."

Lucifer nods and smiles, a little awkward, a little unsure, but generally...happier. It's not even as though he was in a bad mood before, but now he's smiling easier, chattier with his tailor, doesn't mind the stain on one of his nicer shirts that's had some time to set in now and might not wash out as easily as he'd like.

--

Maze has been staring at Lucifer ever since he walked into the bar, wearing a new shirt and a smile. She's been drying the same glass now for almost five minutes, despite how busy it is at the bar and how much Patrick's scrambling to get things done, and it's now just a matter of which one of them will break first: Maze's impatience or Lucifer's love of talking about himself.

Lucifer really does love talking about the things that go well in his life, though, and Maze hasn't even blinked for the last stretch of time. So eventually he heads over with an eyeroll, doesn't miss the victorious smirk on her face, and sits down at the one barstool that's, miraculously, available.

"Spill," Maze says, putting the glass down at last and starting to mix a drink, to Patrick's obvious relief.

"I ran into Chloe," Lucifer says, delighted, and looks to see if Maze will tense up, if she'll show any jealousy that her ex is spending time with him. Decidedly platonic time, but still. He doesn't want a repeat of what happened with Eve. That had been a difficult time for their friendship, and for Lucifer in general, if he's being honest.

She doesn't seem to, not smiling (normal) but nodding in agreement as she looks down at the drink she's pouring. "Cool. Did you go try and find her at the police station or something? Hold up a sign like that dumb movie?"

Lucifer scoffs. "No, of course not, that would have been completely inappropriate, and not in a fun way. Especially given she rejected me." Much as that stings, it's still a novel feeling.

"Good," Maze says, sliding the drink over to a customer who only barely manages to catch it before the glass would've fallen and shattered on the floor and gotten--whatever that drink is, some lurid pink thing, all over her clothes. "So...what? She came to see you at Lux before we opened?"

"No," Lucifer says. "We just ran into each other."

"Jesus, what are the odds," Maze says, grabbing some orange juice from beneath the counter. "You wanna come back here and help out?"

"Of course not," Lucifer says, then walks to the back of the bar to help out anyway. He's not actually good at mixing drinks at all, but he knows where everything is, mostly, grabbing Maze some rum and chopping limes since they're running low. "Are we especially busy today or something? I've never seen the bar this backed up."

"Well, you weren't telling me right away, I had to make a point," Maze says with a quick glare at him. "Apologize to Patrick."

Lucifer doesn't particularly feel like apologizing to Patrick for Maze's behavior, and Patrick seems a bit too busy with pitchers of sangria to do much of anything. There's a lull in their conversation as they get drinks out to the customers as fast as possible without missing any tabs or charges or anything else, but then it slows to something they can talk during.

"Well, I'm glad it worked out, I guess?" Maze says. "Did she, like, rip your shirt off or something? I didn't think Decker had it in her."

"No," Lucifer says. "While I'm not at all opposed, she actually just spilled some coffee--"

Maze laughs. "Holy shit, really? Wow, I didn't realize she was mad at you! I'm normally really good at picking up on anger!"

"It was an accident, Mazikeen, would I be in a good mood if it wasn't?" Lucifer says, annoyed, wiping down the counter with a rag just to get the worst of the condensation and sweat off.

She doesn't respond right away, and when he looks back, she's smiling at him, softer than she normally would. "Hey. I'm glad you're in a good mood about it."

"Okay?" Lucifer says, unused to Maze being nice when she doesn't want something from him. "Why--"

"Which is why I'm gonna tell you right now," Maze interrupts. "That you're my best friend. And that I care about you."

"I--okay? I--"

"And that if you hurt Chloe," Maze says, still smiling, still with that same casual tone. "I will fucking end you. Got that?"

"I haven't even done anything!" Lucifer protests. "Is she getting this same shovel talk? And besides, she's said she's not interested, it's just--friendly."

"Oh," Maze says, relaxing against the counter a little more. "Really? Wouldn't have guessed that. Also...yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, she got the same shovel talk," Maze says with another eyeroll, all trace of her sweet, fake smile gone. "Obviously. You're my best friend."

Lucifer nods, shoulders dropping just a little. It's not that he was worried Maze was picking between him and Chloe, like it's some sort of fight, but it's--nice, to be reassured that she's on his side anyway.

"Also?" Maze says, glare getting worse.

"Also...I care about you too?"

"Thank you!" Maze says in her sweetest, fakest voice of all. "Also, I'm guessing you two didn't exchange numbers again?"

"Shit."

"It's fine, I got you, let me just make sure Chloe's cool with it once I'm home," Maze says. "You're definitely both being stupid as hell, but whatever, at least it'll be fun to watch."

--

At 1:43am, after they've finished closing up and cleaning and getting everything ready for tomorrow, Lucifer checks his phone for the first time in an hour and sees a text from a number he doesn't recognize.

Hey! It's Chloe. Maze gave me your number, she said you said it was okay

If it's not, I'm sorry and I won't text again

And if you're not Lucifer, I'm sorry and please let me know?

Hello, Detective

She doesn't respond, but it's late enough that she's probably asleep, and frankly, after having to actually work tonight, he's about ready to pass out himself. So he does, gets into the most comfortable sheets he's ever head and is unconscious almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. He misses one more text, from a number he hasn't texted in years.

hey! i'm back in town if you want to meet up! let's partyyyy

[itcertainlyisl-n-h]

Just Plain Nuts...Part 2

She came trouncing out of the house onto the back porch...frying pan still in hand.  She was drunk.  She was always drunk.  Well then so was he.  He looked up from what he was doing...lost in a haze...lost in a daze...snapping himself out of some wild fantasy...some dark and scary place that his mind had gone to.  He had reached the final straw. The one that broke the camel’s back as it were.  He laughed...giddily actually.  It wasn’t a resigned laugh...it wasn’t a true laugh...it was actually one of his patented, couldn’t stop himself guffaws as he forcefully shoved the shovel into the pliant earth once more and tossed the mound of dirt to the side.  

He barely recognized her.  Her eyes filled with malice, scorn and madness...he had only met one other character like her before...in his mind...He had read the novel Jane Eyre countless times.  It was one of his favorite books to go to when he wanted to escape.  Sure it seemed more like a romance novel for lonely housewives...but then that’s what he felt like from time to time.  In it, the lord and master of the house, Edward Rochester had wanted to marry the governess of his ward, Jane Eyre but he had a terrible secret he was hiding.  His own wife locked up in the attic.  She was a lunatic and was forced on him through an arranged marriage. Rochester had wanted something pure...something wholesome...someone who loved him and he loved back with all of his heart...and that was Jane...not...Bertha Mason...Not the woman standing in front of him now.  

“Stanley....Stanley what are you doing there??!!”  She shouted at him angrily.  Her hand...permanently on her hip the other grasping the frying pan tightly.  She wasn’t afraid to use it again if he came close to her.  If he tried to touch her once more.  She was afraid of him.  She didn’t like it when he got that look in his eye...the one he was leveling her with now.  When they drank...things got unpredictably predictable, very fast.  Things got thrown. Things got broke.  Police were often called.  The cycle never ended.  She would scream at him...accuse him...call him every name she could think of and the minute he tried to defend himself in anyway she would flip on a dime, becoming hysterical, dramatical and the waterworks would flow.  She would lay the guilt on him so thickly he would run to her side, begging her to forgive him, promising he’d never leave her...he would always love her and that he would take care of her.  

She had a power over him that no other woman had.  She had him around her proverbial finger and he was, as always, helpless and too vulnerable to do anything about it.  This again was one of those times.  

He didn’t answer her and just kept staring at her as if he had just seen her for the first time in his life.  That his eyes were opened.  That he no longer saw the person he fell in love with.  That he no longer saw the person that he gave up Ruth for...that he ran away with...that he had often vowed she was “To his heart”  and that she was his baby...his sweetheart...he didn’t recognize her anymore. 

Panic was in her voice as she rushed down the stairs and into the yard.  He had been pulling up trees, chopping at bushes...basically turning his backyard into a scene right from “Big Business” When he and Babe completely obliterated Finn’s house...he actually smirked at the memory.  Illiana surveyed the damage to her roses...to her shade trees to her backyard sanctuary where she had spent a lot of her days lounging in celebrity luxury.  She took in the large gaping hole right in the middle of the yard, growing ever larger as Stan continued to attack it further with vicious stabs and grunts.  

“Stanley!!”  She yelled again... “Durak neschastnyi...Balvan!!” 

He paused.  Turning slowly he leveled her with his coldest look.  Today he knew would be his last on earth...if he had a say in it.  He had never felt the knot of burning anger...twisting and writhing inside of him.  The very core of his being loathed her at that moment...and couldn’t and didn’t want to stop himself.  He wanted it to be over.  He grit his teeth and bit his lip so hard it bled...She saw the monster in his eyes then.  The one she had been fearing all along.  

“Poshyel k chyertu...”  

“Why are you digging that hole...to get there?” She screeched at him.  Her voice trembling but deep down knowing the answer.  

“To bury you in, Shuvalova.”

..................

Oliver Hardy stepped quietly into the trailer that he and his partner Stan Laurel shared at the Hal Roach Studios.  He didn’t want to startle the man he knew was so easily rattled, more so than usual these days.  He sighed as he looked at his partner and friend of over thirteen years scribbling furiously on some papers and only pausing to clack away at his ever present typewriter.  By now he knew how to read the man better than he did himself.  He knew something was terribly wrong.  It had been wrong for a few months now.  He wasn’t going to let it go on much longer.  He knew when it was right to speak to Stan and he felt the time for a real heart to heart was coming to a head.  He remembered the time before.  The last time.  And the time before that.  Enough was enough.   

He had escorted Stan from the jail that night.  He looked pitiful...sad...scared...alone.  He knew he didn’t want to talk about it by the way he held his head when Ollie walked into the jailhouse.  He didn’t want to bring any further indignity to him.  He saw that he was only clad in boxers and an old army blanket that looked like a remnant from the first world war. If there was a camera he would have looked at it before going over to the dejected man and putting a hand on his shoulder.  They didn’t speak.  He cleared up the matter of getting Stan out of jail so that he wouldn’t have to spend the night there.  He made sure that one of Illiana’s friends was called and that she would come to collect her and take her back to their home and stay with her for a while.  Stan tried to protest but Ollie insisted that it was best for them if they were apart for now and that Stan stay with him until this all blew over.  

The ride to Ollie’s house was quiet.  Stan looked at him from time to time as the cab driver took them through the dark streets...dawn just creeping up over the Hollywood sign in the distance.  He reached out and put his hand over Babe’s covering it in a warm gesture and in that way, thanked him.  Ollie knew that was his way and nodded his head.  They were both tired to the bone.  They knew they were to start filming their new picture “Blockheads” soon and it was time to straighten up and fly right again.  Time to make more magic.  Ollie looked at Stan and saw that a lot of the magic had left his eyes.  He didn’t want to know the light that was replacing it now.  He was concerned but he would let Stan tell him...like always.  

They reached Oliver’s home and paid the driver.  Stan leaned into Ollie’s shoulder suddenly exhausted and barely able to stand.  He whimpered softly and Ollie finally put his arm around him.  He held him steady as they moved toward his front door.  

“She’s just so mean, Babe...” 

“I know, Stan...I know.” 

“I love her.”

“I know you do, Stanley...you’re a man consumed with it...always.” 

He lead Stan into the house and down the hall to the guest room, well really Stan and Lois’s room when they came to visit on the odd occasion.  Lois more often than not...she liked staying at Uncle Babe’s house.  

He pulled back the covers against the protests of not being tired, and that he needed a drink to take the edge off and the refusal of said drink and the struggling to get into some of his spare pajamas that he kept in the dresser drawer and the struggle of even more refusing to cooperate, Oliver finally got Stan to lie down and on his side to sleep. 

“Sleep with me, Babe...” 

“Stan.”

“You know what I mean...I don’t want to be alone.” 

“But you know what it leads to...what it always does.” 

“Is that wrong?”

“With my wife in the other room...yes.” 

A resigned sigh with only the slightest tinge of old jealousy. “Then just sleep...please.” 

Lord help him he knew better.  He knew better every time...but he could still never resist him.  Even now at 4:30 in the morning on some random night...after checking on his wife...seeing her sound asleep...he carefully climbed in on his side of the bed and wrapped his arms around his now snoring houseguest.  He pulled him closer to his chest and allowed himself to breathe in the intoxicating scent of Stan Laurel...all of him...as he turned out the light, pulling the covers over them.  There would be time to figure things out...tomorrow. 

Part 3 to come!

[raindropsduringthesunset]

Share Tea With Me (Can't We Watch The Stars?) (TSS Fateful Fae AU)

Ao3 ~~~ Wattpad

First Part, Last Part, Next Part

Characters: Virgil, Logan, Janus, Roman (mentioned), Remus (mentioned), Patton (mentioned)

Relationships: Analogical (Platonic), Analogical (Romantic?), Anxciet (Platonic), Anxceit (Romantic?), Loceit (Platonic), Analoceit (Platonic), Analoceit (Romantic?)

TW: neglect (mentioned), wishing death upon someone (mentioned), panic attack, crying, anger (brief, not directed)

cw: Remus (brief showing) (sympathetic), Janus (sympathetic), Patton (brief showing) (sympathetic), kissing (forehead, platonic), fear, exhaustion, food

Summary: Logan understood many things, but perhaps he has more to learn.

~~~

Logan had learned to not care anymore. He wasn’t unempathetic or unsympathetic- no no, those weren't the right words. He honestly wasn’t quite sure if there was a word for how he treated his empathy. So he settled with repressed. The word had a connotation that didn’t fit perfectly, but it fit enough. It wasn’t that bad; just a way to get shit done for once.

When he was younger there was never a time that he truly had to care. He was carefree, without any responsibilities quite yet. At that age, he’d settled for reading and researching when he had spare time- not that anything had changed over the years in that regard. Logan had always had a knack for picking up information and a talent for staying quiet. He used that to his advantage when he used to go to fae meetings.

He would hear one fae make a passive-aggressive remark toward another one, take note of when the selkies whispered to each other, pay close attention to the higher ranking faes eye movement. When you’re a young fae, there’s not much you can do other than observe while you wait for your magic and traits to grow in. It didn’t help that Logan, while a quick study, was a slow grower.

While he was far more mature than any of his clan- with the possible exception of J- could ever be, he always managed to get assumed to be the youngest at fae events. During the occasional poly-realm ball, Logan would constantly get assumed to be a new fae.

While most would find the assumption of youth flattering, Logan found it to be quite annoying. Why shouldn’t his maturity be reflected in his appearance? To be fair, Logan had full control over his human appearance, but his fae appearance was far too complex for him to break down enough to transform. Too much light, too many parts, too many oddities. He’ll stay comfortable with a human body that is malleable.

Now with V around, he wasn’t the youngest anymore- not by a long shot. V wasn’t that much younger than all of them- not when comparing fae years to V’s human years. At most V was about a year or two younger than Logan.

Logan thought it was… interesting. He by no means was going to make V a test subject. That wasn’t his place- nor anybody’s for that matter. He just found it so… fascinating how quickly humans aged yet how young they could appear to be. Logan tested a few things once V had arrived, checking outside of the realm every few days to see how the world aged and then checking on V. V was a passive test subject, not fully aware that he was participating in an experiment.

‘Experiment,’ J would kill Logan if he heard him refer to spending time with V as an experiment. Logan quickly realized that calling V anything other than a human was not his place. He found it appropriate considering that V, of course, was sentient and very capable of making his own decisions.

There weren’t many things that Logan didn’t understand. That was his ‘talent’. Apparently his clan- a chorus of very capable and powerful fae- lacked basic understanding in some- most- fields. Logan hated to sound self-conceited but the majority of his clan had… a different type of intelligence to put it lightly. The others had emotional intelligence, Logan had practical intelligence.

He supposed that was why he hadn’t tried to speak to V one-on-one until he had fully acclimated. Humans were very emotional beings. They made decisions and connections based on feelings more than facts. Logan somewhat admired that, it was interesting to see how humans were just so affected by emotions. V was a small example, emotionally attaching himself to J the moment the others were out of the way. J seemed to be far from complaining, happily taking the mortal under his wing.

Perhaps Logan wanted to know what it would be like to take V under his wing. He boiled down the urge to just wanting to study him more. Humans were interesting. Logan had many books about humans in his library- which in itself was very large- but none of them seemed to set out a full picture for him to analyze. Still, he managed to grasp at least a basic understanding.

There were very few things that Logan didn’t understand. He took great pride in that.

LINEBREAK

Logan ate quietly, chiming into the conversation sweeping over the table every so often. Pat had cooked supper that night, just a soup and sandwich. V was still getting used to regular foods and no one was very keen on accidentally triggering a possible allergy.

V sat across the table from Logan, J next to him. The two softly whispered to each other, J occasionally smirking a little bit and glancing up to the others at the table. V picked at his food, taking a bite every minute or so. Logan pursed his lips.

He wished V would eat more- or at least more often. Janus hadn’t gotten him to eat three meals even after a week of trying. When he would get the hang of eating, the boy was seemingly a metaphorical bottomless pit, but until then he seemed to barely be able to stomach even the thinnest broth.

“L?” J asked from over the table, “Would you possibly like to accompany us to tonight’s full moon? I’m aware that you will be staying up to observe it and I do not wish for you to be alone.”

Logan stared at the two across from him, thinking for a moment. His eyes managed to catch V’s for a microsecond, but that was enough for him.

“Of course, I’d be pleased to have you two- um,” Logan looked at his notebook for a moment, “ tag along…?” He looked over to the Prince and waited for his nod before returning his attention to J.

“Wonderful,” J moved his gaze back down to V, leaning down a little to whisper something in his ear. Logan watched as V nodded and picked up his spoon again, eating more of his soup. A loud clink sounded at the other end of the table causing the three of them to jump, the Duke looking over with a guilty look on his face.

“Sorry, Princy here thought it would be a good idea to hit my arm while I was eating.” The Duke sent a teasing glare to his brother, earning an exasperated scoff.

“Since when have you eaten soup with utensils and not just drank it from the bowl?” L asked, his face pinching together.

“I don’t know, I just felt like it today.”

“Sure, you totally weren’t trying to impress- hey!” The Prince’s teasing was cut off by the Duke elbowing him with a newfound smile.

“Kiddos, no play at the table.” Pat hummed before taking a bite of his sandwich. Logan rolled his eyes and stirred his soup.

TIME SKIP

Logan looked up at the sky, a warm hue of deep and dark blues capturing his gaze as he attempted to stare through the stars to see a planet that was supposed to be visible that week. He had a telescope but he preferred to not use it as his eyes had always been quite keen.

The chains on his glasses tickled his cheeks as he tilted his head back. The cold feeling of the quartz and gemstone beads ghosted his cheeks in a faux kiss from the crystals. The stars sparkled and reflected off his lenses, the light glimmering in his eyes.

“I do hope we aren't too late,” A voice- Janus- called as he walked into the field, V close on his heels. Logan tore his gaze away from the sky, shifting to look at the two.

“You need not worry, you haven't missed a thing,” Logan looked to V, “Good evening little one, I'm pleased you wished to join me.”

“Tha-,” V cut himself short, “I am grateful that you allowed my presence.”

“Oh darling, do stop with the formalities. Just relax for a bit, will you, my darling?” Janus rubbed his hand against V’s back smiling when he leaned into the pressure. Logan rolled his eyes at his fellow fae and returned his gaze to the sky.

The stars seemed to glimmer with newfound vigor, sending sharp waves of dark green over the sky that Logan was sure V could not see. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Janus helping the mortal get comfortable, taking off his cloak and folding it carefully before placing it on the ground.

You’re so meticulous with him.

Oh shut it and get on with whatever space tangent you have planned.

Watch your tone, Logan teased, his eyes locking with Janus’s.

Or what?

“You know,” Logan looked at the moon, “The moon, while it appears very white, is actually a soft yellow. Tell me little one, have mortals like you made it to space quite yet?” V blushed and shifted from foot to foot, words getting caught in his throat before he coughed them out.

“No, we haven't. I’m sure if humans went to space we would never believe the stories told by the explorers.” Logan hummed in acknowledgment.

“It’s not often that people truly believe stories, whether or not they are from reliable sources. The stories that I have seen humans believe have been purely nonsensical,” Logan cringed and glanced at V, “No offense intended.”

“None received. I understand why you have only seen examples like that. It’s not like you’re wrong,” V laughed to himself, making the two faes hearts leap and bound, “I’ve heard some… intense stories of my own…” The mood seemed to darken.

Janus and Logan looked between each other, both internally debating whether or not to change the subject. They watched as V slowly sat onto Janus’s coat, brushing his fingertips softly over the grass and its carefully grown ferns and fibers.

“The moon looks so big…” V muttered, letting out a shaky breath. A question begged on his tongue, his eyebrows knitting together. Logan pursed his lips and shrugged off his coat, placing it on the floor below him.

“The moon does tend to appear fairly large on nights like these. It does help that the sky is wonderfully dark tonight- and of course our setting assists in its clarity.”

“If you wish to ask a question, please do so. It would be a pleasure to answer any inquiries you may have.”

“Oh- uh… I was just wondering...” V tilted his head up to look at the sky. His face morphed slowly, unreadable to LOgan as he thought for a long moment before shaking his head.

“It’s alright. I… I’m not sure what I would ask you anyway.”

Logan and Janus exchanged a look over V before Logan nodded his head and glided through the grass to the telescope.

Taking off his glasses, Logan bent down slightly, gripping the body of the tool gently before putting the lens to his eye and closing his other. After a few moments of gently twisting the focus piece, he finally got the telescope to focus on the moon. The surface looked close enough to touch. It felt as if he could pluck the moon from the sky. Logan imagined what it would be like to touch the moon.

Perhaps it would be smooth, rolling gently in his hand leaving a residue of gray and tan in the crevices of his palm. Maybe it would be rough, like a dry ball of fragile mud, its craters leaving indents in his fingers. He knew it was illogical to imagine simply taking the moon from the sky like a berry from a bush, but the hypothetical of the situation was too interesting to ignore.

“Go ahead, ask.” Logan heard a soft encouragement from Janus, a quieter whisper from V attempting to counter it, “Darling, I swear by my honor that he would never be cross over you for wondering.”

Logan stood up straight, turning his head to look at V who was still trying to quietly reason with Janus as to why no he could not ask Logan a question, are you insane?

“If you have something to ask please go ahead little one, I truly do not mind.”

V’s body snapped to look at Logan, a surprised look in his eyes as he took a step back into Janus. He jumped at the feeling of a pair of gloved hands on his back, gently pushing him forward.

“Um- I- um,” V shifted from foot to foot, “Can I… May I use the telescope?”

“Of course! Humans have more… inefficient eyesight if I remember correctly, yes?” Logan asked, stepping to the side. Janus sent him a quick look before lowering his eyes back to the mortal.

“We uh- yeah.” L nodded and gestured down to the telescope, “How do I- where do I look?” V asked, a blush crossing his face.

“Just look through this eyepiece right here with one eye and close the other, if you wish to change the focus just rotate this right here.”

V strode up and hesitantly reached out, gently taking the body of the telescope in his hands with a feather-like touch. Slowly, he bent down to look through the telescope. The sky appeared a brilliant black, the moon radiating light.

Stars twinkled just past the focus, the faint sight of a plant he couldn’t remember the name of to the left of the moon. Perhaps he could ask Lo… Wait. A fist in his chest tightened on his heart as he spent more time looking. He tore himself away from the telescope, a pit of guilt settling in his stomach as he realized the fae were staring at him.

“I didn’t mean to… I apologize if I looked for too long.” V twidled with his hands.

“Oh little one, it’s quite alright. I can’t fault you for wanting to look- I offered after all. If you wish, you can look longer.” Logan reassured, a gentle smile gracing his features before he steeled his features. Despite his attempts at calming V’s worry, he stepped away from the telescope and wandered over to Janus, stepping behind him.

The three eventually grew more comfortable as the night grew darker and the moon posed itself about them. V laid in the grass, blinking up at the twinkling sky with his lips slightly parted. Janus sat on a stump beside V that he insists was there before he tried to down- oh please L, may we just move past it? Logan was busying himself with studying the planet beside the moon. The wind blew intermediately, keeping the three of them cool. A serine calm washed through like a rain shower, seeping deep under Logan’s skin as he scanned the sky.

Time seemed to pass slower in the moment as V slowly closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion built up over weeks of little sleep pull him into a deep pool of serenity.

“Is he asleep?” Logan asked, glancing over to V. Janus looked up from where he was busy sewing up a shirt and looked over V for a moment.

“I believe so.”

“Oh… He looks quite peaceful when sleeping. Younger, perhaps, is an appropriate word.” Logan said, tilting his head slightly as V’s nose scrunched up at the feeling of stray grass brushing against it. Janus hummed in agreement and slowly stood, dusting off his coat and letting out a low breath.

“I feel now may be a good enough time as any to take V to bed. We’re both thankful for you allowing us to take your time,” Janus thanked, bending down to gently place his hand on V’s arm.

He muttered a quiet, darling, may I carry you to your room? Which was followed shortly by a soft hum and V reaching one of his hands to take one of Janus’s in an attempt to sit up.

Logan watched, his heart aching with something he wished he knew how to identify, as Janus helped V stand and subsequently swept him up and carefully carried him. Janus draped his cloak over V as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head before beginning to walk away towards the path. Logan took in a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a long moment.

Perhaps it was an appropriate time for him to turn in for the night as well.

TIME SKIP

V cursed quietly under his breath, falling forward slightly as he reached for the top of a cabinet. His attempts to reach the cups always seemed to be fruitless as he would eventually either have to climb up onto the counter or wait for a fae to wander into the kitchen and offer to get a cup down for him.

“If you would like some assistance I’m more than happy to-”

“HOLY FUCK-” V stumbled back, falling flat on his ass with a plop that made his head hurt.

“I apologize for startling you, that was not my intention,” Logan said from the doorway. At some point, he had entered the room, and V, somehow despite his typically sharp sense of perception had missed his entry.

“It’s fine,” V pushed himself up, rubbing his temples and the space above his eyebrows gently, “and… Yes, I would like some help.”

Logan strode gracefully across the kitchen and effortlessly took a pair of glasses from the shelf, handing one to V and placing his own on the counter below. He chose to ignore when V muttered under his breath, “Stupid fae and their stupidly long arms- not fair.” Logan let out a soft breath, a smile twisting at his lips at the comment.

“Would you like some tea? I always seem to make more than needed.” That was a… slight lie. Logan always made extra in case any of the others- more notably J- may like a cup. He was always more than happy to share with his friends.

“I, um… Sure?” V shrugged as he reached up once more and grabbed one of the far more accessible plates before pausing and taking down a second one.

The two worked separately; Logan boiling the water before placing in the tea leaves to steep, V buttering two buns before placing them on their respective plates. Logan hummed in satisfaction as he strained the tea and added a little bit of honey to both cups.

As domestic and comfortable as the energy of the room was, V couldn’t shake the tense feeling of his shoulders being hunched. He was so frustrated that he couldn’t just relax. He knew he was safe… didn’t he?

“Here you go. I hope you enjoy it, though it is alright if you don’t fancy the flavor,” Logan gently placed V’s glass in front of him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, uh, here.” V slid one of the plates to the side, catching Logan by surprise.

“Little one, you didn’t have to.”

“I-... I wanted to. It felt right.” V interrupted, his shoulders tense as he awaited Logan’s reaction.

“Well then, I appreciate your kindness. I do quite enjoy these buns, to be honest,” Logan carefully picked up the plate, “I wish to eat with you if you are alright with that.”

“Yes- Yes, of course.”

V followed Logan as he wandered through the off door of the kitchen, entering the dining room beside him. The two sat down quietly next to each other, looking up every so often to acknowledge when a new fae would enter the room. The Prince and Duke simply bowed and took their respective spots across from the two. Pat waved excitedly and sat beside the Prince. J raised an eyebrow and moved to sit next to V, dropping a biscuit on his plate with a throwaway remark about how he should be eating more.

“V?” Logan asked as he placed his glass on top of his plate, scooting his chair back.

“Yes?”

“Would you perhaps like to join me tonight to study the moon again?”

“... Sure.”

LINEBREAK

It quickly became a routine for Logan and V- and Janus of course- to go watch the stars together at least once a week. Not that the routine had been happening for a while. They really wouldn’t interact much during the time they would spend out in the field, instead favoring observing the sky in silence.

After about a month the three had grown comfortable enough to share casual conversation. Sometimes Logan or Janus would tell a story about the fae, V always captivated by their colorful language and unusual tales. Not once though had V spoken a story of his own, though neither of the fae were making a living attempt to get him to do so.

Sometimes V would get so close to sharing a story before he would catch himself and quickly change the subject, tensing up after. Maybe, he thought, he should tell them something- anything really. He felt that they deserved to know something, even if V knew damn well that they were not going to like what they hear.

LINEBREAK

Logan had expected neither J nor V to come to visit him that evening. The two of them had had a long day, busy with things that Logan had decided were none of his business to know. It truly wasn’t his business, but when he saw the two of them at supper, their exhausted and slightly sad demeanors throwing off the entire table.

As much as Logan wished to check in on the two’s health, he figured that perhaps with how closed off they were it was best to leave them be. Even if the bags under their eyes made his heart ache.

While he knew well that J and V needed sleep, he did feel rather lonely at the moment. The lack of a questioning remark or warm body to simply spend the hours with left Logan feeling forlorn. He debated for a moment possibly waking Pat or even one of the twins before simply sighing and looking back down at his notebook to return to his sky mapping.

The wind blew harder that night, an occasional clear-skyed drizzle of dew dropping every once in a while. Logan could feel the tall grass bush its gentle bristles against his ankles, tickling the skin like a kiss from nature.

Logan cursed under his breath as he dotted incorrectly, only waiting a moment before using his magic to clear the ink from the page. His perfectionism never ceased he supposed.

A soft sniffle sounded a few meters away from Logan, him pausing his writing in curiosity. After a few moments of silence, he shook his head and resumed his work. Just as his pen touched the page a shaky exhale echoed closer to him, the soft brushing of grass and ferns rubbing against fabric trekking closer.

He raised his head to the sound and was shocked to find eye contact with none other than V. He assessed his body for a moment, taking in the tear tracks and red friction rashes that painted V’s face.

“Are you alright?” Logan found himself asking. V shrugged in response and shifted from foot to foot. Logan bit his lip and thought for a moment, glancing around the stargazing space.

“Do you perhaps wish to stay with me?” V nodded, hesitating before walking forward and stopping only a few feet away from Logan. Logan shrugged off his coat and shook it out before handing it carefully to V, smiling gently when he took it with a grateful nod.

V managed to settle on a dry patch of dirt- Logan refused to admit that he used his magic just for him to sit. V took the coat and wrapped it around his shoulders, holding the hands with a white-knuckled grip.

“Would you like to speak of what ails you?” Logan gently kneeled down as to not tower over the mortal.

V gazed up at him, the light behind his eyes morphic as if his soul were aching to tell him what was wrong. To Logan’s dismay, V broke their eye contact to look down at a flower, shaking his head just the smallest bit.

“‘Jus don’ wanna be alone,” V’s voice quavered, “Please?”

A sharp spike of pain shot its way through Logan’s heart. V’s shoulders trembled, him flinching when Logan reached forward before retracting his hand and shuffling to sit next to V.

“I won’t leave, I promise- it’s alright,” Logan soothed, keeping his eyes on the human for a few moments before tearing his gaze away. V spared a few glances to his side before slouching and allowing his body to relax.

The two sat in silence, the sky eventually recapturing Logan’s attention- though a part of him stayed focused on V’s presence. He glanced over to V for a moment before pulling his notebook out again and attempting to pick up where he had left off.

Out of the corner of Logan’s eye, he could see V staring down at the journal. He tilted his notebook towards V so he could see the drawing better while carefully drawing a faint line against the parchment, connecting two stars.

“Would you be interested in listening to my ramblings?” Logan asked with a gentle hum. V blinked up at him before nodding and scooting a bit closer.

“It’s easy to see the sky this time of year, I usually take the time to map the sky in this weather. You see,” Logan flipped the pages, showcasing a few very slightly different maps, “I do this once a month- I started this a few centuries ago. The earth orbits oh so slightly around the sun every day, changing the sky in such a way that you can practically never get the same image of the stars twice.

“Look here- This constellation, Taurus, is visible this time of year. If you look at the moon at the moment, the brightest star in the constellation, Aldebaran, is positioned close to the bottom left. Do you see it?” V nodded while looking to the sky. Logan smiled at the way the stars seemed to sparkle in his eyes, a newfound smile gracing V’s lips.

Logan continued to sketch and explain what each line meant, on occasion directing V’s gaze to a specific star or constellation. About an hour into their shared time, Logan felt the mortal lean his head against his shoulder, his eyes half-lidded and tired before fluttering closed. Logan smiled softly at the feeling of V’s warm body beside his. His lips tingled in a way he couldn’t make sense of. Logan turned his head and gently place a kiss on V’s forehead, resting his lips on the skin for a long moment before returning to quietly writing.

His chest burst with flurries of stardust and bliss. Later that evening Logan would have to scoop V up and take him back to his room, but for now to bask in the feeling of V beside him.

TIME SKIP

The following week, V seemed to open up more. While the emotion and nerves seemed to exhaust him by the end of the day, he still managed to spend the nights of the week out with Logan and Janus to watch the meteor shower.

“Did you know meteor showers are also referred to as shooting stars or star showers?” Logan tipped. V smiled and raised his eyebrows.

“Really? Well- I like star shower more than meteor shower. It sounds… Prettier.” He justified, Janus and Logan nodding in agreement. V shifted his gaze between the two fae before directing his gaze to the sky with wistful bliss coating his body.

“How do you just… know this stuff?”

“Humans haven’t discovered much of space- or any of it from what I’ve observed. But fae are a bit more… advanced than humans.” Logan explained, cringing slightly at his own wording.

“... Like with their eyesight?” V asked, not looking away from the stars. Logan sent him a small smile.

“Yes, you’re doing a wonderful job.” Janus nodded to Logan, giving him quiet praise of his own. V paused, his face morphing between expressions before he looked to the side, away from the fae. Janus looked over at the two from where he was standing, raising an eyebrow at V.

“Is there anything wrong, darling?” He asked. V’s eyes glanced over to the fae before snapping back to the sky.

“I… Space is…” He groaned and brought his hands to his face.

“Take your time little one.” Logan gently lifted V’s hand from his face, brushing his thumb over his knuckles. The touch was less to make sure that V didn’t hurt himself in his efforts to find words, more to just… touch him. Logan couldn’t explain to anyone why he felt such an urge to touch and pamper the mortal but he found he couldn’t find the need to.

“Space is big. I… Don’t know if I like it or not,” He continued, sighing before looking up again, “Space is big and… and scary and-” A few beats of silence passed before Janus frowned and strode over, kneeling in front of V and taking his chin gently in his hand.

“You’re leaving something out darling. It’s alright if you wish to tell us. We are more than happy to listen.” He hummed with a gentleness Logan wasn’t fully aware Janus was capable of- that didn’t mean he was surprised.

“It just… it reminds me of when I lived in my town.” The air immediately went stale.

“I wouldn’t- They wouldn’t let me in some nights. Some nights it was cold, others it was just dark, sometimes it was both. I… I hated it. Space wasn’t nice then- there was never enough light those days. It was like even the sky didn’t want anything to do with me…” V blinked blankly into space.

“I remember- the day I decided I was going to leave I was locked out. I already knew I was going to be but it still hurt. Someone had lit a bonfire at some point and I- I thought I was going to get burned again-” the fae’s blood boiled deep in their veins at how casually V uttered such abuse, “-so I just… planned in my head. I know there basically no going back. I’m… I’m alright with that. They don’t want me there anyway.”

V laughed at himself, tears springing into his eyes, “I’m not even sure I’m wanted here.”

A pang shot its way through Janus and Logan’s hearts as V tried to curl into himself. Janus reached carefully forward and cupped V’s cheeks in his hands, brushing his fingers against his cheekbones. Logan sat frozen as he tried to remember what the hell he’s supposed to do in these situations. Gods, human psychology books are hard to come by- let alone reliable books.

Logan swiped his thumbs against the backs of V’s hands, his throat bubbling as Janus cooed and soothed the mortal. V shook and tightened his grip on Logan’s hands.

“I don’t- I don’t know why I didn’t leave sooner. They wanted me to leave or- or die, or-” Janus hushed him softly, wiping away V’s tears as his voice was torn away from him. Logan looked up to Janus, silently begging for him to tell him to do something to help. He was answered with a glance of panic equal to his own

V let out a surprisingly quiet sob. Logan reached behind him and rubbed his back, his chest heavy with the need to hold him. Janus sighed sadly and reached his hands around V’s back pulling him forward to rest his forehead against Janus’s chest.

“Oh darling, it’s alright. Let go little one, we have you.” V took his now free hand and gripped tightly at Janus’s cloak, burying his face in his shirt. Janus wrapped one hand around his waist and buried his other hand in V’s hair.

“Take a deep breath starlight, breathe in- good,” Logan praised as V took in a deep shaky breath before wheezing it out and continuing to heave, “Come on little one. Look at me for a moment- just a moment.”

V turned his head, his red-tinted eyes meeting Logan’s, the tears seemingly never-ending. Logan reached the hand that was on V’s back up and gently took the hand V had on Janus’s chest into his own. He carefully pulled V’s hand towards his own chest, exaggerating his breathing. Janus watched the movements with understanding before beginning to move his hand in V’s hair.

“Darling, can you breathe with L? Can you do that dear?” Janus hummed while looking down at V. He nodded shakily and squeezed Logan’s hand a few times before attempting to follow his breathing.

Every so often V would space out and forget to breathe out but one of the fae would simply tighten their respective grips on him to grab his attention. After several failed attempts and gentle reassurances, the fae managed to get V’s breathing under control.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked, removing his arm from around V to allow him to move away. The mortal looked up with tired eyes before nodding and mouthing a reassurance voicelessly. He stood slowly, tugging his hands away from Logan and hugging himself at the sudden cold fire that burned his skin.

“I’m… gonna go to bed…”

“Would you mind us walking with you?” Logan stood up, brushing off the dust from his knees. V hesitated, biting his lip before slowly nodding. Only a moment later Janus was at his feet and the three began walking to the clearing.

The forest glowed with a strange aura of worry. As V walked ahead, leaves brushed against his arms as if the forest was trying to comfort him. After the practically silent trek to his room, he quickly reached for the door handle and twisted it.

“Wait!” Janus called, stepping forward quickly and took off his cloak, folding it and handing it to V, “If you start to feel lonely call for me darling.” Janus bent down slightly and pressed a kiss to V’s forehead. V gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and opened his door, holding the cloak close to him as he stepped through the gateway and closed it behind him.

Tension hung heavy in the air as the fae stared at the door, processing whatever the hell had happened in the past hour. Logan looked to Janus and clapped his mouth open and closed, words failing him at the moment. J sighed, fixing his hair and rubbing at his temples.

“I need some tea.”

TIME SKIP

“J, would you please calm down?”

“Calm down? Calm down?! L, you’re just as enraged as I am- don’t even try to hide it! That was completely unacceptable!” Janus ranted, pacing back and forth.

Logan let out a shaky sigh and flexed his fingers, sparks of magic popping aggressively under his skin. The rational part of Logan wanted to take a deep breath and talk about what had just occurred. The irrational part of him wanted to set something on fucking fire.

Rationality in any tense situation- and somehow it felt especially a situation under these circumstances- was hard to come by. Logan just so happened to have the eternal label of ‘voice of reason’.

“I am angry J, but perhaps now is not the time to… express that anger,” Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I have the feeling that we haven't even scratched the surface of his trauma.”

“And that's supposed to be comforting information?” Janus asked, sending a glare to the other fae. Logan sighed and sent a twin glare back.

“Well you see, I’m not the one who is known to provide comfort .” He bit.

“Yeah- sure, says the one who just comforted V.”

“This isn't-” Logan cut himself off, closing his eyes and breathing deeply? “This isn't the same thing- and this isn't helping. We're just getting angry at each other. At this rate, we aren't going to get anywhere with this new information.”

Janus sat down in a chair that they had brought from the dining room, slouching before burying his face in his hands with a heavy sigh. Logan pursed his lips and turned around to the now whistling kettle, pouring the boiling water in two teacups and placing a tea strainer in each cup to steep. He gripped the counter, closing his eyes for a moment to just think.

What should he do in this situation- gods what would anyone do in this situation? This wasn’t Logan’s field. It’s a damn miracle that he even got V to calm down! Humans are so... so complicated, and Logan couldn’t understand how they worked- let alone the topic of emotions and how those worked with humans.

Logan's eyes focused on the now gold-tinted water in front of him, his hands suddenly scrambling to take out the loose tea to put in bowl to the side. He spooned in honey and placed the tea cups on matching saucers, breathing slowly as he did so.

“Here,” Logan said as he turned around, carefully handing a plate to Janus before returning to his place against the counter.

“I… I appreciate your kindness. I regret my wrath, you weren’t deserving of that.” Janus looked to the floor, shame shining faintly in his eyes.

“It’s quite alright, I too was acting inappropriately,” Logan took a sip of his tea, letting the warm sweetness of the chamomile coat his tongue, “While our rage is fitting, now does not seem to be the time to apply such a harsh emotion. We have to discuss what we must do with what we now know.” Janus smirked over his cup, swallowing a bit of his drink.

“Right back to business as usual my dear,” He teased. Logan rolled his eyes, hiding his own smile as he looked to his shoes.

“While the tone change is very welcome, I would like to make a few suggestions as to what we can do as precautions.” And as quick as the light air had come, it was washed out and replaced with a serious fog.

“Do share.”

“Well, to start,” Logan wandered to his seat, placing his saucer and cup on his flat lap, “We should make a plan on how to handle breakdowns such as this and share it with the others. Neither of us would like to see what would become of a situation where one or more of us do not know how to calm down V.

“Second, we need to make plans on how to ease into conversations like that with V. Clearly the abruptness of the conversation did not aid in his panic. Third, we have to tread lightly around him for the next few days. Perhaps-”

“On the contrary, I feel he may be more distressed if he changed our body language over the next few days. He seems to be more comfortable with how we act currently over how we would behave if we were to walk on eggshells around him.” Janus explained.

“Why would we walk on eggshells-”

“Just a figure of speech dear.” A fond smile quirked J’s lips, the taller fae blinking at him as he processed the words.

“Oh- alright, so what are we to do in order to make him more comfortable?”

“Just… behave regularly. Perhaps ask the twins to hold off their activities for a day or two.” Logan nodded, bringing his cup to his lips.

“Nothing more to suggest from me, is there anything else you wish to say?” Logan asked, sipping his tea. Janus got a chaotic glint in his eye before he looked to his tea, stirring it gently.

“You spilled tea on your tunic?”

“I did?,” Logan looked down, scowling when his eyes met a yellow-ish stain, “ Damn!”

TIME SKIP

When V walked into the kitchen the next day, Pat had left a plate on the counter covered with a damp cloth and bowl to keep the food warm. It wasn’t anything V could note as eventful, but the thought still managed to calm what tension he had woken up with.

As he wandered into the dining room, he noticed Logan sitting in his usual seat, reading a book with a plate of crumbs in front of him. Janus stood on the other side of the room, tending to a line of herbs outside of a ‘window’ (V had found that the window was simply a projection, not exactly real but not exactly fake. He couldn’t wrap his head around it but he decided that it made sense.)

Logan peeked up from his book, sensing V’s presence in the room. He smiled gently up at him before taking a hand off of his book and carefully pulling out a chair beside him. V moved quickly to sit in the chair and placing his plate on the table.

“Good afternoon little one,” Logan greeted, causing Janus to look up sharply with hopeful eyes. Once he had spotted V, he softened his expression and took off his gloves, placing them on the windowsill before walking over to the two at the table.

“It’s hardly the afternoon dear- good morning darling, how was your sleep?” Janus asked, lifting V’s head before ruffling his hair fondly.

“I slept alright, nothing notable.” V lied through his teeth, both the fae in the room internally cringing at the taste it left in their mouths. Janus sent Logan a look.

Should we?

No, not yet. One day, but not now. We’ll get there eventually. Let's just… enjoy the morning while it’s here.

Logan couldn’t object. Especially when V appeared so comfortable in his seat eating his breakfast. He allowed his focus to drift back to his reading as Janus returned to his work.

LINEBREAK

Logan was still struggling to grasp how to handle V’s mental health- not for lack of trying. Emotions had never been and he supposed would never be his strong suit. He had asked Pat for assistance on how he could help V cope with his trauma, but he didn’t get much of an answer- Pat didn’t quite understand how humans worked either. His empathy though- when in tense situations- had always been admirable.

He found it scare, not being able to understand. His heart ached with the need to understand, sharp spikes of pain slicing through his chest whenever he would see V tense and shy away from touch he very obviously needed. It scared Logan to know he didn’t understand how to help, or what he was feeling, or why he was so damn protective over V.

Logan felt something for the human. Something he didn’t dare call devotion. Something he didn’t dare call love. He didn’t understand how he could feel such things- such trivial, sporadic, terrifying things.

Janus had suggested in a late-night exchange of quips and tea that perhaps Logan just cared for V. Logan… couldn’t object. Caring was easier than loving- and as Janus pointed out that Logan adamantly ignored, loving caring a were possible to do simultaneously.

Logan preferred to simply care because he understood what it was to do so. There was security in understanding. Logan would call whatever he felt for V simply caring if he understood it- if he felt secure in his words.

Security and understanding were when V seemed to need in dire situations. Logan could provide that. Truly, he would provide anything V needed if he so asked- even if he would never admit it to save his pride.

Logan cared for V- that was enough for him to understand. That was enough for him to feel safe in his thoughts. Enough for him to know he would keep V safe. Caring was enough.

Taglist: @i-read-by-lamp

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 6: Enter Lucien Flavius

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 6: Enter Lucien Flavius by C_R_Scott Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary: Tim returns to Riverwood before attempting to trek to Bleak Falls Barrows. However, instead of gathering supplies to prepare for his assignment, he ends up picking up a companion.

(NOTE: I'm in the process of reblogging the initial chapters of this story because, for some reason, Tumblr won't let me edit the earlier versions that I created using the Tumblr app on my phone. I'm also in the process of creating a masterlist for this series)

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The next morning, after spending the evening at the Bannered Mare Inn in Whiterun and visiting the apothecary to pick up some salve for his burns, Tim reversed his journey back to Riverwood. As he walked, he thought about something the woman in the apothecary shop said as he made his purchase that morning.

***

"A severe lingering wound like that really needs to be looked at by someone with skills in healing arts. The damage is deep and basic healing potions aren't going to be strong enough to heal it completely. Perhaps if I had some stronger ingredients I could brew up a potion powerful enough to fix this, but I don't have any in stock," the elderly alchemist Arcadia said with concern. "There's a temple of Kynareth up the steps in the Cloud District.  It would take a few days, but my friend Danica and her apprentice could heal that completely for you."

Tim had sighed and shaken his head. "I wish I could, but the Jarl's given me an assignment that needs to be completed as soon as possible. I don't have a few days to spare." At the even more concerned look Arcadia gave him, one that was very similar to the kind Alfred used to give him when he'd overwork himself, Tim relented. "When I complete the Jarl's task and return to Whiterun, I promise I'll visit the temple."

***

The salve Arcadia gave him would ease some of the pain and prevent the burn from becoming infected, but it wouldn't heal the wound outright, and she was insistent he visit the temple as soon as he returned to Whiterun. Tim wished he could have taken some time to do this, but Balgruuf was right. With that dragon on the loose, the Jarl and his wizard needed as much information as they could get to protect the people of the hold.

Besides... He was used to working while injured. It almost felt... normal.

What wasn't normal was how little money he now had. The medicine, though necessary, had eaten up nearly all the Septims he had leftover after his night the Bannered Mare Inn. With a deepening sense of dread, Tim realized he couldn't remember ever being so broke before. It was an unsettling anxious feeling that he really didn't like. Is this what it was like for people who had to live paycheck to paycheck, just one medical disaster away from financial ruin? Is this what it felt like to be forced to work on a job not just out of a sense of duty or responsibility, but because if you didn't you'd have to potentially starve or be homeless?

***

"Ah! Good to see you again!" a friendly voice shook Tim from his thoughts. Apparently, while lost in his thoughts on his journey to Riverwood, he'd entered a sort of autopilot and hadn't been aware of how far he'd travelled. He glanced up, startled, to see he was already on the bridge entering Riverwood. He glanced at the sky, noting the color of twilight and the few stars starting to peak out across the expanse. Then he turned to the voice, which belonged to Gerdur. 

"Oh. Hello," Tim said.

The blonde Nord woman smiled. "I see that your meeting with Balgruuf went well," she said as she walked over to meet Tim at the gate leading into the town. "The guards from Whiterun just arrived a few hours ago and set up camp on the other end of town. They're already patrolling the area between here and Helgen. Thank you so much for seeing the Jarl for us."

Tim smiled as well. "If it makes Riverwood safer, I'm glad to have been able to help."

Gerdur inclined her head toward the Sleeping Giant Inn. "Come on, let me treat you to a meal and some mead.  I'm meeting my husband Hod there, and we would love to hear about how things went with the Jarl over a pint or two."

By reflex, Tim almost declined. But he swiftly remember his current financial state and, of course, he didn't want to be rude to Gerdur. "A meal and some mead sounds wonderful. Lead the way."

***

Because Riverwood was such a small town, news apparently travelled like wildfire among the townsfolks. As Tim settled in at the Sleeping Giant Inn, he had folks coming by every few minutes to thank him for speaking with Jarl Balgruff and sending the guards. So many people were offering to buy him drinks he just couldn't physically consume that the owner of the Inn, a woman named Delphine, actually set up a tab for him that she allowed the citizens of Riverwood to pay into. In the end, as long as he was in Riverwood, Tim would't have to worry about food or drink for a good week at least. 

"So the Jarl's mage wants you to fetch something from Bleak Falls Barrow?" Hod, Gurder's husband, asked curiously. 

Tim nodded. "Something called a Dragonstone. Have you or anyone else heard of it?"

Gerdur shook her head. "I've lived beneath the shadow of the Barrow nearly my entire life and I've never heard of such a thing."

"What is the Barrow anyways?" Tim asked.

"I forget you're not from Skyrim," Gerdur started. "Back in ancient times, during the Merethic Era, when there was a cult who worshipped dragons instead of the Nine Divine, Bleak Falls Barrow used to be both a temple for them to worship and a place to bury their dead. Of course, now there is no Dragon Cult, and the Barrow are ruins. However, a dark magic lingers in that place, and rumor has it that the halls of the Barrow are still walked by the restless dead, forced to serve their ancient dragon cult masters even now."

"So dragons, magic, and zombies... great..." Tim muttered sullenly into his mug of ale before draining the last bit of it. 

Hod regarded Tim with concern. "Are you sure you want to go to the Barrow? Last we saw you, you weren't in the best of shape after Helgen."

Tim force a reassuring smile. "I'm fine now. I visited Arcadia in Whiterun and she gave me some medicine. Nothing to worry about."

Hod breathed a small sigh of relief. "That's good. Even a healthy warrior visiting the Barrow would find exploring that accursed place a challenge." 

***

Gerdur and her husband lingered a bit longer at the inn with Tim. But as the hour grew late, they rose to leave. Being woodcutters, their day started early. "Make sure you come to our home after you're done here," Gerdur insisted. "Don't go wasting your coin on the inn for the night."

"Of course. I won't be much longer. Just want to finish this pint."

By now most of the patrons of the inn had gone, and once Hod and Gerdur left, there were just one or two left. Tim's smile faded as he stared into mug.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered to himself.

"Excuse me, sir. I don't normally do this, but... erm... have you got a moment to talk?"

Tim barely heard the footsteps approaching him, but he did notice when a stranger took a seat on the bench next to him where Hod had been just a short time before. Tim glanced at the man. He clearly wasn't a Nord. The accent was more... British, and he wore clothing that clearly spoke of someone with money. It confused Tim and immediately put him on guard. "I might," Tim responded cooly before feigning taking a sip from his mug.

The stranger smiled. "Marvelous. My name is Lucien Flavius. I'm a scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and something of a musician, though I supposed that's more of a hobby..."

Tim narrowed his brows as he stared hard at Lucien, silently willing him to please get to the point. 

Lucien appeared to get the hint. "Ah- I couldn't help overhearing that you are going to be making a trip up to the Bleak Falls Barrows in the morning."

"I might... What is it to you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm here in Skyrim on an expedition - academic mainly. I'm currently employed as a researcher for a new museum based out of Solitude. I was sent to this region on a few errands, and one of them is investigating those same Barrows. I'm to investigate the ruins and determine if they're of enough significant archaeological importance to fund a fully manned excavation into it.

"Alas, when I got here, I found out that in addition to the Barrow being crawling with Draugr, the outer area around the ruins has become the infested with bandits. 

"Trouble is, I'm really not much of a fighter. I know a few spells and can just about swing a sword, but beyond that I'm pretty useless in combat. Skyrim's no place for a... 'milk drinker' like me - not on my own anyway. So I'm looking for someone to travel with. 

"My original plan was to make my way to Whiterun in the morning and hire a mercenary to escort me through the Barrow, but since you're already heading that way, perhaps I could tag along with you instead? It would save me a couple of days of travel between here and Whiterun."

Tim began to shake his head. "It wouldn't be safe--"

"I will, of course, compensate you most handsomely for putting up with me."

"Really, Lucien, I don't think--"

"Would three hundred Septims up front be enough?"

Tim was so startled by the amount he couldn't mask his wide eyed look of surprise and his protest against Lucien seemed to be cut off at the knees. Sensing a crack in the young man's resolve, the scholar pushed forward, sweetening the pot even further as he pulled out a bag bulging with coin and set it on the table between them.

"Here. You can have this now. After that, I'll top you up every time we come across something useful to my research. This is all at your discretion, of course. No obligations, save that you take me with you, and assist in keeping me alive wherever possible."

He wanted to say no. Tim wanted to push the bag of coins away and encourage the scholar to go to Whiterun and hire a proper mercenary to keep him safe. It would be better for him that way. However...

"I suppose we have a deal," Tim finally relented with a sigh as he picked up the bag of coins and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand.

Lucien's face lit up. "Oh, splendid! This is going to be quite the adventure!"

  -------------------------

NOTE: Lucien Flavius is an original character Joseph Russell that can be downloaded and added to your Skyrim game as an immersive, fully voiced unique follower.

(https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/20035)

Normally, you would find him in the inn of a different town, but I've made some adjustments in this story so that Tim meets him w/out going there. In this story, Lucien is a scholar working for a special new museum based out of Solitude (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/11802) and he's actually on the "relic hunter" initial storyline that comes if you use the "Alternate Start - Live Another Life" mod where your main character chooses to go to Solitude via ship and you have a life where you are a relic hunter invited by the museum's curator to Skyrim (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/272).

[itsthejuggernautbitch]

Of All the Stars, the Fairest - Chapter 2

Pairing: Nebula/Original Female Character

Summary: After being captured by the Sovereign for stealing Anulax batteries, Nebula expected to be handed over to the Nova Corp. and transported to the cell where she’d likely spend the rest of her life (until she could break out, that is). If she’s learned anything in her life, it’s that nothing ever goes as expected.

Chapter 2: Gold Dust Woman

Author’s Note: It’s a tragedy there’s not more for Nebula. Let’s fix that.

Also, not to be that bitch, but this is on Ao3 now. I would very much appreciate kudos/comments, if you’re so inclined!

Part 1

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Nebula had been stuck in the Sovereign prison for nearly a month - a month of being constantly hounded and monitored by these unnecessarily shiny people, of barely moving save to walk from her bed to the bathroom, of being mostly alone with her thoughts. It wasn't the worst prison she could have been stuck in by far (it was relatively cushy compared to Kree prisons or even the Nova Corps. facilities). Nevertheless, prison is prison and confinement is confinement. And Nebula was fucking tired of being stuck in there.

She could have broken out, but the only viable exit was through the holding cell door. She'd observed as much of the facility as she could from her cell and the guarded walks to the showers. The vents were too small to squeeze through, and she'd been warned an outright attempt to break down the wall would be met with an electric shock that could fry her wiring. Preventative measures, she'd been told, constructed specifically for potential prisoners of her caliber.

Nebula was sure she could take any of the guards without issue if she broke directly through the holding door, although it would be messy and nearly impossible to find a way off the planet if she tried. The guards who captured her put a hood over her eyes when they offloaded her from the ship, so she couldn't be sure where she was in relation to the docking bay. She didn't much care for the idea of stumbling blindly through enemy territory, fighting off guards and fumbling around for a key she would never find. She could at least take comfort in knowing they wouldn't be able to overcome her physically, one-on-one (the tasers were a different story - that's how they captured her in the first place).

Well, she could take most of the guards anyway, with the exception of the woman who guarded her at night. That one seemed more capable than the rest; she was calm and collected, corded with lithe muscle, with an attitude that screamed she was born to be in charge. Simply a different caliber than the rest. Although, her existence could mean there were more guards of her caliber, but Nebula sincerely doubted it. Only the most capable were put in charge in places like the Sovereign, and they bred their citizens to precise biological specifications. It was unlikely she'd face a tougher opponent.

Chief V'Syeth. Ilana. Kindness was unheard of where prison guards were concerned, but she appeared to break that mold. She actually spoke to Nebula, unlike the other guards who stuck up their noses at practically everything. She made a point to bring Nebula food, to order the subservient guards to bring her a change of clothes, to order them transport her to the washroom. She tried to lead by example, it seemed, in treating Nebula humanely. Nebula could begrudgingly appreciate her efforts; any semblance of kindness in situations like hers was unheard of. Eventually, Nebula had started to respond to her when she spoke.

For most of her life, Nebula had considered kindness a weakness. This woman, the Chief, was obviously not weak. Her soldiers gave her sass, but nevertheless obeyed her without question. Not once had Nebula seen a guard shirk their duty or take a shortcut, even when she wasn't around. She'd noticed that over the course of the month, the guards had been steadfastly firm but noticeably more hospitable in the wake of the Chief's continued politeness. By setting the example, they’d all followed along.

It could have been almost respectable, if Nebula wasn’t being jailed.

If the Nova Corps. would just come get her already, she could break free. She had a plan already in place. She knew their ships and movements well enough to make a hasty escape - she could probably commandeer a transport pod if she time it right.

“Planning your escape again, Nebula?”

Ilana. She said it so smoothly, like she was only joking. What Nebula could see of her from this angle (behind) would indicate that was the case. She didn’t answer, but the silence was enough.

“Me, too.”

And there it was: the quiet words. Ilana said them out loud only to herself, but Nebula got the feeling they were meant for her to hear as well. The Chief had been doing this more and more often as of late, and it seemed the longer Nebula was confined, the twitchier the Chief got. Was she waiting for Nebula to make an escape attempt? Was she just looking for a challenge?

Something told her no.

“You say that,” Nebula said. She hardly recognized the rasp of her own voice as it reverberated off the cell walls. “Seems pretty cushy here to me.”

“You’re correct. It is.”

“Then why escape?”

Ilana looked over her shoulder, hardly more than a fleeting glance. She had an elegant profile, glittering and gold. “I am Chief Guard to Her Majesty, High Priestess Ayesha. I was bred to fight, to lead, to win. Yet I suspect I am purely decorative.”

“Not bad for decoration.”

Nebula smirked, looking down at her shoes when the Chief turned to look at her again. Why not have a little fun? She wouldn’t be getting out of here anytime soon, not at this rate. The Nova Corps. was still working on rebuilding its fleet, so there was no chance of grabbing a ship. Apparently, Gamora hadn’t found her yet either. And there was definitely no way out of this cell, short of fighting her way out of the Sovereign compound. She’d checked for every single weakness on her transports and found none.

The Chief, for all her goodwill, would absolutely know she couldn’t make a break for it. For all her leniency, there was no way out of this compound without significant loss to everyone - it was a level of brazen Nebula had rarely seen in places like this, especially where she was concerned. 

Nebula was a little impressed, actually.

The Chief snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Nebula.”

Wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun, right? Nebula could admit she was enjoying it, too.

“Worth a try.”

“Behave,” Ilana said, turning back to her usual stance. 

As far as jailers went, the Chief wasn’t bad company. She was quiet most of the time, but she would talk if she got bored. Nebula didn’t answer most of the time - the Chief wasn’t talking for conversation. In fact, Nebula had no desire to answer, save for the most basic questions. And, yes, to flirt and needle at her just a bit. 

And though Nebula would never allow herself to admit it, the Chief carried an intensity, an air, that drew Nebula to her like a particularly dangerous flame. What an unfortunate place to be caught: between the need to escape and the desire to take the Chief with her. Perhaps she’d do both, when the time came.

-----

Ilana left her shift that morning long after Nebula had drifted off to sleep. She had just enough time to bathe and rest and dress for her day with Ayesha.

The longer she remained as Nebula's guard, the more annoyed she became with her usual position. At least standing guard over Nebula carried the underlying threat that she might have to actually contain the girl if she tried to break out. Standing next to Ayesha meant she had to listen to diplomats argue or reports from other guards or Ayesha's orders. She liked the possibility of excitement that came with playing guard.

And she could admit she liked Nebula.

Nebula didn't speak often and rarely answered her questions, but Ilana had gotten her to hold a conversation a handful of times. Her questions started as an attempt to get some answers out of her, but Nebula knew what she was doing. She kept quiet the first couple of weeks, but finally, finally, she admitted why she'd stolen the batteries - and asked Ilana not to pass it along.

Ilana hadn't said a word. Ayesha would already know anyway.

She slogged through her day much the same as always: standing at attention, spear held high, hanging off of Ayesha’s hip, and giving so very few shits about the whole ordeal. She listened to the Admiral give his usual report, an update from the Nova Corps. (It still didn’t have enough ships to spare to come get Nebula.) The Architect was next, then the Lead Scientist, all the way down the line of hierarchy through the usual rounds. And then, at the very last minute, her day got much more interesting.

The General stepped forward to make his report. Usually, his report was just like everyone else’s: uninteresting and unrelated to her. Today, though, he had something to say.

“Early this morning, a creature emerged from the universal tear we’ve been monitoring near the Anulax battery factory. It appears to feed on them.”

Ayesha sighed. She, too, was tired of listening to the reports. “And what have you done to deal with this creature?”

The General poked his tablet screen and cast a hologram of the creature. “Of course, this isn’t something we’d have our own people deal with, and the Nova Corps. is still rebuilding. We contacted a team of bounty hunters to deal with the creature. They should be arriving shortly.”

“Are they trustworthy?”

The General swiped to show a hologram of the team. “They call themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

“And how many units have they requested for payment?”

“No units,” The General replied. He swiped his tablet again, this time to a hologram of Nebula. “They’ve requested the prisoner as payment.”

Until then, Ilana had been half-listening. Of course, she needed to know if a threat might affect Ayesha in some way (it never did), so she listened on principle. But now, the General had her full attention. Like most things, she suspected that Ayesha knew she was paying attention now.

“For what purpose?” Ayesha asked, looking over her shoulder at Ilana.

“They say they want to personally deliver her to the Nova Corps.”

Ayesha continued to side-eye Ilana. Ilana shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “Am I to understand that a daughter of Thanos is part of this group?”

“Yes, that would be Gamora,” the General replied.

Ayesha tilted her head. “So, that would make them sisters. I see now. Then we shall turn her over to the Guardians of the Galaxy upon disposal of the beast,” She waved her hand. “You’re all dismissed.”

The General, who clearly was not finished with his report, stowed his tablet away and sulked off. The rest of the Sovereign delivering reports fell in behind him. 

“Handmaidens and guards, too.”

Ilana was well-aware that she was not included in the dismissal and continued to hold her position at Ayesha’s shoulder. One by one, the guards and handmaidens filtered out of the room. When they were finally gone, Ilana took a knee in front of Ayesha, spear held high.

“Your prisoner wants to kill the Mad Titan.”

Ilana looked up at her. “I assume you’ve been watching the cell feed then, High Priestess?”

“Of course,” Ayesha scoffed. “Did you really think I would leave that girl in your hands alone?”

Not really. Ayesha loved her video feed.

“No, High Priestess.”

“There’s something different about that girl, just like there’s something different about you,” Ayesha said. “When I saw the two of you together on the cell feed, something clicked, so I decided to do a little experiment and see why.”

Ayesha stood up and motioned for Ilana to rise and follow her. She led Ilana through the back room to her personal chambers. One of the handmaids had left a pot of tea on her dining table, along with multiple mugs. She instructed Ilana to sit, poured two cups of tea, and sat across from her.

Ayesha sipped her tea thoughtfully. “You’ve been even more restless since she’s been here. I anticipated a change in you, but not to this magnitude.

“I don’t understand what you mean by change.”

“Don’t you?”

Ilana had a sneaking suspicion that Ayesha was suggesting she’d taken an interest beyond something purely professional or academic.

“No, I don’t,” Ilana snapped. She hadn’t touched a drop of her tea yet. “I’ve done my job as ordered, as I’ve always done. I’ve followed protocols by questioning her when I have the chance. I have done the utmost to set the standard of treatment, and so far, everyone has complied.”

To the High Priestess’ credit, Ayesha glossed over Ilana’s tone with the utmost poise. The Sovereign don’t take impudence lightly, least of all Ayesha. Anyone else, she’d have had them thrown in the cells for treason.

“I was not suggesting anything unprofessional, yet you took it as such. I wonder why?”

Ilana huffed. “I would never - not with someone in my care -”

“I know that,” Ayesha replied. “I watched the feeds. But you can’t deny you noticed the connection, too.”

“Well, if anyone can see the connection, it’s you,” Ilana said. She gingerly took a sip of the scalding tea. Ayesha could assess a person’s biological makeup just by looking at them – she’d been designed that way. “I’m assuming biology has a part to play here? If you say destiny, I’ll throw up.”

“I have often wondered if our designs are flawed - if there is a better way to breed us Sovereign.” Ayesha set her teacup on its saucer. “I designed you personally, to the utmost specifications. Every single part of you is exactly what I wanted you to be, but even I could never have anticipated what the combination of you would become.”

“Are you saying I’m defective, High Priestess?” Ilana mostly meant it as a joke, but only mostly.

“On the contrary - you’ve become more than I could have dreamed. Unfortunately, that means that the tweaks I made spark a determination and desire in you that will never be fulfilled here.”

“So, I’m always going to feel like this?”

“You very well may, depending on your next choice.”

“Cryptic, as always. What choice?”

“I have always had a soft spot for you, as you very well know,” Ayesha said. Her patience way thin and only growing thinner every minute Ilana took that tone with her. “Perhaps if I had tried harder, I could have stamped out that disobedient streak in you.”

Ilana chose to ignore the High Priestess’ reply. “What does Nebula have to do with any of it?”

“You will have to decide,” Ayesha replied. “I am sending you as her personal guard to ensure she makes it to the Nova Corps. Once you leave our airspace, it seems to me that you have two choices. Option one: you deliver the girl and return to your place here. Option two: you don’t.”

“I don’t deliver the girl? Or I don’t return?”

“Your choices are yours alone.”

“There are no Sovereign defectors.”

“No, there are not.”

Ilana pushed her teacup away and sat back against the chair cushion. “I would be the first. I’d never be able to come back.”

“No.”

“Why would I give up my life for a woman I barely know?”

“I truly don’t know. But the choice is yours.”

-----

An hour of standing guard over Nebula only served to make Ilana ever more antsy. Ilana kept glancing over her shoulder, despite her best attempts to maintain rapt focus on the wall in front of her. She was sure Nebula had caught her doing it. The woman probably thought she had lost her damn mind.

Here was Ilana’s chance to stop waiting around for something to happen, to chase her own fate rather than follow a future that had already been decided for her. She could be part of something bigger, for better or worse, than standing guard over a woman with dangerously few enemies – than being a decorative accessory to the High Priestess.

Granted, Ayesha had basically raised her (well, the Teachers raised her, but Ayesha orchestrated her upbringing more often than not). She’d be deserting her home, the parent-figure who designed her and nurtured her, all of her friends and subordinates. All for what? The fleeting chance to lead a life different than the one she had – one that might very well lead nowhere – when the life she had was soft and decorative and easy. Sovereign had a long, long lifespan, and she’d have to build a life elsewhere from the ground up.

All for a woman she barely knew, who’d barely said a word to her, who couldn’t possibly trust her as far as she could throw her (though Ilana suspected Nebula could probably throw her pretty far). Yet, the more she thought about it, the easier it was to pick Nebula and this unknown life over the life she had. She could admit that Nebula’s sheer presence weighed heavily in her decision – however bad the idea might be.

Maybe she had lost her mind. She blamed biology.

After an hour of looking over her shoulder, sighing and staring and glancing, finally, Ilana had enough.

She turned to Nebula and sank down on her knees so that she was level with her charge’s sitting form. “You wanna kill Thanos?”

“Yes.” Nebula cocked her head, raising a non-existent eyebrow. “Why? Do you want to help?”

“Yes.”

“I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Nebula was shocked by her answer, as if she expected a sermon rather than a serious response. “Why do you want to help me? What’s in it for you?”

 “Something different,” Ilana replied.

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“I meant exactly what I said,” Ilana snapped. “That doesn’t matter right now. Look, Ayesha contracted with bounty hunters and you’re the payment. I think you know who’s coming for you.”

“Gamora.”

“You got it,” Ilana replied. “You need help killing the Mad Titan. I was born to fight. I don’t want to die here on this planet never having done anything than what Ayesha programmed me to do. I’m not enough to kill him, but I’m a good start.” Ilana paused, as if considering her next words carefully. “And, as a matter of biology and something bigger than us all, my fate is now inextricably intertwined with yours, whatever either of us decide to do in life.”

Nebula couldn’t deny she’d felt that connection, too. She didn’t believe in fate or any of that ooey-gooey soulmates nonsense, but she’d felt something deeper between them than their mere acquaintanceship would otherwise suggest.

“So, you want to go with me?”

“Yes.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

Ilana laughed. “A trap? You’re already trapped.”

“You know I’m going to break out as soon as I have the chance.”

“Yes. And I’m offering to help you. Just give me the chance to have a higher purpose than being Ayesha’s court decoration.”

“Fine.”

Ilana sighed, relief washing over her. “Then let’s figure out how we’re going to get you somewhere safe once we’re out of here.”

“Me? You’re about to defect from the Sovereign. They’ll send the whole fleet after you.”

“Probably,” Ilana conceded, “but that’s no worse than being tracked down by your sister.”

“Fair.”

[rigelmejo]

Just a bit of a self reflection:

Studying Multiple Languages at Once: 

French and Japanese were generally easy to keep separate in my mind, because they are quite different, and also because I had a good 6 months of French study to the point where I was in the A2 area of using the language before I started Japanese. So, they were at different levels - my french was getting close to intermediate when my japanese was starting at bare bones beginner.

And that is a tip polyglots have often given, if someone plans to study multiple languages at once: to get some level of skill in one language before starting another, and/or to have each language you’re studying at different levels. In this way, you’re rarely studying the exact same skills in both languages at the same time. For example, when you’re first learning japanese pronunciation, you are well past basic pronunciation in french and more focused on intermediate grammar. When you are learning basic everyday conversational skills in japanese, you’re learning how to write letters and essays and talk about special topics, etc. When you’re learning how to read kana in japanese, you’re already past basic reading in french and moving onto slightly more difficult reading etc. And then theoretically, you’d wait until you’re japanese (or equivalent 2nd language) is past those beginning learning tasks before adding another language to study.

For a short time I did have a 3rd language I was studying - Russian. At that point, my French was pretty solid, my Japanese was in the “starting to struggle to read manga” stage lol (but that was beyond absolute beginner, since I already knew many common words, basic kanji, all of Genki 1 and some of Genki 2, some other grammar etc). So Russian was the only language I was an absolute beginner in. I only needed to learn Russian because I was dating someone who spoke russian, who’s roommates all spoke russian, who’s family and baby brother all spoke russian, and it was helpful for me to be able to understand basic russian so I could understand all the daily household conversations I ran into. Also, so I could understand texts, and help babysit their baby brother. So I really just focused on basic everyday conversation skills. I learned high frequency words, words they used, the writing system, glanced through a summarized grammar guide, and listened to a podcast focused on speaking conversationally (and some basic grammar I’d need to speak/listen to others). In a few months I got where I needed to be. I ended up dropping Russian when that relationship ended later, since I didn’t need Russian anymore (although one day I might study it again so I can read, since I’d just started managing to read stories in Russian toward the end). My point though is, it was not hard to study it in addition to the other two languages.

I think that is because: Russian’s different enough from both French and Japanese in order to not cause confusion, I was not a beginner in either other language so I was never studying the same level or topics in two languages at once, and my French was advanced enough that I could put it on “pause” or only study 20 minutes every few days for some moderate improvement over time. Most of my French study at that point was just immersion reading/watching. Japanese in contrast was more difficult, I had to spend either most of my time on Japanese or on Russian to see significant progress in either - so of course both were slowing the study of the other down. I didn’t make significant gains in Japanese until I dropped Russian. So ultimately, I think it’s easier to study multiple languages, if only one language needs large amounts of study for improvement - and the other language(s) just need maintenance and improvement through immersion (so improving listening skills, or reading skills). I once had some success just working on French grammar, while more actively studying Japanese - but that was because the grammar study was mostly review and me formally filling in “blanks in knowledge” so it wasn’t very intensive.

Another tip polyglots tend to give: try not to study two similar languages at the same time. And, if you do, see the above point about AT LEAST making sure those languages are at significantly different levels so you don’t further add to your own confusion by studying the same “level” similar pronunciation/grammar/writing system topics etc at the exact same time. So like, do not start French and Spanish at the same time. You certainly can - and I think any progress is good progress. But I have tried to do this, and it definitely made everything more confusing for me. I tried to start Spanish after a year of French study. That was TOO SOON for me to try. I still did not have a solid grasp on French pronunciation, because I hadn’t studied it enough. Likewise, I had a vague recognition of French spelling but could not really easily differentiate it from Spanish or Italian. So when I started studying Spanish at that time, everything just meshed together in my head and both languages confused my understanding of the other. I did not make much progress. So I put off Spanish for another time. The upside of that experience is that I definitely realized where I should be focusing my goals in French - I read a lot more grammar at that point paying much more attention to conjugation endings and spelling, and I made listening a main goal of mine and did listening/shadowing practice regularly after that until I improved a bit. I still think my French listening, and pronunciation, is pretty basic at best. But I’m a lot better at differentiating between French and Spanish and Italian now. I am much better in my own internal mind voice, at sounding out words differently depending on the language - they’re no longer one “meshed” sound in my head, but very distinctly different sounding languages. A lot of that had to do with lots of French listening practice, and then when I started Spanish again I did a lot of Spanish listening practice to really hammer home how different they sounded. At 2 years, Spanish was a lot easier to start studying. I no longer ran into the confusion issue between the languages nearly as much. 

At that time, there was no great concrete need for me to progress in Spanish - I was not trying to read, watch, or speak with anyone in Spanish regularly. I had mostly been studying out of a simple broad desire to learn some Spanish. So I ended up putting that off for a later time - for when I’ve got more concrete motivations and goals for the language. Meanwhile, at that point, I’d been doing French mostly just through immersion and comprehensible input - very easy to do or not do, just over time picking up more words, and since i’d accomplished my goal of being able to read the novels I wanted to read, I was fine with that “mostly maintenance and a bit of listening improvement/vocabulary improvement.” I had also been doing Japanese - as usual, intensively, as either 30% or 70% of my time depending on the day or my goals for the month (versus spanish for the other portion). I’d been doing Nukemarine’s LLJ Memrise Flashcard Set, still chipping away progress at improving my reading comprehension. Eventually I got burned out from flashcards (because I TRULY hate flashcards, and while I APPRECIATE how much SRS seems to help people learn, I deeply desire a spaced repetition study method where I don’t have to touch any flashcards at all...)

So I paused my japanese study a bit, moving it to just ‘immersion’ like french - every once in a while playing Kingdom Hearts in japanese, and slowly chipping my way through some of my simple manga.

Then Chinese came in like a surprise. A big megalith of a surprise. Weirdly enough, I had deja vu of seeing a clip of Guardian, in a dream I had, like a month before I ever actually saw or heard anything about it in real life. Then I got into SOTUS and the thai drama community on tumblr by extension, and Guardian popped up occassionally as a show mentioned - which I had zero recognition of. Then, one day, that video clip from my dream was on my tumblr dash in real life, and I felt mega deja vu upon seeing it. And I played it, and it was just like my dream. Which was bizarre. So, since I’d seen this show name dropped a few times, and it’d been in my dream before I ever knew about it, and deja vu finally happened as I ran into the exact same thing in real life - I decided I might as well check it out. 

So I did. And it was exactly, specifically, everything I love in a story. It also immediately reminded me of that one semester in High School I took of Chinese - because when I was watching the show, the words learned back then were all I recognized (the numbers, ni hao, xie xie, zai jian). So while I watched I picked up some words, since it was frustrating (and a disappointment to my old Chinese class and teacher’s efforts) that I clearly knew so little. I used google translate to look up some characters and phrases. I looked into the hanzi a little in my spare time. By the time I finished the show, I was aware there was a novel for the book and at the time it was only 1/3 translated into english. So BAM - there was one giant motivation to learn chinese. So I could read the book. 

Nothing interests or motivates me like characterization and stories, and the details that build those things. Nothing in my whole life, for any of my life, ever captures my attention and my passion like these topics. So yes, wanting to learn to read in a language JUST to read a novel and get the full story, the characterizations and metaphors and themes the author originally intended with their creation, is exactly the kind of thing I do. 

(Incidentally, that’s also what drives me to study Japanese - some of my favorite artists and writers from childhood to adulthood create japanese stories, and at some point in my life I WANT to experience them in japanese with their most authentic intent and delivery... because often nuances are changed from a small to quite large degree in translation, and I want to also get to experience the original story closest to how it was intended.)

So with Chinese, once I was sure I wanted to learn, I made myself a somewhat solid study plan - since I’ve studied languages enough now to have a rough idea of what helps me most. I stuck to it. And I dropped all other language studies, except as passive immersion (on occasion I pick up a French or Japanese book and just read a bit to make sure I’m retaining what I know passively, even if the ability to actively recall words is fading a bit). I have been intensively studying Chinese. 

A great thing about Chinese, is it has so much art - shows, novels, music, active fandoms, communities around the world. The chinese internet feels as vast as the english one, with just as many endless things to discover. Even if I only ever had wanted to read priest novels - Priest has written a TON, and a TON are going to be adapted into dramas, and MANY have audio dramas if I ever want to listen to them! That’s years, decades, of content I already know I’m interested in! Then if one expands the content they explore, like I did, there’s so many other artists to run into and fall in love with! I ran into MXTX’s The Untamed, then mdzs, and that’s yet another megalith of content and fan communities and other novels by that author! That’s also an intro into a genre I didn’t even know existed, and there is SO MUCH MORE in that genre to be discovered! It’s an endless treasure trove of fantastic beautiful breathtaking creations, and efforts, and art. It’s bottomless, and once it caught my interest it ensured I’d have ample motivation to keep studying, and knowledge that whatever improvements I make will pay off for years and decades because I’ll have all of this content to enjoy over time. I’m guessing... for english learners, a similar thing is experienced. I would imagine, if I’d been as passionate about Japanese content, then I might have experienced this with Japanese. (However, for me, I’m not actually interested intensely in very much content in japanese except for my specific lifelong favorites... I imagine that might change if my ability to read improves, then maybe I WILL discover jdramas and jnovels that capture my overall lifelong interest more overwhelmingly... another big difference between my interest levels surely has to do with me being able to usually find english translations of the japanese stories I love, whereas with Chinese probably 40% of the things I’m interested in have no english translation - some of Daomubiji, some dramas with actors I like, some audiodramas, many novels, and FAN CONTENT which is HUGE is often untranslated like amazing fanvideos and fanfictions and fancomics).

I knew based on my Japanese studies, how long I should estimate it was going to take to do absolutely anything BASIC in chinese. So I dropped any other intense language studies, focused all my attention on chinese, and am still doing so. I knew both Japanese and Chinese are considered Category 5 languages by  FSI, taking a minimum of (88 weeks) 2200 hours to learn. I knew based on my personal experience with Japanese, just how long it took me in that language to hit what I consider milestones for my personal goals. 

Like: how long until I know the 1000 most common words, how long until I understand past/present/future tense, how long until I can parse what sentences mean if I have a dictionary (recognizing the different sentence components), how long until I can understand the gist of short captions and lines in daily life situations, how long until I can watch short basic videos for the gist of meaning, how long until I can read very simple stories like short daily life comics, how long until I can read straightforward summary texts (like wikipedia, news articles), how long until I can read Graded Reader stories for gist meaning, how long until I can read short stories in general for gist meaning, how long until I can read short things for complete/near complete comprehension, how long until I can read a page of a novel for gist meaning, read a page of a novel for near/complete comprehension, then a chapter, then a book, how long until I can watch a show in the language for gist meaning, how long until I can navigate a game menu screen or website navigation in the language, how long until I could talk about basic A1 topics, how long until I could discuss most any topic on a basic level, how long until I could start discussing topics more in depth, etc. 

In French, I had the “easy��� baseline of how long these things took me. In Japanese, I had a “hard” baseline - because these things took YEARS in japanese and I only ever reached a few of those milestones in japanese. I still have a long way to go in Japanese. But, for the milestones I did reach in Japanese, I had an example of how long it took me in a Category V language to reach them. 

I planned my Chinese study accordingly. I knew what helped speed me up in Japanese the most, so I added those study methods to Chinese immediately - learning common characters, listening. I knew what helped with all my language studies and added those too - learning most common words, past/present/future tense, reading a grammar guide, and READING/consuming target language content frequently. I immersed myself in French often when I’d studied French, but with Japanese I rarely did that until 2+ years into studying the language. I knew it was a good way to gauge my progress, and suspected I’d improve in reading/listening faster than I had in Japanese, if i DID IT MORE this time around for Chinese.

---

Reading Specific Tangent: 

I was right. My Chinese has been steadily improving about half as fast as my French. The slower speed is to be expected, since Chinese generally takes much longer for native english speakers to learn than French. But my Chinese is also improving significantly faster than Japanese - twice as fast so far. Which is extremely motivating for me, and exciting. I could not be more grateful. I am so absolutely ecstatic that I can currently watch Chinese tv shows without subtitles if I want to and follow the gist - I still can’t do that in Japanese! I’m so excited I can read Chinese sometimes without a dictionary, and often with a dictionary - my Japanese lags behind at basic-reading-with-dictionary and absolutely NO ability to read complex text like paragraphs or light novels or news even with a dictionary.

I plan to keep focusing a lot of structured study on Chinese until I can read Priest novels comfortably with a dictionary. Right now, I can read them with a dictionary, but the speed is so slow because I have to look up too many words per page, so it’s not comfortable. I think, if I’m being optimistic, I’m about halfway there. As long as I keep studying consistently. Measurably, I’m in the middle of HSK 4 knowledge wise, and while I think getting to HSK 6 will only make me ‘intermediate,’ I do think that should be enough knowledge to be able to read what I want with the help of a dictionary a bit more comfortably than I am doing so now. If I’m supremely lucky, all the reading I’m doing right now will pay off, and maybe reading will be very comfortable with occasional dictionary lookup once I get to that rough HSK 6 goal. (I definitely think personal ambiguity tolerance matters - in Chinese, the statistics I’ve often found indicate readers at HSK 4 go in generally knowing only around 50% of words in target language texts, which is brutally low compared to the statistic of 98% comprehension to comfortably read extensively. Now... when I was first starting to learn French, I immediately dived into reading when I had pitifully little comprehension, like 50%! So I’m used to it feeling brutal at first, and still trying to do it! Then as my French improved, I experienced 70% comprehension and up as so refreshingly easier, that I didn’t personally see it as a slog (even though it very much still is a slog of ambiguity, dictionary use, and accepting you can only understand the gist usually and only occasionally specific details). 

With Chinese, pessimistically you hit the 70s percentage of comprehension in HSK 4 - HSK 6, and don’t get to the 90% at all. Optimistically, you hit the 70s% in HSK 3, and by HSK 5-6 you’re at 95-98% comprehension which is MUCH more comfortable for pretty much everyone. Which.... I can say from my own personal experience, that lines up. Once I passed HSK 3 knowledge and in the middle of HSK 4, I feel much more comfortable reading anything I want. Yeah, it’s still BRUTAL. But it’s more the slog French was at 70% comprehension - it’s hard to read for more than a few pages if the material is difficult, and its easier for me to read difficult materials for ‘gist meaning’ rather than precise details, and it’s easier for me to read simpler-materials for longer periods of time. But I can, technically, read any material with a dictionary without feeling lost and incapable of comprehending the main ideas. So if this trend continues, by HSK 6 I should actually be closer to the 90s% comprehension wise, if not well into them, at which point reading will genuinely feel comfortable in comparison to the difficulty of it so far. In contrast, if someone has a lower tolerance for slogging through ambiguity than I do, they might find 70% comprehension absolutely unbearable and give up. 

According to studies (one is “The Percentage of Words Known in a Text and Reading Comprehension” by Norbert Schmitt,  XiangYing Jiang, William Grabe), people generally do not feel comfortable reading to learn new words/for enjoyment until around 98% comprehension. Even in the 80s% and low 90s%, often people will find it too frustrating. So for a language like Chinese... where often the official study levels like HSK may theoretically get you to the 90s% but not always the high 90s%... then even after the highest HSK level some people will find it too frustratingly ambiguous to read! And with the pessimistic estimate, HSK 6 will only get them to 77% comprehension - so if they’re uncomfortable with a level of ambiguity I am used to, they’re going to hit a wall at how frustrating it will be at first to start reading! And all these percentages are based on spoken language comprehension - its likely all novels/long text are going to be at least somewhat more difficult, further lowering the % likely comprehended.

So... for a Chinese language learner, it is beneficial to either have a high tolerance to consuming content despite high ambiguity, or else to get yourself used to it. Because no matter how high an official level like HSK you study to, you’re likely to have to start off at a frustratingly low comprehension level when you first start diving into target language content. A comprehension level low enough that it’s expected for you to be frustrated. I... already went through this kind of intense frustration and just kind of slogged my way through it in French, and thankfully I studied French long enough to see what the payoff down the line was for such an attitude. I personally think my reading comprehension in French improved as rapidly as it did, precisely because I did start reading immediately (even when I was reading stuff I only comprehended 50-70%). I was fortunate to experience in real time that comprehension % increase through the months as I read more. This gives me an example of how the process should work with Chinese and other languages eventually, if I do the same thing. 

With Chinese, my comprehension % has increased half as fast, so the difficulty is harder for longer, but ultimately I’m still seeing the difficulty slowly lessen as my comprehension slowly improves. In my own experience, I also feel I had to consume a lot more chinese content than I did French content, in order to see my comprehension increase. So: Chinese is taking 2 times as long to improve, and also I am consuming content almost every day in comparison to about half with the once-or-twice-a-week French content I used to consume. So not only am I bearing the less comprehensible % levels longer, but I’m also dealing with it more often with more content regularly. Of course it is going to take a tolerance to bear ambiguity... in order to make yourself do this the way I did. A tolerance where, even if you had it for another (in theory easier) language, you will have to exercise that tolerance more for Chinese. At least, once you’ve decided to start reading. 

My point is that... one should try to be willing to tolerate to a higher degree of ambiguity when consuming content in Chinese, then they would normally tolerate in their native language. Because it seems like whether one starts at a low level, or a ‘high’ level, they’re going to eventually have to dive into content with a higher ambiguity than they’d probably prefer at first. And it will take practice building up that comprehension level through consuming real content, until that level finally gets up to what is considered more universally ‘comfortable.’ And if you, like me, can view what’s less comfortable as ‘more comfortable’ in comparison to where you started, that perspective has made the experience feel more bearable for me. It might help make it more bearable for others? 

When I browse Chinese learning forums, I usually see a few kinds of approaches to this steeper comprehension percentage, in comparison to say a language like French. 1st approach some people do is to learn ALL the characters they can beyond HSK (usually 3000-4800), and learn 5000-10k most frequently used words (if 5000, then some words outside of what HSK covered) - before they dive into reading. 2nd approach is those that decide to dive into reading at HSK 4-6, and make flashcards for the new words they come across - deciding that they’ll have to keep learning new words/characters anyway, for a significant amount of time, until they can read comfortably. This 2nd approach further splits into people who use software to make unknown-word lists ahead of time and pre-study all of them, and people who use SRS flashcard software to either pre-study those words or study while reading. The SRS flashcard crowd usually either also bases their cards on all the new unknown words they’ll need, or at least the words that pop up frequently in the new material they’re reading. A 3rd approach is people who rely on graded readers and learn words mostly through reading (outside of focused HSK/course/other study), then eventually get to the HSK 5-6 level and get frustrated by the low comprehension % they have of native target language material, so they move next to drama subtitles/comics/simple novels and either bear through the low comprehension for a while, or also use approach 1 and/or 2 above once they branch into the more complicated stuff. 

These approaches all overlap each other a bit. The big differences are just how some people deal with the low comprehension % by pre-studying huge amounts of material (to boost their comprehension at least for the one material they’re trying to consume) - like pre-learning all the new words in a book before trying to read it, or learning all the new words in the first chapters of a book so that in the future your comprehension % of the book is a higher level then it was at the very beginning. And the other people, who decide they’re going to bear with lower comprehension % for the sake of wide exposure and volume of material consumed. This second group would be - people following the Massive Immersion Approach, people who read for gist comprehension of main ideas rather then near/full comprehension of text (so 2nd approach SRS people who might add new words to study if they pop up frequently, but will also skip studying a lot of unknown words they run into), 3rd approach people who generally don’t make pre-study lists or plans and just kind of brute-force consume the content until it gets easier, etc. While I’m sure there’s MANY arguements out there about which way works better, which ways are more ‘efficient’ - I personally think either way eventually results in improvement in comprehension. The big difference is a decision on trade off: do you decide to study much bigger BULKS of information upfront, in order to temporarily make comprehension % higher for a specific new material you’re trying to comprehend, or do you study nothing upfront and bear with lower comprehension % for a longer duration of time as you consume a specific new material? Over time I would assume both approaches will result in future content eventually being more comprehensible, until it eventually becomes a high enough comprehension % that the learner no longer feels it requires bulk study ahead of time or high tolerance for ambiguity. 

I feel that, at least with studying Chinese, that question above about trade offs is relevant for a longer duration of time than it is for languages categorized as ‘easier’ for a learner to study. Like, French? I would guess, that if UNLIKE ME, you learned the 3000 most common words immediately, then started with graded readers (either during that word learning or after to increase vocabulary level more), and worked your way up to native target language content, you would generally find reading to be a comfortable level of comprehension all the way through. 3000 high frequency words in many languages gets you to about 95% comprehension. That’s still a little under the 98% comprehension you need to start reading and picking up most new words comfortably from context. But the 95% would get you close enough that graded readers, and simple texts would be easy to read extensively. And hopefully eventually, even more complex texts would be bearable with a dictionary and you’d quickly get to a point where your comprehension eventually increased to that comfortable comprehension % level. 

[holland-ish]

Against the Odds | Prologue

The Hunger Games AU // Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: In a world of limited resources, the government run by the Capitol keeps its citizens in line by separating them into Districts and reinforcing oppressive class separations. But their strongest tool to promote disunion and to discourage rebellion is the Hunger Games: a yearly event where two tributes from each district are pitted against each other in a fight to the death for the entire country to watch on television.

Warnings: Mentions of death, kinda crappy writing, also a lack of Tom

Word Count: 3, 161

Disclaimer: This story is inspired by the Hunger Games, written by Suzanne Collins. The basic outline of this plot and some characters belong to her. 

A/N: This didn’t turn out how I wanted it to but after rewriting it like 234506 times, I figured that I should probably post it up if I’ve written it. Please leave feedback! I always appreciate it and I love to know what you guys are thinking!

Masterlist

You glanced at your father as he placed a kiss on your mother's head, his eyes flickering to yours when he felt your gaze. A sigh fell from his lips as he ran a hand down her back, stepping away from the woman with her eyebrows furrowed in a worried frown. He placed a hand on either side of your neck, his eyes filled with a sorrow that you had learned only ever made an appearance once a year.

“We’ll be alright,” he said, placing a short kiss on your head. His voice was strong despite the shaking of his hands and the broken shine in his eyes. “The odds will be in our favour, I know it.”

You shook your head, leaning into your father’s loving touch and bit your lip. How would the odds be in your favour? The fear that had settled in the pit of your stomach barely faded away when you saw the reassuring look in his eyes. “My name is in the reaping twenty times.”

“As selfish as it may sound, there must be girls who have their name in the reaping more than you,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his embrace. “We just have to have hope. That’s all the power we have.”

You wanted to scream. How could you rely on something as simple as hope to get you through the reaping? It wasn’t fair and it didn’t make sense but if your father believed in it then, for his sake, so would you. There was a heavy weight on your chest whenever you thought about the name that would be written on the slip of paper that Effie Trinket would pull from the bowl.

“I love you,” you sniffled, annoyed at yourself for tearing up already. “I love you and if I-”

Your mother stood from where she was sitting before, running a hand through your hair and letting out a long breath. She spoke before you could even finish your sentence. “Nothing will happen. It’s your last year and once we get through today, we’ll be perfectly fine.”

“She’s right,” your dad nodded, pushing you away by your shoulders and smiling down at you. “And we love you too, beautiful. Now, if you’re both finished getting ready, it’s time for us to leave.”

“I don’t want to go.” You could feel the look that your dad sent your mom but didn’t bother to think anything of it. “I just want to stay. I don’t feel good.”

Your mother stepped forward after reaching for your jacket, holding it towards you while your father lets go of your shoulders. “You know that we don’t have a choice. Come on, put this on and let’s go.”

Nodding your head, you swiped the back of your hand across your eyes to dry away from any tears that may have formed. You shrugged the jacket on, clearing your throat as you bent down to tighten the shoelaces on the boots you had chosen to wear instead of the sandals your mother told you to wear. She knew you hated the reaping with whatever negativity you had in yourself so she had taken it upon herself to make sure that you at least dressed for the cameras that would be there, broadcasting the event live to all of Panem.

The walk to the Hall of Justice from the Seam felt as if it were hours long. It was only a five-minute walk and despite your nerves, you took the time to convince yourself that things would be okay. That the odds may be in your favour once again.

You hated the Hunger Games. You hated the Capitol. You hated the whole country.

And walking through the Seam, which was the poorer section of District 12 where mostly the coal-miners and their families lived, was something you were unhappy to say that you had grown used to. Your father was a coal-miner, spending the majority of his days working strenuous hours in the mines while you and your mother ran a stall in the Hob, selling medicinal supplies below the floor-price (or trading them in for food) for those who couldn’t afford to buy them from the apothecaries.

As you walked past the Hob, you could see that the stalls were left unusually empty. The Hob was the local black market, an illegal shopping centre that had been spared by the peacekeepers who were assigned to District 12. In fact, many of them would spend their free hours trading for supplies and food from the Hob themselves. You could see your own stall from the hole-in-the-wall windows.

You kept your eyes peeled for Harrison, the boy who had been your closest friend since you were children. Harrison was the same age as you, his name in the reaping the same amount of times as yours was. But you couldn’t see him anywhere and assumed he had already arrived at the Hall of Justice with his own family. You were worried for him and worried for his sister, you weren’t sure how you’d be able to cope if either of their names were called.

The courtyard outside the Hall of Justice was livelier than what was the norm for District 12. A district that usually consisted of dreary greys or blacks that were a result of the soot and coal carried around from the mines was now littered with clean whites and pale blues. It was still a dreary sight for foreign eyes, poverty and famine causing a visible mess to any visitors. The sun was almost always hidden behind clouds, which meant that there was a dull aura to the whole district.

You grimaced as you left your parents to sign in, waiting half-patiently in the clump of a queue, the loud sound of chatter causing you to feel the start of a headache in the back of your head. It was almost painful for you to look at the younger children, knowing that the innocent look in the eyes of a twelve-year-old will only bring tears to your own eyes. They had no place in the Hunger Games, no place in the violence and gore that the games brought. Knowing that it was very possible that it could be one of them (or even two of them) whose names could be called caused a lump in your throat. You closed your eyes for a moment, opening them when you knew that you were finally at the front of the queue.

“Next please,” the lady, dressed in official uniform held her gloved hand out. You placed your hand on hers, wincing as she pricked your finger and pressed it to the sheet in front of her, staining a spot of the white paper red with your blood. She scanned it with an unfamiliar device that bleeped just before it flashed with your name and age before she dismissed you.

Your eyes met your father’s as you walked past him and your mother, appreciating the reassurance in their forced smiles. Within the next few minutes, you were standing among the crowd of girls who were the same age as you, all wearing the same fearful expression as you. You scanned over the large courtyard, slightly nervous about the large number of people who were here. It was mandatory for every citizen in the districts to attend, otherwise facing the penalty of imprisonment.  

The Mayor stepped forwards, giving a speech that was obviously forced and written with disinterest. His eyes sorrowfully landed on each of the eligible, a silent apology that nobody paid any attention to. There was a silence that was broken with hushed whispers as he turned and took his seat at the back of the stage.

Your stomach dropped when Effie Trinket walked on stage, the tapping of her heels echoing louder than they should have as she walked up to the microphone, lifting her hands to adjust her faded pink wig. It sat above her head in a bundle of curls, resembling a tower of roses that was just barely larger than her head itself. She fixed the positioning of the net hat that sat on top of it before she tapped on the microphone twice. There was a collective wince at the resulting noise.

“Welcome, welcome,” she chimed, in her rich Capitol accent. “Happy Hunger Games! And, may the odds be ever in your favour.”

You saw the girl beside you roll her eyes. It brought a small smile to your face and you knew that she was aware you had caught it, a small smirk falling onto her face as she tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. She turned her head, latching eyes with one of the boys.

“Of course,” she continued, her enthusiasm making your stomach churn with annoyance. Effie’s pursed smile never left her face as she spoke. “We have a very special film brought to you all the way from the Capitol!” Effie turned, motioning towards one of the large projector screens that were temporarily built there specifically for the duration of the Hunger Games. The film was a piece of Capitol propaganda that you’d listened to and seen more times than you could count.

“War, terrible war,” President Snow’s voice spoke darkly over the distressing clips that began to play on the screen. The instrumental anthem of Panem played in the background. “Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land.” His voice was a sound that used to scare you, a deep and shadowy tone. But you had grown used to it. “Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained.” The crowd was silent, their focus trained on the film that was presented every year. “And then came the peace, hard-fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. And the traitors were defeated. We swore as a nation that we would never know this treason again.”

There was something so upsetting to you about this film. It was as if the Capitol was convincing the citizens of all the Districts that the Hunger Games were to be admired. That it was a reminder of the so-called peace that they were living in and that the games were something to be proud of. The thought made you sick to your stomach.

“And so it was decreed that each year the various districts of Panem,” President Snow’s voice was booming over the loudspeakers. “Would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future.”

Panem, ever since the uprising, was a country that was not to be envied. The nation of Panem was separated into a total of thirteen nation-states known as districts, twelve of which are operational. Each district is responsible for producing, procuring, or refining goods in specific industries as dictated by the Capitol. Each and every one of the districts has been subject to the unrelenting will of the shining Capitol that they surround. The higher districts, Districts 1, 2 and 3 were always favoured by the Capitol as they specialised in luxury, masonry and technology. Of course, they were Capitol favourites.

They had it lucky. Poverty was barely existent in their districts despite the fact that they weren’t nearly as rich and brilliant as the Capitol.

“Oh, how wonderful!” Effie exclaimed, flashing her annoyingly bright smile at the crowd who stared blankly back at her. The bright pink of her outfit stood out like a sore thumb in district 12 but she couldn’t have cared less. “Now, the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honour of representing District 12 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. As usual, ladies first.”

It was sickening, how she was so nonchalant towards the Hunger Games. People were dying, forced to murder and be murdered all for the entertainment of the Capitol.

You would have scoffed if it weren’t for the pit of fear and dread that settled in your stomach as she waddled over to the bowl filled with small sheets of white paper, folded neatly and taped shut. She slowly let her hand enter the bowl, flicking the papers around inside the large bowl before she finally managed to pick one out.

The whole crowd held their breath. You felt as if you would throw up. And you almost did when she read out the name that was scribbled onto the chit of paper.

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

It was quiet. So quiet that you were afraid everyone within ten miles of you would be able to hear the thumping of your heart in your chest. The weight that you had previously felt pushing down on your chest had suddenly lifted, only to swing back around and knock every last breath out of you. You could feel the eyes of every other person in the vicinity planted on you to gauge your reaction and send you looks of pity.

“Well,” Effie encouraged, pulling glares from some of the people who were spectating. “Come on up, my dear.”

You swallowed thickly, trying your hardest to stop your lip from quivering as you stepped out of the girls’ section of the crowd and towards the stage. In the heat of the moment, your eyes found your father’s and then your mother’s in a panicked daze, unable to register the broken expressions that had fallen across their faces. A white noise surrounded you as made your way up the stairs and stared out at the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Effie’s words flew right over your head as the ringing died down. By the time she had finished talking, you were completely unaware of anything she had just said, prompting a response from the crowd only to be met with none.

People knew who you were. You and your mother had provided almost every family in District 12 with free medical help for however long you could remember, always saving lives and never taking them. Because your family knew what it was like to be unable to afford medical health. They were thankful and they were well aware of your caring and loving nature. If there was anyone in this district who didn’t deserve to be entered into the Hunger Games, it was you.

Far too many people in the crowd owed their lives to you. And although nobody of the eligible age was selfless enough to volunteer and take your place, they all ached for you.

You could see your mother and father, your friends from school and the friends you’d made from working in the Hob and in peoples homes. You could see your teachers and your neighbours. You could see your best friend, Harrison. And it began to slowly settle in. This was very likely to be your last time ever seeing any of them. It made you sick to your stomach and you resisted the urge to lose whatever small lunch you had eaten.

Shakily, you took in a deep breath, finally noticing the couple of stray tears that had fallen from your eyes.

Effie frowned at your silence, clearing her throat after she had spoken. You snapped yourself out of your daze when she had already returned to the microphone with the paper in her hand. “And now, for the boys.”

You hoped, with the little hope that was left for you, that you wouldn’t know the boy whose name would be called. You hoped that he wouldn’t be anyone you cared about deeply and you hoped it wasn’t Harrison.

“James-”

“I volunteer!” You gasped at the familiar sound of Harrison’s voice, calling over Effie’s, his eyes locked onto yours. “I volunteer as tribute!”

What the hell was he doing? You could hear the screams of his sister, the yells of distaste that came from his family. He was out of his mind.

“Oh,” Effie stammered. “Oh, I’m sure we have some other procedures we must-” she cut herself off, shaking her head and muttering to herself under her breath. “Alright, come on up and introduce yourself.”

Harrison was by your side in a matter of seconds, his arms wrapping around you with no care for who was watching. He couldn’t lose you to the games and he couldn’t let you go in there alone. You were family and Harrison would be damned if he’d let you enter the arena alone.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Harrison muttered into your hair, ignoring your protests and the curses that you were sending him for being so damn stupid. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re stupid,” you held back a sob, your voice muffled by his shirt. “My god, Harrison, you are so stupid. What have you done?”

Harrison didn’t reply, only squeezing you against him tighter before reluctantly letting go.

Effie cleared her throat as Harrison pulled away from you. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Harrison Osterfield,” he said, stepping into the microphone with a nervous look in his eyes. Harrison was scared, just as scared as you were and you could tell just by the shaking of his hands.

“And I take it that Y/N here is your friend?” Effie placed a hand on his back. “Is that why you volunteered?”

“Yes,” Harrison almost whispered but thanks to the microphone, it was clearly heard by everyone. “I couldn’t-I can’t let her go in there alone.”

Effie forced a smile, looking back at the crowd and holding a hand on Harrison’s shoulder. “Let’s have a big hand for District 12’s very first volunteer, Harrison Osterfield!”

Nobody clapped. You could hear the short breaths that left you and maybe if you strained your ears you would be able to hear Harrison’s too. Instead,  you watched as your father pressed three fingers on his left hand to his lips and then raised it shakily, his face stained with tears. It was a sign used only by the districts that meant peace. And love and hope, the only things left that the people who lived their lives slaving for the Capitol had left to rely on.

Slowly, every other member of the crowd followed his actions silently. Harrison’s lip quivered and shakily, you stepped forward and grabbed his hand.

You’re chest constricted when a broken sob left his lips, accompanied by one of your own before Effie had hurriedly rushed you off of the stage after one final sentence addressed to whoever would be watching. “Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favour!”

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[apocvlypsed]

( wiz khalifa vc )  yeah... uh huh, u know what it is -- linc is addicted 2 bringing new muses !

hello hello my loves, i present to you my socal sweetheart, shiloh correia! tap the clickity click to read more about this chill dude !!

reece king. — oh, have you met shiloh correia? he is a twenty two year old cis male that is feeling phlegmatic about the planet’s imminent doom. a gym receptionist, this leo is known around town as the viscerotonic, because he is bona fide & mellow, as well as distrait & extemporaneous. hopefully, loh will survive. 

alright here we go: a very rushed, disorganized draft of his background because i have to leave for a doc’s appointment soon!! ( tw for illness, mentions of possible death, mentions of hospitals, mentions of homophobia )

backstory:

his name is shiloh, he's 22, and he works as a receptionist at the local boujee gym!! he moved to hawley when he was 19ish because he was in pittsburgh for testing and like... decided he might as well stay in the area a while to escape his smothering family? 

born & raised in los angeles, so he's got one of those very chill, relaxed personalities. like... someone spills coffee on him? 'it's cool, man, really. good fashion statement.' survive a 5-year battle with leukemia? 'awesome, great, thanks doc.' just... very easy-breezy, chill vibes. he can often be misinterpreted as caring too little, but he’s just a very serene soul.

he kinda didn't have much of a real childhood after he got diagnosed with leukemia when he was 13. he was in and out of the hospital for a couple years before things got to be too taxing on his parents, and they sent him to a live-in treatment center shortly after his 15th birthday. they couldn’t handle Seeing Him Like That when things took a turn, but they said the real reason was the transit bills. going back and forth added up so much, and with not a lot of money to spare, it was too much for them to shoulder. shiloh didn’t question it because like... he knew how hard this was on his parents and younger sisters, he could see it. it saddened him to go to this treatment center though, because every shred of normalcy was ripped away. he could no longer go to school when he felt up for it -- his parents suggested getting lessons at the center, but shiloh insisted on staying enrolled at his high school. he learned mainly through emails and work brought to him by his friend elijah.

his younger sisters ( twins, sara & mackenzie, about 8 at the time ) would visit him in the center because they missed him? shiloh was very ill, but his siblings would take the bus across thecity and bring books for him to read to them like how he did at home. so this 15-16 y/o kid would be hooked up to chemo, literally reading harry potter quietly to his little sisters, making sure to do every single silly character voice, and look at them to gasp at the scary parts. admittedly he was quite low energy, but he put considerable effort into seeming 100% for them, so they wouldn’t worry. ( one time sarah asked him if he was going to come home sometime soon, and saying he didn’t know literally broke shiloh’s heart. after they left, he cried a lot. )

that’s kind of shiloh in a nutshell too. going above and beyond for others, not quite at what he would call his expense because it doesn’t bother him... but it kind of is at his expense in instances where he was ill and he pushed himself to extremes to quell peoples’ worries. he’s always been a charitable soul. 

he returned home when he was 17, successfully in remission, and he would spend every waking moment with his sisters when he wasn’t at school. but remission was short-lived. he was at a party with his best friend elijah when the nausea and nosebleeds hit, and his classmate delayed calling an ambulance until all the alcohol was hidden. during that delay, shiloh lost consciousness. elijah fought his way into the ambulance. he held shiloh’s hand all the way there, right until the moment he woke up.

treatment gradually picked up again. some chemo visits turned into constant returns to the hospital. shiloh picked up pneumonia at one point, and school was just out of the question. elijah visited him on weekdays and his parents on weekends, so it worked for a bit, keeping their relationship masked. linking fingers in the stupid hospital hallway, taking slow walks along the terrace. but then shiloh’s family surprised him on his birthday. so did elijah. and it was a mess.

after elijah left, his parents were basically like, ‘we love you, but no. no. you can’t be This and That. you can’t be both.’ meaning sick and gay. his mother spent an extra hour there lecturing shiloh and crying about how the doctors said his prognosis wasn’t looking good, why would he do this to himself if he knew he could be passing soon? why would her boy purposefully deny himself entry to heaven? shiloh should have been angry, livid. but he... wasn’t. his natural disposition wasn’t conducive to getting defensive and he just didn’t have that kind of energy in him. so he just sat in his hospital bed and listened to his mother crying and cursing him, cursing their situation, praying to god for forgiveness on his behalf. when she finished, he offered her a tiny, tired smile. he squeezed her hand and murmured, “thanks ma.”  after she left, shiloh had to sit with that. all of what she’d said. and it kind of changed his attitude about the leukemia. his test results came back worse, and things took another, more drastic hit. things really got bad for the subsequent six months. it was a rapid decline, probably the worst he’d ever experienced over the course of his illness. he couldn’t be as sociable, or as vibrant. smiles of ease became grimaces because no amount of painkillers could keep him comfortable. one time, when his sisters came to visit, he stood up to bring them to the cafeteria for ice cream and fainted in front of them. he slept for days, but the bags under his eyes never ceased. he got thinner. his hands shook when he held elijah’s hand. and for the first time in all of this, shiloh realized he truly might not make it.

elijah kept things normal. well. as normal as they could be. aside from a quiet “how’s it going?” and a couple minutes of leukemia-talk, they’d indulge in other things. watching netflix curled up in shiloh’s bed. sneaking peanut m&ms in for shiloh. bringing homework because shiloh insisted he was going to graduate that year, with elijah, with their friends. sometimes elijah’s visits consisted of watching shiloh sleep. and that was fine. every time that happened, he’d leave a note, so shiloh knew he’d stopped by.

if asked now, shiloh wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the day when things stopped getting worse and started getting better. maybe it had something to do with elijah asking him to their own prom and getting the nursing staff in on it. maybe it had something to do with being able to leave the care center, just for the night, and forget that his own body was the enemy.

on his 18th birthday, shiloh no longer looked like a shadow of himself. he looked healthier -- not 100%, but certainly not as terrible as before. “you look hot,” was elijah’s response when he came in after a week of not visiting -- training for soccer, he’d said -- and shiloh greeted him with a smile that was, for the last few months, unusually void of pain. 

on a warm, golden march day, shiloh got results of his blood test saying he was officially in remission for a second time. and god, it felt so good. so freeing. he pushed through the last of his graduation requirement and was able to walk with his class to receive an honorary diploma -- his real one came two months later, after completing some online courses.)

naturally, he and elijah broke up so they could venture off and do their own things. shiloh didn’t want to be a burden. elijah went to school abroad. they still talk sometimes.

the correia’s, however, are worriers. they weren’t convinced that shiloh was alright, that he could go off somewhere far away and come back in one piece. so they spoke to his aunt and uncle in pittsburgh, pa and worked out a deal -- he could go stay with them for the summer working for their law firm. the east coast had better treatment if he ever needed it during that timeframe. but at the end of the summer, they expected shiloh back in la with them.

there were a few scares in pittsburgh, but the bloodwork never showed any dangerous levels that couldn’t be fixed by some isolated treatment, or rest. by his 19th birthday, shiloh had been steadily in remission for half a year. aside from some long-term side effects from treatments, he experienced no lingering discomfort. 

while browsing the welcome center at the airport, waiting for his flight home, shiloh stumbled upon a brochure for a small town called hawley and just... fell in love with the way snow dusted the small streets in the cover photo? the freshness of the air, or how the pamphlet described it, at least. so he called his parents and spoke through their protests. “ma, dad... i’m gonna stay out here a while.” and then when his mother attempted to power scold her way into getting her son home, he hung up the phone. 

he moved into a small studio apartment and landed a job as the receptionist at the local upscale gym! he honestly adores his job. sometimes dealing with stella from yoga is a bit much, but the contact and the stories he hears... it’s worth it. plus, the gym is super awesome and there might be a cute boy there he’s kinda into, on the down-low. ;)

shiloh’s just very easygoing and can converse with anyone. he’s agreeable and it takes a lot for him to get offended because honestly, everything kind of pales in comparison when you’ve barely survived your own body attacking itself.

he lives paycheck to paycheck most of the time. gladly. he’s enjoying his simple life, his normal life, existing without being tethered to wires and tubes and hospital cleaning smells. he probably always burns sweet-smelling candles because the scent of those hospital rooms is kind of ingrained in his memory. he just... he loves absorbing it all. the mid-afternoon sun, the silly coffee shop people, the way the panels of hawley sidewalks don’t always align just right. he’s thriving here, just breathing minute to minute.

headcanons

all in all, he’s very unbothered by the asteroid because he just... feels so lucky to be here? and he can’t change anything about a big rock careening toward the planet. so he’ll enjoy his time and not worry about it. because worrying is forfeiting valuable time he can just be spending having a laugh or enjoying the fresh air.

he’ll say he doesn’t care about snapchat streaks but then bombard you if your streak is in danger.

he sings! he’ll like, loop piano chords and a mellow beat and make up some r&b song about the pasta he’s making for dinner. he sounds like... a mix between daniel caesar and kevin garrett. just v chill and like warm honey. he can also lowkey rap really well but... shh... it’s a secret.

he kinda dresses very stereotypically la despite being in pennsylvania now? a lot of basics with loud details. he also really likes painting his nails in those cool holographic colors? yee

the first thing he did when he moved to pittsburgh was teach himself how to cook super well because he needed to make up for all the Shit he ate while in treatment. so get ready... ya boy’s gonna make you a masterpiece for dinner !

definitely doesn’t mention his illness a lot. his parents are constantly calling worried about the status of his remission so like... if someone acts really worried he’ll be like, “i’m fine, no symptoms, chill” and not even realize he didn’t tell them about his past. he’s just... all about living in the moment so things get lost in the shuffle.

he shamelessly plays words with friends while at the reception desk. pls tell him a good 4-letter word he can make with Z, K, I, and N bc he is struggling.

his footsteps are straight up silent. he moves so gracefully like.... he could sneak up on even the most alert people, and it’s mostly always by accident. he’s just got that calm air about him where he commands attention but in a subtle way. so people won’t notice him enter the room, but they will be locked in by his intrigue once he’s inside.

“pls remember to hydrate today xo” -- an actual text from shiloh correia.

he wears a LOT of hoodies layered with denim jackets. don’t judge him, it’s COLD here !!! (he says when it’s like... literally 60 degrees out... yikessss.

refuses to buy snow boots. his combats will suffice. and tbh buying snow boots feels like admitting defeat? even tho he chose to live here? he doesn’t want to seem like that wimp cali boy that can’t handle the northeast. *cue shiloh buying yet another heated blanket*

never learned how to drive?? so that’s super fun ! someone try to teach him, i’ll cry

as for connections, like.. anything? he’s been here for a solid 3 years, so there’s def potential for lots of stuff! aight i gotta run but i will be on mobile/discord !!  pls come love me, i love u xoxo

[fictionalfriction]

Am I But Second Best - Part 3

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pariring: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson

Characters: Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Steve Rogers, Jasper Sitwell, Natasha Romanoff, Nicholas Fury

Summary: (Prompt from @purpleli93) Established Clint/Phil, before captain America was found. Then they find captain America, Clint thinks he is gonna loose Phil (even though Phil is madly in love with Clint, he considers him “the one”) to captain so tries to enjoy the time they have left and looks at Steve wishing he could be him so Phil could love him forever, but Phil catches those glimpses Clint gives captain America and thinks Clint is falling in love with Steve. Phil thinks it makes sense, since Steve is younger, handsome, kind, etc. So both wait until the other wants to break up until one can’t take the wait anymore and explodes in angst then they talk and happy ending!

(The third part.)

(Part One, Part Two)

Clint was in a bad mood when he returned from the mission, not that Phil had seen the man yet. He had, however, heard the gossip and the rumours flying thick and fast in the corridors, cafeteria, wherever agents tend to group up. For secret agents, they sure were a chatty, gossipy bunch. Apparently Clint had gotten into a fight with the handler early into the mission (verbal) when the man refused to even consider his request to change his perch, and then again later when the mission went tits up and the man tried to pin the blame on him, on the supporting agents, the tech support team, anyone he could.

Then he had apparently snapped at Agent Sitwell when he try to debrief them. In front of Director Fury. To say Phil was surprised and concerned was to put it lightly. Clint had always been in control of his emotions. No matter how bad the mission or the handler was (and this mission was bad on both accounts), he had never overreacted in this manner. This made Phil worried enough that he put aside his paperwork for the day when he got news that Clint was in medical getting checked over some injuries he had apparently failed to mention after the mission or during the debrief.

Phil made a beeline for Ward Four when he reached Medical being that there was where Clint always end up. Only the doctor in charge of Ward Four, Doctor Hundi, would actually treat Clint. The others refused, traumatized by his tendency to get bored and signing himself AMA, or when he can’t, play pranks on them. For some reason, Doctor Hundi was spared from all his antics. Of course Phil knew the reason: Doctor Hundi was the only one who had treated Clint without discrimination. The other doctors had, at one time or another, been dismissive of Clint as an asset, especially in his early days in an agent.

However, Clint was not in Ward Four when Phil pushed open the double doors leading to the ward. Immediately Phil’s heart leapt into his mouth. The very few times Clint was not housed in Ward Four was when Clint was too seriously injured for the basic care Ward Four can give. “Doctor Hundi,” Phil went straight to where the handsome Indian lady was standing at the nurse station.

“Agent Coulson. What can I do for you today?” she half-turned in apparent surprise. “I was told that Agent Barton was to report to medical for hidden injuries?” Phil phrased it as a question although both of the knew that he had not received misinformation. A nice perk when you are both handler and and next of kin of your significant other. “Oh! It was nothing serious, just a couple of scratches and a bruised rib. After being cleaned up and bandaged Agent Barton left.” “He left? How long?” Phil knew his tone was too sharp; Doctor Hundi gave him a glance bordering on the sharp edge of a glare.  But she replied, and that was all Phil cared at this moment.

“Agent Barton left around half an hour ago. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other patients to see to.” For all that Phil was Level Seven and therefore outranked Doctor Hundi in all things that matters, she was impressively unimpressed by him. Phil found himself liking her a lot. Now, if he can figure out where Clint had gone that would be perfect. Half an hour would be more than ample time for Clint to have gone to his office.

One of the nurses caught his attention. “Sir, I was the one attending to Agent Barton earlier. He was saying something about visiting a man out of time?” he looked a bit bemused and Phil couldn’t blame him. Captain America was still need-to-know as far as SHIELD was concerned. Which means that all the Level Six and above knew about it. But the nurse was only a Level 2 and so would not know. “Thank you, Nurse,” Phil sneaked a glance at his name tag. “- Brown. I believe I know where Agent Barton was heading to.” He turned on his heels and walked towards where he was quite certain Clint had gone.

***********

Steve Rogers was awake when the man came into his room. SHIELD had been kind enough to provide him with a small room usually reserved for their own agents on the helicarrier. At least he thought it was his. The man dropping into his room via the vent made him a bit suspicious. He watched warily from his seat by the window as the brown-haired man dust himself off perfunctorily before straightening and fixing him with a half-glare. "You are Captain America," he stated bluntly. "Steve, actually," Steve replied, feeling quite annoyed with the whole Captain America thing. It wasn't that long ago that the moniker was a dancing monkey. Although he had been told that Captain America had become a national hero and had actually been there for the start of his missions as Captain America, Steve could not help but be annoyed whenever he was introduced as Captain America rather than Captain Steven Rogers as though he was only Captain America, the national hero and nothing else.

"Steve-Captain-America-Rogers. I know your name," the man grunted. Why was he so antagonistic, Steve wondered. He was quite sure that he had never met the man before. "And who are you?" he asked. "Clint Barton," was all that was offered. As though it make any sense! Silence fell between them, heavy and tense. Until the man finally sighed and stretched again. "Okay, fine. I am sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Phil would have my head. Anyway, heard that you have been spending time with Phil and I wanted to meet you also."

"Phil? Spending time- Oh, you mean Agent Coulson. Yeah, I did spend most of my time with him. I think he is my, what do you guys called it? Handler? He is my handler, I think." Steve was surprised that this man, Barton, had sought him out because he spent time with Agent Coulson. "I was told that Agent Coulson is in charge of my re-training and re-integration into society."

"Is that so." Barton didn't seem convinced. "Well, that and," Steve felt his ears heating up as he remembered the way Agent Coulson had stuttered his way into asking for autographs on his card collection (in near-mint condition!). "I was told that he was a fan?" To his surprised, Barton huffed a laugh. "A fan? Man, he is the biggest fan of Captain America I know! He is probably giddy that he got to meet Captain America in flesh." Steve flushed in mortification, "I am only human, Barton. Nothing special." "Except for the serum and the heroics, no, you aren't anything special," Barton agreed sardonically.

Time to change tactics, Steve decided. "Do you have a reason to come into my room? I am given to understand that this is my personal room." "Changing the subject, Cap?" Barton grinned. "Well, if you need a reason, I just want to take a look at who Phil has been spending time with. Anyway, nice talk, I better scram. See you around Cap!" And with that, Barton was up in the vents in a flash, replacing the grate with practiced ease, leaving Steve to gape after him. Steve's reflexes weren't slow by any measure but he was still caught off guard.

Barton had barely left the room when a knock came. Steve took a deep breathe composing himself before opening to the door... only to find Agent Coulson standing outside. "Agent Coulson! Did I miss an appointment?" he asked, surprised. "No Captain, there is no appointment. I am sorry to intrude but I am here to look for Agent Barton. I am told that he was coming to see you." Agent Coulson replied, his face giving nothing away. "Agent Barton? So he is working for SHIELD. Do come in, Agent Coulson," said Steve, stepping back to let Agent Coulson in.

Agent Coulson froze minutely at the mention of Agent Barton. It wasn't obvious, just a small pause in his stride, then he continued on as though nothing happened. Steve only saw because he was looking closely in the first place. He thought that Agent Coulson would ask him what Agent Barton and he talked about but Agent Coulson surprised him again. "Do you have any doubt about who he was in the first place, Captain? Why didn't you sound an alarm?" Steve knew what he was asking, why he didn't trigger the silent alarm set on his phone to call for reinforcements when he suspected that someone who wasn't SHIELD was on the 'carrier.

"I was a bit suspicious but I can take him in a fight if it comes to that. Anyway, we are on a helicarrier and I don't think that anyone not working for SHIELD will be able to get in," Steve answered, a tad defensive. Agent Coulson looked unconvinced but did not argue on that point. "Agent Barton is a Specialist; he is a SHIELD sniper but he is excellent at hand-to-hand as well. I think that he would have give you a run for your money, Captain." Is that a smile he saw on Agent Coulson's face? It is, a very small smile, just a small quirking of his lips, but a smile nonetheless. "Well," Steve started, then stopped, not sure what to say to that. Sure he had his superhuman strength and reflexes and the basic training they gave him as a soldier but that was that. If Agent Barton was a specialist as Agent Coulson said, then it is more than probable that his hand-to-hand was better than Steve's and would definitely gave him a challenge in that field.

"Captain, how long ago Agent Barton left?" Agent Coulson prompted when it became apparent that Steve was lost for words. "Uh, not long. In fact, he left just before your knock," Steve was sheepish for reasons that he himself was unsure of. "I see. Very well then, Captain. I shall take my leave of you. Please remind Agent Barton if you see him again to not use the vents. He is not authorized to enter the vents." With that, Agent Coulson stood, gave a nod, and left, closing the door gently behind him. Steve simply shook his head and went back to the book he was reading before all the interruptions. Agents.

***********

Phil decided to return to his office when his trip to Captain America's room did not yield an archer. If Clint had left before he came in, then it is more than likely that he will end up in his office sooner or later. Clint did not much like the helicarrier and he did not have a office, only a small cubicle that offered no privacy. Sure enough, Phil opened his office door to a certain archer stretched out over his couch like a feline. "Barton, nice to see you here," he spoke as he went to his chair behind his desk which was overflowing with paperwork. Clint simply grinned, saying, "Aw, Phil. You missed me. I am so touched."

Phil definitely did not crack but was absolutely serious when he replied, "You have only be gone for a month, of course I have not missed you." He pretend to be engrossed with the paperwork, ignoring the grinning archer. "Come on, Phil, I know you and you have been reading the same line 3 times in the last five minutes." Clint did not even pretend to be fooled, calling Phil out on his pretense.

"Speaking of, I went to see a certain Man Out of Time," Clint said nonchalantly. Or was it? Phil could not help but think that he heard some undercurrent in Clint's tone of ice. "I know. I went to find you in the Medical Bay." "Well? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" Clint asked teasingly. "How did it went?" Phil played along. "He is a national hero and he is nice. He asked me to call him Steve. I like him," Clint replied, distracted by an after action report he spotted on Phil's desk. "Hey, what is this? You took on new agents while I was away? I thought I was the only one to submit after action reports to you?"

"Fury assigned Captain America to me and he had his first mission three days ago." Phil tried not to think too much on the fact that Captain Rogers asked Clint to call him by his first name or that Clint seemed inclined to do so. "Is that so? How'd Steve do?" Clint asked curiously, sneaking the after action report off the desk. Phil snatched it back and gave him a half-hearted glare. "You know full well that all missions are confidential and need-to-know only, Clint." "Oh come off it! I will bet that it is a mere milk run and I can get information on it from the watercooler gossip around here." Clint grinned, unrepentant.

Well, that's true. There's no way that Captain America's first mission in the 21st century would be anything too urgent and important and it was likely news had already been passed around, gossiped and analysed by the other agents. But it still did not mean that he was going to break confidentiality. Nope, he was not going to cave under Clint's infectious grin. No, no, no- oh what the hell. It would not make any difference; Clint would have known one way or the other. At least that was what Phil told himself as he begun to tell Clint what happened on that milk run.

Clint just grinned even wider and settled in. At the end of the story, he stretched and commented, "Steve is certainly a good guy. I guess all those hero worship is justified eh, Phil?" Laughing, he dodged the pen Phil lobbed at him.

***********

Phil tried not to notice that Clint had been spending quite a lot of time with Captain Rogers. It wasn't to say that Clint had not been spending time with him, but Clint was actually cutting short his range time to spar with Captain Rogers. When they fell into bed at the end of long days at work, more often than not Clint would have some story or other to tell about the Captain. Sometimes it was something the Captain did, sometimes it was something the Captain told him, like the fact that he and Sergeant Barnes were something a bit more than friends. Phil cannot decide whether he was jealous of Steve or envious of Clint.

He himself had been spending quite a bit of time with Captain Rogers as well, being his handler and direct superior for the time being though he had no delusions that it would only be for a short time while the Captain was being re-integrated into society and brought up to speed. They had went on a few more missions together, nothing as mundane as the first mission, but also nothing too critical. He found the Captain to be quite a strategic thinker and quick learner, making him a true pleasure to work with.

Phil was actually quite surprised to realize that Captain Rogers' combat skills was not up to par with the average agents and that he won most of his fights through sheer strength and speed. However he was also noting that the Captain's skills were improving quickly and made a point to ask one day after a mission debrief. "Captain Rogers, your combat skills have improve a lot in these past 6 months. I estimate them to be around the average level of any SHIELD agent though I must suggest that you continue to improve. You will likely be sent on more critical missions soon and having better than average combat skills will be advantageous."

"Oh, thank you. I knew that my combat skills are not as good as others so I have been practicing with Clint. He had been showing me new moves and practicing with me. Agent Coulson, you are correct when you told me that I would have found him a challenge that day I met him," Captain Rogers answered with his usual bright smile. Although Phil did not show it, he was quite surprised as Clint had always declined to teach the baby agents combat skills when asked. Phil didn't know what to do with this new information.

"Well, keep up the good work, Captain. I will see you at the gym tomorrow to assess your current level." When in doubt, Phil turned back to his paperwork. Boring, mundane paperwork always help to put things into perspective. He barely heard Captain Rogers' "Sir!" as he let himself out, engrossed in the after action report of a disastrous mission in Latveria.

It was seven in the evening when he raised his head from the pile of paperwork on his desk. The towering pile of papers had been reduced to a mere 5 inch thick stack. Phil paused and decided that the rest can keep for the next day and reached for his jacket. That was when he remembered that Clint had said that he would be late tonight because he had a sparring session scheduled with Captain Rogers. Phil leaned back in his chair, no longer in any hurry to return to a dark empty house.

As he sat alone in the quiet of his office, doubts crept into his mind. Did Clint enjoyed the company of Captain Rogers more than his company? They were much more similar in character after all, both of them being men of action while he preferred to think things through. A paperpusher, he thought to himself. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he and Clint had sparred. Ever since he was promoted to Level 8, he had less and less time to spend on the gym or the range (where he used to go and watch Clint shoot). He wondered, as he often did at the beginning of their relationship, what Clint had seen in a balding paperpusher.

He knew that Clint loved him, never doubted it for a second. But was Clint happier with Captain Rogers? Was Phil holding him back when he would rather spar or train with a younger, fitter man who preferred action over paper? He didn't think so, but he was no longer sure. Not with how much time Clint had been spending with Captain Rogers, almost more than he spent with Phil. Not that he was counting of course. Phil didn't know and for the first time in his life, unsure on how to proceed. He decided that he would not say anything and savour all his time with Clint just in case this thing they had was winding up to an end. Not for the first time, he wished that he was younger, more active. Not for the first time, that wish would be in vain. Phil was a thinker through and through. He would never be comfortable jumping into action without a plan. And if Clint wanted Captain Rogers because of that, then there's that and the only comfort Phil have would be that Captain Rogers was a good man and Clint could hardly do better.

[deathweaver]

maybe we’ll try in another life

@shallow wanted some UNBEARABLY SAD SHIT so i wrote some unbearably shit. feat. our D&D characters, rin & arjas. and DEATH.

The grave was almost entirely unmarked. No one in the village knew anything about Arjas, and his purpose in their little town was revealed only after the fact. A courier had visited the governor's house—the finest house in the village, the ONLY fine house in the village—and found the door ajar. Inside, upstairs, he entered the bedroom, and in doing so nearly stumbled over Arjas's corpse. The mayor was on his bed, an arrow stuck through his chest. Arjas had a dagger in his throat: the governor was not always a politician, and though he remembered his old ways, his reflexes were dull. Quick enough to kill the intruder, but not quick enough to escape his attack.

The people were grateful. The man was corrupt, they said, squeezing them for every spare copper he could manage. The village was too remote to send for formal help. Someone had hired Arjas, though nobody would admit who. Even so, the innkeeper and the blacksmith and a few other people with good muscles came to collect their heroic assassin later that day. They couldn't bury him in the church graveyard; he was an outsider, and, technically, a cold-blooded murderer. But they found a clearing in the woods, a space beneath an oak tree, and they buried him there.

Rin got all of this out of the tavern, though it took some effort. Some wheedling, some cajoling. Ultimately a little bit of menacing. But once the innkeeper and the locals were drunk and frightened enough—they had never seen a drow, didn't know what he was capable of—they told him everything he wanted to know.

Rin kneeled before the tree, his throat tight, his chest aching. He pressed both palms, flat, into the dirt. One of the villagers had stuck a grave marker into the ground, a haphazard sun symbol made of twine and wood. Their god, he supposed; Arjas never followed any particular religion, insofar as Rin knew. He stared at it for a few minutes, paralyzed with grief, his thoughts a mess of guilt and longing. It'd been six years since they saw each other last.

Some petty untruth had finished them off; Rin couldn't remember which. Arjas had caught him misdirecting about food, or where he got his vests tailored, or whether he preferred red wine to white. It was meaningless, the kind of casual lies Rin told automatically whenever anyone asked him even basic personal questions.

Arjas had gone quiet for a few minutes. Long enough that Rin asked about it, long enough that he could tell something was wrong.

“Why do you always do that?” Arjas had said, frowning at his drink.

Rin had tried to play innocent, laugh it off. It didn't mean anything; why did it matter? But Arjas had followed the path, pressed the attack. He knew Rin for a con artist; they both were. They had worked together for years now, taking people for what they worth—and as much as they could get beyond that, too. But Rin's storytelling didn't stop with the spoiled nobles of Waterdeep. He never quit the act. He never put the mask down. Arjas wasn't unaware. But he was tired.

“I've never lied to you,” he said. They were upstairs now, in their room. An inn that had faded from Rin's memory. Mediocre, he thought; Arjas always liked to spend as little as possible on their lodgings. He remembered sitting on the bed's thin sheets, remembered the tremor in his hands as Arjas, for the first time ever, raised his voice.

“Never,” Arjas said, “about anything.”

Rin had swallowed hard, feeling knives in his throat. He'd clutched the bedpost—rough pine, half-heartedly carved, splintering against his palm—and tried to marshal the panic fluttering in his gut. A primal response to anger, a fear that bid him to flee and hide.

“Because you don't have to,” he'd managed, not quite looking Arjas in the eye.

“Why?” Arjas said. “Why do you have to, with me? What do you think's going to happen? Do you think I'll betray you?”

Rin didn't answer right away. Thinking back on it, he pinpointed that moment as the end. Arjas hadn't walked out  until the next morning, but he was already gone before then, his decision made in the space between asking the question and the long seconds before Rin's answer.

“No,” he'd said, finally, weakly. Too late. Not enough. And not true, either. He expected everyone to betray him, eventually. That was the way of the world, wasn't it? Even with the people closest to you. Especially with them. No one can crush your heart so well as the person who's already got it in hand.

“Fuck,” Arjas muttered. He shut his eyes, his hard breathing slowing down to something shallow and frail, something miserable and quiet. “Have you ever told me anything true?”

“I like mushrooms,” Rin said, too quickly. An idiotic play for levity. Arjas just stared at him, defeated, shoulders hunched. He looked like someone who'd just fallen through a floor, who was both surprised and disappointed that he was still alive.

“No, I—” Rin tried again, standing up, reaching for Arjas, “I didn't mean that—I mean, I did, but, there were other things, too! There were important things.”

He tried to touch Arjas's shoulder. “How I felt—how I feel. That wasn't a lie.”

Arjas had jerked away. Shook his head. After a moment, he said, “What's your name, Rin?”

Rin fidgeted. Deflected. “Halierin. I've told you that.”

“No,” Arjas said. “The real one. The one your mother gave you.”

“Well, I hate my mother, so I don't think her opinion on anything is relevant--”

“Rin,” Arjas said. He didn't sound angry anymore. Just exhausted. His voice was reedy, soft. “Or whoever the hell you are. Let's forget it, okay? Let's forget the whole damn thing.”

Rin had pleaded, begged, argued. It wasn't about you, he'd said. There were dangers. There were people he had to fear. Circumstances to manage. Veils that had to stay drawn. Arjas had listened to all of it, patiently, silently. And then, when Rin's own voice had gone hoarse from trying to justify himself—all the while never really giving ground, all the while never really answering a real question—Arjas had gotten up.

He looked at Rin. He said, “I loved you. I just want you to remember that.”

Then he sat down on the floor. He shut his eyes again. He went silent.

Rin thought, okay. They'd rest. They'd talk it out more in the morning. He'd get Arjas to understand.

But when he woke from his trance, Arjas was gone. No trace left behind—no arrows, no music sheets, no spare shirts or skins of water. Cold sun filtered in through the open window, hurting Rin's eyes, digging deep into his skin. He was alone, and the room was bare.

For a while, he'd thought they might see each other again. That Arjas just needed to cool off. He thought he could change, too, that he was ready to tell Arjas everything, every last bit of the truth, and he even  thought he was ready for that to be too late, for Arjas to take it and put it away and leave regardless. But he would never know now.

Rin took a silver-handled dagger from his vest. Its blade was thin and sharp, good for putting between an unsuspecting rib. Small enough to hide anywhere. He set the blade down, then took a scrap of parchment, a bit of ink, and a quill from the bag at his waist. He wet the quill, pressed the parchment down as flat as he could, and he wrote. He could mimic almost anyone's hand; he was a master at calligraphy, at cursive, at the formal, blocky letters of a royal decree or the dramatic sweep of a gala invitation.

But just this once, he wrote as himself. His letters were slanted and slender—he pulled them across the page, making a simple name easily fill up the scrap. When he was done, he wrapped the parchment around the dagger, tying it in place with a pale blue ribbon.

“I hope you moved on,” he said to the dirt. “I hope you found someone better. Someone who deserved you. I hope I never crossed your mind.”

That's not true, of course. He's lying again, even here and now, talking to nothing. He cringes, shaking his head. He hoped Arjas thought about him all the time. He had hoped something big and romantic stopped them reuniting, some impossible task, and that Arjas wanted to see him again, too. That there was something to salvage, if only it were possible to try.

He dug beside the grave, not too far, not too deep. Only enough for one small thing.

“I should have given this to you sooner,” he said, setting the dagger down into the freshly turned earth. “I should have given it to you from the start.”

He folded soil back onto the dagger, not stopping until it was buried beyond sight. He bent low, pressing his forehead to Arjas's grave, feeling the sun symbol scratch against his scalp. His vision blurred; his cheeks felt hot and damp.

“I'll get it right next time,” he said. “Just wait for me right here. Just wait for me.”

[lovinglunaxxtothemoonandback]

What a blur...

Well...this post to you comes from my new living room in North Carolina..and what a blur it’s been! 

Wednesday: We had a great NJ Day. My friend Jenny was off so we spent the day in downtown Point Pleasant. Luna was a handful but we enjoyed walking around the stores. The teacher supply store was giving a 25% off discount so I did really well. I also got a NJ outline necklace at my favorite PP store Stella e Luna. We ended the day with iced coffee and pizza..good times. It was also Kory’s last day at his NJ store so we had a fun game night to celebrate

Thursday: We visited my grandmother and ran some errands before going home and finishing up packing. Packing Luna’s room was really hard, I was crying. We created that room for our little girl, and it’s grown up with her..leaving it behind was hard. I can barely even remember Thursday honestly, just working continuously to get stuff done.

Friday: Loading day! First thing in the morning we dropped Luna off with her sitter. Well first we picked up flowers for her. Luna was very excited to be there. Then it was on to picking up the truck. It was starting to rain and I was getting nervous. Kory took the truck and I ran to target to get a new litter box for the cats going with my BIL. Kory beat me home but waited for me and Jenny to get there to help him back the truck into our spot. When he backed it in and opened it up I started to panic..it didn’t look nearly as big as I expected. Once my BIL and his friend showed up we started loading. Luckily, there was no more rain but damn it was humid. Bringing everything down from the second floor apartment SUCKED. After about 3-4 hours though, everything was loaded. And I mean EVERYTHING! It all fit!!!! I couldn’t believe it. We even had room to spare to pick up the things at my aunts house. Anyway, we treated the guys to pizza then said our goodbyes. I ran to the store to get flowers and a birthday cake for my aunt, then I picked Luna up from her sitters and that was REALLY hard..I was crying. We’re going to miss her a lot.

We met Kory at my aunts and relaxed for the evening. She cooked and my cousin came over with her kids and we had a cake for my aunts birthday. It was a nice evening. But then anxiety started hitting me and I couldn’t sleep AT ALL. Took me a couple of hours it was awful.

Saturday: Woke up to my aunt letting us know there was a massive storm front coming and a tornado watch. In NJ...cool. It didn’t wind up being too bad and cleared up pretty quickly. Once it cleared up with left Luna with my aunt to go back to the apartment to clean and return the keys. It took 4 hours and it was AWFUL. I was a sad to leave but then they were obnoxious in the office (saying they would charge me for the rubber pool pass bracelets I pack...bite me) so it took the sadness away. 

I was exhausted when we got back to my aunts and it was chaos there. Luna was exhausted, she did a lot with her cousins and she was being straight up nasty. I kept trying to remove her from the situation but her cousins kept following and it was terrible and I was so tired. Luckily I finally got her to lay down with me for just a few minutes to talk and relax and my cousin put her kids on their screens so it would be quiet and everything was better after that. Kory showed up and it was time to load up the stuff at my grandmas house. My moms dining room table was being stored there and we were taking my grandmas patio set. It was super heavy and our friend helping us move was coming a lot later than expected so it took a lot to get it on the truck but we managed! Finally everything was loaded (we fit EVERYTHING expect 2 of the 6 patio chairs which we can bring down when we visit for christmas). We hooked the tow dolly up to the truck (my cousins husband had arrived luckily) and tried to get Kory’s car up...but it wasn’t working. His car sits too low and it was destroying the bumper. So it was decided that my car would have to be hooked up and I would have to drive his to NC...GREAT!!!! Cue panic attack..you guys know how you get used to your own car the idea of driving someone elses car that far is nerve wrecking. Plus my car has apple car play which makes using gps really easy..plus its a hybrid..just ugh. My car went up on the tow dolly without a problem and we just switched stuff around. 

We ordered chinese food (fun fact, my first ever meal and last ever meal as a NJ resident were both chinese from the same restaurant!). My cousins were so sweet, they bought Luna “going away gifts” (even though she just had a birthday). They got her a big Elsa doll and a mini Else castle with the characters. Perfect for the car! Kory had to go pick up our friend (who was running late) it was nearly 9 and he wasn’t back yet so I put Luna to bed myself. Her cousins were SO SAD to say goodbye (Luna didn’t really understand why). She was exhausted and went down without a peep. Kory showed up and we said goodbye to my cousins. We kept the emotions away for the kids. Not long after it was time for bed..it hit me how scary everything was and I was crying in bed. Took me a long time to fall asleep again.

Sunday: The day arrived! Alarms went off at 3am (yawn) and we got moving. My aunt woke up and made me coffee (yay). We loaded up the cars, got Luna out of bed and said our goodbyes. That was super emotional, my aunt and I were both basket cases. They’re coming down in November though..just a few months away. Luna woke up and was very excited for the trip..I gave her some melatonin and prayed she would fall back asleep. Not long out of my aunts development, she did. We stayed behind the truck for about 30 minutes until I couldn’t take the slow speed anymore and sped up. Around 5:30 Kory called me to see how we were doing (they had stopped for gas and to switch drivers). Luna was still asleep and stayed asleep until nearly 7!!! By then we were in Virginia so we stopped at the first rest area for a potty break (I had to pee SO BADLY but refused to stop as long as she was sleeping!!!). I got us situated and started Luna’s “gifts” (I picked up a bunch of cheap stuff from the dollar tree and wrapped it) every 40 mins or so I set an alarm on my phone and she got a present. It was great, kept her really well behaved. 

Our next stop wasn’t long after the first but I wanted to get gas before we got off 95 because 84 doesn’t have as many options. I took an exit and got gas at the first gas station I saw..my first time pumping gas ever (hello Jersey girl here!!). I couldn’t figure it out, Kory wasn’t answering and I was trying not to panic. Luckily I figured it out soon..stupid pump made you start pumping before paying..lame.

Back on the road! I wanted to stop at a rest area around 11 to get lunch together (we had sandwiches in the car). I missed one at 10:45, figured there would be one soon but no luck. Nearly 12 I couldn’t take it anymore so we stopped at a Pilot with a dunkin donuts right off the highway (figured I could use caffeine anyway). We pottied and I got coffee then Luna jumped in a giant puddle before I could stop her and was filthy and soaked and needed cleaning and changing. This was the start of our downfall. Finally we got back on the road with only 2 hours to go. Luna was set up with lunch and a movie. Surprisingly, she fell asleep in front of her movie (NEVER HAPPENS). We hit our first traffic of the trip (accident) but she slept through it. Less than an hour left! We were definitely getting testy with each other but we were almost there! When we hit the local highway I was giddy with relief. When we pulled into the neighborhood I legit started sobbing I was so happy. When we pulled into the driveway I just laid my head on the steering wheel and cried for a minute. 

Kory and Jamie showed up with the truck and 40 mins after us (they made really good time, they stopped a lot more than we did). We went to get lunch then came back and unloaded. Despite having less people (and me being basically useless because I felt so sick ) and Luna being underfoot we were done in just a couple of hours. I don’t really remember much else about that day, I was so tired. I slept so well in my own bed.

Monday:  Errands day! Pick up the modem (took forever), to Lowes to get parts needed for the dining room table, to the grocery store for stuff for an epic brunch. By noon we were finally eating at our dining room table and it was DELICIOUS!! Then I put Luna in her room for quiet time and unpacked the rest of the kitchen while Kory and Jamie took the truck to get the washer, dryer, BBQ and lawn mower (YIKES money being spent). When they got back the hooked up the washer and dryer and went to return the truck. They came back with food (we didn’t have time to BBQ) and it was time to bring Jamie to the airport. I was sad our last bit of NJ was leaving us. It’s going to be okay though. Kory had to stop by his new store so Luna and I picked some stuff from Target. Another exhausting day.

Tuesday: Kory’s last day off before going back to work. We did a little bit around the house then ventured out to toys r us (about 35 mins away) to finally spend Luna’s birthday money. We got a play house and little pool for the backyard. There was also a home decor store called at home..it was basically a homegoods on steroids..we couldn’t even get through the whole thing! We we’re starving by then and got a last hurrah meal and steak and shake..shakes to go and everything. When we got home Luna went into quiet time and we relaxed. When she was done Kory mowed the lawn then we put together her house and the patio furniture and had our first family bbq. It was delicious and just perfect. I’ve been wanting to have our own backyard for a looooong time.

Today: Kory had work :( Luna and I still ventured out to walmart and the dollar tree (using gps to get to walmart haha). It was a very slow, long, lonely day. I got some stuff done around here and set up Luna’s pool and we had fun. Hoping to make friends soon..it’s awfully lonely here. But we’re still enjoying the house and the area! Today I got an email from my new boss with our specials and lunch schedules so we can make our class schedules. It’s super weird seeing my name on the schedules..and very exciting and nerve wrecking! She also texted me to let me know that my classroom is ready so when Kory has off next week I’m going to go in and start bringing stuff in!

[fandammit]

for the 100 meme - sinclair

A/N: I know that this is very Raven centric, but it’s all told from Sinclair’s perspective, so I guess it counts? I just have a different Raven & Sinclair planned that’s set during S2/3 time jump. 

The 100 Meme: Eight characters [1/8] - Jacapo Sinclair (aka 2400 words on Raven and Sinclair’s backstory lmao I’m ridiculous)

“I added extra garlic in your soup.” He gestures over to the tidily packed leftovers on the kitchen counter. “The bread will probably go bad in another two days, so don’t wait too long to eat it.”

Normally, he wouldn’t say anything - just hand her the food with a small, sardonic smile and be grateful that she actually takes it. It’s taken nearly three years of weekly dinners with him and Liona for Raven to accept the small bit of help that he knows she needs.  

Early on, she’d flat out refused to take any food home with her. He gathered that she was smart enough to realize that Liona’s dinner invite to their shared favorite student was partially because they both really did enjoy having her in class, and partially an attempt to make sure she was getting enough food. In addition to a brilliant mind, Raven also has an almost pathological inability to accept help of any kind. Which meant he had spent week after week coming up excuses for why she needed to take food home - Liona had made too much, she was the only one who could stomach the amount of basil he’d ‘accidentally’ tossed into the soup, their protein ration would go bad in the next day.

After weeks of crafting increasingly outrageous reasons for why she needed to take the leftovers home with her, Raven had finally stopped him one night midway through a fabricated story involving a ration mix-up and a failed experiment in the kitchen.

“As much as I like hearing about the weekly adventures of the Sinclairs attempting to cook dinner, I’ll just take the food and nix storytime.”

She’d said it with one eyebrow cocked, sarcasm dripping off of every word. But he’d known her well enough by then to hear the sincere look of thanks in her eyes.

She had taken the food and, in a surprising bit of affection, given Liona a hug before hurrying out of their home.

He remembers turning to Liona then, arms crossed in front of him, a rare smile stretched across his features.

“Guess she got tired of hearing my stories.”

Liona had snorted, then shook her head at him and patted him fondly on the cheek.

“I think she just finally believes that we aren’t going anywhere.”

Tonight, though, he points out the food to her - partially as an inside joke, partially because she’s so distracted that he’s afraid she’ll leave without it.

She looks up from the dinner table and nods at him, a faraway look in her eyes that he swears looks almost guilty, tinged with something that he can’t quite place. He frowns.

“Raven,” he says, and he can see her start at the sound of her first name. These days he makes sure to call her by her last name, same as anyone else on the team - as if doing so will make everyone forget that he had all but handpicked her for the Zero G program about five minutes after she stepped into his apprenticeship class, that he’d had to fight four different levels of bureaucracy to get her certified.

She looks at him and - there it is again - that look of guilt. Something else, too, that gives him reason to pause for a moment. He tries to get a better look at the expression on her face but she ducks her head back down quickly.

If he didn’t know better, he’d swear it was fear.

He draws his brows together. He’s seen ten different shades of Raven’s anger, witnessed her frustration, very rarely recognized anxiety. But he cannot recall a signal instance of fear - not when it became clear she’d have to move out on her own, or when she first stepped out into zero g. Not even when Finn got put into lockup. For every moment that others might show fear, Raven Reyes had only gritted her teeth together and moved forward with grim determination.

He can tell that she’s been distracted this past week. And, unfortunately, despite working together, the only dedicated one on one time he ever gets to spend with Raven are at these weekly dinners. This next week, especially, he knows he won’t even be in the engineering quarter, but will instead be monitoring the status of the 100 from Earth Monitoring.

So he leans in and gives her a questioning look.

“Is everything ok?” He tilts his head down to try and catch her eye.“You’ve just been pretty distracted these past few days.”

She bites her lip and just stares at him, seeming to consider something that’s just beyond his grasp.

Finally, she shakes her head as though clearing it, then turns a corner of her lip up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it, but I - I hope you’ve always known that - .” She stops abruptly and looks down, tracing the worn patterns in their hand-me-down kitchen table. She clears her throat and looks back up at him. “I’ve really appreciated everything you and Liona have done for me these last few years.” She scratches the tabletop, suddenly unable to meet his eye. “You took care of me.” She glances over at the food on the kitchen counter and smiles. “Even when I didn’t think I needed it.”  

He waits for her to glance up at him before he nods.

“We’ve always known, Raven.” He hesitates for a moment, then lays a hand on her shoulder. He’s never been a particularly affectionate person - that’s more of Liona’s purview - but something in Raven’s expression makes him think she might need it right now. “Wanna talk about what’s been on your mind?”

She gives him a long look before she shrugs and looks away.  

“You know, I just haven’t been able to see Finn these last few days, so it makes me moody.” He manages - just barely - not to wince at the boy’s name. It had been his suggestion to put Finn on the list of the 100 - a genuine, last ditch attempt to save the life of the boy that Raven loved; still, he can’t but feel guilty when faced now with the direct consequences of his choice. “And,” she continues, a bit more expressive than she’s been all night, “Liona’s soup was really good tonight, so I thought I should stop being an asshole for a moment and actually thank you both for putting up with me.”

He tips his head up and studies her expression. He wishes that Liona hadn’t gone to bed early with a migraine - he’s almost certain she could get Raven to talk about what’s obviously on her mind. He’s always been less inclined to push than she is, so instead he just lets out a long breath and smiles.

“I’ll let her know.”

Raven nods and pushes herself back from the table, then walks over and lifts the bag of food from the countertop. She glances over at him - a still, inscrutable look that worries him for a reason he can’t quite place - then shrugs her jacket on. She turns towards the door but stops halfway and whips back around to face him.

“Give her my love, ok? And just - .” She blows out a shaky breath and shakes her head, then walks quickly over to him and throws her arms around him. “Thank you, Sinclair,” she says, and he finally get over his shock enough to wrap his arms back around her. She drops her head against his shoulder and sighs. “You believe in me?” And it must the fact that the words are muffled by his shoulder that it comes out in present tense, more a question than a statement. But he knows what she means, anyway. He squeezes her shoulders before stepping away from her. “I’ve always believed in you, Raven.”

She nods, then smiles at him, a teasing glint to it.

“A little self serving, don’t you think? After all, I learned basically everything I know from you.”

He grins at her.

“Who better to learn from?”

Her smile softens, and she reaches out to give him one last hug.

“Don’t forget that, ok?”

Before he has time to puzzle through her question or her sudden bout of physical affection, she turns and very quickly walks out of their home.

He stares at the closed door and shakes his head, resolves to be a little more persistent at what’s bothering her at the next weekly dinner.

But of course there is no next weekly dinner.

Abby walks into Earth Monitoring Station, her eyes immediately moving up to the widescreen at the front of the open bay. He tracks her movements, sees the way she rubs the marks on her wrist before resting her hands on Jake’s ring at her neck. Some part of him knows that she only did what she thought was right, that she had meant to go with Raven, that she truly believes what she did will work.

But the part that’s closer to the surface, that’s rising up in a roaring wave of anger and agony can only think this: that Raven is shooting towards space in a hundred year old ship, cobbled from spare scrap metal, held together by Raven’s ingenuity and Abby’s convictions.

He walks slowly over to her and stands beside her, keeping his eyes trained on the screen in front of them. A screen that tells them both everything but what they want to know.

“Liona had Raven in her math class when Raven was ten,” he begins without preamble. “She was four years younger than everyone in there and scored twice as high as the rest. She started her Engineering apprenticeship with me a full two years before she was technically eligible. She’s been coming to our house for a weekly dinner for the last three years.” He keeps his eyes focused in front of him. Doesn’t trust himself to face Abby. “How well do you know Raven, Abby?”

His voice is level and flat; someone who didn’t know better might very well might mistake it for emotionless.

But Abby does know better; has, in fact, known him since they were both children growing up together on Alpha Station. So when she glances over at him, he knows it’s to gauge just how angry he really is.

Her sharp intake of breath tells him she’s figured it out.

“I know that you believed in her enough to overturn four different levels of bureaucracy. I know that she’s the youngest Zero G Mechanic in 50 years. ” She glances over at him. “And I know that your judgment is never off.”

His mouth thins to a stiff line.

“I wish I could say the same about you.”

He sees her close her eyes momentarily.

“I had to, Sinclair. For Clarke.” She looks over at him. “If Raven had been down there with her, you would’ve done whatever it took.”

He gives a curt nod.

“Yes.” He turns towards her and stares at her intently. “But if I were sending Jackson out, I’d at least let you know.” He grits his jaw. “I’d at least let you say goodbye.”

Abby bows her head, then nods before turning to face him, her eyes wide and earnest.

“She’s going to make it, Sinclair. I really believe that.”

He wants to say that believing doesn’t make it so, that it won’t hold together rusted parts during re-entry or keep Raven safe in the coldest reaches of space.

But he can’t. Because belief is all he has now, too.

It’s two weeks after the fall of Mount Weather before he and Raven have a chance to drive out to the site of her crash landed spaceship.

He stares at the broken, twisted pieces of it; sees her dried blood splattered on the chair, the ripped up wires, and imagines the thousand and one different permutations of how it could’ve all gone wrong.

All of a sudden, he’s angry at Abby all over again, nauseated at the thought of Raven hurtling through the darkness of space, hurt that she hadn’t come to him for help.

He doesn’t vocalize any of this, of course. Just turns to Raven with his arms crossed in front of him.

“You came down in that?” He aims for incredulous, but words come out sharp and accusatory instead.  

She arches a brow at his tone.

“What, I made it, didn’t I?”

He huffs and shakes his head. Neither of them make a move towards the scrap metal that barely passes for a spaceship in front of them. Instead, he glances over at her.

“I would’ve helped you, you know.”

She rocks back on her heels, then looks down at the ground.

“I was afraid that you’d stop me.”

He gives her a wry look.

“Raven, I’ve yet to see anyone - myself included - stop you from doing something you have your mind set on.”

She grins at him before she nods.

“It turned out alright.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. She’s right, of course. But he still remembers the sinking feeling in his stomach when Kane rushed in to tell him what had happened, those long, drawn out hours when he replayed that last scene in his kitchen, wondering what he could’ve done, what he should’ve said, praying to a god that he didn’t even believe in.

He breathes out heavily.

“A lot could’ve gone wrong,” he finally says.

She lets out a laugh that’s more bitter than anything, then balances herself against him as she shuffles on her brace.

“A lot has gone wrong, Sinclair.”

She grimaces and he frowns at the sweat that’s beading on her forehead from the pain of standing upright. He wants to direct them both to a fallen down log so that she can sit down and get off of her leg, but he knows she’d only glare at him. So instead, he loops his arm around her shoulders to steady her and hopes it can be enough for right now.

“But we’re both still here,” he says after a quiet moment. It’s not quite optimism, but it’s a brand of hopeful that he thinks is still honest.

She smiles up at him. It’s a small gesture, held up weakly by the edges of her lips, but he’s glad to see it reach her eyes.

“Yeah,” she says softly, leaning into him, “at least there’s that.”