#seriously though I have never been simultaneously more and less organized

[in-tua-deep]

You know people don’t tell you this but apparently when you are actually on meds for your ADHD you suddenly gain the ability to just… make spreadsheets

Two years ago me barely even touched google sheets. Today me is constantly like “hmm you know what I could do with all this information I’m gathering? Make an intense multi tab spreadsheet as a quick reference guide :)”

Wild shit

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[jungblue]

aphrodite in war | 01

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: comedy, fluff, angst, eventual smut / greek life, fake dating, roommates, lovers to enemies and back to lovers au

word count: 11,022

description: Everyone knew about the war that had been brewing on the edge of campus for the past two years. Sorority versus Fraternity; a showdown for the ages. However, when the escalating antics between them yields the consequence of possible suspensions for both chapters, the presidents of each house must come together to try and figure out how to end this battle... Which is kind of hard, considering they were the ones responsible for it in the first place.

note: here is an audio post of a beautiful song with lyrics inspired by AiW, which was written by one of my lovely readers!

→ part 02

Hostility bleeds deep. The rivers of resentment collide violently as they carve a divide so saturated in disdain between the parties involved that you don’t even need to be told that there is something more to the story. It doesn’t need to be said out loud, but is just instinctively felt.

You didn’t need to be told that the ominous house at the end of street was sketchy and should be avoided at all cost; you just knew it. You didn’t need to be told that there was bad blood between the guy and girl whose jaws suddenly stiffened as their lips transformed into a firm, straight line when they caught sight of each other at a party; you just knew it — And you most certainly didn’t need to be told that there was an absolute war brewing at the end of Greek Drive between the Tri Delts and Lambdas; you just fucking knew it.

In the beginning, their rivalry was small. It was simple antics such as egging each other’s houses or fucking around with the letters that they so proudly displayed on their lawns. But then it turned a bit more intense. Egging the houses turned into spray-painting them and fucking with the letters on their lawns turned into completely trashing each other’s lawns. It was because of this that the once harmless pranks turned infamous. Everything that happened between their houses had constantly been circulated around campus for the past two years, or at the very least among their Greek counterparts… Which was probably how the two newly inducted presidents of Delta Delta Delta and Lambda Phi Epsilon, on the very first week of their final year in college, found themselves sitting in the office of a much higher power than their own titles — The president of their university; a single word spilling past his lips that had their stomachs twisting.

“Suspension!?” They both yelled in disbelief.

It was a word no organization wanted to hear. It branded your chapters with a shame that would be painted across the local news stations and even across the country. The lines would blur, only to lump them in with those terrible hazing stories that constantly flooded the media.

“P-president Kwon,” Jungkook finally stuttered out after a moment of coming to terms with the seriousness of the situation they were being faced with. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I promise the very... minor pranks that go on between our houses are probably much less problematic than what you’re thinking.”

“Mr. Jeon, do you think that we would threaten something of such dramatic action without several instances of confirmed proof?” President Kwon asked in a clipped tone as he leaned forward in his chair.

You could see the way that Jungkook blanched next to you, clearly not expecting this harsh treatment from President Kwon. Lambda Phi Epsilon happened to be President Kwon’s former fraternity, so it was well known that there was a good relationship there. However, in this moment you could make out nothing except for a glaring, red warning shining off the president’s ice-cold eyes.  

“I — no, sir,” Jungkook whispered, dropping his head slightly to hide the sudden flush of red that was rushing to his face.

“It is more embarrassing than I can possibly describe to the two of you, receiving dozens upon dozens of phone calls and emails over the incidents involving your organizations. Garbage littering every inch of your front yards, obscene images drawn onto your houses, several instances of animal control having to be called due to rodents being set free in the house as a… as a prank? All of this is happening while visits from prospective students and their parents are being conducted. Donors who help this school are wandering the campus and seeing it. Tell me, did the incidents I just mentioned not actually transpire, Mr. Jeon? Ms. Y/L/N?”

The air was so stiff that you barely managed a shaky inhale in order to respond to the juvenile antics being laid out before you. “No, th-they did transpire, sir. And I don’t know what to say besides that I’m so, so sorry that we’ve embarrassed the university this way.” You bit at the inside of your cheek, President Kwon’s relentless glare of disappointment cutting you through and through.

“Yes, so completely sorry,” Jungkook added.

Nothing was said for a few moments after that. It seemed President Kwon wanted to make the two of you squirm for everything that you had done, and it was definitely working. Every movement made you feel self-conscious, the judgement permeating the office air felt as if it were sticking to your skin.

“I know that what we’ve done is completely unacceptable, President Kwon,” You began, not being able to take the silence anymore. “But I promise if you give us just one more chance, we’ll clean up our acts. No more pranks, just cordial neighbors. As the new presidents of our chapters this year, we’ll make sure the members understand that this behavior isn’t something that will be tolerated anymore.”

Jungkook was nodding his head next to you in agreeance. But once again the room was plunged into silence. It was honestly torture, sitting there under such scrutiny as someone held something so dear to you in the palm of their hand. It would break your heart if the suspension actually went through… Considering it was yours and Jungkook’s fault that tensions had gotten to where they were in the first place. The bad blood between the two of you had seeped into the minds of your members as well, which was ultimately how it got so ugly. But it had gotten especially bad this year now that you were the respective presidents of each of your houses and had allowed things to escalate further. Harsh feelings between two people couldn’t do much damage, but when it was dozens versus dozens, well that was when things got messy.

Eventually though you found yourself being pulled back to reality. President Kwon cleared his throat, the sound making your heart stutter in your chest as you prepared yourself for the worst.

“You’re exactly right. It won’t be tolerated any longer.” He paused for a moment, probably for the added effect of letting anxiety seize its way around your lungs. “Probation for the next three months. One more incident and it’s over. Do you understand?”

At that there was a simultaneous sigh of relief from you and Jungkook as the looming consequence faded… At least for now.

“Thank you so much, President Kwon.” Jungkook stood from his chair, reaching across the table to shake his hand. “I promise we won’t mess this up.”

You lifted yourself up from your chair as well, following his lead. “Yes, we promise.”

“I hope that’s true,” Is all President Kwon responded with as he led the two of you towards the door of his office. “Take care.”

With rather mumbled and rushed goodbyes you exited his office, the two of you shuffling quickly down the hallway until you were sure you were out of earshot. Both of you stopped as you turned the corner, insults already resting on the tips of your tongues.

“This is all your fucking fault!” You yelled in a hushed whisper.

“My fault!?” He whispered back, equally as intense. “You’re the one who started this shit, Y/N. No one would even be fighting if you hadn’t opened your mouth to your friends.”

“I was just venting to them! I had no idea that they would go and actually do something about it. And it was a harmless prank. They planted fucking flowers in front of your house for god’s sake, and your loser friends retaliated by digging holes in our yard. You guys are the ones who escalated it, and now it’s this out of control thing that’s going to get our chapters suspended!” Your chest was rising and falling, anger boiling inside of your blood. You had never even partaken in any of the antics that had gone on between the two houses nor had you baited any of your members into participating.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, tongue pressing at the inside of his cheek. “You know what? It’s whatever. We’ve been arguing about this for two years now, so I’m not expecting you to be reasonable any time soon.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, the painful reminder of how long this had been going on searing a deep cut across your chest. But it was like Jungkook had said, this had been going on for a long time and there was no point in arguing about who was right, because it wasn’t as if it actually mattered. So instead, you just didn’t respond. You stared at him for a moment, sneer fading into this sad downward turn of your lips. And surprisingly you watched the way his expression softened as well. His brows were furrowing a little less, his jaw not as hard and brooding.

You gave him a tiny nod before you turned away and headed towards the exit. It was a few seconds before you heard his footsteps start to follow you. Every time his sneakers would squeak against the linoleum floor behind you, it felt like this tiny pressure was beginning to build at the base of your throat. You weren’t sure why you still got these feelings of… longing, even after all of this passed time. It was pathetic. Jungkook apparently didn’t long for anything from back then, so why did you?

Eventually you were able to breathe a little clearer once you pushed your way through the exit and away from the tight and tense space of faculty meetings and suspension threats. The fresh air filled your rattled lungs — too bad it was murky and humid beneath the gray storm clouds that were currently drowning the campus in a depressing drizzle.

“Goddammit,” You muttered beneath your breath.

You didn’t drive here since this building had been so close to your last class of the day. The Tri Delt house was about a ten minute walk from here, so it looked like you needed to get going before the light sprinkle of rain turned into a thunderstorm. You were about to step out from underneath the overhead of the roof and down the steps when you felt a light tug of someone pulling at the back of the belt loop on your jeans. 

“Do you need a ride?” Jungkook asked before you had even turned around to fully face him. His expression was neutral. It didn’t seem annoyed or concerned, but he had always been good at hiding his emotions like that.  

Of course you didn’t want to walk home in the rain, but sitting in a confined space with Jungkook after you’d both just gotten done yelling at one another didn’t seem like the greatest time either. But in the end, you decided that a few minutes wouldn’t kill you. “Yeah, I guess,” You whispered, motioning for him to go ahead so you could follow. His car was parked in one of the first spots at the bottom of the steps. You were both silent as you opened the doors and climbed inside.

It was weird. You hadn’t been in Jungkook’s car in years. You watched him pull out of the parking space, one hand on the wheel, the other leaning against the center console. It felt all too familiar. You blew a heady sigh past your lips, hands wringing in your lap. It didn’t seem to matter how much time passed, the tension between you and him never seemed to lessen. It was a constant, palpable stiffness in the air.

“Do you think we’ll be able to get them to stop fighting?” Jungkook finally asked once they turned onto Greek Drive, giving some mild relief to the strain that the two of you were so highly aware of.

“If suspension doesn’t do it, then I honestly don’t know what would.”

He nodded, seeming to agree. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll cut it out.”

“Yeah, they can’t be that dumb—” However, your words seemed to disintegrate along your tongue as the car approached the Lambda and Tri Delt houses that stood side by side.

“Jesus Christ,” Jungkook muttered, pulling into the driveway which currently had a Lambda named Jimin running down it towards his truck that was completely covered in saran-wrap and a laughing Tri Delt named Joy who was holding said saran-wrap.

“Get back here and take this shit off my truck right now!” You heard Jimin yell.

“Nope, I’m good.” She smiled, shrugging and taunting him as she jogged away.

“This… This might be harder than we thought,” You said.

Jungkook rested his head against the steering wheel, eyes closed. “Yeah, way fucking harder.”

---------

It was several mass group texts later, demanding that every Lambda and Tri Delt come to their houses immediately, that all forty-two members of the combined organizations who actually lived in-house finally arrived… Yeah, there was no way that this could go terribly wrong or anything… Right?

You and Jungkook stood in front of the members as they gathered on the grassy area that separated your two houses. As expected there were dozens of mumbled conversations transpiring, all speculating on what the hell was going on here. You looked to Jungkook, giving him a nod to tell him that they should start.

He cleared his throat, clapping his hands together, resulting in large boom that got everyone’s attention. “All right, listen up. We have something important we need to discuss.”

“Jungkook, why the hell are the Tri Delts here?” A Lambda named Yuta yelled out.

“Because we can be, asshole.” It was Jennie.

“Who’re you calling an asshole?” Taehyung asked, even though he had nothing to do with it.

“Your dickhead friend,” Sana responded, again even though it had nothing to do with her.

And then Chanyeol chimed in, followed by Momo, which then got escalated by Johnny and continued by Dahyun. After that you lost track of who was arguing because it just became a giant clusterfuck of people yelling and this was the perfect example of how this entire war started — people getting involved in the business of others that didn’t even concern them.

You started rubbing at your temples, fingernails digging into your palms. This was enough. “Shut the fuck up!” You yelled, a loud echo that reverberated through the air and hushed everyone into silence. “This is why you’re all here.” You motioned towards them.

“What do you mean?” Someone asked from the back. “What’s going on?”

“Me and Y/N had a meeting with President Kwon today,” Jungkook paused, releasing a deep sigh before continuing. “He said that if we all keep publicly fighting the way we have been… that our chapters will get suspended.” 

There was a small pause, as if it didn’t immediately click with everyone what had been said — and then the panic set in. 

“What?!”

“No fucking way!”

“He can’t be serious!”

“That’s bullshit!” 

“This is just another prank, right?!” 

Having forty-two people publicly shouting expletives, wasn’t the best start to this image reset that President Kwon wanted, but there was no way either of the chapters would have been okay with the other house coming into their own, so this little outdoor set-up was the best option they had. 

You and Jungkook sort of just stood there for a moment, letting the members get their gut-reactions out. Then he turned to you, motioning towards the mob of angry Greek lifers. “You were always better at yelling than me. You wanna quiet them down?” He smirked, a jab that had you clenching your teeth. 

“Great way to start off this so called peace treaty, but sure, I’ll gladly calm them down and get straight to the point. I wouldn’t want to let them drown in their own heads without knowing what’s going on because someone won’t just be upfront.” You stared him straight in the eyes, making sure he got your double meaning since he wanted to play dirty and bring up the past. He simply clenched his jaw and averted his gaze back to the crowd of hysterics laid out before them. 

“Quiet down and we’ll explain.” You yelled as loud as you could, hoping it would reach everyone so that the chatter would die down quickly. Luckily it seemed they were all on the verge of a mental breakdown and needed answers, so the volume was almost instantly brought down to a hush. All eyes were now on you. “To make things simple, President Kwon thinks that our little prank war or whatever the hell you want to call it, has brought too much negative attention to the school. Visiting students and their parents, donors, and apparently a lot of other people have noticed all of the antics that we pull on each other, and they don’t like it.” You paused, gauging the reactions, but everyone was just frozen in place, waiting for more details. “He put both of our houses on three months of probation and said that if we don’t clean up our acts and stop with all of this petty bullshit that he would suspend our chapters. So, really it’s that easy. We just have to let this feud die down...” You paused, not wanting to say what you were going to say next, but you thought that it would be the best way to diffuse the situation. “And I know that it was the venting of my personal feelings that started this entire thing, so I wanted to say… I’m sorry for causing it.” You didn’t look towards Jungkook, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face. You didn’t want to see his expression. Didn’t want to see the smugness or whatever the hell he was feeling towards this forced public apology. You were about to continue, but before you could, a high-pitched voice cut in. 

“No, why are you apologizing?” Sana said, stepping past the front lines of the two groups. “It is not your fault.” She shot a glare towards Jungkook who simply rolled his eyes and kept his stare straight ahead. 

Then it was Jennie pushing to the front to join in on your defense. “She’s right, Y/N. It’s not your fault. We’re the ones who planted the flowers as a joke. Even though it was a harmless joke,” She turned towards the Lambda boys, venom coating her words, “that made their trashy house look a little bit nicer. Yet, they had to escalate it into something else.”

Oh, this was not good.

Jimin broke through the front line for the Lambdas, a scowl etched across his face. “It’s not the issue of what you did. It’s the fact that back then you blindly fucked with the house that all of the guys lived in, not only Jungkook, just because of Y/N being upset over their relationship — which, he did nothing wrong since you wanna start glaring at people for no fucking reason Sana.” 

It was this violent concoction of anger and sadness colliding inside of your stomach that had you simultaneously fighting back the urge to bite off Jimin’s head or crying pathetically in front of everyone. 

Multiple people were stepping to the front of their groups now, various arguments splintering off as people began defending the heads of their respective houses. Y/N this, Jungkook that. You stared at the second story of the Tri Delt house, focusing in on the bedroom window all the way to the right (your bedroom), so that your hearing would blur out. You didn’t want to listen to these arguments any more, but you also didn’t have the energy to both somehow defend yourself while also admitting that Jungkook’s feelings from back then were also valid. So you stood there, eyes glazing over at the sight of the room where this entire feud spawned from. Though, maybe that wasn’t exactly correct. According to Jungkook it had started in no particular place and at no particular time that he could actually pinpoint. That was just the place where it had all finally been verbalized. 

You weren’t sure how long you zoned out for, just reminiscing on the conversation from that night, but it was Jungkook’s voice thundering through the air that halted everyone’s arguments once again, along with your torturous thoughts. 

“All of you just fucking stop!” He yelled. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is or how it started. If we keep doing this we’re gonna get our chapters suspended. Do you guys want that?” There was an awkward moment of silence where everyone was just sort of looking around at one another before the members finally grumbled a unanimous ‘no.’ “Okay, so then you guys are just gonna have to get over this bullshit, just like how me and Y/N are,” Jungkook paused, one brow arched as he turned to face you. “Right?”

You felt your face heat up as you clamped your teeth down onto the inside of your cheek. “…Right.”

“Good.” Jungkook smiled, seeming very happy with himself for getting that out of you — smug asshole. He turned back to face all of the members, clapping his hands together before saying something that caused the entire group to erupt into hysterics. “Now, apologize to each other.”

“Fuck that!” Someone screeched from the back. “Baek let the air out of my tires last year. I was late for my final.” 

“Because you put a pair of panties in my car and my girlfriend thought I was cheating on her!” 

“You probably were!”

Everyone was screaming and calling out various incidents, saying there was no way in hell they were ever going to apologize. 

“Fine! Fucking fine!” Jungkook cut in immediately before it could devolve again. “How about if me and Y/N just apologize to each other and it’ll count for the rest of you? And then this war is dead. Sound fair?” 

No one said anything concrete in response, just unintelligible grumbles rippling through the crowd. Jungkook apparently took this as an okay, because he was suddenly turning toward you. “Alright, you go first.” 

You scoffed. “I’m not apologizing first. It wasn’t even my idea. Besides I already apologized to everyone earlier.”

“It wasn’t an apology to me though.” 

“I don’t think I owe you an apology.” You shrugged. “I apologized for my friends fucking with your house. What else do I need to apologize for?” 

He just looked at you, with those eyes that were unreadable. Though you could see a slight shift, as though there truly was something that he wanted you to apologize for from back then, but he could tell that you weren’t going to back down, so he went for something that cut deep as punishment. 

He huffed in annoyance. “Fine, if you wanna be like that. I’m sorry that I broke up with you, Y/N.”

Your entire body flared with anger that had a pool of sweat instantly swelling at your hairline. You stepped closer to him, only a foot of space between you, but he didn’t back down and you weren’t going to either. “And I’m sorry I wasted three years of my life with a lying, cheating piece of shit!” 

His eyes went wide. The word that never failed to strike a nerve whenever this argument was brought back under the light. His response was quiet but firm, everyone, all forty-two members watching in silence. “I never cheated on you, but if you want to think that just so I can be the bad guy in your head, fine.” 

His final word felt like a sharp cut across your chest, but you stood firm, not backing down. You didn’t break eye contact with him as you voiced your final sentiment to the two groups of warring Greeks. “I don’t care whose side you guys fall on when it comes to this overblown drama between me and Jungkook. The fighting, the pranks, all of it, it’s over.” 

“Agreed.” Jungkook bit out before turning and walking towards the Lambda house, a silent command for his Brothers to do the same. 

You didn’t stand there for a single second longer and began walking toward your own house, your fellow Sisters following. Your best friends, Sana and Jennie, instantly threw their arms around your shoulders. “Vodka?” The universal distraction from all things awful in life. 

You shook your head. “Tequila.” The universal eraser to all things awful in life. “Lots of tequila.”

 ——-

“He’s lucky that we’re in a truce now or I would’ve thought up something diabolical for his arrogant ass,” Jennie said as she dusted some blush on her cheeks. 

“I know right, ugh!” Sana made a disgusted sound as she handed you the necklace she was letting you borrow for the night. “Telling you to apologize first. Like fuck you. You haven’t even done anything.”

You simply sighed, jumping to get your jeans past your thighs. “It’s fine guys. As long as no more issues pop up we can just ignore them and act like none of this ever happened.” 

“I know, I know, but it just pisses me off that they always bring your name into the argument. Like you didn’t tell us to go and mess with them. We did it ourselves, and sure, looking back on it now we shouldn’t have done it — even though they were some nice fucking flowers — but regardless, they pushed it to another level.” Sana let out a final huff as she hopefully released the last of her ranting for the night. 

“The point of the tequila,” You said as you filled three shot glasses, several wedges of lime waiting beside them, “Is to forget the problems. Not continue thinking about them.” 

Sana snapped her fingers and pointed at you with a smile as she picked up her shot. “You know what, you’re right. Fuck the Lambdas. They no longer exist. In my head we live next to a vacant patch of grass.” 

“Exactly.” Jennie picked up her glass, leaving the final one for you. “Cheers to no longer having to deal with the house that must not be named.”

The three of you let out a little cheer before clinking your glasses together and forcing your bodies through the post-shot shivers that followed. 

After the front yard meeting fiasco you knew immediately you would be going out. However, it had still been quite early, so you, Sana, and Jennie decided to indulge in several glasses of wine to bide the time before it was late enough to feel like an appropriate time to be downing shots. Tequila at six in the afternoon, even on a Friday, just didn’t feel right, so alcohol juice it had been. Though, the warm feeling that was already radiating through your legs as you walked over to the mirror to do one last once over of your outfit indicated that the so called alcohol juice had done its job as the pre-game to the actual hard liquor pre-game a little too well. 

“Okay, I’m only opting for one more round while we’re here or else we will be having a repeat of St. Patrick’s Day.” Too many green beers that day. Too many. 

“Senior year wisdom.” Jennie placed her hand over her heart. “Our freshman year brains would never.” 

“Our freshman year brains didn’t have an aversion to six different types of alcohol yet.” You laughed as you motioned to take the next round of shots. “And I would like to still be able to look at a bottle of tequila without going into a full-body sweat after tonight, so we’re pacing ourselves.” 

“Oh, Fireball. The days when I could still drink you were so simple.” Sana grabbed her face and grimaced as if Fireball was a long lost god, while you audibly gagged from the name of the cinnamon flavored whiskey alone. 

“Sana, stop. You know Y/N can’t even look at a churro anymore without looking like she’s gonna yak everywhere like a dog.” 

I faked a sniffle. “God, I miss being able to eat churros.” Cinnamon was now inedible to you thanks to your now forever connection between the delectable spice and the previously mentioned unspeakable liquor. A break up that rivaled that of yours and Jungkook’s. 

“Uber’s gonna be here in three minutes,” Jennie said as she returned to your bedside table to grab her shot glass once again. 

The three of you raised your glasses together with a clink. “Let’s fuck it up.” 

——----

The bar right next to your college, simply referred to as “Pub,” was a weird place to be on the first Friday of the new semester. It was a mix of underage freshman trying to slyly sip at their alcohol while attempting to hide the X’s marked on their hands, and of age students that felt a little too old to be at Pub, but who could argue with free drinks for girls until midnight? Definitely not you, Sana, or Jennie. 

The three of you found your temporary home at the tables on the deck right outside of the entrance, the fresh air much preferable to the stuffy atmosphere of the dance floor that you would soon find yourself on given the right song choice to send you flying through the door. 

You watched as Sana shimmied through the crowd of people to return to your table, three tiny plastic cups in hand. “You get a vodka Sprite, you get a vodka Sprite, and I get a vodka Sprite!” She yelled as she set the cups down on the table. 

You laughed. “People may call that basic, but we still get drunk and don’t have to drink Jack and fucking Coke.”

“The Devil’s combo.” Jennie sipped her drink. “You see a guy drinking that: run. He thinks he’s so fucking cool.” 

Sana raised her plastic cup. “Cheers to the truth.” 

“Cheers,” You all agreed collectively. 

“But speaking of guys who don’t drink Jack and Coke, I ran into Namjoon when I went to the bathroom a minute ago.” A blush crept across Jennie’s cheeks. 

“Are you finally gonna see if he’s interested? He’s not your TA anymore, so it’s not sketchy.” 

Jennie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s weird. He seems so uninterested that it’s intimidating. Like I’ve imagined thirty-seven different scenarios for our first date and he’s only like ‘Hi, Jennie. Bye, Jennie.” 

You and Sana couldn’t help but laugh, however, the amusement was cut short by a decently sized group of familiar males. 

“Fuck me,” You said under your breath, which was enough for Jennie to turn around and see the pack of Lambda boys climbing the wooden steps onto the deck of the bar, Jungkook leading the way. 

“You try to forget your problems and they just walk in on two legs.” Sana groaned. “It’s rude really.” 

The group got caught in the line to get into the bar, which unfortunately left them idling uncomfortably close to your table, and of course something had to be said. 

Jimin glanced down at them sitting, a fake grin plastered to his mouth. “If it isn’t our cordial neighbors.” 

Jennie snapped her head up to look at him, mirroring his forced smile. “Cordial can also mean that we’re pretending you don’t exist. In fact, we no longer acknowledge that we even have neighbors.” 

“That’s fantastic, actually. It means I can forget that awful blowjob you gave me freshman year even happened.” 

Jennie’s jaw clenched for all of a millisecond before responding. “Awful? Say that to my untouched vagina after you came in sixty seconds. Though again, we’re pretending you don’t exist, so I guess I can forget the most underwhelming sexual experience of my life. Thanks, Jimin.” She turned back to you and Sana, not sparing a second glance as if she’d simply given someone directions to the nearest Denny’s. 

But Jimin wasn’t through. “That’s not what happened—”

You could see in your friend’s face she was already squaring up another jab, and as much as you found it entertaining you knew it was setting a bad example. 

“Jennie,” You said at the same time that Jungkook sighed “Jimin.”

You both looked at each other, a silent message of gratefulness passing between the two of you at trying to actually make this work. 

“Guys, neither of us want to get our chapters suspended. If ignoring each other is the best route, do that, or maybe even be friends. Whatever results in no fuckery between our houses, okay?” You reminded them of what was at stake here and everyone nodded, letting any planned animosity fall away as the line to get into the bar began to move. 

You tilted your head, watching as Jungkook’s back disappeared into the building, his eyes crinkling as he smiled brightly at some girl who noticed him the second he made it past the threshold. 

Again, that stupid feeling of longing for something that was clearly dead and gone. But you didn’t want to get too down, so before you could spiral too far you turned back towards your friends. “So did he really last sixty seconds?” 

“No,” Jennie smiled, “But I definitely still have the texts of him telling me the next day it was the best suck of his life. He’s the one that lied first, so I get to bend the truth too.”

“Freshman year is so weird to think about. Everyone was actually friendly. Jennie and Jimin might be dating right now if it wasn’t for our little war.” Sana laughed as she batted the napkin away that Jennie tossed at her. 

“Absolutely not. I want someone like Namjoon, who’s smart and respectful. Not Jimin, who… who…” She trailed off simply finishing her thought with a wordless grimace. 

Jennie said that, but you knew it wasn’t exactly true. You remembered very well when Jennie and Jimin were involved and she actually seemed to enjoy the Lambda’s presence quite a bit. But then things went to shit the summer after your freshman year was over, and well, this was the reality now. Snide comments at every passing instead of mutual invites to beach days. 

You were beginning to let a little slideshow of memories from that first year cloud your head when a song that already had you lifting out of your chair clamored inside the bar. “We dance till dawn!” You pulled your friends by their arms through the entrance, waving your wristbands at the bouncer before pushing your way to the middle of the dance floor. 

“Drinks!” Jennie beamed, remembering that they had finished the others outside. “I’ll be back!” She yelled over the music, pointing towards the bar. 

You and Sana gave her a thumbs up as you began to dance together, singing the lyrics so loud your throats would certainly punish you by night’s end. But you didn’t care. Today had been absolutely disastrous, ripping up old wounds that you wished would just stay permanently beneath their flimsy bandaid, so you were thankful for this music that was blaring so loud that thoughts weren’t even an option, the alcohol that was so potent you could barely remember Jungkook’s smug face from the house meeting today, and your friends that allowed you to be this happy on days this bad. 

A few songs passed and you and Sana were still dancing and getting so hyped up by every new spin that it took you a second to remember that Jennie definitely should’ve been back by now. You looked around, only to find a sight that made you let out a slight scream that was completely concealed by the music. You tapped Sana and began pointing towards the bar. She turned and immediately mirrored your excitement. 

Namjoon was leaning into Jennie at the bar, whispering something into her ear and you could see her smiling, redness once again blooming on her face. In your drunkenness you pulled out your phone and snapped severa blurry pictures, which were sure to be a great topic of discussion in the group chat tomorrow. You watched Jennie nod her head, smiling and pointing to the three drinks in her hand, and then she started back towards where you were. 

“Bitch, the drinks could’ve waited!” You tried to say over the music. “Go back and talk to him.” 

Jennie actually looked giddy as she handed over the drinks to you and Sana. “I am. He’s leaving soon though, but he asked if I wanted to grab something to eat with him at the diner down the street.” 

Sana jumped up and down in excitement. “So he basically asked you to marry him? Got it.” 

“Oh yeah, he’s totally gonna propose to me over my omelette.” She joked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Are you guys okay if I go?” 

“Of course, but I will be checking your location in fifteen minutes and if you are not at that diner I will hunt Namjoon’s ass down in two seconds,” You warned. “—Except if you decide you wanna skip the diner and go straight to fucking that’s cool too, just let us know.” 

Jennie threw out another giddy expression at the thought. “I’ll text you guys. Love you!” She said,  kissing her hand and throwing it out to you as she weaved back towards where Namjoon was waiting for her at the bar. 

“Fuck Disney,” You shouted to Sana. “Dreams come true at Pub too.”

She bent over, laughing as she tried to sip her drink. “Ugh, if only we could be that lucky. I’ve never had a TA even close to that hot.”

“Same, but maybe we’ll find something else tonight.” You motioned toward the back where you could see some of the soccer players hanging out. You eyed Jung Hoseok. The two of you had hooked up a few times last year, and getting laid would be a perfect ending to this bad to actually decent day. 

“Oh, I see.” Sana wiggled her brows, giving a knowing look. “Let’s go bump into them.” She grabbed your hand and began leading you through the crowd until you reached the area that the soccer players were idly standing around and sipping their drinks. You started a conversation about something random right behind Hoseok, and it was only a minute or so before he turned around and noticed the two of you. 

“Oh, look who it is.” He smiled, hugging you. “Been a while.” 

“I know your summer must’ve been so dull without me,” You flirted, sipping at your drink. 

“No question.” He leaned back against the wall, pulling you by the waist so you weren’t halfway on the dance floor and constantly being bumped into. Sana noticed the gesture and took that as her cue to let things simmer between you and Hoseok. 

“Y/N, I see Nayeon and Joy over there.” She pointed towards the other corner of the bar, where you saw the two Tri Delts mingling. “I’m gonna go over there, okay?” 

“Sounds good.” 

She leaned into your ear, whispering, “If you wanna go home with him just text me. I’ll catch a ride with them on the way back to the house.” 

“I’m ninety-five percent sure I will, but I’ll text you to make sure,” You whispered back. 

She squeezed your shoulder before pulling back. “Take care of her Jung. I’ve heard you’re very good at that.” Sana smiled like a tiny devil before running through the crowd, leaving you slightly slack-jawed. 

You bit your lip, a small warmth creeping into our face. “Please, ignore that,” You bit through an awkward laugh. 

“Why’re you embarrassed?” He smiled, shrugging before leaning next to your ear. “I mean I have taken care of you every single time we’ve been together, right?” 

His breath was hot against the side of your face, leaving you tingling. You lifted your hand, cupping his jaw as you pulled him back to look him in the face. “You can’t say things like that to me when we’re in a bar and you can’t do anything about it.” 

He smiled, eyes drifting to your mouth. “I mean we could always leave. It’s almost closing time anyways.” 

You smiled. “One more drink, after I finish this one.” 

“Perfect.” He leaned in, gave you a small peck on the lips before ruffling your hair a little and turning to say something to his friend. Presumably it was something about him getting laid tonight, which was exactly the same conversation you were about to have with your friend. 

You: the hookup is secure 

Sana: quick work. i’m proud 

Sana: joy and nayeon said that lisa is sick in the bathroom and they’re about to take her back to the house, so i was just going to catch a ride with them if you’re going with hoseok. sound good? 

You: oh really? i hope she’s okay. make sure she gets water at home. and yes i’ll be fine. we were gonna have one last drink and then go. i’ll text you when i make it to his place

Sana: sounds good. love you!

You slipped your phone back into your pocket after returning the sentiment. 

“Everything good?” Hoseok asked. 

“Yeah, one of our friends is sick so Sana was just letting me know she was gonna go home with her.” 

“Damn,” Hoseok tsked, jokingly.  “Does that mean I’m stuck with you for the night?” 

“It would seem so.” You smiled, and then he pulled you beneath his arm and adjusted the backwards cap on his head. 

“You know, I’m all for just fucking or whatever, but you’re really never gonna say yes to a date, are you?” 

You paused before answering, remembering that time last year that he’d asked about actually taking you out to dinner. You had thought about it, but in the end you just decided you had no desire to even slightly pivot in the direction of being any more than friends with benefits with someone. Though, if anyone were able to sway you away from that mindset after Jungkook, it would be Hoseok, but just not yet.

“If I let you take me to Steak n’ Shake after this, will that suffice?” You giggled at the way he rolled his eyes while still smiling. 

“I have leftovers in my fridge better than the food from there, so I’ll let you have that.” He paused, a slight glimmer filling his eyes. “Maybe I’ll light a candle, make it romantic, sort of like a date.” 

Your skin prickled slightly at the mention of the candle, a call back to one of their more… unconventional hook ups from last year.

“Is candle wax being melted onto my naked body and drunkenness really a good mix?” You asked, even though it had been one of the best feelings you had ever experienced. 

“Not that drunk, but it could always wait until the morning.” 

You tapped your finger to your lips as if you were pondering it. “Let me get my last drink and I’ll let you know my answer.” 

“I have a tab open.” He motioned towards the bar. “Just get it on mine.” 

“Thanks,” You said, even though you planned to pay for it yourself. Random guys you didn’t mind hustling a few free drinks from, but not guys you were actually sort of friends with. 

You walked up to the bartender. “Vodka Sprite,” You said over the thumping music. He nodded and then stepped to the left and made your drink. He handed it to you as you slipped him your credit card, motioning to close the tab out. 

You were already halfway done with sipping on the drink when the bartender returned a slight look of awkwardness on his face. “Uh, it declined.” 

Your brows furrowed. Your financial aid refund for school had definitely been deposited into your bank account. You knew this because you had jumped for joy when it hit and you were finally able to return to the sanctuary that is no-ads Hulu. There was enough to cover your dues for staying in the Tri Delt house this semester, so there should certainly have been enough to cover a four dollar drink. You were pondering what to do, maybe just put it on Hoseok’s tab like he said you could. It was probably just your actual bank having issues and it would sort itself out in the morning anyways. You were just about to say to put it on his tab when someone slid their muscled bicep right in front of your face with a credit card in hand. 

You knew that it was pathetic that you knew exactly who that bicep belonged to before he even turned to look at your face, black strands of hair hanging over his forehead.

“I got it,” Jungkook said to the bartender. 

“Why’d you do that?” You asked. 

“Because I was right behind you and heard him, and I know how embarrassed you get about things like that.” He shrugged, grabbing the paper and pen that the bartender slid back towards him. 

He was right. You had terrible secondhand embarrassment, let alone actual first hand embarrassment. “Well… thanks. I don’t know why it did that. I got my refund already.” 

“Just check your bank account. If the money’s in there then the bank system is probably just fucked up right now.” 

“Yeah…” You slid your phone out of your pocket and immediately went to your banking app and pressed your fingerprint down onto the login. You waited a few seconds, and when your balance appeared on the screen, you felt your heart drop. “What in the actual fuck?” You said, staring at your bank account with a whopping dollar and twenty cent in it. 

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asked, brows furrowed as he rounded to your side to look at your screen to see the low number that was not at all what it was yesterday. “I thought you said you got your refund?” 

You were shaking your head. “I… I did. I don’t know what the hell happened. Oh my god, I’m gonna freak the fuck out. I have to pay my housing cost for Tri-Delt with that money. Like what the fuck is going on—”

You felt Jungkook’s on your back, rubbing light circles. “Just breathe.” You stiffened at the touch, but didn’t try to pull away. “It’s probably just a financial aid fuck up. Call them tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

You knew that he was probably right, but a creeping feeling was telling you otherwise. This was your fourth year in college dealing with the same exact scholarships every single semester and this had never happened before. 

“Fuck.” You brought your hands up to push at either of your temples. “That really just fucked up my whole mood. I’m not even horny anymore—” You cringed, realizing what you just said. “Please, just ignore me I’m drunk.” You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut, not wanting to see the expression he’d made at your admission. 

“What’re you doing now? Where’s Sana and Jennie?” He asked, ignoring your flub and finally lowering his hand from your back. 

“They’re not here. Jennie left earlier and I told Sana I was gonna go home with… Hoseok, but now I just wanna go lay in bed by myself so I can spiral into every negative possibility of why my bank account looks like that.” 

“It’s gonna be fine.” This time he placed his hand on the back of your neck, cupping it slightly. It was a motion that had always for some reason calmed you down when things got overwhelming. It seemed he remembered. But even though you appreciated the comfort, the feeling of his hand there made something in your stomach flutter — that stupid feeling of longing seriously needed it’s wings shredded. You gripped his forearm, pulling it away from you, and you saw something shift in his eyes as you did so. 

“I guess I’m gonna go tell Hoseok that I’m just gonna go home—” But then you suddenly remembered something. “Fuck! I can’t Uber because I don’t have any money on my card.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “This day was so bad and then actually pretty good, only to turn out fucking awful.” 

There was a couple of seconds of silence between the two of you, but you kept your eyes closed, trying to clear the fog in your head from all the alcohol to figure out what you were going to do. However, Jungkook finally let out a sigh before speaking. “Come on.”

“What?” You asked.

“All of these people are trying to get out of here at once and they’re ordering Uber’s at the same time.” He flashed his phone screen, showing that it was not only almost closing time, but that the next driver wouldn’t be available for thirty-two minutes with everyone having already ordered their rides. “It’s a twenty minute walk back to your house. I’ll just walk you there.” 

Even though Jungkook was currently the president of the Lambdas, he actually decided not to live in the frat house this year and instead opted for a cheaper apartment that was still near campus. You and Jungkook both relied on scholarships to pay for most of your schooling,  and fraternity and sorority dues on their own were not cheap, and living on Greek Drive only made that burden a million times worse. 

But the point was that Jungkook had no need to go to campus because he lived in a completely different direction now.

“You don’t even live there anymore. How’re you gonna get home?” You asked. 

“I’ll just sleep on the couch and get Tae or Jimin to drive me to my place in the morning.” He shrugged. 

You weren’t exactly keen on the idea of having to walk all the way back to campus with Jungkook,  considering just a five minute car ride earlier in the day had been sufficiently awkward all on its own. But you also were unfortunately no longer in the mood for sex, leaving Hoseok’s house out of the picture, and your bank account was for some reason drained, which resulted in you only having one option really. 

“Alright,” You finally said. “Just let me tell Hoseok and then we can go.” 

He nodded as you walked back towards the group of soccer players, tapping Hoseok on the shoulder. It seemed your dismay was painted plainly on your face because he immediately asked what was wrong. 

“I actually can’t hang out tonight. I just found out my bank account is fucked up and I can’t really think about anything else right now, so I was just gonna head home, but I wanted to let you know. I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re fine,” He said, shaking his head. “Do you have a way home then?” 

You glanced towards Jungkook, releasing a heavy sigh. “Uhm, yeah, Jungkook was gonna walk me.” 

Hoseok’s eyes darted toward where you pointing, narrowing slightly. Most people knew about the feud between the Lambdas and the Tri Delts, which meant most people also knew the details about why there was a feud in the first place. 

“Are you sure you’re good with that?” Hoseok asked. 

Not really, but a twenty minute walk wasn’t going to kill you. “We’re fine, promise. Actually we’ve been… cordial lately.” You tried to say it like it was actually the truth, but you thought maybe if you spoke it into existence then it would actually come to fruition. 

Hoseok tilted his head, giving you a look that said he didn’t really believe you, but regardless he pulled you in for a hug. “Okay, let me know when you get home.” 

“I will,” You assured him before waving goodbye and making your way back towards Jungkook. 

“Ready,” He huffed, a slight annoyance seeming to coat his words as he pushed himself off of the wall and started towards the entrance. 

“Are you really gonna have an attitude?” You asked as you did a little jog to catch up with him. “I would’ve found another way if I knew you were gonna act like an ass.” 

“I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just tired.” He placed his hand on one of your shoulders, moving you in front of him so the two of you could move through the mass of people more quickly until you were walking through the entrance and down the wooden ramp that connected to the outside deck. 

“Then why’d you offer? I could’ve called someone to pick me up.” 

“Because,” He paused, motioning towards the crosswalk that already had dozens of drunk college kids filing through it. “I couldn’t just leave you there, and I thought just taking you home would be quicker than you calling people to try and find a ride.” 

Ouch. He was just trying to be nice and you were calling him an ass. Heat flushed beneath your skin from embarrassment. “I’m sorry…” You finally said as you made it to the sidewalk and began the straight shot down the main road towards Greek Drive. “Thank you for making sure I got home alright.” You added, avoiding any eye contact and opting to walk a little bit in front of him. 

After about five entire minutes of silence you thought to yourself, yeah, this was going pretty much as expected. But you were thankful that at least there wasn’t any hostility. You didn’t want any more arguments like the ones from today.  You had seethed at each other after the two of you left President Kwon’s office. Had thrown insults at one another at the meeting between your houses. Like sure, maybe the silence hurt more than it should’ve. The idea that the guy you started dating and fell in love with when you were a junior in high school not even being able to fake a conversation with you for twenty minutes was mildly heartbreaking to say the least. But again, the silence was better than the anger that had fueled most of your interactions since breaking up the summer after starting college. 

You had become somewhat content with the lack of speaking. You were still a few steps ahead of Jungkook as he walked behind you, but he suddenly picked up speed and joined you, shoulder skating against yours before he was curving his hand around your waist and nudging you to go to the side of the sidewalk that wasn’t closest to the main road that was currently buzzing with post-bar traffic. 

“Wouldn’t want you falling face first into a Camero that someone’s Daddy bought them, Drunkie,” He said, offering a playful smile as he dropped his arm back down to his side. 

You were caught so off guard by the positive expression from Jungkook that it took you a second for your head to actually realize what he had even said. You pushed his shoulder. “I’m not even drunk anymore.”

“Well, considering I can literally smell the tequila on you, I’d rather not take any chances of you falling into oncoming traffic.” 

“You’re being nice.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Too nice.” 

“What?” He chuckled. “I’m just making an effort to try and fix things between us so that the members don’t see us constantly fighting and think it’s okay to do the same.” 

Ah, that’s what it was. He didn’t care if you guys actually patched this up, just that it looked like you did. 

“Well, we could always pretend to like each other, since the appearance is all that actually matters apparently.” You forced a smile and began walking a little bit faster. Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes of being alone with him and his stupid presence that overwhelmed you with thoughts that you wished would just disappear. 

“That’s not what I meant,” He said almost immediately, not letting that unbearable plunge into silence return. “I would love it if we could be nice to each other and actually mean it… I just…” He trailed off, seeming to hesitate in whatever he was trying to say. 

“Just spit it out.” 

There was one more second of a brief pause before he spoke quietly. “I just don’t think that’s ever going to happen, because I know you still blame me for everything.” 

You tensed up, still keeping your pace of being slightly ahead of him. You inhaled a deep breath through your mouth before turning to look over your shoulder at him, his eyes already waiting to meet yours. 

“I don’t blame you.” You smiled, but with a sad furrowing of your brows. “I… resent you.” 

Jungkook’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening in surprise. “I mean, that’s… that’s even worse than blaming me.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not.” 

His expression turned more puzzled. “How is you resenting me better than you blaming me?” 

“Because, blame implies that I think it’s your fault… Resentment just means I’m angry and upset, regardless of whether I think you were right or wrong for what happened.” You felt the bridge of your nose begin to tingle with that telltale sign of tears, so you quickly looked forward and urged them to stay hidden until you were at least in the comfort of your own room. “I’m just resentful of the things I now think and feel about myself, but that isn’t your fault. It’s my issue to deal with.” You shrugged. 

“What things do you think and feel about yourself?” He asked, and you could tell that he had hurried his pace and was a little closer behind you now. 

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. You didn’t want to talk about this. The two of you hadn’t had an in depth conversation like this since you’d first broken up. But things were different now compared to that first conversation. Back then it was raw and fresh, the pain too intense to notice what was growing underneath. Now it was a scar, and you were left with all of the emotions, feelings, and implications of how and why things ended. 

“I… I don’t really wanna talk about it honestly.” You said that, but you also wanted Jungkook to understand that you were perfectly aware of how you had acted the past few years. You may have said and acted in ways that seemed bitchy and ridiculous, but it was because of these disgusting emotions that were now plaguing your mind constantly, and maybe it was time he knew. “I kind of wish we had broken up over this giant fight that was about something unfixable. Something where we both clearly did things wrong and we were both through with each other because there was no way either of us were going to change our minds. I think I could’ve dealt with that so much better than what you actually broke up with me for. Which was just the fact that you thought I was...” You trailed off, the word that bombarded your thoughts mercilessly landing on your tongue. “Boring.”

You heard the way his shoes scratched against the concrete at his screeching halt, and he clearly thought that that was going to stop you as well, but you kept going, not actually wanting to hear any response from him. You said your piece and now maybe he would understand. But of course you knew that he wasn’t just going to let it end like that, which was made apparent when you felt him suddenly gripping your arm, trying to get you to slow down for a second. 

“I never said or even thought that about you, Y/N, ever.” He tried to pull you to look at him, but you twisted your body and threw a hand over your face to cover your eyes that were already glistening. 

“No, stop,” You said firmly, and he ceased with trying to get you to look at him. “I told myself after that night in my room I was never going to let you see me cry over you ever again, and if I look at you right now, I will. I just know I will, so please just stop.” 

He didn’t say anything for a minute, leaving just the sound of grasshoppers and the random gust of cars passing by. You thought maybe he would just let it go and you could continue the last few minutes of the walk without speaking, but you had verbalized your thoughts and Jungkook was without a doubt going to respond. 

“I know how it’s easy to think that,” He started, his voice a whisper with his hand still wrapped around your arm, as if he was afraid you would bolt down the street without letting him finish if he let you go. “But that’s not why I ended things. You were the first girl I ever actually dated, and when we got here I just started thinking about—”

“—All of your new exciting options.” You cut in, anger flaring before you could stop it. 

“Y/N…” He trailed off, squeezing your arm. “That’s not what it was—”

“—No,” You said before he could try and dance his way through some explanation of how he just wanted to go crazy in college without actually saying it out loud. “You don’t have to explain it again. I’d rather you didn’t actually. I remember in excruciating detail the way you explained it that night. I understand, I get it… So, p-please,” Your voice cracked, finally being too overwhelmed by this entire situation. “Let’s just keep walking and not talk about it anymore. Please.” 

It turned so quiet I could even hear how hard Jungkook was breathing. It sounded heavy but unnatural, like he was trying to forcibly steady his heartbeat. And after a few seconds you felt him finally drop his hand from your arm and you didn’t wait for him to say a single word before you started down the sidewalk again.

The Tri Delt house was five minutes away, leading to five minutes of complete and utter silence between two people that was so palpable it blocked out the scratching of your shoes as you walked and the rustle of tiny animals running through the trees next to you. It engulfed you in this tunnel of noiselessness. 

Eventually you saw the bend at the end of the street where yours and Jungkook’s houses sat next to one another. It was only a little bit away, yet it felt so far. Twenty minutes. All it had taken was twenty minutes of the two of you not partaking in your back and forth hostility from the last few years for you to break down again. It felt pathetic. It was completely pathetic. 

You were finally approaching the point where the Tri Delt and Lambda house split into opposite directions. All you had to do was keep walking straight while Jungkook veered to the left and— 

You felt the light tug at the belt loop of your jeans, stopping you in place, just like from earlier today after the suspension meeting. You were about to tell him to let you go, when he beat you to the punch. 

“You’re not boring, Y/N. You never have been.” He was so close you could feel his breath hitting the back of your head. “It was one of the millions of reasons that I loved you. I just wanted you to know that.” 

And then he was gone. The pressure of someone tugging you in place disappearing, leaving you to catch your balance as you finally stood alone. You forced yourself to stare straight ahead as you walked towards your front door, not daring to look at him as he walked to the Lambda house. You shoved your keys inside the lock, forcing it open and then taking the stairs by two’s until you were collapsing in your bed, fingers crushing your pillow as you finally let yourself cry. 

——--

A phone was ringing inside of your dreams. It was ringing and ringing and ringing until you realized the sound was coming from some otherworldly place — oh yeah, that would be the current hell that is your life. 

You blinked a couple of times, blindly reaching for the source of the noise that was lost somewhere in your bed. You finally felt your hand slide across the leather of your phone case. You brought it up to read the name and you felt your stomach curl. 

‘Jungkook the Jackass’ was calling. And if it weren’t for the fact that he was calling you at seven in the morning you probably would’ve just sent him straight to voice mail in order to avoid any further conversations about what transpired last night. But alas, it was seven in the morning and just seemed to be too early of a time for him to be calling about something mundane. 

You regretfully lifted the phone to your ear. “Yes?” You grumbled, voice scratchy. 

“We have a problem.” No mention of last night. It was just a clear cut declaration that did not sound good. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, sitting up from bed. 

“Come outside your house. Now.” 

Your eyes widened and you instantly jumped from bed. He sounded urgent enough that you decided your flimsy nighttime apparel was going to have to do. You hurried down the stairs and opened the front door, revealing Jungkook in the front yard staring at something. 

“What is it?” You asked, arms crossing over your chest as you tried to hide your bralessness. 

Jungkook pressed his lips together as he pointed towards the front of the Tri Delt house. “My idiot Lambda Brothers.” 

You followed the direction of his finger, your mouth dropping at the sight before you. 

Dozens and dozens and dozens of boxers covering every inch of the first story of the house. You turned towards Jungkook, so angry and anxiety-riddled that someone from administration had already seen this, that you could hardly speak. 

“I’m going to murder them,” You finally managed to spit through clenched teeth. 

“No,” He started, turning to you, mirroring your own frustration. “I’m going to murder them.” 

→ part 02

[theonceoverthinker]

500. As this daily series of mine comes to an end, I just want to reflect on all the MARRY time writing Fair Game HCs has brought me!

I’m freezing up as I’m trying to write even just this intro. I don’t feel ready. After a year and a half, how can I feel anything else? This series is now a part of me and ending it is like losing a piece of my soul. I have so many emotions -- too many emotions -- it doesn’t feel wrong to end the series here (The 500 milestone makes sense), but it hurts all the same.

Let me start with thank you to everyone whose read these. Seriously, I know I thank you occasionally, but I can’t do it enough. Knowing that there are people interested in what I write and think about these two and enjoy the happier life I’m paining them in the absence of canon just makes me feel so much less alone than usual. It means the world to me so please believe me when I say that I wouldn’t have gotten to 500 without each and every one of you, whether you were here from the beginning or just joined in whenever. 

I’m so happy to have finally reached this moment, but simultaneously so torn up about what that means.

Will I never do another Fair Game HC again? HECK NO! While the regular daily episodes are ending, if I find another topic that I want to Fair Game-i-fy, I will definitely make more episodes, and hopefully, before long, I will! I just need to take a break from the daily updates. I’ve hit burnout several times over the past year and a half and it’s not fun, so while I still have some energy to spare, I want to end the daily series on a high note!

Also, forgive me because I’m gonna cheat this as a submission for @fairgameweek2021 while I’m at it (If it’s not cool, then my apologies). The theme today is Charms/Dreams and while neither of these come up in the HC itself, this wedding and this series as a whole I think acts as a reflection of the dreams much of the Fair Game fandom had for this ship. 

When I say this, I don’t mean it in the sense of I’d be upset if not each and every one of these didn’t come true -- that’s never been what my love for Fair Game was about, nor that each and every Fair Game fan subscribes to these HCs (Good GOD, no -- not even close). Like many fans, I just wanted these two characters who deserved happiness (Especially Qrow given his almost unreal amount of trauma and hardships) and seemed like they’d finally found it with each other to get exactly that. So in the absence of canon, I hope people were able to take solace in this space and live in the daydreams I created for them here.

So here we are at long last: The Fair Game Wedding. If you want to follow the story thus far, you can check out my HC compilation page. I’ve highlighted all of the wedding HCs in green, and have fully caught up the HC list!

That said, if you don’t feel like reading all of them and just want to check out this last one, here’s the tldr for what you need to know: The wedding is taking place in the Amity communications tower (This HC series only follows canon until 7X11 for those who didn’t know because I only choose to acknowledge good writing (especially for Qrow and Clover) here), Tai is Qrow’s Best Man, Marrow is Clover’s Best Man, Robyn is officiating, Ruby’s walking Qrow down the aisle, Yang’s walking Clover down the aisle, Clover got Qrow a silver ring with four tiny encrusted emeralds, Qrow got Clover a dark ring with four tiny encrusted rubies, Qrow’s wearing an onyx tux with a white undershirt and a crimson bowtie and handkerchief, and Clover’s wearing a black tux with a white undershirt and a dark green bowtie and handkerchief. 

Okay! We’re good to go!

Well, for the last regularly-scheduled time, let’s get to it!

HC under the cut!

“Uncle Qrow! Help! We can’t find your shoes!”

Ruby’s cry is what wakes Qrow up.

What a way to start the day. He hasn’t even had coffee or breakfast yet and he’s already been tasked with finding his wedding shoes. Give him a break.

It then comes to attention that this is his wedding day. By the time he goes to bed, he and Clover will be married. 

His crankiness at being woken up and put to work so quickly doesn’t fully evaporate, but a lot of it does all the same. 

And as Qrow starts searching his temporary room to find his shoes, he can’t help but take note of the bubbling happiness under him.

()()()()()()()()()()()

It feels so weird to Clover to wake up in the Ace Ops’ suite. He’s stopped by from time to time since leaving the Atlesian Army, especially as he’s been planning his wedding, but staying over feels simultaneously nostalgic and bizarre. 

Mostly though, the odd feeling is one that stems from not waking up beside Qrow. It’s not that they haven’t slept apart, but whenever they have outside of their bachelor parties, it’s been for a mission.

Well, in all fairness, today’s at once a party and a mission, and by the end of it, he and Qrow will be back sleeping right beside each other.

Clover can just barely stand the wait.

()()()()()()()()()()

The alter is beautiful. The whites and browns and red and greens come together so nicely. 

In an interesting surprise touch, Harbinger in its scythe form and Kingfisher in its rod form are tastefully placed right next to Tai and Marrow respectively. And on top of their handles, Qrow and Clover’s respective rings rest safely on each of their handles.

They’re both impressed, more so that their weapons were somehow sneak out and brought all the way to the communications tower without either’s knowledge.

Clover’s the first to arrive at Amity Tower. Tai and Marrow organized how Qrow and Clover would check in on things so they wouldn’t see each other until the ceremony. Though Clover found the superstition banal, he decides not to make a fuss about it today, not when there are more important things going on.

The sweet smell of flowers greets his nose. They’re all laid out so nicely, and possibly even more so in the reception hall. Clover looks to his and Qrow’s table, and then to his pants.

Marrow gave him back his phone this morning, and with Marrow temporarily busy in the bathroom, Clover sends Qrow a quick text before he returns.

Clover: Everything looks perfect up here, but I bet you’ll look even better. See you soon. ;) 

Qrow arrives a bit later than expected...which for him was anything but unexpected. Between finding his shoes, Tai insisting on ironing his suit (”I swear, there was a wrinkle on it this morning!), making sure he got a good meal in him, cramming everyone into Tai’s car, and dealing with traffic, it’s amazing they got there when they did.

By the time Qrow gets there, the caterers are starting to arrive and their cake is on its way over, too!

Though Qrow initially felt his scroll buzz in the car, he’s unable to look at it until now. He sees Clover’s text in between the tons of congratulations messages, and smiles.

He’s such a dork.

But he’s Qrow’s dork.

Qrow: You know it. ;) See you soon.

Far too much time is spent for either of their taste’s getting into their suits and going over their entrances and everything (Though given how their rehearsal went, neither can be too annoyed).

Both meet their respective halves of the wedding party and soon enough...it’s time.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Robyn’s the first to enter. She has a basic script in her hand, but everyone knows she’s gonna do some ad-libbing and are excited for it.

Qrow walks down the aisle first with Ruby. The whole time, he can’t but hold his breath behind his smile, worried he might trip. Ruby, who can now fully tell how her uncle operates, holds his arm tighter and more supportively. Qrow would be lying if he said it didn’t help. Upon reaching the front, Ruby gives Qrow a big hug and a kiss on the cheek before leaving his side.

After he arrives, the two sets of groomsmen enter side-by-side: Marrow and Tai, Elm and Port, Vine and Oobleck, and Harriet and Theodore (Yeah, I know basically nothing about Theodore, but I realized my numbers for Qrow’s groomsmen didn’t add up to Clover’s, and I hear the two of them got along, so we’re doing this!).

Once they’re in position, Clover enters with Yang. Clover, like Yang, holds his breath, but for a different reason. Qrow looks so impossibly good in his suit, and he can tell Qrow really likes how he looks, too. Like Ruby with Qrow, before leaving to join her sister, Yang gives Clover a hug and cheek kiss, but also a nice pat on the shoulder and a wish for “good luck.” Clover loves the sensation.

Clover whispers under his breath that Qrow looks amazing. Qrow thanks him, throwing a wink at Clover. Clover looks as stunned by it as Qrow did when he did it the first time.

Ceremony stuff happens, and then we get to the vows!

Robyn signals for Qrow to go first. He nods at her and begins.

“Clover,” Qrow says. “I want to say something to you, something that I never thought I would, especially here of all places, but something that feels like it should be said all the same. ...Here it goes. Clover, we don’t have to get married.” 

There’s a pause as everyone watching gasps. Clover is the only one who doesn’t, though he does raise and eyebrow. Qrow maintains eye contact with him and continues.

“It’s true,” he says. “We know we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives. I’m not leaving you, you’re not leaving me, and once this is all over, we’re going to go right back to the same home we’ve spent years building together to build even more of it for as long as we can. We’ll get up, make breakfast and coffee, work, come home, watch TV, and go to bed. Maybe we’ll do different things on the weekends with Tai and the kids, or maybe we’ll just relax on the couch with a movie. So no, we don’t need to get married...but that’s exactly why I want to.”

The sighs of relief are close to deafening, and expecting that, Qrow takes another pause. Clover’s smile is beautiful, not beaming of exceedingly large, but radiant as it has ever been. Qrow hopes that whoever their planner organized to record their wedding captures it because it’s a smiles Qrow imagines he’ll want to look at over and over again.

“It’s exactly because we don’t need to throw a ceremony or a big party to show the world we love each other that makes me want to do just that,” Qrow continues. “A love like what we have, one that’s special because of all the things that don’t make it special just as much as all of the things that do, well to me, that’s a love worth celebrating. I love you, Clover, and I love the fact that being here with you gives me another chance to celebrate how we feel, how far we’ve come, and how much further we’ll go.”

There are tears in the corners of Clover’s eyes threatening to fall any second. Qrow feels that his own are on the verge of doing the same.

Clover pull him in for a hug. They know it’s not what they’re supposed to do, but it feels right and that’s all that matters. It lasts for ten seconds before they finally pull back.

Robyn’s looking at them jokingly. 

“You know you’re not supposed to do that yet, right?”

“Eh,” Qrow says, shrugging with a smirk on his face. “We’re unconventional.”

“Except when we’re not,” Clover chimes in, winking at Qrow over the joke.

Robyn, smiling all the while, rolls her eyes.

“Clover, it’s your turn,” she says. The two exchange nods and then Clover turns to Qrow. 

“Qrow,” he starts, “I definitely saw my life differently before I met you. I was an Atlesian Military Captain of the kingdom’s strongest group of Huntsmen, likely to stay just where I was until I retired or died in combat. That’s what I saw for myself, and that’s all I saw for myself. In that life, I didn’t see a home, I didn’t see a family, and I never saw someone I loved so much that I’d leave everything I thought I knew behind just to stand by his side. But once I met you and the kids, I began to see all sorts of things that I’d never considered for myself before -- all of those things I just listed and more. That’s the life we’ve had together so far -- deep, kind, strange, fun, sometimes a bit mundane but also beautiful because of it. I’ve got to tell you, Qrow, I can’t think of anything luckier happening to me in my entire life than finding you.”

Qrow snorts. It’s not an interruption, but Clover can’t help but comment on it. 

“I guess you saw that coming?” Clover jokes. 

“Maybe a bit.”

“Fair enough. Well, I don’t need to tell you that with semblances like ours, luck’s always been a special thing between us. Misfortune and Good Fortune just have a way of being part of our lives, no matter what we think or plan or want. We’ve talked before about how they counter each other or why one might be more powerful than the other on any given day, but while luck might have been what brought us together as partners initially and it certainly is part of us, it’s not all of us. Luck has some interesting perks, both good and bad alike -- it can make a day or even week better or worse -- but it can’t get either of us what we have together nor take it away. Luck doesn’t earn me the sight of that gleam in your eyes when I bring you a bowl of noodles just the way you like or that smile of yours when I tell you tell you a joke. Luck helps us live our lives, but we do the rest, and I think we do a pretty good job living it together, and I can’t wait to keep on doing it with you for the rest of our lives.”

A good number of the attendants make an “awwww” sound at the end of Clover’s vows. Qrow’s tempted to make fun of it, but abstains.

Robyn nods at the conclusion of her vows. Tai and Marrow collect the rings for Qrow and Clover from off of the weapons and bring them to them. Robyn then turns to Clover.

“Clover Ebi,” she says. “Do you take this man, Qrow Branwen, to be your lawfully-wedded husband -- to love, cherish, and grow with him in sickness and in health and for better or worse as long as you both shall live?”

Clover’s smile is present. It doesn’t get bigger, but it gets deeper. 

“I do,” he says. Qrow takes Clover’s ring and slides it easily onto Clover’s finger.

Robyn turns to Qrow.

“And Qrow Branwen,” she continues. “Do you take this man, Clover Ebi, to be your lawfully-wedded husband -- to love, cherish, and grow with him in sickness and in health and for better or worse as long as you both shall live?”

Qrow’s smile stays the same -- relaxed, easy, and so utterly content. Despite seeing it hundreds of times by now, it still looks so beautiful to Clover...especially when he says the next two words.

“I do.”

Qrow extends out his hand, and Clover, with the ring he got him, slides it down Qrow’s flawless finger effortlessly.

Robyn’s smile grows.

“Then by the power vested in me by the Kingdom of Solitas and the land of Remnant, I now declare you husbands. You may now kiss.”

Qrow and Clover have kissed more times than they can possibly count.

But by the time Robyn declares them married, they’re starving to feel each other’s kisses again. Cupping each other’s cheeks, Qrow and Clover share their first kiss as a married couple.

Everyone cheers. A quarter of the room cheers through their tears.

Finally, they’re married.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Qrow and Clover get a small break to themselves before they enter the reception. They spend much of it standing and sitting close together, kissing, telling the Qrow and Clover equivalent of sweet nothings to each other, and talking about what their previous night and this morning were like. It’s kind, relaxed, and happy -- so, so happy.

The reception’s amazing. Between awesome food, “the world’s best cocktail hour” (Qrow and Clover’s words, not mine), a good DJ, heartwarming (and a little embarrassing) speeches, gorgeous decorations, cool party favors, and a beautiful and loving first dance, everyone has an amazing time.

At some point, Qrow and Clover find themselves able to sneak out of their own reception for a break (Qrow especially needs one, but Clover’s not about to pretend he’s not at least a little tired either). There’s a small empty balcony right in front of the moon. Clover loops his arm around Qrow’s shoulders and settles it on the left one.

Clover takes a deep breath through his nose and Qrow can feel his hairs bounce up and down with it.

“Smell something you like?” Qrow teases.

“More like someone. And I can’t wait to keep smelling him.”

They relax in the quiet for a bit. Qrow snuggles into Clover’s side as the gentle wind embraces their forms wherever it can.

“We’re married,” Clover finally says, said as if he’s just realized it for the first time. 

It must be the tenth time today he’s done so since the ceremony.

Qrow hasn’t gotten even remotely sick of hearing it.

“We’re married,” he repeats. 

Clover releases a rumbling chuckle, then kisses Qrow’s upper right temple. Qrow presses his lips to Clover’s hand. It’s not a kiss, per se, but it lingers delicately on his hand.

They stay for a couple more minutes before deciding that they should probably return to their party.

The rest of the party is so nice. Friends and family party and dance the night away with the gorgeous night sky all around them for hours.

The cleanup is exhausting and despite loving their wedding planner from the moment they hired her, Qrow and Clover have never been more grateful for her services than where she says they can head out and that she would finish up the rest of the work and text them (”Tomorrow afternoon. You guys are gonna need some shut eye.”).

It takes Qrow and Clover about an hour to get home. Clover drives once they’re on solid ground again. In the car, neither talk much, content to sit and enjoy the drive home in a comfortable quiet, save for the occasional joke and “We’re married” statement.

When they’re finally home, they stop at the door. After all, who’s going to carry who over the threshold? 

They compromise. Kissing each other’s face all the way, Qrow carries Clover through their front door, and Clover carries Qrow through their bedroom door onto a...very fun wedding night (Which I’m gonna let you all imagine for yourself because I have literally been writing this all day and writing about sex is kind of tough for me when I’m at my best).

When they’re at last ready to go to sleep, Qrow and Clover cuddle close and give each other a final loving look before falling asleep in each other’s arms, blissfully together tonight and for decades worth of them to come, just as they deserve. I don’t even know what to say now that we’re here at the end. I think I said it here earlier, but it bears repeating: I love you all and thank you so much for following these Fair Game HCs.

Tagging @skybird13 @whipped4qrow @mooksie01 @luck-of-the-caw @xwildangel @solitude-of-stars-deactivated20 @vastnessofthespiral @o0nashipear0o @unfairgamey @doctorrwby @clover-and-co @megan-atthedisco @wash-my-brain @bisexualdisasterqrow @thursdayseraph @doubledexterity @rwby-things-i-guess @atlas-heartthrob @the-answer-was-bi-klance @compoterie @thuskindlyiboop @oceansquid @transdemion @deltastream21 @mimiori @xya-hunter @dinosaurs-last-day @roman-torchtwink @subatomictealeaves @drbtinglecannon @saphiralunaris @pretentiouskneecaps @amxngsthxmans @ayomez13 @carbonated-table-spices @darkestsiren @chaosgameingkoi @collectingsparechangemadeeasy @michaels-daughter2005 @youmaywanttoduck @lovethewitchofendor @victorious1956 @spence0112 @madamoisellesica @ju-ka-mc-24

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[ladyfawkes]

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order��.yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hey, I hope you are 100% ok with found family theme? Because found family theme in Transformers are my favourite trope. For the request, would you do the headcanons for Ratchet, Drift and Windblade with the reader who is a techno-organic?

Found Family is the golden trope above all tropes and 1000% supported on this blog anon don't worry about it. Time for some fluff.

Windblade

·Though she's somewhat new to exploring the galaxy, she knows the value of close friends, and how they can become your greatest support when times are tough. She forges bonds that are deep with those she trusts, and she intends to keep those for the rest of her life. To a certain extent one might say she has a family that's always growing. Granted she doesn't just let anyone in, but her kind nature means she's always seeking out those who need companionship. For you, this worked out rather beautifully from the outset. Unlike so many others your nature didn't perturb her in the slightest. She was merely curious, but upon discovering you were being ostracized she took you under her wing and never looked back.

·Like any found family, she introduces you to the other members and explains to each one in private what you'd endured. The bots she'd never known a day without, Chromia and Nautica, stepped up immediately to help. This family is built on mutual support and protecting one another, so think of yourself as having just gained some very large and powerful but loving bodyguards. Chromia in particular has no patience for bullies. Neither does Windblade, but she prefers to sort things out peacefully if you ever find yourself the target of more bullying. That likely comes from her role as a Cityspeaker, given that communication is her greatest skill, and she extends that to you as well. You'll never find her anything but enthusiastic to listen to what you have to say, and she loves to talk and share her opinions right back.

·Speaking of Cityspeaker duties, however, there's someone else in her circle that you'll get to meet. Titan's aren't just her coworkers, she bonds quite closely with them too, and she likes to help others understand that these gigantic beings can actually be quite lonely. Thus, your newfound family turns out to be much larger than you could have ever anticipated. That's to say nothing of how boundless the love and acceptance proves to be, as for the first time you find yourself surrounded by a judgement free environment, and it's like a breath of fresh air. Anything on your mind can be spoken without fear of rejection! Windblade takes listening incredibly seriously, after all, and so for the first time in your life you speak and are heard. The lack of genetic relations does nothing to stifle the wonder of it all.

·Yet, for her incredibly soft spark, Windblade quickly proves she has no patience for the bias you've become accustomed to as a techno-organic. Comments you were once forced to just endure are now met with fiery resistance from your adopted family. Should anyone ever get the idea they can threaten you, that assumption is very quickly corrected. The Stormfall Sword rarely even needs to be unsheathed for them to learn you're under considerable protection, and even if it does Windblade won't hesitate if she fears you're in any kind of danger, and neither will anyone else on your side. When you ask why they reply as if it's obvious; family looks out for family. They're with you through thick and thin, and you don't have to endure any cross words so long as they're around. Each one promises that much.

·Having endured what you have, it takes some time for you to understand that they mean it, and that they'll never abandon you. Windblade has truly taken you under her wing, as she so often likes to joke.

Ratchet

·Being a medic for a species desperately understaffed with doctors can be exceptionally difficult, especially with such high mortality rates, but that's never stopped Ratchet from caring. He knows every life is precious, and he forms friendships with the intent of them lasting a lifetime. No one is ever going to be uncared for if he has something to say about it. Thus, you more or less find yourself "adopted" by the gruff medic before you can even blink. Though techno-organics often face exclusion from bots, Ratchet has spent enough time performing surgery to know that what's on the inside physically hardly matters in terms of character. He's held the sparks of Autobots and Decepticons alike, and at the end of the day they all look the same.

·That being said, he makes it very clear to you that if anyone gives you a hard time, he wants to know straight away. His famously gruff demeanor isn't all an act, and he can absolutely make a bot regret every single mean word they said to you. Not only that, but he knows how emotional health is just as important as physical, so he makes sure to check in on you quite frequently. It's not our of character for him to sit you down if he sees something is bothering you, at which point he'll gently ask if you'd like to talk and he'll listen. Being busy doesn't mean he won't do everything in his power to make time for you.

·Something people often forget though, and you'll probably be quite surprised to see, is how much he likes to celebrate positive achievements and praise your hard work. Like a proud papa, he'll absolutely gush when he hears you've succeeded at something you've been working on. Not just to you either, if you're okay with it, he'll brag about it to anyone that listens. Confidence is important, so he does everything in his power to make sure you know your worth. The other medics all freely join in as well. Everyone who works in the medical bay gets close to one another, so they become your extended family of sorts, like a gathering of aunts and uncles who all do surgery together. It makes for a surprisingly cheerful crew.

·Upon getting closer to him, you eventually see that Ratchet isn't just acting gruff to cover a soft spark, he's arguably the softest bot on the entire ship. On more than one occasion you've drifted off somewhere only to wake up mysteriously tucked in to your own bed, and when asked he'll simply get flustere and say the mattress is better for your back. Trust him; he's fallen asleep at his desk often enough to know. Should you ever come down with any kind of illness, however, all pretenses of gruffness will dissapear very quickly. You'll find yourself doted on by a very caring docbot, one who encourages you to relax and not strain yourself while he brings you anything you need.

·Being a techno-organic often means enduring so much isolation that receiving any kind of medical care is hard, as neither organics nor bots typically want to treat you. However, as you spend more time with the medic who's adopted you, something begins to become clear. Not only do you receive all the medical attention you need without hesitation, but all the care one requires to truly be healthy. As a family should, he and the others medics look out for your emotional wellbeing too. Your sense of self finally begins to heal as you never knew it needed to.

Drift

·When it comes to being alone, few bots have a greater understanding than a former Decepticon. Even on the Lost Light he's pushed to the outskirts, and thus his precious few friends become lifelong companions that are naturally his family. Having explored far and wide and knowing that the prejudice against techno-organics like yourself is awful, his first action when he saw you was to offer his protection. He'll never let anyone endure loneliness if he can help it. You're surprised by how incredibly warm and affectionate he is right from the start, as his reputation would hardly suggest a bot who welcomes you like a literal ray of sunshine.

·Yet in surprisingly short order you find yourself under the protection of a bot who's simultaneously the friendliest and deadliest being on the ship. Drift checks in with you regularly to ensure you're not being made fun of or even made to feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. He doesn't want to kick anyone's butt, but he makes it clear he absolutely will if you're at risk, and he has the go ahead from Rodimus on that front. Speaking of which, the captain of the ship immediately grants you his own protection as well, stating that anyone who befriends his bestie is good by him. You're happy but incredibly surprised to find two individuals with such different personalities acting like they've grown up together, and the two don't even care about all the ways their perspectives differ!

·Growing closer to Drift only makes you more amazed at how impossibly mellow and relaxed he is. Though the bot could easily best almost any bot on the ship in combat, he's only interested in being friends with his fellow Autobots, hoping to extend the tenets of his religion into all aspects of his life. Though he wants you to convert, there's absolutely no pressure to do so, and he happily accepts your refusal if you decline. The laid back mech shows you the kind of nonjudgemental support system you never knew was possible. When asked about it, he says that he wants you to have a place where you'll always feel accepted, and he hopes to provide that.

·Even more than acceptance, you find him to be incredibly encouraging of all your goals, no matter how small some of them may be. Every time you achieve something he's effusive in his praise. Though he doesn't say why, eventually you put together that he sorely lacked the same in his youth. No doubt, he wants to provide you with everything he was missing. Whether he's more akin to a dad, uncle or cool brother becomes irrelevant over time. In time you come to realize what matters is you have someone who will always be in your corner. Should you ever need positive reinforcement of any kind, it's merely a request away.

·It takes time for it all to really sink in that you've been adopted more or less, all without your new family ever mentioning as much. In fact, Drift so naturally welcomed you into his life you're not sure he realized it either. The ninja bot is simply so loving and accepting you could forget there's a harsh universe out there every time he pulls you in for some comfort after a hard day. The peace of having such a system of support is indescribable.

[swimfuel]

okay humanstuck thoughts under the cut

i owe a lot of this to @/rhythmic-idealist's kankri/vantasposting bc holy shit theyve got such a big brain (ill link to their individual posts when im on desktop since im using this to keep all my thoughts straight and i agree with most of what they say wholeheartedly)

general status quo stuff:

signless works in an extremely demanding career involving helping others (i'm leaning towards an attorney who works with organizations and does pro bono work), and is also extensively involved in social justice work outside of his job... he is very rarely home

he loves and cares for his children deeply and tries to express it whenever they're face to face, but the couch in his cramped and messy office has seen far too much use over the years for him to have been able to say it enough

his habits of working himself to the point of exhaustion are handily passed down to his kids btw

the kids had to grow up quickly because signless was out of the house so often and so consistently—kankri, who was already pretty high-strung, has to learn to take care of himself and karkat

they grow up near ms firuzeh maryam, who's their pseudoaunt/grandma (she took in a nine year old kavana vantas when she was about twenty), but they just call her ms rosa

they spent a lot of time in the maryam house growing up, with miss rosa's two nieces. porrim is a year older than kankri, while kanaya and karkat are the same age

kankri grows kinda sensitive to people trying to mother him since it rubs against the notion that he's the "adult of the house" and that he can take care of himself and karkat just fine

(and it also kinda underlines the fact that kankri has no idea what he's doing at the best of times)

and ironically enough, kankri becomes overbearing and naggy towards karkat in his own right, which forestalls them becoming close in any brotherly sort of way

they grow up really just... unable to communicate with one another clearly

karkat develops his ornery exterior in response to kankri's constant stream of opinions and frantic attempts at making up for the presence of a guardian in the house

i think there would actually be some really interesting parallels with rose in this au.. maybe i'm drawing from my own experiences as well but i think he'd begin to assume that every time his brother opens his mouth, he's going to criticize karkat

but instead of reacting like rose with the "making yourself more of a puzzle"/passive aggressive stuff, he gets a more defensive/hackles raised/"argue with you before you can argue with me" approach

and the thing is that they do love each other and would take a bullet for the other etc etc etc.. but they don't know how to express it because they've fallen into these shitty patterns

and it really doesn't help that kankri has grown somewhat resentful of signless over the years... that mix of resentment and fear and love gets more extreme and more polar every time signless gets injured during a political demonstration

i think kankri and signless would also be slightly closer than karkat and signless, as signless' job really only started to ramp up when karkat was less than years old and kankri was in his early double digits

kankri autistic btw its word of god (i am god)

karkat has a pet crab. its name is also karkat. he vents his frustrations to it.

i feel like the vantases exemplify both the best and worst parts of their aspects with one another as well... the strength of their bonds keeps them together and grounded, but TOO grounded. [insert Blood rant here]

the Blood rant:

i define Blood as bonds, responsibility, and the "core". if Life is the fertile soil and everything living on a planet's surface, then Blood is the gravitational core of the planet keeping everything together

i also think Blood, Heart, & Mind work in tandem to define a person just as blood serves to connect the pieces of the human body... Heart is the soul and the self, Mind is the application of one's self through active choices (agency), while Blood defines both the self and the choices one makes in greater detail [and, as an aside, Life provides the physical spark of life needed to keep the heart pumping blood]

OKAY wow that got tangential anyways

SO BASICALLY! too much Blood makes you stagnate, so for example:

kankri is split between staying home with karkat or going to college across the country and being truly unbound for the first time in years

another crisis of Blood: signless is caught between his empathy and responsibility to the whole world and his responsibility to his own children

okay so here's more status quo stuff:

the maryam and vantas kids grow up together and its hilarious because you'll see them all together and its just like (girlboss) (girlboss) (physical manlet) (emotional manlet)

the maryam girls are actually miss rosa's nieces but she took them in when they were both pretty young

the pyropes know the vantases well enough considering pyrope senior and sign have known one another from their respective legal practices for years, but they live on the other side of town

the leijons lived in town when kankri and meulin were very young, but they moved and travelled for a long time before coming back and reestablishing their roots

the captors (psii being one of sign's oldest and closest friends) move into town with the peixes family pretty early on though

the condesce is.. a horrible spouse and guardian, to put it plainly. she's very emotionally manipulative and isn't averse to smacking people around, including her own family. she moves herself and her perfect little family into town so she can properly oversee a new business venture close by

feferi is one of the best young swimmers in the country and has a pretty good shot of getting onto the olympic team.. a lot of this drive to be perfect and to be better results from the condesce's unrelenting pressure and thinly veiled resentment throughout her whole life

so yeah psii, )(ic, feferi, and sollux all live together and it's really not great for anyone involved. (meenah ran away years ago, and crashed on aranea's couch for a pretty long while—mituna moved out with latula for college before psii and the condesce got married)

it gets bad to the point of sollux staying with the maryams for two months while the adults try to sort out that absolute clusterfuck and get the divorce proceedings going (meenah finally convinces feferi to get out and come stay with her and aranea for the duration as well)

in terms of relationships i think latula and porrim were really really close in high school, and probably had some kind of unacknowledged thing going on for a while that never actually turned into anything because latula and mituna were going steady

kankri has had a crush on latula for years but never acted on it for similar reasons

meenah still carries a lot of that give no fucks attitude (it's developed moreso as a defense mechanism here) and can't understand why feferi refuses to leave the condesce with her

okay back to VANTAS MANPAIN i also think that karkat feels the weight of a lot of expectations on his shoulders as well

he feels responsible to live up to the example his dad and his brother set, even if it's to his own detriment—and kankri's oblivious rambling about his grades and his teachers and all his clubs certainly aren't helping the matter

kankri is one of those overinvolved kids taking a million AP's while simultaneously shitting on the collegeboard at every single step

hes this super overachiever anal retentive perfectionist type dude and (just as karkat preemptively criticizes others to forestall their criticisms of him only to harshly criticize himself) kankri subconsciously holds the people around him to the same expectations he holds for himself

so karkat also develops this sense of lacking which, in combination with everything else, culminates in self loathing and thinking he has to solve everyone else's problems and getting horribly mad at himself for every little mistake

GOD i have a lot more but lemme post this before i accidentally close out of the app and lose it all

more little details:

vriska's mom and terezi's mom HATE each other like HATE HATE HATE one another it's so bad

karkat wrote a ten page review of my immortal in middle school

jade is one of nepeta's best online friends

sollux can't raise one eyebrow at a time.. karkat gives him so much grief about it

the vantases eat a lot of shitty renditions of persian dishes until karkat learns to cook because literally the only person in the world with a CHANCE of getting KANKRI VANTAS to make an EDIBLE DISH is miss rosa

kanaya is really good at persian dance too but is VERY VERY embarassed to perform in front of people.. however porrim definitely is not

karkat has insomnia while kankri just stays up stupidly late for assignments that really shouldnt be taken that seriously.. but they both have the same rumination/sleep anxiety thing where your brain goes insane with horrible and depressing scenarios as you try to sleep

and more ideas that i thought were interesting but idk how to fit in the context of this au:

signless and disciple getting married pretty late in life after having been in love for years, the vantases move in with the leijons and karkat suddenly has two sisters

nepeta and karkat are both juniors at this point, meulin is probably in her third year at a local college nearby while kankri is about to start his second year at a university pretty far away

the kids in general honestly but ill figure it out

more random hcs this time with kids:

kanaya and rose get into a flame war online that gradually settles into elaborate courtship rituals

also nepeta + jade online besties

also bec can inexplicably still teleport

the first sbahj movie comes out and the next six months of dave strider junior's high school career are absolute hell

actually hc that dave senior goes by d strider professionally. the d stands for a lot of things

aradia and dave frequent a lot of the same forums but never end up really interacting

meanwhile karkat and john frequent a lot of the same forums and DEFINITELY end up interacting. this turns into grudging (at least on karkat's part) friendship after they find themselves fighting for their lives defending an objectively shitty movie together on the same thread

[knjoodles]

learn to love; jungkook | 03

pairing: teacher!jungkook x singleparent!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 3.8k

summary: raising your daughter alone while simultaneously watching your ex-husband live the life of his dreams away from the two of you hurts. badly. it hurts a little less, though, when you find an unlikely friend while looking for help.

lowercase intended 

01 | 02 | 04

   after dropping seyoung to her school, you sat in your car contemplating what had just happened, running your hands over the leather of your wheel. you thought it was inappropriate to be this interested in your daughter’s teacher. he was objectively handsome, his striking eyebrows and gentle dimples key features of his face. his body, well, he was lean and fit, standing taller than you with toned arms and legs. it was obvious he took care of himself very well and, from how organized the classroom was, that he was very attentive in nearly every aspect of his life. maybe it wasn’t necessarily the things you saw on the surface but what you learned from his habits that drew you to him.

  it wasn’t as if you were head over heels in love with this man. you knew what that felt like with hoseok, and this feeling? it wasn’t that. but, that didn’t stop you from giggling like a little girl in excitement over the image of his heaven-perfected facial features flashing in your mind. 

  thankful that some of your team members, like you, are also parents, you were relieved when they assured you it was alright that you’d arrive later to drop off your daughter. pulling up to the front of bighit’s shockingly large headquarters, you left your car, adjusting the bag hanging off your shoulder as you stepped in.

  your friendly coworkers greeted you kindly, waving and beaming at you. though you weren’t very social, your name flew around quite often in the workplace. your huge achievements and resilient aura while simultaneously being a single mother are what made you so popular without you even trying. your coworkers admired just how much shit you persisted through to get where you are today. you’re a tough lady, and you’re proud that it’s well known. “(y/n!)” a familiar voice sung, making you turn your head. you found a frantically waving sooyoung in front of you, dangling out of a conference room. “bang pd’s having an exec. meeting in our usual room. guess what? we have a new album to produce!” she danced as you approached her, visibly excited at this news. park sooyoung, your partner in crime. 

  even though she was two years your junior, sooyoung had been with you through almost everything. anything that currently affected you, sooyoung knew about. the two of you were joint at the hip during college, as the two of you shared the idea of naïve students to join a sorority. once you both realized how shitty it could be, you broke the ‘girl pact’ and left, renting an apartment together. from bonding over how much you hated the attitude of an idol to laughing over soju and ramen, you’d never give up a second you spent with her. she was the only constant in your entire life at this point, the only independent variable. your relationship with her never faltered, it only grew and grew so much that it’s as if your love for her is essentially etched into your heart. she’d helped you plan the wedding, plan for seyoung, file for divorce. she was your shoulder to cry on, your great escape. you could find no one quite like her who’d help you like she did. her broad, welcoming smile and simple beauty was a refresher from the caked makeup of idols wandering the hallways, just as unhappy with their look as your eyes were from having to see it. “sooyoung!” you waved back, following her inside the conference room and shutting the door behind you. sitting down at the desk labeled yours, you sat at the head seat, projector clicking on behind you. your team members surrounded you: sooyoung, yunho, euijin, namjoon, and jinah.

   “alright, cap’n!” yunho exclaimed, twisting on his swivel chair, fingers drumming his laptop’s keyboard. “what’s the plan? we’ve got a couple of unused demos from clc’s old albums we can freshen up and reuse for loona’s comeback! may i?” he suggested. at your nod of approval, he screen-shared his laptop screen to the projector, important tabs being dragged into view. 

   “great.” you smiled, pulling your laptop from its case. “yunho, leave those up there. those are all the tracks we have for the album, correct? first, i’d like to thank all of you for bringing together your top demos. after listening to your tracks, i know for a fact that we all took bang pd’s enthusiasm for the transferred girl group very seriously, and i appreciate that. second, i have made the final cuts after consulting your votes, and we’ve concluded that so what, hash, number one, oh yes i am, ding ding dong and three six five will remain on the album. one of every one of our songs has made it onto the album. congratulations! now, about logistics,” you started, your excitement for an upcoming album clouding all other thoughts. when you went to work, surprisingly enough, it felt as if you were on vacation, as if you were doing something right again. passion pumped through your veins once more, captivating the rest of your team. it was go time. 

   “fuck, you did it again, (y/n). great work.” namjoon sighed, shaking your hand as he rose from his seat. “i can’t believe we got this much done in such a small amount of time. i could’ve gone way longer, it’s a shame we had to cut it short.”

   “i know!” jinah chimed in agreement, gathering her things. “i couldn’t handle a second of what you do every day, (y/n). you’re amazing.”

   “no, you can,” you denied, correcting the both of them. “if you’re on this board of what, six people? it means you’re one of the most hardworking, competent, and passionate producers bighit has ever hired, to the point where you’re one of the heads of operations. you could all handle what i do, that’s mainly why i chose you to lead your respective sectors.” you chuckled, pulling your bag onto your shoulder. “and, i wish we could go longer, too. i have a parent meeting with my daughter’s teacher, so that’s the reason why you’ll all be sleeping early tonight.” you joked, earning a hearty laugh from your colleagues. you waved goodbye to each of your teammates, wishing them a good night and a safe drive the way you always did. this left you and sooyoung, babbling just like you did when you were younger. 

   “hey, you going anywhere tonight?” sooyoung asked, heels clicking on the marble floors.

   “i mean, i have the meeting with seyoung’s teacher. did you forget already?” you chuckled, poking fun at her. “but no, i don’t have anywhere to go after that. what, did you want to come with me?” you raised an eyebrow and watched sooyoung’s face relax, obviously thankful that you brought it up instead of her.

   “oh my god, yes,” she groaned, smiling. “my car’s being repaired and i don’t want to take an uber home. me, you, and seyoung can have a mommy-daughter-auntie night! please?” she gripped your hand, tugging it like a child. 

   “fine!” you laughed, pulling your hand away. “it would be good for seyoung to have someone while she waits for me to finish with her teacher. even though it’s fifteen minutes, she can get pretty bored and or antsy when she doesn’t have something to entertain herself with,” you thought aloud, knowing that because seyoung’s growing up, she’s more excitable and more curious about things. you silently thanked sooyoung from sparing you all the dramatic nightmares of a mother when she knows her child has to sit alone, without her. you invited sooyoung into the front seat of your car, her long legs slithering into place. 

   “have you met him already? my sister works at yooseong, she told me jungkook is new,” sooyoung explained, suddenly very invested in seyoung’s new teacher.

   “well, i did meet him earlier today, but,” you paused, face contorting to a confused frown. “how the hell did you know he was teaching seyoung?” your eyes widened, your lips forming an astonished smile. “sooyoung!”

   “i might’ve pulled some strings,” she raised her hands in defeat. “it’s just because i was curious about seyoung! my sister knows how close we are and how much i love seyoung, i practically begged her to tell me!” sooyoung confessed, voice rising practically three octaves. “but, seriously, how is he? is he a nice guy? he better be a nice guy,” sooyoung warned, fists balling. you loved how her personality towards friends contrasted heavily from the woman in the workplace. sooyoung working had an aura so intimidating and sharp she could cut, but sooyoung chatting had the aura of a big cuddle bear. 

   “he’s, well,” you started, trying to gather your words. you couldn’t say much about him, the two of you only had a two-minute conversation. “i don’t know a lot about him because, as i mentioned, we met this morning, but, sooyoung, do you know what he looks like?”

   “no, i don’t.” she shrugged. “soojung only gave me his name. what, is he scary? does he not look like he’s supposed to be there?” sooyoung pandered you with questions, her eyes and tone full of concern.

   “no, no!” you replied, shaking your free hand. “he looks fine. i just, well, i don’t know how to explain it. do you remember when we met hoseok at that party a long, long time ago?” you asked, earning a slow nod from her. “he reminds me of that hoseok. a bubbly, kind, caring, hoseok.” you paused and listened to the silence in the car, the traffic outside being the only thing preventing this conversation from being more awkward. “i... i don’t know,” you sighed, laughing at your strange thoughts. “i don’t even understand how that works! i met him for two fucking minutes and in those two minutes he managed to remind me of the one man i loved with all my heart?” you breathed heavily, recollecting yourself.

   “hey, woah,” sooyoung cautioned, rubbing a hand your back. “don’t make this teacher that personal for you. he’s not hoseok, he’s someone else, and if you keep associating him with that scum on earth you won’t ever have a good relationship with him. remember seyoung needs this, and so do you. seyoung first, and then you.” sooyoung’s hard-knock advice never failed to be your reality check. she’d always remind you of what was important so you wouldn’t get so caught up in your emotions. “i suggest you talk to him and get to know him, so you can see just how different he is from hoseok. i mean, if i had any kids, i wouldn’t let them near hoseok. he’d probably lock ‘em in a closet and sleep with his girlfriend for the thirtieth time in a row.” she rolled her eyes, slapping the dash of your car in anger. “i hate that guy. i know you don’t want me to hate him, but i do. i capital h, a, t, e him. hate.” she complained, folding her arms. 

   “no, i get it. if he wasn’t the father of my child, i’d hate him too.” you pulled into the driveway of the school, seeing students waddle off with their parents as the school day came to a close. you led sooyoung to seyoung’s third-grade classroom, the door now decorated with adorable mini paper handprints of each student, their name written in the center. in the lower right corner, you could see jungkook’s large handprint with ‘mr. jeon’ scribbled on it about twenty-six times, one for each student to write his name. you chuckled at how cute it was and opened the door, the room buzzing with excitement as parents came to collect their child. 

   “ah, ms. (y/n)!” jungkook’s head rose from the pile of homework on his desk to greet you. he stepped out of his chair and walked towards you and sooyoung, twisting his body to avoid the high-energy children. 

   “he knows your first name?!” sooyoung whisper-ashouted, awe-strucken.

   “i almost told him my last name was jung! i wasn’t thinking, i just said the first thing that came to mind!” you whispered back, panicking that you were having this conversation as he made his way to you.

   “you couldn’t remember your last name?” sooyoung retorted, utterly confused. “jesus, (y/n), seriously?”

   “yes, seriously,” you responded as jungkook finally reached the two of you. “it’s nice to see you again, mr. jeon.” you shook his hand politely, smiling. 

   “it’s nice to see you, too!” he turns to sooyoung, squinting slightly. “i don’t believe we’ve met, but you look so familiar —“

   “i’m soojung’s sister, sooyoung.” she smiled, waving. 

   “the famous soojung is your sister? of course!” he returned her friendly gaze, nodding. as you all chatted nicely a teacher entered the room, telling all children who haven’t been picked up yet to head to the cafeteria for extended care. “it’s nice to meet you. i do have a meeting with (y/n) at the moment, so may we please be excused?” jungkook, asked, adjusting his shirt. 

   “yeah, sooyoung, can you get seyoung? she hasn’t noticed we’re here yet,” you laughed, watching your daughter march happily out of the classroom. “seyoung!” you called. her head spun and her eyes widened when she caught sight of you, but her mouth twisted into an excited grin at the sight of sooyoung. 

   “sooyoung auntie!” seyoung exclaimed, running to give her a huge hug. 

   “hi, baby!” sooyoung pat her head affectionately, taking her hand. “i’ll take care of her. you guys get going!”

  and so, after all the students had left, you sat down in front of jungkook’s desk as he tidied it up, moving large stacks of paper behind him. “i’m sorry i couldn’t have cleaned earlier,” he sighed, filing through cabinets and stuffing papers inside. “when you’re in charge of twenty-six kids at once, things don’t always end up getting done very quickly.” he joked, sitting at his desk. 

   “oh, tell me about it,” you replied, laughing. “seyoung’s quite a handful at home; she’s full of beans!” you pulled out a small notebook from your purse, wanting to make sure you'd jot down everything down from this meeting.

   “i can tell! she’s very excited in class and has shown just how enthusiastic she is about the tangerine points.” he chuckled, motioning to the large counter scribbled on the corner of the whiteboard, dedicated to tangerine points. “but, today, we’re just going to talk logistics, what i should know about your child, what i should know about you, and anything else you see important. i wanted to talk about seyoung first, but, if there’s something you wanted to open with, we can start there?” he asked, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a file labeled ‘seyoung’.

   “oh, no, this meeting is about seyoung, so it’s appropriate we start with her.” you tittered, earning a laugh from the man across from you.

   “you’re funny!” he smiled, opening the file. “well, this is seyoung’s file; it has her records from kindergarten to second grade, her personal information, and any notes other teachers have made regarding her and her performance. i looked over it before our meeting, and may i just say, great job, (y/n). your daughter is amazing, she shines particularly well. she has a lot of potential, and you seem to have unlocked it in her early years! congratulations on that.” he nodded at your smiling face, turning pages of the contents of the file. “i did want to mention that, even though she does very well, seyoung is very talkative in class. not to the point where she disturbs class time, but enough for me to mention it to you. do you understand what i mean?” he asked, motioning towards you.

  you looked up from your notebook, finishing a sentence. “yes, of course.” you nodded. “is there anything you wanted me to do about this, like talk to her at home?”

   “i think that’d be the best move, just telling her that class time is for work, and recess is for play. i told her today that i needed her to listen more in class, and she assured me she’d do exactly that!” he smiled. “i’ll wait until tomorrow to further contact you about this because i’m pretty sure she’ll listen to me. i also wanted to discuss her emergency contacts? the school was going to call you about this, but once they heard we’ve scheduled a meeting, they asked me to discuss it with you.”

   “of course,” you replied, very confused. you closed your notebook, palm resting on top of it, pen in hand. “go on?”

   “after you, we have park sooyoung, kang seulgi, and her father, jung hoseok. we’d called mr. jung a couple days ago for annual information verification and a woman picked up. once we asked for him, they told us we couldn’t have his information and hung up. is the number written correctly? we want to make sure all information is up to date.”

  you sighed, angry at how you knew exactly who picked up the phone and how she has no filter when it comes to her personality. “the information i put on seyoung’s documents is up to date, that’s just his partner.”

   “oh, i see,” jungkook muttered, afraid he may have pushed a button. “i’ll let the office know, and we’ll try to contact him again. my dearest apologies for bothering.”

   “it’s fine,” you waved your hand, smiling bitterly. “you’re just doing your job! but, anyway, is there anything else about seyoung? i know the school year has just begun, so there may not be much from your end just yet, but i’m glad you can see just how gifted seyoung is. she’s my pride and joy.”

   “i’m glad she has a supportive family,” he smiled, adjusting the papers within the file and closing it, tucking it back into its respective folder. “that’s very important in a child’s life.” he stood up from his chair, prompting you to do the same. “i’m glad we could have this talk, ms. (y/n). we can call this a success!” he shook your hand firmly, smiling brightly. after gathering his things he led you outside of the classroom, presumably walking you to the front. “i’ve heard of your work for these big k-pop groups. i almost trained to be in one myself, but i ended up going to college and becoming a teacher.”

   “that’s so interesting! did you get accepted?” you gazed at him in surprise. he had the looks and charisma to be a famous idol.

   “i did! i was accepted to many, many companies, but i couldn’t leave my parents at home, so i stayed.” he explained, smiling. “it was my dream to perform, up until i got my teaching degree. i love these little ones, and i love what i do. i don’t know if performing could give me even the slightest bit of happiness that seeing bright, young minds every day offers me.”

   “that’s such an interesting story. it’s very respectable, your love for teaching. i appreciate it, deeply.” you replied, opening the door of the school for him after he finished checking out. “thank you for this!” you shook his hand one more time, this time, with confidence. 

   “no, (y/n), thank you.” he smiled, his eyes locking with yours.

  the two of you went your separate ways, him to his car in the teachers’ designated parking lot, and you to your car, where you saw sooyoung texting on her phone and seyoung snoozing away in her car seat. “what the heck happened to seyoung?” you asked, startling sooyoung with the sudden opening of the car door. she scowled at you, slapping your arm.

   “(y/n), if i didn’t love you, you’d be dead meat.” sooyoung turned her head and glanced at seyoung’s sleeping form, her head resting against the cushion of her car seat. “we talked for a little bit, but she was just so tired that she dozed off the moment i started playing some music. it’s okay, though, that means we’ll have some silence on the way back.” she smiled, buckling herself in. “how’d it go?”

   “how’d it go?” you repeated as you pulled out of the driveway, spotting jungkook getting into his car from your rearview mirror. “well, it went pretty well, i’d say. he told me about how seyoung’s a gifted child and we went over some database things as well.”

   “of course he told you she’s gifted! what have i been telling you ever since she was born? this girl is going to grow up and become president.” sooyoung whined, squeezing your free hand briskly. “what about him?” she asked, shaking her shoulders. 

   “jungkook? what about him?” you asked, stretching your neck to eye the exit you needed to take. 

   “everything! he’s more good looking than i ever imagined him to be; is he single?” she exclaimed, making you almost break right in the middle of the highway. 

   “is he single?” you sputtered, face reddening. “how would i know something like that? his love life has nothing to do with seyoung’s performance in school!” 

   “i don’t know, i just saw the two of you standing next to each other and i knew it could work out! i mean, two attractive people with a perfect height difference and similar interests? how can that not spell out love to you?” sooyoung snorted, grinning. 

   “oh, no, sooyoung,” you warned, shaking your head. “do not try to play matchmaker with me again. you remember what it was like when i met that weirdo, yugyeom, through you? are you serious?” 

   “come on, he was nice! he paid for dinner!” she defended.

   “no, i paid for dinner, he told me about his life story on the first date. never again will I ever trust you to match me with someone else.” you corrected her, the two of you laughing at the absurdity of that night.

   “it was one time!” she cackled in between breaths. no matter what it was, sooyoung could always make you burst out into hilarious laughter. “but, you didn’t answer my question. is. he. single?”

  you paused, glancing to the side. “he doesn’t have a ring—”

   “he doesn’t have a ring!” she exclaimed, shaking her fists in excitement. “no ring, no problem!”

   “hey, that doesn’t mean he’s not seeing someone! i mean, have you seen him, sooyoung? look at him! he probably has thousands of people in his messages asking for dates.” you groaned, realizing that if you did want to start something with him, you’d probably have no chance.

   “yeah, (y/n), i did see him.” she replied, looking at you. “i was looking at him, and the whole time, he was looking at you.”

—

tag list: 

@ggsmashgg @childishbxmbino @defyiingravity @fashionmusicaddict @lemynic @webroe @marvelstuck @niammain @jungcocobust-a-nut @purely-you @mekolliskiea @deepsuitcaseduckapricot​ @jdkook @babybluegguk @isyoongi @norahkimmmm @idiotscalledfriends @purpleisabela @taevkimchi @gguksnoona   @lethaljeon @cheers-lufy @kpop-addicted-nerd @namelesscat1324 @disbeeme @dammit-jjk @bxby-stay @luvelyxp @yeontanie21 @taerremotowithjin @lee-u-ne12 @princesspanda16 @cypheruby @kookie-vuitton @umiiii @coldlandsuitcaselover @kpopfromtheblock @promiseyoonkook @busansgloss @ncitydreamies @safi4x @bigbangclappin @kooks3uphoria  @niaxbts @anua13 @orca1019  @lustremyg @aurorajeons​ @shesthelastjedi​ @betysotelo18​ @hopekoya​ @beyondthescenesphotodump​

[squarecarousel]

Challenge 144: 10 Years, Looking Forward: A-Frame Studio Life Buckle up-- this is a long one! Wow, ten years. It’s hard to believe a whole decade has passed since Square Carousel began, and since I graduated college. In some ways, it feels like another lifetime, and in others, it feels vastly shorter than the decade before that, from ages 12 to 22. Time is fascinating that way. College was such an incredibly impactful time period, but just a measly 4 years-- I could have done college 2.5 more times back-to-back in the years since I graduated, but somehow those four, from 2007-2011 were monumental.  It’s hard to believe I’ll be in a post-college world without Square Carousel, since the group has been a constant in my life these last ten years. I’m really proud that we made it this far and are able to choose to end the journey, rather than it fizzling out or dying from lack of interest. Sometimes it felt like that might happen, but other times it felt like we were blooming. There have been many ups and downs over the course of this journey. And damn, it was a lot of hard to work to keep running, but I am so grateful for the learning experience. I know so much more about leadership now than I ever would have before-- the delicate balance of having rules to keep the group running (deadlines, participation requirements, our dreaded “strike system”) and keeping up morale (knowing when to forgive slip-ups, keeping challenges sufficiently entertaining and well...challenging, making sure the group feels like it’s a community). Elizabeth and I were reluctant leaders, just naturally having to take those roles as other original members of the group left and were replaced by folks who needed guidance. We definitely didn’t seek it out, but we knew that if the group were to stay alive, we had to put some structure into the system. Pretty early on we made our rules and guidelines, extended the challenges to 3 weeks from just 2, and worked on our visual image online. Our awesome logo was made by former member Casey Crisenbery, and we switched from Wordpress to Tumblr, purchasing a URL, and Casey using special code for custom organization on the site. Sketch critiques were now a halfway point through our 3 weeks-long challenge, which helped a lot with the community aspect and engagement. We started doing interviews for each member, reaching out to other illustration groups, blogs and submission sites and had our work featured on a few of them. Some of us even got jobs from the connections made through Square Carousel!  There was a bad stretch several years ago when I wasn’t sure we’d make it through, with toxic behavior and a few folks petitioning for removing deadlines and structure, making everything optional. One thing I can tell you with certainty after ten years of working with artists is that 95% of us require deadlines to do anything, and incentives/obligations for meeting those deadlines, or it just isn’t going to happen! Elizabeth and I, along with a few other solid members, were able to keep the structure we’d worked hard to create, but the toxic culture had already killed group morale and we lost a lot of members simultaneously. That was a sad and scary time for Square Carousel, but I didn’t want to go out on a sour note. So the small group of us picked the pieces back up again, did a little refocus on our goals as a collective and created an “Admin” so Elizabeth and I didn’t have to carry the entire burden alone. I am forever grateful to Sayada and Jordan for stepping up into these roles to help us get the train back on track. Sayada especially picked up a lot of responsibilities that a newer member shouldn’t have to worry about, and was a total rockstar for Square Carousel. I wish we’d had her with us for the whole ride. I’m so happy that we’ve had a few really great years with some really loyal and talented artists to round out the experience at Year Ten.  There is nobody I’m more thankful for than my Good Cop, Elizabeth, though. She was so reliable, always able to provide balance in our leadership roles, and such a wonderful shoulder to cry on when things got too stressful. Elizabeth, thank you for this journey and for being my SC Wife all these years! It’s so funny because of all the original members, you were one of the only ones I hadn’t really known from SCAD classes, yet you’re the SCAD Illustration friend I have remained most connected to most consistently. Nothing bonds you quite like running an illustration collective does! It also cracks me up that in all these years, we hadn’t ever facetimed or talked on the phone until a few months ago--I didn’t even know your mannerisms or voice, but knew you so well anyway. My greatest internet friend! I love you dearly and it truly won’t feel right, the absence of our weekly SC conversations. Thank you for all of the memories! As just a member and artist, this group has helped me grow so much professionally. It was my client when I didn’t have clients. It was my motivation to paint when I didn’t feel creative. It was my source of portfolio-worthy work, but also my safe place to experiment and fail when I was trying something new. The girl who started as a Square Carousel member freshly graduated in 2011 was working part-time at Urban Outfitters, had basically no money, and no clue how to promote herself. The “studio” was a corner of the bedroom and nobody took her seriously. But a stubborn dedication and the security, purpose and structure of Square Carousel helped the slow change from that lost girl to a full-time freelancing woman. Now, in 2021, I have been doing freelance illustration fully for six years, through contract jobs, editorial, publishing, advertising, commission and local work, as well as selling prints and products online, in local shops and events. I am not making the big bucks, certainly, and I still have goals I’m working towards, but damn, if that isn’t a glow-up, I don’t know what is. Thank you for helping me achieve my impossible dream, Square Carousel, and always being a place with the right amount of advice, support and critique. Ten years, 34 artist interviews, 38 artists, and 144 challenges. I’m the only member to have completed every single one. 144 illustrations through the years. Some were game-changers for my style and my portfolio. Some were total stinkers and I hope you don’t go looking for them. But all were an important step in my career.   So, in ten more years? I’ll be 42 years old, which is very weird because I have never imagined myself that old before... it’s hard to honestly say what that would look like, especially considering the world we are currently living in and how the last 4/5 years have proven that anything (awful) can happen. Jordan and I have a goal to move to Colorado in the next 4 or 5 years, and I’d love to have a little A-Frame in the mountains with a loft studio, shown in my illustration here. Texas has become extremely problematic, especially after the winter storm in February of this year, and will be impacted greatly by climate change, both environmentally and economically. Right now, Austin is still booming, but at some point the lack of foresight in this state’s government is going to screw over the residents and it will be one of the places from which climate refugees run. Is that tomorrow? No, obviously not. But I want to already be settled someplace more stable, having grown some roots, before other folks start to roll in. But, to be able to do that, I need to rely less on my local jobs and connections and be able to have an “anywhere career.” So right now I am focusing on expanding in that way, particularly with book cover illustration and design. I’ve been doing a lot of portfolio work and self-publishing jobs, and hope to get an agent that can shop my work to big-time publishers sometime in the next year or two. Let’s say I succeed at all of those things in five years-- we’re in our Colorado A-Frame, I’m illustrating book covers (and I’ve also convinced my parents to come with me, and maybe a couple friends!). The next five years after that? I don’t know... hopefully a lot of adventures. Hopefully a lot of cool jobs, but also a lot of work/life balance. Right now, I don’t want kids, so the A-Frame will be filled with cats. Maybe we’ll have an old camper van for regular road trips around the western National Parks. I’d love for my work to reflect those passions-- more jobs with outdoor brands, parks, organizations. More book covers for stuff I’d personally love to read and keep on my overflowing shelf. That’s the vague goal for me in ten years, but I don’t want to plan any further than that, because life just also needs to happen the way it’s going to happen. There are parts of my current life I planned for in 2011... and there are parts I never, ever would have guessed. I hope there’s some fun surprises in 2031, too. Thanks for the decade, Square Carousel. Joining illustration collectives will always be the first bit of advice I give fresh graduates. Caitlin

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 270: Harry Potter Rules

Previously on BnHA: Present Mic punched Ujiko in the face! It was awesome. I’m thinking about getting a tattoo of it. Meanwhile Endeavor saved Mirko’s life by setting her on fire (reason #15 why I will never become a superhero), and Aizawa did some sexy Spider-Man poses for our viewing pleasure while fighting the rest of these Noumus which are still annoyingly refusing to die. Anyway but back to Present Mic, the undisputed MVP of this chapter. Because you see, in addition to the punching, he also used his Loud Voice attack (literally the actual attack name; Horikoshi will steal all of my jokes and leave me with nothing) to smash open Tomura’s Noumutank! Which I really thought was going to immediately lead to Everyone Dying, but apparently I was wrong! Anyways so yeah, right now Tomura’s just lying down all heart-stopped and not-breathing. Which seems very anticlimactic, BUT I JUST HAVE THE CRAZIEST FEELING that maybe, just maybe, the super powerful villain lad who just spent the last three arcs slowly upgrading his bad self just in time to wage war on the world as the story reaches its climax, might not actually be dead though.

Today on BnHA: DON’T MIND THAT OMINOUS ORGAN MUSIC PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND, IT’S NOTHING, IGNORE IT. Ahem. So first of all, as some of the bolder among us dared to speculate, Tomura is not, in fact, dead. He’s still very much kicking it with his nipple-less pecs and truffula tree hair, putzing around in his mental landscape filled with crumbled buildings and disembodied Theatrical Gesture Hands. For some reason he doesn’t have shoes or a shirt in his mental landscape, which was a very interesting choice on Horikoshi’s part, but we will speak no more of it. Anyway so to sum things up, Tomura’s family is all “TENKO WE LOVE YOU” and he’s all “oh hey” and then AFO fucking appears and he’s all “COME HERE MY BOY” which is exactly as creepy as you would expect, and for some fucking reason TOMURA ACTUALLY DOES COME HERE. And lol it turns out Ujiko gave him AFO. Like the quirk. Yes, that quirk. So long story short, Tomura is about to be possessed by AFO’s evil soul or some shit, and to put the cherry on top, fucking Deku out of fucking nowhere, MILES AWAY, is all “HE’S COMING.” Because of course he can sense it, because AFOFA IS REAL, AND FUCK ME THIS IS ALL HAPPENING TOO FAST, FUCK.

I know this chapter has been out since like 1pm, but I’m not getting to read it until 5 hours later because for once in my life I was trying to be responsible and actually get some work done on a Friday. I thought this might lead to less oh-god-I-still-have-to-get-that-done anxiety hovering over my weekend, but instead it just led to oh-god-I-have-to-get-the-chapter-recap-done anxiety hovering over my now! anyways so this might be a bit rushed lol

(ETA: yeah turns out this wasn’t exactly the kind of chapter you could just read quickly and get on with your life lmao. so, then!)

what a nice panel of Present Mic taking out the trash

you heard ‘em fellas. the doctor is secured. good job everyone we did it, manga over, congratulations. now to cut away to a two-page spread of Dark Shadow comically smothering Dabi’s flames with a giant stock pot lid, and that’ll be that! what a wonderful, extremely short and strangely underwhelming arc in which we haven’t even seen the actual main characters do anything yet. but I guess we don’t need them since the main bad guy is lying dead on the floor! everything is just so fucking dead and secured!! do you think if I keep repeating it enough Horikoshi will finally be like “okay geez I get it” and reveal his hand already

Mic is now ordering Ujiko to power down the Noumu, which again, I’m sure he will definitely do without a fuss since after all the good guys have clearly won the day

OH SHIT OH FUCK

rip X-Less. gonna just take a moment here to imprint your beautiful face onto my memory before it turns into a pile of ash. your face, I mean. not my memory. well my memory more or less already is a pile of ash but that’s neither here nor there ANYWAYS

:’)

what are these little sound effects. I think that’s supposed to be a buzzing noise?? anyways whatever it is PLEASE STOP IT, I AM NOT HAVING A NICE TIME SO STOP

ffff Horikoshi sure has done an excellent job of setting the mood in such a way that all of these panels of X-Less doing incredibly mild things are sending my stress levels through the roof. like is anyone else reading his lines more or less like “WELP, TIME FOR ME TO DIE, ANY SECOND NOW, WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS, THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, HERE IT COMES”

(ETA: when is this poor sweet innocent man going to fucking die already.)

LET’S CUT BACK TO MIC ESCAPING THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY

I have the clearest mental image of Horikoshi standing by with a walkie talkie in one hand and one of those remote bomb detonation clicky switch thingies in the other, patiently waiting to receive the go-ahead once all of the important characters have gotten to safety

anyway so now Ujiko is talking again

no fear everyone this is just the beginning of his verbal noumu deactivation sequence. nothing to worry about. everything is fine

yes for some reason his code phrase to put all the noumus back to sleep involves going into rambling detail about his work researching quirk singularities and shit. it’s fine. it’s not a big deal. code phrases are just like that sometimes all right

just ignore the increasingly panicked look in Mic’s eye as he slowly realizes he was way too fucking keen to just leave the “dead” Tomura back there with his laser-eyed hero buddy. anyway so let’s continue learning all about the Quirk Illuminati or whatever the fuck

okay so... he faked his own death? 70 years ago, at age 50 or thereabouts? I mean, that’s interesting and all I guess. not saying I wouldn’t be thrilled to spend the rest of this chapter learning all about Ujiko’s boring evil life. I don’t need to say it because it’s implied on account of Ujiko sucks and is the worst. so yeah can we get a move on though

oh shit?!?

WHOSE NARRATION IS THAT IN THE BOXES TOMURA IS THAT YOU OH GOD OH GOD

also, comparing AFO’s smile to a buddha’s really sent an actual shudder of disgust down my spine for some reason lmao. I personally would have steered that comparison in a different area, maybe less to buddhas and more to Norman Bates from Psycho, but to each their own

oh shit wait up

okay but this is actually a pretty big revelation though, isn’t it? because it’s been hinted for a while now that AFO and Ujiko had some method of duplicating quirks (the fact that all the Noumu share the same regeneration quirk was the biggest clue, but there was also John-chan’s quirk, as well as Hood’s Muscular-esque quirk), but as far as I can recall, this is the first time we’ve had it confirmed. though to be fair I wasn’t joking when I said my memory really has been shit lately sob

anyway so for real though, can you really call it a BnHA chapter if you’re not spending a good chunk of it being hopelessly confused over the ownership of some ambiguous thought bubbles. WHO IS THIS. I do seriously feel like it’s Tomura, because he’s the wrathful one, but another hallmark of a typical BnHA chapter is me constantly questioning everything I know as I muddle my way through

(ETA: yeah I’m pretty sure it was him. still impressive how vague it is though! it could also potentially be Ujiko, Mic, or even Deku. hopefully Caleb’s translation on Sunday can shed some more light on this. though he wasn’t really helpful last time this happened lol.)

SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

didn’t... you just... say that “preservation” was your quirk?? what do you mean that you wanted it?? CAN YOU JUST FINISH YOUR SENTENCES LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

anyway so here’s a summary of this chapter thus far

present mic: okay goodbye forever x-less

x-less: what a strange thing to say! :) also is it just me or is this machine fucking staring at me

present mic: turn the noumu off please

ujiko: seventy years ago... society... singularity... he’d be 120 years old now...

??: [REPULSIVE FEELING EW WHO’S TOUCHING ME]

ujiko: all for one has the smile of an angel...

??: [SON OF A BITCH I’M SO FUCKING WRATHFUL]

ujiko: my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk...

all caught up?? grand. also btw is anyone else super disturbed by the fact that Ujiko recognizes Mic as being “Kurogiri’s friend”, like holy shit though? how would he know that. I can’t think of any implications of this that aren’t super disturbing tbh

anyways back to -- LOL WHAT THE

Horikoshi Kouhei: [furiously scribbling notes to himself at 3am] BUT WHAT IF THE FOLDING CITY FROM “INCEPTION” HAD MORE GIANT HANDS

jesus christ. is this like some mental representation of what shit is currently like in Tomura’s mind? lots of crumbly destruction and traffic lights and the house his father built (isn’t it? I feel like it looks familiar), and SO MANY HANDS, HE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS

anyway so at this point it’s a coin toss whether or not anything in this fucking chapter is ever going to make any kind of fucking sense! but here I am voluntarily along for the ride while Gene Wilder sings that creepy boat song right in my ear!

DSFKLDSJ

ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN FLOATING IN A JAR FOR THREE MONTHS TBH. that is some luscious quarantine hair

SDFLKJSDLFKJSLKFDHLKSDJFLKJLKSDJL:FKJSDL:KJ

(ETA: that Tomura in the top left may be my new favorite panel. look at him. all he is is a nose and chin and ~*~HAIR~*~.)

HANAAAAAA AHHHHHH OH MY LORD OH MY LORD! OKAY I’M FINALLY PAYING ATTENTION NOW FOR REAL! NO MORE JOKES! EVERYBODY SHHHH!!!

FFFFFFFFFF

“LOOK AT ME I’M A MAIN CHARACTER I CAN HAVE STRANGE VISIONS AND TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE IN MY DREAMS, SOUND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE YOU KNOW?” TOMURA SHUT UP I DON’T HAVE TIME TO ANALYZE THIS SCENE THEMATICALLY RIGHT NOW I’M TOO BUSY BEING SAD ABOUT YOUR DEAD SISTER WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY CALCULATING THE ODDS OF THIS SOMEHOW BEING FORESHADOWING FOR HER NOT REALLY BEING DEAD. OH GOD, OH FUCK YOU GUYS, I’M FREAKING OUT

WHAT KIND OF YOUNGER BROTHER DOESN’T CALL HIS OLDER SISTER “NEECHAN” TOMURA WHAT KIND OF ANIME CHARACTER ARE YOU

AT THIS POINT HIS HAIR IS ITS OWN INDIVIDUAL CHARACTER WITH THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS WOW

HORIKOSHI PLEASE STOP SHAKING THIS CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE OF SIBLING FEELS SO VIGOROUSLY I AM SO TERRIBLY AFRAID OH GOD

“BY THE WAY TENKO I JUST HAVE TO SAY, YOUR MAN BOOBS ARE SERIOUSLY IMPRESSIVE AND YOU SHOULD BE VERY PROUD.” YES HANA I WAS JUST GOING TO SAY. HOW ASTUTE OF YOU TO POINT THAT OUT. BOY HAS BEEN HITTING THAT BOWFLEX

WTAF IS HIS HAIR THOUGH SERIOUSLY??!

IS IT JUST ME OR IS THIS DIALOGUE BUBBLE ACTUALLY COMING FROM THE HAIR ITSELF. TOMURA. TOMURA BLINK TWICE IF YOU ARE IN DANGER

SJJKJSKJSW

TENKO IT’S ME YOUR GIANT MOM I’M BEHIND YOU HONEY TURN AROUND AND LOOK HELLO HI I LOVE YOU DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE A HERO

ffff why is he so pretty all the time lately

you are very handsome with your billowy hair and ken doll abs, you. sure are having a lot of trippy visions for a dead guy too there

HEY!!!!

WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED -- DO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST -- ffffffffff I need to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes fuck

okay well. but since it is getting late I guess we’ll just pack these feelings up real quick and put them inside a box and neatly label it “feelings I have about Tomura having a vision of his mom and immediately turning back into his innocent little boy self in said vision as soon as he sees her.” not too sure about the contents of this box yet but I will have to explore them thoroughly at a later date

oh hey it’s this asshole

“THAT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO, DAD.” jesus Kotaro. get over it

and also guess what, if you go and get Tomura all riled up so he wakes up grumpy and disintegrates the first hapless guy he sees, I will hold you solely responsible for that poor man’s death. I’m just warning you now

oh my

I remember this conversation going a bit differently the last time, but hey

LOOOOOOL

HIGH FIVE. PUT ‘ER THERE

WHY WOULD YOU LOOK SO SURPRISED LOL DID YOU NOT JUST TURN TOWARDS HIM WITH A SINISTER MURDER FACE LIKE TWO SECONDS AGO. LIKE WTF DID YOU THINK WAS GONNA HAPPEN

OH NO OH SHIT

FUCK ME, GUESS IT WOULDN’T BE A DRAMATIC BNHA DREAM SEQUENCE IF THIS ASSHOLE DIDN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE AT SOME POINT OR OTHER NOW WOULD IT

-- HOLY SHIT?!

RECORD SCRATCH, FREEZE FRAME??

holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit

holy shit. fuck

...okay so

is this implying that AFO has been Noumufied? but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? he already had multiple quirks. what other advantages could there be to him becoming a Noumu. well whatever I’m just typing out all of my thoughts real fast for the time being and I’ll try to make sense of them later

or is it because he sees Kurogiri as a father figure? and AFO also?

or is he using Kurogiri’s quirk????? IS HE SOMEHOW WARPING INTO TOMURA’S DREAMS

because that third one, to me, is what this panel most looks like? Tomura says he looks like Kuro, but he doesn’t though. Kuro has a very distinctive face which this is very much lacking. instead it looks to me much more like one of Kurogiri’s portals, with AFO’s buddhaesque smile sticking out. so yeah. I got nothin’. except, again, fuck

(ETA: yeah I obviously have more thoughts about this now, but we’ll get to those in a bit.)

...

.......

-- !!!!!!!!!!LKJLK!JLKJ

oh shit oh shit oh shit 

OH SHIT

NO BABY NO DON’T DO IT

GASP

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AHHHH

I HAVE LIKE TEN THOUSAND THOUGHTS IN MY BRAIN RIGHT NOW YET SOMEHOW MY MIND IS ALSO STRANGELY BLANK?? I DON’T EVEN KNOW?? I’LL JUST KEEP READING

KOTARO ARE YOU TRYING TO HELP HIM OR ARE YOU PULLING HIM TOWARD AFO??

OH HE’S PUSHING HIM BACK!! OH SHIT IT’S A WHOLE FAMILY EFFORT

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AFO IS GOING TO TAKE HIM OVER AND THEY’RE TRYING TO PROTECT HIM OH GOD OH JESUS

BABY TENKO EYES OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE DEKU THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS DEKU FOR A MOMENT

NO TENKO!!!

FUCK -- DOES HE NOT CARE? HE ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDS WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN BUT HE DOESN’T CARE?? IS HE TRULY SO PROFOUNDLY MISERABLE THAT HE’D GO AHEAD AND ACCEPT THIS FATE WILLINGLY

NO SOUNDS. NO WORDS. YOU COULD HEAR A PIN DROP IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW

except that I have the most incredible, chilling, disturbing, electrifying feeling that my mental soundtrack is about to start blaring AFO’s theme from the anime on full blast...!

LOOOOOL SOB OH FUCKK

THE MOST TERRIFYING, DRAMATIC KIP UP YOU’VE EVER SEEN IN YOUR LIFE!! THIS IS IT, IT’S BEEN REAL FRIENDS, THIS IS WHERE WE DIE

-- ARE YOU REALLY, TRULY, GENUINELY SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW

NOW OF ALL TIMES IS WHEN WE FINALLY CUT TO THE TRIO, I’M CAN’T, I’M FUCK

AND THAT’S THE END AHHHHH

holy shit holy shit holy shit. wow

okay so. I don’t really have any sort of neat and tidy way to wrap up this hot mess of a recap lol. so, just... have a whole mess of all of my stupid whirling thoughts

those first four pages really did nothing to brace me at all lol

okay, so. here’s my understanding of all this, I guess. basically we’re going full Harry Potter rules here. AFO horcruxed his quirk, and from the looks of it, a piece of his soul (perhaps even the main piece) along with it. he then passed it on to Ujiko to implant into Tomura

horcrux!AFO then wakes up, and takes over Tomura. so then my understanding is that he’s going to be possessed by him. and I also got the impression that he’s fully aware of that, but just doesn’t care at this point. he knew his family was trying to warn him, but he didn’t care. and that look in his eyes when he disintegrated them just seemed so fucking resigned to me, though. jesus

but now the more interesting thing! so we can liken Tomura to the resurrected Voldemort from book 5 and onward, reborn after transferring his power into a new vessel. which would go a long way toward explaining how AFO was able to sense what was happening from all the way in Tartarus; because if we liken it to Voldemort and his horcruxes, it would mean that he still has a connection to them (similar to the connection between Voldemort’s mind and Harry’s)

but so now comes the really interesting thing -- what does this then imply about the connection between AFO and Deku? because you’ll recall that AFO alluded to a similar mental connection back when Deku first activated SIXQUIRKS. and now we have Deku somehow being magically aware of AFO’s sudden resurgent presence in this chapter. but why?? if the reason AFO and Tomura share a psychic link is because of a shared quirk, why would Deku also be experiencing the same link? the answer is, he wouldn’t -- unless he, too, had the same shared quirk

in other words, I think All for One for All is fucking confirmed you guys. I can’t think of any explanation for this other than that OFA is also a horcrux quirk. a little piece of AFO broken off and embedded in his brother, and then passed along through the generations. and now residing within Deku

anyway. so that’s a hell of a lot to ponder lol. I guess we can at least be grateful for the fact that we’re not waiting two weeks for chapter 271 like Hori originally planned. can you fucking imagine. what a fucking asshole lol

[pindaleng]

Title: But I Knew You

Pairing: Avatrice

Chapters: 1/1

Wordcount: 2270

Summary: College AU. Beatrice is Ava’s favorite person. Ava loves being around her in a way she can’t explain. She wants to do everything with her, from studying to partying to walks outside. Which is completely normal for best friends.

Getting flustered by close contact and fake flirting is also definitely a super normal friendship thing.

Read on AO3 or below.

“I don’t get it.”

Beatrice sighed from her desk. “You don’t have to, it’s organic chemistry.”

“But I feel like I should. Like, this is the structure of living things right? I’m living, so I should understand how it works.”

“You use the internet, but you don’t know how that works.”

“Good point.” Ava shut the thick textbook in front of her. She didn’t really want to learn anyways. “You done yet?”

Beatrice sighed again, turning in her chair to face Ava, who was sitting on her bed. “We’ve only been working half an hour, and I specifically said I was spending the entire day studying. Which you should be doing too, since I know you said you have an exam Monday.”

“Fine Ms. Studious.” Ava made a big show of loudly unzipping her backpack and finally pulling out her laptop and notebooks. “I’ll…study,” she said, punctuating her last word with air quotes.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes, definitely looking skeptical, but turned back to her own pile of schoolwork.

Ava opened up her Google doc notes on her laptop, and simultaneously picked up her phone to check Twitter. Beatrice was right to doubt her; she practically never did any work on Saturdays. That’s what Sundays were for.

And yet, every Saturday, she showed up at Beatrice’s room under the guise of studying, just so she could hang out with her favorite person. Beatrice was one of the few people Ava felt comfortable in silence with, maybe due to all the death glares she’s received from Beatrice when she’s being too distracting.

Either way, she found comfort in it, even if they’re just sitting in the same room together, focused on their own activities. Beatrice studying, and Ava scrolling through social media on her phone, occasionally typing a paragraph or two for a paper due the following week.

They’re pretty much polar opposites, and Ava often wondered how they stuck as friends. Probably due to the weird crucible of living on the same freshman year dorm floor. People got to know everyone really quickly, for better or worse.

Luckily, it turned out for the better with everyone Ava met. A few of them with rooms in the north wing bonded fast, and they rented a house together for their sophomore year. She loved them all: Mary, Lilith, Camila, and Beatrice.

But especially Beatrice.

Beatrice was smart, kind, and witty, and honestly the best listener Ava’s ever met. Ava unabashedly talks a lot. Like, a lot. And being like that, people can lose interest as conversation and friendships progress.

But Beatrice still gave Ava her full attention after a year of Ava talking her ear off. Which was still impressive every time.

It’s cool.

It’s cool that she has a solid group of friends when there was no one back home to keep in touch with.

She really loved it here.

There were so many things to do and people to meet, sometimes she still got overwhelmed by it all.

And the best place to get the full experience? College parties.

It was the midst of midterm season, but honestly all the more necessary to have something to blow off stress. And to be real, midterm season lasted from the second month of school to the end of the semester. So, no better time than the present.

After Ava got kicked out of Beatrice’s room for being too distracting, she spent most of that evening helping the rest of her housemates set up their party. Mary was in charge of getting alcohol, having the most connection with older students. Lilith put Ava and Camila in charge of cleaning and setting up, which basically meant that Lilith didn’t trust Ava to actually do the work well. Ava would have been offended if she didn’t enjoy spending time with Camila so much. The girl was a ball of literal sunshine, yet also unexpectedly, full of dirty jokes.

So, setting up the apartment with Camila was a party in itself, full of fun banter and deep life discussions.

Ava just finished putting out the snacks and booze, when the first people arrived. She cracked open a bottle of Fireball, and downed a double shot.

Ava happily shook out her body as the the liquid warmed her up. It was going to be a good night.

———

Ava’s in the middle of laughing at some stranger’s story when she caught sight of a figure coming down the stairs. She grinned.

“Woo! Life of the party’s here!!!” She yelled across the room, startling the people around her, and drawing Beatrice’s attention towards her. If Ava was sober, maybe she would have cared more that Beatrice looked slightly (very) embarrassed, but Ava definitely wasn’t sober. She half skipped and half jogged across the room, undoubtedly spilling her drink on herself and several bystanders.

She hugged Beatrice tightly when she reached her. God it felt nice. Like sinking into a bed of clouds. Or something similarly soft and fluffy and comforting. “I missed you.”

Beatrice laughed softly, close to Ava’s ear. The best sound in the world. “You just saw me a couple of hours ago.”

Ava pulled away and pouted. “Still.”

Beatrice smiled, in a perfect way that made her entire face brighter. Holy hell she was beautiful. “Well, I finished up for the day and I’m here now. Any chance you can show me where the party is?” Her eyes sparkled with playfulness.

Ava looked at her in disbelief. “Wait seriously? You wanna join?”

“I can’t be a dud at a party in my own house, can I?”

Beatrice had definitely sat out on many parties they’ve hosted, but Ava ignored that. For now, she was going to enjoy this win. She led her to the kitchen, where various bottles of alcohol and sodas crowded their dining table. Beatrice shrugged when Ava asked what she wanted, so she just made a vodka cranberry. It was a crowd pleaser drink in her opinion. Plus, some rich kid brought Grey Goose, which was probably double or triple the price of everything else on the table.

Beatrice took a sip. “Not bad.”

“I may not know much,” Ava tapped her index finger a couple times to her temple, “but I do know my liquor.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you also know how to get on my nerves.” Beatrice said teasingly, voice devoid of any malice.

Ava took a overdramatic bow. “Thank you, m’lady.” She refilled her own cup with a mixture of vodka and sprite. “Shall we?” Ava offered her hand to the other girl.

Beatrice rolled her eyes, but put her hand in Ava’s.

Ava led them back to the main room, navigating through groups of bodies to eventually land them at a couch, which was miraculously unclaimed.

From there, Ava launched into basically non-stop talking, wanting to entertain Beatrice in the best way she knew how. She shared stories of all the people she met during the night so far, with Beatrice supplementing the conversation with appropriate reactions and commentary. Ava recounted one guy that recklessly challenged her to shotgunning a beer against him. Spoiler alert, he lost miserably. Ava watched Beatrice’s eyes as much as she could while she was talking, entranced with their intenseness, openness, and expression. Did they always look like that?

The eye contact felt so personal, like it took away everyone else in the room, ignoring the raging party and loud music around them.

And the music was definitely loud, though the song choices were good. Mary knew how to set up a playlist. Ava got banned from music duty when she un-ironically added in Friday by Rebecca Black.

No regrets.

After exhausting all the tales from that night, she moved to discussing and speculating with Beatrice on the backstories of all the partygoers. People watching with Beatrice was always fun. As strait-laced as she appeared, Beatrice was also incredibly creative. Whatever wild stuff Ava theorized, Beatrice could match or do better.

At one point, a couple joined them on the couch, pushing Ava into Beatrice, pressing their sides together. The couch was much too small to comfortably fit 3 people, much less four.

“Shit, sorry.” Ava tried her best to back up and give Beatrice space, but there was nowhere to go.

Beatrice put a hand on her thigh and smiled. “Ava, it’s fine.”

Ava suddenly found it hard to breathe. Probably due to being surrounded by two more people.

“You okay?” Beatrice furrowed her eyebrows.

“Yeah, think I just need to get out here for a bit. Wanna take a walk?”

“Sure.”

There was a nice, cool breeze outside, a welcome relief from the humid air inside. It was also much quieter.

Beatrice suggested getting ice cream from Mcdonald’s and Ava emphatically agreed. Beatrice really knew her.

Fifteen minutes later she was contently humming to herself as they walked back to the house. This was the best party ever. She had an ice cream cone in one hand and somehow Beatrice’s hand in the other. A perfect night. Ava’s pretty sure this is the happiest she’s ever been in her entire life.

———

Ava groaned as she slid back into consciousness. She felt grimy, which was not unusual for her after a night of drinking.

She did a quick self inventory to assess the damage.

She was in her own bed, which was good. Boxers? On. Shirt? Also on, but in her sleep shirt instead of the button up she was wearing last night. Interesting. No bra. Also interesting.

She felt around to her right and left. No body in the bed with her. Good to know.

Minimal pounding in her head. She sat up, breathing a sigh of relief that she didn’t feel like throwing up.

She noticed a glass of water and a couple of Advils on her nightstand. Definitely Beatrice. No one else would be nice enough. Okay maybe Camila, but she still had bets on Beatrice.

She quickly washed down the pills with water and slipped on shorts and a pullover before making her way downstairs to the kitchen.

Mary was sitting at the table eating, and Beatrice at the stove pouring batter into a pan.

“Pancakes, oh my god. Bea you’re the best.” Ava gave Beatrice a tight hug and overdramatic sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Beatrice playfully pushed Ava away and made a show of wiping the kiss off her face. “Yeah yeah I know, now eat it while it’s still hot.”

Ava saluted. “Got it chef.”

“Dork.”

“You love it.”

“No comment.”

Ava’s in the middle of inhaling her fifth pancake when Mary said something. Beatrice left the room about a pancake ago, so it could only have been directed at Ava.

“What?” Ava momentarily stopped chewing.

Mary got up and started rinsing her dishes in the sink. “I said, you should really tell her how you feel.”

Ava knitted her eyebrows together. “About what?”

Mary stared at her for a while, long enough to make Ava to feel uncomfortable. Her mouth was still full, and Mary has perfected the gaze that made her feel like a kid in trouble.

“Never mind,” she said, as she put her dishes in the dishwasher.

“About what??” She repeated. Mary ignored her and walked out the kitchen. Ava swallowed the rest of the food in her mouth. “Asshole!” Ava yelled after her, eliciting a middle finger response.

Beatrice appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just Mary being cryptic and messing with me.”

“Sounds about right.”

Beatrice sat down at the table. “How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly… not bad. Seriously thank you for the food and Advils,” Ava remembered her state of dress when she woke up. “And…probably also for helping me out of my clothes.”

“Oh um, right, it was nothing. Didn’t want you sleeping in an uncomfortable, sweaty shirt.” Ava noticed Beatrice’s cheeks turn a little pink. Shit, she didn’t mean to embarrass her. She could fix this.

“Did you see something you like?” Ava wiggled her eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood, but it only made Beatrice blush harder. Oh my god Ava you’re so bad at this. She felt herself digging herself into a hole. Of course fake flirting with her is going to make it worse.

Ava was about to say something (probably dumb) to attempt again to save the situation, before Beatrice spoke.

“How could I not? You’re beautiful.”

For once, Ava was speechless. The incredibly reverent but casual way Beatrice said it completely took her breath away. There was something magical about how soft Beatrice’s eyes were, and how vulnerable it felt. Half of Ava felt calmed, while the other half of her was a raging mess. Ava felt the need to do something. She wasn’t sure what, but she needed to do something. She started racking her garbled brain for any ideas.

Beatrice’s smile slowly slid into a smirk, “Got you.”

The spell of the moment was broken. Ava laughed to dust off any lingering weird feelings. “Wow, got a taste of my own medicine. I’m impressed.”

“I had a good teacher. You should have seen your face.” Beatrice mimicked a “deer in the headlights” look for a brief moment before grinning again. She got up from the table. “Now hurry up and finish your food so we can get to the library. I’m not going to let you forget about studying for your midterm tomorrow.”

“Right. Yeah.”

“Cool.” Beatrice slapped Ava’s arm playfully before leaving the room.

Ava watched her go, wondering what in the living hell just happened. Fuck. Was she about to kiss her best friend?

[pesewla]

aight since this is a loaded question i’ll try to organize my thoughts haha... 

will they interact more?

YES, ABSOLUTELY. i have reasons too. several. buckle up

1. we still don’t know why tyki looks like nea.

ofc, this is more of a joyd/nea interaction than a tyki/allen interaction, but i also think learning the answer to this will be crucial for both tyki and allen understanding their noahs, their past, and each other better…

2. tyki and allen are highly paralleled characters.

heck, they first meet each other while both cheating at cards for basically the same reason - for their friends (allen to get krory’s clothing back, and tyki for the fun of it but also because his human friends need money to survive).

their main motive is emotion, not logic. tyki’s noah is driven by the need for pleasure, which he finds through killing and destroying, and tyki’s human side is driven by his love for eze and his human friends. and essentially all of allen’s actions are driven by his residual love and respect for mana. he restores his innocence purely to resume killing and freeing akuma, which he feels so much pity and sadness for because of his experience with mana. allen goes to the black order only because cross (who had ties to mana) ordered him to, not out of his own free will.

both of them recently experienced events that upheaved their allegiances and bonds. for allen, he was betrayed and basically left for dead by the order. for tyki, he’s just beginning to understand how little he knows about the noah’s past and goals; after meeting nea, he expressed a fervent desire to learn more about him, even if that’ll shift his whole world paradigm.

they both struggle with their light and dark sides. the only difference is that tyki finds joy in having both; allen is kind of in denial of his noah still, but he also expressed a desire to learn more about nea after the third exorcist incident.

so all of these parallels lead me to believe that, like other aspects of their character, learning the “truth” should come at the same time for them.

3. literally whenever tyki and allen interact in canon it sets off an unstoppable chain reaction of character development…

for tyki, his inability to get rid of allen led to tyki hardening his (questionable) ideals and putting more deep thought into his actions beyond just killing “for the fun of it”. tyki never thought about innocence at all before allen, which road points out in the ark. dealing with allen seriously forced tyki to consider why he was doing what he was doing, not just how it felt in the moment. even if he doesn’t change his ideals, putting more thought into his actions is kind of the first step towards autonomy & not just blindly listening to joyd.

for allen, tyki is actually pushing him towards a balance between light and dark. this was first hinted at when allen and tyki’s fight in the ark led allen to procuring the white sword from his arm. the white sword resembles nea’s sword, which he used to massacre the noah, but the difference is that allen doesn’t want to kill tyki. crown clown balances between the desires of nea (absolute massacre) and allen (who simply wants to go back to playing cards and peacetime). later on, tyki is the one who encourages allen to figure out just “what” he is, rather than trying to decide between his noah and innocence all at once. seriously, it’s so obvious that tyki is trying to help allen…

4. tyki has expressed in multiple ways that he’s looking forward to seeing how allen deals with his noah.

i doubt he’ll give up on that.

5. no other characters share the same experience as the two of them.

neither of them really understand their noahs, and they usually do so in tandem.

i mean tyki has been present in all stages of allen’s transition into a noah - first in the ark where he becomes the Musician, then in the alma arc where nea awakens, and then when he’s forced to leave the order…etc. so i think it’s likely he’ll continue to play a large part in how the chips fall there

the reason why there are several fics about allen being raised as a noah is because it is plausible. both allen and tyki are people that struggle against their nature and fate, and literally one of the only things separating them is how they were raised. so, they’ll continue to propel each other through their plot and character developments…

what will eventually happen between the two of them?

okay i’m not going to be overly optimistic here.

allen, for the most part, still sees tyki as an enemy or a threat. allen wants to spare tyki and for tyki to live, but that’s only because allen has witnessed his humanity - in other words, he thinks tyki’s noah is bad and tyki’s human side is good.

i think the main part of their development from here will hinge on allen changing the way he sees noah in general, not just tyki. it’s overwhelmingly clear that allen’s perception, and by extension the audience’s perception, of noah is skewed. we don’t have the full information on them, but i imagine they have motives outside of the “destruction and chaos” one-track mindset that was pinned on them in the beginning. most likely relating to the pillar.

it’s very likely that allen and tyki will, more or less simultaneously, learn the truth about nea and the “third side” of the war. allen will be forced to do so since he’s nea’s host, but tyki will most likely seek out the information, as he declared that he would. in this, both allen and tyki will be pushed more toward a “grey” area - coming from allen’s initial white “goodness” and tyki’s initial black “badness”. i have hope that allen and tyki will learn about these facts together. that would be pretty fitting.

as allen learns more about the third side of the war, he’ll be more accepting of tyki and see him more as an equal or, at the very least, another victim of the holy war.

tyki already basically considers allen a comrade or is willing to - even though he was ordered by the earl to protect allen, i don’t think he was faking the shouts of concern as allen took on apo lol. but as TYKI learns more about the third side of the war, he’ll likely stop pressing allen to give up innocence and decide “what” he is. i imagine he’ll sympathize even more with allen, even if joyd still hates him for being nea’s host…

what are your hopes for them?

okay now here’s my chance to be optimistic.

i really really want tyki and allen to have a conversation as equals. their interactions frustrate me so much - tyki has so much respect and admiration for allen but he’s always so coy! and allen, like i said previously, was only able to cooperate with tyki when he was emotionally panicked. otherwise, his “I’M AN EXORCIST” button flicks on and he’s forced to act tsundere.

please, please hoshino let them play another game of poker, just laughing and having fun. i want to see tyki humbled. i’ve been thinking this ever since their dialogue when fighting in the ark.

i want tyki to get mad at nea for possessing allen. i KNOW he’s thinking it. i want that “give the boy back” moment so badly.

i hope that someday they can talk about tyki destroying allen’s innocence. i don’t really think allen’s hurt about it anymore, especially since it was a key factor in his growth as an exorcist, but i wish there was like… some stage of forgiveness or repentance. not that tyki is capable of that, but hey.

other people have definitely said this - idk where the post is but i love that one - but having a meal together like tyki wanted??? that would be so symbolic and AH\

anyways i know this was pretty lengthy but i just think tyki and allen are excellent characters and their similarities and differences speak volumes in terms of the overall good&bad message of dgm. always too long winded. with loves

[unadulterated-strawberryniall]

Normal People, Abnormal Jobs. [Chapter 1.]

Normal People, Abnormal Jobs. Relationships in the entertainment industry are never easy. Scheduling is nearly impossible, paparazzi hound you down every date, and everyone seems to weigh in their opinion. Is it possible to have a soulmate with such a demanding career?

Loosely inspired by the 2020 Hulu drama, Normal People, this story explores the possibility of finding true love in a world motivated by reputation, scandal, and money. Touching on themes of love, mental health, and adulthood, Normal People, Abnormal Jobs navigates how two musicians from opposing worlds maneuver a destiny that consistently pulls them together. It’s challenging, yes, but if it’s true love, it’s worth it.

“7 minutes until call time!” The gruff, assertive voice of my manager, Shane, rang through my ear-piece, bringing me back to reality. I opened my eyes, tilting my head forward to stare at myself in the brightly lit vanity. My heart began to feel heavy as the familiar sense of anxiety settled in my stomach.

“Are you on your way to the stage? It’s time to move!” The voice rang through again. Shane knew me too well. He’d predicted I would wait until the last minute, that I would stare at myself in the mirror and thoughts of doubt and uncertainty would cloud my mind. Clutching my water bottle tightly in my hand, I nimbly stood up, and headed to the door of my trailer.

The warm, New York sunshine greeted me. Although I could feel summer approaching in the humid air, the sun was still gentle on my skin. And thank god it was, I thought, I couldn’t last a full 45 minute set in 93 degree weather.

Normally, I’d be escorted to the stage by a team catering to my every desire. They would be the ones carrying my guitar, my water bottle, my microphone, while I mentally prepared myself to face the crowd of thousands. But this time, my first appearance back on stage after so long, I’d asked to simply be left alone. After a worldwide pandemic and a bout of classic millennial anxiety, I’d become quite used to moments of solitude and forcing myself to toughen up through the nerves. I’d already memorized the route to the stage, and my mind began to wander as my feet took the twists and turns through the parking lot involuntarily.

What if you fuck up?

You’ll be fine.

What if they hate you?

You’ll be fine.

What if you lose all your fans? What if you’re not relevant anymore? What if you fall off the stage?

You’ll be fine.

The game of table tennis my mind was playing was beginning to feel exhausting, but I didn’t have much time to process it as suddenly, a giant ball of hard plastic and synthetic leather whacked against my shin.

“Ow! What the fuck!” I shut my eyes, where hot tears immediately pricked, and grabbed my shin, which was now burning.

“Oh no…” I heard footsteps running towards me. “Are you okay?” A warm hand placed on the small of my back, while another ran over my shin.

“I’ll be fine… Fuck.” I mumbled, my eyes still shut tight.

“‘m so sorry. It was an accident, I swear, love.”

The pain was beginning to dull, allowing me to be brought back to the present, and I was able to pick up an accent coming from the mysterious figure holding onto me. When I felt the tears in my eyes dissipate, I slowly opened them to bring my attention to the unidentified male. A pair of crystalline blue eyes stared unwaveringly into mine, and I felt my heart leap into my throat. Sun kissed and glistening with a faint layer of sweat, a figure with quaffed brown hair stared at me with parted lips and bated breath.

“‘m an idiot, didn’t see ya walkin’ dere.” His hand was still grazing the small of my back as I lowered my leg to the ground.

“It’s alright, accidents happen.” I couldn’t control the timbre of my voice, which had now gone soft. “You might want to be careful where you play soccer next time, though. Everyone’s walking through here.”

He chuckled. “You mean football, petal.” He removed his hands from my body, stuffing them into the pockets of his athletic shorts. “I’m goin’ on stage after de next performer, figured I’d hang around ‘ere until it’s my turn.”

I nodded. “Well you won’t be waiting for much longer…”

His eyebrows arched and his mouth went ajar. “Are you the next one? Dat’s great! Good luck!” He bared his teeth to be in what should have been an award-winning smile. “I’m so sorry again, about the…” He motioned to my shin before running his hand through his hair awkwardly. “I’m Niall.”

“I’m Mina.”

“Mina, where are you? You’re about to go on!” My ear-piece buzzed.

“Oh shit! I have to run.” Without hesitation, I bolted towards the stage, where I could hear an announcer amplifying the crowd.

“Alright Gov Ball! Are you guys ready?” 

More screaming, growing louder and louder.

See? They’re excited for you. They want this. You’re going to crush this.

“Welcome to the Big Apple Stage, Mina Peace!”

I made it to the stage in the nick of time, and barely had a moment to take it all in as a guitar was thrown into my hands and I instinctively began to play the opening riff to my newly released single, Gravity.

“Mina, you’re so lucky you made it.” My ears buzzed once again. I turned to my left, noticing Shane standing at the side of the stage, shaking his head at me disapprovingly. I smiled at him, knowing that he couldn’t stay mad at me for long.

Everything seemed to fade around me, and it was just me and the music. I wasn’t focused on the crowd anymore. I wasn’t focused on my anxieties. I closed my eyes, reciting the lyrics that had once been so intimate to me, but now shared with the world. Had the adrenaline not been pumping through my veins, I could’ve broken down and cried. The catharsis of songwriting had been my means through the pandemic. Nearly 2 years shut away in my Los Angeles home, a sudden halt to the success I had been building up for several months. I had released an album just a week before the pandemic began, and this was my first chance to perform it.

45 minutes flew by in the blink of an eye. I wanted to beg the show’s organizers to give me just a few more moments on stage. The crowd seemed to want it to, as I felt encompassed by screams, cheers, and applause while I took my bow. “Thank you, New York. I love you. I’ll be back soon!” I choked into the microphone, feeling my throat become tight.

I could feel tears pooling in my eyes as I ran off the stage.

“Mina, holy fuck! That was incredible!”

“That may have just changed your career!”

“I didn’t know you were capable of that!”

My vision went blurry as various members of my team engulfed me with embrace.

“W-where’s Shane?” I sputtered out. I looked up to see Shane, right in front of me, the biggest smile I’d ever seen plastered on his face.

“You did it, kid.” He said simply, opening his arms to me.

I threw myself into his arms, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. While the people around me gawked in confusion, all asking if I was okay and why I was crying, Shane said nothing and held me tight. He ran his hands up and down my back, calming me down. After several minutes, I was finally able to regain composure, and I let him go. The crowd around me had dispersed, and I was able to catch my breath.

Shane had returned to the stage crew, handling the equipment that was being transported around, and I took a stabilizing breath while I felt a presence approach behind me. I turned around to see Niall, arms crossed but a pleased smile on his face. He’d put a fresh shirt and jeans on now, and it was almost hard to believe this was the same person I had seen playing soccer in the parking lot less than an hour ago.

“That was brilliant. Legend. Seriously.” He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. I looked at his hand, feeling a warm spread from the area that was not due even remotely to the spring heat, and looked back at him.

“Thanks…”

“Will I see ya at de after party?”

I nodded without thought. I wasn’t planning to go to the after party. That is, until now. I had some early morning radio show appearances for tomorrow, and I’d taken my career so seriously that I would never go out the night before any press interviews. But my heart spoke faster than my mind could react, and there was no going back now.

“Great. I’ll look fer ya den.” He grinned at me, turning around to prepare for his performance.

I watched Niall walk off, a strange sense washing over me. I felt both calm and uneasy simultaneously. How was that possible? 

If I had my way, I would’ve stayed to watch Niall’s performance, but Shane grabbed me, and immediately began to discuss how news outlets were already buzzing about my performance, and he had set up a space for some interviewers to chat to me near my trailer. As Shane hurried me off to my trailer, I peered back to see Niall, guitar in hand, heading out to greet the crowd. I caught the blue of his eyes glance at me one last time before he turned his attention to his performance. Guitars began to blast and I could hear a piano play a familiar riff, but the sound faded away as I made my way away from the area. I could barely focus on the interviews as I began to wonder what would happen at tonight's after party.

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 5 - (Don’t) Take a  Hint

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 5365

And then they FUCKED.

It’s dubcon, so watch out for that.

( Previous )

It turned out that the Decepticons had probably gotten what they wanted before Megatron called their retreat, because again there was a length of time with absolutely nothing happening. Ratchet fixed him up good, as he did with Sideswipe, they touched up their paint jobs and polished themselves to a fine shine Sideswipe was inevitably going to ruin within the span of a couple of hours–

And things went back to normal. Although Sunstreaker did get reminders from Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, even Jazz about how he shouldn’t fight Megatron all on his own.

Were they all so damn worried about him dying? Primus, he’d survived worse. Now, if Megatron had actually fired, that was one thing, but…

Okay, so maybe he had possibly come very close to losing his damn life, and maybe no one just wanted to see him dying despite how talented he was at making everyone’s life hell on Earth.

As he proceeded to do with Tracks. Again. Something or other about their simultaneous washrack use. Again.

Prowl deemed it not severe enough to throw him into the brig this time, but he did assign him to the less desirable patrol routes.

And it didn’t show in his expression or voice, but Sunstreaker could have sworn the tactician took sadistic pleasure in doing that, knowing how much Sunstreaker hated the backwoods dirt roads. Sideswipe didn’t particularly enjoy them either, for that matter. He didn’t care so much about the dirt itself, or the rocks that flew up to ding their finish, but it was just uncomfortable to drive on. They were sports cars for Primus’ sake! They barely had any ground clearance.

The moment there was a bump on the road, it was their undercarriage that hit it.

That, that right there, was torture, and Prowl just put them to it, because it was that or something even more unpleasant. And oh, Prowl would come up with something even more unpleasant if he was pushed.

Past experience told as much. He could get deviously creative when he wanted to.

Or maybe he collaborated with Jazz for the best/worst ideas. It was a surprise Optimus even allowed some of the things he’d put the twins up to over the years. 

At least he hadn’t denied them access to washracks, this time. That was the only thing that made the damned patrols even somewhat bearable, knowing he could have a hot shower afterwards, followed by a few hours of tending to his finish. 

Sideswipe only ever stuck around for the first half an hour, but that was fine as long as they got all the parts he couldn’t reach on his own before his brother ran off to do whatever he was itching to do that time. It provided Sunstreaker with some quiet alone time that he was never too opposed to—a chance to bring out his other paints and the canvases that weren’t just his own frame.

He had some creativity he needed to unleash regularly, after all—besides finding creative ways to tear others apart.

What could he say, he was an artist of several kinds. 

And it kept him out of public spaces, even if just momentarily. Everyone except Red Alert was just happy when he stayed in their quarters for a bit, Sunstreaker himself too.

Red Alert, he just thought they were only moments for Sunstreaker to plot something nefarious. To be fair, he sometimes did. Painting freed his mind for other things, detached him enough that he could let his thoughts loose without physically letting loose on the same go. Mix colors, brush strokes… Planning the ways to achieve the results he wanted. It was all so familiar. Just as familiar as taking life was. 

Only considerably more peaceful, no?

Sadly, the relaxation never lasted long after he had to return to the day to day grind of putting up with everyone’s raging stupidity. How his comrades didn’t tear each other to shreds, he didn’t understand. Or was it just him who found practically everything they did aggravating?

Could be that.

But as much of a dark and broody loner as he was, he did have some company he kept relatively peacefully. Everyone got along with Jazz, for one, and Mirage… As different as their backgrounds were, they shared enough similarities that they’d—eventually—bonded.

After Sunstreaker had torn the noble to pieces enough times for being a stuck up little bitch.

They got along now, though, much to the surprise of many.

And Bluestreak. Mech had a way of worming under your plating. The grey Praxian sat next to him now, with Sideswipe on his other side and Jazz and Mirage opposite of them on the other side of the table. They talked and laughed around him, naturally incorporating him into the conversation through Sideswipe, but letting his contribution be little more than the occasional grunt or half-smile.

If he felt like saying something, he would, but… Really, he was content to let Sideswipe handle that part.

He knew these were mecha that were glad Megatron hadn’t offed him. Friends. Around them he could almost feel relieved that Optimus had shown up when he did.

Almost.

A larger part of him still wanted to find out what would have happened without the Prime’s interruption.

------------------------------------------------------

“Two more patrols of this, then we’ll be free!” Sideswipe rejoiced as they turned from one dirt road onto another. The scenery at least was about as pretty as an organic planet could ever manage, lush forest surrounding them from two sides. Only their engines drowned out the natural sounds of the place.

Too bad he was a little too busy trying to avoid the unbecoming bumps and dips on the sorry excuse of a road to pay much attention to it.

“Two patrols too many,” Sunstreaker grumbled as another rock was sent flying by his wheel and hit him on the side of his chassis.

Fuck this, seriously.

“Shh, focus on the upside!” Sideswipe admonished him, revving his engine and accelerating just in time to really launch himself off the top of the small hill they were climbing.

Sunstreaker ignored the rocks and discomfort and followed suit, enjoying the short moment of his frame suspended on thin air–

Before gravity pulled him back down with a hard shove to his shocks.

More or less worth it, anyway. This would’ve been so much more fun on asphalt, though. 

“Besides, isn’t this good inspiration for your art?” his twin continued, and Sunstreaker grunted noncommittally. It was, once he would be able to review his memory files. Incorporating the alien aspects of organic lifeforms into his work was a project he had worked on for a while now.

The results were pretty good, so far. The touch of unrealness of alien worlds added a nice new dimension to things.

No doubt Sideswipe would have had more to say, but he didn’t get the chance before their scanners picked up a Decepticon signature ahead of them. That was… Unexpected. 

Then again this had to be a patrol route for a reason. Maybe that reason was about to become apparent to them.

Once they got close enough to scan for a spark signature, though…

“What the pit is he doing here by himself?” Sideswipe hissed at him urgently at the same time as a surge of emotions he probably shouldn’t have felt burst in Sunstreaker’s core. Curiosity. Excitement. Anticipation.

Sideswipe took note of that. Sunstreaker could feel his exasperation and the is this seriously how we’re going to die, but nevertheless his brother just asked, “Do you want to report this in?”

No. No, he didn’t want to. Even if getting answers cost him his life, he didn’t want to. 

It turned out they couldn’t have even if they’d wanted to, once he checked. Someone was jamming communications signals.

Which likely suggested Soundwave was present, too.

It was like they were driving straight into a trap.

So be it.

They drove until they reached a small clearing. Megatron was standing there in the middle of it, his back to them, arms clasped behind him—and sure enough, Soundwave was standing off to the side, watching their arrival.

They could’ve flown away if they’d wanted to, with the power of Sideswipe’s jetpack. Or tried to. Megatron and Soundwave could’ve tried to shoot them down, too, but the fact remained that they weren’t fully cornered even if they had no way to contact someone for backup.

And no will to do so, but no one needed to know that.

They were at a significant disadvantage, though. Soundwave they could’ve taken on, but Megatron… And that wasn’t even going into the fact the host might have his cassettes ready to be ejected. For all they knew they could be outnumbered as well as outclassed within a moment’s notice.

Sideswipe wasn’t fearful, but tense and cautious, prepared for the worst. Sunstreaker wasn’t fearful, but vibrating with anticipation. That could easily be mistaken for the anger he was known for, though, after they pulled their fields in tight.

If they weren’t in the presence of a telepath, anyway.

Whatever this was… They’d play.

“What’s this?” Sideswipe asked after they’d transformed, a smile on his face and none of the tension in him visible on the outside. “Weren’t expecting company on this fine day! Came to enjoy the scenery too? Gotta say, it’s pretty awesome for a mudball like this, Sunny’s getting so many ideas to use in his paintings.”

No one cut him off, but no one acknowledged what he’d said, either. 

Silence only reigned for a moment, though. Megatron was the one to break it, finally turning to face them. “I was interrupted last time,” he said, his optics zeroing in on Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker bared his denta and growled.

“That will not happen this time,” the warlord went on to announce, ignoring the threat aimed at him.

“What, gonna finish what you started and shoot me dead?” Sunstreaker asked before barking out a laugh. “Over my dead body.”

No fear, no hesitation, call it bravery or call it stupidity, but it was Sunstreaker that closed the distance between them, attacking the tyrant and no one else. Sideswipe went for Soundwave instead, and it was such, such a bad idea to split themselves up like this…

They did it anyway. One on one.

Make it real.

Megatron was ready for him, of course he was. He took his attack, deflected it, made one of his own… Treated him like an opponent. Fought. 

And Sunstreaker made him do it. He didn’t hold back, and he was aiming for the kill, because what else could he want to do? Megatron had to step up to the challenge or lose his life.

That was how things were supposed to be. Earn your right to live. Nothing was handed to you for free. You had to take.  

And Megatron, if anyone, should understand that. Look at the hole they’d both crawled out of—the Pits were behind them, their parent and mentor. They spoke the language. Fighter. Warrior.

Gladiator. 

Between this attack and the next, Sunstreaker pulled out his thermal sword, activated the blade, and sliced at Megatron’s armor. Even at partial heat the edge cut into the warlord’s plating with all the ease a heated weapon would.

Megatron had to jump out of the way, although actually putting him on the defensive was nigh impossible.

Sunstreaker would try anyway.

“I remember you.” The words were growled, sending a shiver down his back.

They didn’t distract him.

“Do you, now?”

“You and your brother.” Megatron released his own sword, and he could almost hear it—the roar and dull pounding of spectators, bright lights bearing down on them to make them visible for all to see…

They’d been here before, just like this. 

“What do you remember?” Sunstreaker asked, his face twisting into a snarl as one sword blocked the other.

But his spark was spinning like a wild thing, excitement and the rightness of the situation driving it mad. 

If he’d die, this would be the way to go, testing his mettle against a worthy opponent—just like he would have in another lifetime. 

“A deathmatch,” Megatron answered, and Sunstreaker’s optics burned brighter. “Between you and I.

“Only, we were interrupted.”

They were.

Sideswipe was paying more attention to him and Megatron than he was paying to Soundwave, but it was clear why. It was as if both Sideswipe and Soundwave were trying to keep the other from getting involved in the fight between Megatron and Sunstreaker—and when their goal was mutual, there wasn’t a whole left for them to do except some token attacks that hardly even constituted as proper fighting. 

This was between Sunstreaker and Megatron.

As it had once been.

“You spared me,” Sunstreaker grunted. He bolted to the side, but Megatron’s sword managed to cut him. Shallow.

“You were there against your will,” Megatron gave the same reason he had given then.  

“You made an example out of us.” A feign to the side, then a strike, the heat of his blade melting Megatron’s armor–

Sideswipe. Sideswipe had lifted the gate into the arena and ran between him and the killing blow.

No!

The fight never should have happened. Sunstreaker never stood a chance, did he? Not against Megatron.

But he didn’t get to say yes or no to who he fought. 

It was the folly of a greedy mech and it should have cost him his life. It should have cost Sideswipe his life. 

Instead… Here they were. Still fighting.

“You represented everything that was wrong with Cybertron,” Megatron said, with heat—just as he had spoken with passion then when he had addressed the crowds, fearless of their reaction.

When he had gone against every rule of the arenas and not killed in a fight to the death. 

But Megatron had already been a champion. He’d fought his way to the top, bought his own freedom, he’d rallied together a rebellion—you didn’t tell that Megatron what to do.

Especially not when he believed in something. 

“Yeah, well, thanks for that.” He rather liked living, it was nice to get to continue to do that. Was the rumble of Megatron’s engine amused now, though?

He could be imagining things. 

“You were a berserker,” Megatron said then, a heavy torrent of attacks forcing Sunstreaker to jump back once, twice, thrice, before he brought his sword up and put an end to it. 

Because he could. He had the skill for it. The strength, even if that was lesser than Megatron’s. “I was.” He could turn the tables, go on the offensive—force Megatron to think his actions carefully, lest the smoldering blade struck him somewhere important. 

“I haven’t seen you snap even once here on Earth.” But just the same, Megatron could flip that table right back around, and he did so, violently. Sunstreaker strafed to the side before he had his arm chopped off.

“I’ve gotten better.” Pits. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this. War, battles… War was messy. There were too many players and moving parts for it to be anything else. Guns, mines, missiles, bombs. Even once the frontline charged and clashed together in close combat—so many players. There was motion everywhere around you, dozens of targets and threats you needed to track at any given moment.

It was a desperate struggle for survival.

He loved it.

But this. To have just one to focus on and have their focus entirely on you, to give your all against that singular opponent. It tested a slightly different skill set, for sure, but it felt like the truer challenge, cleaner—a true test of your artistry.

Or maybe that was just the gladiator in him talking. He was that before he was a soldier… Always would be.

“Is it something to get better from?”

What..?

Surprise, that damned thing. It should never take a hold of you when every fraction of a second counted.

But like he was a damned rookie, Sunstreaker faltered from the unexpected, and paid for it. Megatron could have cut his helm off in that moment, or impaled him somewhere painful, but he… Didn’t. Oh, he used Sunstreaker’s momentary distraction, but only to slam his arm to the side of his helmet—and Megatron was big, as were his arms. The strength and momentum of that one strike were well enough to send Sunstreaker flying into the ground, landing heavily and without finesse.

His grunt was a quiet thing, and his mind—reeling for a moment too long. Megatron’s pede landed on his chassis, he snatched his sword from his grip, and just like that, it was over.

And Sunstreaker had lost, again, due to a stupid mistake he should have had all the experience to avoid. 

“A-a-aa,” Megatron tutted when Sideswipe tried to break from Soundwave and come to Sunstreaker’s aid, as he always would. Instead of being allowed to do that this time, instead of being allowed to change the course of things… Megatron’s fusion cannon came to life, aiming at Sunstreaker’s helm.

Sideswipe took the threat for what it was and stopped, glaring at Megatron. Soundwave followed a step behind him, and just like that they continued their scuffle, although this time their goals did not align.

With Sideswipe distracted by his Third, Megatron shifted his attention back to Sunstreaker. The cannon… Moved away, died down.

Huh. Apparently he wasn’t going to get shot today. Fancy that.

“If you’re not going to kill me, what the slag do you want?” Sunstreaker growled, digging his digits into Megatron’s ankle, but it did him no good. The pede stayed right where it was, pinning him into the ground with enough force to test the strength of his armor. 

He might’ve asked, but Sunstreaker… Had an inkling already.

And if he was right…

Primus. He didn’t want to show it, and he didn’t know if Soundwave informed Megatron of it, but his spark was fragging fluttering from what wasn’t anything other than hopeful excitement. His field he kept to himself, but it would’ve been a sickening thing of heat and anticipation.

His ventilations ran hot, but that could just be because of the fight.

Yeah right.

But he snarled at Megatron, engine revving in fruitless threat. What threat was he? Oh, he was a threat just by existing. He hadn’t lost because he couldn’t take it anymore, he had lost because of a mistake he wouldn’t repeat—Megatron would have to defend himself all over again, it was just a matter of time.  

Unfortunately, while waiting for that moment the tyrant did have him in a rather precarious situation. Sideswipe went down with some angry cursing too, and Soundwave pinned him there very thoroughly.

He could watch, but it was clear the Decepticons on the scene didn’t plan on letting him be an interruption to whatever it was Megatron wanted.

And it would still be a while before anyone on the Ark would notice they weren’t checking in as they were supposed to.

In short: no one would save him this time.

A smelting puff of air escaped his vents at the thought. His digits on Megatron’s pede tightened, but he glowered up at the tyrant towering over him.

Tall, imposing, and powerful.

Primus help him.

Megatron raised an optical ridge at him. “Do you not know already?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“I’m sure one of them is correct.”

Bastard was fragging teasing him. Sunstreaker growled in earnest, but Megatron merely crouched, removing his pede from his chassis only to grab him by the throat instead.

And Vector Sigma but the hold was tight. Sunstreaker’s servos grabbed at Megatron’s wrist, but he could tug and claw it all he wanted, twist and buck with all his might—Megatron didn’t even bother to react to his struggles.

By the Thirteen, he was going to lose his mind at this rate. 

His engine was roaring, definitely out of anger and not… Anything else, but when he’d thought it was going to throttle itself out–

Megatron reached between his legs and cupped his scorching panel–

And his engine reached a whole new level he wasn’t sure it had ever visited before. Sunstreaker stared at the blue blue sky far above with its occasional puffy white cloud, trying not to pay too much attention to the red optics focused on him and just him. 

He was going to fragging die, and Megatron was going to be the cause of it.

“Want it, hm?” the tyrant asked, his claws digging into the seams of his interface panel.

Sunstreaker found the state of mind to growl, and even managed a glare at his assailant despite the static dancing in his vision. “Go to hell.”

Megatron ignored him. “Open.”

No one to save him.

Sideswipe was looking, struggling against Soundwave’s hold the same Sunstreaker was struggling against Megatron, but it got neither of them anywhere.

So utterly helpless…

Because they were so severely outclassed. Maybe not by Soundwave, but definitely by Megatron. The leader of the Decepticons, one who’d managed to keep his position for a very good reason despite the many rumored attempts to overthrow him–

He was holding Sunstreaker down, his claws painful where they pressed into the sensitive paneling, demanding.

Not asking.

Demanding.

His vents were blown wide but even that wasn’t enough to cool him. 

“Do you want me to tear this off? That’ll be quite something to explain, won’t it?” Megatron asked casually, and Sunstreaker… Considered it. 

“Bastard,” he snarled, bucking away from Megatron’s hold—definitely not into it—but it did nothing to dislodge the claws hooked into the covering protecting his array.

And he considered it.

Those marks alone would be difficult to explain, but at least they were something he and Sideswipe could try to get rid of on their own.

There wouldn’t be much they could do about an entirely missing cover, damaged in the process of its removal. That would lead to questions, ones he’d really rather not answer.

Sunstreaker grit his denta, glared harder, but sent the command to retract his valve cover.

Megatron’s digits dipped into his valve instantly and this time he couldn’t keep his frame from jerking into the penetration. He had to bite back a groan.

“Soaked,” the tyrant noted after he fetched his digits. Lubricant was dripping down them liberally, and that was nothing compared to the pool his valve was leaking onto the ground between his legs.

Legs that Megatron forcibly spread, despite Sunstreaker’s attempt at kicking him. It did him no more good than anything else he’d done so far had. Megatron pressed on his throat harder, practically digging his frame into the dirt, and he should’ve hated it. Did hate the grime that was digging into the gaps of his armor.

That’d be hell to clean later.

But his core ached. The temperature of his frame kept on rising despite the best attempts of his fans and vents, and Megatron was between his goddamn legs…

A click. Sunstreaker couldn’t look, not with Megatron’s hold of him, but oh, Sideswipe could, and Sunstreaker trembled at the things he saw.

He would love this, Sideswipe informed him. 

Sunstreaker had few doubts about that.

Megatron’s digits returned to his valve, shoving inside and scissoring—stretching him, prepping him, and Sunstreaker writhed. This time he couldn’t contain his strangled groan, his valve rippling around the invading claws despite himself. He was panting, hard, and Pits but Megatron had barely even started yet. 

Death by overheating, that was his future. 

He cursed, rather loudly so, when Megatron removed his digits again. This time the rumble of the tyrant’s engine was definitely amused, but before Sunstreaker could take offense with that, something big nosed up against his valve entrance.

...But didn’t enter.

He was going to glitch.

“Do you want me to put it in?”

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to gather his thoughts enough to snap a sharp, “Frag no,” complete with an angry growl from his engine.

Megatron didn’t take heed. “Mmm, your body disagrees,” was all he said, brushing his damned spike against his valve again, but not going in.

And Sunstreaker’s self control was quickly unraveling. That only angered him further, and Sideswipe’s amusement didn’t help matters any—but what the pit was Megatron waiting for?

For him to say yes? Tell him to put it in? Beg for it?

Hell no. He’d rust before he did any of that. 

Or rather, redlined his systems from frustration.

“My body’s mistaken,” Sunstreaker nevertheless found the strength to snarl, bucking—to fight against Megatron’s grip, of course, and not to force the spike into his valve already.

But Megatron pulled back just enough to keep that from happening. Sunstreaker’s engine revved and he had to bite his glossa to keep himself from just screaming.

Sideswipe was chortling to himself.

“I’m not convinced,” Megatron growled too this time, and then–

Then, in one thrust of his hips, he’d driven his spike into his valve, all the way, until it rammed against his ceiling node.

And now Sunstreaker screamed. His frame arched out of his control, overload—just from that—tensing him from helm to pede to a painful degree. He ground his denta together, twice as hard when Megatron began to move through the crest of his climax, extending it, turning his vision into a bloom of static.

He couldn’t but feel, the strength in Megatron’s frame that he effortlessly translated into fucking him hard. Hard as he fought, and just as violent, he drove into Sunstreaker’s frame without a shred of mercy, rutting him into the goddamn ground until he ached. Every thrust in split him wide, filled him to the brim—opened him up like only someone of Megatron’s size and demeanor even could. 

He’d never enjoyed interfacing with Optimus, despite the Prime’s titillating size. He was too kind, too gentle, too worried about his partner’s comfort.

Megatron was the black opposite. He didn’t give a fuck about Sunstreaker’s anything outside of how he could best use his frame to derive his own pleasure from it. Or so it felt like. Hell, maybe this was Megatron’s way of making sure Sunstreaker’s needs were seen to as well, because his lines sang with charge until not one thought shot straight. 

He hadn’t been fucked like this since the Pits. He’d almost forgotten what real interfacing was like.

This was real. His frame made good of what limited freedom of motion it had to rock into Megatron’s thrusts, driving their arrays together ever harder until he was sure something was going to dent. Megatron seemed intent on exiling all lucid thinking with the way he pulled out almost all the way before pushing in a single smooth motion that wreaked havoc on his sensors, fast and hard and faster and harder.

Considering the way Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds, he was doing a very good job of that.

Sunstreaker couldn’t stand it. Pinned to the ground and utterly marauded, the charge in his systems rapidly climbed higher until peaked, again. 

And then he came crashing down, screaming anew at the strength of the overload that pulled every cable tight, arching his frame against Megatron’s.

His valve tightened and rippled around the intrusion, and after three more jerking thrusts against him, Megatron rumbled, tensed, and heat bloomed at the end of his valve. The charge from Megatron’s release jumped into his frame and drove him over the edge into yet another overload of his own until his vocalizer spat fitful static.

Sunstreaker slumped into the ground in the aftermath, his extremities shaking, vents pulling in all the cool air they could.

It wasn’t enough.

He was given a moment. Megatron took a moment. Both their frames were cycling air desperately—or maybe Sunstreaker just wanted to believe Megatron was even halfway as affected as he was—slowly making their way down from the summits of physical rapture.

The tyrant pulled out soon enough though, leaving Sunstreaker’s valve an abused, gaping pit. A veritable flood of fluids followed his retreat, too, lubricant and transfluid mingling together into a holy mess.

And Sunstreaker…

Sunstreaker snarled. “You son of a bitch–”

But he didn’t get further than that before Megatron caught him by the jaw, silencing him. The tyrant was staring down at him with baleful optics, and a small portion of Sunstreaker wondered if the warlord wasn’t going to kill him now, after having had his fun. 

If that was the case, his corpse would tell a story he did not want told.

But Megatron didn’t immediately remove his helm from his shoulders. “You will say,” he started instead, glancing briefly but meaningfully at Sideswipe before his optics returned to Sunstreaker, “that you ran into a small number of my troops. A battle ensued, and you drove them away, but not without damage to yourselves.” 

Sunstreaker’s optics flicked to Sideswipe as the jam on their comm. systems was lifted. Sideswipe stared back at him for a second before opening a comm. line to Ark. “Sideswipe to Ark,” he said, outloud as well as over the link. “Hi Jazz! Yeah, sorry for not checking in, buuuut we actually found something. I think.

“We ran into a few of the Constructicons and a couple of Seekers at these coordinates. No clue what they were after ‘cause this is the ass end of fragging nowhere if I do say so myself, but me’n Sunny fought ‘em off. Sustained some injuries, Sunny especially, but we’re fine.”

A pause as Sideswipe listened to Jazz’s response. Sunstreaker had no doubt Soundwave was listening in on that side of the conversation too.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll have a look around. I’ll call ya back if we come across anything, else we’ll wait until Grapple and co get here. Sideswipe out.”

Sideswipe cut the call and looked at Megatron. The tyrant nodded his approval at him before Sunstreaker became the target of his attention once more. The grip on his jaw tightened a fraction before Megatron pulled him up and leaned down himself–

His helm tilted, their lips touched.

Sunstreaker’s optics blew wide and he could hear the shocked stutter of Sideswipe’s engine.

It was a brief thing, but not without fire—rough, just like the rest of Megatron. Intense in the way the warlord’s lips pressed hard against his own.

Then it was over. Megatron released him and Sunstreaker barely caught himself with his arms before he would’ve fallen back down. In one fluid motion Megatron rose to his pedes, retracting his equipment as he went and closing his spike behind its panel, towering above Sunstreaker.

Soundwave got up too, releasing Sideswipe.

Neither twin tried to get up just yet.

“Think about what I said, Sunstreaker. Until next time,” Megatron said with intent before he walked over to his Third. Soundwave transformed onto the tyrant’s palm, then Megatron transformed into his jet mode around Soundwave. A wave of displaced air washed over the twins as the Decepticons left the scene.

They listened to the retreating sound of Megatron’s thrusters until it was gone and silence fell back onto the area. True silence, not even the critters of the forest making sound after the amount of disturbances in the area. There was nothing but the rustle of wind in the leaves.

And disbelief.

“…So…” Sideswipe eventually spoke up, getting onto his hands and knees and crawling over to Sunstreaker, inspecting the damage on his frame and the… Mess at his crotch. “…That just happened.”

That it did. Sunstreaker nodded slowly, trying to sort his thoughts into some semblance of order, but… He’d probably be working at that for a while still.

“We should… We should probably make things a little less, uh… Incriminating,” Sideswipe continued, glancing around. There were signs of fighting around them, but they should probably add to them after lying about the amount of mecha present. Plus some marks of gunfire maybe.

And… Clean Sunstreaker.

And do something about the puddle he was sitting in.

…And the paint transfers.

Sunstreaker nodded again and reached into his subspace to begin the process. They'd want to be done with all that before their comrades arrived, after all.

( Next )

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #7

A couple of pregnancy scenes. Just a peek into how our favorite couple might handle some of the stresses that come with bringing a new life into the world. 

Note: A well-meaning Aunt gave Ziva and Tali identical Baby Books at their Bat Mitzvahs (I think we all know an Aunt like this). 

Tony knew it was going to be a rough night when he opened the door to their apartment and found his very pregnant, very round girlfriend sitting in the middle of the living room floor hunched over the laptop. There were no lights on in the entire place, only the bright screen to illuminate her face. 

He took a deep breath before closing the door behind him, “Ziva?” 

Her head snapped in his direction, “We need a name, Tony. Our baby doesn’t have a name.” 

He sighed, “We talked about this, Ziva. We said we weren’t gonna name her until we met her.” 

“But we need to have some ideas. We can’t just expect to look at her and come up with a name out of nowhere. We have to have a list or something.” 

Here they go again. Another night like this. He glanced around their spotless apartment. He could tell she had spent most of her day cleaning, though the place had been practically immaculate when he left her this morning. Nesting, Dr. Brown had called it. Her irresistible urge to clean and prepare for the baby. Most days cleaning the apartment and reorganizing the piles of baby clothes in the nursery was enough to satiate them (first the clothes were organized by color, then by size, then by use, then back to color), but other days she paced around miserably as she tried to pinpoint what exactly it was she needed to be doing to prepare, though there was absolutely nothing left for her to do. 

At least she had already found something to fixate on tonight. But, of course, it had to be the one thing they had agreed not to spend too much time preparing. Tony had this irrational fear of naming their child. It was stupid, he knew it, but he was terrified that they would pick the wrong one and the kid would grow to resent him (like he almost had with his father. Nobody should have to be a Jr. Nobody.). 

Ziva had claimed to understand this, and they had decided that they would pick the name for their daughter in an organic way. Whatever they thought when they looked at her, that would be her name. Second trimester Ziva had been completely fine with leaving that detail to the last minute.

But clearly, 3 weeks from her due date and nesting out of her freaking mind Ziva wasn’t so cool with that plan. 

“What do you think of the name Leah?” 

He scrunched his nose, “Didn’t you tell me that Leah meant sick or weakly in Hebrew?” 

“It does.” 

“Let’s not tempt the fates. Leah is a no.”

“What about Sarah? It means ruler or princess.” 

He considered it as he moved to the wall and turned on the overhead lights, “Sarah could work. I like Sarah.” 

“I do too,” she whispered as she seemed to add that name to a list she had going on the computer.

“What did you say your mother’s name means again?” 

“Rivka? It means ‘a woman who takes a man’s heart’. But I could not name our child that. It is much too ethnic for a child growing up in america.” 

“But there is an english version of it, right?” 

She nodded, “Rebecca.” 

“I like Rebecca.” 

She scrunched up her face, “I am not sure I do.”

“Okay, no Rebecca.” 

She ran a flustered hand through her messy curls, “I have accumulated a decent list. We can go through them together in a minute. Can you go grab the baby book from the nursery? I think there is a page in there to document the names we are considering for her before she is born.”

He nodded and tossed his stuff into the corner, making his way down the hall and grabbing the book off the crowded dresser. He flipped through some of the pages was he walked back to the living room. She had really done a great job with this thing. There were pictures inserted on almost every page. Some of her, some of ultrasounds, others of the two of them together, posing in front of their apartment building and other significant places for their child. 

He flipped one final page as he cleared the hallway, stopping in his tracks as he looked down at the finely printed name on the paper. 

“Uh, babe?” 

“What?” 

“This page is already filled out.” 

“What page?” 

“The one for the baby’s name. Like her real name. Her official name.” 

“What are you talking about?”

He held the book in front of him for her to see as he crossed the room and sat on the floor beside her.

She took the book from his hand slowly, her eyes moving across the page several times before she processed what she was seeing. 

In black ink, typed in a font that was meant to look like the writing of a small child it simply said: 

My name is:

And beside it was a thin line where you were supposed to be able to write in your baby’s name. But there was already a name there, in careful script, lined all the way up to the left side of the space so that there was plenty of room behind it to write a last name. 

Tali

“Oh,” Ziva whispered as she ran her finger over the delicate letters.

“Do you know what happened?” 

She nodded, “This must have been the book my aunt gave to my sister. I remember sitting in our bedroom one day, less than a year before the attack. We were making fun of the way that Americans like to name their children after themselves.” 

He held a hand up to his chest and pretended to act wounded, “Ouch.” 

“I actually like your name, Tony. But some people can take the whole family name thing seriously. You end up with Charles White III or Malcom Brimington the VIII.” 

“Stanley Yelnats IIV.” 

She laughed, “If you want your movie references to keep going over my head, you are going to have to stop showing me so many of them. That is from Holes.” 

He smiled down at her, “I knew there was a reason I loved you.” 

“Anyway, Tali had insisted she was going to name her child after herself, whether it was a boy or girl. I told her she wouldn’t dare. It is common in the Jewish community to name your child after a loved one or a family member, but hardly ever after one of the parents. She dug out her book and pulled out a pen. She wrote her name in it, telling me that it was already done. Her child, boy or girl, was destined to be named Tali.” 

He sat up a little straighter, a whole bunch of different things coming together to click in his mind. 

“Tali DiNozzo,” He whispered so quietly he wasn’t even sure she would hear him. 

But she did. And she lifted her head up, her eyes finding his slowly, “What?” 

He cleared his throat, unexpected emotions making it feel tighter as he tried to say the name again, the name he knew would be their daughter’s, “Tali DiNozzo.” 

The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried to blink away a whole new wave of tears, “Did we just…” 

“Name our daughter? I think we did.” 

She swallowed as she tried to gather up the strength to try it out herself, “Tali DiNozzo.” 

He smiled at the way it rolled off her tongue, so much more graceful than his. He knew he had been so against picking a name before the baby came, but even he couldn’t ignore what had just happened. They hadn’t picked the name. The name had picked them. And no name had ever felt as right coming off his lips as that one did. Accept maybe Ziva’s. He would consider them a tie. 

Ziva set the book down and turned the laptop screen up so she could see it better. She squinted at it for a couple of seconds before turning her eyes back to his. 

“Tali Elizabeth DiNozzo.” 

He clenched his jaw to keep back the next set of emotions.

“My mom.” 

Ziva nodded, “That was at the top of my list. Your mother had a beautiful name.” 

“Yeah.” 

They both took deep breaths simultaneously as they let the name sit between them. 

Ziva finally looked down, pulling the fabric of her shirt up so she could put her hand directly on her swollen stomach, “What do you think, Yakiri? Do you like your name?” 

Tony leaned forward and put his hand next to hers, bending down so he could whisper against her warm skin, “Tali Elizabeth DiNozzo. What do you think?”

They waited in tense silence, both staring at the bump, anticipating a response. 

They weren’t disappointed. 

A tiny limb, be it a hand or a foot, moved just beneath his palm, then again under hers. 

“I think she likes it,” Ziva whispered.

“I think so, too.” 

“We have a name.” 

“And she’s not even here yet.” 

She winked at him before leaning back and trying to lift herself off of the floor. He watched as she leaned left and right, trying to get her balance right so she could stand up. 

She failed. And soon fell back on her ass.

“Tony…” she whined as she looked over at him, the pathetic puppy dog eyes he always knew she had inside of her but never thought she would dare pull out were on full display. 

He sighed and lifted himself off the ground before offering both his hands to her and grunting sadly as he pulled her to an upright position. 

“Do you feel better now? We have a name… we have a nursery… we have the car ready for the transport home from the hospital. We are ready for this baby, Ziva.” 

She nodded, “I know we are. I just… I don’t know. I have a feeling that she’s gonna be here before we know it. I want everything to be…”

“Perfect.” 

She sighed, “When you put it like that, I sound crazy.”

“Not crazy. You sound like a Mom. It was bound to happen eventually.”

---

Convincing Ziva to ride home with him instead of with Gibbs was a challenge. She was still worried about the man she considered her father now that he no longer had his. She remembered how hard it was to lose Eli. She remembered how much it hurt to be the last one left. Gibbs was the last of his family. She knew that had to be weighing on him.

She practically saw the ghosts of Shannon and Kelly standing next to him during the funeral. She could feel him feeling their loss. Being the last one alive had a way of bringing back all those past deaths. All that past pain. She understood. And she wasn’t sure she should leave him to drive all the way back to DC alone.

But it was a damn good thing she did. Because when they stopped at a gas station just 45 minutes away from home so she could waddle her way into the bathroom for the 500th time that day (pregnant women can see like it’s nobody’s business. Tony had not understood that until this minute), she was barely gone 5 minutes before his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Her face was on his screen. He answered it hesitantly.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Don’t freak out,” she said, her voice so calm that he almost couldn’t believe he had heard her correctly.

“Why don’t you tell me what I’m not freaking out over before I make any promises.”

“Did you remember to put the go-bag in the car before you left home?”

“Go bag? You mean the hospital bag?”

“Yeah, whatever. Did you remember to put it in the car?”

His eyes widened as he tried to cran his neck to see into the trunk of the car, “I’m not sure. Why?”

“Because we’re gonna need it.”

He froze as he tried to get his lips to move and get out the words he was thinking, “You’re not-”

“I am, Tony. My water broke. I’m going into labor.”

He started fumbling with his seat belt, finding it suddenly impossible to unbuckle, “You can’t be. You’re what…. Two weeks early?”

“Oh, right. My bad. Let me just tell the baby. I’m sure she won’t mind waiting.”

“Sarcasm isn’t helping, Ziva,” he finally managed to undo his seatbelt, now he was fumbling with opening the door.

She sighed, “Right. Sorry. Just… get in here. I need you to help me stand up.”

He tried not to laugh at his own mental picture, her sitting on the toilet, her pants around her ankles and her stomach bulging. She was stuck. And laughing was not what he needed to be doing right now.

He opened the door too aggressively, drawing the attention of a few onlookers. He ignored them.

“I’m coming, Zi. Be there in a sec.”

He ran across the parking lot, ducking into the store and almost knocking over a display of cornchips in his dash for the bathroom.

He had it all planned out. He was gonna help her get cleaned up, lead her through the gas station as quickly as possible, and gun it all the way to the hospital. He cursed himself for driving the Hyundai instead of his Porsche. Though it would be much better to drive home from the hospital with the extra room. And he was pretty sure he could still hit 120 in this thing on a good stretch of road. Sometimes having a badge pays off.

He had really thought through it all… except for the possibility of other women being in the bathroom. He burst through the door and was met with four wide eyes as two women turned to face him. One reached into her purse and he had to hold up his hands out of fear of being pepper sprayed.

“No funny business. I swear. My girlfriend just went into labor and I-”

“Tony!” Ziva yelled from inside the farthest stall, “A little help here!”

[randomguywithwords]

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 14 (Geten X Dabi Slowburn)

Chapter 14: A Lonely Road

AO3 Link: Here

Previous Chapters: 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

–––––––

Dabi pulled the hood over his head as Geten and him crossed the runway. Someone was waiting for them at the hangar, their silhouette visible against the bright lamps. 

“That’s probably one of Skeptic’s men,” Geten whispered to him. Dabi nodded.

As they neared, the stranger stood at attention in a blue-collar attire. “Apocrypha, Dabi,” He greeted, bowing. “Skeptic has informed me you need a vehicle for transport. A motorcycle, was it?”

“Yeah,” Dabi replied. “Only thing I can drive.’

The Liberation soldier nodded. “We’ve managed to procure a couple for you. Take as many as you want, and good luck on your assignment. I will update Skeptic accordingly.” 

Gesturing to the row of motorcycles inside the hangar, he bowed once more and left for the air control tower nearby. 

“Crazy how spread out you guys are, how have we not noticed you all?” Dabi shook his head in astonishment as the two of them walked over to the bikes. 

“We’ve hidden ourselves well. And stop calling us like we’re not you,” Geten said. 

“Mmhmm…” Dabi murmured distractedly, scanning his choices. He pointed at a dark blue motorcycle. “That one.”  

“Why that one?” She sounded genuinely curious. “Don’t tell me it’s –”

“Yep, it looks the coolest. Let’s go.” Dabi grinned, beginning to enjoy this mission as he leapt onto his new ride. 

Sighing, Geten got on behind him. “You know we’re on a time limit right? The group will move again in a few hours. This better be fast.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Sheesh.”

Geten grumbled. “I could just use my ice. We’d save at least ten minutes.”

“And show everyone? You’re not in Deika City, girl. You get questioned or arrested for using your quirk in public.” Dabi tossed her a helmet, joking, “Safety first.”

She knocked it aside with a snort. “I know, it’s not like I’ve never left the city before.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dabi said as he revved the engine. “2 dollars says you only left the city...less than 5 times.” 

He couldn’t see her expression since he was facing forward, but she didn’t reply for a second. “I’m not taking that. Shut up.” 

Chuckling, Dabi started to move. “Might wanna hold on. Don’t worry, I won’t burn you.”

He heard more grumbling. “I should have learnt to drive.” But she put her arms around his waist. They felt chilly. Were they always cold? 

Then they were off, entering the main road. The ride would be roughly half an hour. And Dabi was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. It was silent besides the engine sounds. The roads were mostly empty, and the cool night air made his coat flap in the wind. 

He basked in the feeling. It had been a long time since he could cruise on an empty road in the countryside. He was hoping this mission was Shigaraki cooking up some bullshit for Geten, because he could tell there was something definitely up with this entire assignment. Whatever it was, Geten was taciturn about it. 

Alternatively, the assignment was real and he could spend a night (or hopefully three) away from Deika City and the monotony burning some folks. Win-win. 

Geten was quiet behind him, the only semblance of her presence being her two arms firmly latched onto his stomach, not too tightly – Thank god, but he noticed how whenever he accelerated, she gripped it a bit tighter. 

Just like me and Sensei… 

The memories pulled him into the past as he rode. Dabi remembered him teaching a young Touya how to ride a motorcycle when he was...14? It wasn’t easy at first, but he had to learn to get around. They didn’t have the convenience that Kurogiri or Ujiko provided. The villain street life was hard, but he chose to step into it. He had little regrets. 

He remembered sitting behind where Geten was, holding on tightly to Dabi as they cruised through empty towns and abandoned industrial estates on their jobs. His mentor didn’t mind then, so...he wouldn’t mind now. 

And speaking of empty towns, the road turned onto one, with the two of them riding through a small, two-lane town, one not meant to house people, but to serve as a pass-through. 

His eyes flickered towards a store on his left whose lights were on. A convenience store. And… 

Wait, is that…?

Dabi screeched to a halt and hopped off the bike.

“Why’d you stop? What – oh.” Geten saw what he was looking at as she disembarked too, taking off her helmet.

It was a body. Beaten up bad, with twisted limbs and fist marks on his shredded clothing. It was propped up against the side of the building, an oddly peaceful final resting place. There was a smear of blood that stretched from the road all the way to the side of the convenience store. 

Dabi squatted down and inspected it. Couldn’t have been more than three days, since no fluids have been expunged. Doesn’t smell too bad, so decay hasn’t been long, or it has yet to start. Organs are probably decomposing now, though. 

Damn, can’t believe I actually remembered Sensei’s lesson. 

“Hold on, that’s one of us. He’s an advisor for Black Regiment.” Geten said.

“Seriously?” 

“His quirk gives him incredible speed. And…” She looked at the road. Dabi followed her gaze. It was more blood. On the road. 

“He was running from there, not too long ago, since he still looks...fine.” Dabi looked at the road they were heading. 

“You don’t think it’s our assignment?” Geten wondered.

Guess this assignment isn’t Shigaraki’s bullshit after all. 

“Thump.” He heard movement. His head flicked upwards. Instinctively, he unleashed a stream of fire.

“BANG!”

Geten gave a surprised yelp, clutching her arm, but to her credit, her other arm was instantly thrust out in retaliation, but nothing happened. “Wait, what?” She gasped. 

Shit, it’s not...is it? Whatever, think later. 

Dabi unleashed a torrent of fire at the rooftops, where silhouettes shifted around. He counted five.

Dabi grabbed Geten by her uninjured hand and dragged her into the store. It would serve as cover. 

“Are you alright?” Dabi turned to look at Geten, who was looking at her arm. 

“Yeah, it’s not a bullet. It’s some dart.” She held up a small capsule with a needle at the end. “But I can’t…” Her voice trailed off as she tried again. Nothing. 

“Fuck.” Dabi growled. “Never mind. Stay hidden.”

“What are you –” 

Rushing out of the store, he swept his right arm upwards to summon a wave of flame that disintegrated the incoming volley of bullets that any idiot could predict. Igniting his left hand, he counterattacked with a fire blast, which got some of them. He heard two screams. 

Amateurs. 

With a growl, he leapt out of the way, just as some snaking tendrils shot towards where he was. Using your quirks now, eh?

He fired off another plume. The attackers ducked. 

Dabi knew he couldn’t scorch the buildings too much or it might be noticeable. The law didn’t know about the PLF, but they knew about the League. Leave too many of his burn marks, and it’ll screw him over. 

Guess I’ll try this new move. Having only practiced it thrice this morning – Felt so long ago, he thought, he prayed it would work. 

Keeping his left hand summoning a continuous stream of fire to cover him, he drew his right fist back and concentrated. Your fingers. Just the fingers. 

His left arm began to singe from the effort. It stung like a bitch. He gritted his teeth.

Now or never. Fuck you Endeavour, for making me learn something. 

He thrust his open palm forward and withdrew his left simultaneously. From his fingertips, tendrils of fire as thin as rope shot forward them like burning lassos, weaving through the air in a snake-like fashion. But he didn’t need accuracy, just the width. 

With concentrated power, they managed to cover his whole field of view in terms of range. Just as the men left their cover, The tendrils seared into their flesh, and with screams filling the silence, they dropped down from the roof, slamming into the ground with sickening cracks. Three cracks. 

Shit, if they’re not alive...Three stories, they might still make it. So there’s three on the ground, and probably two on the roof, assuming no funny business with any quirks…

Raising his voice, he said, “You guys have ten seconds to come down the ladder before I burn all your friends to ashes.” Then his gaze lowered to see Geten standing in front of the convenience store, waiting. He gave her a ‘wait a while’ gesture.

Five seconds passed before the two of them climbed down the ladder, all while begging, “Please don’t shoot!”. Dabi grinned. They looked hilariously pathetic.

When they reached the ground, they knelt down with their hands in the air. Dabi approached them while giving the ‘all ok’ to Geten. 

“If you two move,” Dabi said, “I’ll burn you alive.” 

The survivors quaked as Dabi bent down and picked up one of their guns. Colt revolver, .45, definitely modified.

Having done it a thousand times, he disassembled the gun with fluid motions without much thought. It was one of Dabi’s first lessons to him. Picking up one of the bullets gingerly, he inspected it and saw that it was identical to the bullet that had struck Geten. He dropped it to the ground and crushed it with his foot. 

“All right, you.” He pointed at one of the men. Psych. He opened his palm, and a blast of fire was accompanied by a guttural scream. The other covered his mouth to stifle a sob. 

When he was done, he turned to the other and asked, “Did you kill that guy?” He pointed to the body of the Liberation Front advisor that was still lying there.

“No! I swear!” He shook his head vigorously, clasping his hands together to beg for mercy. Seems truthful. 

“Who put you up to this?” 

“I – I don’t know!” He choked out.

“Oh yeah?” Dabi ignited his palm and stepped forward. He whimpered, “Please! I really don’t know! We were just paid to do it!”

“I want a name.” He placed his burning hand on the thug’s leg. The thug’s whimpers grew into raw wails.

“I – I don’t know!” 

“Try again.” Increasing the firepower, the thug began to scream.

“M – Mesa!” He managed to say through the agony. 

“Is that a street name or his actual name?” 

“That’s all he told us! I swear! That’s all! Please!” 

Could be lying. Whatever, I won’t get anymore out of them. These low-class trash don’t seem like the type. 

Dabi sighed and rubbed his face. Looking around, he was glad the town was deserted. Even the convenience store lights seemed to be the thugs’ doing. It would make cleanup way easier. 

“You might wanna cover your ears for this one,” He told Geten, standing up and gesturing for the two of them to leave the alley. The alley looked funnily similar to all the other ones he burned. Just like old times. 

Once they were on the pavement, he turned around and raised his hand. Can’t have people knowing we were here.

“NO! PLEA – AHHHHHH!” 

No point remembering them. 

––––––

Hi. Enjoy. Inserted AO3 link because again, long chapter. 

I actually wrote this and the next chapter (I thought they could be one chapter at first), then the word count hit 3k and I realised I misjudged. Anyway, I do have chapter 15′s backbone done but it hasn’t been edited yet. So expect to see it next week as usual (I’ve surprisingly managed to keep to a schedule on this story, somewhat). 

Also please, I’m not going for a “Geten is damsel in distress and de-powered” and Dabi has to be the knight in shining armour. That was not my intention whatsoever. It’s the fact that she prides herself on her admittedly powerful quirk, so taking it away for a while will be a very interesting way to see her character.

Here’s to hoping I can write that properly. It’s gonna be doubly hard because next chapter is still Dabi’s POV. So...might drink my sorrows away if I screw that up. Nah jk, but I technically am legal to drink, so ._.

I’m rambling. But yeah I felt the need to point that out because I don’t wanna offend any feminists or something.