#set it off????????? does it count to put the hashtag here

[cafefiorentini]

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[generalsdiary]

Dr. Ratio w/ Kavetham parents (x Aventurine)

warnings: none

word count: 5.7k

a/n: after the intro (one or two paragraphs) it switches to Ratio’s pov dw (beginning with the first line of dialogue), also if you don’t like the Aventio ship- it is only mentioned after half of the writing. and in case you’re only here for Aventio- it begins halfway. tho I do recommend reading the full work for the best experience ^^

description: let's talk about Ratio's parents. I have been going on and leaving comments/hiding in hashtags here and there about how much I like the theory/fanon of Alhaitham and Kaveh being his parents (fluff, nostalgia)

now let us take into consideration that Teyvat does exist in the canon of Star Rail- and (if you've read/watched a few analysis) you might know that the planet on the loading screen is literally Teyvat- and now if you're questioning how is it separated from everything (read; not getting checked by the IPC) and similar- well.. it is locked off of any access. I'm truly not the right person to dwell into this, so do explore more about that if it has piqued your interest, and without further ado, these are my thoughts on our favorite canon couple in Genshin being Ratio's parents.

I can see Veritas coming back home (by some means) and his dads being just over the moon delighted to see him.

Kaveh would most likely ask him to sculpt something with him. Veritas, as it is portrayed, he sculpts mostly himself, and (in Kaveh’s voice lines he says sculpting is his hobby) Kaveh enjoys that as well. so, it makes perfect sense that Kaveh taught him that, just a little Veritas wobbling around and putting his hands into the grayish looking water, little hands shaping the sculpture- Kaveh giggling at the sight, gods Kaveh would look so beautiful in that setting, Alhaitham smiling fondly- he won’t touch the water or the statue- the texture ain’t right. so, when adult Veritas comes back home for a longer visit, of course Kaveh insists on his son sculpting something with him.

“how have you been, Veritas? it has been quiet without you rambling with yourself in the middle of the night about the problems of the world” Kaveh snickers and pours fresh ground coffee.

“I do hope you have been taking care of yourself, you shouldn’t let your job rule over your private life.” Alhaitham adds.

“I- I have been fine, and no my job isn’t suffocating me, dad.” He answers in that annoyed voice reminding his fathers of a teenager. “I never said suffocating.” Alhaitham quietly adds, his son revealing himself in his word choice. He doesn’t comment any further. The obvious is clear to all three men.

he goes to his room, fresh, clean as if he never left. his walls covered in sheets of paper with math equations, sketches of various buildings (even an attempt to sketch his father’s beautiful work of the palace of Alcazarzaray), quotes from those close to him in case memory ever betrayed him. the warm sunlight dripping into his room, the scent of spices, fresh coffee, herbal tea and warm cotton letting him know that he is home. nostalgia isn’t something he allows to rule over him, but in this moment, he is weak to it and indulges in the safety of his room. the rough texture of the sheets soothes him and all the puzzle pieces seem to fall in their place. he needed this. his dads, this vacation. he falls asleep with a small smile on his face that night, there’s perhaps no better place to be than home.

little kid Veritas was truly born into the right family with his intellect. perfect parents to take care of all of his “quirks”, and hunger for knowledge. and, Alhaitham and Kaveh are so proud of the man he grew up to be, “you know that love for math and numbers, is all you.” Alhaitham comments, not raising his gaze from the book in his hand, the early morning sun just barely grazing the room. Kaveh smiles and walks over to his partner, his lips leaving a soft kiss on the top of the younger man’s head, “he is equally you and me, Alhaitham.” both men smile for the next minute, Alhaitham’s free arm moving around Kaveh’s waist since he stood right next to where he sat. “except the hair, that he takes after his uncle.” Kaveh laughs melodically at that remark, “well, he crafted the hair genome-altering potion himself because we allowed him to ask Tighnari too many questions which he was all too happy to answer.” Alhaitham nods, “it fits him. the indigo. can’t even remember what it was before if I’m being honest.” Kaveh all but shrieks, turning his voice to a whisper to not wake their son, “that’s because he did it when he was 4.”

speaking of his ‘uncle’, Wanderer is someone Veritas was very fond of. or rather, is still very fond of. such a genius mind, a clever being with a puppet body, snarky, sarcastic- Veritas felt confused why he didn’t hang out even more often with his dads; they seemed like the perfect match of personalities and intellect. nonetheless, he did come over occasionally, and was always met with, something he now knows to cherish; the soft smile, the gentle voice and the cozy embrace of his uncle who likes tolerates children. and especially since he didn’t come over often, teenage Veritas would run away take a walk to go see him, he always looked young so that made him seem even more approachable to the young boy. he’d seek knowledge, and intelligent conversations- not that his fathers or his other uncles didn’t provide that. he simply needed someone outside of that roster. an outsider. well… half of an outsider, who can keep secrets. not that he’d have many secrets to share, Wanderer would gladly amuse the kid, happy with the respect the child gave him and intrigued by the questions he'd hear.

“alright kid, it is late, off you go.”

“it’s dark yes, you won’t see me off?”

“you can walk, can’t you? now go.” Wanderer zooms off into the shadows. Veritas developed confidence in his late night walks home and bravery, not knowing- until maybe in his adult life, that Wanderer always flew above him on his way home. making sure that he was safe. and every time, maybe out of respect, maybe out of a sense of duty, or perhaps… even… companionship? friendship? he’d slip a note under the door ‘the kid was with me, W’

“is uncle Wanderer still in Sumeru?” Veritas indulged between bites of pita pockets. he just did a workout session with Alhaitham, his dad is where he picked up the healthy habit of working out and staying active.

“he should be. I mean he didn’t move out to a different region if that’s what you mean” Kaveh answered with a nod in Alhaitham’s direction, to confirm or debunk what he said in case he had different information. Alhaitham shook his head, he didn’t know anything else, “he should be in Sumeru city.”

Veritas makes his way on the incline of the Divine Tree, last step, and, “ah well if it isn’t my favorite nephew?” the voice said sarcastically. a whoosh of wind and the short man with a large hat- obscuring anyone’s view, flew down.

Veritas smiled, “uncle. it has been very long. and the years have… treated you well” he chuckled, attempting to tease the older man.

Wanderer scoffed, “is that some poor attempt at a joke? perhaps, you should spend more time with the general on this vacation. brush up your…” vague gesture, “comedy.” he hovered and sat down on the stone wall.

“I doubt comedy is something I’m fit to pursue.”

they talked for hours that day. catching up and Veritas dumping, if at all possible, even more questions onto his uncle about life and existentialism. the sun started setting and Wanderer got up, ending their conversation as always before it got too late in the night. he gestured to Veritas to come closer, to which he bent lower- the height difference was painfully obvious, “you really grew so big.” Wanderer softly commented, Veritas could see the same kindness and endearment in his eyes that he saw as a child. Veritas always meant much more to Wanderer than he ever let on. to be called uncle, considered a family member, and not be asked to change himself. Wanderer appreciated Alhaitham and Kaveh, and his nephew is someone he’d die for. he pinched his cheek, “you take care of yourself, young man.” Wanderer smiled for a second and flew up out of sight. and, just like all those years ago, he flew above him out of sight, making sure he got safely home… after all, Veritas isn’t a vision carrier.

“puppets- puppets can’t cry, stop this” he’d mumble to himself as a few more teardrops fell on the parchment paper he pushed under the door.

‘the kid was with me’

second night he dreamed. Nahida smiled in this dream and waved “welcome home, Veritas”, once awake he sat up immediately out of breath.

stepping into the kitchen and there she sat.

“oh Veritas, it is so good to see you” she chirps, jumping off of her chair and walking over, he bends over to pick her up so she may properly hug him.

“auntie Nahida- I- I seem to have forgotten you knew the exact moment I laid my head on the pillow two nights ago that I got back home” Veritas would mumble, he didn’t realize that he would be this happy to see her.

“oh- Lesser lord Kusanali, you didn’t use the door- um- would you like some tea?”

“Lesser lord Kusanali, good morning, I’ll fetch the tea.” Alhaitham would add, making Kaveh sit down so he doesn’t stumble over something, his husband is always jittery when the archon comes to visit.

being close to Wanderer meant Nahida heard of him, and of course, she knew about Alhaitham’s and Kaveh’s son, hence upon visiting the kid often she became the auntie Nahida. Veritas grew up knowing the full truth, his dads aren’t the type to sugarcoat it or lie.

so in this embrace, Veritas realized how many questions he had for the tiny god in his arms. the god of wisdom. although, that might be impolite… he was silent for a bit.

Nahida giggled, “ask,” her legs swaying on the chair, “I know you must have so many more things you wish to know. especially with your age, doctor~” she giggled even more. and therefore it became a discussion, Veritas carefully forming his words, his dads listening to the conversation until they had to leave to lunch with friends. “come if you have time, your uncles Tighnari and Cyno will be there. they would be happy to see you.” Alhaitham adds as they leave the house.

on his way to the tavern he hears a woman yell his name, frozen in his step he turns and sees her running towards him. “Collei!” Veritas smiles, opening his arms and she jumps at him. he gives her a spin and tightly embraces her, “how have you been- you’re still amusingly short-“ he laughs, and she playfully punches him,

“is that how you greet your favorite cousin?”

“you mean my only cousin?”

“don’t get snarky with me- I got better at communication and will use sarcasm to my advantage!” Collei laughed happily as she answered. in his mind, she has always communicated well with him. he never saw any issues, only fondness for his older cousin.

they catch up on the street, his cousin is someone he cared about a lot in his youth. a peer who he didn’t shoo off, who didn’t dislike him, and who was and still is an amazing, accepting, intelligent person. one stayed and the other one moved away, yet their communication never failed, never changed, and the love always there for one another.

Cyno and Tighnari basically tackle him with love and affection. Cyno wraps him up in a blanket of dad jokes (not literal), while Veritas shares stories of foxians on the Xianzhou Luofu. it is a pleasant lunch filled with stories, and the tallest man at the table getting babied and treated as if he is fifteen years old again. somewhat bittersweet. Cyno insists they play a round of TCG, Veritas winning easily, “it is pure strategy, uncle Cyno” he tries to hide his smirk as he answers to a frowning general; Alhaitham adds quietly, “that’s my boy. well done.”

His uncle Cyno was the one to teach him Genius invocation TCG, during their trips to the desert they spent their evenings playing cards. “this is hardly fair, uncle. I keep losing” the small boy frowned.

“Veritas, when you are old enough, and more experienced you will, maybe, come close to winning.” Cyno answers, not showing mercy to the kid- he must learn the rules of the game properly, as he is teaching him survival in the desert. which, over the years of many trips, resulted in Veritas growing well acclimated to the weather conditions and scorching sun there, a good life skill to have.

on the other hand, he also grew accustomed to the moisture-heavy air and high heat of the rainforest. going on many camping trips with his uncle Tighnari. learning of different plants and creatures, gaining proficiency in biology before he even got to go to school. nights in the Gandharva Ville were also something he remembers fondly, his cousin, someone he holds in high regard, was always nice to him, pleasant, no matter his attitude and ‘adapting’ behavior. Collei never judged, they were, in a way, both patient with each other and led intellectually stimulating conversations for both parties. Veritas wouldn’t be the same man he is today if it weren’t for his peer.

Madam Faruzan is someone he didn’t expect to see in the house of Daena. he found her… interesting in his youth, but he moved past the interest when the well of knowledge for him dried up. on the other hand, Faruzan adored the little boy who was respectful and smart. they chatted for a few minutes and he quickly excused himself, otherwise, he’d have to put the bust on and the people of Sumeru have spent years not seeing such strange behavior and he knew it would attract even more attention. his younger dad’s voice would echo in his head, “it never matters if it makes others around you uncomfortable- you take care of yourself. if it helps you, if you feel better, then wear it.” and the scene of his dad placing the kid sized plaster head on his head played in Veritas’ mind. he feels incredibly lucky to have such amazing parents.

“how’s the traveler?”

“oh them? they found their sibling and I’m afraid I haven’t seen them in a bit. but they always come around, you know how they are. unpredictable~” Kaveh chuckles, and fondly recalls his friend with gold hair.

“or perhaps they changed bodies and personalities and embody someone you know outside of Teyvat.”

“daaad.” Veritas exhaled, “your attempts at humor get more annoying with years” he rolled his eyes at Alhaitham.

in a suggestive voice he joked a bit more, “maybe now they are less polite, maybe they even have- gray hair like I do.”

for a second the image of the Trailblazer flashed before his eyes but he dismissed it, “daad please can you contain yourself. I would appreciate it. those books on comedy did you no good,” his head turned to Kaveh, “dad why did you buy him that?”

“for pure shits and giggles, my dear boy.” Kaveh answered with a grin.

one can be as put together as they want and as old as they can be, but once one is home… we all turn back into children.

there was a knock on the door, Kaveh got up to open it, “good morning, yes?”

“ah hello, is doctor Ratio here- his device seems to not be working on Teyvat it seems so err…”

“Veritas it’s for you!” he said louder and turned back to face the man in front of him, “and you are?”

“dad-“ he gently pushed Kaveh aside, “you’re too flashy- get inside Aventurine!” he hissed in a hushed tone.

Veritas stands with his hand on his forehead, shaking his head gently. Kaveh seems amused with a smile on his face and sits down on the couch, next to the sofa armchair where Alhaitham made himself sit in no time. Kaveh can tell by the look in his husband’s eyes that he is entertained.

the young man, which their son addressed as a translucent quartz… Aventurine took a step towards Veritas. “hey- doc- I didn’t mean to- maybe I should’ve read some stuff about the planet before jumping-“

“maybe?” the tone of voice was obviously a displeased one, even raising in tone with a sharp glare. Veritas inhaled and exhaled. like a child doing a play he turned to face his parents, “dads, this is Kakavasha,” Aventurine did a small wave, “he is an occasional work partner of mine and I suppose that is why he came here.” he turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“well, yes, your phone- I mean device wasn’t working- actually nothing came up- I grew worried,” his voice turned into a whisper, “you know with this planet being so gatekept and outside of the IPC’s or the Aeons’ control so…”

“worried?” Veritas asked. Kaveh and Alhaitham were only missing popcorn, this has been the most entertaining thing they have watched in years. going all the way back to when they visited Fontaine and saw a wonderful drama performance.

“yes,” the blond man answered.

“let’s-“ Kaveh cleared his throat, “I’m Kaveh, Veritas’ father, this is my husband Alhaitham. why don’t you stay a bit- no need to rush off to… wherever you zapped from, hm?” he smiled.

“this, being the isolated area you claim, surely two travels in one day are not good, hm? stay the night. we will make room.” Alhaitham nodded.

and oh, Aventurine could read them in a second, street smarts this guy. he saw every single detail of the two men and how it translated into Veritas. “I’d hate to be a bother- but I’m clever enough to know you two would insist.” Aventurine smiles. Alhaitham and Kaveh hold back any laughs bubbling up their throats from giddiness. for them two, a pinning couple such as themselves, something as this short interaction between Aventurine and Veritas was as obvious as Cyno being the general Mahamatra. visible from the top of the Divine Tree. the only question was, where do they stand together?

“I. you’re right, but I don’t think it is necessary-“ Veritas begins only to be cut off by Kaveh.

“you’re forgetting yourself- didn’t you say he was flashy? you practically dragged him inside.”

Veritas cursed himself mentally, this was truly not what he had in plan. “fine. follow along, dear gambler.” he walked down the hallway and Aventurine followed quickly along.

Kaveh looked at Alhaitham with wide eyes and held back the urge to bite down on a pillow. “I will fucking scream, our son, OUR SON, got bitches?”  “was that real? that just happened, yes?”

Alhaitham was speechless in any verbal form, but his facial expression was priceless. “dear. Archons. thank you lesser lord Kusanali for blessing our boy.” Alhaitham hoped their son would never be lonely… and over the years it truly did turn him to even hope for the archons to show mercy upon him. “he also isn’t an idiot” Alhaitham continued.

“mhm, quite a beautifully well-mannered young man along with that,” Kaveh added.

inside his room, “why- this was truly unnecessary- my dads will now-“

“doc, calm down your parents are great- is this where I’ll stay?”

“this is my room!” he narrowed his eyes, Aventurine nodded and stayed quiet, “yes… this is where you’ll stay. don’t get… cocky about it”

“oh please doc, it isn’t the first time we share a bed.”

“change into something Sumeru appropriate if you wish to leave this house at any time during your stay.” Veritas ponders for a moment, “my clothes are too big and so are any of my dads- uncle Cyno is shorter than you so that’s a no, uncle Tighnari has a tail so that’s also a no, uncle Wanderer wears Inazuma-Sumeru styled clothes and also too small- I will have to buy.” he sighs after his short analysis.

“money is never the problem- credits are something I have a lot of and you know that- why?”

“they use mora here, not credits.”

Aventurine falls quiet, a world with no credits… a land of opportunity! he shall gain mora!

“no. don’t you gamble- the rules here are different-“ knock, knock.

“Veritas, will you go buy Kakavasha clothes or shall I sew something of some old pieces?” Kaveh asked against the closed door.

“I- dad can you go buy- we need to talk- I can’t at this moment.”

“yeah, I’ll go.” silence, he didn’t move away yet. “I’ll take your father with me.”

a distant muffled voice answered, “I don’t like shopping for clothes, Kaveh.” “Shush Alhaitham we are going.”

“I doubt your worry was justified- you knew you couldn’t contact me here”

“your parents seem nice. and now I’m here, so let us not dwell on would’ve, could’ve, should’ve hm?”

Veritas sighs. they exchange a few more words and he leaves for dinner with Collei previously arranged.

the sun is setting when he gets back, Aventurine got nicely acquainted with his parents and… well, Veritas is standing frozen at the entrance door. Aventurine is wearing white Sumeru style clothes, with pretty gold accents and splashes of purple and cyan. there has never been a lovelier man than him, your beauty leaves me speechless. He clears his throat, “now that you look appropriate, allow me to take you on a walk, yes?” to which the blond man obliges and they leave the house.

absentmindedly he talks of the architecture and how people live in Sumeru city. they arrive at a point that oversees the vast area towards Port Ormos and they stand there in silence for a few moments.

“the clothes are very comfortable, I hope I’m wearing them well,” Aventurine says with a big smile.

“you look…” beautiful, ravishing, heavenly, out of this world, take my hand in marriage, “…you wear them well, yes” Veritas cuts his thoughts off.

“c’mon doc, we are on your home planet, in your city. no one knows us here- at least not as the cornerstone of the Aeon of preservation and the member of the Intelligentsia guild. we can relax.”

Veritas rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath. “you’re right. … you look… beautiful. I… I bought you something- it was meant to be a gift when I got back but… here” he hands him a small blue velvet box. Veritas doubts Aventurine ever enjoys wearing jewelry, not with the way he quickly strips himself off of his rings, the watch, and necklace the moment he gets home. Aventurine opens the box and tilts his head in thought, “this is…?”

“a hairpiece. sort of like mine. a pin. I’m sure you understand.” Veritas nods to himself. Aventurine hands him the pin, a dark blue-golden piece displaying a certain mushroom. “put it on me.” Veritas’ eyes shift to the shorter man, if he wasn’t such a calm person his hands would shake in this moment. his fingers gently grip the pin and place it on the soft blond hair.

“good?”

“perfect. I chose well.” Veritas cannot hide how flustered he is at that moment despite his cold demeanor when his cheeks show a shade of pink.

“Doctor… Veritas. I would like to enjoy this vacation- with you. us, together, no one to say anything, may we… relax?” Aventurine says softly, his hand shyly coming to hold Veritas’ making him look at the man. “the view is beautiful from here, the sunset, colors, everything in warm colors, look.” he says, Aventurine shifts his gaze and Veritas keeps looking at him. he raises their joined hands and kisses his knuckles, “you mean everything to me” he whispers.

Aventurine smiles, returning his gaze to him. Veritas continues in a soft voice, “you wear the clothes well. it is… such a vision to see you in the clothing of my world. to see you standing next to me on the streets I grew up on, to see you meet my parents… also I have planned to stay for quite a while so expect to be here for at least a month or travel back to the ship.”

“I think I might stay for a few days. I like the sight of you here, you seem much more relaxed than you usually are, Doc. it’s like you feel safer here. and given how many dangerous specimens are on this planet I am surprised by that fact.” Aventurine gives his hand a small squeeze. “I’d like to get to know your family.” there’s an underlying sadness he sees in the shorter man’s eyes, perhaps the yearning for a safe family of his own.

“I have a big family, uncles, and aunts, a cousin… I’d be happy to introduce you.”

“friends? you didn’t say friends.”

“ah… those. family is what I have here. and you.” Veritas pushes the thoughts of his childhood away, friends… not something he had a big privilege of experiencing. He always preferred his uncles, aunts, truly the only real friend he ever had was Collei. perhaps the other kids weren’t even worth it.

the walk ends with them gazing at the sunset, holding hands.

at night they share his bed, his childhood bed. in the privacy of his home he feels safe enough to lean his face closer and gently kiss him. his lips pressing onto Aventurine’s with a mumble of good night. It feels surreal… his partner with him, in his arms, in his home. Aventurine that night dreams of a small white-haired person who welcomes him to Sumeru and says she is happy to meet him. in the morning when he shares the dream, between kisses Veritas lays along his jawline, the doctor stops to inform him that that was the Dendro archon, which results in a gasping Aventurine and a longer time in bed explaining the function of gods and deities in this world.

Veritas walks into the kitchen, following the scent of Sabz meat stew. his parents are in the study so he freely wraps his arms around Aventurine and lowers his head into the crook of his neck. “smells good.”

“mhm, your dad gave me the recipe- I thought I’d try it out. taste it!” Aventurine turns a bit in his arms, lips pursed blowing on the wooden spoon. it tastes good, melts on the tongue, his eyes widen and it is all the confirmation Aventurine needs. Veritas kisses his temple, “I’m so happy you’re here, Kakavasha.”

steps on the wooden floor knock him out of his bubble, his cheeks blush- being physical with his partner isn’t something he wants his parents to see. he puts the plaster head on and sits down. luckily in this household, it is perfectly normal to self-regulate in such a way. he can count on both hands just how many times he saw his dad without the noise-canceling pieces he uses. half of those were when he was sleeping, he remembers as a kid when he’d run to their bedroom, in tears from a nightmare- in mere seconds he’d have the devices on his head- be it Kaveh putting them on or he himself getting them on. after which they would both turn to comfort the small boy. any other time, was his dads quietly chatting on the sofa, and upon his arrival his younger dad would waste no time to put them on. two voices being too much. Alhaitham reassured him plenty of times so he doesn’t feel hurt by it, especially now, that he is old enough to understand; the only person he can tolerate, he enjoys listening fully to (not all the time tho) is Kaveh. to prove the case further, as a teenager he found out that his dad’s device has a mode which makes sure that his older dad’s voice always pushes through noise cancellation. true love at its finest. and what a hopeless romantic his dad is to do so and feel like that. the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. he does wear his bust much less when he is around Kakavasha.

and now not even the plaster head can hide it when he tilts his head on his hand and stares at the blond man. Alhaitham smirks, he sees through it oh so easily, “do you need any help, Kakavasha? if not, Kaveh and I are leaving to go to the Akademiya, update our retirement plans and so on. although, I’m sure my son can help out if the need arises.”

“I am doing fine so far, thank you sir”

“no need for sir, Alhaitham is fine.”

“I’d feel impolite to address my partner’s parents like that,” he speaks out loud before thinking. he stops stirring the food, when did he- how- when did he start feeling so safe that he stopped overthinking as much? Alhaitham nods with a barely noticeable smile and turns to leave the kitchen. “don’t burn the house down, you two.”

Veritas plants his face into his palms, covering the plaster head even more. Kakavasha turns around to face him when the doors close. “hah, um… sorry?”

Veritas gently takes his plaster head off with a small sigh, his cheeks are colored a light shade of pink, and eyes looking elsewhere, “it happens. I’d love to think my dad took your ‘partner’ in a business terminology, but… nobody in this household is that idiotic. and… I doubt we were any less than obvious, especially to a special case such as my parents.”

“special case?” Kakavasha hangs onto his words.

“some other time I’ll tell you about their situation- or perhaps you may ask them yourself. watch the food, dear.” Veritas gestures with his chin to the cooking pot.

Kakavasha does that indeed, chatting along with Alhaitham and Kaveh, the men more than happy to share their story- and get to know their son’s partner.

“I was told I might find you here,” he says in a soft voice, sitting next to the tall man.

Veritas raises his head from his notes. he is sitting at a large table in the house of Daena, surrounded by books, papers and a few pens. “who told you? I wasn’t avoiding you- my dad told me they added a few books and borrowed some from the Temple of silence, I couldn’t resist reading through it all.”

“your dads. am I bothering you, doc? I’m sure there are some books I can entertain myself with” Kakavasha gazes around.

“with no offense, doubtful. it is usually highly dry material, unworthy of your time and energy. I am willing to take a break, may I tempt you with a walk, dear?”

“yes, you may.” Kakavasha smiles at the flirty question.

saying goodbye is never easy. when being home is nice, pleasant- it makes it much harder. Aventurine left a week or so ago, and went back in the outer orbit of the planet. Veritas spent more time with his close family, having more shared meals and spending his early mornings in the Akademiya’s library, even going so far to visit the actual Temple of silence.

Kaveh’s arms are holding him tightly in an embrace, his voice slightly shaky, but he is trying not to let it show, “I will miss you so much, my dear boy. please stay safe, don’t get into unnecessary trouble, eat a lot, take care of yourself and you can always come home if it gets tiring. or just- one day come home to retire, maybe? and bring that boy with you, your father and I like him, he is welcome any time.”

Alhaitham’s strong arms hug him with a few pats on the back, in a monotone voice, which Veritas recognizes as warmth, he softly speaks, “I stand behind everything your dad already said. do take care of yourself, we will miss you a lot.”

“I don’t want to cry.” Veritas whispers, standing in front of his parents, Kaveh inhales sharply holding back his own tears, Alhaitham tightly holds his hand, his jaw clenched as he also tries not to grow too upset. “we shouldn’t cry,” the retired scribe says, “it isn’t good to say goodbye in tears, we will see each other again. we are immensely happy you came to see us, Veritas. I love you- we both love you, and safe travels.” he ends it with a nod, Kaveh nods as well.

“I love you too” Veritas whispers back, he jumps into both of them, hugging them one more time. he steps back, waves and, with the usage of technology unnatural to Teyvat, he is gone. Zapped away into the orbit.

“I miss him already.” Kaveh doesn’t cry as much as he thought he would when their son leaves.

“Veritas is out there doing the best he can for himself, and he isn’t alone. we both know how much it matters that he isn’t alone.” Alhaitham’s eyes appear sad despite his words. the men sit on the couch cuddled in each other’s arms. “you’re right… he isn’t alone.”

Ratio, back on the ship, eyes filled with tears threatening to drop meet the watercolor ones of his partner. “I- I… I miss them already, Kakavasha.” Aventurine walks over to hug him, his hand moving in circles on his back. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

after a few minutes, Aventurine quietly says, “we will visit them again. we can come over for my birthday? I… really enjoyed being surrounded by family. maybe you’d let me meet more of them this time, yes?”

Veritas smiles, tears dried up, he really has a way of bringing his mood up. “of course, we will visit for your birthday then.”

“I look forward to calling them my family like you do,” Aventurine adds with an all-too-familiar smile.

“is that-“ Ratio tilts his head, “is that some backward way of proposing?”

Aventurine chuckles, shaking his hands, “nope. not yet. there’s time for us to do… that”

Ratio smirks, with an exhale he leans his head on the shorter man’s shoulder, “thank you… for coming along. I’m glad you met them.”

Aventurine silently smiles and kisses his cheek. perhaps the next time they come around they will make certain vows.

[magicshopaholic]

About You (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: There's something Namjoon isn't telling you. After finally getting out of him, though, you find yourself wishing you'd never asked.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC, minor Taehyung x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 10.1 K

Warnings: language; arguments; implied mentions of past trauma, particularly SA; mentions of campus assaults

Additional warning: This fic contains discussions of triggering topics centering around SA and r*pe, so please do NOT read this if you are not comfortable. While there is no description of any kind and no member of BTS is involved in it, the fic is meant to depict realistic conversations and implications of past trauma which may be difficult for some to read. This fic is extremely personal, not to mention important for characterization within the series, but please do exercise appropriate discretion before reading.

A/N: This fic is set around six months after Suburbia, on the same day as You Make Me Live. It also consists of important plot points for Taehyung and Dilara, a couple of months before the events of Los Angeles.

Tagging: @kflixnet @k-radio @bbl32 @dreaming-with-happiness, @sweetieguk, @ggukkieland (if you want to be added to the taglist, drop me a message)

Listen to: "nothing's gonna hurt you baby" by cigarettes after sex

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

“Milk?”

“None.”

“Okay. Sugar?”

“Only if you’re giving it to me.”

Namjoon snorts, spilling a few drops of the Americano he’s stirring. “You mean right now?”

“Depends on how interesting the movie they’re all watching out there is.” Kaya leans against the kitchen counter of the dorm and folds her arms across her chest, watching him sheepishly wipe the spilt coffee. “Any chance we’ll be interrupted?”

“I would rather get caught by paparazzi than by any of the guys,” he says seriously, shuddering. “They’ll make it a whole thing and ten years down the line, they’ll still act like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened.”

Kaya frowns. “So none of you have ever walked in on each other, in all these years?” she asks sceptically. “I find that a little hard to believe. Seokjin told me you all lived together in one room or something. You had to have, you know… interrupted each other, some time.”

“Sure we have. It’s why Jimin, to this day, calls Hoseok The Closet Hyung. Or that’s the closest translation, anyway,” he amends.

“Was he… in the closet?” Kaya asks, with a bit of trepidation, biting her lip as Namjoon shakes a small sachet of sugar into his glass.

“No, he was in a closet, with another trainee, and his pants were, well -” He breaks off and winces, shaking his head. “Not something I want to relive.”

She laughs. “How dramatic.” She watches him for a moment, his tall frame next to her, as he takes a sip of the second glass he’s stirring, this one most likely his. “Are you going to put yours in there, too?”

Namjoon chokes. “Put my - what?”

Kaya grins, nudging him as he coughs. “Sugar,” she says, enunciating every syllable.

“You called?” Yoongi’s dry voice enters the kitchen before he does, strolling in and stopping on her other side to look inside a couple of cabinets.

“Here,” says Namjoon, sliding the first glass of coffee carefully across the counter to him. “One sugar.”

“Thanks.”  

“Yoongi, you tell me.” Kaya turns to him, resting her palm on the counter. “Have you guys ever walked in on each other in the dorm?”

It takes Yoongi seemingly a second to process this, before he chuckles dryly and glances over at Namjoon. “I don’t know, have we?”

Behind her, Namjoon sighs. “Oh, come on, that doesn’t count.”

“Really?” Kaya turns back to her boyfriend, thoroughly amused. “When was this?”

“Never. We didn’t get caught.”

“It’s true. We just found him sneaking her out of the dorm when he accidentally closed the door on his own hand.”

Namjoon winces, sipping his coffee. “Still hurts.”

“Oh, is this the girl you were telling me about? The hashtag-dangerous one, with the whole bad girl thing going on?” Kaya asks curiously.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “You two really talk about your exes, huh?”

“Well, it’s not dinner table conversation,” she says reasonably. “But we know about our exes. It’s healthy.”

“I happen to agree.” He looks up at Namjoon, raising his eyebrows. “She’s a wise one.”

“It’s the Ph.D. On the downside, I have no bad girl thing to speak of.”

“You really don’t,” agrees Namjoon, grinning when she mock-glares at him. “And in any case, if serious exes are what we’re counting, then I only really have Yu-jin.”

“And I only have Nick. College boyfriend,” she adds for Yoongi’s benefit as they start walking outside to the living room, Namjoon slightly behind them. His free hand brushes her waist as they take a seat on the couch, him on the edge and Kaya next to him, with Jimin on her other side. The rest of the group is spread out around the room while a political drama plays on the television. The early evening sun is warm and dim, the last rays skimming the back of the sofa before it disappears over the horizon.

“Nick was much more recent, though,” points out Namjoon, continuing their earlier conversation. “You have to count him.”

“Five years is a lifetime ago. And duration doesn’t matter,” she adds, holding up a finger. “It’s the nature of the relationship that determines its seriousness. So Yu-jin was just as serious,” she concludes.

“Wait, we’re talking about Yu-jin?” Jungkook pipes up in English, and both of them turn to see him grinning from his place on the floor, a can of beer precariously balanced between his knees. “Your Yu-jin?”

“I wouldn’t say my -”

But Namjoon is cut off by a smattering of Korean, Seokjin snorting into his cup of ramen and Jimin laughing out loud at something. Hoseok simply goes “no, no, no” in Korean while Namjoon sighs, and the former notices Kaya and shakes his head.

“He’s saying she was -” His eyes flit to Namjoon for confirmation “- badass.”

“That’s… that’s stretching it a bit,” says Namjoon weakly, but Seokjin waves him off.

“No, no, he’s right,” he says quickly. “Not badass, but like…” He struggles for a bit and finally says a Korean word, and Kaya dubs it in her head as ballsy. “Didn’t she also have a motorcycle?”

“That was her brother’s. Can we -”

“Oh, yeah,” interrupts Taehyung, ignoring Namjoon entirely. Kaya’s once again taken aback by his casual elegance from his spot next to Jungkook, unashamedly sprawled on the ground with his hands behind his head. “She drove us home in her car once, remember?” he asks, looking at Jimin who nods. “She drove so fast, I almost threw up.”

“Doesn’t Dilara drive faster?” Jimin asks innocently, grinning when Taehyung bites his lip.

“Much faster,” answers Jungkook, taking the ramen Seokjin offers him and scooping a mouthful into his mouth. “Explains why she has all those guy fans,” he adds, slurping the noodles.

There are snickers around the room and even Namjoon chuckles, but the name finally clicks in Kaya’s mind. “Wait, Dilara? Dilara Komyshan? You - you guys know who she is?” she asks, not suspecting Formula One was popular in this country at all.

Jungkook’s eyes go wide and Jimin turns to her, comically shocked. From her other side, Namjoon nudges her. “How do you know her?” he asks, a bit incredulous.

“I mean, I know of her. I live in Amsterdam. The whole country is a shrine to Max Verstappen, especially now that he’s started being in the running for world champion… anyway, she’s his teammate.” Kaya waits for him to nod slowly in confirmation. “They’re a legendary pairing. I saw them race in Zandvoort last year. I told you, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“When did you guys meet her?”

There’s silence until Namjoon speaks up again. “We met her in - in Japan last year. We were there for Honda.”

“Oh, yeah, you told me. Did you get to meet Alex Turner, too? Actually, no, they probably weren’t dating back then, but -”

“What?”

Kaya breaks off, realising Taehyung’s spoken in Korean. “Uh, yeah, I don’t think they started dating till earlier this year, actually - or, at least that’s when they became public -”

“Um… Alex Turner?” Namjoon’s spoken this time, and there’s something too deliberate in his tone.

She hesitates. “Yeah… from the Arctic Monkeys,” she says slowly. “They were performing at this club in London and my friend Marianne had an extra ticket because her girlfriend couldn’t make it…” She realises she’s rambling and pulls herself together. “Anyway, Dilara Komyshan was there and… well, it certainly looked like they were a couple.”

There’s not too much ambiguity in the way she says it, despite her refraining from detail as much as possible. The silence is clear now and it’s starting to make her uneasy, as though there’s something everyone but her is in on. She almost jumps when Jimin speaks from next to her.

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Yeah, pretty sure… wait, I have a selfie with her,” she mutters, reaching for her phone and swiping through her gallery, relieved for something to do. She finds the picture and both Namjoon and Jimin lean in from the other side to look at it. It’s in a dimly lit area, with all the members of Arctic Monkeys, her friend Marianne, Kaya herself, and Dilara Komyshan, with three people separating Kaya and Dilara.

Jimin moves away, sighing, while Namjoon leans closer and zooms in. She catches a whiff of his woody cologne and her toes curl automatically on the bare floor. 

“Oh. Crap.” 

Kaya looks up at him curiously to see him looking in the opposite direction before he closes his eyes, as though just spotting a problem. She turns to see Taehyung stalk out of the room, too conspicuously for it to be a coincidence, and something suddenly falls into place, something so obvious that she can’t believe she didn’t catch it the moment he interrupted her the first time.

“Oh, God,” she whispers, cringing and turning back to her boyfriend, “are they -”

“Something like that,” he mutters, sighing.

“Shit. I had no idea. I -”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Even we don’t, really. We just know they met in Japan and… got close.”

There’s an awkward silence for a moment, the movie playing uselessly in the background, before Jimin gets to his feet. “I should…”

“Oh, of course,” she says immediately, shuffling her legs so he can step out from behind the coffee table. “Tell him I’m sorry,” she adds uneasily, sighing when Jimin nods reassuringly before disappearing into the hallway.

The embarrassment doesn’t disappear, though. It takes a backseat for a while, once the movie is over and there’s some general chatter about dinner and what to watch next. Seokjin leaves midway once he gets a phone call, already pulling on his shoes before the call even ends.

“It’s Nari,” is all he says, in Korean, before ducking out. They carry on from where they left off, Jimin eventually rejoining everyone but making some thin excuse for Taehyung that absolutely nobody believes. Namjoon, preempting her reaction, hugs her to him a bit more before telling her to let it go.

Even two hours later, once they reach Namjoon’s apartment, Kaya isn’t able to. 

“You think he’ll be okay?” she asks, stepping out of the car.

“Yes, Kaya, he will,” says Namjoon, sighing and closing his door shut. “I told you. Let it go.”

Kaya frowns. “I just can’t believe I didn’t figure it out,” she mutters after a moment. “I’m usually a lot better at reading people,” she adds, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

If he catches on, he doesn’t respond. Kaya bites her lip, deciding that she isn’t imagining his aloofness after all. It had started a little while before they’d left the dorm, but in the midst of five other men talking and laughing in Korean, she couldn’t be certain and it hadn’t been that obvious either. 

The walk to the car had been quiet, something she’d chalked down to tiredness, but the actual car ride had been strange, too. They had a running joke ever since he’d gotten his licence last year where she’d give him a dramatic pep talk as he started the car, keeping it up until he hit the road, and making a big show of it once they reached their destination. She’d been about to start tonight as well but before she could even get a word out, he’d reversed out of the parking lot, his jaw harder than usual.

Now, she follows him silently into his apartment, frowning and trying to recreate the night in her mind to guess what might be bothering him. They enter and take off their shoes by the door, Namjoon turning on the light behind her. 

“Do you want a drink?” she asks, taking off her jacket and walking inside, stopping near the kitchen island. 

“Didn’t we just have a lot to drink?”

“Not really. You drove home.”

Namjoon seems to consider this. “I don’t want a drink,” he says finally, opening the fridge behind her and retrieving a bottle of water.

Kaya is dumbfounded for a moment, noting belatedly that this is the first time he’s ever iced her out like this - if that is indeed what he’s doing. She watches him walk over to the bookshelf and scan the spines, quietly drinking the water. Her guess is he’s already finished the book he started yesterday, but the way his back looks stiff and his jaw is still hard, she doubts he’s actually looking for a second book right now.

Normally, her instinct would be to let him be, knowing he’ll talk to her when he wants to. It was one of the most important aspects of their relationship she’d seen change over time: his reluctance to confide in her, as though afraid he would demotivate her by venting to her. She’d had to remind him more than once that he wasn’t her leader, that he absolutely could vent to her if he needed to. It had been hard for him, but once he’d consciously started opening up to her, their relationship only felt stronger.

But this feels different. She can’t fathom what, but something about this feels directed at her. She’s not one for mind games, though, so she simply sighs. “Okay, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” she asks softly.

Namjoon’s hand holding the bottle momentarily pauses halfway up to his mouth, before he continues. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Really?”

The pause is longer this time, as he continues drinking. He’s definitely not focusing on the books anymore. Finally, he swallows a mouthful of water and exhales. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

There we go. “I don’t even know what it is,” she says, somewhat relieved he’s at least responding. “Why can’t you just tell me? If something’s bothering you, I want to know.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she states. “Did you want to stay back and watch the movie? Did I make you leave too early?”

“I wanted to leave before you did,” he points out, turning around to face her and leaning against the bookshelf. His eyes flicker towards hers before looking away, and he crosses his arms loosely against his torso. “And Pulp Fiction is not very high on my list of movies to watch.”

Me, neither. But he already knows that, and he knows why. Kaya moves on without dwelling on it. “Then what? Is it the joke I made about Nick?” she guesses, referring to a throwaway line about her ex-boyfriend she’d made when the boys had been arguing over which movie to watch. It had seemed harmless, but she also knew that Namjoon, for better or for worse, had a jealous streak he wasn’t proud of. 

“No,” he mutters.

He’s also proud. Kaya shakes her head. “If it is, I apologise. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but I can understand if you didn’t like it. If that’s what it is, then I’m sorry.” When Namjoon doesn’t respond and simply looks in the other direction, she sighs in frustration. “What is it?”

His tongue is poking into his lower lip, and his jaw looks as hard as rock. She’s never seen anything bother him so much and the fact that she doesn’t know what it is doesn’t sit well with her at all. 

Finally, he speaks. “I don’t want to start a fight,” he says quietly.

“Well, I don’t want to spend the rest of the night wondering what’s bothering you so much that you can’t even look at me.” Her eyes bore into him but he still doesn’t turn. “If it becomes a fight, we have a fight. And then we move on from it.”

“I don’t…” Namjoon trails off, clicking his tongue in what she takes to be annoyance. His eyes flicker to her again before averting. “Can we drop this?”

“Not now that you’re making such a big deal about it.”

“I’m not making a big deal about anything. You’re the one who won’t stop talking about it.”

Kaya scoffs incredulously, her heart already starting to race painfully. “You’re the one being evasive,” she says tightly, trying not to raise her voice as he runs a hand over his face. “Namjoon, you’ve never been like this,” she adds in a smaller voice. “Can you just tell me?”

It seems to give him pause, too, for he closes his eyes and exhales slowly. “I don’t want to upset you,” he says quietly.

There’s a strange and uncomfortable sensation in her stomach at his change in tone. This is bad. “I appreciate that,” she murmurs steadily. “But I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

Namjoon simply looks at her, observing, before pursing his lips and turning away. The dimple appears faintly in his cheek, the one that had popped as he’d grinned down at her in bed this morning, and in the kitchen at the dorm, and on the sofa when they’d been watching their debut music videos. 

She shakes her head in disappointment. “I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything that would piss you off this much except for that joke about Nick, which was about something that happened five years ago but if that’s the case, then I -”

“Why didn’t you ever report him?”

Namjoon’s words cut through her sentence, voice deep and steady, yet seeming louder than anything she’s heard him say all night.

“What?” she asks in a low voice, wondering if she could’ve possibly misheard his words.

He’s looking right at her now, finally, and she suddenly wishes he wouldn’t. “Five years,” he says slowly, his voice trembling with barely concealed emotion. “It’s been five years, and he still has a hold over your life. Why didn’t you report him?”

Her breathing feels loud to her own ears. “Please tell me we’re still talking about Nick,” she says quietly. Namjoon doesn’t answer, and Kaya takes that as a confirmation.

“I guess,” he begins after a moment, as though choosing his words carefully, “I can’t understand that after everything that happened, after everything he did to you -” His voice breaks and he bites his lip. “How could you not report him?” he asks softly, shaking his head.

“For starters,” she answers, voice oddly toneless, “I couldn’t see his face.”

“I - I know. But… there are ways for the police to do this stuff, to find people based on evidence…” It’s clear from his words that he’s thought about this before. “You didn’t tell anyone, though. Except -”

“Marianne and Nick,” she finishes. “Yeah, I told my closest friend and my boyfriend. That was enough for me.”

“And they didn’t tell you to go to the police?” Namjoon scoffs softly, but it doesn’t sound directed at her. “Not even your boyfriend?”

“He - he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore at the time,” she stutters, feeling rather like they’re about to digress. “And you know that. Why would you bring up -”

“Because it’s been five years, Kaya!” he exclaims, looking truly hassled now. “It’s been five years, and you still can’t watch a movie without being affected by it! And he’s just - he’s just free! How is that fair?”

She bites her lip, her heart racing. Iconic dialogues of an iconic movie, floating out through a loudspeaker in the common room hours before dawn, all the way into the empty streets of a university campus… her stomach churns.

“I thought you didn’t care about watching Pulp Fiction.”

“I don’t care about - come on, you know that’s not my point.”

“I can watch it whenever I want,” she states, hearing the tremor in her voice. “I have watched it, since then. I can - don’t you dare walk away, Kim Namjoon!” she says loudly, as he begins making his way into the living room.

He halts immediately, however, turning around. “I’m not walking away,” he promises, taking a seat on the cream-coloured couch. She takes a step back and feels the back of a chair dig into her spine. She’d told him about the worst night of her life at this kitchen island nearly a year ago, coming up behind him as he worked on his laptop and wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, whispering calmly to him that if he had a minute, there was something important she needed to talk to him about.

They’d been together officially for six months by then, even though they’d been hovering back and forth for a few months prior to that. A level of trust had been established by then, though, not to mention a profound sense of safety she felt with him, even when he was halfway across the world from her. Later that night, after she’d told him and he’d expressed both anger and support but mostly shock, they’d cuddled on that very couch as they watched Cloud Atlas.

Sharing her secret hadn’t been easy, but no part of her regretted it. As she watches him rest his elbows on his thighs and run his fingers through his hair, she wonders if she’s finally about to. 

Namjoon sighs like he’s bracing himself. “I’m not saying you can’t watch the movie, Kaya. I’m saying you don’t, for a reason. And that’s his fault.”

“A lot of things are his fault. Reporting him wouldn’t have changed that. Even if I knew whom to actually report in the first place.”

“You weren’t even drinking,” he reminds her. “Even if all you remembered was the colour of his jacket, they could’ve at least narrowed it down to -”

“No, they couldn’t! It was dark, it was - I could’ve been mistaken,” she stammers, starting to feel anxious now as the edges of her mind start letting in scraps of memories from that night.

“You were not mistaken. You’re the most detail-oriented person I know.”

“Well, unless you were there that night, I don’t see how you could possibly have an opinion on that.”

Namjoon sighs. "This is why I didn't want to bring this up, Kaya.”

“No, please, I’m glad you did,” she says immediately, scoffing. “I’m glad I know what you think now. Have you been judging me for this ever since I told you last year?”

“I am not judging you - how can you say that?" he demands, looking stung. "I care about you. I love you, and I hate that you still have to make sacrifices and compromises, even if it is just over a movie. You’re still haunted by it, and he’s roaming around free!”

“And you think reporting him would’ve helped that?” Kaya exclaims. “Do you think we’d be back at the dorm watching Pulp Fiction right now if I’d gone to the cops? If I’d been neck-deep in paperwork, being asked to recount the incident a hundred times to a hundred different people about a guy whose face I couldn’t see and voice I could barely make out, only to be asked why I was walking alone around campus while wearing shorts?”

“I - I don’t know. I’m not -” He drops his head in his hands, breathing slowly and deeply. “I just… I fucking hate him, Kaya,” he confesses quietly, as though letting her in on a secret. “I hate him so, so much. I want to hurt him - I want to kill him with my bare hands.”

Kaya exhales shakily, never having heard him speak this disdainfully before, with this much hatred, about anyone or anything. “I hate him, too,” she murmurs after a moment. “Of course, I do. But I also had finals in two weeks and believe it or not, I knew my priorities.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t, I’m saying -” He sighs in frustration, his tongue poking into his lower lip again. “I just wish he would have suffered the consequences. Or just suffered.”

The fury in his voice is evident now, and is now starting to show on his face, but Kaya tries to hold her ground. She has to. “I told you: I had finals. I had a masters’ seat in the balance waiting for me in London, I had graduation - I had a million other things that I thought were more important for me. I couldn’t report him,” she adds after a moment, hearing the desperation in her own voice. “I couldn’t afford to get caught up in it.”

“You… you could report it,” he corrects her in a low voice. “You chose not to.”

“Yes, and that was my choice to make.” She grits her teeth, feeling her eyes start to sting. “I didn’t think this far ahead and anticipate that five years down the line, my boyfriend would be making me defend that decision to him.”

“That’s not what I’m doing! I care about -”

“Then listen to me! Listen to what I’m saying! It didn’t matter to me that -”

“How could it not matter? Kaya, he got away with it!” Namjoon stands up now, and his height is suddenly looming, even from across the room. “He’s out there, still, and he’s living his life while you’re -” He breaks off.

Kaya forces herself to breathe. “While I’m what?” 

“While you’re still hurting.” 

There’s no stopping it now; she feels her vision blur. “I’m perfectly happy with my life,” she says, her voice trembling.

“I’m not saying you aren’t. I just wish you’d -” He breaks off again and sighs, while Kaya turns around and lowers her head, unable to look at him any longer. Her chest feels constricted now, and she realises after a moment that it’s because she’s holding her breath. Letting it out seems dangerous, though, like she’s setting herself up to break down.

It’s a tall order for her to cry in front of anyone; it makes her feel uncomfortable and she avoids it at all costs. She wonders for the first time if it’s got anything to do with this incident, and acknowledges with a heaviness that any comfort she might have had in succumbing to tears in front of Namjoon has disappeared, at least for tonight.

“I just wish you’d see how much more you could’ve done,” he says, his tone taking on a different quality, something that reminds her inexplicably of Nick for a moment. It makes her feel inadequate and her heart hurts, even as Namjoon continues. “Even if he didn’t end up behind bars, you could’ve called him out publicly. You saw his varsity jacket - that college could’ve been made aware that one of their students is a -”

“Stop,” murmurs Kaya weakly, but he doesn’t hear her.

“It’s a world of things, and it only takes one to create change. I mean… how do you know he hasn’t done this again, to someone else?”

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and Kaya feels her chest finally unclench as she swallows a sob. Her face and throat burn in discomfort as she tries not to make a sound, her hair falling down the sides of her face and shielding it from his view. Namjoon has fallen silent; whether it’s due to her reaction or because he realises the implication of what he’s said, she doesn’t know. At the moment, she can’t bear to be around him for another moment to find out.

She opens her eyes to see a tear fall onto the white kitchen island and hastily wipes it, taking a shaky breath as quietly as she can. “I’m, uh -” She breaks off, cringing when she hears the tremble in her voice. She turns slightly in his direction, not looking at him. “I’m going to sleep in the guest room tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Namjoon watches her turn and leave with a sinking heart, her smaller figure padding quietly down the corridor and passing his bedroom before she disappears from his view. There’s no point in going after her right now; it won’t be a fruitful argument, if that’s what they’re indeed in the middle of. 

There’s a twinge of regret taking form in his chest that stings when he hears the door to the guest room open and close. He sighs; he knew he shouldn’t have initiated this topic.

He’d had no intention of doing so. After she’d confided in him about it, it had probably come up once, and only when she’d brought it up. The night she’d told him, he hadn’t dreamed in a million years that this was the important thing she wanted to discuss. He hadn’t been able to process it past a certain point initially; he’d listened in stunned silence as she recounted that night, skipping the most horrific details (for whose benefit, he wasn’t sure, but he was thankful) and ending it with a short yet heartfelt declaration of how much she trusted him.

Kaya had seemed relieved after that, almost like telling him had been a catharsis of sorts. She’d been just as affectionate as normal after that, and Namjoon had silently gone along with it in a daze, his mind replaying her words and expressions the entire time, including when they were watching a movie on the couch later. It wasn’t until they’d gone to bed that the shock had finally worn off and he’d been able to register everything she’d told him, and the white hot anger at a faceless stranger had coursed through his body in a way he’d never felt before.

Namjoon drops his head in his hands, the living room suddenly feeling far too big and empty. He closes his eyes, trying half-heartedly to search for an apology or words of comfort but nothing comes to mind, not now that his mind is occupied with this.

Earlier this evening, when Yoongi had suggested Pulp Fiction, Namjoon had immediately expected Kaya to say no. But she hadn’t, and one by one the members had voted and before they knew it, the opening credits were playing. He’d nudged her gently, asking her silently if she was really okay with this, and she’d shrugged and given him a small smile before settling into his side.

Even after the movie began, Namjoon’s attention remained on Kaya, observing her for any movements that might signal her discomfort. It was an odd detail that had made it through the incident, the loud volume at which the movie was playing inside the campus common room, the dramatic and aggressive dialogues that floated out being the only thing her mind had been able to process.

She’d given nothing away today, though, not until halfway through when John Travolta, Samuel L Jackson and Quentin Tarantino’s voices had blared through the television amidst gunshots and male voices yelling, and Kaya’s face had suddenly crumpled.

It had been brief, a moment of heartbreaking agony that Namjoon had been powerless to stop, before she’d immediately straightened her expression. But he wasn’t fooled, and he’d taken it as a cue to casually say to everyone else that they were going to be heading out. Kaya hadn’t protested, for which he was glad, because the fury at her assailant was returning swiftly and Namjoon’s only focus from here on out was to ensure he drove them back safely to his apartment.

There’s a soft rattle, like an ominous rumble. Namjoon peeks out from behind his hands, wondering briefly if it’s an earthquake before he realises it’s him. His leg is jerking up and down, as though of its own accord, and the movement is making the wooden coffee table shake.

Just… just a jacket. Looked like a varsity football one. Yellow, I think… there were too many people from too many colleges on campus that week. So I don’t know.

It feels like his limbs are moving with a mind of their own, making him stand up and walk over to the kitchen island where Kaya had been standing a little while ago, his hands reaching for the sleek, silver laptop he’d left there this morning. He’s opened the screen and switched it on before even returning to the sofa, and the moment he’s logged in, he goes straight to the browser.

Here, Namjoon’s stuck. Watching the cursor blink, as though waiting for him to show what he knows, he chews on his lower lip. Finally, he types Colleges in New York, only to get almost a hundred results. He combines it with football team, before realising he doesn’t know if she meant American football or soccer, so he replaces it with sports team.

The results go into the hundreds now, with the swim teams and water polo and chess players popping up on his screen. He sighs, suddenly feeling ridiculous, when he spots a picture. Frowning, he clicks on it until it fits his screen: it’s of a Caucasian male, early twenties, with dark hair and dark eyes. He’s smiling straight into the camera, tall and confident - and wearing a yellow jersey.

It’s like a dull punch to his stomach, for even though Namjoon knows neither head nor tail about this individual - his eyes flicker to the name in the caption to see Mark Rivers - it occurs to him that the person who attacked Kaya, who hurt her all those years ago like a coward in the dark - that person could be Mark Rivers.

Namjoon forces himself to take a deep breath before slowly scrolling down, begrudgingly noting that nearly every male he comes across could have been him. He’s in no mood to back down, though. The image of Kaya all those months ago, her face carefully calm as he told him about that night, her face earlier this evening when Pulp Fiction had been playing, every single scene in Namjoon’s imagination that reveals itself in the darkest of times when he thinks about how it might have played out five years ago… He shakes his head, resolutely opening multiple tabs on his browser, each with a different college and its sports teams on the screen.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, scrolling from picture to picture, eyes skimming over the names and the sports. At some point, in order to narrow it down, he makes an executive decision to filter out sports that aren’t high intensity, for while she hadn’t ever said it explicitly, she’d implied a level of strength that she hadn’t been able to fight back against.

Swallowing the bile in his throat, he moves on quickly. It also occurs to him soon enough that just because NYU was in New York, it didn’t mean that every college team that had landed up there was also from New York, and Namjoon is thus forced to expand his search to outside the city as well. He restricts it to the tristate area, however, and continues looking for links in the college websites about alumni and galleries with pictures of their sports teams. 

He combs through the links, looking for teams or graduating classes that would have overlapped with Kaya’s senior year. Some of the links have members listed by name and Namjoon pounces on them with a vengeance, flipping through picture after picture of former students who eventually start to blur into each other. 

There are some faces who, for some reason, just strike Namjoon as suspicious. He starts bookmarking the names, copy-pasting them onto an Excel sheet to maintain some kind of list, some kind of indication that this unorganized exercise he’s conducting in this frame of mind isn’t a waste, that there’s actually something fruitful coming out of it. 

Namjoon pauses, his mind still working amidst the tiredness and a dull pain between his eyes that he knows is the onset of a headache. He needs to narrow the search down further - it’s the only way. His fingers fly across the keyboard, the typos increasing both in number and his irritation, and he starts searching for known college campus assaults in Kaya’s senior year, along with two years before and after. He’s mostly met with newspaper and magazine articles about campus safety and the like, but names elude him.

Somehow, he starts getting directed to chat rooms and message boards that have been inactive for years, and while he wishes to interact with none of them, he scrolls through the hundreds of messages, pausing every time he sees a name mentioned. Finally, in what seems to be the fifth or sixth message board started by a former sorority girl half a decade ago, he sees a name that makes his heart leap weakly. 

He can’t understand why at first; it doesn’t sound too common but something about it stands out to him. The message doesn’t even mention a school associated but after a moment, he thinks he knows what it could be. Vaguely seeing the pieces in his mind, about to fall into place, he goes back to the Excel sheet, and searches for the name, gasping softly when the name matches. 

It’s at that moment that he spots two numbers: the time, showing him that it’s nearly three am, and the row number of the name he’s just searched, showing him row two hundred and thirty-six. He squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to acknowledge how far gone he is. 

It was… it probably didn’t last more than fifteen minutes. It just felt like a lifetime. But turns out it was just one long scene of Pulp Fiction.

Clenching his fist on the keyboard so he isn’t tempted to throw the laptop against the wall, Namjoon tries to gather himself. In a desperate move, he enters the first name into Naver to find a LinkedIn profile. It’s him; it’s the same person, but his profile picture is no longer of a college student with a cocky grin and bangs, but an older version in a suit and tie, gazing calmly at Namjoon through the screen. A half-hearted scroll shows him that this person - Geoffrey Dominic - is currently residing in Dubai and working for an airline company.

Something about it makes Namjoon’s throat close up in frustration, and it takes him a moment to realise it’s the fact that any of these men, or all of them, could be anywhere in the world now. The way Kaya was in London less than three months after the incident, any of these men could be anywhere else, across the world from her or even in the same building as her in Amsterdam, and they would have no way of knowing.

Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, his fingers trembling, and feels a sense of such helplessness that it makes him want to scream. It occurs to him with some regret that Kaya might have been feeling the same, only magnified to proportions he would never understand. He suspects now - or, rather, he’d suspected all the way back then but didn’t want to admit it - that she was probably driven to tears before she’d quietly declared her intention to go to bed, effectively ending their argument.

Keeping the laptop aside, he stands for the first time in hours and winces when his knees cramp. Stretching his legs and making his way inside the apartment towards the bedrooms, he passes by his room; not only is his mind too cluttered to sleep right now, he also can’t imagine doing so in his bedroom, without Kaya. He stops in front of the guest room, his heart hammering when he imagines her in there, at her choice to actively be apart from him for the night.

They need to talk about this. He’s willing to concede that he might have been too harsh, that he may have brought up the topic too suddenly - but he cannot let this argument fizzle out and have them pretend to have moved on from it in the morning. Not this particular discussion, not after the way they left it tonight, and not with how Kaya left.

Namjoon stares at the door, hoping something will knock on it for him. His hand won’t move and with each passing second, his tiredness and frustration with his unsuccessful investigation turns into regret and something that resembles guilt. 

He wonders if she’s crying in there; the thought makes his heart twist. If it’s true, if that’s what she’s doing inside, he has to go in there. Maybe he’ll apologise, maybe they’ll agree to pick it up some other time under calmer circumstances.

The moment his hand goes up to the door, however, he realises it’s been hours since their argument; she’s most likely asleep. It occurs to him, out of nowhere, that all her things are in his room. He pictures her, alone in bed amidst the covers, still in the jeans and top she’d worn today. It’s one night out of the ten they have during her stay in Seoul this time, and they’re sleeping apart - and it’s seeming more and more clear by now that it’s his fault.

The fist that’s resting against the door, about to knock, becomes flat. Namjoon leans against it, suddenly exhausted, feeling like it’s the closest he’s going to get to her tonight, wanting to let her know he’s still here. He can’t go inside now, though, even if she is asleep. As much as it may kill him to be out here, on the other side of the door that she closed on him, he can’t not respect her wishes, especially tonight. He doesn’t want to leave either, though, so after a moment, he turns around and slides down against the door until he’s sitting on the floor, knees bent and feet flat on the ground. 

Namjoon hasn’t a clue what to expect in the morning, how they’re ever going to move past this. If it becomes a fight, we have a fight. And then we move on from it. He closes his eyes as he replays her words in his mind. They were rational and pragmatic, just like everything about her he’d known he needed in his life from the day he’d met her. This probably wasn’t what she had in mind, though, a small part of his mind chimes in. It’s true, and he simply hopes she’ll remember her own words tomorrow.

He sits there for a while, contemplating more than once if he should quietly step inside. He could slip into bed with her, maybe gently hold her to him, possibly kiss her shoulder in the dark and ensure she doesn’t wake up alone. The thought makes his chest hurt but he knows he can’t, so in a pathetic attempt to distract himself from it, he picks up his phone and scrolls through it for a while, remembering with a dull sort of victory that he’s a day away from his credit card bill being due for payment. 

His wallet isn’t in his pocket, though, and when he trudges into the living room, he finds it’s not in his jacket pocket or anywhere else on the coffee table or the kitchen island. Mildly panicking, Namjoon shuffles between both rooms, the only places he’s set foot in all night, and searches behind jars and under the sofa, until he’s forced to conclude - and hope to high heavens - that it’s probably in the car.

It feels like the longest distance, from his penthouse to the building basement, but he takes his keys and heads out anyway. He locates the wallet in between the driver’s seat and the gear shift, lodged in the gap and peeking out apologetically when he reaches over to tug it out. Shutting the door and turning the car off, he rubs his eyes, wondering briefly that if he isn’t able to sleep, if he should head to the studio for some late night editing.

Only somewhat intrigued by the idea, he exits the building on foot, deciding that the solution to being stuck in his living room with the results of his deep-dive into the worst night of his girlfriend’s life probably isn’t another tiny room with a laptop. He walks along the pavement outside, shivering slightly in the chilly air in the absence of a jacket, in nothing but the white t-shirt he’s been wearing all day. 

It was late… really late. I went back to my room. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I just wanted to sleep, possibly forever, but by the time I got into bed, it was already dawn outside.

Around this time of the night, then. Out of nowhere, Namjoon feels his face twist, the memory of her words and her voice feeling like a punch to his stomach. He stops in his tracks, dropping his face into his hands and squeezing his eyes shut, as though hoping it will get rid of everything, every memory of that night she’s recounted to him in the tamest fashion, every horrifying image that his imagination has ever created in his mind, bringing back the particular kind of rage that’s only ever shown its face when he’s thought about how a tall, faceless man had hurt Kaya.

Another cool breeze forces him to snap out of it, and he immediately crosses the street, hearing vague honking and blurred yelling but able to focus on none of it. He enters a coffee shop, a dimly lit one with fluorescent lighting that makes his sleep-deprived brain shirk away uncomfortably, but he rallies, going over to the counter and ordering a plain Americano to go. The moment he picks it up and turns towards the door, he realises he has no desire to go back into the cold.

Taking a seat at a single table in the corner and reasonably sure no one here will recognise him, he takes a sip of his coffee and turns on his phone, his fingers automatically going onto Naver and waiting, once again, for the fury in his mind to tell him what to do. It does no such thing, though, and eventually Namjoon half-heartedly enters in the same search he’d last put in at the apartment, regarding known culprits in New York campus assault cases.

He finds he has no energy to scroll anymore, though, none of that adrenaline that pushed him to search college websites, sports teams, cross-reference them with age and whatnot. His mind is awake, but his anger isn’t as easily in his grasp anymore, not when he’s aware of Kaya back in the apartment, alone. She’s safe, of course; his building has some of the highest security in Seoul’s residential areas, and his floor is only accessible by a select few who possess key cards. Additionally, the only person in the world who has a key card to his own apartment, apart from him, is Kaya.

Namjoon hopes she’s sleeping. She’d been working unbelievably hard in the weeks leading up to her visit here so she wouldn’t have to work as much on the trip; coupled with the lingering jet lag, he’s reasonably hopeful that sleep would have caught up to her by now. His chest aches when he thinks, once again, of how she left the room in tears at the end of their argument. At the moment, he’d let her go because not only had it been evident that he’d possibly pushed her too far, but because a part of him was also frustrated that he would never be able to express to her just how much it hurt to see her hurting, and how much he wished he’d be able to give her the justice she deserved.

His stomach churns uncomfortably when he pictures her again, alone in the penthouse. Despite the security, the fear of her being hurt again, in absolutely anyway, nauseates him. It was the hardest part when she’d told him about that night, the part where she’d made him promise that he wouldn’t look at her differently and wouldn’t treat her like a victim. 

Namjoon hadn’t done either, to the best of his abilities; his worry for her safety and security while she lived alone in Amsterdam pre-dated his knowledge about her past. He’d tried never to impose on how she lived, however, apart from reminding her every night to check if she’d locked the door or to let him know when she made it home after a late night in the library. It’s the one thing, even now, that gives him some comfort all the way in a different timezone, but he doubts she’ll ever know the intensity of his desire to keep her safe.

He scrolls down the screen once, the words now truly blurring into each other, until something catches his eye. You’re Not Alone: Supporting a Survivor, with further text undereath. Namjoon hesitates before opening it, spending the next ten minutes on each and every word of the article until he reaches the end and lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

He clicks on the next suggested link, and the next, and the next, until they’re all basically saying the same thing. A soft ding catches his attention and he looks up to see the last customer besides him leaving the restaurant. The waitress smiles politely at the older man before surreptitiously glancing at Namjoon, and he takes the hint, realising also that it’s half past four now and Kaya’s still alone in his apartment.

After leaving a generous tip, he heads out, the tiredness of the last twenty or so hours finally sinking in. The walk back is cold but the coffee helps and by the time he reaches his building, all he can think about is his comfortable sofa and the stacks of ramen cups in his pantry.

Over an hour later, after two cups of ramen and a small cup of chocolate ice cream he’d had no intention of eating, he finds himself watching a mediocre episode of the latest k-drama. It’s on mute, for any sound right now might make his head explode, but the subtitles work well enough. He wills sleep to find him; he can’t bring himself to get into his own bed right now, but a few minutes of sleep on this couch would suffice for a bit…

His eyelids start getting heavy just as the first rays of light start peeking in through the curtains, but he’s jolted awake by a sound that he realises a second later is a door opening and closing. His heart racing, he straightens up to see Kaya step gingerly out of the hallway, her long hair slightly dishevelled from her sleep. She’s in nothing but one of his white t-shirts, hanging loose on her smaller frame and reaching the middle of her thighs.

She stops at the edge of the kitchen island, close to where she’d been standing last night, and clears her throat. “Did you sleep at all?” she asks, frowning.

“Not really,” he answers softly, hearing the hoarseness in his own voice. “How - how did you sleep?”

“Late,” she says, and offers no further explanation. After a moment, she bites her lip. “I thought you…” She licks her lips and looks at the ground, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I heard the door close.”

“Yeah… I dropped my wallet in the car.” He watches as she nods, and it takes him a second to realise she was probably thinking something else when she said it. “And went to get a coffee, down the block.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You went to get coffee at four am?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Namjoon sees her eyes dart to the plastic coffee cup on the table, and a pang goes through his heart. “Did you - did you think I left?”

Kaya doesn’t answer, and it suddenly makes him want to cry. Need to start somewhere. He clears his throat. “Kaya, I want to just -”

“No, wait.” She holds up a hand, her gaze still on the ground. He sees her swallow and take a deep breath before looking up, this time straight at him. “I think there are some things I need to say. I don’t think I was really very clear the last time we spoke about this, but… I don’t regret anything.” She pauses, as though waiting for him to contradict her. When he says nothing, she continues.

“I’ve thought about this more than you know. I’ve thought about every single moment,” she says. “I’ve wondered why I had to have been walking alone on that street on that night, or why I went to NYU or why I didn’t scream louder so that someone would hear me. But it’s pointless. I was walking back from a committee meeting where we were making posters for an adoption drive at a dog shelter, which I don’t regret. I lived in one of the most amazing cities in the world and made friends for life because I went to NYU, and I can’t regret that.”

She pauses again, and this time Namjoon nods, if only to let her know he’s listening to every word.

“I chose not to report him because I was scared, and because I had next to no description of him. I know women have pressed charges with less, and I respect the hell out of that kind of courage. But I had finals, which my masters’ admission in London was contingent on. I had graduation, where I had to make a speech to my entire class. I had an internship to finish up which would round up my entire resumé - I had a world of things waiting for me.” 

Her voice is trembling now, and Namjoon has to make a conscious effort to not walk over to her right now and pull her into his arms. The words are tumbling out of her mouth as though she’s been thinking about them all night, with a fear and defiance he’s both sad and proud of.

“I didn’t want to get caught up in - in spending hours at the police station, in having my classmates talk about me behind my back…” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m not saying it was easy to choose not to do it. It haunted me every day for years, but I - I had to choose me. Who else would? I had to choose my future - and I was not going to let him or what he did define me or make my decisions for me.” 

“Every single day I’m glad I chose me because five years in, I’m living in a beautiful city, I’m the youngest doctoral candidate in the university, I’m working on a world famous research grant under Professor Woodstock who is a scholar -” She scoffs in mild disbelief, just as she had the day she’d secured the research project, and Namjoon can’t help but smile a bit “- I have good friends, I have a boyfriend who loves me, I have… I have a life. I have a good life, and I have it because I made a decision. You can - you can judge me for it… but I don’t regret it for a second. I just hope you understand that.”

Kaya bites her lip, feeling her vision blur again just like last night, as she watches him nod slowly, as though processing everything she’s just said. She makes no further motion, leaving the ball in his court. It feels like the most vulnerable she’s ever been before him, for she knows it’s a sliding scale. Either he does what the man she fell in love with would do, which would be to instantly understand her… or she finds out something new about him today, and they acknowledge the fundamental differences in their outlooks.

Namjoon rests his elbows on his thighs, running his fingers through his hair. The platinum blond looks slightly darker - or maybe it’s the light - as though making it clear that he hasn’t slept all night. He looks straight at her, though, and for a moment she’s comforted with the expression in his eyes. 

“I, uh -” He sighs, his gaze flickering to the floor. “I tried to look him up last night.”

Her heart stops. “You did what?”

He immediately holds up both hands. “I know, it was a - a violation of your privacy, and I’m sorry. It’s not like I found anything,” he adds after a moment, and she doesn’t know if she’s imagining a note of defeat in his voice. “I don’t know if I actually thought I would, but it felt like I wanted to. Looking back, though, I don’t even know if that would help.”

“Kaya, I -” He exhales, and the look in his eyes becomes even more pronounced. “I worry about you,” he says after a moment. “I worry whenever you’re alone in your apartment, when you tell me you’re staying late in the library, when you’re drinking with friends… even last night, when I was twenty minutes away from you, I - I worried.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. “I can take care of myself. You don’t have to -”

“No, I - I know. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. It’s one of the things I love most about you.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, his gaze not moving away from her, like he’s seeing her in the flesh after a long time. “I still worry, though. And it’s okay - I like worrying about you,” he adds, a playful smile flashing in his eyes momentarily, almost as though he can hear her heart flutter.

“It’s got nothing to do with your capabilities. I just worry because - well, partly because it’s the only thing I can do from here - but also because…” He sighs. “God, Kaya, it would kill me if something ever happened to you. If you ever got hurt.” He finally lowers his head, and she feels her heart ache. “To know that you did get hurt and that I can’t do anything about -” He breaks off, sniffing and looking up at her.

“But that’s my problem. Worrying about you, dealing with that anger… I guess somewhere in that manic searching I did all night, something pointed me to the fact that it doesn’t matter how I feel about it. It’s not about me. Or him.”

Kaya nods, not knowing what to say. She doesn’t know what he spent all night searching for and it’s too overwhelming to try to understand, even as her brain automatically begins dissecting the various demographics and data he could’ve started slicing and dicing. “Thank you,” she whispers finally.

“Did you ever consider it?” Namjoon asks after a few seconds. “Therapy? Or counselling?”

She bites her lip and nods. “I tried it for a bit, in London. I stopped because I moved to Amsterdam,” she says, anticipating his silent question. “Finding a new person, telling them everything… It seemed like a lot. We can talk about it,” she offers softly after a moment.

Namjoon stands up then and walks over to her slowly, as though giving her enough time to back away. She doesn’t, though, for his height feels comforting again unlike during their argument last night. He stops in front of her, almost a foot’s distance between them.

“I hope you know,” he begins, his voice low, “that I would never judge you. Definitely not for anything to do with this.” He purses his lips before sighing, his dimple appearing briefly. “I’m sorry.”

Kaya nods. “You should get some sleep,” she murmurs, reaching up to touch the bags under his eyes, his fingers ghosting over his skin. 

“I will.”

A few moments pass, and Kaya feels like she needs to say it again, just in case. “You can’t treat me differently, okay?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer right away. He brushes her cheekbone with his knuckle and she feels her toes curl on the bare floor. “Kaya, I’ll always be protective of you.”

It’s not an answer, but it feels like the thing she needs to hear right now. “I’ll allow it,” she murmurs, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt. It’s almost identical to the one she’s wearing; she’d found it in the closet of the guest room and didn’t imagine he’d have a problem with her borrowing it. Sleeping in his oversized t-shirt, smelling of his detergent… it was the closest thing to comfort she’d gotten last night.

Kaya feels her throat start to hurt uncomfortably. “I need you to understand my decision, okay?” she whispers in a small voice, looking up at him, more vulnerable than she can remember. “I need you to be in my corner.”

As though he’s been waiting forever to do it, Namjoon immediately pulls her into him, kissing her forehead and wrapping his arms around her. “Of course, I am. I love you,” he whispers into her hair, and she feels him inhaling. Coconut and vanilla. Kaya buries her face into his shoulder, having missed his broad chest and strong arms so unbearably last night. “I’m always in your corner. No matter what.”

~

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand) 

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it. 

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge. 

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too. 

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view. 

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”. 

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute. 

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets. 

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance. 

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?” 

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over. 

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae. 

looking hot, her message read. 

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[hyunsuks-beanie]

Stupid Filter

Minho x gn! reader; pure fluff

Word Count: 0.38k

Mellow speaks: So I just wanted to write a (super) short and sweet something for my baby Min, and here we are! Hope you guys enjoy reading this! PS. This is officially the shortest fic I have ever written wow!

"You're gonna upload that?," you ask, rolling your eyes as you look up at your boyfriend's phone, your head comfortably in his lap as you shift your attention from your own phone to the photo he is getting ready to post on Instagram. Looking down at you, Minho quirks his eyebrow, a soft smile playing at his lips as he ponders your words.

"Yeah, what's wrong with it? I look absolutely amazing," he asks, turning the phone to give you a better look, already knowing what's bothering you. Pouting, you try to pick your words, aware that he has you trapped in a game of words "I mean, yeah," you admit biting down on your lip, "You really do look quite hot in that." Your comment makes Minho's face break into a full grin, only to turn into one of shock as he hears your next words. "But your hotness kinda went down the drain the moment you tried that stupid filter."

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a snicker at his dumbfounded expression, snatching the phone from his hand and posting the photo on his behalf. After all, you are already aware of the hashtags he uses, having had rolled your eyes and exaggerated a gag while teasing him for the same, hundreds of times. It's only then that your boyfriend finally recovers from his shock, a belated "Hey!," escaping his lips as you lift yourself up, climbing down the bed and running away before he can so much as reach out for you.

But he eventually does catch up to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you up, the sound of your laughs bouncing off the walls as a revenge brews up in his mind. It's hours later when he puts his plan in action, trying his best to stop himself from cooing as he captures your sleeping form on his phone. Smirking, he does what he had set out to do, his ego finally at ease as he slips under the duvet, snuggling close to you.

Safe to say that when you wake up, you're met with a not-so-pleasant surprise, your phone blowing up with the boys making fun of a photo of you. A photo ruined using the same filter.

[strawberrymilkgeorge]

Part Seven. Cooties, Discall, and Flirting

warnings: swearing, also I used the word “flirt” so many times it no longer holds meaning so beware word count: 4k 

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

A/N: putting it up here this time!!!! i liked this chap so i hope you do too!!!!! if you didn’t see the missing dms from part 3 (which are now actually in part 3), bugsy agreed to a minecraft date with dream in exchange for karl touring her on his smp!! anyway, enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**********

The frosty air bit at Y/n's skin as she hurriedly shut the car door behind her, starting up her car in an attempt to find warmth as quickly as possible. "Why do I live here?" she asked through chattered teeth, causing Naomi to laugh.

"It's not that cold!"

"I don't know how you're okay with this."

"Do you want me to drive? You're so stiff you'll crash,” Naomi offered as she looked at Y/n.

"I'm fine, I just need to warm up for a second," Y/n assured as she rubbed her hands together in front of the heater.

Naomi giggled and took her hands, rubbing them to help heat them up.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Now hurry up, I have a work meeting in like 30 minutes."

"What?" she gasped, quickly putting her gloves back on. "Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have spent so much time looking at Christmas decorations!"

"I'm just kidding. But Karl will be mad if he has to wait for his food any longer."

"You're seriously the worst." She smacked Naomi's arm and started driving, much less panicked than a few moments prior.

"You love me."

"Whatever. How's your internship going by the way?"

Naomi sighed. "Good. It's really hard to be motivated to go since it's unpaid but it's the last thing I need to graduate so I have to do it."

"But you enjoy it, right? I mean it's what you want to do."

"Yeah, no, I love it. I just wish I was getting paid so I didn't have to work at the grocery store too. I wish I could get paid to play video games like you."

Y/n deflated slightly. She hated when people put it like that, it made her sound like it wasn't a real job but it was challenging in its own way. "I'll teach you how to pvp and you'll be on your way to the top."

"Maybe then I could actually meet George myself instead of waiting around for you to do it."

"Wait!" Y/n gasped. "Did I not... did I not tell you about the other night?"

"Uh... I guess not? What happened?"

Y/n squealed. "Dude! Make a Discord account right now. Get your phone out and make one."

"Why? What is that?"

"It's the thing we all use to voice call during streams and in private and stuff. Come on!" Y/n used her right hand to urge Naomi to grab her phone. "George said you can't have his number but you can have his Discord."

"Wait, really??" Naomi gasped. "Wait, what does that mean!? I can talk to him on it!?"

Y/n laughed. "Yes, yes! You can text or voice call or even video call but I don't suggest that right away. Don't scare him away."

"He really said he'd add me back? Wait, when did you talk to him about me?"

"On Dream's stream. After the movie, I went and talked to them for a few hours."

"Is that why I heard you giggling at four in the morning?"

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up. "Okay, well, that was just with Dream. George and Sapnap left the call around one and two."

"Date."

"Sounds to me like someone doesn't want GeorgeNotFound's Discord..."

Y/n saw Naomi cower shyly. "Sorry. Please give it to me."

"I don't know it off the top of my head, silly. So be nice for the rest of the car ride and I'll get it when we get home."

"Is Karl meeting us at our apartment or his?"

"Ours. Can you tell him we're almost there?"

"I don't know if I have the strength to... talk to someone who's such good friends with... my love..." Naomi started with a dramatic sigh, "it just reminds me of the pain I go through daily... without him..."

"If that were true, you couldn't talk to me. I'm also good friends with Mr. Not Found."

Naomi threw her head to glare at Y/n, who just laughed. "Come on, text Karl. Please. His food will get cold."

Y/n watched as Naomi typed away on her phone. Soon, the two pulled up to their apartment complex and headed upstairs. Y/n turned the corner and walked down the hall to see Karl standing at their front door.

"KARL JACOBS! WE HAVE FOOD!"

He looked up quickly from his phone and beamed at them. "My heroes!"

"What are you doing outside, silly?" Y/n asked. "Don't you have a key?"

"Naomi made me give it back after I pulled that prank on you guys last month," he explained as Y/n unlocked the door.

"Well deserved. I still find glitter everywhere."

Y/n set the food on the counter and the other two crowded around. "Thank you, mother, for lunch," Karl joked and kissed her cheek loudly, his love language of physical touch jumping out of him. Y/n grimaced playfully as she wiped her cheek on her shoulder.

"GROSS!!! COOTIES!"

Karl pouted. "I thought we were best fwends, Y/n . Best fwends don't have cooties."

"You do. You're a boy."

Y/n's phone lit up as Karl started going on a joking rant about how Y/n  always is so mean to his affections and he can't help wanting to show his friends he loves them and how she's so mean and, "Y/n you're not even listening to my complaints how are we supposed to be best friends when you're too busy talking to your boyfriend all the time and—"

"Boyfriend?" Y/n looked up quickly, worried he had seen the text from Peter that she just read. He was still trying to convince her to talk to him even after she bluntly told him no and why.

Karl walked over to the couch with his food and sat next to Naomi. "I was just joking... why, is there someone?" he giggled. "Dreeeaam maybe?"

Y/n shook her head, and her lack of defensiveness made Naomi and Karl look at each other. Normally she turned bright red and stumbled over her words when they joked about anyone being her boyfriend, but she was stone cold silent as her phone continued to illuminate her face.

"Y/n... What's up?" Naomi asked. "Is it Peter again?"

"Peter?" Karl's eyebrows raised and his food almost fell out of his mouth. "He's been texting you?"

Y/n sighed, locking her phone and sliding it in her pocket before finally joining her friends on the couch. "It's nothing."

"No, it's not."

"He wants to talk," Y/n mumbled.

"What?" Karl asked genuinely.

"I said he wants to talk."

Karl just stared for a few moments before looking at Naomi, who nodded, then back at Y/n. "You're not going to, right? Right? You've got to be kidding me, Y/n, he's a selfish dick and he's just going to keep hurting you. Why do you keep giving him the benefit of the doubt when he's proven time and time again that he's nothing but a fuc—"

"Karl!" Y/n interrupted. "I'm obviously not going to talk to him."

Karl's face flushed, probably embarrassed that he had assumed the worst and ranted. He sighed, exasperated. "Why don't you just block him already?"

Y/n shrugged. "He's harmless now that I don't let his words get to me."

"I'm just glad you finally decided not to meet up with him," Naomi said.

Y/n  shrugged like it was an obvious choice, but deep down she couldn't help but think about the exact reason she had come to that decision. Besides all the pain he had caused her, how could she consider getting back together with her ex when she finds herself giddy about talking to someone else over Discord? Simple: she couldn't. The possibility of liking Dream briefly crossed her mind, and she knew that in the few weeks she had talked to him, the faceless man she had never met in real life made her feel better about herself than her ex-boyfriend ever did in the two years they dated. She wasn't sure quite what that meant, but she knew it was something.

"Can I have George's Dis...call or whatever it's called now? Please?"

Y/n laughed at the failed attempt at remembering the name of the application and pulled out her phone, directing Naomi on where to add friends and listing off his name and hashtag. Naomi then gave Y/n her name so she could tell George who to add back. "There, now leave me alone about George for the rest of your life."

Naomi giggled giddily before going to her room, eyes glued to her phone for the moment he would add her back.

"I'm sorry for being so bossy when it comes to Peter," Karl muttered.

Y/n shrugged and cuddled into the couch, hugging a pillow to her stomach. "I get that he was awful, but you have to trust me to know what to do."

"I do! I promise I trust you but..." Karl paused to groan, "but he just makes my blood boil. I've never hated anyone in my life but I would love to slice his head off if I ever got the chance."

"Thank you for being protective, but I promise I can handle myself."

Karl looked at her sadly. "Why did you stay with him for so long? Even after he cheated on you and said all those horrible things?"

She shrugged shamefully. "I had no one else."

"You had me and Naomi! Y/n, you've never been alone."

"That's not what I mean, Karl. I love you guys so much but it's not the same as dating someone, you know?"

"I guess..." he sighed. "But wouldn't you rather be alone than with someone who's so possessive you're afraid to tell him about your real job?"

Y/n dropped her shoulders. He had a point. She really shouldn't have stayed with Peter as long as she did. He was scary. "Yeah."

A scream from the other room snapped them out of their serious conversation. "HE ADDED ME BACK!"

Y/n laughed and Karl shook his head. "Poor George. He's about to regret so much," she predicted.

"Noooo... I'm sure he and Naomi will get along great," Karl argued. "They'll be friends at least."

"Maybe. Hey, any updates about cameragirl?"

Karl blushed immediately and Y/n smiled.

"Is that a yes??"

"I... may have... finally spoken to her. Y/n, she's so cute. Like, she's so nice and I want to protect her from everything."

"What did you guys talk about?!" Y/n gasped, sitting up quickly.

"You're going to be so disappointed in me..."

"Did you talk about Sonic the Hedgehog again? Karl, I swear—"

"No! But I only said like two words."

"What two words?"

"Um, I said hi, and then she asked how I was and I said good."

"KARL!"

"I know!" he said as he buried his face in his hoodie sleeves. "I'm the worst! I don't know how to talk to her! She's so cute!!!"

Y/n laughed endearingly and pulled his hands away. "My offer still stands, I'll teach you how to flirt if you want."

"No, I still don't believe that you can actually flirt."

"I totally can, but fine. Ask Naomi to help you if you don't trust me. She'd teach you if you want." Y/n looked down at her phone as it lit up with notifications from Twitter.

As if he knew by the smile on her face who it was, Karl challenged, "Flirt with Dream to prove you can."

"I have nothing to prove to you," Y/n mumbled, standing up. "But he wants to call me so I'm going to my room. You're welcome to stay here or go home since Naomi's still in her room too."

"Mkay," Karl said. "I'll just stay here for now. Thanks again for the food."

"No problem, dude." Y/n disappeared to her room and opened Discord on her computer, waiting for Dream to call her. She answered when he finally did.

"Hi, Dream," she smiled into her headset.

"Hi, Bug. What are you up to?"

"Nothing. I was just explaining to Karl how good I am at flirting because he doesn't believe that I'm good."

"I don't either."

"What?" she laughed. "Why does no one think I can? Have you seen all the thirsty people flirting with me on Twitter? You included."

"Yeah, but you hardly flirt back. You just insult us."

"I can flirt when I want to."

"Prove it."

"...I don't want to."

"Why? Because you can only flirt with your boyfriend?"

"Are you trying to get me to admit I have a secret lover?"

"Yes."

"Well too bad, I don't."

"Interesting... so you," he paused, careful with his words, "so you decided... not to listen to whats-his-face?"

"Mhm," she hummed, not trusting her voice to stay steady. Why was she nervous? She crossed her fingers hoping that he wouldn't ask how or why she came to that conclusion. She didn't have a lie ready to hide the fact that it might have something to do with Dream.

"Then there's no reason you can't flirt with me."

Y/n sighed dramatically but still smiled. "Why did you call me? Just to make fun of my flirting abilities?"

"No, I called because I'm bored."

"Wow, so I'm just a backup when GeorgeNotFound and Sapnap are busy?"

"Actually, I called you before I tried either of them."

"Interesting..." she mocked him and he scoffed.

"Stop changing the subject and flirt with me!!! Give me your best pickup line!! Why won't you?"

"How about because I reserve flirting for people who deserve it?"

"Oh, it's that good, huh? You have to be on a VIP list to be flirted with by you?"

"Yeah," she laughed, completely joking. "It's life-changing."

"How do I get on that list?"

"Why do you want me to flirt with you so bad, you weirdo?"

"Because you said it's life-changing! And because I just don't believe that you're good at flirting."

"Why? What about me screams that I'm an awkward mess?"

"Everything!" he laughed. "Every time I've witnessed anyone flirt with you you just get all embarrassed and change the subject. Or on Twitter when we flirt with you, you almost always just reject us outright. People like that aren't smooth."

"Fine. I'll flirt with you, Dream. Not now but when you least expect it and it'll leave you so speechless that you'll never question me again."

"Good. I'm excited."

She snorted lightly and shook her head. "You're ridiculous."

"Oh, hey, you know how I said Sapnap, George, and I wanted to do a big hangout thing with everyone?"

"Yes! Is it happening??"

"Yeah! We still don't know exactly when but George mentioned he thinks New Year's Eve and New Year's Day are stupid holidays so we want to get everyone together in person for that to prove it's a great holiday."

"I mean... I'm kinda with George on this one," Y/n agreed.

"What?! How? It's the start of a New Year! It's an excuse to kiss someone and you start the year with all your friends and loved ones and-"

"It's literally just another day. The only thing that changes is people accidentally put the wrong year when they write dates down for the first month."

Dream laughed. "That's stupid. No. It's a good holiday."

"Whatever. You'll just have to prove to me that it's good."

"I will."

"And the thing you said about having an excuse to kiss someone is stupid. If you wanna kiss someone, just kiss them."

"That easy, huh?"

"Yes."

Dream hummed thoughtfully, a mischievously playful tone to it that made Y/n change the subject slightly to spare her heart from beating too hard.

"So he's coming for New Years'?"

"Okay, yeah, so he doesn't know exactly what date but we're trying to get as many of our friends as we can to come so we have to plan around everyone. Also obviously you and Karl and Naomi are invited."

"Oh, Naomi too? Good, because I think they're talking to each other right now."

"They are," Dream laughed. "George texted me when she added him and he panicked because he doesn't know how to talk to girls."

"What?!" Y/n gasped in offense. "That's his and my thing! Why didn't he text me panicking??"

"He said he was going to text you but since it's your friend he felt awkward."

She grunted. "Fine. I guess that makes sense. Except, I know her better than anyone so I'd be waaay more helpful than you."

"You saying I don't know how to talk to girls?"

"I mean, you've used so many pickup lines on me on Twitter and I'm still not wowed, so yeah, I'd say you aren't as smooth as you'd like to think."

"Bug! What?! I'm totally good at talking to girls," Dream tried to defend, pulling excuses out of his ass. "I just haven't used my best tactics because you're easier to scare away than most. As I said, you can't dish it or take it so I have to use special moves."

"They still haven't worked." The quick beating of her heart and shaking of her hands informed her that that was a lie. Every time he replied to her tweets, the painful grin on her face proved it was a big, fat lie. Maybe she was a little impressed at his "special moves" but she wasn't going to ever admit that to him.

"Whatever, you liar. Anyway, we were thinking of renting a cabin on a lake or something like that for everyone to stay in."

"Oh! Yes, that sounds so fun! I love lake houses so much."

"Good. I'm gonna talk to George and the other brits and see if that's doable. It's gonna happen. I promise. I'm tired of not seeing my friends."

"Wait, how many people are you guys thinking? I'm still nervous about showing people my face..."

"It's a rough list but basically Sapnap, George, Quackity, Karl, Wilbur, Niki, um, Tubbo, Tommy, who else.... I think that's it right now. We'll make sure you know them and are comfortable with them so you don't feel pressured to show strangers who you are."

She nodded to herself. "Okay. I could also just not come if I'm not comfortable with someone—"

"What?!" he asked loudly, genuinely surprised. "Wha— no. We just wouldn't invite them."

"But—"

"I'd way rather have you there than anyone else. Hell, I'd kick George or Sapnap out if you didn't want to show them your face."

"Wait, really?"

"No pressure but I really want you to come and I want to make sure your comfortable."

"What if I don't want to show you my face?"

There was a long pause and Y/n knew he was trying to control his voice so she didn't know he was disappointed or slightly offended. "I mean... I don't know. I guess I... wouldn't go."

Her heart cracked at the sadness in his voice.

"I really don't want you to be pressured into—"

"Dream," she said. "It's okay. I'm probably most comfortable with meeting you over anyone else."

"Really?"

She didn't trust her voice not to sound too sappy and giddy. She didn't trust it a lot when she was around Dream. "Mhm."

"I'm glad," he said happily but softly. "It will be fun. Also, give me your phone number."

"So forward of you, Dream."

"Shut up, I wanna make a group chat."

Y/n laughed and told him her number. "I'm really excited now, Dream! I haven't hung out with people in so long and it sounds like a fun little vacation."

Dream laughed at her excitement. "I just want to hug the shit out of George."

It was Y/n's turn to laugh loudly. "Have you met him in real life yet?"

"No."

"I doubt he'll even let you touch him. He doesn't seem touchy."

"I don't think he is but I don't care. I am very touchy so he won't have a choice but to hug me."

"Ugh, another touchy person. Gross."

"Are you not?"

"Not really. Karl is the touchiest person I have ever met so he's kinda rubbed off on me a little over the years I think, but in general no."

"Oh, yeah, he's already threatened to kiss all of us as soon as we meet," Dream said with a laugh.

"Best to just let it happen. He pouted earlier because I wiped my cheek after he kissed it."

"That doesn't sound like something someone who can flirt would do."

"Because I'm not flirting with Karl!" Y/n groaned but a laugh was behind her words. "What is with you guys?"

"You just can't be on Karl and my level of flirting if we don't see it! Can't be in the gang if you don't show us your skill."

"Just you wait, Dream. You'll see."

"Wait, what about our Minecraft date?"

"What about it?"

"When we do that, you have to flirt with me!"

"No, I don't," she protested with a loud laugh.

"Um, I'm pretty sure it's very rude to not sweet-talk your date. You have to flirt with me then."

Y/n giggled. "Oh yeah? And what if I don't?" She hadn't meant for her voice to come out laced with something suggestive, but if Dream noticed, he thankfully didn't show it.

"Well, we'll just have to keep going on dates until you do."

"Pretty sure forcing someone on dates is illegal, buddy."

Dream laughed. "You agreed to it!!"

"I agreed to the first one," she corrected. "I agreed to one date in exchange for you letting Karl tour me around your server. One."

"Don't worry." Unlike Y/n's, Dream's voice was purposefully laced with something suggestive as he told her, "after our date, it won't take much for you to agree to more."

"Oh whatever," she scoffed, trying to cool her face down with her icy hands. Even they were no match for the heat on her cheeks. "When are we doing this stupid thing anyway?"

"Ah, the smooth talking has begun, I see."

"Dreeeamm..." she whined, growing increasingly tired of the butterflies in her stomach. Why did she suddenly feel so nervous around him? It's not sudden, she told herself.

Dream's cute laugh interrupted her thoughts. "What about tomorrow?"

"I'm streaming Among Us tomorrow."

He groaned. "You never make time for me."

"I cannot stand you," she joked, laughs slipping through her annoyed voice and blowing her cover. "You're the one who said you were too busy to join my lobby. So really you don't make time for me."

"No, no, no," he protested. "I'd make time for one-on-one time with you, just not a game where I hardly get to talk to you."

"Oh my gosh." She rolled her eyes. "How did you turn this around to sound cute again."

"Aw, Bug, you think I'm cute?"

"You ruined it by asking. What are you doing tomorrow anyway?"

"I have to finish a plug-in by tomorrow night so George and I can test it. There's still a lot to fix so it'll probably will take all day."

"Oooh," she cooed. "What's it do?"

"It changes the world every time we take damage," he explained with a hint of pride in his voice.

"What the! That sounds awesome!"

"Thanks," he said shyly, proudness gone now that he was being complimented. "Anyway, George is really busy next week so we have to test it tomorrow night so we can record the next day."

"You probably should finish it then."

"Or you could cancel your stream and we could go on a date."

"Dream!" She laughed. "No! How about next week. Between you editing the video you record, we go on a Minecraft date. How's Thursday?"

"I guess I could fit you into my schedule..."

"I hate you."

His cheeky grin could be heard through his stupid words. "Keep telling yourself that."

PREVIOUS | NEXT

A/N: *sniff* *sniff* yall smell a hater in those twitter screenshots?? hmmm..... 

taglist: OPEN (At the time) (if your blog is in bold, i couldnt tag you, so check your settings so that blogs that dont follow you can tag you!!)  @hydrate-tion​ @loraleiix​ @tinaswagbd​ @charsdummb​ @smileyyuta​ @1ghoste1​ @cerberus-hellhound @gaysludge​ @queestionmark​ @carnations-red​ @letsloveimagines​ @the-fictionwriters-hairdo​ @boiled-onionrings​ @a-cryptic​ @fee-btheweeb​ @erwinss​ @just-a-stan​ @axths​ @kayleigh2703 @furiouspockettoad​ @sometimeseverythingsucks​ @powerpuffyn​ @itshaileyn​ @millavalntyne​ @automaticcomputerpaper​ @nikkineeky​ @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ @sprucekot​ @jabby16​ @mae-musicbitch​ @hungoverhellhound​ @dreamyteam​ @kuroo-icedtea​ @stuffforreferences @menacingaesthetic @sapphic-soot​ @fangeekkk​ @haseulreturns​ @queenwastaken​ @peteysgf​ @losingvienna​ @bi-narystars​ @zero-nightshade​ @erinitoburrito @sparklykeylime​ @youhyakuya​ @danny-devitowo​ @clubfairy​ @loser-keiji​ @oi-itsemily​ @alm334​ @katastrophe-kam @wreny24​ ​ @unicornblood4ever @brendalopez99 @spacecluster @justonemoreepisode199 @strawbrinkofdeath @aha-red​ 

[officialcharactersimp]

Final Analysis & Response: Reblog Ratios

First off, biggest thank you in the world to @spicysashimi for help with organizing numbers and creating a sexy spreadsheet

We collected data from 8 authors and 109 works to explore the relationship between the amount of notes, especially reblogs, to the amount of time spent working, the word counts, and the followers. Here are the exact categories (per sample):

Followers per author (not included in overall averages)

Word Count per author

Total amount of notes

Total amount of reblogs

Percentage of notes that are reblogs

Reblogs per every 100 words

Notes per every 100 words

Reblogs to followers (as a percentage)

Total number of hours spent working on the pieces

Reblogs per hour of work

Notes per hour of work

We calculated both per author and total. Our findings were as follows:

To draw your attention to the most important statistics:

- 6% of all notes are reblogs

- Authors get 3 reblogs for every 100 words

- Authors get 6 reblogs for every hour they spend on each piece (which is 2-7 across the board).

Tumblr isn’t instagram or tiktok. The main thing likes do is administer The Warm Fuzzies. This site functions on reblogs. If you have a shitton of notes on a post, you might show up in the “popular” tab of a particular hashtag, but that’s all. Reblogs gain the things we need for our blogs to grow and for our work to be recognized.

To do a little more math, I’ve run the numbers and some several tests: it costs exactly $0 to reblog a post you like, takes approximately 5.3 seconds (it depends on the length of the post and if you’re on mobile or desktop, of course), takes 2 buttons, and takes .5 effort. As for the amount of good feelings, exposure, gratitude, and motivation it gives an author? The limit does not exist.

You might think your reblog does nothing, but that’s not true. I can almost guarantee you even if you have like 20 followers, they don’t all overlap with the author’s followers. Even one new person seeing our work can be a big difference, and not just in numbers.

You reblogging a piece means that someone might see something they need to see right then. I know it sounds silly, but really. Sometimes I’m really in my head and a good piece of fanfic can pull me out of it. And if it’s not that piece and that moment, maybe someone will like the author’s style, follow them, and it will happen. Sharing can do a lot. And it’s not happening.

In response to this, several of us have decided to go on a “strike” from July 26 - August 2, this coming week. Any other writer/content who sees this is welcome to participate alongside us. We won’t be posting any of our own works this week, instead just reblogging authors and pieces we like to set an example and show some love.

Of course, this strike will look different for everyone. I already have a sideblog I reblog on, @officialcharactersimp-recs, but not many people follow it, so for me this week, I’m going to be reblogging on my main, @officialcharactersimp, so that these authors really can get the recognition they deserve. Some of us will be answering asks, some of us won’t. Some of us will be taking the time to get feedback from our followers, and some of us will be taking a whole step back.

Join us if you would like!

If you'd like to read the raw numbers for yourself

Thank you to everybody who participated in the study. Although not everyone’s data was used for various reasons, everyone is tagged here for putting in their time and effort:

@spicysashimi - so much help w numbers

@nermalina - not only a huge sample size but helped organize the ideas for the strike and a general big support

@spideyyboii

@caroldantops

@squizzybeanexe

@twilight-99-tm

@captains-simp

@wandavicky

@addicted-to-loki

@supremeinlilac

@animnerd

@leahwrites95 (babiiface95)

@starshipsofstarlord

And all of the mommy milkers discord for being the realest mvps and being supportive, helpful, and working together.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Mine

1. He what now?

Genre: Yoongi x OC

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.4k

Synopsis: The first time Cara Richie sets foot on the Graham Norton show she’s confronted with questions that have less to do with her upcoming film “Young Rising”, and much more to do with BTS. More specifically with one of their rappers, Suga. Cara is an open supporter and fan of the band, however when Min Yoongi is shipped with the bilingual up-and-coming actress after mentioning her in an interview, things start to get out of hand. Fanart, twitter trends, and stalkers ensue, leaving Cara’s career up to an unknown fate. Then comes the moment the world didn’t even realize it was waiting for: a solo track from Agust D that raises more questions than answers, especially for Cara. 

I would recommend the Graham Norton show to anybody purely based off the quality of their couches. 

 It’s our five minute call when Sebastian Stan, my co-star and annoyingly close friend, shakes me out of my half-asleep daze. 

 “Hey, we’re about to be called up. Ready?” He helps me to sit up, laughing at the state of my hair. No doubt it looks like a bird’s nest. He motions for one of the crew to help me out, a petite makeup artist appearing out of nowhere and touching up my hair.

“Yeah, I’m excited I swear. I just wish I wasn’t so tired.” Sebastian and I rolled in from where we were shooting in the Democratic Republic of the Congo at about ten o’clock this morning. I have yet to recover from the long trip. Unfortunately, our interview was scheduled for tonight, and we stand to begin our course of promoting the movie for the foreseeable future. It’ll still be a few hours before I can crawl into a bed.

“At least it’s only an hour time difference, right?” Sebastian stands me up, instructing me to do some stretching.

“At least we finally have service. I haven’t spoken to my family in three months, they probably think you killed me and left me there in the middle of the jungle.”

One of the perks of our on location shooting was the fact that we only had a couple of satellite phones. No contact with the outside world for nearly three months. I grew way too attached to it, although the one downside was not getting to know how my family and friends were. A lot can happen in three months. I’ve been so rushed to get ready and get over here to the show that I’ve hardly had any time to even glance at my phone besides a cursory text to my group chat with my family letting them know that I’m still alive and back in civilization. 

 “Tempting, but too many witnesses.” Sebastian winks at me, coming to attention when we’re motioned over by one of the staff. Glancing at the TV in the waiting room I can see Graham Norton beginning to introduce us. 

 “Our next guests have just re-entered into civilization, so do excuse them if they’re a little off. Please welcome the dashing Sebastian Stan and lovely Cara Richie!”

Sebastian motions for me to go first, and I jump out into the bright lights. Even though I’ve been on a few shows by now, it never gets old. Granted, I’ve only had one successful blockbuster. Maybe I won’t feel the same once that number starts to climb. 

 I greet Graham before settling down on the couch beside Billie Eilish, the musical guest of the day. I’ve met Billie before, we actually became fast friends. I was invited to a music awards show (I found out that actors are often invited to them for some reason), and we decided to ditch the after party and settle for pizza and a movie instead. 

 “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, glad to know you’re still alive.” Billie mumbles. 

 “Barely,” I whisper back. Sebastian sits down on the other side of me, waving to a few people in the audience. There are a group of girls near the front row that scream even louder when I look their way, and I smile at them. Sebastian sure does have an affect on people.

“Well, well. Glad to see you’ve made it. Didn’t you two just fly in this morning?” Sebastian jumps in to answer. I appreciate him taking the lead, he definitely has a lot more experience than me. 

 “Sure did. I think you’re trying to kill us, Graham.” Graham gasps, every bit the entertaining host. 

 “Now, Cara,” I smile at the man, hopefully masking my exhaustion. I’m a huge fan of him, and I want to leave a good impression. “This is your second major film. How are you feeling with all of the attention you’ve received? Because really, you came out of nowhere.”

I nod, reminding myself not to depend on Sebastian. “That’s true, I kind of did. It’s been amazing though. I think they sent me off to the middle of nowhere so it wouldn’t go to my head.” Graham laughs, the audience joining in. I sit up a little straighter because of it. 

 “That’s probably smart on their part. Really, from what I’ve seen of the previews for this film, it’s called ‘Young Rising’, correct?” We nod. “Right. It looks quite intense. But you two, you two are lovers in this.”

 I shoot Sebastian a look that tells him we are anything but. “Yeah,” I draw out the word. “You could say that.”

“I really don’t know what they were thinking, putting the two of us together.”

“You mean to say that you don’t like each other at all?” Graham asks, feigning concern.

I shake my head. “I loathe him. But he won’t leave me alone, can you believe it?”

Graham nods. “Actually, I can. After all, you were recently named among the ‘most wanted’ stars in the world.”

I look at Billie completely surprised. “I was?” I ask her. She nods, shrugging her shoulders. 

 “Most wanted? That makes me sound like a criminal!”

“Isn’t that the point?” Sebastian taunts. 

 We continue bickering for a while. “I had no idea, but really I have no clue what’s happened over the past three months.”

Graham hums, shuffling through his papers before coming upon what he was looking for. “Really? Well I find that quite interesting, because something happened just last week on this show.” Suddenly the girls up front start screaming again, hardly able to contain themselves. 

I look at Sebastian. “What did you do?” I whisper. He shakes his head at me, mouthing ‘nothing’. 

 “Alright, calm down you three. I haven’t even gotten the chance to tell her yet, you’re going to spoil the surprise!” WIth great effort the girls pipe down. Graham swivels back to me, a mischievous smile on his face. 

“Oh no, what surprise?” I groan. 

Billie pats my knee. “I know what this is about, it’s been all over twitter. This is what I’m thinking of, right?” Billie asks, shooting me a close-lipped smile. 

“All over twitter? I haven’t had a chance to check twitter.” To be honest, I was putting off checking the hot mess that is social media. Three months of peace and quiet have been so nice, I’m clinging to it before I have to dive back in. 

“Last week, we had a very special musical guest. You’re a fan of BTS, aren’t you?”I nod, furrowing my eyebrows. Where is he going with any of this? 

“Yeah, I love them. We were just listening to them in the car, actually.” I gesture between Sebastian and I. Graham studies us like a textbook, nodding along. 

“That’s perfect! They came on the show last week, it was amazing. Wasn’t it?” The audience cheers and claps in response. “We got to have a little chat before they performed. A nice little heart to heart if you will. Somehow, I have no idea how, we got onto the topic of their love lives.”

We all give him a complimentary laugh, knowing full well how they got onto that topic. Any successful interviewer knows their way around questions to make even the most composed celebrity fidget in their seat until they slip up. 

“Oh did you?” Sebastian prompts Graham on. I know him well enough that he’s just wanting to move on at this point. We’re here to talk about our movie, not BTS. Heaven knows they’re famous enough already.

“Yes. You’ve heard of Suga?” I nod. I know who each of the members are, I really do like them a lot. “Well, he said something quite interesting, er, about you.”

My eyebrows flit up. “About me? He knows who I am?”The audience laughs, the girls in the front are practically causing an earthquake with how much jumping around they’re doing. 

“He most certainly does. In fact, when I asked the boys if there was anyone they had their eye on, they all immediately turned to him! It was difficult to get it out of him, to say the least, but I found out that he’s a big fan of yours. And not just from a professional standpoint, if you know what I mean.” Graham winks at me even as my mouth falls open.

Me?

“You’ll have to watch the clip,” Billie says, nudging me. “It’s been all anyone can talk about all week. It’s been so annoying, I see your name everywhere now.” She laughs, and I pull myself together enough to laugh along with her. I look around, reminding myself that I’m on international television, and word will get around quick if I look like a high schooler that just got asked to the prom by her long-time crush.

Even though that’s exactly what I feel like.

The rest of the interview passes in a blur, Graham even going to far as to show me a couple of tweets with the hashtag, #CaraBTS. I’m just relieved there isn’t some weird couple name trending...yet. 

“Oh, look at this one! You’ll love it.” Graham holds his paper up to the light, reading off of it. “‘This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. Cara and Yoongi are finally happening. I’ve been pushing for this since I found out she went to school in Seoul!’ It would appear this has been a long time coming for some fans. There are others that aren’t quite as excited though, as you can imagine.” 

Shuffling his papers he pulls out another tweet. “Here we are, ‘I’m telling you if Cara Richie lays a single finger on my lil meow meow I’m suing.’ Well isn’t that lovely?”

We finally move on, Sebastian telling a funny story from our time filming in the Congo. I add in whatever tidbits I can, but I remain so focused on looking normal and unbothered by this new information that I nearly miss Billie getting up to sing. It’s during her performance, when the lights are down low and our mics are turned off that Sebastian nudges me, whispering something under his breath. 

He makes it look like he’s pointing something out on stage, “Hey, you alright?”

I nod along, looking for all the world like we’re chatting about the lighting. It’s true that it looks striking, the dark greens and blues cut across the stage, highlighting Billie’s haunting voice. 

“I think I will be. Is this going to be a disaster? Now all anybody will want to talk about is my love life.”

“Which we both know is nonexistent.”

“Exact-hey!” I shove my friend before turning my attention back to the performance. I still can’t quite relax, but I feel a little better. At least I have Sebastian by my side. He certainly knows how to remain low-key when it comes to the press. 

Once the interview ends the three girls at the front squeal until I look at Sebastian who gives me a shrug.

“I don’t think it’s for me,” he gestures to them. “Look at their sign.”

Sneaking a glance over there my eyes widen and I struggle to keep my mouth from hanging open. One of the girls holds up a little poster that I didn’t see before. She probably wasn’t allowed to hold it up during the show because she would block other people’s view. 

There, written in big bold miss that only a blind man could miss it reads:

                Cara x Yoongi nation

Graham notices my attention from where he’s saying goodbye to Billie and makes his way over to me. He gives me a pat on the back. 

“That,” he points out the sign that is now burned into my eyelids. “Is only the beginning, love.”

🌙

By the time Sebastian and I make it back to the hotel where the rest of the cast and director/producers are staying, I want to lock my door and throw something. 

Sebastian told me not to check twitter, but I ignored him. Curiosity did kill the cat, folks. News flash. 

If I wasn’t known before, I certainly am now. Twitter is a mess of supportive fans, those fans who are heartbroken but happy for Suga, and the fans that are out for blood. Like, real blood. I’ve read the words “better watch out” so many times that I can’t help but look over my shoulder every few minutes. 

I do appreciate the fans that claim that only true ARMY will support the boys’ decisions. Nevertheless, I decide to hold off any kind of presence on social media until further notice. A glance at the official BTS twitter shows them doing the same thing, apparently. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or worried about that.

“I told you not to,” Sebastian chides once we enter the hotel. “Now you’re all depressed.”

“I’m not depressed,” I defend myself. “Just nervous. I’m not sure what this means for my whole acting career. I don’t like knowing that I have no control over it.”

Sebastian wraps an arm around my shoulders as we enter the elevator. “Not to worry, I’m sure the PR team is on it. Stacey is good with these kinds of things. Trust me, I’ve put her through enough near disasters that this will be a piece of cake.”

Sebastian and I share managers, PR reps, and many more things. We’re strange friends, thrown together through a series of random events, but I’m so grateful for him. I would be so lost without all the resources he’s provided me with. 

I give a dry laugh, slumping against my friend as the thought of being so close to a bed only serves to make me more tired. “She’s probably glad that it’s not you for a change.”

“Yeah, probably.”Sebastian bids me goodnight, heading down to his room on the other end of the hall. I can hear our director and a couple of the producers talking, but it’s too muffled to make out much more than their voices. I’m too tired anyways, so I opt to head straight to my room and get into bed before anyone can ask me any questions. I barely make it into my pajamas before I hit the mattress, sighing as I sink into the covers. 

“Ah, finally. Goodnight world,” I mumble, turning to flip my phone on silent. The moment I go to grab my phone, it lights up with a notification. Groaning, I pick it up, squinting at the light. 

“He...he what now?”

Next

Taglist is open! Lemme know if you wanna join.

What do you guys think Yoongi did?? 

taglist: @taylorroe3​ @eusticenatalie​

[copias-thrall]

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his  casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

[kusagrasskusa]

Light X Detective! Reader - "I am Kira"

Summery- Y/N is a teenager given the honor of working for the task force and is with the few who agreed to work in the Kira case. Both while discussing L and on her way to go to the hotel to meet L, she bumps into Light. They get along and have a two minute conversation before she's pulled away by Aizawa. Her biggest flaw is her incapability to shut up, so she sorta explains how she (rather than Pember's fiance) believes Kira can in many ways...

Sorry for the "read more" being so high up lol. When I look through hashtags, I hate it when there's an entire story I already read to scroll past before I can see new ones :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I just don't understand," Y/N huffed as she pushed her hair behind her ear. She clinched the papers in her hand and furrowed her eyebrows together while rereading all the reports that were concluded to be caused by Kira. She sat in a cold room, in a chair that wouldn't warm up, with a bunch of officers who were equally as ignorant and annoyingly loud as the next. A lot of them distrust L as well, creating an unwanted tension that bothers everyone.

"Excuse me, sir," called a brunette boy to another brunette. Okay, maybe not everyone is annoying and ignorant; Matsuda and the Cheif were alright. Y/N smiled to herself as she looked at the two congregating. It's nice to see these two making the atmosphere brighter, she thought. There's been a lot of stress since no one can even began to image how Kira is even existing right now. Whether it's a single person or a group, how can they kill someone from anywhere? Alchemy isn't even real, so how?

And before she knew it, two hours of nothing went by. That is, until, three officers went up to the Cheif and set stuff down on the table. "Sir, we're resigning from the Kira investigation."

The cheif stood up, wide eyed, "why!"

"Because we value our lives! Kira has made it clear that he'll stop whoever gets in his way! We have a family at home and we aren't going to give it up!" One explained, taking deep breaths. The Cheif was silent for a moment before sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Take your badges. I completely understand your decision." The cheif stood up, looking around the room. "I want everyone who wants to leave the Kira investigation to stand up. You won't be fired but rather transfered to another case." And just like that, nearly every single person in the case stood up, looking around each other disappointly. Y/N looked around her, glaring at the men around her. Wow, she thought, and I was called weak for being a "little girl."

As people made their decisions on whether to leave, or stay, or whatever, Y/N simply stacked her papers and cleaned her desk. The one she shared her desk had left, so she had a lot more space to put her paperwork. To be honest she didn't really like him all that much; it's random but that man would make the most jokes about Y/N's age and gender. She was the only female and being surrounded by a bunch of guys called for many conversations focusing on how she would interact with people, as if her gender is a defining quality to ever conversation.

But thank God that's over with. As Y/N looked around the room, her eyes widened as her eyebrows furrowed. "What? Like everyone left!" She called out, counting the people left. Masuta chuckled from across the room and she received a disapproving glance from Aizawa. Well, thank God these two stayed. She would be so alone with someone to joke with and another to keep an eye on her.

Aizawa is almost like an older brother/father figure of sorts, which is hella comforting. Matsuda and Y/N have never met before their job, not even happened to lassby each other at any point in their life, yet as soon as they saw each other, they knew each other very well. Immediately they kicked it off and eventually he found a way to convince the cheif that she's worthy of being here with him. He may have even brought up Light to make the cheif feel more personalized. It worked somehow.

The few remaining in the office stood up to acknowledge each other better. And when L finally spoke up from the computerin the back of the room, it was time for the debate on whether we trust him or not. Y/N, the Cheif, Matsuda, and Ukita seem to trust L a lot. Aizawa and Ide seem distrustful, and Mogi is neutral. When L released them to go discuss their views on him, everyone was eager to go.

On the way outside, a smile hung on Y/N's features as she walked alongside Matsuda. He didn't exactly share her energy as he rather just stared at the ground with a look of questioning. "This is a good thing y'know? It finally means we have the chance of a lifetime: to meet L. He would know how to keep us safe so we would never end up like the FBI agents!" Y/N whispered to him, making a small look of relief cross his features. He smiled at her and nodded.

Just a little into the conversation, the group had already began to trust L at least a little bit more. A few minutes later, L was given them directions on how to find him. Like hell I will write this all out, so just know that this happened the same way it did in the anime :). Y/N smiled widely, gripping Matsuda's sleeve and giggling quietly to herself. "This is amazing! We get to finally meet the L!"

"Calm down, L/N-san," Aizawa scolded, sending her a disapproving look. Y/N giggled at his stern face, shaking her head. She leaned on Matsuda's shoulder.

"Come on, 'Zawa! You're not excited? Not everyone gets to do this, y'know," she replied. Chief Yagami sighed and rolled his eyes at her childish behavior.

~~~

Y/N walked the dark streets with Aizawa by her side. She's humming to herself before breaking into a light sing, "hirogaru yami no naka-"

"Do you ever be quiet?" Aizawa asked. Y/N shook her heard before continuing to sing. But this time, she spread her arms out and moved more, dancing to the rhythm of the song. "Stop it, you child! You're gonna draw attention to us!"

"No I won't~ After all, it's the middle of the night," she replied as she pointed around the empty streets with the exception of 3 pass-bys. "No one is gonna care about a stupid little schoolgirl with her "dad" walking around when their tired and want to go home." Oh, in order to keep up a lie that Y/N is related to Aizawa, they found it easier for her to dress in a schoolgirl outfit. After all,, it's a Wednesday so people would think she would have to go to school, meaning she was young enoigh to be his daughter. "It's not like I'm gonna run into someone, eit—" Pffb!

Y/N fell onto the ground and landed in on the pavement. She hit her head on a metal door when she was walking and somehow didn't see it; well, maybe that's because someone opened the door. "Sorry! I didn't see you there," called a soft, masculine voice. He extended his hand towards the girl who was rubbing the mark on her forehead. She looked up at him either an apologetic look as she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"No, I apologize. I, um, wasn't looking," she responded. Her face was pink with embarrassment so she kept her head low. After all, how does one recover from embarrassing themselves in front of someone so damn attractive?

"Look what you did; I told you this would happen. I'm sorry, sir, for you— Light?" Aizawa asked with a questioning look on his features. The brunette boy smiled at Aizawa, waving.

"It's me, haha. Sorry, I'm not very good with faces. What's your name?" He kindly asked. Y/N looked up at him and admired his features. He looked so calm and collected that it was admiring to her.

"Aizawa," is all he said before Light nodded in remembrance.

"Nice to see you again, sir. Is this your daughter? She looks lovely," Light complimented as he turned towards the short girl, whose face remained as pink as before if not worse. She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him at waving.

"My name is Y/N, nice to meet to you Light," she responded with a bow of her head. Light bowed his head simultaneously with that calm smile never leaving his face. "Sorry again, haha. I'm sorta a clutz," she continued.

Light shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. "No need to be so worried, Miss Y/N. All's forgiven. Actually, I'm rather glad we did bump into each other like that. You're a sweet woman," he replied. Y/N chuckled nervously and felt his charisma hit her deep in the soul.

"I hate to break up you and your boyfriend," Aizawa stepped in. "But we have to get going. It was nice seeing you Light." Light nodded in understanding and YN posted her lip, though also understanding. She looked back at Light, smiling.

"Well, I hope to see you again, Light. Bye for now," she said her goodbyes as Light did the same to her before hey parted ways. "He's cute," she simply stated as Aizawa rolled his eyes.

"You teenagers and your weird romances..."

~~~

Y/N laid there; her books spread out on a table and her head in her arms, breathing softly as she stayed asleep. She was only allowed to work 4 days a week with the task force and this would be one of those days where she had to study hella hard since she wouldn't be able to every Monday and Tuesday. She's in a few advanced classes and they've been getting harder now that she can't focus all her attention on her classes. But damn, she was so tired today! But even so, a simple poke on the back woke her up.

"Excuse me ma'am, are you alright?" A soft voice asked. She stirred around before looking over at the owner of that voice, furrowing her eyebrows together. "Y/N?"

"Light?" Y/N asked, her face turning red in embaressment. "Oh! I'm sorry, were you going to sit here?" She asked eagerly as she gathered her things and put them in together as fast as possible.

"Oh no! I was just checking to see if you were okay, so please do whatever," Light responded. Y/N continued to blush as she mumbled an oh before setting her things back down.

"Sorry, haha... I sometimes get sorta caught up in my studies," she admitted, earning a chuckle from Light.

"No worries. I'd be glad to help if needed. What grade are you in?" Light asked as he set his coffee down on the table, sitting down besides her.

"Senior year. 18 and still can't grow up," she added a self depreciating comment as she rubbed her tired eyes and yawned. Light shook his head, brushing his hand in the air to singal "it's okay".

"No need to be so harsh on yourself. After all, everyone learns in a different way and perhaps the way you're teaching yourself isn't the right way. Instead of reading equations and writing down answers, let's try drawing out pictures of those equations and adding references." Light took the pencil from her side and and began to draw and write put several equations and problems. Needless to say, in about an hour, Y/N had understood every single thing she had worked on.

"You're doing great," Light complimented as he looked over Y/N's paper. Y/N giggled nervously, a Light blush coming to her cheeks.

"Thanks, with your help though," she replied. Light shook his head and handed back the paper.

"Not at all. I just showed you a new technique and told you what you got wrong. It was all you." Y/N thanked him once more before taking a sip of her coffee. It was maybe 9am by now and perhaps she should get going.

"It's getting a bit late. I need to go home soon," she spoke sadly. Light nodded, standing up from the table while Y/N collected her things. "Thanks again, by the way. Especially for staying with me for, like, an hour. That must be hard, heh heh."

Light chuckled, shaking his head. "You need to belive in yourself a little more, y'know. However, anyways, I suppose we should get going now. It was nice seeing you again, Y/N. I look forward to our next encounter." They walked each other out the door before finally saying their last goodbye and parting ways.

~~~

In no time, Light was part of the police task force as well. Side by side Y/N, who graduated with him, someone who he had got close to since their first visit in the cafe. Hell, this far into each other's company and how close they must be true to work, some may even say there's love. Light was that tall, sweet, intelligent, caring boy who never breaks in situations. Y/N was that kind, self-deprecating, cheerful but can be serious, smart, and thorough girl who looks as dumb as a rock. They're very similar in some places and different in others, which is the perfect mix.

"To be honest," Y/N sighed. "I'm really starting to doubt L. He focuses on you way too much, and we really don't have time for that. People are being killed everyday and nothing's being done to stop it." Light nodded, sighing as well. They sat on the top stairs of the roof of the headquarters. "And Kira's supporters give me mixed feelings as well. I understand that what Kira is doing seems righteous, I truly do. They say how these people were never the hero so why should they live? They should live because they shouldn't have to be heroes."

Y/N couldn't help but vent her feelings. After all, a tragic incident had happened to he recently so she couldn't help it. Light picked up on her way more serious attitude towards the investigation and asked what's pushing her so hard. After a little persuasion, he got her to talk about it in a private place. The whole time, she was trying her best to hold in tears when she spoke. "It's bothering me that these supporters think their morally right for thinking the way they do... My uncle, he was killed by Kira last week. And these supporters, they laugh and taunt him because hehe made a mistake when he was young," Y/N hissed, her tears threatening to fall.

"My uncle didn't mean to do it! He was friends with an officer who came over to his house for a party! They got drunk and my uncle wanted to scare awake his friend using a gun he thought was unloaded. He got to watch his best friend's head explode all over his fucking house, all because of a stupid mistake? I was 5 years old, going to the prison every week to him for the little amount of time I could. The officers who would search the visitors knew me; she knew me and who I was going to see, a kindergartener who was scared and hurt by the loss of her uncle. Due to the shooting being accidental, he had less time to serve. And that day, that day where he'd be free, Kira did it. It's fucking disgusting."

Light listened with a frown on his face, patting her back and she hugged her knees and began to cry. It's a shame, really. He sat out there with her for maybe two more minutes before she calmed down.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/N. I had no idea," Light spoke sadly, frowning. Y/N shook her head a smile forming on her face. It was clearly force and unhappy, but at least it made Y/N cry less.

"No, no, don't be. I kinda should've expected this. My uncle was a great, funny guy and I wish the world knew that. But anyway," Y/N wiped her tears as she stood up. She extended a hand for Light to take, which he did with a soft smile on his features, and pulled him up. A soft blush hit she cheeks when a

[damianwaynerocks]

Zuko & The Waynes

atla/batfam crossover

taglist: @bi-fr0000g​

Part 2

Summary:  Prince Zuko has just seen a light; the Avatar has returned. He was just about to go capture him, when he falls through a portal, and lands in Gotham City. He’s angry. He was just about to regain his honor, to regain his father’s love. After he is adopted by Bruce Wayne and becomes Zuko Wayne, the second youngest child, Zuko starts to have second thoughts about regaining his honor. Living as Zuko Wayne makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he’s deserving of love just the way he is.

pt 1

Part 2:

"Word of advice; never check your hashtag."

Zuko muttered a thank you to Dick as he set his phone down to take a cup of tea being offered to him by his older brother, who say down himself and leaned his elbows on his knees. He smiled softly as he looked at Zuko. "Look, everybody thinks that we care about their opinion. They feel like their opinion on things we do matters, especially the negative ones. Plus, a lot of it's just for attention, just to get us to see it and say something."

"Don't worry about me," Zuko sighed, "I'm used to people saying things like that."

"I'm sorry about that." The two say in silence for a few minutes, before Dick perked up. "I forgot!" he fumbled to grab the remote, "I was going to show you Brooklyn Nine-Nine!"

"What's that?" Zuko asked, taking a sip of his tea. "This is really good, by the way, almost as good as my Uncle's."

"Thanks, Alfred makes the best tea," Dick replied, going to Hulu on the tv, "But Brooklyn NIne Nine is amazing! It's a cop show but so funny at the same time!" He pushed play, and sat back to watch.

It was funny. Zuko laughed a few times. He couldn't stay focused for long, though. He was nervous. His interview with Gotham Gazette was coming up the next week. He'd given interviews as Prince of the Fire Nation, but he'd always been with his father and sister, never really speaking unless agreeing with his father.

As if sensing his nervousness, Dick spoke. "Hey, I know you're nervous about the interview, but I promise it'll be okay. It won't be televised, and Bruce paid the Gazette to allow a family friend, Lois Lane, to interview you. She knows about all of this, including you being from another dimension, so it'll be easier."

Zuko took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Who is Lois, exactly?"

"Superman's wife," Bruce said as he walked into the room, holding a manila folder in his hand. He smiled. "How are you doing, Zuko?"

"I'm fine," Zuko said, crossing his arms  after he set his tea down on to the coffee table.

"It's okay to be nervous, it's your first interview," Bruce said kindly, sitting on the other side of him "I was for mine." Zuko looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You? Nervous?"

Bruce laughed. "Oh, yeah. I was terrified. I was about your age. The Gazette wanted an exclusive about the new Healthcare program Wayne Enterprises were putting together- which I had little to no part of since Lucius Fox was running it for me."

"What'd you do?" asked Zuko, shifting to face the man.

"Alfred phoned the Gazette and played the sad orphan card for me so I could get the questions in advance," Bruce explained, smoothing the folder on his lap. "Lucius told me the answers to all of them, and so I knew what to say when the interview came."

"Lucky," Zuko snorted. Bruce smiled softly.

"No. Not luck. I just had people that loved me looking out for me." He handed Zuko the folder. "I called Lois and asked her to send over the questions she's going to ask you. Look through them to prepare for your answers, and if you need help, just ask." He ruffled Zuko's hair as he stood up and left.

Zuko blinked, and opened the folder. He read a few of the questions, and groaned. At Dick's questioning look, he said, "Half of these are way too personal, and I don't know what the other half of these mean! Current tv obsession? What lyrics from a song mean the most to you? Anakin Skywalker or Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

"What about Anakin Skywalker?" Duke piped up, sticking his head in the room. "I don't know what we're talking about, but if it involves Anakin, I want in it."

"Lois sent over the interview questions for Zuke," Dick explained, ignoring Zuko's protests against the nickname, "And some of them involve pop culture." Duke looked at the paper over Zuko's shoulder.

"I can help with these," he offered, "After that month mission in San Fran, I'm taking a week break. I can educate you on the icon that is Anakin Skywalker and all the other stuff."

"Okay, thanks," Zuko replied. Duke grinned.

"Now come on, we're binge-watching all the seasons of Clone Wars."

-_

Zuko and Duke were inseparable for the next week, constantly talking about the interview. Duke was telling him all about Star Wars, showing him his Spotify playlist, going to the Gotham Fashion Show, and trying new foods, to name a few.

"You're taking my sparring partner, Thomas," Damian had snapped on the third day.

"Sorry, man, Zu and I have stuff to do!" Duke had replied as he dragged Zuko to the garage by his hand, not looking very sorry at all. Duke had taken to calling him 'Zu' and if he was being truthful with himself, Zuko didn't mind it. They'd become very close.

It was the day of the interview. Zuko was nervous as he and Duke ran over his answers again.

"And remember, if you forget one, just say what you think," he was saying as Bruce straightened his tie. Bruce nodded in agreement.

"And I'll be right behind the camera," the man added, "If you get overwhelmed, tap your leg three times, and I'll interrupt you so you can get a break. Zuko nodded.

"Thank you," he breathed. Bruce and Duke smiled at him.

"Zuko," a woman with long black hair in a white blouse got Zuko's attention, "We're ready."

Zuko took a deep breath as he walked over, sitting on the couch they'd brought into the room for him and Lois to sit on. A broad man with black hair and glasses was behind the camera- Superman, Zuko remembered -smiled encouragingly at him. Usually, Bruce had told him, a man named Jimmy was Lois' partner, but Bruce had requested Clark just in case Zuko had accidentally revealed something incriminating.

"Okay, Clark," Lois said, making a motion with her fingers, "Let's do this." A red light blinked on the camera, and Lois turned to Zuko with a smile. "So! Zuko!" she grinned, "It's nice to meet you! How are you feeling?"

Just say what you're thinking, Duke's voice reverberated in his head. Zuko's voice didn't tremble when he finally spoke, "I haven't felt anything in years."

Lois blinked. "Oh? Did you have a rough life before you met Bruce?"

"Something like that." Lois smiled sadly. She knew the truth, as Clark had told her.

"I'm sorry about that," she said, before clearing her throat. "So! The Gazette put together the 'twenty-one questions' questionnaire for you to go over! Does that sound good?"

The interview was a blur. He remembered telling her that he liked Anakin more than Obi-Wan and that his favorite song was Choke by I DON'T HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME. He told her that his favorite part of living with Bruce was Alfred's tea because it reminded him of how his uncle would make it.

"Thank you for your time, Zuko," Lois smoothed her skirt in her lap as she smiled warmly, "It's been lovely to meet you."

"And we're good!" Clark said from behind the camera, giving the two a thumbs up. "You did great, Zuko!"

"Thanks," Zuko replied, releasing a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.

"Hey, dad!" a boy around Damian's age in a Superman hoodie with black hair and blue eyes flew down the stairs until he right in front of Clark. "Can I spend the night?"

Clark looked at Bruce. "If it's okay with Bruce, sure. As long as you're back tomorrow by noon."

"It's fine with me," Bruce agreed. Jon grinned.

"Yes! Damian, it's a go!" he threw his arms around Clark. "Thanks, Dad!" he turned to Zuko and held out his hand for him to shake. "Hi!" he chirped, "I'm Jon, Damian's best friend! It's nice to meet you!"

"Uh, nice to meet you, too," said Zuko, taking the Kryptonian's hand. Jon's eyes lit up.

"Do you like smores?" he asked. Zuko's eyebrows furrowed.

"What's that?"

"Jon," Bruce said sternly, "You and Damian are not starting a fire in this house. Not after last time." Jon’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

"But Mr. Wayne-"

"Jon," Clark cut him off with a look, "Bruce said no."

Jon sighed. "Aw, fine. But come on, Zuko, let's go!" he picked Zuko off of the ground with startling strength and carried him to Damian's room.

"Don't carry me!" Zuko snapped, shoving the boy off of him and dusting off his clothes. Jon laughed.

"Wow, Damian! He's just like you!"

Damian scoffed from where he was sketching on his bed. "Don't be absurd, Jonathan." Jon raised an eyebrow.

"Let's see; grumpy, not liking being carried at first," he was counting on his fingers, "Trauma, a little scary, black hair, little to no social skills-"

"Hey!" Zuko and Damian interrupted simultaneously. Jon laughed.

"I'm just saying! Anyways, Bruce said we couldn't start a fire for smores."

Damian groaned. "That is so unfair! The chandelier incident was not our fault!"

Zuko blinked. "That... what incident?" Damian waved him off.

"Never you mind. Father is just being unreasonable." he paused. "Jonathan, what exactly did he say?"

Jon cleared his throat before lowering his voice several octaves in an impression of Bruce. "You and Damian are not starting a fire in this house." Damian smirked.

"So we cannot start a fire, but he said nothing about Zuko, the firebender!" he turned to Zuko, "We will go get the supplies. You stay up here. We'll use these to communicate." he tossed an earpiece into his hand. Zuko frowned.

"We need an earpiece just so we can get food?"

Damian gave him a disbelieving look. "Zuko, at this moment there is a Kryptonian, my father, Drake, Thomas, and Lane in this house. We have to cover all of our bases."

Zuko rolled his eyes but put the device in his ear anyway. Damian did the same. Jon was staring at the door, using his x-ray vision to see if anyone was coming. He didn't need an earpiece due to his superhearing.

"Alright, I will go get the marshmallows and graham crackers, and Jonathan, you go get the chocolate from Drake's room," Damian commanded in his voice typically only used for missions. "Zuko, you stay here, and do not let anybody know our plans."

Jon and Zuko nodded, the Kryptonian's serious and the firebender's condescending. Damian gestures to the door. "Let's be off, Jonathan." the two left the room, leaving Zuko standing.

Zuko looked around Damian's room. The walls were bare aside from two swords mounted above his bed and a framed picture of all of his bets above his television. Zuko was accepting the fact that he would be bored whenever there was a knock on the door.

Clark walked in, looking for Jon, but frowned when he didn't see his son. "Where are Jon and Damian?" he asked.

"Play. Dumb," Damian hissed in the earpiece. Zuko put on a confused expression.

"Who's Damian?"

"Not that dumb!"

Clark rolled his eyes fondly, clearly not believing him, but not wanting to push him. "Whatever. Tell Jon I said I love him."

Zuko nodded. "Will do, sir!" he said. Clark nodded, and left.

Jon was back in the room shortly after with a box of chocolate under his arm. "Golly," he gasped, "Tim's room is booby-trapped to the extreme! I barely made it without tripping any of them!"

"That is because you are an imbecile," Damian said from the doorway with a box of crackers in one hand and a bag of marshmallows in the other. He looked at Zuko with a deadpan expression. "You have much to learn when it comes to lying."

"He believed me, didn't he?" Zuko countered, crossing his arms over his chest. Damian rolled his eyes.

"No, he did not, he just heard a distress call from Metropolis and he did not have time to wait," he replied matter-of-factly. Jon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I didn't hear a distress call."

"That is because you were too busy trying not to get trapped in one of Drake's childish snares."

"Why does his room have those, anyway?" Zuko asked.

"Because he is worried somebody will come in and steal his things," Damian explained, "as he thinks that anybody with time on their hands would care enough to snoop through his stash of Penthouse magazines."

"What's that?" Zuko and Jon said at the same time.

"Pornography," Damian replied, opening the bag of marshmallows and pulling one out. He put it in between two of the graham crackers, and grabbed a square of chocolate to add. He looked at Zuko expectantly as he impaled it with one of the swords on the wall.

"Light a fire, Zuko," Jon explained, doing the same thing as Damian. Zuko obliged, a fire igniting above his palm. Damian and Jon put their smores in the flames, letting them toast. After a minute, Damian pulled his out. He handed the sword to Zuko.

"Here, eat." It was more of a demand than an offer, but Zuko didn't argue. He took the smore from the tip of the blade and took a bite. His eyes widened.

"This is amazing!" he praised, taking another bite. Jon smiled brightly.

"Right? They're the best!"

"They are a delectable treat," Damian agreed, taking the sword back from Zuko to make himself one. "Even if they are for children."

"Don't forget forbidden."

The three jumped at the voice, the flame fizzling out from Zuko's hand as he saw Bruce standing in the doorway with a frown on his face. "I thought I told you all that you could not start a fire!"

"On the contrary, Father," Damian contradicted, "You said that Jon and I could not start a fire. You said nothing about Zuko."

Bruce narrowed his icy blue eyes. "You're a smart boy, Damian, you knew what I meant. No patrol tomorrow!" Damian's eyes flew open.

"But Father-" he protested, but Bruce cut him off.

"No, Damian, you disobeyed me. And you, Zuko," he turned to the firebender, "No going to John Mulaney's show with Duke tomorrow."

Zuko's jaw dropped. "But-"

"And you, Jon," the Bat ignored him, setting his eyes on Jon. "I will be informing your mother of this." Jon paled.

"No," he whispered, "Not that. Anything but that."

"Yes," Bruce said sternly. "Now, I have work to do." Before he could walk out, Zuko's voice stopped him.

"That's it? Aren't you going to hit us or something?" he asked, confused. That's what fathers did whenever their children misbehaved, after all. They disciplined them.

Although it was impossible to tell, Bruce's heart cracked at his son's bewildered face. "No, Zuko," he answered, his voice much gentler now, "No. A father should never hit his children."

After Bruce left, Damian groaned, throwing his arms into the air. "This is ridiculous!" he seethed, "No patrol? For making smores?"

"My mom's gonna be so mad," Jon whimpered, closing his eyes as though that would erase the image of Lois' disappointed smile out of his head.

Zuko, though, was silent. Bruce's words were running through his mind. A father should never hit his children.

_

Zuko awoke the next morning to texts from the group chat.

Frowning, Zuko opened his twitter as he stood up, stretching. His eyebrows furrowed as he read.

"What the heck?" he muttered as he texted the group chat a response.

"Well," he said aloud as he put on a shirt and prepared to go downstairs for breakfast, "Alrighty then." As he made his way to the kitchen, the voices of the other boys reached his ears.

"If we were in a band, I would be the lead singer!"

"No you wouldn't, you can't sing!"

"What the hell do you know, Drake, you have barbecue sauce on your toast-"

"Damian don't fucking swear-"

"Jason! Stop teaching him those words!"

"How I eat my toast isn't relevant to the fact that Dick can't sing-"

They stopped arguing as Zuko entered the room, sitting into the seat next to Tim and rubbing his eyes. Seeing Tim dipping his toast in barbecue sauce, he wrinkled his nose in disgust and got up from his seat and moved to the one beside Duke.

Tim didn't seem phased. He pointed his toast at Zuko. "You went on a midnight drive with Dick, right? Was he a good singer?"

"No," Zuko replied bluntly, meeting Dick's pleading look. The acrobat scowled.

"That is false! False! I am a great singer!" he huffed, "Just ask Superman!"

Jason laughed. "Dude, Clark was lying! He's too nice to tell you the truth! You royally suck."

Bruce was sitting at the head of the table reading the newspaper, sipping his coffee as he tuned out his children's argument. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"The gala's tonight," he said, "And I want everyone on their best behavior."

The gala was for Zuko. An event to celebrate the Waynes bringing in another child.

Zuko was not excited about it.

The day was spent with preparations. Getting the ballroom ready, running over what to say when Gretchen Milliana made you comfortable, and ballroom dancing.

Zuko was not very good at the last one.

"Okay, so, you might need more professional help," Dick admitted after the second hour had passed. "Never fear! We'll get Cass."

Cassandra Cain, the only female Wayne, was in the dance studio. Zuko had only met her a few times.

"Hey, Cass!" Dick greeted as they entered the room where a girl of Asian descent was practicing ballet. "Any chance you can help Zuko get the waltz down before tonight?"

"Sure," Cass replied, stilling her motions. "Come here, Zuko." She placed his right hand on her waist and put her own on his shoulder, interlocking their other hands. "Like this."

She began leading him in the dance, but within two steps, Zuko stepped on her feet. "I'm sorry," he muttered. Cass shrugged.

"It is alright," she paused, "Think of it as if you were in combat. As though you're learning a new fighting technique."

That worked.

After ten minutes, Zuko was starting to get the hang of it. Cass was a good teacher. And surprisingly, Zuko found himself having fun.

The two danced around the room to a Beethoven song. Zuko had a smile, a real smile on his face. He liked it. It was peaceful. It was graceful. It was fun.

"Very good!" Cass praised, "You're a natural!"

Zuko laughed nervously before asking his question. "Do you think... do you think you could show me ballet sometime?" he asked, his face red. Cass smiled.

"Of course! You're a great dancing partner!"

_

Eight hours later, Zuko was in a suit. He pulled at the collar nervously. Duke saw this, and stepped in front of him to straighten his tie.

"No worries, dude," he said, "It isn't that bad. Besides, aren't you a prince? You've probably been to a ton of these things."

Zuko shrugged half-heartedly. "Yeah, but it's different."

"Then don't make it different," Duke replied, "Just put on your Prince Zuko face and pretend like you know what you're doing even if you don't. Fake it till you make it."

Zuko did just that. He put on his Prince Zuko face and acted.

He stood by Dick most of the time, his older brother doing most of the talking for him. But, as all good things must come to an end, Gretchen Milliana asked him to dance.

"You're a good dancer!" the forty-year-old woman purred, "Who taught you?"

"Cassandra," Zuko replied simply. "She's a good teacher."

"She must be," Gretchen smirked. The conversation continued, Gretchen flirting with the sixteen-year-old until he was red in the face. Finally, the song ended, and he said a polite good-bye and went back to find Dick.

"How was it?" Dick asked.

"Take a guess," Zuko grunted. Dick sucked in his teeth.

"Yeah, she's something else. Very yucky." Zuko raised an eyebrow at the word choice.

"Yucky? How old are you?" he taunted. Dick rolled his eyes.

"Twenty-three, which makes me your elder and therefore deserving of respect." He showed Zuko his phone. "Look at my post!"

Zuko looked up at Dick. "Where'd you get that picture?"

"The paparazzi work fast, my guy.”

_

After the gala, Zuko was making his way to his room, when Tim stopped him.

"Come on, I have a favor to ask!" he said, leading him into the Cave where a girl with blonde hair and star earrings was waiting at the computer.

"Zuko, this is Cassie Sandsmark, also known as Wonder Girl," he introduced. Cassie shook his hand.

"Nice to meet ya, Zuko!" she greeted.

"You too," said Zuko, before turning to his brother. "What do you need?"

"So, my team and I have been tracking a magyntite dealer for months," Tim began, sitting on the chair in front of the computer. "Magyntite is a chemical that, when coated over something, makes its durability increase ten-fold. Like, if you made this stuff into a suit, even a punch from Superman wouldn't hurt you."

"It's from the planet Tatooine," Cassie added, "No relation to the Star Wars planet, though. Total coincidence."

"We tracked the dealer to Gotham, and he's having an auction at one of Falcone's clubs. They're calling it 'Masked Magicians Monday,'" Tim said, cracking his knuckles.

Zuko interrupted him. "What does this have to do with me?"

"We need to infiltrate it," Tim explained,  "and we need your help to do it, Zuko. You and Cassie are going to pretend to be a magician couple."

"No offense, Zuko," said Cassie with a glance at him before looking at Tim with a raised eyebrow, "But why isn't Bart or Kon doing this?"

"Because they don't have experience acting as a fancy socialite. Zuko does, being a prince as well as being apart of a gala."

"I don't have experience either!"

"I know but like, you're the only girl." Tim rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly at her glare.

Cassie sighed. "Alright, what's game plan?"

"You and Zuko go to the party in Carnevale masks- I got one big enough to cover your scar-" he added as Zuko opened his mouth, "And when it's time to bid on the magyntite, you get it. I've got $50,000,000 in cash."

"Sounds easy enough," Zuko said. Cassie nodded in agreement.

Tim sucked in his teeth. "Yeah, this is where it gets weird though. Whoever the dealer is is bonkers. Really weird rules. You have to have a date to get in, and you have to be in a relationship with the person. And you have to be convincing. Like if they suspect you're faking, you'll get kicked out."

"That sounds fake," Zuko grunted.

"That's what I thought, too, but it isn't," Tim argued, "This dude only wants couples. Maybe it's a sex thing?"

Cassie scrunched her nose in disgust. "Whoever this guy is, he sounds like a creep. Why does he care?"

"Who knows?" Tim shrugged, "And another rule is that you have to show that you can do magic- real magic, not that children show magic -at the door. I figured Zuko would light a fire in his hand."

"Does he have to say a spell?" asked Cassie.

"Yeah, just come up with something," Tim said to Zuko. "Also, for obvious reasons, you guys need to think of fake names. I have your ids all set up, but I was gonna let you pick your names so it's easier to remember."

Cassie turned to Zuko, putting her hand on her chin and scrunching her face up in an exaggerated thoughtful expression. She furrowed her eyebrows. "You," she pointed her finger at Zuko, "Look like a Dylan."

"Dylan?" Zuko echoed with a frown. "I don't like it. That doesn't sound regal enough."

"Oh, you want a regal name, Your Majesty?" Cassie bowed dramatically before flashing him a grin. "Okay! What about Henry?"

"Henry is... acceptable," Zuko replied, rolling the name around in his head. Tim furrowed his eyebrows, his mouth agape.

"Tell me you didn't pick Henry because Timothée Chalamet played Henry V in that movie."

"That's completely the reason and I'm not even remotely sorry about it," Cassie huffed, placing her hands on her hips dramatically. "I've said it before and I'll say it again; if I don't marry Timothée Chalamet, my life has been a waste." Tim stared at her as if she'd grown another head.

"You've saved eleven people from dying this week alone."

"A waste, Tim. A waste." The corners of her mouth turned up as she looked at Zuko. "Your turn, fake boyfriend, pick a name for me."

Zuko sized her up, thinking, but the only name that came to his mind was 'ty-lee' and he certainly couldn't give her the name of his sister's best friend.

Cassie shifted her weight from one leg to the other impatiently. Zuko's eyes zipped around the room and landed on an empty starbucks cup. "Uh, what about Larissa?" he finally said

"Larissa," Cassie hummed, "I like it!"

Tim gave Zuko a strange look as if to say why did you give her the name of our favorite starbucks barista?

Zuko gave him an anxious look in return as if to say I don't know I panicked.

"So what about last name?" Cassie asked, seemingly oblivious to the silent exchange. "Are we married or what?"

"No," Tim answered, "You're engaged."

"Ooh, that means a fancy ring! Score!" Cassie cheered. She gave Zuko a friendly nudge. "And you'll get one too! Though you're probably used to fancy things, being a prince and then being a Wayne and all."

Zuko shrugged. "I'm not really a jewelry person."

"Well too bad, fiancé of mine," Cassie wrapped her arm around Zuko's waist and gave him a playful side hug, "You are now! Come on, we should get ice cream or some thing else so we can get used to each other so the chemistry seems real and all."

Zuko sent Tim a glance over his shoulder as Cassie grabbed his hand to pull him to the motorcycles. She handed Zuko a helmet and revved up the engine. "My mom doesn't know I have this, so keep it a secret."

"Your secret's safe with me."

Cassie was a bad driver.

Zuko didn't get scared often, but riding with Cassie on a motorcycle? A terrifying experience.

"I can see why your mom doesn't want you to have one of these," Zuko gasped as he hopped off the motorcycle, putting a hand over his chest. "You're a terrible driver."

"No, I'm not!"

"We almost died!"

"But we didn't!" Cassie countered. She walked ahead of him towards the building. "Anyways, let's go eat ice cream! Your treat, since you're rich and all."

"This ice cream better be good, or else," Zuko grumbled. Cassie laughed.

"What are you gonna do, break off our engagement?" Cassie had a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke. "Whatever shall I do?"

Zuko rolled his eyes and led her to a table. Their waiter arrived shortly, holding a notepad and pen. "What can I get you two?"

Before Zuko could say anything, Cassie interrupted him. "Vanilla milkshake please, two straws," she said sweetly. The waiter chuckled, his eyes flicking between the two of them, and walked to the back.

Zuko gave her a look. "Two straws?" Cassie shrugged.

"Hey man, the event's tomorrow night and no offense but being romantic doesn't seem to be your forté. We're gonna have to do a ton of couple stuff so you get used to it."

"I can be romantic!" Zuko protested, "I've had a girlfriend before!"

"Oh yeah? How old were you?"

"Thirteen!"

Cassie laughed. "In my book, any relationship thirteen and younger doesn't count."

"Well, we must be different then," Zuko grumbled, crossing his arms.

Cassie's eyes softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't."

Cassie clearly didn't believe him, but she didn't press it. "So! What do you like to do for fun?"

"I don't do fun," Zuko replied, looking out the window. Cassie rolled her eyes.

"Oh wow, you are so Bruce's kid. But seriously, Zuko, everybody has something they do for fun! You have to have an idea."

"I mean..." he wracked his brain for an answer, and remembered Cass. "Turns out I like dancing. It was outlawed in the Fire Nation, so I'd never danced before. My sister Cass was teaching me how to ballroom dance and I actually really liked it. We're gonna start doing ballet together." His face turned red as he realized what he'd just admitted. A boy? Doing ballet? His father would have scoffed at him, calling him pathetic.

Cassie shocked him by giving him a warm smile. "I love that! Cass is the best ballet dancer I've ever seen, you're super lucky to have her!"

Zuko looked down. "I'm not lucky," he said darkly, "It's like my father always said; my sister was born lucky, while I was lucky to be born."

Cassie scowled. "Well, that's awful to say! I think you're very lucky! I mean, hey," she leaned back in the booth, putting her hands behind her head and smiling, "You get to fake-date me! The great Cassandra Sandsmark!"

Zuko snorted a laugh, which made Cassie's grin widen.

"Score! I made you smile! We'll be a believable couple in no time."

The ice cream arrived, and Cassie put the two straws in. Telling him to 'drink up,' Zuko took a zip.

"This is really great," he said. Cassie grinned.

"Ice cream's so good, man, I'm glad you like it."

"I'm exhausted," Zuko complained, leaning back. He was still in his suit from the gala.

Cassie waved. "Hi, Exhausted, I'm Cassie!"

Zuko gave her a weird look.

Cassie frowned. "You know? You said you were exhausted so I said 'hi, exhausted?' It was a joke."

"It was a bad one."

She scoffed. "As if you can do better!"

"I have plenty of jokes!" Zuko argued.

"Oh yeah? Tell one!"

All Zuko could remember was half of the joke Iroh had told him the night before he's arrived in Gotham. "My uncle used to tell me this one all the time. I don't remember all of it, but the punchline was 'leaf me alone, I'm bushed!'"

Cassie sucked in her teeth. "Tt. You know, a joke is only funny if you tell the entire thing."

"Okay, Damian," Zuko retorted, referring to her use of the sound Damian constantly vocalized.

"Speaking of Damian, what's it like living with him?" she rested her elbows on the table. "Tim says he's a nightmare, but surely he's got his moments, right?"

Zuko didn't respond for a moment, his mind wandering to a few days prior, whenever Damian had invited him up to his room to paint the sunset with him.

The two were silent, nothing but the sound of paintbrushes gliding along canvases filling the air.

"The League of Assassins told me many things." Damian's voice broke the silence, not looking up from his canvas. "They told me that they were great, that they- that we were only killing because we had to. That we were doing good work. That we were going to make the world a better place, start a new, good world order, and that I would lead it."

"I know what you're trying to do," said Zuko shortly, not looking up from his painting.

"I am simply relaying facts to you," Damian denied, "Anyways, I believed that I was doing good. The murder, the cruelty- it was all for the greater good. But... but it wasn't. It wasn't good. Murder is murder. We were using murder as a way to gain power, to gain control over everything. Not to make a good world. They didn't care if the new world is good, as long as they got to rule it." His eyes flicked to Zuko briefly, before returning to his painting. "It took me a long time to realize that. That I was being used. I was a pawn. They didn't love me, I was a weapon. A tool. Something they could use to get what they wanted."

Zuko didn't reply. Surely his father wanted to love him. After all, he was giving him a chance to regain his love. He only had to capture the Avatar. And the Fire Nation was the greatest of all. They were doing good, helping the world.

And yet, the more he thought about it, the more Zuko realized that he couldn't find any instance of the Fire Nation doing something that would directly benefit the Air Nomads, Earth Kingdom, or the Water Tribes. The more he thought about it, the more he noticed the similarities between the Fire Nation and the League of Assassins.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized how different Bruce Wayne was from Fire Lord Ozai. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how different his relationships with Tim, Duke, Damian, Dick, Jason, and Cass are from his relationship with Azula. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much safer he felt at the Manor than he ever felt at the Palace.

And the more he thought about it, the more the hand holding his paintbrush shook.

"Living with Damian gives you a headache," Zuko finally answered, taking another sip of their milkshake.

[soyforramen]

ooooo 17 and/or 28 for bughead

I am so terribly glad tumblr does not date these, because I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting on this draft. Regardless, here goes:

xxx

“Bite me, Jones,” Betty snapped. She screwed her eyes shut and breathed deeply as she counted to ten. No one in Riverdale could get under her skin like he could. And he knew it.

“Make me, Cooper.”

Betty curled her lip and turned away from Jughead Jones and his stupid smirk and his stupid hat. She knew from the start that this whole idea was inane. But because it was Archie’s last birthday in Riverdale, and because she and Jughead were Archie’s best friends, she’d said yes to Jones’ stupid idea to throw a surprise party. 

For whatever reason, it hadn’t occurred to Betty that Archie might want a birthday party. Over the years they’d fallen into such a routine it almost felt too close to sacrilege to change. The day before Archie’s birthday, he and Jughead would disappear to spend all day gorging on junk food and video games until it came time for a midnight creature feature at the Bijou. The day of, Archie would spend his birthday with his parents as Mrs. Andrews always made a point to come back to Riverdale on his birthday. The next following was Betty’s, and it had become their tradition to find new trails to hike around Sweetwater River only to end their day at Pop’s with burgers and shakes.

It was a custody arrangement they’d all been more than happy with ever since Betty had proclaimed her hatred of Jughead Jones in the second grade for making Ethyl cry because he ran away from her the entire week of Valentine’s. And despite Archie’s numerous attempts over the years at a tentative truce, neither Betty nor Jughead could stand the sight of each other for too long.This year, however, Jughead decided to buck the system.   

With a party.   

For Archie.   

Only one week to plan it.  

Together.

When Jughead had first mentioned it, Betty assumed he’d do what everyone else did when it came to these things: tell Betty his vision and let her handle everything while still getting partial credit for having come up with the idea in the first place. But apparently she’d underestimated him. Not only had he come up with the idea for a party, he also wanted to help plan it. 

Normally Betty would jump at the chance for any sort of event planning help. She’d had to beg, borrow, and blackmail to get any actual help to put together Homecoming and the Spring Formal . And now she had a ready, willing participant who came with his own ideas as to how this party should go.It was as if Fate itself were determined to prove the old adage, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’(Fate, too, could bite her.)The ultimate problem, though, was not the fact that it was Jones’ proposing and helping plan the party. It was not that they both wanted to outdo each other in a childish attempt to prove their superior friendship with Archie. The problem was she had to interact with Jones’ to get this done. It was the most she’d ever had to interact with him since they’d sat at the same square of tables in elementary school and it was a reminder why she’d avoided him ever since. Every idea she had was countered by his own; every suggestion was met with scepticism and budgeting concerns; every minute detail picked apart. Their tastes were too far apart on music, food, and decorations along with everything else it took to plan a party. He was far too sarcastic, too caustic for her. She was too nice, too blithe for his. It was mutual loathing that frustrated Betty every time she had to see him in the hallways. And now she’d agreed to spend most of her free time with him for a week.Archie better fucking love this damn party.

xxx

Monday Morning: 4 Days til B-Day

Today was not Betty Cooper’s day. She’d forgotten about the essay due in History class because she’d been consumed with scholarship applications and making decorations for Polly’s wedding. She’d dropped a beaker of acid on her shoes in lab class and now had to wander around in the ugliest, grossest pair of crocs the school’s lost and found had to offer. And to top it all off, her hair tie had snapped in gym class, leaving her hair in a tangle of waves that drew attention from everyone for just how messy it was.It took all she had not to skip school for the first time in her life. The only thing stopping her was the inevitable lecture she knew would be waiting at home. If Betty ruined her perfect attendance record three months before graduation, the fit her mother would throw would surely top the one when Polly told her she was unwed and pregnant.And when the tumbler on her locker stuck, it was all she could do not to scream. Finally the lock popped off and the door slammed into its neighbor.“Party planning going well?” Kevin asked from behind. He leaned against the locker bank and leveled all the magnets that had fallen to the bottom of the door.“Yes, actually. That’s the problem,” Betty snapped. She threw her textbooks into the locker, already digging through the three and a half years worth of junk for a hair tie. “I’d say that’s less of a problem, and more of a shoe in to finally free all that hair Jones’ has been hiding from us,” Kevin said with a Hello Kitty magnet suspended between his thumb and forefinger. When Betty rolled her eyes, he clicked his tongue. “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. The UST between you two has been at peak level for at least two years.”Betty heaved out a sigh and reached for the top shelf. She tried to imagine herself someplace relaxing and far, far away from here. One of those Swedish spas Veronica was always gushing about. A sunny beach with no one around. An automotive shop that worked exclusively on muscle cars made by Corvette and Ford between 1958 and 1972 somewhere south of Paris, France.“Of course it’s a problem, Kev. It means that not only is he a complete and total asshole, he’s also a competent and capable asshole,” Betty huffed. She grabbed her history book out of her bag and threw it into the locker hard enough to rattle the mirror on the back. “At least you now won’t have to split all your free time between the paper, the party, and practice for the Vixens.”As much as Betty loved him, sometimes she hated how Kevin could always find a positive in every situation and how desperately she hated the fact that Veronica had decided to attend a prep school for her senior year.“We forgot about Veronica,” Betty gasped. Prior frustrations forgotten, Betty tapped away on the screen. Between event planning and the massive extracurricular load her mother insisted on, Betty hardly had any time to think about what she’d get for Archie. There was no way Veronica would forget something as important as Archie’s birthday, but if there was on thing that could throw a wrench into this plan it would be Veronica sweeping Archie off his feet to the Bahamas last minute.Veronica’s reply was almost instantaneous with a string of hearts, followed by several texts grilling Betty for more information about Archie’s relationship status, Riverdale gossip, and whether Betty had finally found herself a boyfriend.Absorbed by her phone, Betty closed her locker and walked to class, Kevin walking beside to her and telling Betty which was the best gossip to pass along to Veronica. As the bell rang, Betty tucked her phone into her jacket pocket and laid out everything she needed for class. Late as usual, Jughead slouched by her on his way to the corner of the room. “Nice hair, Cooper,” he muttered as he passed. “Very Diana Dors today.”Betty’s cheeks went red and her hands flew up to smooth down her hair. She’d been so focused on her conversation with Veronica that the hair tie had been completely forgotten.Kevin leaned across his desk and whispered, “Hashtag: Free the Beanie.”

Xxxxx

Tuesday Afternoon - Party Countdown: Day 3

Betty’s phone chimed on the couch beside her. When she saw who it was from, she groaned. They’d just talked after school about the decorations, and she thought they’d come to an agreement. Jughead, however, seemed to differ.“Beans for brains again?” Cheryl asked, eyes glued to her own phone. “Yes. Now decorations are too ‘childish’,” Betty whined. “Why does he have to make things so difficult.”“Because he has your undivided attention for once, baby cousin.”Betty stared at Cheryl. “What does that mean?”Cheryl rolled her eyes and set down her phone. “Read between the lines, it’s a total Castle and Bennet situation.”Even if she’d been offered the world, Betty still couldn’t figure out what Cheryl meant. With a sigh, Betty packed up her back and headed to Pop’s, figuring it would be easier to meet with him in person than spend three hours going back and forth in text.

Xxxxx

Tuesday Afternoon - Party Countdown: Day 3Betty slammed her lunch tray on the cafeteria table. “I hate him and that stupid grin of his. Like he knows everything. Why did I ever agree to this in the first place?”Kevin moved to the side as Betty swung her leg over the bench to sit down. “Because it’s Archie’s birthday and he’d do the same for you?”Betty snorted. “I doubt he’d work with his mortal enemy to plan me a party.”“True. Because I’d be the one doing the planning. If Archie was doing it there’d be cold pizza and hot ice cream. He’s not big on the planning thing.”Betty stabbed at a piece of fruit and let that sink in. It would be so much easier to let this go, to say she was done with the whole thing and let Jughead finish organizing it. But if she backed out now they’d both know he’d won in the ongoing feud they had. It was frustrating and unnerving and took every last bit of self-control to work with him. He was a constant distraction, taken to staring at her when she was talking and unnerving her by how close he was willing to get. Even stranger, as if he knew just how to get under her skin, he’d sat next to her in English this morning and attempted a semi-polite conversation.“Do I want to ask what’s got her so riled up now?” Toni asked as she sat down. “Jughead’s lips,” Kevin said with a smile.Toni leaned forward, his face eager for more information. “What? Did he kiss you? I thought you two were only supposed to be planning a party.”“Kevin,” Betty scolded. “And no. We can barely stand to be in the same room together. He’s insisted on doing the decorating himself.”Kevin and Toni shared a look. “And that’s bad, how?” Toni asked.“I know you’re used to being in charge of everything, but why is it a problem for him to decorate?” Kevin asked.“Because I was planning on using what we had leftover from Polly’s New Year’s Eve party. It would have been perfect.” Betty said.“What did he say about that?”Betty looked down at her salad and picked at it. “I didn’t exactly mention it.”Toni raised an eyebrow and Kevin let out a heavy sigh.“But obviously if I was pushing to do the decorations, I had a plan,” Betty said, her words sounding thin.“Last time I checked Jones wears several different hats, but mind reading is not one of them,” Toni said. “And being straightforward isn’t Betty’s,” Kevin said.Betty elbowed him in the ribs. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side?”He squirmed away from her. “I am. But you tend to have a take charge attitude and don’t always share the whole plan. Or let other people have much input when you’ve made up your mind.”“What’s that supposed to mean?”Kevin held up his hands defensively. “I’m just saying, maybe this thing isn’t all one-sided. You’re not used to people wanting to help plan something, and he’s -” Kevin faltered, not knowing Jughead enough to speak to his personality.Toni, though, was quick to step in. “Jughead is a snarky gloom and doom nerd. His people skills need some help too.”“Exactly. But maybe if you try to work with him.” He let the thought linger a moment before going into the latest gossip about the lacrosse team.

Xxxx

Thursday Afternoon - Party Countdown; 1

“I’m doing this for Archie, Jughead. If you don’t like that, then you don’t have to be involved,” Betty said after a few deep breaths.“This was my idea, Betty. Not some project you can step in and fix just because I’m involved. The door is right there if you change your mind,” Jughead snapped back. He turned away from her and focused his attention on his computer. Betty’s hands clenched and unclenched. A fire burned in her chest and she had to work to stay seated There was nothing she wanted more than to slap him. It annoyed her that he was right; they were doing this for Archie, not for some strange kudos for their own egos. “Fine.”Jughead’s head jerked up and he looked as if he were surprised she’d conceded so easily. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said her words clipped. Just because she was wrong didn’t mean she had to like it.His eyes narrowed and Betty waited it out. If he wanted to suspect her of ulterior motives, then so be it. She just wished he could bring the intensity down a little bit.Eventually, he waved to the seat across from him and, in a rare gesture of cordiality, waved Pop down for a round of shakes. While Betty was suspicious herself of his motives, she took the seat and pulled out her planner to go over their last minute plans.

xxxx

Friday Night - Party Countdown: 0

Betty leaned against the porch railing, a red solo cup full of something red and overly sweet in her hands. Veronica had sworn she’d like it, but Betty could barely stomach a sip of it. She’d never been one for parties or alcohol or general teenage mischief. Seeing what had happened to Polly had cured Betty of any desire of that.“Looks like we managed to pulled it off,” Jughead said. He lifted a can to his lips - a brazenly boring soda that stood out against their peers attempts to summon Dionysus into the Andrews’ living room.Betty turned towards him and watched him watch the party through the windows. “Surprisingly.”He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t turn towards her. Betty’s eye followed the movement only to trail down his profile. It was odd, she realized, to have never really thought about what he looked like without the permanent scowl and irritable persona he’d taken up as a defense mechanism.“It’ll be a bitch to clean up, though,” Jughead said.Betty snorted and poured her drink into the bushes beneath her. “I vote that’s Archie’s problem.”“And Veronica’s,” Jughead added, with a nod to the opening door.“There you two are,” Veronica said. She shot a sly grin to Jughead who rolled his eyes.Betty filed her questions away for later, particularly those about how close Veronica and Jughead seemed to have gotten over the past year. “This was a really great surprise,” Archie said, oblivious of the strange interaction going on next to him. He looked as tired as Betty felt, but somehow managed a level of energy even she couldn’t fake. She pulled him into a tight hug as the sudden realization that this was their last year of high school hit her. Tears threatened to spill at the corner of her eyes. In six months, Archie would no longer be her constant companion. It would be the first time ever that he wasn’t part of her life. Betty screwed her eyes shut and thought about the good times.“You’re welcome Archie. Happy birthday,” she said through a sniffle.They pulled apart and it was Jughead’s turn to pull Archie into a hug. Betty took a moment to wipe the tears from her cheeks.“Happy birthday, bud,” Jughead said with a grin. He nodded towards Veronica. “Enjoy it while you can.”Betty pulled Veronica into a hug, the pain of missing her not as severe. After all, they’d be roommates next fall, something they’d been planning since they were twelve. “I’m going to call it a night,” Betty said. Veronica kissed her on the cheek and, in a surprising move, pulled Jughead into a bear hug. She whispered something to him that made him flush before letting him go. “Walk her home,” Veronica ordered him. “I want nothing to happen to my girl. We have plans, after all.”“V, I live ten feet away,” Betty reminded her.Jughead rolled his eyes, but complied when Veronica shoed him after Betty. When they reached the sidewalk, Jughead cleared his throat.“Hey, Cooper.”Betty turned to face him. “Yes?”“Are we still in a truce?”She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got another ten minutes until curfew. So, I’d say we were.”Jughead took a step towards her, dropping his gaze to the ground. He swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting. “You’re not half bad, now that I think about it.”Betty smiled. It was probably the nicest thing she’d heard him say about anything in a while. “You’re not half bad yourself, Jones’.”“Also,” he paused, glancing behind them as if to check that they were alone.“What? What is it?” she asked, stepping towards him, worried he’d say or do something. Her fingers curled into a loose fist, but what she wouldn’t have ever expected was for him to pull her close and press his lips against hers.The world came to a startling halt as Betty’s brain went into overdrive. (They were kissing.) This was Jughead Jones her self-proclaimed high school rival in all things that mattered. (He was kissing her.) Before this week they’d never had a nice thing to say about each other. (And she liked it.) The only common ground they ever had was fighting over Archie (Worse, she was kissing him back) and snarking at each other over stupid little things.A car backfired a street over and the spell was broken. The world wrenched itself back into rightful place. Betty’s eyes fluttered open and everything looked the same as it had before. Only there was that look in his eyes, and there was that exhilarating feeling in her chest that could only mean the sky was the limit, and the ground beneath her was shaking. At some point her hand had come to rest on his cheek. It felt normal there, like a bird finally come home to roost. She rubbed her finger against his smooth skin and he turned his head to kiss her palm. “Pop’s tomorrow?” he asked.Betty answered him in another kiss.

[marauder-exe]

Roommates- Sebastian Stan x Reader

Request: sebastian stan & reader are shooting a movie together in atlanta &his place gets flooded so they become roommates. at first he only sees her like a little sister since shes much younger than him (22) but then started seeing her differently while living together but doesnt realize it so he does nothing. then during the press tour and premiere for the movie fans noticed how he would look at her all the time &it got them trending in social media forcing him to finally admit his feelings to her 🙈

Word Count: 1.6k

Your eyes shot open as you heard the incessant loud knocking on your apartment door. You sleepily got up from your bed and headed towards the door. You groggily it wondering who the hell was knocking at 3 in the damn morning! To your surprise, it was Sebastian Stan. You and Sebastian had become fast friends a few months ago. You had been hired as the cool best friend in a new movie that was being made in Atlanta. Sebastian was the lead, so you would be spending a lot of time together, which you didn't mind. And soon you were close, closer to him than anyone else, and it was amazing. But why was he at your door at 3am? You were hoping it was some sappy declaration of love at 3am like you see in the movies, but you knew it wasn't, he only saw you as a sister. “Seb? What are you doing here? Come in come in” You rushed him in, turning on the lights. He had a lot of stuff in boxes with him. “Is everything alright?” He was cold and shivering. You sat him down on the sofa then you got up and went to the kitchen area, turning on the kettle. “Uh, one of my neighbours did something, not entirely sure what, but he ended up flooding the entire floor of apartments. So my apartment and a lot of my stuff got ruined, and I have nowhere to stay.” He explained. You returned to the sofa with two hot chocolates, Sebastian's favourite. “Of course you can stay here Seb, you can stay in my room” You sipped your hot chocolate and lay a hand on his arm. “I couldn't take your bed, ‘m already staying in your house, ill just take the couch” You gave him a look. “Seb” “(Y/N)” You sighed. “Fine, but I'm gonna get you lots of blankets alright” He nodded as you got up to go to the cupboard in the next room. Sebastian looked around your apartment. It was quaint, cute, full of life. You had many things hanging from the walls. Posters of some movies you've been in, certificates from childhood, even your graduation. You had graduated from a top drama school with a scholarship last year, coincidentally on the same day as your 21st birthday. It was a wild, drunken night. He smiled at the memory. Soon enough you returned with a heap of blankets in your arms. Sebastian immediately rushed over to help you with the big ball of blankets. He dropped them on the couch as you took a deep breath. You tiredly giggled and lay your head on his chest, sighing. “You sure you're alright? You did just lose your entire lively hood in water” You looked up at him. “Yeah ill be fine” He waved it off. “As long as Ive got my best girl ill be fine” He smiled down at you as you smiled back. “Come on, let's get to bed, you've had a long day” You said your goodbyes and went to bed. You stared up at the ceiling. Sebastian was living with you now. Damn. Eventually you drifted off into sleep.

You awoke a few hours later to the smell of fresh pancakes coming from your kitchen. Honestly, Sebastian was something else. You jumped out of bed, wearing shorts and a vest top, slipping on your socks. You walked into the kitchen, the smell getting stronger. You spotted Sebastian with a spatula in his hand near the oven. “Alright love, fancy a pancake?” He smiled nonchalantly. You rushed over to him and placed a huge kiss on his cheek. “Oh my gosh I love you!” You sat down at the table, chomping down on the pancake, as you heard him throw his head back in laughter. “Its the least I could do” You mumbled something inaudible because of the pancake in your mouth and he laughed again. “Slow down, (Y/N)” He said as he slipped into the seat next to you with his own pancakes, you just gave him a smile. “So, any news on your apartment?” You asked, gulping down your pancakes. He nodded his head, taking a bite of his pancake. “They called an hour ago, they said there's a lot of damage and they wont know anything until next week” You nodded along. “Well you're free to stay here as long as you need” He smiled at you. You went to put your dishes away, and for the first time all day Sebastian actually looked at you, and you were beautiful. You were laughing at something random, and he felt butterflies in his stomach. Actual butterflies. He swore that only happened in movies. He had only seen you in a sisterly way up until now, now he was seeing you differently.

“Seba! Come on!” You shouted towards your room. Sebastian came rushing out in his 3 piece suit. “Damnnnn, Sebby got game!” You both laughed. “Do I look okay?” You questioned, giving one last glance in the mirror. “Of course, you look beautiful” He gave you a kiss on the cheek “Now come on! We don't wanna be late for your first press tour!” Sebastian rushed you into the car before you set off. Sebastian had been living with you for the past 6 months, and tonight was the press tour for the new movie you guys were in. Your first press tour, and you where glad it was with Sebastian. You made small talk, talking about how excited you were for your first press tour while Seb stared at you in admiration. He was glad he was with his best friend at her first press tour. The car came to a holt outside the hall. You stared outside at the huge hall, a starstruck look on your face, Sebastian looked over to you, wonder struck, and laughed. He loved seeing that look on your face. The same face you made the first time on set. He opened the car door and jumped out, making his way around the car to open your door for you. He held out his hand and you took it. “Ever the gentleman, Seba” You cooed. “Only for you” he responded, dragging you into the venue. There was paparazzi everywhere, cameras flashing constantly. It was a dream. Sebastian grabbed your hand and you flushed, looking down. He flushed as well. “You ready Sebby?” “Ready (Y/N/N)?” You both nodded and pushed open the doors. You heard a chorus of questioning interviewers, and paparazzi shouting you over. ‘Here (Y/N)’ ‘look over here Sebastian’. You stared up at him with a gigantic smile, finding he was already looking at you, he had an arm wrapped protectively around your waist. “Im so happy” You whispered. “Me too, smile for the camera” A smile reached his eyes and he looked back toward the cameras.

You and Sebastian barged through the doors to your apartment, kicking your shoes off and collapsing on the couch. You both let out a deep sigh, exhausted from the press tour. “That was one hell of a day” You sighed. “Your telling me” He chuckled. “i don't know about you but im ready for the biggest sleep of my life” You nodded in agreement as he took of his tie. He lay on the couch with his arm around you, too tired to move. Thats how you both fell asleep, for the next 12 hours, in each others arms. Until you were rudely woken up at 11am by your phone buzzing, Sebastian stirring and opening his eyes. “’mmm you alright, love?” His sleepy voice was heaven. “Yeah, my phones blowing up though” You said with furrowed brows. “Dude you and Sebastian are trending on twitter!” You read out the message from your best friend. “Guess the press tour photos are released” He chuckled. “Lets see whats trending then” He sat up to look at your phone. You opened up twitter and number one on trending was ‘AviPressTour’ which was no surprise, but on number two trending was ‘SebastiansCrush’. You gave him a confused glance. “What?” He asked, and you let him see your phone as you clicked on the hashtag. Your screen became filled with heartbroken teenage girls, and pictures of Sebastian lovingly staring at you, with a hand around your waist. One was entitled ‘i want someone to look at me the way Sebastian looks at (Y/N), you smiled at it. Sebastian gulped as he looked at the screen. Man he hated twitter. The top news story, ‘Is Sebastian Stans new boo only 22?’ It made you feel intimidated and uncomfortable. You knew Seb wouldn't like you like that because of your age. “Wo- woah, thats- thats crazy-” Sebastian stuttered, face red. No? He couldnt like you like that. Hell Sebastian didn't even knew he liked you like that until 2 minutes ago. Suddenly, every time he looked at you he felt like he was going to burst if he didn't kiss you. “Sebastian?” You questioned tentatively, turning to face him. He gulped. “Yeah?” “You like me, don't you?” You asked quietly, as if it was a secret never to be told. He stared at you, the same way he did last night, still in the same tuxedo and dress, day old makeup on. You looked as beautiful as ever. Without even thinking, he grabbed you and kissed you, its like his body had a mind of its own. You moved against each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces. You broke apart breathing heavily. “Yeah” He breathed. You stared at him quizzically. “What?” “Yes I like you” He spoke quietly, not daring to pierce the thick air with his voice. So you kissed him, as passionate as he kissed you, and smiled. You both lay against the couch, limbs tangled into each other. Bliss.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Hidden in Plain Sight (3)- Tom Holland X Reader

A/N: This story is fun to write, but school is taking over little by little so sorry if this gets delayed more than I mean for it to be! Enjoy Chapter Three!

Word Count: 2165

Warnings: Swearing? Maybe? To be honest I can’t remember if I swore or not but knowing me I probably did. But there is mention of a killer moth so if that’s as trigger as it was when it was flying around my room then I’ll mention it here.

You had the absolute worst day. You were hoping it was going to be a good day since you had put on one of your favorite outfits to wear to work. But as soon as you got to work, everything turned into a shit show. A project you thought was finished didn’t save the last days edits, your boss got on you for something that was your coworker’s responsibility, and someone ate your lunch, which you’re not entirely sure how that happened, but it did. Add to it you have the start of what you think is a migraine, the last thing you want to do is anything work related, but because you’re behind on the project that is due tomorrow, you’ll probably be up all night working on it before going in tomorrow to continue working on it at the office. So heating up some soup to eat while you work, you decide to scroll through Tumblr while you wait for it to heat up. 

The news of Spider-Man, and therefore Tom Holland, staying in the MCU still hasn’t died down, which let’s be honest why should it? It’s fantastic news. Out of all the Spider-Mans, Tom’s portrayal of it is your favorite and you would be so sad to see him taken from Marvel just because Sony, Marvel and Disney couldn’t come to an agreement on things. It’s only been a couple days since it was announced, but you wouldn’t be surprised if this was talked about for weeks at least. You reblog a couple of photos, adding some of your usual hashtags. Honestly, you want to be distracted by asks, but you know that the likelihood that people will respond is low, plus you shouldn’t let yourself be distracted by Tumblr when you have the project due tomorrow. 

Hating seeing notifications, you click on the second icon from the right on the bottom of your screen. You clear off the notifications from reblogs and likes but notices your app is still showing a notification, on the messages side. It’s probably just from one of your friends. You flip over to the other screen and see a message from none other than Tomholland2013, who you’ve been messaging on and off over the past couple of days, ever since you sent him that edit.

You haven’t been super active on tumblr lately. Everything ok?x

Been super busy at work lol. Big deadlines coming up.

You don’t expect to get a message back since you figured from your messages where he mentioned he was in the early hours of the day while you were only in the late afternoon, that he was probably asleep since you got home later from work than you had planned. So you set your phone aside as you pull the broccoli cheddar soup from the microwave. However, you’re pleasantly surprised to see a message waiting for you when you pick your phone back up to head back to your computer to keep working.

Ah, big deadlines. What kind of work do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?x

Hm, this new tumblr friend of yours is awake even though it’s probably the middle of the night for him?

I don’t mind. I work in graphic design. Isn’t it the middle of the night for you? 

It would be if I was at home. I travel a lot for work. I’m currently in New York, so it’s only 9pm.x

But it definitely feels like I should be asleep. I’ve only been in New York for a few days and my mind is still on London time.x

What kind of work do you do? 

You set your phone down and boot your computer back up. You know you have shadows to deal with and layers to add back before even getting to the stuff you were meaning to get on today. This project was going to be the death of you. 

Tom stares at the message. How does he respond to that? He can’t very well tell you he’s an actor. That blows all of this. He likes being able to be open with you and the moment that it comes out that he is actually Tom Holland, well you might not be open with him. Could he tell you he works in the movie field without having to admit who he is? Could he play it off that he’s still a fanboy, because he will be a marvel fanboy until the day he dies, without blowing this whole thing up? There’s just something about you and being able to connect with someone who has no idea who he is that is different. 

Even on your blog today, you shared things from months ago and still reacted like it was your first time seeing them. Your whole blog just radiated positivity, even though your messages sounded like you had a lot on your plate outside of the internet world. He wants to be able to know you without the pressure of having to be, well, him. But you’re not asking him to spill everything about who he is. Just a snip-it. 

Film production. Getting ready to head off to a new project actually.x

Must be fun to travel for it. Anywhere fun?

Cleveland actually. Haven’t been there before, so maybe I’ll find something fun to do outside of the project while I’m there.x

Maybe you’ll run into Tom. He’s supposed to be there shooting a project I think. Especially if you’re also in the film industry, you’d already have more of a way into things than say I would lol 

I don’t know if I’ll have that much time off to look for him.x

Well if you happen to run into him in said little time off, tell him there’s probably half a million if not more tumblr users willing to marry him, should he be in need of a wife, husband, or nonbianary pal.

Would you happen to be one of those said half a million?x

He shouldn’t have sent it. You have been pretty good about responding, but after sending that message, he hasn’t heard from you in over twenty-four hours and he’s beside himself. You also haven’t posted on your blog. Which makes him think you’re avoiding him on the site all together, which is even worse. The flight to Cleveland, wouldn’t have been half bad if he wasn’t worried the whole time about what you might have been sending while his phone was on airplane mode. And of course the one time he would have paid any amount for on flight wi-fi, it was down and no one could use it.

As soon as the plane lands, he’s flipping the switch to connect his phone again. He needs to see if you’ve messaged back. He’s ignoring all the other notifications that pop up, looking for only on apps notifications. And while you haven’t posted again, you have messaged back. Which makes him suddenly feel like he can breathe again. 

I’m not the one who took Tom’s name on here. I feel like you might propose to Tom before I even have a chance to meet him IRL.

I don’t think I’m Tom’s type.X

And what do you think Tom’s type is? 

And it takes everything to not just describe you. It wouldn’t be hard. He had spent a lot of time deep diving through your blog. He had looked through your #me tab on your blog. It was filled with everything from selfies to posts about things you had done. And you were the kind of person that he was into. It wasn’t an only physical attraction thing. It was the things that you found important enough to post about. The little things about your day that you shared about. But instead of typing back you, Tom decides to type something different.

I think he would be into someone down to earth. Someone who is into sharing time with friends and family equally and someone who has a great sense of humor. Oh and they would HAVE to love Tessa. That would be a must.x

Wow you’ve thought a lot about this.

Do you disagree?x

Surprisingly no. But I thought you’d say something more… I don’t know physical I guess.

Why’s that?x

I don’t know. I just did.

What do you think he’d be into?x

He can’t help but ask. He wants to know what you think he’s like. There’s enough speculation out there about what he’s like, but for some reason, knowing what you think about him, it means something to him.

I would say, similar to you- family, friends and Tessa would definitely be at the top. Sense of humor would be important. I also feel like with there being so much he can’t talk about to the public, having someone he can trust with stuff would be important. I also think trust would be important so that he has a space he can just be himself too. 🤷‍♀️

Pretty spot on. All of those are important to him. He wants to ask if those things are all important to you, but asking that would come off weird, so he takes a different approach.

Honestly if I wasn’t such a div when I was making accounts I would have just made a Tessa fan blog. I’m a bigger fan of her than of Tom. x

SO TRUE. How can you not be?! She’s the purest thing in this world (sorry to Tom) and every time he shares more of her with us I melt a little.

Paddy had sent him that picture of Tessa this morning, maybe sharing it would brighten everyone’s days. Especially knowing that you were such a fan of her too. Adding the picture to his Instagram story, with a quick caption of missing this sweet girl, he quickly uploads it.

APPARENTLY TOM CAN READ OUR THOUGHTS?!

What do you mean?x

Cute Tessa content just uploaded to his Insta story. Apparently he’s away from her and missing her 😭

She’s just too pure for this world x

I needed that right now.

Something wrong?x

Work project might kill me. 

It’s due by the end of the day, but photoshop keeps crashing and I might scream. 

I’m sorry love x

I’m restarting my computer for the third time today and it’s not even noon yet. 

You know he’s English so the love thing shouldn’t throw you. Plus he’s a boy on the internet. But for some reason, it feels like something more. So instead of saying anything about it, you just keep messaging like nothing happened. A small part of you is hoping that by not mentioning it though, it might happen again.

Tom spends the rest of the day messaging you when he can. He knows you’re working on a project that has a deadline, so he doesn’t expect you to be at his beck and call. But when he gets a notification at almost eleven o’clock at night his time from your blog, he hopes it’s one of your personal posts to make him laugh. He isn’t let down.

THERE WAS A MOTH FLYING AROUND MY ROOM AND NOW I CAN’T FIND IT IM GOING TO DIE. IF IT EATS ME YOU ALL KNOW WHO THE MURDER IS

#me #killer moth #save me #if i die i leave everything to tom

He can’t help but send you an ask about it.

Tomholland2013 asked: You know moths don’t eat people right?x

Y/T/B: You didn’t see how big this one was. This one was definitely of the people eating variety with how big it was. And now it’s hiding in my room waiting for me to close my eyes and then it will sneak up on me, kill me, and devour me whole. 🖕

Tom laughs at your reply before sending another ask. Sure he could do this in your message thread, but he’s betting the asks are helping distract you from the moth.

Tomholland2013 asked: That’s a quiet defensive response from someone who is going to be eaten. If you want me to come save you from a killer moth, maybe be a bit nicer.x

Y/T/B: If you will race over here, find this moth, and release it into the wild so that it can’t kill me in my sleep I will make you as many Tom edits as it takes in gratitude. 👏😘Just come save me please. I swear I can hear him laughing in the distance. 

Tomholland2013 asked: If he’s laughing in the distance, I’ll be over to take care of him. No one gets to disrespect my favorite blog and get away with it.x

Y/T/B: Thanks darling. I really, really appreciate it. Now I must be off to hunt this moth, before he hunts me.

Tags: @serendipitous-amor​ @im-still-tryin-to-find-it​ @tomfiction4​ @im-deeply-shallow

[fictionalrambles]

Shadowhunters Fandom Story - Part Fifteen

Submitted by jwrites_

Five Favourite Fics:

1. What's It Gonna Be by @lemonoclefox

Why I love this fic: I'm a sucker for Pride & Prejudice. San was able to take that dynamic and put it all in a modern day telling of it. I can't count how many times I've read this. Sometimes I read it all the way through, other times I go and find my favorite parts just to get that rush of emotions it never fails to give. The enemies to lovers is done perfectly, the dialogue is great and flows seamlessly, the way she tied in the storyline between Simon, Isabelle, Valentine, and Alec together was genius. I truly love every word of this story.

Favorite scene: Awkward - love - confession - in -  the -  rain

Favorite quote(s):

(Yes. Love confessions are great but have you ever overheard someone say something rude about you and then have the opportunity later that same night to be able to casually call that person out for their comment?)

"Her friend is..." He trails off, as though searching for the word, and Magnus can imagine him gesturing in the meantime. "Interesting," Jace eventually settles on, pointedly.

"Who, that Bane guy?" Alec says, and as he does, Magnus is hit with a wave of intrigued surprise. Does Alec like men? Interesting. The assumption could be wrong, of course, but Jace's tone implies that that's why he's mentioning it. "He's a bit over the top, don't you think?"

He sounds almost disdainful as he says it, as though Jace's mere suggestion is laughable, and Magnus's intrigue immediately shifts to offended annoyance. He straightens a little where he stands, reluctantly affected by it.

--

"I mean, love songs are great," Magnus admits lightly. "But stringing a few pretty words together does seem a bit unoriginal when everyone does it."

Simon shoves him lightly in offense, and Magnus can't help but laugh.

"Then what do you suggest?" Magnus is taken completely by surprise when he realizes that it's Alec who's speaking, and he turns to him. The guy's expression is neutral, but seems genuinely curious.

"Oh, I don't know," Magnus says, swirling his drink around in his glass. He shrugs. "I suppose I'm more a fan of showing and not telling. I'd much prefer someone showing interest in what I like and who I am, than comparing my eyes to the night sky, and whatnot." He gestures airily, then hesitates. He suddenly can't seem to stop himself, the memory of the Lightwoods' overheard conversation bubbling to the surface. "I think most people can appreciate that. Even if some of us are a bit over the top."

--Okay...I'm gonna go ahead and throw in a love confession~

"Look, I don't expect anything from you," he says, as though the words are hard to say. "You've made your feelings pretty clear, and I respect that. But I heard you talked to my mom, and with the stuff you said to her... I guess it just kind of made me a bit hopeful, or something. A bit." He clears his throat, while Magnus just listens. He turns to watch Alec's profile as the young man struggles to find the words, eyes on the view in front of him. "Either way, I'll admit that how I feel hasn't really changed. Maybe it should have, but..."

Alec shakes his head, and Magnus feels his throat go dry. He wants to interrupt Alec, wants to say and show everything that's bursting out of his chest, but he waits. Alec takes a deep breath then, turns to him. He looks determined.

"If you want me to," he says steadily, "I'll go. I'll leave you alone, I promise. You won't hear from me again." He pauses, licks his lips. "But if you don't want me to, if something has changed since last time, somehow... I'd really like to know. Because that would be pretty great."

2. 42 North 71 West by @lecrit​

Why I love this fic: I was blessed with the opportunity to witness Lu working on this fic from its conception to its end. I was there and still I am blown away at the way she was able to work the time jumps. I remember thinking with every chapter I read, 'Wow. The way she is telling this story is amazing. She is amazing.' Lu has a way of presenting so much honesty in her characters. She writes them in a way that feels so real, that you can't help but understand their fears and hesitations even though it hurts. The story is a back and forth told through scenes set in the past and present. You get to see what they were and where they are. The story is beautifully heartbreaking. And she was able to make me enjoy a story that dealt with politics? What? Sorcery, I tell you. -- also, the bench.

Favorite scene: This was almost impossible to choose and I took way too long trying to pinpoint just one. But I'm going to go with one that I hold very dear. When Magnus goes to visit Alec on his birthday and he finds Alec playing the song he only plays when he's sad. That's all I'm going to say because I don't want to spoil~

Favorite quote(s):

“Magnus,” Alec breathes out.

The name feels almost foreign, as if he hadn’t uttered it in too long and now his mind is troubling to catch up with his mouth. Still, it manages to make Alec’s heart stutter.

--

“We should’ve stayed on that bench in Boston,” he murmurs.

--

The good thing is, he knows where to go to find his way back. It is inked on his body, engraved into his soul, sealed into his heart.

3. Lead The Way by Clockworkswan

Why I love this fic: Because it takes the wonderful adventure of Doctor Who and packs it in with Malec. This is the ultimate fun and feel good but you will also cry at one point fic. I always go back to it if I want a wonderfully written Doctor Magnus and his adorable companion Alec. Seriously, even if you're not into Doctor Who, give this fic a shot. It's written in a way that you will get so caught up in the adventure that you won't even realize it's based on something else. And if you're a Doctor Who fan, you're in luck with all the little Easter Eggs Heather left throughout.

Favorite scene: I really don't want to spoil anything. The planet of Ablorix. This will mean nothing if you don't read the fic (so you should ;])

Favorite quote(s):

Magnus extends a hand. It’s just like before, when they were in the hallway a couple of weeks ago. It’s just as inviting as it was the first time.

“How about it, pretty boy? Name a star. Any one will do. Or a date,” Magnus says. The double meaning is evident when he winks. He pauses then, and his expression shifts, growing solemn.

A clear shift in his demeanour happens. Magnus turns from playful to sincere in the blink of an eye. Although, there was also a serious tone to it. Magnus looks at him, and understanding eyes meet Alec’s hesitant ones. “Alexander, you seem like a man in need of a break, and I am very much a man in need of a friend. Adventures are always a quick way in figuring out what you want. What do you say?”

What does he say?

He says yes.

Of course Alec does.

--

Before Magnus can think of a good retort, he tries to ignore the clenching ache his stomach gives at the sight of a confident, smirking Alec Lightwood watching him so openly. He settles for pointing in a random direction. “I have to go and see a dog about a man. Meet back here in five?”

“Uh, isn’t the expression, ‘see a man about a dog’?”

“Not when the dog ran off with the man’s wife. A rather big scandal, it seems. The president wants me to try and step in. Smooth things over, so to speak.”

At that, Alec just stares blankly.

Magnus holds up a finger. “Yes, this is normal for me. No, you may not come along. Go.”

4. Love & Other Drugs prequel of Our Love Is A Harsh Chord in the Semi-charmed Kind Life series by @la-muerta​

Why I love this fic: I'm kind of cheating here by listing two fics but they're a package deal. Love & Other Drugs was a smutty one-shot that left me wanting

more...

backstory. Let me tell you the pining and 'unrequited' love between those two demanded a story to be written. Which is why when la_muerta ran a poll on whether or not she should start it or another series first, I campaigned for this one like it was my job (I lost but I still got the series eventually so did I really lose?) The writing in this and with all of la_muerta's fics will hook you. The sadness over the back and forth between them is done so well. It's angst that will grip you and hold onto you until you eventually finish. Just go on the twitter hashtag of #OLIAHCfic and see my screaming.

Favorite scene: Probably the LSD scene.

Favorite quote(s):

Alec was still here, in bed with him.

How many times had Magnus wished that he could wake up with Alec in his arms? He didn't dare to move, wanting the dream to last a little longer, but Alec was already stirring.

--

he'll wonder if life would be a little easier if he wasn't hopelessly in love with Magnus, but it is a fact of who he is now: Alec Lightwood is 6'3, has dark hair, is gay, and is in love with Magnus Bane.

--

They are lying next to each other now, turned on their sides and face to face. The world is no longer warped and weird, but glowing and perfect. Magnus is tracing a path of lightning down Alec's body with his fingertips, and in a moment of clarity Alec understands that in Magnus' eyes he is as beautiful as he thinks Magnus is (it is the first thing Alec forgets when he wakes up sober later).

--

Words aren't enough to express how he feels, but they've always understood each other better when clumsy words don't get in the way.

5. The Lonely Hearts Hotline by @unrestrainedlyexcessive​

Why I love this fic: It's funny, it's endearing, it's heart wrenching, it's sexy, etc. The way Alec is written in this fic is one of my favorite characterizations. The way his situation can resonate with so many young adults today. That feeling when you're an adult and you feel like you should know what to do with your life and who you should be but the truth is, you're still just as lost as always. Being an adult sucks tbh and even when you're an adult, sometimes life doesn't quite feel like it. Alec's character and growth in this fic is beautiful. (I also really loved Jace in this fic)

Favorite scene: A tough choice. Probably the office party and follow up scene in Magnus' office.

Favorite quote(s):

The problem with being a new grad, in general, is that the world and job force demands you have experience, but you have to live a certain number of productive years on the planet to gain that experience.

Early adulthood is no man's land. You don’t have the experience to matter and no one wants to pay you to gain it, hence how he ended up in the precarious situation he’s in: dodgy sex work by night, an even dodgier roommate, and desperately hoping an internship eventually turns into an actual paying job.

--

Magnus runs his tongue down the knobs of Alec's spine. "You're so beautiful," he says, pausing.

"I'm really not," Alec insists, eyes fluttering closed.

"Why are you so kind to everyone except yourself?"

"I'm a work in progress."

"Aren't we all?"

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #315

“can’t breathe to scream  /  suffocating in this dream  /  long way down”

Who was your first big crush? I would probably say this guy in high school named Sebastian. We sat beside each other in Art, and I definitely liked him a lot. Man, my freshman-sophomore years honestly involved a handful of crushes before Jason popped into the picture and I lost all romantic interest in everyone else. Where was the first place you drove after you got your license? N/A Is it a blue sky outside right now? No. All North Carolina has known for weeks on end now is rain. We've had very rare sunny days, but for the most part, it's just gray and gross. Was your last breakup a bad one? Nah, I'd say it ended maturely and with a mutual understanding of "why." When was the last time you were surprised, in a pleasant way? Hell if I know. Is there an ice-cream flavor that you strongly dislike? Which one? Yeah, like strawberry. What was the last sitcom you watched? No clue. ^ Do you have a favorite character in that sitcom? Why is that character your favorite? N/A What does the last group you joined on Facebook concern? I am 90% sure it was this group I joined that is literally just about cute yet dangerous animals lmao, mostly reptiles and invertebrates. "Misunderstood biteybois and where to befriemd them" or some stupid shit like that. Has there been a spider in your house at any time recently? Not that I've seen, no. Do you like wearing make-up? Not at all. I only like wearing it for pictures and then taking that shit off. ^ If so, how old were you when you first started to wear it? I started consistently wearing it my freshman year of high school. Then some time later I just showed up one day without any, shocked all my friends, and then only wore it when I felt like it. What foods are you craving lately, if any? Nothing, really. What were some of your favorite foods as a child? Chicken nuggets of course, as well as spaghetti, peanut butter sandwiches, just the typical stuff that kids tend to enjoy. When you were younger, did you ever have a friend that your parents hated? No. Have you ever talked in your sleep before? That's very normal for me, especially now that I have nightmares like every goddamn night. What was the last song you heard, that reminded you of someone? Well, not a real someone, but "The Ordinary World" by the Hit House is 110% one of Fetch's soon-to-be themes. What has brought you joy today? Nothing brought me "joy," really. When was the last time you won a prize in a raffle? What was it? I actually recently won an art rafle on deviantART hosted by a truly amazing artist, like I thought I had no chance, and she's going to be drawing Moondust!!!! :'''') What is the next non-essential item that you intend to buy for yourself? I'm still paying the bulk of my tattoo in May. Is there anywhere in your town/city that's rumored to be haunted? Oh, I'm sure. When you were younger, did you ever think that a certain place was haunted? Bitch I still do lmao. What were your school meals like? Did you enjoy them? This really depended on the menu for the day. My school lunches were nowhere near as bad as some people make theirs sound, but most things still weren't great. I think school pizzas are the most notoriously bad. What kind of granola bar did you eat most recently? I had a cashew bar earlier today. Do you have any books on your shelf that you've read multiple times? I never reread books. What did your last post on social media concern? That I personally wrote, something regarding subtle racism still being racism, pretty much. How do you feel about people using graphic images as a scare tactic to promote their beliefs? (i.e.: PETA, abortion…) I have mixed feelings on this. Like sometimes seeing the brutal side of certain things is definitely useful in opening someone's mind to things they don't want to see/think about, but then there's that, too: it can just be so invasive and unexpected, and thus very upsetting and even scarring. I'd say I'm most for the "appropriate" social media route: using censorship that the viewer can decide whether or not to remove. But you obviously can't do that in like, a public protest with a sign, so idk. Which is harder for you: writing creatively or academically? Honestly, both are pretty easy for me. I enjoy writing creatively far more, though. Do you think gender neutral bathrooms are a good idea? I think it's fine to have them as an option. When was the last time you voluntarily went outside of your comfort zone? Just talking about stuff in group therapy recently. Would you ever use a dating site that costs money, like Match.com or eHarmony? Have you known anyone who had good experience with such sites? No, and yes. Do you think it’s fair that people are able to make a reasonable salary and live comfortable lives just by making YouTube videos? Yes? It takes charisma and talent in some area (humor, education, etc.) as well as consistency for it to be a reliable career, and just consider how often you hear about creators burning out. That happens for a reason. Entertainment is a valid job category and should not be seen as an unfair joke. Whether you’re in college or not, do you become fearful about whether or not you’ll find a good job? Story of my life. What is something you can only understand if you've experienced it first hand? Deep heartbreak. Do you think it's a double standard that a woman can hit a man and expect to get away with it, but if a man hits a woman it's assault? Obviously. Abuse knows no gender, and hitting another person is just that. I do, however, believe in self-defense, also regardless of gender. In terms of a wedding, put these things in order from what would be MOST important to be perfect, to LEAST important... Engagement ring, dress, hair, venue, ceremony, food, pictures, decorations, honeymoon. This requires too much thinking, haha... but I do know the quality of my honeymoon would be most important to me, given that that's personal time with my new spouse and not a public celebration. I feel like what goes on behind closed doors is more important and heartfelt than how you act publicly. Do you have a go-to small talk conversation topic? Probably video games or music, idk. Define "small talk." Does anyone owe you money? Do you owe anyone money? (Besides credit cards) Mom does. She just a few days ago had to borrow $100 for rent. If someone was going to buy you any practical gift (anything except a house or car), what would you choose? It'd be dope as fuck if someone could pay for Venus' next terrarium, but that's a big purchase that I'd have a hard time accepting. How many people do you know with the same first name as you? At least one, but her name is spelled differently. What in your opinion is the best love song ever written? I'm not sure, but I can tell you that "When It's Love" by Van Halen has always been high on the list for me. Was your mother married when she had you? No, actually. I thought she was until my most recent bday, I think. It was just part of a conversation. How old was the first person you kissed? He was a few months into 18. The first person you were in a relationship with, do you still care about them? Of course, he's a sweet guy. We don't talk or anything, but that doesn't mean I don't care about him. Has anyone ever sang to you? Yes. So, what if you married the last person you kissed? That'd be pretty rad. What are you listening to at the moment? "Long Way Down" from the The Evil Within soundtrack. It's funny, like I've loved the game for many years, but I'm now in a serious semi-obsession phase after watching another let's play of it. Have you read the The Hunger Games trilogy? I only read the first book. I loved it, but just never continued. What is your boss’ (or school prinicpal’s) name? N/A Who is the person you dislike the most? That I personally know, probably a former best friend, oddly enough. Do you text your parents often? If Mom's not home, it's not unusual for us to text. I don't text my dad much because he's not a fan of texting. Do you watch YouTube videos often? Pretty much always. Do you know anyone with celiac disease? Sara, my aunt, and my cousin. Those are the ones I know of, anyway. Do you currently have any alarms set? No. How many cars can fit in your driveway? Barely even two. If someone else is here, they usually just park where the road meets the sidewalk of the cul-de-sac. Do you have the ashes of a family member or a pet? Of my dog Teddy, yes. Have you ever been involved in a car crash? Yes, as a kid. Do you prefer flash or no flash on a camera? Definitely no flash. It's more natural, and especially with people, it obviously prevents red eye. How often do you use hashtags? Just about never. Have you ever had whiplash before? No. Have you ever given another person or an animal a bath before? Pets, yes. I could never bathe another human. Is there a birdbath in your yard? No. Weirdest place you’ve ever had a cramp? Nowhere weird, I think... How many lamps are in the room you’re in? How many are actually turned on? Technically three, if you count my snake's heat lamp. Right now that's the only light that's on. Are there any activities you enjoy doing, but can only do for a short amount of time before you get bored or tired of them? Yeah, reading comes to mind first. Is there anything coming out soon (books, albums, movies, video games) that you're looking forward to? I'm not up-to-date on this stuff at all, not even video games. What is something someone recommended to you that you disliked/hated? I know Girt's recommended me music I haven't been a fan of. We like the same general stuff, but there are specific sub-genres we differ in opinion about. Can you unwrap a Starburst in your mouth? ... There are people who do this to even know in the first place??? What is the last thing you ate? Popcorn. Who is your favorite person to spend time with? Sara. Do you know how to grill a steak? I don't know how to cook, period. Do you have a large dog? We don't have a dog currently, but Mom is looking for one pretty intently. We don't know the size it'll end up being. Do you like walking places? Absolutely not. I can't walk far at all without my legs starting to scream at me because leading such a sedentary lifestyle led to muscle atrophy in my legs. It's incredibly embarrassing. Are you a fan of bands most people don’t know of? That's not uncommon for me. Have you ever sent an X-Rated picture to someone? No. Do you think your voice is higher or lower than average? It's deeper than the average woman's. Do you have a pool? No, but I really, really want one... Given how easily I sweat, I would love to use swimming to strengthen my legs. I could also stop the very moment I feel I need to; it in general sounds like something I could quite easily do. How many times have you been on a plane? Ummm including the trips going back, at least six times. Favorite ice cream flavor? Oh my gooooood, if you haven't tried Ben & Jerry's "phish food"... fucking try that shit. It is innnnnncredible. Do you have a TikTok? Nope. Do you enjoy driving? Fuck no I don't. Your favorite store as a teen? Hot Topic was and still is my fave, ha. Favorite YouTuber? There's this one called Markiplier that I think's pretty cool. How many online accounts do you have? A LOT. My whole life is essentially on the computer, so... .-. Do you tend to always be in some sort of drama? Quite the opposite. Do you collect quarters from every state? No. When was the last time your living room furniture was rearranged? Not since we moved into this place. When you were little did you like watching Cartoon Network, Disney or Nickelodeon more? Disney probably topped Nickelodeon. I didn't watch much CN. Who was the last person to kiss you on the cheek? Either my niece or nephew when saying bye. Have you ever seen a magic show? Yes, as a kid. I even had a magician for my bday once. When was the last time you vomited and why? It's been a year or so. It would've been a side effect of starting a certain med that I didn't stay on because it so consistently made me sick. Where do you usually sit when you eat dinner? Either in my bed (I know) or at the dinner table if Nicole is here to eat with us. What time do you usually go to sleep at night? It's typically around 7:30-8:30, occasionally a bit later. I can't believe as a teen, it was my "rule" that I couldn't go to sleep before 10:30 because it was "too early." Nowadays, I can barely imagine regularly staying up that late. Do you avoid using public restrooms? As best as I can. I've seen some nasty shit. What’s your favorite type of cookie? Chocolate chip. How basic.