#so i think forcing myself to gain experience and to think carefully and pay attention

[numberone-wifeguy]

05/07/24

[kazuhasbunny]

Giiiirl, imagine you are on Baal's side, you are a general and commanding an army against the rebels' own general, Gorou.

You are all cocky and confident, your years of experience just keeping you aware enough so you won't be consumed by your pride. But oh, your face, when after all of those carefully thought out strategies and intensive training, you end up losing to that mutt.

He is insufferable. Even though his face and body is caked in a mixture only war can give-- blood, sweat and dirt, his smile is the biggest, smuggest thing you have ever seen in your life as a warrior. It does not help that you are on your knees, back stretching forward as the grip he has on your jaw tugs you up with such a force you won't ever believe an archer, a long distance fighter, would posses. The bodies of both sides lay scattered on the defiled land, but the purple spots decorate the most, as his last men stand straight and proud behind him, just as yours do, but the lack the attentiveness. Their tired and bored countenance ticks you in a wrong way. Why they don't look happy by this result?

Does your failure was already predicted? As if this end was something that was already calculated. Taken in account.

The man holding your jaw in a bruising grip let go of you, a mere blink of respite as the next second your left cheek explodes in pain, your vision swaggers for a second as you fall on your right side from the streght of that blow. You shut your eyes and concentrate on your breathing; the fight left you completely drained, as much as your brain screamed at you to stand up and attack that man, your bones and muscles protested as you tensed in hopes of getting up, but ultimately you only made yourself look pitiful.

Gorou turns to were his men are, his gaze lingering for a second on your laughable attempt. His focus switches to the army as he starts to pace from one side to the other, the victory was already decided, but the energy from the feat itself brought a surge of emotions within him.

Another quick glance at you, and something on his mind switched. He was wondering what to do with you; killing you off felt as a meaningless action, as the Shogun won't care for someone as low as yourself. You only were deployed to fight against them to gain time for the real force, to prepare and learn how strong the rebels actually are. With how confident you looked hours ago, it seems that your benevolent Shogun forgot to grace you with such knowledge before sending you off with a bunch of newly trainees.

"First of all, congratulations, my friends, for this well earned victory" Gorou began. The group of men on front of him quickly acknowledge his words, paying attention to what he had to say.

"Even if the outcome resulted as to what we--" He turns around, your eyes opened when he began speaking. You both made eye contact, and Gorou's smirk transformed into a full smile. Was it okay for him to fill such giddiness at the sight of your equally wounded pride and body? After all, he was the one to bring you into that state, he was the one to put you in your rightful place with just one arrow, kneeling on the dirty battlefield as the geo power incased on the arrowhead did its job in petrify you.

The glint of defeat on, dare he say, those gorgeous eyes of yours really made them stand out. Actually, as he approaches your form, he's starting to see some other appealing features he couldn't notice from a longer distance. What was the Shogun thinking, in even allowing you a spot within her number when you clearly weren't made for war?

"--Expected" his pause brought your attention to what he was actually saying. So they had all of this calculated...

"But now, all that is left to do, is tend to the wounded and take care of the dead. Yours and their sacrifice will bring an end to this stupid decree in no time. We need to prepare for tougher, real..." He gives you a glance "...battles from now on. Don't let this win get in your head"

The crowd quietly cheers between them, some of them patting each other on the shoulder for a job well done. All of that camaraderie made your stomach hollow, as you recognise the same speech you have told to your former men after a battle well fought. Those piercing blue eyes of his made you painfully aware of the consecutive part of giving a victory speech, about what is waiting for the losing side, the pit in your stomach grew in size and you really wished that it could swallow you whole before the man in front of you does.

Gorou thrills in your despair. That pretty face of yours plunging into dark dephts, your mind weaving one horrifying destiny after other speaks a lot of your character, as only those who have layed a cruel end to those before them can conceive. He knows what kind of thoughts those are, but as much of a monster as you are viewing him now, he won't do such a thing. He was quite merciful while deciding what your fate will be, even if he didn't pondered a lot in the few minutes after your fall, you are but only a child with a weapon, sent to die by that horrible woman.

And something he prides himself of, is learning from mistakes. He won't throw away something that can fulfill very well other duties than warfare ones.

"Sir! If I may--" a voice spoke between the masses of helms and spears.

"I know, I know. The general" Gorou waves off his hand, his eyes never stranding away from your form for far too long.

A groan escapes your body as his foot steps on your ribcage, not too hard but your weak body sense as if he had nails attached to the sole, your skin felt cold and as if it was being prickled by a ton of needles. He pushes your your body with a gentleness unexpected from an enemy, until you were lying on your back. The new position put pressure in the arrow wound on your right/left shoulder, your dominant arm, and for a second you were grateful of the rigidness granted by the geo element yet covering half of your arm or else you are sure you would have cried in pain, the last thing you want now is to show more weakness that what you are displaying.

"What I am going to do with her... I didn't know myself when we first begun this battle" Gorou continued. He removed his shoe from your chest to your side on the floor, so you'll be cage between his legs while he looks down on you. His arms crossed across his chest and he tilted his head to the side, as in assessing you, taking on your face just as covered in grime as his but not diminish your beauty in the slightest. He really made a good decision in regard of your fate.

The soldiers stood still, the atmosphere felt heavy like the air on a hot summer afternoon that feels stuffy on your lungs as your breath in. Their general had an unseen aura surrounding him, his usual careless actitud makes everyone forget that there's an animal side to him, although they aren't sure they will presence it for the first time, their captain is definitely switching towards that side... they even feel a little bit of pity for the woman under him.

"But as I see her like this, beaten, it makes me remember something of old, that the victorous usually sow. Can you guys guess what it is?" He squats over you, sweetly combing a couple of strands of hair out of your face.

Whispers break among the army after the question. One of them raised his hand, no barely 18 years old as he was one of the shortest in comparison to his bigger and wider shouldered comrades. The young recruit promptly lowered his arm as the general wasn't looking at their direction but that didn't stopped him from answering, eyes shining with excitement:

"They take something as a token of their victory, sir!"

Gorou hummed in affirmation. "Yes, they did. A spoil of war, if you may"

Dread washed over you. He wasn't going to kill you, as a way to demonstrate their superiority? To be taken as a trophy, a possession... He surely won't mean that, right? They are going to torture you and extract every drop of information that you have, until the last thing left in you is blood to shed on their hands as your usefulness is cut short like your troath.

You needed to say something. Anything, as long as it would arise anger within the young male, anything as long as you aren't degrade far from what you have been.

Gorou raised his eyebrows as you coughed. He wasn't expecting a monologue from you but neither silence. Your sudden wish of speaking made the men jump into action, their spears pointing at you with such terrifying speed made you realise furthermore that this battle was destined to end like this, another stripe to the tiger just like a new blow to your pride.

"Just kill me already. I won't say anything, and if given the opportunity, I will end it myself" you spat. You tried to transmit all of your pain, hate and shame in one stare, you won't go happy until you make that man see what you feel, how big your abhorrence is to his being.

All the males stare in silence, until the general himself chuckled. Your cheeks burn with rage, your teeth clenched together as you tried yo surf this flare of emotions. How dare he laugh like that! He already won and you won't speak a thing about the Shogun, why acting like that? Isn't the rebels supposed to act with nobility and fairness?

Gorou took a breath in. He's happy he didn't went for the traditional route and killed you.

"Aw, now you just proved me correct, sweetheart. I'll enjoy making you into a proper wife"

All of that just to say "Imagine being taken as Gorou's prize and he makes you his whore wife" LMAO

(Also? In the part that reader coughs? I wanted to put that Gorou spits on your lips because you looked thirsty AODJFJDC)

THIS 🙏 yes i’d love to be gorou’s housewife he should really take me in and train me to obey him . please i’d do anything for him

AND pleasee omg ... if u actually put that in i’d die on my chair it’s too hot i can’t hjnhnggrh

[helenazbmrskai]

It’s all timing - pjm

– If you’re searching for a light and fluffy read well, this won’t be your cup of tea so continue with caution darlings! –

Title – It’s all timing

Pairing – cold husband! Jimin x clocksmith! OC

Genre – fantasy, romance, extreme amount of angst, time travel, smut, marriage, established relationship, Ceo, exes to lovers

Summary – I learnt the hard way that marriage can change a person. I would have never thought that an old watch will let me have a glimpse of my ex-husband’s world but don’t be mistaken I’m not here to fix things. I’m here to change it.

Warning(s) – Jimin is not a loveable character here (until way way later), cheating, mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation, falling in and out of love, the past and present clash a lot, different timelines that may be confusing, this is going to be a wild ride girls and boys, themes of depression and sadness, feeling of worthlessness, and self-image distortion, numbness, discussion of not wanting to have children. Unedited.

Word Count – (5.2k)

[21st March 2021]

Things between us were not always complicated. Our friendship was always exceptional even when friends fought and sought different ways after freshman year at the local Community College, Jimin and I were glued to each other’s side and maybe that’s why no one was surprised as we announced our plans to get married after we graduated.

The new world that greeted us after we finished high school only seemed meaningful because I had Jimin by my side. At that time I had no idea I’ll fall for him this hard, he literally became the extension of myself, my arms and limbs and the lungs that kept me alive. He was my first serious boyfriend even though I dated a few guys here and there before him but none of those relationships seemed to work out either because of me or the guy. Jimin is someone who could easily have his ways with words so when he decided to show interest in me as in more than friends, it was inevitable that I would give in. He was a wonderful lover in the beginning. Passionate and loving, we had many movie nights that ended up with his hands down my pants as his thick fingers rubbed my clit. He bought me flowers and comforted me when I had a bad day.

His cunning smile could get him out of a lot of trouble. Maybe that’s why I never saw the other side of him that sometimes peeked through his carefully crafted mask. I decided to ignore all the red flags until I found myself in a loveless marriage with a man that I couldn’t recognise anymore. Once I realised what had happened it was already too late.

 [12nd November 2018]

Jimin hated the fact that I was a heavy sleeper. He even threatened me once that he’ll sleep in the guest room if he had to wake up one more time to my alarm relentlessly ringing while I showed no signs of waking up any time soon.

My workspace was on the other side of town. The rent was cheap so it was worth the extra miles and the full tank of gas in my car but because of it I had to wake up extra early so I could finish showering then I would go to the kitchen to make lunch for Jimin to take with him to work and still have enough time to get ready with a freshly brewed coffee in one hand and toast in the other. Even after our first year in marriage passed by like a flash, Jimin continued to be his affectionate self, he showered me with kisses and felt needy for my touch.

It was one of our best years together. Jimin started to get more involved with his father’s company and my workshop began to gain more popularity to my greatest surprise. While I was working on an old clock that was brought into my shop by an old married couple a few hours ago my focus kept wandering back to this morning. Smiling under my nose as I thought back to why I was late to open up my little workshop this particular morning.

Jimin likes to be spontaneous he always calls me a bore when I hesitate to try out new things but this time he did not have to do much convincing before I agreed. It was weirdly satisfying to wake up to Jimin’s head buried between the juncture of my thighs, shaking and aroused even though I couldn’t feel or hear him do all those sinful things to me while I was asleep. I didn’t feel him take off my panties or lift the covers to expose my bare centre to his hungry eyes and when our gazes met he proudly told me how well I took his fingers even while I was unconscious.

Experimenting was not something I was willing to do before Jimin showed me the appeal of trying out new things. With him by my side, I felt invincible like I could conquer the world if he stays next to me holding my hand tight.

We outlived all expectations. They said high school sweethearts don’t last, well, we did.  Even though both of our parents were against the idea of us marrying each other so young we ended up doing just that. Jimin proposed after we got our diploma and I said yes. We lived together as roommates throughout all those years we spent together studying and we moved in together after both of us got our first jobs as postgrads.

I was happy it felt like we were at the top of the world but if I had known that after that year everything will go downhill I would have tried to be happier.

 [24th December 2019]

Do you know what are the telltales of cheaters? Well, it starts with subtle changes in his behaviour, you begin to see him less he makes up excuses of having too much work to do or stress so that he could avoid your advances.

He tries to make it up to you with expensive gifts but they mean nothing after the tenth impersonal present because all you would ever want is his attention and love instead of those pathetic attempts of showing their devotion with empty words. The last and most important one on the list is the new anonymous contact on his phone that shows several phone calls and text messages back and forth for hours.

Jimin did all of those.

He stopped experimenting with me. He would fuck me from behind even when I told him I want to see his face. No foreplay, no more cute nose kisses and breathless laughs between the acts of lust and playful wandering fingers.

He no longer cared if I finished first or not at all because after he was done it meant it was over. Jimin took a shower and crawled into bed facing away from me now that this task was taken care of. After the fifth time that he left me hanging, I gathered all the courage that’s left in me to stop his hands from dipping under my pants. I felt disgusted and used he made me think I’m a mere fucktoy that he can discard once it lost its appeal.

I had one of the worst days at work. The clock I was working on was missing a crucial part that I could only import from abroad and the man who wanted it fixed told me to don’t bother because he can’t afford such an expensive repair. It was not something that I could control, the clock was antique for fucks sake. He left without paying for my services even though I told him it was not the only part that I needed to change.

On my way home, a drunk man almost crashed into me with his Sedan and it left me a little shaken up, it was justified to feel the way I was and when Jimin tried to make a move on me by groping my breasts without asking permission first I just snapped.

Not one to back up he snapped right back and it led to one of our ugliest fights. I couldn’t believe the words he so carelessly let out from between those poisonous lips. We had quarrels before every couple has that, it’s normal to disagree to some extents but he went too far this time around. It’s not just the words that left me a crying mess on our bedroom floor with snot stuffing my nostrils, sniffing and rubbing the tears from my swollen eyes. I broke down once I heard the front door shut with a force that made the windows shake. It was past midnight when I heard shuffling and muffled voices, I knew Jimin was back so I cracked the door open just enough to peek into the dark living room.

It was not just Jimin, the smell of alcohol penetrated my nostrils as I watched my husband with disgust, making out with a girl in our shared apartment. I couldn’t believe the audacity he had to bring this chick back where we’re supposed to live together, it was just too much. Hearing him ram into her from the guest bedroom while I cried in our shared bedroom with just one wall separating us. I bet he didn’t even hear the front door closing while I dialled my friend’s number to pick me up. He couldn’t have heard that over that girl’s loud moaning.

I don’t remember when I finally stopped crying in my friend’s arms. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what happened. It was enough humiliation to witness my once loving husband come home with a quick fuck after a fight, it doesn’t matter that he was reeking of expensive shots of alcohol. It didn’t make his actions any less painful.

My heart broke into a million more pieces when I saw him calling me the next day. I didn’t have the guts to pick up, all I could see was him kissing another girl. I bet he was so drunk that he couldn’t remember anything, I wonder if he yelled at the girl in the morning to get the fuck out once he realised it’s not me who lays beside him. Wishful thinking on my part, he probably fucked her in the morning too just before he called me.

Somi finds my body doubled over her toilet throwing up water since it’s been a while I last ate. She helps me through it and gently gathers my hair into a loose ponytail so I won’t get any in my hair as beads of sweat and tears are rolling down my face. My body works on autopilot going through the cleaning motions as I take a burning hot shower and then lay down to get some rest. My body aches and the fatigue is evident in every lazy flutter of my lashes.

I hear his voice, pleading to my friend to let him see me. Now it’s dark outside, it must be hours that I slept through. Somi denies that I’m here and I’m thankful for her quick understanding, the last thing I want right now is to face him. Even though I never told her what happened between us she could sense that it’s more than just a little lovers quarrel.

Our second anniversary would have been next month but instead of roses and kisses next to a dimly lit dinner table, there’s only a big envelope with papers. Divorce papers. The first time he sees me after a month of silence is to have his signature that would end this relationship for good. Today should have been a nice memory filled with laughter and passionate lovemaking. Maybe we were never meant to find each other. Better off as friends, these simple yet powerful words might have saved our future back then if one of us were brave enough to say it.

Jimin looks worn out, it’s obvious he rushed here from his office once you called, he wears his formal attire. He didn’t think you would show up even though it’s supposed to be the day that you should celebrate another year of marriage.

The papers lay heavy on his side of the table as he skims through the content he sees that you already signed your part. He picks up the pen that I prepared in advance, his hands are shaking almost crushing the poor stationery in half with the strength that he holds it.

”I don’t want to d-divorce.” It’s the first sentence that he says to me. His lips are quivering and fat tears are rolling down his cheeks by the time he dares to look into my eyes. I’m however are past the point of shedding crocodile tears. I cried over him enough times to make my face feel numb and puffy with the amount of sadness that poured out of my body in pathetic waves. I can’t keep eye contact for long as his face keeps reminding me of that night I tried so hard to erase from my memory this past month. A part of me is furious seeing him cry, he was the one who sealed out fate. He has no right to feel sad or plead with me to give him another chance.

”If you ever loved me, you will sign it. I give you a week to do the right thing.” With those last words, our anniversary ended.

 [13rd October 2020]

”It’s been a whole year after your divorce, don’t you think it’s time to get yourself out there again?” So this is why she wanted to see me I realise.

I know Somi means well, but I dread those words coming out of her mouth every once in a while. If I think about it she was always good at choosing the worst timing to bring the subject up. She’s not aware that this particular day holds a lot of those sour memories that I once cherished. This day was once one of the most important days to me, to us.

Today is Jimin’s Birthday, it’s the first time since we became friends and then later lovers that we don’t spend this day together anymore. I don’t know how to feel about it yet. I used this new year to heal from my wounds that the love of my life left behind. Getting used to living alone after living with someone for so long was tough. I caught myself making more food than I needed or when I was shopping I got those yoghurts that Jimin loves so much even though I’ve always hated the taste of those. I end up throwing them out at home. I blocked his number and any kind of social media that I could think of from the top of my head. The silence between us was crushing at first, I thought that there are no more tears left to shed but when I got our divorce papers from my attorney I couldn’t stop the new waves of tears from escaping.

Yet all my efforts seem to be in vain as my mind keeps going back to him. I catch myself wondering how he’s doing. If he feels as shitty as me even after a full year apart. If he ever wished things would have been different between us. I just wanted to know if he ever regretted destroying our marriage because of another girl. I don’t know if they are together or not or if he dates her now that I’m out of the picture but it’s better left this way. I’m already heartbroken, seeing him again would just open up my barely healed wounds.

”Can we not talk about this today? I’m feeling kinda low right now.” I sigh, shaking my head habitually if only it would make me stop thinking about him. There’s an old fashioned watch with a silver-coated socket in front of me, it’s pretty. A middle-aged woman brought it to me today telling me that it was a gift from his grandfather but it was never in working condition. She went to several locksmiths over the years but no one could fix it so she asked at last that I would be willing to pay for it. I found it interesting so I agreed to buy it from her. I started working on the old watch and at the beginning, it didn’t want to tick even when I made the necessary changes. I just couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it when seemingly it didn’t have anything that needed to be fixed.

On my way home after a rough day at work, I bought some soju from the corner convenience store so I could at least get drunk enough to sleep through the whole night. The pills my therapist prescribed for me doesn’t seem to work at all nowadays.

I placed the watch down onto my bedside table and pulled the comforter over my drunk head. I heard the loud ticking of a clock but I don’t remember having one on the wall. I thought that my drunk mind probably was still hung up on the fact that I couldn’t even fix a simple watch so I shrugged the noises off and closed my eyes until red dots filled my vision.

I just need some sleep.

 [13rd November 2018]

”Wake up, baby. You’ll be late again.” There’s a kiss on my shoulder then on my temple as warm hands turn me around in bed. It feels oddly familiar to have two hands around my waist that pulls me into a hard chest, blond fluffy hair fills my vision once my eyelashes flutter open.

I’m back in our shared bedroom at his lavish apartment that’s a lot better than the shitty apartment that I was able to afford after our messy divorce. Divorce? Wait. A. Fucking. Minute. What is Jimin doing here holding me? It’s been too long that I saw him but he looks oddly young here, the Jimin I last saw started to get wrinkles and lost a bit of weight but this man reminds me of the boy I fell in love with. I remember getting drunk last night but I’m sure even at the state I was in I couldn’t get here on my own and I don’t remember getting a taxi or even getting up from my bed last night. I frantically search for my phone that I conveniently find on the nightstand, speechless as I watch Jimin stretch like we just didn’t share a bed together after one year of not seeing each other. He shouldn’t look so relaxed while I panic internally.

Then I see the date as my phone screen activates with my touch. I don’t use this phone anymore, I got another one after I blocked Jimin’s number because this device was a birthday present from him that kept reminding me of, well, him so I decided to change it even though I couldn’t afford a similar model like this with my single salary. I remember this day like it only happened yesterday it was around the time that he got a good position at his father’s company and we were both invited to a found raiser event. I bought this beautiful red dress that he eagerly ripped off of me once we were back at home slightly buzzed on the champagne.

It doesn’t make sense though. The only explanation that I can come up with is that I might be still drunk and I’m hallucinating of some sort after all it was just yesterday that Jimin’s birthday made me think about us again.

I lock myself into the bathroom. Sighing in relief once I am able to get away from Jimin’s inquiring eyes. He looked so confused when I refused to kiss him on the lips. I always kissed him goodbye before I went to work when things were still good between us. I just don’t know what to make of things right now, I’m so confused. It doesn’t feel like a dream at all and Jimin acts like he’s my husband rather than my ex-husband who cheated on me.

I splash some water on my face to calm down my nerves and I gasp when I look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair, it’s long. I got rid of those long locks after our divorce was done, Jimin liked my hair like this, long and curly, so I decided to cut it short.

”Baby, did you bring your work home? I don’t remember seeing this old thing on our nightstand when we went to sleep.” Eyes widening I rip open the bathroom door startling Jimin as I grab the old watch out of his hands. The digits are frozen one at eight and the other at one. 18. 2018? Jimin catches my hand mid-air as I try to slap myself so I could make sure this is not a dream.

”Baby say something. You’re scaring me. Are you alright?” Jimin holds my hand gently thumbs rubbing my skin as his eyes express his worry. It’s been a while since he was so affectionate. He stopped caring for me after he found that girl. I let him pull me into a hug, I missed this. I missed him but this moment doesn’t change the fact that the Jimin I loved so much cheated on me.

I left to go to work earlier than I used to around this time and I know Jimin noticed. I told him to get some takeout for lunch too.

I worked on the clocks hoping that it will distract me but it just made me think of what happened this morning more. Doing it the second time around made the process easier, I knew what was wrong with the clocks before I get them into pieces. I even remembered the young couple who brought an expensive watch to get it more fitted to his arms and he accidentally left his bracelet on my working bench after trying on the watch to see it fits after the adjustments.

Jimin sulked a little after I denied his kisses but he didn’t force me and for that I was thankful. He nagged me even when we were surrounded by his father’s workers at the found raising event to tell him what made me ’mad’ at him because he wants to apologize properly if he did something wrong. I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t just tell him he should apologize for something he will do in the future, it will just make me the weird one.

I was nervous to go home after the event because I remember how this night was supposed to end. My hand tightens around his arm when I see her approach us. I feel my stomach sink when she smiles at the both of us, introducing herself as Jimin’s coworker. I didn’t remember meeting her here but at that time I had no idea she’ll be the one who my husband cheats on me with. It was dark that day but I remember her blonde hair and her voice. I remember her moaning Jimin’s name.

”Y/N?” I snap my head towards the sound of his voice. He looks concerned it’s not the first time tonight that he had to repeat what he said. I feel sick, my body subconsciously leans on him to get a grip of reality.

I realised this is when it began. Her smile is anything but genuine as she fakes her concern, I can see the jealousy in her dark orbs as she watches my hand around my husband’s arm. She wanted him for herself all this time. She just doesn’t know yet that she succeeded a year after. A tear slid down my cheeks but I aggressively got rid of it before it could reach my chin. Jimin caged me between his strong arms drawing soothing circles onto my back but it doesn’t affect my body positively how it used to I cried harder inside his arms.

Jimin excused us and she relented even though it was clear as day that she wanted to send me daggers through her stare rather than her wishes for me to get better. The car ride was silent, he didn’t let go of my hand and I let him. I let this version of Jimin comfort me because he didn’t do anything wrong, not yet. He had no idea that this was our last happy years spent together before everything went downhill after that.

He held me in his arms.

 [5th March 2019]

After my revisit of 2018, I realised a few things. Firstly, I can travel between time with that old watch that only seem to works for a short period of time until it stops at the year I want to visit. The second thing I learnt is that Jimin can be manipulated with the right words. I decided after that night I saw her face raging with malice and jealousy that I’ll find out what really had happened between them. I know Jimin loved me even though I had doubts about it after our divorce. I knew him well we spend so much time together as friends even before we started dating. However, I never thought he would go so low as to cheat on his wife.

He was always gentle and understanding with me. Accepting the fact that I didn’t want to have children. He loved them but accepted me for who I was and never questioned why I felt this way. He was a good man, a good husband.

So I decided to watch him from afar and when she thought no one was looking, she showed her teeth like a venomous snake planting ideas into Jimin’s head talking shit about me, twisting my actions and words; going as far as telling him she thinks I am cheating on him! I know those pictures were fake as I did no such thing. I was so in love with him I would never betray him like that.

Then I remembered his odd change in behaviour, how he treated our once lovemaking sessions as fucking. How he couldn’t look into my eyes while he buried his dick inside my cunt made sense in a way now.

He thought I was the one who played him. He let himself believe that I was late from our dinners because I was fucking someone behind his back and when I told him I’m not in the mood to have sex. He got even angrier he thought that if I lied to his face he will show me what pain feels like by fucking that snake in our guest bedroom. My head was swimming overwhelmed with this information.

The truth hurt like hell.

I thought I will feel somewhat better once I discovered the truth but I feel even shitter. Jimin believed her, he didn’t bother to ask me if I was indeed cheating on him but can I really blame him? I didn’t ask either when I suspected it. We let our insecurities and that jealous bitch stand in between our marriage making it crumble down to pieces. I was angry, raging as my hand shook with it and it led me back to that day it happened. It felt too late to fix things so I closed my eyes and turned the clock. Leaving everything behind. Once and for all.

There’s nothing left for me to change in our past, I can’t fix our past mistakes but maybe I could change things in the future. Starting with exposing that snake. I wasn’t even surprised to see her as the head of the newly developed department.

[11st April 2021]

Jimin took over the firm after his father fell ill as I got to know from her assistant. I could tell she was surprised to see my face but even more surprised to realise it’s not Jimin’s whereabouts that I want to know but rather hers.

I shouldn’t be this smug about the fact that he cut all ties with her after our divorce. Deep down he was still a good man who couldn’t believe the fact that he fucked someone else while his wife cried next door with just one thin wall separating them.

I pictured this moment in my head a lot after I came back from the past. I’m way past the hurt and anger that settled in my bones for a full year and even before that. Instead, I felt eerily calm for someone who’s here to put up a show for the employees. I don’t even care if they think I’m crazy because once I locate her in her cubicles and dig my hair into her scalp pulling her hair hard with my iron grip all I could feel is utter satisfaction.

”I hope you enjoyed your good fuck. Was it satisfying to make my husband a cheater? I bet it was. Did you think I will never find out that you fed him lies and spread rumours about me sleeping around with men?”

Even the security watched as I pulled her by the hair the commotion around us almost drowned out the crying noises she made because of the pain. I didn’t pull that hard though, I hate her with every fibre of my being but I’m not a malicious person like her. She would deserve worse than what I’m doing but I never want to go down to her level ever again so I let her go.

”How did you found out?” She looked pale as a ghost. I know she was scared she had every right to be because I’m sure I have that crazy look in my eyes.

”It doesn’t matter. What does matter, however, is that now I know what you did to him. All for what? Just to have him all to yourself? Look how that turned out for you.” The people around us fell silent that’s how I knew Jimin is here. So I took a step closer to her and smiled.

”I never cheated on him but you know this well. This is not even why I feel so angry. The reason why I want to rip your hair out right this instant is not because you spread lies and badmouthed me but because you made him a cheater.”

It’s his first time seeing me after our divorce but I’ve been seeing him these past weeks thanks to the old watch. This time around I was able to look into his eyes and see that boy I fell in love with. We went through so much together, maybe.

Maybe we can overcome this too.

©️ helenazbmrskai (Like and Reblog don’t repost!)

[miss-choco-chips]

YJ College au: Zatara

Zachary Zatara is both a myth and their housemate.

In which Bart has a cryptic-buddy, Tim is stressed because cute boy insists on being annoying, and everyone else just rolls with it.

Tagging @animemangasoul and @marudny-robot cause I know you guys like this au

--.--.--.--

As usual after pulling an all-week-er (he had left the ‘nighters well behind at this point), Tim was up late that saturday. The window had been left open last night, so a soft streak of sunlight wamed his bed, waking him up slowly and peacefully. Yeah, he would have liked a few more hours, but sunbathing in his sheets for a while wasn’t all that bad either. What would make this half-awake-half-dreaming experience would be some chill music.

Muddled mind made, he rolled in his bed, hand patting the mattress for his phone, squinting his eyes open when he hit something different instead.

He found himself to be almost nose to nose with a dark haired, grey eyed boy.

Tim started that fine morning screaming himself hoarse.

-.-.-.-.-

Sitting at the kitchen’s table, getting everything ready for a late sunday breakfast, Kon raised his head when he heard the strong sound of a scream, followed by… yeah, that was a body hitting the ground. It was unmistakable, in this house. 

“Oh, hey guys”, he called to the attention of the rest of his housemates, all in equals states of zombie-ness, with not as good hearing as his. “Zachary is here.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“The fuck, Zach? My bed? Did you HAVE to crash on my bed? Why are you even here?”

Tim, four coffee cups after his pseudo heart attack half an hour ago, was ready to face the day and their intruder.

“Dude I live here as well, you know. Also your bed is literally the softest thing I ever slept on, you rich bastard. Learn to share.”

“I’ll buy you your own fucking mattress if you swear to never crawl on my bed uninvited again.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose, suggestively. “What was that about an invitation?”

Distressed and not feeling awake enough (he was still two cups away from that) to deal with bi thoughts this early in the morning, he turned his most helpless look to Conner.

Because he was the best friend ever, he threw a pillow to Zachary. And because he was a suck up to anyone who brought him food, Bart intercepted the hit and gratefully accepted the candy bag he got in thanks.

“But actually, Zat, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Berlin?” interjected Cassie, her own tea (the heathen) cup warming her hands as she cuddled with Cissie and Greta on the couch, legs in each other’s laps and generally being the cutest shit ever.

Anita, not very keen on that kind of sweet love, had been wrestling with Slobo for control over the remote for the last fifteen minutes. Miguel was keeping count on their hits for them, though it was mostly assured he would rig the whole thing up to whoever had bribed him better before the fight.

Tim just wanted to go back to sleep in his sun-warmed bed.

“C’mon guys, keep up”, moaned Bart, candy bag half empty already, “he was there two weeks ago. He had an exam yesterday so he came back last monday.”

“...come again?”

“I’ve been room-hopping ever since, though none of you seemed to mind. Until I disturbed sleeping beauty over here, at least.”

Miguel’s eyes left the fight to squint suspiciously at them. “We weren’t aware you were doing that. Where did you sleep? How didn’t we notice?”

“I'ma mystery. I also move around a lot when sleeping so I probably ended up under someone’s bed after crashing from studying. Oh, Anita, if you were wondering, your purple bra is under Cissie’s bed.”

Anita slowly let go of the grip she had on Slobo’s neck. Her eyes shone something dangerous. Cissie, the one who was apparently hosting the boy all along, also stood up and frowned.

“How do you even know that bra is mine!!”

“What the fuck were you doing under my bed, you bastard!”

Tim sipped his coffee, bitterly. “At least he was under it, and not sharing it.”

Kon patted his back.

-.-.-.-.-..- 

“I swear, Jay, he thrives on making me lose my shit. He just… comes and goes whenever, leaving no proof he was ever there, or acting like he was always around. Drives me nuts. I’m not sure he even attends classes, and I only know he actually has a right to enter our house because his rent money always appears on the kitchen table a day before its due. He doesn’t even have a room, why does he even pay? To have an excuse to scare the shit out of the rest of us. Except Bart. The little shit lives for our suffering.”

Jason arches an eyebrow, sipping his beer as he carefully examines his brother. Tim looked less tired than the last time they saw each other, and the modifications done by his psychiatrist had done wonders to the shadows in his eyes. But he seemed somehow… frazzled.

“And he was just there when you woke up?”

“His nose was touching mine.”

“I bet your little bi heart couldn't take that, huh? Is he cute? Maybe you invited him to share your bed the night before and just don’t remember. You know how you get after a week of disregarding your general wellbeing.”

“Oh, shush you. I take care of myself. When was the last time you went to your check in with Patricia?”

Jason scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I missed one session, because I have exams too you know? But I’m up to date with Silvio, and we are working on slowly easing me off the medication.” He noticed the way Tim looked at his drink, expression screaming bullshit, and he scowled in response. “Fuck off, it’s alcohol-free. Kori and Artemis would have my head if they caught me mixing my dosage with anything stronger than tea, and I can’t deal with Biz and Roy’s disappointed eyes.” 

Tim thought of the last time he refused to see his therapist, and the look in everyone’s  (specially Kon’s) eyes, and had to agree. Having friends sucked when one wanted to wallow in self destructive conducts.

“Whatever, all I’m saying is, he’s not cute enough for me to forgive his weirdness. You know the people I roll with, so this is saying a lot. And I would remember inviting him to my bed, if anything for the mortification of it. I’m also…”

The ring of the doorbell distracted them both of whatever Tim was gonna say next. Waving his brother off, Jason got up to pay for their pizza.

When he returned to his living room, Tim was no longer alone.

“Who the fuck are you?” He exclaimed, eyes going back to the hallway at his back, then again at the black haired, grey eyed kid sitting next to Tim. “And how did you get in? We are on the sixth floor and I was just at the only door I have.”

Tim raised his eyes at him, and he seemed equal parts resigned and frazzled. ‘Told ya’, he seemed to say.

“Yo, the food’s finally here. I’m starving. The name’s Zachary Zatarra, by the way. Tim’s friend and housemate.”

“Allegedly” mumbled the other under his breath, earning himself a smile and pat on the back. “Don’t question it, Jay. He’ll be gone after a while when none of us are paying attention. Just let it be.”

“But while I’m here”, the other boy continued, grinning devilishly as he looked at Tim and then Jason, “instead of questioning how did I get in, what about I tell you all about your lil bro’s crush? It 's adorable.”

Tim raised an eyebrow “I don’t have a crush on anyone.”

“Like I said, adorable. He’s so oblivious, it’s precious.”

Decision made, Jason left the pizzas at the coffee table and went to fetch a soda for their guest. Gossip, especially about his siblings, was the best way to gain his immediate cooperation. And he could always force the answers about Zatara out of Bart; the brat was terrified of him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey, who has to cook tonight? Because I’m craving chicken nuggets.”

Cassie raised her eyes from her magazine, tapping a finger against her chin.

“Uhm… Zach, I think?”

Miguel nodded. “Okay, thanks, where can I find him to suggest my dinner idea?”

Cissie, legs on Cassie’s lap, dropped her head over the couch’s armrest. “Ask Tim? Wasn’t he crashing with him this week?”

That same moment, said boy entered the room, shaking his head. “No, he was sharing with Anita and Cassie.”

“No, he wasn’t… Slobo?”

“Not with us either”, denied Miguel, sharing a look with his roommate to confirm just in case.

“Conner?”

“Didn’t Bart say yesterday he was driving him to the airport?”

“Wait, he left the country again?”

“More importantly, can Bart drive?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

When Tim came back home from class, Damian was in his living room. Using a laptop. Sitting side by side with Zatarra.

This couldn't be good.

“Hey, Timbo, welcome back.”

“Drake.”

Not uttering a single word, Tim turned around and walked out of there. Sleeping on a park bench seemed like a preferable choice, compared to finding out exactly why the two banes of his life were sitting together. It was healthier, good for his peace of mind.

Something something self care? His therapist would be so proud.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey dude.”

“Zatara. Your presence here disrupts my room’s feng shui. Please remove yourself from the premises.”

“This disaster zone is the farthest thing from armonious. If anything, I’m improving it.”

Tim raised his eyes from the computer screen. He could always kick the other man out, but that would require leaving the nest he made out of blankets and snacks on his bed. Perhaps a more civilized option would be better. Besides, as boundary-less as the dude was, he didn’t step into the room, just remaining on the doorstep, so whatever he was here for, he most likely needed Tim’s willful compliance.

“If I listen to what you have to say, will you leave?”

Zatara smiled angelically, like butter wouldn’t melt on his mouth, but the look behind his eyes was nothing short of devious. “That’s actually what I came to speak with you about. I have a show…”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“A magic show. Dude, you do know I’m a magician, right?”

Tim didn’t, in fact, know that, besides baseless suppositions about his disappearing-and-appearing abilities. But he had an all knowing facade to maintain, so he grunted in acknowledgement.

“Right, so, I have a show scheduled for tomorrow, but I took Bart out to dinner yesterday so I’m all dried up, and I need to buy a plane ticket asap.”

“Are you asking me for a loan?” he inquired, incredulous. As a general rule, all their housemates refrained from that. Something about not wanting to take advantage of their billionaire friend…

“No, no. I’m offering you a…. service.”

“Look, Zach, no offense? But you ain’t cute enough for me to stoop that low and pay for the… pleasure of your company. I can just give you the money and you pay me back whenever, dude.”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that! You wish I was offering something  of the sort” he laughed, arms crossed and side leaning against the doorframe, chest and arm muscles perfectly visible. Tim kept his eyes carefully above neck-level. No need to give any weakness away.

“Then?”

“I know you love me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t make you miserable, right?”

“That is correct, yes.”

“Are you familiar with the ‘Buy my silence, $8.000 a month’ meme? Then get ready for a ‘pay for my absence’, my good bitch. I thought maybe you’d like...”

“Sold. I buy it. Take my credit card and go, be free, roam the world. Just get out of my room and fucking text once in a while so I know you’re alive.”

[noobtiedoo]

Coming Out

I don’t really know where to pour my heart out other then Tumblr. Considering this site has the most random stuff i think it’s the right place to get this off my chest. It’s gonna be a long post so i will be pouring my heart out under the ‘keep reading’ line. Basically it boils down to the fact that I just came out as Non-Binary to the people i work with. Which leaves me in a whirlpool of emotions. I’ve already bawled my eyes out and i might do it again. Because i’m scared as hell, relieved as all hell and i feel like i can fucking breathe for the first time since forever. Everything is just overwhelming right now. But i need to get this off my chest. And i have literally no where else to post this. Just a heads up, i will be talking about my own experience, which brushes the subject of depression, anxiety and suicide. So if you’re sensitive to these subjects, i completely understand if you decide not to read. 

Onto my story:

First up, I’m Non-Binary. (He/Him Pronouns) And it may be a strange opening line but you have to understand that i haven’t been able to say this out loud, with pride, for years. I have been going through a really rough childhood and up until highschool i thought that it was because there was something wrong with me. As highschool progressed, things didn’t get any better, except for the fact that i started to understand something wasn’t necessarily wrong with me. I was just different then other people. And at the end of highschool i finally figured out what was what. But i couldn’t do anything with that knowledge. Depression, Anxiety, bullying and other things kept a lid on it. 

I thought it was best to suffer in silence because i was so scared that everything was going to get so much worse if i came out as a Non-binary person. On top of that, I’m a Pansexual. It’s a logical but not a great combo as these are two things that are very ‘new’ and ‘recently introduced’ to society. I know these things were existing before we could even give it a name. (And my heart hurts thinking of all those people in the past who struggled with this their whole lives unable to give it a name or come to terms with it)

I was struggling with multiple things, trying to keep my head above the water. Which backfired completely as i got depressed, my first ever girlfriend backstabbed me, which made me feel like an even more sore loser, i struggled with self esteem, my gender, my sexuality, my body, my personality. Basically everything a teenager would be going through except... It was really bad. So bad i wanted to end it all. I did try to push myself to commit suicide, but in the end i couldn’t go through with it. I thought it was too selfish to leave my parents and sisters behind without answers. And though at least i didn’t feel guilty for leaving them behind, i felt miserable with my life.

Fast forward to college, I was struggling. Walking around like a zombie. My education suffered, i suffered. My depression got worse. I had to quit and i spend half a year at home, in bed. Refusing to get up for anything other then food or the bathroom or maybe a shower if i felt like it. At this point i would hurt myself to distract me from the pain on the inside. If i felt pain on the outside, i wouldn’t pay attention to the fact that i felt like i couldn’t breathe, every day.

My parents eventually forced me to do some volunteer work. (no people involved, i had to go to a farm where special care was given to the disabled and feed the animals in the petting zoo there.) The animals made me feel more at ease and the fresh air did me some good. I was getting a bit better. I stopped hurting myself because the volunteer job distracted me enough. But i still felt like i couldn’t breathe. Until my parents suggested i go see a Psychiatrist. Help was help, or so i thought, so i agreed. But (and don’t get me wrong, i love my parents and respect their beliefs) the psychiatrist was from a Christian organization and he didn’t get me at.all. According to him i was suffering from a personality disorder and identity disorder. Which i KNEW wasn’t true. 

Naturally i quit therapy because the man wouldn’t listen to me. Now i’m a Christian too, and i know we aren’t all the same. But i didn’t want to risk it, so i went looking for a more open minded psychiatrist . One who was perhaps an atheist or hanging on some other religion. I didn’t care as long as he was open minded. (I didn’t feel comfortable with female psychiatrists at the time, but if i had i would have considered going to one) So i found a psychiatrist that i had a good feeling with and things started to get better. He helped me get through my trauma (I was sexually assaulted when i was eleven. Because of my low self esteem I couldn’t say ‘no’. I was too shy and timid to stick up for myself and this fucker knew and abused it.) He helped me gain more confidence. He helped me build up more self esteem and accept my sexuality. But Gender was still an issue.

Eventually we were at a stalemate. I felt like i had to figure the rest out for myself. He too said he gave me the tools i needed, but it was up to me to build my life. 

fast forward to my second attempt at collage. I struggled through a relationship that didn’t work. and ended things with my date in the start of the second year. It was a 3 year education program that eventually took me 5 and a half years to complete. But i did it. And i got my degree and boy i was proud. But then... I had to start working and put myself in the professional field. This was 3 years ago. Thinking back on the hell i went through to get where i was, i didn’t want to risk people misunderstanding me or turning me down because i was different. I kept my gender and sexuality trapped tightly in my private life. 

But you may have guessed it: It still made me feel miserable. I was lying to myself. And every time someone addressed me with female pronouns it was like someone was banging a hammer on a piano. I tried to ignore it but people started noticing i was very closed off and quiet and basically not a very happy person. I went from my first job to another employer somewhere else because i needed more hours. (there was never anything wrong with my first job, they just thought i was really shy. but i couldn’t get more hours so i moved on.) Hoping that it would be better there. Same story, same results. They noticed something was wrong. When i tried carefully to open up about what was bothering me, i got fired. That was at the start of this year. I tried hard to find a new job, the first job interview i had i felt like it had to be now or never. So i thought ‘fuck it all’ and i told them about my gender and that i preferred male pronouns even though i looked feminine. Guess what. They decided not to hire me. Big surprise. So the next time, i didn’t say a thing. 

Then i was about to get hired and then lockdown happened. And they laid me off. I was starting to feel depressed again. And helpless. Hopeless. I thought back on my first employer, and what a good time i had there despite my struggles and me being so quiet. So i was like: Why the hell not? And i tried again to get a job with the same employer. They had a place for me, not at the location i worked at before, but at a different one. Five days a week. I felt like i just witnessed a miracle when they decided to hire me. But i didn’t tell them anything about my gender or struggles, i just told them i have trouble opening up but i’m really trying. And they are patient with me and help me wherever they can. It’s also a Christian organization, but they are much more open minded then you’d expect religious people to be. (To be fair not everyone employed there is actually religious) 

Two months go by and i’m having a good time. The job is perfect, my co workers are really nice. I’m having a great time. But there is still that nagging feeling every time a kid calls me Teacher. (I’m Dutch. We don’t have a word like Teacher. With us it’s divided into Female teachers ‘Juffen’ And Male teachers ‘Meesters’) So they naturally call me the female equivalent of teacher. And i absolutely hate it. Again i hear that hammer banging on the piano and i feel like i can’t breathe. Then i learn that one of my co-workers is a Lesbian and in a relationship and everyone is acting so normal about it. And she has been working there for 6 years now. It broke something in me. I just didn’t want to lie to myself and others anymore. But because of everything that happened i was so scared to come out as Non-Binary.

So a few weeks ago i was finally so fed up with everything and the constant feeling that my chest was constricted and a knot being in my throat every time a kid called me teacher. So finally, there were some kids joking about boys and girls and what would make someone a boy or a girl. (kids are so sweet and innocent at the age of 5 they don’t know any better) So some of the girls were giggling and started calling me the male equivalent of teacher. I nearly cried. I never felt so happy in my life. But then one of my co-workers tried to correct them and i just blurted out: “Please don’t correct them. It’s fine. They can call me that.” 

She was surprised. And i thought: ‘What did i do now?’ But on second thought, it didn’t give me the chance to run away again or hide or keep struggling in silence. Because later she asked me what i meant with it and i told her my story. Of how my gender and how i was addressed effected me. I told her everything and i was shaking. I was scared, i was on the edge of crying, because i remembered all the times that me coming out as a person, with my Non-binary gender had caused me more harm then good.

She was very calm about it. I could tell she was trying her best to understand even if she was left a bit confused, and we talked about solutions. She then suggested that if it would make me really happy, then starting immediately, we would teach these kids to address me with my name instead of as a teacher. (I work in after care for kids who’s parents have to work, so we pick them up from school and look after them until dinner time when their parents pick them up. We aren’t teachers anyway.) 

I never really thought about that. And i agreed on the solution. So then we started to teach these kids to address me with my name. Another co worker i often work with heard this being brought into practice, which also kind of left me to explain to her why this was now a thing and why it needed to continue to be a thing. So i told my story to her. Again i was scared as hell, shaking and near crying. But she also responded calmly and told me she thought i was brave and that she would try to help me teach these kids to address me by my name.

I work with one other co worker on a regular basis. I haven’t told her the why yet but i asked her to help me teach the kids to address me with my name. (those kids are 6-7 years old and are a little easier when teaching something new) She agreed even if she didn’t know why. I will tell her soon. Probably next week. But i’m still nervous and my emotions are all over the place.

I also told my ehmm superior? Is that the word? I don’t know but she works at the office on our location to organize everything for everyone and make sure we have a list of which kids are coming on which days and stuff like that. I ended up telling half of my story to her too. She was interested but busy with a lot of other things too, which made it even scarier to tell her. (I always get more scared if i can’t really figure out how a person is going to respond or if the response is too vague for me to be able to tell if it was bad or good). But she was very calm about it too. So i want to see if i can sit down with her sometime and tell her my whole story to see if she can understand it a little better, and how we’re going to implement this in my work. Who needs to know, who can know and how we will solve the pronouns thing. (Although she seemed happy with the solution of calling me by my name. She seemed to support it) 

So as you can guess, after the last two weeks my emotions and feelings have been all over the place. I don’t sleep well some nights because all of this is going on and it’s so recent and fresh that i’m still worried. but... I can breathe.. For the first time since forever i can breathe. I’m happy. I’m not lying to myself. I don’t have to hide. And even if they don’t fully understand it, i’m finally being fully supported. 

(I love my parents as i’ve said before. But because of their beliefs they can’t fully support me. They will always love me. But to them i will never be anything else than their daughter and their little girl. And though it hurts my heart more then they realize, they refuse to use male pronouns for me. But they love me and they will never ever turn me away. I will always be welcome in their home. They will always love me as their child. They will never cut me off or disown me or turn away from me. So they support me. Just not 100% in the way i wished they would.) 

(My sisters are more open. Though my older sister has some trouble, she tries to use he/him even though she told me honestly that she doesn’t think she can ever see me as her little brother. So i told her ‘Don’t. Because i’m Non-Binary. Just see me as your little person.’ She laughed and said: Alright.  My little sister is the easiest. She doesn’t mind calling me Bro. She even said she always wanted a brother so she calls me dude and bro and uses he/him and i love her for it.)

But now at my work of all places (next to my few friends who use he/him as well) i have people who support me fully and try to help me be who i am without me having to feel ashamed for it or repressing it because i think being myself will cause me more harm then good. I can be myself. I can finally just let go. I have cried so hard already and i’m almost crying again typing this all out. Good god i know it’s a long story but... I’m just so overwhelmed. I needed to get this all out there one way or another. Just because i’m so overwhelmed that i need an outlet. So Tumblr. Here you go. This is my coming out story and i’m gonna go off and bawl my eyes out in a corner again because... I am overwhelmed.

[primasveraas-writing]

Finnpoe- Ascot Gavotte

500 Follower Celebration- 8. Ascot Gavotte

Rey makes her debut. "It's a date!" Poe declares happily.

Requested by: @dancinginlifeandpoetry

WORD COUNT: 2209

References to/implied sex below the cut

Finn wakes in Poe’s bed, which leaves something to be said about the nature of the two men’s rapidly evolving relationship. His shirt is tangled around his frame, and Finn finds a discarded sock between the sheets. Clearly, when they were undressing for the night, they gave little consideration to folding their slacks and going to bed in a tidy room. Finn cannot bring himself to mind.

The Colonel is grinning when he makes his appearance, his head popping out of the sheets somewhere around Finn’s waist. Poe leaves a trail of kisses down Finn’s jaw, all the way across his chest and to his hip bone, which makes Finn want for more, in all the ways that Poe  has so regularly evoked. But just when Finn’s eyes are fluttering shut, just when the first hints of a moan are escaping his lips, Poe separates from him, eyes twinkling.

“Ascot today, my good fellow!” Poe declares jovially. With that simple statement, he swings out of bed. Finn watches him retreat to the restroom, eyes feasting on all the glory of Poe’s naked frame, before he groans, flopping back on the soft mattress. He sinks into the pillows and blankets, wishing again that the night could have lasted for a while longer. All the same, he supposes, their experiment is not yet over. He and Poe will have a considerable amount of time to explore each other more in this capacity.

Finn wraps himself in a spare robe he finds hanging over a chair, gathering up his discarded clothes before slipping into the hallway. He crosses the distance into his room quiet and undetected, then enjoys a shower thick with soap and hot water to cleanse himself of the stench of sweat and sex off of him. While Finn rather likes the smell of Poe and the evidence of their night together, there’s no hope if his mother were to catch him with even a toe out of line.

“Ready, darling?” Poe asks Finn and Rey as they eat breakfast. Rey’s still in her robe, but several maids have started on her hair already. “Finn has got us our box, we’ll be meeting Ms. Organa, and we should all be in our best finery.” Poe’s voice is loud and commanding; Rey sulks at him and Finn sips reluctantly at his coffee. 

“We’ll be ready,” Rey says. Her enunciation on the “we’ll” has too much of an emphasis at the end, suggesting a deeper accent. Finn frowns. 

“It’s a date!” Poe beams. “Let’s leave within the hour.”

Finn throws on a pair of grey pants and a neat white shirt, barely remembering his hat and overcoat. Colonel Dameron rolls his eyes at Finn, but smiles and takes him by the arm. They wait for Rey in the parlor together, making mundane small talk about horses and guests at Ascot, as if those things matter, as if the pair hadn’t slept together the night before. But Finn notices their proximity with an aching pain boiling in his stomach, and when they’re left unattended, Finn leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to Poe’s lips. He can feel the Colonel smirking against him, something that only encourages Finn to deepen the kiss, and he shifts forwards, slipping his tongue into Poe’s mouth. Poe makes a sound that’s somewhere between amused and pleased, and Finn tucks his hands into the finely stitched pockets on the back of Poe’s pants.

“Have I told you,” Poe gasps when they separate, “how utterly handsome you look in that suit?”

Finn raises an eyebrow, but Poe isn’t done. “I do prefer you without it, however,” Poe clarifies, and he straightens his tie before heading into the hallway to call for Rey.

When they do manage to depart, Rey entirely done up and complaining about her itchy collar, they’re in danger of being late. Poe frets about this at first, but Finn rests his hand on Poe’s knee for a moment, and all troubles are forgotten. In fact, they’re so preoccupied with one another that they miss Rey’s unladylike eyeroll at their fawning. She’s wholeheartedly unamused with her teachers, who are still talking as if they’re in bed together, and she’s hot and stuffy, forced into a dress that pinches her in uncomfortable places.

Still, despite the discomfort and the nerves, Rey peers out the window at the patrons milling outside Ascot. Finn hears her muttering her vowels under her breath, and a moment before they depart the carriage, their trio clutches each other’s hands, wordless and hopeful. There’s silence, unbroken as they stare into each other’s eyes, then Poe gives his younger counterparts a wry smile and slips down onto the street, offering assistance to Rey and Finn both.

Rey gives a frustrated cry when her feet hit the ground, hoisting her skirts up past her ankles. Poe tuts disapprovingly at the amount of skin she reveals, though it’s not nearly as mean-spirited as the girl’s next words.

“Damn!” She swears furiously, grasping at her dress, which seems to have come loose somewhere. “Damn these pins.”

“Langauge, Rey,” Finn warns. He looks around at the guests streaming into the race track, but none pay them any mind. For now, at least, they’re safe.

Rey huffs at him, a strand of hair falling in her face. Finn reaches out to tuck it behind her ear, Poe watching him carefully and Rey glowering at him.

“Go ahead, dear,” Poe says quietly. “Get fixed up the best you can in the restroom. I’ll wait outside for you.” Poe turns to Finn. “I’ll go introduce myself to your mother, shall I?”

By the time Finn reaches Leia Organa, having been quite distracted by other patrons and their high, stilted accents, she’s waiting for him with no shortage of disapproval painted across her face.

But she allows his hug and kiss on the cheek. Her smile is still the warm and familiar one that Finn knows so well, given as she assesses him, a hand cupping his jaw.

“You look lovely,” Finn says, because she does. The dress is appropriately new, with long white sleeves draped in black lace. Her hat is wide-brimmed, adorned with a bow, and Finn knows that, as usual, his mother is the most fashionable person here.

“You changed your shirt,” she says approvingly, adjusting the bowtie positioned under his neck. 

“Yes, I-”

“And you’ve brought a flower girl to Ascot.”

“She-”

“Colonel Dameron has told me all about Rey. A bet on her success, really Finn? How could you be so irresponsible with her livelihood? And what will these people think of her?” Leia jerks her head towards a cluster of people perched delicately on their chairs, sipping tea.

“Mother,” Finn starts, and Leia raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I assure you, Rey is quite willing to partake in this experiment. She does stand the most to gain from this, after all. But she shouldn’t be scorned, even by this crowd of elitists-” Leia’s eyebrow creeps impossibly closer to her hairline- “so there should be no issue, even despite their judgmental nature.”

“I hope so,” Leia sighs, straightening her spine. “For both of your sakes.”

With yet another scathing look, Leia grasps Finn’s arm, the pair heading towards their reserved box. Upon their arrival, Leia flutters away, greeting her guests and striking up a conversation with a middle-aged woman wearing some outdated dress. Finn’s nose wrinkles in distance upon recognizing her.

“Is this your son, Ms. Organa?”

“Indeed,” Leia says carefully, eyes on Finn. “My pride and joy.”

Finn knows her words are a warning as much as they are a compliment. He musters up a smile before turning to scan the crowd frantically. Poe and Rey are nowhere in sight, and Finn can feel himself starting to sweat in the hot sun. Voices reach his ears faintly, but all Finn can do is hope that none are vying for his attention.

He hears Poe before he sees him. “Ms. Organa!” The Colonel cries happily, kissing her hand in a sweeping gesture. Leia smiles again, but says nothing, her eyes fixed firmly on Rey.

“How do you do?” She says, voice wavering. Her accent stays intact, and Finn nods to himself, approving.

Maybe it’s her dress, which adorns Rey in quite a flattering manner, or her total lack of reputation, but she’s drawn into the circle of Leia’s friends quickly, particularly noticed by Rose, the daughter of some Eynsford-Hill. Finn’s met her, and her mother has even tried to marry them off once, but Finn has little interest in making small talk with the other girl. Instead, he lets Rey ask after their health, and Poe approaches him, standing by his elbow to watch their protege.

“You did a fine job,” Poe murmurs. Finn smiles at him faintly, his eyes still fixed on Rey.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he admits. Finn wanted to say something more, but Poe sways slightly closer, and their hands brush.

Finn feels overly hot, as if the sun is pounding down with double the intensity that it had been just moments ago. Poe nods to Rey, and to Rose, who is leaning over the table with no shortage of interest in Rey’s words.

“We didn’t celebrate prematurely, did we?” Poe asks. Finn looks at him again, but Poe’s expression is unreadable.

“I certainly have no regrets,” Finn says quietly. “If anything, I think it would be due justice to celebrate again upon our return home, just to be adequately thorough.”

Poe grins at him, his usual ebullience finally shining through. “I was unsure, given your concern for Rey today.”

Finn feels like the air has been knocked from his lungs. “It’s just concern,” he says, voice rising an octave. “Did I not show you the depths of my affection last night?”

Poe finally looks away. “You showed me- quite a depth-” He’s blushing furiously. Finn can’t look at him either. “Your attention was simply diverted once we arrived- I thought that perhaps-”

“I can assure you my attention has only multiplied. It stays steadfast to you, and I would be more than willing to prove as much once-”

“Done her in?” An incredulous voice interrupts their conversation. “Done her in, do you say?”

“It’s the new small talk,” Finn says hastily, before Rey can add anything else. He fans himself with his hand. “To do a person in means to kill them.”

Leia shoots him and Poe a furious look, but the two men are already lost in each other’s gaze once more.

Rey is still talking, her words slow and deliberate. Rose laughs loudly at something she says, and Finn is distinctly aware of Poe smiling at him.

“I think we’ll have much to celebrate,” Poe says in a low voice. There are gasps behind him, and Finn wonders if he should intervene in the other conversation. “Even personal matters are something to be proud of.”

“Such as?”

“The exit from bachelorhood.”

“What are you sniggering at?” Rey says, voice loud and indigent. Rose sputters, her eyes wide. But she looks fascinated with Rey. “Have I said anything I oughtn’t?”

“Not at all, my dear.” Leia serves Rey a kind smile before shooting daggers at Finn, who gives Poe a shove forward.

Poe stifles a laugh but has the decency to compose himself under Leia’s stare.

“Well, I always say-”

“Do you think there might be time to place a bet before the next race?” Poe inserts, grabbing Rey’s arm. He cranes his neck to see the next round of horses emerging from the stables.

“Take mine!” Rose blurts, rising to her feet so quickly that her chair topples over. She presses a slip of paper into Rey’s hands. “Number seven. His name is Dover.”

Rey nods her head in thanks as Poe steers her away. Finn can’t fathom the words he needs to correct Rey, but the girl is spared from any scolding as Rose and Leia join their party at the fence.

“Let go of me!” Rey hisses, forcing her way to the front. Poe barely manages to follow her, dragging Finn behind him.

Leia appears at Finn’s side, and Finn sees Rose work her way next to Rey. The horses begin to run; Rey squints to see number 7. There’s excited murmurs, Rey’s voice climbing, beating out the rest of the din.

“Come on, Dover,” she gasps. Finn’s heart begins to speed up. Dover is falling behind. Rose fixes Rey with a quizzical look, as if she’s not sure what to think of the other woman.

“Come on, Dover,” Rey says again, and Leia grips Finn’s arm. Finn opens his mouth, ready to shush Rey, and Dover falls behind another place.

Then- Finn sees the heads turn first, the woman beside him fall into her husband’s arms. He feels his mother’s fingers wrapped around his arms and the deathly still air next to the race track. He knows that Poe’s mouth has dropped open; he’s gaping with all the other patrons in their vicinity. But it takes several seconds for Rey’s words to sink in.

“COME ON DOVER, MOVE YOUR BLOOMING ARSE!”

Finn smiles to himself faintly. This- a misstep to end all missteps- is quite a mess.

[wordsandshawn]

Before Now - chapter 11

previous chapters

11.

A couple of days later, Shawn’s gone for work again, so I don’t have to worry about running into him. I don’t bother texting or calling him to ask about what my mom mentioned. I don’t know how to bring it up. Despite how much I want to yell him for talking to his mom about me like I’m a charity case or a lost puppy that needs a home, my ego won’t let me reach out to him.

After a week, I’m convinced that Karen was just being nice by trying to push Shawn into taking me on tour, the poor girl whose life is falling apart and who dropped out of college. Shawn probably agreed enough to placate both of our parents, but he had no intention of actually following through with it.

I had almost forgotten about all of that a week later when I receive an email from Andrew, Shawn’s manager. The email details an offer for a three-month-long position on Shawn’s tour. I’d work as his photographer with more of an emphasis on videography. An entire contract is written up, but he says that it can all be discussed in a meeting if I choose to attend. I’d be traveling with Shawn pretty much nonstop throughout the contract, so all travel expenses are paid for, and I’ll get a paycheck on top of that. In my opinion, a very generous one especially considering I have so little experience doing concert photography. Any reservations I may have had about spending three months following Shawn around are overshadowed completely by the opportunity to get paid to travel the world and take pictures, which is honestly all I’ve ever wanted in life. I just never thought I’d actually get a chance to do it. And I didn’t want it to be because Shawn felt bad for me or because his mom made him do it.

Despite this, I agree to talk to Andrew about it and we schedule a meeting. I was not expecting to see Shawn in this meeting, but he’s the first person I see when I walk in the room that morning. He’s sitting at the head of the big conference table staring down at his phone. There are a few other people in the room besides Shawn and Andrew, and they’re all dressed professionally. I introduce myself to them and they share that this meeting is mostly to discuss my contract and the outlines of the contract since they’ve already seen my work and are interested in hiring me.

I didn’t expect Shawn to be here, seeing as it didn’t seem to have much to do with him at all. What came as even more of a surprise was how involved he was once the meeting began. I was unprepared and unsure of how to even negotiate. Shawn, on the other hand, clearly had some experience with meetings like this one. He was undoubtedly paying attention, and it soon became clear he was looking out for me in terms of the contract. I, obviously, don’t know much about anything to do with working as a photographer for concerts.

If left on my own in the meeting, I probably would have done all of it for free, and I would have slept in the back of a van if I had to, scraping together enough money one way or another to pay for my food. I was not going to be picky or difficult about this. I would take what I could get because in all honesty, I had nothing to offer and experience to gain. Even just being able to write on a future resume that I had photographed Shawn for the duration of an entire tour would give me more credibility than I could get working my ass off on my own. The experience alone provided more than enough incentive to say yes to whatever they asked of me and not ask for more than the absolute bare necessities.

If I didn’t know any better, I could have easily assumed that Shawn was there for me, to get me the best deal. Almost like everything more that I asked for was not coming out of his own income. He sat in the meeting, going over the contract more carefully than even I did, asking questions that I wouldn’t have thought to ask. All I knew about this job was that I was taking photographs, putting together short movies for him to post on Instagram and for them to sell to various sources. That’s all that really mattered to me, but Shawn asked about sleeping arrangements, about hotel rooms for whenever he stayed in hotels. That wasn’t something that was in the contract until Shawn brought it up, and they agreed to write it in. Another thing he inquired about that I hadn’t thought of and wouldn’t have brought up myself was flights. He let them know that if he was flying somewhere, I should too. At first, it didn’t make sense until I realized that some of his shows were on the same landmasses but very far, so Shawn flew, but most of the crew would just travel by road, and if he hadn’t put that stipulation in, I would have been with them, which I wouldn’t have argued about.

I still don’t fully understand how all of this stuff works, but Shawn has to be behind all of this. They sell him, his music, his face, his fame, and the money he makes gets distributed in whatever way to the people who put him out there or back him, or somehow contribute to making this all work. He has to know that everything more he asks for me to be written into the contract is less that he gets at the end of it all. I don’t understand why he’s even taking a chance on me, bothering to bring me onto the tour when I’m really just another expense. But I’m too afraid to ask. My mom always said don’t ever look a gift horse in the mouth. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I know not to ask questions when something comes along just when I need it most.

Other than sitting in the same room and Shawn talking about me and the contract, we don’t talk directly to each other much at all throughout the meeting. I don’t know how to talk to him anymore anyway, and I know it’s better this way. I’ll go on tour with him, but only as his photographer and nothing more. It’s a silent agreement between the two of us, at least I think so. He’s doing it as a favor to our moms, and maybe deep inside he’s doing it as a favor to me, not that I really deserve a favor from him. I don’t want to feel like I owe him anything, but I already feel like I owe him everything. I have to earn my place on this tour, and if I don’t then I can’t stay. I’ve already decided.

Any contact I have with Shawn in the next week before leaving for tour is strictly business. I get the sense that he’s not entirely interested in being friends, and it gives me at least some peace of mind about this all. I’m not the same person I was when we dated, and I’m not the same person I was over a year ago the last time we talked. He doesn’t need to know that or the me I am now. I work for him, so as long as I do my job and take good pictures, my personal life shouldn’t matter.  

I leave a week after the contract is signed. I don’t have much to say goodbye to that I haven’t already said goodbye to. The twins are already moved into their college dorm, and Noah is excited to finally have his shot at being an only child. My mom’s just glad I won’t be sitting on the couch all semester, and my dad, well, he doesn’t really say much.

-

From the very first day of tour, I’m immediately overwhelmed. I have so much to learn. Tour life is so different than anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m not sure how to approach it at first, but then I get caught up in the excitement of getting to shoot and practice photography, and suddenly it becomes all about that. I’ve always had a passion for photography but getting to photograph someone with so much passion for what he’s doing has opened up a whole new world for me. When I’m hidden behind my camera, looking through the lens and waiting to get the perfect shot, I forget anything and everything else.

The traveling is exhausting, but being on the road all the time, and being constantly busy, either traveling or filming or editing leaves little time for me to think or really do anything but work. Healthy or not, it is honestly the only way I’ve learned to cope. Keeping busy like this is the only way I know how to be okay right now.

The first few shows honestly pass in a blur. I’m learning faster than I’ve ever learned anything before, and yet it still seems like I’m not keeping up, not learning fast enough. It’s like being thrown into the deep end of a pool and having to learn to swim. 

None of my photography classes could have even come close to preparing me for this experience. I’m quickly discovering that it really is a full-time job, and I’m exhausted after just the first week. I spend all my time shooting or editing or sleeping. Between the constant traveling, filming, and editing, I really don’t have much left in me by the end of the day. I honestly don’t know how Shawn does what he does, actually getting on stage and performing every night has to be exhausting in itself, not to mention the meet and greets, soundchecks, and press.

The crew has been very welcoming, but it’s hard for me to force myself to open up to them or let myself be included, partially because I’m so busy and exhausted with all the work I’m doing, and also because I’m just not exactly comfortable with them. I’m sure they’re all great people, and it really is just a personal issue, but it’s been hard lately for me to get out of my comfort zone any more than I’ve already been pushed by coming on this tour. 

It feels safer to just keep to myself. I hate to admit it, but it also probably has to do with the fact that Shawn’s team is predominantly male, at least the people who I come into contact with most. Even though they invite me to hang out with them, I’m not exactly in a place where I want to be surrounded by alcohol and dudes. And hanging out with Shawn is practically out of the picture. Not that he’s going out of his way to invite me to hang out with him, but the mobs of people he tends to attract genuinely freak me out even though I’d never want to admit it out loud.

I find that most of the time I spend with Shawn, I’m hiding behind my camera. It’s my way of protecting myself from getting close to anyone here. I’ve never been the type of person to document everything, but all of a sudden, it’s my job and I’m clinging to the security of the camera more than ever I thought I would.

It’s our first night in a hotel since the start of tour a week ago. When we finally get there, I go straight to my room, excited to have my own space for the first time in a week. Its already nearly midnight. I thought I was exhausted, but once I get to my hotel room. The reality hits me that I’m all alone, and I can’t fall asleep. I guess there’s something comforting about the feeling of the bus bumping along through the dark on a freeway headed somewhere. I’ve grown used to the rocking of the bus and the tiny space in my bunk where I sleep pressed up against the wall. Now, the large hotel bed in the middle of the room that appears way too big for just one person isn’t as welcoming as I expected it to be. I thought I’d sleep like a baby, it being my first night in a real bed in over a week, but much to my disappointment, I tossed and turned for over an hour before finally deciding to give up on sleeping at all.

If I can’t fall right to sleep, I don’t really want to just lay in the dark. Lately, I’ve found it hard to sleep, especially because I find myself waking up in the middle of the night because of nightmares. At least in the bus, I can hear all the normal sounds, and I can quickly remind myself of where I am, of how far I am from where I used to be. I have never felt alone on the bus because I’m never really alone. Even though I don’t talk to the band a whole lot or see Shawn much, it is comforting knowing that I am surrounded by so many people who are all sleeping peacefully. I can tell because someone is always snoring. When I wake up from nightmares on the bus, I press myself up against the wall, trying to force my pounding heart to slow. As I lay there in the dark, the moving bus brings me comfort and eventually, my breathing evens out enough for me to fall back asleep.

Tonight, there are no sounds except the occasional sound of footsteps walking down the hallway and the muffled sounds of talking or doors closing. I turn the light on and decide to do some editing, since sleep seems to be off the table. Its nearly three am and sleep still hasn’t come. I’m feeling lonelier than ever. I know that most of the crew went out tonight, since we have an off day tomorrow. I opted to stay in, thinking I might be able to catch up on sleep since I haven’t slept well in so long. Now that I realize I can’t even sleep, I’m starting to regret not going out. At the very least, I could be drunk right now. And if I’m forced to be awake, I’d rather be intoxicated.

When I finally can’t take the being alone anymore, I grab my laptop, pull a sweatshirt on over my tank top, and head down to the lobby. Even if I’m still going to be alone, at least there are other people there. I settle into a sofa and watch tired-looking people come and go while I try to get some work done.

I’ve been engrossed in my editing for a while when I finally look up because I see movement. The lobby has been pretty empty for a while considering it’s the middle of the night, but I notice a couple. I’m about to go back to my work, not thinking much of them at first when the guy makes me take a closer look. When I do, I realize it’s Shawn and a girl I’ve never seen before. I know I shouldn’t be surprised. I assumed that he hooked up before, and even often, but I never really thought about having to see him and his girl for the night. I quickly look back down, hoping that he won’t notice me. Luckily, the elevator opens and the two of them disappear inside without a glance in my direction.

After they’re gone, I turn back to edit, but my mind is everywhere else. Of course, Shawn goes out and brings girls back to his hotel room. He’s a twenty-one-year-old musician who also happens to look like a model. I try not to think about it, but there’s a feeling that’s made it's home in the pit of my stomach since seeing Shawn and whoever it was he took upstairs. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why I feel it, but I close my laptop and return to my room, hoping morning will come quickly.

.

Chapter 12

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Ghost” Part 2

Bane’s wife is a mystery to everyone, including her husband. Ghost also happens to be The Joker’s little obsession, not that she ever pays attention to him. Maybe that’s why The King of Gotham should stop messing around: when you push too much, you might get more than you bargained for.

The Joker and his girlfriend left about 15 minutes ago; Kara was in a bad shape and you offered to drive her car back tomorrow. You have no idea how she made it to your house after the events at the club. You could tell J was fuming and for once he seemed to care about what happened to his woman: maybe it was a little wakeup call The King of Gotham needed. Hard to tell when it comes to these matters due to his spectacular personality.

One thing’s for sure though: after his arrival Kara couldn’t stop crying and Ghost knew why. The Joker’s girlfriend merely escaped assault and him giving a damn about the ordeal made her overemotional: it was the first time he showed some real interest outside the bedroom; he held her hand all the way to the car and didn’t even mind a kiss before she got in.

“You’re awfully quiet,” your husband points out. “You’ve been staring out the windows at the empty parking lot since they left. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah…I’m fine,” you turn only to see him signal for you.

Bane is not stupid; he can tell you’re distracted and he can guess the reason. As soon as you straddle his lap he rests his forehead on yours, choosing to dig a bit dipper without sugar coating his objective.

“Are you thinking about that day?”

You take such a strenuous breath there’s no need for a verbal confirmation.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You are aware of the meaning:  your spouse is not asking for details, he’s just bringing it up in case you want to share your feelings regarding Kara’s unfortunate experience.

You caress his bald head and sigh, prepared to describe the facts.

Bane never mentioned anything about the first time you’ve met simply because he always assumed he understood what he saw five years ago. The truth is he didn’t.

“When…when you found me…” you gulp and he distinguishes the struggle.

“Hey,” your husband whispers. “That’s not why I brought it up. You don’t have to re-live the past; I was trying to hint that if you want to discuss…”

He twists a strand of your white hair around his finger while you interrupt:

“When you found me behind the truck, that guy wasn’t trying to rape me; he was trying to kill me.”

Bane’s not wearing his mask and you can read the conflicting emotions written all over his face.

“Vee was my ex,” you continue and pause in order to gather your thoughts. “When I learned he was involved in human trafficking, I urged him to quit. The money was great and he refused so I planned to disappear and help some girls flee in the process. I was very careful yet he still perceived my intentions and when you bumped into us… he was trying to finish me so I won’t be any trouble for his boss and their line of business.”

“Shit…” HB mumbles, hating that his Ghost looks upset.

“I wasn’t defending myself from a rapist, I was fighting for my life. What do you think about that, hm?” you throw the question at him and his reply doesn’t fail:

“That whatever- his-name-was-your-ex had it coming. You can’t kill a Goddess! A man is lucky enough to encounter one and if he fucks up, then he signs up for the bitter consequences.”

A few moments of complete silence, then Bane hears his favorite words:

“I love you,” Y/N pecks the thin scars across his nose and decides to turn the gloomy night into a more accommodating situation. “We were having lots of fun when the unexpected guest barged in; we should stick to the original schedule and reprise our activity.”

“Agree,” Bane squeezes you in his strong arms tighter. “A tiny Ghost might be already in here,” he softly rubs your tummy.

“Or a handsome little brute,” you giggle and he has to underline:

“However, it doesn’t hurt to keep practicing.”

“U-hum,” you wink and he likes the smile forming on your lips, infinitely better than having his wife distressed about an incident that almost ended her existence.

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

5 Years Ago

Bane was done loading the supplies he wanted in his truck, lingering at the spot chosen for that evening’s transaction. It was consistently a random place where everyone that wanted to buy or sell could get together and exchange merchandise; under the radar of course, since the negotiations were less than legal and the individuals present could have easily be enlisted on FBI’s most wanted list.

A lot of turmoil and movement at the campsite, but he still detected a woman’s scream; he carefully listened when it happened again. Bane circled his truck and walked between the vehicles stationed there until his heavy steps abruptly halted: there was a lady trying to get from under a limp body collapsed on top of hers, still holding the rock she used in order to defend herself.  

You crawled from under Vee and froze when you noticed Bane glaring at you. Y/N recognized the masked man: he was starting to gain a certain reputation, not that it was his purpose; he only stuck to his agenda and didn’t give a damn about anything else.

Your future spouse believed that one of the imbeciles tried to sample the merchandise and got more than he could chew; he also knew they didn’t like the girls to rebel and the price paid if they did.

That feral look in your eyes reminded him of the same fire that fueled his veins every time he attempted to get out of the accursed Pit; made him take a decision he never regretted: instead of alerting the others and score a nice bonus for cooperation, Bane gave you a choice.

“If you want to survive, come with me.”

You hesitated: was he toying with you before sounding the alarm?! The pile of muscles indifferently distanced from the scene and you got on your feet, stumbling from the aftermath of almost being assassinated by your former boyfriend. Vee was out cold and you dropped the rock by his feet, not bothering to check if he was dead.

You followed Bane to his truck and he gestured for you to hop in the back; it was difficult to fit in between the boxes yet you managed anyway. He covered everything with the tarp and advised while sealing the way out:

“Stay put!”

It was a nerve wracking couple of hours: Bane drove away immediately and you had no clue about what will occur next. Where was he taking you anyway?

**********  

He pried the door and Y/N strolled inside when she realized he was keeping it opened for her. “This is a gated, private property; we’re right outside Gotham, north of Willow Creek. You should lay low: by know they must have identified the guy and they might be searching for the responsible party.”

He was thinking you were “one of the girls” and you didn’t correct him.

“I had no clue I’ll find myself in this mess,” you skeptically brought it up. “I should go to my apartment and pack suitcases.”

“Bad idea,” the distorted voice huffed. “You should disappear, it’s safer. Those are not the type of people you want to cross!”

You nervously played with the hem of your torn dress and Bane added:

“There are clean clothes in the bedroom; you can use one of my t-shirts. I’ll bring some items your size tomorrow.”

“You’re not staying?!” you inquired, perplexed.

“Nope, I’m busy. Give yourself a tour; I’m positive you can cope with my absence.”

He saw the doubt and muttered:

“You’re not a prisoner; you can leave. Close the gates if you do. If I were you, I would linger on the premises.”

That’s all he said and left a very confused Y/N in the middle of the living room. You wished to ask why he was aiding a total stranger, but you figured it was dumb to do so: Bane seemed like the type of man that didn’t do things unless he felt like it. Period.

You curiously inspected the house, marveled that it was neat and organized: four bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, the spacious living room, another bathroom and the kitchen downstairs. The dust settled on the counters indicated the hideout wasn’t used very often; the decorations were minimal, mostly functional, basic furniture.

You were grateful when you opened the fridge and found some food that was still eatable: the precooked kind but you weren’t picky at that point. After warming up a container in the microwave, Y/N took a sit at the table; with the crazy events that spiraled out of control she didn’t have time to reflect about her current predicament.

It hit as you were munching on your ravioli: how the hell did you end up there?! A sudden, unbearable sense of isolation washed all over you, the numbness that protected you from the initial shock gradually dissipating in thin air.

You had no plan. None whatsoever.

Was it better to go with the flow until you could outline a strategy aimed to get you out of the deep whole you accidentally sunk in? Maybe…

So you did.

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

Next morning, Bane popped at the residence as promised; at 10:12 am he discovered a hyper Y/N tidying up the kitchen: after a sleepless night and six cups of coffee, she was pretty much invincible. You were wearing one of his military print t-shirts: it was big and he was somehow amused to see you swim in the garment.

“I brought you clothes, shoes and food,” Bane grumbled and arranged boxes on the chair closer to you. “I estimated on the size.”

“Thank you,” the sincerity in your voice proved you meant it. “Thank you for helping me.”

“U-hum,” he intensely gazed at you and maybe because you weren’t in your best shape you misinterpreted his demeanor: was your savior expecting some sort of reward? Since you didn’t have much to offer at that time, Bane probably wanted sex as compensation for his services. If he would have taken what he wanted by force, you reckoned it wouldn’t have been pleasant, not with a man his size; not putting up a fight could have made it at least bearable.  

Your logic was way off though: as soon as you took your t-shirt off he came near, picked it from the floor and dressed you back himself.

“You don’t have to do that,” he emphasized and saw how embarrassed you were. “Do you know how to load guns?” Bane switched the dialogue without making it awkward.

“Not really…”

“I’ll show you; I have a project coming up and you can assist.”

“OK,” you were fast to accept as it was an easy way to repay him.

“Besides cracking someone’s skull with a rock, do you know how to defend yourself?” the interrogation continued.

”If I have to.”

“Comes in handy,” he muffled the words beyond the mask and promptly took it off so he can enjoy the coffee too.

It was the first time you saw Bane minus the breathing device; definitely not what you imagined: he was good-looking. HB had a few thin scars across his nose and a thicker one above the upper lip that added a certain flair to his wholesomeness. 

He caught you staring and misjudged:

“What?” he growled, pouring hot liquid in a mug. “Is the view not up to your standards?”

Y/N has always been a direct person, that’s why she described exactly what was in her mind:

“I was actually thinking that you’re handsome.”

One of Bane’s eyebrows went high and he huffed at the candid remark:

“Hm… … I’ve been called worse.”

You bit on your cheek and waited for him to finish his coffee in silence, but he had more to say.

“You should change your appearance; it’s safer if they’re searching around for the runaway girl that dared retaliate.”

You nodded a yes, wondering how you could accomplish such task. He wasn’t wrong: it would have evidently aided if they were indeed hunting for you.

“I know somebody,” Bane insinuated the path of action. “I can bring Zorina here and she can work her magic; the woman’s a pro.”

“Sure,” you welcomed his proposal and instantly blurred out: “I have money stashed at my apartment; it’s a hefty sum, all cash. I’ll have to retrieve it then I will be able to reimburse you for everything you’re doing for me.”

He snorted, entertained at your passionate tirade:

“Reimbursed!” Bane repeated and slammed the cup on the counter, preparing to bail. “Don’t worry about that; they might have the condo under surveillance or maybe they already raided the rooms and took your money.”

“I hope not…” you frowned, swiftly tense at his warning.

“Wait for Zorina,” the suggestion alleviated your anxiety a bit. “I’ll text her and she can be here in one hour. I am going out of town in the morning; I will return on the 27th,” he grabbed his mask from the table. “If you have an emergency, call the number I uploaded as an emergency contact,” Bane handed you a brand new cell phone.

“Will you be the one answering?” Y/N asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed and noticed how relieved you seemed at his affirmation.

Bane came back after 10 days, on the 27th as scheduled. You were outside on the porch and he stopped in his tracks when you emerged from behind the wood pillars.

“How do I look like?” you presented the new Y/N to the stunned man instead of a conventional greeting: your hair was completely white, shaved on the left side and the fresh skull tattoo inked on the exposed skin completed the ensemble quite beautifully. The dark red eyeshadow and black leather suit scored extra points with your future husband.

Bane was a straightforward person and didn’t utter words unless he meant them, yet the unpredicted reply still made you smile:

“Like a Goddess.”

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

For the next six months you helped with whatever was necessary: it kept you busy and while you understood everything was a test, you were able to form your own opinions too.

Bane wasn’t a mindless brute: he was intelligent, outspoken and articulate; the crew didn’t question his decisions not necessarily due to his physical appearance that indicated he could level anyone to the ground with one punch, but because they respected him.

You blindly plunged into an unfamiliar environment: in the great scheme of things, your ex Vee has invariably been a pawn struggling to find his way up to the top. Weren’t you the same now? Another small piece of the puzzle trying to figure out where it belongs?  

You weren’t positive so you kept your distance from the team members and never really talk to them; Y/N only did what she was told and stayed away from social interactions. After your disappointing past experiences, one could have said you didn’t like people. Why bother?

Even Bane was probably going to send you on your way soon: he kept on coming to the house more often and your best speculation was that he was getting ready to tell you to vacate the property. Which was fair; you couldn’t rely on his hospitality forever. And for some reason it made you sad.

It was true that Bane dropped by more often: from barely visiting the hideout once a month before your arrival, he multiplied his visits to 3-4 times a week. Under the pretext of checking up on his protégé and give her assignments, of course. It had nothing to do with how much he liked seeing your face light up every time he was around.

One night you fell asleep in front of the fireplace: it was cozy to pile up blankets and watch the longs burn until they turned into ashes. You woke up around 2 in the morning and stretched, surprised to see Bane passed out on the couch a couple of feet away. You didn’t hear him sneak in and assumed he had a motive for being there: to finally tell you he wanted the residence evacuated.

You rolled over and got on your knees, carefully placing two more logs on top of the dying fire.

“Add more,” the deep tone made you jump. “It’s getting chilly.”

“Hi,” you tilted your head to look at him. “I didn’t mean to awake you,” you apologized and did as requested.

“You didn’t,” Bane rubbed his eyes, totally used with short power naps instead of dozing off for hours.

You delayed more conversation, but it had to be addressed although you dreaded the subject; maybe he was expecting you to get the hint so you gathered the courage to speak up:  

“I was debating… I should…e-hem…” you fakely coughed, “… find a new establishment…”

“Don’t you wanna stay?” he cut you off.

“I do,” you admitted, “but it’s not fair to take advantage of…”

Bane’s laughter at the statement made you halt your small presentation; it was his strategy of disguising how discouraged he was at your arbitrary idea.

“I doubt I’m the type that can be taken advantage of,” he got on his elbow and you abandoned the warmth of the fireplace in order to sit down by him on the sofa. “You don’t have to go anywhere…unless you wish to,” he gave you choices once more.

You glared at each other for a few seconds and then you demanded:

“Can you please take your mask off?”

“Why?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Bane unsnapped the leather straps without a second invitation: God knows he seldom dreamed about it without paying attention to what it truly meant.

Your lips touched and the intimacy made him slowly pull you in his arms; it seemed natural that the woman he was in love with belonged there.

“My name is Y/N,” you suddenly moaned in between kisses and Bane paused, eager to mention:

“For your own safety I suggest to never disclose it to another living soul. It’s better if you don’t exist; a ghost doesn’t have a past or present thus can never be seized.”

“I like the notion of being a Ghost,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “And you have to call me something; the rest of the world also.”

“Sounds like you got yourself a deal,” Bane grinned and instantly cautioned: “I also have to bring up to your attention that I’ve never slept with a Goddess before.”

Your mouth got close to his ear and you whispered:

“I’ve never slept with a Handsome Brute but I believe we’ll manage.”

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

Today, 1:13 am

Your cell phone keeps on vibrating on the nightstand; attempting to ignore the insufferable noise might wake up Bane: you exhausted your husband last night and he has to recharge. You’ll probably need his services by morning time so… might as well make an effort for his sake.

Great, it’s The Joker.

“Hello?” you keep your voice down.

“I was thinking,” the insomniac King of Gotham gets straight to the core of the issue without apologizing for the late call. “Next time Bane’s out of town and you don’t accompany him, I should take you out to dinner; then we can get some stuff out of our system.”

Is he for reals?!

“I have a better proposal!” you hiss, irritated. “Next time Bane’s out of town without me, you’ll take your girlfriend out to dinner and then you can get whatever you want out of your system with her!! I’ll wait for my husband and then when he comes home he’ll know how to take care of my system!! GOT IT??!!” you hang up and J is displeased at your behavior:

“How fucking rude!” he puffs, cuddling next to Kara; she’s snoozing after her misfortune. 

“Who’s that?” your spouse groans.

“Uggghh,” you snuggle to his chest, aggravated by J’s crap.

“Idiot…” HB wraps both naked bodies tighter in the fluffy cover since he guessed the name; your reaction is enough clue.

Ghost pecks his shoulder and gradually relaxes, 100% convinced of the only truth in her life: if she ends up with nothing again, as long as he’s there she will still have everything.

Part 1: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/187322128171/the-joker-x-reader-ghost-part-1

Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on AO3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[honeylikewords]

Gimme your thoughts about Us, I’m still dumb af - You know who it be

I’m putting off an essay to write this but let’s ROCK and ROLL, BABY!

So, spoilers below the cut, just as a warning for anyone who still wants to see Us (2019), dir. Jordan Peele. If you’re unable to see the movie for whatever reason, you can feel free to read this and garner some ideas from it, but I still suggest seeing the film, in the end. A lot of this won’t make sense unless you’ve seen Us!

I normally don’t go out for too much horror, but I do think the Jordan Peele movies are legitimately great works of art, and very culturally relevant, so if you want to be supportive of black artists, black art, and the vocalization of the black experience, I highly suggest going to see these movies or watching them at home. 

They’re not actually overly violent or exploitative, and understanding that the violence in the films is meant to be metaphorical for the systemic violence perpetrated against oppressed groups helps to contextualize the stuff you do end up seeing. So, without further ado, let’s get into some Thoughts about some Cinema.

So, first of all, I have to say that I haven’t stopped thinking about this movie since I saw it at, like, 5:30 pm on Sunday. It’s been on my mind non-stop, and I’ve been fixated on the soundtrack, particularly “Anthem” and “Pas de Deux”, along with the “Tethered Remix” of “I Got Five On It”. I love the intentionally jarring combination of sounds, and how “Anthem” is directly reflective of the idea of the “U.S. Anthem”. “Us Anthem”. 

Jordan himself has been very open about the fact that the title Us is meant to also represent “U.S.”, and when Red is asked “what she is” and she rasps out “We’re Americans” it just... stuck with me. 

The nonsense-singing of “Anthem”, too, fixates me, since the scorer for the film has talked about how it’s the “voices of the Tethered”, and how they’re “angry” and “ready to get free”. We know that the Tethered cannot speak, which is a major and interesting facet of their life, to me, since they’re never given “a voice” beyond this kind of animal screaming and groaning. 

It’s what makes a lot of viewers see them as “sub-human”, but always gets to my heart and makes me think about the fact that they are so very keenly human. It makes me think about the repression of “lesser” languages, native languages, “non-verbal” languages. The Tethered DO have a means of communication-- clicks and rasps, cries and screams-- which definitely do pull at the human fear of “unnatural” noises, but also remind me of native languages that utilize clicks or throat sounds often not found in English. 

The Tethered are deeply, intimately human. While it is mentioned by Red that two bodies cannot share the one soul, that doesn’t mean to me that the other is soulless. I really don’t think that about the Tethered. I think that they are their own people, and that their rising proves that. They’re not hollow machines that just mimic their “original” on the surface, but are just people with their own souls, people who have been wrongly oppressed and mistreated.

Us is openly a discussion about the way we, as people and as Americans, treat “others”. Whether that means the racial other, the cultural other, the class other, the gendered other, or anything other system we try to dichotomize, binarize, or diametrically oppose to something else, it’s very definitely about the ways we abuse and mistreat people in order to systemically oppress them and gain from that.

Adelaide represents this interesting kind of class-traitor, in a way, because she rises “above the others”, both literally and figuratively, and instead of making an effort to free those around her, she just rises to the top and forgets where she came from. Whether that’s about assimilating into white culture and “rejecting” the culture one came from (joining in the oppression of your own people by claiming to ‘not be one of those kinds’) or about rising to a wealthy position and oppressing the poor, forgetting what it was like to be poor one’s self, or about any number of other things, that’s up for interpretation. But the issue is still there.

Jordan intentionally left the specific meaning of the film open so that every viewer would be forced to engage with it personally. Who do you, personally, help to betray? Who do you, personally, help to oppress? Whose suffering do you, personally, benefit from? You’re forced to grapple with that, and forced to acknowledge the reality that every single one of us is part of the issue. You only climb higher by putting someone below you, and this movie forces you to recognize that. 

I’ve heard people complaining that Us isn’t as good as Get Out specifically because it’s more open-ended, but I think that’s what makes both films fantastic and beautiful. Get Out brazenly exposes the direct experience of everyday black horror, and is completely open about it. It’s a one-to-one analogy. But Us is for everyone, making you wrestle with yourself. You are your own Tethered. You are the good and the bad of yourself. And neither one is fully good and neither one is fully bad. Get Out was a master-class in analogy, but Us is more of a metaphor; it doesn’t need to have everything laid out. Its horror and its beauty lay inside of its intentional cloudiness.

I’m really obsessed with the rabbit imagery, too. I love bunnies, and seeing them become symbolic of this horror really was an interesting take. Jordan himself has expressed being uncomfortable with and scared of rabbits, specifically because he can see that they’re “soulless” inside; he says that if you took the brain of a rabbit and put it in a person, you’d get Michael Myers. Totally void, just ready to hurt. And I think that’s an interesting take on them. He also points out that the image of rabbit ears, the shape of their head, mirrors the shape of the scissors that the Tethereds use.

I also love the way that rabbits are largely docile little creatures, but can bite pretty hard if provoked, and I feel that’s a good way to look at the Tethered. I don’t see them as inherently evil or violent, just pushed beyond their own limitations. They did what we all did as Americans: they led a violent uprising against their oppressors, then ‘peacefully’ took their place, all the way across America. They are us, for better, for worse. 

The choice to use the 80′s references really often also caught my attention; Jordan talks about how the 80′s nostalgia is this double-edged sword, since everyone is longing to go back, but not realizing the costs and weights of that, the evil lurking under the placidity and “wholesome American image” that the 80′s sought to project.

The all-American, apple pie, small-town fun and games of the 80′s also came with the Reagan administration, the AIDs crisis, the war on drugs, a massive rift between the rich and the poor (with a steadily more wealthy middle class expanding from just middle class into rich, upper middle class individuals and extremely poor lower middle class), and “sublimated racism”. We pretended, as a nation, that we were now post-racial, but that was such, such, such a huge lie.

So setting the memory scenes in the 80′s, using 80′s film references, 80′s imagery, 80′s sound-a-likes, the Michael Jackson stuff: it all points to the duality of what we love, what we are nostalgic for. Michael was a hero of the 80′s, but now... 

Speaking of Michael Jackson, notice carefully the costuming of the Tethereds. Red jumpsuit, single glove, ‘the monster is not what it seems’, the “Thriller” t-shirt... why, Jordan, one might think that you made the Tethereds look like Michael in “Thriller”!

Which he obviously did, guh-doy.

I mean, the glove/sharp symbol also is an homage to good ol’ shithead Freddy Krueger, too, but it’s definitely a potent nod to Michael Jackson. We know that Adelaide (now Red) had seen the “Thriller” video as a child, and that she wanted the shirt with him on it, so the image of the Tethered is this combination between the Hands Across America symbols and the Michael Jackson look in “Thriller”. Adelaide (now Red) never forgot. 

Also, god, Hands Across America? Talk about 80′s false optimism! It’s incredible how potent that image is for the issue being discussed. For those of you who don’t know, Hands Across America was an initiative in the 80′s to help end hunger and homelessness in America. The idea was that every person in America would join hands and form a line “from sea to shining sea” across the entire lower 48 continental states, and for each person in line, $10 dollars would be donated to the cause.

The event, of course, failed in many ways. First, there’s no POSSIBLE way for people to join hands across the whole continent; the terrain of the US makes it entirely impossible. Plus, the time necessary to conduct that would be incredibly exhausting for people standing in line! But what’s worse? The project did successfully raise ~$34 million, but nearly $20 million of that disappeared into “event costs”: paying the celebrities that endorsed it, paying the event organizers, et cetera. Only around $15 millions made it to the homeless and hungry. While $15 mil. is no small number, that’s.... less than half of what was raised. So where did all that go? Into the pockets of the already rich. It’s such powerful symbolism, especially within the context of the film.

Oh, also, while still on the 80′s talk, the opening shot of the film features a VHS copy of the movie C.H.U.D., a movie about “sub-human underground sewer dwellers” who rose up to eat the surface humans. These “CHUDs” were one-to-one analogies for the homeless and impoverished.

I cannot get over how strong the storytelling is in Us, I just can’t. I’m obsessed with it. I cannot help but wanna talk about it all the time! It’s so GOOD and I’m so FRUSTRATED that I’m gonna cut myself off here to stop from ranting about every teeny tiny thing and every big major thing because no one will know what I’m on about, but, seriously, do yourselves a favor and go see Us. 

This movie will make you have to sit down and think about whose suffering you’ve benefited from, and what you need to do within yourself to change this.

Also, before I go, I just gotta say I love, love, love the decision Jordan made about having the 1980s version of the hall of mirrors be “Native American” themed, only to have that “politically corrected” in the 2010s to be “Merlin’s Hall Of Mirrors”, which is just a facade thrown up over a still-racist, exactly the same hall of mirrors. The problem lurks within, never gone, just covered.

Also, that ties to the Kubrick connection (The Shining is a major inspiration for Jordan) and the genocide connection, so, uh, it’s deep out here, lads.

Anyway, I have opinions about movies.

[christophe-delorne]

Good Dog

Chapter 8

Warnings: Excessive swearing

Pairings: Gregory x Christophe

AU: Adulthood

The bar was noises and crowded, far more than Christophe would ever feel comfortable in but his paranoia was drowned in alcohol. It wasn't unusual for him to get drunk but to do so in a public place was out of the ordinary and only because he had been coerced into it by one Kenny McCormick. The guy was convincing as hell and likely the only other person Christophe moderately tolerated. Other than Gregory. Though right now Gregory had been the deciding factor in why Christophe had ever agreed to go out and drink with Kenny in the first place, he needed to do something that he would consider a bit reckless for him to do. Kenny though, seemed all too entertained by Christophe's crass nature, maybe because the Frenchman was bluntly honest, unlike the blond's childhood friends. Both had shared the experience of death, Kenny seemed more used to that kind of thing that Christophe, not that Christophe was frightened of death by any means but or was heyo willing to dive right into it either.

"Glad to finally run off and have some fun, huh?" Kenny's voice broke through Christophe's haze, making the Frenchman turn to glare sourly at him. Kenny looked different from earlier today, looking less like a bum and more like a nine to five business man. It was not surprise, Kenny was a man who could easily blend in and that was something he used to his advantage.

"Fuck off, you just caught me at a bad time. Or a good one considering how you are." Christophe tapped the bar counter to gain the bar tender's attention and give him a refill on his drink. "And since you invited me, you're paying the bill."

Kenny placed a hand over his chest as if wounded by Christophe's words. "You expect poor lil' ol' me to pay? You're the hot shot merc with loads of cash you probably store under your mattress."

"That would require me to have a mattress in the first place."

"Right, right, I bet Gregory doesn't let his favorite lil' pet up on the furniture now does he?"

"Shut up." Christophe downed the shot, needed that burn to make him forget everything else that bothered him in his life. Like how right Kenny actually was.

Kenny laughed and clapped Christophe on the shoulder, obviously being able to read the mood the statement had put the Frenchman in, that was enough of an answer for him. "You know, you could always ditch the pompous dick and work for me. You know I treat my friends right even if they're idiots."

Christophe knew that Kenny was an honest man, far more generous and kind than he lead others to believe. A man of justice, even since he was a kid he hadn't hesitated to give his own life to bring peace to a world that didn't deserve it. Christophe couldn't share that sentiment, if anything, he needed Gregory to keep him going. No matter how much he hated the man, Christophe needed Gregory and while Gregory would never admit it, he needed Christophe as well. They were fit for each other, no matter how many girlfriends Gregory had, they were replaceable, Christophe was the one thing in Gregory's life that the seemingly impenetrable Brit that was ever stable in his life. Christophe stared down at the worn wood of the bar table, knowing that he would eventually need to go find where Gregory was staying which would likely lead to some sort of bitchfest.

"You already know that I can't fuckin' do that." Christophe pushed the tumbler away from himself, done drinking for the night. He was buzzed enough and didn't want to be completely impaired, even if he did trust Kenny, he didn't trust anyone else in this bar, or so he thought.

Just as he was about to stand up off the barstool, a hand fell on his shoulder. Instinctively he grabbed it and yanked, planning to throw the perpetrator over the bar for making the mistake of touching him, especially from behind. However, the owner of the hand seemed to have expected the motion and grabbed at the back of Christophe's hair with his free hand and giving a violent yank back, causing a hoarse cry of anger and foreign swear words to come spilling out of his mouth. His head was forced to tip back, green eyes locking onto smug, pale blue ones. It appeared Gregory had lost his patience in waiting for Christophe to return to him.

"You kept me waiting long enough, Christophe." The polite tone was deceptive as Gregory turned his head to look over at Kenny who was doing his damnedest to innocently drink the beer he ordered, pretending he wasn't there and failing. "I should have known you'd be the cause, Mr. McCormick. Though I should have guessed you'd come snooping around, I was hoping you would but not so soon." Gregory pulled upwards on Christophe's hair, making the Frenchmen swear as he was pulled to his feet.

"Well, you know me, I always do enjoy getting into the center of mischief." Kenny downed the rest of his beer before standing up, giving Christophe a look, not out of pity but almost out of understanding. "Anyways, just thought I'd show the old dirt dog some fun while he was off the leash."

"While I am thankful that he hasn't gone off and done something regrettable, I still prefer that Christophe not go off while we are in the middle of work."

"Ohoho, work you say? And what interesting things could possibly require the insistence of British upper crust and a mysterious Frenchman in Denver?"

"Likely the same reason why you're here, Mr. McCormick."

"Jeeze, Mr. McCormick, really? You make me sound like a honest, hard working man. Work is hard, but definitely not honest." He pulled out his wallet, placing down money for the bill, paying for Christophe's as well.

"I do enjoy formalities. However, I must excuse myself and Christophe, we have things to attend to and this little adventure has put us behind schedule. If we need your assistance, I will be certain to contact you." Gregory nodded briskly as if his words were the final say in the conversation. Kenny took the hint and waved them off with a sigh.

"Yeah, whatever, but just so you know, my services ain't free."

"Duly noted."

Gregory turned, still holding Christophe by his hair as he dragged the stumbling, disoriented Frenchman out of the bar. Already there was a taxi there waiting, not one of the public transports either. It appeared Gregory had hired a chauffeur to drive them around during their stay in Denver. Figures, Gregory wasn't the type to bother with a vehicle that wasn't exactly the cleanest or the nicest. That and having one or two designated drivers were preferable in this sort of mission, dedicated to serving them without being distracted by other customers. Gregory opened the back door, shoving Christophe into the backseat. It was unusual for Gregory to enter after Christophe, a sign of how upset the man was.

"You simply cannot leave like that in the middle of a mission."

"Shove it up your ass, prick." That got him a brisk slap upside his head, making Christophe turn his challenging glare at Gregory. He wasn't going to regret his decision and if anyone should apologize, it should be Gregory.

"You were rude to our host and you didn't answer my texts."

"First of all, fuck you and that cunt. Secondly... Fuck you." Maybe he had drank more than he thought, trying to remember his line of thinking was difficult, especially when he felt so pissed off with the man beside him.

"Wendyl had inside information on our target, so we need them to carry this mission out."

"What the hell even is this mission, you've told me fuck all and it's starting to get on my fuckin' nerves. Tell me what the shit is goin' on, Greg." He was used to just doing as he's told, but this, being back here so close to the worst time in his life. He wanted answers, he deserved some sort of explanation that would give him a good enough reason to stay near that he'll hole of a place. Not to mention deal with the people who were a part of it. A part of a war that he had no real stake in. A war that had changed both him and Gregory for the worst. He couldn't care less about what had happened to him, but...

Gregory sighed, running a gloved hand over his jaw, a sign of him thinking, choosing his words carefully. Which meant the blond wasn't ready to give Christophe the full details on this mission, which made him listen to Gregory's words with a grain of salt. "There have been reports of a new addictive drug on the market, one that is spreading far too quickly to be created by just some small timers." Gregory looked out the window, mulling over his thoughts and seemingly his anger had lessened. "It started showing up in Europe recently, the supply is thin, so people have begun killing each other over it. I managed to trace it back to Hall as the supplier, but I know a man like that wouldn't dirty his hands too much in drug trade, so someone must have offered him something too irresistible to pass up."

Christophe rubbed the back of his head, his scalp still sore from where Gregory had yanked on it. "So you were pulling all the information he had on the one who bought him?"

"Correct. I found out that he'd been promised a good deal of power and control in Europe in the coming years once whatever plan this organization was brewing up came to fruition. Such a promise means that the current powers would have to be cleaned out and replaced. Something that can only be done if something drastic happens. Something I intend to stop."

"Fuckin' hell. You know I hate missions that force me to do heroic things. I'm not doing it, not again."

"You don't have much of a choice in the matter, or have you forgotten you place once again?"

Christophe turned his head, avoiding Gregory's dangerous look, instead preferring to look out the window at the buildings moving past at a slow rate, it appeared they'd managed to get into afternoon rush hour. He hated being in the car, much less in traffic with a man who oozed anger while having the damnedest calm expression on his face. Even with the distraction of the conversation, Gregory hadn't forgotten Christophe's transgressions as expected. However, Christophe didn't know what to expect from the Brit, while everyone around Gregory thought of him as harmless, Gregory didn't hold back when it came to the Frenchman.

"I won't sacrifice my life again, Greg." Christophe stated firmly. "Never again. Nothing about this shitty world is worth my life for."

"Oh? Not even me?"

It was a trap question, one Christophe wouldn't fall for. He would never admit how much he cared for Gregory, though at this point he wondered if it wasn't even out of care for the man. Did he truly care about Gregory? Or was he just following routine, following the only thing he ever knew because it was familiar and safe. His entire life was chaotic and dangerous, ever changing except for one person. Once upon a time, when they were kids, he might've fancied such a notion, he had envied Gregory then. He had wanted to gain Gregory's attention, to cur favor in order to gain a reward. Eventually, that had stopped, there were no rewards, no more kindness left between them. Whatever youth that they had left had been ruined I that little mountain town in Colorado. They were adults, able to see the reality of their situation and yet unable to fix it, some wounds never did heal, on,y festered and grew into something more dangerous.

Christophe didn't respond, knowing he was only tempting Gregory's anger later. He wanted it, craved it almost, it had been so long that he wanted any kind of attention Gregory could give him. He knew it was wrong, he hated, loathed that part about him and yet he didn't want to change it. What sort of better world would be out there for him anyways? Did he even deserve anything better than this? He had done terrible things, had cursed God himself more times than he could count. So no, he deserved Gregory, deserved that sort of punishment. Christophe glanced back over to Gregory, the temptation was there, could he piss Gregory off enough to make the man forget everything else and focus on him? He would likely regret it, but the alcohol in his system had loosened his caution around the Brit.

"What makes you different from all the rest of the pieces of shit?"

Gregory seemed slightly taken aback by Christophe's statement, staring at the Frenchman as if hurt by it. Christophe hoped so, sure it was petty of him but he wasn't really in the right mindset to be reasonable and rational. It took a moment for Gregory to recover, but when he did, he moved closer, pressing close to Christophe's side. Instantly, he became aware of the touch, the subtle but elegant cologne wafting up, bringing back memories that made him feel mixed emotions. His eyelids lowered, regretting drinking, lowering his guard around Gregory was the worst mistake he could make. However he wanted to finally let his guard down, wanted to feel something that he scorned and locked away to keep himself safe. He felt warm breath on his ear, damning him to lifetime of torture that he'd reluctantly savor as his eyes closed. Words, soft softly whispered, sounding almost deceptively affection teased him for the rest of his days.

"Because I'm the only one you care about."

[jessethejoyful]

the art school au no one asked for

I decided I wanted to try writing a carry on fic and they say you should write about what you know so - read it here or on ao3

Baz is a painting/drawing major, Simon is an animator, and much problem ensues. 

BAZ

At the end of every spring and fall semester, the art school hosts a student showcase, so we can gain experience with exhibitions and the like. I thought about entering a piece, one of my paintings, but I deliberated long enough that I missed the deadline. Which is absolutely fine, because everything from this semester felt like garbage to me anyways. I was trapped somewhere in my own headspace - but, anyway.

I wander through the student show, my eyes passing across the canvases and sculptures. Mentally, I have to keep my nose from wrinkling at some of them (how did these kids get into an art school? Is there actually any criteria, or do you just have to toss paint on a slab and say please?). Some of the students are standing next to their pieces, obviously brimming with pride. There’s one boy stopping anyone who is unfortunate enough to glance his way, and asking them a barrage of questions. (“How does it make you feel? Which one is your favorite? How much would you pay for this?”) I avoid him carefully, giving him and his creepy multi-face painting a wide berth.

It’s something of a surprise when I come across a laptop, set up on a podium by itself. That’s not art. But when I wander up to get a closer look, I realize it’s an animation reel. I’ve come up at the tail end of someone throwing a ball at a wall, which looks nice but is rather boring. I’m about to turn away when it changes to another clip.

The shot begins on a girl, curled in on herself, and a moment of her finger tapping the white space beneath her. And then she shoots up, arms flaring wide, head tilting back, and I’m blown away by the style of it. It’s not normal 2D animation, but a sketchy, wild style that somehow carries a lot of emotion just in the chaos. The video follows the girl, a ballerina, through a routine that I imagine would be heart-wrenching if it had music with it. Even without, I feel a pull in my chest, watching the obvious pain that flits across her shadowy and angular face.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.

The scene ends with the girl knelt down again, her back heaving as she breathes heavily, and I realize I’ve been holding my own breath. It comes out in a rush as the reel changes again. I expected something just as amazing, but instead have my eyes assaulted by an ugly, gritty-looking clip of two stick figures beating the shit out of each other. I feel the scowl rise on my face and narrow my eyes at the name attached to the podium.

Simon Snow - who the fuck would name their kid Simon Snow? Sounds like the heroine of some sappy young adult novel. Maybe it’s an alias for a less idiotic name.

I straighten and adjust my jacket, eyes flicking back to the screen in the hopes that the ballerina clip was back, but instead it’s moved on to some boring clip of fish leaping from a river. My scowl deepens, and I move on, refusing to return to the laptop. Anyone who would put such a stupid video in a showcase deserves no more of my attention.

The name Simon Snow flits through my head now and then over the summer, while I serve coffee at a small, artsy shop near campus. I wonder if he ever comes in, but no one claims the name Simon for their cup, and eventually I forget about the reel, and Simon Snow, entirely.

Until the start of the new term, when I’m carrying my supplies into the art building, my  heavy bag hung painfully on one shoulder. A girl’s voice shrieks, “Simon!” and I’m nearly bowled over as she dives by me, and I register a mane of frizzy red hair and warm brown skin, similar to my own.

“Sorry, Basil!” she squeals as she barrels away, and I’m startled enough that it takes me a moment to reply.

“How do you -?” But she’s already gone, down at the end of the long corridor and throwing her arms around a tallish boy with wild bronze hair, freckles so numerous I can see them from here, and a laugh that reverberates through the hall.

That’s Simon Snow?

Shit.

SIMON

Penny surprised me in the art building, but I was glad she did - she’d been gone all summer to study in Italy, and I’d missed her like I’d miss my left hand. She spent nearly two hours chattering to me about the different sites she toured, the museums she visited, the food she’d eaten, and I listened happily, grateful to have her voice filling up our cozy flat again. It had been far too empty without her.

I don’t know how she does it, but Penny is double-majoring in art history and sculpture. She’s dead brilliant at both of them. I was royally fucked in my own mandatory art history class until she started helping me. We’ve been friends since high school, so she knows I’m shit at studying, but I managed to brush by with her help. Thank God - I wasn’t eager to repeat that class. The professor nearly fell asleep at his own lectures, I don’t know how Penny can stand him, and he’s her faculty advisor.

Despite the heavy course load I signed on for this semester, I’m glad to be back at it. I spend summers feeling off-center, like I lose my sense of direction for a few months before wandering back from the wilderness in September with leaves in my hair (it’s a feeling that’s kind of hard to describe).

Animation is a lot more work than anyone outside of the field realizes. I don’t think I even realized it when I started, but now I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. Watching my pieces come to life on a screen is like a drug, a high that’ll never come down.

But it’s exhausting.

During the semesters, I spend more time in the computer lab than out of it, making use of the huge tablets and desktops provided by the school. Penny will come hang out now and then, but I get so scary focused and quiet that she usually gets bored and wanders out after a few minutes. She fell asleep there once, half-off her chair, and I let her sleep, waking her up around two when it was time for us to walk back to the flat.

Now we’re only a few weeks into the new term, and I’ve already fallen back into the habit, chatting up the lab’s student assistant before I claim my spot in a corner, ready to work until I pass out.

I try to keep an eye on the clock, but I get so into my work that hours pass without my notice. When I realize I’ve been there for coming on six hours without a break, I force myself to drop my pen and sit up, feeling my back creak in the process. I think I’ll go heat up one of the frozen meals I’d thrown in the student fridge last week; I can feel the hunger creeping up in my stomach.

It’s so late, just past midnight, that barely anyone is around. I’d work at home if I could, but the equipment is so expensive that I can’t really afford my own, with only a laptop and a shitty knock-off tablet that I use for personal stuff. The cord is fraying and half of the time won’t connect, but it does what I need.

I’m shocked when I amble into the student lounge to find a guy digging through the fridge, the room around him so dim that the bright white light makes him look pale, like a vampire. But when he closes the door and stands up, I realize he’s got almond brown skin, and grey-green eyes like a deep lake. And he’s scowling at me.

“Can I help you with something?” he snarls, clutching a carton of cream, and I’m immediately caught off guard by the aggression in his tone.

“Yeah mate, you’re in front of the fridge,” I say slowly, pointing. His cheeks darken and he steps away, heading to the counter where there’s coffee brewing. Neither of us says anything for a long bit, while I pull my food out and chuck it in the microwave.

Out of the corner of my eye, I observe him, trying to take stock. The half-up bun and long sleeve black button-up seem about right, but I’m surprised by the massive black combat boots, giving him an easy extra two inches in height.  

Finally, because the silence is deafening, I say, “Working late, then?”

His answer is abrupt. “Yes.”

I try again. “My name’s Simon.”

“I know.”

I furrow my eyebrows at him, fed up. “Want to tell me yours then, or are you just going to keep being a dickhead?”

This clearly startles him, looking at me with wide eyes and saying his name, two quick syllables. “Bas-il.”

“Bazzzz-il,” I drawl, dragging out the z sound present in that ridiculous name. His lip curls, actually curls, and I’m almost impressed before something occurs to me. “Wait. Not Basil, as in T. Basilton Pitch?” There’s no way there’s multiple people in the world with a similar name, let alone this school.

“The very same.” I’m floored. This is the prat whose art I always notice in the halls? Every time I see an impeccable figure study or a breath-taking oil painting, the name ‘T. Basilton Pitch’ is always attached underneath.

Five minutes ago, if you had asked me who I thought was the most talented in the building, I would’ve said Pitch immediately. But now that the arse is standing in front of me, antagonizing me, I’m not about to give out any compliments.

“Oh. I’ve seen your work in the cases.” The microwave beeps at me, and I fiddle with it before saying grumpily, “S’ pretty nice.” Damn. That sounded more sincere than I’d meant it to.

“I’m flattered, I’m sure,” Basilton says sharply, before loudly dropping his mug into the sink and disappearing out the door. I throw myself down at one of the tables and start shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth, annoyed now.

T. Basilton Pitch.

What a tit.

PENNY

It’s 3 am when Simon finally wanders in, squinting even in the darkness, dragging his feet like he’s left lead in his shoes. He always does this, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion and probably ruining his eyes in the process.

And then he has the audacity to try and lecture me. I’m reading by a soft lamp when he comes in, and he snaps at me about damaging my eyes, by reading in such dim light. I raise my eyebrows at him and flip the book shut. “Who spit in your tea tonight, Simon?”

He glances at me apologetically, dropping his bag onto the floor before throwing himself down on the couch beside me, head resting on my hip. “Basil,” he growls, as I absentmindedly run my fingers through his curls.

“Oh, met him, did you?” Simon sits up and looks at me sharply.

“You know him? How?”

I shrug. “He was in my Drawing II class. Put the rest of us to shame, with his drawings and his shit attitude. The professor told him to shut the fuck up once when he made a girl cry, and he just sneered at him. It was quite a scene.”

It had been a real scene. I make a point not to be friends with assholes, but I remember I couldn’t help being a little bit fascinated by this tall dark prat, who looked ready to throw hands every time the professor said anything. And it hadn’t really been his fault that girl started crying - we were in the middle of a peer critique, and Baz told her in somewhat harsher terms that her anatomy was way off.

She’d just started bawling. It was embarrassing for everyone.

I tell Simon as much, and he seems genuinely intrigued. “Maybe he’s just an asshole to people he doesn’t know,” Simon says slowly. “Maybe if I’m nice to him, he’ll be nice back.”

“Simon, not everyone’s like you. Like if a golden retriever became a human.” He looks almost offended at this. “Baz is endlessly contrary. I wouldn’t put money on even you being able to befriend him.”

“Penn, come on. Everyone needs friends.”

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

BAZ

Three days after I officially met Simon Snow, I’m still kicking myself for the whole thing.

Seeing him up close had just been too much. This dead handsome idiot, standing over me at nearly one in the morning, staring at me with his mouth open - far too much for my sleep deprived brain. I’d gone and made a complete ass of myself.

It was the first time I’d left my studio that day, just looking for a coffee, and my brain had stayed behind.

Honestly, though, it’s probably all for the best. I’m too fucking queer to have a guy that good-looking around on a regular basis. (What is up with all those freckles? He looks ill. I want to draw the constellations on his face.)

When next I see him, it’s thankfully from a distance again, far across the campus green. He’s got two girls with him. I recognize one of them, short and stout with that mad frizzy hair, but the other is a complete stranger. Even far off, I can tell she’s beautiful, even to my gay ass. (I’m gay, not blind.) She’s the kind of beautiful you can’t help but notice. Waist-length honey blonde hair, a perfect figure, expensive-looking clothes and high-heel ankle boots, though they still don’t make her as tall as Simon.

Too late, I realize I’ve completely stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, gaping at them across the lawn. My eyes lock with Simon’s, and suddenly he breaks out into this enormous grin.

I might be a little fucked.

Simon is saying something to the girls and then jogging toward me, and my time to escape has fled. Not that I could’ve - that smile was so much I think it rendered me briefly immobile, gluing my shoes to the pavement.

“Hey, Basil,” Simon greets me sheepishly, stopping before me and rubbing the back of his neck. He looks so carefree, in loose jeans that somehow look good, and a graphic tee partially covered by a paint-stained hoodie. He rips the green beanie off his head and shoves his hands through his orange curls, making them stand on end. And he’s wearing these massive circular, wire-framed glasses, and I’m mesmerized.

“...Hey?” I say, cursing myself for letting it come out sounding like a question. Simon doesn’t even seem to notice, his smile smaller now but no less painful to look at.

“Look, I wanted to apologize for the other night. I was completely knackered, I’d been in the lab for hours and was feeling a bit grouchy.” To say I’m startled by this apology is putting it lightly. I’d been rude first, what is he apologizing for? Defending himself?

Maybe just this once, it would pay to play nice. I glance over Simon’s shoulder, where the two girls were still watching their interaction, waiting. “Er - it’s alright. I’m - sorry as well. I was barely functioning that night.” Simon’s face lit up at my mostly friendly response, and I think I might be barely functioning now.

“Penny and Agatha and I are going off campus for a bite, you wanna come along?” Agatha must be the other girl. I vaguely remember the name Penny, some distant memory from second semester. But there’s no way I’m up for that much social interaction today; just this interaction has nearly killed me.

“Ah, I’ll - have to pass,” I choke out. “I’ve got a date.” Simon looks surprised before I finish, “With my studio.”

There’s no way it’s relief that flashes across Simon’s face at that amendment. No fucking way.

“Oh, right, then,” he says. “Another time, then.”

Weary now, I try to smile, but I think it must look like more of a grimace, before I stride away.

“Basil!” Simon calls my name and I turn back to look. Now that I’m looking at him, he seems not to know what to say, his hand pulling awkwardly back to his chest like he’d been reaching out. “Uh - good luck with the painting!”

“Cheers,” I reply, walking away then without looking back.

SIMON

I’m wandering back to the computer lab that evening when I notice the light on in the studio labeled T. Pitch. It’s pretty late, already after ten, and while I’m not surprised Basil is still here, I’m a little curious. I’d grabbed a few scones from the bakery Penny works at before coming back to campus, with a mind to eat them later - but maybe Baz would like one. I’d heard Penny call him Baz, and I can’t blame him for the nickname. I wouldn’t want people calling me Basilton either.

I wonder what the T stands for? Could it be something worse than Basilton? Is that possible?

I knock twice on the door of the studio before turning the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. Baz is clearly shocked to see me, jerking his hand away from canvas he’s working and yanking his earbud out.

“Christ - ever heard of knocking?” All this guy seems to know how to do is snap and snarl. I’m already bristling.

“I did knock.”

“Well, you’re supposed to wait for me to say come in.”

“You’ve got headphones in.”

“Exactly.”

I force myself to take a deep breath, before I hold up the pastry bag. “Thought I’d bring you some food. You seem the type to get sucked in and forget to eat, am I right?” I can tell by the defensive look on his face that I am. “Look - don’t say anything. Just take this, alright?” I take the wrapped pastry from the bag and toss it too him, and he’s not too bewildered to catch it. “Have fun, yeah?” I back out the door before Baz can say anything else and snap it shut.

I don’t know what I expected. Some declaration of gratitude? I’d never expect that of anyone, let alone that prickly bastard. That’s not why I do things for people.

But fuck, was it too much to even be civil? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so grouchy. He’d seemed to quiet earlier, soft, almost. Shy. Maybe he’s bipolar. It wouldn’t surprise me whatsoever.

Or maybe he’s just an asshole.

I continue onto the lab, spinning my chair so the back touched the desk, and straddle it, resting my chin on the cushion. Penny yells at me that I’m going to ruin my back sitting like this, but it’s comfortable, so I always ignore her.

I’m struggling with a frame I’m working on, unable to get the flow right between shots. It makes me blink out sometimes, when I get really stressed by something that isn’t meshing. Normally I’d take a walk, but I’m not so sure tonight. What if I run into Baz? I’m pretty sure I’d deck him at this point, I’m so worked up.

I should probably just call it a night. I look at the close - 2 am. Yeah, I’ll just call it a night. I flick the light off as I leave the lab, letting the door shut behind me.

As I walk by the private studios, I notice Baz’s light is still on.

I keep walking.

[theoreticallyawriter]

Chapter 14: Sharpen Your Knife

The next morning comes too fast. I doubt that I slept more than two hours, but I don’t regret it in the slightest. This is the first time I haven’t been one of the first few people up, instead when I drag myself to the bathroom the only one missing is Tris. Myra and I exchange tired, but satisfied glances as I come in, setting my things on the counters with the sinks and then getting in the shower.

That was the first night that I really felt Dauntless, like it wasn’t all just me trying to be something that I’m not. It was great, and if I’m being honest with myself then I hope that the rest of my life is like that. Maybe not the ziplining part, but the feeling of it all, actually getting to take part in Dauntless culture which is now my culture rather than feeling like an outsider or someone who only has one foot in the door. For the first time, everything that I want to do actually feels achievable and attaching the Dauntless label to myself feels natural. This is my home, this is where I belong and I can be here knowing chose it for myself and not because I was trying to live up to the vision that someone else had for me. I am only the person that I want to be, and I think that I’m starting to get a little bit clearer of an idea as to who that person really is. I’m still ambitious like an Erudite, I think that I always will be and finally feeling like I belong here only makes me more resolute in my goals.

When I get out of the shower, Myra is gone but Tris has gotten up. She greets me with a yawn and when I walk to the mirror to do my hair, I nudge her shoulder with my own.

“Tired?” I say.

“Wiped. You?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

We both laugh and it sounds strained and tired, but sincere. Christina gives us a quizzical look, but for now says nothing.

As usual, we all wait for each other before going to breakfast. I like the routine that we’re all falling into, the way that training is pretty much almost always the same. I’m beginning to see that not everything about Dauntless is just random and chaotic 24/7. There’s a routine here that people seem to stick to for the most part and a way of life that they’ve carved out for themselves. That said, there really is no such thing as a dull moment.

“Where did you two go last night?” Will asks when we sit down at our usual table. “Mimi, Marlene pulled you away to talk to you for a second and then you were just gone.”

Tris and I exchange grins, neither of us are quite sure if we should spill the Dauntless-born’s secret. I also don’t want to say anything because I don’t want them to feel left out. It was great and I had tons of fun but I also think that it would have been cool to have them there.

“We took an alternate route back,” Tris says.

Will raises his eyebrows. “That was a pretty long ass route. You didn’t come back until after we were all in bed.”

“Yeah.” Tris nods. “It was a little…complex.”

Al is all but asleep in his breakfast, his head dipped down as he blinks slowly in an attempt to keep himself awake.

“You doing alright, buddy?” I ask.

He groans in response, rubbing his eyes.

“My sentiments exactly,” Will says.

I take another long drink of my coffee, refusing to let my eyes glaze over. I can handle a little less sleep than usual, Dauntless hasn’t changed me that much.

“God, you know I just cannot wait to spend all day beating my knuckles bloody against a punching bag after last night,” Christina says. “That’s just,” she interrupts herself with a yawn, “buckets of fun.”

“Beats getting punched in the face,” I point out.

“Yeah, but if you get knocked out that’s an extra few minutes of free sleep,” Will jokes.

I snort. “How very optimistic of you.”

“Yep.” He leans back in his chain and puts his arms behind his head. “I’m just here to brighten your day, it’s one of the things you love about me.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure it is, Will.”

I glimpse Marlene on the way over to her table her tray and she sees me too. We smile at each other across the dining hall and them she goes to join the rest of her friends.

After we’re all done with breakfast, or more accurately as close to adequately caffeinated as we can get within our time frame, we walk to the training room. Though I’m freshly determined to do well, I can’t say that I’m especially excited about training today. Maybe I’d be a little more so if it didn’t start at six in the morning. I’m sure no one else is faring any better, but the Dauntless don’t stop for anything and doing things the hard way is just a part of their way of life.

Eric doesn’t show for the morning half of training, which means that it’s for the most part more chill than usual. However, it seems that his victory last night has done nothing to soften Four; he prowls around making all the same criticisms that he usually does and never even making the most half assed attempt at positive reinforcement. It really doesn’t help that most of us are basically falling asleep standing up. Last night really took it out of me, I thought that I could just continue on like I used to in Erudite but that was a different kind of exhaustion. With that it was just my brain that was fried and I could fix that, but with training being the way that it is, we have no time to recover and so this hits us all hard. Even Peter and Edward aren’t quite a hundred percent.

Lunch comes and goes too fast and part of me seriously considered going back to the dorms and just taking a nap like Drew and a few others do. But I also know from experience that training sucks on an empty stomach even more than it does with a full one. It’s also a really good thing that the Dauntless cooks make a lot of food because ever since I’ve started gaining muscle mass I’m basically ravenously hungry all the time, which is almost as bad as being sore all the time. But I won’t pretend like I don’t think it’s a little cool how I can see just a little bit of definition in my muscles. Sore as I am, I feel a lot stronger than I did when I first arrived in Dauntless; I’m not the delicate Erudite girl with perfect makeup and shiny hair anymore. In fact, by Erudite standards, I look like shit most days; I’m bruised, I hardly ever wear makeup, I no longer have all the product that kept my hair so nice. But honestly, I don’t care; in fact, in some ways, I no longer feel any sort of pressure to be perfect because I can’t get much further away from everything that I used to consider perfect than the way I am now.

When we all trudge back to the training room, Eric is there and a line of human shaped targets have been set up, the circles being painted around the stomach. About fifteen feet from the targets is as a table full of polished silver knives with black grips wrapped around the hilts. The sight of them makes me smile a little, finally something that I actually know how to do. Now granted, I’m not as good as Melanie, but she was the one who showed me how. She’s got some sort of fascination with knives just like Minerva used to have with fighting.

“Apparently Four failed to mention this to you this morning,” Eric says, “but you all only have three weeks left of training. Your final fights are on the fourteenth of October, but training proceeds as normal so you’d all better be wide awake on Monday. Today though, you’ll be learning how to throw knives. Everyone pick up three knives and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them.”

No one moves toward the table for a few seconds.

“Now!” Eric yells.

We all scramble toward the table to pick up our three.

“He’s in a bad mood today,” Christina mutters.

“Is he ever in a good mood?” Tris mutters back.

“When is he not?” I say at the same time.

Judging by the death glare that Eric gives Four when he isn’t paying attention, last night’s loss bothers him a lot more than he’d care to let on. Capture the flag is important to Dauntless, a matter of pride for the team and captains alike and pride is very important to the Dauntless.

We all watch Four throw his three knives very carefully. I am familiar with this subject, but I wouldn’t dare think I’m good enough that I shouldn’t pay attention. Four is very precise about his throws, but relaxed and confident as well like he’s been doing this all his life. Actually it wouldn’t really surprise me if Four just sprang forth fully formed from some hole in the ground already brandishing a knife. The three knives he throws stick in the center of the board so closely that the edges almost brush.

“Line up!” Eric orders as Four goes to the board to collect his knives.

I slip two of the knives into the pocket of my pants for now and easily toss one of them back from hand to hand, adjusting my grip and generally trying to get a feel for the way that the blade is balanced. They’re obviously well made, lovingly crafted though nothing like the custom, decorative ones Melanie has that I’ve only seen a handful of times.

When she was teaching me to throw, she told me that really what it came down to was physics and practice. General mental math can be applied in order to get the basics down. It’s a very Erudite way of approaching something like this, very fitting for my Erudite sister, approaching it like a scientist and picking it apart in order to achieve the desired results.

These are weighted a little differently than the ones I remember her letting me practice with, but the same rules still apply. I flip the blade in my hand and hold it the way I was taught so as not to cut myself, which she did a lot when she was first starting out I remember, and draw my arm back.

‘The easiest way to do this is to match your throws to your breaths,’ I recall her telling me as she drew my arm back for me. I can almost hear her voice, feel her fingers ghosting over my arm and shoulders to adjust my stance. ‘Exhale. Inhale. Exhale and throw.’

I hit the target, only slightly above the center dot, but I didn’t throw with enough force and so the blade slides out of the wood after a few seconds. I retrieve the second knife from my pocket and try again, adjusting my aim slightly and throwing harder. That one slams into the board but down and to the left of the dot. I try again with the third knife, shutting out all the other distractions and just trying to focus on what’s in front of me.

That’s the one that divides that tiny center dot down the middle.

“Hey,” Christina says. “You’re pretty good at that.” She throws her third knife and while it gets within the circle it’s still pretty far off from the center.

Most of us finish with our three around the same time, so we walk up to the board to retrieve them. I pick my first up off the floor and then start at getting the other two out of the wood. They’re really stuck in there too, maybe I threw them a little too hard.

“Thanks,” I say while still struggling to pull out the third knife. “My older sister taught me.” The knife pops out and I nearly fall backward but Will’s arm shoots out and grabs mine before I hit the ground.

“Careful,” he teases.

I roll my eyes, but smile at him. “My hero.”

“Yep.” He grins. “This makes, what, the second or third time I’ve saved you from falling? It’s what you love about me.”

“I thought I love you because you’re an optimist.” We walk back to our spots away from the board.

He shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”

“Hold on,” Christina interjects. “Can we just rewind to that part where you said your sister taught you to do this?”

“I mean, she had an instructor first but yeah she showed me a few things.”

“Didn’t you say you were Erudite?” Christina says, no less confused.

“Yeah, it’s just a skill like any other. Calculus, gymnastics, knife throwing; they’ve all got the same basic principle to learning them, practice until you get it right. Really it can be applied to anything.” I remember learning very early that anyone could do anything if they wanted it badly enough, if they worked hard enough. My sister can throw knives, my mother can lead a faction, I can be Dauntless. All I have to do is try, and if there’s one thing I know how to do it’s try.

Christina smiles and shakes her head in disbelief, but doesn’t say anything else.

An hour and a half later, every one of us has managed to at least get our knives within the circle if not at the center save for Al. Unlike fighting, he just can’t seem to get the hang of it and while the rest of us go up to pull our knives from the board he hunts the floor for his. Part of me wants to help him, but I’m not close enough to just talk him through it and with Eric and Four watching us I can’t say with any certainty that I wouldn’t get in trouble for that. Eric’s in a foul mood as it is and I have no desire to poke that particular bear.

The next time he misses, Eric nearly snarls under his breath and storms toward him.

“How slow are you, Candor?!” he demands. Do you need glasses?! Should we move the target closer?!”

Al doesn’t respond, but his face turns bright red. He throws another knife and this one runs out of momentum before it can even reach the board, scraping and clattering against the concrete floor.

“What was that, initiate?” Eric’s voice drops and he leans closer to Al. I watch this exchange out of the corner of my eye while trying to mostly keep my focus on the board. It really shows where my attentions gone when I throw and miss the target by a mile.

“It – It slipped,” Al says meekly.

“Well I think you should go get it.” Apparently everyone was paying attention, because as soon as the words leave Eric’s mouth everybody stops throwing. Even Peter, who I wouldn’t put it past to stab any one of us.

Eric’s head whips around. “Did I tell you to stop.”

We start throwing again. All of us have seen Eric angry before, but this is different, this is like when he made Christina hang over the Chasm. I glance at her, and I know that she notices it too.

Al’s eyes widen. “Go get it? But everyone’s still throwing.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want to get hit.”

“I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you.” He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes or really the rest of his face at all. “Go get your knife.”

Al usually complies with everything we’re told to do without argument. Not because he’s afraid, but because he knows that arguing with Eric and Four is about as effective as arguing with a brick wall. I think that we all know that, but it’s never stopped most of us from trying at least once.

This time is different; this time he stands straight and meets Eric’s eye, setting his jaw. He’s finally at the end of his rope, walking across a floor of people throwing knives with varying degrees of proficiency, and one of the people throwing is Peter, is where he draws the line. It’s an understandable line, but Eric isn’t really the understanding type.

“No.”

“Why not?” Eric’s eyes narrow and venom positively drips from his words. “Are you afraid.”

“Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife? Yeah, I am.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He should have just continued to refuse, Eric might have just accepted that. He should have just insulted us all and said that he didn’t think our aim was good enough not to hit him, or that he didn’t think one of us wouldn’t hit him on purpose; Eric might have gotten a kick out of that.

But he didn’t and now Eric’s face contorts with rage and he shouts, “Everyone stop!”

He didn’t really have to shout, we were all paying attention to him anyways. Eric is completely unpredictable when it comes to punishments, sometimes he just berates the person and sometimes he tries to kill them. On this though I think the latter is about to take place, I can only hope that Al won’t walk away from this with too many injuries.

“Clear out of the ring.” Eric turns back to Al. “Everybody except you.”

We put our knives back on the table and move to the edge of the room by the pillars in a tight cluster. Christina breathes heavily, her terror evident in her eyes. I remember what she said to me a while back after she had to hang over the Chasm and had a nightmare later that night, ‘I can’t stop thinking about how many ways it could have killed me, and how it could have killed you guys if you were in my place’. And that’s what she’s thinking now, her nightmare come true. She takes Will’s arm and squeezes it tight.

“Stand in front of the target,” Eric says.

Al listens to him this time, and as he stands there his knees begin to shake.

“Hey, Four.” Eric glances over his shoulder. “Give me a hand here.”

Four scratches his eyebrow with the point of a knife and then walks very slowly to stand beside Eric.

“You’re going to stand there while Four throws those knives, and if you flinch, you’re out.”

Four gives a put-upon sigh. “Is this really necessary?”

Apathetic as ever, I see. Whereas Eric actively wants to torture us, Four just doesn’t give a single shit about us, our wellbeing, or even our lives.

Eric stares Four down, waiting for him to submit to his authority. But Four just stares back blankly.

After a minute Eric sneers at him. “I have the authority here, remember? Here and everywhere else.”

Four shows no emotion as he turns back toward Al, who’s whole body is trembling now. I feel sorry for him, just like I felt sorry for Christina, but there’s nothing that we can do for him either.

The seconds that pass as Four takes aim feel like hours to me, and the tension in the room is palpable.

“Stop,” Tris blurts out. Eric and Four both whirl around, Four nearly dropping the knife in surprise when she speaks.

“Any idiot can stand in front of a target,” she hardly even seems to notice everyone else’s stares. “It doesn’t prove anything except that you’re bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice.”

“Then it should be easy for you to take his place,” Eric says with a cruel smile. “Same rules apply, but if you flinch he takes your place and then you can both be factionless.”

Tris walks away from the crowd slowly and with her head held high.

“There goes your pretty face,” Peter taunts her. “Oh wait, you don’t have one.”

She says nothing, betraying as little emotion as Four when she switches places with Al at the target. Al is very nearly in tears and he looks guilty that Tris is having to take his place, but relieved.

I look at the wicked sharp knives in Four’s hand, one in his right that he draws back and three in his left. I consider all of the times I’ve insisted that they can’t actually kill us and not for the first time I wonder if I might actually be wrong about that.

Four’s knife embeds just at the edge of the human shaped target, a fair distance from Tris’ left hand. Christina buries her head in Will’s chest when it hits and he wraps his arms around her. Though the most of us cringe at the sound, Tris doesn’t flinch; she does close her eyes though, waiting for the next.

“You done, Stiff?” Four taunts.

Tris’ jaw clenches. “No.”

“Eyes open then.”

Her hands clench into fists at her sides as she steels herself for the next knife, which Four very casually tosses from his left hand into his right. It’s little more than a flash as it flies through the air and then sticks in the head of the target, which is far above Tris’ own.

“Come on, Four,” Eric says. “You can get a little closer than that.”

Four shrugs at him. “Come on, Stiff. Let someone else stand there and take it.”

“Shut up, Four!” she snaps and I have to suppress the urge to laugh at the face he makes when she says that.

He throws the third knife and it embeds into the wood far to the right of Tris’ head.

“Closer,” Eric goads.

Four glances back at him. “Want me to give her a little trim?”

“Yeah. Maybe just a little off the top.”

He throws the fourth knife, this one seeming to be aimed right at Tris’ head. I close my eyes for a second as the knife makes contact. But not with her; it wedges in the wood right above her ear. She inches away from the knife and touches her fingertips to the shell of her ear, grimacing. He cut her.

“Well,” Eric says grandly, “as much as I would love to stick around and see if you’re all as bold as she is, we’re done for the day. Get out.” He points at Tris. “Points for bravery, Stiff, but not as many as you just lost for opening your mouth.”

The others start to leave but Christina, Will, Al, and I go toward Tris; she sees us, but holds up her finger for us to give her a minute. I nod and walk out and back toward the dormitory with the others following me. Will and Christina have let go of each other, and none of us breathe a word the whole way back.

The dormitory is quiet when we walk in, Myra and Peter are gone but no one else is. Eric let us go early so we all have time to kill until dinner.

Tris is back another minute later and, save for Drew and Molly, the dorm bursts into applause. My friends and I meet her as soon as she walks through the door.

“You do have a death wish!” Christina exclaims, wrapping her arm around Tris’ shoulder.

Will claps her on the back. “I cannot believe you said that you Eric.”

“Or that you told Four to shut up,” I say. “I think that makes you worse than me at this point.”

“That was amazing,” Al gushes.

“No one’s ever stood up to him like that,” Edward adds, hanging around near us.

“Hey, Tris.” Molly approaches us and I feel immediately defensive. “That was pretty cool.”

“Yeah, impressive stuff.” Peter slithered back into the dormitory at some point, except now he’s holding a tablet.

“Shut up,” Will snaps.

“What? No, I mean it.” Peter’s eyes are wide with fake innocence. I don’t consider myself a violent person but I really, really want to punch him. “You’re famous now.” He pauses as we give him blank stares. “Not because of the thing with Eric, no that was…whatever. You’re in the news, the article just dropped this morning.” He brings the tablet closer to his face. “Recent transfers of Beatrice and Caleb Prior children of Andrew Prior call into question the soundness of Abnegations teachings and values. What prompted them to leave?”

We start walking away, trying to skirt around him but he follows.

“Perhaps the answer lies in the corrupted ideals of an entire faction,” he continues to read. “The theft of resources, the general incompetence, the abuse of their children.” He looks up and at Tris with mock sympathy. “Did your parents beat you, Tris, like Marcus Eaton’s kid?”

“They didn’t beat anyone,” Tris snaps. “The Abnegation are good people.”

“And that’s why you chose to leave?”

Tris makes a frustrated noise and walks away, the others going with her but I hang back.

“Was it something I said?” Peter says.

“Peter,” I sigh, tipping the tablet up in his hand and pressing it into his chest. “You and I both know that those claims are nothing more nothing more than tabloid drivel and have nothing to do with anything. Honestly, I’m surprised that you can read at all but gossip magazines, really?  That’s the best ammunition you can find?”

“That a challenge, Ice Queen?” he hisses, stepping closer to me.

“It’s a critique. I could go on, but frankly I have better things to do with my time.” I walk away before he can manage a retort or even a threat.

I’ve met the woman who I suspect writes all the articles about Abnegation, she writes under a pseudonym to protect her reputation but it’s fairly obvious to most. Lucy Sharp, the head of the journalism department in Erudite, can hardly be called a journalist at all. Sure, there was a time when she was one of the greats and that’s what secured her the position that she currently holds; but as of recent years she seems to have found that it’s far more fun to drag people’s names through the mud than actually write about anything of note, she has the rest of the department for that. In person, she’s a gossip, a snob, and a very good friend of my parents. I know her because we socialized with her at all the dinner parties and other classy events I was all but obligated to attend.

“Don’t listen to him,” Christina says to Tris right as I catch up with them. “He’s an idiot.”

“Yep,” Tris says. “I know. It’s okay.”

We turn a corner and Will pauses muttering, “What’s she doing at Dauntless?”

Walking down the hallway right toward us is Jeanine, my mother and Gwendolyn on either side of her, and a small crowd of Erudite trailing behind them. Max walks a few feet away with his hands clasped behind his back, nodding every so often as Jeanine talks.

We move to the edge of the hallways, waiting for them to pass. I catch Gwendolyn’s eye and she nods at me in acknowledgement; I wave back in response, smiling.

Jeanine and my mother stop in front of us, my mother waving off the crowd and most of them leave quickly as Gwendolyn begins speaking and some of them nearly having to jog to keep up with her pace.

“Mimette,” Jeanine says, smiling.

“Let Dr. Morgan lead, she can explain it just as well. We’ll be there in five, don’t wait,” my mother mutters to one of the people at the tail end of the crowd and I recognize him as Ryan Chantanelle, my mother’s secretary.

He nods, brushing a swoop of brown and gray hair away from his eyes. “You got it, Boss.” He glances at me, smiling and giving a mock two-finger salute with the same exaggerated swagger he does everything with. “Mini.”

“Ryan.” I smile at him, my voice dripping with amusement, and return the gesture.

He smiles back and then walks away to join the rest of the crowd. Most people find him kind of insufferable, but I’ve spent enough time around him to know he’s not so bad. He and the rest of the people he works with on Support Crew, the team of people who keep basically everything in order in Erudite. He’s known me since I was a kid and insists on calling me Mini though which is…a lot. I don’t love it but he’s given a nickname to all of my siblings and I could have done much worse. He’s been calling Minerva ‘Scrappy’ since she was twelve.

My mother hugs me and says in my ear, “It’s good to see you, my dear girl.”

“Hi, Mom. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon either. I’m really happy you’re both here though.”

I don’t bother to hide my affection for them both, like with Mark, my mother is a faction leader and no one is going to correct her.

“Happy belated birthday, Jeanine.”

She smiles. “Thank you very much. How have you been?”

I shrug. “Well I mean we haven’t got our rankings yet but I’m pretty good at training, I mean I’m not like the best but-”

“No,” Jeanine corrects me. “I didn’t ask about your ranking, I asked how you’ve been. Are you eating properly? Have you taken up any hobbies? Do you like it here?” She glances at the others. “I see your making plenty of new friends.”

The four of them have sort of stepped back to give me some space and they seem surprised Jeanine acknowledged them at all.

“Uh, yeah.” I look back at all my new friends. “Um this is Will, Christina, Al, and Tris. Everyone, my mother and Jeanine, who’s kind of a family friend.”

“How lovely to meet you all,” my mother says.

“Prior,” Jeanine says, pointing at Tris. “Aren’t you Andrew Prior’s daughter, Beatrice?”

“Uh, yeah.” She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly. “But I sort of changed it to just Tris.”

“You made an impressive choice, both of you actually. Given your respective families and your test results.”

“Y-you’ve seen our test results.” Tris stares at her with wide eyes.

“Of course.” Jeanine glances back at my mother. “Well, we should probably get going. If you ever need anything, Mimi, let me know.”

“I will. It was really good to see you again.” I hug her. We’re almost the same height now that I don’t wear heels anymore.

“I’ll see you on Visiting Day, Mim.” My mother kisses the top of my head and then they both walk away, talking quietly to each other.

“That was…weird,” Will mutters.

“Really weird,” Christina agrees and then turns to Tris and I. “What was that?”

I shrug. “Like I said, Jeanine’s a really close friend of my parents. She’s kind of just…always been around for me. Tris, I don’t know what the hell you did to get her attention?”

Well, I can think of one thing but other than that I don’t think she’s ever actually met Jeanine or my mother before.

She shrugs too. “I mean my father’s on the council. That might have had something to do with it.”

“Yeah,” Will says, “but they hate each other; what’s she got to gain from paying attention to you?”

Tris furrows her brow. “Good question.”

As we’re walking, I look back in the direction of the doors they went through. They never did mention a reason for coming.

“You guys look alike.” Al says to me, snapping me from my thoughts. “You and Jeanine.”

“Yeah actually,” Will agrees. “Like, now that you mention it I can definitely see it.”

I shrug. I don’t really, we have the same hair color but the similarities stop there. But I guess at a glance maybe.

I wonder if I should have told them that I changed my name. I think that it would have made Jeanine happy; she gave me that name and now it’s the one that I’ll be using for the rest of my life. It’s not just that I haven’t forgotten my Erudite roots completely, it’s that I haven’t forgotten my Erudite roots at all and I don’t think that I ever will.

“So what do you think they were here for?” Tris says.

“Erudite makes all the tech in the city, right?” Will says. “It was probably just that.”

“Yeah, but why would that need to involve the faction’s leader, representative, and head of the chemistry department?” I say.

“Yeah, fair enough.”

We walk away from that hallway towards the Pit; we still have a lot of time to kill before dinner.

As we pass by the tattoo parlor while taking a lap around the second floor of the Pit, I pause and then duck inside. My friends follow close behind, curious.

I glance back at them. “You guys can go on ahead if you’d like. There’s…something I’ve kind of been looking at.”

Christina shrugs and then so does Will. “It’s cool,” she says.

Tris and Al go on ahead though and then the two of them are drifting behind me as I open one of the catalogues to a page I made a note to myself to come back to at some point. In the top right corner of the page is a simple diamond outline. I glance up at the artist who has been sort of watching me since I came in, an older woman with black hair pulled into a bun.

“Find something you like?” she says.

“Yeah, actually.” I flip the book around to show her. “Can I get four of these sort of…arranged in a bigger diamond o-on my inner right wrist?”

She hums. “Interesting. Yeah, come with me.” She beckons for me to follow her, then stops and looks back at Will and Christina. “And I suppose your friends can come if they want.”

The three of us follow her to one of the many rooms and I take a seat in the chair, my hands are already starting to tremble. I glimpsed Al and Tris do this only a couple of weeks ago but it’s different doing it myself, different doing it after I said that I wouldn’t.

“So this is sudden,” Will says after a minute while the woman puts on a pair of rubber gloves and wipes down my skin with antiseptic. “I thought you and I were supposed to be the sensible ones?” Christina laughs at that.

Explaining the truth of the matter would be too sentimental, bordering on traitorous given how we’re supposed to devote ourselves to our new lives. But the truth is that I miss Erudite – I miss my home, I miss my friends, I miss my family. Seeing Jeanine and my mother earlier only rubbed that in.

I was never one of those kids that didn’t get along with their parents; I didn’t pick fights, I didn’t really have a reason to rebel, there was so little that they asked of me that there was never any reason to do either of those things. I love and am very, very close to both of my parents, and the other two people that raised me like parents – whom I do think of as my secondary mom and dad. Jeanine and Damascus were and still are important to me, integral to who I am. My siblings and I are – if nothing else – a byproduct of their love for us and we are built on the foundations they laid.

I ought to recognize that.

“Mimi?” Will puts his hand on the arm that isn’t currently held out to Tori. He chuckles. “Are you really that nervous?”

“Hm?” I look over at him rather than the intimidating tattoo gun about to go to work on my wrist.

“You totally zoned out for a second, didn’t even answer my question.”

For a split second there’s a sharp pain and then a buzzing and I gasp, my whole body tensing. Will and Christina look alarmed; but I relax again, quickly getting used to the pain and so do they.

“Can’t a girl be spontaneous once in a while?” I smile at him and he starts laughing.

“Sure, sure, why not?” Christina nudges him. “That is what being Dauntless is all about, Brainiac.”

He nudges her back. “I know that. But still, it’s Mimi.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say indignantly.

Both of them laugh and Will doesn’t bother to explain himself. I know exactly what he meant honestly, and it’s hard to take it as a joke when it’s so painfully accurate. I’m not Dauntless enough, not really, I don’t look the part and I’m not exactly itching to get there. I like the way that I look, would be fine in any other faction but not here when the Look is a whole part of the culture. Erudite’s like that too, in a way. The easiest thing for a person to change is their appearance, it should be the first of many signs of commitment.

Here’s hoping people will take this as mine.

The next day when I wake up I’m a little less tired, though still wholly not looking forward to training or doing much of anything really and my wrist is killing me. I let out a big yawn and stretch, accidentally slamming my fist into the bunk above me.

“Ah!” Will exclaims and I hear him start above me.

“Sorry,” I murmur, rubbing my stinging knuckles.

“You scared the hell out of me.” I can just imagine the way that he presses his hand to his heart as though trying to calm it.

I murmur incoherently in the response. I start to get up but he jumps off his bunk and lands just inches from me, startling me into sitting back down.

“Will!” I hiss.

“Oh, that is so karma.” He snickers and rubs at his tired eyes. “Also, I do that basically every morning, you’d think you’d be used to it by know.”

“Yeah. You’d think.” I kneel down to rifle through my basket of laundry for something, anything, that doesn’t stink to high heaven. Will drops down next to me, doing something similar. He leans forward and rests his forehead against my bed like he intends to go back to sleep like that. I pat him on the back and he makes a noise in protest.

“Fine.” I get to my feet. “Stay there.”

I trudge into the bathroom with sections of my hair still hanging in my face and still a little bleary eyed. All of the showers are already occupied and there’s a small crowd in front of the mirror talking. I wedge myself in next to the wall and that’s when I spot Myra out of the corner of my eye.

“Myra!” I exclaim, suddenly awake. “Your hair!”

She twirls a lock of it around her finger. “Neat, right? I did it myself last night; I was up till like midnight with the bleach and everything but it was so worth it.”

“Oh my god, I love it. And you said you did this yourself?”

She nods. “I did my last color by myself too. It’s just easier than, like, being stuck in a salon chair for two and a half hours.”

“Well it looks great.” I start running my hairbrush through my own hair, slowly picking through the tangles.

“I could do yours too, if you want.”

“No. I don’t really think that I’m a hair dye sort of person.” I hold up my wrist. “Besides, I think this is enough of a change for me, for now at least.”

She gasps, apparently delighted to the change. “That’s so cool!” She gingerly takes my hand and extends my arm, the fingers on her free hand hovering just over the clear bandage. “What’s it meant to be?”

I shrug. “Nothing really, it just looked cool.”

She takes the statement at face value and lets me go. “So you’ll ink a random symbol into your skin forever, but you won’t dye your hair for, like, a couple months?”

I shrug.

“Come on, you’ll never know unless you try.” She nudges me with her elbow. “I think you’d look really good with, like, blue hair. Like really bright blue hair.”

I roll my eyes. “I really don’t think that dyeing my hair my old faction’s color is exactly ‘letting go’.” I haven’t really let go yet of course, but I have to maintain some sense of subtlty.

She grins. “Does that mean you’d be open to doing a different color?”

“I’m going to go with no on that one.”

“Well I don’t exactly think that staying prim, perfect, and proper is exactly letting go either. Come on, practically everyone’s got something new.”

I shake my head and then start on braiding back my hair. “I just want it to mean something, you know? I don’t want to make some drastic change on a whim. It’s got to be for a reason.”

“And your reason for getting the tattoo was?”

Shit. Really backed myself into a corner with that one, didn’t I?

“Um…” I sigh. “Yeah, there’s a reason but…I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s a little personal.”

She raises her eyebrows, clearly only more intrigued but drops it. “Well, at any rate, I think you’ve chosen the wrong faction if everything you do is for a reason. Doing drastic things on a whim are practically all Dauntless does; zipline, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“Did that mean something? Did that have some deeper reason or did we just do it because we could, because we’re Dauntless and that’s what we do?” She grins at me and after a second I return it.

“Okay fine, you’ve got me there.” Her grin widens and I shake my head slightly. “I’m still not dying my hair though.”

The others make their way in alone or in small clusters as others trickle out. We’ve reached a point in our training where most of us can’t manage more than the bare minimum of effort. If my father’s right and to look good is to feel good, I could probably stand to put a little more effort into at least my hair if for no one else’s sake than my own.

Some of the others comment on Myra’s hair and she seems to glow with pride when they do, occasionally twisting a lock around her finger and beaming. At breakfast, which I wait up for the rest of my group to walk to and to my surprise she waits with me, Myra waves me over to the table that she and Edward occupy alone. I glance back at my other friends and Christina shooes me away with a flap of her hand. Will tilts his head to the side like a curious bird but doesn’t say anything. I follow Myra to her table and sit with a seat in between the two of us. Over here, we’re much closer to Peter’s table. He and his group talk and joke like they don’t find joy in being jerks to other people. I guess no one can be evil a hundred percent of the time.

Edward gives me a quizzical look as I sit down. “Finally get tired of Will?” I scoff. “No. What’s your problem with him anyways?” He opens his mouth but Myra gives him a warning look and he frowns, obviously selecting his words very carefully. Finally, he shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him?”

A couple more of the Erudite transfers sit down at our table. I recognize them by the way that they sit, their appearances, it’s all more familiar to me. I guess some people did take Edward up on his idea that the Erudite ought to stick together. I recognize some of them from school, some of them from events that I went to but not many and they don’t seem to know me either (thank god).

One of the girls, Viola, shows off a new tattoo she’d gotten just yesterday. It’s a bouquet of wilted roses with the clear bandage still wrapped around it, she seems very pleased with it and herself. Her closer friends admire it and brush their fingers over her arm, pulling back when she flinches. In turn I show off mine, drawing similar reactions from them. I’m a little surprised at how easily I fold into them, with all of our similarities, it’s not like my other friends but they’re a warm group of people who welcome me.

“I’m learning to love it,” says one of the boys when the topic turns to our new lives here in Dauntless. “I think…I’ll always miss Erudite but I know that this is where I belong.”

“What about you, Mimi,” Myra turns to me, “do you think very much about home?”

I shrug, swallowing the answer that I think about it all the time. Even though we’re all Erudite transfers, I’m still different from them. “I try not to. I did leave for a reason.”

Don’t ask me what it was, I mentally tack on.

“I would certainly hope so.” Edward chuckles. “Just because we’re Dauntless now doesn’t mean we have to abandon reason completely.”

One girl snorts. “Tell that to our instructors; I’ve never met two more unreasonable people.” That gets a laugh out of most of the table.

“I had first hour math with Elizabeth Reynolds,” says one boy, “so I’m going to have to disagree with you there.” My blood runs cold, I know that Eliza’s kind of an…acquired taste, but I’ve never heard anyone talk about her the way that she, Casey, and I used to talk about Dahlia.

“That’s fair,” another chimes in.

I clench my jaw to keep myself from saying something stupid. I know exactly why people didn’t – still don’t – like Eliza; it’s not really something I can argue against, but she was always good to me.

“Why the face, Mimi.” Myra nudges me.

I don’t respond. Instead I grip my fork so hard that the metal bites sharply into my hand.

“Mimi.” She nudges me again, her voice lilting in a way that reminds me painfully of Casey.

“Nothing,” I lie, my voice a little too sharp and she seems taken aback.

“Uh-huh,” she replies, mercifully losing that tone.

The topic changes and I can relax again, though the memories of my old friends linger. I wish that I’d seen Casey with Mark at the fence, I hope he told her what I asked him to, I hope she knows that I still care about her.

“Can’t believe there’s only like a month left in initiation,” Edward says.

“We can’t be done soon enough if you ask me,” says a boy with very gelled hair. “I’m sick of getting punched in the face every day.”

“That’s Dauntless for you,” says another boy, snickering.

The first rolls his eyes. “It’s something.”

“Who do you guys think is going to get cut?” I say.

“Out of us?” Myra replies. “Could be anyone really, except for, like, Edward.”

“And Peter,” adds one of the guys with a grimace. “Unfortunately.”

“Here’s hoping that it’s one or both of his cronies,” says the person next to him. “Molly snores so much.”

“Rumi, you snore,” the boy replies.

Rumi gives an indignant scoff and folds their arms. “Well she also hogs the shower and I have a right to complain about that too.”

“I can’t really imagine any of us not being here,” says one of the girls, her hair wrapped up in a black headscarf.

“That’s because we’re all amazing,” Rumi replies, showing off their incredibly white teeth.

“No but, like, I guess I’ve just gotten used to having you all with me. I can’t imagine my life without you.” Her statement is met with sarcastic coos and joking accusations of sentimentality.

They remind me of my old friends, my old classmates. I probably had some of them in my class at least once, but it makes me smile. It’s familiar in a way that doesn’t make we want to scream, in a way that gives me a warm feeling in my chest.

“I mean that’s kind of everyone, right?” Myra says. “Like, I couldn’t imagine not seeing Mimi and her friends either and I barely know them.”

“I don’t know about that,” the girl in the headscarf says as she rests her chin on her palm. “I think that there’s plenty of people here that I could go the rest of my life without having to deal with that ever again.”

The person next to rolls their eyes. “Quin, I can guarantee that half the reason you think that is because we live together.”

Quin raises her eyebrow. “Yeah, so what if it is? Some of these people are shitty roommates, sue me.”

Chuckles ripple through the table. She’s right though, I’ve never had to share a room before initiation and I’ve thoroughly decided that I hate it. As nice as it is to have my friends just a few feet away, it’s loud, and it smells, and I just in general hate having to deal with other people’s annoying habits as they probably hate to deal with mine.

Semi-reluctantly, we get up at the end of breakfast and head to training. Without anyone else noticing, I hang back from the group and eventually fall in with the rest of my friends.

“So how was breakfast with the brainiacs?” Christina asks.

Will and I share a fondly exasperated look. I shrug and don’t get into how I’ve always been the odd one out among the Erudite, how I didn’t expect anything to be different now that we’re Dauntless-Erudite but in a way it is and it fills me with a kind of happiness I can’t describe.

The knives are set up in the training room again, so are the shooting targets. Four lets us take our pick of what we do and I wander more than I don’t. Not as much as some others though, who seem like all they do is pace around and try to look busy when Four’s around.

Tris and I spar pathetically, joking around with each other more than we don’t and over-exaggerating the pain from the other’s blows.

“Oh, you have done me in!” I cry as Tris tries to kick me and just grazes my leg. I fall to the ground in an overdramatic fashion, laughing all the way down.

“Get up, Ice Queen,” Four snaps as he paces past our mat. He rolls his eyes at me and all I do is laugh harder.

“Careful, Mimi,” Myra calls from the punching bags. “Else he’ll wind up chucking knives at your head.”

I don’t laugh and neither does Tris, it’s not that funny to her; she had to go through it.

Myra notices our silence. “Did that…cut too deep.”

We both groan at the pun and Will laughs so hard he trips has he’s running past, prompting most of us to burst out laughing whether we heard Myra’s joke or not.

“Hey!” Four yells over our laughing. “Back to work, all of you.”

I bite back a sarcastic comment and Tris and I continue with our sparing.

“You’re getting stronger,” I comment as I duck a punch.

Tris beams at the praise. “Thank you.”

“I’d say you could probably give Peter a run for his money if you fought him now.”

“Alright,” she chuckles, “you don’t have to stretch the truth that much.” She lands a hit that knocks me off balance.

“It’s not a lie.” I retaliate with a kick to her legs. “I’m not the sort of person who flatters without a reason.”

She snorts. “I’ve noticed.”

I laugh at the figurative jab as I make a literal one.

“Quit pulling your punches you two,” Four chides as he passes by us. “I’ve seen you both do better than that.”

“Careful, Four,” I drawl, ducking another punch, “that almost sounded like a compliment. Next thing you know you might be feeling the urge to actually be nice.”

He lets out a sigh through his nose. “Ice Queen, that’ll be five laps.”

I shrug. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

As I start running, Christina slows down to let me catch up with her.

“Antagonizing him already?” she laughs.

I shrug. “Perhaps.”

She hums. “Might just be the one thing that actually makes training entertaining.” “Well, I am here to entertain.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you and Will. I swear, the two of you are like the same person and I haven’t decided if I love it or hate it.”

I laugh. “Not really, I mean…” As I try to find reasons, I realize that she’s right. Will and I are entirely too similar. “Whatever.”

She giggles. “Oh, you know I’m right.”

“Maybe so.” I like Will well enough that being like him is actually a thought that I like. We have similar personalities I suppose, the same kind of humor and shared origins. As much as I pretend to tolerate him at best, he’s someone that I can’t help but like.

And speaking of, he falls back to keep in step with us.

“Don’t you get bored of getting punished with laps?” he says, glancing over at Four. “You’d think by now he’d have gotten a little more creative.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t give him any ideas. The last thing I need is him getting creative.”

“You could just not antagonize him,” Will suggests.

I laugh. “But where’s the fun in that.” The other two laugh with me and Will tips his head to the side like he’s considering it.

“Yeah,” he concedes, “that’s fair I guess. It’s certainly fun to watch.”

“That’s what I said,” Christina agrees.

“Well, great minds do think alike.” He grins.

“Oh of course,” she agrees, snickering.

They’re similar too, I think. In different ways though, ways that I for some reason find incredibly endearing. We spend the remainder of our training day just like that, joking. And, despite everything, all of us are able to laugh at least once.

[triumphorce]

                   under stars that feel as far as

                               real does..

at the moment.

at any moment..

kidnap me.

any chance presented  

& in moments prior.

spent alone

in 

zone.

far from progress.

stasis,

stationed next to

hope & regret.

on either side.

stamina. breathe now

to breathe more.

no free will.

i got to survive.

i got to make it,

especially if i just change aim

change rim-height,

relate with reality

change chin height,

keep head up,

lower expectations

keep pen up.

can’t make shit up,

so i make this shit up

dig deep, drain soon as i wake up

from sleep, or conscious nap..

break up

buildup

of words

that

feel

like

millions.

euphoric

ultimatum;

write,

or just

waste.

can’t wait

to post, create.

post haste

long ass roads that really dont have

an end, or means to.

I just become more of

whatever comes;

whatever emotions

i allow;

however

i react;

to

whoever,wherever,

when tf ever

‘cause all i am

is now, here.

a little more conscious..

that’s it.

&the more i remember,

the more i forget.

gotta pick and choose.

careful.

careful, please.

carefully

 cut ties, choose way

‘cause by the time it's time to remember

new knew's

once was' just can’t keep up

and i accidentally

delete something

important,

or distort it..

gotta

slow down

life...

ssssshhheesh

i once was in less pieces,

&I at least, once, knew peace, but didn’t know it,

more than likely still do

staring at sky blue.

so blue..

eyes find it soothes

waiting on.

bus late.

contemplating, mind rages

sea

lost in deep

hue pool

sharp, wind wrapping body.

waitin on,

waiting on.

contemplating. gone.

daydreamin way thru life.

thru the little things

i always belittled.

cause I thought I had what i needed. or what I had was mine to keep.

...just because.

i need a little more somethin

a little more new, more original stop cliches, tropes,& archetypes in general

droll,

repetition equals learning, well i'll just lurn-less

beg to differ, by beggin questions, even when forced to tread slow,&only do so in head.

we’re all middlemen.

just fiddlin’

‘round in world,

in universe,

riddled withh riddles,

that

trickle,

drip

in

complex

descent

from cognitive

  beginnings.

ephemeral glimpses of outside-nighttime-world,

through blinds in bed, as a child to now, still just as far from.

as far as real feels.

feelin nothing like how I do now.

but pain passes,

so it just must be my brain's capacity for trust shrank. & elaborates time taken for to cross neural pathways,

not get lost, and make it back safe save, all at the same time, while i attempt to ignore age

pay mind solely to the idea i can do, &I don't have to prove.

to become honest, so potential growth is optimum to be one with me, and know I can't ever be anything but and no idea is ever done, no matter finished, no grey matter greyer, no more dr. bender's, no more directions, no more winners, reflect on self, &what it means-to be better, i deflect defects w/ skylark teeth,  

a truer sense of.. truth

a higher level basic

newfound fundamentals

that all the world and creation in it,

then, now, or later

are truly small

&

no life was ever finished

nobody wants to give it up,but we learn to

and as a consequence return to world what we wish to see beyond our existence

to find trust again love again feel again believe again hurry up, clock's tickin

get it, grind look and find get inspired go inspire go perspire run a mile two three four

five seconds six seconds

gotta go for it gotta get better, 

 never listen only instrumentalz for me

in a room   aspire to be able to define my every rhyme and reason behind thoughts had,

itchin to stay consistent, keep on writing and don't worry about why, keep on filing tomes of dreams, ordering guides to self, from one idea to a whole library of shit I did,

 like,

"oh, damn kid, you wrote that?"

damn right I did.

conversations that I have in my head

while I reread pieces

an elixir, a pensive remedy

for when I feel reluctant toward

reality, when in reality

it's really just the people around me that I trusted, busted ass for, gave up past for filled up gigabytes, sticky notes, notepads for designed a whole world for,

put off parties, friends, a part of me I never gave a chance for. became an outcast for. put on mask for.

to be compared and not contrasted warned and not encouraged critiqued but not heard

made me want

to tell, create a story and not give a damn about glory.

although i worry how i come off..sometimes..

made me

change style time after time for some time, now..

made me have

to boost own confidence, own own ego; inflate like raft, & float to shore,

common ground with action &

focused on

how I'm amounting in life.

..apparently

im just climbing up invisible

mountains

but i don't let it make or break me,

used to,

but no more ,& nowit's just me.

&that's just crazy..

so im focused

on how im a mountain lion to moles tryna troll, but       most the time, tho                    I'm...focused on settling score with where               I've failed

& failed to respond to failure well

                                    let go

of initiative,   hung to anger

in orbit  around regret towards doors left unopened, words unspoken to people gone, that could've changed life, if only They could hear these thoughts.. if only I had someone to talk to besides myself, & people that talk to high-five themselves; given approval never sought, advice for battles never fought, in a room for most of youth, stuck in head, so much to see, explore lore of stories never written, so much done even before i decided to pick pen up, before i decided I was ready for commitment decisions in head turn to an every 5 minute thing,

                  stuck in holes    deeper than before

tell-tale signs around sub-subconscious                         that Im chasin nothin..

apparitions..

in front of people

waitin somethin fierce

for me to

summon what's already there

a mirror image of miracle from thinnest air from holes put in life for pride in pages of jumbled thoughts gaps in memories for drafts that define ironic, describing fine lines I believe are there, in thinnest mirror, between me and experience in eyes that remind me i am less, i am more i am worse, i am better everything in between all and nothing, not objective, but an object capable of observation, own purpose assigned no more worth than yours, no more than I have dealt my self chances missed to live for product tossed or lost in the end

x's & lines through a mind confused,              backspaces                       scribbles       procrastinating daily, delaying the inevitable,                                           staring at.. ...coffee steam            and letters linked in ink curves and ink in nerves

        on nights only sleep's deferred as vivid as yesterdays and scenes in head of tomorrows            mixed in with skips in consciousness     obvious options almost always missed second guesses linger in gut like wtf

what the fuck am i doing everyday, if I don't contribute to future

to believe, or not to believe i was in control of will was the whole problem let go of all it hone on goals. fly low, that is...

as far a stretch as breath of desire to contribute to the world   believing if chance exists, i will succeed I will fulfill promises thru notepads & audience

a caged bird singing

do or do not.

seems all I've done is try, it seems to try isnt good enough, seems what they want from me wasn't what I was told they want, which is for me to want from me & instead what they want to see is what they want to see

me to become this and not my own, no matter how many hours spent, no matter the font, text, or etiquette formed to gain attention, but apparently a proper use of improper use of prose prospered overtime & i kept my posture, keep me from losing self, going crazy, letting people make me think something's not okay, or wrong with me, or out of whack off top, not taken seriously

priorities of the majority of society made it difficult to captivate eyes, and garner respect, because of conflictive internal contradictions to set out for what I thought was spreading message, but was embedding judgment of self, & effort, looking at motives that been made a home in heart like they suspect, but they was who fucked with me when I wouldn't even fuck with me, wanna be someone else, something else, like what you want clave?

to wait for mine..

psh, nnn’eh, thinking I was good enough to be taken seriously ..

thinking there was nothing to do, but to do, but something changed course, one day,

 one day atta time

thinking that I was right behind, could just lift up arm and touch but that wasn't the case, ever, constant race

     couldn't hold on, couldn't hide the pain to psyche out greatest opponent, me

                   didn't want to, saw no point

   repeating and repeating, over and again

so on and so forth, thus forth destroying self                               convinced I couldn't help it      and still am

and still can't

accept I ever gave in,   broke under pressure, buckled under what some would chuckle over, no pity, just recognition of jimity's petition to push when pushed, with thoughts into written gale force, in a position to always hope, so when foundation crumbles, there's another one up under

if not, I use earth to wander.

whether with excess of momentum or subsiding in subtle realization of sustenance behind life's work

purpose on course set to find reward I'm told I'm looking for..

fin

[purplepatton]

heading straight for the castle - one

summary: logan sanders is a prince who wants nothing to do with the responsibilities the throne gives him. roman prince is a civilian who would give anything to be royalty. when an odd twist of fate leads them to meet, the pair realize something remarkable: they look exactly alike. from there they decide to switch places, wanting to see how the other lives. but a simple switch quickly becomes something more as things spiral out of control in the kingdom 

trigger warnings: none for this chapter, but if you need something tagged let me know!

artist: the stellar @keuwibird (find her amazing art here if you haven’t seen it yet,,, trust me it’s amazing)

beta: the amazing @logically-sided!! i want a give her a big shoutout because she helped me so much with this fic,, without her this fic would be shoved somewhere in the back of my wip folder lol. she was such a big help with everything, from fixing my grammer and giving me suggestions when i got stuck. she’s the real mvp,,, thank you again liz!!!

notes: so this is my big bang fic! i know i’m a little late posting (sorry about that) but better late than never! i’ve decided that instead of posting the story all at once, i’m just going to post a chapter every day (or every couple of days) because with school starting and work i don’t have much time to sit down and format everything properly lol (plus this gives me more time to make sure everything is ok lol) but, yeah! hope you enjoy it, because i had so much fun writing this story :))))

If there is one thing that Logan hates more than anything in the world, it would have to be sitting in on the council meetings.

Maybe it’s the way the members drone in pompous tones about issues that rarely hold value. Maybe it’s the way the members take ages to decide the proper course of action, when in reality it should only take them a few days. Or maybe it’s just because the meetings always seemed to happen when Logan was doing something he enjoyed, therefore taking away the precious moments he had to himself, which were few and far between these days.

Whatever the reason, Logan can feel his attention slipping as two of the council members begin an argument about taxes and the possibilities of raising them. It’s been the same argument all week; although this time the two decided to add insulting each other into the mix.

Logan can feel the disgust curling up in his stomach. He clenches his fist, and tries his best not to scowl outwardly because these people are supposed to be professionals. Yet here they are arguing like children. No wonder nothing ever gets done around here; everyone is too busy focusing on their own petty differences to make any significant changes.

Pushing himself to his feet, Logan storms out of the room and leaves the council to argue among themselves. Once he’s outside the doors, he leans against the wall and tries to bring his emotions under control. He needs to think clearly, and his emotions are only clouding his thoughts. He breathes out slowly and forces himself to relax.

“Wow.” A voice next to him says, sounding amused. “You lasted forty minutes in there. That’s got to be a new record or something.”

Logan has long gotten used to Joan’s habit of popping up out of nowhere, so this new appearance does little to phase him. Instead he turns towards his aide standing beside him and raises an eyebrow. “Only forty? I could have sworn it was longer.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Joan says, falling into step alongside of Logan. They head down the hall and away from the muffled voices of the council room. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Logan snorts, catching the sarcasm in their voice. Joan grins widely at Logan’s slip in composure, and Logan has to resist the urge to blame the council for his lapse in control. Instead, he rolls his shoulders back and asks, “Where to now?”  Because even he can’t keep his schedule straight in his head; not when there is so much to do and so much is changed at least five times a day.

“It’s one in the afternoon.” Joan says in reply, not answering Logan’s question at all.

That means that whatever is on Logan’s schedule next is something he should remember, and is probably something he’s been looking forward to. He furrows his brow and tries to think.

It hits him a few moments later, as they’re walking down the hall that eventually makes its way to the back of the castle. “Oh!” He says a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of a maid who happens to be hurrying past. He flashes her his smile usually reserved for the reporters before lowering his voice and addressing Joan. “I nearly forgot. I guess I really do need a break.”

“The great Logan forgetting something? Looks like it’s the beginning of the end.” Joan says with a faux expression of pity. “Best get your affairs in order because it’s all downhill from here.”

This time Logan manages to school his expression into something more neutral, although his lip twitches and betrays his amusement.

The pair follows the hallway until they stop in front of a rather plain door. It’s nothing special, just wood with a simple design carved into it. It’s rather out of the way from the other places in the castle, in a region that’s only really used by servants. Which makes it the ideal location for Logan and Joan.

Logan knocks on the door while Joan keeps an eye out for anybody who might happen to walk by. There is a slight pause before the door is swung open by a women with long brown hair and sparkling eyes.

She’s happy to see them, if not impatient. “It’s about time!” She huffs, dragging both Logan and Joan into the room and closing the door firmly behind them. “I was beginning to think the two of you would never show up!”

It is quite possible that Valerie Torres is an actual goddess.

She had worked in the palace as the head seamstress for many years, and had been with Logan for a good number of them. She was kind, hardworking and a rather good listener. Logan had spent so much time with her - what with all the suits and fittings he needed for the meetings and parties and interviews he needed to attend - that she quickly became one of the few people Logan actually trusted.

And when Logan had approached her with a half formed plan to gain some freedom, she had immediately offered her help.

Now she shoves a bundle of clothes into Logan’s arms and instructs him to change into them. He takes them and dutifully walks to the small corner of the room that’s sectioned off by a hanging sheet to change. He quickly swaps out his lavish clothes for the more ordinary polo shirt and jeans. He finishes adjusting his tie around his neck (an accessory he insisted on despite of Valerie's protests, because he is a serious person and serious people wear neckties) and steps back into the main section of the room where Joan and Valerie are waiting.

He stretches out his arms. “Well?” He asks. “How do I look?”

“Completely ordinary.” Joan drawls from where they are lounging on a chair.

Valerie frowns, walks over and musses up his hair out of it’s carefully styled position into a more casual and relaxed style. It’s not a complete change, but Logan knows from past experience that it’s enough of a change that people will need a second look to identify him. And the time it takes them to take a second look is just the amount of time he needs to slip away.

“There you go.” Valerie says, content with her work. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want Joan come? I’d feel a lot better if they were with you.”

Logan rolls his eyes. Every time he goes out of the castle it’s the same song and dance. He’s had this exact conversation with Valerie many times, and each time it goes the same way. He doesn’t understand why Valerie expects his answer to change.

“I just want an hour to myself.” He says, frustration creeping into his voice. “I understand your concerns, but I’ve been doing this for so long now that the odds of something going wrong are infinitesimal.”

Valerie frowns because it’s not the answer she wants to hear, but there’s really nothing she can do to stop him. “Fine. Be careful.”

“You know me.” Logan says with another one of his faked smiles. “I’m always careful.”

The afternoon rush was in full swing, but Logan doesn’t mind the way people are swarming around him and pushing to get to where they want to go. He lets the flow of traffic push him along with the crowd,  not caring where he ends up.

It’s a nice sort of feeling, just wandering around and not worrying about where he has to be.

He’s visited this part of the city so many times that he could probably walk it blindfolded. As he rounds a corner in the crowd, he spies a small bookshop that’s a favorite of his. It looks rather empty, but Logan can’t remember a time when it had actually been full. It’s always half empty like this, which Logan likes because it means the store is quiet enough for him to focus on whatever he happens to be reading.

With his eyes locked onto the store’s sign Logan starts towards the store, not paying attention to where he’s actually walking.

Logan immediately regrets this decision as he proceeds to run headfirst into someone. It’s a painful collision, and Logan falls back onto the ground with a grunt. His glasses had fallen off in the process, and the world around him has melted into a blur of color and movement. He reaches around him, trying to find his glasses so he could see what was going on.

Someone is standing over him, and even though Logan can’t see a foot in front of his face, he assumes that this is the person he ran into because a steady stream of apologies is being directed at him.

“-wasn’t looking where I was going, are you okay?” A hand grabs his and hauls Logan to his feet. Logan was not ready for the sudden change of position and he wobbles slightly before regaining his balance.  

Logan tries to assure the person that he’s fine, but he can’t get a word in edgewise as the person babbles on. “You don’t look hurt, that’s good. I swear I didn’t mean to run into you, I was just in a hurry and you just sort of appeared and I-”

The voice cuts off for a reason Logan isn’t exactly sure of and he takes the opportunity to say, “I’m fine, thank you. I just need my glasses. You wouldn’t happen to see them lying around, would you? I’m afraid I can’t see anything.”

His glasses are shoved into his hand rather roughly and he pushes them onto his nose, feeling the tension that had been building up in his shoulders relax as soon as he was able to see. He looks at the person in front of him and the first thing he notices is the person’s expression.

He’s looking at Logan in shock and alarm. For a moment Logan doesn’t understand what could possibly be so worrying to this boy (who on a second glance looked around Logan’s age). Then he sees what the boy sees and his jaw drops.

The boy looks exactly like him.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/taken off): @basilstorm@artistfromthestars@storytellerofuntoldlegends@romananalogicality@verymuchanidiot @istolelittleredshoodie @dont-cry-croft @speechless-angel@thefamouszombiebouquet @wolfwalker100 @datonerougecookeh@virgilient @virgil-is-verge@impatentpending@zaisling@trixie85592 @sillysandersides @hamster-corn @adventurousplatypus @unring-this-bell @mymiddlenameisunderscore

[recklessjediknight]

Caf

Anakin sunk into his bed, shoulders sore, as usual. The place where his flesh met his metal limb itched in an odd way, a small irritation but there was nothing he could do about it. Seemingly the moment he closed his eyes to try to rest he felt his stomach ache in a familiar way that brought back bad childhood memories, mouth dry, head somehow throbbing in response. The feeling made him grumble as he sat up. He hated being unnecessarily hungry. 

Pulling his robe off the sole chair in the room–that had become more of a desk than anything else–he shuffled out of his room, still in a groggy state, and got halfway to the mess-hall before realizing it might not be a great idea. Aside from the possibility of running into other Jedi up at this ungodly hour, the thought of mess-hall rations was making his stomach lurch almost as much as the sickening lack of nourishment. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, turned around, took a few steps, stopped, reconsidered. At this point it wasn’t worth it, was it? Just eat a stupid protein bar. He stared at the carpet, asking himself how much he should actually eat, eventually deciding his insides were definitely not in the mood for protein bars, grumbled some more, and finally made it down to the hangar.

Plenty of places this side of town stayed open at all hours. He had an ungodly want for fast food. Flying this late at night while he was barely coherent wasn’t a great idea either. Grabbing something from home wasn’t an option, for as far as he knew, his wife was halfway across the galaxy at the moment. Had she been on-world he wouldn’t be in this circumstance in the first place. 

How did I end up in line? 

A few minutes ago when he’d pulled over, realizing he was falling asleep, the soft glow of this sign caught his attention and he realized by looking at his chrono that this place still had an hour before they closed. It was much earlier in the night than he thought, not even far past midnight yet. His inner-time-synchronization was more messed up than he thought. Here he stood, amidst late-night locals, mostly busy students staring at personal holoscreens, in line for a cup of cheap caf when he should have been sleeping or better, actually just getting street sliders and on his way back. The Rodian at the counter asked him what he wanted. He could barely think.

“Double shot, extra cream, four shots of sweetener.”

He could hear Ahsoka in his mind giving him a side-eye glance in both amusement and disappointment.

After paying an amount he would definitely question in the morning, he found an empty corner and sunk into a chair, cheek squashed on the hand propping his face up, sleepily waiting.

“General Skywalker?” 

Poo.doo. He knew that voice.

“You better have a stanging good reason for being up right now, young lady.”

The togruta in front of him bobbed. He dared look up to see her shaking her head, arms crossed, casually leaning to one side, like a sibling who’d just caught their other out way past their bedtime.

“I could ask you the same thing, Master.”

He nodded through a haze as she sat next to him, hands clasped on the table. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’m starving.”

She snickered. “Wait, really?”

“I feel sick. I don’t remember the last time I ate.”

“Don’t tell me, not since we left th-”

Her surprise was interrupted by the sound of the caf server calling out his drink. Much to chagrin, she laughed and gave him a disgusted look. “Four shots of sweetener? For that size drink? And a double-shot at night? What are you trying to give yourself, some kind of heart attack?” She stood, sighing, “You know, Master, it’s times like these I realize that I will never understand you.” Before he could even think of how to respond to that she went and retrieved it for him giving him a side glance as she did. He rolled his eyes. 

“You better not fly after drinking this,” she said handing it to him.

“No,” he said after taking a large gulp, “I bought this so that I can fly after this. And you,” another gulp, shaking his head as if to shake off the sleep, “never answered my question. What are you doing up?”

“It’s not that late...”

“You need rest, especially after the kind of week we had last week.”

She sat again, looking suddenly distant, eyes wandering. “I was just thinking...I was starving, too.” A wide grin shown, she looked back at him and he rolled his eyes, noting her intentional teasing tone, but waited until she grew serious knowing the truth would come.

Shoulders sinking as she sighed, the table scratches suddenly became very interesting as she traced them with a fingertip. “Well, I was, so I grabbed a ration bar from the mess-hall and was on my way back to my room when I ran into you. You looked like you were coming my direction but then you turned around and just left. I thought something might be wrong so I followed you here, and...”

Ignoring his own misgivings about that entire situation for the time being, he gently prodded, “And?”

“And I know sometimes you leave so...I was curious. I’m sorry.”

Sometimes you don’t come back.

The words were unsaid but he felt them as clearly as if she had spoken them out loud. Shifting in his seat, he was quiet for a moment. There was a very specific part of the Jedi Code that spoke against excessive curiosity, how it could get you into trouble, but he knew that were he in her boots he would have done the same thing. He thought not of what Kenobi may have said, but what his younger self would have wanted to hear.

“Your follow tactics were good. I didn’t even sense you the whole-” He squinted into the distance, “You were laughing at my order when I ordered it. I felt that.” Both shock and amusement rippled through the Force between them, though she didn’t speak. He continued, 

“I hope from this experience you’ve gained a few lessons, Padawan. Both to continue to hone your skills but also to assess situations more carefully. If you thought something was wrong, you should have tapped into the Force to see if you sensed any irregularities and spoken up sooner. Unnecessary stealth can get you into trouble. Not that, being my apprentice, trouble won’t find you anyway. ”

“Of course, understood, Master. Thank you.” I won’t follow you anymore.

Don’t make fun of me either for showing up at caf joints at three in the morning.

They exchanged smiles before her eyes glistened and he knew some kind of quip at his expense was coming.

“Your whole mental chrono is so off, Master,” she chided, “It’s not even midnight yet you’re acting like it’s 3 hours past.”

“Hey, at least I’m trying to take care of myself.”

“Caf this late isn’t good for anyone.”

“So you say.” He couldn’t suppress a yawn and she stood, beckoning him to raise. 

“C’mon,” she said, already heading to the exit, “There’s a place that sells sliders next door. I’ll fly back so you can eat on the way.” 

“Snips, that entirely defeats the purpose of-”

A wicked grin spread across her face. “Yes, I know.” As she held the door open, the smile didn’t fade. “You know, I learned another valuable lesson tonight.”

“Do I even want to hear this? What was it?”

“Always keep your body nourished, you’ll make bad decisions and end up at overpriced cheap caf joints at horrible evening hours.”

“Almost accurate, you left out the part about feeling like death.”

“Oh, forgive me, I was trying to be generous but since you started-”

“Don’t.” He nudged her playfully and pulled her into a side hug, feeling free to do so and more awake. “Or this’ll be the last time I hang out with my Padawan Learner.”

“As long as you’re a Skywalker?” She chuckled. “Unlikely at best.”

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.48

“Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained”

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 47 - Mushroom Hunting 49 - Going Nowhere Fast >>

The USS Glenn, which had the benefit of Straal's eager participation instead of Stamets' incessant demands for systemic perfection, had their drive up and running first. Stamets was very annoyed at Lorca's admonishment over their perceived loss in the race.

"Lieutenant, I need that drive up and running yesterday. The fact that the Glenn is online means you've been wasting time."

"Wasting time? Really? Do you want it working, or do you want it working right?" said Stamets scathingly. "Because I refuse to half-ass years of my research to satisfy your precious little—"

Lorca raised his voice to the point it made most of the people in engineering stop what they were doing in alarm. "Lieutenant! I don't think you understand what's at stake here. Every day, every hour, every minute this ship is not active, people die. Our people die. Now can you get this drive online or can't you!"

Either out of some misguided misunderstanding as to the power dynamics at play or some genuine desire to commit personal and professional suicide, Stamets stood his ground and shouted back, "If I get it online and the first test kills us, then what was the point!" He threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. He was in the habit of making everything sound like the world was ending. In this case, the glove fit.

Lorca's eyes narrowed. "Henderson!" he barked. An engineer stood at attention from the side of the room.

"Yes, sir!"

Lorca kept his gaze firmly on Stamets as he addressed the other engineer. "Can you get this system up and running by twenty-two hundred?"

"Yes, sir!" Henderson had no idea if it was possible, but he knew better than to argue with the captain.

"Well, then. Unless you want me to drop you off on the nearest rock minus your precious mushrooms, I suggest you make good on that, Stamets. Do you understand?"

"You don't know how any of this works without me!" protested Stamets.

"I believe the words you're looking for are 'yes' and 'captain.'"

It was hard to imagine Stamets' complexion getting any paler, but somehow it did. "Yes, captain."

Lorca stormed out of engineering, biting back the urge to turn around and punch Stamets in the face. He grimaced and almost snarled as he tried to remind himself there were bigger forces at play, and Stamets was something he was going to have to deal with every day for the foreseeable future.

"Captain!"

Lorca whirled and snapped, "What!" with such avarice he startled himself slightly, especially when he saw it was Landry. She seemed taken aback, but not flustered.

"If this is a bad time," she said.

Lorca closed his eyes a moment and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he breathed in. When he exhaled, he was sufficiently calm. "Commander Landry. What can I do for you?"

"I want to set up a few unannounced combat drills to test the crew's readiness for threats. I'd need you to sign off on them, and with your permission, I'd like at least one of the drills to be a surprise for senior crew. Including you."

It was a bold move for a commander to suggest her captain was in need of a drill—particularly when he came from the same security and tactical background—but it was also wartime, and Lorca appreciated the sentiment enough to smile softly. "How many drills did you have in mind."

"Three this week, five the next."

"I'll let you surprise me twice," said Lorca, smile widening. Landry responded in kind, smirking in pleasure at the chance to give her captain a run for his money.

"Thank you, sir. I'll send you the schedule for the ones you'll know about." She tilted her head slightly. "You know what I find always does the trick after dealing with those eggheads? Hand-to-hand combat."

There was a look in Landry's eyes that was not hard to read, but Lorca knew to tread carefully all the same. "Is that an invitation?"

It was.

"Oh my god, Hugh, I just, I can't!"

Stamets was standing off in the corner of engineering at the holocomm, totally ignoring the flurry of people scurrying around him in the vain hopes of meeting the captain's deadline. He was taking the minutes out because he had to. He could feel himself overloading.

Culber was, as always, a patient and respectful ear. "It may seem impossible, but if there's anyone who can do impossible," he offered in encouragement. "Break it down into steps and go through them one at a time."

"It's just, he makes me so mad! Coming in here, threatening to take my research away..." Stamets pressed a hand to his face. "Ugh! I want to kill him!" His hand shook in the with frustration.

"No, you don't," said Culber, smiling, because knew Stamets was a gentle person beneath his tense, grating exterior.

"Okay, okay, I don't," admitted Stamets. "But if an accident happened..."

Culber laughed. The sound relaxed Stamets immensely. Just hearing that laugh made it seem like everything was going to be okay. "Why not call Straal and ask him how he got his drive up and running?"

"And suffer the indignity of him lording it over me?" Stamets liked Straal, but occasionally their research partnership could get adversarial. Often they did their best work operating in competition. "Besides, I know how he did it. He cut corners."

"Maybe there are a few corners you can cut, too?"

It was an earnest, sincere suggestion that came from a place of genuine goodwill. Stamets reacted by shuddering and shaking his head. "But if we cut corners and it isn't safe... and if the captain"—it sounded pejorative when Stamets said it—"thinks I'm willing to cut corners now, then down the line... If I give him an inch, he'll take a mile." Stamets sighed and looked momentarily adrift. "I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because of me and my work."

It was impossible not to be flattered. "You know I love you no matter what," said Culber. "Besides, you already happened to me, and I'm glad you did."

A goofy smile spread across Stamets' face as he looked at Culber, cheeks flushing.

"Now get out there and knock 'em dead," said Culber. "Figuratively speaking."

"I'm not promising that," said Stamets with a grin.

As the call ended, Culber sighed. He was quickly wising up to the fact Lorca was less a captain and more a force of nature unleashed upon the crew. What had they gotten themselves into?

Landry was an entirely satisfying opponent. There was something irresistible about a woman who could hold her own in a sparring match against a man nearly twice her size.

"You're pulling your punches," she said. "Come on."

"If I drop you, you're gonna make me pay in those security drills," guessed Lorca.

Landry bobbed and weaved in readiness. "Price of admission," she challenged. She was an aggressive fighter. She had already landed several solid kicks on his torso and legs that promised to bruise. In return, he'd given her a couple solid torso strikes, several arm hits, and maybe-not-accidentally a small jab on the cheek. He had the weight, the strength, and the reach. Her advantages lay in unrepressed ferocity, stamina, and flexibility.

Her ferocity could also be used against her. He jabbed, she blocked and returned with a kick, but Lorca was ready. He executed a quick hooking move that caught her leg and disrupted her balance, taking advantage of the fact to sweep her down to the mat and pin her to the ground. He was careful to land more beside her than on top of her. The point was to knock her down, not hurt or disable her to the point of ending the exercise.

"Surprise," he said, a devilish grin on his face.

She was close enough to taste the sweat coming off him. Her dark eyes searched his and seemed to promise something of a different nature. His eyebrows rose in daring invitation.

She took the invitation in a slightly different direction. Rolling and twisting, her leg came up and around so that when she bucked, it knocked him backwards onto the mat and she ended up on top of him with his right arm twisted under her control. He released a satisfactorily pained exhalation. "Right back at you," she said.

It was not an easy position for him to get out of. It was possible to overwhelm her position by sheer strength, but to do so would have been an insult to her technique, which was excellent. "You gonna let me up?" he asked, turning his head towards her even though this made his shoulder twist further in pain.

"Do you want me to?"

He bit his lip, grinned, and shook his head no.

"Then I guess not."

That was fine. They didn't need to get up for what came next.

"Ellen," he said afterwards with a chuckle.

"That is my name," Landry remarked. "Is there something funny about it?"

There was. He started to snicker.

She sat up, suddenly concerned, because laughing at her name was not how encounters usually ended in her experience.

"I'm sorry," he said, almost meaning it, "it's just... My wife's name is Eleanor." He started laughing again.

Landry had read his file and there had been no mention of any wife, past or present. "You're married?" she said, shocked. It wasn't that she minded—what happened on starships tended to stay on starships—but she disliked the idea of being misled about their congress.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. It's a joke. A very bad joke. How about another round?"

Saru entered Lab 26 with a vague sense of trepidation. Stand up to Dr. Mischekelovitz, that was his goal. Don't let her see him as anything less than the most hardened piece of steel. As the inner door opened he began his speech, which he had carefully prepared: "Dr. Mischkelovitz, it has come—"

She gasped and shrank away from him.

She was sitting at her desk, which was only a few feet from the door, with a framed piece of paper in her hands. She had been crying. She was crying still.

The speech suddenly seemed inappropriate.

"I am sorry," he said immediately. "I will come back." He turned to leave, then realized steel could have many purposes. A weapon wielded to display one's strength was one interpretation, but it could also be a shield to protect others, or a support upon which to build something. A first officer who was steel could be all of these things. He turned back towards her. "Doctor. What is wrong?"

She didn't speak. The whimpers in her throat were almost chirps, tiny and high-pitched. She looked down at the frame in her hands and closed her eyes.

"Would you prefer if I left?" he asked. "I would like to help you, if I can."

The little chirpy whimpers turned into a sustained warbling.

It did not come particularly naturally to him, comforting humans, or really comforting anyone, because like most Kelpiens he had lived much of his life in an innate state of constant self-serving fear evolved to evade predators. Even now, some part of him was screaming that he should run, and Mischkelovitz was clearly no threat to him. She was the furthest thing from a threat imaginable.

He looked at the frame in her hands. It held a drawing of her, but it was unlike any other portrait he had ever seen. It was styled like an engineering schematic. There were straight lines running through it, markings that resembled circuitry and pistons, and circles of perfect technical precision. It was almost as if someone had drawn a diagram of her face designed to be built into something robotic or mechanical.

He knew her history because everyone did, and it seemed a fair guess. "Is that... your husband's?"

Even before the Battle of the Binary Stars, Saru had known the reputation of Milosz Mischkelovitz. He was widely regarded as one of the finest design engineers in Starfleet, and engineering wasn't even his main area of interest. Some of his designs were said to be years in advance of what Starfleet could actually produce. What things they could make were known to be of uniquely elegant form and function, carefully planned out in advance of production down to the tiniest details. Though Saru had never seen Milosz's raw design work himself, he had heard it was exhibited in art museums on occasion. Seeing this portrait, it was clear why.

"May I see?"

Mischkelovitz's hands shook as she turned towards Saru and lifted the image slightly towards him. He accepted it with great care.

The detail viewed up close was exquisite. Varying line width helped define the exact light and shadows of the portrait. Some of the lines were so thin they were smaller than a human hair. "It's beautiful," said Saru.

"So was he," said Mischkelovitz, folding her hands against her chest. "He was the most beautiful person in the entire universe. I miss him."

Saru gently returned the portrait to her desk. He knew from experience what had helped him through his grief at the loss of so many friends and loved ones at the same battlefield where she had lost her husband. "Would you like to tell me about him?"

Mischkelovitz slowly looked up at him, her eyes wide and hopeful. "Yes!" she said, almost breathless. "Yes!"

He drew up a chair beside her and sat and listened as she told him all about her husband with the sort of detail that can only be shared by someone who has known true love.

Saru found the captain in his ready room, the lights dim, the stars shining. "Mr. Saru," said Lorca, clearly in an excellent mood. This despite reports he had gotten in a veritable shouting match with Stamets just a few hours earlier. Lorca rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "I'm ready for your report. How're our projects doing?"

"For the most part, well," said Saru. "And I spoke with Dr. Mischkelovitz. I think, captain, that... I may understand what it means to be steel."

"Told you so," said Lorca with a grin, pleased as much with himself for saying it as he was with Saru for starting to live up to the words. "Now, let's start with that warp field interference project in Lab 12..."

As they stood and discussed their scientific endeavors, Saru thought to himself that true steel meant more than Gabriel Lorca thought it did. It wasn't just about standing up for yourself. Sometimes it was about sitting down for someone else.

Part 49