#some things like science i could work around enough. the formulas were easy enough. but then advanced maths.

[transsexula]

who would be better at teaching someone who struggles with math than someone who struggled with math and figured it out

That's the best type of person for the job!!

[cheriladycl01]

I cant do this anymore - George Russell x Wolff! Reader Part 5

Plot: You are the daughter of Toto Wolff team principle of Mercedes-AMG Petronas, you've worked your whole life to become an engineer. However, your dad has other ideas for you and doesn't want you to become a race engineer. You start to confide more in the Red Bull Racing Team Principle to help you get an engineering job, and see him as your present father figure.

There was a pretty decent break between Brazil and Las Vegas, you spend the first week with Geri and Christian and their kids. You'd had a blast riding their horses, going for bike rides and lots of baking.

They of course let you stay with them in the spare bedroom, you went on a massive shopping spree with Geri getting some new clothes as you hadn't gone home and talked about everything you normally would with Suzie. You couldn't lie, you really missed her, especially the hugs she gave you.

However on the weekend before Vegas, Lewis had texted you seeing if you'd wanted to stay with him in Las Vegas for a bit. Lewis had known you since 2009, you were 9 years old. You always came to as many race weekends as you could, obsessed with F1 as much as your dad. You loved the fast cars and the smell of the fuel.

Here was were you were introduced to Suzie, it was perfect time really. You were a 9 year old girl, about to enter here teen years without a mother figure. And Suzie and you, got on like two peas in a pod.

In 2012 when he became the executive director in Williams you travelled with him. Your mum didn't want anything to do with you, so that left you to be home school. It wasn't easy in Williams, they were tight on money and resources despite Toto's financial contributions to the team and no-body had time for you it seemed.

The next year when your dad moved to Mercedes, that had a slightly bigger budget and more time around the paddock was when it became easier.

The engineers helped you with your math's and science while marketing and legal would help you with your English. That's where your love of engineering came from.

Lewis would often stay with you, he and Nico were like brothers and they couldn't help but see you like a little sister with the relentless teasing they put you through.

As you got older, Toto paid for you to have an online tutor so you could sit your GCSE's at some point. 2016 was probably the worst year you had on record apart from everything that's happened in 2023.

You could tell that when they started to compete for the championship in 2014 that things were getting tense between them, they tried to keep it to themselves but you could tell with the post race interviews and how they didn't want to hang out as much together with you.

But in 2016, when Nico won and their friendship had pretty much crumbled as far as it could you, you were also sitting those GCSE's and it was a really tough year for you. Lewis and Nico now spoke to you separately, their sides of the garage never crossing over like they used to.

So you not only had the stress of your GCSE's, the stress of your two role models no longer talking and with that your own childhood best friend cutting you off because of how much you travelled and your commitments not being strong enough. And to top it of Nico was confirmed to be leaving the sport which would mean you wouldn't see him as often.

However, despite everything that went on you came out with some really good grades, thanks to Lewis and his help when it come to studying.

You actually met George the year after when he became a junior driver for Mercedes. You had just turned 17 and he was 20 and part way working his way up through the feeder series into Formula One.

You actually had a crush on George all the way back then, Lewis convinced you it was just a silly little school girl crush you'd soon get over and motorsport men were a walking red flag. Which you found out was true with your first heartbreak when you dated an F2 driver that was the same age as you. You dad of course was hesitant at first, and he was right to be. He cheated on you with one of the insta models 7 months into your relationship.

Lewis did a lot for you and you guys were close, so you almost felt like you couldn't say no even though you didn't want to anyway.

You got the first flight you could out to his LA mansion.

"Hello" he greeted you as you'd found him in the airport with his security. There was of course Paps so it was only a short amount of time before people knew you were here with Lewis.

He drove the pair of you back to his LA home, you guys spent the rest of the week surfing, go-karting and walking Roscoe. Everyone knew you were here by now so you posted a photo dump on the Wednesday to Instagram, photos of everything you guys had been up to.

Everyone in the comments was so excited that big brother Lewis was back.

"So, I think now that we've had some time to chill out we should talk about the serious matters on the table" Lewis says as he spoons some of the vegan dish his private chef had made you guys.

"Mmmm?" you hum as you gobble more of the delightful food down.

"I miss you in the Mercedes Garage and the red bull top doesn't suit you" he says making your head whip to the side.

"Excuse me!" you nearly choke on your food.

"Look, I know what Toto and George did was foul... and others have made it into this whole dramatic show, but I miss teasing you in the garage and I miss you telling the engineers something was wrong and trying not to laugh! I miss you! Everyone does, George, Toto, Suz, all the hospitality and mechanics and the engineers!" he offers looking at you.

"I'm not coming back to Mercedes Lew, I've found my place in Red Bull, they've even let me help on the 2024 car! My dad turned me down straight away when i asked, they trust me there and they like my ideas! I'll talk to both of them okay, I promise but Red Bull stuck their neck out for me hiring me... so I owe them!" you admit, knowing Red Bull helped you a lot, as much as you'd helped them.

"I know I know, but just talk to them soon. They are both suffering and they regret what they did!"

You drove in Lewis car all the way to Nevada. It was only a 4 hour drive where you guys did make stops along the way. You guy's parted ways as you got there. He needed to be present for media duties and you had to be with Red Bull making sure the car was up to standard.

You checked in with everyone you hadn't seen for the two week gap, checking in with the mechanics making sure they though the car was looking okay after the race.

And before you knew it Max was coming out of FP1 in 4th, FP2 in 6th and FP3 in 4th. It was a new track and everyone was getting used to the it and how the car performed on it. In Practices it was more for the driver to get the feel for the car.

Max qualified P3, but because Carlos had to take a 10 place grid penalty he was moved up to P2. He was on the front line next to Charles Leclerc and if he got a good start he could finish again P1.

Vegas was a stressful race for everyone. Charles and his Ferrari was made for the layout of this street circuit it seemed. Lando had a really bad crash which had everyone worried.

Ferrari, once again fucked up their strategy as you called Max to box when the safety car was released. Charles had only pitted a few laps prior. Now Max and Sergio were on the fresher tires.

"Warm those tires up Max then when DRS is available go for that overtake on Turn 3 for P1" you advise as he rolls out of the pits behind the safety car that Charles was already following.

Eventually you had both Red Bulls in the front ready for a 1-2 podium. But on the final lap Charles went for the overtake on Sergio and broke the Red Bulls up, there was no way he'd catch up with Max but you told him to hold his position.

Again Max Verstappen had one his 18th race of the season and you'd been his race engineer for a whole new track. He'd pulled you into a massive hug, along with Christian who was impressed with how quickly you were adapting to the new role.

"Amazing driver guys! Straight to Abu Dhabi now!" Christian grins, nothing could now ruin his mood. Max had been confirmed Champion of the World a few races back but Red Bull still wanted to prove they were winners.

And that you did, you went to Abu Dhabi and one again by a landslide. You all celebrated the end of the season and Max asked you to come up on the podium with him again. However, George had come P3. so you were up on the Podium with him and Charles too.

The champagne was brought out and all the guys showered each other before coming over to you. They soaked you with the rest of the champagne the dark team gear sticking to your skin.

"Omg" you squeal as someone pulls back your top and dumps some of their champagne down your back. You swivel round to see George. Everything is so loud around you right now. Charles and Max are off celebrating the podium together a little further away from the pair of you now.

"George" you say looking up at him and he sheepishly takes a step back.

"George, no! I'm sorry I didn't speak to you sooner" you say looking at him, only for his head to cock to the side where he couldn't here you.

"What?" he shouts coming closer.

You lean in right up to his ear so that he can actually here you.

"I'm sorry I ignored you for so long. I was being childish. Lewis... Lewis talked some sense into me." you say.

"You-" he starts confused. He was the one that owed you an apology not the other way around.

"Y/N listen to me. Meet me tonight and we will talk about everything I promise!" he shouts making you able to hear him over the crowd.

"Okay!" you nod, before turning around and the Red Bull team all cheer as you hold up the trophy.

"Oh and George, Congrats of P3!" you grin, before joining Max and Charles.

Maybe it was time for you to talk it out. Maybe even to reach out to your dad! Lewis was as always right!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane

[infinite-riches]

I Just Want You to Know I Tried

Summary: He felt numb. Ground down. Empty.

His alarm cuts through the silence of his room, not that he needed it. The red numbers blinked brightly in the dim space. 04:45.

C’mon, MacTavish. Get up.

It’s like this every morning.

Or: John "Soap" MacTavish is a burnt out gifted kid who finally hits his limit.

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Word Count: 3090

Warnings: none :)

A/N: Burnt out gifted kid Soap has been bouncing around in my head for the past couple of weeks- enjoy <3

As always feel free to leave feedback/constructive criticism <3

AO3 Link (if you prefer): I Just Want You to Know I Tried

Twenty-nine years old. He had gotten so far in 29 years, and yet it somehow still wasn't enough. 

16.

His mam and da had always told him how proud they were, what a good example he set for his younger sister, and how his older sister could learn a thing or two from him. 

School always came easy to him. He flew through coursework for maths and sciences, especially chemistry, much to the chagrin of his older sister, Isla, who spent many a night pouring over her textbooks, and his younger sister, Nora, who saw his achievements as something to be bested. To top it all off, he was a star athlete— the best goalkeeper the county club had seen in years. 

But when it came down to it all, he didn’t feel like he was enough it didn’t feel like he was doing enough.

Then there was that little flyer— an ad from the local recruitment office plastered with some line about “being more for your country”. That memory of the weekend his cousin brought him on base to show him around cycled through his mind, and what he remembered seemed interesting.

He called his cousin and was on base the following weekend, too.

It became a habit. Eventually, it was less about seeing his cousin and more so about talking to his roommate, who specialized in demolitions. 

Soap was hooked. He could imagine the formulas and calculations in his head, and it finally felt like something big was clicking into place for him. 

18. 

Try as he might, they couldn’t let him join until he was properly 18, no matter what story or excuse he came up with. But once he was in? It was everything he needed— the structure that helped him thrive in school, the firm commands like the ones his football coach gave, plus, the goal of making the SAS shining in the distance.

No one could deny how driven John MacTavish was. He excelled in every aspect of training and even then didn’t let himself stop. His commander had his recommendation for the special forces written up before John could even ask— 3 months before he was even eligible. 

John pushed himself even harder. He trained almost day and night, determined to make it through selection on his first attempt. He got his hands on any training material he could and spent every spare second he had scrounging up any spare information he could get from his CO.  

20.

It was the hardest 5 months of his life. And at the end of it all, he became the youngest to ever pass selection. All his hard work had paid off in spades, but he still wanted more. 

So he learned everything he could. Took the opportunity for specialized training, devoured whatever books he could get his hands on, worked out until his muscles ached and begged for mercy, studied until he fell asleep atop his notes— whatever he could to try and quell that desire for more. 

He was Icarus, flying higher and higher. 

25.

He was home for the holidays when his phone rang. It was John Price. 

“I’m heading up a new task force and want y-” had barely left the older man’s lips when John said yes. 

He was on a flight out a week later, despite his family’s protests and Isla’s pleas for him to slow down and enjoy life just a little while he was young.

The words did nothing to shake his hunger like his sister had hoped they would. He was fully consumed by his need for more, and the 1-4-1 was his ticket. He knew he couldn’t throw this opportunity away.

27.

Two years under the leadership of Captain John Price and Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had pushed him even further. He was supernaturally clean in the field, a menace with C4, and something to be truly feared when he had his hands on his favorite sniper rifle. 

Even with his hardened edge, he retained all the warmth and joy of a ray of sun.

Price and Ghost had decided it was time for him to start taking on more responsibility, starting with the rookies, so Soap took over their training anytime the team wasn't deployed. Rookies looked on as if he was something more than human. An impossibility in the world they all dedicated themselves to. 

And then his bedroom door would shut, and everything would crumble to pieces. Unlike Atlas, he couldn’t bear the weight, and the sky would slip from his shoulders. 

28.

It took every last ounce of strength he had to kick his boots off and shed his sweat-stained clothes. He stood under the scalding stream until his skin went numb, the thought of having to wash his hair a nauseating concept. 

The words still rang in his ears. “Son, I think you should look into officer training.”

Price wanted more. He wasn’t enough.

It was all too much.

29. 

He had every intention to go for his officer training, but then there were the missions. More and more just kept landing on Laswell’s desk, and in turn, they were handed down to Price. 

He felt numb. Ground down. Empty. 

His alarm cuts through the silence of his room, not that he needed it. The red numbers blinked brightly in the dim space. 04:45.

C’mon, MacTavish. Get up. 

It’s like this every morning. He has to force himself out from between the sheets. Despite how exhausted he is. Despite how much he hates cold linoleum in the mornings. Despite how little coffee helps nowadays. 

The cold air on his warm skin made him shudder. 

He put one foot in front of the other, retracing the same steps from the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that… on and on. 

He all but refused to look at himself in the mirror. He had lost weight, looking gaunt and pale. He could barely remember how bright and full of life he was at 27. 

The day started with a briefing. The data recovery team had finally managed to repair a damaged hard drive retrieved on the last mission. As hard as Soap tried, the information quickly became jumbled and tangled with his other thoughts. 

Ghost had stopped him the night before outside the mess. “Things look like they’re starting to calm down again. Have you given more thought to officer training?”

Soap had felt like he could have crumbled right then and there and finally let the weight of everything overtake and destroy him. 

Instead, he did what he does best and played along, stacking something else on his plate. “Yeah, L.T., still a couple of months out from the next intake, though.”

The memory played on a loop in his mind. Officer training. Officer training? Now? He was so tired already…

The day went by like every other, filled to the brim with training, both his own and his rookies’, plus any mission prep, and now, preparing for officer training. There was no time for anything else, certainly not himself.

And then it was evening— another restless night, tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling. 

Useless. Weak. Lazy. Not enough. Worthless. 

And like usual, Soap found himself on autopilot, feet carrying himself towards the gym. 

The treadmill sounded like pure torture, but he didn’t trust himself to deadlift in this state without a spotter. Punching bag it was. 

He didn’t bother to wrap his knuckles and rarely did anymore, allowing himself to relish in the sting of freshly split skin and warm blood. 

The minutes disappeared one after another, and suddenly Soap was lost deep within his own mind. Too deep to catch himself when the day finally caught up with him, the lack of food making him dizzy and sending him off balance. He collapsed into the bag, blood-slick hands grasping to make purchase on the sweat-dampened material as his knees made vicious contact with the unpadded floor. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there in a haze and didn’t know he was crying, either. Not until Ghost crowded his vision, blocking out the buzzing fluorescents, face twisted in worry, lips moving but strangely lacking sound. 

“-nny! Johnny, can you hear me?” The Scot looked up at him, ocean-blue eyes overrun with tears and confusion clear on his face. 

“Ghost? What-?” Soap tried to put the missing pieces together, but no matter how hard he tried, there were still empty spots. 

Ghost kneeled next to him, the faintest edge of panic in his voice, his firm grasp turning Soap’s face in his hand. “Where are you bleeding from?” 

All Ghost could make out was a mess of smeared blood, sweat, and tears. There were no obvious injuries he could see. He didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“Bleeding?” Soap’s gaze seemed fuzzy as if he were far away.

“Yes, Johnny, you’re bleeding. Please, help me out here…” Ghost was begging. 

Ghost doesn’t beg. The thought made Soap’s head swim even more. He reached up, resting his hand on Ghost’s outstretched arm. “‘m fine, Ghostie.” His voice was thick with tears.

A wounded noise escaped Ghost at the sight of Soap’s knuckles. They were covered in blood, and he could see the edges of torn skin. Blood trailed down the tanned skin he loved so much, wrapping around his firm forearms like trailing vines. “Johnny…”

“‘m fine, L.T.” Soap started to pull himself away from the Brit, wobbling despite not even being on his feet.

“John, please talk to me. Let me help.” Soap could see the concern and fear in Ghost’s eyes, and that cut him to his core and sent him spiraling.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying, I promise. Please, L.T., I can do this.” Soap’s words were a babbling mess as the tears returned in full force. 

Ghost pulled the smaller man into his chest, holding him tightly and running his fingers through Soap’s hair.

Everything was starting to click for Ghost— the way Soap’s eyes didn’t shine like they used to, how his smile no longer reached his eyes, the way his laugh sounded dull. His Johnny was falling apart, and that thought made Ghost want to fall apart. 

He knew he and Price had been pushing the Scot, but the man had never given any indication that it was too much. He took everything he was given in stride and seemed ready for more at any moment. 

“Shh, Johnny. It’s okay, it’s okay…” He pulled Soap even closer, trying to soothe the broken man. “Everything is okay.”

It took Soap about an hour to snap out of the breakdown he had been stuck in. 

And with one look, Ghost broke Soap’s walls, and everything came pouring out.

“I can’t do it, Ghost. Ever since I was little, I was supposed to be the best. School, then football, then the army. It was good at first, easy even. Took in everything I could get my hands on. But then the energy just… disappeared. And I tried. I tried to keep going and keep getting better. I tried to be everything you and Price want but I just… I can’t. It's too much. I’m sorry. I can’t be everything you want, and I understand if you want me off the team, I just want you to know I tried.” His words were interrupted with little sobs as he laid his soul bare for Ghost, head buried in the larger man’s chest.

And Ghost finally understood why Soap looked like a husk of his former self— because he was. He had given everything until there was nothing left, and then still kept trying. 

“Oh, Johnny…” Ghost guided the Scot back, gently cupping his face with both hands. “I love you just as you are. Never could want more than what you are, ‘cause you’re perfect, Johnny. And I’m so sorry I didn’t see what this— what I was doing to you.” He placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, holding him close yet again as the sobs returned. 

“You love me?” His voice was soft, stuttered, and choked with tears as he lifted his eyes to see Ghost’s, the barest glimmer of hope shining through. He had feelings for his lieutenant that ran deep, but he always assumed they were one-sided. That the flirty banter was just something to break the tension on missions, something that carried over from Las Almas. 

A small laugh rumbled through Ghost’s chest as he cupped Soap’s jaw in his hand, his thumb brushing against the stubble. “Yes, Johnny. I love you. Now let's get you cleaned up.” Carefully untangling Soap from his arms, he began to push himself to his feet.

“Wait!” Soap caught Ghost’s arm, bloodied fingers wrapping around the pale skin of his forearm, catching the man before he could stand. Ghost caught his gaze, looking for what else could be wrong. The concern made Soap melt a little more.

“I love you.” Soap pulled the larger man into a surprisingly bone-crushing hug for how worn he looked. “And I hope you still want me…” The words came out muffled from where he had buried his face in Ghost’s neck.

“Johnny,” Ghost felt like his heart had just split straight down the middle, torn apart by the Scot’s worry. “I’ll always want you. Don’t ever doubt that.” 

He placed a gentle kiss on the crown of Soap’s head despite the balaclava, and let the man find comfort in his chest for a few more moments. “C’mon, you need your rest.”

Without any protest from Soap, they untangled themselves, getting to their feet. Ghost guided Soap through the halls, hands intertwined, not fully able to trust that Soap wouldn’t lose his balance with how out of it the man looked. 

Soap gave Ghost a look as they walked straight past his door, but Ghost only carried on, not stopping until they were at his door. He directed Soap inside and to the edge of the bed, placing another masked kiss on his forehead. “Stay here, I’m just going to get some things for your hands.”

Soap could hear the tap start to run in the small connected bathroom as he let his eyes wander. The space was clean and organized with precision, not unlike his lieutenant. The one space that captured his attention was the windowsill. It was cluttered with photos, some torn or worn with age, blackened at the edge, others that were well kept but just as old— none of them were recent. Soap could only assume they were family, but he couldn’t know for sure, because it wasn’t something Ghost had ever talked about. 

“Johnny?” Ghost was standing at the head of the bed, not wanting to sneak up on the Scot. 

“Hmm?” Soap caught his gaze and blushed, not expecting to find Ghost without his mask. He dropped his eyes to the floor and shifted over, making more space for Ghost.

“No need, love.” Ghost knelt on the floor in front of Soap, gently lifting his hand and beginning to carefully clean his bloody knuckles. Soap hissed and jerked at the sensation, trying to busy himself with studying the room, the sudden itch to do something returning.

Ghost noticed the way Soap seemed agitated by being left to do nothing. Initially, he thought it to be the Scot’s natural drive, but now it seemed more likely to be driven by whatever anxiety had pushed him past his breaking point in the first place. 

“Talk to me, Johnny. Tell me about that new chemical composition you were testing last week.” Soap seemed to relax a little at that, his mind undoubtedly finding comfort in the familiarity of something that came so easily to him. 

Ghost worked as Soap prattled on, explaining all the different components he had tested and why. The ease with which he spoke made Simon smile. It had become so commonplace to see Soap so wound up that this was like a breath of fresh air. This was his Johnny, the one he had fallen for all those months ago in Las Almas. 

As Simon finished, it was painfully obvious that Soap was flagging. His eyelids were heavy, and he was starting to sag back into the mattress. Gently, Simon helped Soap out of his bloody mess of a t-shirt and into one of his own, laughing to himself at the way it hung off Soap’s slightly smaller form. 

“I’ll be back, okay? Just going to get myself ready for bed. You get comfortable.” Simon placed a kiss on his forehead, lips warm on Soap’s cool skin.

“Here?” The confusion was clear on Soap’s face, despite the exhaustion.

Panic began to rise in Simon’s chest, worried he was pushing too fast. “Do you want to go back to your room?” His words were soft, not wanting to pressure the exhausted man.

Soap thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, not if you want me here.” Soap couldn’t resist anymore, desperately craving to be held in Simon’s arms, to let someone else do all the heavy lifting, just for a little while. 

“Always. Get yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.” The door to the bathroom clicked closed, with the moonlight being the only thing to illuminate the space now. 

Soap looked over his freshly bandaged knuckles, gently rubbing his fingers over the tape. 

Simon loves me. He wants me. Wants me how I am. 

It felt good to be wanted, especially by the man he had been pining after for so long, but he couldn’t deny how unsteady he still felt. Everything still weighed so heavy on his shoulders. 

He shook the feeling away, kicking off his sweatpants and slipping in between the sheets of Simon’s perfectly made bed. He was hit by the subtle scent of peppermint, cedarwood, and eucalyptus, somehow warm and cool and home all in one scent. He let himself melt into the comfort of the space, the gentle sounds of Simon rummaging about in the bathroom providing the white noise that was making it harder and harder to stay awake. 

Soap startled at the mattress dipping next to him, rubbing the first dregs of sleep from his eyes.

“It's just me, Johnny, go back to sleep.” Simon's voice rumbled through the quiet space. Soap nodded, humming happily as he felt Simon lay behind him, an arm thrown over his waist to hold him close. 

“Love you, Simon.”

“Love you, Johnny.”

[xt1me]

Batman snippet

I have a snippet but no fic to use it in so I figured I might as well just post it.

Random person: “I'm telling you Bruce Wayne is Batman’s Sugar Daddy.”

Other random person: “Nah man, you're reading way too many tabloids, that's not it at all.”

“OK so how do you think he’s paying for all those weird gadgets?”

“Clinical trials.”

“What?”

“Listen, I did this soap thing a while back.”

“Soap thing?”

“Yeah, some soap company wanted to make sure their new product was ok to sell so did a clinical trial. It was easy money. All I had to do was keep track of if I got any rashes or anything. Decent pay, and I got free soap for a month.”

“In Gotham?!”

“No, you kidding? I don't have a death wish. You don't volunteer to be a test subject in Gotham. This was back when I lived in Star City.”

“OK so what's this got to do with Batman?”

“Gotham’s got the record for the city with the most amount of gas attacks in the world, right? So we all need antidotes for whatever venom or pollen or toxin that’s going around. But whenever a big name rogue has a new scheme they tweak with their formula, so we need all new ones every attack.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So how do you think the hospitals always have antidotes to hand out. You know how long it takes things like that to go to human trials in other places? Yet somehow there’s always something available within a week.”

“So?”

“So who's the first one out there fighting these villains, who definitely will need the antidote first thing? The perfect person to test things since he actively seeks out the worst new dangers?”

“Batman.”

“Exactly, Batman. So if he were to volunteer to test a new antidote, and they work for him, it means hospitals and stuff could start churning it out for the rest of us. You know Wayne buys up those antidotes in the millions to give them out for free. I bet those pharmaceutical companies are making buckets of money.”

“You really think big pharma is paying for Batman.”

“Listen a guy that runs around as a giant bat is definitely crazy enough to sell his body to science. There are some really big companies out there, I bet they can probably keep him in a new batmobile every week.”

“Dang, I hate how that actually makes sense.”

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 34

💖 first time reader click here 💖

A little bit of plot, but mostly ironstrange x reader filthy porn. Bukkake stuff. Stephen finally opening up a lil bit, I mean... I've slept through a 1/3 of a hospital and lemme tell you, doctors are kinky bastards. On the same note, there's definitely going to be a chapter where all three men are involved after the plot shit is resolved.

There was something big brewing. I had a hunch... which was more like a strong sense of doom... hanging over me and the rest of the world. Peter also had noticed the sudden spike in anxiety, quoting the sudden disappearance of many low-tier mutants from the streets. Usually, Peter dealt with at least a few enhanced enemies during his patrols but the closer it got to Christmas, the less enhanced bothered with small-time crimes, the more intense the buzzing of his Spidey sense became.

Now that my immediate lack of income wasn't a problem anymore, I set business onto that damn mercenary. I was no spy, I was no SHIELD operative but... I could be very clever.

First things first, I had to make sure I would stay alive no matter what. A subdermal tracker was a good guarantee of security and I spent many hours making one - having to keep it a secret was incredibly hard, I hated lying to my loves and I hated avoiding Wanda even more - I was constantly on the edge around the telepath, hyperfocused on keeping up the pretense of normalcy.

I wouldn't be me if I couldn't successfully pull off a whole ass façade. Unfortunately, the continued failures of the people searching left and right for the mercenary only fueled my strength for the inevitable fuck-fest that I would have to create in order to make sure my people get the peace they fucking deserve. The web of lies grew in size every damn day.

Subdermal tracker, an implant that reports directly to Friday upon activation. It hurt like a bitch - I had cut myself open, an inch wide gash on the inside of my forearm - and put it in without any anesthesia in my own bathroom, not even thinking twice before making up a lie that I had been careless in the lab and hurt myself.

An antidote to common tranquilizers, creating it gave me a headache the size of Moscow but I'd been successful; Tony assembled the whole team when he found it out, offering me a ridiculous amount of money for the formula. It was weird. SHIELD was interested, too, and I had to witness Tony and Coulson argue. Apparently, the agency wanted to recruit me and Tony was adamantly against it, totally forgetting the promise Natasha had given me. In the end, the spy and Coulson shared a quiet conversation and the man left, respectfully complimenting my skills.

I sold the formula to Stark Industries, unable to get rid of the weirdness of the situation. I had to shake hands with my own boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend... In a business setting. What. Just what. Bucky and Stephen couldn't stop laughing at the face I made all throughout that day - and Clint even went as far as to bake me a gag cake, a cartooney handshake drawn in frosting on top of it. I hit him with a spatula, Loki smiled in his direction for the first time in, like, ever. It was a trip and Tony had way too much fun with the incident.

Perhaps, turning myself into a cyborg stew wasn't the best plan that was possible to think up in a few weeks' time but I've never claimed to be exceptionally intelligent; if anything, I've always considered myself to be a moderately educated idiot. It is common knowledge that there are two halves of a whole idiot: my second half was on his way from California, having had received my very detailed e-mail about the whole cursed box fiasco and the consequences that followed. I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect of seeing uncle Eddie and his symbiote again.

Tony wasn't even half as excited; if anything, he bordered on outright hostile, bickering, and sassing everybody left and right. It could have been the situation at hand finally getting on his last nerves. It could have been his jealousy, the same that appeared every time I paid extra attention to someone that wasn't him, Bruce or Stephen. Either way, Bruce was sighing all the time now and Stephen's remarks began to fill with poison once again.

Just like the good old times, I guess. I was forced to pull a Me over and over, interrupting their petty arguments with increasingly absurd remarks. I felt like everybody was laughing at me these days, which ended in only one way it could have...

"Brat," Stephen's patience was paper-thin and, being forcefully distracted from yelling at Tony, he directed his angst at the nearest person - me. "I oughta put you over my knee. I swear to Cosmos..."

"Blah, blah, blah. Don't you ever get tired of listening to yourself talk?" I raised my eyebrows, tone deceptively calm. "You're talking too much for someone who can't even..." I didn't get to finish my sentence, suddenly finding my mouth firmly glued shut. It was magic - the sensation was pulling, but not unpleasant. Reminded me of a ball gag Tony had used on me in the early days of our relationship.

"Now, Dumbledore, hold your horses..." Tony interjected looking none-too-happy. The engineer placed a warning arm on the sorcerer's bicep, their little spat seemingly forgotten.

"What, Tony? She's been nothing but a mouthy urchin the past few days, I can't stand it anymore," They shared a meaningful look; no matter how much Tony wanted to argue, he knew Stephen was right. What he didn't know was that there probably have been a magic versus science altercation... Or worse. Humiliation was a small price to pay for some (relative) peace.

I did what I do best. I annoyed them further, throwing up a juicy middle finger to the two men and turned around with a huff, mind set on finding Loki to undo the mute ban Stephen gave me. Needless to say, I didn't make it very far.

In mere seconds, I was sandwiched between the two men, Stephen's finger delicately holding my chin to force me to look into his eyes. Tony was holding onto my shoulders from behind me - I could feel the tension, my engineer was almost buzzing with it. I was pretty sure my eyes were laughing anyway because Stephen's frown slowly transformed into a coy smirk once his stormy blues focused on my face.

"Brat," He repeated once again. "She's doing this on purpose."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Tony's breath tickled the nape of my neck. "That does sound like our little Princess," Apparently, it took all of a 0.1 second for Tony to switch from annoyed to horny. Men, they were so easy to play. "Baby, if you wanted our attention you could have just said so," He chastised me, hands sliding down to my waist.

I hummed, and then aggressively hummed some more until Stephen removed the magical gag. "Not like you'd notice it, being occupied with tearing each other's hair out," I pouted.

The sorcerer briefly averted his eyes, leaning down to softly kiss my pout. It was very unlikely I'd get an actual apology but a kiss I won't be complaining about either. "So, your best tactic was to annoy us even more? How does that work out for you?"

I pulled on the tied fabric around his waist, bringing him closer to me. "Pretty good, if I'm being honest. You're exactly where I wanted you to be," Carelessly, I began untying the layers of silks and cotton I had become intimately familiar with over the course of the past few weeks. Most of the time Steph wore his wizard garbs and while figuring out how to undo them was a trip at first, I had gotten him desperate enough a few times, for him to show me a few tips and tricks for easier access.

Tony snorted somewhere behind me. "You just want us for our bodies," His hands wormed their way under my shirt, brushing the underside of my breasts. Bra? Hardly know her. "Our beautiful, sexy bodies." Yes Tony, very humble.

"When will you learn, people?" I asked rhetorically, simultaneously leaning into both Tony's and Stephen's touch. "Why fight each other when you could be fucking me into oblivion instead?"

Stephen snorted, still not completely used to the at times crude things that left my (and occasionally Tony's) mouth. I had a hunch the sorcerer was holding back somewhat - for whatever reason - and I was eagerly waiting for him to get comfortable enough to reveal that special part of himself. Whatever it was, I just knew it was delicious and sinful and-

"Do you really think I will be giving you what you want after your little... Stunt?" Steph went balls out; his voice dropped and the intensity of his stare left me breathless. The hand that was stroking my face wrapped around my throat as he had some sort of a silent conversation with Tony.

"Yeah," I emphasized the word with an inaudible 'duh' behind it but obediently trotted along as Stephen backed up towards the couch, leading me by the throat like a pet on a leash. I was steadily going into 'no thoughts, head empty' territory.

"I like it when you get all bossy," Tony remarked casually but he was close enough for me to hear the strain in his voice. Every time we fucked, Tony eagerly gave up the control to Stephen. I definitely saw the appeal. Stephen Strange demanded authority effortlessly, his stern but fair attitude simply demanded to kneel.

That's just what I did. As soon as Stephen made himself comfortable on the Italian leather couch, I dropped to my knees, looking up at the man with big round eyes. Just like Tony and Bruce, Stephen had his own weaknesses when it came to moi and I wasn't ashamed to exploit them. Steph's stroked my hair, carding careful fingers through it, slowly unbuttoning his pants with his other hand.

"If you insist on being mouthy, I have a better task for you," He husked, pulling me closer towards him. I called it his doctor voice. Honestly, I don't have a clue how his surgical team could be around him with their pants on back in the day... The man was a snack on a silver platter.

Steph's erection sprang free. I didn't hesitate to wrap my hand around it, stroking the underside of his glans just like he liked it, looking to the side where Tony landed on the couch next to Stephen, a curious look on his face. Yeah, Tony liked to watch. Me and Stephen or me and Bruce... Me and Stephen and Bruce? That's an idea for later.

"Don't mind little old me," Tony smirked his trademark Stark mischief, getting comfortable, ditching his oil-stained shirt and unbuttoning his pants to lazily palm himself through his boxers. "Carry on," The smirk only grew when Tony noticed both me and Steph eyeing him with amusement.

I hid my grin, nodding my head, before wrapping my lips around the tip of Stephen's cock, relaxing my throat to prepare for the intrusion. Sweet and salty, the slit on his cockhead was mercilessly teased by the tip of my tongue.

Stephen murmured encouragements under his breath as I began to bob up and down, him controlling the pace with a hand in my hair, just the right balance between cruel and gentle. The sorcerer was always too good to me, bringing me to the point of overstimulation and instantly soothing the ache afterward; "Fuck, darling, your mouth feels like heaven," He groaned as I snuck a look upwards to see his lips parted and a steady flush crawling up his neck.

"She knows how to work a man, doesn't she?" Tony's lust had him panting, hips moving into his own hand. He leaned closer to Stephen, brushing my hair behind my ear with a tender hand. "Merlin needs to share," Tony began pulling me in his direction. I reluctantly let go of Stephen's cock, keeping up the pace with my hand as I scooted closer to Tony to be able to mouth at his stiff erection.

Watching me suck cock always got Tony hard enough to pound nails with. I couldn't blame him, I knew what I could do and did well; by the time I made my way down his thick flesh, drool was dripping down my chin and the make-up around my eyes was surely smeared by tears. My engineer was much less gentle than Steph, pounding my face without reservations.

"I know you can take it, baby girl, fuck," My face was held in his strong grip, thumbs digging into my jaw. "Such a good girl," The two words went straight down to my pussy and I had to squirm and clench my thighs together, whining at the lack of friction.

The air was pierced by a low moan - Stephen was fisting his erection almost desperately now, almost as desperately as I was humping the air, whining like a bitch in heat at the taste of Tony's cock in my mouth. I knew neither of the men would last long, not with all that pent up tension running through their minds and bodies.

"Fuck, come here, baby girl," The engineer yanked me off his cock, gripping the base of it so forcefully his knuckles turned white. I was all but dragged into the space between them; still kneeling, barely seeing with snot and tears smeared all over my face, I couldn't hold in the broken moan as the realization set in.

"Keep your eyes open!" Steph instructed furiously, scooting to tower over me. Tony followed in his steps as I obediently lifted my eyes to their cocks and then their faces; nearly identical furrowed brow expressions stared back at me, lips moist and eyes wide. Both men stroked themselves with renewed vigor.

I hummed softly before sticking out my tongue; their reaction didn't let me wait long. Strings of pearly white cum landed in my hair, on my face; I felt the warmth on my skin and tasted their salt and musk on the tip of my tongue, reflexively swallowing each and every drop that landed in my mouth, savoring it just like I savored the sinful groans that left their mouths.

"Fuck, you're so good to us," Tony panted, gracelessly falling backward onto the couch.

Stephen, however, didn't hurry to catch his breath, giving me a thoughtful look. His fingers shook more than ever but he paid no mind to the discomfort, gathering the cum dripping down my face with two fingers and offering it to me, holding them up to my lips as I gently cleaned them off. And he did it again, and again, until Tony gave a weak moan of recognition, throwing an arm under his head.

"Be polite, Princess," Stephen's voice hadn't lost the lust in it just yet.

"Thank you, sir," I mumbled, utterly captivated by the way he was looking at me. Stormy blues radiated a strong sense of intensity, devotion perhaps, that I wasn't ready for.

Stephen smiled at me, almost coyly, before kneeling right next to me and bringing me over the edge with a few sharp, clever movements of his hand. I held onto his shoulders for dear life, barely noticing Tony's reaction - if there was one - my other lover seemed to be as surprised as I was, choosing to hang back and observe the unusual situation.

I had a feeling that whatever it was, it would make another appearance during our playtime. It wasn't just sex, it wasn't making love - it was... Something. I loved every second of it.

@another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

[pinnithin-writes]

more of a feeling

Mission to Zyxx fic, mild spoilers for season 5 if you're not caught up. This started as rambling about our bodies sabotaging us and turned into a conversation about our bodies taking care of us. 2117 words.

It was simple, really. It all came down to chemistry.

C-53 knew how emotions worked, of course; he’d even go so far as to call himself a veteran by now. Every frame he’d inhabited was a different experience, but the emotions he felt in those frames were a reassuring constant. He knew the programming for joy. He could trace the source code for anger. His cube felt it all the same, and no matter how many diagnostics he had to run in an unfamiliar body, his thoughts, his feelings, and his personality grounded him through the flux.

Until, that is, the failed clone of a scientist shoved him in a meat suit without his consent.

Emotions were different when he was piloting flesh. They governed his body more than he was used to. They still generated from C-53’s cube, but now that cube was hooked up to nerves and synapses, blood and organs, and those living, breathing parts responded accordingly. He was a miracle of a machine, truly – a code given life – but he couldn’t wax poetic about something like that when his pores leaked and his muscles tired and his stomach twisted in knots.

It was hard enough dealing with a body that resisted his will at every turn. It was worse still that every fleeting feeling affected him on the molecular level. He didn’t know how organics got anything done like this. Frustration made his head pound and his guts churn. Despair burned his eyes and locked his throat. Even pleasant feelings – affection, mirth – stole his breath, made his pulse race. It was distracting at best and debilitating at worst. Surely there was a way to bypass these effects.

Unable to connect his consciousness to high speed internet, he had to go about this the old fashioned way, which made it a slow process indeed. Thankfully, the USS Synergy owned a vast library, which he took advantage of to scan every file they had on hermanns, discovering himself.

He did most of his research at night. He told himself this was because he was less likely to be interrupted, but in truth he was embarrassed at his own inefficiency. Even in the old loader frame, downloading the data would have taken all of ten seconds. And though he knew his crewmates wouldn’t humiliate him, he still didn’t want to be seen like this. Having to move his eyes across a screen, absorb and process the words they scanned, and then file that information away in his slippery maze of a brain, line after line after line after line after line.

The hours of learning made him feel childish. C-53 was tired.

But he was getting somewhere. When exhaustion pulled at his eyelids and his thoughts went fuzzy in the late, still hours on Bargie, he knew it was adenosine flooding his neural pathways and inhibiting his functionality. No code existed to override adenosine. Caffeine, however, could counteract it for a short time (with the unfortunate side effect of upsetting his stomach and tasting like tar).

C-53 pored over chemistry texts and neuroscience studies, learning what made hermanns - and thus, hermanoids - do what they did. There were no comparable texts on tellurians in this galaxy, but the science, from what he could remember, was quite similar. It was all chemicals, and those chemicals told his brain to tell his body how to act.

It was exceptionally overcomplicated. There was always some other influencing factor to his body, a sensory input or a thought or even his DNA - Jeremy’s genetic memory - that scrambled a system that could theoretically be very streamlined.

An example: he could eat something that tasted good (peanut butter and chocolate), triggering a flood of dopamine that caused him to feel happy. But Jeremy was allergic to tree nuts, so his immune system attacks him for a perceived threat that doesn’t exist, so forcefully that he could die from it. It was as fascinating as it was annoying. Who knew organics could have glitches? Too bad he hadn’t figured out how to debug anaphylactic shock.

He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish by doing all this research. In a way, studying why his body actively sabotaged him was a comfort, but the more he learned, the more faults he discovered. Evolution was a temperamental thing. He much preferred the elegance of engineering.

At present, it was a dark hour on Bargie, docked and slumbering with her crew on the Synergy. Half awake in the conversation pit, amidst a tangle of textbooks and portable screens, C-53 sat alone under the red glow of the security lights. Sprawled as he was, C-53 didn’t immediately notice Pleck wandering into the room until he said his name.

Blurry lines of text sharpened as he startled, then relaxed. “Hm? Oh, hey Pleck,” he said.

“C-53, it’s like, three in the morning,” Pleck responded. Bare footsteps signaled his approach, and then he dropped onto the couch next to C-53, a glass of water in one hand and an orange fruit in the other. He reached over and set the glass precariously on the cushion between them. “Y’know, tellurians usually sleep around this time,” he pointed out helpfully. “What are you doing out here?”

The info tablet C-53 held was inches away from his face. “I’m learning about my pineal gland,” he announced dully.

A hormone regulator located near the brain stem. Releases melatonin and influences one’s circadian rhythm. Well, it wasn’t doing a very good job right now, was it?

“Cool, is that something like - do tellurians have that too or just, y’know,” Pleck drew his feet up to sit cross-legged, “whatever you are?”

C-53 couldn’t help but smirk mirthlessly at that. “It’s found in most vertebrates, so yes, I would imagine both you and whatever I am have one.” He set the tablet aside to look at Pleck, but the screen made him night blind, and he could only see the afterimage of a splotchy red rectangle in the darkness. “Why are you awake?”

“Oh, I woke up thirsty,” Pleck explained easily. He fiddled with the peel on his fruit as he spoke. “And then I thought, well, while I’m up I might as well grab a snack, and then I saw you sitting there so,” he shrugged, “here I am.”

It was a better explanation than what C-53 had. And it was a far better explanation than Pleck would have given several months ago, when the Allwheat was still worming into his brain and keeping him up at odd hours. C-53 was thankful those days were behind them. As the afterimage of the tablet faded and Pleck became a collection of grays and blues beside him, he quietly mourned the loss of his night vision. And his regular vision.

“You ever had one of these, C-53?” Pleck asked. He finally got his fingernails under the skin and began peeling. “The Themm grow these instead of oranges. They’re kind of sour?”

“I haven’t,” C-53 answered. He hadn’t eaten an orange before, for that matter, but he wasn’t too interested in expanding his food horizons. Most things had an unpleasant texture to him.

“Do you want some?” Pleck went on, adding pieces of rind to the small pile in his lap. He slanted C-53 a glance. “Oranges are the most shareable fruit.”

“No, thank you.”

Pleck shrugged again before separating a slice of not-orange and popping it in his mouth. As he chewed in silence, C-53 picked up the glass between them and placed it safely on the coffee table. Piles of nearby notes were scrawled in his own clumsy hand, amateur diagrams and chemical formulas with lots of arrows and exclamation marks littering the margins. Writing it down helped the nonstick pan of his brain gain some traction, he found, but the coffee table was starting to look like Nermut’s conspiracy wall after so many hours of research.

His neck ached. His head pounded out a protest.

He’d been pushing his brain and body to its limits and had what to show for it? A newfound disgust with himself? A frustration he only knew more intimately? C-53 frowned and used one of his papers as a coaster.

Beside him, Pleck happily ate his fruit, unbothered. Being organic was easy for him; he was a native to his body and didn’t know anything else. C-53 pitied and envied him in equal measure.

“You’re going to bed soon, right C-53?” Pleck asked after making his way through half the orange. He reached to retrieve his glass from the table, but condensation stuck a note about the amygdala to the bottom. “Oh,” he remarked.

C-53 peeled it off for him. “I don’t like sleeping,” he explained, crumpling the note and tossing it on the table. “So I’m reading.”

Pleck took a sip of water and frowned. “You gotta sleep sometime.”

“I know,” he answered shortly. He’d read dozens of articles about the side effects of sleeplessness. Fatigue, irritability, memory issues, hallucinations if you waited long enough. He knew he’d crash eventually, he just wasn’t especially motivated to avoid it. “It feels bad,” he went on. “Waking up is disorienting.”

There was a thoughtful crease between Pleck’s brows; C-53 could barely see it under the security lights. Pleck took a moment to set his glass back down on the table before turning the remainder of the fruit over in his hands. “Is it because you don’t feel safe?” he asked without looking up.

“I’m… sorry?”

“It’s just - y’know, when I was having trouble sleeping-”

“Pleck, I’m not a lunatic,” C-53 interrupted. “I know I’m perfectly safe on Bargie. I just don’t like sleeping. I don’t need you to teach me how to be tellurian, okay?” He gestured at the pathetic mess of research before him, scrawled in an obvious lunatic’s hand. “I’m figuring it out.”

Pleck fed himself a section of orange and didn’t answer right away. On C-53’s other side, the info tablet’s screen auto timed out and went dark. They were bathed in red completely now, one of them frustrated and exhausted, the other watchful and concerned. C-53 removed his glasses and rubbed at his stinging eyes.

“Sorry,” he said after a time. “I’m just…”

“Tired?” Pleck offered.

C-53’s sigh went through his whole body. “Yes.”

A stubborn, senseless part of him didn’t want to overcome this. He didn’t want to be an example of perseverance, some epic struggle conquered by learning to live well. He wanted to kick and bite and throw a fit over this new frame. It wasn’t fair.

“C-53,” Pleck broke quietly into his thoughts. “You don’t have to, y’know, have the answer to everything all the time. Sometimes you have to just… do what your body is telling you to do, even if you don’t want to.” He offered an orange slice in C-53’s direction. “It’s trying to take care of you.”

“You say that like this flesh suit has a soul,” C-53 grumbled, but he took the fruit anyway, staring glumly as it lay in his stupid, sweaty palm.

“Well, sure it does.” Pleck smiled and prodded his shoulder with an index finger. “It’s you.”

C-53 fell silent. It was strange, learning things from Pleck. He was used to the roles being reversed, and it shifted something uncomfortably inside him every time it happened. Dutifully, he put the orange in his mouth, felt the tart flavor burst on his tongue, and chewed past the slimy sensation until he was able to swallow it. He was unable to hide a shudder.

Pleck watched him with one hopeful eye. “Not your favorite?” he guessed.

“It’s the texture,” C-53 explained, grimacing. But he held his hand out for another slice in spite of it.

Pleck grinned. “We can find something you like to eat instead of this,” he said, scooping the orange peels out of his lap and leaving them on the coffee table for later cleanup. “It doesn’t have to all be bad. Come on,” he rose from his seat and offered C-53 his hand. “Let’s check the kitchen for something better and then, y’know, maybe try and get some sleep?”

The please was unspoken, but C-53 could see it on Pleck’s freckled face. He was trying to take care of him, just like his clunky, unfamiliar body was. C-53 didn’t like his body very much, and wasn’t sure he ever would, but he liked Pleck enough to go along with him for now. He didn’t know what kind of chemical governed trust. He didn’t even let himself ask.

C-53 took Pleck’s hand, tried not to flinch from the zing it sent up his arm, and followed him out of the pit.

[peeterparkr]

The Holiday.|Tom Holland

chapter one: The Prince and the Pauper. (Pauper.)

↳ read Sophia’s version here and a little bit of Tom. (Tim fic)

So, the christmas series is finally here! This is a 2 fics in one, meaning I’ll write Tom’s fic and @jambrosemc will write a Tim Chalamet fic, if you’re not familiar with the concept, it’s based on the movie The Holiday, where two women after being heartbroken switch their homes and lives for a bit. Both fics are reader insert, however Emma’s character will be named Sophia in this fic and my character will be named Iris in her fic. Remember the fics are connected and that Tom’s introduction is held in @jambrosemc​ ‘s fic. And so Tim’s introduction is here. Hope it’s not complicated and we hope you love it. 

STORY SUMMARY:  Two women troubled with guy-problems, one who’s in love with love and one who doesn’t believe in it are both suffering from a broken heart, with little reasoning and nothing left to lose, they swap homes in each other's countries for the holidays, where they’ll meet a local guy who will probably change their destiny. 

chapter summary: The heartbreak of an unrequited lover. pairing: tom holland x y/n | warnings: Chad, mentions of sex, alcohol, mentions of cheating.  word count: 7.2k

story masterlist. 

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There is something unequivocally  known about love, everything that’s been said about it, is almost true. We’ve been bombarded with love songs, romantic comedies, romance novels, poetry, it’s everywhere. There can never be enough love songs, because no matter how incredible it never seems to be the same, you’ll never see two pieces that are identical, some of them are similar, of course, but they all speak from a very deep side of Love.  Love isn’t one thing that is written down, not an exact science. There’s no right formula to whatever love is. But every single thing written about love might be true, at least to someone. Love is something so personal and yet we can all relate to it, but then again there’s never two loves that will feel the same. There can be two love stories starting at the same time but you’ll never feel like it’s the same. But everytime someone dares to write or speak or sing about love, it’s most likely to be true. Or so you’ve learned throughout the years.

In Romeo and Juliet,  Romeo asked himself ‘Did my heart love till now?’, and there's common sense to it, we’ve all felt that…We’ve all wondered if you’ve known love before you met the one.  You believed you had, you thought you had it all figured out. How much can one learn about love? We’ve all felt it. At some point, or another. You had. It’s incredibly easy to understand that though love is unique in its own sense, love is universal.

You did believe that everything concerning love was true. Shakespeare also said, "Journeys end when lovers meet."

Was it true? You loved to rely on that thought, that we were meant to travel until we found the one. That two people are destined to meet in the middle and start a new one together.

You loved to think about love more than anyone did, you were hopeless. It’s incredibly complex, and subtle and it’s got the power to change someone, and a story, completely. Love is not easy.

Love is also blind, you, perfectly,  knew about that. It was smart to know that you’d been blinded yourself.

Love fades. Love is lost. Love is complicated. Love can be something eternal, or love can only last for a night.

Then, there was the one love you knew, the one you’d been living for a while. Unrequited love. No one really talks about that one. All love stories rely on the fact that the two lovers will end up together. But the unrequited love? No, no one dares to write about it. Maybe because they’re too sad in their sorrow to even think of that. You always wondered what would be of that story if someone ever dared to write it. And what’s the destiny awaiting for them?

Always the bad luck, the ones with the blinded reason, but always foreign to that one feeling of joy. Always wounded, and always left when the sun is out. The handicapped of hearts.

You were one, you were one of them, the one who is in love with that one guy who never dares to love back.

It gets even worse around the Holidays, everyone speaks of it. It’s everywhere. You go to the mall and see people buying gifts for their significant others, you turn the TV on and there’s the usual bad romantic films that you ended up watching, always the same, the girl goes from the big city back to her old town and her high school sweetheart is in love with her still, all while there’s an angel or Santa Claus, or whatever they come up this time, and she finds herself falling back in love with her old town, and she’s a painter or whatever and she lets go her dream of the big city to go back to her pathetic love interest.

Yet you always watched them, curled up in front of your TV with the candy that you were supposed to give out on Halloween but instead kept them for Christmas.

That was you, a hopeless romantic who was desperate for love.

You were there, wrapping a delicate christmas present that probably was not wanted but that you were too blinded and too stupid to see that. Also trying to wrap your own mind whether you’d give this out or not.

You were pathetic, and there he was in all his splendor. Chad.

Of course, maybe that’s what you get for being in love with a man named Chad, but he didn’t live up to his name. He was handsome, and incredibly perfect, and you were always so mesmerized by him. You had been in love with him for three years now, three miserable years. And honestly it’s been the worst years of your life, worst birthday, christmases, Halloween, New Years Eve’s that needed wine and Xanax. The biggest curse. All because you’re in love with a man who’s never and will never ever love you back.

He probably wasn’t conventionally good looking, not for most girls around anyway, but he had a confidence and a sly sexuality that could get you to your knees in the blink of an eye.

“Y/N, dear, please tell me you’re not deeply lost looking at Chad?” Angela, your coworker and probably closest thing to a friend asked.

“What?” You were snapped out of your trance. “No, no!” Though you had been.

The holidays party at the newspaper you worked at. You wrote the only good news, you’d say, the column of UNIONS, when you described marriages and gave the couples a little bit of spotlight to their recent and new found joy. You wanted to write way more than that, honestly, but you didn’t mind. Though you knew you were probably wasted potential. Potential, everyone said you had it.

“I thought that was over,” Angela pointed out.

“It is! It is—“You tried to say. “It—is, mostly.”

Angela rolled her eyes, “thought so,” she snapped. “What even was the deal with you two? You used to fuck him right?”

“I—“you coughed. “Yeah, I used to sleep with him, but more importantly I was in love with him.”

Still were, for that matter.

“Oh, great, and then—you discovered he was fucking that other girl in accounting, Denise.”

“Yes, I did find out and hence why I stopped… sleeping with him,” you whispered, embarrassed. “And I don’t want to talk about this at the party.”

“But like I always see you two together, so he cheats on you and you keep being friends with him?” Angela pushed to your own disarray. “Plus, I’m like 300% sure you’re the one who writes the articles for him, he hasn’t one ounce of talent and you do.”

You did write his stuff. But couldn’t get anywhere yourself.

“I well-”

“And he cheated, y/n.”

“Yes but he didn’t cheat, you see in his mind we weren’t in a relationship and we were in mine… but like—“

“So if you’re not in a relationship that means you have to expect he’s going to fuck other women?” She pointed out.

“I—“ you didn’t know what to say. “No, no, I mean—but I was so in love with him, but—“Somehow this had opened a gate that you hadn’t opened in a while. “Wait—No, no I can’t cry,” you said to yourself feeling like there was going to be a cascade pooling your eyes. “Does it look like I’m crying?”

“Y/n, maybe—Look,” she wiped off a tear, I—“She coughed. “Did he ever say he loved you?”

“I—yes, three times.” You had counted them. “When I reminded him of that he said it must've been a  question and it most certainly was not.”

“You see y/n, when you catch a man fucking another woman you’re not supposed to remain friends with him, you’re supposed to make a scene, threaten to chop off his dick, throw things at him, like I did with your brother.”

You rolled your eyes, “Tim didn’t cheat on you,” you said. “You slept with him once, didn’t talk to each other for like a month and he found someone else and you made a scene.”

You knew your brother was many things but he wasn’t a cheater, he was not a bad person. Tim was someone with enough confidence to know what he wanted and sure, he did find a one night love with strangers every now and then, but he wasn’t a bad person. He probably was too confused. He’s the typical man who is afraid of commitment and has no follow through.

He never fell in love, that wasn’t his thing. The opposite of you, who fell in love deeply. Tim never—wanted any commitment. He could have a one night stand and never follow through.

“But—you see that’s what you’re supposed to do,” Angela continued.

“But I’m not doing anything, we just—text,” you admitted with pity, “and sometimes we FaceTime but like that’s it, and we’ve gone out for lunch and look, he says we’d be idiots to give up our friendship but—“You couldn’t continue.

“Fucking men, they’re trash, all of them, he’s got you right where he wants you, who wouldn't want a fantastic girl like you in love with him ... hanging on his every word …?” She asked. “Chad knows anytime he wants to crawl back …”

“And he is… Look, today he—he said we should go out and he gave me a Christmas present.”

“Which was?”

“A set of lingerie but—“

“Oh my god y/n,” she snapped. “I can’t believe how pathetic you are.”

“Is it pathetic really? To think the world is near perfection every time I’m with him?”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Very. It’s...Chad.”

“I… is it wrong, really? I just want to be loved.”

“And you chose Chad?”

Before you could say anything, your boss called out. “Everybody gather around. I have an important announcement to make,” your boss said. “First of all you, I want to wish each and every one of you a Merry  Christmas. It’s been a year, hasn’t it? I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished,”he kept rambling on their achievements or whatsoever they had done throughout the year, you couldn’t care less. “Given that, we may be able to get by with a smaller announcement—Which involves y/n—y/n? Are you there?”

Angela raised your hand.

“Well y/n your column on weddings has been lovely,” he said.

Was it though?

“And—Well, a wedding was privately announced earlier, and I don’t think any other paper in town knows about it and I want you to be the first to report on this particular union,   as it is between two of our most esteemed colleagues got hitched! Bring a loud cheer for Chad Bloom and Denise Higgins!”

Boom.

It all felt...no.

You tried desperately not to cry. Everyone could see you there. Were you dreaming? This was a nightmare.

You didn’t know how you got the guts to get out of that office without crying. You’ve never felt braver before, but you had to give the politest of smiles to Chad and everyone around to then proceed to get your coat and head home. How pathetic did you look in your car crying to a guy who definitely was going to do that.

This felt like a nightmare. The love of your life was engaged.  And you couldn’t do anything about it. Because you didn’t believe in multiple loves, only one, love wouldn’t come again and knock on your door. This was it, you were destined to be lonely and stay lonely. This was your very worst nightmare, all that time wasted upon and there was nothing you could do about it.

It hurt, your heart was wrenched. You’d open the Halloween candy sooner, and you’d bought ice cream, three pints of ice cream.

Just a week before he had given you the set of lingerie and said he was eager to see you wearing it. Honestly, you had lied to Angela. You had seen him a couple of times, and sooner or later you’d end up in between the sheets because you had absolutely no self control when it came to him. He knew how to press your buttons and where to touch you and he’d try to charm you each time and you’d end up falling for it. He’d say that he’d changed and that he always believed in you.

Honestly, you always fell for it because you thought you were both destined to be in love.

But now it was all gone, you’d lost him. He was going to marry someone else.

This probably was the lowest point in your life, it really was. Because it was so stupid to fall in love with someone who was just going to step on you, and you needed someone. Time was passing by, it was getting darker and night was only drowning you more. You needed someone to talk to, who’d listen. But someone who wouldn’t judge you just as bad or who couldn’t judge you as bad.

You were getting tired of crying but you couldn’t help it. You felt insignificant and as small as humanly possible. So very crushed.

You called your brother, because though he probably would judge you, and he’d probably not care, he was kind of forced to listen because you were relatives and you did help him from time to time. Lately more than you wanted to.

“Y/N—?” Tim answered, and you could hear there was music playing behind him. Of course he’d be awake in the middle of the night. He probably was out clubbing.

“Tim—I need—I’m not okay,” you admitted.

“Y/N I can’t really—“he laughed in between. “Hear you.”

“Chad is engaged!” You said louder.

He laughed. “Chad, what a stupid name.”

“Tim I’m serious!” She stated.

“How serious can this be his name is Chad!” Tim giggled. He was clearly drunk.

“Tim! I—He’s engaged I—I can’t believe it just a week ago he said he—“

“We’ve both known Chad is an asshole y/n, his name is Chad for fuck’s sake,” Tim pushed. “We both—I thought you were over him.”

“I… well.”

“Fuckin’ hell, y/n.”

“I’m never gonna love again,” you stated.

He scoffed. “Love doesn’t exist, y/n,” he stated. “Not for someone named Chad.”

“Stop.”

“He—“Tim sighed. “Look, we both knew he was an idiot, and we both knew he was going to break your heart and—He already had! May I remind you of that? He cheated on you!” He stated. “He is an asshole who doesn’t deserve any of your tears and I’m a hundred percent sure you are crying.”

You were, for that matter. Love for you was also always shedding tears.Sad tears. Love hurts. “I love him.”

“And I love this vodka on my hand,” he stated. “That—means nothing, okay?”

“You’ve never been in love,” she snapped. “You don’t know how it feels to have your love taken away—“

“Don’t go there, y/n.”

“I—I just—I can’t—“

“Y/N you need a break,” Tim said without really caring. “I’ll call you back later alright? I’m busy.”

A break.

Yes, that’s exactly what you needed. A break from your stupid and pathetic life, a break from your little fantasy. A break from Chad. Honestly, you were tired of it. Always having the worst of luck. You needed a break from men, though you barely had… Being completely honest, it only takes one man to lose faith in humanity. They hold that power.

You knew what love was and well, you’d never have it. You were destined to be the side character, the best friend and the one plot device. Not relevant.

Because honestly how stupid were you.

But was it really so bad to feel that way? To long for love, for someone who would run to you, and whom you could fall so deeply with. Guess now you had to build up walls. Because now you couldn’t get nobody else to hurt you again, nobody was worth this pain. Nobody should ever feel this way. You never wanted to let anyone hurt you again.

Honestly, you so needed a break.  But where and how?

You couldn’t stay in your place, it held too many memories, lots of them of you being stupid with Chad because you were such an idiot for letting him in your house and corrupt your place. You needed a break because everything would remind you of him, your car, his car, his house, this town, everything. Also your place was too sad.

You could go away. You had to, because you couldn’t let yourself drown in more sorrow. You were so unbelievably tired of it.

You had to go. Away from him, away from this place and your stupid house. Hell, if you could, you’d go to another country.

You rang Timmy again.

“What- y/n?”

“Where should I go?”

“What?”

“Yes on vacation,” you added.

“How do I-I don’t know, fuck it eh, oh wherever they speak English, bye.” He hung up on you again.

Where did they speak English?

England, of course.

Hell, maybe that’s why Chad didn’t love you, you were stupid, probably. England. London. You’d always wanted to go there. Anywhere really, but you never went anywhere because you were still waiting on Chad. Jesus, how much time did you spend wasting on that man?

England.

You opened up your laptop, ready for it. You needed to get away and not waste the holidays watching old and bad Hallmark movies eating ice cream by yourself. Or maybe yes, just far away from your own house.

Airbnb.

You went straight to London, it always seemed like a dream, besides it could work. And you scrolled through houses, big ones, small ones.

Then you found one. ‘Cozy, lovely place above a bookshop’. It did call your mind, it gave the idea of a perfect fantasy, it seemed nice enough.

And far, very far. And so different from whatever her fantasy with Chad had been, what was his thing? Island in the Caribbean.

You kept reading.

“In the other direction, the Bayswater Road will take you to Notting Hill (location of the Julia Roberts/ Hugh Grant film of the same name) and its fantastic local restaurants and bars, boutique shops, and the famous Portobello Road Market.”

That caught your mind. It seemed… perfect but to live with that fantasy of yours to live in a stupid romcom. Could it be?

No, no. You had to go in with the idea that no matter how romantic, you had bad luck and not even such a romantic place would make you have someone to love. You were really supposed to be always lonely. But the idea… of leaving did thrill you.

You didn’t think much of it, but the next morning, you still had that thought roaming in your mind, and eventually… you tried to reach out. It had closed, however. But you had saved the ad.

Sophia.

That was her name.

Hey! I’m interested in your house! That seemed too weird. Besides she had closed it.

You decided to reach out anyway.

“Hey, I was interested in your house! I don’t know if someone else rented it but I thought it was worth the shot. Is it still available? I’m sorry if it’s not. I just really liked your place! It’s okay if it’s not! Sorry! Thank you!” You sent it in. Wondering if you’d apologized just enough times.

You knew she’d probably not respond.

“Oh, sorry! I was renting it because I was planning to go on holiday with my boyfriend but plans changed. We broke up recently so I won’t be going anymore,” she answered.  That had been quick. Lucky she was online but the place was no longer available.

This was your bad luck only. Of course she wasn’t going to rent it. The dream seemed too far away. But… she had just broken up, she probably was feeling awful.

“Oh, I’m sorry!  why did you break up with him?” You asked.

Then read again what you’d just asked. What was wrong with you? This was a stranger. They didn’t need to give any explanation.

“I’m sorry you don’t have to answer that. I don’t know why I asked.” You added.

She was typing. “No, don’t worry! I guess it’s pretty complicated but long story short, he cheated on me.”

Been there, you thought to yourself. But probably at least most likely she was dating him and they were in a relationship not like you with your stupid “whatsoevership” with Chad.

“Men are trash,” you texted her.

“To say the least,” she answered.

You bit your lip. You knew you had to open up to. Well you didn’t have to, but you… felt the need to.

“I’m really sorry, I know how it feels. I was actually looking at your place to escape from a man myself. The love of my life, Chad, just got engaged.”

As soon as you sent it you saw how stupid you looked. You were absolutely pathetic.

“Chad?” Sophia asked.

You chuckled. You could see the smirk from the other side.

“I know. It’s my fault for falling in love with a Chad. Lives up to his stupid name.” Was your response.

It honestly was. But thought it seemed fun to poke on his name, it really didn’t occur to you that it was because of his name that he was an asshole, don’t blame it on a name.

“Well, I’m sorry that “Chad” had to be the love of your life. It sounds like we both need to get away.” Sophia sent.

Yes, you too were sorry.

“Definitely, but I’m gonna keep looking. I need to be at least 500 miles away from him.”

You really were going to keep looking, maybe not as perfect as the place Sophia had but at least go away.

“Maybe we could work something out?” Sophia asked.

Huh.

You grinned before chuckling. “Let’s switch lives like in The Parent Trap, although we’re not twins we’d be switching breakup lives.”

That would be a fun idea, impossible of course but you secretly hoped it could be done.

“Sounds interesting! Where are you from?” She asked.

Was she really up for it or was she just like you? Bored and alone enough to be talking to a stranger you’d met over Airbnb. Some people do tinder, but guessed you did Airbnb to make friends with other women who’d fallen under the sorrow that is falling in love with men.

“Astoria, Oregon. Pretty boring compared to London I guess.” Was your answer. Of course if she was remotely interested on switching before, all hopes would flush now.

“Not at all! All I care is that it’s far from here.” Sophia answered.

Was… it for real?

“Me too.”

You answered in hopes, but not really she’d back away.

“So, should we switch?” She asked.

You stared at the screen, not believing it. You had to make sure. “You’re serious? My place is nothing like yours.”

“Surely it’s not too horrible.”

It wasn’t, honestly. It was pretty. But not exciting, it was only normal. It was clean, it was full of books.

“I have a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, living room. That's it. And I’m not near a romantic location like yours. I do have a dog, though.”

You didn’t know why you were sabotaging yourself. Matter of habits, maybe.

She didn’t.. Back away. “That’s perfect, I want far away from romance.”

So weird, you wanted to go near something romantic to be reminded love exists, or whatever. You didn’t understand why. Honestly, it probably was only a way to cope with this.

“Well, this is your chance.”

Honestly, this place was everything but romantic.

“Can I ask you one thing?” She asked.

She was going to back away. “Sure.”

“Are there any men in your town?” She asked.

Well, there goes your chance. You had to be honest about it. “Honestly? Zero.”

You waited for the ‘not interested' answer, instead she gave you: “When can I come?”

You scoffed with delight, not believing it. “Tomorrow too soon?” You asked, half-joking only. Honestly, you had to get away now.

“Tomorrow’s perfect actually.”

You couldn’t believe it. “wait wait wait but like are you for real?”

“Absolutely, or would it be too crazy?”

It ws for that matter, but when you’re brokenhearted you have no common sense. You didn’t have one of your own, that is. But this was exciting and this seemed like an adventure. A great idea for the one book you’d promised yourself you’d end up writing one day, instead of writing every other article for Chad.

You thought about it, you really wanted to go through with it. “It is but I’m down for it, but like, okay do you want pics of my home or something so you don’t think I’m a creepy old man who might kidnap you?”

And that would bring less of suspicion, god, why were you like this?

“Umm, yes actually :) that would be great.”

Yeah, she’d say that.

“Okay, wait, want my phone number so we’re not talking over air bnb?”

“Yes, I feel like that might be better.”

What was going on? Why were you exchanging numbers with a girl who you had never met and who lived in a completely different country. Besides, it was even crazier to think you btoh were thinking about switching places. You were crazy, completely off reason. Yet you didn’t know how or why you ended up both texting more, and talking. Showing each other’s places and ranting about men.

You couldn’t blame her for not believing in love, of course she wouldn’t. The ne guy she gives her heart to cheated on her. You wouldn’t blame her, at all. Besides, it was just…

You both had a very different version of it, but it was… Different. Yes, different, you guessed there was no other way to put it into it.

The texting didn’t cease, it continued more than you ever thought it would. Because sometimes it’s easier to rant to a stranger about life and love’s misfortunes. It seemed incredibly stupid how you both were talking about men who decided to ruin your lives. How in this world had you ended up venting to a stranger?

Danny blamed it on her. Danny seemed like the typical male who wanted to have a girlfriend and well, there was Sophia. It seemed sad, seemed like they both settled for it. Not even Sophia seemed to talk about him with love. She was just so… Not into it. Just talking about someone who she used to share time with.

She had given up on it. You couldn’t understand that. If the one who wasn’t the one could make her happy at some point, how happy would she be with the one?

However, you both seemed very alike, and both of you probably were in the same situation. Well, of course, the cheating part was different. But you’d gone through it as well. But Sophia explained that Danny, her ex, hadn’t even felt sorry for cheating.

You knew that story like the palm of your hand. Chad well… He blamed it on you, too. And he had said it, he didn’t cheat.

And though the stories were so different, the feeling was the same, of wanting to take a break from your pain, from a heartache and being so damn unreasonable to think of this. Honestly, though the idea of London seemed romantic, you knew you’d end up curled up crying on the other side of the world.

Sophia seemed to be very well put together, she had her bookshop, which added to her life. And sure, she seemed like a workaholic but she seemed to be kind. Someone who had the guts to follow her dreams and someone who barely had time to think about love.

You wished you were a bit more like her. She seemed like a main character. Even her name was a main character one.

The texting, not sure how or when, turned into a facetime call, and there you were, facetiming with a stranger about the lack of love you’d been involved with.  You pitied her, though. Not in a bad way, but in a way you could completely understand what she was going through. She seemed tough enough. But for her, love had rules. It had to be a certain way, and life had to have a certain balance and everything had to be merely perfect. But love for her was simple, the only rule was not to cheat.

Danny, her ex, had broken that rule. Which honestly, from what you’d gathered she was someone who actually tried. But… No, Sophia had seen him fade out. It always scared you to see that, to see how someone falls out of love. Sophia had seen it. But maybe Sophia’s belief, or lack of, of love was just… Surreal. But you understood it, not completely. But you did.

How could she believe in love when she’d never had it? Truly had it.

And she spoke of love as if it was a disease. Maybe it was, a disease. But was love really the disease or the aftermath the true one?

She didn’t believe in love. And not in a way that everyone has gone through, not in the way when you’re so brokenhearted that you don’t believe in it for a while. No, she didn’t want to give it a chance. For her, life was supposed to be about her success and her job, and the thrill of owning a bookshop.

Maybe she was the one who was right, after all you'd proved that love only could hurt. And how could you, after all of this, believe in it?

“So how long were you with him?” You asked her, as you were pacing around your kitchen, honestly you didn’t care if a complete stranger was seeing you in your ‘Chad reaction’, the bottle of wine, the chips, the cookies, your pj’s. Your pug dog, Tommy following you around.

Yet she was there, so elegantly, with her glass of wine. How was she handling it so well?

She gave it a thought. “About four years. What about you? How long have you loved Chad?” She smirked at the thought.

Four years. It seemed… enough. You rolled your eyes at the mention of his name. “Oh god it does sound super stupid,” you groaned. “But… Three stupid and miserable years, it’s a low point,” you said before finally opening up the wine and pouring a glass.

“No, it’s not stupid,” she answered. But it was, his name was Chad. “But, I can imagine how it would be a low point.”

Very, very low point. “But like you told me—He blamed it on you?” You couldn’t put your mind to it, at least Chad had accepted he’d slept with Denise. Of course, he didn’t say he cheated but he hadn’t… blamed it on you.

“He did,” she admitted. “He said I worked too much, and that I didn’t give him enough attention.”

You clenched your jaw, incredulous of how stupid he was. If you met the guy you’d probably slap him. “Fuck him, honestly, you’re successful bet he was intimidated by your success.” Because that’s how men work.

Sophia sighed. “Hmm, I doubt it. He just seemed… “ She paused. “bored of me.” You could see she was hurt. “I mean, he was right about one thing. I do spend most of my time at work, but that doesn’t give him any right to do that.”

“No. it doesn’t,” you agreed as you plopped on your couch, your dog jumping to your lap .” Why—Why are men—Like—”You didn’t know what you wanted to ask. “No, never mind that’s my question,” and it was. “Why are men?”

She let out a soft laugh. “Why are men indeed. More specifically, why is Chad?” She joked.

You laughed, too, with distress, running a hand through your face. “Ugh, don’t even mention him,” you whined. “He’s an asshole, can you imagine just a week ago he wanted to sleep with me?” You snaked with disbelief.

She groaned. “What I really have trouble understanding is why you ever wanted to sleep with him.” You had the question backwards, why had he ever looked at you? “Maybe his personality, but he seems like such a wad.”

You didn’t know how to answer the question. Then again, you had the same question for her. Why Danny? Why, being such an incredible woman, had she chosen Danny? Love is blind. You’d learned that over the years.

Maybe because ‘Danny and Sophia’ sounded like something with balance. But did it really? How could she see it so simply?

“Look—I—” You took a deep breath. “I believe in love at first sight,” and you did, in your own way. “and I don’t know, I guess—I saw the fantasy, you know?” You explained. “Thought we could—I don’t know, he was charming,” because he had been, at very first, he had been charming and he’d learned how to make you fall in love with him. “I guess I wanted that, you know the whole love story,” you sounded so childish and stupid but how could anyone ever apologize for being in love. “And he made me believe he could give it to me and then he just never—”You had to face the truth. “He only wanted sex and I fell in love,” it all ended so simply. Maybe Sophia was right all along. “Pathetic right?”

She watched you, and you saw it, the pity in her eyes. Yet someone else feeling sad for you.  She probably did think you were pathetic. “No, I don’t think it’s pathetic… I think… well, I’ve come to the conclusion that love isn’t worth any cost,” she answered. “Not really, especially since it doesn’t even seem real.” You wondered again, how come she’d never felt it. “Love makes people get their hopes up. It makes us… give too much of ourselves to other people, when we don’t even know what our future with them looks like,” she explained. Yes you were probably a mental woman to her. “But I don’t think it’s pathetic that you wanted to believe in something that only seems to come from fairytales, I just think that’s what most people do.”

How bad is it to want a fairytale? “Love is worth it, though,” you said, because how come a beautiful feeling could carry so much pain. “It’s men who are the problem.”

She grinned, defeatedly. “Suppose you got me there…”

You had to ask though. “But you... like really don’t believe in love?” You asked. “Then why were you with Danny? Didn’t you love him?”

She grimaced and took a sip of her wine. “You know,” she paused to think a bit. “I thought I loved him, and I thought he loved me.” You understood that part, believing someone loves you back and then it turns out they didn’t… Well, it hurt. “But, I guess he just…”She probably didn’t understand it herself. “And it just made me realize that, even if love is real, it comes so rarely that I don't believe I would ever find it.” That you could understand, though you were so enthusiastic about the feeling, you knew you weren’t meant to find it. “I just don’t think most people do.” She watched you, curiously. “Why have you put so much into it if you were hurt?”

It was an escape, really. Love seemed to make people happy and you wanted to be happy. She reminded you so much of Tim, talking trash about love and not understanding the thrill for it. Being so done with the feeling.

“I think… I dunno, love isn’t a one time thing,” you started with that, because it was true. “I think the problem is I suffered from unrequited love, but I think I… I dunno, I think we get chances,” you said. “Not me though,” you scoffed. “but it’s… I don’t know, I think I’ve always read about love and I’ve always wanted that, and love is complicated, that’s it,” you said, because love could come in so many ways. “I don’t think you can easily-“You shook your head. “I mean I do believe in a sort of thing like love at first sight but I mean, I believe in second chances, but like not for everyone,” seemed like believed in second chances for Chad. “ I guess I… I think there is such a thing as love I’m just… “ you took a deep breath. “super unlucky and maybe that sweet fantasy of any Julia Roberts’ romcom isn’t for me, I’m destined to be a side character who gets no… attention.” Or love.

Sophia probably believed you were helpless. You were. “Oh, come on Iris, that’s not true,” it was easy for her to say. She was the main character. “I mean, if you do come here then you’ll have plenty of opportunity to live a Julia Roberts movie. People seem to find this place so thrilling…” Why wouldn’t they. “I don’t seem to know much about love, or to really be the one to talk to about it, though… “ She admitted truthfully. She gave it a thought. “You know, you should talk to my friend, Tom, if you come. I think you’d get along well, he gushes on about love all the time.”

Your dog raised its head as soon as he heard his name. Tom. You smiled and petted him. “It is thrilling I mean, it’s near Notting Hill,” you were excited. “I just need Hugh Grant and that’s it but…”You knew it wouldn’t come. “You might come here and hate on love with my brother, he hates everything related to it.”

He really did. Tim was even worse than her. Tim never, ever had believed in love. He said he didn’t want to bother about it, no commitment, not ever seeing someone twice because why would he? He said it was a waste of time. Shades of gray on love. And he said he didn’t want to risk just to get hurt. He said love was… a mystery he didn’t want to explore. He liked simple things.

“Really? He sounds better than most men already,” she commented.

You laughed. “He’s not.”

If you ever bumped into someone like your brother you’d end up running the other way.

She chuckled. “Aren’t siblings meant to support one another?”

You scoffed. “You’d think that,” you pointed out. “But no, he’s a man,” you stated clearly. “I don’t know who’s worse men who hate love or men who pretend to love love,” you snaked. Probably the second one. “Your friend is probably the second one.”

Men who don’t believe in love at least are direct about it, and the second type they know and try to hurt you.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. He seems to really believe in it, maybe more than you. He’s really sweet, typically… “She said. “I mean, he is a man so he has his days”

You heard her…. And then you clicked it. Tom, that friend of hers, he probably was in love with her. “Oh,” you closed your eyes. “Of course…. so… Right, right,” she chuckled. “But you don’t believe in love and...Right, right,” you thought it was ironic. You hadn’t even met the guy but you could tell that he probably was so smitten with her and she didn’t see it. A perfect love story.  Why couldn’t she see it? “Perfect setup, see?” You said. “This town is perfect for you, nothing that has to do with romance. It’s a great way to get away from everything romance.”

She seemed confused, because of course, she didn’t see it, she couldn’t, for that matter. But god, how did she not see it?

“Then I can’t wait to go, really,” she went along. “I mean, it seems perfect for you here, too. You can surround yourself in things to remember the “fantasy” of love again,” she offered. “So, are we really switching tomorrow?”

You couldn’t quite put your mind to it. It had been hours of you speaking with this stranger. And all because you wanted to change lives with a stranger. Were you actually going to go through with it? You wanted to.

“You think there are any flights?” You asked, half joking.

“I’m sure there have to be some. Should we check?” She offered.

You smirked and reached for your laptop, conveniently in front of you. “Definitely.”

You expected her to back up.

“Wonderful.” She hadn't. “How long are we doing this for?”

Forever? You wanted to say. “Uh, depends, holidays are coming soon… “ You pointed you. “So, even though I have no interest in spending Christmas here, what’s your idea?”

Because you didn’t want to spend Christmas with your family and hear that question, because you’d promised you’d bring Chad for Christmas. Why? You didn’t know. Because you were an idiot.

Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Nothing is really keeping me here for it, honestly.”

“I’m just-- you’re okay with dogs, right?” You asked as you pointed the camera at your puppy, honestly you had lied, Tommy was the love of your life. A young pug who loved to follow you around. “Because little Tommy here is going to miss me.”

She smiled at him. “I’d love to take care of… did you say…”She tried not to laugh. “l-little Tommy?”

You grinned as you hugged the dog close. “Yeah, his name is Tom. He’s the only male that matters.”

“Oh, I love that. I would love to trade Tom’s with you,” she chuckled.

Oh god, why didn’t she see it?

“As long as I don’t have to feed that one,” you chuckled.

“I do hope that you don’t have to, he seems somewhat capable of caring for himself,” she grinned. “Oh, by the way. He’ll be running my shop for me while I’m away, sometimes he stays later for work so if you hear him downstairs don’t worry.”

Of course he was, he was in love with her. You chuckled and then started to actually look for flights. “I probably won’t notice, honestly…” You scrolled through the flights and there was one. “Okay so here’s a flight, can you believe there’s actually one for tomorrow?”

She probably was looking for flights. “I found one too, shockingly enough… Are we really going through with this?”

Were you?

You were excited, scared but excited. “I think we are.”

“Well, alright then… “ She seemed to be rational yet.

“On three then….?” You asked, knowing this decision would probably change your entire life, not sure why. BUt you had a feeling that this was either the worst decision you’d ever made or the best one. This was the so-needed break you needed, you needed to breathe, and this was the perfect way to do so. Yes, this was unplanned and this was mysterious but this was what you needed an irrational decision.

“One…”She started.

“Two…”

“Three!” You said at the same time.

You’d bought the ticket. There was no going back now. You were going to London to a Stranger’s house for the Holidays.

sophia’s version <- REMEMBER TO READ TO KNOW WHAT’S UP WITH TOM. 

story masterlist.

next chapter

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[hopeisour4letteredword]

with friends like these

Summary: Apollo gets his wisdom teeth out, and Clay babysits.

Link to AO3 in the notes.

"Apollo, buddy. Buddy. You gotta lie back down."

Apollo blinks owlishly at Clay, swaying in place in the middle of the kitchen. God, Clay would feel better if he at least had the sense to lean against the counter. "But I want coffee."

"No coffee for you," Clay says, forcing himself to be stern despite the dreading anticipation of the way Apollo's expression falls, comically sad. AJ always looks younger than he is, as a big brave twenty-year-old, but the sad little pout while he's out of his mind on painkillers, cheeks swollen from surgery? He looks like he's twelve. Adorable. Clay feels bad for him, he really does—he got his own wisdom teeth out last year and he remembers how much it sucked—but the little baby pout just makes him want to smile. "You'll wind yourself up something good, sunshine."

"It's not that much caffeine," Apollo tries to say, even as he lets Clay catch him by the arm and pull him, stumbling, out of the kitchenette. "An' it would make me feel more awake."

"You don't need to feel more awake, you need to rest."

"But I've got stuff to do," Apollo says, mournfully. Clay manages to wrangle him back over to the couch and nudge him back down onto the cushions. Apollo makes doe eyes up at him while Clay grabs the nearest blanket to wrap around his shoulders. "I gotta work on my readings—"

"It's winter break, you don't have readings."

"But next semester."

"You don't have any advance readings yet. You checked and told me so before the surgery."

"I have to stay ahead," Apollo says. His eyelids droop. "I gotta be good at my classes so I can be a good lawyer."

"You're gonna be a great lawyer. But you aren't a lawyer yet, and you don't have any classes right now, so just take it easy, okay?"

Apollo opens his eyes again to peer back up at Clay. "My mouth hurts."

"I know. Sorry, buddy. Not time for more painkillers yet. You want me to grab you the ice pack again? Get the rest of your shake?"

Apollo nods, still looking glum. Clay dutifully returns to the kitchen to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer, which he wraps in a kitchen towel, and the rest of Apollo's post-surgery chocolate shake out of the fridge. When he gets back out to the living room, Apollo has toppled over to be horizontal on the couch. Clay puts the necessities down on the coffee table and scoops Apollo's legs up onto the couch so he isn't twisted all funny. The last thing the poor thing needs is unnecessary strain making him uncomfortable. He ruffles Apollo's hair. Apollo leans into the touch. Aww.

"Anything else I can grab you?"

"Can you sit with me? I wanna watch you play games."

"Aw, sure. What do you wanna watch?"

"I dunno. Anything's fine."

"Let's play some Odyssey, then. I'll go grab the Switch."

Apollo brightens, just like Clay thought he would. He always did like playing on Clay's Switch when they were kids. Even for Clay, it's hard not to be transported back to sleepovers, hushed giggles as they tried not to tip Clay's dad off that they were staying up late while they played games under the covers, whenever he picks it back up to replay something. He knows the memories are even more precious to Apollo, who spent so much of his adolescence struggling through foster system bullshit.

"Yeah!"

"Okay, sit tight."

When Clay comes back, Apollo has propped himself up enough to try to drink more of his shake. It dribbles out of his mouth.

"Oh, man. You got a little, uh—"

Apollo looks frustrated. "Did I miss again? I still can't feel my lower lip."

"Yeah, no, it's, um—you're fine, just let me—" Clay grabs a tissue off the box on the coffee table and wipes Apollo's face. "There you go."

"Thanks," Apollo says. He smiles, wobbly but true. "You're the best."

"No problem, sunshine," Clay says, smiling. He moves around the room, getting the Switch hooked up to the port so it will show up on the TV, before he lifts Apollo's upper body out of the way so he can slide onto the couch with him. Apollo's head ends up propped on his thigh. He helps Apollo adjust himself so there's no pressure on his cheeks, and he can easily hold the ice packs in place while seeing the screen. "Here we go."

"Let's-a go," Apollo says, in a terrible Mario impression. Clay barks out a laugh and starts the game.

"Goofball."

They don't get very far into the game before Clay is pretty sure Apollo starts to doze beside him. His breathing evens out and his weight goes limp. That's fine. He's warm and cozy, and Clay likes being someone he feels comfortable enough with to sleep around. If this is helping him feel a little better while he's in pain, Clay's satisfied. It's not like it's a hardship to sit here and play video games and be his pillow.

But the fact that he thinks Apollo's mostly asleep does mean Clay almost gets the shit scared out of him when Apollo says, suddenly, "Clay."

"Jesus!" Clay fumbles a jump and Mario goes plummeting to his doom. Oops.

"Yes, hello, hi. I thought you were napping, buddy. What's up?"

"You know you're my best friend, right?"

"Yeah? Of course."

"You know?" Apollo rolls so he's mostly on his back, looking up at Clay with big, sad doe eyes again. Clay stares back down at him, befuddled. Of course he knows. "Cause I—I know I'm kinda bitchy sometimes—"

"Aw, Apollo—"

"An' I can't help you with your smart science stuff a lot—"

"That's not—"

"An' I get really anxious and you have to babysit me sometimes an' I yell at you for it—"

"Apollo—"

"But you're really important to me and it would suck if you didn't know just 'cause I'm stupid."

"You aren't stupid," Clay says. He ruffles Apollo's hair again. Apollo's eyes slide closed, lips tugging back into the miserable little pout. "I know I'm your best friend. You're plenty nice to me. Just 'cause you're a little prickly when you're stressed doesn't mean you don't make it obvious that you care about people."

Apollo sniffles. Oh, no. Case in point, though.

"And you don't have to worry about not helping me with science stuff," Clay adds. "I know I'm not that helpful with your law stuff, either. You're way better at helping me review than I am at helping you review."

At least that makes Apollo smile a little. "Jus' easier to read formulas off notecards than legal definitions."

"You can say that again." Clay will take astrophysics over civil law any day. "Besides, you're the best hype-man I could hope for. Who else is gonna get me super pumped to go to space even though it scares the piss out of you?"

"It's so high up," Apollo whines, making Clay cackle. He never thinks about fear of heights as an issue with spaceflight until Apollo mentions it. "An' there's the whole vacuum and no air and you're just going in a tin can—"

"Don't talk about my girl Hattie like that, she's perfect."

"An' even Mr. Starbuck is nervous about it."

"And you help Sol get psyched for it too," Clay says. He pats Apollo gently on the shoulder. "Which is exactly what I'm talking about."

Apollo sighs.

"I know we're best friends, sunshine," Clay adds, more gently. "Come on. You think I would agree to live with you if I didn't know you liked me? I bet you could pull some real passive-aggressive roommate pranks if you wanted to."

Apollo huffs out a tiny laugh. "Maybe."

"There we go. We're fine, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Say it with me. We're fine."

"We're fine."

"You're Apollo Justice and you're fine."

"I'm fine!"

"That's my boy." Mario has fallen asleep standing up on-screen. Clay is considering whether or not he should keep playing or encourage Apollo to go take a real nap when Apollo shifts beside him. Clay lifts his arms out of the way on instinct, holding the controller aloft, when Apollo braces himself on shaky arms to turn and crawl the rest of the way over to plop himself down in Clay's lap. "Wh-oa, buddy. Hi there. You want cuddles?"

"Yeah," Apollo mumbles. He drops his head onto Clay's shoulder. Clay carefully shifts his weight and settles down against the back of the couch, letting it take both of their weight. He doesn't think of Apollo as a big guy, because he's not, but geez. A whole adult human does kind of weigh a lot. Good thing Clay's been beefing up for his training. "Are you at the moon yet?"

"Nope. Only at the gardens. It hasn't been that long."

"You're gonna get to the moon someday," Apollo says, with loopy certainty. Clay almost bites down on a grin before he remembers that Apollo can't see him anymore and he can smile as much as he wants, safe from scrutiny. "You're gonna be a kickass astronaut."

"Aw, thanks, bud."

"You're really smart. And good at solving problems."

"Flatterer," Clay says, grin spreading wider. God, he wishes he'd thought to grab his phone and start recording this. Yeah, he does know he's Apollo's best friend and Apollo loves him and all that, but he sure as hell doesn't get this mushy often. It's really cute.

"You deserve it. You're the best friend in the world, Clay," Apollo declares, and promptly passes out on Clay's shoulder.

---

"Anyway," Clay finishes. He knocks back the rest of his mocha. "That's what AJ was like when he got his wisdom teeth out, so like I said. Don't be too embarrassed about it."

Klavier is laughing so hard he's almost crying, a hand slapped over his mouth to muffle the sound of it. Apollo's in the kitchen right now, cooking the three of them brunch. Hopefully the sizzle of frying eggs and sausage covers the sound of Clay's indiscretions out in the living room. Clay's dead meat if it doesn't.

"He never mentioned," Klavier manages to get out, when he finally gets himself under control. "How cute."

"It was pretty great," Clay says, fondly. "But please don't tell him I told you about that. I don't want to die before I make it to the moon, and he will actually kill me for realsies."

"Your secret is safe with me." Klavier props his chin on his hand, grinning. "Has he ever gotten quite so affectionate other times?"

"If he's drunk enough, yeah."

"I'll have to keep it in mind, then."

"S'why I told you," Clay says. He considers the sly, affectionate curl of Klavier's smile for a second before he adds, "But don't bully him too hard afterwards, or you will lose drunk Apollo privileges. Only moderate mortification allowed."

"Would he be taking the privileges away or would you?"

Clay lets his own smile go sharper. He likes Klavier just fine, and he doesn't really believe he'd be that mean to Apollo, but... well, Apollo's Clay's best friend, too. He has obligations if Apollo's boyfriend is an asshole to him. "Fuck around and find out."

"Fair enough, Herr Astronaut," Klavier says. There's a clatter of plates in the kitchen as the sizzling dies down.

"Food's ready!" Apollo hollers. Clay casts Klavier a glance; Klavier mimes zipping his lips, winking. They both push away from the table to wander into the kitchen. Apollo bustles around fixing a plate of food, a pile of hashbrowns and sausage and eggs. Klavier creeps up behind him and puts his hands over Apollo's hips. Apollo startles, almost knocking him away. His cheeks go pink.

"What do you think you're doing? Clay's literally right there."

"Don't mind me," Clay says, cheerfully. He loves having ammunition to give Apollo hell over later.

"I think he already has an inkling that we're dating, Liebling," Klavier murmurs. He leans down to kiss the top of Apollo's head. Apollo gently elbows him in the gut, pushing Klavier away as his cheeks go even redder.

"Yeah, and he's already insufferable enough about it without you hanging off me in front of him. Come on, back off."

Klavier obligingly steps back. He and Clay begin to fix their own plates. Hovering nearby, Apollo asks, suspiciously, "What were you two gossiping about out there, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing," Clay says. He smiles sweetly when Apollo narrows his eyes at him. "By the way, AJ?"

"What?"

"You're the best friend in the world."

[nobodies-png]

Could I ask for some vexen/even headcannon? Just anything involving a potential s/o. Maybe getting him to take a break from work and just relax?? Being a precious boi we know he can be???!

hell yeah you can ! 

Vexen / Even : 

It’s r e a l l y easy to figure out the source of Zexion’s bad habits, such as not remembering to take breaks or always having his nose stuck in a book, shutting out the entire outside world when he’s focusing or working. Yes, I’m looking at you Vexen. He’s always absorbed in his studies - and when he’s not messing around in his lab, he’s taking notes and s t i l l researching. Seeing both Zexion and Vexen together is actually kinda cute cause they really act like father and son without realizing. 

Relaxing is a fucking struggle. Vexen just goes from 0 to 100 in the blink of an eye, so you can literally be giving him a shoulder massage or anything, with him at the brink of sleep and SURPRISE he’s suddenly ranting about this specific thing someone else did that pissed him off earlier today that he JUST remembered about. It’s just hard to get him to stop thinking and cool down, so your best bet is to keep him engaged with something that’s simple and not physically taxing. Like playing chess or cards together.

After the events of KH3 he a c t u a l l y calms down. No more mad scientist, just the hardworking and passionate scholar you love. Now that he’s finally a human again, Even makes sure to take breaks every couple hours or so because holy shit, science sure is tiring - as a Nobody, things such as pain or exhaustion were greatly lessened but now ? N O W ? ? Running around the lab leaves him out of breath, how the hell did he manage to survive in the Organization’s castle ? ? ? With that aside though, he’s now the one who seeks you out to relax.

And now he takes a lot of naps. And it’s really funny because he mumbles and talks in his sleep, so if you pay close attention you might hear him recite some complex formula while drooling or repeating some laws of physics or whatever. Again, don’t get too close and keep in mind that this dude might wake up out of nowhere screaming about how he’s figured out something important. Other way to relax includes drinking tea or having lunch with the others and you, which is totes safer.

It’s just realy heartwarming to see him so passionate and full of life, invested in his interests. He loves to let you know about his experiments and other advances, since talking to you helps him commit them to memory and your input might help him get new perspectives on certain issues - and he just loves feeling like someone actually listens to him, instead of brushing him off. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand shit, the fact that you’re sparing time for him is enough.

[cottoncandyreaper]

((I can't stop writing Underfell stories so here's another with Winfred and her Datemate Branch 😊❤))

Today was not a good day; probably one of the worst ones I've had to deal with in months. I guess there was some karma somewhere that had to be settled one way or another. First: getting to school; Dad dropped me off so nothing different there and we had fun singing in the car but then choir? My stupid voice cracked at least three times to where I had to get pulled out by friends so I wouldn't have a panic attack...great. Get that hell over with as well as talking my teacher into believing I would be fine in my next class(she knows me too well) but instead I went on to fail a stupid pop quiz in history instead. Literally the best class ever and I love learning about the surface history so failing a test!?

Sure, let's hit Winfred further down into the hole that was already dug. My teacher in there was a pretty decent individual so after witnessing the look on my face of complete destruction he informed us all that this was just to see what we knew and wouldn't effect our grade. Wow...thanks Mr.Devin, really appreciate you(insert eye roll). Math was after that, nothing terrible, lunch with choir friends and Branch, good. Branch could tell too easily that I was stressed out choosing to keep his hand on my leg under the table knowing I needed some kind of contact from him so when we had to part I had the undeniable urge to curl into him and never leave. Controlling myself was difficult but I managed through almost the rest of the day until....until last period.

Science; the one thing I loathed in all of the universe. It never made sense, never clicked at all and always swam in the opposite direction of the rest of my thoughts. Dad helped me as much as he could given his job involving alot of science and he was amazing at it! But even he could tell it wasn't going to be a easy subject for me. There wasn't a test or anything...far worse then that...my teacher Ms.Higgs signaling me out specifically knowing what my dad did for a living.

"Miss Font, could you come up to the front and please draw the formula for this problem?"

Oh...my...stars....

"I-I don't know the formula for that one Ms.Higgs."

I could just barely make out the light chuckles in the back. Shut up.

"You don't? Your fathers job uses this primary formula in ninty percent of what they do."

"That doesn't mean I know it. Dad doesn't talk much about work."

"Well he should, he should be helping you with your class work as much as possible to insure you pass my class this trimester Miss Font."

She did not just, blatantly state that I was failing...did she? My chest tightened up so much it felt like a blazing fire was starting to build consuming every fiber of my soul that as voices began around me I couldn't even piece together what they spoke. But papers fluttering around brought my attention back just enough to a classroom with books and papers all over the floor, what was hanging on the walls now either dangling or completely gone and desks emptied of their contents.

"I'm....I'm so..."

I refused to cry yet the panic was coming back so with the only thought of this being last period I snatched my backpack and bolted. The bell was just ringing as I threw open the front doors and went on my merry way running half way to the house only stopping when my lungs hurt as much as my pride.

I lost control of my magic, I hadn't done that in so long. My emotions controlled my magic and I...I was trained by Uncle Pap to have the best control of them. Yet, I lost it and...so many people saw it. Most if not all knew that I had magic so that didn't bother me; it was the horrid mess that I left behind in a panic as this walk home became slower and slower. I needed to be home in my own space, listen to music, cry, do something other then just be sad like I was right now. Cars driving by faster then needed with birds singing their songs were the only sounds and even most of them seemed so far away. I eventually arrived at the red painted front door focusing just enough to dig through my purse for my...

"Where are my keys?...Are you serious right now universe?"

No where...my keys were no where in my purse or backpack. If I had left them somewhere obvious Dad would have dropped them off at the school. They had to be lost in the oblivion and now I had to go through the hell of waiting for Uncle Pap to get home and let me in. I could have walked to Uncle Grillby's...I loved him but his booming voice mixed with my mood probably wouldn't end very well. Leaning my head against the door I gripped the handle grumbling to myself about the universe hating me for whatever reason today.

"I have no clue what I did but if I need to bake someone a cake of forgiveness I will."

Jiggling the handle randomly I wasn't expecting to almost fall into the entry way as it gave with my weight. But hey, I was in.

"Did Daddy forget to lock up the house again?"

Whatever, it didn't matter. I was inside at last. Shutting and properly locking the door I dropped my backpack on a kitchen chair, left my shoes somewhere along the way and trudged upstairs to my room. That had to be where my keys were, it was the only place that made sense so I guess I had to destroy all the cleaning I did the day before to find them. I needed my music for sure for the task so opening my door heading straight to my desk I screamed not ready for Branch's presence standing almost perfectly in the way.

"What...H-how did you get in here!?"

He gave a cheeky smile pulling my keys out from his pocket and tossed them off to my desk.

"Stole them out of your purse when you went to the bathroom during lunch."

"You...ass...I was freaking out trying to figure out where I-!"

I scanned my room while yelling wanting to throw something only to notice what he had done: every blanket from my bed and even the ones I stored in the closet were down on the floor bunched here and there with pillows lined against the side of the bed shielding from the uncomfortable wooden pieces of the frame. Some snacks and soda off to the side with my laptop set up and ready on YouTube.

"You stole my keys, broke into my house and...made a nest in my room?"

I had no idea what he was up too crossing my arms giving a puzzled look as he rubbed the back of his tan fur covered neck sheepishly looking towards a wall.

"You were really stressed earlier and didn't tell me why. Then everytime you passed me in the halls you looked zoned out and even worse so I wanted to um, try and...distress ya some?"

If he didn't have fur covering his face I would probably see the red cheeks from a blush build all over his features. Letting my arms drop I took two big steps falling into his arms letting my body finally melt.

"I'm sorry, thank you."

One arm around my waist as the other slid into my hair his hold was the only thing keeping me together.

"You think I'd let ya have a shit day and not do anything about it? Dork, I've planned this the moment I stole your keys."

I should be mad about the stolen keys but hearing him only made me giggle about the ordeal as he brought us down into the best thing ever, adjusted the lap top closer and gave me the sweet carbonated beverage.

"So, your datemate what happened."

Oh boy...here we go; telling him every issue, every emotion, every thought just spilled out like a flood wall was broken down with just his presence alone. Ending with the magic ordeal in science feeling those few tears build up he guided me to lay my back against his chest and held out his hand.

"Gimme your hand sweets."

"What are you about to do?"

"Just do it."

Rolling hazel eyes I did as instructed.

"Now make one of those bones appear."

"Branch."

His name came through as a whine that he silenced by covering my mouth.

"Come on ya big baby."

"Oh my stars..."

Doing as he asked with the glow of violet magic from my eyes covering the room the bone stood calm in my hand waiting to either be thrown or dismissed.

"Well....I got good news and bad news."

"Branch I swear to the-"

"Good news is, your magic is fine. You have amazing control like you always do and I'm kinda jealous still that you can summon bones. Bad news, you have one of the rudest teachers in the building that everyone talks about and I think you should tell your dad what she said to you today. She shouldn't have spoken to you like that sweets, no one should. Ya best be glad my tail wasn't in there or I would have gone off."

My weight settled into him as the bone vanished smiling now at last relaxed more then I had been all day.

"I'll let dad know, I promise...thank you though, for this. Even though you stole my keys."

"Hey it was worth it sweets to surprise ya like this, how about we jam to one of your playlists you've made and just chill?"

"That sounds nice."

He pulled the laptop infront while handing over a ear piece settling the other in his own carefully. Cuddling into his arms as the first melody started I came to terms with the day and remembered that even if it happened again, Branch would make it seem like it never existed.

[in-tua-deep]

what happened isn’t he fifth year of the hogwarts au?

asdfASDF have i not mentioned it??? in their fifth year, Ben almost dies and Luther becomes a werewolf

needless to say... it’s a very eventful year for everyone

I figured a good way to mirror the show and Luther’s issues slash ape body would be to make him a werewolf

It definitely brings the siblings closer together in a way because here’s what they know about the wizarding world and werewolves: a) the wizarding world is like, super awful to werewolves and have a bajillion laws regarding them, b) an old DADA teacher was lowkey fired for being outed as a werewolf even though he was on wolfsbane potion and taking care of himself, and c) the only werewolf who attended hogwarts (according to Fred) was said professor who kept it a secret due to worrying he would be kicked out of Hogwarts

the family have no proof that Luther wouldn’t be kicked out of Hogwarts for his werewolf-ness so obviously they have to keep it a secret

on the bright side, they have access to a secret basement thanks to Five poking around that has been mainly cleared of booby traps and other unsafe things, that is also impossible for Luther to escape from considering his wolf form can’t exactly speak parseltongue

(because portrait!Dolores probably teaches the squad how to at the very least say “open” and “close” in parseltongue considering i’m pretty sure canon hp has non parseltongues being able to vaguely mimic enough to get in)

further bright side - Ben and Five are very good at potions and are capable of very very difficult potions, such as the Wolfsbane potion

(downside: Five is a very experimental potions maker and likes to try and improve upon current formulas. Ben complains but is secretly the same. The other siblings don’t think they should be experimenting with Luther’s anti-werewolf potion guys, come on what the fuck)

“This would be so much easier if you didn’t have a reputation for being such a goody two-shoes.” Five informs Luther crossly, because getting a mannequin to transfigure into a sleeping ‘Luther’ was harder than it should have been smh, if Luther had cultivated a reputation for never being where he should be like Five everything would be fine but no, Luther’s dorm mates would be suspicious if he was gone on every full moon night

(Diego, as the team resident bonus Gryffindor, gets to stay behind and make sure no one ‘wakes up’ Luther in the morning before everyone can smuggle the real Luther back into bed)

Ben blames himself honestly, because it’s theoretically his fault that they were in the Forbidden Forest on the full moon that night

(Ben has excelled in potions and herbology, he gets along with Neville like a house on fire, and he spends lots of time in the greenhouse. He wanted to gather some various plants and potions ingredients that you can only get on the full moon and - well - let’s just say the trip didn’t go as planned)

Five ends up doing a lot of the... I guess caretaking work?? He’s the one best equipped to go down into the Chamber of Secrets when Luther is wolfed out since he can just teleport if Luther tried to bite him or something (which he doesn’t because he’s docile on the wolfsbane potion

“I dropped care of magical creatures, this shouldn’t even be my responsibility.” Five complains, loudly

“Well Luther has the best grade in that class out of any of us.” Klaus points out, gesturing between him and Diego, who looks sour at the reminder that Luther does better at him in any class at all (though that rivalry died down a lot when Diego made the quidditch team tbh)

“Luther can’t take care of himself.” Allison says crossly.

“Hey.” Luther protests, “I mean, I know, but hey.”

“Well Fred says that the marauders - that’s the dudes who hung out with Lupin when he was a baby werewolf - became animagi so they could hang out with him on full moons and stuff.” Klaus interjects excitedly, “There’s this potion which should be totally easy for Five and Ben and - ”

“Absolutely not.” Ben cuts Klaus off, “We need to be focusing on getting ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion, and they’re not easy to come by. Plus the ones we can’t get are expensive.”

“We’re orphans, it’s not like we have our own money.” Diego points out grumpily, ignoring the weird look on Luther’s face that pops up every time Reginald is even vaguely referenced. 

“The money isn’t a problem.” Five says dismissively, because he’s been squirreling money away in weird places for years and has a solid ring of tutoring, essay writing, and homework providing in place to get them at least some funds, “The issue is disguising our orders so that people won’t look at our lovely list of ingredients and be like ‘who the fuck is making this quantity of wolfsbane at hogwarts, where there aren’t supposed to be any werewolves’.”

“We could buy other potions ingredients as well and hide the wolfsbane ones among them?” Luther suggests tentatively.

Ben grimaces, “The expense...”

“I already told you it’s not an issue.” Five snaps, “Besides, I can always just steal some of the super expensive ones from the potions cupboards.”

“Why do you always jump to stealing.” An aggrieved Vanya complains, even though all of them know it’s because Five’s ability to ‘apparate’ within Hogwarts grounds makes him the best person they have for moving unseen around Hogwarts

“Ha, jump.”

“It’s not like we have the resources though.” Allison muses, because she’s a slytherin and resourcefulness is important to her, “I mean, what are they going to do if they find out? Throw us in Azkaban?”

Diego shrugs, “This is Hogwarts, probably the worst that will happen is detention.” 

“We can handle detentions.” Ben says firmly, “We do what we have to do, to keep Luther safe.”

“Thanks guys,” Luther may actually sound a little choked up at the loyalty shown by his siblings.

Luther gets,,, very good at watching the moon ;3c

you could say... it’s very important to him in this au ;3c ;3c

“Wait guys. Guys.” Klaus slams his hands on the table during a study session, “We can finally figure out the answers to one of the age old questions!!”

“What?” Allison sounds more exhausted than Five feels.

“What happens if you put a werewolf on the moon.”

“I don’t think Luther will be able to be an astronaut.” Ben points out delicately, “You need like, really good science grades and stuff and... I mean, potions is sort of a science but not exactly one you can put on your muggle applications.”

“One more dream crushed.” Vanya mutters.

“Hear hear.”

[unseeliefaelass]

Darksiders: Origins

Chapter 3: Names and Heirarchy

Ale remained watchful of the infant from then on. She continued her work with the other embryos now infants themselves as well. With this one however, she felt a strong connection to. Which may have been strengthened by the infant's constant need for attention and help. Nothing Ale didn't know about infants to be sure. Yet she still felt the bond all the same. Ale noticed the infant would have trouble staying in his sleep state alongside the others. During which time, Ale would bring him back out to lull the little one back into sleep. Whilst the machine connected to the pods did provide the appropriate nutrients for them, the infant began refusing it. Absalom noticed this first and asked Ale to fix the problem. No matter what though, the child refused to take to the vines that worked as hollow tubes for his food.  Eventually Ale took another risk and started bringing him out more often. Giving the little one a bottle whilst holding him gently. Whilst this did slow his progress when compared to the other infants, there was little choice in Ale's mind. Lilith heard of each moment from Absalom naturally, leading to her jealousy manifesting more. Llildan tried his best to distract her of course, but warned Ale to not pull out the child so frequently. Ale couldn't stop in her mind, so she attempted to quell Lilith's rage against her by inquiring about names for them.

Lilith growled quietly in response before turning her head in exacerbation, "I've little time for such things. However as someone refuses to do her job as expected; it seems I've got no choice now. For now, leave the room. You will only come back when I ask for you. Absalom and I will handle the naming ourselves."

"But if the little one gets hungry he won't eat from the vines. I need to keep an eye on him if he's to make it." Ale protested.

Lilith's familiar twisted grin appeared, "I am his Mother. Therefore, I will handle it as I see fit. Be lucky I need you alive for my childrens' sake."

Ale backed down at this, but still worried herself sick over the child's fate. Llildan tried to keep her at ease, and ultimately began to regret his choice to ask for her help. Meanwhile Lilith and Absalom observed the children around them. She then gave Absalom reign over naming the males, whilst she named the females. Believing herself more qualified to name the female children. Absalom was annoyed at this, but did his task all the same. There was more girls than boys, which made sense to Absalom. He himself was male, so six girls versus five males was a perfect ratio.

He went on to the biggest ones first, "For the largest one here, Urias. The leaner one next to him shall be Methuselah."

Lilith in the meantime spotted a particularly beautiful little girl among the females. Thinking nothing of it, she took the little baby out of her pod to examine her beauty more. Just then the child opened her eyes, revealing a brilliant deep blue color. Within that deep blue, were specs of pale gold with a white limbal ring around her iris. Creating a truly stunning glow around the area. Her name was easy to think up from there, "Lazuli, no other name fits such a beauty. I can scarcely wait to see her fully grown." She then returned Lazuli to her pod with little thought to the child's cries. However it began to annoy her somewhat, so before closing the pod Lilith began her own lullaby. If one could even call it such, with how aggressive she sounded.

"Envy of the angels, beauty above demons,

hush now and return to rest in silence.

One day when you're grown and ready,

you will aid me in complete compliance.

You needn't empty those deep blue oceans,

with such wasteful tears and cries.

Such energy is better saved and used,

for a later time when our fires blaze the skies.

Envy of the angels, beauty above demons,

rest and dream of screaming demon tyrants.

One day when you're grown and ready,

your voice and battle cries should rival sirens.

Close up those deep blue gems within,

quiet down for your cries I gave no license.

some day you and the others will be ready,

and go through creation in righteous violence."

Surprisingly, the child did quiet down and sleep. Though Absalom guessed in his head that she'd likely not stay asleep long. Lilith noted his skeptical look and chided him, "Now now my child, you know what's to come. It seems there's much left to teach you yet. For now though, we have work to continue."

Absalom simply nodded, and went back to naming the rest of the boys, "Only three left, and two of them look...pretty close. Not even in the same pod and already trying to reach each other. Hmm, Cedron and Hebron will be your names then. Which leaves this tiny little thing here. You really should be bigger though, hopefully you'll catch up in time. Maybe having a name will help, so I'll think a bit harder on this one."

As Absalom did so, Lilith simply finished naming the other girls. Using their eyes to determine it as she took each child out to see them. Placing them all on a cushioned table next to each other. Like their 'sister' Lazuli, each one had gemstone like colors to their eyes. Lazuli was just the only one 'blessed' with more than one color in her eyes.

Lilith sighed at this, "Disappointing, but at least my new favorite daughter can be another leader. All in due time as some might say. Now then let us see..."

She observed the eyes of each girl vigorously. The first one in line from the left had eyes of jade in color, and seemed normal enough to Lilith. This one Lilith named Jadeite, as Jade would be too obvious she thought. That and jadeite was a category of the light green jade anyway; which Lilith felt was accurate to this child. The second one next to her ended up having rose quartz colored eyes, but acted off. Lilith noticed how she seemed to not see when she waved her hand above the little one's head. Lilith could only assume from there that this was blindness, and clicked her tongue in annoyance. The child reacted to it though, and reached out towards her general direction. Lilith glanced around her and toward a thinking Absalom before clicking a few more times in a rhythm. She grinned again as the child finally seemed to figure out where she was. Lilith thus rewarded her with being held a bit longer and chose her name as being Sio. Which was similar to the chemical formula of Rose Quartz, SiO₂. Lilith did do enough tinkering with science to know this much at least. The third girl had black eyes with barely any glow to them at all. What hair she currently had matched her eyes with the same dullness. Lilith barely acknowledged this one from there, but did remember to name her. Thus the child was swiftly named Onyx with little thought put in at all. The fourth child had white opalescent eyes, and a surprisingly lively attitude. That part annoyed Lilith a tad, so she didn't think much else of her. At least the child had lovely eyes, and would hopefully be more beautiful later on as well. Lilith named this one Opal and moved on from there. Finally there was the final 'daughter' to name. Her eyes were completely pale gold, alongside her small bits of hair. Despite reminding her of Onyx, at least she had some glowing going on. This pleased Lilith enough to at least indulge the child's neediness. Tickling the little one with a manicured, yet still clawed finger. While doing so, she named her Pyrite as her eyes and hair weren't a true gold. Lilith then returned everyone to their pods, and left Absalom to name the final male child.

Absalom finally indeed chose a name to the runt of children. Scooping him up once he's sure Lilith isn't watching, "Menahem, this shall be your name."

As he kept holding Menahem, Ale surprised him, "Absalom."

"Hrah! Oh it's you Ale. I've just named him, the runt I mean."

"He won't stay a runt, not if I have a say in it. Though I'd like to hear the name you've picked out." Ale expressed to him.

"His name is Menahem."

Ale smiled warmly, "You know, I think it sounds good for him."

Absalom then handed Menahem off to Ale, knowing she could get him back to sleep easily enough. Naturally she sang her lullaby as per usual to him,

"Mi Atan les daw aud bea a pere,

bea cale aud finst yesh slep's resehn.

Lek ga o yesh freyrs, pangs, aud ma,

thare's ne rez fo an hersh tha's sa.

Bea stor ni thet darnes o nicht,

sas thet liteh o das tist nule farse hinde.

Beaca alle sei desir ni drems,

ferar sae nit thet worl o yesh minde.

Freyr nule thos no thet touside,

fo ere wit mi sei're sae niside.

Fet nule oer troubs ro nemads,

tings alwas gein bette ni darnes.

Bea stor ni thet darnes o nicht,

sas thet liteh o das tist nule farse hinde.

Beaca alle sei desir ni drems,

ferar sae nit thet worl o yesh minde.

Bea stor ni thet darnes o nicht,

sas thet liteh o das tist nule farse hinde.

Beaca alle sei desir ni drems,

ferar sae nit thet worl o yesh minde.

Mi Atan les daw aud bea a pere,

bea cale aud finst yesh slep's resehn."

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 35

Peter put the slime in a clear acrylic box before piping music into it. Maybe, if he adjusted the formula just a little bit, it could reconstitute after exploding. Maybe it could be made into some kind of new, flashy speaker. Something like a lava lamp, but better.

He needed to do something to take his mind off his conversation with Wade the night before. They were dating?! And Peter was the one who asked if they could! He couldn't believe he’d been so bold—but Wade had said yes.

And Peter had utterly destroyed the dinner he’d set out to cook, so they’d had to order food. He hadn’t even known that meatballs could explode. At least Wade was entertained. The other man had laughed so hard he’d almost retched into his mask. So—a maybe win?

“Peter, what is that?” asked Dr. Stacey as she peered over his shoulder.

“Slime. It always explodes when the beat gets too fast, so I’m trying to make it pull itself back together.”

“Huh.” They watched as it vibrated quickly. “Is that what got me the other day?”

Peter ducked his head nervously. “It’s easy to clean.”

The slime in the box exploded, dripping down the ceiling and the sides. “Why don’t you try making it so that it doesn’t explode in the first place?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Because then it wouldn't be water soluble,” Peter explained.

“Huh.” He turned to see Dr. Stacey staring at the cube. “By the way, security let me know that you have visitors.”

“Wade?” Peter was confused. Usually Wade arrived at the entrance to the lab with security behind looking confused. He’d never known Wade to actually wait—anywhere, come to think of it.

“As long as he’s not getting blood in my lab, I don’t care.”

That sounded—really specific, and wasn’t a story Peter had heard before. Should he ask? Was it socially acceptable to ask? Was it better to pretend he hadn’t heard the comment?

“And your visitor is still waiting.” She sounded slightly upset.

“Right! Thanks, Dr. Stacey!” Peter hung his lab coat up and went to flee the lab.

“They’re in the first floor cafeteria!” Dr. Stacey called to him as he left.

He nodded briefly before heading to the elevator. He kept expecting his new ID not to work, or for the alarm to sound trumpeting that he was an intruder, or something like that. He was still surprised every time his ID worked.

The first floor cafeteria was where the general public could waltz in, gawk at the Tower, get something to eat, and then waltz back out again. It didn’t make sense for Wade, who always burst in on Peter while he was working, to politely inform security to ask for Peter. Not the least because, although he was usually manic and over-the-top with a Devil-may-care attitude, Wade was not fond of being in with the general public.

At no point during his conversation with Dr. Stacey did it occur to him that it might not be Wade waiting for him. Despite the fact that she’d said visitors and mentioned “them,” he thought he knew who would be there, in the cafeteria. He was surprised.

Pleasantly, though. He couldn't imagine what had brought them to the Tower, but he was always happy to see his friends. “Harry! MJ!” Peter called as he made his way over to the table they were sitting at. He wasn’t surprised that the table was getting covert glances from other employees. After all, Harry was the heir apparent to Oscorp. They smiled back at him while he took a seat at the table—which was laden with food from the cafeteria.

“Peter!” greeted Harry. He was paler than normal, and stayed in his seat. He was clearly having a bad day.

MJ jumped up and hugged him. “Hey,” she said fondly before ruffling his hair like the little brother she’d always seen him as.

“Hey,” said Peter shyly. He looked at Harry. “What brings the two of you here?”

“We heard about your semi-promotion,” Harry said. “Thought we’d come, congratulate you, and feed you lunch while we’re here.”

“So, have you made anything exciting?” asked MJ as she pushed some of the food towards Peter.

Peter absently ate as he explained about the slime. He didn’t talk about Dr. Stacey’s project, because he was pretty sure that was confidential information, but his slime was no such thing. He didn’t get into the technical terms of what he was doing, but explained the general broad strokes.

By the time he was finished the curiosity had worn off and their table was no longer under scrutiny. “What brings you two here?” he asked quietly.

Harry smiled. “You think we can’t just want to help you celebrate your promotion?” he teased. At Peter’s pointed look he sighed. “You’re right. We have news.” He reached over the table to grab MJ’s hand. “We’re going to be going to Paris.” He smiled at her before meeting Peter’s eyes with determination. “Permanently,” he added.

Permanently? Permanently meant— “Harry,” Peter started.

MJ reached over and grabbed one of Peter’s hands, getting his attention. “Peter,” she said softly, “I’m pregnant.”

For one bright, shining moment, Peter was thrilled. She was pregnant? His two friends in love were going to have a baby? That was awesome! Excellent! Exciting!

And then ice water flooded his veins as he stared at them numbly. If Norman knew—if he found out—

They nodded. “We wanted you to be the first to know,” Harry said.

“I—I—there are no words,” Peter admitted to his friends. They got up from the table, hugged him, and then they left and Peter stumbled off. There was a place in the stairwell that was isolated from the rest of it. Peter thought that maybe it had started out as being an entrance to a floor, but the idea was scrapped for some reason.

If Harry was going to Paris, he wouldn't be in range of his father’s phone. He wouldn't be able to receive the ten digit code that was keeping him alive. He would die. Harry would die.

Harry would die, so that his child would have a chance to live in peace without Norman breathing down its neck.

“Peter? What’s wrong?” Peter looked up and saw Wade, in full Deadpool costume, standing in front of him. He quickly sat down next to Peter and reached out to touch the smaller man’s back. “You okay?” he asked.

No. Nothing was okay. Peter wasn’t certain if anything would be okay again. He flung himself into Wade’s chest and just sobbed. All the tears he’d held back for years. Wade simply wrapped his arms around Peter, and let him cry.

When the sobs finally trailed off he found himself mostly in Wade’s lap, and not minding a bit. “What happened?” asked Wade. “Who do I need to kill?”

“It’s not something that can be fixed by killing someone,” Peter said softly, his voice scratchy from crying so hard.

“You don’t know that.”

“My best friend is going to die.” The statement came out flat, unemotional, almost like Peter didn’t care—but he did care. He only had two friends; Harry and MJ, and Harry was going to die. “And he’s going to die because his father’s a lying, manipulative, son-of-a-bitch who should have been drowned at birth!” snarled Peter.

“Okay. How?”

For the first time, since the beginning, Peter began to tell the story. “Harry was born with a weak heart,” Peter said softly. “We all knew it was a matter of time. Then, then Norman—Norman said he had an idea. It was experimental, and it might not work, but it was a product that his company was producing. So he put Harry under anesthesia and operated to give him this shiny new, experimental heart. That’s what he told us, after the fact.”

“So, he got a doctor to work on his kid?” hazarded Wade.

Peter chuckled darkly. “I don’t think there was a real doctor with him,” he said grimly. “See, the fake heart has a fatal flaw—if Norman doesn’t send the right ten-digit code after a certain amount of time—it stops working. Harry starts to die. It’s almost happened a few times,” Peter admitted thinking of the last time, of watching Norman casually pour himself a drink as his son gasped in pain after his heart almost stopped.

“Whoa.” Wade was silent for a moment as his hand made soothing circles on Peter’s back. “That’s why you didn’t want your own lab?” he hazarded.

Peter was slightly surprised that Wade knew about it. He didn’t think that would be the kind of thing that Deadpool would be interested in. “If Norman ordered me to use my position to sabotage something, I’d do it,” Peter said firmly, “to protect Harry.”

Wade was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “I’m not normally an advocate of this sort of thing, but why didn’t you tell someone?”

“What good would that do?” asked Peter wearily.

“Well you—might be able to get help?” Wade sounded uncertain, unsure.

“There are only four people who know what happened to Harry. That would be Norman, Harry, MJ, and me. MJ is an actress with a budding fashion line. She has absolutely no scientific background, the lowest scores in science that was possible while still managing to graduate high school, and is known for being a little bit of drama queen. If she says anything, everyone will assume she’s making it up for attention.”

Peter paused, debating how to phrase the next part. “Then, there’s Harry. And Harry—isn’t much better. The only reason he passed high school at all was because I was tutoring him. Again, no scientific background and I seriously doubt there’s proof.

“Then there’s me. I have a scientific background, I have enough medical knowledge that I can prove what I know—but I work for Stark, Norman’s biggest competitor. If I say anything, Norman will just play the wounded bird, claim that I’ve been brainwashed by Stark, and do everything in his power to make Stark look like a rampaging egomaniac who desperately needs to have someone controlling him so that he doesn’t destroy the world.” Peter spread his hands. “There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing any of us can do. And Harry’s about to go overseas, to go and live in a country that Norman has no intention of ever visiting while he waits to die.”

Wade hugged him closer as more tears leaked down his face. “Don’t you worry Petey-Pie, I know someone to talk to.” Peter looked at him in disbelief, and Wade chuckled. “Don’t worry; it’s not Stark.”

[introvertguide]

Star Wars (1977); AFI #13

In honor of May 4th and the original movie that started it all, the group reviewed Star Wars (1977). Nominated for 10 Academy Awards and winning 6 with one extra special achievement award for Sound, this is perhaps the most highly decorated science fiction movie of all time. The special effects and the music were especially moving making the Star Wars experience something amazing to behold. I was lucky enough to see one of the re-releases in the theatre back in the mid 80s. In fact, I might well have seen the film 100 times over my life. The music might be the most well known soundtrack globally. With inflation, this is the 4th highest grossing film of all time. It is truly a fantastic work and I would like to now spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it. Let me start with the usual:

SPOILER WARNING!!! I DON'T THINK THERE ARE MANY WHO HAVE NOT SEEN THE FILM, BUT FOR THOSE FEW THAT DON'T KNOW, I AM GOING TO RUIN THE PLOT!!! STOP NOW AND GO WATCH IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY!!!

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Amid a galactic civil war, Rebel Alliance spies have stolen plans to the Galactic Empire's Death Star, a massive space station capable of destroying an entire planet. Imperial Senator Princess Leia of Alderaan (Carrie Fisher), secretly one of the Rebellion's leaders, has obtained its schematics (this entire effort was originally a throwaway concept but was completely fleshed out in Rogue One almost 40 years later) , but her starship is intercepted by an Imperial Star Destroyer under the command of the ruthless Darth Vader (acted by David Prowse and voiced by James Earl Jones). The movie is just starting and the odds against the rebels are shown by the scale of the two ships. Before she is captured, Leia hides the plans in the memory of an astromech droid called R2-D2 (Kenny Baker), who flees in an escape pod to the desert planet Tatooine accompanied by protocol droid C-3PO (Anthony Daniels).

The droids are captured by Jawa traders (little shiny eyed beings who are now meme legends), who sell them to moisture farmers Owen and Beru Lars and their nephew Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill). While Luke is cleaning R2-D2, part of a holographic recording of Leia starts playing a message for Obi-Wan Kenobi where she requests his help ("Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope!"). Later, after Luke finds R2-D2 missing, he is attacked by scavenging Sand People while searching for him, but is rescued by elderly hermit "Old Ben" Kenobi (Sir Alec Guinness), an acquaintance of Luke's, who reveals that "Obi-Wan" is his true name. Obi-Wan tells Luke of his days as one of the Jedi Knights, the former peacekeepers of the Galactic Republic who drew mystical abilities from a metaphysical energy field known as "the Force", but were ultimately hunted to near-extinction by the Empire. Luke learns that his father fought alongside Obi-Wan as a Jedi Knight during the Clone Wars (another throwaway concept that was eventually fleshed out) until Vader, Obi-Wan's former pupil, turned to the dark side of the Force and murdered him. Obi-Wan presents Luke with his father's old lightsaber, the signature weapon of Jedi Knights. The connection between Darth Vader and Luke's father is explored in depth during the next eight films.

R2-D2 plays Leia's full message, in which she begs Obi-Wan to take the Death Star plans to her home planet of Alderaan and give them to her father, a fellow veteran, for analysis. Although Luke initially declines Obi-Wan's offer to accompany him to Alderaan and learn the ways of the Force, he is left with no choice after discovering that Imperial stormtroopers have killed his aunt and uncle and destroyed their farm in their search for the droids (cue the Academy and Grammy Award winning theme music composed by John Williams). Traveling to a cantina in Mos Eisley to search for transport, Luke and Obi-Wan hire Han Solo (Harrison Ford), a smuggler with a price on his head due to his debt to local mobster Jabba the Hutt. Pursued by stormtroopers, Obi-Wan, Luke, R2-D2 and C-3PO flee Tatooine with Han and his Wookiee co-pilot Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew) on their ship the Millennium Falcon. As they reach the planet's orbit, two Star Destroyers try to intercept them, but Han is able to jump to hyperspace by reaching lightspeed.

Before the Falcon can reach Alderaan, Death Star commander Grand Moff Tarkin (Peter Cushing) interrogates Leia about the location of the Rebels's secret base, with the threat of destroying her home planet, and, when she answers that the base is on Dantooine, he orders Alderaan destroyed simply as a show of force. As the group arrives in the asteroid field that now stands in place of Alderaan, Han spots an Imperial TIE fighter and is taunted into chasing it and shooting it down, allowing the Falcon to be captured by the space station's tractor beam. Inside the Death Star, Obi-Wan attempts to disable the tractor beam, and Luke persuades Han and Chewbacca to help him rescue Leia after discovering that she is scheduled to be executed. After disabling the tractor beam, Obi-Wan sacrifices his life in an epic lightsaber duel with Vader, allowing the rest of the group to escape the Death Star with Leia. Using a tracking device, the Empire tracks the Falcon to the hidden Rebel base.

Leia's schematics reveal a hidden weakness in the Death Star's thermal exhaust port, which could allow the Rebels to trigger a chain reaction in its main reactor with a precise torpedo strike. While Han abandons the Rebels after collecting his reward for rescuing Leia, Luke joins their starfighter squadron in a desperate attack against the approaching Death Star. In the ensuing battle, the Rebels suffer heavy losses as Vader leads a squadron of TIE fighters against them, but Han unexpectedly returns to aid them in the Falcon, narrowly managing to save Luke before Vader can shoot him down. Guided by the disembodied voice of Obi-Wan's spirit, Luke turns off his targeting computer and uses the Force to aim his torpedoes into the exhaust port, destroying the Death Star moments before it fires on the Rebel base. In a triumphant ceremony at the base, Leia awards Luke and Han medals for their heroism.

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I want to explain the connection between this movie and the Joseph Campbell version of the hero's journey that so many people have pointed out. This journey starts out with a call to adventure that is refused and then forced (Luke is given an opportunity to leave, he declines, the death of his family pushes him forward, he leaves with his team). Campbell then predicts an initiation that involves meeting a woman and gaining weapons, a meeting with an incredible power, and an achievement of the hero's power (goes to star destroyer, meets Vader and loses Obi-Wan, gains power over force). The story ends with a refusal, a magic flight, a rescue from without, and a hero's return (Luke goes to attack the Death Star, Han refuses and then eventually saves him, and the day is saved so the heroes are rewarded). It is a story that is called the Monomyth and has been recognized in Greek myths that are thousands of years old. It is a good story that has been proven to work and it makes for one of the most enjoyable movies of all time.

There was some negative opinions of the film because it is such a simple old story that became extremely popular and film goers would no longer be interested in intelligent thinking movies. It is kind of the truth because blockbuster summer films are full of explosions. The highest grossing films since then have tended to be highly explosive action films. Films like Star Wars, Jaws, and Indiana Jones are a lot of fun, but they are not super deep. They are easy to understand at surface level, but they can also be interpreted to mean much more significant things. The choice of the viewer about whether the story has deep inner meaning or is just the Odyssey in space is personal and likely colors opinions about how good it is. Some people think it is stupid fun while others have actually formed religions around the idea of the force.

One thing is for certain, the formula worked amazingly well for a large group of people and this made movie producers want to copy it. This is what is generally called a watershed moment because the look of movies changed significantly. There were so many more space operas and they all had that worn post-apocalyptic look to them. Star Wars and Mad Max combined to give a different look of what futuristic was. There was advanced tech in some cases, but there was a scorched Earth that had run out of resources and people suffered. Think about how many movies and television shows there are that have come out since the 80s and combine industrial tech for space and distressed almost Western appearances for the planets. The movie changed the way many people see the future.

One thing that is inarguably great was the score. I am not going to try and describe it with words, I am just going to put links to the different themes here so you can hear for yourself:

Star Wars Main Theme (Full) - YouTube

Star Wars- The Imperial March (Darth Vader's Theme) - YouTube

Princess Leia's Theme - YouTube

Star Wars Episode IV A New Hope (1977) Soundtrack 11 Cantina Band - YouTube

This is somewhat strange for the AFI so I went back and checked, but I believe that this is the only film with a ranked villain (Darth Vader), hero (Han Solo), and theme song (Main Theme). Even if it is somewhat simplistic from some perspectives, the story and the songs and the sounds and the characters speak to those who watch it. Seeing the movie is an incredible experience and I envy those who get to see it for the first time.

I am a big fan of the original Star Wars trilogy and I could completely nerd out going over all of the little things throughout the movie, but this is not a deep dive but instead an overall review. So does it belong on the AFI top 100? Maybe more than any other movie. It is an epic tale that changed the way movies were made across multiple genres. We could probably look at all science fiction films and put them as before or after this one. It is an important piece of American film and (no matter what anyone thinks of the other Star Wars films or George Lucas) it is a masterpiece. Would I recommend it? I cannot say yes enough. It is part of my culture as a California movie nerd and understanding this film is understanding some of the basic knowledge I grew up with. All sticks are swung around like light sabers. If I say "Princess Leia hair," everyone around here knows exactly what I mean. If something is impossible but still needs to be done, we tell people to use the force. I have lived in the Bay Area for 20 years and I can still reference a location by how close it is to Skywalker Ranch were George Lucas worked on movies. Please check out this film and you will know why I am such a fan of movies.

[passionate-reply]

Great Albums is back! This week, we’ll take a look at one of the greatest electronic albums of all time, Kraftwerk’s The Man-Machine, and try to avoid getting sued by Ralf Huetter! Full transcript for the video can be found below the break. Enjoy!

Growing up, my main genre of choice was 80s synth-pop, and while the deep influence of Kraftwerk is as significant there as it is everywhere else in electronic music, I was one of those people who initially saw them as somewhat "intimidating." Today, moreso than ever, Kraftwerk are held up as one of those more high-brow or cerebral groups with a philosophy that transcends mere pop or dance music, which makes them seem respectable, a kind of “model minority” in the world of music outside rock. While I don’t buy into the judgmental quality of that sort of praise, which damns so many of Kraftwerk’s greatest fans and imitators, I did get the sense, as a child, that these hoity-toity Germans, working with primitive equipment way back in the 1970s, might not be what I was looking for in a new favourite band. That was before I heard The Man-Machine.

While it’s certainly true that Kraftwerk were a highly experimental band in their own time, they’re one of those acts whose ideas have deeply permeated contemporary music, to the point where their actual work is extremely approachable and listenable to today’s ears. Of all the fairly early electronic acts, who started making this kind of music before it began to become mainstream in the late 70s, Kraftwerk are almost certainly the ones people nowadays listen to for pleasure the most, and that’s no accident. While their earlier albums like Trans-Europe Express took more overt inspiration from classical music, The Man-Machine was their first great foray into the arena of pop, which I think is key to why it resonates with people. For evidence of that, look no further than the biggest mainstream hit of Kraftwerk’s career, “The Model.”

I think it’s easy to see why “The Model'' became a hit single. Sure, it may not have the most traditional pop song structure, let alone instrumentation, but unlike a lot of what Kraftwerk had done before, it’s got a lot of lyrics and a real sense of narrative. Plus, that narrative we get is about a person and not a machine--a good-looking person, in whom the narrator is sexually interested. It’s the perfect pop material. Of course, I would be remiss to mention that “The Model” didn’t achieve all of its success until the single was re-released in many markets in 1981, and in those few years, the idea of “synth-pop” advanced significantly in the charts and popular consciousness. By the time “The Model” was a hit, Kraftwerk admirers were already taking over: look no further than Gary Numan’s "Cars” or OMD’s "Enola Gay,” two synth-pop classics that, it must be said, are still about vehicles!

That aside, though, not everything on The Man-Machine sounds like “The Model”--in fact, it’s surrounded by tracks that have much more in common with Kraftwerk’s earlier LPs. Literally surrounded, in the track listing. I think that adds to this album’s appeal as an ideal entry point into their catalogue: it has some things that sound familiar, while also preparing you for what else you’ll encounter if you choose to probe deeper into the band. The Man-Machine has the least homogeneous profile of any Kraftwerk album. While most of their other classic albums are highly cohesive “song cycles” that almost blend into one long song when you listen to them in full, The Man-Machine doesn’t really have those repeated melodies and motifs that tie its tracks together. While many people, especially fans of psychedelic and progressive rock, really like those cohesive albums, I think this change is a welcome one. It gives the individual tracks a bit more room to breathe and express distinctive identities, and makes the album feel a bit more pop, even if the material itself isn’t always all that poppy. *The Man-Machine* actually only has six individual tracks; they range in length from the three-minute pop stylings of “The Model” to the urban sprawl of “Neon Lights,” which luxuriates in an almost nine-minute runtime.

Given that the average track length is around six minutes, I’m almost tempted to think of The Man-Machine as six tiny Kraftwerk albums, or at least, musical ideas that could have been expanded into full LPs in another universe. “Neon Lights” and “Spacelab” feel dreamy and easy-going, with floating melodies that draw from the “cosmic music” scene, one of the many emergent styles that began as something uniquely German and spread throughout the world--in this case, becoming an important forerunner to ambient electronic music through acts like Tangerine Dream. Meanwhile, the hard, tick-tocking rhythms of “Metropolis” and the title track point to the newfound focus on rhythm and the so-called motorik beat that made the music of Neu! so compelling.

The Man-Machine can serve not only as an introduction to Kraftwerk, but also as a sort of crash course in this entire period of electronic music, showcasing some of the most distinctive and influential features of the German scene, as well as the shape of synth-pop to come. It’s a complex and busy historical moment with huge ramifications for almost all of subsequent electronic music, and The Man-Machine really creates a microcosm of that whole environment. There’s also the fact that each side of the record has one track from each of my three broad groups, like an expertly-designed sushi platter or charcuterie board for us to sample from, and they both follow the same formula: a pop appetizer, a cosmic *entree,* and motorik for dessert.

*The Man-Machine* also has what is almost certainly the most iconic cover of any of Kraftwerk’s LPs. This is how lots of us still picture them in our minds, and it’s inspired tons of parodies and riffs over the years. I think all of that acclaim is deserved! Emil Schult’s graphic design for the album was heavily inspired by avant-garde Soviet artists of the 10s and 20s, chiefly El Lissitzky. These visual artists used their art to express their hope for a new world, defined by the promise of technology, and their literally revolutionary philosophy--so what could be a better match for Kraftwerk’s electronic revolution in music? Lissitzky used bright, primary colours, straight lines, and geometric shapes to convey the “built environment” of modern cities and man-made architecture, and you’ve got all the same sentiment on display here. The use of strong diagonals really draws the eye and lends this image a lot of continued visual interest. It’s also worth noting the extent to which Kraftwerk’s aesthetics inspired later electronic acts almost as powerfully as their sound. When you picture an electronic band, and get a mental image of stiff and stone-faced musicians behind synthesisers wearing shirts and ties, you can certainly thank Kraftwerk for that, as well.

I also love the title of The Man-Machine! The relationship between people and technology is one of, if not the, most central themes in Kraftwerk’s entire discography, which is full of references to anthropomorphic machines as well as mechanically-mediated humans. The particular choice of the phrase “man-machine,” as opposed to words like “android,” has a fun vintage flair to it, which matches the use of early 20th Century visual art quite nicely.

As might be expected from the album’s stylistic diversity, *The Man-Machine* would prove to be something of a transition point in Kraftwerk’s career. Their 1981 follow-up, Computer World, would return to the song cycle format, but with increasing emphasis on ideas from the pop sphere, championed by percussionist Karl Bartos. By the time of the last classic-lineup Kraftwerk LP, 1986’s Electric Cafe, they had not only amped up the pop, but also incorporated influence from the electronic dance music of the time. Ultimately, Bartos would leave the group, chiefly due to discontent with his treatment by founding members Ralf Huetter and Florian Schneider-Esleben, and their persistent lack of musical productivity.

On a somewhat lighter note, my personal favourite track on this album is its opener, “The Robots.” Per my typology from earlier, I classified this as a pop-oriented song, and it certainly is an approachable one that’s proven to be quite popular. But it’s got just enough more experimental touches to keep things quite interesting. From an ominous, dissonant intro, a slightly more pop form, hinting at a verse/chorus structure, soon emerges and contrasts. I love the groove of the rhythm and percussion here, as well as the very heavy vocoder, rich in texture and certainly a Kraftwerk staple.

While the lyrics can be read as sort of light and silly, I like to think that the robots in question might also be dangerous. The track “Metropolis” seems to reference the seminal 1927 silent film of the same name, which is famous for its portrayal of an evil, mechanical doppelganger. Likewise, the choice to translate the lyrics of the song’s interlude into Russian is likely inspired by another great work of art from this era: the stage play R.U.R.--Rossum’s Universal Robots. Written by Karel Čapek in 1922, it’s the progenitor of the “robot revolution” trope in science fiction, the source of the word “robot” for autonomous machines in almost every human language, and one of the first entries in the illustrious career of an author who helped make Czech a true literary language. While the titular robots take time to assure us that they’re programmed to do what we humans want, should we really trust them...?