#somebody took a picture of a picture obviously but whatever this isn’t intended to be Top Quality

[bilbao-song]

them…….

[c-is-for-circinate]

As promised: let's talk Hades, and how acts of abuse can create toxic environments for everyone around them, and also how people react to those environments--and to them being disrupted.

(For reference, I have just kicked Theseus's ass for the first time, it was exactly as satisfying as it was intended to be, and then I got predictably slaughtered a couple of chambers into Styx. Spoilers for everything through that point, but please no spoilers in reblogs/comments for anything after that!) Also, TW for a whole lot of discussion of abuse, particularly verbal and emotional abuse, and abusive familyworkplace dynamics.

Okay, so. To start out with, Hades is an abusive parent. He engages in innumerable acts of verbal and emotional abuse towards his son, because yep, that's what you call it when a parent constantly berates and belittles their kid for every perceived failure, including the ones the parent themselves could have prevented. Sometimes especially the ones the parent could have prevented. Zagreus failed at his office clerk job because Hades refused to teach him how to do it and then blamed him for not already knowing how. Cerberus tore up the lounge because Hades, who was actually there, chose not to stop him. Hades created, possibly deliberately, and then took full advantage of every opportunity he saw to insult and demean his kid, and the clerk job flashback shows us that he was doing so even before the escape attempts started. I'm pretty sure we're all on the same page here, but: yep, that all constitutes abuse, even if they're gods. Even if Hades has reasons for Being Like That. Even if you think Zagreus seems okay and unharmed by it (which: repeatedly throwing yourself into a gauntlet of violence that inevitably ends in your own pain and death because you're so desperate to escape home, not actually an indicator of someone who's okay). We all good on that?

Cool. Because I'm not really here to talk about how Hades' abuse directly impacts Zagreus right now (although there's for sure an essay in that too). I'm thinking about how it impacts everybody else.

Hades isn't as obviously unreasonable with anybody else in his kingdom the way he is with his kid. When we see him lecture somebody else, it's usually for an actual failure to do their job: Hypnos for literally falling asleep on the job and not doing anything that was assigned to him, Megaera for letting us past her so many time, Orpheus for being a court bard who refuses to sing. His attitude is super confrontational and unpleasant, but on the surface it doesn't necessarily look as fucked-up. Thing is, though, whether any individual act of aggression towards an employee/family member is justified or not (I would generally argue 'not', because aggression towards employees/family members is, y'know, not justifiable)--it's not about the individual acts. It's about the entire cultivated atmosphere of toxicity and abuse.

One of the very first things Meg ever says to us is, "I'd rather be on your bad side than his." Up until that point, we've got no reason to believe Meg has any history whatsoever of fucking up at her job. In fact, we've got plenty of reason to believe she's good at it. She's fiercely proud of it, she's frequently Employee Of The [Time Period], and we've apparently never even met her sisters because she handles her shit herself. But she's still scared of Hades. Dusa, who is an anxious wreck at all times because oh god what if she gets fired what if she gets fired what if she gets fired, in spite of apparently being absolutely exemplary at her job, is scared of Hades. Every single shade in the Hall is clearly terrified of Hades, and it's not because of what he's done to each of them. It's what they've seen him do to other people.

Which is how toxic environments work, whether they're work environments or families. The Court of Hades is of course both, always, with the bonus hell layer of you can't quit even if you DIE. An abuser in authority doesn't have to target you in order to make you feel scared, cowed, and desperate to please them. Humans (and gods who are basically extra-powerful humans) are good at learning by example. The residents of the Court get the picture.

So this Court is a minefield--and everyone except Zagreus is very good at tiptoeing around mines. We see it in Meg, so desperate to do her job well. We see that Hypnos very clearly does not give a shit about anything, but he still makes sure to have a list of excuses ready if/when Hades ever confronts him about failure to do his job, just in case. We see it when Achilles tells us that my ability to help you is constrained by the authority your father gives me, or whatever the line was sixty runs ago when he couldn't let me into locked chambers. The system, such as it is, works, and if Nyx talks to Hades as little as possible, if Thanatos avoids the Court entirely, if Achilles treads very carefully and knows how to keep his head down--well that's just the system, right? That's just how things are.

Even Zagreus seems to have had a role in that system as the court fuckup. He's the kid who didn't have a real job or purpose. He could take the focus of Hades' generalized, day-to-day ire off of everyone else, without triggering some of the more direct and violent ire because the work he was doing didn't really matter (a LOT of Hades' rage-triggers seem to be related to job performance, which means that the people with real jobs are of course the most at risk). And he could do so "safely" (big emphasis on the quotation marks there) because he alone of the court is Hades' actual kid, who's Prince of the Underworld no matter how much he fucks up. If one of Nyx's other kids gets something really really wrong, she might be able to protect them from some consequences, but Hades doesn't have any layer of supposed parental affection holding him back from getting violently furious about it. Zagreus gets a nice bedroom and the abuse is limited to words rather than divine power, and Hades is a dick to everyone but he only occasionally condemns people to eternities of torture, and only for good reasons like refusing to sing when your job is to be court bard, so it's fine, everybody's fine, everything's totally fine, right?

Except it's not fine when everybody is so clearly worried about anything going wrong. And it's especially not fine for Zagreus, who's the person to finally say no. He's leaving, for his own sake, because he deserves better and he's finally convinced he can have it. And that turns the whole system into disarray.

I am endlessly fascinated by the ways this game portrays different characters reacting to this upheaval in their carefully-mapped minefield. It's different for authority figures and peers and servants, different based on how people are positioned in the house under Hades' rule, and it's so spot-on and I love it.

Nyx, for instance, is absolutely calm about the whole thing, because Nyx has power. Hades can't hurt her. Hades can't even really do much against her children, not when Hypnos and Thanatos are gods in their own right. Yes, Hades rules the kingdom, but Nyx owns the land, and she gives no shits about his rages. And it's interesting, too, to see the lines she doesn't draw. The deal seems to be that Hades doesn't fuck with her, and doesn't outright threaten her kids (because Hypnos is bad at his job, demonstrably so, and Hades hasn't ruined him yet), and she doesn't interfere with the way he treats the people around him. She gives Zagreus advice and support and the mirror, but she also doesn't take a direct stand against Hades. He can't hurt her, but he could make life...difficult. She's protected, her position in the minefield is more of a safe viewing platform than slogging through the middle of it, but the mines are still there.

And then we have Achilles, who is one of my favorite characters in the whole game because of how he reacts to this whole situation. Achilles, like Nyx, is so supportive. Every single time you see him he has something encouraging to say. He gives us his Codex, secretly finds us weapons, trained us for years, clearly wants us to succeed. And still he's limited, not necessarily out of fear for himself (though he has to be scared for himself, he knows what Hades does to people who anger him), but out of concern that if he gives Zagreus too much help in one way, he won't be able to provide help at all later. He's still so careful.

Achilles and Nyx are so fucking important to this story because they're the only authority figures Zagreus really has in his life except for his father, and they are so supportive. They're what keep this story from being a nightmare of psychological horror and depression. They can't stop the pressure from Hades and this life in his house being miserable for Zag, but they can give us hope, remind us that Zagreus is still loved. And they have such an incredibly important role when it comes to guilt, which is one of the biggest ways toxic systems maintain themselves.

If Zagreus leaves, what happens to everybody else? Who takes Hades' wrath then? Who becomes court scapegoat if he's not there, and also, who gets punished for his escape? These questions matter, and we see him worry about it! He asks Nyx and Achilles both, is it going to be okay that you're helping me, are you going to be alright, will my father hurt you for this? And they are both so firm about telling him no. No, I will be fine. See, here's the list of reasons about why I'm going to be fine, why my position in this minefield is secure. They make a point of telling us that it's fine, that we do not need to hold ourself back from getting out of this abusive situation for their sake. That is instrumental in Zagreus's ability to keep making these escape attempts without feeling too guilty and worried and selfish to go on. (Another thing that's actually really important in setting up that dynamic--we see that Hades cares about Cerberus, even if he's using him as a pawn against us, and Cerberus seems to be the one figure in court who Hades doesn't get mad at. The dog isn't at risk, and that is really essential in keeping the story from getting too grim.) These people who we care about refuse to let themselves be held hostage to secure our good behavior.

It's also really useful for raising the stakes later in the story--we see Hades arguing with Nyx once or twice, and we see Zagreus feeling guilty about it, but it's also a sign that we're making enough progress to piss him off. After I finally made it out of Elysium on my last run, I came home to find him furious with Achilles in a way that actually makes me nervous, because Achilles does not have nearly as much security in his position as he says he does. (Achilles is such a good teacher/authority figure, because he knows goddamn well what Hades could do to him, and still refuses to let fear for his own situation stop him from helping the abused kid under his care escape his. And no, not everybody has the capacity to do that, but it matters so much coming from the guy who helped raise us. It matters so much. I do not even have the words for how much.)

It's also no mistake that many of the people we find supporting us along our journey are either the people with the most power in their immediate environment, or the least. Sisyphus helps us because what more could they do to me than this? Orpheus is a little wild around the eyes and somewhat disconnected from reality, and he wishes us the best because someone should get what they want and also he no longer gives a single fuck what happens to him. Eurydice has her own cozy little corner of Asphodel, as safe from Hades' rage as anybody anywhere in his realm because she's tucked in such an out-of-the-way middle place she's outside his notice. Dusa is so scared of everything anyway that, crush aside, she isn't any more threatened by us escaping than she is just by her everyday life here. Charon is unfathomable and unstoppable; Skelly literally exists to be a punching bag, and yet he also seems basically immune to pain, no matter what we do to him. There's no threat from Hades there.

So the people most at risk when I flip the world on its ear are the ones who have so much standing that they have something to lose, but not enough to protect them from losing it. Which of course brings us to Than and Meg--who are, of course, the two people who also seem by far the most upset by my attempts to leave.

As authority figures, Nyx and Achilles are constantly reinforcing the message that it's Hades' fault, not ours, if they or anybody else get caught in the crossfire of his wrath. I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, and it's not my guilt to bear. From Megaera and Thanatos, we get the opposite message--I am fucking with things, I am hurting people, and I need to stop. Zagreus isn't just abandoning them, as a friend or brother or lover or all of the above they're Greek gods who even knows. He's betraying them. They were in this together, as friends or lovers or whatever, but now Zagreus is sending earthquakes through the minefield they both still have to stand in. He is about to capsize this boat in the middle of a thunderstorm, he is fucking with the system, and they're the ones who are going to get most hurt.

I'm so curious how this is going to work for Than, who out of everyone we meet holds the closest role to Nyx's in terms of being sheltered from Hades' wrath. He's the guy who gets to leave, after all, even though he always has to come back. I've seen the least of him out of anybody so far because it took forever for me to get to Elysium, but two things really stand out and I'm so interested to see where they go. One, he really genuinely does care about Zagreus. He wants us safe, he wants us unhurt, the accessory he gives us only grants its bonus if we clear a room without taking injury, he keeps showing up to help. And two, he wants us to give up and go back and recognize how good we had it. Which is SO fucking interesting, considering how miserable Zagreus so clearly was, and how legitimate his reasons for being miserable were.

It makes me wonder so much about Than's standards for comparison. Does he know something we don't about what's waiting for us on the surface, something that might theoretically hurt Zagreus even more than staying down below? Has his life, which apparently allows him more freedom than anybody else in the Court, sucked horribly in ways we haven't seen, and that's why he spends so little time there in the first place? Either of those things is plausible, both of those things are plausible, and yet either one leads to this sense of patronizing, because he refuses to simply tell us. If something terrible is awaiting us, don't give us vague warnings, tell us what it is and let us decide for ourself! If you're fucking jealous because we might get out entirely and you're still stuck coming back here, say so. If you're worried about your mom--and he does bring her up, how could Zagreus turn his back on her like that, does seem to worry for her--then let's have an actual conversation about how many times she has insisted I do this and also how much I love her.

And, right, it's clear that a lot of Thanatos being upset is simply, you were going to leave me without even saying goodbye, you want to leave ME, which is understandable! But, like, he is demonstrably the one god who gets to visit the surface. He's the one person we actually COULD expect to see again. And he is absolutely also upset because there's an Order To Things, and we're fucking it up. We used to be his careless callow reckless friend who could talk back to Hades and get away with it, and now we're not, and everything is changing and we might leave him altogether, and we might leave him alone in that court without us, and he hates it.

Is it a short-sighted, selfish fear on his part? Yes, absolutely. Even if he's not scared of Hades on his own behalf, he is still frightened by what happens if we upset this system--and maybe it's the sanctity of a much bigger system than the Underworld that he's worried about! Maybe it's the whole divine and cosmic order. Whatever system he wants so badly to protect is enabling the abuse Zagreus has been dealing with for however-long he's been alive. Whatever system he wants so badly to protect OUGHT to be overturned, or at least shaken up. But this is what toxic systems DO. They convince the people within them that they have to be maintained, that a broken system that hurts the people within it is far better than no system at all, that changing the world is too scary and too dangerous. And Thanatos wants his whatever-Zagreus-is-to-him to be there, because he loves him and also because that's how the world works, and those things are all tangled up in one another, and that is how relationships are in a messed-up family like this so therefore I love it.

And Meg. Meg, the best for last, my dear, beautiful, furious, bitter, scared angry tired girl. I adore her. I am absolutely never going to date her, because the thing Zagreus needs most in his life hurts her, more directly than anybody else in the story, and that sucks, and it's not Zag's fault but they still shouldn't be together. Meg has taken more injury from this situation than anyone, quite literally as well as metaphorically, and it's not her fault any more than it's ours, but oh boy it has made her lash out and it's awful and it's perfect.

Meg's place in the Court of Hades is unique because she's not dead, not a mortal, not anything other than a god--but she's also not family. Nyx is not her mother. She's very much part of this system, she and her two sisters belong to Hades-the-realm and therefore also Hades-the-king, she can't leave, but she also doesn't have that protection of Nyx watching out for her in the same way. She's not royalty. She and her sisters (if you ask Hesiod instead of Virgil, which seems to be the interpretation the game's going with here) sprang from the blood of maimed Uranus at the same time as Aphrodite, but fuck knows Aphrodite isn't claiming them as siblings. And she can't be fired, exactly, but she sure can be demoted, and she sure can be made miserable in her job. Meg is vulnerable in a way very few people in Hades' employ are. She's a lot harder to do away with than any one random shade, but she's also a lot harder to miss blending in with a crowd.

What's more, she's the one person in this whole mess who is specifically tasked with stopping us from leaving. Hypnos isn't ordered to put us to sleep and keep us in our room. Thanatos can't be compelled or punished if he doesn't hunt us down. Achilles isn't told to lock us up and keep the keys. Meg is the one stationed at the doorway to Tartarus to keep us in. Meg is the one who gets in trouble when we leave. Meg (who Hades knows goddamn well Zagreus cares for, or cared for, who he absolutely knows we used to date) is the one who has to fight us again and again and again. And she's the one who keeps dying.

Again, it's this incredibly fucked-up guilt/hostage situation deliberately designed to keep people from fleeing abusive situations. Meg's insistence on fighting us now puts Zagreus in the position of having to hurt her himself again and again. Now suddenly we're the ones sticking a sword in our ex-girlfriend. Now suddenly someone can point to our desire to leave, to flee, to escape, and say, how selfish. How cruel. How terrible of us to want to go, when we're even willing to hurt the people we love to do it.

Except, right: Hades is the one who demands Meg stand there and stop us. Hades is the one who puts both of us in that position. Meg is also in an abusive situation, and she's willing to hurt us to protect herself. "I'd rather be on your bad side than your father's." It's easy to blame her at the start for being complicit, for being a tool of our father's abuse, for being on his side. It gets harder as the game goes on. I've killed her so many times. There's no way for her to beat me. She knows at this point that she can't beat me. She still fights, every single time, still throws herself upon that spike, not because she thinks she has any chance of stopping me but because she is so damn scared of what will happen if she doesn't try.

In fact, Meg's the one person we have actually seen face consequences for our actions so far, instead of just facing the threat of them. Her sisters are here. Her sisters, who she clearly does not want here, who are wild and violent and who she does not want in her life or anywhere near her, let alone near the job she takes so much pride in. She gets to deal with them now. (Hades doesn't have to deal with them. They're still not allowed in his court. But Meg does.) She gets stabbed, and bludgeoned, and shot, and lightning-struck, and poisoned, and every other thing we do to her. Thanatos doesn't. Nyx and Achilles and Hypnos don't. Bug Meg? Oh yes. Meg pays.

And yes, ok, she is complicit in this system. Everybody is complicit in this system. Zagreus who's trying to escape on his own behalf instead of overthrowing his father for the sake of everyone he'd otherwise be leaving behind is complicit in this system. Pointing fingers and pulling strings of who's more at fault? and who do we blame for this? is exactly how this sort of system perpetuates itself. Your sister always talked back at the dinner table and put everyone in an even worse and more violent mood. Your coworker refuses to work more than forty hours a week so now you have to take overtime to pick up their slack. You're enabling your dad by asking your sister to shut up, you're enabling your employer by working as hard as you do so you don't get fired, everyone's at fault, everyone's to blame, everyone is--

It's not everyone. It's Hades. It's Hades at the root of everything, and probably something big and institutional and fucked-up even beyond him. But even if everyone down in this Underworld does have to be trapped here forever, even if he's trapped here forever, Hades is neither challenging the system that put them here nor trying to make that fate better for anyone else stuck with him. He's just created an entire kingdom of backbiting and misery and people who can either go along with his whims or suffer the consequences.

At this point in the game, Meg is so fucking tired. Every time we run into her in the lounge, hunched over a table, the venom in her voice when she tells us "Do I look like I have anything to say to you?" is so bitter and so exhausted. There was a system, and she knew her place in the system, and it was a system divinely ordered by the gods themselves, and sure it was cruel but that's the literal will of the universe as far as she knows it. She had a role, and her role was vengeance and punishment and violence against those who'd committed the most egregious of sins in life, and there was a point to it, she was the divine deterrent to convince people not to do those things, and that was just, and that was right. The GODS THEMSELVES said so. How do you argue with that? You can't possibly argue with that!

And Zagreus is arguing with that. In trying to leave, he's questioning the unbreakable rule that nothing in the Underworld ever gets to leave it. In disobeying his father to do so, he's questioning the unbreakable rule that what the gods say is LAW. He's breaking everything.

And of course he's not trying to do any of that. He's not trying to destabilize the system at all. He's just trying to get himself out of it, to a place where he feels like he belongs and maybe a parent who's slightly nicer to him than this one. But toxic systems like this one break when the people within them have access to another option. When the kids find a way to actually leave, and not answer the phone, and not come home for holidays, and not deal with it any more. When the employees have the economic freedom to quit. When opportunities granted by education, money, social support, etc etc etc, show up and give people a choice. Even if the option is only ever for Zagreus--he's demonstrating that an option exists. Which is, of course, the one thing the system cannot ever allow.

I really like this game.

[skiller0dani]

L’amour De Ma Vie | Timothee Chalamet

M A S T E R L I S T

smut  requests info wanna be on a Timmy taglist? click here missed part 1? read it here

so I did my Billy Mitman thing. please let me know what you think as the chapters come out, I’m so nervous about it. love you babes xx  I’m running out of ideas, please send me requests l m a o 

btw I used google translate for the french bits don’t come at me if it’s incorrect. Timmy isn’t here to write the french parts for me :(  the translation will be located next to the french, italicized and in quotation marks. 

I listened to ‘La Vie En Rose’ by Chloe Moriondo during writing this. is perfectly captures the mood I was going for. 

Catch Up! Read Part One Here!

Public relationships are hard to maintain, with all the attention and expectations. 

The media and even fans expect the relationship to progress at a certain rate, and when Tim was dating Lily-Rose Depp, everyone was waiting for him to propose. But he wasn’t ready for that. Still isn’t. He wasn’t sure if it’s him that’s not ready or if it was the person. It’s not that Lily had done anything wrong, she didn’t. It was all Tim. Whatever he currently had with you was a huge relief, nobody even knew you existed in his life, not even his parents. Not Armie, not his family, not anybody. Tim wasn’t keeping you a secret because he was ashamed, no it wasn’t that. He needs a secret right now, something just for him and you. Something he could hide away in, and while he didn’t intend on meeting you when he’d gone to the club he can say meeting you was exactly what he needed. Tim did have to do some damage control during interviews when asked about the ‘mysterious girl’ he was seen exiting the club with that night. 

Tim always said you were an old friend, he said he hadn’t even seen you since. That it was a huge coincidence that he even ran into you. That’s not true of course, Tim sees you every single day that he can. The days he doesn’t see you, he calls you any chance he can get. Never in his life has he felt so obsessed with somebody, so completely consumed. Sure the sex was great, but talking to you was so much better than any of that. In recent weeks Tim has been avoiding having sex with you, it’s not that he doesn’t want to he does. He just doesn’t want you to think that’s the sole reason he sticks around. Lily took it personally towards the end of their relationship when Tim would turn down sex. He just didn’t feel like it, at least not with her. That’s when he knew he needed to end the relationship. 

Sometimes even private relationships are hard to maintain it would seem.  

Of course there were a lot of tabloids who didn’t quite buy his “just an old friend” story, and wrote speculative articles as to who you were. The two of you found it quite entertaining to read the theories, and to watch the fans unravel because who the hell are you?? Are you and Tim dating?? No you’re probably just family, oh my gosh but are you just family?? It was hilarious, in a cruel sort of way. Tim worried at first, made sure you weren’t too overwhelmed with all this attention on you even though the paparazzi didn’t even get a picture of your face. When you took him home from the club you had no clue Tim was internationally famous, he feels like maybe he should have told you before you fucked in the nightclub bathroom. You seemed intrigued by his career and the films he’d been in, he found that endearing. When the two of you first started seeing each other more often you’d told him you were going to watch every single movie he’d ever been in. Turns out you’re a woman of your word, because you then proceeded to watch every single movie he had ever starred in. Even briefly. 

Tim’s dad was never super inquisitive about his sons dating life, if it was someone Tim really saw a future with then he knew Tim would bring her by sooner or later. However you seemed to be something Tim remained very tight lipped about. Tim almost never mentioned you, and he always changed the subject if his dad questioned him about this mystery women who seems to have captured his sons attention. Tim really doesn’t know why his desire to keep you a complete secret to everyone is so strong, but he feels like he needs to keep you a secret. So when Tim’s phone rang and he saw his fathers contact for the 3rd time today, he grew nervous and nearly declined the call. 

“Bonjour fils,” “Hello son.” His father greets cheerfully, but Tim knows better. He knows something is up. “Dad, comment vas-tu?” “Dad, how are you?” Tim wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans as the dark clouds begin to gather together overhead. “I am well, but I do have a question for you.” His accent is thick, but Tim is used to it. It’s not the accent he’s focused on anyway. Tim’s parents become inquisitive only when they know Tim is hiding something important from them which is almost never. The silence on the other end of the phone is unnerving. “La fille, who is she?” Tim falls silent, he’s not entirely surprised this is the question his father needed to ask him right this moment. Tim itches the back of his neck as rain begins to drizzle down, Tim takes this opportunity to abort the call. “Dad? Dad? Sorry I can’t hear you.” Tim says, before faking a bad signal and hanging up. He feels guilty but he’s not ready to answer his dads question.

He was supposed to be walking to your small condo today, but clearly the rain has other plans as Tim stands a porch soaked to the bone.  

Normally Tim would drive but his car is too easily recognizable and it’s easier for him to disguise himself when he’s walking. His teeth chatter as his phone rings, he’s not at all surprised when he sees your name pop up on the screen. “Tim where are you? You’re going to get sick out there.” Your voice is thick with concern. It makes the corners of Tim’s mouth quirk up. Checking the closest street sign Tim signs, “still a few blocks away.” He says but is cut off when he hears your keys rattling. Seeing the streets flowing with a few inches of water as the rain begins to downpour, Tim’s voice is a little more worried than he intended when he spoke again. “No it’s way too dangerous for you to drive.” He protests but when he hears your front door shut he knows arguing with you is pointless. Tim slides his phone back into his pocket when he sees a bolt of lightning flash across the sky, luckily it should only take you a few minutes to reach him. 

With a flash of your headlights, Tim jogs to the passenger side of your car. 

His teeth are chattering hard and his wet hair clings to his forehead. There’s a healthy shade of rosy pink on his cheeks as he shudders when the heat hits him. “If you get sick I’m going to feel so bad for making you walk.” You begin your eyes glancing over at him during the short drive back to your place. Tim reaches over the center console, his ice cold hand finding yours as he squeezes once. “D-Don’t worry ab-bout it. I’ll be f-fine.” His voice is shaky as the shattering interrupts him. You wrap your tiny but warm hand around his as the rain pounds against the windshield. You can barely see. You don’t believe that he’ll be fine, and if he gets sick his director is going to be pissed. You pull into the garage at your house, and rush him inside. 

“Clothes off!” You exclaim as the two of you enter your kitchen. Tim raises an eyebrow at you, a playful smile on his face as he reaches for the button of his wet jeans. “Because they’re wet.” You sigh when he waggles his eyebrows at you. He shrugs with a wide grin on his face as you turn to get some of his clothes he’s left here from the laundry room. When you return to the kitchen, you nearly have to squeeze your thighs together at the sight before you. Tim is standing in nothing but his boxers, a towel over his head as he dries his hair. Droplets of water run down his toned chest and along his v lines. His eyes are closed as he pulls the towel away from his tousled damp strands. Tim’s eyes open and he smirks when he sees you, obviously letting your eyes trail down his body. “Can I have my clothes or are you going to stand there and check me out some more?” He teases, loving how your face blooms in a dark crimson blush. You release your vise grip on his clothes and hand them to him, your cheeks blushing even hotter when he sends a wink your way. 

You felt arousal rush through your body as you watched Tim yank his shirt over his head. 

Tim rolls his eyes playfully after he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and he sees you still gawking at him. He approaches you and presses a quick kiss to your lips before running his hands down your arms. While the two of you aren’t technically together, you do everything a couple does. Tim knows he could ask you and you’d say yes, but even that feels risky. It makes his chest close when he thinks about it, what you two have now is safe. It’s familiar. “Drink and movie?” He asks and you nod with a smile, moving to choose a movie as Tim heads into the kitchen to make drinks. You both feel comfortable getting a little tipsy, it’s obvious he’s going to be spending the night tonight. Even if it wasn’t raining he’d probably spend the night anyway. Tim spends more nights here than he does at his own apartment. You look through the movies, a heaviness in your chest. Why won’t he ask you to be his girlfriend? You know how you feel, you think you know how he feels. The way he acts, it seems like he really likes you. 

Holding your movie choice in your hand you skip back down the stairs, seeing that Tim has set up the DVD player and is waiting on the couch. 

“Whatcha pick babe?” Tim asks, popping an almond into his mouth as you kneel down to insert the disk. You smile but you don’t say anything as the DVD player reads the disk. The opening screen for ‘Call Me By Your Name’ comes on and you hear Tim groan. “It’s the only one of your movies I haven’t seen yet.” You smile as you snuggle into the couch next to him. Tim’s arm wraps around you as he keeps munching on the almond, watching the opening scene come on. “Yeah but this has sex scenes, you think I enjoy watching myself have fake sex?” Tim asks, discomfort on his face as you laugh. You reach over to take an almond from him, “I know I’ll sure enjoy it.” You smile and you feel his lips press against your head briefly. Your head rests against his chest as you take a sip of the drink he’s decided to make you. “Hm been forever since I had a gin and tonic.” You smile when you feel him squeeze you. 

When you see Tim come onto the screen, you can’t help but gush over how cute he is. 

“Oh Timmy! You’re so cute.” You squeal, loving how his cheeks tint pink at your complements. Tim only shakes his head at you as you continue to coo at the Tim on the screen, the only way he can get you to stop is to press his lips against yours for a short, sweet kiss. As the movie continues, you can’t stay focused. It’s not the movie, it’s a really good movie and you’re certain it’s become one of your favorites. No it’s not that it’s a bad movie, it’s the stupid adorable boy sitting next to you. You’re tired of the two of you dancing around what you really want to be, you don’t know what he’s still waiting for. Your cheek presses into his chest as you only half watch the movie. You take another big drink of your gin and tonic before resting against Tim again. Almost as though he can read your thoughts Tim pauses the movie and sits up to look at you. “What is it?” He asks, turning to sit in front of you, his legs folded. You blink as innocently as you can, but when you see the look in his eyes you know you can’t beat around the bush any longer. 

“I really like you Tim, I want to be with you...it just feels like you don’t want that too.” You admit, your eyes not meeting his as you stare down at the couch. You hear a deep sigh come from Tim before he takes your hands, his thumbs rubbing along the backs of your hands. Tim reaches forward to hook a finger under your chin to bring your eyes up to meet his. He was afraid he’d make you feel this way, he never meant to. He wants you more than you could ever understand. “I want that, more than I could ever put into words. I guess I’m just afraid that if we go there, what we have will change. I don’t want this to change or to become the ‘medias’ relationship rather than our relationship.” Tim says softly, and your eyebrows pinch together. 

“What do you mean?” You ask him, your hands curling around his tighter, and you see him nibble on the inside of his cheek. “When I dated Lily, she always wanted us to act a certain way for the camera. Or maybe I just felt like we needed to be different for the medias eyes. It was so much work always having to be careful about what I did with her or said to her because there were eyes on us all the time. What I have with you makes me feel so free, I don’t want that to change. I don’t want us to be poisoned by the media.” Tim says, and you can tell a huge weight has been lifted from his chest by him saying this. Your hands reach up to cup his cheeks as you pull his lips to meet yours. 

“That won’t ever happen to us. We’ll be careful about the media, we’ll keep this a secret.” You reassure him as you crawl into his lap. You see the look of fear on his face beginning to melt away as he winds his arms tightly around your waist. Tim’s forehead presses firmly against yours, “so do you really want to do this, with me?” He asks and you know he isn’t joking. He’s being dead serious. You wind your arms around his neck with a smile on your face as you brush your nose against his. “I want to be yours.” You whisper and he smiles before he stands, with your legs wound around his waist. “Then be my girlfriend.” Tim whispers and instead of answering you press your lips firmly against his. He carries you up the stairs, his lips beginning to move more frantically against yours. His hands slide down your back to grab at your ass, causing you to gasp into his mouth. 

He drops you unceremoniously onto the bed, his hands immediately sliding up to hook into your sleep shorts you have on. Tim’s lips pepper kisses along your collarbones and neck. Your back arches into him as you card your fingers through his damp hair, still mostly wet from the rain. Tim pulls your shorts down your legs slowly and groans softly when he sees you’re not wearing panties. He kisses his way down to the swells of your breasts. You start to lean up to remove your tank top but Tim reaches up and grabs your shirt between his hands before yanking, splitting the fabric in half. You moan as he does so, immediately pulling his head down to your chest. Tim chuckles against your skin as you arch against him, whining as his right hand slides between your bodies to toy with your clit. “God Tim,” You moan, your voice broken as you wriggle your hips against his hand. Tim’s lips latch to your nipple as he slides 2 fingers into your wet opening. 

You spread your thighs wider for him as his teeth gently sink into your nipple causing you to cry out. Tim begins to quickly pump his fingers into you while whispering dirty words into the skin of your breasts. “Gonna cum all over my fingers baby?” His voice is husky and you can’t offer more than a frantic nod as he scissors his fingers open to stretch you. “Fuck Tim!” You cry out, your fingers curling around your bed sheets as he crawls down your body to latch his lips to your clit. He sucks your clit into his mouth to flick it with his tongue and as he does so you explode around his fingers but he doesn’t stop. Your eyes roll back as he continues to pleasure you, the overstimulation becoming too much. As you feel your orgasm approaching a second time Tim bites gently at your clit and it’s like a switch flips inside you, and you squirt all over him. 

Your chest is heaving as Tim pulls away, quite literally covered in your cum. You blush hard as he wipes his face, his pupils dilated as he gazes down at you with a lustful smile. “Fuck baby you’ve never squirted before, you’re so sexy.” Tim growls as he leans down to press his lips against yours again, to try and kiss away your embarrassment. You feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance and you immediately part your thighs wider to make room for him between your legs. “Mine?” Tim asks, his eyes soft as one of his hands reaches up to brush hair away from your face. “Yours.” You confirm, nuzzling your nose against his as he slowly pushes into you. With one languid thrust Tim slides all the way inside you, and you both gasp in pleasure. You press a hand to his hip to hold him deep inside you. Tim’s forehead presses against yours as he sits still inside you, “L’amour de ma vie.” He mutters, his French rolling smoothly off his lips. You smile as you press your lips to his, even though you don’t know what it means you’re sure it means something beautiful. 

Tim pulls his hips back and gently slides back into you, and you see starts when he hits that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Tim continues to slide sensually and gently into you before drawing his hips back and driving into you softly again. Your forehead stays pressed against his as both of you pant into each others mouths as you feel your high coming up on you again. “I’m gonna cum baby,” You cry out softly as you grab and claw at his shoulders. Tim continues his slow and steady pace, his lips finding the skin of your neck. With a few more swift thrusts into you, you come undone around his cock. Feeling you squeeze him Timothee groans, cumming inside you in gentle spurts. 

Tim pulls out of you with a wince before rolling onto his back beside you. “What did it mean?” You ask as you turn your head to look at him. A cheeky smile crosses onto his face as he presses a kiss to your lips. “Maybe learn some French and you’ll know.” He teases and you roll your eyes as you hop up from the bed. Tim smiles as he pushes off the bed, “come on! We still haven’t finished the movie!” Your excited little voice calls from downstairs and Tim smiles while shaking his head. He doesn’t even bother to put his clothes on, you didn’t. 

You really are the love of his life. 

***taglist*** @irishbish​ @y2k-wildfire​ @newletas​ @londonmademedoit​ @80sangelics​ @swim-reaper​ @elisaaru

[haberdashing]

Biting Your Own Neck (6/?)

Mid-season 2, Jon’s life is abruptly upended by the intrusion of two unexpected and eerily familiar visitors.

on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

A brief moment passed in which Jon, Martin, and Tim all sat in silence before Tim finally spoke up.

“I still want to know why I don’t have my own spooky future double.”

“Perhaps it has to do with the ‘incident’ that apparently led to you being employed here in the first place.” The words came out sharper than Jon had intended; honestly, he was more surprised that his recent investigation into his archival assistants hadn’t uncovered anything about this so-called “incident” than anything else.

“It had better not.” Tim’s tone matched Jon’s own in sharpness. “If it does, well, ‘Jonny’ and ‘Kay’ will deserve what’s coming to them.”

“Wh-”

Jon stopped himself mid-word. Jonny had warned him against asking questions outright, and while Jon certainly didn’t trust Jonny and his cryptic warnings, when the best case scenario was “ask a friend about a probably-sensitive topic” and the worst case scenario was supposedly “steal a friend’s trauma” (whatever that meant), it probably didn’t hurt to be a bit more circumspect in his approach.

“I’m curious about this ‘incident’ Jonny mentioned, and what he knows about it that I don’t.”

“Of course you are.” Tim’s voice wasn’t as sharp as before, but there was still an undercurrent of bitterness within it.

“Jonny, er, said it involved trauma. A traumatic experience, then.”

Tim let out a bark of a laugh. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“And, and given that it brought you here, I’m guessing it has some connection to the supernatural.”

“Yup.” Tim popped the P at the end of the word.

“So, you came to the Magnus Institute because of a traumatizing encounter with supernatural forces.” A statement, not a question.

“Jon...” Martin said. Jon could hear the unspoken warning in Martin’s voice, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

Tim looked away from Jon, pointedly staring at an unexceptional patch of wall as he responded. “Yeah, that’s right. Does it matter?”

“Well. Erm.” Jon cleared his throat before continuing. “I suppose that makes two of us, then.”

“Wait, two of you?” Jon hadn’t expected Martin to be the first one to respond to that statement, and he certainly hadn’t expected the bewilderment in Martin’s voice.

“Sorry, should- should that be three of us, then?”

“What? No, I just- both of you dealt with the supernatural before coming here?”

Jon and Tim exchanged a tense glance before nodding nearly in unison.

“Jesus, am I the only one whose first run-in with that stuff was with Prentiss?”

“Maybe Sasha-” Jon started, but Tim shook his head and interrupted before Jon could finish his train of thought.

“Sasha worked in Artifact Storage when she got here, remember? She knows- she knew as much as any of us did about all this. And look where that got her.”

“If she knew the most of any of us, and she still...” Jon couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, to acknowledge that Sasha was gone, to admit that the “Sasha” he thought he knew had apparently been an imposter for months now. “What hope do the rest of us have?”

Another silence filled the room for a long moment, this one gloomier than the last.

“The only thing we have going for us that she didn’t is that apparently I have some, some kind of power, if Jonny’s telling the truth, something to do with asking questions... Perhaps we should test that, see how far it can go, in case I need to use it down the line.”

Martin and Tim exchanged a glance, but neither of them said a word.

“Would either of you be willing to volunteer?”

Both Martin and Tim quickly said “No,” though Tim’s response was half a beat faster than Martin’s.

“Why not?”

Tim made a face before repeating Jon’s words in a bitter tone. “Why not?”

“Yes, Tim. For all we know this power might be the only thing saving us from... from the next Prentiss, perhaps, or another thing like the one that got Sasha. Why not see what it’s good for here and now, so we know what the limits are before it comes down to some life or death situation?”

“Why should we?” Tim’s words came out fast and quick. “Why should we go along with being your guinea pigs in some spooky magic experiment just so you can get something out of it? A spooky experiment based on the words of someone you obviously don’t trust in the first place, no less!”

Tim stood up, shoving his chair roughly aside and throwing his hands in the air. “Though I don’t see why you don’t trust Jonny, I mean, it’s not like Jonny stalked your house and took pictures of it, or, or accused you of being a murderer for some reason, after you’d been friends for years... what the hell would we even get out of killing you, anyway? Because if you think we want your job, believe me, I want no part of this mess, I would quit in a damn heartbeat if I could...”

As Tim’s speech slowed to a halt, he pulled his chair back towards him, the chair making a loud noise as it was dragged against the tile floor, before collapsing in it. He was shaking slightly by the time he stopped speaking, though after a brief moment he spoke up again, looking Jon right in the eye as he did so.

“I... I didn’t mean to say all of that.”

It took a moment for Jon to realize what Tim meant by that, but once he did, his stomach sank.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, you’re sorry. You’re sorry you used your spooky magic to make me spill my guts. Well, that makes it alright then, doesn’t it?”

“Tim, Jon, can-”

“I didn’t say it was alright, but-”

“Jonny tells you not to ask people questions, and what’s the first thing you go and do?”

“It wasn’t the first thing I did, we had an entire conversation-”

“Will you two stop fighting and realize what this actually means?”

Martin’s voice came out sharper than Jon was used to, and the unexpected harshness in his tone was enough to get both him and Tim to quiet down.

“What are you talking about?”

“Jonny was right, clearly, about the whole question thing. He knew something about you, something you could do, something that you didn’t even know about yourself yet! Even if he was, was some sort of mind reader or something, he couldn’t manage that much. So isn’t this proof that maybe Jonny and Kay are telling the truth about all this?”

Jon thought for a moment. “Well... either they’re telling the truth, or the rabbit hole goes even deeper than I thought.”

Jon didn’t see who, but he heard somebody else let out a long, dramatic sigh.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

16. Faith in Grace

She had been working on her artwork again. The first time she got interested in it was whenever she was in the institution. Prior to that, whenever she wanted art, she had gotten it from The Apex, namely 808. So, that was who she “turned to,” while making her therapeutic artwork. She became a muse of sorts, even if it had only been for a time, and even if Grace didn’t even realize it at the time. 

Whenever she was locked up, she had been asked about her goals. It was a really bizarre question and it took her and her psychiatrist a long time to even get her to the point of comprehending just what the woman was asking. Basically, she wanted to know what Grace wanted out of her treatment, her life, and herself. At the time, all Grace wanted was to take care of her Apex family. So, her goal was, “To go home,” and whatever that entailed was what she was willing to do.

Her parents were there frequently, having every possible visit that they could have with her. She was awkward every time, barely remembering the days when she wanted their attention so much that she had literally risked her entire life just to be noticed. She felt so stupid now. The only way for her to NOT feel stupid was to try to forget that girl ever existed. Whoever she was when she was 10 and left these people, she certainly was not by the time she was 18, and that kid had been beaten to death, as far as she was concerned. She wasn’t trying to ever revive her. RIP to Grace Monroe, but I’m different.

Still, she felt for the Monroes. She herself had personally lost two kids, right before her own eyes, and several others out of sight. She knew that it was hard for them, maybe even as hard, if not harder for them as it was for her, looking at them. She tried not to be angry with them for never finding her, for giving up, moving on, and letting her rot away on the streets. She blamed them for having to watch herself burn and to come through the fire as someone whose face seemed unfamiliar to herself and whose hands were so drenched in blood that she seriously wondered if they would ever be clean. But… getting along with these, now, complete strangers was part of the proof that she was growing, and ready for release. It took her a couple of years to convince anybody - her parents, her doctors, hell, herself that she was capable of doing anything besides play acting as a person and getting violently angry when nobody was convinced.

Her doctor asked, “What do you think keeps you from showing your real feelings?”

“Showing my real feelings is why I’m HERE and not with my family.”

“Your family comes to see you all of the time and you never seem to really want to engage with them.”

“Ugh. Not the Monroes. The Apex!”

“Do you want to talk more about them?” 

Grace had been avoiding it. She worried that no matter WHAT this woman said, the police would storm through the abandoned train or the warehouse and take all of them away, separate them and never let them see each other again. But, maybe if she was careful, and didn’t give away any clues, that wouldn’t happen. She DID want to talk about them. She thought about them every waking moment. “They were my kids. I was their leader. I’m responsible for them, and now, 747 has to take care of them. He’s good for a few days, maybe, and it’s a really big maybe, a few weeks… But, for how long I’ve been away from them… For all I know, 152 has to take care of them… and I don’t know if he has the stomach. Maybe 1K will step in. Just maybe… but… I’m not there, so I can’t know for sure. Somebody could be murdering one of them right now, for all I know. Every time I try to sleep, I see their blood spilling. I wake up with it on my hands…” She hugged herself, crying now. “There was nothing left of Hazel to even hold. It wasn’t like with Todd. Todd’s face was gone, but I got to hug him, to apologize. Hazel was… there were remains, but it was like… saying goodbye to… to… wreckage. Human wreckage. Other people killed them, but MY hands were supposed to be holding theirs. They weren’t supposed to die. They weren’t supposed to have to hurt that way.”

“There are a lot of things that happen that feel like they aren’t supposed to.Some can argue that nothing is supposed to happen. That things happen as a result of millions of other threads and that none of them can be foreseen by those that they happen to. You say that you were meant to protect these kids, but you couldn’t have been there for each and every one of them every moment of every day. One of the most human things in the world is to expect more of ourselves than humanly possible, and those expectations are magnified in childhood. Whenever you consider all of the chronic trauma you were going through, and add all of these elements into your development, you should treat yourself with the same gentleness that you intend to treat your kids. If you could give them anything at all right now, what would it be?”

“I can’t give them anything…” Grace said, helplessly.

“Imagine it this way… If you had all the power in the world, all the money, all the access to everything good and right, what would you do for them?”

“Oh! I would put them up in nice places to live - with warm beds and complete meals. They wouldn’t have to steal or break into somewhere for that. They’d have it everyday. Food, clothing, shelter… That seems like the kind of stuff that should be free to all kids, no matter who they are. So, I’d probably see who I can talk to about making it so that it’s illegal not to feed and clothe and shelter kids. I mean… They say it IS illegal, but it's not /illegal/ illegal. Like, sure, if you’re not giving that stuff to your kid and somebody calls the kiddie people on you and they come in and see that the kids don’t have it, after they’ve told you a few times to get your act together, they’ll take the kids and put them somewhere where they’ll have the stuff, but it’s like cheap stuff and in a place with a bunch of strangers and stuff. And if the parents CAN’T give the kids that stuff… They shouldn’t have to go live in a kiddie prison. Lot of those Apex kids came from group homes and stuff because their parents lost them. From how they explain the system to me, it didn’t sound like programs were really there to help them at all - just to maybe stop people from hurting them, IF anybody even noticed. Some of the kids… nobody did notice and they left home on their own, wound up getting taken. That's not fair. There should never be remedial action for taking care of kids. From the moment that they’re born, whether or not their parents can afford it, they should be given everything that they need.”

“You want your kids to have needs. Is there anything else?”

“Of course! There’s loads else. They get sick and we try to figure out the meds. I’d make sure that they can see real doctors and get real meds. Make sure that they get real help for ailments and stuff. And then there’s the ones that still have dreams. They still wanna do cool stuff with their lives one day. 808 wanted to be an artist and go to France. I’d make sure that she got to do that, and stuff like that. I don’t know! There’s like a thousand kids! I can’t tell you every single thing that they need in one little sitting!”

“That’s okay. To sum it up, it sounds to me that if you had nothing holding you back, what you would be willing to give them all is everything that they need to live their best lives and in addition to that, the things that would make them happy.”

“Yeah,” Grace said. ‘ Obviously,’ she thought.

“I want to challenge you to do something.”

“I love a challenge.”

“I want to challenge you to give everything that you have the power to give, and give all of that to yourself.”

“What.”

“Everything that you need? Accept it. Everything that you want? Embrace it. Take the power and the resources that being here allows you and treat yourself, with those, like you would one of your kids.”

Grace struggled with this. Sure, she had been known to be very self absorbed and even egotistical to a huge degree, but the fact of the matter was that her kids were her responsibility… But… She guessed… Now, SHE was her responsibility. What the hell did she even “want,” now. Books.

Grace had always been an avid reader, and whenever she was kidnapped, that didn’t go away. Sure, it was a couple of years before she was able to read regularly, but she would definitely always gather up books from those book donation bins when she was at the warehouse and she stole so many books over the years from stores, stands, and even the library, that she could confidently say that she read everyday for at least the past 6 years. It was the only way that she had to do things. She had been a little behind on the Internet, since she wasn’t really allowed on it by herself whenever she was taken, and by the time she was the leader, they were able to get into public libraries whenever something serious came up and they didn’t know what to do (and if you’re wondering, the reason that they didn’t think to look up their parents or things like that was because Grace was the oldest… and it definitely didn’t occur to her that you could find people on that thing. She wasn’t even fully cognizant of what social media even was). The concept of “You can find anything on the internet,” in her mind meant articles about what to do when a kid is allergic to beestings and has been stung, or pictures of turtles and cats, She felt so STUPID now…

Reading was a good escape for a while, but after a few weeks, she began to lose focus a lot, or rather, she would be focusing on a lot of different things. The fact that she was nurturing herself while her kids were still out there alone, every kid’s face, what they must be thinking after having seen her pummel Bugle with a bat.. “Reading isn’t working!” she complained. Nobody had told her that she had to read, nor that reading would “work” to help her with her feelings. She had desired to read. 

So, the psychiatrist confirmed, “Would you like to try another activity besides reading?”

She nodded, aggressively and nodded her head. That was when her parents paid for art classes. She was able to have one on one, supervised lessons and they of course, chose the finest that they could afford, for the situation… and they doubled the pay. Grace didn’t love learning, but new experiences brought her joy.

She was trying to recreate symbols that 808 had created in her graffiti and doodles. She would try to remember how the girl had drawn names together, or made a pattern out of their numbers, or even the general structure of how she made faces. She couldn’t… but she had begun drawing now, getting why it had been so effective in taming 808. It wasn’t that it was necessarily calming - in fact, for Grace, drawing often had an opposite effect of calm, but it was… distracting.

She didn’t think about all of the different things that her brain would rush through whenever she was set on trying to create something. She drew odd pictures of Hazel being a turtle, transforming, or hiding out in her shell, waiting for the dangers to go away before she peeked out. She drew her as a girl, enjoying life with the Apex, being happy and perfect. She drew her as an angel. She wondered… Did she make it to some other place, or was her legacy simply a cautionary tale for street kids? ‘Don’t trust strangers or run away from home. You might wind up in a gang and get crushed by a train.’ Or was there more to life, and if there was, what was out there?

Grace had never thought about that before. Her first 10 years were all about appearance and reputation. Growing up seeing her mother on magazine covers, many of which were immortalized in frames in their home, she aimed for beauty and poise. Her mother’s walk always reminded her of a melody, as the woman was performing, even when there was not a camera in sight. Her walk was a strut down the runway and her speech was a charming interlude to an neverending ball, filled to capacity with important people.

In the home, Grace realized that she couldn’t remember how her mother looked. She had forgotten her father’s face ages ago, but she would steal mirrors whenever she was younger and if she looked in one, for a while, she would see her mother. They had the same face. As she grew up, she still looked into mirrors, but her mother’s face had faded. Her own face had faded. Did she ever look like the woman that she used to call “Mom?” Did she always look like this girl in the mirror? 

  A thing about the latter numbers - they came a little bit later and a little more stretched apart. The couple of years that the first 500 were brought in, they’d come from a variety of places and situations. Any addict with a jones might have traded their kid for cash, any gang member trying to get street cred might have handed over some unattended kid that they found in the park to a steward in exchange for a weapon or something to sell and build on. The first 500 had been more organized of an operation, as far as secrecy and hiding, but it had been kind of erratic and messy in handling business. The first 500 had been hard to figure out how to feed and house and keep under control. 

But, the first 500 had gotten this little bit of information from the stewards about the first 100. 

According to the stewards, the first 100 were hard to control and hard to hide, so they had taken all of the ones that they couldn’t control and disfigured them. Harder to fight back when you only had one hand. Harder to talk back when you didn’t have a tongue. Harder to run away when your legs had been broken. Of course, they were too young to know that damaging kids in such a way made them virtually useless, so the fear of being cut or broken was enough for many of them. For those it wasn't, there were the vanishing tales. The first 100, even the ones who had been good and smart, along with those disfigured and virtually useless had to be sold off quick for a pending raid. They were sold to some foreign business man and what happened to them beyond that was up to the steward telling the tale’s discretion.

Grace had heard that those with any use were put to work and that the useless ones were locked in a freezer and used as meat to feed the worker children. It was a scary thought whenever she first heard it. But. As she got older, she thought it was inspirational. Either you have use and you use your skills to further things, or you’re useless and will be discarded, replaced, or eaten. It made her mindful of figuring out what good the kids were for (much like the steward who took the money and ran told her) - with her gifts, she was worth more to the stewards than some of the other kids. 

So, whenever kids came in, any after 500, when it was a slow business of getting new kids and more of an industry of maintaining the child slaves that they had, Grace was usually the one trying to assess them and appraise them. She would take those with value under her wings and keep them close, and help them navigate. The ones that she didn’t do this with, she tried not to think about how hard their journey might be… where they might wind up… in the belly of a beast or at the bottom of the river. Alexandria was one of those kids… not the ones that she took under her wing… one of the ones she expected to wind up in the river. 

First off, she didn’t pay attention. She didn’t listen. She didn’t assimilate or adjust. She was always trying to run away. The stories of getting maimed didn’t scare her. The thought of being eaten didn’t move her. But, the idea of spending the rest of her life in the warehouse, unable to draw and paint and make things beautiful or feel things that she enjoyed… 808 preferred the idea of death. She also preferred the practice of self preservation. It befuddled the others. 

Because before her, both things weren’t optional. Who chooses both themselves and death? Who chooses not to listen, but also to protect themselves? Who would come to a place like this and try to both make the best of it, and also to do everything in their power to make it difficult? 808. That was who. 

“What do we make of the new girl?” Xander wondered.

“She’s really scared,” Heath said. “She’s like 747 was. We need to help her.”

Grace shook her head, “I don’t think she can be helped. She’s gonna be fish food before too long, and I don’t want her to drag any of you down with her whenever she gets tossed out.”

“You thought the same things about 7,” Heath reminded her. Xander gasped. “And now, he’s the most helpful kid here.”

Grace shrugged her shoulders. “You’re free to check. If it turns out that I’m wrong, I’ll eat crow. But, I’m positive, that girl is not one of us.” She wondered how 808 was, when they were apart, more than anybody else. She was Xander’s girlfriend, so maybe she was helping him to hold things together out there. But, what if she wasn’t? What if something happened to her, or to them, or to him? Were they gonna see Hazel and Todd again? Were they gonna just be dead and gone and haunting her dreams for the rest of her life?

“When people die, do they go to a good place?” She asked, drawing sketches of the Apex, in her own developing style. 

“There are a lot of different perspectives about it.” 

“What’s yours?”

“It isn’t actually something that is professional to discuss with you, but I assure you, whatever your perspective is, I wouldn’t judge you or try to lean you in a different direction, so long as your perspective isn’t harming anyone.”

“Do they have books about it?”

“Millions of them.”

“I need some. Do we have some in the library?”

“We have various subjects. Next library visit, we can ask them for something that you might be looking for.”

Grace began to study religion and philosophy a lot. She began to research psychology and sociology in her busy time. She began to take proper classes again and try to revisit her love of foreign languages and dance. She started… relaxing into the idea that she might be able to do more to help the Apex if she was better, herself, and if she didn’t get better as a person, then she would put her street smarts to work and get better as a hustler, so she could get the hell out of there and back to her family. 

A few key things happened whenever she was into her studies and training herself to act like a normal person… She began to attend mass at the chapel - this institution was affiliated with a hospital, affiliated with a church. She hadn’t ever in her life thought about rebirth or resurrection or restoration. She had never thought about salvation. But, it sounded interesting. Not the parts about self sacrifice and worshiping God… but the parts about repenting from old ways, and becoming a new creature, a new person, washed clean and living with purpose. That all sounded like nice stuff and the chaplain was pretty sweet, so she liked to use this, too, as a distraction.

The other thing was that she was given, by this sweet chaplain, a comprehensive book of saints. She began drawing her friends as saints, each and every one of them, but never herself. Something didn’t feel right about that. Somebody else had to declare you a saint. A church or whatever, but like… for her own artwork, anybody she chose could be a saint, who would stop her? 

“Joan of Arc killed people!” she said, excitedly. “She led troops! She was a soldier, a fighter, a leader. She was fighting for her people, against oppressors… against monsters…” 

“You seem to be enjoying your book. Do you identify with or maybe even look up to Joan of Arc?”

“I identify!” She cheered. “But, what’s even more interesting… She flipped through the pages, which had been tagged, and notated, the whole book through, is that she claimed to have been counselled by Catherine of Alexandria, who, while not a warrior in her day was a leader, a scholar, and one badass bitch. She was so eloquent and confident and fearless. Imagine that - not fearing death, for what you believe in? And IF, IF she DID counsel Joan of Arc, she also believed in retribution. She believed in battle. She believed in bloodshed, if it was right…”

Her life was changed. She didn’t get any visits from saints, or have any visions, but she suddenly felt like she knew who she was, who she had to become, and what she needed to do. No… it didn’t occur to her to start killing aggressors or to avenge the Apex… that was already inside of her, and she had killed before and wasn’t hesitant of doing so again. What this did was give her faith in something that she wasn’t sure that she really had before… herself. A woman on a mission with a belief, a brain and bravery could change the world and make history, and she was such a woman. After she was released, she changed her name and started this new life, this uncertain mission. 

First and foremost, she would lead the Apex to society, get their needs met - food, clothing, shelter, healthcare, etc. She would not have called herself a saint, but she did change her name to St. Catherine, so… yeah, she would… a little bit. Who was going to stop her?

It made her think of 808, though. She wasn’t around whenever Grace went looking for them. She had moved on. The last Sunny knew of, Tuba had offered her a place, but she promised to get word to her that Grace was back. Grace went to find her, to apologize to Tuba, and explain why she felt she had to do what she did, to look at Bugle, but she felt no need to apologize to her. She wouldn’t have comprehended it anyway. 808 had a tattoo, by then. Grace didn’t know what it was supposed to be, at first, but noticed it was a lit ball bomb. Cute. She was only 16, but Grace imagined that she probably did that to herself. Tuba was far more understanding than expected. She had already heard the full story, What Bugle had done to Hazel… it was understandable how Grace had reacted. But, whenever she invited 808 to come along with her, because she knew of a place where they could have all their needs met and be free, Alexandria laughed in her face, “Grace… I AM free. I’m the free-est that I’ve ever been. No thanks to you. You, who left us and went and got yourself all cleaned up and fancy.” She picked up one of Grace’s locs, “My, how your hair has grown…”

Grace sighed and pulled something out of her backpack, “I was thinking about what you said that you wanted to do. You wanted to go be an artist, in France…” I’ve been looking into it and I found an art school in France. You can make a portfolio and we can…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She looked at Alexandria’s expression. She looked furious. She looked like she wanted to hurt her. “You vanished for a year, got yourself taken care of, and you think that you get to just come back here and just dangle some childhood dream of mine in my face and what, I’ll just throw my arms around you and take you back? You never wanted me anyway. You never felt like I was one of you. Why are you here?”

Grace twisted the printout in her hands, “I… was wrong. You were one of us. You were always somebody that I leaned on, 808…”

“ I NEVER reclaimed my number, you just always insisted that I do!

Nobody calls me that shit anymore!” She hissed. 

“Alexandria,” Grace said. She looked down at the ground. The thought that she wouldn’t be received with love by everybody never crossed her mind. She presumed that they all would be just as happy to see her as she was to get back to them, and it had been a long, LONG time since she hadn’t seen 808 as one of them. Alexandria… “If you ever changed your mind about the school, I have a scholarship with your name on it.” She extended the papers and Alexandria snatched them from her hand and tossed them aside. “ I thought about you a lot whenever I was in there. I took some art classes to try to get as good as you, but it didn’t pan out,” she laughed nervously, sadly. Alexandria softened, She wasn’t sure WHY she was so mad at Grace. Grace had always held her close to her side, even though she had a feeling that she didn’t like her as much as the others, she trusted her and seeing Grace sad caused a very visceral reaction inside of her. Grace pulled out a rolled up canvas and handed it to her, “My best work… It’s you, but as Joan of Arc.” Alexandria accepted that a little more gently than she did the papers, and as Grace walked away, she unrolled it and cried, for the first time in a while, definitely since Grace hadn’t been around, but maybe longer than that, much longer.

“Grace!” The woman turned and Alexandria rolled the artwork back up, “It’s beautiful. It’s really nice. Your style is amazing.” Grace bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders, but her eyes looked a little less sad, and Alexandria felt such a rush, from just that one moment of effecting Grace Monroe. SHE had moved Grace. She… mattered to her… She watched her go and cried harder. She never did make it to that art school, but she was able to take the scholarship money and open her tattoo shop whenever she finished her apprenticeship, so… she… did in a way feel like she owed Grace, whenever she next called upon her, and the way that Grace would light up when she saw her and treat her like an equal, some of the time… it was better than dopamine. It was… enough to keep her in that web that Grace spun, whether she intended to or not. 

It was why, even though she knew Grace was upset with them all, it gave her butterflies to know that Grace wanted her to check on her, to come see about her. She wouldn’t do it, Grace was too upset and she didn’t want to have to face her after what she had done… but she did love that feeling it gave her when she knew that Grace cared. That she mattered to Grace. 

That simp O was right about it that night. She… had an effect on people, on Alexandria. She wouldn’t go by to see her, but she did send her a piece of artwork with a fancy scripted note that read, “I’m sorry,” on the top

Grace unrolled the canvas and saw the image of herself, painted as a saint. Catherine of Alexandria, and it read: Grace St. Catherine. Grace opened the card and written in Alexandria’s handwriting was a question, “Did you know that Catherine mentored Joan of Arc?” and on the back, “Of course you did. Show off.” But, Grace read it in Alexandria’s voice and knew just the smartass inflection that sent it from a pissy declaration into a show of her jaded affection. She turned to Simon and said, “Alexandria finally checked in with me! Look at what she made me!” She was very excited and awestruck. “She’s so talented. So talented. Always was.” Simon had to listen to her gush about how Alexandria and Xander used to splice their names together when they tagged places, how they were Xan and Xan and called their ship name Xannax and other… things… that he not only didn’t care about but hated to hear. He didn’t like them. He would get along with them for her benefit, but those were not his allies. He definitely would use them for what he needed - to get all of this Date Night shit out of the way and in the read view mirror, so that he could FINALLY have Grace all to himself and she wouldn;t have to worry about this mission that almost got her killed for a bunch of ingrates who not only would rip the two of them apart if they could, would resort to trickery to do so, and the worst sin in his mind… leave her to die…

“I made you something too!” he interrupted, jealous and frustrated by all of this tenfold forgiveness that she granted them. To his extreme pleasure, her smile grew and her face brightened. “Well, I’m in the process of it, but I think it’s gonna be great. I think you’ll love it.” 

She smiled softly and booped his nose, “I’m sure I will,” she said. She had taken the hint. He was feeling some kind of way about her excitement over Alexandria’s gift. She didn’t think it was necessarily jealousy so much as the fact that Alexandria had done him a huge disservice by creating that fake art that sent him back down this downward spiral, and that was one of the main reasons why Grace wasn’t going to fault him too much for his… possessive ways right now. They had a lot of other things that they could focus on and work through. He was trying to live without her and thanks to her own, he had failed at that. She wasn’t going to forget that when dealing with him, nor could she forget that they were the reason that they had been apart in the first place. 49 whole days, according to Simon. It felt longer - to both of them, but he felt at least entitled to that much time for him to have her to himself  without them, and she was in no condition to entertain, anyway, so she found that not only agreeable, but a relief. His intensity whenever she spoke too fondly about her friends was troubling, but at the time, she didn’t feel like she was in any position to articulate her unease without disrespecting this huge life change that he was going through. She had been a murderer for years. Simon had only just done this and it was on the heels of a long, lonely winter. She just… didn’t have the heart to address some shit like that right now. Anyways, Valentine’s Day was soon approaching… technically, it had almost been a year since they noticed each other. It should be a good one. She was going through her own things too, but… she wanted to focus on the good things.

17. Where the Heart Is

[marypsue]

house rule #3

So Darcy Lewis' new roommate might secretly be a supervillain. At least she always takes out the trash.

I timewarped in from 2012 to bring you this silly fic. Canon divergent(...ish? If anything contradicts canon pretend it's an AU) after Thor. I've never kept a timeline straight in my life and I don't intend to start now.

Happy New Year or whatever.

[on AO3]

...

Darcy goes back to school after New Mexico, and her roommate is gone.

Not, like, vanished by the government the way Darcy nearly was (thanks, Jane), probably, because apparently Melissa stopped and had a nice long chat with the landlady about why she was suddenly packing up and moving out mid-school-year. Oh, and took back the damage deposit that Darcy paid half of. Thanks, Melissa.

Darcy pays up for the damage deposit, goes back up to the apartment, puts on some angry music, and drafts an ad for a new roommate. She posts it online, then makes herself some noodles, eats them while watching Jenna Marbles videos on Youtube, and then goes to bed.

The next morning, there’s exactly one email response to her ad sitting in her inbox.

That’s how Darcy meets Lucy Walker.

Lucy’s an exchange student, over from England for a single semester. Her accent is as charmingly Mary Poppins-ish as her extremely convenient arrival. Darcy’s so relieved to have somebody to pick up the other half of the rent that she thinks she doesn’t even care if Lucy’s Single-White-Female-ing her right now. She says as much, and Lucy just gives her a good-naturedly baffled look before changing the subject to utilities.

Lucy’s good with Darcy’s 50/50 arrangement for utilities, isn’t horrified that Darcy doesn’t have cable and expects Lucy to pay for it if she absolutely can’t live without it (though she is horrified that Darcy doesn’t have an electric kettle, and by Darcy’s suggestion that she microwave the water for her tea), and seems satisfied with the smaller bedroom. She signs the lease before she leaves the viewing, and by the end of the week, she’s fully moved in.

The first night that Lucy stays at the apartment, Darcy orders in Thai and makes them both Long Island iced teas. It’s got tea in the name, she figures. The Brit will probably like it. Also maybe get drunk enough to let slip if she’s planning to wear Darcy’s skin like a suit.

But the alcohol barely seems to touch Lucy. If anything, she gets quieter, moodier. This was the opposite of what Darcy was going for, so she turns on some music to bring the mood back up.

“Oh, house rule number one,” she says, as she hits shuffle on her dance-pop playlist. “Stereo’s mine. I control the music. Unless you have, like, really good taste in music, and even then, ask first.”

Lucy smiles at her, slowly, over her novelty tiki mug of extremely powerful booze. “I find it better by far to beg forgiveness than ask permission. How will I know if I have, ‘like, really good taste in music’?”

“Oh, I’ll let you know,” Darcy says. “Here, gimme your iPod, let’s take a look.” She holds out a hand, wiggling her fingers. Lucy shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“I don’t…have one of those,” she says, warily, and Darcy draws her hand back.

“Yeah? No big. I almost didn’t either, after the government stole it.” She shakes her head. “What bands do you like?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with many American bands,” Lucy says, and Darcy beams.

“Even better! You’re a blank slate.”

“Yes, I certainly am that,” Lucy says, into her tiki mug, her eyebrows rising.

“Okay, cryptic,” Darcy says, and skips to Party Rock Anthem. “Hey, do you need more booze?”

Lucy, it turns out, is in the States studying business, though if the way she talks about her one Shakespeare-focused lit class is anything to go by, her true love is drama. She’s here because her older brother did the exchange program and got so much out of it, though so far she seems pretty unimpressed with the States.

“Well, I mean,” Darcy says. “We are barbarians who microwave our tea.”

Lucy laughs so hard at that that Darcy suspects she’s not as unaffected by the Long Island iced teas as she’d like to pretend.

 …

 Darcy ends up using the electric kettle almost as much as Lucy does. She doesn’t convert from coffee, though. Starbucks still owns her ass. She should really invest in shares.

Lucy makes herself incredibly easy to get along with. Sure, she takes forever in the bathroom every morning – probably making her hair do that thing it does, Darcy’s got no idea how she keeps it in place, she’s starting to suspect witchcraft - but she wakes up at hours that Darcy’s only ever seen from the other side, so it’s not really an issue. Lucy pulls long (and slightly odd) hours in the library, doesn’t bitch about Darcy’s music, always washes her dishes and takes out the trash and replaces the toilet paper roll. She doesn’t throw wild parties or steal Darcy’s jackets or leave clumps of hair in the shower or perishable food out on the counter for hours or invite her boyfriend to basically move in rent-free like some roommates Darcy could name.

But she also…doesn’t seem to have any…friends.

Lucy never brings anybody to the apartment, which is a point in her favour as far as Darcy’s concerned. But she also never talks about meeting anybody at the library or for coffee. She doesn’t have people over, but she also doesn’t go out. She’s not bad-looking - pretty, even, in a pointy kind of way, with those dark Snow White curls and pale skin and big sad-puppy green eyes – but as far as Darcy can tell, there’s no boyfriend in the picture, not even a long-distance one.

And she doesn’t call her family.

At first, Darcy thought it was a time zone thing, but after some of the things Lucy’s said in passing about her dad – well, it sounds like things between her and her family are kind of…strained. Darcy isn’t sure, but she thinks Lucy might actually be adopted. Maybe. Lucy seems to live for cryptic answers to straightforward questions.

Ordinarily, Darcy would consider all of this not her problem. But ordinarily, Darcy would also not be coming home after classes on a Friday to find her practically-perfect-in-every-way new roommate curled up on the couch hugging Darcy’s pug pillow to her chest and staring blankly at the wall. Lucy’s not crying, but her cheeks are suspiciously shiny.

She doesn’t seem to notice Darcy’s come in until Darcy says her name twice, and then she jumps up with a guilty expression, like Darcy’d just walked in and caught her jerkin’ it. Wanking? She is British, after all.

“Don’t mind me,” Lucy says, scrubbing a hand under each of her eyes in turn, an extremely bright and extremely fake smile settling over her face. “I was just heading back to the library – how was your class?”

“Not interesting enough to distract me into changing the subject?” Darcy says. “And don’t try to tell me you’re fine, because you’re obviously not. What gives?”

Lucy’s smile takes a turn for the embarrassed. “I’d really prefer not to discuss it.”

Darcy shrugs, dropping her satchel on the coffee table. “Sure. But – house rule number two. I’m like Dolly Parton. Nobody cries alone in my presence.”

Lucy rubs the sleeve of her dark blazer across her cheek. “Well, no one’s crying here,” she says.

“Yeah,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes as she unwinds her scarf from around her neck. “Anymore.”

“Really,” Lucy says, but her fake smile looks a little less fake. “Please don’t concern yourself. It’s not anything – not anything you can help.”

“Okay,” Darcy says, tossing her scarf over the hook by the door, her hat on top of it. “Wanna eat our feelings and make fun of ANTM highlights?”

Lucy gives her a blink that Darcy’s starting to recognize as her ‘I-don’t-get-that-pop-culture-reference-but-I-don’t-want-to-look-like-I-don’t-get-that-pop-culture-reference’ look.

“America’s Next Top Model?” Darcy says. “Tyra Banks? We were all rooting for you?” Lucy still looks blank, so Darcy grabs her satchel and pulls out her laptop. “Oh, this is happening. Reality television is everything that’s wrong with society today, which is what I love about it.”

She plops down on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table and her laptop on her knees. When she looks up, Lucy still hasn’t moved. Darcy pats the seat beside her. “C’mon, you’re not gonna be able to see anything from up there.”

Lucy does her best impression of a spooked horse ready to bolt, staring at the cushion next to Darcy like it’s a coiled viper.

“I should get to the library,” she says, half-heartedly. “Study…”

“No, what you should get is that pint of Cherry Garcia out of the fridge and bring it over here,” Darcy says. “Oh, and two spoons.”

 …

 Bad Reality TV Night quickly becomes an apartment tradition. If by ‘tradition’ you mean ‘whenever we feel like it’, which Darcy does.

They catch up on the highlights of the Bachelor, Jersey Shore, and Survivor, though Lucy also seems to like ANTM best. It’s a good excuse to spend time together that doesn’t involve chores or schoolwork. And Darcy’s never been one for standing on ceremony, but a good icebreaker is a good icebreaker.

Better than a taser, at least.

 …

 “What on earth is that smell?”

Darcy looks up from the choking clouds of smoke billowing out of the oven, waving an arm to try to waft it out of the way. Lucy’s standing in the doorway with her scarf pulled up over her mouth and nose and both of her eyebrows raised in a look that somehow manages to convey a whole range of emotions, from ‘disappointed and only a little surprised’ all the way to ‘looks into the camera like she’s on The Office’.

“Bread,” Darcy says, in the face of all the evidence. And then, with a last mournful glance into the depths of the oven, “Okay, the artist formerly known as bread. But, I put the fire out.”

“The oven was on fire?!” Lucy asks, her expression going straight to ‘alarmed’, and Darcy coughs into her hand.

“Key word was. Oh, and by the way, we need more baking soda.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You use it to smother oven fires? C’mon, even I knew that.”

Lucy pauses, her expression going carefully blank for a moment. “I don’t…bake at all. Never have.”

“What? Like you don’t even stress bake?”

Lucy’s expression stays blank. “It wasn’t something I was ever encouraged to learn.”

Darcy slams the oven door shut on the last few sad poofs of smoke, straightening up. Forget the aftermath of her bread. This is way more important. “You seriously don’t stress bake? What do you do when somebody makes you so mad you just wanna stab them?”

“Usually, I stab them,” Lucy says, in a voice so dry that Darcy honestly can’t tell if she’s joking.

“Okay,” Darcy says, with a shrug. “But you usually get way less arrested if you take it out on some dough instead.”

“Was that what you were trying to do here?” Lucy asks, waving a hand in front of her face like she can just shoo the smoke away. Funny, for a second it almost seems to be actually working, but then she snorks up a lungful and almost doubles over coughing.

“Oh yeah,” Darcy says. “Professor Doucheface was on his A game today, so I needed something to knead.”

Lucy looks slightly stunned, coming down from her coughing fit, but the ghost of a smile makes its way across her face. “I gather that ‘Professor Doucheface’ is not his given name.”

“Oh, it’s his given name all right. I gave it to him. At the beginning of the semester when he circlejerked about Machiavelli with these two fratbros in the front row for twenty minutes.” Darcy rolls her eyes. One of these days she’s going to figure out how to roll them right back so all you can see are the whites. It’s gonna look so badass. “It was all downhill from there.”

Lucy hums a little in the back of her throat. “Machiavelli made some interesting points.”

“Not you too.” Darcy tries to wave some of the smoke towards the open window. It very much does not work. “I keep forgetting you’re a business student. Is your whole degree just learning how to be an evil mastermind?”

Lucy taps a finger against her chin, thoughtfully. “…it rather is, now that I consider it. But I suppose there are worse things one could be.”

“No offense, but, like what.”

Lucy laughs at that, but it doesn’t escape Darcy’s notice that she doesn’t actually have an answer. Which is not actually surprising. Because seriously.

“All right,” Darcy says, peeking inside the oven and coughing when she gets a faceful of smoke. “I’m gonna clean this out, and then – we’re making chocolate chip cookies.”

 …

 Introducing Lucy to stress baking is probably the best idea Darcy’s ever had, ever. After the first couple of oven fires and garbage batches, there are always freshly-baked sweet treats around the apartment, and it constantly smells delicious. Darcy would worry about Lucy’s mental state if all that baking hadn’t led her to master the chocolate-chip-to-cookie ratio in all its ooey gooey goodness. She’s since moved on to cupcakes, and Darcy has high hopes for Lucy’s buttercream technique.

It’s a couple of weeks later that Darcy comes home and finds the kitchen full of racks upon racks of cookies and cupcakes both. She only pauses long enough to stuff a chocolate-chip cookie in her face before she asks, “Okay, is it your own Professor Doucheface, or something else?”

Lucy doesn’t answer right away, and doesn’t take her eyes off her dough.

After what feels like an entire ice age, she says, “I tried. To recreate a pastry that I remembered from home.” She shakes her head, a long, dark curl falling out of her messy braid. “And I couldn’t.”

Darcy chews on that for a moment as she chews on cookie. “You’re homesick?”

Lucy pauses, tucking the stray lock of hair behind one ear and smearing a white streak of flour along one Morticia Addams cheekbone. She flashes a rueful grin in Darcy’s direction, before going back to almost angrily kneading the ball of dough on the countertop in front of her. “You must think it’s silly. It was my choice to leave, after all, and yet here I am, wallowing.”

Darcy shrugs, leaning over to snag another cookie from the cooling rack. They’re still warm, the chocolate all melty and goopy inside. Heaven. “I dunno. Like, you’re halfway across the world all on your own.” She turns her full attention to separating a particularly sticky chocolate chip from her teeth before saying, “Mostly I’m just surprised because your home sounds like it sucks a fat one.”

Lucy gives a sharp, brittle laugh, and shoves the heels of both hands into the dough with surprising viciousness. She doesn’t talk for a long moment after that, just kneading and kneading and kneading until Darcy has to look away or risk getting hypnotized.

“I get it, though,” she says, ignoring the flat, disbelieving glance Lucy shoots in her direction. “I mean, the farthest I’ve ever been from home was New Mexico, and no offense to Jane or Puente Antigua, but that place sucked.” She demolishes the last bite of cookie, and licks the remnants of chocolate chip from her fingers. Hey, waste not, want not, right? “Although that was at least fifty percent the government’s fault. But! The other half was not having anybody to just hang out with. Jane’s great, don’t get me wrong, but can you say obsessive. Okay, and the internet connection made dialup look like the wave of the future, and you couldn’t get Starbucks without driving three hours, and -”

Lucy’s giving her a blank look. Darcy snags another cookie and waves it dismissively, barely managing to catch the top piece when it unexpectedly breaks in half in her hand. “Point is, we gotta get you out and meet some people. And I guess maybe some decent fish and chips.”

Lucy snorts dismissively at that, her hands rolling back into motion. That bread’s gonna be way overworked, but Darcy figures that’s one she’ll let Lucy figure out for herself.

“Also, it probably wouldn’t kill you to call your mom once in a while,” she says, chomping down on her cookie. How many is that now? Better question, does it matter. They’re best right out of the oven anyway. “I know shit’s weird with your dad and everything, but it sounds like your mom wouldn’t mind knowing you haven’t been eaten by a bald eagle or fallen off Mount Rushmore or whatever. And it sounds like your brother cares about you a lot. Even if he is a doofus.”

Lucy’s face cracks in a big, surprised, unamused grin, and she shakes her head, turning away with a soft huff of laughter.

“My brother cares about the person he wishes me to be,” she says at last, giving the dough another vicious shove.

“You don’t have to talk to him. Just let your mom know you’re not dead, she can pass it on.”

Lucy doesn’t look up from the dough. “I’m not certain it’s a good idea for me to try to contact my family.”

“Really? ‘cause I am,” Darcy says. “Are you worried about the long-distance charges? I know tuition’s higher for international students, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Lucy glares down the dough. “You have no idea what price I paid to be here.”

“I mean, I have some idea,” Darcy says. “You do give me your half of the rent every month.”

Lucy looks up, and then bursts out laughing.

“I like you, Darcy Lewis,” she says, once she’s got herself back under control. “Do you want to apply your flawlessly straightforward logic to every aspect of my life?”

Darcy shrugs. “Point me at the problem. I guarantee you that in twenty-four hours, either the problem’ll be gone, or you’ll have a way bigger, different problem to worry about instead.”

 …

 Lucy still demurs every time Darcy tries to invite her along any time she’s meeting friends, though. By the third or fourth time she makes up some bullshit excuse, Darcy’s starting to get fed up.

So she invites everybody over to the apartment instead.

Lucy comes back from the library somewhere between pizza and wine. She freezes in the doorway with one arm outstretched, overcoat and houndstooth scarf arrested halfway to the hook on the wall. A brief flicker of panic races across her face before she smooths her expression out, hanging up her coat and shaking out her hair.

“Darcy?” she calls, breaking into a broad smile when she catches Darcy’s eye. “Having a few friends over?”

“Yeah, come grab a glass of wine,” Darcy calls back from the living room. “We could use one more for Cards Against Humanity.”

“Cards against…” Lucy echoes, hovering in the entryway. Obviously she’s not going to take the initiative, so Darcy gets up and makes for the kitchen.

“Do they not have Cards Against Humanity in the UK?” Jared asks from the floor beside the coffee table, as Darcy pours out the dregs of a bottle of red into one of the only clean glasses. After a moment’s thought, she tops it off with white. Hey, that’s all rosé is, right?

“Yeah, and actually, what is the difference between the UK, England, and Britain?” Ayesha asks. “I’ve never been able to get it right.”

“Rude,” Darcy says, making her way back into the living room. Lucy’s still standing in the entryway, but her posture doesn’t look quite so stiff anymore, and her shoulders are creeping down from around her ears. Still, she looks awfully relieved when Darcy hands her the novelty plastic cactus-shaped cup of wine. “Nosy here is Ayesha, that’s Jared, strong and silent in the recliner is Vince, and half-passed-out-on-the-couch-already is Rachel. Guys, say hi to Lucy.”

“The practically perfect in every way?” Rachel asks, lifting her head from the hilarious pillow with a picture of a pug in a bedazzled tiara. Lucy’s cheekbones and the tips of her ears go brightly pink, but her grin is wicked.

“Ooh, Darcy. What have you been saying about me.” She takes a sip of her wine, makes a face at it, and then settles herself down on one of the cushions Darcy’s tossed around the coffee table, carefully arranging her pencil skirt. “How do you play this game, then?”

 …

 They add ‘Cards Against Humanity night’ to the roster of apartment traditions. Nobody really seems to mind that Lucy wins almost every time. Beating her is an interesting challenge. Like Rachel says, she makes them get creative.

 …

 They’re catching up on Big Brother highlights when Lucy asks Darcy, “Would you ever audition for one of these shows?”

Darcy snorts. “Thanks, but no thanks. You?”

Lucy narrows her eyes, smiling thoughtfully at the screen. “I think I could win one. The only thing would be convincing the producers I’d be interesting enough to watch.” She turns that grin on Darcy. “You have an advantage there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Darcy asks, crossing her arms with a good-natured glare.

Lucy flicks her eyes ceilingward with an expression of affected innocence. “Only that these shows seem to reward distinctive and outsized personalities.”

Darcy mentally translates that into English, then shrugs. “Hey, I’ve been accused of worse. I think.”

Lucy smiles, and says nothing.

“You’d need a gimmick,” Darcy says, watching one of the Big Brother girls hitting another with an inflatable palm tree. “Like…always referring to yourself in the third person, or insisting people call you ‘princess’, or something.”

Lucy’s smile goes a little tight around the edges, but she doesn’t comment.

“No. I don’t think I could stoop to that for any length of time,” she says, at last. “I suppose that’s another plan to cross off the list for once I complete my degree.”

“Do you know what you’re gonna do once you get outta here?” Darcy asks, with a glance over at Lucy. The inflatable palm tree fight got old fast.

Lucy doesn’t take her eyes from the laptop screen. “I thought I did.”

She really knows how to torpedo a mood, Darcy decides.

“Maybe I should audition for a reality show,” she says. “At least you know stuff about running a business. Probably. I mean, I don’t know, you could be failing out.”

Lucy huffs something that’s halfway to a laugh. “I assure you, I’m not failing out.”

“That’s what they all say,” Darcy says, reaching for a handful of popcorn.

Lucy glances in her direction, waiting until Darcy’s got her handful of popcorn before stealing the bowl and settling it into her lap. “What about that – Jane you worked for? Would she hire you back?”

Darcy snorts. Again. “Yeah, sure. If she couldn’t get anybody else.”

Lucy hums in the back of her throat. “Oh, never underestimate the power of being the only option. What were you doing for her, anyway?”

Darcy grimaces. “Making coffee, mostly. She’s an astrophysicist and I…am not.”

“Astrophysics?” Lucy asks, raising an eyebrow, a handful of popcorn apparently forgotten halfway to her mouth. “Now that sounds interesting.”

“Most of it went over my head,” Darcy says. “The wormhole stuff was pretty cool, though.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything, but her face is like a big flashing neon sign saying ‘tell me more’. Darcy’s not sure how much she’s actually allowed to say without a bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D. guys rolling up, smashing through all her windows, and whisking her off to some top-secret torture pit, though, so she just says, “Let’s just say science fiction didn’t get it totally wrong, for once.” She takes a sip of her coffee, staring Lucy down. “So what were you planning to do before whatever, and why aren’t you anymore?”

Lucy shakes her head. “Oh, no. Not if you get to leave me on that kind of a cliffhanger.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Okay. Guess we’re just gonna watch Big Brother, then.”

They watch Big Brother.

It’s about seven and a half minutes before Lucy says, slowly, “There is a…family business. My brother is the eldest, we always knew he would inherit, but -” She shakes her head again, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “He’s never had much of a head for business. I had assumed I’d be – taken on in a managerial capacity, but with the state of things between me and my family now…”

“See, I’ve never got that,” Darcy says. “Why not just let the person who’s actually good at the thing do the thing?”

“Our father is, unfortunately, something of a traditionalist,” Lucy says.

Darcy rolls her eyes.

“But perhaps it’s all for the best,” Lucy continues, darting a smile in Darcy’s direction. “I’m finding that this really is the land of opportunity. Even if you occasionally have to make your own.”

It’d be a little unfair to leave her hanging after that – even that much of a confession is a lot, coming from tight-lipped Lucy – so Darcy does end up telling her a little about New Mexico. Leaving out the bits about the Men in Black and the buff space aliens, of course.

Lucy’s a good listener – she makes all the right faces at all the right times, and asks relevant questions without interrupting. Darcy actually ends up telling her a little more than she strictly meant to. Although, to be fair to Lucy, Darcy usually ends up telling everybody a little more about everything than she strictly means to. One of these days, she’s gotta get herself a brain-to-mouth filter.

“It sounds as though you enjoyed yourself,” Lucy says, when Darcy finally runs herself out.

“I guess,” Darcy says. “I mean, it kinda stank at the time – literally, it’s hot in New Mexico and Jane’s trailer had the shittiest shower hookup. But it was also kinda an adventure.” She shrugs. “Except the parts where we all nearly died. Jane really needs to learn not to hijack vans to drive directly at tornados.”

Lucy leans forward, setting the popcorn bowl back on the coffee table. “Is Jane still researching these Einstein-Rosen bridges?”

“Think so. She wants to make her own, eventually, but it didn’t sound like that was gonna happen anytime soon. Sounded like she’d need her own nuclear reactor to get enough oomph behind it.”

Lucy nods consideringly. “Well, if she’s still working in that area, you might reach out and see if she needs an assistant.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. She’s got a couple articles published now. And funding. If she needs an assistant, she’s gonna pick somebody who knows the difference between a quark and a quasar.”

Lucy pouts dramatically at her. “Now, that doesn’t sound like the Darcy I know. Where’s that boundless confidence?”

“Taking a backseat to realism for five minutes? Like I said, I was the only applicant last time.”

“You only need an edge,” Lucy says, like it’s so super easy. “Make yourself stand out from the competition, demonstrate how you are the best candidate. You already have Jane’s confidence, that’s half the battle.” She winks at Darcy before adding, “Of course, you could always simply eliminate the other candidates, but I know your feelings on poison.”

“I’m never totally sure you’re joking when you talk about murder,” Darcy says.

“Because I’m not,” Lucy says, perfectly deadpan. “I am entirely sincere at all times.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna blame the accent.”

“What did you do when you applied the first time?” Lucy asks, going for another handful of popcorn and neatly sidestepping the conversation about her honestly worrying tendency to default to ‘when in doubt, stab them’. No wonder she likes Shakespeare.

“I just emailed Jane with the names and numbers of a bunch of my references,” Darcy says, going for her coffee again. “Like I said. Only applicant.”

The look Lucy gives her is probably the same look she gives to, like, baby animals that trip on their own tails. Like Darcy’s adorable, but only because she’s so pathetic.

“If there’s one thing you learn in business school,” she says, “it’s how to ace a job interview.”

“Excuse you,” Darcy says. “I interview great.”

Lucy says nothing, just looks Darcy up and down and then looks to her left with her eyebrows raised, like there’s a whole lot she could say but she’s politely restraining herself.

“Oh, what,” Darcy says, wiggling back further into the couch and re-crossing her arms. “Don’t give me that discreetly, Britishly rude shit. Spit it.”

A grin slowly sneaks its way across Lucy’s face, and she shakes her head with a laugh. “So forthright. And yet, so perceptive.”

“Well, you were broadcasting…pretty loud and clear,” Darcy points out.

“You’d be amazed what some people fail to pick up on,” Lucy says, half to herself.

“Whatever,” Darcy says. “Lay your wisdom on me, o business major. What’m I doing so obviously wrong?”

Lucy gives her a smile that only turns pitying a little at the end.

“Well, no one could doubt your confidence,” she says. “My only question is how you choose to channel it. I’m sure it’s admirable not to care about the impression one leaves upon others, but when one attempts to take on a new role, that impression is everything.”

Darcy waits, and when no more follows, shrugs.

“You don’t – ah – dress for success,” Lucy says, settling back on the couch with her back against the armrest, so she can look Darcy full in the face as she counts points off on her fingers. “You tend to treat punctuality as though it’s optional. Your forthrightness, while refreshing, could be seen to evidence a lack of tact or forethought – a tendency to charge in without thinking. Which, while a quality many seem to value in their leaders, is not in fact a strategy that frequently yields great success.”

“Unless you’re super buff and hot,” Darcy points out, thinking of Thor.

Lucy rolls her eyes, with a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. As your reality television proves quite handily, a great many rules have their exceptions if you are, as you say, ‘super buff and hot’.”

“Well, I’m already hot,” Darcy says. “So all I gotta do is hit the gym.”

Lucy gives her a flat, disbelieving look. Darcy makes direct eye contact, and flexes one arm, duckfacing before she leans over to kiss her nonexistent bicep.

She’s not sure which of them cracks up first, but she hopes it’s Lucy.

“Is that why you always dress like you’re just stopping in to the office to finish up the Johnson contract?” Darcy asks, when she gets her breath back. “Like, I know suits are required wearing for the business school, but you are allowed to wear, like, jeans or leggings or stuff on Saturdays.”

“I think it’s wise, to require a certain degree of presentation,” Lucy says, primly. “In many cases, the trappings of authority wield as much power as the authority itself. Others’ perception of you, of your legitimacy, is critical to exercising that authority.” She grins, wickedly. “Just ask Macbeth. Or any of the fools demanding your president’s birth video.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Please. Don’t remind me.” She very quickly seizes on the flaw in that logic, though. “But you’re not royalty - no, I know you’re not related to Queen Liz, don’t try that one on me again,” she adds, firmly, and Lucy rolls her eyes ceilingward with an innocent expression. “Or a president, or any other kind of leader of a country. You can get away with wearing jeans every once in a while, it’s not like nobody will ever take you seriously again.”

“So says the woman who wears nothing but jeans,” Lucy says, and then, her eyes crinkling up in a smile, “And has never once in her life been taken seriously.”

Darcy throws the pug pillow at her.

Lucy catches it with the ease of long practice, settling it behind her and making a big show of getting comfortable.

“Only a tiny fraction of a job interview – or, really, of any interaction - is its content. Like it or not, others draw conclusions from how you present yourself,” she says. “You want to present yourself in such a way that they draw the conclusions you wish them to draw.”

She looks at Darcy’s face, and sighs. “You need to learn to smize. But with your clothing, your body language, your choice of words. Smile without your mouth, speak without your words.”

Darcy blinks at her.

“Actually,” she says, “when you put it like that…that makes way more sense than just ‘you’re wearing that?’.”

Lucy gives her a broad, triumphant grin.

“Well,” she says. “If all it takes is a translation into Tyra Banks, there may be hope for you yet.”

Darcy looks around for something else to throw, but there’s nothing close to hand. Instead, she bobs her head in Lucy’s direction with a sarcastic glare. Lucy smiles back angelically.

“Don’t you ever get, like, tired of it, though?” Darcy asks, and Lucy’s smile suddenly goes blank behind the eyes. “I mean, always being on your best behaviour. Always overthinking what other people think of you -”

The smile drops off Lucy’s face so fast Darcy thinks it breaks the sound barrier. She could swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees in ten seconds.

Lucy glares at the laptop for a long, chilly moment before she turns a haughty, challenging look on Darcy. “I do not have the luxury of airing my dirty laundry for the world to see.”

“So you’re just gonna fake it, forever?” Darcy asks, feeling a little sideswiped. This conversation has taken a turn, and she’s not totally sure she likes the direction it’s going now. “That’s stupid.”

“You may try that flawless line of reasoning on my father,” Lucy says coldly.

Darcy shrugs. “I mean, if you’ll pay for my plane ticket. Or, like, call him, ever.”

“You have no idea what it’s been like, the kind of pressure -” Lucy starts, her voice low, her stare intense under lowered brows, but Darcy cuts her off.

“What, you think just because I don’t care what other people think about me, that I don’t notice it? Yeah, I know most people don’t absolutely love it when you just say whatever and never shut up. Total shocker.”

“All the more reason to have a care what face you present to the world.”

Suddenly, Darcy’s irritated, with Lucy, with Lucy’s whole Hamlet act, with the whole stupid world. “Oh, get over yourself. Like I’ve never tried. Do you really think I wouldn’t love to just always know what I’m doing wrong before I do it and be able to turn it off?”

Lucy’s expression softens, subtly, at that. “Believe me when I say I do understand. You’re far from the only one who’s unacceptable to the world the way they are.”

“Who gets to decide what’s ‘acceptable’, anyway? Because I feel like we should find them and like, gag them and toss them in a basement somewhere.” Darcy shakes her head. “I don’t want to pretend I’m something I’m not just to impress some randos. Sooner or later, they always find out I’m, well, me, and then I’ve wasted a bunch of time I could’ve spent watching cat videos. With people who actually like me.”

Darcy’s aware that Lucy’s watching her, very intently, and shrugs again, suddenly embarrassed by how much personal garbage she’s just spewed at a near-stranger. Darcy Lewis’ Lack of Filter strikes again.

“So like…yeah,” she concludes, lamely.

The smile Lucy gives her is a weak imitation of her usual confidence.

“An admirable philosophy, Polonius,” she says, sounding just a little too wistful for the sarcasm to really bite.

“Oh, fuck you,” Darcy sighs, flopping back against the arm of the couch with her arms akimbo, huffing a stray curl out of her face. “Sorry we can’t all be practically perfect in every way.”

There’s a moment of unbelievably glassy silence.

“I’m far from perfect,” Lucy says, quietly, at last.

“Sure,” Darcy says. “I just don’t know it, because I’ve never seen the ‘real’ you. Because you won’t chill out around anybody. And then you’ll get mad and resentful that I don’t get the ‘real’ you and it’ll all end in tears.” She bobs her head back up so she can look Lucy in the face. “Or, you could stop treating your life like it’s a job interview, follow my lead, and dump all your messy, complicated feelings on somebody you’ve known for like a month with no warning.”

Lucy’s face doesn’t change, and Darcy, unable to stop her face from saying words even under the best of circumstances, adds, “Y’know. Like we’re friends.”

The look Lucy gives her is entirely unreadable. Darcy gives it her best effort for maybe ten seconds anyway, then gives up trying.

“Just a suggestion,” she says, as Lucy rises from the couch.

“It’s been a long day,” Lucy says, avoiding eye contact. “And tomorrow will be as well. I’d best turn in.”

“Coward,” Darcy calls after her, as she starts down the hall. “Don’t be afraid of the overshare!”

She considers getting up and grabbing the pug pillow to throw at Lucy again, but decides it seems like too much effort.

 …

 The next morning, Darcy catches Lucy in the kitchen before she leaves for class, which is unusual. Still, Darcy Lewis has never been one to look the proverbial gift horse in its proverbial gift mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night,” she says, as she pours coffee into her cocoa puffs. “If I was outta line, or stepped over some boundaries…you know.”

Lucy blinks at the bowl of bobbing pale-brown cereal in dark-brown coffee, but says nothing, just passes Darcy the milk so she can add it to her creation.

“I apologise, as well,” she says, at last, with a brief, bright, not-entirely-convincing smile. “Some measure of what you said…touched a nerve.”

“I figured,” Darcy says. “It’s what I do best. Touch nerves, get jobs I’m not qualified for, make killer playlists.”

She meets Lucy’s eyes, and they share a smile.

“I’m not… I don’t share myself the way you do,” Lucy says, at last, turning to the cupboards for a spoon to stir her coffee. “I don’t believe I could, or that I’d wish to. But…”

She pauses to take a long sip of her coffee, the spoon still in it. “This past year, I’ve learned a few things about myself that I…am having difficulty coming to terms with. Things I’m afraid have not provoked a positive response from those I’ve chosen or been obliged to share with. I – it helps, to present myself carefully, to know I have some choice in how others perceive me. To have some measure of control.” Lucy gives the coffee another stir, staring into its spiral. “To be certain they aren’t seeing – certain aspects of myself that I’d prefer not to exist.”

“Wait,” Darcy says, trying to shuffle all of those pieces into order in her mind. “You’re insecure about your appearance?”

Over the top of her coffee mug, Lucy skewers her with a glare.

“Yeah, okay, fair. I guess it was a shitty thing to say anyway.”

Lucy turns her stare down into her coffee. “Perhaps this does make me a coward.”

“What? No way,” Darcy says. “It’s smart. Just, like, as a sometimes thing. Did you miss the part where I said if I could pretend to be a normal person, I would?”

“You shouldn’t,” Lucy says. “If you could, you wouldn’t be Darcy.”

Darcy bites her bottom lip.

“Thanks,” she says. “I think.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lucy says, smoothly, a mischievous smile starting to play around her lips. “Take it as a compliment.”

Darcy aims a kick in her direction, which misses by a mile, then settles down to eat her cereal experiment.

“Well, this is terrible,” she says, a few bites in.

“I honestly don’t know what you expected,” Lucy says.

 …

 Professor Doucheface isn’t at the front of the class one afternoon not long after that. The smiling woman who’s taken his place explains that he’s taken a leave of absence and will be back when he’s back, which might not be before the end of the semester.

Darcy cracks a bottle of wine as soon as she gets home and hauls Lucy out of her room to do a toast with her. And then do karaoke with her. She’s pretty sure Lucy’s big, smug grin is just her being happy for Darcy, but still. It’s nice to see her smile.

She sucks at karaoke, though. Doesn’t know any of the words.

 …

  When Jane turns up at the apartment, it’s Lucy who answers the door. Darcy’s in her room working very hard, thank you, on a presentation about the Euro crisis using ‘Call Me Maybe’ as a learning aid. So she can’t really be blamed if she doesn’t hear the first time Lucy knocks on her door. Or the second. Or the third.

When Darcy finally ventures forth on a quest for snackage, Jane and Lucy are both sitting in the living room, Jane holding forth about some science-y thing, complete with hand gestures, while Lucy looks fascinated and occasionally nods encouragingly. She’s either the best polite listener in the history of polite listeners, or she’s actually interested in this wormhole stuff.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were into astrophysics,” Darcy says, when Jane pauses for breath, and both Jane and Lucy turn to look at her with identical guilty expressions. Darcy can’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, you guys should see yourselves. You look like my mom’s dog when she shredded the cat’s catnip mouse. The cat loved it, though. She was trippin’ for hours.”

Now they’re both kind of looking blank. Jane shakes it off first. “I do actually need to talk to you, Darcy.”

“Hit me,” Darcy says, collapsing onto the couch beside her.

Jane doesn’t move, but her eyes dart in Lucy’s direction. “Do you want to go grab a coffee or something?”

“Ah,” Lucy says, looking from Jane to Darcy and back again. “I have plenty of studying to do. I’ll be in my room.” She pushes herself up from the armchair, smoothing down her skirt – a super cute A-line that Darcy would never wear but that totally works on somebody as tall and bony as Lucy. “Thank you, Dr. Foster, I found our conversation most…enlightening.”

“Oh, please, call me Jane,” Jane says, standing up herself and sticking out her right hand. Lucy blinks at it for half a second before taking it and giving it a very professional shake, with a brilliant smile. Darcy can’t help but notice that the height difference between them is hilarious. She always forgets how tiny Jane is. “Always a pleasure to meet young people with an actual interest in my field.” The look Jane gives Darcy is a little too fond to be a glare.

“Hey, I have an actual interest in your field,” Darcy argues. “I’m very interested in the easy science credits it bagged me.”

“ ‘Easy’ science credits?” Jane says, in mock disbelief, as Lucy heads down the hallway. “I seem to recall somebody saying she refused to die for six college credits…”

Lucy’s bedroom door shuts with a solid thunk, and Jane waits a couple of minutes before turning back to Darcy. Minutes? Probably seconds. Minutes are always longer than Darcy thinks. Or shorter, depending on the day and whether people are talking. “I know I only met her once, but I thought your roommate was…shorter. And less British.”

“Oh yeah. Melissa. She totally flaked on me while you and I were out playing X-Files in the desert,” Darcy says. “Lucy’s doing an exchange…thing. So what’s up?”

“Do you have something lined up for after graduation?” Jane asks.

“Depends. Do you still want to pay me in college credits?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “No. I actually have a budget now, thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D., but it’s been hell on wheels trying to get somebody cleared to come work for me. They want it to be all ‘need-to-know’. But they need to know!”

“What about Selvig?” Darcy asks. Her stomach chooses this unfortunate moment to remind her why she came out of her room in the first place, and she furiously thinks at it to be cool. She might have an actual job lined up if she plays her cards right, here. One where she can goof off for money and gorgeous men literally rain from the sky. No way she’s letting a little Oreo craving get between her and that.

Jane shakes her head. “There’s some mystery project the director’s apparently been courting him for. Even if he’d want to, he doesn’t have time to run around after me chasing storms.”

“Ooh, mystery project,” Darcy says. “That sounds prestigious. And expensive. D’you think he’s hiring?”

Jane gives her a flat look. “They won’t even tell me what it is. No way they’re letting you within a hundred feet of it.”

Darcy shrugs. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Just wanna know what my options are, in case I decide to play hardball.” She considers it a moment. Not so long ago, Darcy would’ve jumped – well, okay, not jumped, casually agreed to, nobody who’s built like Darcy does much jumping – at the opportunity. But not so long ago, Darcy had not had a business major for a roommate. Lucy’s taught her a thing or two about negotiating and knowing her worth. Pretty much all of which she’s throwing out the window right now, but hey, it’s the thought that counts. “How much can you pay me, anyway?”

Jane names a figure. Darcy chokes on her own spit.

“Do you need me to drop out and start now?” she asks, when she can breathe like a normal person again. “ ‘cause I can drop out and start now.”

Jane huffs a soft laugh. “Finish your degree. I’m sure I’ll burn through the last few S.H.I.E.L.D. lab techs who’re willing to put up with me, and the spot’ll be open for you to step into before you even take off the cap and gown.”

“How sure?” Darcy asks, because, well, she doesn’t want Lucy to have had to break her best job interview tips down into pieces of Tyra’s advice for nothing. “Do I get, like, something to sign? Anything in writing?”

Jane actually laughs this time. “Yes. That’s why I didn’t just call. Well, that and the possibility of wiretaps.” She reaches down by her feet for the brown canvas messenger bag Darcy hadn’t really paid much attention to. “There’s, uh, a formal offer…”

Her smile turns apologetic, and Darcy just has time to feel a wave of the ominouses build over her before Jane pulls out a stack of printer paper an inch and a half thick. “And, uh, a couple of non-disclosure agreements. Oh, and a background check. And another background check, except this one’s off the record, because it’s being done technically illegally by a defected Soviet spy.”

“You’re joking, right,” Darcy says.

Jane gives her a smile that’s half a wince, and a pen.

 …

 By the time Lucy pops back out of her room in search of dinner, Darcy’s wrist aches something fierce, to match the throb behind her eyes from all the tiny, tiny, extremely important print, and she’s pretty sure the index finger on her right hand is never going to be the same again. But none of that matters, because Darcy Lewis Has A Job.

“Right out of school!” she crows, shaking out her hand. “How about that, Mom? Oh, and, there’s science in poli-sci, so, like, it’s even using my major. Using half my major. Does that count?”

Lucy looks at her over the mug of tea she’s just poured herself. “For purposes of proving your parent wrong? Oh, absolutely.”

“What?” Darcy says, and then remembers Lucy’s life across the pond is a soap opera. “Oh, no, my mom just – she was worried. Poli-sci was my…third? Third major in two years. She really wanted me to make my mind up, or at least pick something that would guarantee I wouldn’t be moving back in with her after graduation. She’ll be so super proud.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything, just blows softly across the surface of her tea and kind of stares into the middle distance.

“You know what this calls for?” Darcy says, before the buzz can get any more killed. “Champagne. Lots of champagne.”

Lucy focuses back on her, quirking an eyebrow up with a hint of a smirk. “Job offer or not, you still can’t afford champagne.”

“Nope,” Darcy says, popping the ‘p’. “But I can afford fizzy wine, and I can’t tell the difference.”

 …

 “Gotta ask,” Darcy says, as they stand in the walk-in cooler, staring at the bottles of prosecco, “does your family really suck that much? Because I’m gonna feel like a real asshole for trying to make you phone your mom.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just studying the glass bottles on the shelf in front of her. Maybe it’s the coat (it’s a nice coat, really thick and heavy, as Darcy learned when she had to pick it up every time it fell off the hooks by the door), or the scarf, or maybe Lucy’s just naturally cold-blooded, but she hasn’t shivered yet. Darcy, on the other hand, wore a spring jacket and is regretting it.

“I wouldn’t say, ‘suck’,” Lucy says, at last, slowly.

“No, you’d say, like, ‘bollocks’ or something,” Darcy says, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Lucy’s face unfreezes, and she darts a bright grin in Darcy’s direction, though there’s still something sad around her eyes.

“I like you, Darcy,” she says. “But unfortunately, not everything is so simple as you like to think.”

Darcy shrugs, without taking her hands out of her pockets. “I dunno. Sometimes people just make things complicated for themselves.”

They spend another quiet moment studying the fizzy wine, before Darcy shakes out her hands with a puff of breath. “Okay, do you actually have an opinion on what we drink, or are you just trying to avoid talking to me? Because if it’s the second one, I’m picking the cheapest bottle and getting out of here. I’m freezing.”

“Oh,” Lucy says, like she forgot they were standing in a refrigerator, and then reaches up and grabs a bottle of prosecco that is pretty clearly not the cheapest bottle on the shelf. “Here. I’ll treat.”

Darcy watches her suspiciously. “I thought you were broke.”

“Not so broke that I’ll drink that barely-alcoholic swill you call fizzy wine, thank you,” Lucy says primly, and Darcy can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks,” she says, once they’re through the checkout and back out on the sidewalk, Lucy pressing the bag holding their prosecco into her hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Lucy gives her a smile that’s just a little unsettling. “I should be thanking you, Darcy. You’ve done more for me than you know.”

Darcy squirms internally under the attention. “We’re roommates. We do roommate stuff. Nothing special.”

Lucy bobs her head back and forth, like she doesn’t agree but she won’t come right out and object. “You opened your home to me. You’ve shown me hospitality above and beyond what was required of you. I won’t forget it.”

Darcy shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, don’t mention it. But if I’m ever in London and need a place to crash -”

Lucy’s smile is brilliant. “Oh, I expect that if you’re ever in London, you’ll look me up. I’ll take you out for fish and chips and we can tour the Tower.”

“Haunted murder prison. Sounds like a blast,” Darcy says. “You better take me on that giant Ferris wheel, too. I promise not to barf on anybody this time.”

Lucy blinks at her. “ ‘This time’?”

 …

 Exam season hits them both hard. Darcy spends a lot of time in the coffee shop, loading up on espressos in a desperate bid to keep herself awake after the string of all-nighters she’s pulled. Lucy practically moves into the library. Darcy doesn’t see her except in the apartment doorway, once, when she’s grabbing some books for class, and even then it’s only for long enough to say ‘hi’ and then ‘bye’ again.

Jane calls about a week and a half, maybe two weeks after Darcy signs the unbearable stack of documents. For one horrifying second, Darcy thinks the ex-Soviet spy turned up some dreadful, sordid thing in her family history and she’s not getting the job after all. But Jane doesn’t even mention the job. She barely even says hello. “Have you heard from Erik? I’ve been trying to get in touch, but he’s not answering his phone. Or his emails.”

“You did say he’s working on some top-secret classified mystery thing,” Darcy points out. “If I had to sign that many NDAs, I bet they’re taking no chances on him blabbing.”

“I know, it’s just – it’s not like him,” Jane says, and her worry’s a little bit contagious, even through the phone. “Wouldn’t he have warned somebody if he was going to have to go dark? Warned me?”

“Jane. C’mon,” Darcy says. “He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

“Darcy,” Jane says, shortly. “You were there when he told us about his friend.”

“Yeah, but S.H.I.E.L.D. did that,” Darcy counters. “The people who hired him. Who vanishes their own employees?”

“People like S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Jane says grimly. “Let me know if you hear from him, all right?”

“Well, if he’s not talking to you, the chances of him friending me on Facebook or whatever are pretty low.”

“Darcy,” Jane sighs, “just say, ‘Yes, Jane’.”

“Yes, Jane,” Darcy parrots into the phone.

 …

 It’s been almost another week, almost a week since the last time she saw Lucy. Darcy’s holed up in her favourite campus coffeeshop, nursing her fourth – fifth? – latte of the afternoon, when the TV silently playing old episodes of Friends cuts to a news break.

It’s a short clip, repeating over and over. Some dude who looks more like an extremely glam pop star in a ridiculous costume than anything, and at first, with the sound off, that’s what Darcy thinks it is. Some dude trying to get in on the Gaga-Katy Perry weird costume trend. Looks like he might be singing to a big crowd in an outdoor arena. He’s really givin’ it, if the face he’s making is anything to go by. Probably a high E or something. The blue spotlight they’ve got on him is not flattering.

It’s about time the weird costume trend took off for dudes, if you ask Darcy. If she has to see another candy-shaped bra, she’s gonna throw up in her mouth.

She’s turning back to her textbooks when something makes her look back up. Some nagging feeling in the back of her head, like there’s something she should be remembering. She’s seen a tacky horned helmet like that before. Somewhere.

The dude in the costume doesn’t really look like he’s singing anymore, either. The camera zooms shakily towards his face, and Darcy’s forced to admit that most pop stars don’t glower at their audiences quite so much. It’s a crappy, glitchy feed, and the moment the guy makes eye contact with the camera, it washes out in a haze of electric blue. But it’s still long enough for Darcy to get an eyeful of pale, pretty, and pointy.

She’s seen a face like that somewhere, too. Recently.

“Oh,” Darcy mutters into her latte, and finally settles on, “shit.”

 …

 “Hi, this is Dr. Jane Foster -”

“Jane?” Darcy tries not to yell into the phone. “Listen, I need to know how far you are into getting this bridge thing working -”

“I’m unable to come to the phone right now,” Jane’s voice continues, blithely, “but leave your name and number at the tone and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

“Dammit, Jane, are you screening your calls? That’s a new level of paranoia, even for you,” Darcy says, over the beep. “Come on! It’s me! It’s Darcy! Pick up!”

Jane does not pick up. All Darcy gets is a dirty look from everyone within earshot. Including the librarian.

“Is there something I can help you find?” she asks, pointedly. Obviously she’s just trying to embarrass Darcy into shutting up and going away, because she looks a little startled when Darcy hangs up her phone and pockets it, stomping up to the desk like a woman on a mission. Which she is.

“Yeah, actually, there is,” Darcy says, leaning heavily against the counter and making aggressive eye contact with the librarian. “I need everything you’ve got on Norse mythology.”

The librarian looks startled for a moment, before her expression turns professional again. She turns to her computer, taps a few keys on her keyboard, glancing briefly up at Darcy. “Okay, so all our translations of the Eddas are checked out right now, but there are a few interpretive texts available, and some articles -”

“Don’t you have, like, a ‘Norse Mythology for Dummies’?” Darcy asks, and the librarian gives her a look that clearly says she, the librarian, knows Darcy is going to fail whatever class this is for.

“Try the education library,” she says.

 …

 The education library is full of children’s books. Darcy would be insulted, except that she finds the exact book Selvig had brought back to show her and Jane, wedged on a shelf between a fat picture book on Greek mythology and the gold spine of Egyptology. Darcy pauses a moment to let a flood of fond memories pass over her – hey, any book that was shiny gold and had a big plastic gem stuck in the front cover was the coolest ever when you were, like, twelve – before pulling out the book on Norse mythology and finding herself a table. Thankfully, the furniture is all scaled for adult-sized people.

Darcy slams the book open, flipping past the sections on Yggdrasil and the nine realms, pausing briefly on the pages about Thor, before she finally finds what she was looking for. The illustration’s…weasellier-looking than she remembers, the face way pointier, but that is definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the helmet she’d just seen on TV.

Darcy shakes her head, turning her attention to the text that goes with the image. The book’s laid out more like an encyclopedia than a storybook, which is good, because right now Darcy just needs as much information as possible in as little time as possible.

She’s just about finished reading the section when her phone rings. It’s Jane, sounding almost frantic. “Darcy! What’s going on, are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Darcy says, and Jane lets out a sigh that’s one part relief, two parts frustration.

“Then what was the panicky phone message about?”

“Panicky? On what planet?”

“Darcy, you were already talking when the recording started, and you just kept yelling at me to pick up. I thought you were being abducted.”

Darcy thinks back to the phone call, and is forced to admit Jane has a point. “I’m okay,” she says. “Aside from the part where I might be sharing an apartment with a homicidal Norse god.”

Jane’s end of the line goes dead silent.

“Jane?” Darcy asks.

“No,” Jane says, and then, like she’s warming up, “No, the bridge still isn’t working, they couldn’t -”

“Jane,” Darcy repeats, interrupting before Jane can really get going. “Checked the news lately?”

She can almost hear Jane deflate through the phone.

“Why wouldn’t he have contacted me?” she says, in this terrible small voice that Darcy feels a wash of secondhand embarrassment just listening to. “If he could get through, why not -”

“Jane,” Darcy says, a third time. “Focus.”

Jane seems to remember she has an audience. She clears her throat, dropping the pitch of her voice. Darcy can picture her, easily, shutting her eyes and shaking her head as she pulls herself together. “What do you mean, sharing an apartment?”

“I mean, how much did you tell Lucy about generating Einstein-Rosen bridges?” Darcy says. “Also, how loud were we talking about Selvig’s big break?”

“Not – I mostly kept to the theory, you know I signed a few non-disclosures of my own – Darcy, what -”

“I’m just asking,” Darcy says, drumming her fingers against the little weaselly illustration. “Because from what I’ve been reading, people tend to just, like, tell Loki stuff if he asks while he’s shapeshifted into a woman.”

There’s another, longer pause.

“No,” Jane says, again.

Darcy nods, before remembering Jane can’t see her. “Kinda think so. I know I should’ve been worried when she turned up so conveniently after Melissa flaked, but I just thought she was gonna skin me and wear my face over her face or something like that.”

Jane pauses again before she speaks, but it doesn’t somehow sound so heavy. “Did I know how graphic your imagination was when I first hired you?”

“Only applicant, remember?” Darcy says. “Look, it all lines up. The family drama, the my brother spent some time here and he believes it did him a world of good, the accent, the way she keeps just disappearing at really weird times for hours or days at a time – I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen her in a classroom or with a textbook – and she doesn’t know anything about music. Or get cold like a normal person, and there’s something here about…frost giants? Also, one of his nicknames is ‘Sky-Walker’, and apparently, in like Norwegian, that ‘oh’ in his name should be an ‘oo’ -”

“Darcy,” Jane says, firmly. “Breathe.”

“I am totally breathing,” Darcy protests. “Look, after you offered me the job, she bought us a bottle of sparkling wine and thanked me really cryptically and I basically haven’t seen her since. And in that time, Selvig’s dropped off the map, and a supervillain calling himself Loki who could be her fraternal twin pops up and starts chewing German scenery in a helmet that looks exactly like the one in this book.” Darcy sits back in her chair, bouncing off the back. “Also, I told her about this professor who was a total pain in my ass, and like two weeks later he was on leave for ‘undisclosed reasons’ and he still hasn’t come back.”

“This…could all be a coincidence,” Jane says, lamely.

“Oh yeah. Same way that weird homeless guy you kept hitting with your car showing up inside that storm was all a coincidence,” Darcy says. “Oh, my god. I’ve been watching ANTM highlights with a supervillain.”

“Okay, stay calm,” Jane says, in a voice that does absolutely nothing to make Darcy feel any more calm. “Does she know you know?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t even put it together until, like, twenty minutes ago. God! I ate her chocolate-chip cookies!”

“Is she with you? Do you think you’re in any immediate danger?” Jane asks, being infuriatingly reasonable for somebody who was helpless with heartbreak not five minutes ago.

“No,” Darcy admits. “I don’t think so. Oh, shit!”

“What?” Jane gasps.

Darcy groans. “Left my taser at the apartment.”

 …

 Darcy stays late at the coffee shop, reluctant to go back to the apartment. Sure, she hasn’t seen Lucy in weeks and has no reason to think that’s going to suddenly change. And sure, nothing she’s read makes it sound like the god who might be her roommate can read minds. There’s no way, even if she did run into Lucy, that Lucy would be able to tell that Darcy knows.

Except for the part where she’s the literal god (goddess?) of lies and Darcy’s a mediocre actress at best. Yep. No way she’s gonna notice anything’s different. Or anything.

Fuck. Darcy is so, so screwed.

When the coffee shop closes and kicks her out, Darcy migrates to the library. When the library closes and kicks her out, Darcy complains very loudly that they aren’t staying open 24/7 for exam season. Her one-woman protest has absolutely no effect whatsoever.

Darcy stands on the sidewalk outside the library doors, shivering in the chilly night air, and wonders if one of her friends would let her crash at their place overnight. She considers it for a minute before realizing that just figuring out how to ask would probably end up making things even more complicated than they already are.

Finally, Darcy decides she’s cold enough, tired enough, and grumpy enough to take her chances heading back to the apartment. So what if Lucy’s there? So is her taser.

“Tased a Norse god once,” Darcy mutters, under her breath, as she slouches determinedly towards the bus depot, hoping they haven’t stopped running for the night as well. “Can do it again.”

By the time she gets back to the apartment, Darcy’s so wound up that she jumps involuntarily when she opens the door. But there’s nothing to freak out about. Lucy’s coat isn’t hanging on the hooks by the door, which is a sure sign that she’s still out. Darcy wonders, for half a second, where she is if the library’s closed, and then feels incredibly stupid.

“Supervillainy. Right,” she says, into the empty apartment, tossing her coat in the general direction of the hooks. She double-checks the lock on the apartment door, brushes her teeth and washes her face, and then very carefully locks herself in her bedroom. After a moment’s consideration, she wedges her deskchair under the handle, too.

It takes Darcy a very long time to fall asleep.

 …

 She’s woken at some ungodly hour by a crash that has her leaping up out of bed, half-convinced somebody’s trying to break down her door. It takes Darcy a moment to boot her brain up out of sleep mode and realise it was just the chair falling over.

 …

 It takes another panicked phone call from Jane before Darcy remembers she was supposed to check in when she got home last night. She only just manages to talk Jane down from calling in S.H.I.E.L.D., which might seem a little crazy at first blush, but makes a lot of sense if you think about it. Yeah, okay, so maybe Darcy’s been living with the Big Bad of the week, but she doesn’t actually know that for sure, and it’s not like she has any useful information about any nefarious plans, and said Big Bad hasn’t even been around lately, and – look, it just doesn’t seem like a good idea. Darcy’s keeping an eye on the news, and it looks like they’ve got it under control. They don’t need Jane and Darcy butting in. They’re handling it.

Plus, she really, really doesn’t want her iPod confiscated again.

Darcy’s been walking on eggshells all day, jumping at every little noise, before she finally decides she’s done. She’s over it. Either her roommate is a homicidal extraterrestrial, or she isn’t. Either she’s going to totally murder Darcy and wear her skin like a – okay, she’s overusing that one. Either she’s going to totally murder Darcy and use her skull as a drinking horn or whatever, or she isn’t. And either way, there’s not a whole lot Darcy can do about it. So worrying about it like this is pointless.

What would be less pointless would be finding out 1) whether Lucy really is secretly an evil alien god, and 2) if she is, what to do about it.

 …

 To: lucy

From: darcy

house rule #3: if ur a supervillian u have 2 tell me.

 Read at 5:47 PM

 …

 It isn’t even a full day later that the Chitauri attack New York.

 …

 Darcy gets home from the library late, on purpose, though she doesn’t really expect to find Lucy there after the day’s top news stories. The apartment’s dark when she swings the door open, and gets darker when she slams the door behind her, blocking out the light from the hall.

Darcy slouches into the kitchen without turning on a light, throwing open the fridge instead. After staring blankly into its cold white glow for what feels like half an hour but is most likely less than five minutes, and still not having the secrets of the universe or of what she wants to eat revealed unto her, she shuts the door again and turns toward the hall and her bedroom.

“Darcy.”

Darcy is not too ashamed to admit that she screams like a little girl. She jumps backwards, fumbling for her taser, at the sound of a voice from the pitch-dark mouth of the hall.

The hall light blooms to life, revealing Lucy standing by the lightswitch. Under the circumstances, this is not actually a reassuring sight.

“Holy shit, you scared the pee out of me,” Darcy gasps, and Lucy’s eyes crinkle up at the corners in an apologetic smile. “Don’t lurk dramatically in the shadows like that, you’re gonna give somebody a heart attack.”

“I was waiting for you,” Lucy says, which is also not very reassuring, under the circumstances. Darcy’s questing fingers find her taser tucked into the pocket of her jacket, and close over it. “I wanted to talk.”

“You could’ve just texted me back,” Darcy points out.

“In person,” Lucy says.

“Great,” Darcy’s traitor mouth says. “Great, nothing about that sounds unnecessarily ominous, or anything.”

Lucy huffs a soft laugh, turning her face away from Darcy for a moment. Darcy can’t read her expression through the shadows the hall light casts over her eyes and the curtain of dark hair that falls in front of her face.

“I have the feeling,” she says, her eyes flicking in Darcy’s direction, bright even in shadow, “that you suspect I’m keeping something from you.”

“What?” Darcy laughs, nervously. “Why would you think that?”

“Possibly the fact that you’re right.” Lucy’s voice is wry, her mouth twisted in a smile, but all Darcy can see in her eyes is fear. “Darcy…I’ve lied to you.”

So this is happening. Darcy makes herself breathe at a normal human person rate. All things considered, she feels like she’s doing pretty good keeping her cool here. Like, sure, okay, she was totally chill around Thor, but she also never really got the vibe that he might stab her if she looked at him funny. And, as far as Darcy knows, he never actually has stabbed anybody for looking at him funny. So there’s that.

Lucy takes a deep breath, meeting Darcy’s eyes with an expression half steely resolve, half unspoken regret. “I’m not really a business student.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, her heart hammering in her throat, fingers curling tighter around the reassuring shape of the taser in her pocket. “I know.”

Lucy’s head snaps up, eyes going wide. “You know? But – I was so careful -”

Darcy makes a face. “Were you, though?”

Lucy – Loki? - looks away again, with a soft huff that’s almost a laugh. “No. I suppose I wasn’t.” There’s that strange wistfulness in her voice again as she says, “I did everything – everything – to try to impress my father, became everything he wanted, and it was never enough. I suppose…deep down, I wanted someone to see through the lie. To know. And not to care. Who – and what – I truly am.”

She turns back to Darcy, her smile wide and white and, for once, purely and genuinely happy.

“I’m a thespian,” she says.

Darcy blinks at her.

“Sorry, run that one by me again,” she says, sticking her pinkie into her ear and giving it a good wiggle.

Lucy’s still grinning ear to ear. “I’ve changed my major. You were right, Darcy. ‘To thine own self be true’. I’ve spent my life living for other people, but I have to live with the choices I make. It’s time I did something for myself.”

“So you’re…going into theatre,” Darcy says, slowly, still trying to catch up.

“Have gone into theatre,” Lucy says. “I changed my major after that night, when we talked. I’m in theatre arts now. I’m going to be an actress.”

“I,” Darcy says, and realizes that, for the first time in a very long time, she, Darcy Lewis, is at a loss for words. “Uh.”

Lucy’s expression doesn’t really change, but her jaw sets in trembling defiance. “You think I’m foolish.”

“What? No, I was just expecting something a little more mythological.”

Lucy frowns at her, Darcy’s perceived rejection apparently forgotten in confusion. “Sorry?”

“Nothing. Forget I said that.” Darcy blinks a few more times, and then manages, “Congratulations, though. You’re the most dramatic person I know, it’s a perfect fit.”

“Well, that’s still a more positive response than my father had when he learned of my intentions to drop business school,” Lucy says, her eyes shining, but some genuine humour in the quirk of her mouth. “Thank you. I don’t know if I’d’ve found the courage without you. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Wow,” Darcy says, suddenly feeling extremely guilty about suspecting her of being an alien supervillain. “Uh, thanks.”

Lucy’s smile falters, and she looks down at her feet. “Now, though, I suppose I shall have to break the news to my family. With the semester over, at least they can’t threaten to cut me off again.”

“Well,” Darcy manages, mentally shoving her thoughts off the rail they’d been on and onto a parallel set of tracks. “You already seem happier. If your family really cares about you, they’ll see that and be happy for you too.”

“My theatre final is a one-act stageplay,” Lucy says. “It’s tomorrow night at the campus theatre. I’d like for you to come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Darcy says.

  …

 The play is…all right. As plays go. It’s all about adults having Serious Conversations, which is so not Darcy’s scene. Give her elaborate costumes and musical numbers any day.

Lucy’s good, though. Especially compared to some of the other actors on the stage. She has a real talent, able to go from weepy to icy on a dime.

Darcy tells her as much after the curtain closes, when she brings a bundle of grocery-store chrysanthemums up to the stage in congratulations. Lucy’s smile practically glows. She’s totally in her element, and Darcy kind of feels like anybody’d be stupid to try to keep her away from the stage.

She goes with Lucy to the airport, when Lucy leaves a few days later. It’s kind of bittersweet, and Darcy can’t totally deny getting a little misty as they swap contact details outside of the lineup for international security.

“You better mail me a London Bridge keychain,” Darcy says, and Lucy laughs.

“Done.” She looks over towards the line winding slowly through the security checkpoint, then glances at the time on her phone, before turning back to Darcy. “Darcy, I need to thank you again.” She musters up a watery smile. “I know I was something of a handful. But you took me as I came, tried to make me feel welcome in an unfamiliar place, drew me out of myself, treated me as a friend… I won’t forget that. I won’t forget you.”

“Hey, I’m not going to forget you either,” Darcy says, with 100% unpasteurized honesty. “You definitely made my last semester interesting.” She pauses to give it 0.2 seconds of thought, and then decides, yeah. “It was fun.”

Lucy’s smile grows wider, more confident. “ ‘Interesting’ is certainly the word. But…yes. It was fun.”

She casts one more glance over at the security lineup, before she says, “You know, you’ll probably laugh. But for a short while there, I was afraid that you might be involved in the attack on New York.”

Darcy manages not to choke on her own spit, but it’s a near miss. “Say what?”

Lucy shrugs. “You’d always make these cryptic comments about aliens and how terribly the government treated you and whatnot, and then hastily change the subject if I pressed you. And you and your Dr. Foster were both so secretive about her work, but I knew it was in regards to wormholes to other galaxies – and that your Dr. Foster apparently regularly broke the law and had little to no regard for human life, if the stories about the van were anything to go by. What was I meant to think when I didn’t see you for a week and then the news was suddenly full of reports of a wormhole opened in New York to let an alien invasion force through?”

Darcy considers this for a moment.

“Also,” Lucy adds, “you put coffee in your cocoa puffs, which is not the act of a sane and rational human being.”

“Okay, that was one time,” Darcy says.

Lucy does that extremely irritating eyebrow thing that means she doesn’t believe that for a minute.

Darcy decides to let it slide. “You actually thought I helped organize an alien invasion? I can’t even organize my iTunes library.”

Lucy shrugs. “Every good mad scientist needs an Igor.”

Darcy shoves her, hard, in the arm, and Lucy bursts into laughter.

They push back and forth for a bit before Lucy looks at her phone again, and grimaces. “I’ve only got an hour. I should go.”

“Right,” Darcy says. “Well, if I’m ever in London…”

Lucy nods. “If you’re ever in London.”

Darcy’s not sure who starts it. All she knows is that all of a sudden she and Lucy are hugging, her face kind of awkwardly mashed against Lucy’s chest. Good grief, she’s tall.

The hug only lasts a second or two, and then Lucy is off, dragging her rolling carry-on behind her, glancing back only once to wave goodbye.

Darcy flashes her the peace sign, and watches her as she goes through a few turns of the slow-moving security line.

Then she feels like it’s getting kind of weird, and wanders off to find a Starbucks.

 …

 …

 some time later

 “Darcy, you don’t – I can’t afford for you to have your own intern! I can barely afford you!”

“It’s okay,” Darcy says, for like the fourteen millionth time. “Ian’s working for experience. Besides, he’s a friend. Friend of a friend.”

Jane sighs, shaking her head.

“So long as I don’t have to pay him,” she says. “And so long as he’s not – I don’t know, secretly a spy or a supervillain in disguise trying to steal or sabotage my research.”

Darcy snorts.

“Please,” she says. “If one of my friends was secretly a supervillain, I would definitely know.”

[thefallofnaesia]

A Plot, If You Want One

Okay, it's been months and it has become quite clear to me that the kingdom of Naesia will never really see the light of day. It was born from me thinking 'this has dictator ruler vibes' while clapping for the NHS in the spring and acted as a way for me to chuck in aspects of historical rulers that I like but alas, never to be.

I tried to tell the story via this ask blog. Tumblr kept eating the asks and I knew I couldn't keep asking the 2 or 3 mutuals who were kind enough to get invested if they'd sent an ask. Besides, as I was answering asks it occurred to me I lowkey felt this story would be better as a regular fic. I then attempted to do just that. Except... despite genuine intentions to actually write it past the prologue, that never happened.

I want the only real scene I had fleshed out to stop living in my head and making me feel guilty because it requires the majority of the story to be written before it can be shown. By doing this, hopefully I can finally write it and just be like 'yeah have this if you want'.

Anyway, here's the limited plot points I had planned for the Kingdom of Naesia.

TWs for terrorism as well as mentions of/implied torture, death, imprisonment, execution and gore. It should go without saying that I don’t endorse or support the actions of the characters. However, I’m sure there’s somebody out there who would try pin that on me for whatever reason.

Brief reminder of who's who since it has been y'know... at least half a year since I talked/made content about this AU.

King Anthony IV, 42 - King of Naesia whose Silver Jubilee (25th anniversary of throne) is coming up. His great-grandfather was a foreign prince who took the throne by force over 150 years ago and his father was a tyrant, especially in his later years, so to certain people, that reflects on him.

Charles 'Chase' Brody Jr, 25 - The son of a rebel and Anthony III's (A4's father) closest advisor. He is determined to gather his family friends and do something about Anthony IV.

Jackson Brody, 2nd Duke of Neskon, 39 - Head military advisor to the king, Anthony's sweetheart and Chase's half brother via their dad. He's suspected his stepmother of being against the monarchy since he was a teenager.

Prince James of Irivalon, 31 - Son and youngest child of the Irivalonian queen. His family would rather have his cousin (Anthony's half brother) on the Naesian throne.

Martin, 21 - From Espa, a nearby country. His parents were against Anthony III.

Henrik von Schneeplestein, 28 - From Cuvaberg, another nearby country. Like Martin, his parents were against Anthony III.

The story starts with Chase and his mother (Gracília) standing outside their house to reflect on the years of tyranny Naesia has endured since Anthony I won the crown. This is a weekly tradition they do at the same time the rest of the country routinely claps and celebrates the Antonian rule.

Chase decides it's time he tried to track down his mother's old allies who fled the country when an assassination attempt failed. He knows for a fact that Heather escaped to Espa and that the Schneeplestein kids were sent off to Cuvaberg to live with family after their parents were captured and subsequently executed.

Jackson pays his stepmother and brother a visit to tell them Chase was asked to attend an engagement party in Irivalon. King Anthony wants Chase to use this opportunity to prove he and his mother are trustworthy because Anthony has had his doubts about Gracília for years but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt until now because of Charles Sr's loyalty.

Chase goes reluctantly but relishes in the opportunity to leave Naesia for the first time in his life. The party is celebrating Prince James' engagement to Helene von Schneeplestein, Henrik's older sister. Due to this, Chase bumps in Henrik who recognises his surname. The two of them agree to try keep in contact after they return their respective home countries.

The Schneeplesteins have also kept in touch with Heather, who has gotten married and had a family in the 25 years since Gracília last saw her. One of these children is her son Martin who is also willing to side with them.

The three of them, along with Gracília and Heather, decide Anthony's Silver Jubilee would be a good opportunity to make a move. At some point, James learns of their plans and offers them help and resources to assist in their efforts. If all goes well, Iravilon could manage to manipulate a way to put one of Anthony's half brothers (also James' cousin) on the Naesian throne.

Eventually, everything is set for them to attack the cathedral where a ceremony to celebrate Anthony's 25 years as king will take place. Chase and Martin are delivering the last of the explosives when they are discovered. Martin is just about able to get away but Chase isn't quite as lucky.

Chase is imprisoned, Anthony requests to speak with him in person so he is brought to the dining hall. Anthony berates him for his viewpoint which has lead him to what is obviously attempted terrorism. In the hope it will convince Chase to co-operate, Anthony makes him a deal. If he reveals the identities of his conspirators, Chase will get off lighter than he usually would. He'll still be executed for treason, of course, but it won't be via the typical method (don't look up ��hdq execution’ if you have a sensitive stomach). The king doesn’t intend to let him off lightly at all, he just wants the information. Chase refuses to betray the others so at the end of the night, he gets sent back to his cell.

Over the following week, Chase continually refuses to reveal any details despite the efforts to 'encourage' him to. From the window of his cell, he hears distant bangs. The others had gone ahead with their plan. Successfully, by sounds of it.

Because of this, Chase is put in solitary confinement as efforts to make him talk are increased. Jackson, who has been keeping his distance from Chase during all this, visits him before he is moved to say a few choice words.

Eventually, at least one of his group is able to organise a way to free him. By this point, those left in charge due to Anthony's absense are debating whether to cut their loses for now and execute Chase while keeping an eye out for the perpetrators of the attack.

I never came up with a definitive ending. However, while Chase is now free and in hiding with the others, he certainly doesn't feel as victorious as the others do. Not to mention he's traumatised by the torture he was subjected to as well. I suspect following the attack and the risky move of rescuing Chase, the group plans to flee to another country to better hide as fugitives.

So if you want a more definitive end scene, picture Chase waiting to depart on a boat while bitterly reflecting on the events that brought him to that moment.

[inyournightmares97]

The Leading Lady

Im Jaebum wants to make a short film, and you end up as his leading lady. 

Warnings: MAJOR Cringe, fluff and a little language. College!au

Word Count: 11.6k 

Dedicated to my buddy, the soft Jaebum stan: @ijustwantacue!

Im Jaebum had adorable hands.

You noticed them the very first time you met him on a warm Saturday afternoon. It had been a long week of academic work and you had finally submitted a bunch of papers that were long due. Relieved, you intended to spend the entire day watching television and languishing in your apartment to enjoy the newly-repaired air conditioning. It would have been perfect had Jackson Wang not texted you at 2 pm and told you that he was in the park across from your apartment. Apparently you needed to come down instantly, it was an emergency.

You ran down with your hair still in a messy bun and wearing your sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. It wasn’t until you spotted Jackson sitting on the park bench that you realized you shouldn’t have taken his words too seriously. Dammnit, your sweatpants even had a hole in them. Why hadn’t you taken five seconds to change into jeans? What sort of emergency could Jackson be having at the park, anyway?

Evidently, it was the non-urgent kind.

Jackson was sitting next to another guy and chatting with him casually. Both men looked up at you as you arrived.  You flushed, out of breath and confused.

“Jackson! What is it? What happened?”

Jackson grinned at you. “Hey! That was quick! Did you run?”

“You told me you needed help-“

“Yeah, yeah! Sit down,” he insisted, moving over to make room for you on the bench. You sat down awkwardly and glanced at the other man. His dark eyes were fixed on you as though he was analyzing you for some purpose and you felt extremely uncomfortable. You crossed your legs together and tugged at Jackson’s sleeve impatiently.

“Jackson, what’s going on-“

“Meet my buddy Im Jaebum,” Jackson introduced you to the other man enthusiastically. You turned and forced a polite smile in Jaebum’s direction. His face was still unsmiling and his small eyes narrowed at you. Jaebum reached across Jackson to offer you a handshake, and you hesitantly complied. Your eyes nervously looked down at his hand because looking at Jaebum’s face was making you flustered. His hands were small and his fingers were short. You could feel the softness of his skin against yours.

His hands were like a baby’s.

“H-hi,” you greeted nervously.

“Jaebum’s a film student,” Jackson explained to you enthusiastically, not noticing how your handshake was lingering in front of him. “He and his group are working on a short film for his final project and they’re having trouble finding a female lead.”

You swallowed and nodded, slowly withdrawing your hand from Jaebum’s and trying to collect yourself. For some reason, all you could think about was the hole that you knew was in your sweatpants (why had you put them on knowing that they were torn?) and how Jaebum might see it. You folded your hands in your lap and tried to focus on Jackson.

“Oh? That’s really interesting. What sort of film-“

“I suggested you!” Jackson cried enthusiastically.

You stared at him, trying to see through the cloud in your mind. “Sorry, what? You suggested me for what?”

Jaebum leaned over and cut off Jackson. His voice was calm and deep, and it sent shivers down your spine. It was almost scary how intimidating yet attractive this man was.

“I was hoping that you would agree to act as the female lead in my short film. Jackson showed me some pictures of you and you’re exactly how my team and I visualized the role,” Jaebum informed you calmly.

You gaped at him for a long moment. “Wait…you want me to act? I don’t have any acting experience!”

“That’s the best part! You barely have to act at all!” Jackson insisted. The enormous grin on his face was infectious. What was he so excited about? It wasn’t even his film. “I had a look at the script and the main female character is almost exactly like you. She’s a writer and she’s just kind of dorky and a little bit of a mess while still being weirdly cynical about life. You don’t need to worry. It’s not a glamorous lead role at all. It fits you perfectly!”

Wow. Thanks, Jackson.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” Jaebum reassured you calmly. He reached up and ran his fingers through his dark hair as he blinked at you. The simple action made your heart skip a beat. “Obviously, it’s not something everyone is comfortable with. It might also require a bit of a time commitment and I can’t afford to pay you for the appearances although I will ask my professor to see if he can offer you some academic credits.”

You nodded. “I see.”

Jaebum reached into his backpack and pulled out a small transparent file which he offered to you. You took it from him, eyes flickering once more to his soft hands. A Conversation, the black lettering on the first page read. “This is the basic outline of the script. The scriptwriter is still working on some of the final details but you can find the general gist of it. You can take a look and get back to me in a few days. You’ll find my contact number inside too.”

Jackson grinned. “Come on! Of course she’ll do it!” He nudged you playfully. “It’s not like you have anything better to do with your time, right?”

You gritted your teeth. “Shut up, Jackson.”

Jaebum ignored Jackson’s antics, evidently well used to them.

“Please don’t feel pressured,” he added. “We’ll mostly shoot on weekends and we can be pretty flexible about scheduling, if that’s something you need. But I really hope you’ll take a look at the script before you make your decision.”

You nodded. “I will.”

--

You noticed how small Jaebum’s fingers were when you realized they barely went all the way around the coffee mug he was holding.  

The second time you met Im Jaebum was at a coffee shop two days later. You’d spent all night reading and re-reading the script while contemplating whether you were really capable of acting in a film. You didn’t have much experience in front of a camera and you’d never thought of yourself as very emotionally expressive. But the script was intriguing and Jackson had been right. The character was a lot like you. She shared similar thoughts and fears. It was just…

“The romance part is the problem,” you told Jaebum honestly, pointing at the script while he calmly took a sip of his coffee. There were two large silver rings on his right hand today. Jaebum’s fingers tapped the mug lightly while he listened to you speak. “I really like the characters and I really like how the opening conversation goes. But some of the dialogues… honestly, they seem like they were written by somebody who has absolutely no understanding of women.”

To your surprise, Jaebum’s lips curved into a handsome smirk. “Yeah, that sounds like Park Jinyoung. I don’t think he’s ever dated a woman in his life. But he seemed to have an interesting plot idea so I let him on board my team as the scriptwriter.”

You bit your lip. “So can I make some changes to the dialogue?”

“Depends. Does that mean you’re agreeing to be the main actress?”

“Only if you’ll let me tweak the script,” you insisted.

Jaebum stared at you for a short moment before giving you a small chuckle. “Yeah, okay. But if Jinyoung gets mad then that’s on you. He’s my roommate and I don’t want him suffocating me with a pillow while I sleep because I dared to mess with his script.”

“Is he that scary?” you asked doubtfully.

Jaebum ignored your question and simply took another sip of his coffee. “Why don’t you make whatever changes you want to make and we’ll all meet up this weekend to lay out a filming schedule? The completed film isn’t due until the end of the semester but I don’t want to rush and have to do all the filming at once. We have to figure out some locations too.”

You nodded eagerly. A small part of you leapt in excitement. You’d never been a part of something like this before and the smile on your face revealed your innocent enthusiasm. Jaebum couldn’t help but smile at you himself. He had been a little doubtful when Jackson first recommended his ‘really good buddy’ for the role but after seeing your adorable smile and beautiful eyes Jaebum knew that he’d made the right choice.

You were the perfect protagonist for his romance film. After all, if Jaebum found you so sweet and adorable then surely the audience would fall for you too, right?

--

Park Jinyoung was not pleased with the changes you made to his script.

He didn’t say so outright, of course. He merely looked at the edited script with his lips pressed together and made a small ‘hmph’ing noise before proceeding to sit as far away from you as possible. There was nothing much you could do while Jaebum proceeded to discuss the filming locations for each scene. You were also promptly introduced to the rest of Jaebum’s film-making project team. Youngjae, the cheerful technology student who would be the cameraman. Bambam, the flirtatious modelling student who was in charge of wardrobe and make-up. And finally Yugyeom the dance major who was…

Actually, you weren’t sure what Yugyeom was meant to be doing. You got the feeling that he didn’t really know why he was there either.  

Jaebum was all work and no play. He insisted on laying out an elaborate schedule for the next few weeks, including rehearsals and filming time as well as clearly dividing out the responsibilities. Jaebum rarely smiled throughout the entire meeting but his passion and seriousness for the project were unmistakable. You found yourself feeling even more excited to work with him. Jaebum had set a professional atmosphere about the whole thing, which was impressive considering that Bambam and Yugyeom kept trying to crack jokes throughout the meeting.

“I hope you’re not overwhelmed?” Jaebum asked, once everyone else had dispersed from the little café that served as the team’s meeting spot. (Jinyoung had subtly bumped your chair as he walked out. You had a feeling he had done it on purpose.) “I don’t want you to feel like you got yourself too deep into something.”

You shook your head and beamed. “I’m fine. I’m actually really excited to be doing this!”

“Good. The guy I cast as the main lead couldn’t be here today because he had class. But you, me, him and Jinyoung can meet up on Wednesday and do a quick script reading to get things going. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah! Sounds great!” you replied.

Jaebum glanced at you and chuckled. “Are you usually this enthusiastic about everything?”

You bit your lip and shook your head. “No, not really…” you tried to say, but your smile wouldn’t disappear. Jaebum merely raised his eyebrows at you in amusement. You flushed pink and smoothed down your shirt awkwardly. “Okay, the truth is that I’ve always kind of wanted to act. I tried out for a couple of plays in high school but there was this girl who was much prettier than me and she always got the roles I wanted. I was always the reject. So I guess I’m a little excited,” you admitted shyly.

“Is that so? Maybe I should give her a call and see if she’ll take your place here, too.”

You stared at him, appalled for a moment until you saw that Jaebum had a small, mischievous smirk on his face. Was he teasing you? You hadn’t imagined that such a stone-faced man could be capable of joking around. You frowned at him.

“Hey!” you cried, offended.

Jaebum raised an eyebrow coolly. “What? You said it yourself, you’re the reject. I didn’t even ask you for that information. You just randomly volunteered it.”

“I mean… yeah, I said it. But it’s kind of mean for you to say it,” you complained. But Jaebum still looked amused. He ignored the small pout of your lips and reached out to pat your head in a fond manner. Something about your loose tongue and indignant expression was adorable. He simply cut you off before you could complain further.

“I have to go. I’ll see you on Saturday. Oh, and about your enthusiasm…”

“Tone it down?” you wondered, already used to being told that you got overexcited.

Jaebum shook his head and smiled.

“No. Keep it. I like it.”

--

Im Jaebum was fiddling with the pencil in his hands and it was distracting you. He was wearing different rings on different fingers today and you wondered how many rings he owned. Jaebum deftly twirled the pen around but his hand and fingers were so small that it looked awkward.

You stifled a giggle as you remembered that this big, broad-shouldered, scary man had baby hands.

“I can’t believe they’re taking so long,” Jaebum complained. The weather was nice and so you and Jaebum had sat at one of the outdoor tables of the coffee shop while you waited for Jinyoung and the male lead to turn up. “I told Jinyoung to get here on time. Mark’s probably the one that’s late.”

You blinked. “Mark? Is that the name of the guy that’s playing the male lead?”

“Yeah, Mark Tuan.”

You gaped at Jaebum in horror. “Mark Tuan?” you demanded. Your brain had gone numb. You couldn’t think anymore. You simply stared at Jaebum with your mouth open. “You mean… you mean captain of the college baseball team, Mark Tuan? The one who keeps winning championships for our university?”

Jaebum stared at you. “Yeah. He’s a friend of Jinyoung’s and he agreed to work with us, just like you did. Is there some problem?”

“No,” you squeaked.

“Evidently there is, you just turned green,” Jaebum pointed out while jabbing his pencil in the direction of your cheeks. He raised an eyebrow when you stubbornly pressed your lips together and shook your head firmly. Then Jaebum slammed the pencil down on the table and frowned at you. “Are you not going to tell me what you’re worried about? As the director, don’t you think I should know if the female lead has some problem with the male lead?”

You swallowed, a little scared because Jaebum was now glaring at you. “It’s not a problem, exactly…”

“Then what is it?”

“I just… I just thought it would be hard to maintain the chemistry,” you admitted in a small voice. You were beginning to feel a little stupid now. You should have just kept your mouth shut. “Because, you know. In a romance story the male and female leads should sort of be balanced in the looks department but Mark Tuan is Mark Tuan and I’m…”

Jaebum’s eyes softened. “You’re what?”

You flushed red. “Come on. Mark Tuan is out of my league, you know that! Are you really going to make me say it?”

“I had to make you say it because I didn’t know what you were getting at,” Jaebum told you honestly. He rested his chin on his hand as he blinked at you. You felt yourself becoming more flustered as his eyes scanned your face. Was Jaebum judging how you would look next to Mark? Was he maybe realizing that he should have chosen a prettier actress to act beside the college heartthrob? Your heartbeat thudded as he stared at you calmly with his emotionless eyes and then nodded.

“Okay,” he said finally.

“Okay?” you repeated, confused.

Jaebum simply nodded as he turned back to the script in his hands. “Yeah. Okay. Oh look, I got a message from Jinyoung. He and Mark are right outside. Let’s get this over with quickly and do a run-through, yeah? I have class this afternoon and it’s not like you and Mark aren’t already familiar with the script. You edited it, after all.”

You didn’t have time to press him further because Mark and Jinyoung both entered the cafe and joined you at the table. Jinyoung sat down with a simple glare in your direction. Mark, on the other hand, gave you a polite smile and introduced himself. You turned red and sank down into your seat in embarrassment. It wasn’t until Jaebum frowned at you and told you to start reading off the script that you hurriedly complied.

You managed to relax after a while and the script reading went surprisingly well. Jinyoung’s frown intensified whenever one of your edited dialogues came up, but Mark was excellent at his lines and Jaebum seemed satisfied with both his lead actors. He occasionally made you both stop and repeat your lines when the tone or the emotion was off. Once the entire script had been run through, he clapped his hands together.

“All right! This was good, guys. I like the feel of the whole thing. I think we can start filming next week.”

“Cool, man,” Mark said.

“So this is the final version of the script we’re using?” Jinyoung wondered, a hint of acidity to his tone.

“Why, do you have some problem with it?” Jaebum asked.

Jinyoung scoffed. “Me? I wouldn’t dare. What do I know about scriptwriting? Anyway, Mark and I have class in a bit so we’re going to get going. See you guys later.”

Both Jinyoung and Mark hurried to leave. Jaebum began gathering his things and stuffing his script into his backpack. You hovered near him for a moment and cleared your throat nervously. “Um. Jaebum-ssi…”

He glanced at you. “Yeah?”

“Do you think Jinyoung is really mad about me changing his script a little?”

Jaebum only smiled and shook his head as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. His fingers closed on the straps as he looked at you with his dark eyes. “Relax. If he really didn’t like your changes to the script then he would have insisted that we change it back. He’s only being like this because he knows your version is better than his, and he’s bitter that he has to accept it.”

You breathed out nervously. “Okay, if you say so…”

“Want to walk back to campus together?”

You blinked in surprise and then nodded, quickly gathering your things and following Jaebum out of the café. Even though he seemed a little stiff and hard to understand, you still got really warm vibes from Im Jaebum, somehow. Maybe he wasn’t as serious and scary as he seemed. Jaebum’s small smiles made your heart flutter a little bit. He wasn’t as handsome as, say, Mark Tuan, but Jaebum was charming in his own way.

“Why are you studying film?” you asked casually, as you bounced beside him and tried to keep up with his long strides. Jaebum wasn’t extremely tall but he walked fast and with purpose.  

He blinked at you. “Why am I studying film?” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I guess I like films.”

You frowned in disappointment. “What, that’s it?”

“What other reason would somebody have for studying film?” he asked you with a raised eyebrow.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But you’re so serious about this project and you seem to be spending so much time planning out this short film while most people just half-ass their work so… I guess I expected your response to be more passionate? You seemed like a really dedicated guy so I thought you would have a backstory or something driving you. I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” Jaebum muttered thoughtfully. “Why are you a Literature major, then?”

“I love books!” you chirped.

Jaebum stopped walking suddenly and stared down at you, a hint of annoyance in his expression. You were forced to halt your own steps. “How is that any different from me saying I like films? For someone who expects others to have a backstory for selecting their major, your own is severely lacking.”

“But it’s different,” you pointed out.

“How?”

“I said ‘I love books!’” you chirped once more, before putting on a small frown and mimicking Jaebum’s emotionless face and deep matter-of-fact tone. “While you said, ‘I guess I like films.’ Can’t you tell the difference? The difference is in enthusiasm! It’s in the passion! You can’t speak about your passion like that! ”

Jaebum stared down at you in disbelief before letting out a small sigh and then resuming walking. “Why am I even surprised? I should have known.”

“Should have known what?”

“That no friend of Jackson Wang’s can be entirely normal,” he replied. Jaebum’s strides were becoming longer and faster and you had to struggle to keep pace with him on the sidewalk. But you could see the small curve of his lips. Im Jaebum wasn’t as serious as he pretended to be and you decided that you rather liked pushing him so that his stern surface cracked and let through a smile. “Besides. I know that I like films, I don’t need to prove it to you by squealing excitedly every time films are mentioned.”

“I didn’t squeal,” you complained. “And how would anyone know you love films if you talk about them in such a dead-pan tone?”

“Not everyone visibly shows excitement like you. In fact, I think you should be a little bit concerned about how easy your emotions are to read,” Jaebum pointed out to you. “You look like the kind of person who would never be able to keep a secret because she’d just blurt it out the moment she heard it. Am I wrong?”

“I’m… not great with secrets,” you admitted reluctantly. “But I stand by my point. Shouldn’t somebody who has a passion for something get excited about that passion, and want to share it with others? Like, shouldn’t you want to tell me how amazing films are and how much they’ve impacted your life and how everyone should watch films? Because that’s how I feel about Literature.”

Jaebum chuckled. “You really think so?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay. I’ll share my passion for films with you. I’m headed to class now, but meet me at 7 pm outside of the local theatre. I’ll show you how passionate about films I can be.”

You beamed. “Okay!”

--

Jaebum wasn’t lying.

You had been a little excited at the thought of going to a movie with Im Jaebum. Maybe it was because he was handsome and even though this was surely not a date, it had been a while since you’d spent time with an attractive guy. So you’d put on a nice skirt and maybe spent a few extra minutes on your hair. Maybe you could have a fun evening.

You were wrong.

Apparently the local theatre screened old movies on weekday nights when there was hardly anyone around. Jaebum bought the tickets and you both settled down with a small bucket of popcorn. And then the true torture of the evening began.

Im Jaebum would not shut up.

He spoke throughout the entire film. Even before it started, Jaebum began telling you the entire history of the film: how many awards the director had won and what other films he had made previous to this one. Jaebum knew everything. He knew the exact box office collections the film (which was from the 80s) had made in its first week and he knew what personal events in the life of the writer had influenced the plot. By the time the opening credits had finished rolling you’d received an entire history lesson about the film.

Then it only got worse. As the story began, some vague scene in black and white about a wartime romance, Jaebum went even further into the details. He began telling you about the camera technology used to film each shot. He knew which lines were scripted and which the actors had improvised. Whenever there would be a short silence and he had nothing to say about a particular scene, you caught him silently mouthing the dialogues to himself.

It would have been extremely annoying if there hadn’t been a certain excited sparkle in Jaebum’s eyes. This really meant something to him and you suddenly felt a little guilty for accusing him of not having any passion for films.

“So? What did you think of the film?” Jaebum demanded once the movie was over and the theatre lights turned on. Your eyes snapped open and you tried to look awake. You’d drifted off for the last twenty minutes of the movie while Jaebum had ranted about how clever the lighting techniques they’d used were.

“Uhh…”

He raised an eyebrow. “You fell asleep, didn’t you?”

“What? No!” you defended yourself firmly. “I watched the whole thing, I really did! It was an excellent film! And your, uh… your trivia really made it even more interesting. I honestly had a wonderful time! You really are passionate about films!” you gave him a small thumbs up, hoping he would fall for it.

Jaebum couldn’t help but chuckle. He had noticed you drifting off during his rant because your head had suddenly jerked forward a few times, the way it does when someone is trying really hard to stay awake. Your hair had become a mess in the back and you had opened your eyes wide to hide the tiredness. Jaebum had never seen anything more adorable.

“Do you regret accusing me of not being passionate about films?” he questioned, with a mischievous grin.

You frowned. “Wait, you did this on purpose?”

“Of course I did. How can I have my lead actress doubting my passion for films? I figured one night of torture would teach you a lesson,” he grinned. He stood up and then offered you a hand to help you get out of the comfy theatre seat. You slipped your hand into his and stood up with a pout.

“You could have just said I love films, you didn’t need to put me through an evening of torture if you knew that was what you were doing,” you complained. Your back was stiff and you stretched as the two of you walked out of the theatre. You turned and smiled at him playfully, nudging the large man. “Or did you maybe want to go to a movie with me? You know, as a date?”

Jaebum stared at you for a moment and then scoffed. “Excuse me? Is that what you thought?”

You pouted. “You can just say no, you don’t have to be mean about it.”

He smirked at you, his eyes flashing mischievously. “I wasn’t being mean. I just don’t understand how a woman who thinks that Mark Tuan is out of her league thought that she had a chance with me. How does that work in your brain?”

“Wait. Does that mean you think you’re better than Mark Tuan?” you demanded.

“Of course I am. I get plenty of women.”

“Oh really?” you teased, bouncing along beside him as you both exited the movie theatre. It was dark outside and Jaebum automatically turned in the direction of your apartment. You followed him with a smile. “And what exactly is so charming about you? Besides your passion for old films that would put any girl to sleep?”

Jaebum scoffed. “I don’t need to list out my charms to you.”

“So then you don’t have any.”

“No, I just think it’s beneath me to list them.”

You grinned and bumped your shoulder against his, ignoring the annoyed look that he gave you. You weren’t sure why, but you suddenly weren’t scared of Im Jaebum anymore. Perhaps it was because you had seen the childish and innocent side to him tonight. Maybe Jaebum wasn’t particularly sweet or affectionate, but he had a warm and playful side to him simmering just under the surface.  

“But I honestly can’t see any,” you insisted childishly. “You’re not even that tall. Yugyeom and Bambam are taller than you. Mark is more handsome. Jackson is funnier. Jinyoung is smarter. So what exactly does Im Jaebum have other than his boring-ass passion for films-“

He turned and glared at you. “Wow, you’re really trying to drag me down, aren’t you?”

“It’s revenge,” you muttered.

“Revenge?”

“Yeah. I told you this morning that I thought Mark was out of my league because he was more handsome than me and you didn’t even say anything. You could have said ‘no, you’ll look fine beside him’ or ‘you’re pretty’ but you just said okay. What does that mean? Okay? Would it have killed you to have just said a few insincere words of comfort?” you demanded.

Jaebum rolled his eyes. “I never say anything that’s insincere.”

“So you’re going for the tough-guy charm, are you?” you teased. Jaebum turned away from you but you could see the small smile on his face. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets and you had to struggle to keep up with his walking pace. “It would have worked if you hadn’t just spent two hours talking about camera angles and lighting.”

“Are you done dragging me down?” he demanded.

“Not until you apologize for not reassuring me that Mark Tuan isn’t out of my league,” you insisted.

“You are unbelievably childish.”

“Just say ‘I’m sorry’ and we can part on good terms,” you insisted. The two of you had reached your apartment building already and Jaebum stopped walking, letting out a small sigh of mock frustration. You turned to face him eagerly, waiting for his apology.

“Fine. You just want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Yup.”

Jaebum took a deep breath as though he was preparing himself and then looked you dead in the eyes. You felt a little flustered at the sudden, intense eye contact but you forced yourself not to break it.

“All right. I am extremely sorry that Mark Tuan is out of your league. Happy?”

You gaped at him. “What? Excuse-“

“Bye, have a good night. We start filming on Saturday so don’t let yourself get dark circles or something. You are the leading lady after all,” Jaebum said quickly. He couldn’t hide the pleased little smirk on his face as he turned around and walked down the street in the opposite direction. You stared after him with your cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment.

“Fine! Be that way!” you yelled after Jaebum. “And do yourself a favor! Don’t ever take a girl you actually like to that stupid movie because she’ll probably be dead of boredom when by the time it ends!”

Jaebum smirked to himself. Too late.

You pouted and turned around to go into your apartment building. Whatever. What right did Im Jaebum have to tell you what league you were in anyway?

He had baby hands.

--

“What are you doing?”

You blushed and quickly lowered your phone, embarrassed to have been caught admiring yourself in your cellphone front camera. Bambam had done your makeup before the filming and to your surprise, it had only taken him twenty minutes to make you look like a much prettier version of yourself. You weren’t that good at makeup but Bambam was an expert and you felt kind of giddy and happy at how pretty he’d made you look.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, glancing sideways at Jaebum.

He raised an eyebrow. “You were just smiling at your phone as though you were posing for a photo.”

“I… might have been taking a selfie,” you admitted reluctantly.

Jaebum’s expression was blank and disbelieving. “In front of the convenience store? Why?”

You shrugged. Judging from the playful glint in his eyes, he knew exactly what you were doing because he’d caught you in the act. But Im Jaebum never backed down from an opportunity to make fun of you. He had changed drastically from the serious and unsmiling man you’d first met last week. He seemed to love teasing you and it was both entertaining and frustrating.

“Because the way Bambam did my makeup today makes me look pretty, okay?” you snapped. “Are you satisfied? You caught me checking myself out. Is that what you came over here to make me say?”

Jaebum folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at you coolly. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt that was a little too loose on him and his black snapback exposed his forehead. It annoyed you how handsome Im Jaebum was. Just because he looked so flawlessly perfect all the time didn’t mean that other people didn’t need makeup to feel pretty. Jaebum’s eyes scanned your face in amusement before he shrugged.

“No. I came here to ask you to go stand next to that table while I adjust the camera positioning. Youngjae and I need to check whether the lighting is all right so just go stand in the frame for us.”

You flushed and stuffed your phone in your pocket. “Fine, Director-nim.”

Jaebum walked over to where he had set up the camera on a tri-pod stand and began fiddling with it. You stood where he told you to and scrolled lazily on your phone while Jaebum leaned down and looked through the camera lens. You were perfectly in the middle of the frame. Jaebum felt his heart skip a beat. Standing there with a small pout on your pink lips and the evening sun shining in your hair… he found himself speechless for a few moments. Bambam had done your makeup perfectly and the cute little skirt you were wearing made you look extremely feminine.

You were so beautiful.

Instead of adjusting the camera frame and the lighting like he was supposed to, Jaebum found himself just staring at you and taking the chance to drink in the sight of you. He had known that he was attracted you to since the first time Jackson showed him your picture… but he’d never had the opportunity to stare at you so openly and not get called out for it.

He would have forgotten about the shoot and just watched you through the lens for hours, if Yugyeom hadn’t started complaining.

“Hyung!” he whined from his seat nearby. “This is really boring. I don’t know why you made me come here today when I don’t even have anything to do. What exactly is my role in this team?”

Jaebum cleared his throat and frowned, annoyed that Yugyeom was interrupting the few moments that he could admire you. Without turning his eyes away from the lens, he pretended to adjust something on the camera and cleared his throat. “You don’t have a defined role, Yugyeom. You’re just here to handle all the residual responsibilities.”

“Why haven’t any of these residual responsibilities popped up yet?”

Jaebum sighed in frustration. “Just go get everyone coffee.”

You glanced up from your phone suddenly, eyes bright and hopeful. “Oh! Yugyeom, are you doing a coffee run? A mocha latte for me please!” Jaebum smiled at the enthusiasm on your face. Why were you so cute and innocent? How could mere coffee elicit such a beautiful smile from you?

How was he going to deal with these growing affections?

“Fine,” Yugyeom grumbled. He walked past Jaebum and frowned, leaning closer to whisper in the director’s ear. “I’m only getting coffee because noona asked. So stop staring at her and just adjust the frame already.”

Jaebum cleared his throat awkwardly and straightened up.

“Okay, we’re good here. Mark, are you ready? Go take your position and we’ll start filming!”

--

The next few weeks were some of the best of your life.

You had expected that filming would be stressful and awkward, but it wasn’t at all. You liked acting and you liked immersing yourself into the character and pretending to be someone else. Besides, the entire atmosphere about the filming was light and casual. Mark, despite seeming quiet, had a tendency to burst into laughter randomly during his lines and that ended up causing everyone to laugh like a chain reaction. You had to control your own laughter as well. It didn’t help that Bambam and Yugyeom stood just a few feet behind Jaebum and silently mimicked him whenever he tried to get everyone to focus.

Besides, Jaebum was an amazing director. He had a vision of exactly how each scene should play out and he made sure it was perfect. He never compromised on anything. Even though he often forced you and Mark to take multiple retakes of particular scenes, you could see from the way his eyebrows furrowed together and his eyes narrowed at the camera display that he was looking for something. When Jaebum was satisfied, a small smile spread across his face and he clapped his hands together.

“All right! Let’s call it a wrap for today!”

You walked over to Jaebum as he and Youngjae began to dismantle the camera and pack it up into a bag. You tapped his shoulder and smiled lightly.

“How’s the film coming along, Director-nim?”

Jaebum smiled at you lightly. “It’s coming along pretty well, actually. Do you want to see how some of the shots turned out?”

You brightened up. “Yeah!”

“Let’s go into the café. I’ll load the memory card onto my laptop and you can watch some the scenes I edited.”

You waved goodbye to Youngjae, Bambam and Yugyeom and then followed Jaebum to the coffee shop. You ordered coffee for the both of you, before sliding into the booth beside him and peering into his laptop. Jaebum had some sort of video editing software that you were unfamiliar with. He was loading the video clips onto it. He turned the laptop to face you once he was done and showed you some of the scenes he’d already edited.

You grinned, scooting closer to Jaebum and sharing a pair of earphones as you watched the clips. They actually looked really good, considering that there was no professional equipment being used. You felt a little shy and awkward watching yourself on screen.

“Wow. It’s actually coming out really well,” you said enthusiastically. You bit your lip and glanced at Jaebum nervously. “What do you think? My acting isn’t too awkward, is it?”

Jaebum rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the screen. “Your acting is fine, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I mean…” he pointed at a scene where both you and Mark were in frame and smirked. “Don’t you think the lead actor looks a little bit like he’s out of the girl’s league?”

You yanked the earphone out of your ear and glared at him. Jaebum was laughing silently and you could tell that he was pretty proud of himself.

“If you’re going to be like that, then I’m not going to act for you anymore. You’ve already shot about half the film with me so you can’t afford to drop me at this point. That gives me a bargaining chip. You’ll have to start being nicer to your leading lady if you want to keep her, Director-nim.”

Jaebum rested his hand on his cheek and smiled at you. “Oh? Nicer how?”

“You can start by paying for my coffee.”

“Done,” he agreed without missing a heartbeat. “What else?”

“Most importantly, you’re never going to get anywhere as a Director if you can’t even reassure your leading lady that she’s pretty. I know I felt a little bit insecure at the thought of acting with Mark at first but you’re not allowed to keep bringing that up. If I’m insecure then you have to reassure me that I look great.”

Jaebum sighed. “That’s a tough one.”

You pushed at his shoulder. “Do it, or I quit now.”

“Okay, let’s give it a trial run. Say something that indicates you’re not feeling confident.”

You rubbed your hands together excitedly. Finally, you would elicit something that resembled a compliment from Im Jaebum. You let out a loud, dramatic sigh and rested your hand on your chin with a disappointed pout.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you should have chosen somebody else to act in my place. Do you really think I’m pretty enough to be playing a female lead, Director-nim?”

Jaebum suddenly reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear slowly. His soft fingers hovered near your cheek and you could feel the cold touch of one of his rings on your skin.

“Why are you so worried?” Jaebum asked you softly. His dark eyes were gentle as they looked at your lips and flickered up to meet your gaze. There was something in them… affection? Admiration? You suddenly felt your throat clench as Jaebum whispered to you. “I don’t understand where your insecurity comes from. I’ve known from the moment I cast you that you were gorgeous.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your eyes widened in shock for a few seconds as you felt a warmth explode in your heart. No. Bad idea. He doesn’t mean it, he’s just joking. You blinked a few times and then quickly pulled away from him. Your cheeks had turned red.

“You don’t have to say it like that,” you muttered.

Jaebum chuckled. “Like what?”

“Like you’re in love with me or something. Jeez, tone it down a little, Director-nim,” you complained. Your heartbeat was thudding and you couldn’t bring yourself to look Jaebum in the eyes. No matter how attractive he was, how could you allow yourself to get so excited over a joke? You grabbed your bag and Jaebum laughed at how evidently flustered you’d become.

“Why? Did it make you excited?” he teased.

You frowned. “No. I just… I just wasn’t expecting you to touch my hair, that’s all.”

“Then why is your face red and why are you avoiding eye contact with me?”

You turned and looked at him boldly. Jaebum’s lips were spread into a broad smile and he looked more handsome than ever as he laughed at you. You cleared your throat and grabbed your coffee. “I’m taking this to-go. I have an exam to study for.”

Jaebum was still laughing. “You did get kind of flustered, didn’t you?”

“No! Shut up. I’m leaving.”

Jaebum stopped laughing and grabbed your hand, pulling you back down to sit beside him. His warm fingers closed around yours firmly as he used his other hand to press a few buttons on his laptop. “All right, all right. Wait for me. It’s late, so I’ll walk you home. I just need to save all these files.”

You looked down at his hand entwined in yours while he turned off his computer. Considering how much bigger Jaebum was than you in general, his hand should have engulfed yours the way the rest of him did. But his small fingers were soft and you giggled at the sight of them wrapped around yours. You squeezed his hand back and smiled to yourself.

Maybe Jaebum’s baby hands represented his soft side.

You decided that you liked his hands even more than the rest of him.

And to be perfectly honest, you liked the rest of him a lot.

--

On the day of the last filming, you were a little late. The final scene involved the two leads meeting up in a park and sharing a kiss as they declared that they both finally believed in love again. The park across from your building was chosen as the perfect location, but one of your classes had run late and so you’d come sprinting to the park to find that Jaebum and Youngjae were done setting up and Mark was already dressed and finished with his makeup.

“Sorry I’m late!” you apologized to everyone loudly as Bambam ushered you to sit down on a park bench so he could quickly apply some foundation onto your face. You expected Jaebum to roll his eyes at you or make a joking comment but he didn’t even turn to look at you. He was just sitting on the grass and fiddling with a camera with a frown on his face.

Bambam lowered his voice as he swiped the makeup sponge across your face. “Jaebum-hyung is in a bad mood today.”

You blinked. “Why? It’s the last day of filming.”

“Yeah, I know. Jinyoung says he’s been like that all day. I think he’s nervous about the film. Most people in his film class are just submitting shit but Jaebum-hyung’s put in so much effort that he wouldn’t be able to deal with it if the finished product wasn’t excellent. Mark’s leaving on a trip tomorrow so we can’t even reshoot any scenes if they’re not perfect.”

You blinked and closed your eyes as Bambam started on your eyelids. “But it will be perfect.”

“Tell Jaebum that. He’s been snapping at us all afternoon.”

You nodded quietly, letting Bambam finish your makeup. Once he was finished, you hurried over to stand in the frame so that Jaebum could adjust the positioning of the lens. Jaebum usually took at least ten minutes to adjust the lens and the frame but somehow, he was done in a matter of seconds today. You could tell from the way his shoulders were tense and the frown lines on his forehead that Bambam was right. Something about Jaebum was off today. He wasn’t usually very smiley but today his frown was deep.

“Mark! Can you get in the frame too? Let’s finish this quickly,” Jaebum called.

You took a deep breath and tried to focus on the script. You were kind of nervous that this was the final kiss scene; there had been once earlier on in the script that was originally a proper kiss, but you had rewritten it to a small peck. But this was a proper kiss scene and the camera would be closing in on your lips. You gave Mark a nervous smile and he smiled awkwardly back at you. Let’s get through this.

You tried to block out everything else and focus on your lines. The scene was extremely sweet and since you had rewritten some of the dialogues to suit you, you were able to perform it easily. It was a little difficult to stay calm when Mark cupped your face and pressed his lips against yours, but you managed. Your mind was screaming due to the awkwardness. You both kept your lips together for a few seconds so the camera could get a good enough shot and then pulled apart.

“Cut!” Jaebum called out sharply. “That’s good enough. Let’s wrap up.”

Youngjae frowned. “Hyung, to be honest that was a little awkward. Shouldn’t we get one more? From a different angle”

Jaebum ran his fingers through his hair and barely glanced at Youngjae. His shoulders were still tense and he wasn’t looking at you. In fact, he hadn’t looked at you since you arrived. He started to turn off the camera. “We’re fine. It’s okay if it’s a little awkward because that makes it more realistic. Besides, we can’t show too much of the kiss anyway. There are guidelines on the explicit content.”

Youngjae blinked. “Explicit content? For a kiss-“

Jaebum glared at him. “Are you the director, or am I?”

“I mean… fine. If you think so. Let’s wrap it up.”

You waved goodbye to the other boys, all promising to get together and watch the film once it was edited and put together. Bambam and Yugyeom left first, followed by Mark and Jinyoung. Once Youngjae had taken the camera and left as well, you slowly approached Jaebum. He was doing what he always did after a shoot; loading the clips onto his laptop. You sat down next to him and gave him a small smile.

“Hey. How are you doing?”

He barely glanced at you. “Fine. Don’t you have anywhere to be?”

“Nope,” you replied with a bright smile. You playfully nudged his shoulder. “I don’t have anything to do, so I’m going to bug you today. How does that sound?”

Jaebum sighed, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

You felt your heart sink. Something was seriously wrong. You paused and reached over to close the lid of Jaebum’s laptop shut. He turned to glare at you, irritated, but he froze at the corresponding glare on your own face.

“Jaebum. Is everything okay? You’re not acting like yourself. I thought you would be more excited to finally wrap up the filming and finish your first short film, but you’ve been acting weird. Is something bothering you?” you demanded.

Jaebum stared at you for a few seconds, before letting out a small sigh. “I’m just stressed,” he muttered.

“About what?”

He leaned back on the park bench and let out a small groan. He turned his head upwards and squinted at the sky as he spoke. “I guess it’s stupid. My professor came up to me the other day and say he had really high expectations from me out of this project. He really thinks that my short film is going to be the best in the class. He even says that once he’s done grading, he wants me to submit it for a national short film contest.”

You blinked. “Isn’t that a good thing? That means he thinks you’re really talented!”

Jaebum turned and looked at you, his eyes torn. He was evidently not feeling confident about this and the way his shoulders hunched down miserably broke your heart.

“What if I’m not? What if this short film is shit? I’ve wanted to be a film director for a really long time and this is the first time I’ve ever shot an entire project like this. What if it sucks? What if this is all I’m capable of, and my career just ends here? What if I’ve just wasted everyone’s time?”

You reached out and grabbed Jaebum’s hand. “Jaebum. You are an amazing director.”

He bit his lip and stared down at your entwined hands, your fingers grasping his own soft ones tightly.

“Say that again,” he mumbled.

“You are an amazing director. I know I’m not a professional actress so my word might not count for much. But I loved working with you. Filming this project is the most fun I’ve ever had and not just because of how much I like spending time with you and the other guys. I’ve seen how you analyze every detail. I’ve seen how you make sure each and every shot is perfect. I’ve seen the amount of effort and care you’ve put into this project. I don’t know if your professor will like it and I don’t know if it will win the short film contest. But there is absolutely no way that this film is not amazing.”

Jaebum turned and stared at you. There was something soft and vulnerable in his eyes. “Do you sincerely mean that?”

You smiled. “I’m always sincere.”

Jaebum took a deep, calming breath and gave you a small smile. “I guess you’re right. I’ve done my best. There’s no point worrying about it anymore. I just need to edit it and hope it all goes well.”

“It will.”

“If even one person enjoys it, I think I’ll be okay.”

You watched Jaebum lift the lid of his laptop and start to open the video editing software but you quickly stopped him and closed his laptop again. “Hey. You have a lot of time. Give yourself a break,” you insisted. “You don’t have to edit it all tonight. Let’s go do something fun.”

“Fun?”

You beamed. “Yeah! What do you do for fun?”

Jaebum raised an eyebrow. “You know what I do for fun.”

You suddenly had a traumatic flashback of falling asleep in a dark theatre while Jaebum talked about camera angles and sound recording techniques. Jaebum laughed at the horrified expression on your face and suddenly reached out to ruffle your hair playfully.

“I told you. You don’t want to do what I do for fun.”

You clenched your fists and took a deep breath. “No. Let’s do it. Let’s… go watch another movie.”

---

Jaebum surprisingly toned down the spontaneous trivia this time around, confirming your belief that he’d only gone overboard last time because he’d wanted to annoy you. He picked another black and white film and when, halfway through his explanation on how this was the last movie that this director had filmed before committing suicide (you had no idea how Jaebum could still sound enthusiastic while explaining that to you), you sighed and rested your head on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, craning his neck to look at you. Jaebum’s shoulder was an extremely comfortable headrest and it had been about twenty minutes since you lost track of what was happening in the movie.

You pouted. “If you’re going to make me fall asleep, then the least you can do is be my pillow. Sit straight and stop fidgeting. My neck ached all night last time.”

Jaebum was silent and you peeked up at him to see him turn his head back to the screen, a small smile on his lips. You snuggled against him happily and hid your own smile. Maybe watching these old films with Jaebum isn’t so bad if I get to cuddle him. You fell asleep to Jaebum whispering to you about all the awards the film had won. You didn’t even notice when he gently shifted your head and put his arm around you. Once the lights in the theatre came back on, you blinked in a confused manner.

“Good morning,” Jaebum joked, as he watched you squint.

You slowly pulled away from him, missing the warmth of his arms as you stretched and sat up. The few other people in the theatre were starting to leave and Jaebum was smiling at you. “How did it end?” you wondered sleepily. “Was it a happy ending?”

Jaebum chuckled. “Everybody got blown up.”

Your smile dropped. “Wow. Really?”

“Yeah. Come on, you’ve suffered enough at my expense today. Let me take you home,” Jaebum insisted. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seat, leading you out of the theatre. You smiled sleepily as you looked down at your entwined hands. Jaebum’s small hand wrapped around yours would never cease to make you smile. Once you both stepped out onto the cool street, he turned to you and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you smiling about?” Jaebum wondered.

You held up your entwined hands to him and giggled. “Did you know that you have really small hands for a man of your size? I mean… ýour fingers are kind of short. I think my hand is even bigger than yours.”

Jaebum stared at you in disbelief. “Really? That’s what makes you laugh?”

You pouted. “Hey. It’s a difficult world we live in. Let me have my small amusements.”

He rolled his eyes and started walking down the street but didn’t let go of your hand. You were forced to partly jog in order to keep up with him. Jaebum’s strides were long, yet the feeling of his warm hand holding yours made you feel happy. You simply bounced along beside him while the two of you strolled down the street. He was silent but there was a smile on his face.

“I can’t wait until the film is edited and ready to go,” you chirped. You turned to Jaebum with wide eyes. “Oh my god. It just occurred to me. What if your film really wins some kind of short film competition? Do you think I’ll become famous? Do you think I could have a career as an actress?”

Jaebum turned to you with a grin. “Are you dreaming of stardom already?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t forget the film school director who gave me my humble start,” you promised him playfully. Then your face turned into a grimace. “But ugh. No more romance dramas. The kissing scene today was so awkward. I guess I just can’t get into character with something like that.”

“Was it that awkward?” he wondered quietly.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It didn’t feel bad really, but I couldn’t really bring myself to enjoy it either. And it felt even more uncomfortable knowing that you and Youngjae and Bambam were watching. Like who wants an audience when they’re being kissed? Yuck.”

Jaebum smiled. “Why? I thought girls would find it romantic to be kissed in front of a lot of people.”

“You know nothing about women, Director-nim.”

“Enlighten me.”

You bit your lip thoughtfully. Jaebum was watching you with an intense expression, as though he really wanted to know what you had to say. You faltered for a moment. Were you really about to give him advice on women? What if he just went and used whatever you said on some other girl?

Your smile dropped and you shook your head. “Nah. Figure it out yourself.”

“Why?” he asked with a laugh. He tugged at your hand. “Tell me what you were about to say!”

For a brief moment, you wondered if you should just say it. I really like you, Jaebum. I’ve fallen for you. What if you just looked him in the eyes and blurted those words out? What was the worst that could happen? He might reject you. As much as Jaebum made fun of you and teased you, you knew that he would let you down nicely. But what if he never talked to you again? What if he thought you were weird and foolish for even thinking that he could be attracted to you? Jaebum had never done anything to indicate that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

The small burst of confidence passed and you recoiled into yourself.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Jaebum asked. His voice sounded serious.

You cleared your throat and blinked. “Like what?”

“Just… I don’t know. In a weird way.”

You shrugged. You could see your building a few feet ahead and you reluctantly pulled your hand out of Jaebum’s. It felt cold and empty but there was a sickening feeling growing in your stomach. You suddenly realized that you wanted to get away from him. You stepped back and forced a smile.

“I must be really tired. I’m gonna go upstairs now. Thanks for walking me home. Bye, Jaebum!”

Jaebum’s eyes brows furrowed in concern. He called out your name but you quickly rushed into your apartment building and went inside, closing the door behind you. You took a deep breath and waited until his voice could no longer be heard. Then you composed yourself and went upstairs.

Let’s deal with it some other day.

--

Jaebum didn’t go home.

He walked halfway down the street and then turned back, feeling the urge to call you back down and talk to you. He couldn’t decide whether he should just leave and talk to you another day, or if he should just man up and call you right now. Jaebum found himself strolling into the small park across from your apartment building; the park where he’d first met you the day that Jackson introduced you to him, the park where he’d watched you kiss Mark and resisted the urge to strangle one of his own friends.

Why hadn’t you waited and listened? Jaebum had had a whole speech prepared for when he dropped you off. He’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. Why had you just run off without letting him speak?

Honestly, you really pissed him off sometimes.

He took a deep breath and grabbed his phone, dialing your phone number. You answered after two rings, your voice sounding a little confused.

“Jaebum. Hey, what’s going on?”

He took a deep breath. “You just ran off without letting me speak. I had something to say to you. Come back down and meet me in the park.”

Your voice cracked. “Now? You’re still outside.”

“Yeah, come down.”

You hung up and hurried downstairs, confused. It had been almost an hour since you had left Jaebum at the foot of your apartment building. You had assumed that he would have gone home by now. Why was he still hanging around in the park? You crossed the street and spotted him sitting alone on one of the park benches. Jaebum’s hands were folded in his lap and his lips were pressed together tightly.

“Jaebum? What’s going on?” you demanded.

He looked up at you, eyes wide. “Uh… I had something I wanted to say,” he admitted quietly. “Actually, it’s something I’ve wanted to say for a while but I promised myself I would only tell you once we were done filming so that things wouldn’t become awkward in case you don’t react the way I’m hoping.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “O-okay.”

“I… uh…” Jaebum groaned and clenched his fists. “Ah, fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“What? Just say it!” you insisted nervously.

Jaebum stood up and stood directly in front of you. You could see him taking a deep breath as he prepared himself and then he reached up and cupped your cheeks gently with both hands. He tilted your chin up so that you were looking directly at him. His dark eyes were soft. “I’m only saying this once, so listen carefully,” he insisted. “You… you’re fucking beautiful.”

You stared at him, your head spinning. “What?”

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. That’s what I’ve thought since even before I met you, since Jackson showed me your picture and suggested I ask you to act in my film. And the more I got to know you, the more I kept thinking that dammit, you only become more gorgeous every time I see you. I keep wanting you to look at me. I keep wanting to look at you. Whenever you smile, it makes my heart pound like crazy.”

“Jaebum…”

“That day when you said Mark was out of your league? I couldn’t even respond because I was just thinking is this woman insane, how does she not see what I see? I love your enthusiasm. I love your childishness and your innocence. I love everything about you. These feelings have been growing inside of me for weeks now. When you took my hand today and told me that I was an amazing director… I realized that I could deal with anything in the world if I just had you beside me, holding my hand and believing in me.”

Your throat clenched and your heart pounded in your chest, as though it was going to explode. Was Jaebum really saying these things to you? You could tell from the firm, determined look in his eyes that he was being more honest than he’d ever been.

“Jaebum… shut up,” you muttered.

He stiffened. “Should I?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. You slowly pushed his hands off your cheeks. You saw Jaebum’s eyes flicker with hurt for a few seconds before you stepped closer to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. Jaebum was still as you pressed your face into his chest. He was warm and comfortable. Jaebum finally came to his senses and hugged you back tightly. You felt perfect in his arms.

“You scared me,” he whispered. “I thought you were mad.”

“I’m not mad,” you mumbled against his chest. You hugged him even more tightly and sighed. “The whole heartfelt confession thing just doesn’t suit you. You should have just waited for me to do it and then you could have reacted in a cool, tsundere manner and maintained your dignity.”

Jaebum chuckled and pressed his cheek against your hair. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not as cool as you think.”

“I’m not either,” you pointed out. Your face was burning red and you had a stupid smile on your face that you were trying to hide by pressing it against Jaebum’s shirt. You panicked when Jaebum slowly removed his arms from around you and tried to push you away from him. “Stop it, let me hug you!” you protested, swatting his hands away from his shoulders.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Well, you can’t, because I’m blushing really hard now and I don’t want you to see. So just let me hide for a few more minutes.”

Jaebum sighed. “God, you’re such a handful. Never mind. Forget this confession, I’m going home-“

You clenched your fists in his shirt. “No! Don’t you dare!”

“Then let me kiss you.”

You slowly lifted your head from Jaebum’s chest. He was smiling down at you with shining eyes, and his thumb stroked your red cheek before he leaned down and kissed you. You melted into Jaebum’s gentle touch. His lips were sweet and caring. You had never imagined that the stone-faced Im Jaebum could be capable of such a passionate kiss. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer while he pecked your mouth slowly and repeatedly.

“Wow,” he mumbled, slowly pulling away. You blinked at him dazedly. “No wonder your kiss with Mark was awkward. You really don’t know how to kiss.”

You stared at him indignantly, flushing red. “Excuse me-“

“Come here. This is how you kiss,” Jaebum whispered. Before you could respond, his lips came down on yours once more. His tongue teased the inside of your mouth and his mouth slanted over yours hotly. Jaebum let out a soft, low groan that made your stomach twist in desire. He claimed your mouth passionately and let his fingers twist into your hair. You gasped and melted against him. You slid your own hands into his hair and pulled his lips downs towards yours, making him groan once more.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. “This is too much.”

You giggled, face flushed. “What? Im Jaebum can’t handle my kiss?”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against yours. “I can handle anything,” he reassured you.

“Then come upstairs and let’s see how true that is.”

---

Epilogue:

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the piece which won me an A+ in Film Class and which I submitted last night to the national short film contest,” Jaebum announced proudly.

Everyone clapped and cheered. The team had all gathered in your apartment to hold a little screening of the completed short film. It had turned out as a masterpiece and Jaebum’s Professor had been so happy that he had insisted Jaebum submit it to the film contest. You snuggled closer to your boyfriend and smiled happily. Jaebum’s arm was around you and you were both cuddled together on the armchair. Bambam, Yugyeom and Mark were sitting on the couch while Jinyoung, Jackson and Youngjae sat on your floor.

“Wow, hyung. I knew it was going to be good but this really looks like a professional film,” Youngjae insisted excitedly.

“Shush! Everyone shush, it’s not over yet! The credits are rolling!”

Jaebum wrapped his arm around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead as the credits rolled on. It revealed you and Mark as the lead actors, Jaebum as the Director, Youngjae as Cameraman and Technical Director, Bambam as Make-up and Costume Director, and…

“Errand boy?” Yugyeom burst out suddenly. He turned and looked at Jaebum in horror. “Hyung, did you seriously put my name in the credits as errand boy?”

Jinyoung frowned at him. “All you did was bring people coffee, Yugyeom. What did you expect?”

“You didn’t even write the script yourself, noona had to change most of it!”

“She made minor changes to the dialogue!” Jinyoung shot back furiously. “The original idea was all mine!”

“Then explain to me why the hell Jackson is credited as Casting Director. There’s two fucking people in the entire movie and all he did was introduce us to one of them. He never even came to a single filming or meeting. Why does he get Casting Director and I get errand boy?”

Bambam smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at you and Jaebum. “Because he didn’t just introduce our Director to our female actress. He introduced Jaebum to his leading lady,” he said in a sing-song voice. You rolled your eyes as Bambam set off a chorus of ‘oooooh’s that was picked up by Jackson and Youngjae.

“Shut up,” you grumbled. “Director-nim, can’t you control your team?”

Jaebum chuckled. “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll get rid of them for you.”

“Yes, please do.”

You slowly untangled yourself from Jaebum and went into the kitchen to get more drinks and popcorn for the others. As you stuck a new bag in the microwave and reached into the fridge to get a new bottle of coke, you heard Jaebum’s soft footsteps follow you into the kitchen. He wrapped his arm around your waist and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What did you really think of the film?”

You turned and smiled. “I loved it. Well. Watching myself kiss Mark on screen was a little awkward, but otherwise the film was amazing. You really should have let us do another take of the kiss.”

Jaebum flushed. “You know why I didn’t.”

“I do now. Were you jealous?” you teased him playfully.

“I was.” Jaebum leaned down and kissed you softly. “I was crazy jealous seeing you kiss him. It was even worse watching that scene over and over while I edited it. But don’t worry. Now that I know you’re mine, I promise I’ll try to stay cool if you ever try acting again and a situation like that comes up. You just have to promise me that I’m a better kisser than your partner.”

You chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll be acting again.”

“Oh? Why not?”

You shrugged and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Because I kind of like the idea of being exclusively your leading lady forever.”

--

[vague-idea]

This is purely fueled by petty rage and caffeine so buckle the fuckle up.

There has been a lot of talk lately about if Celine was a good person, how bad Actor Mark was, blah blah blah. This is been a topic from pretty much day one of WKM but recently it’s popped up in relevancy. I’ve never really vocalized my thoughts on the matter, despite having many. I’m the kind of person who tears stories apart for fun, so I know a bit what I’m talking about. Get ready for these spicy hot takes, cause guess what: 

They’re all bad. All of them. Including everyone's favorite boy. That’s right, the uwu-too-pure-for-this-world-boy, Damien.  

Now put down your pitchforks for a second and hear me out. You can send me hate later. What I’m here to do is take a look at Mark’s characters, look at their actions (both implied and shown), and then show that none of them are innocent. If this is a mess, uhhh sucks to suck I guess. (the person sucking is me. hah gottem)

First, before I get into the characters however, we need to discuss Mark’s storytelling. Personally I like it quite a bit. It’s interesting and it’s engaging, but it does have its quirks and flaws. You can see the improvement, but it does effect how his characters have come across. Mark himself has admitted to writing Celine poorly in WKM, and I would tend to say that much of WKM should have been adjusted. It’s not “Who Killed Markiplier” but “Why Killed Markiplier” as Mark has said, and the why was never really shown in the series. It’s explained in a live-stream, and if you can’t get your intentions across in the series then something in the script is wrong. Having said that, Mark has improved his writing immensely and I applaud him for that. 

Mark prefers to tell a singular story, leaving much of what he intends up to speculation. He doesn’t tell you the story of how Wilford became the insane goofy murderer he is today; he shows you a moment of weakness and connection between Abe and Wilford. He doesn’t show you how Damien and Celine became Dark, he tells you the story of two siblings protecting each other and being backed into a corner in which playing the part of a villain is their only escape. The intention is plainly there, but you have to understand the characters to truly get the story. “You’re too focused on the minutia” is true. The fans pay too much attention to the details of the story. You have to focus on the characters and their motivations to understand the tale Mark is weaving. Don’t focus on Wilford being in two places at once, or Damien’s hand turning gray in one shot. Focus on the characters and who they are because in the end that’s what they are: characters. With the release of DAMIEN, Mark has made it clear that the characters are the important things, made to be placed into whatever story he pleases. (uh Mark if you’re reading this that is a dope idea and holy fuck im hype)

Now to actually talk about the characters. 

Let’s start with Celine, since she is the main focus of this debate. First and foremost, Celine is manipulative. She knows what she wants, and she will get it at any cost. This is shown from the moment she steps into the manor. She turns everyone against the DA. Isolating us, and making us feel vulnerable. Then, with a gracious olive branch, she let’s us help. We are now special, but we can only trust Celine. An interesting parallel to “Don’t Trust the Seer.” After the DA has the fall, Celine is there yet again. Forcing Damien asleep, she uses us to gain a body, and then kicks the DA out into the mirror, making us now a viewer of this world. In DAMIEN, she manipulates Damien into sleeping. Keeping him tucked away and safe. Celine’s primary characteristic is manipulation. Getting what she wants, no matter the cost. She is protective, she is abrasive, she is determined, and she is cold. 

Now let’s look at Mark. His personality isn’t so plainly laid out as the others (seeing as he fuckinn dies in the first five minutes), so we’re going to have to rely on what the others have said about him to get the picture. The first thing we hear about Mark is from the Colonel. Obviously, a man with prejudice, but still has an insightful look into who Mark is. “My name is Markiplier now! Forget that my friends are the ones who helped me along the way. Just look at me and my money. I need to pay people to be my friends. Ahaha. Oh you like me, too bad.” Then, even Mark himself has said: “I used to be somebody. Maybe not somebody good, but I was somebody.” (Granted this is from the meta ending, but I’m still going to use it because ADWM still applies and I’m an asshole and you can’t stop me) Both these sentences are inferring to a man who was changed by fame and fortune. This infers to a man who took and took, so up his own ass that he started ignoring his friends in favor of becoming richer and increasingly powerful. I think that is that crux of Mark’s character: power and control. 

In DAMIEN, Mark has some insightful comments that back this up. “You stole everything from me.” ... “Well you wouldn’t even have anything in the first place if it wasn’t for me.” ... “You were never good enough for Celine.” ... “I gave up everything for her!” This exchange back and forth between Damien and Mark leads me to believe that Mark, through his power and fame, gave the twins everything they had. He gave Damien his mayor position. He gave Celine money, influence, power, and his love. Mark might have thought he was doing these things for them, but if you look at who Mark is, he was doing these gracious actions to have control over the twins. Damien now owes Mark for giving him his job and his power. Celine owes Mark for her comfortable home and a loving husband. This is further proved by Mark’s interaction with the Colonel. Using the money that William owes to Mark, the guilt of cheating with his wife, Mark controls the Colonel and makes him work for him. Controls him, up til the moment that William looses his mind. Mark values control, and he values power. 

I don’t think I need to explain how Wilford is a bad person, but ya know let’s just say it: cheater and murderer. His character is insanely fun, and I love the depth and nuances to it, but he’s not the one we’re focusing on today. Here’s just here for me to say that I love him, and he was just a pawn in the backstory of WKM. 

Now, for the controversial opinion. Damien. Everyone’s sweet, innocent, could never hurt a fly, mayor. Well, sorry my guys but that is just not correct. Damien’s role in this story is integral, and let me say the misjudgment of his character annoys me a lot but that’s just cause I’m salty all the time so let’s just jump into it. Damien is not innocent. As Mark says, “Always the righteous crusader. Pure as the driven snow. Acting like you’re the only one without blood on your hands.” There is blood on his hands. Good intentions aside, Damien has a fatal flaw and that is that he is a coward. He may want what is best for everyone, but he cannot find his own spine. Throughout WKM, despite being the mayor - a fuckinn leadership position - he takes a backseat of running after the Colonel, running after the DA, and running after Celine. He is easily used, and easily discarded. He lets others walk over him, and in doing so lets everything around him fall apart. It isn’t until DAMIEN when he has lost literally everything that he finally sheds the title of pawn and becomes a player. Damien isn’t pure. He is soaked with the blood of every dead body he could not lead and he could not protect because he was too much of a coward to do what was right. 

Looking at all of these characters, I hesitate to label them as bad or good. I know I just said that they’re all bad, but welcome to clickbait. Celine is manipulative, but she cares about her brother and she fights for herself. Mark is power hungry, yet he loved and he lost. Damien is a coward, yet he cares for others. Looking at them as they are, I cannot say that they fit perfectly into role of villain or hero. This story isn’t that simple. It’s created to flip the script. 

But, everyone is arguing about Celine and Mark’s past so let’s jump into that mess of a conversation. 

Celine is a manipulator. Mark wants control and power. Damien wants everyone to be happy. William/Colonel has a one track mind and currently it’s set on fuck. This is who they are, and from this we can try and determine their backstory. Granted, this is my view and my speculation but I think I’m pretty on track. I can honestly say that at one point, Celine and Mark loved each other. They are both too obsessed with having what they want to settle for marrying someone they hate, or even marrying someone they were indifferent too. They loved each other, and they had to have each other. Things can change, however. What started as something fueled by love can turn into something fueled by vengeance. 

Mark is obsessed with control, and so he tried to keep a tight hold on what he loved. Celine detests being the pawn when she is the player, and so when she wanted William, she had to have him. Throughout the series it is shown that Mark viewed Celine as his. William/Colonel stole her from him. She was his, and she was taken. On the opposing side, Celine is no prize to be kept. Her love shifts from Mark to William/Colonel and she takes what she wants. At the end of the day, she would carve their hearts out for attempting to keep her in a cage as their pretty songbird. Also, I believe that Damien knew that Celine was cheating, but he couldn’t bare being the one to break apart his childhood friends, so he said nothing. He let his cowardice destroy what he only wanted to preserve. 

Celine and Mark could have never worked together, because they both want to control and they couldn’t control each other. Damien could not lead, and was used and walked over until he and those he loved were dead. William/Colonel barely had a say; each step he took was a line in Celine and Mark’s strategy. It wasn’t until he broke that he was able to break the script. 

So what does this mean, Eli? Who is the good guy and who is the bad guy? Why doesn’t this story play into exactly what I want? Why don’t these characters fit these little tropes I want to place upon them? 

It means none of that, reader. You can call them bad, and you can call them good. You can make Damien into a hero, and you can make Celine into an abuser. You can say Mark was taken advantage of, you can blame the manor, or you can call him evil. You can do whatever you want with them, but that is only possible by ignoring that they are so much more than that. This story is not meant to fit into a square. This story at its basis is to show that these are stereotypical characters, meant to play a role, who have broken it. 

[imjustthemechanic]

Our Own Demons

Part 1/? - A Bolt from the Blue Part 2/? - A Different World Part 3/? - Stark At Home Part 4/? - Pot Roast Night Part 5/? - Space-Pie Continuum Part 6/? - Energy Signature Part 7/? - Miss Potts Part 8/? - Bot from Beyond Part 9/? - Even the Odds Part 10/? - Miss Potts Arrives Part 11/? - Truth Hurts Part 12/? - The Third Reality Part 13/? - Thor and Odinson

What if Tony Stark really were the villain of the Marvel universe?  How would that work?  Tony himself is about to find out, as he battles his inner demons (and some outer ones, too) across a multiverse of infinite possibilities.

Getting in touch with this mysterious Thor who was not Odin’s son was evidently a job for the ladies. Miss Potts, Dr. Ross, and Director Hill gathered at one end of the room to make some phone calls, leaving Tony and his double at the other end of the table.

“You never mentioned how you’re doing,” the other said suddenly.

“Hmm?”  Tony looked at him.  The other man was munching on a muffin from a box in the middle of the table, and eyeing Tony with what appeared to be suspicion.

“You’re a little banged-up, yourself,” he pointed out.

“I know.”  Tony rubbed a line of scratches on his arm.  He’d seen his reflection in the mirror that morning: scrapes and cuts everywhere, a split lip and a collection of bruises that were doubtless going to turn all sorts of fascinating colours over the next week or so.  Even the oldest of his own suits were better at protecting the wearer than the Proof of Concept, but that very name was enough to tell Tony that the suit had never been intended for use in combat.  Besides, Tony’s physical condition wasn’t all that important to him. Not when he’d been here two days, with no way to know what was happening back in his own reality.

“Well?” the other prompted.

Tony shrugged.  “I’ve had worse, too.”

“I figured,” said the other.  “Good to know some things don’t change.  Spending the night with Miss Potts probably helped, too.”

Tony blinked, then shook his head.  “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assured him.  “I just explained to her what was happening and then we both went to bed.  She slept on the sofa, I took the armchair.”

“So you didn’t…?” the other raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” Tony snorted.  “She’s not my Miss Potts.  I did drop a hint or two…”

“No.”  The other held up a hand.  “Stop right there.  I don’t want to hear about it ever again.”

“You’re really surly today,” Tony observed. “Is it pain or jealousy or what?”

“It’s when-did-this-bullshit-become-my-life, that’s what it is,” said the other.

“You should see my life,” Tony told him.  “You wanna come visit when we’re done?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you drive my R8,” Tony suggested.

“I think I’m okay,” the other told him.

There were several seconds of silence.  Tony decided to change the subject.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“That’s dangerous,” his double drawled.

It was, wasn’t it?  Thinking led to building, and building, at least where Tony was concerned, tended to lead to thinks blowing up and people dying.  It seemed to be a genetic Stark trait, at least in Tony’s own reality.  He didn’t say that aloud, though.  “I’ve been wondering what somebody from another universe would be doing that would kick me out of mine.”

The other cocked his head.  “You think somebody from Reality B was trying to get in, and they had to move you out of the way.”

“Great minds think alike.”  Tony nodded.  This was either the best or worst possible situation to apply that phrase to, and he had no idea which.

“But fools rarely differ,” the other noted.  “What’s in your reality that somebody from another one would want?  It can’t be the tesseract because he’s obviously got one of those.”

That was a more difficult question.  The tesseract was the most powerful thing Tony knew of, and the only one that came to mind as worth crossing dimensions for.  Other than that… “I don’t know,” he said.  “My reality just had some bad stuff go down in it, but from what little I saw that seemed to be strictly local.  Seeing as he was specifically gunning for us with that robot, it’s got to be something one of us would have.”  More likely Tony himself, for the simple reason that he had more stuff.  “I don’t know what I have that another one of me would want to take away.”

The other snorted with cynical laughter.  “Money, power, and the woman of your dreams all come to mind,” he observed.

Tony twitched.  His counterpart was just being a jerk, trying to come up with something that would hurt as much as you just broke her heart, but the idea of another him somehow harming Pepper made him feel downright sick.  The alternate could just walk in and say hello, and Pepper would have no way of knowing she shouldn’t trust him until it was too late.  He had to physically shake his head and arms to clear the awful mental picture.  It didn’t make sense anyway, Tony told himself. What would an alternate version of himself gain from that?

Any man who would deliberately hurt Pepper wasn’t Tony Stark, he thought.  Even if he looked like him, even if he had the suits and all the other trimmings, wishing harm to Pepper was the deal-breaker that would make him unworthy of the name.

He realized that the other was looking at him, and had seen his terrified expression and his violent frisson.  “I’m sorry,” the other said.

“I…”  Tony licked his lips.  “Yeah, I’m sorry, too.”  Did the other realize what he was apologizing for?  Did it matter?  “Anyway, the guy who built the robot must have had money, too.  That contraption would have cost more than some people’s yearly salary – and when I say some people I’m not talking about the ones who serve coffee for a living.”

“Just because he’s got money doesn’t mean he’s got the other stuff,” his double said.

“But he could get it in his own universe,” Tony said. If he’d wanted more money, more power, or more women, he certainly wouldn’t have had to go to another reality to find them.  He probably wouldn’t even have to get up off the couch.  “Maybe when I get back, I can ask him.” Whatever it was, it had to be something the bad guy knew, or at least believed, that Tony would fight for.

Maybe what he wanted was the world itself.  Maybe something awful had happened in his. Maybe the Chi’Tauri had taken over. Maybe SHIELD had nuked New York. Maybe what he wanted wasn’t to get in to Tony’s reality, but to get out of his own.

“You know, we don’t know for sure that it’s another one of us,” the other said.

“Yeah, we do,” said Tony.  Nobody knew Iron Man well enough to build that robot, except for Tony himself.

“No, we don’t,” said the other.  “Not until we meet him.  Not everything’s about you, you know.”

“Okay, now you sound like Captain America,” said Tony.

“Who?” asked the other.

“Forget it,” Tony shook his head.

It was towards evening when JANIS’ voice spoke up: Hey, Tony and other Tony, Miss Potts wanted me to let you know that Thor and the Odinson just arrived on the helipad.  She’d like you to come back up to the conference room to meet with them.

Tony’s double was working on the broken suit – he’d fished the pieces out of the barrel of saline and was now taking them apart, pulling out whatever moving parts seemed salvageable.  He hadn’t looked like he wanted help and so Tony hadn’t offered. He’d spent a lot of the day lying on the sofa playing useless little games on his counterpart’s phone, and had become very good at slicing computer-generated fruit in half but he felt lazy and unwanted.

When the announcement came on, Tony’s double jumped a little, dropping a tool that clattered on the floor.  That, in turn, startled Tony, who dropped the phone.  It hit the concrete floor, and the screen cracked.

“Whoops,” said Tony.  “I’ll pay for that.”

“No, you won’t,” said the other firmly.  “Come on, let’s get up there.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you wanted to get rid of me,” Tony observed.  “I wanna meet this Thor who isn’t Odin’s son.”  He still wasn’t quite sure how that worked.

Five minutes later, he found out.  When they walked into the conference room, the women were already there – and so was possibly the most intimidating couple Tony had ever seen.

The one he would have identified as Thor, but who was evidently not, was the man.  He wore his hair long with a short beard, and was dressed in street clothes: a green t-shirt, a black hoodie, jeans, and a denim jacket.  He could have walked down a street and nobody would have taken a second look except possibly to observe that he was obnoxiously tall and good-looking, were it not for the fact that he was carrying a gigantic battleaxe across his shoulders.  Tony wondered if he needed a permit for that. Maybe he didn’t.  It definitely wasn’t a concealed weapon.

The one who must’ve actually been Thor was the woman.  She, too, was absurdly tall, nearly six foot, but where Odinson was built like a weightlifter, she had the lean, wiry body of a sprinter.  She was dressed in armor and leather, with a long red cape and a helmet that covered the top half of her face.  Her flowing brown hair spilled out from underneath this down her back, moving as if in a breeze, and in her right hand was the implement that made her Thor – the hammer.

“My ladies, Virginia, Elizabeth, and Maria,” Odinson greeted the women.  “Always a pleasure to have your company.”

“Thank you, Odinson,” said Miss Potts with a warm smile. She shook his hand.

“I must apologize for our lateness,” he added.  “The Nine Realms are full of turmoil.”

“You’ve got your priorities,” Miss Potts assured him.

The woman, meanwhile, approached the door to greet Tony and his counterpart.  “Which one of you is the real Mr. Stark?” she asked. The helmet gave her voice a lot of reverb – or maybe it was just the fact that she was a goddess.

Tony was about to say that he was, but at the last moment he remembered that by the standards of this reality, that wasn’t true. “He is,” he said.  “I’m apparently cousin Arno from Italy.”

“And you two successfully created an Einstein-Rosen bridge with another universe?” asked Thor, leaning closer to them.

Under the echo, there was something awfully familiar about her voice.  “It wasn’t intentional,” said Tony.  “The first time, I kind of just got caught in one.”

“And the second, somebody else made it in an attempt to kill us,” said the other.

“But that’s incredible!” the woman exclaimed.  She set the hammer down on the table and pulled her helmet off – and before Tony’s eyes, the rest of the armor melted away, leaving behind a tiny, enthusiastically smiling woman wearing an oversized sweater and leggings.  It was Jane Foster.

In that moment he remembered what the Thor of his reality had said the inscription on Mjolnir meant: whosoever holds this hammer, should he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.  In a world where Pepper was Iron Woman and Betty Ross was the Hulk, of course Dr. Foster was worthy.

“I mean,” she went on, plopping herself down across from the two men, “we’re talking about actually getting two parallel layers of higher-dimensional spacetime to connect with each other – under normal circumstances, brane theory suggests that’s a cataclysm, and somebody out there is just popping robots through it like it’s nothing!”

Tony glanced at his counterpart for any sign that this situation was weird.  He saw none. It seemed that Dr. Foster popping in and out of Thor mode to fangirl about science was just how she rolled.

“I don’t know if I’d say like it’s nothing,” said the other.

“I’m sure there was some effort involved,” Tony agreed. “But I need to get back to my own reality before anybody I know there gets hurt.”

“And I need him out of mine before he ruins my life,” said the other.

“He says that as if he has a life,” Tony said.

The other glared at him.  “We’ve got kind of an idea how it works, but we need the tesseract.”

Dr. Foster nodded.  “Odinson!  Did you hear that?”

“I did,” he replied, looking up from his conversation with the women.  “My father will be loath to grant access to it, after what happened the last time mortals made use of it.”

“And the time before that,” said Hill.

“You can ask really nicely?” Tony said.  “The fate of entire universes may be at stake here.”

“I shall do my best,” the Odinson promised.  “Jane, would you be so good as to summon the Bifrost for me?”

“Always happy to,” said Dr. Foster.

[allurascastle]

There isn't any shame in being upset about somebody who's harassing you. I'm sorry you're going through that. I hope everything works out with the restraining order, or that that guy just leaves you alone in general. Take care.

Aww, thank you! It makes me feel a little better for you to say it, I just…really hate having emotions and being effected by things. Boo.

Admittedly, I’m 60% sure most of my response to this is because this isn’t the typical kind of creeping. THAT I can deal with just fine. This is…wow. Just downright unsettling. (And the conversation we’d been having immediately before the one that sent me into fight or flight mode really just makes the whole thing worse.)

This dude, who I’ll from now on identify as Logan, was someone I first met in early May if I had to guess. It was before Ethan was sent to jail.

(Context of Ethan: he’s one of my two older brothers, who are twins. He is very much the problem child of our family, and is the one getting into legal trouble and drugs all the damn time, is abusive, self-centered, and delusional. Overall: awful person and has done enough shit to warrant me saying he deserves the life sentence he may very well be getting. Back to the story.)

I’m not sure why Logan was in the infant’s diaper aisle, he didn’t grab anything and just tried chatting with me, but he recognised me pretty much on sight (in retrospect, my name isn’t a very common one and we wear name badges, he could have pieced it together from that - and I say that because it was a little too fast for having been three years…or maybe not) as being Ethan’s sister. I say “tried chatting with me” because the second someone utters Ethan’s name, I’m all but gone. I hate him and want nothing to do with him and hia fucking friends need to leave me alone. (But I was at work, so I said “yes, now how may I help you?” and then left with “good night, I have work to do.”)

At the time, I assumed he was one of Ethan’s recent friends. He goes through them like toilet paper, as you’d expect from a serial abuser, and is really great at convincing him he’s great and swell. They never listen and frankly, 8 years of no one listening to you will just have you throwing your hands up in the air and saying “go get your fucking self esteem ruined away from me, idgaf.”

Now…Ethan has this habit of talking about us (the family) and showing off pictures (last I checked), so I chalked it up to that, fumed, angrily ranted with a friend and moved on.

Saw Logan a few other times. He asked me how Ethan was doing once and I angrily snapped “I don’t know, I don’t talk to him.” To which he responded: “that’s a shame, he’s a great guy.” I had no answer appropriate for my workplace so I just walked away from the fitting room with none of the items I intended to put away. I think I saw him one more time before this most recent* time, but I don’t remember any of it.

*the most recent time would be earlier today, 9/24, but I am actually referring to the incident, which happened around 8:10PM on 9/19.

So…the incident. It started off innocently enough - and at this point, I should mention I had bad vibes about this dude already, but brushed them off because he obviously wasn’t neurotypical (which made me disgusted with Ethan, but I wasn’t shocked), I’d guess on the autistic spectrum if I really had to: just the way he talked and seemed to process things.

But so, I figured it was good ol’ social ableism and told myself “you’re better than that” and was friendly with him bc a) it was my job, b) I had no reason to be rude but if he brought my brother the fuck up again I was GONE, okay, GONE. I ain’t here for that shit. I like my life drama-free. I should ALSO mention that thos whole time, spanning a few months, I didn’t know his name AND I was under the assumption he’s the one who turned Ethan into the troopers for the Rikki fiasco, and in my eyes, that was a bit of a redemption most Ethan’s friends would never get.

I really wish I’d just…listened to that bad vibe and gtfo of dodge. At first, he strolled up to Fitting Room while my coworker, an older gal named Sharon, with a cart of Halloween decorations and said he was just in the store buying some Halloween stuff and proceeded to tell Sharon about what he was going to be for Halloween, emphasising that it was the scariest thing he could imagine (turned out to be a “dark Flash” from Flash a few years ago. Idk bc I’m not really into superhero TV shows or movies. Doesn’t sound scary to me, but whatever. We all have different things that really spook us).

We somehow got onto the subject of a kidnapping that’d happened in the area, and from there some dude has apparently been reported watching female employees leaving at night from the parking lot (creepy, and I didn’t know that, but I also get picked up because I don’t have my licence yet). And from there, I mentioned some things to do in that sort of situation, and the conversation shifted towards the subject of kidnap AND rape (he mentioned that it happened to his friend’s niece when she was thirteen and that it broke his heart. This is the only thing that really sticks out from this part of the conversation and for a reason).

Sharon leaves, and Logan starts talking about his relationship woes and saying how when he’s around girls he likes, he gets flustered and starts pouring his heart out - and mentions a specific time he did this with a long time female friend of his and he starts bemoaning about how the friendship they’d had for so long was just gone. (I politely asked him if she had reacted cruelty, because - and I SAID this - there was no reason for the friendship to be gone since she didn’t reciprocate, after all she wasn’t obligated to. He said that she was but…the way he said it sounded Bad.) And then onto cheating (I told him no one deserved to be cheated on while trying to edge away, because dudes getting onto the friendzone is a huge red flag, and then going onto cheating? B y e) and he mentions he caught his recent* fiance cheating on him (and specified that he caught her walking up to some dude. Er…I hoped I was just missing some context from that, but I’m not giving the benefit of the doubt on it).

And then. AND THEN he says this: “You know, I was really into you a few years ago, but your brother said not to try because of the age gap.”

My alarm bells were already going off, but my blood went cold as ICE at this.

I’m eighteen, a few years ago I was fifteen. I hadn’t EVER met this dude, and I commit all of Ethan’s friends to memory so I can avoid them. Also, nice hypocrisy, Ethan (Rikki is either 14 or 15 right now. He’s in jail for dating and fucking her).

Let me emphasise I THOUGHT THIS WAS A RECENT FRIEND OF ETHAN’S WHO HAD SEEN A RECENT PICTURE OF ME AND RECENTLY BEEN TOLD ABOUT ME

Now, back in 2014 before Ethan moved to Anchorage, he did not live with me and my parents, and we were living in one of my dad’s friend’s cabin. He lived with my grandmother a decent way away, and were were pretty fucking livid with both of them. So he only got to come over to see his kids when we had them, bc their mother had a restraining order, but even that didn’t last bc - well, he was abusive and homophobic and screamed at my TODDLER NEPHEW that he would not have a gay son…when all he did was put on a straw hat to get giggles like his sister.

So yes, I have never met this dude. I didn’t even know his name until he mentioned going to grade or middle school with my sister in law (I…am not sure how he knew my other brother was married, that happened THIS year) and her brother, who he called by…well, I’ve only ever hear this brother called “RJ”. I was a little shocked and mentioned it, and he mentioned his name and how he wasn’t called by it much anymore either. I completely forgot this until I was in the car on the verge of crying again to Susanne.

“You know, I was really into you a few years ago, but your brother said not to try because of the age gap.”

Like. I’m going into panic mode as everything I’d thought is being challenged. (I vaguely recall in our conversation with Sharon, him mentioning how much he hates pedophiles and me asking if he was the one who called the troopers on Ethan than, and even after a short summary he maintained he wouldn’t “do that” to Ethan… Also at some point we established he was terrified of my parents, and after that night he has a very good reason to be.)

I don’t remember what I said. I just remember trying to leave again but a customer came by and I had to let them in the rooms because I had the keys, and policy states I can’t leave with people in the room, and Sharon has the radio with management on it.

He then asks me, while I am effectively trapped there, if I believe in fate. “No.” I said as curtly as possible.

“Well I do, especially when it comes to love.” I LEGIT WANTED TO FUCKING DIE. I WAS CRINGING SO HARD. He went on to say something about how love’ll happen of it’s meant to and…

The customer left and I told him I had to go do my job and took off weaving through apparel.

I think I saw him head towars Halloween (the front of the store, where he presumably got the shit in his cart; what brought him over in the forst place was apparently a discarded shit and it drives him nuts whem those get left around by other customers). I didn’t have a radio to find out where a manager was, but I booked it to Customer Service to hunt a CSM down.

I told her, came up with a code (code alex) if I ever needed to be saved from a similar situation. Not even an hour later I was still so nerve-wracked and only getting more anxious as I was there until 10 but Sharon was leaving at 9, that I went and talked to an ASM. Or tried. I staryed crying on the phone with her so she sent me on a break, and I started to break down again talking in the office. She sent me home early at 9:20 PM and told me to contact management if the dude showed up again.

My sis talked to her on Thursday about the guy, since she knew his name, but I don’t remember what Susanne said was the outcome bc I didn’t work Thursday and The ASM wasn’t there today. (I did have to tell another ASM who had me call the police, who recommended me to go get a stalking order after he stopped being stupid.)

Another ASM heard while he was back there and offered to walk me to my car, and hung around for a little bit when I told him I was being picked up. I know he told my sis he’d walk me to my car of I ever needed or wanted someone to, so that was a relief.

TODAY I saw him briefly right after I clocked in and was on the salesfloor talking with my coworker E. He tried talking to me but fight or flight kicked in and I noped all the fuck the way to Mark, who had the radio, and then hunted Jaime down with E walking with me.

[clbhaneul-blog]

9 weird photography tricks actually work

Now and again I have a feeling that I invest so much energy perusing photography traps and tips online that I never observe anything new any longer. Along these lines, I set out to make this helpful accumulation of some bizarre and cool photography traps that aren’t your typical ordinary assortment. I trust you discover some happiness and take in another tip or two. When you’re set, remark beneath with what cool photography hacks you’ve learned! DSLR screwed onto a light as a tripod when absolutely necessary.

1. No tripod? Utilize a light! Need to take a gathering photograph yet don’t have a place to set the camera? Simply whip the light shade off a light and screw your camera onto the lampshade-holder. The string size of the rush on a light shade is the very same size as the channel string utilized on tripods, so your camera will effectively join. Not exclusively will your gathering and indoor pictures look better, yet you’ll look like MacGyver before the gathering. Not awful. This tip doesn’t prove to be useful consistently, however you’ll like the coolest photography geek on the planet when the circumstance emerges.

2. Hotshoe PEZ Dispenser for kids

Shooting photographs of children can be a remarkable accomplishment. It appears as though they are occupied with taking a gander at everything except for the camera. I have two children of my own, and I realize that the best way to inspire them to grin and take a gander at the camera is with a decent fix.

The ideal arrangement is to purchase a straightforward PEZ gadget on the hotshoe of your camera! The base of the PEZ allocator is a little piece more extensive than a standard hotshoe, so you’ll need to trim it only somewhat with a kitchen cut before the shoot.

At that point, when the children are as a rule decent and taking a gander at the PEZ distributor, you can have them come up and snatch a little sweet occasionally amid the shoot. It’s unadulterated virtuoso.

3. Day to night in a blaze

Turn your blaze to FULL power and uncover for the glimmer rather than the encompassing light.

Now and again you’re out shooting representations on a brilliant radiant day and the light just looks as well… normal. I regularly discover this is the situation when shooting a wedding or engagement when I’m shooting at a recreation center or other outside area and I get exhausted with a similar lighting in each shot.

One trap that I truly appreciate is to turn up the power on my glimmer to the maximum. This will, clearly, make the subject to a great degree brilliant. In the event that you change your camera settings to uncover for the subject, it will influence the foundation to look to a great degree dull in light of the fact that the glimmer didn’t hit it.

4. Expel the focal point for large scale

This is the coolest camera trap I’ve found in quite a while. In the event that you remove your focal point and hold it before the camera, you get a large scale focal point! I was extremely suspicious about this, however I simply attempted it and it had exactly the intended effect. There are four things you have to think about utilizing this trap: (1) Your camera won’t take a photo with the focal point off unless you’re in manual mode. (2) The best central length is by all accounts around 50mm, so either a 50mm prime or a 18-55mm pack focal point would be great! (3) Obviously, you lose self-adjust since your focal point isn’t joined to the camera. Center is accomplished by basically drawing nearer to or promote far from the subject, and (4) The camera can’t open up the gap, so you’ll do it with your hand. On the back of the focal point (the side you mount on the camera), move the little plastic slider piece that controls the opening. On the off chance that you look in the focal point while doing it, you’ll see the gap open up. On the off chance that you need to make this a stride further, you can purchase a switch focal point mount for $5 or $10 which ought to hone up the pictures a considerable amount since it will hold the focal point all the more firmly. Additionally, make certain to utilize a tripod while doing this or some other full scale photography. With such fine detail, even a modest development can annihilate the sharpness.

5. Erase voyagers from movement photographs This little system makes it EASY to dispose of the sightseers in your movement shots! This is a magnificent trap for movement picture takers. Now and then you’re at a stunning area, however there are individuals in the method for your shot. On the off chance that you need to take a photo of a milestone and individuals are in your shot, you will probably spend whatever remains of your grown-up life cloning individuals out of the shot unless you attempt this strategy.

Stage 1: Set your camera on a tripod.

Stage 2: Take a photo about at regular intervals until the point when you have around 15 shots, contingent upon how quick individuals are strolling near. Stage 3: Open every one of the pictures in Photoshop by going to File > Scripts > Statistics. Pick “middle” and select the documents you took. Stage 4: Bam! Photoshop finds what is distinctive in the photographs and basically evacuates it! Since the general population moved around, it fills the zone where somebody was remaining with part of another photograph where nobody was there. Refresh: The “measurements” content specified here is just accessible in Photoshop Extended or in the Creative Cloud form of Photoshop; be that as it may, as somebody said in the remarks, you can get a to some degree comparative impact in late forms of Photoshop Elements by going to Enhance > Photomerge > Scene Cleaner.

6. Formed bokeh out of paper

We as a whole love to see excellent bokeh out of sight of our photographs, yet what you may not know is there is an extremely basic way that you can change the state of the light barges in your bokeh. You should simply remove a bit of dark paper the extent of the front component on your focal point. At that point, utilize a sharp kitchen blade or extremely sharp edge to cut a shape on amidst the paper. The shape ought to be somewhat bigger than a thumbnail or about the measure of a U.S. nickel. Remember that you’ll just observe this impact work on the off chance that you are shooting with a huge gap, so a 50mm f/1.8 would be an incredible decision for this task. In case you’re shooting at f/5.6 on a unit focal point, you likely won’t see the impact by any means.

7. Reflector as studio scenery

Now and again when I’m shooting open air pictures, I see a stance or an articulation for the model that influences me to wish we were in the studio so I could photo them on a white foundation. Infrequently a white foundation is the most ideal approach to concentrate in the photograph on the model, and it gives the photograph a brilliant and clean look. When I’m in this circumstance, I regularly get a straightforward $25 reflector and utilize it as a studio background on the spot!

The trap for influencing this procedure to work is to utilize positive presentation pay. The camera will attempt and diminish down the white foundation to a dull dim in light of the fact that it supposes the white is overexposed. Around 1 stop of introduction pay will influence the reflector to foundation look splendid white. In case despite everything you’re figuring out how to shoot in manual mode or how presentation pay functions, you may investigate my fledgling photography class that I offer on the web.

8. Camera lash GND channel

This is my record-breaking most loved scene photography tip since I utilize everything the time and the vast majority have never heard it. When shooting scenes, the sky is frequently significantly brighter than whatever remains of the scene so you require a comment down only that best piece of the photograph. A graduated unbiased thickness channel does precisely that.

A GND channel is a bit of glass that is obscured at the finish and which progressively decreases to clear. The picture taker essentially holds this channel before the focal point to cover the sky and it obscures the sky without influencing the scene underneath.

Call me absent minded, however I frequently neglect to carry my GND channel with me when I’m shooting scenes, and it can destroy the shoot in the event that I can’t obscure down the sky to adjust the presentation. One trap I’ve learned is that you can essentially utilize anything dull (a dark bit of paper, a camera lash, and so on) to hold before the focal point for part of the introduction and a similar thing is proficient.

For instance, while taping video instructional exercises for my middle of the road online photography class, I was shooting waterfalls in Oregon and expected to obscure the sky without obscuring whatever remains of the casing. Since it was early morning, I was utilizing a 2 second presentation. All I needed to do was hold my camera lash over the best 50% of the glass on my focal point for 1 second, and after that expel it.

9. Protection reflector board

I wrangled about regardless of whether this considers a “camera trap” or if it’s extremely only a super-marvelous reflector that expenses essentially nothing. Call it what you will, yet it works so well that I need to share this tip. Roundabout reflectors are incredible for enhancing the lighting in your outside representations. By holding them to mirror the daylight, you can fill in shadows and put excellent features on the substance of the individual you’re shooting. Be that as it may, most round reflectors work for a head-and-shoulders shot and just for one individual. You can buy a substantial full-body reflector, however they for the most part cost around $70.

The posterior is white.

One trap I gained from a picture taker who shoots big names is to just buy protection board for $5 and after that cover the back and edges with white channel tape. You’ll discover protection board with intelligent silver support at any home change store. It comes in a few sizes. I picked one that is 4 feet (1.2 meters) in tallness. This basic arrangement gives you an extensive reflector that is lightweight, and you can utilize one side to reflect silver and the opposite side to reflect white. Wonderful! Goodness, and I likewise utilize this as an approach to put a little breeze in the hair of my models when I’m shooting somebody with long hair. Simply have an associate fan all over with the reflector board and it gives only the perfect measure of twist to give the hair some bob without overwhelming the models.

10. Get the Popular Trick Photography eBook

I can very prescribe Evan Sharbaneau’s Trick Photography and Special Effects eBook in case you’re occupied with adapting more photography traps. I’ve given a couple of thoughts for photography traps in this article, however this book truly is very great.

[btsburgh]

Chapter 13 (The Darkest Timeline)

Tawni’s brain was firing off responses. Anything immediately available in her brain was dragged to the forefront like it would help her situation.

SWOT Analysis. How long have I been asleep? When is class? Go get your beanie. It’s on your head. Bradford. Bean’s on the balcony. Jungkook.

Jungkook?

Jungkook.

There was a single fanzine that looked at Jungkook. Eye contact was made and she could feel the electricity. The coursing feeling of sudden understanding that JK_Love97 knew that she was holding hands with THE Golden Maknae. As the girl tilted her head, and Jungkook looked at Tawni, there was no longer anything beyond fight or flight in her synapses.

“We have to go.” Tawni whispered, tugging on their joined hands urgently.

“Uh, duh. That’s where I’m going silly.” Jungkook said, his like 8’4” ass a little bit stronger than Tawni so when he tugged, she went along with him and towards the door.

“No, really.” Tawni urged, “We need to-“

But it was too late. Through the window, she could see the one girl raising a hand to pat her friend and pointing at the glass. Her oily fingerprint indicating directly at Jungkook on the window.

“Fuck.” Tawni made a decision.

———

Jordan locked her phone, effectively ignoring the call from Kim Seokjin, but also saving herself from getting dragged into another 95’s and their mother brand escapade. Namjoon seemed really distraught anyways and was tugging on Jordan’s hand.

“What’s up?” Jordan asked.

He looked away, another notification from Animal Crossing Pocket Camp pinging: Somebody new has moved into the park. And what a shame that Namjoon was more interested in the dispatch page than anything. Rocco was a truly interesting little horse that he was just ignoring because his band was making headlines or whatever. Dumb.

“So …” Namjoon clenched his jaw, obviously displeased with Rocco. Or I guess BTS. How can you be displeased with Rocco? I’ll attach a photo here like look he’s so cute.

Rocco

Anyways moving on

“Taehyung has been spotted in Busan. And Lobi never checked into a hotel.”

Jordan wrinkled her stress line free forehead (stress free because she’s never once worried about a anything besides America’s Next Top Model) and spoke, “Why are either of those things problems?”

Namjoon looked at her like she was actually insane, “Taehyung was in Seoul like two hours ago and Hoseok isn’t supposed to be-“

All of a sudden there was a scream.

No, more than that. A sea of screams. A symphony, cacophony of screams that erupted out of nowhere. In mass, in number, so many that Jordan’s ears almost curled at how polyphonic the sound was. So many sounds it created a perfect harmony. A three part chord.

Then they grew louder, punctuated by the sounds of boots and shoes on pavement. And when they looked towards their certain doom, they saw an onslaught. A mass of women, just charging. And quickly. Towards them. Specifically.

“NAMJOOON!!!” The crowd screamed.

“Oh that’s probs not lit” Jordan said.

Before she knew it, Namjoon was yanking her away and they were running.

Jordan didn’t like Jordan.

———

Bria looked to Yoongi, “Yo, fam, your hands.”

He pulled his hands up, examining them closely, “I guess I do have hands.”

———

Now, it wasn’t like Kobi intended to make joining high stakes video game tournaments part of their lore, but at a certain part in your very secretive relationship with the most talented artist on the planet, you start to make dumb decisions. Maybe because their relationship being a secret is like a plot point? But also not because Kobi is perfect lmao who am I kidding.

Anyways, they HADN’T gone to fuck in a hotel. Joke’s on you. They decided to hang out and do South Korean stuff because Kate wanted to experience where Hoseok lived and all that dumb stuff. She’d been there before, but not like this.

And definitely not when they were high key gaining traction because they were like artist of they year or whatever.

So they went and did dumb stuff. Until the ended up agreeing to play in a Mario Kart tournament. They were both quite competitive and actually really good at Marip kart. Though, Kate had the upper edge because she was a fucking beast with Yoshi on the motorcylce, but Hoseok wouldn’t really own up to that one ever.

They played a few rounds, easily surpassing the newbies who thought simple drifting would get them to first place alone. How naive of their young souls. Then eventually they ended up a little further up. Nudging each other after every match because holy shit they were better than South Korea’s best. Which is insane. South Korea has got mad skills in the video game department.

But eventually it came down to the semi-finals.

And Hoseok sat down with the guy he was against and Kate sat down to play against the random chick she was against. And you knew for a fact that they were going to have to eventually play each other ofc, but we’ll Dave that for later.

———

The crowd was gone. Dissapted in a thorough stampede towards Namjoon. For which, Tawni felt only a slight pang of guilt. Firstly because she sent a hoarde of fully energized fansites against Jordan, but also because she made the decision sans Jungkook’s guidance. Not that she had time to seek it out or anything, or that the decision was bad itself, but Tawni was a pro at beating herself up over dumbass details so here she was.

They had pulled their hoods over their faces and escaped quickly into Seoul’s more forgiving city streets. In fact, there was a little drizzle right then. Just slight raindrops across the fabric of their hoods, and a dampness in the air that they breathed. It might have been spring break, but it was still pretty chilly, even a whole 24 hour flight away it was chilly. So Tawni could see her breath as she let Jungkook tug her through alleys and streets.

She knew he liked to take pictures and be some dumbass artistic bitch because he was good at literally everything for no reason, so he roamed the streets of this city on occasion with his own hood up and a fake name to give when he eventually stopped to order ice cream. But right now it was apparent that he knew these streets. He dragged her along until he saw a little late night noodle shop, and pulled her inside, snatching his phone as soon as he did.

“Kookie, I’m sorry about-“ Tawni started.

But he cut her off, “No, it was hilarious. Namjoon’s gonna kick my ass, but it’s so worth it.”

Well, at least she knew he was seriously because he lit up like a little bunny rabbit. Smiling with mischief because, yeah it was a little fucked, but also oa little fun. The thrill of getting caught. The thrill of sending a hoarse of random women after Namjoon.

Serves him right for getting mad when everybody suggested an acoustic version of Expensive Girl.

But after a couple of seconds on his phone, Tawni realized that not all was fun and games.

“Come on, we definitely shouldn’t stand around.” Tawni raged Jugnkook towards the noodle bar.

Luckily, Tawni was a master at Duolingo and Memrise, and had managed to fully finish out the food ordering portion of the apps which comes directly before the “how to speak to wise owls in Korean” but after “deciphering basic prophecies” and “colors” so she was well versed, but nowhere near fluent.

But noodle ordering - totally okay.

She ordered them two bowls in extremely broken Korean. The woman behind the counter looked to Jungkook on more than one occasion during Tawni’s epic struggle, but he seemed eight feet buried in his phone, so he was no help whatsoever.

But, after multiple interpretations of the woman thinking Tawni was ordering “gay bear noodles” instead of sesame bulgogi, they got their food and sat down.

“What’s the problem,” she asked very carefully.

Jungkook bit his lip, “So I guess Kobi aren’t at a hotel?”

“She’s really not tapping that right now? Damn.” Tawni took a bite of definitely not gay bear noodles.

“it’s hard to hook up in hotels for us. Everybody knows our face and we have to show it so they can identify us.” Jungkook explained, not even touching the noodles Tawni had walked through hell and high water to order. “But there’s also Taehyung … I guess he-“

Then they turned their heads to the sound of a sudden flashing.

———

Like Pascal, guiding his boat through a treacherous storm, they dove into safe shelter, Jordan taking Namjoon with her as they glided underneath an overpass.

They palstered themselves against cold stone walls and just took in long, labored breaths. They didn’t want to risk breathing too loudly and alerting anyone to their location. And a few seconds later, they heard the terrible sounds of clattering boots against cement.

But they grew louder, and louder, and louder. The screams of excited young Korean women filled their ears. Over took their senses until suddenly they were duller, quieter, and became distant. In a second, the hoard had passed, moving on to the green pastures of wherever it was they decided that may be. Not Namjoon certainly, since he was heaving against a brick wall next to Jordan.

“Yo that was intense. I saw my life flash before my eyes.” Namjoon exhaled.

Jordan nodded. “So since you leaned close to death have you changed your mind about that acoustic version of expensive girl?”

Namjoon glared, “I decided I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Understandable.” Jordan nodded, “have a nice day.”

But then her phone rang.

Jordan’s, not Namjoon’s.

Oh shit I guess the pronouns gave that away wtf. Anywys. Shit. Anyways. Jodan’s phone rings and she’s like

“Yo, what up, It’s J-Dumpster. Can I help?”

There’s low breathing on the other end of the line, breathing sh recognizes as Seokjin’s so she pulls the phone from her face and hits the speaker phone button like any middle aged soccer mom might do if her fully grown son had called her.

“Please.” Seokjin said softly. “Taehyung’s gone.”

Namjoon leaned in closer to the phone. “First of all, bitch, why didn’t you call me? Secondly, I’m sure Taehyung’ sfine. He’s probably getting ready to make chalk murals in Busan right now.”

Seokjin’s breathing became heavier, “I can’t talk. Just. He’s not safe. Send-“

The signal cut off.

Namjoon straightened himself out.

Jordan didn’t. “He’s joking, right?”

Namjoon looked steely. Like Jensen Ackles. Or Christian Bale as Batman, he looked steely cold.

“Seokjin doesn’t joke.”

———

Kate had finished her match in record time. As to be expected from the best Mario Kart player in the whole universe. She finished with no problems. Coasting through the course and even hitting those treacherous Canyon glider sections with precision and ease.

Even Hoseok finished as well. Not as well, obviously. He took one fall on Bowser’s Castle, but luckily the guy he was playing against was also a little bit clunky and ate it on one of those ghost brick things. When he won, everybody knew because he jumped into the air, popping and screaming and hollering like Hoseok does. And when he was finished, dashed back to the board to see …

“Wait, what?” Hoseok asked, turning in confusion.

He saw that Kate’s name had been advanced to the finals but not his. In fact, both his name and the guy he was playing against were marked out on the enormous inflatable velcro board they had put shit on. Why they didn’t use a white-board, I have no idea, but this is South Korea so they take their e-sports seriously.

“You’re disqualified,” A man said.

He appeared from shrouded darkness, a familiarity too him as he stood in the open light now. The overhead lighting cast shadows against his face and Hoseok squinted like … Maybe he’d seen him before. Some other time. Some other place. Some other … life.

“What?” He asked, “I didn’t … Wait, do I know you?”

“I am Byun Baekhyun. King of all gamers here in Korea.” He narrowed his eyes, “You may be a more famous idol than me in this realm, but you made the mistake of stepping foot in here. Where I have all the control.”

“What? You’re an idol?” Hoseok stepped forward, lowering his voice, “Listen, Don’t-don’t tell anybody who I am, okay? I can’t get caught out with a girl or else all 10 million girls following my twitter account will have me thrown into the ocean or something.”

Baekhyun didn’t respond for a moment, tugging the dark, thick cloak I just decided he was wearing tighter to his body. He seemed to contemplate the sentence for longer than necessary, the sounds of impatience ringing in his ears.

“Accept an unrightfully disqualification.” He whispered.

Hoseok stepped back, shifting the mask on this face as he looked around and pulling his ball cap further down. I was gonna give him a bucket hat to be In Character™ but like I decided since this is my universes, I can do whatever the fuck I want and I want no balenciaga’s or bucket hats in this universe. ACTUALLY LOVE YOURSELF HASNT COME OUT YET SO HE DOESNT EVEN HAVE THE MONEY FOR BALENCIAGAS SO ITS CANONICALLY CORRECT

Anyways

“No!” Hoseok stifled his voice, “I won fair and square. I can’t just let Kate take the title.��

“Wow, you’re a shitty boyfriend,” Baekhyun rolled his eyes, “But fine, I’ll just post on our Facebook page that you and her were here. Playing Mario Kart. Together.”

Hoseok bit his lip. “Okay, fine. I’m disqualified. Just don’t post any pictures.”

Baekhyun clapped his hands.

Just then, as if it was written that way, Kate bounded up to them. JK I don’t bound places. I dissolved into the air next to Hoseok like a badass.

“Whaddup”

“Congrats!” Hoseok shouted, “I uh … I got disqualified so you win.”

Kate turned to him with furrowed brows. “You got disqualified? For why?”

He tugged his collar, “I uh … I used cheat codes. I’m sorry.”

Kate didn’t really believe it but hey, “So yeah, I’m the best bitch at Mario kart then.”

“Well,” Baekhyun chuckled, “Not exactly. You would have to defeat the reigning champion for that.”

“Reigning Champion my ass,” Kate said, “I’ll whoop their ass, lemme at ‘em”

“A CHALLENGER!” Baekhyun exclaimed, flinging his arms open so his dark cloak spread wide like wings of blackened angel. He then slowly took his phone out of one of the folds. “Let me call him real quick tho.”

———

“Listen to this,” Yoongi held up a finger, looking very seriously.

“Fam, I’ve been listening.” Bria laughed.

“Good,” Yoongi paused for 35 seconds before slowly reaching over and pressing a key on his keyboard.

A single Eb note rang out followed by silence.

“Shit,” Bria exhaled, “That’s genius.”

———

Now you see, Tawni’s a photographer. She knows intimately how cameras work … or at least, she knows enough. Enough to get how white balance functions.

White balance is not, contrary to popular belief, the balance of power that keeps white folk as the oppressors because they were too pale to deal with the sun and had to creat their own toughness.

White balance is actually how a camera determines color and lighting. Meaning that if a dark tone is set as white because there’s very little white in the photo, it will balance the photo out color and lighting wise to fit. However, if there’s too much white and light tone is set, it will blow out the photo and make it basically a white blur of incomprehensibility.

It’s also important to note most people set their white balance on auto which does not handle sudden change well

Meaning that when Tawni yanked the table cloth up off the very nice table in the noodle shop they were eating, the fanzine’s cameras couldn’t adjust in time, and the photos instantly became … white blurs.

Which gave them just enough to -

“Run!”

“Again??” Jungkook looked surprised, “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Listen, I love food too, but we have got to go, bitch.” Tawni stood up from the table, still shrouded by the falling cloth.

Cameras continued to flash as Jungkook looked longingly at his bowl on noodles.

“COME ON!” Tawni shouted.

Jungkook grabbed the noodles and they bolted.

It didn’t take long for the horde of fansites to lose them as well. Which was a bummer because they’d lost Jungkook and Namjoon in one day. Which is tough because Jungkook is very large and Namjoon is very slow so they aren’t usually easy to lose.

But Tawni and Jungkook had made themselves at home in a very, very tiny alley way. The space was just thin enough for both of them to slide into side by side, the cold, damp brick of soeul buildings holding them both upright. Jungkook was scoping noodles into his mouth by the truck fulls and Tawni’s not extremely athletic so she was catching her breath.

“Sorry,” Jungkook shoveled noodles in-between muffled words, “This is a shitty first date.”

“First date?” Tawni asked, “You mean us seeing Justin Bieber was like a pregame or?”

Jungkook laughed, swallowing the last of his noodles, “As long as you don’t hate Korea because of me, then it’s fine.”

“I could never hate Korea. You’re here.” Tawni, the dumbest person ever, said.

Jungkook lit up a little, lowering his bowl, “Okay, but you’re catching it at a really good time it’s not always like this.”

“What do you mean?” Tawni cocked her head, “What’s different about it right now?”

“You’re in it …” He smiled goofily.

And I won’t even pretend they were gonna lean in and kiss bc y’all bitches know that shit ain’t happening until at least he comes back to America.

But his phone did ring. And he picked it up, eyes widening as he got zero words in. The chatter on the end of the line was rapid and demanding until it burned out, just barely letting him speak.

“Now?” He got out.

“Now!” The other person yelled.

The call ended.

“So uh … your mom?” Tawni asked.

Jungkook looked wide-eyed and bewildered. “We have to get back to the dorms. Taehyung’s missing.”

Tawni rolled her eyes, “Are you for real? I’m sure he’s rescuing puppies in Gwangju right now. Can’t we stay out a little longer? Do they really need you?”

Jungkook looked unamused, “This is my career, Tawni. Seriously, let’s go.”

———

Namdan and Tawkie arrived at almost the same time to the dorms.

Namjoon slammed the elevator buttons, breaking through to the other side and sighing as he did so.

“Gonna have to put that on the list,” Jungkook said softly.

“Yeah,” Namjoon glared at him, “I’ll put it on the fucking list.”

He reached up as the elevator started and took a pen from a holder to write on a yellow pad of paper pasted to the inside fo the dorm elevators. He scribbled:

Sorry, broke three more buttons. Please take from my next paycheck - Joonie

Jordan raised her eyebrows, “That’s …”

“Don’t.” Namjoon held up a hand.

When they got to the dorms, they found it in disarray. It hadn’t been cleaned when Jimin and Seokjin got back. In fact, there was more damage if that was possible. Jimin was sitting on the couch, staring at his phone, but when they arrived, he immediately stood up.

“Hey!” Jimin scratched his neck, “Uh, nice of you to rendez-vous. Seokjin’s not feeling well so if you could-“

“I need to talk to him.” Namjoon stated, walking over towards his room, but Jimin leapt in front of him.

“You really don’t!” Jimin said, sweat on his brow.

“Move, Jimin.” Namjoon said softly, “Or we will move you.”

Jimin swallowed. “You can’t move m-“

Jungkook promptly lifted Jimin up off the ground and slung him over his shoulder. They five of them, four willingly, and one squirming on Jungkook’s shoulder which Tawni wished she was, but wasn’t, made their way to Yoongi and Jin’s room at the end of the hall.

“No!” Jimin shouted, “You don’t want to do this!”

They passed the studios which exist in the dorms in this universe because I realized there was a major plot hole and idk how to handle that so I just decide that it’s not the way it is lmao. Then walked up to the room where Namjoon looked to the others as he reached for the doorknob.

“Fine!” Jimin yelled, clenching his jaw and adopting a serious demeanor. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Namjoon opened the door.

And on the other side was Jin. Laying face up, covered in ramen.

“What the fuck.” Jordan said, pinching her nose.

Like we’re talking, fully cooked and seasoned packets of instant ramen, but like sixty of them, because only his head, hands and feet appeared out of places in the mound of stringy noodles. His face was gaunt, pale and worn in from stress and neglect. His eyes were hollow as they stared up at the ceiling and his mouth was just repeatedly mouthing I don’t give a shit I don’t give a fuck over and over, yet no noise came out.

“Oh boy,” Namjoon looked to the others, “Let me handle this.”

He walked past the threshold and the minute his foot hit the floor beyond the door Jin halted his chant. Namjoon took another tentative step inside and Jin slowly, in the way a body might rise from the dead, tilted his head up to look at Namjoon.

Jin spoke with a high accent, one entirely made up as well. “Oh! It’s my betrothed come back from war. Lydia, how I’ve missed your face.”

“Not … Lydia.” Namjoon said slowly, shaking his head and taking more careful steps across the room towards the pile of noodlejin.

Jin followed him intently with his eyes but remained motionless as he rounded to come squat by his side. “Oh Lydia, how are the valkyries fairing these days? I hope you haven’t fought too hard, my love.”

“Still not Lyida,” Namjoon sighed, falling into a cross-legged position next to Jin and letting out a sigh, “Or a valkyrie for that matter.”

Jin didn’t respond, mouthing nonsense for just a moment until his gathered something else in his jumbled brain. “Lydia, you’re frightening me.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. Alright, I’m Lydia. Yo, whaddup, Lydia in the house.”

Jin smiled, “Ah, Lydia. How I’ve missed your humor. Always the trickster you. However, I do have to admit that things have no been well in your absence. The Kingdom is in disarray.”

“How so?” Namjoon asked.

“We’ve lost a squire, Kim Taehyung. You may remember him. He was always a bit odd. But he’s been taken from us. I fear,” Jin looked back towards the ceiling with his hollow eyes, “For the worst.”

“The worst?” Namjoon asked, “What do you mean?”

Jin shook his head. Denying any further comment.

“Come on, Jin. Tell me.”

Jin looked to Namjoon, but kept his mouth shut, turning back to the ceiling. “It’s unspeakable.”

Namjoon let his head fall, staring down at his feet for a moment. This has only happened once before. When Hoseok got sick off of a dish Jin made, he wrapped himself in carefully deconstructed bento boxes and called himself Mr. Roboto for 36 hours until eventually Namjoon snapped him out of it.

“Jin. I need you back, buddy. I know you’re blaming yourself for whatever happened but you can’t make multiple personalities every time something goes wrong that you decide is your fault.”

Jin sighed, “Lydia … I fear I am too far gone.”

“Jin.” Namjoon looked him in the eyes. “They named somebody else World Wide Handsome.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Jin snapped up, the mound of noodles slopping away and spilling into Namjoon’s lap as Jin sat up wearing a t-shirt and boxers. “Hold the fucking phone, bitch, what?”

Jungkook shook his head, “I don’t know how Namjoon does it.”

———

“Alright, so Taehyung’s been kidnapped.” Jin said, pointing a stick at 20 pieces of printer paper Jimin and Jungkook had taped to the wall and scribbled details of a plan on. “By some sort of high risk Korean gang. They left me a voicemail saying we can come with four bajillion won by ourselves tomorrow at noon to these coordinates.” He slapped the stick to a poorly drawn image the resembled Apple Maps and a pin where the coordinates led. “Or they’ll send a real ransom to bighit.”

“Oh,” Jimin leaned back on the couch, “That’s fine. Let the authorities handle it once they send a ransom, he’ll be fine.”

“There’s more.” Jin cleared his throat, “They’ll send his nudes to AllKPOP.”

“Shit,” Namjoon breathed, “We gotta make that drop tomorrow.”

“But we don’t have four bajillion dollars.” Jungkook noted, leaning up from the tiny armchair that he and Tawni had crammed themselves into. “And we don’t know where Kate, Hobi, Bria, or Yoongi are either.”

“Oh, well,” Jimin raised his hand, “Yoongi’s here actually.”

———

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Jin held three fingers to Yoongi’s face.

Yoongi concentrated on his fingers for a very, very long time before breaking down into laughter, “These are Jin’s hands, not Hoseok’s!”

Bria leaned forward and grabbed Jin’s hand. “You’re right! What the fuck, this buzzfeed quiz is so hard!”

“Next one!” Yoongi leaned back in his chair.

Jin nodded, “Yeah, they’re gone.”

“Gone with the wind,” Yoongi said softly, “A good novel.”

“I want to see the movie,” Bria said too, “Should we go?”

“Shit, right now?” Young looked at his bare wrist, “The movie theaters don’t open until noon here.”

“Oh, we have an hour or two,” Bria settled back in the couch to wait.

Jungkook looked between them, “It’s 10 PM, guys.”

Yoongi scrunched his eyebrows together before bringing his wrist back up and looking at it more closely, “You’re definitely wr-“

Namjoon burst out, “THERES NO WATCH ON YOUR WRIST YOONGI!!”

“Cool!!” Jin and Jungkook grabbed Namjoon and pulled him back and to the other side of the studio. They held him firmly as he thrashed, random and uncontrollable rage taking his body suddenly.

“Cool!” Jin yelled, “Stay cool!”

Namjoon took a slow deep breath. “You’re right man, we gotta figure this out.”

“Yeah, we found two. We just need one more couple and then we’re good. We can figure out how to retrieve Taehyung in the morning and-“ Just then Jungkook’s phone rang and he took the call, stepping away for a moment and plugging one ear.

“Actually,” Jimin said, “If we can find Hoseok and Kate then I think I have a plan for getting Taehyung back. But we need all hands on deck.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nodded even though he was on a phone call so nobody could hear him, “I’ll be there in ten.”

Everybody looked at him as he turned back to address the crowd, suddenly calm. “So … I know where Kate and Hoseok are. But I have to be the one that gets them.”

“I’ll go with.” Tawni said.

Namjoon agreed, “Good idea, if he’s dressed up and with a girl nobody will suspect it’s Jungkook.”

“Hey, I’m-“

Jimin interrupted Jungkook, “And we can stay here and prepare for getting Taehyung tomorrow. But we’re gonna need lots and lots of black clothing.”

“Shit,” Yoongi laughed from the couch, “That’s crazy. I have lots of black clothing.”

Jordan nodded, “Let’s get cooking.”

[ontechofeverythingtk-blog]

The latest Moto phone feels like it's fighting you to defend its design ideas

A month ago, I explored a brilliant cushion. Aside from being agreeable, it followed my fretfulness amid the night, measured my wheezing, woke me with its quiet alert, even played music through its implicit speakers. It was cool and distinctive, and I played around with it.

It was additionally a keen pad. I'd need to put some distance between reality to think a great many people require one today.

The Moto Z is that brilliant pad, just in telephone shape. It's a gadget I've delighted in utilizing for as far back as two weeks. It's ravishing, capable, and genuinely innovative. Motorola, alongside its parent organization Lenovo, is without a doubt focused on its vision of a premium cell phone that is both measured and strikingly thin. As it were, I respect that.

At that point reality sets in, and I understand exactly how convoluted that vision is the point at which the telephone is out of a commentator's hands, and under the control of somebody who simply burned through $620 to make it her fundamental gadget for the following two years.

The Moto Z offers out to accomplish its outline objectives. In doing as such, it raises a variety of disturbances that can make the telephone feel like it's battling you to guard its thoughts. Likewise, the bezel's too enormous, and Motorola's tumbled off a bluff with regards to programming refreshes.

Actually, I've utilized the Verizon-just Moto Z Droid amid this period, yet beside some bloatware, that is the same as the opened model Motorola arrangements to discharge later this mid year. (There's additionally a Moto Z Force, which is bigger and pricier, with a more grounded camera and a "shatterproof" show.) For any situation, this is what I've found.

What's great about the Moto Z

- It feels like a leader. When I say "strikingly thin," I would not joke about this. The distinction between the Moto Z's 0.2-inch casing and Samsung's 0.31-inch Galaxy S7 won't not seem like much, but rather it's substantial when it's in your grasp. Joined with the smooth steel back and adjusted aluminum edges, the entire bundle falls off like a $600 gadget you'd need to flaunt.

Despite the fact that it's light, it's no toy or apparatus. Yes, the camera knock on the back will captivate, yet for me, it just included character. It's truly amongst this and the Galaxy S7 edge in the domain of flawless Android telephones.

Moto Z

The Lenovo Moto Z.Tech Insider/Jeff Dunn

- It's a powerhouse. The Moto Z keeps running on the standard specs from a 2016 lead — i.e., a 2.15GHz Snapdragon 820 chip and 4GB of RAM — and it has no issues with power subsequently. Applications stack rapidly, multitasking is a breeze, web perusing is fine, and there's no amusement you can't play.

In the event that anything, my benchmark tests had the Moto running marginally speedier than the Galaxy S7, likely on account of its lighter programming skin. In any case, you won't need to stress over execution here.

- The show's awesome! It's a 5.5-inch OLED show with a determination of 2560 x 1440, which is still bounty sufficiently sharp for any non-VR require. In spite of the fact that its whites are a squeeze on the somewhat blue side, it's similarly as dynamic and profoundly beautiful as any great OLED show ought to be. Splendor and review points aren't the best, yet they're more than fine. Once more, you get what you pay for.

- The camera's great, as well. I wouldn't put the 13-megapixel unit here on the level of the Galaxy S7, yet it's not horribly far away. It snaps rapidly, keeps things stable, and does well to not lose control of shine or white adjust. There's an unequivocal loss of detail when you go from great light to low light, obviously, yet and still, at the end of the day it's not the most noticeably bad. The 5-megapixel camera on the front is bounty respectable too. These aren't things you'd make a special effort for, a la the Galaxy telephones, however they're a decent reward.

- If you purchase opened, Motorola's thought on Android is as easy to use as it gets. Outside of Verizon's interfering — more in a moment — Motorola keeps on making a fabulous showing with regards to of adding to Android in valuable routes without changing the look and feel of it. The "Moto Display" include, which flashes the time and your warnings at whatever point you wave your hand via telephone's front, is something each telephone ought to have, and having the capacity to dispatch the camera just by curving the gadget is incredible.

On the off chance that you need to disregard all that, you can, and it's pretty much a similar Android 6.0 Marshmallow you'd find on a Nexus telephone. There's nothing truly new here, however I'll take that over another Android OEM making a decent attempt to mark an officially good thing.

Moto Z and Moto Mods

The Lenovo Moto Z and its Moto Mod.Tech Insider/Jeff Dunn

- There are no capacity issues. The Moto Z accompanies either 32 GB or 64 GB as a matter of course, and you can mean 256 GB through a microSD opening on the telephone's top. That is a lot of capacity. What's more, not at all like the Galaxy S7, the telephone can regard that additional capacity as though it were a piece of the telephone itself, permitting it to work all the more easily with generally applications.

- The "Moto Mod" connections simply work. The "measured quality" part of the Moto Z gets from its Moto Mods, an arrangement of independently sold embellishments that are particularly intended to append to the attractive arrangement of pins on the telephone's back. There's an outside speaker from JBL, a modest bunch of battery cases, a couple "Style Shell" spreads, and, yes, a pocket projector. LG took a stab at something comparable with its G5 telephone prior this year, however I can't push enough how much better the thought is actualized here. You simply snatch your thing and pop it on. It takes close to a moment, and after a fast onscreen walkthrough, everything works.

At whatever point Google or any other individual tries this later on, this unadulterated convenience will be the standard by which they're judged. Measured quality is energizing however it's anything but difficult to make overpowering. Here, it's well done.

What's terrible about the Moto Z

- No one ought to really purchase any of those connections. There's a major contrast between being all around composed and being pragmatic. How about we go one by one:

Burning through $60 on a 2,200mAh battery case that can't completely revive your telephone is imbecilic when more grounded $20 battery packs exist.

Burning through $80 on a speaker connection that works with one gadget and undertakings sound far from you is idiotic when Bluetooth speakers exist.

Burning through $300 on a projector that washes out pictures and maxes at a grainy 480p is moronic constantly.

The Style Shells are for the most part innocuous at $20 a pop, yet dislike they include any security. They, such as everything else, likewise detract from the telephone's slimness.

It's significant that Motorola's propelled a Moto Mods Development Kit, which permits anybody to hack up their own traps, however it stays to be checked whether the Moto Z can scrounge up enough enthusiasm to make that a valuable thing for the masses.

At this moment, this thought on seclusion is fun and simple, additionally a truly costly approach to bolt yourself into one biological community, with a pack of gadgets that aren't great esteem. The shape is sound, however the capacity needs work.

Moto Z speaker

The JBL SoundBoost Moto Mod.Tech Insider/Jeff Dunn

- There are precisely zero quick advantages to dumping the earphone jack. I expounded on this finally a week ago, so I'll save you yet another furious audiophile tirade. All I'll say is that I can at any rate observe why the iPhone may discard the 3.5mm connector — Apple has an exceptionally effective history of vertical reconciliation. Furthermore, Lightning earphones are as of now a thing. USB-C earphones, be that as it may, are most certainly not. Unless you're down with Bluetooth, you're screwed over thanks to a dongle, one that I've effectively lost numerous circumstances. This feels each piece like Lenovo bouncing on the temporary fad to look ground breaking, paying little heed to regardless of whether there's any substance to the choice. The telephone isn't water-safe. It's recently more slender. It looks incredible, yet style have a method for blurring when they make your life harder.

- Related: Take a speculate what motivates slice to make a telephone this thin. Yes, it's battery life. You know, the one thing everybody needs a greater amount of. That unquenchable hunger for slimness chops the Moto Z's battery down to 2,600mAh — with Android, that implies you must be more moderate than expected to traverse an entire day. Regardless you can, however in the event that you're on it constantly, it's harder. The telephone charges rapidly over USB-C, yet the charger that accompanies the gadget doesn't have a separable link, which is repulsive. Much more dreadful, the Moto Mod battery pack doesn't have a port for charging independently.

- The unique finger impression scanner's sort of a wreck. It certainly works, however it's excessively delicate. That is not incredible when it's on the front of the telephone, as opposed to recessed in a more characteristic spot on the back.

- It likewise makes the base bezel tremendous. This wouldn't be as large an arrangement if the scanner acted as a home catch, yet it doesn't. Rather, you have a bezel sufficiently huge to join that and a Moto logo sitting underneath the typical programming catches. A 5.5-inch show is sufficiently enormous as it may be, so it's protected to state that this telephone isn't agreeable to use with one hand.

- It can run hot. It's not sufficiently terrible to be a noteworthy issue, but rather it seemed to require less push to raise the Moto Z's temperature than what's run of the mill. Flip on a more included amusement, and that steel back will get warm after a short time.

Moto Z projector

The Moto Insta-Share Projector.Tech Insider/Jeff Dunn

- Verizon. I haven't met another human who's energetically utilized VZ Navigator. You haven't either. Still, there it is in the Moto Z Droid's application plate, appropriate nearby another dozen or so bits of bloatware. They're all useless — possibly the NFL Mobile application aside — and a modest bunch of them can't be uninstalled. Once more, on the off chance that you can sit tight for the opened variant, do that.

On the in addition to side, Verizon's scope is still extremely solid in the New York zone, and beside an innocuous logo on the camera module, it doesn't mark the equipment by any stretch of the imagination.

- Motorola won't focus on month to month security patches, and it's lost its reputati