#that the class i missed last week b/c of a changed meeting place. the new meeting place was literally a 5 minutr walk from where i was

[eebie]

fit for speech about gay people. im thinking ill start off facing away from rveryone so they’ll think im straight because i’m wearing black and white. and then i spin around and whip off my blazer in one swift motion and they all start cheering because my shirt is colorful like the pride flag and it’s all so cool they all start eating each other, and i’ll watch as a single tear rolls down my cheek because i did it, i did it….

[i-need-air]

Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader – Man on a mission.

Summary: Reader is an exchange student at UA, althought she could only stay one year. This is the journey and separation. What would Bakugou do once he realizes the girl he loves leaves? Could be angsty, but I promise a happy ending. 

Word count: ~3k.

When they first met neither of them cared about each other. The girl, too focused in eating the world and showing everyone her worth, barely gave him a glance the first day of school. Having transferred from the most prestigious American School for the year, working so, so hard to get there through a scholarship, [Y/N] was ready to kick ass, take names, get mediocre grades in Japanese History and get the attention of the top heroes of the world for her next internship. So, they just didn't care about each other.

But over time, as she got close to people in the 2-A class, even 2-B, her attitude and determination caught his attention. At first the girl pissed him off, being just an extra that will disappear in a year and will never see again, yet why was he staring so much? How come his eyes followed her figure as she walked away with Round-Face? How come he focused his attention on her too adorable giggle as dumbass Kaminari tried and failed miserably to flirt with her. And how come his friend pissed him off when he did that anyway? Oh, and let's not talk about how he never ever looked at her train, obviously not admiring her moves, her quirk, that look in her eyes. How he tried so fucking hard to not smile when she messed up a Japanese word and asked anyone around her how to pronounce it, giving no shits and only caring about getting better. He definitely didn't care about how she complimented his food that one time and Bakugou, the snake that he is, somehow manipulated Mina into convincing [Y/N] to cook with them, neither girls noticing him puppeteering the whole situation. So the [h/c] girl ended being part of the Bakusquad in record time, cooking and studying started to be a norm to do together. He didn't care that he got a whole zoo on crack in his stomach as she taught him how to cook food from her home-country or how good she smelled when she leaned closer to his frame, both sitting in his room, books spread around them as she questioned something about grammar. He definitely didn't lose his breath when she casually asked him if she could call him Katsuki, earning a grunt and a Do what you want. from the boy, ears flushed.

But Bakugou was hesitant. Of course he was, she was going to leave at the end of the year yet after the first internships started he realized that he's gonna miss that giggle. Her everything actually. And maybe they'll never see each other again. The boy had his own goals, he wanted to reach number one, he wanted to be the best. Was she a distraction? Because he never considered her one, daring to say he's more driven now... Was it a stretch to consider her made for him? Because that's what he thought all the time and these feelings were eating him alive. In a cool manner, he still had to maintain his reputation, excuse you.

[Y/N] [L/N] had a crush. A big crush on a rather abrasive young man. The moment she realized an overwhelming feeling engulfed her, taking away the very needed sleep as the following day she'd intern with the Hawks. Yet getting zero sleep that night, reality slapped her so hard she didn't even feel fatigue for 36 hours afterwards.

Bakugou Katsuki stole her heart and it was doomed for heartbreak. So separation and moving on was the plan.

Although it seemed like something went over her head. She fell in love with a stubborn motherfucker, yet neither of them knew at the time the lengths he'd go just to be together.

After some time of avoiding each other everything felt wrong. Studying wasn't the same, food didn't taste as good as before when she wasn't half moaning half praising his efforts, her cute way of pronouncing things actually turned into a good accent and even if a time came for the girl to ask for correction, [Y/N] decided to ask anyone else but him. Both were getting stronger separately, finding other training partners and things started to slowly go back to what it was at the beginning of the year, leaving a sour taste in Bakugou's mouth. How come she stole his heart? And how come now she was breaking it without noticing?

And here they were, together sitting outside their living quarters, just staring at the darkening skies, both lost in thought. Once strangers turned into friends and now back at the beginning. Yet the air was calm as it always was between them, like old friends meeting after years of not seeing each other even when they met every day.

"I'm gonna miss this place..." she muttered, gulping down the uneasiness rising in her throat. One more month and she'd leave. One more month and whatever they had would be erased forever. "I'm gonna miss you..." she whispered, deciding it was the time to take this burden off her chest once and for all. For herself, her well being, to explain her shitty attitude although his wasn't better. "I'm... I'm gonna miss your stupid face..." came out in another whisper, lips trembling as she avoided his eyes but when she heard a broken chuckle, strained and forced, her eyes snapped towards him.

His palm was covering his eyes, heart in his throat, not believing that everything lead to this moment.

"You spent too much time with me, dumbass." she blinked stupidity, precious orbs watching him carefully not even trying to hide the shine of tears appearing. "You sound like me now." she chucked too, bitter and quiet.

"I didn't spent enough time..."

And everything just turned back to what they had. As when they were alone in one of their rooms, sharing stories, watching movies, listening to music, each doing their own thing in harmony. So they talked, curfew approaching rapidly but there were many things unsaid. There was no clear confession but her little moment of truth opened a door that has been closed for both of them for a long time now. Actually... Not only the door, all the windows and doors were now wide opened, barricades and walls demolished down and everything flowed naturally. Who would've thought? Katsuki told himself while walking her to her door. He was soft, he has forgiven her in an instant for all the zig-zagging around him, feeling relieved since he felt guilt for doing the same. The stupid dancing around somehow ended when they reached her room, silence filling the air.

"You're a dumbass..." he said yet didn't know if it was thrown to [Y/N] or to himself. The rich laugh earned from her made him smirk. God, how much he missed it.

"You're the one to talk?" she pushed his shoulder gently, yet for the love of god, none knew what the fuck this conversation was really about. Before she could retreat the hand thought, he grabbed it, palms sweaty, fingers surprisingly gentle.

"[Y/N]." he responded, that zoo on crack in his stomach seemed to take life again. They didn't have much time anymore.

No verbal confession was made that night, both scared, terrified of voicing out anything that would instantly throw them back towards their concerns. Yet the sweet, slow kiss they shared got imprinted in their memories forever.

Her third year passed rather quickly, yet this time she was more glued to the phone. Many of her old friends noticed, inquiring who was the boy that she was talking to so much, all in teasing manner, none noticing how her lips would flatten and her expression fell for one second before answering back in a similarly teasing way too. Training, studying, going out with friends but never looking at another guy the way she looked at Bakugou Katsuki. Time flew while they both found a way to stay in touch, as limited as it was through the time zones and goals they individually had to reach.

Memories of their last month reconnecting and stepping up into a new world together, almost together but not official, sneaky kisses stolen from time to time, teasing each other but always with a hint of uncertainty, hugs that lasted a little bit too much yet none caring, cuddles and whispers when alone. But nothing else. Oh, how she regretted it. Not kissing him harder, not hugging him longer. Not telling him clearly that she loved him. Not crying when they parted ways because she sure as hell felt like doing so. They only promised to stay in touch when finally getting a time alone on that last fateful day. Being surrounded by her new friends crying around her, saying their goodbyes and promises of meeting somehow someday. That's when he snatched her for their final time alone. That's when she told him to not forget about them, yet again, never addressing their feelings. And he grunted at her, stoic, constipated looking, a face she'd normally make fun of if it weren't for the gravity of the situation.

But they messaged at odd times, they'd create inside jokes and they'd talk on the phone, his voice always doing things to her.

"I've seen the fight, you were amazing!" she said while carefully picking his face in the voice call, re-learning his expressions, remembering caressing the same cheekbones that now were bruised after a big fight in his internship with Endeavor that could all be seen online.

"Course I was, woman." he said, small yet boyish grin on his face. [Y/N] wanted to laugh, tease and be normal around him in this limited time together but Jirou's words stopped her.

"It's insane. The Bakugou Katsuki has a fan-base now! Like... Girls confess to him every week, he gets love letters! Kirishima makes fun of him but we all know he's jealous–"

Keeping in contact with the people from UA was a blessing and a curse, the latter because of those words. He changed so much, people were starting to see him for what he really was and a selfish voice inside of her was screaming that only her could know this side of him. And at the same time feeling she'd never deserve him.

Without being able to bite her tongue, she inquired.

"So I heard you have fangirls now." bright smile way too shiny, her discomfort was so obvious even through the screen.

"Hah?" was his only answer, leaning closer to his Webcam with a frown.

"A little birdie told me." she shrugged, playing it cool, perfectly knowing she'd never be able to play anything cool to save her life.

"And who gives a shit 'bout that?" I do... almost was her reply. But no, she had to squeeze her own heart and milk the pain out of it.

"I mean, haven't you thought about it?"

"Think about what?" he rasped rather angrily.

"You know, having a girlfriend and so on...?"

"What...?" his disbelief clear on his face, suddenly morphing into anger, now clear and raw. "What the fuck are you even saying, [Y/N]!?" he shouted, breathing heavily. "Are you trying to tell me somethin'? Cuz if you are, you better say it clearly!"

"I–" I'm jealous, you deserve someone by your side, I love you. Please, don't look at someone else. Please, don't kiss someone else... Please, be mine.

"Yano what, I'm done for today, fuck off, will ya?" and with a growl, he finished the call.

The promise she made herself about not crying was slowly breaking, her reflection in the now dark computer screen showing her idiotic self about to burst in tears but she clearly didn't reach that point when an incoming call interrupted her self pity.

"Like fucking shit I'd let go of what we have, dumb woman." is all she needed to hear that day and she did.

"So it seems I need to work a year in America before I could have a contract with any other Hero Agency. Hawks made it clear that he wants me back as his side-kick with Tokoyami but..." It hurt, stupid laws and contracts and scholarships and feelings. Stupid life and stupid everything.

"Only a year, huh?" he said on the other side of the line.

Looking for a roommate was tough. Wanting to put an ease on her rent and to save money for a future she was starting to see more clearly, the woman had some interviews with some potential roomies but none were convincing. Maybe she was picky, but she got this apartment first, picked the best room and her landlady gave her full permission to pick anyone for her. Which was a blessing, really.

So the cat girl with 4 cats was an option. The guy that eyed her a little bit too much was out of the equation. There was another guy scheduled to come see the apartment that afternoon and, the best part, she was getting a package from Katsuki. He offered, actually. Said something about new house gift, brushing it off casually with his trademark snide remark about how he'd send her some cleaning shit. What an asshole, but hell, even if he did send her cleaning products, she'd cry out of happiness.

The guy talked to her through messages, asking basic questions and nothing more. Time to give another tour and talk about rent was coming yet she silently decided to give this guy a nice brief chat, throw him out and look for a girl roommate, even if Bakugou said it didn't matter and should interview both. "You know, to get it over with." little voice still screaming she'd mind if he had a woman as a roomie, but then again, they were nothing...

As 3 P.M. approached, she got a message.

From [Random dude #2 David]:

"I'll be late, hope you don't mind."

Of fucking course he was going to be late. The first impression? Annoying. What if she had things to do? Like wait for a package and then call Katsuki to open it with him there. Random David was pissing her off already.

Half an hour later the doorbell interrupted her thoughts as she stared blankly at her phone. The last messages she sent her... friend didn't actually reach him. And it's been 10 hours? Maybe he was called on a mission. But already? Endeavor surely didn't waste time, huh?

With a sigh she opened the door, ready to greet Random David when her eyes landed on a suitcase in front of her door. Her ears perked at the sound of another suitcase rolling towards her door, basically making her freak out because Random David was definitely not going to live with her now. And slowly, a guy came in her field of vision and the world stopped functioning.

Bakugou Katsuki, with a box over one of his shoulders and as she guessed, another suitcase in hand, reached her door, elevator ding snapping her out of her... uh... dream? Fantasy? Back shirt, dark jeans, messy hair and The Look™ he always had for her.

"Well, I'm here to look at the apartment." he grinned, about to burst into an ugly laughter at her dumb face. Everything until this point was worth it because that face? That face was all he needed. Yeah, the dumb mouth opening and closing, eyes big as plates, frozen in place.

"If you..." she muttered. "If you fucking tell me you're David, I will end you..."

"Ya better not call me that, woman." he said, taking a step towards her, putting the baggages down.

"Are you really here...?"

"What does it look like, huh? Now let me in, I need to sit down, I fucking hate long flights."

Rushing him in, hands trembling, words stuttering, [Y/N] [L/N] was in awe at the man in front of her. She knew, she definitely knew he was absolutely amused by her reaction but there was no helping it.

"You're here..." pulling him inside by his hand, it was so warm, just as always. "Holy shit, you're here."

"Aha, but don't get used to it, woman." he said, leaving the suitcases behind him, arms just wrapping loosely around her waist.

"Huh?" he touched her face, the scent of nitroglycerin invading her nostrils. Same scent she missed so much in the past year.

"Only for a year, then I'm taking you back home with me, understood?"

Although she didn't reply, she couldn't, as she only pulled the collar of his shirt towards her, ready to make up for all the time they threw away. So their lips met and their new life started.

Endeavor worked closely with various hero agencies in America and Bakugou Katsuki asked to be sent there for a year, or more so demanded, leaving the older man speechless. Yet with a single word from Shouto, everything was set running and Bakugou knew he'd have yo return the favor to Icy-Hot someday, but for now she was all that mattered. So when he helped her apartment hunt (even long distance), when he told her to look into this or that Hero agencies (knowing they'd work close to his), when he'd tell her to not mind male roommates (even if he minded, he minded very much), it was all towards the surprise for her.

Bakugou Katsuki was a man on a mission and he realized that in his third year at UA. He was going to be number one. He was going to be the best hero ever. And he was going to have [Y/N] by his side. Always.

Notes: I'm leaving this here since idk man, I had too much coffee and wrote this without blinking. Correlation with the notes? Don't question it. Anyway!! Pretty please, tell me what you thought of it and if anyone here knows how to add the Read More mark on phone, I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd explained me how. I'm way too old for this, I swear, lmfao. Thank you for reading, seriously. Hope you enjoyed and have a great day! ♥

[otp-armada]

"Bellarke doesn't make sense," they say. They say because Clarke hasn't done anything that resembles romantic gestures toward Bellamy. 

Conceding to march to her possible death in exchange for Roan sparing Bellamy's life. Obstinately fighting against Bellamy's stubborn wishes to remain outside the Ark while Praimfaya burns to the world to ashes. Shattering her soul by choosing 100 people to live and writing his name on the list, because he must survive. She can't have it any other way. Relinquishing 50 of those spots to Azgeda when Bellamy is captured and threatened, and Roan calls her bluff. Desperation driving her to the extreme to ensure the survival of the human race, yet unable to kill Bellamy to keep the bunker closed and the grounders from possibly killing Skaikru. Leaving the guaranteed safety of the fort to stay by Bellamy's side on the brink of global cataclysm. The bittersweet yet soft head and heart exchange she prompted. The hesitation in her last remark before imploring him to hurry. 

4x13 ends six years and seven days post-Praimfaya with Clarke radioing Bellamy on the Ring. An activity she performs daily for six years. In any six years of my adult life, my only daily consistencies have been limited to breathing, eating, and sleeping. This girl is devoted enough to send her equivalent of love letters into the emptiness of space for 2,199 days. Season 5 opens with her trying to survive by herself in an apocalyptic wasteland. She spends her journey narrating to him her unvarnished struggles during the most traumatic experience of her young life to date. Her despondency. Her loneliness. Her agony. Her desperation. Her small victories. Her discovered treasures. Her determination. Her doubt. Her guilt. Her defeat. Her morbid self-reflection. Her relief and contentment. Her happiness. Her admission of missing him. She shares all of it with only him. Only he is permitted to know her to this depth. Not any of her other people on the Ring. Not any of her people in the bunker, a group including her mother. Not a spiritual communion to the great, big love of her life Lxa, situated on her throne in the high heavens and waiting for her trophy wife, for Clarke to stay connected to her dearly departed. Isn't that the sort of behavior that might occur by a bereft widow? 

After finding an oasis to rest and call home, even after discovering a companion to build a life with, she continues with her radio calls. It doesn't matter that he never received her communications. The importance of the gesture- the intimacy of sharing her life and thoughts with him while he was gone- remains the same. The magnitude of her devotion to him made clearer through the absence of a single responding utterance. 

She lovingly tells Madi stories of Bellamy as her hero. Gazing warmly, hopefully up at the stars as if she longs for her vision to cut through an endless pitch-black sky and find dark curls and freckled constellations from thousands of miles away.

"Bellarke doesn't make sense," they say. They say because post-Praimfaya ended with an established B/E.

As Clarke looks up at the stars, questioning if she'll see Bellamy again, we transition to our first glimpse of Bellamy after six years, forlornly looking down on Earth to the very spot of green where he is unaware of who is yearning for him to return to her. Contrary to Clarke, who is covered in warm firelight when thinking of him, he is colored in cold, muted greys and blue, no speck of warm hue. (The rhyming scheme was unintentional, but hey, I'm going with it.) Behind him, his family is sparring, but he's distant from them. He's trapped within this tin can, his arms folded, his body taut, not facing the view on the other side of the glass, but still enraptured by the sight of his home below.  

We see what changes to the characters and their dynamics have taken place until, at long last, we uproariously cheer as Bellamy & Co. find a way to return to Earth, the sole event we've been anticipating for eleven months, to the point we could feel it at our fingertips, jittery and tingly. Bellarke reunion!! He's going to know she's alive! Yes! Finally!! Break out the champagne! We're celebrating, dammit! It's going to be so damn emotional! Authors start crafting mental fanfics. People are bouncing off the walls like bright, errant fireworks, unable to sit still. I can't believe it's finally happening...what do you think it's going to be like? Will he run to her? Will he be stunned and speechless? Will they sob uncontrollably?!? They'll be clutching the life out of each other! Another Bellarke hug!! The very best hug!!! They're never going to let the other out of their sight again! He's going to meet Madi! Mom, dad, and adopted preteen make three!!! There's no way they're not getting together after this!! He just got her back after six years of thinking she was dead!! The reunion's not going to happen this episode, but maybe next week, when do you think? You mean we have to wait seven days before----

B e c h o.

We stood on the precipice of what we agonized and crawled through for eleven excruciating months, only for an anvil to drop, and our heads to be clubbed. Our bodies fell through the floor, descending lower and lower with immense haste, to take up residence in the seventh circle of hell. 

Do you think the framing of these events wasn't intentional?

Do you think the powers that be behind the creation of that calamitous bombshell for our protagonist, intended for us to root for B/E? 

By us, I'm not restricting the effect of the blow to Bellarke shippers. The entire audience, casual and fandom alike, shippers and non-shippers, was meant to await this reunion. We were all meant to feel devastated by this revelation. 

If they didn't want to invoke in us feelings of support for B/E at their inception, how in the name of all things holy is a purported B/E endgame your conclusion? 

"B/E doesn't make any sense," they say, "when last we saw them, she was his enemy. Nothing more, nothing less."

Do I think their pre-Praimfaya status as antagonists rendered it impossible for B/E to have a convincing love story or sexual relationship?

I think, if Jason were so inclined, we could have gotten flashback Ring rendezvous of secret trysts between Bellamy and a googly-eyed, blonde-wig-wearing broomstick designated Clarke 2.0. So no, I don't consider B/E a deviation inherently outside the realm of romantic possibility. Jason is an artist, and this show is his canvas. He can give life to almost any whim he'd like in his work of fiction. Not only that, but B/E is also hardly the first pairing in this series modeled by the enemies-to-lovers trope.

"Bellarke doesn't make sense, they'd say, "absent any concrete evidence alluding to a romantic relationship." "Seven years running, and not a trace of romantic love," they'd conclude. 

Remind me, what was B/E's sublime prologue into coupling up again?

Furiously choking the life out of an enemy in a fit of rage two episodes before revealing her as his new girlfriend evidently can be considered by some an adequate precursor to a sensational romantic relationship. But endangering Earthkru's lives by risking the wrath of two societies in refusing to let Clarke die, pumping her heart for her to stay alive while begging her to fight so she can come back to him, cannot be. 

Either this show is quite the oddity, or it’s fandom's periodic knee-jerk, ass-backwards, charming zeal at play. 

The lack of rising development is all the more reason why B/E's grand unveiling demanded perfection. Instead, our first insight into their union is overshadowed by Clarke and the impending Bellarke reunion. B/E isn't central enough to the narrative to warrant focus that would put to rest any discord of illegitimacy. But you know which pair of the two is concentrated on for seven seasons now? Three guesses... 

But don't despair. Fandom has decreed, by its own appraisal, the shorthand of kissing and sex has rectified the discrepancy of a complete absence of pertinent on-screen development.

"It's not ideal storytelling," they say, "to exclude B/E's development. But The 100 has historically been a plot-driven, fast-paced, contained drama. It has always evaded expanding on character dynamics to fans' satisfaction.”

The writers have done more to present Josephine and Gabriel as soulmates with less airtime than B/E ever had in total. They don't lack the skill or time to fortify B/E in anyone's mind as the central romance. Jason made a conscious choice not to. Why would he? Does he think the endgame love story of the show's deuteragonist doesn't merit attention to detail by the writing? Or does it seem more likely, it was never his intention for B/E to cross the finish line?

And, for a plot-driven, fast-paced, contained drama, they sure have an awful knack for finding the time to showcase Clarke's kicked puppy reactions to an embracing B/E. We've had three thus far. One for science, one for emphasis, and one to say, "Do you people get it now?"

"Bellarke doesn't make any sense," they say, "if they wanted each other, they'd have gotten together by now." 

A long time ago, someone stated, "Lovers are supposed to do that you know and if they don’t do that it means their relationship isn’t romantic if sexual intercourse isn’t added." 

And to that, I posed the question, "Where exactly is it written that "if a pairing is not made canon by season [insert arbitrarily chosen number here], it will never be made canon, period?" Was I just absent from fandom class that day and skipped to the lesson on slow-burn ships?" We are going into the final season, and I stand by this question today as I did then. Bellarke could refrain from physical expressions of love and candid confessions to season 17, and their journey could continue to exemplify a love story. Because the absence of either one doesn't preclude two people from falling in love. Nor does the inclusion of either one necessitate two people falling in love. 

"Bellarke doesn't make any sense," they say. They say because Bellamy is her dearly beloved, but platonic, best friend.

Well, you've got me there. I'm stumped. How can it be possible for friendship and romantic love to behave as anything but mutually exclusive concepts? It's not as if friendship can be contorted to serve as a foundation for love.

 The cornerstones of strong friendships include trust, care, support, devotion, and many other features of a similar nature. Love- deep and genuine love, that is- involves frequent kissing and passionate, vigorous sex. The wilder the display, the stronger the pairing. The dozens of couples, love interests, and sexual liaisons before B/E who have kissed and had sex before dying must not have first consulted the manual for proper protocol.

And the inverse? Once two people fall in love, they cannot fall back to say, a familial connection. No, no, no. Such a regression would be the work of a tragic, reprehensible flaw in the cogs of the universe. Speak nothing of it.

"It doesn't make sense for B/E to break up," they say, "when B/E has stayed together for two seasons sans any indication Bellamy loves Clarke more than Echo, enough to want to leave his loving girlfriend."

How many times has Bellamy tried and failed to honor his commitment to Echo? How many weak attempts are met with a corresponding scene of Bellamy shifting his attention to the girl he tells himself to get over?

Echo leaves for Shallow Valley, his focus immediately turns onto persuading Clarke not to leave his side. He symbolically chooses Echo in the fireside scene by touching her sword. Yet, he looks at his girlfriend for the first time since their separation with the most aloof expression unsuitable for the occasion. No hope to be found anywhere. They share a brief reunion hug, no time for intimacy. He is reunited with Clarke and casts a nervous glance at Echo when bombarded with Clarke's appreciative gaze. Still no time for intimacy between B/E before a decade-long nap, but time can be carved out for a warm, flirty Bellarke reconciliation, complete with intensive heart eyes. No inspired, emotionally wrought, double sunlit embraces for B/E. If Bellamy is going to look out of a window at his future home, he'll either be by himself or snuggling Clarke into his side. There's no place for Echo in the lock of his arms anymore, only room for flanking him in the way loyal lieutenants tend to do. His girlfriend glances over at him as their exploratory team roughly plummets to new territory, and he does the same at Clarke. B/E reconnects lakeside, him asking for a swim with her and leaning into her arms at a campfire. He sits by her side on a swing set, amidst talk of moving their people into an abandoned village. And it's all well and good for B/E, right? They're presenting the front of a happy, unified couple. 

Until...Clarke walks away behind his sight, and he leaves Echo's side to seek Clarke's missing presence where the flirting and warm gazes and near confessions are kicked into overdrive. He calls Echo to hear his latest discovery, then proceeds to ignore the hell out of her, communicating exclusively to his co-leader. He stares wistfully at Clarke dancing with her new flavor of the night, cannot stop doing so even while excoriating Echo for her stoicism, expressing his frustration at her inability to fulfill his emotional needs. 

He recommits to Echo, as Clarke is kidnapped and her body is stolen, with nary a transition, suggesting we are meant to link the two incidents together. For all his resolve to face the future with Echo, he spends the whole of the next episode with a wary eye on Clarke, to the point that he is the first to realize Clarke is not herself. In the ensuing arc ranging from 6x05 to 6x11, approximately half of the season, what was B/E, again? Was that a thing concurrently happening with Bellamy's Operation: Save My Clarke? Because I seem to be able to recall only Bellarke goodness. Oh, my mistake, there was the consoling hug which, oddly enough, did nothing to soothe him. As evidenced by his choice to grieve alone. No girlfriend he wanted close by for comfort, knowing clear as day she couldn't provide it if she tried. Not with who he just lost. 

B/E gets another brief reunion hug, the majority of which is spent with him peering at Clarke. The show saw that hug and raised us an Austenesque-quality counterpart that would do Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy proud. 

"B/E endgame is the only sensible outcome," they say, "they love each other so much."

I don't contend they don't love each other. But we are shown two people determined but incapable of snuffing their deep-rooted feelings out of noble propriety, and most importantly, out of needless fear of unrequited love. And another two people who sought- and failed- to keep grasping the wisps of a gentle relationship slipping out of their hands since they left their comfortable space bubble. For anyone in this conundrum to be happy, the only natural course of action is for the latter to call it quits. The writing has been on the wall for too long.

Maybe a single Bellarke scene plucked out of the lineup can be interpreted on its own as platonic buddies being platonic buddies. But when all those individual moments are woven together, what forms is an ornate tapestry with a pattern so vivid, any inane rhetoric involving a hint of the word "platonic" is little more than ludicrous anti drivel transparently cooked up by those wishing a different endgame.

I hope you've enjoyed my second long-winded rant, @sometimesrosy, @jeanie205, @travllingbunny. One born of a teaching moment in which I learn for the umpteenth time it's best to steer clear of Twitter.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Smile (Shinsou x Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader

For anon (request)

Genre: Slight angst to fluff

Summary: Shinsou has a crush on someone in 1-B and works up the courage to ask them on a date.

Tags: @wwwwyamd​ @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

Word count: 1,680

a/n: Ah, I missed writing for my tired purple boy. I just miss him in general, when I was searching for fanarts to post, I really was like “Damn I really miss Shinsou.”  How many of you agree?

So this is a request that some of you have seen already, but I don’t quite want to spoil anything for anyone who’s new, so I’ll post it at the end.  I'm glad I was able to extend this longer than I was planning, because I really only had just the one scene from the request in mind vividly and the rest I wrote as I went along.

I have 3 more requests, but I'm gonna take a break from them so I can write some of my own original ideas before starting those up again, so look forward to that!  Enjoy this one!

(Also gender neutral pronouns they/them coming through!)

Buy me a coffee?

Shinsou first saw his crush at the beginning of the first semester.  He was taken by their quirk, a pretty flashy light quirk.  From what he overheard while they were telling their 1-B friend - he was totally not stalking, Shinsou doesn't stalk people - they can control the color of the light to do different things.

"Red light is a heat laser, green light heals, yellow warms things, blue cools things," they explained, the proudest smile on their face.  "I'd say it's pretty versatile.  And the more saturated the colors are, the more powerful they work!"

Shinsou was already intrigued by their quirk, but seeing their face light up was like icing on an already delicious cake.  The sparkle in their hazel eyes, adorably smaller form that's the right right height for him to kiss their head, a smile he already decided he wanted to protect.  If only he could go over there and ask them to tell him more about their quirk, but he was afraid that his intimidating figure would scare them away.  Discouraged, he walked back to his own class to mope.  Crushes and him never worked out in the past anyway; once they found out about his quirk, they would either run for the hills or try to abuse him.

However, he still longed to be with them.  He found himself naturally searching through a crowd to find them.  Each time, they would have the most brilliant smile on their face as they chatted with their friends.  It always put a smile on Shinsou's face that they were happy being in the company of good friends.  More and more, he found himself craving them to smile at something he said, to pat their head to greet them, just to hold them in his arms for a warm hug.  It became less of a want and more of a need, but he held himself back for his heart's sake.

After the Sports Festival came and went, Shinsou had a change of heart.  He's not a villain, he will only appear that way if he comes off like that.  He won't let his quirk define him, and he'll make a much more pleasant impression so they wouldn't think of him as dark.  He took the opportunity to work on himself as a person, gain more confidence in himself so he can put his best foot forward.  He's won't let himself lack in any department, he'll only show the best parts of himself and present himself to them in a new-and-improved form.

After training with Aizawa for a while - not to mention bulking up quite a bit to improve his chances - Shinsou decides on the right time to face them.  The purple haired boy practically shakes with anticipation the entire day.  During his last class, he rehearses the words he's wanted to say since he first saw them.

"You're such a bright, shining person.  To me, you stand out among everyone else.  I'd like to get to know you better, would you mind going out with me?"

He second guesses every word and intonation, convinced that even the slightest error would throw the entire mood off and send the whole thing crashing down.  He won't let that happen.

The final bell rings and Shinsou's practically the first person to jump from him seat, throw his belongings haphazardly into his bag, and rush out the door of the school building.  Stationing himself at a nearby bench, he waits for them to come out, tapping his foot impatiently while still trying to look casual shoving his hands in his pockets.

Scanning the crowd of exiting students like a human radar, he searches for that smile he adores.  His heart practically beats out of his chest when he locks onto them, homing in on them without paying any mind to the surrounding students.  He collects himself and breathes, keeping in step behind them.  They're talking to a friend of their's, going on about hero training and homework.  He could listen to them talk indefinitely if he wanted, but then he wouldn't have the chance to confess his feelings.

Just you practiced big guy, go on.  Do it for that precious smile.  Shinsou gathers his wits and approaches just a bit closer.  Do I say "hey?'" "Hi?"  "Yo?"  Damn it, just do what's natural!  Calm down!  He bites the bullet.  "Hey."  He's proud that it sounds casual enough.

The apple of his eye turns around curiously, their smile just faltering slightly from their conversation with their friend.

Take it away big guy.  "Hey, I noticed you around.  I think you're-"

It's then he notices.  The way their eyes widen, the smile drops completely from their face, their skin turns pale, and Shinsou isn't sure why.  He's sure he didn't say anything wrong, he's barely said anything.  "Is-"

They let out a yelp and hide behind their friend, squeezing their eyes shut and quivering.  Beyond bewilderment, Shinsou's chest hurts as his world darkens.  The one person he wanted to smile at him and lighten his life plunged him into despairing blackness.  All his fear of people hating him for his quirk and being frightened of him resurfaced.  He feels naked, vulnerable, and ashamed all at once standing there frozen.

"You have to forgive them, it's not your fault."  The friend offers a sympathetic smile.

"Did I do something wrong?"  The entire ego he's spent the last few months popped in two seconds flat.

"No, it's not you, trust me."  The girl pats the frightened soul behind her on the had to comfort them.  "You see, they have a deathly fear of purple."

It almost sounds like some twisted joke, a prank the universe was playing on him for some unknown reason.  "Oh.  I see."  That's all Shinsou manages to say in response.  At least he's doing his best not to show how heartbroken he is.

"Sorry about that," the girl flashes another sheepish smile in half-comfort while his crush drags her away by the arm to escape  what anyone from the outside would think is a monster.

And the monster is him.

Shinsou is way past disgruntled once he gets home.  He doesn't know what to do now, what can he do now.  Giving up would be the easiest thing to do, especially with how dejected he feels.  The thing that hurts him the most is his sunshine who he never saw without their smile didn't smile when they were around him, all because of something else about him that he can't change.

He swiftly sits up from his laying position as an idea strikes him.  Or can he?

Two weeks later, Shinsou shows up to school so people barely recognize him.  He'd bought one of those hair coloring conditioners in black and washed his hair with it last night, and the brown colored contacts arrived shortly after he placed his order online.  Shinsou isn't the type of guy to give up that easily, and for someone he really wants to get to know, he'll make it work.  If he can temporarily change his appearance just to get to know them first, maybe he can be the one to help them get over their fear little by little.

Shinsou brushes away all the comments about his drastic appearance change; he's doing it for them and that's all that matters.  He decides this time to just approach them at lunchtime, no dramatic openers or well-timed moments; a friendly conversation is just as good an introduction as he can get now.

He approaches them while throwing away their lunch alone, tapping their shoulder.  "Hey."  He holds his breath when they turn around again, eyes scanning his figure for recognition.  "You don't know me, I'm in 1-C, we haven't spoken before."

A friendly grin spreads on their face.  "Oh, it's good to meet you!"

The boy inwardly cheers in victory.  "I'm Shinsou, your name is?"

"(Y/n)."

He rubs the back of his neck.  He wants to be honest, but doesn't know how they'll take it.  "I tried to talk to you a few weeks ago, but you were startled and ran off before I could say anything."

Their hazel eyes widen slightly before guilt morphs into their features.  "Oh, you're that guy.  I'm really sorry I did that to you, I must've made you feel awful."  They groan, a sound Shinsou admittedly finds cute, red color rushing to their cheeks, "And you even changed your hair color and everything, I'm really sorry!"

"Hey, it's okay."  Shinsou offers empathetically, "You shouldn't feel bad about things that you have no control over."  He knows that feeling all too well.  "I put the effort in because I want to get to know you better, it's not something you should feel bad about.  I think you're cool, from what I've seen.  We should hang out."

The boy can tell how taken back but grateful they are, a deep rooted appreciation shines from their eyes and more color saturating their cheeks.  "I'm not that special, but I think you're a cool guy for doing this for me."

Shinsou's heart can't help but feel captured once again by their vulnerability.  "It's what's on the inside that matters, I guess.  Can I join you for the rest of lunch?"

And finally, he's rewarded with what he's wanted to see:  His bright light shows him a beaming, toothy grin that crinkles up their eyes and puffs out their cheeks; it's a smile that's directed straight at him.  As his heart thumps wildly in his chest, the boy thinks he can die happily in this very moment.  "Of course!  Let's go sit."

It takes him a moment and a cough to clear his throat before he's back on Earth, nodding and following them back to their table.  As they walk next to him, he steals a few glances down, hoping that nothing else goes wrong.  Even if they do, he knows he'll have to find a way to work around them.  With that battery-charging smile, he knows he can figure out the solution to any problem.

So the full request from Anon was: “Hey you could take ALL the time at this but it wouldn't be sad if Shinsou's crush, the reader, is porphyrophobic. That means the reader is scared of the color purple. Have a good day!"

I hope I did it justice, it was originally gonna be just full angst, but it would only be drabble length, so I took it a step further.  I hope it made you guys feel all warm inside :3

[onyxiana-is-obsessed]

Ello! I dont know where to request since i'm stupid but i usually use this place to request! I saw those two 1A scenarios/drabbles and since i loved them, can you please make another 1a (with the characters Bakugou/Tokoyami/Mina/Todoroki and Aizawa plus Monoma) scenario/drabble with fem!reader where Monoma keeps pranking her and one time it got to reader and almost killed him, but BTMTA (the characters) stop her and calmed her down and Monoma got scolded! ❤️❤️ Love your writing btw 😌

Hiya lovely! You’re not stupid, this is exactly where you send requests! I’m glad you liked them and I really hope you liked this one! Ugh, I love a sassy reader at times xD Thank you so much!! Btw, I aged them up here, so they’re all 3rd years because Baku needs work before he’d ever be this friendly lmao.

Length: 1.9k words

Warnings: Mild swearing

Your Name: (y/f/n)

Quirk: (y/q) - preferably one that increases strength and speed.

Age: 17

“Good morning, (n/n),” Tokoyami greeted as (f/n) walked towards him with a bright smile.

“Morning, Fumi! Sleep well?” She inquired, making him nod. She walked around to her desk and pulled her chair out.

“I did, yourself?”

“Eh, could’ve been better. You know-” As she went to sit, the legs of the chair broke, making her squeal as she fell flat on her butt. The loud racket garnered more attention as worried classmates ran to her, including Bakugou and Mina.

“(f/n)!” Todoroki and Tokoyami yelled as they ran to her, making (f/n) groan as they helped her stand.

“What happened?!” Mina exclaimed, her hands landing on (f/n)’s shoulder.

“Th-the legs broke,” (f/n) explained, rubbing her back, “h-how? I thought these were brand new chairs…”

“What happened?” Aizawa’s voice came through as he walked into the classroom and saw the broken chair with a few students gathered around (f/n).

“(f/n) went to go sit, but the chair broke!” Mina explained, turning to her teacher who was now approaching them. His tired eyes gazed at the chair for a moment before he sighed.

“Class B should have extras. They’re next door, go get one.” (f/n) nodded and quickly left her class to get another chair. When she walked into their classroom, she had to embarrassingly explain that she needed to borrow an extra chair due to hers breaking. She did NOT miss Monoma’s pathetic attempt to cover up his laughter.

“Oh, you’re breaking chairs now? What a surprise, class A has no regard for our school’s reputation or supplies.” He muttered as she walked past him.

“Shove it,” (f/n) glared as she quickly grabbed her chair and left the classroom, returning to her own.

Turns out, Monoma had been responsible for her chair breaking. But that’s not where his stupid pranks ended. For example, her project went missing and she had to completely redo an entire week’s worth of work. He changed the locks on her dorm room so she couldn’t get in until Bakugou broke her door down. Let’s not forget the camp incident (heh), he was also the reason all her white clothes turned blue in the wash making her buy a new shirt for her uniform, and he also sent mean texts from HER PHONE to Bakugou, Mina, Todoroki, and Tokoyami. She had a difficult time explaining those texts weren’t her.

Now, it was starting to get too much. There was no way (f/n) could prove what happened was exactly Monoma’s fault. She never caught him in the act nor did he ever outright admit to pulling those pranks. He’d always make sly comments like towards her situation, but those weren’t enough. She had zero proof.

However, (f/n) was 100% sure that Monoma was behind all of these dumbass pranks and she was starting to get furious. However… that could wait because…

“OI! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?!” (f/n) immediately screamed and covered her eyes as she turned away. She was positive this was the girl’s bathroom.

“S-Suki! I-I’m sorry!” (f/n) ran outside, pulling the door shut behind her. Her eyes flew to the sign next to the bathroom and widened. Girl’s bathroom? She backed up, looking around the hall and realized the girl’s bathroom was on the other side. Someone switched the signs?

She frowned and rubbed her eyes. She had been training with Todoroki and Mina all day, so she was a bit tired. She hadn’t even noticed she was on the wrong side of the building. Monoma came all the way to their DORMS to mess with her? Well… it wasn’t the first time. Her frown quickly melted into a look of anger.

“Monoma, I’m gonna kick your ass. Prank me one more time…” She muttered to no one in particular.

~**~

“Hey, (n/n)!” Mina chirped, slinging her arm around (f/n)’s shoulder. (f/n) smiled at her and gave her a side hug.

“Hello, Mina! Sleep well, I take it?”

“Maaaybe! Hey! Wanna go out for dinner tonight? Fumi and Sho are coming too! Not so sure about Suki.”

“Sure! Sounds fun, I’ll talk to Suki and see what he says.”

“Gosh, I’m jealous of that little soft spot he has for you.” Mina pouted. “But then again! A cutie like you probably gets all the dudes, huh?” (f/n) laughed and moved away from Mina, who’d started tickling her sides.

“You’d be surprised. By the way, you’re early today.”

“Yeah, Kiri woke me up early this morning. So, I decided to get ready instead of laying in bed.” (f/n) squinted at her.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” She teased, making Mina giggle and place her hands on her hips.

“I am Pinky! Or wait, no! Alien Queen! Bow before me mortal!” (f/n) giggled and gave her a little curtsey.

“Hello, your highness. Welcome to the halls of UA! Oh! May I introduce you to sir Peppermint?” Mina turned around and saw Todoroki approaching them with an amused look.

“Hello, your majesty. I am sir Peppermint, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello! Sir Peppermint! Oh! Who’s that?” Mina feigned innocence and pointed behind (f/n). The (h/c) haired girl turned around and saw Tokoyami and Bakugou approaching them.

“Oh! That’s sir Tsukuyomi and Knight Kacchan.” Bakugou’s eyes almost popped out of his head.

“The hell did you call me?!”

“Ooh! Hello, Knight Kacchan!” Mina greeted making him groan. As much as Bakugou liked to pretend he hated that nickname, deep down… he didn’t. Especially when it came from his… friends.

“What are you idiots doing?” He asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Well Mina here is Alien royalty and thus, must be treated as such.” (f/n) said, matter-of-factly.

“You’re a royal pain in the ass, that’s for sure,” Bakugou responded, making Mina pout and Todoroki laugh a bit.

“We all know you don’t mean it, Kacchan.” Todoroki teased, making Bakugou glare at him.

“Listen here, you half-n-half bastard, I’m go-” Bakugou was interrupted by (f/n), who shrieked when she opened her locker. The second she opened it, her entire uniform was covered in blue paint. Some speckles even landed on her cheeks, mouth, forehead, and hair. Everyone froze as the paint slowly dripped down her now dirty clothes.

They all turned their heads when they heard laughter and saw Monoma doubled over trying to keep his laughter in. (f/n)’s shock turned into a death glare. She clenched her fists, ready to pummel him into the floor.

“I didn’t know you wanted to die today, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Before anyone could do anything, (f/n) sprinted to Monoma and tackled him down, spreading the paint to him as well. He let out a scream as they both collided with the floor, the paint smearing beneath them.

“KICK HIS ASS, (N/N)!” Bakugou encouraged her, however,  Todoroki, Tokoyami, and Mina tried to stop her. Knowing he’d just copy her quirk, (f/n) settled for simple hand to hand combat.

Well…

“L-LET G-GO!” Monoma strained as (f/n)’s arm wrapped around his throat in a chokehold. (f/n) ignored him as her arm tightened around his neck. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he fell on his back, leaning his weight on her. He struggled, trying to stand up but to no avail.

“(f/n), you have to let go!” Todoroki yelled, as he and Tokoyami attempted to pull (f/n)’s arms off of Monoma, but she had a good grip. Todoroki pulled both (f/n) and Monoma up so they would stand. “Bakugou! Help!” The blond rolled his eyes, but complied, coming up behind (f/n) to pull her off. Ideally, he’d let (f/n) beat the shit outta him, but he also didn’t want (f/n) getting in trouble.

All the commotion caused their classmates to pile up at the doorway to watch the fight. Most of them were on (f/n)’s side.

“Goddammit, woman! LET GO!” Bakugou yelled, struggling to pull her off. Monoma was starting to see spots and his vision was getting hazy due to the lack of oxygen. Both Tokoyami and Todoroki noticed, making them pry harder.

“Let go, (f/n)!” Tokoyami yelled as Dark Shadow joined in. He tried to wrap around her, much like he would with Tokoyami, in an attempt to make her loosen her grip.

“NO!” (f/n) yelled back, making Mina’s eyes light up as she got an idea. She quickly ran behind Bakugou, slid her arms around him and tickled (f/n)’s sides. It took a few seconds, but their friend let go, making Todoroki and Tokoyami stand in her way, grabbing her arms and pressing their sides against her as Bakugou held her waist.

(f/n) was a strong fighter and here was proof, 3 fully grown men having to hold her back. Monoma felt his soul leave his body at the sight.

“STOP IT!” Bakugou yelled as she struggled against him.

“Let go of me! Let go of me right now, Kacchan! I’m kicking his ass!” Monoma was currently leaning against the lockers trying to catch his breath as he watched the furious girl attempt to… kill him?! She wanted to kill him! She was trying to choke him to death!

“ENOUGH!” Everyone froze at the booming voice and (f/n) shrank against Bakugou when she saw her teacher standing there with his hair and scarf floating. Her hands reached out to grab Tokoyami and Todoroki’s arms. His red eyes glared at the group demanding answers.

“She tried to kill me!” Monoma yelled, holding his throat. (f/n)’s eyes widened and shot to Aizawa.

“This jerk’s been pranking me for the last three weeks! Everything that’s gone wrong is his fault!”

“You have no proof of that!” Monoma argued, glaring at her.

“No pro- you’re always laughing at me and making snide comments! I know for a fact it’s you, asshole! Don’t even act like your innocent!”

“I am innocent, asshole!” (f/n) shoved Bakugou off and slipped in between Todoroki and Tokoyami, running towards Monoma when Aizawa’s scarf quickly wrapped around her.

“Out of your entire class, you’re the only one who hates us, dumbass!” (f/n) retaliated as she struggled against her teacher’s bindings. “Let me fight him, Mr. Aizawa! LET ME KICK HIS ASS!”

“That’s enough!” Aizawa interrupted their petty squabbling as he approached them. His eyes stopped glowing and his hair fell down. (f/n) was still wrapped around in his scarf but was no longer struggling. “Have you been pranking (l/n) this whole time?” Aizawa asked the blond.

“NO!” The hallway was so quiet, one could hear a pin drop. Aizawa glared at Monoma as he grabbed his arm and made him stand up.

“You’re lying.” The scarf loosened around (f/n) and fell off, returning to Aizawa as he looked at the students. Bakugou, Todoroki, Monoma, (f/n), and Tokoyami- not to mention his scarf- were covered in the blue paint. “Go clean yourselves up and come back, we’ll discuss your punishment for starting the fight later, (l/n). For now, I’ll be handling this one.” With that, Aizawa took Monoma away leaving everyone in awkward silence.

Until Kaminari broke it.

“Damn, (n/n)!  You really kicked his ass! That was awesome!”

“I think you’re rubbing off on her,” Tokoyami said, looking at Bakugou who smirked proudly.

“And the problem with that is?”

“We’ll have another you to deal with.” Todoroki responded, flatly.

“What’s wrong with me, IcyHot?!” 

“You guys are awesome!” Mina giggled, wrapping her arms around both Bakugou and Todoroki. “(f/n)! Get in here! You too, Fumi!”

“I’ll get the paint over you,” (f/n) muttered, looking down at herself.

“Either you come here or I’ll give you a bear hug.”

“You just want to go back to your room so you can lay in bed.” (f/n) argued, as she and Fumi joined the little group hug.

“Maaaybe!”

BONUS:

Later that day, Aizawa had met up with (f/n) and explained that her punishment was going to be detention for 3 days, as well as cleaning up the dorms. Although Monoma got something similar, it was worse.

However, whenever their classes were paired up for sparring matches or mock fights, Aizawa always did his best to pair (f/n) against Monoma, so she could teach him a lesson. Properly.

[thatanimenerd101]

It All Started With A Keychain

Paring: Shinso x female reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word count:1,888 words 

Note: I know you all have waited for me to write for sleepy boi, I tried my best and this is the longest time I've taken on writing something. I spent almost three weeks writing and re writing. I hope you all enjoy this!  My ask box is always open!

Tag list: @queensynderella​ @keigos-dove​ @tooloudarts​ @tryna-imagine​ @zyrielwolf​ (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know)

Being a support course student was also your dream, and going to UA was one of the best things that’s happened to you. But being shy and easily scared was a downfall. You were also very, very short, making it hard to reach the tools on the shelves. Your classmates would also put the tools you used on the high shelves. It was all fun and games, you liked to climb. But it was hard sometimes, why? You were an exchange student from the USA, you begged your parents to let you go to school in Japan for the next three years. You hadn’t seen your family and you were getting homesick.

 “Hey l/n can you pass me a drill?!” One of your classmates yelled, pulling you out of thought.

 “Yeah.” You handed them a drill that was in reach. They nodded as a thank you. This week was the week all the students from the hero course would come down to modify their costumes and support gear. You knew all their faces, but was too scared to talk to them.

 You were quiet and shy. You had friends but not a lot. You were also in the workshop, creating new support items for the hero students to try out. But today, a new face was in the classroom.

 He was tall, with messy purple hair and soft eyes. He had bags under his eyes. Must be like you, you couldn’t sleep most nights, so he must have the same issue.

 “Hey, I need this fixed up.” He said glancing at you, which you hid behind your work area. Your teacher Powerloader looked at it.

 “Hmm, this took on a lot of damage Shinso. L/n come here please.”

  You came out from your hiding spot, your hair in your face.

 “Yes?”

 “Do you mind fixing this up? It shouldn’t take you too long.”

 You rubbed your eyes. “Sure.” You took his mouth guard amd look at it. “I’ll have this done by tomorrow morning. Well as long as you didn’t damage it too much.”

 Your sensei noticed your tiredness. “Did you sleep last night l/n?”

 “Nope! You know me, I can’t sleep even if I tried too.” You put your headphones on and gave a thumbs up. You noticed the boy was looking at you. He walked toward were you were at, your work desk. It was a mess, tools and papers across it. Along with a lot of cups of coffee and tea. You decided not to pay attention to the boy, besides you had work to do. Shinso just stood there and watched you. This was making you nervous. You took off your headphones and goggles.

  “C-Can I help you?”

 He rubbed the back of his neck.

 “I’m just curious of what your doing?”

“Oh?” You smiled. “Well this doesn’t look too bad; however, I’ll need to order a certain type of martial in order to fix this up. So unfortunately, you’ll have to wait a while. All I can do is fix up the strap that goes around your neck.” You where comfortable taking about things like this but an actual conversation, was unthinkable.

 “I see.”

 You set it down and walked towards the large tool box. “Mei, I need a hex key!”

 “Look in the tool box that on the top shelf!” She yelled back.

 You groaned and grabbed a step stool.

 “You need to stop placing the tools in places where other students can’t reach!” Your teacher scolded, some of your classmates giggled.

 You were fed up. “I can’t reach this stupid thing! I’m too short!”

 You didn’t realize the someone was right next to you. “Is this what you wanted?” He just got the tool box that was labeled with “hex Key”

 “Y-Yeah. T-T-Thank you.” He nodded and you smiled sheepishly at him.

 Once he left you asked Powerloader what his quirk was.

 “Brainwash, he was training with class A and B today. He’ll be a fine hero once he transforms to the hero course.”

 You smiled and then worked on the paperwork to get the material you needed.

  At the dorms that night your best friend Mei Hatsume came up to you.

 “Hey, what was with you and the boy with the purple hair?”

 “Oh, nothing much besides I’m just fixing his item up. I have got more information on his quirk so I’m going to ask him tomorrow if I can add something to his support item. Well as long as it’s approved.” You smiled, and took a sip of tea.

 “Is that the new baby you’ve been working on, the one that controls sound and can modify it?”

 “Yeah, but I know it’s not exactly special. Besides you’ve built more support items than anybody here. I also was thinking about adding a recording mic into it. For spy missions in the future.”

 “I’m just working hard and plus sensei banned me from going in after 4 o’clock.” You laughed at the one time one of her babies exploded in the middle of the night.

“Well I’m heading up to my dorm, I’ve got a good book waiting for me.” You grabbed your mug and said goodnight to your friend.

 About an hour went by and then someone knocked on your door.

 “Come in.” You just thought it was one of your friends, so your nose was still in your book.

 “You dropped this earlier and it broke. So, I fixed it.”

 You looked up instantly, and set your book down.

 He was holding a keychain your mother gave you before you left for Japan. It had beads and a few other charms in it. It was old and has been in your family for generations. You were on the floor, trying not to cry because you missed home and that you almost lost a family air loom. You took the keychain from him and held it close to your heart.

 “You’re one of the exchanges students, right?” He was sitting on your floor across from you.

 You could only nod.

 “I know your away from home but you’ll be okay.”

 “I just feel alone sometimes, and that keychain is something my mom gave me before I left...” You continued to ramble about being homesick. You’d only been away from home for a few months and was starting to re-think everything. But he listened to you.

 “So, I guess were the same, both lonely.”

 “What do you mean? You’ve got a cool quick and you actually live here.” She looks t him confused.

 “I didn’t come to make friends; I came here to become a hero. I assume your aiming to become a support item builder or whatever it’s called?”

 “Yes, speaking of support items I was going to ask you about yours.”

 He looked at you. “What about it?”

 “Well I was thinking about adding a better voice box thingy, so that you cab change your voice better and more quickly. I was also thinking about adding a mic too. For in the future if you go on spy missions. I’ll have to built a receiver so what you record can be transferred to that.”

 He nodded. “Impressive.”

 You smiled. “I’ll have to fill out the paperwork to get it approved!”

  Six months later

  The two of you somehow become really close friends. You taught him about your culture and family traditions. You also become friends with a girl in class 1-B thanks to Shinso. But today something seemed odd about your purple haired male friend. He was avoiding you all day. So, you decided to bake him his favourite cookies and bring over the tea you two like to drink. Heading over to the 1-C dorms you waved to some of the General study students. You knocked on his door.

 “Shinso, it’s me (l/n). I baked your favourite cookies and brought tea.” You smiled and waiting for the door to open.

 It didn’t, so you knocked again. You decided it was time for payback, last week he opened your door without knocking. It was by accident but eh. You found Shinso at his desk with headphones on. There was knitting supplies on his bed. You took of his headphones and he jumped.

 “Sorry about that. I made cookies!” You gave him the bowl of cookies.

 “Thanks y/n.” He only said your first name when he was speaking from his heart.

 “You’re welcome Toshi.” You grinned but noticed his face was red. You put your hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling okay? You’ve been avoiding me all day, are you sick?”

 He shook his head no. “I’ve been training a lot; I’m just trying to catch up with the rest of the hero course students.” He had a lot on his mind and you. Oh god you just looked cute; you were wearing a hoodie with cat ears on it. He picked up a cookie and started to eat it.

 “Well the tea I made should help you get some better sleep.” You smiled and looked at his bed.

“What are you knitting this time?”

 He smirked and looked at you. “You’ll find out. I’m almost finished with it though.”

 When he smirked, a pink colour was on your cheeks. You’ve liked the boy in front of you for a while but decided not to say anything.

  Two weeks later

  Shinso had texted you asking you to meet him in the courtyard. You were excited to be able to hang out with him again. Since he had been really busy the past two weeks. Once you got to the courtyard, you saw him sitting under a cherry tree. But it wasn’t any tree, it was your favorited one. Why? You just liked the way it smelled. You ran up to him and hugged him tightly.

 “Toshi!” You exclaimed.

 He returned the hug.

 “Hi y/n, how are you?”

 “Happy now because I haven’t seen you in like two weeks.”

 He smiled and handed you a bag.

 “Aww, you didn’t have too.” You smiled as you took at the small box. You could see Shinso grinning as you opened the box. Inside was a black knitted cat with a (f/c) collar. It looked like your cat you had back at home. You hugged the cat.

 “Thank you, Hitoshi, I love it.”

 “You’re welcome.” This boy’s heart almost melted because you had the biggest smile on your face. He couldn’t hold back what he was feeling. He put his arms around your waist.

 “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do y/n but I can’t control myself.” Without giving you a change to respond he kissed you on the cheek. “I like your y/n, more than friends.” He was about to walk away before you pulled on his shirt.

 “Don’t apologize. Now shut up and kiss me again.” You smirked at him. You gained confidence in yourself thanks to him.

  The two of you kissed, it was amazing. Well until someone cleared their throat.

 “So, this is what’s been bothering you Shinso.” It was Aizawa. “Glad you to know you two are together, now please, no PDA on the school yard. I’ll let this one side.” He smirked at the two you, he suspected that Shinso had a crush on someone

 Shinso bowed and thanked him.

 “So uhh, wanna go out sometime?” You asked sheepishly with the red blush still in your face from the kiss.

 He nodded and held your hand.

[nekojitachan]

Hi! I missed you ❤ Are you taking prompts? If so, can you do a little au where Neil does that Spiderman thing and stops the train because Andrew's on it? Idk what's wrong with my mind lately but I just need that scene and andreil in it. Please? Thank you!!

Ok, I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted? I had to hunt this down on youtube for help on the scene, and then hope it was the right ‘train’ scene (why are there so many spiderman movies???).

Uhm, shouldn’t be any triggers here? Just very vague references to Neil’s past, even though this is AU, obviously.

*******

Neil swung through the night air, confident that no one (or,well, almost no one) could spot him when it was so dark out and late inthe evening; he knew it was foolish and that his mother would beat him untilhis ears rang for being so careless, for daring to use his powers like this…but he’d been at Matt’s the last several hours working on their English projectand he just wanted to get to get back to the apartment so he could sleep.

It had been a long day, after all – a long week, betweenclasses and his part-time job at the coffee shop. Maybe he should considermoving on soon and finding a new city (someplace cheaper to live), but New YorkCity was so big and he’d been able to lose himself in the many people there, tohide from his father’s hounds.

(That and he wasn’t so lonely for the first time since hismother’s death, not with Matt, Dan, Allison and Renee at school, with Nicky,Aaron and Andrew living next door.)

Andrew… for some reason Neil felt his chest grow warm uponthinking of his friend and almost didn’t throw out a thread in time to catchit, which would be bad since he was over two hundred feet up in the air. YetAndrew seemed to short-circuit his thoughts lately, especially when his friendalways brought up rumors about some ‘spider-like freak’ seen about the city,who’d save a couple of women from rapists or people from being robbed – all thewhile staring at Neil intently.

Maybe Neil had ‘hitched’ one too many rides home lately on theC train, which Andrew took when he worked. Speaking of which, Andrew had aclosing shift at cupcake shop and should be on his way home right now….

Neil debated on if he should avoid ‘riding along’ or not,but he was tired and the weather was lousy, and all he wanted was to be in hiswarm bed as soon as possible. Time to piggy back on a speeding subway train, hethought to himself as he repositioned his messenger bag across his chest.

(He never claimed to make smart life-choices.)

He changed direction mid-air, reveling in the rush of adrenalinhe felt whenever he somersaulted toward the ground before he ‘snagged’something with one of his threads, adoring the sensation of falling/flying.While being used as a test subject by one’s psychotic father and having to goon the run when their unstable as hell drug didn’t kill you (like everyoneelse) but granted you super powers mostly sucked (except for the super powerspart), Neil did enjoy being able to use his threads to ‘fly�� through the airlike this, along with his enhanced strength, flexibility and increased invulnerability.

He didn’t like that his mother had died trying to keep himfrom his father’s hands, though. That his father would kill anyone close to himin an attempt to get hold of him again.

That thought in mind, Neil stayed as much out of sight aspossible, even if it meant taking the ‘long’ way to meet the subway train. Hewas left surprised to see the train hurtling toward him, even though it shouldstill be a minute or two away from Fulton Street; he had to hurry to get inplace to ‘latch’ on to the top of the train, and cursed as he was yankedforward by its speed.

Something was wrong, which became evident when the traindidn’t stop at High Street. Neil lay as flat as possible on top of the carriagewhile people at the station called out in complaint and surprise when the trainflew past them, as he heard what sounded to be brakes squeal but nothinghappened.

Part of him was tingling, the sense which always warned ofdanger, which had tried to get his mother to avoid meeting up with her contactin Seattle the one night, which had warned them about the train station inCologne, about the restaurant in Lisbon and… and so many other times andplaces. Which had kept him alive and mostly safe since his father had turnedhim into a freak.

Which had never warned him about Andrew – Andrew, whoshould be on the train, dammit.

Neil couldn’t leave it, not when he felt a stab sharper thanthe ‘tingles’ at the thought of no loud banging on the wall of his bedroom as asign for him to come over ‘to help dispose of Nicky’s lousy cooking’ (Nicky wasa pretty decent cook) or to watch a movie since he didn’t have a television. Nomore knocking on his window so he could climb out and join Andrew up on theroof while his friend smoked. No more sitting together quietly during lunch.

Despite the risk, he had to do something.

Judging from the raised voices inside the traincompartments, the people inside had realized that something was wrong, too –probably by the way the train was swaying back and forth and how it wasn’tstopping. Neil crawled along the top until he reached the roof of the train, acurse slipping free when it careened around a bend.

It was picking up so much speed that it would go off thetracks soon enough – that or smash into another train at one of the stations. Hehad to stop it before then. While he inched forward, he paused to tie the orangebandana which Matt had given him around the lower part of his face as animpromptu mask and then made sure his dark grey hoodie was tugged as tightaround his head as possible.

People shouted at him when he crawled down the front, mindracing over what he could do to stop it; he was strong, could lift semi-trucksand throw them as if nothing (his mother was furious at his choice of distractionback in Stockholm) – but strong enough to stop a speeding train?

Well, guess he’d find out soon enough.

He flipped around until he was sprawled out in front of thetrain like those figures one saw on front of ships and then… and then his brainsort of froze up. What the hell now? He stared down at the track being eaten upby the speeding train until a voice called out in a slow drawl.

“What now, genius?”

That was Andrew, not a mocking voice in his head.

Neil twisted his neck around to find his friend standingbehind the opened windows of the train, an almost surprised expression on hisbroad, pale face. “Uhm, I’m working on it,” Neil snapped.

“Working on being splattered like a bug on a windshield?”Now Andrew didn’t seem that impressed; in fact, he folded his arms across hischest while a couple of people behind him shouted to leave Neil alone and othersjeered (it was New York, definitely) about him being an idiot.

“I’m notta bug,” Neil huffed while he glanced aside.

“You’re an insect about to be splattered when we run intoanother train,” Andrew was so ‘kind’ to point out.

“Not if I fix things, first.” Neil frowned as he lowered hisbody down – as he shoved his feet onto the tracks and-

Not a good idea! He gritted his teeth together as hebraced his legs, as his feet tore into the trestles of the tracks and didnothing to slow down the train, nothing at all. Glad for his limited invulnerability,he put up with it for several seconds before he jerked upright, his entirelower body now sore.

“Are you done being an idiot yet?” Andrew asked once Neilwas situated between the windows again. “Just… just go. No sense on you beingsmashed into a bloody mess, too.”

“Hey! He’s trying to save us, shut your mouth,” the olderguy on his left snapped while the young woman holding a toddler behind himshook her head, tears in her eyes.

“I’m not leaving,” Neil swore as he contemplated his nextmove; bracing the train to slow it down wouldn’t work, and they were fastapproaching the next station. On to plan B – he shot his thread at the walls ofthe station to see if he could slow the train down that way, and cursed when henearly fell forward when all that happened was that he ripped off the tiles ofthe wall – would have fallen forward if it wasn’t for Andrew grabbing onto theback of his hoodie.

“Just go,” Andrew hissed.

“No,” Neil repeated as he pressed back against the train, ashe saw signs of the Jay Street Station approach.

Maybe the problem was that there hadn’t been enough web? Asthe train speed on (as it rocked a bit too much to the left), he started firingoff multiple threads yet kept hold of them, until he had to have at least adozen in each hand. That time they held to the walls, bolstered by the others,and then the strain of holding back the subway train hit him, the full impetusof its speed and weight.

Yet he could see the station ahead, the A train already thereunloading people. He gritted his teeth and held on while the people behind himcried out in horror and despair, as Andrew said something he couldn’t make outpast the rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the groaning ofmetal and breaking of glass. It felt as if something tore inside of him, yetthe train slowly, slowly, came to a halt.

He could see the back of the A train way too close… and theneverything blacked out.

Neil woke up to find himself laid out on the floor of one ofthe subway trains with people gathered around him and Andrew yelling (yelling)for everyone to give him room, to stay the fuck away from him. Someone was complainingabout taking off his mask (what mask?), then shut up when he groaned and slowlysat up.

(Ooh, dizzy.)

“He saved your fucking life, let him be,” Andrew growled outas he helped Neil to straighten up.

“Listen to the young man, he’s right,” some woman with whatsounded to be a slight accent chided the guy. “We owe the person our lives,show him some respect.”

Others joined in, until there was space around Neil; Andrewcontinued to help him stand up and then handed him his messenger bag. “You’llwant to get out of here, there’s a crowd outside.” He gave Neil an intent lookas he held on to the strap of the bag for a moment – a bag which contained thefox charm which Andrew had bought Neil two months ago.

Oh shit.

Still, Andrew’s hands were steady and his expression calm ashe nodded to the hatch in the ceiling for Neil’s escape. Figuring that explanationscould wait until later (much later if he had his way, at least until he gotsome sleep and enjoyed a very long hot shower), Neil nodded once and made hisescape.

Despite everything, he couldn’t help but smile when he heardAndrew’s muttered ‘show-off’, followed by a sharp ‘shut up’ when another passengerremarked ‘nice ass, spider dude’.

*******

But there you go! I did prompt.

Oh, and forgive my liberties with the NYC subway system. Yes, I’ve ridden it. That’s about it.

And technically, I did another prompt earlier - I’ve had a couple of outstanding a/b/o prompts for a while. I’m on a roll.

Hmm, no clue what’s next. I should get back to the Ghost fic. Sorta tempted w/ more a/b/o (null) fic. Decisions.

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Seven, “Meet Me in the Hallway”

New to the story or want to catch up? Find all chapters HERE! :-)

Ok I didnt forget this time :/

                           *  SNEAKYYYYYYYYY PEEK TIME *

“Why’re you annoyed I said that? Is it ‘cause that’s what you want? Did I expose your secret fantasy? ‘Cause ya know you can still go and date him, maybe it’s even easier now that you don’t work for him anymore.”

“Robbie, stop.”

“I can keep a secret. Scout’s honor.”

“No, you can’t! You always say that and it’s never true. And you were never in Boy Scouts,” I scoff, holding onto tufts of his jean jacket.

“I was too! Now, stop avoiding the question. Why won’t you give Harry another chance?” Robbie continues, veering back to the topic I so conveniently changed.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hmmm, I don’t think I believe you, Ree,” Robbie tsks. “But I’m going to get the truth out of you one of these times.”

P.S - I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors or stuff that should be bolded/italicized that I missed, I already edited this chapter on here a few times and Tumblr kept losing it ugh. 

Enjoy!

“I don’t know,” she replies, yanking at the corners of my heart. A sigh escapes my lips when I feel my heavy head fall into my hands. “M-my dad,” Becky continues, but her words collapse into tears before too long. 

I almost tell her that I already know, but my lips stop just in time. I don’t want her to get mad at Asher. And if I’m honest, our secret elevator meetings to talk about her are the highlight of my week. But my lips search for something to say. The sound of her tears is all I can hear, no matter how badly I ache to take them away. 

“He has c-cancer, Harry,” Becky says, her words tumbling out sloppily. They pull at my heart again, making it fall another notch. 

“Fuuuuuuuuck . . . . ’m so sorry, Becks . . . . Are ya okay?”

“No, w-why would I be? How could I be?” she responds, her words falling out fast. 

“Becks . . have ya been drinkin’, love?” I ask tentatively, wincing when I hear her groan. 

“I don’t wanna ‘ear it. Imma grown woman. I can bloody drink if I want t’ and-,” she argues, her voice steely. I’m caught off guard by the confrontation, and it only makes me feel worse. 

“Tha’s not what I meant, love. I jus’ . . . ,” I try, my train of thought fleeing me. All of my thoughts do, because I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t even know if I’d have any better idea of what to say if I’d had notice she was going to call. That she was going to remember who I was for the first time in 9 months. “Are ya atta pub? Cuz I jus’ wanna know yer safe. I can leave an’ give ya a lift home if ya need,” I finish, unsure of how she’ll take my words. 

She’s quiet and it only makes the scary thoughts buzz louder in my head. 

What if she gets the idea to drive herself home?

What if some drunk bloke bothers her and she can’t fend for herself?

What if she tries to walk home in the rainstorm?

What if she keeps drinking, not knowing when to stop?

What if-

“No, I’m at home. In me bed. I’m not st- dumb, Harry,” she slurs, showing me a side of her I’ve never seen. We’ve had drinks together before - in my office or rarely at a pub. But she never got drunk before. 

“I don’ think ya are, bug,” I counter, the nickname falling effortlessly from my tongue. “’m really sorry ‘bout yer dad. D’ya know how bad it ‘s yet?”

“Noooo, other than that ’s somewhere . . . like in uh Stage 2 . . or somefiing,” Becky answers, her words all over the place. “It’s t-the prostate. Ya know that fing that uh . . . is . . where ‘s it ‘gain?” One of her many words that don’t make much sense.

“Ya I know what it ‘s an’ where. I uh have one of ‘em,” I finish for her. I’m rewarded by hearing her decadent laugh. A sound I’ve craved and missed for so long. I missed it more than I thought I had, I realize as a smile pulls my cheeks upwards. 

“Oh ya. I uh kinda forgot ‘bout dat,” she titters, encouraging a chuckle from my now smiling lips. 

But her laugh fades first and mine follows. Because she didn’t call to laugh at my lame jokes, or to catch up on things we’ve missed in each other's lives. No, not really. 

“He’d been ‘aving pains. So bad he can’t eat, or use the uh loo . . He told me when we was there wit’ Robbie and . . . . he looked baaad,” she tells me, her voice catching on the last word. I feel my heart shudder in pain again, and suddenly I realize the validity of the second-hand pain phenomenon. “And I jus’ dunno ‘ow I’m gonna do dis. I wanna help him and take care o’ him . . . But I’m t’ree hours ‘way and . . . I just dunno how t’ do dis.”

“There’s no real setta rules, love. No guideline or brochure fer how t’ handle it . . Ya jus’ gotta do yer best, an’ love him . . ‘m sorry,” I tell her, not knowing what else to say. 

“You’re sorry?” she laughs, pulling my eyebrows into a knot. “Tha’s a firssssst.”

I listen to her laugh some more, savoring it. But I’m also confused and a little offended. But then it stops abruptly and I hear her sniffle. “I’m the one whoooo should be sorry,” she begins, tears lacing into her words. And taking all of mine with them. “You’re just trynaaaa help, and I’m bein’ mean and rude just like I always am to ya. Ughhhh, I dunno why I even called.”

“No, ‘s okay. Yer goin’ thru a lot an’ . . . I appreciate ya callin’. I jus’ hope ‘m helpin’,” I say quickly, dropping a hand in defeat. It finds its way to my pants and I pick at the loose thread that’s been bothering me all day. 

“But I am, Harry! I’m mean and I make no sense a-and I’m jus’ loadin’ onto ya. But I dunno who else t’ call, cuz ’m tryna t’ be strong forrrrr Robbie. And not worry Skye, an’ I jus’ dunno what t’ do, Harry,” Becky says, the last of her words dissolving into sobs. Biting my lip at the sound of her crying into my ear, I keep biting and biting as she cries. I yank at the thread and feel it dig into my skin, but I don’t let go. “I don’t wanna lose me dad afta I already lost you.” 

It takes a few seconds of telling myself, but I slowly release my bottom lip. I huff, swiping my tongue across my lips. I taste the metally blood coming from the stinging cut. And then the warm taste of salt joins it on my tongue. Pressing my lips together, the pain only intensifies. But I let it stay as tears roll down my cheek. My finger burns, but only for a few short seconds when I finally rip the thread from my pants. It doesn’t compare to the pain I feel inside of my chest, like a vice around my heart. Tightening and throbbing. 

The line grows silent, but I know she’s there. Because I hear her shallow breathing, and the occasional sniffle. And I know that she’s still crying, because I hear the whimpers that she tries to hide. Even if she is drunk. And the pain only keeps coming, because I hate that I can’t do anything to stop hers. Nothing at all. 

“I miss ya so much, Becks,” I whisper, not believing the words coming from my mouth. But they feel good. Freeing. Almost exciting. 

“I . . . I do too, b-but I can’t go down that road ‘gain, Harry. I- I can’t do this,” she rushes. I hear noises on her line, but I can’t get out the words before the it goes dead. Silence.

I feel my phone slide from my hands slick with tears. It falls to the floor with a thud, but I hardly hear it. Because her voice is drowning out the sounds of everything else. 

The thunder. 

The rain falling harder by every second. 

I press the pads of my fingers into my eyes and let my own rain fall. My fingers grow wet with every tear. Every single one I held in as her voice graced my ears. The tears that grew from the pain I heard in her voice. From when I heard about her dad’s diagnosis. And I think the ones I’ve been pushing away for a long time. 

The rain welcomes a friend, and I join the drops drilling against the glass until the storm passes. But I know that although the storm inside of me passed for a little while, that it’s only come back stronger. The velvety sofa cushions and pillow welcome my tired body. I fall into a fitful sleep with her comforting voice dancing through my head. The only place I can see her again, and where I didn’t fuck everything up.  

+

“Don’t worry, Becky. We’ll get this all figured out. You just do your best and take care of yourself and your father. Keep me updated on what you learn, and if you need extensions. Alright?” 

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” I reply emphatically. 

He nods before patting my arm and telling me to have a good day. I return it before leaving his office and feeling the slightest weight leave my shoulders. That was the easy part, I think to myself as I find my way through the twisty halls. 

Looping my arm through my other backpack strap, I turn a corner and keep walking. I feel my heartbeat start to slow down after that nervous meeting with Professor Alcott, finishing up my afternoon of meeting with my professors. I couldn’t even believe the words leaving my mouth to grace their ears. 

My dad was diagnosed with Stage 2 prostate cancer recently. We still don’t know a lot, but I wanted to let you know. I plan to still stay enrolled in the program and I’m committed to my courses. At the same time, I’m going to do what I can to take care of him. I will keep you updated as I learn more, but there are still a lot of unknowns at this point and . . . , I think, pausing the track I had on repeat for the last few hours. I had to figure out what to say, then rehearse it, and then say all of those words to the stern-looking expressions of my professors. Two of whom I’ve never even met before, because I’m taking their classes online. But my advisor, Sally, told me it would be best to meet with them in person. It’s more personal and shows your commitment blah blah, she said. 

I’m just glad to have that part over with, I sigh inwardly. 

The first fallen leaves of Fall crunch under my lace up purple Vans. The crisp air welcomes me. For a few seconds, I lose myself in the beginnings of the changing colors of Autumn. But the incessant worrying thoughts that have plagued my mind sit at the back, ready to pounce. I was rather numb for the first several days. I didn’t know how to function normally. Let alone inform my professors professionally and in person about the events that just rocked my life. I’m relieved that they were all very accommodating and kind to me about the news. But I know that the hard work is just about to begin. 

A U2 song pours from my speakers as I back out of my parking space and start my journey home. I try to lose myself in the beloved lyrics, but it’s hard. When they become too relatable and too nostalgic, I skip it and the stereo player whirs as it thinks. My Spotify chooses a song at random - a favorite by Vance Joy. I roll my windows down and try to sing along. 

I close my apartment door with my foot, sifting through the mail. 

A bill. An advert for Skye. Another bill. Another cosmetology advert for Skye. An advert from my uni. Something Skye ordered from Amazon. A random magazine subscription that I most definitely don’t want to subscribe to. A sheet of Domino’s coupons. And a square periwinkle envelope with my name scrawled across the front. No return address.

My feet stop in the middle of toeing off my shoes. The one falls to the floor with an echoing thud. I swallow and pad slowly over to the kitchen island. Pushing Skye’s mess over, I let the pile of mail fall with a slap. With one shoe still on, I soon find myself sitting on the arm of the sofa. Backpack still heavy on my shoulders. Keys still hanging around my finger. But all I can focus on is the periwinkle envelope in my hands. And that familiar handwriting. 

I hug it to my chest and tap my fingers along it as I think. 

I know what it feels like, but I don’t know if I want to open it. 

Because I know what will happen if I do. 

But I can’t deny the first bubbles of excitement rising in my chest. 

The first feelings of happiness I’ve felt in 11 days. 

11 days since my dad announced that he has cancer. The dreaded C word. 

My thumb does the first rip without me barely registering it. My excited heartbeat eggs me on. I try to rip it neatly, and leave the pretty envelope intact. But I’ve never been good at opening mail neatly. It’s just too exciting. I see the cursive word on the back first. The card company’s name. 

The card is a periwinkle purple, like the envelope. He remembered it’s my favorite. My eyes fall closed without warning when I feel the hard square inside of the card. A sigh escapes my lips. It only grows longer when I feel the tiny imprints the pen left from pressing down hard in the author’s hand. 

Exhaling slowly, I flip the card over and find a saying that I glance over. The cursive words made permanent by gold lettering tug at my heart. But I know that’s only the beginning. My finger pries at the opening and runs along the inside, feeling the bumpy impressions of the ink words. I rip the bandaid off and open it. But before I read anything, I grab a hold of the plastic square. I place it behind the card in my grip. 

One step at a time. 

The inside of the card is painted with sloppy black writing. At the sight of it, I watch my sight grow hazy. Starting at the beginning, I blink and feel the first tear fall when I see my name. 

Harry’s name for me. 

Dear Becks, 

I saw this card and thought of you. The little bunny on the front just screamed your name, and well it harassed me during my whole shopping trip to buy it. Isn’t it just adorable?  It made me think of the story you told me once about the baby bunny you found with your dad that was hurt. You both nursed it back to health before it hopped away back into the woods. Or your Dad called the animal services to take it to rehabilitate it. You said you couldn’t remember. Anyways, it made me think of you and the unimaginable pain you’re going through. You and your family. I never had the pleasure to meet your Dad but I wanted to extend my sympathies. He must be a pretty incredible man seeing how well you and Robbie turned out. You always spoke fondly of him. I know you’re very close to him, and because of that I know this is even harder for you. I’m so sorry. I’ve been thinking of you and your family often, and wishing there was something I could do to help. I’m so sorry, Becks. I really am. I don’t think there’s much else I can say to comfort you right now, or if there is I don’t know what it is. I’d just suggest doing what you can to be with your father during this time, and although it may be difficult to see him in pain, I think you’d be happy if you were there. No matter how things turn out, I think it would mean a lot to the both of you. I’ve experienced grandparents and loved ones passing, and it’s the shits but whoever said that it’s better to suffer together than by yourself was right. But please take care of yourself too. I don’t know what your plans are, but please don’t load your plate too full. Okay? I’m sorry, but you won’t be much help to your Dad if you’re giving yourself too much work.  I’m so sorry that this is happening to you, Becks. It pains me more than you could know to know that you’re going through this. You and your family will be in my thoughts and prayers during this difficult time. Please let them know that. Take care of yourself, please. For you and your dad. If there is anything at all I can do to help please don’t be afraid to let me know. In the meantime, I hope that this Visa gift card will help. I recall you said you’re from Madley and your dad still lives there, which is quite the trip. I hope this money will help pay for petrol, meals, hospital bills, and anything else that may help make you and your dad comfortable. Myles’ brother who’s a doctor knows of some good docs at The Royal London Hospital where he works - if you’re interested, just give him a ring. I’ll be praying for a hopeful diagnosis and outlook for your dad, and that he recovers from this. I hope you’re hanging in there, Becks. Just take it one day at a time.

Harry xxxxx

My chest shakes with a sob as I breathe in, but it’s so hard. And it hurts. Closing the card, I cover my face with it. And feel the warm tears paint my cheeks. I don’t know where they come from or how I haven’t ran out of them yet, but they keep coming. Without knowing it, I find myself sliding off the sofa and down onto the floor to rest against the sofa. Ugly sounds leave my lips and my body shakes with each sob. For the first time in days, there’s a feeling inside of me stronger than sadness for my dad. 

Longing. 

Missing. 

I miss Harry. And I let myself feel all of it. Like I haven’t been letting myself for months. I forgot how much I missed him. 

The way he could make me laugh. 

How he always knew what to say without worrying it being the right thing. 

His sunshine smile. 

His molasses like voice - deep, rich, and syrupy sweet. 

And most of all, the way his hugs fixed me like a bandaid. I feel my heart wrench with everything I miss, but it especially hurts when I think about how much I miss his hugs. And how badly I crave one right now. No, I need one. 

I cry harder at that, because apparently things can get worse right now, I think inside the chaos that is my mind. 

I miss my dad, even though I saw him yesterday when I went back home. And then I miss Harry, even though I kicked him out of my life. Even though I heard his molasses voice the other day when I mistakenly called him after drinking a bottle of wine. 

I miss him so much and it hurts.

I didn’t know that I could even hurt more than I already was. 

And I wouldn’t have guessed that his card warms my heart, and breaks it at the same time. 

+

My thumb wavers over the keyboard of letters, indecisive and lost. I groan and walk away, padding out of the room and into our main living area. 

“You better be getting a snack since you didn’t eat dinner,” Skye calls out to me from her perch on the sofa. 

“Okay, Mom,” I retort, searching the shelves of the fridge. It sounds bad, but it only took Skye a major life event to do a decent job at grocery shopping, I recount. Grabbing a yogurt from the drawer, an apple, and a spoon from others, I leave with my dinner in hand. 

The food falls to my desk with a clatter as my attention diverts to my phone. Waking it back up, I see the words I had typed out before. Without another thought, I press Send. With wide eyes and a shaky hand, I lay my phone face down away from me. I’ve only gotten settled and read a few lines from my textbook when my phone chimes. With teenage jittery excitement, I stare at it for a few seconds before daring to pick it up. My heart does a somersault in my chest at the sight of the name. 

Harry. 

I read over my text first, and then read his. 

Me

Hi. I can’t thank you enough for the incredibly sweet card. The gift card was more than generous. I don’t know which I cried more at. Just THANK YOU. A lot. I don’t know how many times I can say that. It was so kind of you to think of me and my dad. 

Harry

hi! stop it youre more than welcome. im glad you liked the card. i wasnt sure if it was 2 dorky. u better not have cried at it. im here if u need anything. have a good night xxxx 

My thumbs dance around on the screen. But before long, I set it down and try to immerse myself in my textbook. But it’s hard, because all I can do is think about him and our texts. I was texting him and we were talking, my over excited teenage-like mind thinks. But the adult part of it sweeps it under the rug, or tries to. Those two parts fight each other as I struggle to make sense of the chapter I’m reading. Because the teenage girl side wants to text him back, but the adult side argues there’s nothing to say. And that won’t I just get hurt again? I find myself nodding at that. Or more so, the argument it makes about there being no point in it. But the teenaged side reads into his words and grows excited at some of them. Talk about distracting. 

“Oh my god, just stop!” I mutter aloud, covering my ears but it doesn’t work. Groaning, I flip the page and read on. 

He helped and his card stands on my desk now, but I need to focus on my dad. And school. And this fricken boring chapter that I have an upcoming quiz on.

+

Voices carry down the tiled hallways. The sounds of footsteps sound like ghosts around me. So do the memories I have of these halls. Ones that stab at my insides as I walk further into them. I turn a corner and find the light at the end of the tunnel. He senses me and looks up. He shows a small smile as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s continued to ignore the the circle of chairs in the waiting area. Instead, he leans against the wall nearby the door we’ve been staring at. 

“Is he done with his labs yet?”

He shakes his head no, narrowing his eyes at me. “You said you weren’t going to go and cry in the bathroom, you liar,” Robbie jokes, but I don’t laugh. He purses his lips and holds his arm out for me. 

I walk into them and rest my head on his chest. “Yeah well, you tell everybody that you’re the older twin when you’re not,” I quip with a sniffle. A laugh rumbles underneath my cheek. 

“That’s ‘cause I am.”

“No, you’re not. Dad only said that when we got in fights to make you feel better,” I reply, closing my eyes and listening to his heartbeat. For some reason, his hugs never fail to calm me down. After a fight we had whether we were 5 or 15, when I snuck into his bed at night when mom and dad were fighting, after a pet died, even after a bad day at school, and especially lately with dad’s diagnosis. It only strengthens my belief about the whole twin thing. 

He scoffs in reply and my lips find a laugh. “I want to see our birth certificates and settle this once and for all.” 

I giggle into his warm chest and close my eyes. But then the thoughts and not longer after, the tears arrive. Robbie squeezes me and tickles my back with his fingers.

“They sounded hopeful at least,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, but they want to do chemo before and after surgery.”

“I know, but they said they have to be sure. If things look good when they’re doing the surgery, like clean margins or whatever it was, then he might not need chemo afterwards,” Robbie points out and I nod, feeling the damp spots on his shirt from my tears. 

“He seems like he’s holding it all together pretty well.”

“Yeah he’s always had super strength. Remember in primary when we wrote that dad was our hero-.”

“And mom got mad,” I finish for him, adding my laughter to his. 

“Yeah. And even though we made that superhero poster about him, I never stopped seeing him as a superhero,” Robbie says, slowly trailing off when the emotions steal his words. 

“Bee, stop, you’re gonna make me cry even more.”

He laughs for a second, but then I hear him start to cry. His chest trembles underneath me. I give up and cry with him. 

“Harry sent me a card in the mail,” I sob, hiccuping in between words. 

“He did? I always knew I liked that guy. What’d it say?”

Something half-scoff and half-laugh is my response before I take a big breath. “I don’t know, it was just so sweet and kind. He said that he’s thinking of all of us, and told me to take care of myself. He said he knows it’s hard to see people you love suffering, but that it’s better to suffer together than on your own,” I choke out, tears drowning my words. “The card had a bunny on it. He said he got it because I told him the story of how Dad and I saved that hurt bunny. I wish he could’ve met dad when I still worked there . . And he sent a $150 Visa gift card to use for bills, petrol, and food.” 

“Wow, that’s crazy generous. Wait, what? You two didn’t save it, the animal control people did,” Robbie argues and I just shake my head. “And don’t say it like that. Dad’s too stubborn to die, you know that. And with how much you talk about Harry, I’m sure you guys are gonna get coffee one day and fall in love and get married,” he continues, his voice quickly turning mocking and girly. I laugh and shove him, stepping away with a laugh. 

“What?” he laughs. His voice is still under water, as is mine. “Why’re you annoyed I said that? Is it ‘cause that’s what you want? Did I expose your secret fantasy? ‘Cause ya know you can still go and date him, maybe it’s even easier now that you don’t work for him anymore.”

“Robbie, stop,” I reply, laughing with emotions fighting in my voice. 

“C’mere,” he says, pulling me into his arms once again. “Ya know you can tell me. I can keep a secret. Scout’s honor.”

“No, you can’t! You always say that and it’s never true. You blabbed to the whole 1st grade I had a crush on Johnny Turner. Then, when I gave you a second chance, you did the same thing again in 8th grade with Willie. And you were never in Boy Scouts,” I scoff, holding onto tufts of his jean jacket. 

“I was too!”

“Being it for one week and quitting because you went home in the middle of the first camp doesn’t count!” 

“I still think it does. I have the outfit, sash, hat, and everything still. I made dad proud, and you know it. Now, stop avoiding the question. Why won’t you give Harry another chance?” Robbie continues, veering back to the topic I so conveniently changed. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hmmm, I don’t think I believe you, Ree,” Robbie tsks, his scratchy chin resting on top of my head. We hear the click of a door open, and I frantically wipe my eyes. “But I’m going to get the truth out of you one of these times.” 

I roll my eyes at Robbie as I peer up at him. He winks before sloppily kissing my head. 

“Come on, you rascals. Let’s get outta here before they try to poke me with any more needles,” our dad says, walking out of the room with his jacket folded over his arms. 

I know he knows we’ve been crying, but he doesn’t mention it. I think another secret language is already starting to form between us. With Robbie’s arm around my shoulder, I grab hold of my dad’s hand. He turns to flash a tired smile at me, before placing a kiss on my forehead. 

“Thanks for coming, guys,” he hums quietly as we stop in front of an elevator. His smile tugs at my heart. I’m just thankful to be able to still see it. 

Stepping onto the elevator, he squeezes my hand hard, just like he always has done. “Dad, don’t!” I yelp and he chuckles under his breath. 

After pressing the button for the lobby, I see Robbie’s lips bend upwards. This can’t be good. “Hey, dad, when we get home can you pull out our birth certs? I need to know the truth of who’s really the older twin.”

“Oh god. You two are 25 years old, when is this going to be over?!” my dad huffs, rubbing at his eyes, but with a smile. “Maybe I won’t take you with the next time, since it’s giving you existential crises,” he threatens, and we all fall into easy laughter. 

“I’m gonna have an existential crisis if I found out you’ve been lying to me for my whole life,” Robbie exclaims and we all only laugh harder. 

+

My backpack and coat fall to the floor with a heavy thud. With a yawn, I bend over to grab my things. The sound of chattering surrounds me. It slowly grows in volume as I sit there tiredly with my head down. I hear footsteps, laughs, and the scuffling of moved objects. 

“Wake up!” a voice nudges at me. I groan angrily in response and hear laughter in response. I peek through a crack in my arm to find Ruby’s crazy red hair bobbing next to me. My newest friend from Criminology. “Just ‘cause we have a guest speaker today, doesn’t mean you can sleep.”

“Oh, that’s today?” I reply excitedly, returning to the warm cocoon of my arms. 

“Yeah, but we still have to take notes. Ya know like last Wednesday when we had our first guest speaker? We had to write down questions for them, even if we don’t end up asking them. Alcott just wants us to get thinking and to well, pay attention. And not fall asleep like somebody! And then we have to write down 8 things that interested us, so get unpacking,” Ruby replies, her chipper voice drilling into my ears. 

“Noooooo,” I moan, scrunching my face in secret. 

I hear the door to the lecture hall close with a loud bang and Alcott laughs. “Alright, you lot, look alive. Our guest speaker has arrived and is ready to dazzle you this rainy Wednesday morning. Remember to be working on your page of ‘Ahas’ whilst he’s speaking. You’ll be passing it in at the end of class which is in 50 minutes,” Alcott announces. His Southern accent coming out in a few of his words. 

“Shitttttt. I think I might like this guest speaker. Look at him, Becky. He is fineeeeeee,” Ruby whispers, elbowing me hard in the arm. 

With a whimper, I sit up with a secret stretch. Combing my hair back, I rub at one of my eyes as they both struggle to focus. 

“What, who’s fine? What’s fine?” another voice blurts out. I squint and look over to find Simon taking the seat on the other side of me. The little Criminology trio back together again. 

“Not you being tardy, that’s not fine,” Ruby retorts with a smirk in her voice. I can’t help but smile. Simon flashes one at me as he combs a hand through his sandy hair after digging in his backpack. 

“So without further ado, I’d like to introduce our guest speaker today. Harry Styles from Styles and Lawson. Let’s welcome Mr. Styles with open arms and give him our undivided attention, please.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumble under my breath, coaxing a confused ‘what’ from Ruby and Simon’s lips . 

“Hullo, class. My name ‘s Harry Styles, but ya can call me Harry. Ummmmm as Professor Alcott said, ‘m from tha London law firm Styles and Lawson. Me mate, Myles Lawson, makes up tha otha half o’ tha firm. This year it’ll be 5 years since we started tha firm togetha, which ‘s bloody crazy t’ me. Before, it was his dad’s firm, and long story short, Myles an’ I got togetha an’ here we are. Anyways, I make me rounds in London talkin’ t’ law classes. I’ve always enjoyed speakin’ t’ tha incomin’ lawyers an’ tellin’ some o’ me stories. An’ me favorite part - answerin’ questions. I thought ‘d start with how I got into law, tho’.”

Shit. I really should’ve known this would happen.

“Nothing,” I reply. “J-just hand me a piece of paper and a pencil, please,” I say briskly to Ruby. 

The last thing I want is to make a single sound that will bring attention to me. But it seems like the universe doesn’t really care lately what I want. I’m already trying to figure out my odds of him spotting me in the sea of 50-so students. Amongst 35 or so ogling girls. Typical.

But the more my eyes focus and my ears attune themselves, I lose myself. I knew it wasn’t a dream when I heard the first word from his mouth. I’d know that voice anywhere. But when my eyes finally focus on the towering figure standing at the front of the room, my eyes struggle. Gone are his long curly locks, and replacing them is a short and curly quiff. I try to ignore the somersaults my insides are doing, but it’s terribly difficult. 

Taking a deep breath, I savor listening to the words fall from those smiling cherry lips. In that slow, calming voice. Never being able to remain in one place, he paces around the front of the room slowly. Clad in a gray suit with a black button down, I slowly melt next to Ruby. Who from her choice of words, is doing about the same. Just in a less graphically described way than her. I can’t blame her, because somehow he has only gotten more handsome over the last year. 

“Isn’t he just so nice to look at?” she croons. 

“Oh yes,” I reply without thinking, and she sighs happily.

Simon groans in disgust, shaking his head. I see him out of the corner of my eye playing with the lead in his pencil. He tries to take it out in one piece before putting it back in. Rinse and repeat.  

I bite my lip and somehow tear my eyes away and to the paper sitting in front of me. I scribble my name across the top. Numbering my page, I write down the first ‘aha’ I have. 

1. Renowned lawyer with his own firm at 28. Almost unheard of. 

Tapping the pencil absently at my thigh, I return my attention to the front. Playing with the rings donning his hands, Harry continues with the story of how he came to be a lawyer. One I can’t say I’ve heard before. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he starts to walk again. Changing his focus from somebody in the front row, it suddenly floats up. 

And lands on me. 

Not only am I surprised, but so is he. The pencil between my fingers halts and altogether falls from my fingers. He stops mid sentence when his eyes lock with mine. My insides grow bubbly as a sparkle gleams in his eyes. I watch a grin unfold on his lips before he composes himself. 

Clearing his throat, he asks, “I-I’m sorry, can somebody uh remind me what I was sayin’?” 

Nervously, he combs a hand through his hair. Laughing, he thanks an eager girl in the front row when she reminds him. And soon enough, he’s back on track with a new nervousness to his voice, or excitement. I’m not sure which. And his eyes trail back to me after a few words, making a smile tickle at my lips. 

Although hard, I look away and pretend to think of something to write. Feeling another pair of eyes on me, I look over and find Ruby’s hot on my cheek. I shrug at her jealous look and she just shakes her head. I laugh under my breath and she kicks me under the table. 

I lose myself in Harry’s words for the rest of his talk, his maple syrupy voice like music to my ears. 

He talks about starting his law firm with Myles.

Some of his favorite cases.

His first case.

His worst case.

His hardest case.

And then he goes on to answer questions. Ruby and I aren’t the only ones fawning over him, because most of the class is as well. Some girls are really flirting it up with Harry. He just relishes in the flattery, to no surprise. I try not to notice the few times he peeks at me when he looks for somebody to call on with a question. 

“Why does he keep looking at you?” Ruby whispers to me as I write down another ‘aha.’ Some random takeaway from another story of his. 

“How am I supposed to know?” I reply, twiddling with my pencil when I’m done. “Why don’t you ask him a question already? I can see the ants in your pants, Rube.”

“I don’t know, I think her question would be if he was single,” Simon jokes, garnering a few curse words from Ruby. I quietly laugh between their hushed argument. 

“Well, ‘m gettin’ tha eye from Alcott, so I reckon that my time’s up with you lot. Thanks fer havin’ me an’ hopefully I wasn’t too boring t’ listen to,” Harry concludes at the front of the lecture hall. 

I pretend I don’t hear Simon’s griping next to me. I can’t help but smile as I slide my backpack onto my shoulders. 

“Not so fast, everybody. What do we say to Mr. Styles for speaking to our class today?” Professor Alcott pipes up. I join in on the class-wide thank you as I hand Ruby her pencil back. 

“I bet you’ll be awake and ready for Wednesday lectures from now on,” she says, winking at me. 

I roll my eyes with a grin as I start down the steps beside her. “Like you’re any better. I saw you both drooling from the corner of my eye,” Simon remarks. 

“Maybe,” I say quietly, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my pullover quarter zip. The last syllable falls from my lips as my eyes pan over to find his head of dark curls.

Nearly at the uppermost row, my view wasn’t the best. As I near closer to him, his features sharpen and with the realization, my heart squeezes in my chest. Light stubble coats his dimpled cheeks as he smiles talking to a classmate of mine. 

I’m only a few footsteps from the bottom now, following the slow line of people who are leaving. The angel and demon, for lack of better words, argue inside of my head. Should I go and say hi? 

Yeah, why not?

No, why would you?

It would be rude if you didn’t.

It would be weird if you did. 

But there are a handful of girls around him probably already flirting with him. 

With an indecisive sigh, I clench my fists inside of my pockets. The two opposites inside of me clash, and I truly have no idea what to do. His card the other day was so kind and thoughtful. But I was a bitch the last time I saw him. I can’t believe it’ll be a year in two short months since I quit. Wow. 

“I dunno why they’re bothering, it looks like he’s taken,” Simon snickers, earning a flick on the head from Ruby. “Don’t be a bitch just because I pointed out the truth. Can’t shoot the bloody messenger, Rube.” 

I don’t intervene when Ruby chases after Simon to the door. Suddenly my feet stop around the corner from the stairs. Only a few more steps and he’d be out of my sight. 

Again. 

For who knows how long until next time. 

I can’t take my eyes off of him. He really looks like he’s enjoying himself talking to law students. Up close, he really has grown more handsome over the last 11 months. I never thought that could be possible. Smiles crease his cheeks.And light up his eyes. 

But when his left hand habitually goes to fix his quiff of curls, I see the gold ring Simon saw. He wore rings, but never that one. It’s like my heart is brought up from the bottom of the lake where it’s been, and takes another nose dive back down.

“Becky!” somebody calls for me. I blink and almost think it’s him. But when I look around for the culprit, I find Simon walking up to me. 

I find it hard to squash the disappointment weighing inside of me. That it’s not Harry. 

“Sorry, Si. W-what’d you say?” I reply, tearing my eyes away from Harry. 

“Don’t look so sad he’s taken,” Si jokes quietly, putting an arm around me and squeezing my shoulder. I force a smile and walk to the door with him. “Wanna go get a coffee? Maybe that’ll cheer you up,” he suggests happily, his voice echoing in the hall to the door. 

“Yeah sure,” I respond slowly, unsure of my words. I let him guide me out of the lecture hall and into the busy hallways. 

Wow, Harry, you moved on from Amber that quick, huh? I think to myself with knitted brows and self-doubt. Swallowing, I try to push the nagging thought away. But I can’t, and I find myself barely able to carry on a conversation with Simon. 

I thought seeing Harry in my lecture was one of the sweetest surprises. Instead, it feels like a happy dream that turned into a nightmare at the end.  

[artificialqueens]

Hot as hell and no A/C, Chapter 1 (Branjie) - Blackhighheels

Read at AO3

When a new dance teacher comes to “the friendly community” in the middle of nowhere, he doesn’t expect to run into a cute blonde local, who always helps out his deeply religious family and might just be…. gay. And really deep in the closet.

AN:

Please not that while this is a romance, the topics of religion, (internalized) homophobia, depression and stereo types will be heavily featured in this story. If these trigger you in any way, then please don’t read!

Thanks to all the different people who gave me input in the first chapter and helped me out!

Chapter 1

”Shit, Thacks, look! We so far out in the middle of fucking nowhere, not even the ad signs get used.” Jose says to his cat, who is lying in the passenger’s seat looking up at him with a bored expression before he simply goes back to sleep.

They had left Los Angeles nearly two days ago and have been on the road ever since. They both like it that way and Jose takes the car, and the cat, wherever he can. Even if it’s the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, Texas. For the last three hours he’s driven through vast stretches of absolutely nothing. Even the desert between LA and Vegas might be more populated than this never ending green emptiness.

He’s close, though. There are houses now, farms, the orchards. Pick-up trucks pass him from time to time. There are horses out on the paddocks, cows out grazing, dogs running around and kids chasing after them.

‘Welcome to the friendly community’ Jose reads, as he passes the sign that tells him he’s finally reached his destination. There’s also something on it about a corn festival, but he’d rather not think about that too much.

The one street through town leads him past a liquor store, a gas station, a couple of derelict buildings of which one of them might be an open bar. Another gas station follows after a car shop, silos and what looks like a small grocery store. Then there’s only silos and farms and nothingness again. Fuck, he must have driven past it.

Once the tractor behind him has passed, he turns the car around and drives back. After he passes the welcome sign again, he realises he has no fucking clue where he is supposed to go. Navigation had stopped working about fifty miles back.

”This is some fucked up shit, Thacks. I can’t even find the motherfucking studio.” Thackery just yawns and gives a pointed look to his cellphone. ”You right, I’m a dumb ho. I should just call Jason before these howdy motherfuckers shoot my gay ass.”

He dials and it takes forever until his friend picks up his phone. It feels even longer because cars that pass him start honking and the children playing on the other side of the road eye him suspiciously. He is painfully aware that his shiny black Porsche Cayenne is just as much out of place here as he is himself.

”Hey, Jo, what’s up? Where you at?”

”Child, if only I knew. I passed some dumbass sign about a corn festival twice now but I can’t find your fucking place.””Oh ok, if you mean the welcome sign, then you’re on the wrong side of town. Just follow the road until you pass the colourful little bakery on the left and the cemetery on the right. Then there’s nothing except some farms for about another ten minutes. And then you can see my dancing studio on the right. It’s the biggest building around, you can’t miss it, cowboy.”

”Alright, then Imma be there in a few. You better have a drink ready for me, now that I know where I’ll spend the next eight fucking weeks.”

Jason just laughs. ”Girl, you’ll love it here, I swear! And could you stop by Smith’s and bring some bread? Tell Ada it’s for me and she’ll know which one, ok?”

”That the grocery story that looks like the roof will come down? With the bright blue, ugly ass door?”

”Don’t be such an L.A. bitch, Vanj’! I swear, y’all gonna love it here!”

”I wouldn’t bet on it, asshole. I doubt there’s any gay dicks around to suck to make up for this shitty town, cause yours sure as hell doesn’t count for me. See ya!”

Once more, he turns the car around and drives past what Jason considers to be a town. Although the old, dirty green pick-up truck in front of him that just off the road suddenly and drives over the fields and grass makes it painfully obvious that this is no fucking town.

When he gets out of the car in front of the grocery store he notices that it’s really warm and the air smells like the blossoming trees that are all around. In contrast, the shop smells like freshly baked bread which makes his mouth water. It’s been a while since he’s eaten.

”Hey, y’all. Can I help you?” a woman comes up to him. It’s hard to tell how old she is, but her hair is badly dyed red, her clothes are old and worn, but clean. She has a friendly smile and very pretty blue eyes. The most remarkable thing about her, though, is her huge, pregnant stomach.

”Hey,” Jose smiles at her and tries to control what comes out of his mouth for once. If he gets into trouble here for running his mouth he’s fucked. ”Jason sent me. Told me to tell Ada he needs some bread. You Ada?”

”Yeah, I am.” She waddles away and signals him to follow her. ”You a friend of Jason’s ?” There’s something in the way she says it, that makes him bite his tongue for a second.

”Yeah, I’m here to teach the spring dance class.” Better keep it professional.

”Oh lord, then you’re Vanjie, right?” she seems really excited all of a sudden. ”My daughter Rachel is a big fan of yours and’ll be attending the workshop. She’s been looking forward to it for weeks!”

Jose wrinkles his forehead, because his workshops are for kids ten and up. ”So that’s not number one?” he asks and points to her pregnant belly.

Ada laughs loudly. ”No, that’s number seven.”

”Seven? Y’all must know how to keep busy around here.” He freezes when he stops to think about what he just said. But then Ada laughs as she passes him the bread.

”We just believe in accepting what the lord gives to us. However many kids he will bless us with, that’s how many we will have.”

Jose doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he just hands her some money for the bread. ”Thanks, Miss Ada. See ya ‘round.”

Thackery greets him with a head-bump when he gets back into the car. ”Yeah, you better be glad I’m still alive, bitch. This town is no joke.” He pulls out of the gravel parking space and back onto the road.

Jason hadn’t lied when he’d said his building was the biggest around. Also the newest, most modern and probably the only one with air-conditioning, by the looks of it.

”Miss Vanjie, you made it!” he greets him with a big smile and a hug. He looks like a fucking cowboy with his hat and the boots he is wearing.

”You better believe it. And bitch, you will owe me so fucking much, after this shit is over! ‘Cause, child, this town is way too hillbilly realness for my gay ass!”

***

‘… When the world’s all that it should be Blessed be your name. Blessed be your name on the road marked with suffering, though there’s pain in the offering. Blessed be your name.’ Brock hits the button to shut off his alarm clock and whatever crap the Christian Rock station plays in the very early hours of the morning. He doesn’t even really like the station, but he still doesn’t dare to change it. He’s had the same alarm clock with the same radio station since he was fifteen. Sometimes it feels like time stands still within his four walls.

Brock’s eyes already burn with fatigue, even though he hasn’t opened them yet. His arms and legs hurt, his head is pounding and the heaviness that settles in his body every second of every day hasn’t left during this short night’s sleep either.

He wants to sleep and stay in bed, just like every other day. And just like every other day he slowly sits up, grabs some clothes from the dresser and gets ready in the dark. He squints when the light from the porch light hits his eyes as he steps into the hallway. He tiptoes around because he doesn’t want to wake his parents, but the old wooden floorboards creak under his weight anyway. His parents, at least, should get a couple more hours of sleep, even if he can’t.

The cows come first, then the pigs. By the time he gets to the chicken, the sun is rising and the farm comes to life around him.

He takes a moment for himself when he sits down beside the barn door and pets one of the kittens, resting his head against the chipped wood of the door. The little guy has taken a liking to him and sometimes, when his mother isn’t watching he sneaks him into his room, so he has company as he reads or listens to music in the evenings.

With a loud sigh he gets back up after a while. He doesn’t have time to rest and he’s not really looking forward to another argument with his father when he’s barely awake yet.

”Good morning,” Brock greets his parents waiting at the breakfast table, pressing a kiss to his mother’s cheek.

”Morning, Brock. You’re going to say grace today?” she asks him.

”Sure,” he shrugs and sits down. He still feels like a little kid every time she asks this of him. If he had his way they would just start eating. ”Father, we praise You for the nourishment you provide. Thank You for meeting our physical needs of hunger and thirst. Forgive us for taking that simple joy for granted. Bless this food to fuel our bodies forward into your plan for our lives. We pray that we will be energised and be able to work for the glory or your kingdom. In Jesus’ name, amen.” He automatically recites the prayer, but feels nothing as he speaks these words.

”Amen,” his parents both say and Brock can finally eat something after slaving away at the farm for the last three hours.

”Brock, you’re gonna have to hurry up after driving the kids to school today. We have to get the barn roof fixed before the May storms come in.”

”I know. Just, Daniel needs me in the afternoon, so he can keep the deadline for the new annex at the Miller farm.” Since his brother started his construction business, Brock has spent more hours up on roofs than in his own room. But his brother needs his help, because he can’t afford to pay more workers at the moment.

”I need you back at four. Tell him I said so.” His father lays down the law as per usual. Brock just nods and puts his toast down. He’s not hungry anymore. Swallowing the last bite is painful and the familiar heaviness weighing on his chest even makes it hard to breathe.

The day has barely started and already it seems endless and draining. Just like every other damn day in his life. Sometimes, he wishes he could just leave and escape. Be someone else, someone who has some say over their own life and gets to do what he wants to do. Enjoy life just a bit more. Yet, it looks like that’s not the lord’s plan for him.

***

”Ruthie! Jonathan! Rachel! Uncle Brock is here!” Ada yells with a volume that one wouldn’t expect out of such a small woman.

Every morning when he stops by it’s absolute chaos. The kids can’t find their bags, their homework or their shoes. The younger ones forget to brush their teeth or their hair and the two older ones try and help their mother wrangle them all into the waiting cars, so they can go to school.

Before his sister got pregnant for the seventh time she was somehow able to do it on her own. But now that the school in town has closed and they all need to go to the one, one town over, it’s harder for Ada. She can barely fit behind the wheel anymore and she works too much anyway. Taking care of six kids, with one on the way, managing the household and working full-time at her own grocery store, while her husband is on the road making money as a truck driver, is hard.

Brock wishes they would just stop having kids. Six is too many already and he is scared to think of how many more will come after number seven.

”You ok, Brock? You look tired?” Ada asks him with a worried look in her eyes. He should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. He wishes he could tell her about how exhausted he feels, how trapped, how much his life sucks and how much he wants out.

”Sure. Just didn’t sleep too well.” He says instead and goes to find his nieces himself, just so he can get away from her and her dangerous questions.

Ada kisses each kid goodbye as they leave and he gets a kiss on the cheek as well, as she stays behind with the younger ones, that she will somehow watch at the same time as she works in the grocery store.

”Uncle Brock, guess what!” ten-year-old Rachel says as soon as they are on the road. She always gets to drive shotgun, because she likes to talk to him, while the rest is asleep again in the backseat.

”What?”

”No, guess, guess!” She is so excited she is bouncing in her seat.

”You have to give me a clue, Rach. Otherwise I don’t even know what exactly I’m supposed to guess.”

She sighs, but then gives in ”Ok. But only one!”

”Only one clue.” Brock nods and smiles a bit. He really loves her a whole lot and she always manages to warm his heart.

”It is about what I’ll do next week after school.”

”Uhm… you’ll meet your friends?”

”No.”

”You’ll study every day,” he teases her.

”No.”

”You’ll help grandpa fix the roof.”

”That’s for boys, dummy!” She giggles. ”Imma join Vanjie’s dance class! Momma said yes!”

”What’s Vanjie?”

”Not what, Uncle Brock, who! He is the bestest dancer who does all the choreography for like Rihanna and Ariana Grande.”

”You know you’re not supposed to listen to that kind of music, right?”

”They play it all the time at Jason’s dance studio. Momma knows that! And she said yes! I think Imma get an autograph from Vanjie!”

”Jason, of course.” Brock tries to keep his tone neutral. He can’t say that he likes Jason very much. It’s not so much that he’s gay - even though that’s wrong too. It’s more the fact that he has to shove it in people’s faces with the way he dresses and talks. Sometimes he has guys over that dress in women’s clothes and wear make up. It’s just… his father calls it an abomination. Still, Jason is a great dance teacher and the kids love him, and so does his niece. How much worse can thisVanjie be?

***

”Brock! Finally! I thought you’d be here by twelve!” Brock’s brother is already up on the roof, hammering away when he gets there.

”I wanted to, but a new shipment came in at the grocery store and I didn’t want Ada to carry the heavy boxes.”

”How is she? She popped already?” Daniel laughs and hands him the hammer. He takes it when he has found a more secure stand. Brock is afraid of heights and crawling up on roofs every day is not very high on the lists of things he likes to do. But his brother needs help and his family needs the money, so what choice does he have?

”She’s getting bigger every day, but still insists on doing most on her own. I just hope Jack comes back soon.”

”He’s the man, he needs to make the money,” Daniel shrugs. ”Once you get married, the days of just working a bit here and there will be over, too, my friend.” Daniel laughs, but Brock just wants to slap him. If they weren’t up on a damn roof without any safety equipment, he just might have. Instead he grabs a nail and hammers it in with as much force as he can. At least the work up here can be somewhat therapeutic.

He gets to the ninth nail when the head of the hammer flies off and scares Brock so much he nearly falls backward. The metal flies off and hits the ground, where gladly no one is standing.

”Shit! I thought you fixed the tools!” he snaps at his older brother.

”I did! You banging away like a madman doesn’t help. These are damn cheap tools. They’re not meant to be used every day to build houses and roofs.”

”Dan, this is dangerous! I could have killed someone with this! I could have hurt you or myself.”

”You think I don’t know that, Brock? What am I fucking supposed to do? Build me some tools myself?”

”Buy new ones!” Brock yells back. It’s not like anyone is around who could hear them up there.

”Do you have any idea what that shit costs? One roofing hammer costs about 50 bucks and I need at least 6 different ones, and that times two at least! And if I really wanna go somewhere with this business I’ll need a nail gun, too. That alone is nearly two grand. I don’t have that kind of money, kiddo. I have a family and obligations. Not like you!”

”Hey, I don’t have money either! I’ve been saving for months just so I can finally get my truck fixed.”

”So you do have money!”

”Dan… that car breaks down every couple of days and I need it.”

”You could just take ma’s old one.”

”That has no A/C and it’s too small. The kids don’t fit in there when I take them to school.”

”Brock, come on! I’ll pay you back, man.” Brock thinks for a second about just leaning back and letting himself fall. Well, not really.

Or?

Is he really a rotten person, because he doesn’t want to give his brother the money he carefully put aside, so he can finally get the necessary repair on his old car done? A car he desperately needs to drive to the several fields and orchards they have, drive his nieces and nephews back and forth from school and to their extra-curricular and also to get to his brother’s construction sites. And sometimes, just once in a blue moon, he needs the car to drive out into the middle of nowhere and scream out into the night and cry where no-one can see or hear him, so he doesn’t lose his mind.

”Fine. I only have 3 grand, though.” It’s his brother and he has to help him out. That’s what family does.

”Thanks, man! Now back to work so I can be home by dinner time. Lilly’s making stew tonight!”

Brock nods, grabs another hammer and lets out his frustration on the nails. There won’t be any stew for him once he is done here; only more work, more problems, more prayers, more self-doubts and guilt.

***

”Uncle Brock, you have to come in with me! Pleeeeease!” Rachel begs when they reach the dance studio. His plan was to go home and finally get some sleep, since he was up last night delivering a new fowl. His headache is nearly killing him and he probably shouldn’t even be driving, but how can he say no to his favorite niece?

”Fine. I just hope the music isn’t too loud.”

”It has to be loud, otherwise we can’t hear it when we dance,” she skips ahead and holds the door open for him.

It’s not loud music he hears, but a man yelling at TJ Johnson in a volume Brock didn’t think possible. His head pounds, but he can only stare in fascination.

”If you motherfucker ever come in here again and talk smack about mah friend, Imma kick your ugly hillbilly ass, you got me bitch?” he finishes the rant that seems to have gone on for a while if TJ’s dumbfounded expression is any indication. ”Fucking assholes in this motherfucking town.” The guy grumbles and turns around to face them. He’s not that tall, with brown hair, that is styled in some movie stars way, where half of it is missing in the back. He has brown eyes that are dark with anger and tan skin. Brock wonders what his ethnicity is. His arms are full of tattoos and his ears are pierced.

He’s beautiful.

”What the fuck are you staring at, bitch? You got something to say about Jason, too?” he barks at Brock, who can only shake his head as he keeps staring at him.

Then he’s gone, and has disappeared behind the door of the dancing studio.

”Uncle Brock, what does motherfucker mean?” Rachel looks up at him with wide eyes.

”That’s a very bad and nasty word, Rachel. I don’t ever want to hear it coming out of your mouth!” He becomes stern, which is rare.

”But Vanjie said it!”

”If that’s Vanjie then I should maybe talk to your mother, because I’m not sure I want you around this guy!” The pout on Rachel’s face makes him give in and let her join the class for today at least.

As angry and crude as Vanjie just was with TJ, he’s great to the kids, and they seem to have a blast. Brock watches the lesson through the glass window for a while, but at some point the too-warm, sticky air in the studio gets to him and he falls asleep.

***

”Hey there, sleeping beauty.” Brock opens his eyes and what he sees are two warm, sparkling brown eyes and a large smile.

”Hey,” he says and tries to shake himself awake.

”You ok there, Mary?”

”Yeah, sorry. I was up all night. One of our horses needed help with the birth,” he says, even though that much information isn’t needed at all. It’s not like he owes this guy any explanation. ”Lesson done?”

”Yeah, the kids are just changing.  Here,” He hands him a cup of coffee that Brock accepts gratefully. ”You’re with Rachel, right”

”Yes.”

”She’s good.”

”Thanks.” He takes a sip of the coffee and doesn’t really know what else to say. He is surprised when the guy sits down beside him. He smells nice, like cologne and hairspray, even after the training lesson, which Brock finds surprising. However he can’t tell him that.

”I’m Jose.” He holds out his hand.

”You’re Mexican?” It’s curiosity not racism, and he hopes it won’t be mistaken as such.

”Nah, Puerto Rican.” Jose just laughs. ”And you are?” He is still holding out his hand.

”Brock.”

”Nice to meet you, Brock.” He shakes his hand and finds it warm and surprisingly soft. He knows his hands are rough and calloused from the work he does.

”So Vanjie isn’t your actual name?”

Jose snorts. ”Nah… just some stupid nickname given to me by one of my clients. I always made her go all Banjie girl in her videos and for her shows, and ‘cause part of my last name is Vasquez, she started calling me Vanjie. It just stuck.”

The explanation makes absolutely no sense to Brock, but  nods anyway. Thankfully, though, he’s saved from saying more by the ringing of his phone.

”Hey Lily,” he greets his sister-in-law, but what she tells him makes his blood run cold. ”Yeah, stay there, I’ll be there as fast as I can,” he tells her and hangs up.

”Can you please get Rachel? My brother fell off a roof and was taken to the hospital. They need me there,” he asks of Jose, who runs off without saying anything. Brock gets up and runs his hands through his hair. This is not good. This could be… he doesn’t even want to think about it. Just the costs alone for the hospital will be too much, for all of them. He feels dizzy, and the room around him starts to spin.

”Hey, you look as white as a sheet. You sure you can drive?” The light touch of Jose’s hand on his arm stops the spinning for a moment. Should he drive? Probably not. He shouldn’t have driven here in the first place. But an hour to the next hospital with Rachel in the car? He’s still so tired. He doesn’t know when he has eaten last. And breathing is still hard.

”I…” he doesn’t know what to say, but he has no choice, really. He needs to get to the hospital.

”I’ll drive you, come on,” Jose is gone for a second and comes back with his wallet and car keys. He grabs Brock’s wrist and takes Rachel by the hand and leads them both outside. Brock doesn’t even know if the car is black or white, only that it smells like leather and cologne. Jose makes sure that everybody is buckled in before he takes off. It never crosses Brock’s mind to refuse the offer, because he’s just too overwhelmed by life at the moment.

Brock manages to give him directions, but otherwise just listens to Vanjie telling Rachel some funny stories to distract her and calm her down. Brock can’t laugh, though, because his mind is going way over speed limit, worrying and calculating already how much more he’ll have to work and what they’ll have to sell to pay for the hospital bills and take care of Daniel’s new business. He doesn’t allow himself to wonder how badly his brother  might be injured. He wouldn't’ be able to take it at the moment.

TBC

[toxoiddiamond]

T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Seong Ki-mun Nicknames: He briefly went by the name Kyle in middle school because he was tired of people teasing him about his “weird” name. But by the time he got to high school he didn’t care anymore and was back to going by his real name. (He also started purposely mispronouncing the names of anyone who made fun of his name– think A-a-ron.) Age: 30 Birthday: November 23rd Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius Birthplace: Anaheim, California Current Location: NYC, New York Speaks: English, Korean (fluently, but his family teases him about his “American accent” all the time) Dominant Hand: Right Education: He got his Associates Degree from LaGuardia Community College, then transferred to NYU and got his Bachelors in Arts & Sciences. He cheerfully refers to college as the most money he’s ever wasted in his life. Occupation: Teaching Assistant in the English department at CUNY Hunter College. He mostly assists with the Writing and Poetry classes, but also helps out with various Literature classes and acts as a substitute teacher within the department if a professor is out sick or anything. He sometimes ends up being treated more like a personal assistant– sent out for coffee or lunch, asked to type up notes or sort paperwork, but he doesn’t mind. Vehicle: Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle bought him a white 1998 Honda Prelude when he graduated from high school, and he still has it to this day. He doesn’t drive much since it’s so impractical in the city, but he likes having it around as an option for longer trips, road trips, etc. Worldly Possessions: Tons of random art supplies– pencils, charcoal, sketchbooks, clay, paints, brushes, etc. Notebooks completely filled with poetry (with many of the poems scribbled out). A fancy smart TV. A bunch of bean bag chairs. A super nice tablet (Ki-Mun may have a bit of an obsession with having the latest technology~). Tons of socks– like, way too many socks. He has an entire dresser drawer just for his socks. Pet(s): A super adorable calico munchkin kitty named Bugsy.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: He says 5’8”, but he’s closer to 5’7”. Hair: Dark black. Very full, soft and shiny. Always seems to fall perfectly into place even with the bare minimum of effort. He usually just puts a bit of pomade in it and tousles it. Facial Hair: His facial hair is very patchy, so he doesn’t bother growing it out. Eye Colour: Brown Skin Tone: A makeup artist friend of his, Andi, occasionally asks to put makeup on Ki-mun as practice (and also for fun) and has informed Ki-mun that his skin tone is “warm beige.” She also informed Ki-mun that he is an Autumn– Ki-mun doesn’t know what that means, but he likes to share it as a fun fact anytime he has to introduce himself to a group of students. Clothing: Ki-mun dresses like a pretty typical hipster, honestly. Skinny jeans, oversized sweaters, band tees, peacoats, cardigans, leather jackets, etc. He usually wears contacts, but occasionally wears big ol’ glasses. Distinguishing Marks: Does being adorable count as a distinguishing feature? Face Claim: Justin H Min

H E A L T H Physical Health: Not bad. Ki-mun was born HIV positive, but has been taking antiretroviral medications since he was a kid. At this point, his viral load is basically non-existent and he is considered to be in remission, with a very good prognosis. Because of the medication he takes, his immune system is not the best, and he is much more susceptible to getting sick as a result. During cold and flu season, Ki-mun will often wear a mask when he’s out in public– his aunt and uncle ingrained that habit in him from a young age (and also wore masks themselves so he wouldn’t feel like the odd one out). Physical Abilities/Limitations: He’s decent at almost anything to do with art, but is especially good at drawing with charcoal. He also likes doing speed-sketches, figure sketches, etc. He is also weirdly good at baseball, and plays on the New York City Metro Baseball Team as part of the NY Blacksox during the season (June through August). Also, he is great at tossing food directly into people’s mouths– popcorn, M&Ms, etc. He hardly ever misses. Addictions: Definitely caffeine, but no serious addictions. Allergies: He gets a mild rash when he eats or touches strawberries. Mental Health: It’s not horrible? It’s not great, but not horrible. As much as he denies it, Ki-mun is pretty lonely, partly because he has such a hard time letting anyone in. He’s not the most trusting person, and tends to keep people at arms’ length until he’s sure they can be trusted. At the moment, he only has one person in his life that he would actually consider a friend. Everyone else is just an acquaintance to him. Ki-mun has sort of “accepted” the idea that he may end up being alone forever, even though that’s not really what he wants.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Ki-mun was born in Anaheim, California, and got off to a pretty rough start. His mother had AIDS, and unfortunately, it was passed on to Ki-mun. He was fine and had no symptoms for a few months, but eventually began to get sick, though thanks to swift treatment, he recovered quickly and the HIV never progressed. As Ki-mun got older, his mother’s health began to deteriorate, until finally they moved in with Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle so they could help take care of her. She eventually was bedridden and had to stay in the hospital full time. One of Ki-mun’s earliest memories is of visiting his mother in the hospital for the last time, which is absolutely one of his worst memories. After his mother passed away, Ki-mun’s aunt and uncle took him in and raised him as one of their own children. They love him like crazy and were amazing parents to him, and Ki-mun has always been grateful to them– not only for raising him, but for loving him as much as they love their actual children and never making him feel like he mattered less. He had a relatively happy childhood in spite of everything. After high school, Ki-mun decided to move to New York– he wanted a change of pace, and wanted a chance to start over and reinvent himself. He found a job and began taking classes at the community college, managed to get his associate’s degree after a year and a half, and transferred to NYU to get his Bachelors. Ki-mun was a very dedicated student and didn’t spend a lot of time getting to know any of his fellow classmates, going to parties, making friends, etc. Still, he ended up being roped into a friend/study group, which is where he ended up meeting Spencer. Spencer was the first person that Ki-mun had serious feelings for. They were friends for the better part of two years, each attracted to the other but both too nervous to say anything. Finally, a week before graduation, Ki-mun got up the courage to confess how he felt, and they became an official couple for all of one day. Unfortunately, once Ki-mun explained to Spencer about his diagnosis, Spencer flew off the handle and accused Ki-mun of being deceptive, being a liar, being manipulative, etc. He told Ki-mun he was disgusting and to never contact him again, and that was that. Shortly after Ki-mun’s heart was smashed to pieces, he packed up everything he owned and moved to a new area of the city, wanting to put at least a little bit of distance between himself and his old friend group. It was here that he met Andi and became close friends with her, and also found a job at CUNY Hunter College. Although Ki-mun feels that his life is generally good and happy– he enjoys his job, has a really good friend and coworkers he likes, he has gotten really into his poetry lately and has been reading it at open mic nights– he can’t help but feel that something is missing from his life. Job History: He worked in his aunt and uncle’s restaurant from ages fifteen to eighteen. When he moved to New York, he did a little bit of job hopping before finally settling on a job at a grocery store– he stayed at that job until he graduated from college and took his job at CUNY Hunter. Fondest Memories: Despite the fact that his childhood was pretty rough at times, Ki-mun has a lot of great memories as well. Family trips to Korea, various birthdays, his graduation day. He also has fond memories of his job at the grocery store– as much as he didn’t enjoy the work, he really liked his coworkers. Plus, all the various spur-of-the-moment adventures Andi has dragged him into. Worst Experiences: His mother dying when he was four years old. Finally getting to be with the person he’d been hung up on for two years, only to be broken up with after less than a day.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Sarcastic. Often sounds like he might be annoyed. He speaks in monotone with most people, even when he’s not in a bad mood, so people often think he’s angry or doesn’t like them (and to be fair, they are sometimes correct). If he’s talking to a friend, he’ll definitely be more animated and not so grumpy. And if, by chance, he’s talking to someone he’s attracted to (*coughDODGERcough*) then he’ll get a little tongue-tied, like he wants to flirt but he doesn’t really know how. Accent: American. When he speaks Korean, his American accent does come through a bit, something his family likes to tease him about. Favorite Phrases or Words: When he’s done listening to someone and wants them to stop talking to him/stop telling him a boring story, he will just say “cool” in the most monotone voice he can manage. It usually works. Usual Curse Words: He says “Jesus Christ” and “oh fuck” a lot.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: ISFP-T Sense of Humor: Definitely sarcastic and dry. He can be mean at times, but usually only if the person deserves it. As a result, Ki-mun has been described as “sassy” more than once. When he’s with people he actually likes, Ki-mun is a lot more lighthearted and not so sarcastic. Habits: Twists his lips a little when he’s thinking hard. Rolls his eyes when someone says something he thinks is dumb. Also rolls his eyes and sighs if he’s stuck in a conversation he really doesn’t want to have. When he’s reading his poetry out loud, he never looks up at the audience/whoever is listening because he’ll get too nervous if he sees everyone looking at him. Fears/Phobias: As much as he tries to act like he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, Ki-mun is very secretive about certain aspects of himself, and is very afraid of someone finding out more about him than he wants them to know. He can’t stand having his privacy invaded, and it honestly makes him feel sick to think of the wrong person knowing too much about him (he still hates that he ever let himself be so vulnerable with Spencer, and blames himself for not seeing more clearly what kind of person he was). Strengths: Ki-mun is very creative and has a knack for all kinds of art. Although it’s hard to get to know him, once he becomes friends with someone, he is fiercely loyal and would do anything for them. As a teacher/teaching assistant, he is exceptionally patient– much more so than in other aspects of his life. He is always happy to answer questions and help anyone student who needs it. Underneath his harsh exterior, Ki-mun is a kind person who just has trouble opening himself up to others. Flaws: He has built up a lot of walls around himself in an effort to try and keep himself from getting hurt. Every time he’s let those walls down, he’s ended up regretting it and building them back up even higher. Anyone who wants to get to know him has to be very determined. Ki-mun is also not the type of person to be nice just because social conventions say he should– if he doesn’t like someone, he won’t talk to them. If he thinks someone is boring, he will tell them so. He can’t stand small talk and will never willingly engage in it. This makes him a very difficult person to interact with. Hopes/Desires: He is not entirely sure what he wants to do with his life, but right now, he’s happy just working and exploring his options. All he knows is that he wants to keep writing poetry, possibly get some published, and keep working in a field that lets him play to his strengths. Wildest Fantasy: A cure for HIV/AIDS being found. Self-Esteem: It’s a little complicated. On some level, Ki-mun is confident in himself and proud of all he’s accomplished in his life. But at the same time, he has it in his head that he doesn’t deserve some of the things he wants, such as a romantic relationship, marriage, a family, etc. He kind of views himself as damaged goods, unfortunately. Religion: He was raised Protestant, and his family used to be fairly devout. He went to church every Sunday, they read scriptures and said a family prayer every night, etc. But the older the kids got, the less active in the church the entire family became. His parents and siblings are still casually religious, and Ki-mun has held on to certain aspects of it, but he doesn’t care about going to church or reading the bible or anything.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Usually on his stomach, occasionally on his back. Boxers or Briefs?: Briefs Day or Night?: He’s okay with both. He works during the day, which he likes, and in the late afternoon/evening he goes to the cafe and hangs out or reads his poetry. Top or Bottom?: Bottom, but he’s willing to switch if his partner wants to. Partying or Relaxing?: He likes parties, but he really prefers relaxing when it comes right down to it.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Andi is currently the only person Ki-mun would call a friend. He has a lot of acquaintances, but no one else that he’s really close to. Relationship History: He dated a couple of people in high school, but it was just puppy love and nothing serious. He had a couple of flings in college as well, just short-lived, purely physical relationships, and the only sexual encounters Ki-mun has ever had. And then there was Spencer. Ki-mun has not even been on a date since that whole debacle. Sexual Partners: Just the two guys Ki-mun had brief flings with. Thoughts About Sex: He enjoys it. He’s also pretty sure he’s never going to have it again, and has come to accept that.

P A R E N T S Name(s): His mother’s name was Seong Bo-ram. His aunt and uncle are named Park Min-ji and Park Kang-dae. Age(s): His mother passed away at the age of 28. His aunt is 57 and his uncle is 60. Social Standing: His mother was very well-liked, but was shunned by a lot of her friends after she not only became pregnant out of wedlock, but ended up contracting HIV. His aunt and uncle are well-respected in their community, and also well-off financially, firmly in the upper middle class. Occupation(s): His mom was a flight attendant. His aunt and uncle run a small Korean restaurant which is extremely popular– on weekends there’s often a line of people outside waiting to get in. Religion: Protestant-ish. Quality of Relationship With Their Children: Ki-mun’s mom loved him a ton– the reason she left him to her sister and brother-in-law is because she knew they would love Ki-mun as much as she did, and she was right. Ki-mun is still very close to his aunt and uncle. Living/Deceased: His mother is dead, but his aunt and uncle are alive.

S I B L I N G (S) Name(s): Park Kang-min,  Jang-mi (aka Jamie) Sanders, and Park Bo-ram (named after Ki-mun’s mother). Age(s): 33, 31, and 27. Social Standing: They’re all doing quite well in life and are upstanding members of society. Occupation(s): Kang-min is a commercial airline pilot, Jamie is currently a stay-at-home mom but plans to go back to work as an RN once her kids are a little older, and Bo-ram is a violinist with the California Symphony. Religion: They’re all sorta Protestant, but Jamie is the only one of them who still goes to church now and then. Quality of Relationship with Character: Even though they are technically Ki-mun’s cousins, they always refer to him as their brother. They’re all pretty close; they don’t talk all the time or anything, but when they do, they get along very well and have always enjoyed each other’s company. Living/Deceased: All living~

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Ki-mun lives in a modest studio apartment fairly close to both his work and Central Park. The apartment is well-decorated, with a lived-in, cozy sort of look. He’s very comfortable where he is, not at all bothered by living in a small space, especially considering how much more expensive it would be to upgrade to a one-bedroom.

[the-original-b]

Archangel--Chapter 1: the Silvio Stakeout

Format: Prose / Ficton, multi-entry

Part in Series: 2 of 9 (Previous chapter)

Word Count: c. 6,100

Summary: Specialist Krueger follows a lead on the traitor to an exclusive vacation club in Miami, where he finds that there’s more to the plot against the Branch than initially suspected.

Trigger Warning(s): blood, violence, enhanced interrogation

“Good evening, Krueger,” Khai said over her headset. “Again, Mr. Wells extends his thanks for your help with the delivery the other day, and he’s begun to look for the leaks in his circle of trust, per your advice. He’d like your help with some of them.”

“I’m listening.” Krueger held an old flip phone to his left ear as he muted the television and sat down in front of his dinner—a lean cut of chicken with steamed broccolini and brown rice.

“We’ll start by addressing the bug you found in his office phone. Of all his lieutenants he only trusted three of them enough to grant access to his conference room. He’d like you to get some information from them.”

“Who’s the first one?” He held the phone in place with his shoulder while he cut a piece off his chicken.

“C.J. Silvio: internet personality and son of the Southeast Region’s Managing Partner, Charles Silvio. A man of night life, excess, and debauchery, your usual popup celebrity.”

“Charming.” He put the piece in his mouth and started to work on the vegetables.

“Once a month he retreats to Miami to confer with other Branch managers in the Region. They’re set to meet in South Beach, where he’ll spend the week indulging in all the decadence there before and after the conference.”

Krueger swallowed. “So we act when his guard is down.”

“Precisely. He’ll book his usual stay at the Aurora Club in a week, so I’ll arrange for your stay there to coincide with his.”

“Transportation?”

“I’ll take care of that, too. Business class flight to Miami International and car rental reserved for Sebastian Weber.”

“Rules of engagement?” Krueger took another bite.

“Observation only,” Khai clarified. “Mr. Wells was clear on that. Remember, the rest of our Branch still has no idea you’re with us, so there’s no need for unnecessary violence. And the last thing we want is to have the son of Silvio killed.”

Krueger swallowed. “I’m still going to need tools.”

“I’m curating your selection as we speak. You’ll just have to finalize it.”

“I’ll be there in forty minutes.” Krueger folded his cell phone shut to end the call.

 ``````

“I thought this was an observation job, Miss Khai.” Krueger examined the hardware before him and shot Khai an incredulous look. He’d already selected a directional microphone and declined a pair of military-grade binoculars.

“It is,” Khai confirmed, “but Mr. Wells and I agree it’s better to be prepared for the worst. Due to the nature of this task, however, I’ve narrowed the usual selection down and eliminated the more, conspicuous, options.”

“That wasn’t a complaint.”

“Excellent.” Khai sorted through the firearms and handed him one. “FN Five-seven USG.” Krueger took up the weapon and inspected it. “Lightweight polymer frame and slide, twenty-round magazine. Low caliber, high-velocity, armor-piercing. They might not go down at first, but accurate follow-up shots won’t be an issue with this one.”

Krueger was familiar with the weapon, having trained with one in preparation for a protection job some years ago. He racked the slide back and held it out with both hands to acquire the sight picture. It was as easy as pointing his finger.

Khai smirked. “Do you like it?”

“Tempting,” Krueger said. “But the idea is to not be noticed.” He put the gun down and picked up one of its 5.7mm rounds—a tiny replica of a rifle cartridge. “And these are very loud.”

Khai nodded. “I figured you might want something quieter.” She handed him another candidate, a .45 ACP Colt Government.

“Old Faithful,” Krueger noted, taking the gun into his hands. He examined the threading at the end of the barrel.

Khai handed him another piece. “AAC TiRant 45 suppressor.”

Krueger affixed the tube to the end of the pistol and looked down the sights, acquiring an accurate picture before dry-firing to test the trigger weight. He nodded in approval at Khai and placed the .45 on the tabletop beside him. “I may need to be quieter than even this,” he said.

“Do you want the karambit again?”

“I was thinking something less… permanent.”

“Right,” Khai nodded. “Rohypnol, then.”

  ``````

Krueger stepped off the plane and reclaimed his bag from the conveyor before heading over to Enterprise to pick up his rental car—a nondescript barebones mid-size sedan that was good for little other than getting him from point A to B. He had another stop to make before getting settled in.

Khai had his tools sent to Miami in the days before he arrived. They waited for him in the trunk of an unattractive coupe at a municipal parking lot. Krueger used a valet key duct taped inside the wheel well to unlock the car and reclaim his goods, and then headed to his lodging.

The illustrious Aurora Club. A sleek hotel located in the middle of South Beach, and a destination popular among Spring Break travelers with fake IDs young enough to be Krueger’s children. He pushed the thought of his seventeen-year-old daughter spending time in a place like this out of his head and strode to the front desk.

“Hello, sir. Welcome,” the receptionist said from behind his desk. “Are you checking in?”

“I am.” Kruger said. “Name’s Sebastian Weber.” He made a point to pronounce the W to make the receptionist’s job easier.

“Weber… Weber…” the receptionist checked the reservations. “Ah, there you are! Your reservation was made by a Liz K... paid in full, seven nights’ stay. Ocean view..! She must like you, huh?”

Khai had only shared with him where he was staying and for how long. She was mute on the details of the trip she booked for him. “She spoils me, yeah.”

“I’ll say...” He retrieved a keycard from under the tabletop and handed it to Krueger. “Room 1946. Enjoy your stay at the Aurora Club, Mr. Weber.”

“I certainly intend to. Thanks.”

``````

Krueger tapped his keycard on the reader immediately left of the door when he arrived at his room. He turned the door handle downward and pushed it to reveal a neatly organized room with a desk and lamp, flat panel television, marble-top night table with matching bed linens, a cozy couch in the corner, and just enough auxiliary luxuries to justify the cost of staying here.

Mr. Wells could write it off as a business expense, or see it as an investment. It didn’t matter to Krueger, ultimately.

Krueger placed his bags on the floor and walked through the sliding glass doors overlooking the beach. He retrieved the burner phone included in his kit to dial the only number stored in it.

“This is Khai,” she said after it rang thrice. Her tone was all-business, one he’d only previously heard when she first reached out to him so long ago.

“It’s me,” he said. “I’ve arrived on the premises.”

“Hello, Krueger.” Her tone pulled a one-eighty back to the warm, friendly one she usually spoke to him in. “How are the amenities?”

“Stellar. You really didn’t have to go so far out of the way for me.”

“Mr. Wells said to keep you happy, no matter what.”

He could see her grin in his mind’s eye. “I’m a man of simple tastes, Miss Khai, it doesn’t take expensive gestures like this to please me.”

Khai chuckled on the other end. “You’ll have to enlighten me some time, then.” She took a breath, getting herself back on track for the job at hand. “Young Silvio’s flight gets in tonight,” she said. “He’ll most likely commemorate his arrival at a nightclub, followed by an after-party at his suite… feel like getting in touch with your wild side?”

“I think I’ll stay in. It’s a school night after all.”

“I’ll leave you to prepare, then,” she said, laughing under her breath. “Best of luck.”

``````

Krueger’s Sunday night was spent in his hotel room studying the information Khai put together for him. Young Silvio’s picture, height, weight, build, preferred beverage. When he wakes up, goes to bed, when and what he eats, how frequently he uses the bathroom, the kind of women he attracts. He put a composite profile together and designed his plan around it.

Monday morning came and Krueger ran three miles along the beach before returning to the hotel for a lean breakfast. He studied a hotel brochure over black coffee and made mental notes of the services and suites offered there, deducing where in this labyrinth his prey was likely roosting. He went back upstairs to change into his swimwear.

That afternoon, when Silvio and his entourage were just starting their day at the pool area, Krueger lay on a bench drying off in his trunks and a sleeveless shirt, a small gym bag on the floor immediately to his right. He had his directional microphone tucked under the small of his back and pointed where he knew Silvio and his buddies would be while he listened in with a single wireless earbud. He would periodically turn pages in a copy of Michael Crichton’s Prey and peer over his aviator sunglasses at a passing woman every now and then to maintain the illusion.

Silvio returned to the pool area that evening, surrounded by young bikini-clad women he displayed like trophies to all the on-looking boys who didn’t know better. Krueger had the microphone tucked under his thigh toward the crowd as he stayed seated at the bar just far enough into Silvio’s peripheral vision that he blended into the background.

Krueger uploaded the recordings to a laptop supplied to him and studied the audio that night, finding no mention of Wells or the conference room. Between his public displays and audio logs, Krueger could safely hypothesize one or a combination of three things: C.J. Silvio was either clean, very smart, or very dumb. But tomorrow was a new day, he would solidify his theories then.

``````

Tuesday was mostly a repeat of Monday: Krueger went for his run in the morning and had his breakfast at the hotel and a swim afterward. He returned to the pool that afternoon for more surveillance on Silvio and his crew. He chose this time to not wear a shirt and display a lean athletic build that he maintained despite his age, left shoulder half-sleeve tattoo of dense tiger stripes, and stylized skull and crossbones tattoo on the right side of his chest to more casually fit in as he observed Silvio and his entourage from his pool bench.

He stopped when he noticed a more effective opportunity to gather information pass right in front of him. Krueger covertly shut off the microphone under him and slipped it back inside the bag just out of sight before standing up to follow this new lead, taking his equipment bag with him.

A young, supple woman with long, wavy dark hair in a canary yellow bikini and see-through sarong made her way to the bar and leaned against it. Krueger had seen her yesterday evening hovering around Silvio along with so many other impressionable women, but there was something different about her. And here she was again, associating with him although her body language practically screamed she’d rather not. She peered back over to Silvio again, the look in her eyes was almost contemptuous.

Krueger stood next to her and ordered a mojito. “Excuse me, miss?”

She turned to face him, taken aback at first by the lack of effort he put into successfully getting her attention.

He motioned Silvio. “I saw you hanging around that young man there,” he said sliding a few bills in her direction. “Let him know his next margarita is on me.”

The girl looked down at the money and back up at Krueger. “Uh, yeah. Sure, you bet.”

Krueger smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

His play worked to perfection. Krueger watched peripherally as the girl in yellow and black handed Silvio a fresh margarita, and thumbed back in his direction. And before long Silvio stood up to swagger over to him, drink in hand.

“Hey man,” Silvio said, grinning behind a pair of single-lens sunglasses “I just wanted to say thanks for the drink!”

Krueger turned to look at Silvio from behind his aviators. “No problem. I saw how much fun you and your friends were having over there.”

Silvio laughed and bobbed a little. “I like this guy,” he said, apparently to an imaginary audience. “I’m Charlie!” He held out his fist.

“Sebastian.” Krueger met Silvio’s fist with his own.

“I’m hearing an accent, Sebastian. Where’re you from?”

“Germany.”

“Aah, Deutschland! Am I saying that right??” Silvio’s smile was earnest.

Krueger nodded in approval. “You’re very close.”

“Ha ha, nice!” Silvio gained his footing again. He was intoxicated even at this hour. “You here on business or pleasure?”

“I find, at times, they’re one and the same.”

Silvio laughed louder. “I love this guy!” he said. “You gotta come hang out with us!”

“Some other time, maybe. I have to get back to it, unfortunately.”

“No, no I’m serious,” Silvio said, patting Krueger’s shoulder and holding on to it. “You have to party with us tonight!”

Krueger tilted his head slightly, projecting the illusion of mulling it over. “Yeah, that might seem possible.”

“Yes!! We’re meeting back here at 9:30, be there!”

“Looking forward to it.” Krueger held his fist out for Silvio.

Silvio tapped it with his own. “My guy,” he called after Krueger as he left the area. “I love the tats, dude!”

``````

Krueger arrived at the pool area at 9:35, in a lightweight short sleeve blue shirt that buttoned up the middle and khaki swim trunks. Silvio warmly welcomed him among his entourage with a hug and a smile that he matched. He took a seat among the crowd—three other heavy-set men in t-shirts and shorts he had previously seen around Silvio, and about a dozen women in various assorted swimsuits who kept marveling at his eyes, telling him they’d never seen eyes like his before.

At about 11:20, Silvio broke away from the group, saying he didn’t feel great and citing how little he ate all day. He encouraged the rest of the group to keep partying in his absence, but by 11:40 all that remained was Krueger and the dark-haired girl from before, this time in a green bikini top and white capri pants. Even his buddies were nowhere to be found.

“I hope Silvio’s okay up there,” Krueger said.

“I don’t,” the girl said. “I hope he got food poisoning and it ruins his whole week.”

Krueger shot the girl a look. He could see she was deadly serious about what she said. “Why get close to him if you hate him so much?”

The girl recoiled a little. “My big sister, uh… got pregnant with his kid.” She shook her head. “That scuzzball dumped her as soon as she told him. I wanted to ruin him. Humiliate him somehow.”

Krueger knew that wouldn’t have ended well for her. For all his extroversion and charm, C.J. Silvio was still a man with connections to very dangerous people. “What did you say your name was?”

“Andrea,” she said.

“Andrea,” he echoed. “My daughter was almost an Andrea. She’s a few years younger than you.”

Andrea gave him a look. “No kidding. What’s her name?”

“Victoria. Her mother, my ex-wife, preferred it.”

“Victoria.” Andrea nodded, looking down briefly at Krueger’s left hand and confirming the absence of a ring on his finger. “It’s a good, strong name. My sister’s name… and you said you were Sebastian, right?”

“That’s right.” Krueger hated having to lie to Andrea, but he had a job to do. Fortunately, he thought of a way to both do that and help the girl out. “Andrea, do you want to get Charlie back for your sister?”

“Hell yeah..!”

“Meet me at the bar in fifteen minutes,” he said, getting up. “I’ll be back.”

``````

Krueger tapped the keycard at the reader just beside the door to Room 2000, the Conquistador Suite, where Young Silvio was staying. He’d known where to find him after recording him boast about booking the suite for the week, and lifted the key moments after it fell out of Silvio’s pocket earlier that night. He crossed the threshold to find the lights still on, empty liquor bottles and condom wrappers on the floor of the common area, and Silvio himself passed out on the couch across from his open suitcase. He figured Silvio staggered back to the front desk to get a replacement key when he realized he’d lost his first one and didn’t make it to his bed before succumbing to the Rohypnol Krueger slipped into his margaritas.

It was almost poetic, to do unto Silvio what he had no doubt done to others. Still, Krueger almost pitied the man, and he still had a job to do. He scanned the room quickly, spotting an open laptop in the kitchenette, and then moved silently across the floor to peer into each of the four bedrooms to find them all empty. Once he identified Silvio’s space, Krueger scooped him up under his arm pits and dragged him to bed.

Silvio murmured in his sleep as Krueger laid him on top of the mattress. “Don’t ever trust somebody you meet at bar, Mr. Silvio,” he said in response as he went for the door. “Especially not one who sends you a drink.” On the way out he flipped the lock in the doorknob and pulled the door shut behind him to lock it.

Then he went for the laptop. He tapped the mousepad twice to wake it up. The desktop icons and open windows greeted him.

“Kein passwort,” he said to himself. “Dieser idiot…”

He retrieved a USB flash drive and antenna from his pockets, plugging them in to Silvio’s laptop and running the scripts stored in them, designed effectively to run a copy-paste command of the entire computer—programs, files, keystrokes, everything—and transmit it downstairs to a receiver connected to Krueger’s laptop and write it to an external solid-state drive. It was over in ten minutes. Krueger recovered his devices and left the room the way it was.

Then he made his way back to the poolside bar, where he told Andrea to wait for him. He presented her Sivio’s room key. “Charlie’s in room 2000,” he said. “The Conquistador Suite.”

Andrea’s eyes widened. “No freaking way..!” She took the card. “How’d you get this from him?”

“He dropped it. His suitcase is open in the common area. Why don’t you throw his things over the balcony..?” he added with a smirk.

Andrea couldn’t help but laugh. She looked down away from Krueger to the key card in her hand and then back at him. “Why are you doing this for me? You don’t even know me.”

“Let’s just say I know a few people who would like to see Charlie Silvio calm down. And you seem like a nice girl who loves her sister and would do anything for her.”

Andrea gave Krueger a warm smile. “You know,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’re probably the coolest, most genuine and honest person I’ve ever met at this place. And Victoria is lucky to have you as a father.”

Krueger blinked. “It means a lot that you’d say so. Thank you for that, Andrea.”

“No, Sebastian” she said, gesturing the key card in her hand. “Thank you for this..!” She smiled again and hesitated for a little before letting an excited squeal out and hugging Krueger, then backing away just as quickly. “That’s if I don’t see you again,” she said with a nervous laugh and shrug before trotting toward the elevator to Silvio’s suite.

``````

After Krueger’s run on Wednesday morning and breakfast on the hotel grounds, he took his laptop and the external drive to the Miami Beach Regional Library to study what he pulled from Silvio’s computer; when the library closed for the day he took it back to his room. Upon returning he turned on the local news to see the celebrity gossip reporter cover a story about C.J. Silvio scrambling to recover his clothes from the bushes surrounding a South Beach hotel before returning to his work. He sifted through the materials for hours—a collection of music, movies, pornographic images and video, Skype records, anything he could find—but finding nothing implicating him in the plot against Wells. He still had half the transcription to cover, he’d pick it up tomorrow morning.

Silvio left the hotel grounds Thursday afternoon with his three male companions to attend the conference with his father, the Southeast Region’s Managing Partner. Krueger didn’t need the directional microphone to know how that conversation would play out. The way he saw it, he and Andrea did Young Silvio a favor.

He returned to his room that night to continue his examination of the external drive. At 11:30pm he arrived at a string of Wrike instant messages sent between Silvio and another user, HeimdallrsEyez.

It was more a string of attempts at contacting Silvio. HeimdallrsEyez would initiate the conversation with a dollar amount. Silvio wouldn’t respond. A few days later HeimdallrsEyez would write back with a higher amount which Silvio would ignore. This happened three more times before Silvio finally responded with Fuck off already! I’m not doing it!

Krueger sat back in his chair to reflect on it. HeimdallrsEyez knew how close Silvio was to Wells, and was probing him for a price that would entice him to betray his boss. But when Silvio refused and the offers stopped coming, HeimdallrsEyez found someone else. This crystalized Krueger’s prior hypothesis.

He was taken from his thoughts by a knock at his door.

Quickly and quietly, Krueger hid the laptop and external drive in a dresser drawer and traded them for his Colt Government and suppressor. He fixed the extension to the end of the barrel and quietly approached the door, keeping the weapon trained on it as me moved.

He pressed the end of the suppressor can against the door and looked through the peephole at a young, attractive wide-eyed woman dressed in the hotel staff’s uniform. “Mr. Sebastian?” she called through the door to him. “I’m sorry if I woke you, but Mr. Silvio had me send this up to you.” She presented a bottle of champagne.

Krueger acknowledged the numerous red flags in this scenario, but holstered his weapon under his pale, loose button-up shirt and opened the door to accept the champagne. “Thank you, miss,” he said. He took another look at this woman; her name tag read Tessa. “That’s very generous of him.”

“Yeah,” another male voice to his left said. He recognized it belonged to one of Silvio’s boys. “It is.”

Krueger expected it. He turned his head to see down the barrel of a MAC-10, and the three of them lined up against the wall behind it. Krueger slowly put his hands up shoulder-high.

“Let’s go for a drive, Fixer,” the one holding the gun said.

``````

They escorted Krueger to an SUV in the rear parking lot of the hotel, got inside and all sat in silence as they took him south along Route A1A, turning left on 5th Street toward the MacArthur Causeway.

Krueger sat between two of the hit men in the back seat while the third one drove. He noted the MAC-10 in the lap of the man to his right and a semi-auto pistol in the hand of the one to his left. Krueger finally spoke when they made it to Watson Island. “When I checked on Silvio the other night,” he explained, “you three weren’t in the suite with him. Which tells me you’re not with C.J. Silvio, Wells, or even the Partners. You’re with the competition. And I’m guessing your room service girl Tessa is too.”

Their silence confirmed his theory.

“You were installed next to him to spy on him, report his daily activities to your superiors, and at some point in the future kill or kidnap him to lean on his father Charles Silvio.”

Right again. Their uncomfortable shifting confirmed it.

“The only question that remains,” he mused as he crossed his arms, “is what gave me away?”

Silence at first from the hit men, then the driver spoke up. “Well…”

“Mackie, shut it,” the man to Krueger’s left said.

“Gaz, come on, he’s gonna be fish food in five minutes. What difference does it make?”

Gaz shrugged. “Fair point, I guess.”

Mackie continued. “It was your eyes. One green, one blue.” Mackie steered the SUV onto an exit ramp as he continued. “There were rumors floating around the community of a fixer. A specialist with different-colored eyes and tattoos who offered his services to anybody willing to pay him enough.”

“Top dollar,” the man to Krueger’s right said.

“We suspected it was you when you sent Silvio’s kid the drink, but didn’t know for sure until that night, when we could see you without the sunglasses.” Mackie steered the vehicle off-road, finding a secluded place under an overpass in the northwest corner of Watson Island, away from prying eyes and ears. “We called the Company after baby Silvio went upstairs, then got the order to get rid of you.”

The Company: the ones responsible for the attacks on Wells’ shipments over the prior weeks and the Partners’ chief rivals. Of course it was them. “And you’ve chosen a fine place for it,” Krueger said. “Only problem is, you made a rookie mistake.”

“What’s that, dead man?” Mackie put the vehicle in park.

“You forgot to check me.”

Krueger grabbed hold of his handgun’s grip from over his shirt and sprang to face the man to his right, squeezing the trigger twice to shoot out the back of his own shirt and kill Gaz while he swatted the MAC-10 off the other man’s lap. Then he threw a hammer fist into his throat to stun him before Krueger pressed himself against Gaz’s body, drawing the gun from under his shirt, and shooting the other man once in the chest and head.

By the time Mackie realized what was going on behind him and he scrambled to recover his gun in the passenger seat, the muzzle of Krueger’s .45 was pressed against his head behind his ear.

“Mackie, right?” Krueger said.

His shock began to subside and was replaced with fear. “Y-yeah…”

“Let go of the gun and place your hands on the wheel, Mackie,” he ordered, his command void of emotion.

“Okay.” Mackie placed the gun back onto the passenger seat and did as commanded.

Krueger switched hands to keep his gun pressed against the back of Mackie’s head and reach over to the front seat and recover the gun—a .40 caliber AMT Hardballer. He switched hands again to open the rear driver side door and push Gaz’s corpse out through it before stepping out himself and keeping the gun trained on Mackie. “Step out of the car and keep your hands up,” he commanded.

Mackie did as instructed, leaving the still-running car and walking away from it, turning to face Krueger.

“Now take off your shirt.”

“What?”

Krueger fired, catching Mackie in the right kneecap. He let out a yelp as he fell to the ground and grabbed hold of his wound. “Your shirt,” Krueger ordered. “Take it off.” Between the blood and bullet holes in his, Krueger would need another one.

The Specialist’s lack of inflection and stern tone solidified Mackie’s terror. “Arrgh, alright! Alright, I’ll do it!” Mackie writhed out of his t-shirt and threw it aside.

Krueger kept his .45 trained on Mackie as he moved the shirt further away from him with his foot. He knew he only had the one magazine and had fired five times, so he would have to make his last two bullets count. “How many of you are at the hotel?”

“Wha—?”

Krueger shot Mackie in his left kneecap. “How many, Mackie?”

Mackie cried out in pain. “They’ll kill me if I tell you!” he shouted.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t. And then I’ll kill them.”

Mackie cursed under his breath as he winced in pain. “There’s ten of us. We were all watching Silvio.”

“And how many of them know about me?”

“Just us and the girl, I swear!”

Experience told Krueger that Mackie was telling the truth. He had no reason to lie after all. “Danke, Mackie,” he said. Then he raised the gun with both hands and put his last round between Mackie’s eyes. He looked off in the distance toward the mainland as he replayed the conversation over in his head. “Amateure,” he added.

Then he went to work. He fished in Mackie’s pockets for hotel keycards, finding one for Silvio’s suite and a second for Room 1014. He loaded Mackie’s body back into the SUV with the others, picked up the casings from his spent bullets, and tossed them into the car along with his own empty gun and underarm holster. He went back in for Mackie’s Hardballer to tuck it into his pants behind his back, and removed his ruined shirt to absorb as much of the blood on the ground as possible before throwing it into the car with everything else he was getting rid of. Then he walked over to the still-running car and put it into drive, letting it idle forward into the water. Finally he picked up Mackie’s t-shirt and slipped it on over his head before heading back up to return to civilization… by walking, he soon realized.

``````

Tessa rolled the room service cart to Room 1014, reading the note on the door to come right in, as it was propped open with the bar portion of the swing lock. She thought nothing of it as she crossed the doorway with the cart into the dimly lit room, kept a few lumens from pitch black by the tabletop lamps.

“Mackie?” she called out to him.

“I’m afraid not.”

Krueger’s voice took her by surprise. She stifled a terrified gasp as she sprang around to watch him walk out of the bathroom while he dried his hands off with a towel, wearing the same black t-shirt Mackie was wearing when they took him from his room. He turned to the room door to release the swing and shut it properly.

Then Krueger faced her and brandished Mackie’s Hardballer, thumbing back the hammer and pointing it one-handed at Tessa.

Tessa recognized the handgun. She began to tremble visibly as she shifted uncomfortably and reasoned what happened to Mackie and the others.

“I can see you’re new to the fold, so I’m going to give you a choice,” Krueger said. “You can call the others for help and die tonight—forgotten in a hotel room—or you can walk away and live.”

“I want to walk away,” she said immediately, her voice wobbling and lip quivering. “I want to walk away, please let me walk away..!”

Krueger returned the hammer to the resting position and lowered the gun. He stood aside and gestured the door with a head tilt. “Go,” he said.

Tessa bolted past him, stifling sobs as she wiped her cheeks and ran down the hall, leaving the cart behind.

“Gute nacht,” he called after her. Then he left the room himself, making a mental note to dispose of Mackie’s Hardballer in the morning.

``````

Khai was awakened at 2:50am by the vibration of her business phone on her night table. She reached out for it and held it up, squinting at first to see the screen and read the number on it. She sat up against her headboard when she recognized the area code, fumbling for her glasses before finding them behind the clock radio. She answered the call and held it up to her ear. “It’s Khai,” she said, filtering the sleepiness out of her response.

“There’s been a development,” Krueger said on the other end. “We weren’t the only ones watching Silvio.”

Khai moved to sit on the side of the bed and took a deep breath to pull herself together. “Give me a minute.”

She stood up and went to her walk-in closet, finding a bathrobe to throw over her satin nightgown before heading over to the bathroom and splashing cold water on her face. Then she headed for the spiral staircase down to the kitchen area, priming her laptop and switching to her headset.

“Alright,” she said. “I’m back,” she said. She turned on her coffee machine and placed her favorite mug under the spout, and then sat down to log into her computer. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

“The Company,” Krueger said. “Ten total on site, three of them close to Silvio.”

Khai cursed under her breath. “The Partners won’t like that.”

“They won’t be reporting back to their associates, I’ve seen to that. The ones closest to Silvio tried to kill me off-site. They failed.”

“But the damage may already be done,” she reasoned. “They could have been following him for years, who knows what they found out about the Partners from that, spoiled little shit..?” She took her glasses off and held them in her right hand while leaned back in her chair and tilted her head back, shutting her eyes tight and pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and first finger to compose herself again. “What about Silvio?”

“He’s clean,” Krueger said. “But I may have a lead on the mole in Wells’ organization.”

Khai sighed, opening her eyes again. “First bit of good news I’ve heard all week,” she said. “What did you find?”

“A message trail. I pulled it from his laptop with the tools you supplied.”

“I’m in front of my computer now,” she said, straightening up and putting her glasses back on. “Can you send me the messages?”

“Of course.”

Khai got up to respond to the gurgling of the coffee maker in the corner and reclaim her mug. Savoring its smell and warmth, she held it in both hands and took her first sip, shutting her eyes and letting out a quiet, satisfied sigh before returning to her workstation with her liquid bliss. “I see it,” she said. She read the usernames of the involved parties. “Heimdallr’s Eyes..? Interesting.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“In Norse mythology, Heimdallr is the watchman of the gods,” Khai explained, “supposedly all-seeing. If he’s calling himself the eyes of an all-seeing deity, it’s safe to assume he either has a vast information network at his disposal, or works for somebody who does.” She looked away from the monitor for a moment before looking back and taking another sip. “Can you get me Silvio’s laptop?”

“I can have the cloned device stored on the SSD arranged for pickup by the Partners here,” Krueger said. “If you’d like to see it sooner I can try sending its contents to you.”

“That’s perfect,” Khai said. “Log in to Mr. Wells’ VPN and send it over the intranet, and then arrange for the drive to be picked up.” Khai stood up and walked over to the sliding glass doors overlooking her patio and backyard with her coffee. “In the meantime I’ll relay what you’ve shared with me to the interested parties…”

“Could you include a message for Silvio?”

“What’s that?”

“Treat Victoria right,” Krueger said. “He’ll understand.”

Befuddled, Khai shrugged and said, “I’ll just have to trust you on that.”

“Do trust me on that… I had to get rid of the gun, unfortunately,” he confessed. “Take it out of my check.”

“That’s… hardly a problem, but if you insist I can arrange that…” She sipped from her mug again. “You should try to get some rest, Krueger.”

“I’ll sleep when you do, Miss Khai.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You were nearly killed on a reconnaissance assignment. You must be at least a little shaken up.”

“I’ve been nearly killed on almost every assignment I’ve taken for the last fifteen years. There is very little that can shake me up these days.”

Khai chuckled to herself. “Be that as it may, it’s past three in the morning. I’ll be awake with plenty to do on my end but your part of the job is done. You can relax now.”

“What does somebody like me do to relax, Miss Khai?”

“I’m certain somebody as creative and resourceful as you can figure out a productive way to spend the next two days.”

“I’ll send you a postcard from the gator farm, then.”

“Looking forward to it,” Khai said laughing to herself. “Good night, Krueger. And excellent work.” She ended the call and headed back up the stairs to her bedroom to make her bed and start her day properly.

(Next chapter | Masterlist)

[prorevenge]

Got my nightmare professor fired, might've indirectly gotten him deported too

Before this tale even begins, this is obviously a throwaway account. This is a big bitch of a story spanning two semesters, so I'm putting the tealdeer at the beginning and at the end for those who are short on time.

TL;DR - My French professor was so terrible that I decided to get him fired on behalf of my classmates. After he got fired, my partner that I worked with to do this tipped him off to an immigration agency to get him deported.

Last semester, I enrolled in an introductory French course at my university. This was to learn at least a little bit of French so that I could read French papers about French filmmaking techniques since I'm a pretty hardcore film student and I really love film as an art form. Plus, I needed some gen ed credit for my degree, so it made sense to take the course.

I went to the first lecture kind of dreading the course. I was in 19 credit hours, which is taking six classes in a single semester, and the class was 4 credit hours, meaning we met four days out of the week, every week. Very overwhelming schedule, indeed. Needless to say, I didn't work a single job that semester.

The professor, who will be referred to as Baguette because it's one of the few French words I actually know, began to go through the syllabus and I watched as the excitement that is usually present in students on the first day slowly left everyone's faces. Before I explain why, I have to address that this is the most basic French class that the university I go to offers and is really meant for people who never took a lick of French in high school. Like me.

Baguette announced that not only would he be teaching the entire class in fluent French with no English whatsoever, he wouldn't be answering questions in English at all, and if you asked him a question in French but got even a word or a conjugation wrong, he wouldn't answer you either. Attendance was mandatory as well, and you could only miss 4 class periods before he started dropping letter grades. Now, this attendance policy is unfair bullshit because we met for class just under 60 times that semester, meaning you would fail the course if you missed 8 class periods, which is only about 7% of the total course. I was looking around the class and people looked like they couldn't drop this class fast enough.

Then, he announced that not only would we not be using a physical book, we'd be using a free website online, a site called Francais Interactif. Now, this got some excitement back in the air. Textbook prices suck, and anything to lower the cost of education for students is great. You can even use the site yourself to practice your French skills, if you want. It's open source, knock yourself out.

That said, the site isn't meant to replace a textbook. There's a free workbook and audio files to help with aural comprehension on it, and that helped me and some of the other students pass some of the exams, but the site's equivalent to the part of a textbook that actually teaches you the material is extremely lacking, sometimes only having a couple of paragraphs about a really important concept in the language. In short, it gives you a ton of ways to practice concepts but almost no ways to learn them in the first place.

This would have been totally fine if Baguette would have explained things better in his lectures. But, as you'll recall, he gave them entirely in French, and in fast fluent French. So, picture this; you have to sit through four classes a week that you understand literally nothing of for an hour at a time while the professor rambles on in a language that you don't understand but are desperately trying to learn, and on top of all that, you can't even ask him any questions in English because he won't answer you and you can't ask him any questions in French either, because you don't know how to do that properly yet, and you won't for 3/4ths of the semester, because the unit that covers question words and phrases was arbitrarily put a few weeks after midterms, and on top of all that, you can't even really do your homework or study for exams because you have no fucking idea what any of this nasally shit means. Naturally, we, as a class, slowly started to get more and more frustrated as time went on. A few of us decided to band together and be friends and study partners to weather the storm. I'll call the important ones to the story R and S.

S was a foreign exchange student from Spain who spoke perfect Spanish and was taking the class to learn French for when she goes back to Europe. Now, we dug into what all other classes Baguette taught and found out that he taught Spanish, too. Perfect. We found a loophole. We could ask S a question in English, and she could ask him in Spanish, since it wasn't asking him in English, and he could answer in Spanish and she could translate that back to us in English. Now, you might be saying to yourself that this a fucking stupid and no self respecting educator should teach in this broken, shitty, ass-backwards way. You're right.

This worked for a bit, but he started answering S's Spanish questions in French to combat our little exploit of the rules. We were defeated and back to square one. We needed to devise a new plan, because most of us were failing at this point and we were stressed beyond belief.

R, a frat lad, and I, decidedly not a frat lad, became unlikely friends. He was a pretty naive kid, and he was a hardcore drinker. It visibly took a toll on him. He had a beer gut at 22 and addiction kind of mentally hollowed him out and made him flippant and emotional. The guy was super easy to piss off and he overreacted to everything. I felt bad for the guy and even outside of the struggle in class, I tried my best to be there for him. We were talking one day and we decided to meet up at the library and just theorize ways to crack the class to get at least a 60.

At the library, R was playing around on Francais Interactif trying to find the videos the professor would use for the aural part of the exam (basically, you'd listen to the video and copy down whatever the person was saying for credit. problem was, it was hard as shit and it was easily the part of the exams that took the biggest chunk out of the class's grade). He couldn't find them on the site anywhere and he got frustrated and gave up, so he started filling in the slots where you put answers on the homework pages of Francais Interactif with random words.

That's when we realized that when you do this, the site gives you the right answer regardless, no matter how wrong you are. Essentially, we now had access to the entire course's answers for the homework section and all we had to do was put one character into the answer boxes and, since all we had to do for the homework assignments was copy and paste our answers into a Word document and submit them online, we could theoretically do all the homework while knowing zero material whatsoever if we just changed the answers in Word. We sat for about 45 minutes and did the rest of the homework for the entire course this way in one sitting.

We agreed to not turn it all in at once so we couldn't get caught and we agreed to keep our mouths shut and only share this with people who wouldn't rat on us. Obviously, we told S.

One of the things I'll never forget about that first French class was that, during the final, one of the students started to quietly weep. Then, the weeping got louder, then louder still. The student was clutching his head in his hands and you could feel the palpable impotent frustration at his inability to do French correctly. After I finished the final, I saw him outside the class staring out a window in the hall. I asked if he was alright and what he was crying about and he told me he couldn't answer even the most basic questions asking for words for things like left and right and up and down and that was thing that finally broke him. That got to me, man.

Most of the kids failed the course, even some of the ones who used the homework exploit. R and S passed with a D and I passed with a C, surprisingly. The professor actually liked me, for some reason, and graded my exams a bit more fairly. Even still, I'm an A/B student, one in the Honor's Program at my university, so a C kind of stung my GPA. But, seeing as more than half the class failed, I counted my lucky stars that I got off easy.

I went to enroll in my classes for the next semester, and I had completely forgot that I still had to take another French class for my degree. I checked the class list and the second class you're supposed to take in the progression was only taught by Baguette. No other professor taught Beginning French II, apparently. This struck me as kind of odd, so I checked the rest of the French classes that were available. All of them, all 6 courses in the French department, were taught by Baguette. He was the only fucking teacher the department had. My stomach dropped as I realized I had locked myself into yet another class taught by the worst professor I've ever had, to this day.

This is class where the revenge begins, and I'm sorry if that preamble was too long, but I had to give context as to how horrible Baguette was. Even still, I'm frankly not doing him justice. His class was an artful trainwreck of incompetence, in the slowest slow motion available over nearly 60 class periods. And I had to do it again, only this time with harder material.

I had been keeping up with R and S over the winter break and S was going back to Spain, so she wouldn't be in the next class with me. But, I got R to enroll in the same section of Beginning French II as me.

Baguette passed out the syllabus to Beginning French II and it was the exact same as French I, down to us using Francais Interactif again, just in the higher chapters instead of the basic chapters. Now, here's the thing about learning a foreign language; you have to build from the basics, or else none of the other stuff makes sense. None of us in that class, not one person, knew any of the material past maybe Chapter 3. Most of us didn't even know how to ask questions. I did, so I asked questions for people who didn't, since S wasn't there.

Well, if you thought we bumbled through the basic material, no harder bumbling took place then when we started on things that have no direct English translation like y and en. When he asked students questions in this class, they'd just kind of look at him dumbfounded and shrug.

We got a study guide for our first exam and I was going to study my ass off so that I could get a better grade than a C. Besides a brief stint with depression my first semester that made me not be able to go to classes and fail one of my courses, a C was the lowest grade I had gotten at university. I must've studied for twenty hours over the course of a week before the exam. I hadn't even put that much effort into classes for my major. I got into class on the day of the exam, and nothing that I had spent all that time studying was on it. I bombed that test spectacularly, getting a 30%.

At this point, I was pretty much done. I was willing to go to my professor's office hours and ask him how I was supposed to study for his exams effectively, and his response is what began my quest to get revenge on him. He told me to watch YouTube videos. I don't know what it was about this that got me so pissed, but I was fired up.

But, that wasn't all that drove me to take the revenge I took on this fucker. No, what drove me to go after this guy was R calling me up crying after getting his exam back. He did worse than I did. He got a 15%. He kept repeating through sobs that he just wanted to be a good student and that he didn't want to disappoint his mom again. I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried at this. I thought back to that kid in French I after the final, about my peers and about R and something inside me snapped. I was going to get this guy fired and peacefully do anything else I could to ruin this guy's life one way or another, and R was going to be my Right Hand Man.

We met at his dorm and started brainstorming. It was about halfway through the semester, after our midterms. We both had a job, a significant other, extracurricular activities and I was taking 19 hours again this semester. We were going to need time on our side, a commodity that neither of us had, and we were going to need it quickly. We knew that the professor was going to be gone for a week at a conference right after spring break, so there was a two week window there. But, even still, we needed more time for what we started planning to do. I faked a doctor's note for two weeks absence and R agreed to use all four of his absences to meet at the same time French was supposed to occur and plan our peaceful academic coup.

Now, I knew I was eventually going to get caught from word go. But, I was so confident that I could get this guy fired before I would have a disciplinary hearing that I took the gamble, and Baguette took the bait. He excused me for two whole weeks.

So, you're probably wondering what we actually did. Well, the reason we needed so much time is that we needed time to both conduct interviews from the class as well as collect data on scores. We got a total of thirteen out of the seventeen students to make a statement about Baguette's performance in his Beginning French II class and all of them were negative. This was just in one section of the course.

Then, we asked if we could have their exam scores so that we could have some hard data to nail this guy with. All but two complied. We did some quick maths, and determined that more than half the class failed the exams, with most scoring between 30 and 50.

But, as it turns out, we didn't even need the exam scores given to us. We figured out that the online grade database site that our school uses so students can monitor their grades without asking their profs has a built in feature that shows the class average of every assignment that's put into the gradebook. Not a single assignment had a class average above a 50 except for the homework, which had a class average of around 80, no doubt thanks to the stupid exploit in the website.

Sure enough, I got tagged with a notice that I broke the discipline code of the university because obvious shop is obvious. But, it didn't matter. I had everything I needed to go to the Foreign Language department chair and sort this shit out. So, I did.

I showed the department chair all the data, let him listen to the audio from the student testimonies as well as gave my own testimony on the course. After showing him all this, he was dumbfounded. Not only did the chair not know that Baguette was a shitty teacher, almost nobody did course evaluations for French I, so he thought that Baguette was doing a decent job. He took all my evidence and gave it to the dean of arts and sciences and a couple weeks later, I get an email saying that Baguette was Bag-gone and that I was going to be withdrawn from the course along with everyone else who would've likely failed. Those who would've passed got to get a Credit Received grade without having to take the final. He got fired one semester before he qualified for his tenure.

But, that's not the juiciest fucking morsel of this tale. You're probably wondering how he got deported and how I found out that he got deported because of his firing. Well, after my disciplinary hearing got thrown out because the complainant was no longer affiliated with the university, I got more than I bargained for.

During his lectures, one of the few times he spoke English was after he introduced the syllabus on the first day. He had everyone introduce themselves and he started the exercise by introducing himself. Well, in his introduction, I remember him saying something about him being an immigrant from Venezuela. I live in the States (Etats-Unis for you Bonjour Bois), and some of you might know that we have pretty strict visa policies.

Well, R is pretty conservative. After our work got Baguette fired, we celebrated by getting some beer and shooting the shit. We talked about random aspects of the course and the fact that he was an immigrant got brought up. Apparently, R didn't know this and he was pretty upset about it. I tried to calm him down, but he went on a rant that I tried to politely nod along to while tuning out since I'm not really about that. I didn't think anything of it until a couple of days later.

He called me up and told me that he tipped Baguette off to a certain immigration agency for a "visa check" (his words, not mine) and that now all we had to do was wait. I was shocked. I didn't think this would go this far. I feigned that I was pleased with this but in reality, I was kinda bummed. Since he was probably here on an academic visa since he was a professor, he probably is going back home to Venezuela. I am glad, though, that he won't be teaching any more of my fellow students at my uni, because I wouldn't wish his classes on anyone.

TL;DR - My French professor was so terrible that I decided to get him fired on behalf of my classmates. After he got fired, my partner that I worked with to do this tipped him off to an immigration agency to get him deported.

edit: formatting

(source) story by (/u/ouiouirevenge)

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Forty: Moving Out ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi, Hyūga Hanako ] [ SasuHina, pregnancy, death, blood, gore ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

It all happens so suddenly.

Hanako’s second pregnancy hadn’t been without its share of worries. The Hyūga woman seemed to get a little weaker day by day, Hiashi hovering in worry despite her assurances she was fine, just...tired. Her morning sickness was powerful, her aches and pains keeping her in bed more often than not. But if Hanako was anything...it was set in bringing her second daughter into the world. So she endured, her patience never failing as she faced the dawn of every day determined to see its sunset...and do it all over again for as many months as it took.

And then, in late March...Hanabi was born.

Hanako survived, much to the nurses’ surprise. Weary and worn, she’d held the newborn with a sense of pride and relief. “You’ve given me quite a run of it,” she had murmured, Hiashi watching silently. “I’ll be glad to sleep without you kicking me from the inside...now to just handle all your fussing and crying for a while, hm?”

...but she would not get that chance.

Three days after returning home, after a particularly twisting roll over in bed...Hanako inadvertently caused her own demise. Tears from the strain of birth subtly reopened, blood loss unnoticed in her heavy sleep, exhausted from the past nine months. And the heavy drowsiness of an emptying circulatory system only ensured she wouldn’t wake.

Come morning...Hiashi work to a fussy Hanabi, and a dead wife.

Hemorrhage.

The shock and horror was almost too much. Calling emergency services in vain, he was told she had been gone for at least two hours by the time he noticed. There was nothing they could do. Nothing he could have done. Her body was simply too fragile, too weakened.

And now, it was lifeless...the only proof of it left in two little girls.

Hinata, only five at the time, barely understood. The ambulance and EMTs had frightened her, retreating to her room as a heavy, blanket-like atmosphere settled over the house.

Her questions about where her mother was were answered with an outburst of emotion from her father: something she could never recall seeing before.

...it scared her even further.

Hiashi slept in the guest bedroom as arrangements were made for his wife’s funeral, all while juggling a newborn and a preschooler. His brother’s widow offered her help, coming to stay for a few weeks with her son, Neji.

Hinata still didn’t fully comprehend. Everyone kept telling her her mother was gone, but...gone where? When was she coming back? Why had she gone, with the new baby only just arrived?

Didn’t she want them?

“But...what does it mean, she w-won’t come back? Why not?”

“It means she’s dead,” Neji replied quietly. Not cruelly, but simply as a matter of facts. He, after all, had been forced to come to terms with the idea even younger than Hinata had when his father died. “She’s asleep forever, Hinata. You won’t see her or talk to her anymore.”

Dark brows wilted, tears burning in her eyes. “But...w-why?”

“I don’t know...but when they were taking out the bed from your parents’ room, I saw a lot of blood.”

“B...blood…?”

“They said it was from the baby. Babies make you bleed when they come out. Your mama just...didn’t stop bleeding.”

...it hadn’t made any sense. Her mother had been fine! She’d come back from the hospital, and there wasn’t any blood...three days had gone by, and nothing!

Then why…?

People kept coming by their house. All of them were sad, with those eyes that said more than words ever could. Hanako had been beloved in their community: an active member of the garden club, among the other parents of the preschoolers, and just being friendly and welcoming to everyone she met. A bright light had been lost, people kept saying. Now things would be darker without her there.

Almost a month passed...and then Hiashi made a decision. He just couldn’t stand it anymore. Being in that house, seeing those people...all they were were constant reminders of her, of his loss, his broken heart.

...so, he found a house in another city two hours away. Not too far as to be cut off from his sister-in-law should they need one another, but enough for a new start. A blank slate. Something to let him begin to recover from the loss of his beloved Hanako.

...but not everyone is so ready to leave.

“Hinata...I must speak with you.”

Looking up from her small gathering of toys on her bedroom floor, the girl meets her father’s eyes. They’ve been dark and sunken as of late, and today is no different. And yet...there’s something different about his gaze...she just can’t quite put her finger on it. “...y-yes?”

He sits on her bed, patting the mattress beside her. “...how are you feeling?”

“...sad…”

“You miss Mama, don’t you?”

A small, somber nod is all she can manage.

“...me too. Every moment of every day. Which is why...I think we need a change.”

“C...change?”

“Yes, Hinata. I want to move to a new house.”

“...huh…?”

“This house, it’s…” He pauses with a sigh. “...it’s full of memories of your mother. And those memories - as much as I love them - are making me sad. It’s hard to move forward when we’re stuck here, in a place that’s tied to the past. Does that make sense?”

“I...don’t know…”

“...I think it would be good for us. We can meet new people, make new friends...and have a new house to make new memories in.”

“You want to forget Mama…?”

“Hinata, no...that’s not what I -”

“I don’t w-wanna forget Mama! We can’t leave...this is our home! This is where she was, where she was alive!”

“Hinata, listen to me!” Carefully, he takes her shoulders, trying to stop her temperamental flailing. “We won’t forget Mama. We can never forget. But if we stay here...then we can never heal. Our hearts will always be sad. Sometimes...you need to take time away from what makes you sad. Mama will always be with us, no matter where we go. That I can promise you.”

Looking to him teary-eyed, Hinata isn’t convinced. “W...what about my friends…?”

“...we’ll have a day where they can all come over and say goodbye before we leave. And maybe if their parents say it’s okay, you can call them on the phone sometimes, and come visit. Or they can come visit us. Will that be all right?”

She can’t find an answer.

“...I’ll talk to all the parents. I think most of them knew this would happen. So they’ll be ready. That way you can say goodbye, okay?”

...no reply.

Sighing, Hiashi goes quiet for a time. Without a word, he gets up and takes his leave.

Hinata just...sits before rolling over and staring at the wall.

With the money to spare and not wanting to wait, Hiashi hires a moving team to pack up the house. Hinata watches sadly as so many pieces of their lives - most untouched since she can remember - are wrapped in paper and put into boxes. Hiashi tells her that much of it will be donated, or put into storage. Where they’re going, the house will be a little smaller, but in a better neighborhood with a big yard and a smaller school.

By now, she doesn’t have the words to argue.

Two days before the final push, Hiashi arranges for her class to meet in the park just down the road. It’s well into Spring now, and the grass is green, even if the days are still rather cool. The other children all gather around as Hiashi explains.

“Hinata, Hanabi, and I are going to be moving to a new city, soon. We wanted a chance to say goodbye to you all...and thank you for all of your help.” Even now, his tone is a bit stiff - Hinata knows that means he feels awkward...and is trying to remain professional, even as the subject grows heavy.

“...I know that many of you treasured Hanako as we did. Her absence is felt by many...but so too is her presence. It lingers, and seems to drain us. We hope that a new start will let us adjust to life without her, without her memory hanging so heavily over our shoulders. You are all, of course, welcome to stay in touch. Especially the children - I know Hinata will miss many of you, and I thank you for being such good friends to her. Take today to have fun, and tell each other what you mean to one another. We’ll take those tidings with us when we go.”

Given how young they are all, many of the children seem a bit unsure what all the fuss is really about - mortality isn’t yet a reality for some.

Were she a little older, Hinata might find herself a bit jealous of that.

“How come you gotta go away?” one boy, Kiba, asks in despair.

“Papa wants to go.”

“Can’t you stay?” Sakura asks, looking unsure.

“No...I w-wish I could. But Papa says we might come s-see you guys. But not for a while. I can call you on the p-phone.”

“I’ve never used the phone,” Chōji muses.

“M-me neither. But...m-maybe it will work.”

Everyone murmurs in discussion, but one boy seems to linger back from the group. Hinata knows him: Sasuke. He’s quite popular despite being so shy. They actually get along rather well, given their similarities.

“...I’ll miss you,” he offers quietly.

“Yeah…m-me too. I’ll call you on the phone, okay?”

“Okay...mister Roary will really miss Luna, too.”

Hinata jolts a bit at that. Luna is her little bunny plush, which she often brings to school with her. She’s good friends with Sasuke’s dinosaur plush, Roary. “M...maybe I’ll bring her to visit!”

“Yeah? Promise?”

“I promise.”

As the afternoon fades, Hiashi begins saying goodbyes to the adults, Hinata doing the same with her classmates. All of them give her hugs, wishing her well.

“Be careful, okay?”

Hinata nods as Sasuke takes his turn - the last of them - to embrace her. “I-I will…”

“I hope you like your new house, and your new school.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ll m-miss everyone.”

“We’ll miss you too. But we’ll see each other again! Okay?”

“...okay.”

                                                     .oOo.

     I am...VERY tired, so this probably isn't my best work - I feel like the end is rushed cuz I was running out of steam @~@ And it doesn't help that angst tends to be very...slow work for me, aha~      Idk this is just...what my brain gave me. I've never gone into too much detail about Hanako's (Hinata's mother) death. But this is what I HC to have happened in pretty much every verse: her body is just too fragile and worn out, and a while after Hanabi is born, she has internal bleeding that kills her.      I didn't mean for this to be TOO graphic, and I hope it's not horrible. I often have trouble writing gore, so...I tried to tread a little lightly but also still make it impactful. Idk if I succeeded.      But for now I REALLY need to sleep, so...that's all for now. Thanks for reading~

[the-sanders-sides]

inidan american (desi) logan

a sequel to this post because people asked for more and i decided that they shall receive (and also i love writing these)

fair warning, logans a bitter kid, and this isnt as positive and happy as romans post. ive experienced two different ways of being desi, one where i lived in fully asian and indian community and didnt even think id ever feel alone, and another where i moved to a place where i havent met another desi in like 7 years of living here in a 3 hour driving radius. in romans post i played into my first experience and how at home i felt. in the second experience, the one im in right now, i am much more bitter about who i am and not really knowing anyone who gets it anymore. so i play into that A LOT in this. so keep that in mind. (and he will get happier in a future part. m planning on making this into a series)

ok so first off. his name is logan sanders. people (mostly other indians) dont believe him when he tells them. he tells them they dont know indian history. they say they do. he tells them that the british fucked around (quite literally) in india for four centuries so of course english names would stick with that precise wording

sometimes when he’s annoyed enough and doesnt want to explain this for the millionth he defends himself with this russel peters skit (watch it, it’s hilarious) because it describes his family. to a T. 

he grew up in a community with not very many asians, and knew no indians outside his family so he felt a sort of disconnect to his culture

while his grandparents and parents would teach him about indian culture, he felt so distant from it since he knew no one outside his family who was indian, and since he didnt have any siblings or any nearby cousins to hang around with

he had visited india once but he was too young to remember it properly or too remember his cousins

the closest mandir was an hour away so that also limited the amount of indian kids/people he knew

he barely knew hindi because everyone in his family spoke english, especially in public

he felt guilty over the disconnect he felt and would always try to bridge it but would never accomplish this because it he kept losing passion since he rarely saw other people like him in the real world and in the media and he didnt see the point of trying

this all changed in eight grade when he moved next door to the Kumar family in a north indian street of some south asian blocks in an asian community

when his family first moved, the Kumar family invited the Sanders over to welcome them

it turns out the Kumar’s had a son who was the same age as logan

“hi logan! im rohan kumar! but i like going by roman instead of rohan!” 

this introduction pissed logan off 

he was seething because why would this kid who got to have an indian first AND last name change his name to an english one! why didnt he see the value of his name!

he knew right away that such a difference meant they could never be friends 

“im logan sanders, but thats all youll get to know about me because i see no use associating myself with someone as... well, ignorant, as you”

roman decides to whip out one of the swears his cousins taught him and whisper shouts “who are you calling ignorant, bhenchod?” 

 it became clear to him that this was new turf, and people on this new turf must be speaking hindi. and that he was the ignorant one if he couldnt talk in hindi. he made a vow to learn it as fast as he could to make sure this roman kid wasnt better than him

but, logan grits his teeth and says “you, and i know it must be true because you were too dumb to understand me the first time”

this evidently struck a sore spot in roman because he didnt fight back but just stalked away. logan smiled slightly, happy to have won that argument

logan asks his grandpa to teach him hindi and his grandpa gets super excited

they start lessons immediately and despite barely hearing it growing up, it’s as if his brain was made for this because he picks the language up amazingly fast and in a months time, while not able to speak back yet, he can understand most casual conversation

his first diwali in basically little india is the most magical thing ever

diwali at his old home was very quiet because there wasnt anyone around to celebrate with

everyone is so happy in this new home however. everyone is dressed up and all the houses are lit up and there are diyas everywhere and he doesnt want to admit it but the kumar’s have the best rangoli on the street and it’s because of roman and he knows roman did it because sometimes he’d stare out of his bedroom window while doing homework and have a perfect view of roman delicately working on it for two weeks

(the kumar’s front porch had been covered with tarp waiting for diwali to make sure romans precious rangoli wasnt stepped on or ruined. when it’s finally let up, everywhere where there could be art, there is. it’s insane how good at colors roman is, logan thinks)

diwali morning: 

he fights his parents because he doesnt want to miss school for diwali because americans dont have a day off for it. his parents set the clocks in the house ahead to make him think he overslept so he would skip school. (logan didnt know that his parents had submitted an excused absence form for religious reasons and that the school was very understanding. he thought it would be like his old school where he wouldnteven bother trying since he wasnt christain and the school was lkinda discriminatory)

they spend the morning in mandir and it’s nice. for once he doesnt feel different from his peers because he goes to mandir and not church or synagogue. he feels at home.

diwali afternoon:

the afternoon is spent with frantic cleaning and cooking and digging around for the diya’s that were still in boxes, packed away from when they moved

logan offered to find them all to continue with a diya science experiment he started two years prior. his theory was that the diya’s were multiplying and there were more each year despite no one buying anymore

this held true, because even though he could only find half of their diya collection, it was somehow more than the entire diya collection of two years prior. 

diwali evening:

theres a big potluck and everyone in the neighborhood is out talking to each other, looking at the decorations at everyones houses, eating samosas, and playing with sparklers. 

logan feels content

he makes a new resolve to learn more about hinduism. if this is what ti was supposed to be, then he never wanted to be away from hinduism. 

he looked at the metaphors and symbolism in everything and finally understood what his dad meant he told logan that hinduism is just science written in poetry and that string theory is written in the ancient texts

middle school in this new town is so much better than middle school in his old home. why?

a. doesnt get bullied for being a nerd

b. doesnt get called gay slurs 

c. the classes are harder 

d. much less racism

e. all of the above

soon enough, logans asking his grandpa to teach him how to cook Indian food

Logan spends the day burning dosas and making lopsided rotis

(eventually he gets the hang of it, and a he'll be cooking food for an infuriating Indian boy ;) ;) psst it's roman)

Speaking of boys

Coming out isn't an option for logan

He knows that his parents arent really religious enough to really look into hinduism and see that no, gays are not bad

But they are traditional and conservative enough to be homophobic

not homophobic as in spewing hate with the westboro baptist church at a pride parade

But homophobic as in "the gays are fine as long as they don't do it in front of me" kinda thing

So Logan stays quiet

the closet kinda sucks but i mean what can he do

it’s safer inside, and he as illogical as wishing is, he wishes that people would use their brains and realize there’s nothing wrong with gay

anyway

in school logan makes his first desi friend, who was dubbed as anxiety years ago and cant seem to get rid of the nickname and now has a whole complex about his name so logan doesnt know his name

logan and anxiety meet in the school library: logan studying and anxiety hiding

people dont like anxiety

especially non-indian kids

surprise surprise it’s an old buddy called racism, but anxiety’s story is for another time

(but even though no one really likes anxiety, whenever racist shit goes down, it has to go through roman)

so logan and anxiety become fast friends

and they make fun of roman (a+ bonding)

logan claims that roman is a hypocrite for changing his name to an english one while being so immersed in indian culture

anxiety doesnt dispute this, but says he has a past with roman

a past that involved getting stuck with the name anxiety

again, another story for another time

one day, when logan and anxiety are eating lunch they see roman destroy some homophobes who throw around the word f*g and keep calling caitlyn jenner, bruce jenner

logans chest surges

he’s all like “what?? emotions?? pride at roman?? is he better than me for being so open and standing up for what he believes in??”

gay panic basically

but logan masked it well and pushed it away

the next day roman comes to school with a pride patch on his jean jacket

logan feels like he cant breathe

logan is supremely jealous of roman.

he can be gay in peace

he can pretend not to be indian in a way that benefits him

and he’s not affected by stereotypes in the same way?? like what does this kid not have

and by stereotypes i mean

roman is the complete opposite of all indian and desi stereotypes: loud, flamboyant, theatrical

logan’s personality is exactly how the stereotypes are. he’s nerdy and likes science and math and it seems like he cant escape the stereotypes. they follow him. and he feels guilty that he likes science and math and is nerdy. 

as illogical as it is, he wishes he was different from how he is

but logan later learns that there are more than just his perspective on being desi and that every desi kid growing up faces challenges about it that are different than his, causing them to experience being desi differently

and logan will accept that, in another story at another time

for now, he’s just bitter. and as illogical as it is, he wishes the world was better

and now, i shall tag some people who asked to be tagged and some other desi’s who loved this because i feel like you guys might appreciate this too. also i love u. desi famders squad up.

@sssixeyedrunt @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @caterpiller-tea @xxxbladeangelxxx @snufflesthegrim227 @cloudchaser7 @thelowlysatsuma 

[zne-theartist]

Stalking Destiny Ch 1 (rewritten)

Stalking Destiny chapter 1 rewritten | original post | AO3 link.

Author’s Notes: I hope everyone else is enjoying season two of OPM like I am! and I want to apologize to all my loyal fans waiting three years for me to return for OPM. alijsdfklksejfd. I rewrote the first chapter to fix spelling and grammar errors - but also to match my current writing style since it has changed since 2016 and I didn’t beta read it when I first wrote it. All the content is the same, just better worded! I also rewrote this because I’m writing the second chapter (coming within this week) so I wanted the first chapter to flow well for it!

Again the idea for this fic was spawned by @wamaii , I’m finishing this soon my pal lol

Chapter 1: The Meeting

It had been three months now.

Three months of having to deal with the incessant stalking of the great villain, Saitama. It had taken him two weeks to first realize that the villain had been watching him and it wasn’t just a coincidence that he was seeing the villain out more often in the areas he frequented. He had happened to look over his shoulder while walking to school because he thought he heard a friend calling his name when he saw him. The bald headed villain sticking halfway out from an alley, acting like he was completely hidden as he stared intensely at the blonde. When the villain had realized they had locked eyes, he only moved an inch more into the alleyway, no doubt thinking that would be enough to hide his form. Genos at that point quickly turned around and quickened his pace to school.

At first, he had been frightened. Why would the villain known for dealing so much destruction be following him? It didn’t help that Saitama wasn’t exactly being discreet about it. Sometimes, Saitama had a hideous, cheap, brown wig on his bald head, struggling to keep it on on windy days. Other times he sat on a bench on the school campus, eyeing at him through two holes cut in a newspaper for his eyes. Eventually thoughts sparked up in Genos’ mind: ‘what the fuck is he doing? Who does he think he’s fooling?’ But, no matter where Genos went, that villain was sure to be there.

Progressively, his feelings had moved from fear to confusion to irritation. He was in college and he was trying hard to keep his 4.0 GPA up, something he prided himself in since middle school. Genos was a dedicated person when it came to school and he wanted to get his degree as fast as possible; and this villain was posing a threat to his perfectionism. Genos was losing his concentration. The unknown of why the villain Saitama was following him ate him up from the inside out. He couldn’t even hang out with his friends to relax and get his mind off things because he was always there. His limits were breaking from this annoying, bald headed freak who just wouldn’t stop watching him!

That day had been particularly hard on him.

He had to sprint just to make it to his first class of the day, nearly missing it. A teacher had called him out after class, worried that he wouldn’t make an A+ for the grading period which was highly unusual given Genos’ track record. In another class, he had gotten a C on a test; that Genos had to beg the teacher to let him retake. The cream of the crop? His favorite sandwich was out at the cafeteria. At this point the blond’s patience was diminished so low he had nearly nothing left to deal with the stalker hot on his heels as he walked home from school. Honestly, if the man was trying to stalk the blonde, didn’t he know he had to put distance between them and make it not noticeable? The villain wasn’t even five feet back from him - in that ridiculous wig! He was using the last shreds of his patience to desperately try and ignore the heavy footsteps behind him, clutching tightly to the straps of his book bag.

Something snapped in Genos and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He was the reason he was beginning to slip up in his studies! He stopped walking and spun around, finger already up to point at the man in the hideous wig - for fuck’s sake anyone could tell he was bald and had slapped a toupee on! Anyone could fucking tell who it was!

Saitama nearly collided into the finger that pointed accusingly at him, but managed to stop in his tracks. His wide eyes stared down at the blond, unable to believe he was face to face with the cute, freckled face Genos. Saitama thought he was so much cuter than that cyborg Genos, and a whole lot slimmer. Also, compared to cyborg Genos who had been his own height, Genos was much shorter than he thought he’d be. He was also a thousand times cuter up close than afar.

“Stop fucking stalking me, villain!” Genos’ bark of sharp words snapped Saitama out of his thoughts. His mouth flailed open and closed like a fish out of water.

“I… I… m-my name…” Saitama felt absolutely powerless in this moment. Why? Was it because he was faced with the one thing he had been searching for the last year since he had come back from the hero alternate dimension? Saitama attempted to swallow his nerves as the blond’s hot glare dug into him like a knife. “I-I am… E-Eggb-b-bert…” His voice sounded so deflated. Where was all that fire he had earlier when he had pepped himself that today was the day he’d finally talk with Genos? That was the whole reason he had tailed him so close today!

“Cut the crap! I know it’s you, anyone could see, you’re the villain Saitama!” Genos was angry, upset the villain would even think such a stupid name and scheme would work on him like he was dumb.

Saitama opened his mouth to dispute Genos, but nothing came out. After a few silent minutes of nothing, a gentle breeze uprooted the wig from his shiny dome and sent it flying. Mentally he bid goodbye to the five dollars he spent on it from the tacky shop he had bought it from. His cover had literally blown away.

“I know that fucking bald head anywhere! You’re all over TV. And you’ve been stalking me for the past three months.”

Saitama felt like he had no strength in him; not even the strength to engage with his infamous, lame comeback that he wasn’t the bald one, but Genos was.

“I’m sick and tired of it. You’re ruining my life following me around!” Genos’ hands moved to stand firmly on his hips as his feet stood a shoulders’ width apart, his torso bent forward slightly as he was giving the villain Saitama a lecture for his life. “My grades are slipping; my friends don’t even want to hang out with me because you’re always around - I can’t concentrate anymore!” Genos felt like tearing at his hair as he glared daggers at the man. “Why the fuck are you stalking me in the first place? Do you have a problem with me?”

Saitama stared blankly at the man. “I…uh…um…” All words escaped him and he stood there, staring at the beauty before him. He was completely powerless, all thanks to a loss of words.

“Stop stalking me, or I’ll call the police!” Genos turned on his heel and angrily walked back home, leaving the villain in his dust.

When Genos got home he felt like punching a wall to let out all of his frustrations, but instead he did his best to focus on studying for the test he’d have to retake. When he failed, he did his best to sleep. Sleep didn’t come easy for him however, and he was suddenly wrought with the thought he could have died with the way he had talked to the very well known villain Saitama. He groaned into his hands as they covered his face. “What does he want from me?” Genos had never seen such a desperate look before. Saitama had looked at him like he had so much to say yet he had said nothing at all. He had looked incredibly weak. Genos let out a heavy sigh as he turned on his side, staring at the shades covering his window that was parted just enough to let a sliver of the moon peak into his room. That had not been the villain that was depicted all over the media…

Meanwhile, as soon as Genos had left, Saitama did not follow him back to his home like usual. Instead, he watched Genos’ figure retreat. His hand moved on its own, bunching his shirt into his fist as it rested on his chest, in a motion that almost seemed he was trying to clutch at his heart. “Damn.” His face contorted for a second into a scowl. “Is this what the hero me feels for the cyborg version?” Was he feeling happiness over Genos calling him bald, at talking so crudely to him, at finally coming face to face with the boy and talking to him? (Even if Genos was the one who had done all the talking.) He couldn’t even blame the kid for the outburst. He had been stalking Genos, and maybe he really wasn’t the best at hiding it.

This wasn’t his fault though! It was Genos’ fault. It was his fault for not coming to his side sooner. It was his fault for letting him become so dark. It was his fault for not saving Saitama. His mood progressively darkened and the people who were walking the streets took their time to completely avoid him. Yes. It was all Genos’ fault. “All your damn fault I’m like this.”

The poisonous depression rolled over him then dissipated until he felt nothing again. Like always, nothing and no one stopped him from breaking a few buildings.

All of a sudden Saitama was gone.

For two whole weeks he was able to relax and get his scores back up to his acceptable A+ status. Genos could have forgotten the villain had stalked him in the first place if the news would let him forget his existence. There were more recent sightings of Saitama destroying buildings and terrorizing people. As he watched the news each night, he felt some part of him that wanted to dispute it all. If he was such a villain, why had he been left completely speechless when confronted by a mere college student about his stalking? Was the villain in love with him or something? Genos scoffed at the idea, refocusing on his books and trying to refocus his mind. “That’s absurd… a heartless villain wouldn’t have such feelings.” His brown eyes gravitated to the television screen as they showed a close up of Saitama’s face from a traffic light camera. “...right?” Genos found the remote in his hand, clicking the pause button. He leaned his cheek into his other hand that had now forgotten he had been trying to write notes. He stared at the face on the screen in silence for a long time.

“He’s kind of handsome…”

His grades were back to normal and so was his mind. As a nice treat to release all the remaining tension caused from the three month long stalking trip, Genos had decided to go out one night with two of his friends to the arcade near the park.

They had been playing on one of the machines when their laughter and teasing was interrupted by the machine jolted on its own. They exchanged glances and looked back at the machine which was oddly silent. Genos reached out to touch it but the machine suddenly jumped up! Genos gasped, eyes wide as they all scrambled back.

The machine was turning into a monster! All of a sudden it was warping into a hideous mix of the skee ball machine and a humanoid figure. It was a massive, twisted result of machinery and man.

“I AM SPAWNED FROM THE TERRIBLE TREATMENT FROM YOU HUMANS. YOU TREAT US MACHINES LIKE DIRT, AND KICK US WHEN YOU DON’T GET YOUR WAY. I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL FOR THE TREATMENT OF MY BRETHREN AND MYSELF.” The machine howled in anger. The howl seemed to ‘wake’ the other machines as they began to glow and jolt just as the skee ball machine had done.

People were already screaming all around the arcade and beginning to run. The fun arcade games were turning into monsters! Genos look to his friends and shouted over the deafening noise of so many machines whirring to an impossible life, “We have to get out of here!” They joined the late night crowd in running to the doors of the arcade. Genos struggled to keep up with his friends who were ahead of him, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the increased volume of clunking was the machines beginning to give chase. As they reached the doors he glanced around at the chaos, so many running for their lives. This had to be terror that he was feeling - and it propelled him to run faster.

“Keep going!” He shouted to his friends as they reached outside, pointing down the sidewalk. “Run, I’ll try and distract it!” As much as the terror shook his body, these were his friends.

“Genos! What the hell are you talking about?”

“We can’t just leave you behind!”

He had to protect them; no matter how stupid it was to act like a hero when he wasn’t a hero.

“Just go!” Genos yelled, eyes bright with determination as he began to run across the street. He glanced over his shoulder as the arcade’s automatic glass doors broke with the machinery monsters breaking out. Thankfully his friends had already began to run down the sidewalk.

“COME BACK HERE. LET ME SHOW YOU THE SAME TREATMENT THAT YOU SHOWED US.”

He was relieved they didn’t purse his friends or other fleeing patrons - but now they were giving chase to him. His breath caught in his throat as he turned back towards the park and sprinted towards it. Maybe he could lose them in the trees or get them to somehow fall into the pond. He wasn’t sure what he could do, but at least he knew his friends were safe.

Genos’ lungs burned as he ran through the park, panting, as he tried to lose the monsters. He was honestly terrified. He wasn’t sure what would happen to himself, but he knew people died every day that a monster appeared. His eyes burned at the thought that he would be in that statistic. He was thrown out of his thoughts literally as his ankle was caught and twisted painfully in a tree root, sending him flying forward and flat on his face. He cried out in pain and rolled onto his back, gasping for air. His chest heaved as he tried desperately to catch his breath and quiet himself. He could hear the rustling of the machines in the distance. He could guess they must have split up to cover more ground. They would probably look for other teenagers who might be in the park. Once it quieted down he could get up, escape the park, and run home to safety.

“FOUND YOU.”

Genos shrieked as the machine came into his line of sight a few feet away. He scrambled into a sitting position and tried to pull at the root which seemed to tighten its hold on his ankle. It hurt. He was scared. Genos could feel hot tears falling down despite his stubborn and scowling face. He didn’t want to cry when he was about to die, but everything he still wanted to do was flashing before his mind while he tried to still break free from the root. He hadn’t done a damn thing in the world. He hadn’t done anything memorable! He had only kept his nose stuck in a book his entire life!

The machine raised its fist as it screeched out in revenge, “I WILL DESTROY ALL YOU HUMANS.” He’d be crushed underneath the machine’s fist. Feebly, with the last ounce of protection he could give himself, he raised his arms up over his face. At least this way he wouldn’t see when the fist came down. “STARTING WITH YOU!”

Was this his death bed?

“Oi.” A deep, gravely voice thrust itself into the mix. Genos moved his arms at the voice and only caught a blur of black and red. His body was pushed back by a sudden gust of wind, landing back on his elbows. He gasped with his wide eyes staring in disbelief at the glint from the moon atop a shiny, bald crown.

“Saitama!” It was like a huge wind was knocked out of him at the name. Where had he come from?

There the villain stood, holding the machine up by, what was supposed to be, his neck. Saitama’s eyes were a dangerous red glare at the face of the monster. Genos could see the waves of anger rolling off of him in the same way his cape billowed out behind him.

“He’s mine.” The villain raised his other hand into a fist, and just like that - the monster was gone. Genos stared in awe. He had taken the monster out with just one punch. One punch… It brought about another fact to marvel at: Saitama had just saved his life. “Easy…” He heard the villain mumble to himself before he turned to Genos. Genos felt his body go rigid as Saitama walked over to him before he knelt down at his feet. Easily, the villain tore the root off of Genos’ ankle. Genos felt frozen as he stared at the villain. “Ah, you might’ve twisted your ankle with that fall. ...was kind of funny seeing you fall.” No smile accompanied his words. Had Saitama been watching him this entire time? Saitama looked up at Genos with relief before his eyes widened in slight shock and he reached out with a gloved hand.

Genos pulled his face back from the outreached hand and the villain rethought his action, bringing his hand to his own face. He scratched a little underneath his eye with his gloved finger. He was giving him a look like he expected him to know what he was trying to say without words.

“Huh?” Genos was confused, but brought a hand to his face to touch his fingertips just beneath his eye. “Oh.” How embarrassing! There were fat, wet tears still falling from his eyes. Quickly, he yanked his sleeve down over his hand and rubbed his eyes till the tears ceased. He couldn’t believe the villain had seen him crying! Saitama had to find it deplorable, laughable even. The villain said nothing, and simply stood to his feet. After a moment of awkwardly standing there, he extended his hand to Genos. Genos stared at it. “What?” His voice was quiet. Saitama jolted his hand to get his point across, unable to look at the blond. The dots connected and slowly Genos took his hand. After taking it though, he squeezed it. The squeeze caused Saitama to stop before he could pull the boy up off the ground. “Why?” Genos looked at their hands, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

Saitama stared down at the boy and used his free hand to rub the back of his neck. He didn’t say a thing and just pulled the boy up as gently as he possibly could.

Genos could only go with the motions as he was pulled back onto his feet. However, as soon as he was up, he winced and a soft hiss left his lips from the pain that shot from his right ankle up through his entire leg. The pain was horrible (and Saitama hadn’t let go of his hand) so he went crashing forward into the villain’s chest. Saitama was the one who went rigid next, still as Genos used him for support. Genos knew he wouldn’t be able to put any weight on his hurt leg.

Saitama swore to himself he was about to let out a very strangled, strange sound and so he turned abruptly, nearly pushing the kid off. Genos was surprised and was about to move back, but Saitama hadn’t let go of his hand yet. Instead, Saitama had turned his back to him before he crouched down to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Was there a hint of pink on the villain’s cheeks or was the moon playing tricks on him?”

“Don’t make me say it.” His voice was gruff, but Genos could hear no malice in it. As if to elaborate, Saitama yanked his hand so Genos was forced to lose his balance and brace himself against the waiting back. Finally, Genos wrapped his arms loosely against the villain’s neck which prompted the villain to let go of his hand so he could loop his arms underneath his knees. He couldn’t believe Saitama was offering him a piggyback ride.

As soon as he was settled, Saitama began the walk out of the park and back into the city with Genos on his back. As they walked out of the park, Genos noticed there were strewn mechanical parts littered everywhere as if a tornado had blown through the area. Had Saitama defeated all the machines? Genos looked at the back of the bald head before slowly he noticed their surroundings changing. He knew the route very well. The villain was taking him back to his home. It didn’t surprise him that he would know the way given he had stalked Genos for so long. Honestly, it would’ve been more surprising if he didn’t know the way.

His heart pounded in his chest as Saitama walked, and he could only hope that Saitama couldn’t feel it against his back. Genos was more confused than ever before. First, the villain stalked him. Second, he didn’t say a word when Genos confronted him and could only blub his mouth around like a fish. Third, he just disappeared out of nowhere except for being shot on television for destroying cities. Fourth, he showed up out of the blue after two weeks of nothing, and saved Genos. What was with this guy?

“You’re a villain,” It was a fact he stated out loud that he knew Saitama had heard but it didn’t garner him a response. “So, why did you save me?” Genos stared at the cape he was resting his cheek against, focused on the way the muscles beneath the suit began to relax as if he had let out a rather long exhale.

“You’re supposed to save me.” Genos nearly didn’t catch the soft spoken words. He tilted his chin up so he could look over Saitama’s shoulder, staring at the profile of his face. Genos’ eyes softened considerably. Handsome… Genos didn’t understand the villain’s words, but he squeezed his arms around his neck a little tighter and pressed his face into the back of his neck. He allowed himself to close his eyes and relax in the strong grip that kept him up.

They remained silent the rest of the way.

[catalinda04]

Carried Away Chapter 63: Honeymoon

Masterlist 

Lucy and Henry sat cuddled together in the movie room of the Lodge on Henry’s last day before leaving for filming in London. There was a movie playing on the screen, though neither of them cared about watching it.

    “Are you excited to be going back to London?” Lucy asked.

    “It will be nice to be back home, but it won’t be the same without you there.”

    “But you’ll be so busy with training then filming, you’ll barely have time to miss me. And you’ll have Kal to keep you company. I’ll be all alone here for nine weeks.”

    “You’re welcome to keep Kal with you,” Henry offered.

“No, it will be easier for me to close up the house, and get it completely clean without the bear in residence.”

“But, just think, by the time you get to London I’ll be almost done with filming and we can finally go on our honeymoon,” he teased.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going? Fiji? Bora Bora? The Maldives? The Seychelles? Tell me!”

“You’ll just have to wait until June, my darling, though I can assure you, you will love it,” he said pressing his lips sweetly to hers.

Lucy laid her head on his chest to watch the movie playing on the screen. Her mind whirring with thoughts unspoken. “Henry?” Lucy asked, not lifting her head.

“Hmmm,” he responded absentmindedly.

“I know we haven’t talked about the “B” word since last Thanksgiving,” she said, his full attention suddenly on her, “but I was wondering what you thought about maybe trying on our honeymoon…” she trailed off.

Henry sat up, and paused the movie, wanting to give this conversation his entire focus. “I think that sounds like a great idea, but are you sure?”

“Why? Don’t you want to have a baby yet?” Lucy asked, concerned.

“I’m all for having a baby tomorrow if it were possible, I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking I want to have a baby with you, and that at my age it might not happen right away, so if we want a baby, we should start trying sooner rather than later.”

“Why don’t we start trying right now?” Henry smiled.

“Mainly because I’m still on the pill. And I really don’t want to be suffering from morning sickness on my honeymoon,” Lucy laughed.

“I can see your point,” he smiled, “though we could practice trying…” he suggested, his eyebrows dancing mischievously.

“Practice does make perfect…” Lucy agreed.

April and May passed quickly for Lucy. She talked to Henry every night, and threw herself into her work in an effort to avoid missing him and Kal.

One day at the start of May, Lucy knocked on the door to the principal’s office.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cavill, what can I do for you today?”

Taking a seat in front of the desk, Lucy handed a piece of paper across the desk. “I’m here to submit my formal resignation, official as of the last day of school.”

He skimmed the paper and looked up at her. “I assumed this was coming. There’s no way we can persuade you to stay?”

“Sorry, but Henry and I want to start a family, and I want to be free to follow him on location, if I want to. Though we’re keeping the house here, so if we happen to land here for any length of time, I might put my name in to sub.”

“Well, we’d appreciate that. We’ll miss you Lucy. Though we still have almost a full month of class left, and a graduation. It’s kind of poetic that you’re leaving with your senior class.”

“I thought so too. It feels good to be going out on top, with such a great class.”

“They really are a great class,” he agreed. “Well, Lucy we hate to lose you, but I understand. We’ll have to plan something for the end of the year. How long are you sticking around this summer?”

“No time at all. I’ll meet Henry in London then we’re off to our honeymoon.”

“Oooooh, where are you going?”

“I don’t know! He won’t tell me!” Lucy exclaimed exasperated.

“That’s some husband to plan a surprise honeymoon.”

“He’s one of the good ones,” Lucy agreed.

“Well, I’ll let you get to it. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do today. Thank you for letting us know early that you’ll be leaving. Have a great day.”

“Thanks Erik, you too.” Lucy said, shaking the principal’s hand.

Once Lucy confirmed that she wouldn’t be returning the next year, the students started trying to persuade her to stay.

“But, Mrs. C, if you leave, who is going to teach Spanish 2 next year?” One of her first year students asked.

“I don't imagine they’ll have any trouble filling the position. I just ask that you give whoever they get a chance, especially if that person is a first year teacher.”

“But we don’t want you to go,” another student protested.

“I’m sorry Amelia, but I’m leaving whether you want me to or not.”

“Well, I don’t like it.” The red haired girl replied.

“Guys, it’s not that I’m ecstatic about leaving you all, but my life is changing. I’ll be sure to come to games and events if I’m in the area.”

“You better.”

Before Lucy knew it, graduation had arrived. As a Senior class advisor, she had been instrumental in helping the students to plan their ceremony. She had helped more than one class elected speaker with their speech, and had filled out endless paperwork to order the supplies the students wanted.

Her homeroom students were getting themselves ready in her room. She circulated amongst them, straightening stoles, and pinning caps. Just before the group was to leave line up, she called for their attention.

“Ok guys, this is it. You did it. Congratulations. I’m so proud of all of you. It has been my pleasure to get to know you all over the last six years. Even though I’m leaving too, I don’t want you guys to be strangers. Please keep in touch, let me know about your successes, and feel free to ask me for help if you’ve had a failure. And if any of you find yourselves in London, look me up. I’ll buy you a pint.”

“Mrs. C!” Patricia exclaimed, scandalized.

“I’m not your teacher anymore, it’s fine. And in London you’d be legal, so even less of a deal. Now, line up, and remember, just like we did at practice.

Lucy followed the group to the school’s gymnasium, giving them their timings to process up to the stage. She took her place backstage to watch the administrators give their speeches, and the students speak confidently about their time at the school. She held back her tears as she watched her “kids” receive their diplomas and switch their tassels.

The time came for the students to make their exit out to the school’s front lawn, when, Daniel, the class president approached the podium. Lucy had no idea what was going on, this hadn’t happened at practice that morning.

“Thank you again parents, friends, family, and teachers. Before we go, there is someone else the class would like to thank. Mrs. Lucy Cavill has been one of our advisors since 7th grade. She has spent countless hours, over the last six years, facilitating fundraisers, and class trips, chaperoning dances, and in one memorable instance she spent an entire weekend letting us throw whipped cream pies at her face. She has always been willing to help us, even if it wasn’t her subject area. She has been tough on us, and we are better for it. Mrs. Cavill is leaving with us this year. We didn’t want her to leave without letting her know just how much she has meant to us,” he turned to motion Lucy to the podium. “Mrs. Cavill, if you’d come here please, the class has something for you.”

Lucy’s eyes were shining with tears as she approached the young man at the podium. She gave him a hug, and he motioned to the other side of the stage where two girls, both wearing Superman capes over their graduation gowns, were walking toward her. One girl carried a huge bouquet of tulips in every color imaginable. The other carried a teddy bear wearing a school jersey and a graduation cap. Lucy laughed as the girls handed over their presents before embracing her in a group hug.

The next day, Lucy took her time getting ready for the day. It was her last day as a teacher at the school. The staff had a half day of in-service before they were allowed to leave for the summer. There was a going away party planned that night for Lucy at a local restaurant.

Lucy had spent much of the past week sorting through her school supplies; packing boxes to bring to a friend who also taught Spanish, donating items to other teachers in the building, and deciding what should be left for whoever came after her.

The going away party was bittersweet, Lucy loved the opportunity to spend time with these people she had grown so close to, but loathed the saying goodbye. Even though she knew that she would see them all again, it wouldn’t be the same.

Lucy spent her Saturday cleaning The Lodge, getting it ready to be closed up until at least November. She and Henry planned to spend much of the month at The Lodge, including Thanksgiving with Lucy’s family. She went out to dinner with her parents and her grandma Joanne. Both Marie and Joanne cried as they hugged Lucy goodbye.

“I’ll be back in November. It’s only five months away,” she reassured them.

“We’ve never gone that long without seeing each other before,” her mother protested.

“I’ll call all the time. You’ll get sick of me calling you,” Lucy joked.

“I love you my Lucy-Goosey,” Marie said, hugging her daughter tight.

Sunday morning John drove his daughter to Clint and Anna’s house where she would stay overnight, before Clint drove her to the airport the following day. It gave Lucy the opportunity to spend some time with her niece and nephew before she left.

Monday afternoon Lucy was finally boarding a plane to take her to London. She hadn’t seen Henry in over nine weeks, and she missed him fiercely. “Here I go,” she thought to herself, “starting a whole new chapter of my life.”

Lucy had a full week in London to fill while Henry was filming. She had a lunch with her sisters-in-law one day, relishing the chance to catch-up with the women she hadn’t seen since her wedding. She even flew to Amsterdam for a day to visit Sarah and Paolo, though Henry knew where she was going this time.

Finally Sunday morning arrived, and Lucy and Henry were getting ready to depart for their honeymoon. Henry still hadn’t told her where they were going. As they rode the train to Gatwick airport, Lucy asked again, “please will you tell me where we’re going?”

“No, darling, it’s going to be a surprise,” Henry replied, kissing her temple.

“Do you know what this is doing to me? I haven’t researched anything. I don’t know what the things to do are, or where are the best places to eat, or what are the best things to eat. I feel so unprepared,” she whined.

“Darling, I can assure you, there will be plenty of information about activities, should I decide to let you out of bed,” he murmured in her ear, causing her to blush.

They checked in, and Lucy took her ticket from Henry. “Dubai? We’re going to Dubai? I brought clothes for a tropical beach relaxation trip, not a desert city trip.”

Henry laughed, enjoying needling his wife. He let her stew about it while they made their way through security. Once they were safely ensconced in the airline’s first class lounge, he finally put her out of her misery. “Darling, we are only connecting through Dubai,” he started, digging into his carry-on bag, “on our way to,” he held up the guide book he’d purchased for her, “the Seychelles.”

Lucy gasped as her hands flew to her mouth. “That’s where Will and Kate went!”

“It is.”

“And you got me a guidebook,” she said, taking it from his hand and kissing his cheek.

“I did, and I understand that you will very likely not be speaking to me on the flight, because your nose will be buried in said book,” he replied, reaching back into his carry-on bag.

“That would be a correct assumption. I only wish I had some,” she looked over at what he had pulled from his bag, “highlighters! A whole pack!” She jumped up, before settling herself on his lap, looping her arms around his neck. “I knew there was a reason I married you,” she pressed her mouth to his. “I love you Darcy. Thank you.”

“I love you too Cupcake.”

Lucy couldn’t believe her eyes as she wandered around the villa Henry had rented for their week in The Seychelles. It was almost bigger than The Lodge, in the middle of, what felt like, their own private rainforest. It wasn’t over the water, but the the private beach in front of the villa made up for that.

“Wait, it has a pool AND a private beach? That’s it. I’m moving here,” Lucy said, turning back to Henry.

“We also have a private butler just for us, to get or arrange anything we need,” he said, ambling toward his wife, drawing her close.

“You are too good to me,” Lucy said, dropping a kiss on his lips.

“You put up with a lot, being with me. I want to show you I appreciate all of your sacrifices,” he said, kissing her sweetly.

“Well, right now, I want a shower, and then I want to go for a swim. Did I tell you I bought three new suits for the trip?”

“You did not, but do you know the best part about having our own private pool? No suit required,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Mmmmm, that does sound nice,” Lucy agreed, pulling Henry toward the master bathroom.

Lucy and Henry didn't leave their villa for the first three days of the trip, cocooning themselves in a bubble all their own. They passed their days sunning themselves by their private pool, or on their private beach, making love at every available opportunity, and just enjoying being together again.

Once they did venture out from their private oasis, Lucy convinced Henry to take her diving with the whale sharks. He wouldn’t admit it to her, but he was terrified of the giant creatures, but after seeing the expression on Lucy’s face when she removed her mask, he would have gone diving with her a dozen more times.

The couple returned to London tanned, and happy, and relaxed. Ready to enjoy being married and being together. Lucy wasn’t positive, but she had a good feeling about their attempts at making a baby.

Her confirmation came at the end of July. It started with a feeling of nausea while she was caramelizing onions one evening. The following morning, while Henry was out for his morning run, she awoke with an instant need to run to the bathroom to vomit. She barely allowed herself to hope that she might be pregnant already. That afternoon while Henry was out with Kal, Lucy made her way to the pharmacy around the corner, and after staring at the tests for several long minutes bought three different brands, just to be sure. She hid the tests in the bathroom cupboard to take the next morning while Henry was out for his run.

Lucy could barely sleep that night, thinking about the tests waiting for her in the morning. As soon as Henry left, Lucy popped out of bed, a decision she immediately regretted, as she was kneeling over the toilet, ridding herself of last night’s dinner.

She opened all three boxes, taking out the six test sticks, lining them up on the counter. Once the tests had been completed, Lucy laid them all face down on the counter, and rather than pace herself silly in the bathroom, went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

Tea in hand, Lucy approached the bathroom counter cautiously. She turned the first stick over, two pink lines showed in the window. The second test showed the same. Lucy’s heart was racing as she flipped the third test. A plus sign stared back at her, then a second plus sign on the next test. Happy tears poured down her face as she flipped the fifth and sixth tests, which both simply read “pregnant”. All six tests confirmed what she had barely let herself hope. She was going to be a mom.

Lucy gathered up the test sticks and her cup of tea, and left Henry a note, then went to the roof to drink her tea and bask in her joy. That was how Henry found her 45 minutes later. Clutching her tea, and staring out over the London city skyline.

“Good morning darling, you’re up early,” Henry said, kissing his wife, before sitting on the end of her chaise sun chair.

“I had something I had to do this morning,” she said cryptically, before pulling out one of the test sticks. It took him a second to comprehend what he was seeing. The two pink lines blurred as he realized what it meant.

“You’re pregnant?” He asked, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks.

“You’re going to be a daddy,” she laughed, her tears starting again.

Henry’s words escaped him. He pulled Lucy to him and they held each other, crying their tears of joy. “I’m crushing you! I don’t want to hurt the baby!” Henry exclaimed, releasing his wife.

“Darcy, the baby isn’t even the size of a walnut yet, you’re fine,” Lucy laughed, resting her hands on her stomach.

Henry removed her hands and lowered his head to her stomach. “Hello in there. This is your papa. I can’t wait to meet you,” he said soothingly before pressing a kiss to her stomach.

“It’s really happening. We’re going to be parents,” he said in awe.

“We’re going to be a family,” Lucy corrected him.

Chapter 62           Epilogue